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dragonnarrative-writes · 11 months ago

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Transferrable Skills Part 1

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

Your therapist warned you about superstitious thinking. You've been working on it. In fact, you've been very good at catching it, challenging yourself to relax, and letting things go. Even before this big work trip, you consciously avoided the "unhelpful" rituals and reminded yourself that the little ones were just to make you feel secure, not to actually influence the future across an ocean.

"I'm very nervous," you had told Señor Snuggly two weeks ago. Your worn out stuffed lizard hadn't said anything back, of course. "That's normal, because it’s an international flight. So I'm going to give you a hug good-bye, and you're gonna stay here to watch the house. I know it's not going to change anything, but I'll feel better knowing you're here."

At the airport, you realized that you had forgotten your toothbrush. It had satisfied the part of your brain that was looking for one (1) thing to go wrong. Superstitious thinking, but the kind that helped you to relax and listen to music until you boarded.

Now, forced to sit on the floor, surrounded by shouting men with guns, your brain is stuck on your lopsided stuffed animal and blue toothbrush. Of all the things that could pop into your head, why those?

You almost let out a nervous giggle at the mental image of Señor Snuggly using your toothbrush as a shiv to save the day. And then the idea of what would happen if you started laughing right now almost startles you into another burst of giggles. You clap your hands over your mouth and curl into yourself a little bit more.

Next to you, your boss throws you a sympathetic look. "You okay?"

"No talking!" The nearest assailant yells in heavily accented English. You're pretty sure the attackers have been speaking Russian, but you could be mistaken. He brandishes his gun. "You want to die?"

"She needs to go to the restroom," your boss answers.

"No, I don't," you protest. You really, really do, and have for the last two hours. But being escorted out of the room alone seems like enough of a Bad Idea that your bladder can wait.

"No, she does not," the man confirms. "Shut up. Do not talk."

You meet your boss's eyes and try to silently convey, Why are you trying to get me killed?

His doughy face says back, I am a white man who goes to the gym once a week, and I really like the John Wick movies. I have delusions of being a hero. If one man takes you to the bathroom I have the mistaken belief that I can overpower two men with guns to save everyone. Also you're a black woman, so don't you have super powers? I believe in you, queen.

You may be projecting.

Ten minutes later, just as you're wondering if you should suggest a group field trip down the hall to the bathrooms, a series of gunshots rings through the building. The energy in the room goes from nervous to frantic in an instant. Your bladder shuts up. The Russian men start shouting and waving their guns, apparently too agitated to speak English. Two hostages start crying because no one else speaks Russian, just English, French and your half-forgotten, informal, Mexican Spanish.

Another three Russians come bursting in the room, snarling something you can’t understand. They grab at a couple of people, force them to stand at gunpoint and gesture to the rest of you. And then everyone is up and kind of moving in the direction of the door. But you can’t get out of the door because they’re blocking it, but they’re really agitated that the room is still full of hostages. And then some people are being pushed back down to the floor. Your boss ends up sitting back down again. A hard hand closes on your arm before you can get down, and you and four others are dragged out.

The leader says, “You all are dignitaries, yes? Your embassies will send money or they will watch you die.”

This is, potentially, the worst possible scenario. None of the five of you are even remotely important, let alone dignitaries. You’re not 100% sure about most of the others, but you’re an aid. An aid to an aid, really. The blonde woman with the remarkably sharp bob is a personal assistant. Today’s conference was about health data management, of all things.

You decide you’re not going to die with a full bladder. You look to the man holding your arm in an iron grip and point to the upcoming door on the right. “Can I please go to the restroom? I’ll be quick.”

He asks the leader something in Russian, and then you’re being shoved through the bathroom door. He doesn’t follow you into the stall, but it’s still so awkward to pee knowing that there’s a man with a gun waiting for you. You’re so glad you aren’t on your period - opening the wrapper on anything right now would feel louder than it has since middle school.

The door to the restroom opens just as the toilet finishes flushing. You hear a scuffle, an aborted shout, and then something heavy hits the floor. You freeze, heart racing. But then there’s no more sound.

You wait for what feels like an hour but must only be a minute before calling, “H-hello?”

You don’t get an answer. Unlocking the door and easing it open, you peek out and stifle a gasp. The man who had escorted you is on the ground, a pool of blood growing around him. His gun is gone.

You’re halfway through washing your hands before you realize you’re on autopilot.

It takes everything in you to fight down the urge to freeze in place and make yourself inch around the body to the door. When you poke your head out, the hall looks so normal that it makes you dizzy for a second. You try to decide what to do through the anxiety fog. You can’t hide in the bathroom with a dead body, and you probably can’t go back to the big room with everyone without getting shot. You have no idea where the other faux-dignitaries were taken. Apparently, there’s at least one person going around killing people in bathrooms.

You try to think of what your therapist would say in this situation. All of the options feel bad, she would say. So you can’t not do anything because it feels bad. Thank the anxiety for trying to keep you safe, then try to pick the least awful course of action.

“Fight, flight, freeze, fawn,” you whisper to yourself. Fighting is right out. “Flight, freeze, fawn.” There’s a body pouring blood right behind you. “Flight, fawn.” No one is around to appease. “Flight.”

Another gunshot and shouting. It sounds like it’s coming from the left, so you head right.

You shuck off your sensible kitten heels and fervently wish your otherwise sensible pantsuit wasn’t pastel purple in this very beige hallway. Not that a thicker-than-European-average black woman mincing around in a Swiss hotel and conference center would be inconspicuous in a black suit, your mind counters itself. You try to force your brain to shut up, with mixed success.

You wander a good five minutes, reminding yourself not to panic at every locked door you try. The halls are so quiet that you half convince yourself that you’ve gotten out of immediate danger. So of course, right as you’re about the round the next corner, one of the Russians appears, reeling backwards. And then he collapses, a knife sticking out of his neck.

You can’t really worry about that, though, because right after him comes one of the largest men you’ve ever seen. He must catch sight of you out of the corner of his eye, because his head snaps to look at you. You barely register the assault rifle in his hands because his eyes bore into you through the top half of a human skull.

Oh, I’m glad I already peed, you think, staring into the eyes of Death.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” the man says, growls really. “What are you doing here?”

“I… bathroom? Please don’t kill me. I’ll cooperate.” you squeak out. Oh, fawning! Cool.

“Price, I’ve got one of the hostages,” he says, nonsensically. “I’ve cleared the east wing.”

You jump when his walkie-talkie - of course it’s a walkie-talkie - squawks back an “Affirmative. Status?”

“She’s up and walking,” the man says, not taking his eyes from yours. “Seems uninjured.”

“Stow her somewhere safe.”

“Negative,” Death says. Before you can panic because what the fuck does that mean? he says, “Bringing her back with me.”

“Copy.”

When he takes a step toward you, you stop breathing. Everything in you is screaming RUN and DON’T MOVE at the same time. His second step in your direction results in a full body twitch. You get the impression that the gun is pointed at the ground, but the only thing you can really see is bone white over a black mask and what might be really pretty brown eyes, but the shadow from the overhead light really makes it hard to tell and your vision is going a bit darkaroundtheedgesandohI’mstillnotbreathingthat’snotgreat.

You’re shocked into gasping when a gloved palm touches the side of your face. The rough material helps you settle into your body, just in time to start hyperventilating.

And that’s when things get weird, because Death says, “Easy, lovie. Settle, f’ me, yeah? Deep breaths, like we’ve practiced.”

Your brain latches on to the familiar command to settle before you can even question why it’s familiar. The way the man makes a long, low shushing noise makes you so suddenly weak in the knees that you stagger where you stand.

And then it clicks. Holy shit. You know this voice. You know these commands. You’ve been listening to and learning them at least once a week for the last six months. He doesn’t even sound that different from over the phone or on a video call.

“There you go, that’s good,” Simon, the dominant you’ve been seeing online, tells you through his skull mask. “Keep breathin’. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

It’s the second time in your life you’ve been surprised out of a panic attack. “W-what the fuck? Si?” you gasp. “What are you doing here? Did you kill that guy?”

“Questions are gonna have to wait,” he says. “Keep breathing. In for four, hold for two. In for two, out for eight. Can you do that?”

“Why are you in Switzerland?”

“Breathe,” he rumbles. “Settle.”

“No,” you hiss, even as your shoulders relax another fraction. The corners of your eyes start prickling with tears.

“This is a double red light situation,” Si says, staring into your eyes. “I know you’re scared, but I’m going to get you out of here. You trust me?”

“You are wearing a skull on your face.”

“And you’re wearing a purple suit,” he answers. “There are people who want to shoot both of us. You get one more outburst, then you’re breathing and following me. Acknowledge.”

What the fuck? “This isn’t a scene!”

His eyes bore into yours. “Might surprise you, but I’m aware. Acknowledge.”

A distant shout makes you flinch. You relent. “Acknowledged. Four in, hold two, two in, out eight. Follow.”

“Good girl,” he says, patting your cheek once. “Stay behind me.”

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #transferrable skills #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #kink fics #this turned out so much more humorous than i expected and is so much fun to write #manic pixie dream ghost

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mellohiizz · 23 days ago

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wanted to talk about odyssey duo and my um. view on their dynamic and relationship.

probably going to be a pretty long yap, but i really wanted to talk about them since there's been some talk about them after the last uu video. it caused me to think deeper into their relationship and i wanted to write it down.

(putting it here just in case: not targeted at anyone. just yapping about the codependent silly guys that i hate.)

the thing about odyssey duo, to me, is that yes, they are in some ways unhealthy. they're codependent and messy. but that doesn't mean that they're "toxic" or their friendship is not working.

they're both flawed characters with destructive traits. parrot is dry and unable to express his emotions properly, which leads to misunderstandings over his intentions. wifies is not a saint either, he's stubborn and can get very pushy when it comes to his own decisions. (insisting on dean leaving without explaining anything and trying to do it without parrot knowing, burning the compass to forcefully keep parrot from going to farlands)

but the main thing about them to me is that if you really look into it, they're both trying to make it work. they do care about each other and have both shown it more than once in different ways.

they both did and said things that aren't great. but it doesn't make one or the other good or bad. yes, parrot came out quite cold and uncaring a couple of times, but it doesn't automatically makes him a bad person, or means that he's mistreating, or even 'abusing' wifies in any sense.

if we're pushing it to that point, you could say wifies also used parrot in a sense of wanting to feel human and wanting someone who would 'want him back' without knowing his real self. (im being dramatic with this, obviously)

parrot comes off as uncaring because of how dry and unable to show his actual emotions he seems to be. which is a valid character trait considering how often he just couldn't because of the circumstances. parrot is someone who's very goal oriented. when he needs to focus on something, he locks in. it's the only thing he thinks about and everything else goes to the back of his mind.

which also brings me to the point of the way parrot deals with grief. one thing is how often parrot just couldn't express his grief over losing someone. he grieved luigi, yes, because it was one time he actually was allowed to take a little bit of time to actually process the fact that someone died in front of him. and even then, instead of fully allowing himself to grieve, he had to focus on other things.

same goes for dean. dean's death was pretty much shock value for both parrot and viewers, and parrot tried to grieve him too. but during it, he was interrupted by literally the number one threat at the time.

so of course when another loss comes into picture, parrot doesn't allow himself to grieve him. he acknowledges his loss ("your leader just killed my best friend"), but there was no time for him to actually let himself properly grieve wifies or even allow himself to react. they were in the middle of dealing with the mafia, and he needed to focus on that instead.

we only see the impact wifies' death had on him by the end of the episode. where he does listens. he lights the beacon despite expressing his indifference to them the whole episode. that, once again, shows that he does care.

he was hesitant on letting wifies go through with joining the mafia in the first place. he agreed because he trusted wifies to be safe and know what he's doing. it was already shown to us that wifies is parrot's weak point. he tried so many times to keep wifies away from the danger simply because he didn't want to lose him. back in the video where clown was hunting parrot, there was a very clear parallel between branzy being clown's weak point and wifies being parrot's. the difference in that was parrot knew clown wouldn't have hesitated to kill wifies.

they both changed the ways the go about things for the other. they care, but unfortunately, they were doomed by the narrative. the universe screwed them over by putting them into circumstances where they just wouldn't have worked it out.

in conclusion, because this is already very long, yes, odyssey duo are messy. they're not the healthiest duo, and they do have issues. but they tried to overstep those and work, and that's what i like about them.

#☆ mel yaps .#☆ unstable universe .#parrotx2 #wifies #odyssey duo #they make me sick #it ended up much longer than i intended um....#mightttt add some more things if i think of other points but this is already much longer than i thought it would be like i said #idk how much of a hot take this is with how many other opinions on them i saw recently #btw yeah not invalidating other people's opinions im just fixated on those freaks and wanted to yap #also a point my friend brought up.#i dont think its fair to expect a big scale of emotional moments from any of them. it's just a fun project made by some guys who play mc #not a fanfiction #or whatever #but yeah ^_^

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