#im still like. in the stage of this where i get a whim for a character idea and it changes A Lot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

arcanistvysoren · 5 months ago

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kudos to u for writing THE kaffee/ross fic! im surprised there's not a ton for them; like you go across the river to top gun and there's oodles lol. i love your danny, but i especially love your jack; with how little we really see in the movie, you really managed to kind of flesh him out more and make him this guy who's falling in love despite himself, who's melancholy and sweet in his own kind of way. i wanted to ask -- how do u think the two of them end up?

Hi! :3 Thank you so much for your message.

First of all, let me apologize for not responding sooner. me: links my tumblr on all my AO3 fics also me: stops checking tumblr for 6 months Blog was just collecting cobwebs since December.

And then I logged in and had three whole messages, so of course I curled in on myself like a mollusk and had to think about how to answer them for a good long while.

Gonna put my answer under cut because, truthfully, this is something I’ve thought about before, thought about extensively, and since I made you wait for a reply for so long, might as well make it a good and long one.

First of all. Again: really appreciated this message. <3 Like you said — there are barely any fics out there for this movie — so it always makes me happy to know that mine is satisfying enough to have scratched the itch for someone out there who also wanted something lgbt to happen. :3

Especially because I certainly took a lot of artistic liberties, expanding Jack’s character like did.

There are characters out there in many fandoms that really do scream “closeted.” Like, you brought up Top Gun, and Iceman is exactly one such character, as far as fandom’s very reasonable reading is concerned. But I don’t think Jack’s like that at all. Nothing about him really suggested it. And still, on a whim, I decided: yeah I’m gonna make this man experience institutionalized homophobia. Which is a topic that, emphatically, does NOT have universal appeal.

But people continue to react very positively to it, so I’m always happy to know it landed well. <3

=======

Now, to the question at hand: I actually have thought about this even way back when I was writing the original fic. I planned things much further than where the fic ends, I even toyed with the idea of writing a sequel fic immediately after. That, obviously, never happened, but you can reap the benefits of whatever unfulfilled plans I did have.

1. First of all, it has to be said that “you inspired a fire”, in both iterations, is very much a getting-them-together fic. And fics like that, by design, leave off at a fairly early stage in a relationship. And I always try to write fics like that with the implication and the vibe that everything works out in the long run. Like appending a flashforward coda scene at the end that has a more settled “ER” vibe.

But, by virtue of how these types of fics are usually written, you have a lot of pining and then a sudden and tumultuous and happy resolution. But that leaves a very strong sense of “wait there should be more”. Because you know they are now on the same page but they still have so much ground to cover, all these unresolved emotions and growing pains of a new relationship.

And that’s one of the reasons why I was toying with the idea of an immediate sequel. Because it finishes way too early, and I wanted to write further steps of how the relationship actually progresses.

Now, this part is a little difficult for me to sum up in a tumblr post, because emotional beats of a romance to me are always more vibe than substance when I plan them. I know the trajectory, but the actual meat on the bones gets written as it gets written.

But, just talking through the intentions behind it: one of the cornerstones, (and a major appeal,) of Jack and Danny’s relationship for me was always the juxtaposition of their worldviews and expectations.

Jack has known that he’s gay for a very long time, and he’s lived with this knowledge, and internalized it to kind of accept a certain level of permanent unhappiness in his life. Versus Danny — who has gone through life thinking one thing about himself, and who then realizes that he’s queer quite abruptly, takes a moment to come to terms with it, and then there’s no additional turmoil for him in that. He doesn’t flinch from the realization, he just accepts it as the new status quo, and then he’s all in. He doesn’t have any of Jack’s hang-ups, he doesn’t have his cynicism, he doesn’t have his years of fear and anxiety over homophobia and, like you said, his melancholy.

And much of their relationship propels itself (and will continue to propel itself) exactly because Danny isn’t preemptively afraid that the relationship will fail, or will have tragic consequences on their social or professional lives. But just because it’s easy on him, doesn’t make it any easier on Jack.

Now, if we’re just talking romance: I think the romantic intimacy portion of their relationship never suffers any hurdles. (I, in general, do not subscribe to the “soap opera” variety of romance-writing where you get two people together, but then you have to maintain drama for the next season, the next book, the next something, so you create a profound interpersonal problem for them. If a relationship has problems that arise from a lack of communication, that’s already pretty bad. If a problem arises even with communication, then people are not on the same page at all, and that’s even worse.)

Either way, I think both Jack and Danny are committed to being very good at love. To putting themselves out there. Jack — for all that he’s a very tightly-wound individual who is not exactly highly emotive — thought that he would never, not in a million years, get to have this. So now that he does, a relationship is something that he cherishes and would never take for granted. He is extremely attentive, he has like an internal calendar of their personal milestones. Whereas Danny is good at it in a spontaneous way. He doesn’t spend time agonizing over each and any gesture of affection. His brand is more “I saw this and I thought of you,” which happens without rhyme or reason, but it happens all the time, and that’s something that Jack, for all his fastidiousness and rigorous schedules, deeply loves about him. Because it means Danny is thinking about him, that he always thinks about him, that Jack is always part of Danny’s considerations about anything going forward, just effortlessly, and that is a sort of attention that he never had in his life.

2. The difficulty, as I imagine it, at the beginning of their relationship, comes from everything else. Everything in their life outside of the actual romance.

The JAG Corps has a lot of military pride and lawyer pride about appearing a certain way, having this pristine career, immaculate resume, and all that. And Jack is a consummate professional, and for years he clocked in every morning to do his job and left everything else outside those walls. And then Danny comes along and just demolishes his neat routine.

The title of the fic itself — you know, nobody ever asked me about it, and I never really commented on it before, and it’s kind of silly. ‘Coz it’s a line from a song that really has NOTHING to do with anything in the fic whatsoever. I almost didn’t use it as the title because of how incongruous it was. In the end, I guess, in my head it made enough sense, regardless of the source, that I left it as is. But the song in question was What Kind of Man by Florence + the Machine — which is a song that is about an upsettingly toxic relationship between the narrator and somebody who doesn’t commit to her but emotionally strings her along. Which: like I said, not at all relevant. But the refrain in that song is: ‘And with one kiss — you inspired a fire that lasted for twenty years. What kind of man loves like this?’ And when I was writing the fic originally, that song (which was pretty fresh at that time) did pop into my head, entirely removed from the context of the song. Because, just in a vacuum, without the rest of it, I thought it did fit how I saw their relationship from Jack’s perspective. Because Jack was just fully encrusted within his way of life. Emotionally shut down. And then Danny completely wrecked him out of his equilibrium in a kind of… irrecoverable way. And if it ended up that Danny didn’t feel the same way about him, Jack would really never fully get over the experience of falling for him.

Here you have Jack, who is all about his job and nothing but, and suddenly he catches these really intense feelings, in a way he has never had before. Sure, he had some misguided attractions in the past, but that was always a very subdued longing that he has always managed to successfully bury and ignore. And then Danny just burrows under his skin, in this maddening fashion, and Jack tries to fight against it, and he finds that he can’t. And the intensity of how much he feels for Danny is really difficult for him to grapple with. He thinks of romance as something he can control and even ignore, and to find himself in a situation where he can’t do either is very disrupting for him. And even when he knows that Danny returns his interest, for Jack, this is the first time that he has experienced this level of intensity. And he doesn’t think Danny can match that. He thinks that Danny is less entangled in it, that Danny would be capable of moving on from their romance. And he recognizes that he himself will never be able to. That he will be in love with Danny for the rest of his life. And Danny, unknowingly, has a lot of power over him, has the power to inflict just careless thoughtless damage.

So that’s kind of issue number one that I foresee. Is that these fears carry over for Jack into the initial beginning of the relationship, before he is fully 100% convinced that Danny is, really, on the same page about it as him.

And then, also, Jack doesn’t trust that Danny can tone it down and actually be considerate enough to be low-key about their relationship. Danny is very antithetical to the idea of anything low-key. Like, he is the type of a guy to loudly call out a stranger on their homophobia — because he doesn’t really think it has anything to do with him, personally, he doesn’t think that it will make people think he’s gay, or that it will have social repercussions for him. Because, previously, it never has been about him. And he likes to make himself a bother. And that is mortifying to Jack who doesn’t want any attention to be attracted to the concept of queerness in relation to him or any of his circle of friends.

And, finally, Jack feels that he’s been on this road for a long time. The road of being closeted in the military. He knows all the road signs, he’s paid every toll on that road. And he doesn’t think that Danny understands how many tolls there will be. And, on one hand, he doesn’t want Danny to be burnt by the same experiences that he himself has been hurt by. But, on the other hand, circling back to the commitment of it all: he also fears that it may become too much. And that Danny won’t be able to handle the social pressure.

All of that is already sort of implied in the main fic, I guess, and sort of contributes to the ambivalent tone of the ending — because all these issues remain unresolved. And I don’t exactly have a script ready here for how each of these points do get resolved. Like I said, I typically don’t think about writing things like that, it just happens naturally over the course of the rest of the plot unfolding, and the multitude of slice-of-life moments through which I typically craft fics like that. Plus, with some of these, you really do need the narrative feeling behind it. Because you can’t really prove commitment to somebody who has trust issues in that department. It just something that heals over time.

3. And then, of course, you have to contend with the political landscape of it all. Typically, unless otherwise specified, I take it to mean that movies of this type and genre take place in the year they were released. Or when the screenplay got written. So, we have 1992, the Jessup case happens, and then, going off of the chronology of the fic, 1993 is when Jack and Danny hook up and begin their relationship.

And that is literally immediately before DADT happens.

This time period has a lot of historical milestones for queer rights. But, specifically, the conversation about gays and lesbians in the military was a not-insignificant and often talked-about political issue at that point. It was part of Clinton’s presidential campaign. 1993 is when Washington Post publishes a fairly famous quote from a retired Major General: “You don’t have to be straight to shoot straight.” A lot of people are wanting a change. And Clinton plans to repeal any laws that would prohibit gays and lesbians from serving.

But, of course, a lot of right-wing people are against the change. Clinton faces a lot of opposition, and the Congress outmaneuvers him and enacts the ban on gays in the military into federal law. Clinton tries to overturn it but is unsuccessful. And, as a compromise, his administration issues a Directive which says that you cannot ask military applicants about their sexual orientation. And then the phrase “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” is later coined and affixed to it.

DADT was like the beginning of Sleeping Beauty where the curse was already laid by the evil witch and the best thing that one fairy can do is provide the most miserable little loophole that can barely prevent anything. The directive itself may have helped matters a tiny bit, it certainly allowed queer people to still serve. But it offered no protection from harassment and bias, which led to a lot of abuse and discrimination and even cases of murder.

And DADT will only be repealed in 2011. Same-sex marriage will become legal in all fifty states in 2015. I was in my 20s when that happened, so, unlike with the beginning of DADT, I actually have my own personal feelings about witnessing all that. But, the point is, from 1992 that’s about 20 years of extreme bullshit that they will have to live with.

I have it somewhere in my notes that Danny was born in 1964. I think the age is given when Jo recounts his resume? Which makes him 28 in 1992, and will make him 48 in 2012. Jack is described as two years older in the Sorkin script, so 30 and 50 respectively. That’s a hell of a long time to wait until you can be fully socially open about anything. You become used to it. A lot of people came out publicly and cheerfully in those years — but a lot of people remained as closeted as they ever were. Just because it’s been made legal, doesn’t mean you will not be ostracized professionally or socially by those who didn’t think it should have been. That’s a battle not everybody wants to fight.

And the military? Especially rancid about that.

By that point in time, Jack and Danny’s personal views would have bled into one another’s, I think.

Jack has never wanted to take part in this fight at all. By the time he’s 30, he’s already nearly fully insulated against it. Not to accidentally project personal experiences on a character, but — living where I am, in a hugely homophobic country — I can’t leave my house without encountering three separate instances of casual homophobia daily. It’s just part of the parlance. On TV, from strangers in the general store, from colleagues at work — colleagues that might even be friendly with you, but who will emphatically not see you the same way if they knew you were queer. And you smile, and you’re polite, but there is a wall, and you don’t really make connections with people, you don’t really allow anyone to get close. Because the baseline assumption is that everyone around you is a conservative bigot.

I remember freaking a friend of mine out. We went to college together, she was there for my coming out. We were close. Still are. But I made a friendly connection through local fandom with a new person. And like, we would talk nearly every day, we’re having fun, I mention her a lot... And then 2 years later I tell my friend from college: you know, I think it’s time to see if I can actually be friends with her. And my college friend instantly went through 5 stages of grief wondering: does Cyril also not think WE’RE friends yet?? But of course I did. And the issue on the table was queerness. Was me coming out to that other person as all my labels, and also making sure she’s normal about labels that I don’t have. Spoiler alert: she wasn’t, and it was one of the more difficult friendship divorces of my life. But that’s the sort of living that I’m talking about. We were close, we talked every day, we worked on fandom projects together, we skyped, we played video games, we had been to each other’s houses…. And then I came out to her, and it all just imploded. She wasn’t outwardly homophobic, but she was still hella conservative, but thought she was being liberal-minded. Just oodles of really offensive opinions. That I couldn't possibly dig her out of. And I just had to say sorry but no dice.

And I think Jack lives pretty much exactly like that. Whatever relationship he builds — and, again, I don’t mean exclusively in the romantic sense, I mean making friends at work, and anywhere else — everything is removed. People around him largely assume that he’s exactly like them, a boring peg, and that he’s polite, and likable, and that his anti-social tendencies are a personal flaw that he should maybe work on. They have no reason to understand that him being distant is a deliberate choice and a defense mechanism. Yes, he has a polite and amiable relationship with a lot of people at work. ‘Smiling Jack Ross’, and all that. But he isn’t actually friends with anybody. There is no deep intimacy in any of these relationships. Friendship requires honesty, and he knows he cannot be honest with these people. Criminality of being gay in the military aside, some people do form friendships, discover allies, and admit the truth to their friends. Not everybody he works with is incredibly right-wing. People can keep secrets, people can be normal about it. But that’s not Jack’s experience, and it is not his expectation, so he doesn’t do that at all.

And so, early on in their relationship, whenever the two of them encounter homophobia in the wild together, Jack just ignores it, completely blots it out. It doesn’t even register for him. Whenever he hears somebody spout insane backwards backwater bullshit, it’s a total disconnect for him. It just has so little basis in reality, it has so little to do with him, that it becomes like white noise that he doesn’t even hear.

And then, Danny is very much opposite of that. He wants to verbally spar. He wants to be loud and sarcastic and a nuisance. And when he sees people behaving horribly, he needles them, he antagonizes them. And, to him, that is also impersonal. For him, arguing is almost like a sport, and he doesn’t argue because the topic got to him, but because someone is wrong and Danny will see that person humiliated. The topic itself, arguing about being gay, also doesn’t feel to him like that’s about him.

Which is a part of a larger conversation, because even being in a queer relationship, I think he doesn’t really categorize himself as queer. Which is an issue with a lot of bisexual people who come into bisexuality later, and the language doesn’t feel like it applies to them, and also they don’t have any leg to stand on when it comes to the actual social politics of it. They didn’t live through homophobia, they just instantly fell into a good and healthy relationship. So when he starts debating bigots and calling them out on homophobia — it doesn’t really even feel to him like that’s about him. It’s just about fairness. It’s way more about Jack to him than it’s in any way about himself.

My point is, ultimately — when you flashforward twenty years into the future, they will both have learned from one other. Jack will have learned to be more ready to defend queerness, because it doesn’t leave him vulnerable anymore, and because, before, it was just bullshit he could ignore. But now it’s not just somebody shitting on him, it’s somebody shitting on Danny also, and their relationship, their family. And Danny is not going to take that lying down, he will stand alone against the whole world if he has to. And Jack isn’t about to let him do any of it alone.

Whereas Danny is having the opposite trajectory of: yes, he is ready to fight every bigot and just verbally destroy them. He has the energy of an angry jack russell terrier about most things. And it doesn’t take up any negative emotional space for him, even. It doesn’t bother him, it doesn’t stay with him, like I said: it’s almost like a sport to him — to shoot verbal pellets at fools. But he has to recognize pretty fast that his behavior is making things difficult for Jack. And so Danny will have to learn to appreciate his self-control and why it’s important to Jack, and learn to exercise the same level of restraint.

And there’s a golden mean there somewhere where they are able to meet and understand each other and assume each other’s point of view. And then, by the time 2011 and so forth roll up… they would have lived a content but emphatically closeted life for almost 20 years. They would have gone through the majority of their adulthood in hiding. And, like I said, just because the law changes to say something is legal — doesn’t mean it flips the switch in everybody around them. They are still surrounded by people who would make their lives miserable upon finding out. As well as left-wing people who would want to make someone like them poster children for success in the military and the JAG. And… at 50? I don’t think even Danny who is effortlessly extraverted would want that.

This is not to say that participating in queer politics is a young people’s fight. By and large, it has never been so. But their situation is severely constricted by them being in the military.

=======

Moving on from that. The DADT spiral got away from me a little. But. Like I said. Those were just general concepts and vibes of how I would have approached tackling the overarching themes in their relationship. Hypothetical plot points.

I do, however, also have some stuff that is more “thetical.” Back when I did think I would have enough time, and momentum, and spark, to write the sequel. I did pen some stuff down.

(This ask, in itself, is now the length of a decent short fic, but I’m on a roll here. Too late to turn back, I am committing.)

I had assorted notes with intermittently written scenes spanning almost the entire two decades from the end of the original fic to the repeal. Among them, these look the most readable:

A. I was incredibly invested in the “coming out” process. Because, yes, they need to hide their relationship, socially and professionally. But Danny has two very close personal friendships in his life that are extremely important to him and that he is not prepared to toss over for his romantic relationship. Jack has his bad experiences, he is used to people turning on you, treating you like a pariah after finding out. But Danny neither has that experience, nor thinks that Jo and Sam would react that way. Because, unlike Jack, when he builds a friendship, he really fucking builds it. Whereas I was talking about Jack keeping everyone at the same polite distance, Danny actually takes care to get to know people in his life, and to figure out which of them he meshes well with, and then he doesn’t let them go. He trusts that he knows Jo and Sam well enough to assert that they wouldn’t react like assholes.

So, after the first couple of months, Danny goes: I wanna tell them. And Jack is… the opposite of thrilled about it.

(It goes, roughly, something like that.)

Danny: I don’t want to lie to them. And yes, I know I said I would be okay with the lying — and I am. To the military. Hell, to the whole world. But they’re my friends. They will be in my life hopefully for as long as you will be — so you can’t really expect me to not tell them. I mean, they’re bound to notice we’re living together eventually, you know? Sam’s wife keeps trying to set me up with her girlfriends, and I am running out of excuses, and, damn it, yeah, I just want them to know, okay? Jack: [quiet-like] …I don’t think it’s a good idea. Danny: [earnestly] Jack, I trust them. You know them. They’re good people. Jack: That’s… not, precisely, my concern. I do not think either of them would get us thrown out. But I think the friendship you are trying to preserve here will not survive the revelation. They will not look at you the same. And that’s… a discomfort I am used to, and I know how to handle. But you do not. And I’d rather you didn’t have to find out.

Once again, Jack has a lot of unhappy experiences that he himself lived through about being gay, and people finding out, and how isolated it made him.

But Danny, after pondering it for a bit, still thinks he’s right. And, lbr, in this instance, he is. He’s a people person in a way that Jack isn’t. And his read on people is better, and his relationships that are really truly intimate are also so much more emotionally close than anything Jack has ever personally had, due to how he has always distanced himself from relationships out of self-preservation. But, for a while, Danny defers to Jack’s experience with this and he keeps putting it off. It’s not like he’s not nervous about it. He just doesn’t see any other way than to tell them.

In the meantime, they are practically living together, as Danny said. They’re going through the growing pains I outlined above and also just learning that quiet personal intimacy of living with another person. I’m sure they have very different housing habits. Danny certainly has his own military training drilled into him, I don’t think he’s exactly a messy person, but he’s not fastidious either. But Jack struggles with issues of control and lack of it in his life, so I think he exerts whatever control he can over any aspect of his day-to-day, which includes his schedule, and wardrobe, and immaculate living space.

Anyway, as they keep migrating back and forth between both of their places: Danny pretty much lives in his old family house, full of old memories, the long shadow cast by his father’s ghost, which is something that he is trying to get away from. While Jack, I imagine, being a frugal man, got himself a bachelor pad intended for one person, because he never imagined he would be sharing his life with anybody else. So, inevitably, Danny starts to think that they should probably move. Find a place that is big enough for the both of them and makes them both comfortable. Except, of course, two men — even men in uniform, or, maybe, especially in uniform — cannot exactly go house-hunting together.

Which is the moment he finally elects to come out to Jo.

They go out to their favorite spot in the park. It’s January 1994, so, like I said, DADT is about to go into effect, it is being discussed in most military journals. Some tagline about it is on the cover of whatever magazine Jo brought with her. Danny’s eyes get drawn to it unhappily in spite of himself. It’s been Christmas/Hannukah season, they haven’t really seen much of each other, and Sam’s wife has a moratorium on work talk during holiday season, so they haven’t actively discussed any of this stuff, except in a few throwaway sentences that really didn’t tell Danny anything about what either of them actually thought. Ultimately, though: he’s only known Jo for about two years now. Less than. And — aside from his really crass attempts at flirting initially — they do work very well together, and she’s a very moral person, and a straight-shooter, and he thinks she will probably not react badly if he brings it up. And it’s much easier to bring up to her first, because they have known each other the shortest. And she notices him staring at the cover, and rolls her eyes and says: It’s a stupid law. Because she’s probably highly politically involved, a Clinton supporter, who had expectations about the kind of forward-thinking changes his administration may bring. She has opinions about this legislation, and she also tends to back up her opinions with a lot of citations, because she is used to be challenged and disregarded by a certain cadre of men. She is well-read on the issue. Danny looks at her and asks: Why? To which she rolls her eyes again and just says: Don’t be such a guy, Danny. Because, let’s be fair, they’re friends now, and she knows he’s a decent guy, but he’s also been kind of vulgar with her enough times in a way that is very not politically correct. He says some chauvinistic things to her in the movie, and iirc I wrote that into the fic too, when he takes her out to whine about his crisis without actually telling her why he’s having a crisis? So she just assumes he might hold some bigoted views here. Not that she says so, and not that Danny realizes it from her dismissive answer — the turmoil currently in his head is so far away from what she assumes, that it doesn’t even occur to him that she might be expecting this from him. Anyway, he changes topics abruptly and says: Hey, so I’ve been meaning to ask you for a favor. [Jo politely raises her eyebrows.] Danny: I wanna buy a house. Jo: [deadpan] Oh. Right. And I am notorious for my degree in real estate. Danny: [giving her one of his patented charming smiles] I need you to go house-shopping with me. Jo: [perplexed] What’s wrong with your current place? Danny: I – uh – I’m gonna sell it. Too many memories, too many ghosts. And I need – whaddaya call them – like, a family house? Somewhere you move into with your wife, and your kids, and your dog. Jo: You don’t have a wife, or kids, or a dog. Danny: That’s why I want you come with me. To play pretend. :) [Jo continues to just stare at him, not making this request easy on him in the slightest.] Jo: Danny… aren’t you… seeing someone? [Danny looks away ruefully. Seeing someone. That’s not what he’d call it. He doesn’t think of it as dating. Just living. Loving. Just life.] Danny: Maybe. Jo: So why are you asking me? Why aren’t you taking your mystery paramour that you’ve been hiding from Sam and myself? [And Danny swallows, and every cautionary protest that Jack has ever raised to him rears up all of its insecure hydra heads in his mind. And for a long moment he doesn’t say anything, and Jo just waits him out patiently.] [And then he looks at the magazine that she still has in her lap and he says…] Danny: Because. Because it’s a stupid law. [And Jo squares her back, startled, and looks at him all wide-eyed and then says, sounding kind of insulting tragic about it: Oh, Danny…]

But, yes. Of course, of course, she is fine with it.

And he doesn’t tell her it’s Jack — not that day, at least; not immediately. It’s one thing that he wants her to know about him and what’s going on with him, and that he’s actually sorta kinda queer, but he promised to never betray Jack’s confidence, and he will not unless Jack okays it.

Jo, of course, is not an idiot, and will draw the correct conclusion herself. Because who else could it possibly be, when Danny and Jack have been practically inseparable for months now. Not that she says so. She waits until he’s ready to tell her.

But, yes, they do go house-shopping. And yes, it does go smoother when the real estate person thinks it’s just a nice military couple in love, isn’t this nice, isn’t this proper.

Sam is… a different matter, I think, because they’ve been friends for much longer. And also because it’s an avuncular sort of friendship. Sam is older, and he took Danny under his wing when Danny was just this green snotty boy fresh out of law school. And it is kind of terrifying for Danny to fracture this closeness, and lose his respect, and ruin their friendship. In exactly the kind of way that Jack has been warning him against.

And, obviously, I don’t think that it will. But I do think Sam won’t know how to talk to Danny about it. Like, this is very much outside of his ballpark, and just because he doesn’t have any negative bias, doesn’t mean he knows how to be encouraging and overtly okay about it either. So I think for a while after Danny tells him they will just not talk about it at all. Which is not ideal. Because it makes Danny feel like maybe he isn’t okay about it. He doesn’t want it ignored. But Sam is finding it awkward. So it becomes this thing where: yeah / he knows / he’s okay with it / everything else is exactly the same, they work cases the same, they meet up the same, Danny is invited to their house the same, but they just never talk about It. And Sam is just avoiding the topic because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and he doesn’t think he has a right thing to say, but it will weigh on Danny a little bit — up until he has something like a minor tiff with Jack, over some of the things I mentioned above. The growing pains of the stuff they disagree about and have to work through. And Danny will be just stewing in it, and Sam will ask him what’s wrong, and Danny will reluctantly say that it’s about Jack, implying: maybe you don’t wanna hear it. And Sam will steel himself inwardly and say: okay maybe you can tell me about it. And Danny does, hesitantly at first, and then getting more and more into it, and it’s just, you know, very minor, very day-to-day, very human problems. And Sam will go, in his head: oh, actually, I do know how to talk about it, because it’s literally just relationship advice that is NO different from any type of marriage advice I would have given regardless of gender, because I myself am married; and also, bonus, I do know Jack personally, and understand his point of view as an unbiased observer in a way Danny cannot because he’s too close to it; so, actually, it turns out that talking about this doesn’t have any extra rules just because it’s two guys. And, as part of this conversation, they will just mend this little fracture in their relationship. Not that there was ever an actual argument to begin with, but things were a little strained in this area, and this finally solves it for them. And they don’t actually verbally acknowledge it in any way, but they both come away from that conversation knowing that things are more fine now than they were before.

B. I would actually very much like to revisit Jack’s backstory. Like, I wrote about him having NSA relationships before. Most of his encounters were very brief and mostly one-night-stands. But he had that relationship with his Drill Instructor, which Jack registers as a positive relationship, because he was a nice guy, and it was a continuous affair that lasted for some months. But that DI was also convinced that this is like the best that men like them can have in the military. That they don’t get to be in love, they can just form these transitory arrangements with people that they like, fuck around, and that’s it. And that’s how he chose to live his life, and that was enough for him — but it wasn’t for Jack, but he still internalized it as a true lesson about life, which contributed to his pitiful expectations for how life can and cannot be.

And then, present day, this same DI is accused of conduct unbecoming with a fellow female soldier. And there’s like an underlying political bullshit reason for it. Everything’s staged for reasons I did not determine, but some kind of a detective plot unraveling in the background, the internal politics of the place where the DI is stationed at the time. The charges are obviously bogus, but the guy can’t exactly say that it’s all bullshit since he’s gay, because that’s not a defense, that’s an immediate discharge for a completely different reason. And the case comes across their desk, it isn’t even intended for them, but Jack notices the name and he requests it from the Judge Advocate General.

And Jack is well-liked in the Corps because of his work ethic. And, you know how it is. Technically, you cannot investigate someone you may have a pre-existing knowledge of, like someone that you served with. It’s a conflict of interest. But in reality there’s enough personal feelings inside any organization that people are willing to kind of bend the rules. Nepotism has existed since the dawn of time. So the JAG agrees, but doesn’t give the case to Jack, he gives it to Kaffee — to avoid the immediate perception of any actual favoritism. But Jack is allowed to go with him as his secondary.

And Danny doesn’t understand at first why Jack wants this case, because the charge is kind of severe, and Jack disclosed to the JAG that he knew the defendant, so Danny just assumes it’s a case of “I know the man and he is incapable” vs. the reality of “maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought”. Danny is prepared to investigate with zero bias. And Jack is notoriously impartial, so Danny’s not exactly worried. He might not want to believe that a friend of his is capable, but if he is presented with enough evidence, he will pursue justice fully. Except then, of course, once they are alone and can talk freely and are riding out to their investigation, and Danny asks: how can you possibly know he didn’t do what they are saying he did? Jack comes out and says: ‘cause he’s gay. And Danny goes: oh. And realizes he has to brace himself for a very different kind of encounter.

I think, by that time, they are in a very good and stable place in their relationship. But it’s still always emotionally difficult to meet your current partner’s ex, especially if the parting was pretty amicable, so there aren’t any negative feelings there. Like, he’s not exactly threatened, he’s not exactly jealous, but it is a very palpable person he gets to measure himself against, with regards to Jack’s past choice of partner. And he doesn’t fully realize that he comes off very well in that comparison, because this is a relationship that set a very very low bar for Jack as far as expectations go. And for this DI to see Jack, and then eventually realize that the guy he came here with is not just a colleague, and not even just a guy he sleeps with, but that they have an actual committed relationship. It’s kind of a very tragic thing to see. That it was always possible, and he just never was brave enough to try. And for Jack it is also kind of cathartic to see this part of his life in retrospect and to see how far he’s come. I think it really crystallizes for him the difference from how he’s been at the beginning of his relationship with Danny, when he was more insecure about where they were going, as opposed to now, like a year plus down the line, where he knows that they are it. They’re practically married, in all ways that matter. That he is so secure in this relationship, and that the old anxieties and hurts no longer pain him.

=======

There were a couple of other things I’d written down, but I think this paints a clear enough picture and I should stop.

This is answer is now 7,000 words long. I am so good at social media.

This is why tumblr is the only website I am on. Shortform? Not in this house.

Thank you for coming to the Director’s Cut of AFGM. I hope the exhaustiveness of my answer made up for the wait. 🤍

#tag: less talk more work #tag: the portrait of the blogger as a young man #mine: fic

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sarahderpy · 7 months ago

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It’s the fact that I’m not for that stuff though?

I’m not OLD but i’m def not young anymore. At the same time i know for sure that I’ve grown and matured mentally to understand what I prefer in life. Maybe not fully need yet but 99 percent of the time I at least know what I absolutely do not want . lol

I most times am sure that Because I had to grow up quick and becmae a mother so young that maybe I dont prefer the ways of most peple my age because I never experienced the wild parts in my younger years. Same time Im crazy glad I didnt go through a lifestyle of the wild because I semi experieced so much of the wild stages way too early . I knew I wasnt a partier even before I became a young mom at just 18/19. I never cared for finding and attending the wildest parties yet somehow ended up at way too many of them off whim. I never liked to drink yet have stories galore of drinking days and nights with friends and people I dated at the time, enough to remind myself that I did have a somewhat experience. The scary part is I did so much of it at way too young of an age. I really don’t always even know how I was in those situations or how I was never questioned most times. And for years after I even questioned how I never became attracted to the party life or had any sort of addictions.

I think after finding out I was pregnant at 18 my senior year, I knew I had to grow up fast. I wish I was grown maturely at that age to know what I was choosing to take on I admit. I had a huge support system and maybe because I was adopted, I knew that my dedication would go towards my daughter and no longer myself. Without judgement but more of a wonder, I see young parents today and watch as they serve their own needs and priorities aside from their parenting life. I say I don’t judge because sometimes I’m more jealous than ever.

I wonder, “ how do they party and vacation and have time for themselves without their kids …. and so often? “. I think its amazing and healthy but I also wonder how that child reflects back on that life . Of course none of my buisness but I do honestly relate it to the feeling I felt as a child whenever my own parents would do things so often without myself and my siblings.

I think knowing again that I’m adopted , I’ve always wondered how the heck my bio parents could have chosen their own needs over the life of my own. I know they did at the time , what was right for them or self help that they needed . But it still makes me wonder of course. And I thankfully and gratefully love the outcome, that I got to be chosen into a new life and family from it. But how do you not wonder ?

Just opinion .. Just a wonder..

How do you know that you are to bring a child into the world , and allow that child to become your side priority . I guess I see something so precious and valuable as a in , a human life that that Id assume or hope would, become your full priority until the age that they are able-so to be on their own path , specifically in this case , the age that according to common law a child is now an adult not just old enough to stay at home . I guess I see, in my opinion, any way other than that as selfishness, but again no judgement.

I get needing to focus on self. My question is if you, yourself, know that you are needing to work on self, and need your life to focus on yourself, priorities for self, how could do you ever imagine bringing a child into the world yet. I guess that was what went through my mind that it was time to grow fast because of what I chose , to become a mother .

I get told often , to find my needs these days and go out and have fun. I hear it as “ UHG just be normal Sarah ! “ or “ fit in !”..

It hard to explain to those that push this to me, that I am happy believe it or not. However there are days where I scream inside asking “ why am I not out , why am I not having fun and doing liek what these others are up to “. AND within seconds I’m giggling because I truly don’t want to have those things. I’m complete with on at the moment. I’m happiest in the comfort of my things. I enjoy the random drives to nowhere special. I prefer finding things new and weird versus planned and budgeted. The thing is I enjoy both the fun life but right now I’m okay ! lol

Okay, yes I enjoy a fun outing or party or meetup. But I also am more so great on the days without the constant plans and gatherings where no one shares the same interests. This is probably where my lack of empathy kicks in, but I don’t want to vent about how shi**y a friend of a friend is or have counseling sessions drunk. lol I’m picky but also I’m fine. I’m good at playing well with everyone but I’m horrible at playing a part especially if it involves playing a character to make the scene complete. I’m not here to impress anyone and way too over to try to fake it to make it . If imma fake anything it Will be announced I promise.

I sometimes wonder how people haven’t grown up yet past the high school phase. Then I wonder why am I still not past the scared life phase. Maybe its easier to keep living in the youth vision for ourselves and to keep that happy level to bypass having to focus on the adult struggles. ANd I get that. Sometimes I wish if I was good at faking anything it would be to live like I never grew up. Maybe at least that way when people assumed that I’m someone that is out there living life like most photos on social media show (and a pic online is only a highlight of page out of a person’s actual life) but that maybe I should be doing as society does and just “Live”.

And back to the part where I’m wondering but for what lol. It’s hard for me to fully explain what I mean writing this as My brain is literally thinking on rapid speed. But I love that I’m on a complete other path that’s what society presents us especially the view that social media engages us to. I love seeing everyone living life the way they intend. I just choose to give mine towards my two priorities that I chose to bring into this world without their asking, as my first need. And I’m not saying that I’m neglecting mine. I’m just not using my own needs the same as the world as a collective might.

ANd thats where I wonder “ uhg sarah, why are you just not nomal ? WHy dont u just make youself fit in “ , and why are yall bullying me ! jk lol Rude. lol

STay Derpy ;p LOL

-Sarah Slurpie

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snickerdoodlles · 9 months ago

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25, 42, and 75 for the writer asks? :)

:D! ❤❤

25. What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)?

crying in friend DMs where the story exists without me having to write it 😂

real answer tho, it's kinda hard for me to distinguish the different stages? all of them are very intermingled-- research or worldbuilding only happens via questions for me, which will happen when i watch a show, talk to friends, hit a bump or hole in the story, etc (...aka, i'm always doing these lol, i'm never not making worlds in my head or trying to learn more about the one i live in). usually when i write, i often start in a notebook or notes app, then either type or retype it into google docs, so a lot of my digital files are already the second draft.

if i absolutely had to pin one favorite part of the writing process, it's probably that second draft stage of the story-- the really bad mess of words is already out of me for me to shape/trim/edit/whatever into a proper story, and that's when it really comes alive for me ❤

42. What’s your favorite title that you’ve come up with?

none of them, im still traumatized from having to come up with them in the first place

i'm really struggling to pick, so i'm just gonna cheat lol. i really like when a series has a really good theme around the title names. it's what really ties stuff together for me. like, i know the titles i have for idiots & idioms series are all a little ridiculous and it kinda happened on a whim, but i like how each title ties into its story and idiom based titles just fits really well to me for a slice-of-life series. and for similar reasons, i'm still pleased as punch over how well Hair-Trigger fits into the title theme for tortoise's checkmate series but also spins off Trigger Creep specifically.

also! big fan of titles that are short with multiple meanings/implications that fit with the story in those ways-- described that badly, but titles like Pitch It (camping, pitching ideas, pitching plans) or Sucker (sucker of the joke, hickies). they are always clever to me and i like feeling clever XD

75. Is there a particular fic that readers gravitated towards that you didn’t expect?

hmm!!!! on a level, all of them, i never know what's gonna hit for others. but probably Only Real is Real was the most surprising. it was just a brainworm i couldn't get out of my head and i'd only written the first chapter of it because i didn't think anyone else was going to read it much less want more jhngjghjg.

fic writing asks for more rambles :D

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chaandkeeroshni · 3 years ago

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day 1 of reconciliation

im starting this in a wonderful way actually; went for a walk across Yonge street, kind of high, on my own. have taken walks with friends on these streets for the last couple of days, but this last walk of the vacation was on my own. went inside this pink themed unicorn beauty products shop on whim, tried bubble tea on whim, shopped a gift for a friend. and i was intimately spending time with myself after very very long, almost like the day literally and symbolically reached climax as I was as intimate as it gets with myself, thinking about everything I in vibrant ways in the bath tub, maybe because I was becoming more and more stoned by the moment.

i want to reconcile with myself, and I already am. and it’s been hard. out of all people in the world, it feels the hardest to forgive my own damn self for any mistakes I may or may not have made, to acknowledge my own pain behind any thunder, to acknowledge that certain spaces and people are damaging to me emotionally and spiritually. sometimes I feel like I’m really really bad at acknowledging my own pain. acknowledging that situations are bad for me. i only know how to push myself to try again and compromise again because in my head no reason seems good or bad enough to step away. other people’s pain seems really really big and I let guilt engulf me into shred so easily, sometimes I feel I let my sense of self shatter right in front my eyes down in my feet. and then i have to rebuild it from scratch. it’s like i give myself so much hate for such a long time that existing in my own being feels like torture, each bone cripples in anxiety and panic of just being alive. this is what being with him has done to me. not him. but being with him. Sufism says pessimism is spiritual sickness. it’s an illness. pessimism darkens up your life and you just can’t see the light in anything because you’re spiritually ill. and that’s how he was, and how could have I ever, ever thought, I’m in the position for spiritual temaardari. Bemaar ko sirf pyaar nahi balkay temaardari ki zaroorat hai. and i stand at a stage of my spiritual journey where I don’t even know how to extend that temaardari to my own self let alone him. I’ve wandered and come back, and now what I’m back, I’m barely standing still. How do I help someone who’s fully fully lost.

all i know is i let my own being become like a hell to me for quite a while. initially, i was having to reconcile with myself which felt like torture because the phases of guilt and denial weren’t over yet. now that i almost stand at reconciliation, I want to reconcile. i want to fully spiritually take myself in my own embrace and make peace with who I am, and what I’ve done and the purity of intention from here on.

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bonesandthebees · 3 years ago

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Maybe a little silly but I hope the other anons could also share their favourite sentence they've read so far that's written by Bones? One that stuck with you from any fic she's written so far?

For me it has to be the line "Bright green eyes that were fixed on the stars, not seeing any of them" from The World Forgetting By The World Forgot. It's maybe not the most complex or so sentence, but the poetic feeling in the moment as I read that scene, my god, shivers. How pretty it was all said, to confirm what just happened with such a statement? Gorgeous. Mwah, chef's kiss.

I could legitimately keep going about World Forgetting as it's one of the best fics I've read so far, the way it handles trauma, family issues, trust, self identity, so many deepgoing emotions.. amazing. Clinic walked so Forgetting could run, in my eyes. Both are fantastic pieces of literature, but if you haven't read World Forgetting yet, you should!

Anyways I'll get out of your inbox now Bones, though maybe you could share your favourite sentence or expression/paragraph/bit you've written so far and why?

See you around! Will be getting to Nocturnal Animals this weekend :)

-🚀

lkdsjf rocket... you are too sweet shut up. but thank you i was so proud of that line about the eyes and the stars, really thought it just hammered home that despite how fucked up he was, dream was still human. tommy had killed a person, even if he was a terrible one, and that scene was a tragedy no matter how you looked at it

your commentary on world forgetting seriously gave me so much happiness, im so glad you enjoyed it so much. there are definitely pieces of it i feel i could've done better with, but overall i'm very proud of the story i was able to tell <3

hmm that's so hard bc i've written quite a bit so it's hard to think of a line/expression i've come up with off the top of my head, but i have a few in mind that i really liked

I really loved this line from the stars and their children because every time i read it, I can hear the whoosh of a knife sliding across a sharpener. I just thought it was a really creative way to describe a smile sharpening and was proud of myself for it

ngl I have no idea how I came up with "sadness and confusion taking center stage in the lines of Wilbur's forehead and the downturned corners of Tommy's lips" but every time I remember that I'm like goddamn I really wrote that? such a cool way to describe expressions, also very proud of myself for that

in under the brine i was so proud of the entire use of the dirt metaphor for wilbur lying, but i think this line is really the best part of it—when the metaphor is first introduced. dirt is a running metaphor mentioned through all of under the brine, and this was one of my first forays into using a continuous metaphor throughout an entire piece. really loved the vibe it gave off and how it connected with the overarching narrative, but this part especially i'm very proud of

and last one but rotting fruit is probably one of my best written pieces ever, which is funny to me since i wrote it entirely on a whim one day when i was procrastinating studying for a final. I just had such specific vibes in mind when I wrote it, and using rotting fruit as a metaphor for codependency was something I had a lot of fun playing around with. this part highlights my favorite parts of the metaphor, especially with the last line asking if this was what love was. the entirety of rotting fruit has such specific vibes and atmosphere that i'm extremely proud of, but again i have no clue where it came from i just went off one afternoon lmao

#ask #rocket anon #bones writes

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jemwritesstuff · 4 years ago

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Jeffrey "Jeff" Johansen x reader

this was supposed to be "i broke your nose at a moshpit" AU but this mixed with a dream i had so i had to edit it cause it seemed to fit so much better lol also can you tell im missing live music? cant wait to get stabbed in the arm. anyway for once im mostly on time, i hope you’ll enjoy this <3

cw: no social distancing, swearing, blood mention

word count: 1 333

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For whatever reason, you had already lost your friends in the crowd and the band had barely started playing. Since you had pushed your way to the front through literal blood, sweat and tears, you were definitely not going to give that up just to find them. They’d have to survive without you now.

The band was one you had just recently started listening to. When you learned it was also playing the festival with some other bands you and your friends listened to, you knew you had to get there. Nothing beats live music anyway - the bands contact with the crowd, the rhythm thumping in your chest, the feral feeling of just existing freely, easily beat the ringing in your ears for hours afterwards and the drunken idiots. Regardless, it was a metal festival; if there’s one festival you don’t have to worry about getting assaulted, it’s gonna be a metal festival. You remember one time when your female friend was getting felt up in the crowd, she barely had time to react when another guy from the crowd - possibly the meanest looking motherfucker there - had already struck him in the ear and thrown him over the railing straight in the arms of a bouncer. He even made sure that she wasn’t too shaken up and asked to walk her to her car after the gig was over.

You’d be fine.

Just when the crowd was getting a little bit too impatient, the band stepped on stage. The cheering was deafening, yet you couldn’t help but shout along. The whole performance was magical. The low sounds of bass you could feel deep in your bones, the squeaking of a guitar up-close, even the drum solo that shook the entire area. Hell, you barely felt heat from the pyrotechnics that were situated right in front of you. The crowd was under a spell and you with it; screaming and shouting the lyrics, cheering after every song, headbanging in sync with the members. You knew the moshpit was close - someone had lifted a short girl out of the way next to you. The ground was trembling from strain, you from excitement.

The few hours went by in a whim. It had barely been a moment when you were wondering where you'd lost your friends. The singer of the band was thanking the crowd for being amazing. You cheered again. You'd find your friends later, nevermind the fact that your phone had run out of battery.

The crowd started humming the melody of one of the bands biggest hits that hadn't been played yet. The band was halfway off the stage when one the drummer rushed back to his place. The rest of the band couldn't resist either and the hungry crowd got one more song.

"I've got one more thing for y'all!" The singer exclaimed, still huffing from screaming for the duration of the song.

"To celebrate the upcoming album, we ordered a bunch of custom guitar picks. We thought that 'okay, maybe like 10 will be enough', because we all know I always misplace my stuff. And it would've been if Tommy here" - they all pointed at poor Tommy, who just sheepishly laughed - "hadn't accidentally put too many zeros in the order. So now we've got a thousand picks with the unofficial album art that's just Riley throwing up in the tour bus." Laughter echoed throughout the area.

"Coincidentally, we got the picks in sacks right there next to the stage and we might as well give them to you as a little thank you!"

It wasn't raining men, but the sentiment was still there. You were at the front so you had a good chance at grabbing something off the air but it wasn't easy. With so many people after the same thing, pushing at you from the back it was a handful to just keep upright and not get trampled in the ground.

You're not sure how exactly it happened; you just knew that when you were reaching up, the guy behind you did so too, and you ended up knocking him right in the nose.

He shouted a curse and you whipped your head around to see a tall man, rocking an admirably long and dark beard with hair to match, holding a hand under his nose.

"Oh fuck, I'm so sorry!" You frantically yelled. "Shit, I'm so sorry, here-" You offered him a tissue from your pocket which he gladly took.

"Ah, it's fine, don't worry about it." He chuckled. You noticed how the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, even if he was a little pained. "It's just a little nosebleed."

"No, that's definitely a big nosebleed." You deadpanned, seeing your tissue already get colored crimson.

He laughed heartily again. "It's fine. You've got a good punch on you, wouldn't wanna get on your bad side." He complimented? You'd rather take it as a compliment anyway.

"That's gonna need more than one tissue. Shit, I'm so sorry- the least I can do is take you to the medical tent."

"Ah, I wouldn't wanna take up your time like that. I think I can find it myself, now that the crowd's dispersed a little too." He smiled and turned the last clean side of the tissue.

"I'm the reason you're in this shit and I don't wanna get haunted by my nana again, so you are coming with me." You frowned and started making your way towards the tent you had visited earlier when one of your friends had almost fainted.

He did follow you. Whether to humour you or not, you never found out. You were glad he did, though, your nana would've surely hit you over the head with the wooden spoon again if you'd have left him in distress like that.

The nurse at the tent was much more efficient at suppressing the bleeding. You'd stuck there just to get some peace of mind that the man would be okay, spewing apologies every few sentences which he always waved off.

He was given the okay to leave soon and just in time, since you could hear the next band start playing some distance away.

"I really am sorry." You started, not daring to raise your eyes to meet his. "My brain got overridden by corvid syndrome, I didn't think to pay attention to the people around me."

"Don't worry about it. I mean, it certainly wasn't the first time I've gotten punched at a festival. I'll be fine, anyway." He laughed. The warmth of his voice hardly left space for doubting.

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do to pay you back? Sorry, again." You asked again and nervously fiddled with the sleeves of your jacket.

"Well, there's one thing but that's only if you're absolutely sure about it." He offered. You raised you gaze at him and noticed the shy smile he was sporting.

"And what's that?"

"You could let me take you on a date tomorrow."

Admittedly, it wasn't what you were expecting. The tall, hairy man was rugged but definitely handsome too. Even if you didn't think that, his smile for sure was one of the Earth's wonders.

You agreed with a bright smile and introduced yourself. His name was Jeffrey, but he told you to just call him Jeff. You'd given him your phone number when you realized that your phone was out of battery. Thankfully, you had a pocket full of guitar picks and a pen, so you did get his number too.

He refused when you offered to give him a part of your hoard, so of course the only logical course of action was to hug him and discreetly drop a few in the pocket of his leather jacket.

You knew you'd get a stern talking to from your friends when you'd finally find them but it all seemed worth it when you looked over your shoulder to see Jeff smiling and waving at you.

#jems content #dbd x reader #dead by daylight x reader #jeff johansen #jeff johansen x reader #gn reader #oof i cant remember any tags ive used before #anyway its here and it is still sunday where i live so i wasnt lying about keeping to my schedule lmao #anyway thanks again yall i hope youll enjoy this :)#dbd #dead by daylight

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toukenramblings · 4 years ago

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Video Games: Mutsunokami Yoshiyuki, Aizen Kunitoshi, Atsushi Toushirou

Oh ho, a fun lil headcanon set like this is so funnnn~!

Warnings: Not much I suppose?

Mutsunokami Yoshiyuki

Sweet MuMu adores video games where we can travel the world. Fantasy world, modern world, past, present, future, he don’t care! An open world game will suit him best! There’s so much to do, and like a lil puppy, MuMu want’s to explore it all!

Extra bonus points if there’s a part of the game where there is something to do with the ocean. He adores the sea after all! Boats, driving them, exploring the ocean, exploring the unknown, oh this TouDan will drink that shit up.

The games that come to mind are Assassin’s Creed: III, Black Flag, Syndicate, Origins, Odyssey, and Valhalla. Why? Most of them deal with exploring new lands and some of them deal with piloting ships! III, Black Flag, Odyssey, Origins, Valhalla to be more specific. Syndicate has guns and classy fashion. A little too much for Mutsunokami but he loves playing with the guns in the game - they are very similar in make to his own after all. he also rly likes the sea shanties in odyssey because i rly like them too

If Mutsunokami wants to relax and not play Assassin’s Creed where he goes around stabbing everything that moves, he will play Subnautica or Abzu or Journey to relax. Maybe even Animal Crossing! He loves the cute little animals but I personally think that games where he can just explore the world and meet new people and learn lore just make him happy the most.

Games MuMu would never play are horror games or anything with spiders in them. So Bayonetta and Devil May Cry are out. He loves the idea of gun-toting protagonists but nope, nope. Spiders? Bye fam.

Now that I think about it, he would just be Blathers. He can play Animal Crossing but Gods help him the minute he sees a spider in that damn game. “I THOUGHT THIS WAS A PEACEFUL GAME, WHY ARE THE SPIDERS TRYING TO KILL YOU” cue controller thrown at the television.

Oh MuMu adores party games! Can’t play Smash Bros or Mario Kart for shit. Watch him pay too much attention to the background and yeet himself off of the stage because he saw something shiny. He can kinda play though, but again he gets distracted the most. Buuut ask him to play Mario Party with the rest of the swords and damn right he will play!

Can and will make video games turn into a drinking game. MuMu adores competitive gaming with the rest of the citadel. Will start taking bets on who is gonna win and lose, and sure he may be a pouty loser but he’ll be fiine. But damn right he’ll yeet a tantou to ensure his win. No he won’t he’s not that cruel.

Mutsunokami also adores rhythm games! Taiko no Tatsujin because of Don-chan and the idea of playing with a lil taiko drum as a controller. He’s very much into music after all. There are times when he stops playing a game to just listen to the music and take it all in!

A guilty pleasure game he plays is probably Ghost of Tsushima. No he’s not checking out Jin’s ass whenever they go to a hot spring, what are you talking about? MuMu enjoys it because sometimes just going back to your roots and stabbing a ho is just what you need. dear khotun khan, eat shit

Aizen Kunitoshi

Aizen is also super big on rhythm games. As said above with Mutsunokami, Taiko no Tatsujin will be a favorite of his. He has a secret collection of Don-chan merch, no one is stopping him damn it. Just fucking tRY and take away his precious Don-chan(s). The only ones that can touch his prized collection are the rest of the Rai swords, other peeps he is close to, and maybe you if you two are close/you ask nicely. Get him some Don-chan pajamas and he’ll cry.

Aizen is also pretty good at fighting games, Street Fighter coming to mind because he adores over the top bullshit and the colors! The colors! He mains Ryu though, but he’s more than willing to try new characters!

He’s also pretty competitive at times, so he would adore playing fighting games with the rest of the swords at the citadel. Hotarumaru and he are always playing Smash Bros or Mario Kart, which ends up with a lot of broken controllers. Hotaru has been slightly banned from planning highly competitive gameplay though.

Other games that I know Aizen will be into will be Animal Crossing when he wants to relax. He loves the little yearly festivals and events in the games and it kinda mirrors how life works in the world. Of course he adores Digby and Isabelle, and has threatened Tom Nook with Hotarumaru before. “Don’t you cheat me you stupid tanuki, don’t make me get my brother in here.”

Games that Aizen cannot play are puzzle games. He doesn’t mind them, he just finds them really boring. He watches Akashi play them sometimes but even then, Akashi will conk the hell out. If you play them and have Aizen on your lap watching, Aizen will be amazed at how you are so good at them!

Aizen cannot deal with horror games or sad emotional games. He’s pretty emotional himself and will need a lot of hugs after. He will refuse to play Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons as they remind him of Hotarumaru and himself a lil too much. Horror games is because he’s too scared to. Hotarumaru doesn’t mind them, he likes playing them while Aizen and Akashi cling on to each other and scream in terror.

Aizen also loves games that not only have great music but the visuals and colors just catch his eye. Katamari Damacy comes to mind and he loves the main character a lot. The music! The colors! Ohh man its the best.

A guilty pleasure game he would love is the monster catching genre, Pokemon is an idea but he also loves Yokai Watch. Yokai Watch feels a lil more closer to home, plus Yokai Watch had a crossover with Taiko no Tatsujin! He immediately wasted no time and effort to try and recruit Don-chan. iM STILL TRYING TO GET DON-CHAN ON MY TEAM U LIL SHIt but also im rly biased towards yokai watch and digimon

This lil guy will also love collecting plushies of any characters of the games he plays! Don-chan is his first choice of course but catch him and Hotarumaru in a little cuddle puddle with 70 other plushies from various games!

Most of all, Aizen loves games where he can play with others! Friends, family, you! It doesn’t matter to him! He’ll drag you from your office to relax and just cheer anyone up with something fun! “Come play with me! You promised after all, master! I’ve found a rEALLY cool and fun game to play together with Hotaru!” bless him he’s trying his best

Atsushi Toushirou

Like Aizen, Atsushi will mostly enjoy multiplayer games because of his multitudes of brothers, younger and older. He’ll pick out games like Mario Party, Mario Kart, classics for sure. But then there’s games like Wario Ware or Smash Bros. He wants to play games with as many people as possible! He loves it when he can play with you and his brothers!

If Atsushi wants to play something more solo, he will play something along the lines of Cooking Mama. Houchou got him addicted to it gee i wonder why Houchou loves the game so much but Atsushi just loves the dishes that he can prepare and it almost feels like he can cook! He once tried to follow exactly what Cooking Mama did in the game for cooking once uh...it did not end up. But none the less, he loves the colors and the music of Cooking Mama!

He is also a big ol fan of life simulation games, Animal Crossing being his favorite. Again he and his siblings can all play together and the calm atmosphere almost lulls him to a peaceful sort of sleep that he adores the most. He loves the relaxing vibe and sometimes wishes to live there, wherever the hell these guys live.

Next to Yagen, I think Atsushi will lowkey adore horror games. Yagen does it just to get a rise out of the rest of his siblings and Atsushi is kind of the same. Sure Yagen finds the most gorey and atmospheric based horror to scare the crap outta his siblings, Atsushi will probably play the more jumpscare based horror games just to get a scare outta them too! What good is a horror game if you’re not scared as well??? Damn right he’ll wait until it’s night time to play these games!

Atsushi also does love RPG games! Star Ocean, Final Fantasy, Legend of Zelda, come to mind first. He just loves going on big adventures! Exploring new worlds, meeting new people, learning new things! Bonus points if the game has a really emotional story, catch him and his brothers crying about whatever happens on screen.

Atsushi has a secret fondness for rather childish games. Pokemon, Yokai Watch, so on and so forth. YEs he’s trying his best to be mature and stuff, supporting you his saniwa and all, but sometimes he just wants to be himself and have fun! He has a few mascot plushies from his brothers too, shhh.

Atsushi is also terrifyingly amazing at turn-based strategy games. Mario + Rabbids being a favorite because of the colors and overall fun atmosphere. Fire Emblem is a close second. He knows exactly how to keep his units and characters alive, what upgrades to give them, so on and so forth. “General! Come look at what I did in my game! Wouldn’t it be cool if we could also do something like this?!” he says that as Rabbid Luigi yeets himself off of normal Mario and soars through the air like a bird, landing gracefully without hurting himself. Atsushi no.

He’s the most likely of the TouDans to get into the indie gaming scene, looking at new and upcoming content creators to see what they make! He wants to support them as much as he can!

He’s also one of the more responsible of the TouDans in terms of games. Others will start buying them on a whim but Atsu knows there’s a budget to be had! He isn’t as money crunching as Hakata or anything but he knows his damn limits!

Another game genre he’s secretly into are visual novels. He loves the budding relationships between characters, romantic or not, he loves seeing where they end up! It’s like he’s growing with them!

#touken ranbu #touken danshi #touken ranbu x reader #touken ranbu imagine #tkrb #tkrb x reader #tkrb imagine #mutsunokami yoshiyuki #mutsunokami yoshiyuki x reader #mutsunokami yoshiyuki imagine #my writing #aizen kunitoshi #aizen kunitoshi x reader #aizen kunitoshi imagine #atsushi toushirou #atsushi toushirou x reader #atsushi toushirou imagine #https://toukenramblings.tumblr.com/tagged/Chaotic%20Citadel%20Correspondences #Chaotic Citadel Correspondences

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hiirunakaarchive · 4 years ago

Text

– to act in haste (pt. 4)

↳ preview

Dr. Sakurai, between acknowledging her company and putting on a smile for the press, let her eyes flit away momentarily from whoever it was she was shaking hands with at that moment. Her lips were pursed in a tight smile in an attempt to keep herself collected amongst the overwhelming attention, and her eyes wandered outside of her immediate surroundings.

And he recognized it. The moment her face fell and her smile faded, he realized that Haruna’s eyes had already met his.

Her lips parted slightly and then back shut at the sight of him, as if to stop herself just before reacquainting with the feel of Dr. Ramsey’s name on her tongue.

“Ethan...?”

↳ (pt 1), (pt 2), (pt 3)

◇ pairing: ethan ramsey x mc (haruna sakurai)

◇ genre: angst, a lot of yearning, maybe a little break in between :/

◇ word count: 3.3k+

◇ tags: @aworldoffandoms, @perriewinklenerdie, @jooous, @senseofduties, @moteestro, @haesselnut, @princessfuzzy12,

◇ author’s note: to the very limited audience who actually enjoy this fic: thank u for ur patience!! this chapter was so mf hard to write and FOR WHAT. after a couple months of sitting on google docs at 4am trying to update this fic instead of doing my schoolwork like i was supposed to, it turns out this chapter is not the finale at all🤡 ive considered incorporating smut into this since those seem to get notes but that’s one of my literary shortcomings so im gonna refrain and save face✨ feedback appreciated, yall know the drill xoxoxo luv u guys

chapter four

Diamonds. Oh, how that woman loved diamonds.

Carbon atoms arranged in a tetrahedral structure. The hardest natural substance on Earth. Yet another natural phenomenon upon which mankind had imposed their shallow, materialistic beliefs.

But he bought one anyway; kept that damn two carat, marquise cut ring in the bottom drawer of his bedside table for five years. The velvet box sat in the dark that entire time, unworn and collecting dust, thus Dr. Ramsey couldn’t help but wonder if it was still suitable for the hospital heiress it was intended for.

“Dr. Sakurai will be present as the keynote speaker.”

Harper regarded Ethan carefully when she said it, far too aware of his and the younger doctor’s history. Ethan met her pensiveness with a simple nod of his head.

“I see. She’s made quite a name for herself.”

“You’re taking this surprisingly well.” Dr. Emery observed, raising a brow, “I was expecting a bit of protest in attending, but you seem fine.”

But Dr. Ethan Ramsey was not, in fact, fine.

“Have you seen her?” Harper continued,

“Aurora ran into her in Manila, doing some philanthropy it seems. She looks different, might be the afterglow of success. Might be that boyfriend she brought along too.”

That what?

It didn’t necessarily come as a surprise, but he still stopped listening. He’d tuned Harper out, something about the boy being on Haruna’s research team in Japan, a prodigy that interned at the WHO when he was only fourteen; Harper said they were a good match, but Dr. Ramsey, as a final form of consolation, hoped he’d heard her wrong.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, because Dr. Ethan Ramsey was far too old and far too calculated to rely on something as subjective as a “marriage pact”. Blurted on a whim, didn’t keep in touch, hell, he wasn’t even sure if he still remembered her face. That shallow promise they made five years ago came with too many uncertainties, and far be it from him to be bitter over her newfound happiness.

So his silence spoke for him, living a life of 52 seconds before Harper noticed he’d gone quiet. He earned a glance from his colleague, Dr. Emery trailing off and sparing him a thoughtful look. Her gaze softened in realization, and she bit her lip regretfully.

“Oh, Ethan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you still-”

“I don’t.” He snapped.

Bullshit.

He released a long, drawn out breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, collecting himself. But the damage had been done, and nothing he could say would wipe the suspicion off Harper’s face. The rueful shake of her head and the sympathetic pat of his arm told him all he needed to know.

“I mean it.” Ethan said, the excessive sternness of his tone taking away the credibility of his statement.

“Dr. Sakurai is…”

A pause.

“She’s nothing to me.”

–––––

And he was so damn wrong.

Ethan and June boarded a flight to Kyoto two days later, and for the entire duration until the conference, Dr. Ramsey was concerned at his own indifference.

Concerned, but desperate to believe it.

He wasn’t sure what to expect out of seeing her again, but some sick part of him wanted to have fallen out of love with her. Then that meant he wouldn’t have to care at the blatant reminder that she was with someone else. He wouldn’t have to admit that she was probably better off with someone that wasn’t him. Most of all, he wouldn’t have to pretend that the idea of them never getting a second chance didn’t absolutely shatter him.

But it wasn’t that easy. It was never that easy.

Because there he was, standing on the outer circle of a ring of reporters and conference guests that demanded the young doctor’s attention. Like the crowd, Ethan was completely and wholly entranced by her and it was in the moment that he realized–

Haruna Sakurai still meant everything to him.

Her hair had been cut short, its length reaching her chin and dyed a shade alike to walnuts. She wore glasses now and on the bridge of her nose rested thin circular frames that accentuated her ovular face, Haruna’s features fixed in a permanent smize as she charmed the crowd with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The woman trickled in ivory and quartz from head to toe, and Ethan’s breath caught in his throat at the memory of how much he loved her.

How much he still loves her.

And he recognized it. The moment her face fell and her smile faded, he realized that Haruna’s eyes had already met his.

Her lips parted slightly and then back shut at the sight of him, as if to stop herself just before reacquainting with the feel of Dr. Ramsey’s name on her tongue.

“Ethan...?”

She looked at him like he was some figment of her imagination, breathing his name like saying it was an anchor to keep the man from disappearing. Dr. Ramsey could almost feel himself unravel if not for the deadwood that entered the scene.

Satoshi Date.

The boyfriend.

God, her fucking boyfriend.

He was stuck to her like glue, a hand protectively encased around her shoulder as Haruna caught herself and resumed in indulging the crowd. She smiled proudly and crossed her arms, everything but her wrists and beautifully manicured hands hiding underneath the cape of her white pantsuit. Her male company, just as charismatic and smartly dressed, entertained the representatives of Big Pharma.

From what Ethan could see, Date was young. Bright. Approachable with an award-winning smile that was almost too friendly for his liking. Together, the doctor and scientist looked invincible and Ethan found himself for admitting that they actually complimented each other.

“What a tool.” He couldn’t help but scoff. “...Spit it out, Hirata.”

Beside him, June’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. She brought a hand up to her mouth and turned away, responding between giggles she tried to suppress. Ethan rolled his eyes.

“I apologize, it’s nothing. It’s nothing. Don’t let it bother you, you and Sakurai were always the better- pft.”

Dr. Hirata failed to contain herself and released a snort, shaking her head as she walked away to scout for their seats in the lecture hall. Ethan’s irritant gaze followed her retreating form and his chest bubbled with annoyance as he remained clueless towards the reason behind his colleague’s laughter.

He looked over his shoulder one more time to where Haruna and Satoshi stood, close as ever, and the jealousy weaved knots in Dr. Ramsey’s stomach to the point that he settled in looking for his assigned seat instead. Ethan glanced at his watch; fifteen minutes before the official start of the conference, and from his peripheral vision he could see Haruna beginning to make her way backstage to prepare for her speech.

Finding his spot beside Dr. Hirata, Ethan looked up to the stage, sat in the very front row and directly in front of the podium.

Fuck.

The lights finally began to dim at ten o’clock, and Dr. Sakurai, clad in white, appeared on stage.

The woman’s presence commanded the attention of the room as she made her way to the centre in a powerful stride. The anticipant stillness of the crowd broke and Haruna’s entrance was greeted with a light smattering of applause as she enveloped the audience in warm welcome and a dazzling smile. Ethan watched her with bated breath, wondering when she had become this beautiful.

“It warms my heart to see so many familiar faces.” She began.

Her kind eyes scanned the audience and Dr. Sakurai’s gaze fell momentarily on Dr. Ramsey, conflicted, before getting to the punchline of the joke.

“Forgive me when I say I wasn’t expecting so many of you to still have a full head of hair the next time we met.”

–––––

The next 45 minutes passed that way, with Haruna completely and wholly engaging the crowd as she shared knowledge and humour, establishing a pleasant tone for the remainder of the conference. Ethan could sense the nearing end of her speech as Haruna began to smoothly transition from the central theme to her concluding words.

“A very important person to me once said that as doctors, all we do is delay the inevitable-”

Ethan leaned back in his seat, arms crossed and with a valiant effort, careful not to let his emotions betray the nonchalance in his face. The reminder of that lesson he taught her so long ago revived something in the older doctor that he thought had died when Sakurai left for Japan.

Then he remembered her obsidian hair dipped in red. Her long delicate fingers that he held in his when they first met, steadying the tremor before saving a life. He remembered her downcast eyes when he reprimanded her over a patient, and the embarrassment in her voice when she admitted to crying in the storage room.

Now here she stood, six years later. Confident. Unshaken. A poetic opposite of the young intern he once knew.

“—to healthcare professionals,” The sound of Haruna’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “one word immediately comes to mind when discussing the inevitable.” She said the words with air quotes.

“Death. Mortality. Demise. I always found it ironic how we, doctors who so value life, were the very crowd who imposed such negative connotations on the word.”

“We follow the paved path of the Inevitable because it’s the only one we know. It provides a definitive answer. But inevitably, we grow tired of this tedious destination. We inevitably seek more, strive for more and thus deviate from that paved path and become drawn to the unexplored dirt road; you find that it leads to so much more. My research team has offered me invaluable guidance on this road to the unknown, which is why I’m proud to officially announce that the Sakurai Medical Centre has discovered a cure for multiple sclerosis.”

And a stunned silence instilled itself into the audience.

Ethan stared at her in silent disbelief. Hirata’s jaw hung open before she threw her head back in proud laughter and clapped. Suddenly, a frenzy ensued with the commotion of the crowd, the entire room suddenly engulfed in cameras and flashing lights and the vocal disbelief of the fellow doctors around them. Haruna held up a hand and the guests, still buzzing with excitement, toned down to audible murmurs.

“I will answer any questions anyone might have about this medical feat throughout the day, but as I conclude this speech I’d like you all to do one thing–”

“Question yourself. Question the world. Challenge the things thought to be set in stone, and when all is said and done, ask yourself-”

Haruna looked meaningfully at the hundreds of people seated in front of her, a sharp tension emanating in the room as her cat-like gaze scrutinized the crowd. Her eyes finally fell on Dr. Ramsey, and the hold of her stare made it clear that this was no accident. She directed her query at her former lover and in a voice dripping with purpose demanded an answer.

“Is the inevitable really as dreadful as we might think?”

And he could do nothing but applaud.

–––––

The continuous ticking of the clock in Ethan’s hotel room was the only sound that intercepted a dead silence. Alone yet with his thoughts, he packed his luggage in preparation for his flight the next morning, pondering his weekend in Japan.

They met at the evening reception. Purely coincidence. She stood alone at an accent table, her back to him with a flute of rosé, and he approached her in an honest mistake.

“June.” Ethan sighed exasperatedly. “It wouldn’t have killed you to wait two minutes instead of making me scout you out in this crowded room for your damn blue dress-“

“Hey, I happen to like this damn blue dress.”

Then he found himself met with pearls and a gown of charmeuse silk. She came to him in the shade of blue orchids, her gown pooling at the floor like a blossom at its prime and Dr. Ramsey remembered just how perfect she’d always been.

They spoke. Briefly. Awkwardly. Watching their words like untested waters though the two were the furthest thing from strangers.

“Hi.”

Was what she said.

“...Hi.”

Was how he responded.

Then he couldn’t look at her. She was within arms reach, too easy to pull towards him and trap against his chest. Too easy to blurt out something he’d regret with her just close enough to hear it. Too easy to meet her eyes and remember that she was with someone else.

So he brushed past her, putting as much distance between himself and Dr. Sakurai before he lost himself. Before the crushing weight on Ethan’s chest pressed on until the words piggy-backed the next breath he released.

I still love you.

And he should have let it, because he hasn’t seen her since.

Zipping up his luggage and setting it upright, the sudden sound of Ethan’s default ringtone reverberating through the room made him jolt. He snatched his phone off the bedside table, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, only to relax as he saw Naveen’s name flash across the screen for a FaceTime call.

“You have work.” Ethan observed, unimpressed upon recognition of Naveen’s office from the background.

“Which starts in an hour, I’m simply early! Speaking of work, administration wants you to bring back souvenirs.”

“By administration, you mean yourself.”

“Humor me a little. Dr. Tanaka tells me they have exclusive KitKat flavours and I’m absolutely beside myself with curiosity. Pick up a pack or two, your retirement gift to me.”

Ethan sighed in surrender.

“...What flavour do you want.”

“Dr. Tanaka recommends Hokkaido melon with mascarpone cheese, but I also recall June mentioning sakura matcha latte. I’ll leave it up to you.”

“What? You can’t possibly expect me to find such arbritary— hello?”

So fate let him out onto the Kyoto streets, into a grocery store, towards the snack aisle and right in Haruna Sakurai’s line of fire. She was on her way to the cash, he was still searching for those fucking KitKats, and they lightly bumped shoulders before meeting each other’s eyes for a polite apology.

“Ah, I’m sorry-“

“My apologies-“

And they both froze.

At first, they refused to acknowledge the familiarity in each other’s voice. She spoke in Japanese, but he recognized her assertive tone. Firm but pleasant, like running your hands across a velvet seat. She had a unique accent given her history of travel, and Ethan remembered how much he used to love hearing her talk.

It was the English for her. They weren’t too far off from the hotel where the conference was held, so Haruna immediately deduced that the stranger was one of the guests. But she knew Dr. Ramsey’s voice. All too well. His words uttered in low timbre, deep and rich like fertile soil that only further nurtured her adoration for him. The articulate nature of his speech that would substantiate the validity of his advice. Intimidating delivery of his words that grabbed her attention in fistfuls. It wasn’t until Haruna had her own intern that she became aware of how much she had begun to sound like him, and it was then that she realized she loved hearing him talk too.

“Dr. Ramsey.” Haruna didn’t bother to mask the surprise in her voice. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

The collectedness in Dr. Sakurai’s voice almost irked him. She looked nothing short of amicable, pretending like Saturday evening never happened where he fled from her after a one-word exchange. And her nonchalance, amidst Ethan’s struggle to find words, rapid heartbeat and sandpaper-dry throat, was only further confirmation that she moved on from their past.

“We’re on the same boat, Dr. Sakurai. I wasn’t expecting to be here but you know how Naveen is.” He struggled to maintain the apathy in his voice.

“Let me guess, KitKats?”

“Right on the nail. He’s looking for–”

Ethan stopped himself as Haruna turned to the shelf on her right, dragging a finger across the plastic wraps before swiftly plucking several packages out from under each other and tossing them into his basket. He peered into his bin of potential expenses and looked up at Dr. Sakurai as she tossed one more his way.

“Rook- Dr. Sakurai, Naveen is going to end up with diabetes.”

She retracted her hand from another pack and glanced at him once, then to his near-full basket in something alike to realization. Then she laughed. Like, really laughed. Her disciplined features melted into a toothy grin, replaced with something youthful. Something real. Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose to hide his own smile beginning to form.

“Oh, I’m sorry-” Haruna gathered herself as she breathed out a chuckle. “You know how much of a sweet tooth he has.”

She tilted her gaze up to meet Ethan’s eyes, an almost distant look brewing on her face until she caught herself and her smile faded.

“But it wasn’t all for him.”

Ethan raised a brow, and the female doctor’s attention flickered to the pack she last threw into his basket. He looked down, and his forehead creased with inexplicable conflict.

“That one’s for you. Didn’t you really used to like those back then?”

Yuzu flavoured KitKats. She used to love those, and he wondered if she still did. They were saved for special occasions and only shared with special people, but those “care packages” Haruna’s doting parents sent every once in a while from Japan never lasted. The original five that shared the penthouse used to come with snack sized versions, and Dr. Ramsey had to hide his in the drawer of his desk.

She would loiter in his office sometimes during her break, sitting across from her mentor as they passed the time talking.

“Snacking in my office? I’ve grown too lenient with you, Rookie.”

She popped a piece into her mouth and grinned with full cheeks.

“So you have.”

“Yeah… your influence– don’t get ahead of yourself.” He rolled his eyes good-naturedly as Haruna pressed a hand to her chest in faux flattery. He failed to suppress a smile and she returned her own, the awkwardness and the tension slowly alleviating between the two of them.

They grew silent, but it was a comfortable silence. The two doctors shifted on their feet, waiting for someone make the first statement, and Ethan racked his brain for words to say. What could he say?

“I meant to congratulate you,” He settled.

“These past five years have been good to you, Haruna. You’ve accomplished something great.”

Her smile widened at her ex-mentors praise.

“Thank you, I had an amazing team behind me.”

And as if on cue, the shrill marimba ringtone sounded in the air and made them both jump. Dr. Sakurai’s recognized it as hers and patted around her sweatpants, fishing her phone out of her pocket. Looking at Dr. Ramsey apologetically, she accepted the call and pressed her phone to her ear.

“Toshi?”

And the bitter reality settled back in. She turned her back to him, mumbling in rapid Japanese and Ethan breathed in deeply. Starting towards the cash register, he snuck past Haruna quietly, squeezing her shoulder in goodbye. A subtle alarm weaved itself into her features, and her gaze followed his back, unable to leave the call. Ethan rushed through the payment and took long strides out of the grocery store, pulling on the collar of his sweater as his throat began to constrict.

Get back to your damn hotel and finish packing your things. You’re going to get on that plane tomorrow morning, start work the day after and start forgetting about Haruna Sakurai.

He exhaled in a long breath. He could do this.

“Dr. Ramsey…?”

He could do this.

“Didn’t you really used to like those back then?”

He could do this.

“Is the inevitable really as dreadful as we might think?”

He couldn’t fucking do this.

Ethan slowed to a stop, and he cursed at himself. For developing feelings towards the one person he shouldn’t have fallen for. For being the root of the cause in this mess they entangled themselves in. For loving this woman so damn much that his own medical expertise couldn’t suffice in explaining the tight feeling in his chest whenever he missed her. Whenever he saw her.

Dr. Ramsey looked up to the sky, met with a streetlight hovering above his head and despite himself, he laughed.

He just couldn’t forget about Haruna Sakurai.

“Christ, I’m too old for this.”

And back towards the direction he came from, he began to run.

#choices #playchoices #open heart fanfiction #open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey fanfiction #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc

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firelord-frowny · 3 years ago

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honestly like!

i HATE!!!! the very CONCEPT of guns. and i’m theoretically SO fundamentally opposed to violence.

but that opposition is based on an idealist assumption that no one is doing anything that they need to be stopped from doing.

and there are obviously a fucking hell of a lot of people doing a fucking hell of a lot of vile shit, and no amount of ~peaceful protesting~ or litigating or campaigning or Reaching Across The Aisle is going to stop them, and it’s fucking RIDICULOUS that anyone at all thinks people should just wait patiently for The Powers That Be to spontaneously manifest a conscience and finally quit trying to maim and murder people For Funsies.

i would LOVE it we could just hug them into submission and invite them over for tea and chit chat and take their ugly ass hand and smile at them and show them that I’m Just A Normal Person Like You and have them finally decide to stop wanting me to die. and honestly, some people REALLY CAN be reached through those kinds of methods. and i don’t think people should stop trying to do that. and if anything, i think MORE people need to be trying to do that.

but i ALSO think that more people need to start punching some bigots in the fucking face.

if self proclaimed conservatives and right wingers and proud wimpy boys get to go around committing terroristic acts against other peoples, and if the politicians and ceos they stan for refuse to take any actions to stop them at best, and at worst go out of their way to FACILITATE the suffering of all but bigoted, well-off white people....

then we should get to punch them in the fucking face and not have anyone say WORD ONE about it.

they wanna be all big and bad and parade around threatening and committing violence against teachers and health care workers and black people and asian people and jewish people and indigenous people and women of all backgrounds, then they should be fucking tough enough to cope with a goddamn punch in the face every now and then. they should WELCOME every fist that ever collides with their flesh.

if they want a fucking fight, we should GIVE THEM A FIGHT! and make sure they fucking lose. make sure the pathetic little ~civil war~ they’re begging for is HUMILIATINGLY short. chase their fucking asses into the most barren, useless parts of the world where they can be vile all by themselves.

bc i SWEAR TO GOD, the only reason why these people have any power at all to impact anything or anyone is because people LET THEM. not because they’re soooo smart, or they’re soooo dangerous, or there are sooooo many of them. it’s STRICTLY because an enormous majority of bare-minimum-decent people care more about Taking The Moral High Ground than about actually doing what’s necessary to disable evil people from doing evil things.

This is a hella problematic way to put it, buuuut

black people know not to do or say certain things to a cop because we’ve been conditioned to fear the consequences of even the most benign ~infractions.~ We swallow our fucking pride and whip out those “yes sirs” and “no sirs” and we move slowly and we try to keep our hands visible at all costs because we’ve seen, over and over again, for DECADES (centuries, really) what those people might do to us if our hand isn’t totally visible for a fraction of a second. And sometimes it doesn’t even work. Sometimes we do everything in our power to demonstrate that there’s no need to hurt us, and we get murdered anyway.

WOULDN’T IT BE NICE if those wack ass bigots could learn to fear the consequences of being disgusting out loud and in public?

Imagine if, over the last several decades, malicious bigots were met with SWIFT physical consequences every time they did some fucked up shit.

do you think they’d be so bold now?

i don’t.

i think if they thought for one second that whoever they pull a gun on might pull one out back at them, then they would keep their fucking mouths shut and behave. i think if they LEGITIMATELY thought that they’re actual lives and their actual freedom were at stake, they wouldn’t say SHIT. Because they know that whether or not they have to wear a mask or get vaccinated or whateverthefuck has absolutely NO real impact on their place in the world. there is NO. WAY. that they would be all up in arms over something so fucking absurd if they thought anyone would actually try to hurt them in response.

they don’t think anyone is going to show up at their dumb lil protests with tear gas. they don’t think an angry BLM activist is going to shoot up their country club in retaliation against the oppressive policies they support. they don’t think anyone is going to stop them on the street and start screaming in their face and threaten to kill them. they don’t think they’re going to lose a damn fucking thing. they think they’re literally going to just waltz into some of the most secure buildings in the world and wreak havoc, and that NO ONE is going to do shit about it.

that’s the problem :) :) :) :) :) :)

the problem isn’t that these people exist. i mean, it fucking sucks that they exist and if they could somehow cease to exist, whether by alien abduction or some sort of freak simultaneous lightning strike or WHATEVER, i would be THRILLED. but just existing doesn’t hurt anyone. Having a stupid belief doesn’t automatically make someone dangerous. It just makes them a shitty person.

But to have a stupid belief and to feel SO ENTITLED to acting upon those beliefs???

those motherfuckers need to fear for their safety. those motherfuckers need to be SO PETRIFIED that they dig themselves underground and bury themselves alive and NEVER resurface.

i don’t understand how, at this point, with over half a million people DEAD because of the actions of these assholes, and with thousands of people CONTINUING to drop dead over it every day, the so-called “good guys” still don’t see fit to resort to drastic measures to render these people INCAPABLE of causing further harm.

so many people have died. not just in the time of covid, but decades before that. so many people are murdered in the name of carrying out the pettiest whims of the most wretched people on earth. People get injured. People get poisoned by their own water supply or the very air they breathe. People get sick because they’re forced to live under unhealthy circumstances, and then they DIE because they can’t afford treatment for the illnesses they developed because of the unhealthy circumstances that made them sick in the first place! Children starve. Global warming sets people on fire and drowns them and destroys homes and lives and landscapes.

literally, at WHAT point does it become acceptable to finally just declare war on these fucking demons? WHEN do we meet them where they’re at and start punching back instead of just curling up and trying to survive the attack?

i KNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW that there are groups out there who are taking direct action in some form or another. but CLEARLY it’s not enough.

and i ALSO know that there are MANY PEOPLE who have the actual skills and resources to stage a legitimate countereffort, and they’re just. not. doing it.

we’ve got all these vile-ass ~ex military~ types boasting about their arsenal and how they intend to use it to reign terror upon innocent people. these fuckfaces who are LITERALLY HOLDING PUBLIC OFFICE and saying Out Loud that they want to attack us. and their peers exalt them for it.

you CANNOT tell me that there are 0 ~ex military~ people who are sympathetic to the cause of resisting these malicious bigots. you CANNOT tell me that there aren’t people in public office who know that something MUST be done, and who have the POWER and ACCESS to do something - even if it’s “unlawful.”

but they’re not doing it. :) because they’re weak. :) and they fear for their lives in a way that ~the right~ has NEVER had to contend with. A democratic state senator knows someone might hunt them down and try to kill them if they say anything ~too radical~. a republican state senator is confident that he could literally call for the public execution of someone and be met only with a pathetic verbal reprimand from some spineless liberal congressman who bends over backward to be Respectful And Fair as they gently try to explain why it’s not okay to facilitate mass death in every demographic but their own.

can somebody with the actual power and means to do so PLEASE start doing ANYTHING to terrorize these people back to the bland, tasteless, spiritually bankrupt cesspit they congealed in? When one of these american terrorists brandishes a gun in someone’s face, can someone PLEASE brandish their own gun right back at them? THEY should be the ones who are too terrified to speak up. Not us. THEY should be the ones compelled to look over their shoulder.

im so sick of a world where mass suffering and exploitation are accepted as Just The Natural Order Of Things. instead of a harrowing dystopia that should be burned to the ground quick, fast, and in a motherfucking hurry.

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sadsapphicslut · 4 years ago

Text

chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)

okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!!

TWs:

death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol

wordcount: 8.2k

(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)

There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).

The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.

Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.

From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.

Chapter One

A Dead Brother

I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.

My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.

Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.

Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?

“Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.

“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.

I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.

I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.

❈

“Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”

It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.

I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.

“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.

“Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.

Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.

It rang four times before he picked up.

“Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.

“Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.

I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.

“Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.

“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.

“Please don’t yell.”

“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”

“I accidentally took meth.”

“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.

His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”

I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.

Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.

I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No.”

“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”

“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”

“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.

My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.

“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.

“Nia – ”

He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.

This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!

I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.

I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood – that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.

Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.

“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.

He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.

I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.

I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.

A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.

After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene. My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.

I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.

“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.

“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”

I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.

My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.

“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.

“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.

Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.

❈

The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.

The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.

I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.

Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.

My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.

We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.

The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.

As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.

The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.

The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.

When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.

Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.

Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.

#my writing #writing #original writing #original content #original fiction #creative writing #dark academia #tw death #tw drugs #tw mentions of sex #tw swearing #tw mental illness #tw medication #alo writes

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mochuelovelli · 4 years ago

Text

GAAAAHHH OKAY

Let's talk about the Timephoon Episodes

This is such an old topic of discourse but after reading many fanfics, videos, and some posts on the subject I have found little divergent takes on the whole subject.

While commentators are of the mind that, for the most part, the punishment and execution of said punishment for Louie's actions were partially if not fully justified but how she went about it was wrong.

Some fanfic writers and some subsects of the fandom but they are much more critical and often in a more black and white interpretation. Which is valid for vent art. However, I find both these portrayals to be lacking in some nuance.

Specifically when it it comes to who's to blame for the next 3 episodes, and to me, its more than just Della (and Louie but there really isn't much discourse here).

Let's start with Timephoon:

This pretty much solidifies their relationship throughout the episode[Also sorry for no captions]. Multiple times Della is shown to have a very laissez faire style of parenting as she primarily wants her kids to enjoy being kids and having fun. This is probably in part to her personality in general - which is probably what Beakley assumes here - however it is also her want to be loved by her children and even more critically, she doesn't ever want them to suffer like she did. Above all else, she wants them to be happy and feel confident in themselves. We see this in all the previous episode with her and her kids - From Dewey and reassuring him that he doesn't need to prove himself to her [notably in this episode she only shows concern when Dewey himself is in danger, she doesn't give a shit when he almost kills her] to Huey and helping him to have the most fun he possibly can, to even Webby and making sure that she also feels confident in herself regardless in how she goes about things.

Bringing up all these adventures does raise some pretty damning hypocrisy. Della encourage Dewey's reckless behavior in his episode. The lesson at the end wasn't, okay maybe we shouldn't be going on dangerous adventures, it was its okay to be afraid and you don't need to prove to me that you're great I already know you are. Huey's message was similar, albeit more low stakes. Webby's lesson wasn't even that she shouldn't be trying to take such risks to find adventure in the future, it was just a lesson in not being disappointed when things don't work the way you want.

So why wasn't Louie's adventure treated the same? Well... let's look at some more examples of Beakley V Della this episode before we answer that -

This is right before the kids find Bubba, Beakley's reaction is what most people would consider to be parental as she is concerned for the safety of the kids running out in a hurricane. Again we see Della acting casual.

Once Bubba is inside and Huey geeks out about him, Beakley actually smiles bc she knows that something like this means a lot to Huey [keep this in mind for l8r]. She only gets serious after Della says it's neat without much after thought so she gives the lesson of the episode - "Small problems become big problems later if not prevented early."

Next we have Della's faux attempt at being strict with her kids. Letting the irresponsible thing happen as long as they are "safe". While also harkening back to her previous episodes where she also is shown to have this attitude that "the kids can do anything as long as they are safe with ME or Scrooge or another SAFE adult", it is also good to note SCROOGE'S expression here to her patting herself on the back for her parenting. Now he could just be confused as to why Della is taking this "lesson" as a win, but he could be noticing that she really doesn't know what she is doing but unlike Beakley doesn't make any attempts to correct this.

Another scene that people often forget when reviewing this episode, just like with all her other kids she at first takes LOUIE'S side and decides they should just roll with the punches like always. Which honestly is sort if valid because that's kinda Scrooge's whole MO; though he also had others to there to keep him afloat but we all know someone like Scrooge, Della, and the kids hardly see that. I also want to hammer home that, just like with the other boys, she doesn't shy away from displaying that she loves them ALL. A few seconds later, it's subtle but she is shown smiling and patting Louie on the head because like the other kids she just wants him to feel supported. If I was to be critical, I would say this is possibly because she likes the IDEA of her boys more than them but I mean - this is pretty much everyone's attitude towards kids. It might be amplified bc of her trauma but it's not unusual. But even still I would argue that she mainly does love the boys for who they are as she is excited to get to know them.

After Della figures that they are looking for a "master thief", Scrooge and Beakley immediately know it's one of the kids. Shocking her since she later states she is of the belief that her kids are too "good" to do something like this. I also want to bring attention, again, to Beakley smiling (ik im putting a lot of stock into expressions but animation tends to do stuff like this for a reason). She is smiling at whom she expects is Dewey for messing with time and space. Bc even if she planned to scold him, she knows it's just their normal. Scrooge seems to also be of the same mind. Later Beakley gives a really good line about "Even good kids can do dumb things. We got to make sure those dumb things don't turn into bad things like destroying all of existence!".

Mrs. B exists stage right

All jokes aside, this must have been a nightmare for all of them but especially Della. She had just finally admitted that she was out of her depth and made another mistake in parenting. But now it seems like she lost her chance to rectify that. Because for all she knows, Mrs. B will never come back. This is import-ALLRIGHTWEGETIT

Della is then shown explicitly worried about her family. Emotions, insecurities and fear obviously getting the best of her. We don't know exactly what she is thinking but we know she is terrified of the possibility of losing one of her kids. When she asks about Louie, she probably thinks he must have disappeared without her knowing. That she might have already failed more than she could know, because she wasn't there to protect him. She doesn't know - she is "Della Duck" and she doesn't know how to fix this. She didn't expect everything to go so horribly wrong, but that's her theme isn't it?

She is both relieved and understandably PISSED when finding that Louie was responsible for almost destroying the fabric of reality (let me say this again, nearly destroying the fabric of reality). She goes scold both herself and her son about the danger he put them in. Later we see Della, the last one leave and seeing almost everyone she loves vanish. We don't know how long each of the characters who left were in the past but we can assume it was long enough to have to change clothes. Yeah this was probably more of a visual gag but like, the other past characters didn't change their outfits when they came to the present so - (also Launchpad was specific about knowing how the world ends so he had to be there enough for him to understand it). Side note someones gotta write fanfic of these characters time misadventures. I wonder if Dewey and Webby ran into Agent 22.

[Last picture of the infamous scene, side note did anyone notice Launchpad NODDING his head when Della mentioned his time schemes could've cost them their future? He's the only one who knows what happened so maybe Louie's misadventure has more impact than we think-]

Anyways, yeah we know what was said here. But I think it's important to see the reaction the other adults (sorry LP, and Gryo i GUESS) have here BC this is basically why I made this post. What Della decided to do was unquestionably the wrong decision, at least her way of going about it and I will not absolve her of her many MANY mistakes. However, let's remember she wasn't alone in any of this. She was with other parental figures who KNOW more about her kids than she does.

After Louie leaves, why did they think it was good to encourage this course of action? Why did they think giving full parental control to a PTSD, trauma survivor who barely got back less than a month ago was a good idea? Sure it's one thing to not want to overstep your boundaries but are you telling me they wouldn't want to guide her in the right direction at least? We KNOW both Beakley AND Scrooge have their grievences towards Della's parenting strategy or lack there of. Beakley so far doing the most to try and put her in the right direction (which speaks volumes to the problems Scrooge has).

So why wouldn't they explain that, hey, maybe taking away the one thing your kid thinks he is good at ISNT a great idea? Why didn't either say anything about their two day vacation? Something that came up presumingly on a whim and might of prevented (although i doubt it) Louie from trying to steal w/ time? He might have considered pushing back time schemes at least 3 days later. While Mrs. Beakley might be less aware of Louie's insecurities and ambitions, Scrooge definitely isn't. He should have talked to her, and hey we don't see what happens before they leave so maybe MAYBE they did. But again, I doubt it. Seeing as how they all agreed with her at the end, I don't see them trying to meddle with her.

But they should've. They are both experienced guardians and they have nothing to say to her? Plus Donald (goddamn it i almost finished a post w/o him) have THEM responsibility to take care of the kids NOT Della. So they are obligated to help her. Really, the other option other than just well negligence would be not thinking this punishment was a big deal. I wish this aspect was also scrutinized just as much as Della and Louies role in this arc.

Beakley and Scrooge (more so Scrooge) are just as much to blame in what happens as Della if not MORE since they know of her situation in only a way that an experience adult can. There is no excuse for their negligence.

#god this was so long #i just need to rant #i hope im not alone on this feel free to comment or ask me about this crap i dont mind #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #della duck #mrs beakley #scrooge mcduck #dt17 #ducktales timephoon #discourse #i guess #this is misleading this was basically just Timephoon bc u ran out of space so part 2 maybe?

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