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the-himawari · 4 years ago

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A3! Mizuno Kaya - Translation [SSR] The Company President of April 1st (1/3)

*Please read disclaimer on blog; default name set as Izumi

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I’m Tachibana Izumi, and starting today, I’ve become a new employee working at MIZUNO Enterprise! It seems I’m the only employee who’s been recruited this year due to various circumstances, so I’m a little bit anxious…

But this is the start of my adult working life I’ve been longing for.

I’m not sure where I’m going to be assigned yet, but no matter which job is entrusted to me, I’ll do my best so I can contribute to the company...!

-pause-

Isuke: Good afternoon, Tachibana-san! I haven’t seen you since orientation, huh? How do you do? I’m the Human Resources manager, Matsukawa. It’s very nice to meet you.

Izumi: N-nice to meet you! (The Human Resources manager Matsukawa-san; I was surprised at first at his tattered suit that looks unbecoming for a large company…) (But I felt moved when I heard that it was a way for others to let their guard down, and it’s his belief that he wants to cherish things.)

Isuke: Ahaha, are you nervous? It’ll be fine. You may be our only recent-grad hire this year, but don't worry since we plan to support you fully!

Izumi: Thank you very much.

Isuke: Now then, you will take a tour of each department today to gain a better understanding of the various aspects of our work. At MIZUNO Enterprise, we value the independence of our employees—. So after getting a look at the work that we do, you may provide your own request on where you’d like to be assigned. And we will respect it to the best of our abilities.

Izumi: Oh, really…! (As I expected, the company culture sure is free.)

Isuke: So then, he will take it from here. Please go ahead.

Mizuno: Yes.

Izumi: (!?!? MIZUNO Enterprise’s President, Mizuno Kaya…!?)

Mizuno: Good afternoon, I’m Mizuno Kaya. It’s a pleasure to meet you.

Izumi: Y-yes! It’s nice to meet you!

Mizuno: Now then, how about we get going, Tachibana-san?

-pause-

Izumi: (It’s the first time I’m meeting with the President up close since the final interview…)

Mizuno: Sorry for startling you there. As the President, I must be able to properly explain both the company’s positive points and negative points myself—. And it’s a tradition to have the President personally give a tour of the departments to the new hires.

Izumi: I see… (I was surprised at the amazing reception, but I’m grateful for this valuable opportunity. Let’s listen properly to what he has to say.)

-pause-

Mizuno: Here are our offices. Come in. We have a variety of departments in order for the company to function, including Administrative departments such as the the Human Resources department that Matsukawa-san from earlier belongs to.

Izumi: (Woah…! It’s bustling in here.) (That department over there in particular is especially lively.)

Mizuno: Ahh, those guys over there are the members of the Sales department. Shall we head on over?

Tenma: Yeah, in that case, leave it to me. Of course, I’ll definitely deliver results that exceed your expectations. I’ll create the best product that will surprise and leave anyone impressed. Hmph, ME!!! I'm the one in charge here. I’ll make you think it was a good decision to entrust it to me, so look forward to it.

Mizuno: He’s Sumeragi-kun. He’s famous as he’s called the smug-faced salesman and he’s extremely dependable.

Izumi: (I wonder if his smug face conveys to the customer through the telephone receiver… That’s some amazing technology.)

Yuki: The design of this document I made is cute and easy on the eyes, right? Fufu, are you interested? Then let me let you a story… One of our company’s dazzling management philosophies is…

Mizuno: Over there is the beautiful salesman, Rurikawa-kun. He has many fans of his unique aura as well.

Muku: Awawawa, I’m a tri-coloured ballpen where only one of the colours has ran out. And I'm a flimsy, fluttering piece of scrap paper that’s been shredded—. I can’t believe I’m being praised like that…! B-but I’m happy you said so. If there is anything I can help you with, please let me know!

Mizuno: Sakisaka-kun’s called the negative salesman, but he’s humble, earnest, and very kind.

Misumi: How’s the triangle over here~? I recommend this triangle too! By triangle, you mean a triangle~? Yay!

Mizuno: Triangle salesman Ikaruga-kun is a mysterious person… He has more passion towards triangles than anyone else, and everyone is won over by his presentation.

Kumon: Yep, please let me know anytime! I’LL HELP YOU WITH ALL MY ABSOLUTE MIGHT!! I can ride my bike long distances at 100km/h, and I’m totally fine with meetings starting at 4 in the morning too! I’ll definitely, definitely do my best, SO PLEASE CHOOSE OUR COMPANY!!

Mizuno: The hot-blooded, sporty salesman, Hyodo-kun, is a very hard worker and that fire and cheerfulness energizes you.

Izumi: Everyone’s so distinctive, brilliant, and they’re really wonderful people!

Mizuno: Indeed. And the one with the best performance in the Sales department is…

Kazunari: That, and that, and this too—everything’s a-okaaaay! ‘Kay, just leave everything to me~! Got it, piko! Beri-san~! Oh-em-gee, for real! I totes feel you~! It’s wicked lit and hella full of feelsies, right!*

Mizuno: The party dude salesman Kazunari-kun takes pride in his overwhelming communication power. He was also the top sales performer in March.

Izumi: Amazing…!

Tenma: Damn it, just you wait and see. I’ll become the top in April.

Kumon: UWOHH, I’m not gonna lose either!

Muku: M-me neither…!

Izumi: (Woah, woah… sparks are flying…!)

Mizuno: Even so, those guys go out to play after work together and their synergy is impressive as well.

Izumi: ! Oh, really…! (I see, they’re good rivals and coworkers. I bet their private lives are fulfilling too.)

Misumi: Ah, President-san~!

Muku: Could it be, is the person with you the rumoured new employee?

Mizuno: Yes. I’m just giving her a tour of the departments.

Izumi: I’m Tachibana Izumi. It’s nice to meet you!

Misumi: Wahh, nice to meet you~!

Kazunari: Oh man, you’re a fresh, super cutie, huh! Like, legit swooned! Hey, hey, let’s exchange LIMEs, new hire-chan!

Kumon: That’s not fair, Kazu-san! I wanna become friends with Tachibana-san too!

Tenma: Heh, you do seem motivated, and you’ve got quite a good eye. What do you think, how about you come to the Sales department?

Misumi: Working together with you sounds so fun~!

Yuki: That’s fine, right? I’ll teach you lots of different things if you join.

Muku: We’d be delighted to have you! Of course, please call out to me anytime even if you decide to join a different department.

Kazunari: You’d seriously be super duper welcome! I’ll lend a hand for anything and I’ll be here for you ☆

Izumi: Wahh, thank you all very much!

Mizuno: Fufu, Tachibana-san, you’re a huge hit right away, hm?

???: Ohh, ohh, y’all at the Sales department!

Izumi: !?

---

*Yeah I took some liberties here cause not even google could comprehend this slang lmao

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#a3!#a3! translation #mizuno kaya #act! addict! actors!#summer troupe #so i guess im doing this #lmao

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basicallywhiterice · 4 years ago

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on top of the world (dong sicheng/winwin)

pairing: sicheng/winwin x reader

genre: angst, fluff, flangst. friends to lovers, highschool!au, dancer!sicheng, spring break trip

summary: The fall to the ground doesn’t seem so daunting when you’re living on top of the world.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: cussing

a/n: if enough people get mad at me i’ll write a part 2

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

this can be read as a standalone, but it is part 1 in the on top of the world series. crossposted on ao3 here!

Chinatown, Washington, D.C., 7:01 p.m.

“Honest Abe? More like, honest babe,” Lucas hollers to Kun and no one in particular, drawing a few disgruntled looks from the pedestrians waiting for the walk signal to flash again. He winks at a man in a navy suit, who rolls his eyes and looks away. Yangyang reaches over for a high-five.

“Dude was 6′ 4″, of course he’s a babe,” Sicheng whistles, leaning behind Yangyang and craning his neck to steal glances at Kun’s phone.

To your right, Ningning flits around, snapping pictures of the street displays and assorted neon lights on the storefronts. You watch her alongside Giselle, who pops her bubblegum, periodically glancing at the traffic light at the bustling intersection. Standing shoulder to shoulder with you to your left, Kun rattles off a hodge-podge of facts about Abraham Lincoln and Ford’s Theatre, which you just passed by, from his phone screen to a faux-enthused Yangyang, who shakes Sicheng by the shoulders every time Kun reads a new fact. He occasionally gets pushed into Lucas’s side, rolling his eyes while doing little to hide the growing grin on his face.

“... and apparently they planned his assassination in the building the Wok n’ Roll restaurant we passed used to be,” Kun remarks.

“OH MY GOD SICHENG ISN’T THAT SO CRAZY?” Yangyang all but screams. “IT WAS IN THE WOK N’ ROLL!”

As you glance over fondly, your eyes linger on the orange hues and kaleidoscopic shadows the nearby “do not walk” signal spills over Sicheng’s face. After a moment, he looks away from Yangyang’s exaggerated bouncing. His gaze flits upwards, meeting your stolen glance with his own.

The world grinds to a halt beneath your feet when a strong gust of wind blows through your hair, propelling you into free fall into the depths of his eyes until Giselle tugs on your arm, pulling you back into the present.

She gestures toward the “walk” signal on the traffic light, and you fall in line with her quick footsteps as you stride across the crosswalk.

“We should go there later,” she suggests. “Try summoning Lincoln’s ghost or something.”

“The Wok n’ Roll?”

“Yeah. Do you think his ghost would have his top hat?”

“I thought ghosts were just spirits and didn’t take material possessions with them?”

“Yeah, but then every ghost would be naked, which would be hella inappropriate.”

Ningning overhears, skipping up to you and looping her arm through yours. “You have to prove the existence of ghosts and take them out to dinner before you get them naked, you pig.”

“I made yo momma sound like a ghost last night,” Lucas quips. “I skipped the ‘getting dinner’ part, though.”

“Goddamn,” Giselle exclaims as you burst into laughter, throwing jokes and jabs at each other for the rest of the trek to the ramen restaurant where you eat dinner.

Hilton Garden Inn, Washington, D.C., 9:13 p.m.

After helping Giselle and Ningning unpack, you knock on the communicating door between your hotel room and the boys’ in order to bother Kun.

Sicheng answers, moving aside so you can step across. Their room is surprisingly clean, although you chalk it up to the limited amount of time they had to unpack earlier today. Lucas sits at the desk in the corner near the window, hunched over his laptop while Yangyang peeks over his shoulder. You glimpse a few pictures of the Washington Monument on his screen before he scrolls down to other marble structures.

“Are you looking up other places to visit?” you ask him.

He glances up, cracking his neck before responding. “Yeah. I can’t find anything special that we don’t know about, though.”

“It’s boutta be lit,” Yanyang chimes in.

“Ayeee,” Lucas responds. They start aggressively patting each other on the back and arms, and you take that as your cue to leave before they wrestle you into whatever weird ritual they’re performing.

Turning, you see Sicheng flop down onto the bed closest to the windows where Kun lays, sprawled out. “Hey,” Kun greets, lifting his head from his pillows.

“Hey,” you reply, remembering the reason why you came to the room in the first place. “Oh yeah! I found a stop sign a few blocks from here on a decently busy street. It’ll take ten minutes to go there and back, tops.”

He groans. “I would love to go, but I just got a stomachache. Tell you what. Sicheng,” he says, propping himself up at a snail’s pace and clasping Sicheng’s shoulder, “you can accompany her there, right?”

“To a stop sign?” Sicheng asks, looking up from his phone.

“A hand-picked, top tier, magnificent stop sign,” you proclaim. “Whenever me and Kun travel, we always get a random passerby to take our picture in front of a stop sign like it’s a tourist attraction. Are you down for potential social awkwardness?”

The corner of Sicheng’s lips tugs up into a grin. “You know it. I’m not ruining your tradition with Kun, am I?” he asks, glancing sideways at Kun for confirmation.

Kun flops back down on the bed. “Nah. If I went right now, I’d probably ruin the tradition by shitting my pants there or something.”

Sicheng chuckles. “Promise? We could print out those pictures and mail them back to your parents like a postcard.”

“I like the way you think,” you say with a scheming smile, nodding at Sicheng before turning back to Kun. “Anyways, drink some warm water to help with your stomachache, maybe? What do you think caused it?”

He shrugs. “Not sure. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that trashcan pizza slice in the subway.” Sicheng reaches over and flicks his forehead. “Ow! I’m kidding! Why would you torment a sick man like this? Go away and take your pictures already.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” you ask as Sicheng asks, “You sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Worst comes to worst, I’ll take a Pepto-Bismol in fifteen minutes. Go and have fun.” He waves you off, grabbing a spare pillow and lightly smacking Sicheng with it.

“Fine, mom.” Sicheng stands, pocketing his phone. “You ready? I just need to put on my shoes.”

“Yeah.” As he walks over to the closet, you sneak a peek at your reflection through your phone screen. Fighting back a sudden bundle of nerves, you discreetly smooth your t-shirt down, running a hand through your hair. Kun wiggles his eyebrows when he notices, and you flip him off, silently warning him to stay quiet.

He doesn’t. “Have fun on your date with loverboy,” he whispers.

“Shut up.”

“After you leave, should I check out the pool?” he murmurs. “Lucas and Yangyang said they don’t feel like swimming tonight.”

“What, isn’t your stomach—”

“Oh my, would you look at the time? Off you go!” He shoos you away, almost standing up to push you away and laying back down before Sicheng can turn around. You’re almost impressed by how well he set you up.

Still, though. If Kun weren’t your best friend, you’d shove him into the hotel’s fountain.

H Street Northwest, Washington D.C., 9:40 p.m.

Half an hour later, you give up on the facade of collecting anti-tourist pictures after the third stop sign, stopping by the Chinatown Express to grab a bowl of noodles with roast duck to go. You walk for a few blocks before finding a bench to sit and split it at, slurping them up in an appreciative silence.

“Oh my god,” Sicheng intones around a mouthful of noodles. When you look over, his cheeks are puffed, an empty spoon descending to rest inside the soup container.

“You look like one of those baby birds eating scraps,” you giggle.

“I’m certainly skilled with chicks,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, then scoot closer to pick up a piece of roast duck. Your knees touch, but neither of you move away. “Do you think there’s a more advanced form of life than humans, like aliens, and they view us how we view animals?” you ask, resuming the conversation you had about the meaning of life before you sat down. “Like we don’t think birds could become self-aware, no matter how intelligent they are, so then we can’t achieve the alien version of self-awareness no matter how philosophical we get.”

“Good question. Uh, alien self-awareness would probably relate to the meaning of life or something, right? Or the secrets of the universe and breaking the laws of physics. And because they’re so big brained, they could control things with their minds and be enlightened with telekinesis. So hypothetically, if I were a wise, sagely alien,” he says, gently picking up your hand and laying it flat against his palm, “I could make my hand pass through yours if I had enough brainpower.”

His hand is warm, and you hope furiously that your palms aren’t sweating. “Was this another excuse to hold my hand?”

“Well, did it work?”

You raise your eyebrows and fail at biting back your smile. “You already know, you just want to hear me say it.”

He grins. “Then say it!”

“Yes, Sicheng, it worked.”

“Awesome.” He moves his right hand to pick up his spoon, briefly tugging your hand with him until he realizes. “Fuck. Sorry, I have to let go of your hand while I eat. Unless you wanna see me struggle with my left hand.”

“As much as I’d love to watch you do that, I feel like that’d be an insult to the rest of the noodles.”

When you finally remember to stand up and throw away the long-forgotten remnants of your food, he holds your hand carefully but firmly as you walk past the White House, and you imagine his hold on your heart must feel the same.

Lafayette Square, Washington, D.C., 11:16 p.m.

“Dance with me,” Sicheng pleads, pulling you under a streetlight. You nod, but your feet stay cemented on the brick-paved sidewalk.

“I don’t know how to.”

“That’s fine.” You place your hand in his outstretched one, and he lifts your other hand to rest on his shoulder. “No one’s around to judge, so just do whatever.”

“Wise words,” you deadpan, but you let his hand on your waist guide your swaying.

He’s right, though. After the initial awkwardness fades, you find that waltzing around isn’t so bad after all—especially when he twirls you around the pocket of light underneath the lamppost so gently it feels like you’re dancing on air.

And when he dips you as you throw your head back, laughing, you think you finally understand why his eyes light up every time he finishes a dance performance.

“Is this what you love about dancing?” you ask once you’ve come back up.

He nods, eyes closing briefly. “Partly. The grand choreographies are the showstoppers, but the simpler moments keep me sane.” His eyes flutter open. “I haven’t let anyone see me dance with such bad technique in a while. I’m usually not this bad, I promise.”

“I know,” you grin. “I saw you at the winter showcase. You were amazing.” Then you take a deep breath, and brace for the worst. “The lyrical piece you closed with was the one you used for your audition, right?”

“Yeah, I—yeah.”

Abruptly, he releases your hands and steps back. You allow yourself to feel a twinge of guilt for mentioning the elephant in the room before you steel yourself for the impending conversation.

“We should probably talk about that,” he says.

“We should. Do you want to walk around the National Mall? You said you liked it earlier today.”

“Sure.”

The walk is quiet enough for you to overthink. Sicheng got accepted by a dance studio in Korea, after months of submitting auditions and traveling back and forth between countries. He’s leaving soon, even if he says he’s still waiting to hear back from Juilliard and keeping his options open. You see it in the goodbyes he keeps subconsciously saying and the memories he drinks in like it’s his last chance to, and you’re terrified of what your life will look like without him.

You glance over at him periodically, and he seems to be lost in thought too, staring straight ahead down the well-lit path. His eyebrows furrow as you pass under a streetlight, and you wonder if you brought it up the wrong way.

You’re disappointed in the crude way you shoved the future into a perfectly happy moment, then mad that you’re disappointed. It was inevitable that you’d have to talk about what would come after graduation, and it was inevitable that he’d have to remove himself from your side to chase after his dreams. It’s a wonder he hasn’t pulled away already.

Stupid, you chide yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid, loving so hard that your chest implodes from all the weight it carries, already drifting through the pangs of hurt and the wisps of melancholy bringing about a premature nostalgia.

“I’m really going to miss you next year,” Sicheng confesses out of the blue.

You glance up. His hands are shoved into his pants pockets, his eyes roaming over your face like he’s trying to remember all the secrets it hides.

You think you might always run back to him. You’re not sure how to feel about that.

National Mall, Washington, D.C., 11:33 p.m.

“So.”

“So,” you echo. “Have you looked at decisions yet?” It’s a pointless question. You know he’s not going to Juilliard.

“Yeah, I looked at them this afternoon in the theater.” He clears his throat. “I got waitlisted.”

“Ah.”

“I’m not going to accept a spot on the waitlist.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “I had made my decision anyway.” Then he sighs, his nonchalant facade dropping for good. “You can probably guess.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m accepting the studio’s offer,” he whispers, as if the air is glass and the moment could shatter at any moment. The words float there, above your head, and you imagine grabbing them and hugging them close to your chest before they slip away.

You don’t. “I figured.”

“Yeah. You knew.”

You stare ahead and will the tears not to fall.

“I’m leaving as soon as school ends,” he says, with the sideways glance that marks the start of his rambling distraction process, “and flying there on—”

“I’m gonna miss you,” you blurt. He pauses mid-sentence. “I’m gonna miss you like crazy. Can we talk about this, for real? You can tell me all the details later, I just—please,” and your voice cracks, “don’t dismiss this.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

A blink, and the first teardrop traces its way down your face.

You waste away the hours of your stolen youth with a boy who wipes your tears away and comforts you over the future that you’ll no longer be a part of.

National Mall, Washington, D.C., 11:57 p.m.

“Before I leave,” Sicheng says, scuffing the heels of his shoes on the gravel pathway, “I know I’d regret it if I didn’t say something. I mean, I’m going to leave anyways, so why not, you know? I have to say something before I’m gone. Um, so, you know this by now, but I… I—” and you already know what’s coming.

“Stop. I know what you’re going to say. Give me a minute to think.”

You make the mistake of glancing up at him, his eyes wide and shining. “Yeah. Alright. Take all the time you need, please.”

In half a year, Sicheng will be gone and you will be left to pick up the pieces of your life that don’t involve him, piecing them together the best you can and carrying on like there isn’t a hole in your heart.

“I’m in love with you.” One thud of your heartbeat. Then another. “Sicheng.”

In half a year, this chance will be long gone, and if you let it slip through your fingers without grabbing on, you’ll never forgive yourself for letting Sicheng become your biggest what-if.

“I’m in love with you too.” He raises his hand to cradle your face in his palm. “Y/n.”

“I’ve wanted to say that for a while now.”

“Me too. It’s not just because I’m leaving, you know.” You nod, his palm momentarily pressing against your cheek. “You knew.”

“Yeah.”

You stare up at him, the boy who wears his heart on his sleeve and holds entire galaxies in his eyes.

“What are we?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

“How do you feel about dating?”

You freeze like a deer in headlights. “Dating?”

“Yeah, would you? Like to date me?”

And then Sicheng turns into a what-if again. “I don’t know,” you confess. “I don’t know if I could handle the split.”

“We don’t have to break up when I leave. We could do long distance,” he suggests, but it sounds flimsy even to your ears.

“I don’t know, Sicheng. I don’t want to end up losing you.”

“I know. We don’t have to, especially if you don’t want to.”

You nod once in acknowledgment, and then you’re stepping into his arms again. He holds you securely, stroking your hair and waiting for you to collect your thoughts.

“I wish we had more time,” you whisper into his shoulder an eternity later. “Could we have been doing this earlier?”

“It would’ve been too fast,” he reasons, and you’re inclined to agree. “We didn’t really… not until this year…”

“Yeah.” You’ve known Sicheng for years and have been close with him for months, but you only fell in love with each other when it was too late. “I wish we started hanging out sooner.”

“Maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way.”

“Maybe.”

You pull back enough to glance up at him, gaze dropping to his lips at the close proximity before immediately bringing it back up. His eyes follow the movement, a smile creeping up his face.

“One kiss wouldn’t hurt, right?” he asks, and he says it so earnestly that it’s hard to believe he’d be wrong.

“It wouldn’t,” you agree. His nose bumps with yours and you blink up at him once, twice, and then you’re leaning in until the faraway sounds of the city fade away. He’s purposeful and patient and when all you can think of is the brush of his lips against yours, it’s just you and him against the world.

One kiss might not hurt, but one turns to two and two turns to too many and when you finally pull away and stare into his eyes, dazed, your lips tingle from the ghost of his mouth on yours.

At that moment, the way his mouth slowly stretches into a grin does something to your heart, and you think you’d let it break a million times just to be the cause of his smile.

“Yes, Sicheng. Let’s date.”

He kisses you again, beaming so wide that his teeth knock against your lips and pulling you closer, almost picking you up in the process.

You wonder if you made the wrong decision.

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bittervitter · 5 years ago

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ang0mang0′s “copycat” claims

I didn’t want to have to make another post about this, but since people on sonicfan799 / thatAnge / @ang0mang0′s Tumblr profile are getting riled up about this ridiculous drama that should have died ages ago, I figured I’d defend myself. Some people who are trying to support me have been saying incorrect things too, so I also wanted to clear that up. This crap has been going on for months, everyone is sick of it by now. Instead of being brief like I did for other social medias, I’ll be as detailed as possible this time.

[1] “she’s copying/imitating/heavily referencing from my art style!!!”

Like people have said a million times, no I’m not. And nor is anyone else. Just because someone draws the Sonic characters in a similar style to you does not automatically mean they took, copied or “stole” those ideas from you. You don’t own the concept of buff, fluffy bodies or chubby muzzles. COINCIDENCE, as much as you hopelessly deny it, is very much a possible thing- even in crazy situations such as this. There are several other artists who have similar art styles by mere coincidence. IT IS NOT IMPOSSIBLE. As examples, these Instagram artists have similar styles: @ azulytoons and @ indigonite0 / @ magenta_mel and @ zer0finix / @ himemikal and @ natirix. NONE of these artists are “stealing” or referencing from each other- they just have similar art styles, and that is perfectly okay! They draw completely different things with completely different mindsets. The world does not revolve around you, ang0. Not everyone knows who you are, so some people who use the same traits that we do don’t even know we exist.

Also, to anyone unaware, an art STYLE is not merely how one chooses to portray a character. An art STYLE is also what brushes you use, how you sketch, how you line, how you colour, how you shade, how you choose to portray certain objects or ideas- basically your entire fucking understanding of how something’s supposed to look and how you LIKE it to look. It’s not just “chubby faces, poofy curly hair, buff bodies”. It’s everything in a piece AND that.

[2] “she’s tracing my art/ redrawing my ideas!”

Literally no. People have constantly asked you to provide evidence and you refused to. All you did was scream “but it’s so obvious, just look at it!” or “are you dumb? use your eyes!” and several other insults. If you want to prove a point or make someone see something, GIVE. EVIDENCE. The only person who actually provided “proof” was pin_kpeach, your ever so loyal whiteknight, but her “proof” only backfired and proved that the both of you are extremely delusional. In the drawings of ours that she layered over each other, next to NONE of the lines lined up. It looked like a clustered mess of scrap, and the reason for that is because IT WASN’T TRACED. In the one or two drawings where ONE. SINGLE. PIECE. actually lined up was entirely zoomed in to make it seem as though the whole thing was traced. No, honey, that’s not how you provide proof. That’s how you pull a muscle by reaching so desperately to lie about me. The rest of the drawings in those pictures didn’t line up at all, and one- or I believe both- needed to be titled to line them up in the first place. You could say that some people trace things and resize or rotate them, but if I were as dumb as you persist to say, then I wouldn’t have done something like that. Either way, one aspect of a drawing lining up is a common thing for people who have similar styles because- well, I just said it. THEY HAVE SIMILAR STYLES. If they draw something the same way, well fucking duh, it’ll match someone else’s drawing almost exactly sometimes.

[3] “she’s too petty and too much of a liar to credit me! saying the art isn’t hers will hurt her oversized ego!”

Ahaha no. The only one here with an inflated ego is you, ang0. You call me the egotistical one yet you act as though your life is falling apart just because someone else draws like you on the internet. Stop acting like a special snowflake, you are not the only one on this planet with an art style of that nature. I don’t credit you because crediting you makes no damn sense. Why should I credit someone who’s had absolutely no impact on my work whatsoever? What in the hell did you do for my drawings that makes you deserve so much credit? Did you sketch it? No. Did you line it? Nope. Did you colour or shade it? Not a chance. Just because I came up with a design for the characters that happens to look like yours does not mean I owe you jack shit. You cannot. own. a style. Get over it.

[4] “she worsened my depression and is the reason I can’t draw anymore! I have no motivation when there’s some idiot copycat stealing all my art!”

I don’t want to sound like that kind of person, but you worsened your own depression. You painted this false picture in your head and continue to hang onto that belief like your life depends on it. I haven’t done ANYthing to you. You came to ME with these stupid claims back when my art looked LESS like yours, before I even knew who you were. You’re making yourself feel horrible because you, for some paranormal reason, refuse to believe that you’re not the only one with that kind of style. This is why people call you childish, you’re like a whiny baby that can’t accept another child having a toy similar to yours. I can’t even decide whether I should say “grow up” because you’re older than me- not to mention you’re an ADULT.

[5]”she constantly sends her whiteknights to attack me, harass me and send me threatening messages!”

I’ve said several times to my followers NOT to harass you or your followers or anyone against me in this mess at all. I do not send anyone after you. People say things to you out of their own free will and with their own words. I can’t magically know when this happens, why they decide to and I especially can’t control anyone. I’m sorry that my friend Koro sent you all those DMs and horrible messages wishing a lot of very bad things onto you and your family- I asked her several times before and after not to do that, but I didn’t have a clue she did it until after the fact. Either way, don’t go around assuming that I put people up to this or I intentionally ask people to do these things to you. Why in the hell would I do that? What good does that do? All I wanted to do was talk things out but at this point, you don’t even take me seriously, so I can’t even try anymore. The few times we did talk you refuse to see my point of view and just see me as a liar. What the hell am I supposed to do then?

[6]”all vio does is lie, she’s so fake all the time, lying for her petty ego”

I’m not even sure how to respond to this but I thought I might as well bring it up. No matter what I do or say, ang0 sees me as nothing but some retarded liar that can’t help but lie their way around everything, even though I’ve been nothing but genuine all this time. It’s why I can’t even communicate with her anymore, because “shut up, stop lying you copycat” is all I get in response basically.

[7] her insane hypocrisy

Ange and pin_kpeach have said numerous times that I’m rude or insult her, and there have been times where I’ve been mean out of anger, but I know for a fact I apologized for it in DMs. Ange apologized too. I don’t remember ever insulting her after that, but ang0 doesn’t ever stop ridiculing and insulting me with almost every comment she makes on the drama. If she really was sorry, she wouldn’t have done it again, but I guess she said “fuck it” and just continued anyway. Pin_kpeach likes to say I’M the hypocrite for saying Ange is harassing me yet being rude to her a couple times, yet they do they exact same thing, but even worse?? I try my best to be as civil as possible, but ang0 and pink don’t waste a second calling me and my supporters all sorts of colourful names just because they don’t agree with her claims. In fact, here’s a list of every single thing ang0’s ever called me:

retarded, retard, stupid, idiot, dumb, low IQ, mentally ill, crazy, talentless, skill-less, copycat, art thief, (dumb) cow, fuckhole, asshole, bitch, wanna-be artist, unreasonable, clown, fake, liar, hypocrite, delusional, dick, stalker, bittershitter, dumbass, immature

There’s probably more than that, but that’s as much as I can remember. Not hard to forget when she repeats them almost all the time.

[8] gatekeeping ideas

Ange and pink act as if two people drawing a character in the same outfit automatically equals “du bist kopying mein style!!”. I can’t even begin to imagine the mental gymnastics you need to do in order to believe a thought process like that is logical. She thinks that anyone who draws Amy in a dress with a white under-skirt or white ruffles underneath is nothing but a copied idea from her. She thinks that me drawing Amy in a green tank top, blue backwards cap and blue sports shorts is copying her drawing of Amy in a green unidentifiable top (you could only see her back, she didn’t seem to have straps) and blue sports shorts with a slightly different design is automatically copied from her. The poses, shading, angle and idea behind the drawing were COMPLETELY different- but nonono, “this is stolen because the outfit is the same!” They also use the excuse of the whole chubby faces, curly hair, blah blah blah- see point [1] as to why that’s BS.

[9] her perception of my followers/supporters

Aside from Koro, I don’t know if anyone has seriously threatened or harassed her. Her followers comment on my posts, my followers only comment when she brings up the drama or whines about it. She insults my supporters when they don’t agree with her and act like they’re a bunch of immature brats who are wrong while she’s the high and mighty mature one seeing through non-existent lies. I’m used to her making fun of me, but I’m sick and tired of her insulting people who have nothing to do with the drama just because they don’t agree with her. Like, seriously? You call everyone immature and stupid yet you’re the one insulting people non-stop just because they realize how ridiculous and childish you’re acting. That’s why “childish” has become a popular adjective for you, ang0. BECAUSE YOU’RE BEING CHILDISH. CONSTANTLY. You get pissy, insult others and put people down but whine and cry the next minute because you constantly like to play the victim. Speaking of which...

[10] the victim card

I have absolutely no idea what ang0 goes through in real life, but there is no excuse for how she’s behaved during this drama AT ALL. Ange constantly defames her own artwork, calling it shit, calling it every bad name in the book, but doesn’t hesitate for a minute to gatekeep her style as if it was the best thing in the world. She says it’s because she “worked her ass off” and doesn’t want people just stealing her hard work. Okay, but you do realize that other people put just as much work into their own art, no matter if it looks like yours or not, right? She demands that people change their style to stop looking like hers, acting as if that can be done in a matter of minutes, because people having similar styles makes her uncomfortable. Well, surprise motherfucker- welcome to the internet. No one is original and everyone is original at the same time. People are bound to come up with similar ideas and you’re just going to have to deal with it. But despite the similarities, people are still original in their own right. If you believe that people can change a style so easily, why not just change your OWN style? Because you worked your ass off? Well, THEY WORKED THEIR ASS OFF TOO. So don’t act like you’re the only one who’s put effort into their craft. Art is hard, and that applies to EVERYONE- even professionals.

You blame me and other “copycats” for all your problems, blaming us for worsening your depression, ruining your passion for art- when you’re the only one who does this to yourself. Yes, there have been genuine art thieves in your life, and people who have stolen your art- but what I’m talking about are the people like me who DON’T steal your art or are merely inspired by you. People who say “you should be happy they’re inspired!” aren’t saying “you should be happy they’re copying!”. They’re saying that you should be glad that your work is so inspiring that people create their own unique ideas based off your own. Inspiration doesn’t require credit unless they’re purposefully taking a massive part of the original. But being inspired by a hair style or even a pose isn’t stealing. It’s inspiration, that’s it. I’m not inspired by you at all, but I can at least appreciate your art- even if you think I’m just being fake.

[11] ang0mang0′s history and why this shit doesn’t even make sense

Ange has said publicly and to me in detail about how she’s been accused of the same “art style theft” in the past. From what I’ve gathered or heard, people used to accuse her of copying a popular artist called myly14 who’s Sonic art is pretty much everywhere. Whether it be in edits, MVs or whatever else. Looking at her old art when she went under the name sonicfan799, her art does look similar to myly’s, but ang0 insisted that she didn’t copy myly and didn’t even know who she was. She legit said “it’s not my fault my art looks like someone else’s”, so basically- it was coincidence. She said she changed her art style because she “isn’t an asshole and didn’t want to make the other artist uncomfortable”, even though art style theft isn’t a thing and no one needs to be forced out of a style just because someone else already draws that way. I have no idea what myly’s stance on that situation was, but the fact that it happened just proves how stupid her current claims are.

Ange says that her style is “too complex” to be coincidentally similar to someone else’s, even though the fact that it’s happened 30 times (according to her) just proves that no, ang0, no it fucking isn’t. Your style isn’t complicated at all. Detailed sure, but no style is too complicated to be similar to another’s. Being complex doesn’t make something any less likely to be identical to another complex style.If you didn’t copy myly14 in the past, what right do you have to accuse me of the same damn thing? If I really am copying you, then you have to admit to copying myly, because you can’t just lie about your past and then shit on me for doing the same thing. So it’s either you stop this nonsense or you drag this drama down with you to your grave and admit you copied myly14.

Another thing, myly14 didn’t even have a “simple” style. The fact that her art was almost instantly recognizable and popular meant that she had a signature style that stood out. Yes, she used a lot of the original Sonic style’s anatomy, but her stylization of said anatomy, her shading and the way she composed her pieces gave her a signature style. The most stylized thing I could see was how she drew muzzles, and guess who drew muzzles in a similar way as well? You did. People saw how your way of drawing faces and some parts of the body and thought it looked liked myly’s. The similarities in your anatomy, and not your shading or colouring, was what made people think you copied her. That exact same thing is happening between me and you. My shading, colouring and composition is entirely different from yours, but some parts of the anatomy are similar.

If you really didn’t copy myly14, you have absolutely no. fucking. excuse. to accuse me of the EXACT. SAME. SHIT. that happened to you.

You never needed or deserved to be pressured out of your old style just because people thought it looked similar to someone else’s, and that’s why I refuse to change my style now. Because it isn’t. fucking. fair. To ANYONE.

[12] how I feel (this is copied over from my DeviantART)

At this point I've grown used to what she has to say, but it still hurts. She thinks that I'm some kind of cartoon villain maniacally laughing behind a computer screen every time I post something because she's so deep into her belief that I really copy everything she draws and that nothing I've never posted has any true effort put into it. She genuinely believes she owns all my art and that I devote my entire gallery into recreating her image or some crazy shit like that. It sounds really dumb, but from what I've read from her poorly constructed comments and rants, that's basically what she believes.

She thinks I don't care at all about how all this affects her or anyone at all, but I do. It doesn't just hurt me in the sense that she makes me feel awful with all her insults, but I just feel so bad for her. I feel guilty in the sense that I couldn't do anything at all to help her, not that "shes prolly feeling guilty and made that april fools joke to let out some guilt!!". (If you don’t know, on April Fools Day, I changed my Instagram bio to say “clown” and call myself “the ultimate copycat” as a joke.) That was a really stupid reaction from her by the way... who the hell comes up with that? Now that she's going away for a month, I feel even worse because all I wanted to do was try to make her come to her senses and end this mess. I thought I could talk some sense into her- that didn't work. Her delusions are so strong, she's like a brick wall. I thought I could ignore the drama- that didn't work. She "clowns" and talks about it so annoyingly often. Not to mention people do things on their own to stir shit up. I thought I could support her regardless and maybe try making her feel better about her art- that didn't work. She thinks I'm fake and that everything I say is a lie. Because of me, she probably doesn't believe other people too- and that makes me feel even more terrible.

No matter what I do, I'm automatically the villain and she's the tortured, helpless artist that everyone is against because "everyone is dumb, supporting a copycat" and she's just "used to it, because she's dealt with so much shit already!". It's so ridiculous. If she would just try to actually better herself or the situation, she wouldn't feel so horrible all the time. Like... for god's sake, she relied on a video game to make her happy- that's not healthy, and just like I suspected, it didn't fucking work.

more of how I feel

Because of ang0, I just feel like garbage. My self esteem and confidence in my art was already low. Thanks to her, I don’t feel original (or as original) anymore- and I’m afraid to show many of my new or old ideas because she or her whiteknight pin_kpeach may spring out and say “copycat! stolen! you’re not original!” and a plethora of other insults. I can barely sketch or draw Sonic content without panicking and feeling worthless because all I have is her words and her opinions stuck in my head. She blames me for her demotivation and shit like that when she’s done the same thing to me. She thinks I don’t care about her or her art, when I do, but when I say that, she calls me fake. In reality, ang0 couldn’t give a damn about me and I’m pretty sure she’d be happy if I were dead. She has said before that she doesn’t care if I killed myself soo... there’s that. Anyway lemme not drag my feelings out too long, I just thought I’d say it to anyone willing to listen since her immediate response would’ve been “fake, liar” etc, etc. I really don’t want anyone to feel bad for me or anything like that, I just want people to listen and understand. That’s all.

a final note

I’m really thankful- like, REALLY thankful- for everyone who’s been on my side throughout this. I don’t like picking sides, and I’d hate to make people do so, but there doesn’t seem to be any in between to this at all. It’s either you believe I’m copying her or you don’t. Most people don’t- thank goodness for that- but some do. And there’s nothing I can do about it. At this point, whatever man.

Please please PLEASE do not harass ang0. Don’t threaten her, don’t insult her, don’t do anything rash or fucking illegal. It’s all fair game if you want to POLITELY SPEAK to her, or try to start a discussion, but please don’t do anything stupid. And especially don’t do things in my name. If you want to debate with me or her, do research first- don’t just jump to conclusions or make assumptions.If you want nothing to do with this drama, then simply don’t say anything- just be aware of what’s going on, that’s all I ask. So nobody gets the wrong idea on either side.

Sorry for this being so long, I think I’m done for now.

Thank you if you read the whole thing.

[9.4.2020]

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fallout4holmes · 4 years ago

Text

Nuka-World 5

Holmes held off on putting up a flag in Kiddie Kingdom; he wanted to give Oswald plenty of time to round up his remaining friends and leave town before raiders moved in. Holmes also wanted to see more of Nuka-Town's exterior, keep going before we attracted attention with his absence. I think part of him was hoping to see some chink in the wall, some flaw we could use to our advantage. Heck, I know I was.

All we found was a foul-tempered deathclaw.

"Did you ever hear Danse's recommendation for how to hunt deathclaws?" Holmes hissed as I got a stimpack in him afterward. "'Return to base and forget about it. You'll live longer.'"

I chuckled, "Man's got a sense of humor I never give him credit for. You alright?" He nodded. "Honest answer, Sherlock," I said with a small smile.

Holmes frowned and admitted, "There is a ringing in my ears, but the rest of me will be fine as soon as the stimpak does its work."

I gently tilted his head back to get a look at his eyes. "Vision blurry?"

He hesitated, "Slightly."

"I want that Dr. Mackenzie to check you out. Might have a concussion."

"We can't waste the opportunity—"

"I'm not risking you being hurt worse than you look," I said, firm. "I know I'm killing a great chance for intel, make a plan, get the hell out of this place… but damn it, Sherlock, it doesn't do me any good if you wind up getting hurt beyond repair."

"If it meant you at least could get home—"

"You're gonna stop that kind of talk right now. You're seeing the doc," I helped him up, "and we'll figure something out."

I helped him back, but he insisted on going in through the front gate on his own. He pulled it off too, not that I thought he wouldn’t. The guy’s impressively stubborn. Maybe I should have said “infuriatingly,” but I guess it’s a bit of both. The doc checked him over, with the marketplace guards looking curious all the while. No one asked any questions, and Dr. Mackenzie said he probably suffered a mild concussion and needed to take it easy a couple days.

“Limited physical exertion and mental concentration, if possible,” she suggested. I guess it’s hard for a doctor to be firm with her patient when she’s got a shock collar around her neck.

Holmes sighed, “Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s going to be an option.”

With that, we headed back to the Overboss’s room. Gage was waiting for us by the lift and followed us up. As soon as we were safely above listening ears, Gage helped himself to the bar. “Shit,” the raider chugged a swallow of what was probably vodka, “The fuck were you thinking, boss?! Everyone’s talking about how all of a sudden Kiddie Kingdom ain’t got a rads problem anymore, you can see the fucking park instead of a green haze! Then you come walking back in, go straight to the doc, and she tells you to take it easy?”

He slammed the bottle down on the bar and started pacing. “So you went in, cleaned out the park, nearly got yourself killed, and didn’t put up a flag. What the Fuck am I supposed to do with that?” He turned to me, “Shut up, I don’t want an answer, I got an answer already lined up. You gotta understand, the new Overboss getting his ass kicked doesn’t look good.” He turned back to Holmes, “You made it here without help, that’s good, but you look like shit. Cleaning out Kiddie Kingdom, rads central. Makes sense you’d get sick. I can run that angle. No flag? Eh, who wants the kid town anyway. Besides, wanna give it time to air out or whatever. That’ll keep folks… not happy, but not angry, which is the important part. Soon as you're ready, we’ll head out for one of the other parks." Gage walked right up to Holmes then, "This time, I’m coming with. Can’t let anyone get the idea I don’t care about the Overboss’s health.”

So much for finding a way out on our own.

The Galactic Zone was west of Nuka-Town and, according to Gage, the traders used to scavenge for scrap in the space-themed park before the raiders moved in. The dead bodies by the entrance weren’t encouraging.

Holmes looked at Gage. Gage shrugged, “I dunno what killed ‘em, they were here when we took over the place.”

Holmes searched the bodies and found a holotape. It was a diary; the dead traders had come to salvage the tech in the park, but something had gone wrong. Something called a "Star Control."

"The fuck is a star control?" Gage grumbled.

"I don't know," Holmes said, pistol drawn, "but activating it somehow caused these people's deaths."

Gage was not impressed, "Killing a bunch of traders already running away don't mean much."

"I have found it is best to be cautious when dealing with technology one does not understand," Holmes said flatly.

We headed in. Considering the theme of the park, the hostile robots weren't much of a surprise, but the number and variety was a bit of a shock.

"Didn't think I'd be getting shot at by a walking refrigerator today!" I shouted to Holmes as we took cover from the bot's blue blasts.

"Is it really shooting that Quantum shit??" Gage sounded offended. He got off a few shots with his rifle, shattering the display screen on top of the fridge. It didn't seem to slow it down. “Never did have the aim to knock the batteries out of 'em,” Gage shouted, “Always had to take down robots the hard way!”

Holmes drew Oswald's sword and charged. I swore, loudly, “Damn it, Gage, don’t give him ideas!!” Gage and I rushed after Holmes as he crippled the robot. Then I saw the eyebots. And the protectron. “We got company!”

“C’mere, spare parts!” Gage growled and opened fire.

I’ll give Gage some small credit; the man’s good in a fight, even if I hate how he shanghaied us into this mess. The three of us took the robots out, but that was just the welcoming committee. The whole park was populated by modified models of robots, painted in Nuka colors. Holmes wanted to find the Star Control, figuring that whatever it was probably had something to do with the robots run amok, and the dead traders out front.

None of us were expecting it to be a huge military-grade computer mainframe.

Gage whistled low, “Well ain't this somethin'. Probably don't all work, but... I'm gonna keep my hands to myself just the same.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” I muttered.

“Least I look like something, instead of falling apart.”

“Enough,” Holmes ordered. He approached a corpse holding a black circuit board with glowing red lights. The board was the same size and shape as the empty panels all across the mainframe. Holmes placed the board in one of the panels, and the mainframe powered up.

“Guess shooting it won’t do the trick, huh?” Gage joked as Holmes accessed the terminal.

“Shooting things is rarely an effective way to gain information, Mr. Gage,” Holmes said.

“Sure it is,” Gage shrugged, “you just gotta be careful not to kill ‘em on the first shot.”

While Holmes read, I looked around. The building was a military and space exhibit, a diorama of a Quantum-blue suit of power armor on the moon enclosed by glass in the middle. The fella Holmes had taken the gadget from had a holotape on him. Turned out he was the one that turned on the robots to defend his people from Colter's raiders, before making sure that the system could handle it. ‘What’s the worst that could happen,’ he wondered.

Well.

Holmes stepped away from the terminal and gestured to the panels, “The system is a Systemized Telemetry for Automated Robot Control, or S.T.A.R. Control. These cores enable communication to all of the robots in the park. If we can find the cores, we can shut the robots down and eventually disable the defense mode they’re currently in.”

“Find the shiny rectangle things? That’s it?” Gage said.

“And not get killed by rampaging robots in the process,” Holmes nodded.

“Right. I’m so glad we picked this park to start off,” Gage headed toward the entrance, “who’s bright idea was that?”

“Yours,” I said.

It’s hard to imagine Nuka-World as a place families once came to when you’re shooting robots alongside a raider who essentially kidnapped you and your partner to force you into being his front for power… but the Galactic Zone was probably pretty impressive back in its day. RobCo sponsored a battle arena to show off its robots, there was a movie theater featuring whatever sci-fi flick of the day, a space-adventure roller coaster, everything a kid with a fascination for robots and astronauts could want. There was also a Vault-Tec exhibit.

The attraction was obviously just a way to attract customers to purchase spots in vaults. I got a kick out of the "Mutations: It Could Happen To You” pamphlet we found behind a desk. Of course, it’s not really Vault-Tec if there’s not some sort of immoral experimentation going on, and sure enough this facsimile of a vault had all the requirements. Vault-Tec used the ride to experiment on visitors. After everything we’ve found in Vaults, you’d think I’d stop being surprised.

“You ask me, whole idea of these ‘Vaults’ was messed up,” Gage grumbled as we walked through. “Sure, stick me underground with no control over anything... What could go wrong?”

“You would have made a fascinating specimen for some of the horrific experiments I’ve seen,” Holmes muttered.

Gage frowned, “I don’t know if that was an insult or not, so I’m gonna keep my mouth shut this time. But if—”

Whatever threat was lined up got cut off by the protectrons on display coming to life.

We fought our way through the park, explored the nooks and crannies of every ride and exhibit until we’d collected a hefty haul of star cores. Once we were back at the Star Control, Holmes loaded them into the panels. There were only a few empty spots left, and that was more than enough for our purposes.

“There,” Holmes announced as he accessed the terminal again. “The robots have been taken off defense mode.”

“Good,” Gage said. “Means they won’t cause any trouble for whatever gang gets this place, right?”

“Yes.” Holmes kept neutral.

“So which is it gonna be?”

“I hadn’t given it much thought.”

Gage rolled his eyes, “Well start thinkin’, boss. Sooner you hoist a flag, the sooner we can get back to Nuka-Town and get ready for the next park.”

Holmes thought for a moment. He rifled through the pack of flags and pulled out a tattered sheet with a red knife crossing four black blades painted in the middle. As he headed up one of the ramps to the second floor of the building, Gage laughed, “Shit, the Disciples? Really? Figured you’d be more fond of the Operators.”

I was frowning as Holmes came back down. He gestured that we leave. The three of us got moving, Gage leading the way back to town. “Disciples?” I asked in a low voice.

“To paraphrase something Gage said earlier, raiders aren’t good with technology. I don’t imagine the Disciples will find much relief for their bloodlust in fighting robots.”

“Unless they make the robots fight other people.”

“That’s something the Pack might attempt, but not the Disciples. They enjoy getting their own hands dirty too much. And if any of these raiders could figure out how to use the Star Control system, I imagine it would be the Operators.”

“So you gave it to the gang that would get the least use and satisfaction out of it.”

He nodded.

I smiled, just a little.

#fallout4holmes #fallout 4 #nuka world #sherlock holmes #fan fiction #catching up on past posts

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years ago

Text

Real Monsters

Two empty bottles of cheap shoddy beer stood on the bar counter, right next to a cup with a finger’s width of whiskey resting in it. Emily blew a strand of fire-red hair out of her face and, for no apparent reason, glared at the bartender as he collected and removed the empty glass containers from in front of her.

Over the course of the hour she had spent there, she slumped more and more over the bar counter where she sat. Every now and then, she glanced at the flat screen TV hanging over the bar, watching the news flashing across the screen with mild disinterest. The lights of cars on the city’s street outside the bar’s windows drearily passed by. The more she drank that night away, the more those lights outside turned into hazy blurs, contrasted by the soft illumination in this quaint pub.

Emily’s willowy frame and symmetrical features would lead to anybody describing her as an attractive woman in her late twenties—if you could stomach the strong stench of cigarette smoke clinging to her like a dark miasma—so it was nothing unusual for her to have some guy sidle up next to her with a warm and friendly smile. He even did a decent job at holding back from cringing, once he inhaled some of the air in Emily’s vicinity.

“Hey, I was just—”

“Fuck off,” she told him without looking up from the glass of whiskey she was nursing, swirling the liquid inside her glass in one hand. She trained her eyes on the TV screen even though the lines and text on it were getting blurry for her.

The young man’s face turned sour in an instant and he uttered a string of profanities at Emily while leaving her to herself, causing the bar stool next to him to scrape over the floor with a loud noise and prompt some other patrons to turn their heads.

The regular murmurs and conversations and clinking of glasses continued without incident though, as this sort of thing was a common scene in a bar like this.

Emily sighed when she saw a familiar segment rearing to come up on the TV. While some advertisements fired up with obnoxious lettering and white-washed imagery on the screen, she waved the bartender over.

“Can we change the channel? Isn’t there, like, a fucking game on, or something?” she asked him, clearing her throat in between the sentence fragments, taking her voice from raspy to gravelly. She pointed her index finger past the glass of whiskey she was holding.

The bartender, seemingly nice enough all evening, slung a small towel over his shoulder and leaned in over the counter to her. He seemed to register her request with a bit of a delay, then forced himself to smile. He nodded, then pointed to someone at the opposite end of the counter.

“I’ll get right on it after taking care of the gentleman over there,” he said.

She watched him saunter over yonder, taking his sweet time. Stifling a groan with a sigh, Emily muttered to herself, “Happy fuckin’ birthday to me, I guess.”

Right about when the bartender returned to her end of the counter, the ads ended and the segment started. Some shaky, grainy pictures flashed across the screen, commented on by a lady with one of those perms that looked like it was made of plastic. The graphics heralded an exposé about human trafficking discovered on the Canadian border between Vancouver and Seattle.

With a rosy color flushing her pale cheeks, Emily emptied the glass and covered half her face with a hand as if to bury it there, though all she wanted to do was hide.

The bartender leaned down and grabbed something from behind the counter, then froze mid motion of aiming the remote control at the TV set. He blinked as he saw a red-haired reporter with a mean green-eyed glare on the screen—one who happened to look a lot like Emily. Or rather—exactly like her, if you could tell the change in outfits apart. His head went on swivel between the Emily at the bar and the Emily on screen until he lowered the remote and casually leaned against the counter.

“Holy shit, is that you? You some kinda reporter, huh?”

“Fuck,” Emily hissed under her breath, managing to eke out a smile that refused to reach her eyes. She hunched even deeper over the counter towards the bartender and then hushed him with the words, “Yep, that’s me, Sherlock. Let’s not make a big deal out of it, ‘kay? I’m trying to unwind tonight.”

The bartender scanned her face with what was growing interest, but he turned to look back up at the screen again, giving her a curt nod in response.

“Gotcha,” he whispered. Watching the footage fly through, inter-cut with pieces of interviews and Emily being followed by a shaky camera switched into night mode, the bartender still couldn’t help but emit a short little whistle between his teeth.

“Damn, I’m not gonna turn the audio up, but that looks like some rough stuff,” he said.

His features softened as he could spot Emily’s mien darkening. He slid to lean over the counter and keep his voice down as he asked, “You okay? No offense, but you’ve been lookin’ down in the dumps all evenin’.”

“No offense, but whenever anybody starts anything with 'no offense’, it’s gonna offend, buddy,” she said, glaring at him.

“Jeeze, okay, I get it. You’re not here to talk. But I feel like I’d be an asshole for not asking,” he said, absentmindedly scratching the fashionable stubble on his chin.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Brian.”

Emily smirked and said, “Okay, Brian? You keep the drinks coming, we both mind our own business, and I’ll make like a tree soon enough.”

Something sparkled in Brian’s eyes and he shook his head with a strange slowness. Emily struggled to read what it meant or where it was coming from. A couple of drinks earlier and she would have had him figured out easily, but the meds mixing with the booze were doing her signature skills no favor. Her gut instinct swung wildly between him either feeling pity or genuine care for a fellow human being.

“I do have some responsibility here. I wouldn’t let you walk outta here knowing you had to drive after all the drinks you’ve been pounding down on, and I sure as hell am not gonna just pretend you can see that kinda—”

He cast a sidelong glance up at the TV screen, then continued, “That kinda shit doesn’t just bounce off o’ ya. Just seeing something like that on the news is enough to upset me. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be there, and talk to the monsters who do shit like that. Or, y'know, the victims of those monsters.”

The sparkle in his eyes turned wet, glistening with empathy. Brian was good, Emily thought.

“C'mon, humor me. I bet it’ll be a load off o’ your shoulders to talk about it. I hear plenty o’ sob stories and have to pretend that they’re oh-so-tragic, but even all that petty bullshit eventually gets to me.”

Emily said nothing. Continued studying his face.

“Costs you sleep, leads to drinking to sleep more, which leads to—eh, you know where I’m going with this.”

He shrugged and bit his lip, awaiting a response from her after all his rambling. The other people in the bar never turned silent, but the silence that welled up between Emily and Brian became so thick that you could have cut it with a knife.

“Okay,” she said. She put the glass down and repeated herself with another smirk, this one far less convincing and with far less confidence than any other expression she had brandished that night. “Okay. Brian? You might wanna buckle up, because this is a wild ride. Fuck, I don’t even know where to start. Much easier to write these things than to present them.”

She shot a glance up at the TV, conveniently presenting one of the monsters Brian had unwittingly mentioned.

“See that schmuck right there? Married, three children, successful business owner, respected in his community, loves walkin’ his dog in the park, probably tips generously, and also responsible for making twelve Vietnamese women live in a filthy fucking dungeon of a basement for ten years—forced into sex work, allowed out only to assemble and package counterfeit watches. Real piece o’ shit, sub-human, scum-sucking trash with a heart so fucking rotten that it might as well be a black hole. And he wasn’t even the mastermind or anything, he was basically middle management in this outfit of human-shaped turds.”

Emily kept getting more worked up as she swore up a storm and recounted the discoveries from her research. Brian visibly swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat and she could tell he was only moments away from breaking out into a cold sweat just from hearing the fury in her account.

“Her name was Tran. These dirt-bags trafficked her across the ocean to America, together with other girls, in containers that must have reeked to the high heavens of human shit and piss, subsisting on nothing but scraps of rotten fucking food. She was separated from her 5-year-old kid when they took her after promising her a better life for her family, and then these rat bastards on our side of the drink tried to ferry her over the border to Vancouver with some others by sticking her in a fucking refrigerator truck where she froze to death behind some pallets stacked with meat. With fucking meat,” she said with some spittle frothing on her lip. “Because that’s all she was to these monsters.”

Emily crammed a fist into her jacket pocket and produced a crumpled up pack of cheap cigarettes from it. She dumped it on the counter in front of her, together with a smartphone with a display so cracked that it would be close to impossible to read anything on it, and a plastic lighter clattering out onto the counter next to it.

“I don’t even know if they deserve to be called monsters. Because a monster at least acts upon instinct, like a fucking animal. Eat, fuck, shit, sleep, rinse repeat. But these motherfuckers, I swear,” she dug a cigarette out of the pack and swiftly lit it up.

Brian’s face had long fallen into a twisted visage of disgust and despair, paralyzed and incapable of escaping her cutting monologue, and his speechlessness extended into his inability to tell Emily she wasn’t allowed to smoke inside the pub. He feebly pointed at the cigarette she now took a long drag from and then rubbed his face instead.

With the force of frustration, she blew out some smoke before continuing her furious rant. She pointed at the TV screen with the burning cigarette clamped between her fingers. Some heads at the other end of the dive now turned to look at her again, the murmurs likely questioning what was going on there.

“They go home, they go shopping in a grocery store like you and me, they go to barbecue parties, they tuck their kids in at night, and they probably play poker or some shit. All the while they are quietly committing passionless murders; just cold calculated without any remorse. Enriching themselves with the suffering of the human beings they treat like fucking meat.”

More smoke billowed out of her nostrils like a dragon breathing fire when she picked up again, not missing a beat, “By the time Tran was twenty-seven and they recovered her body from the back of that truck, the autopsy showed that all the slave labor and all sex work had given her permanent spine damage. So, she was in constant crippling pain for the final fuckin’ years of her life before she died an undignified death without a single fucking soul to mourn her passing. And don’t you fucking give me that bunch of rotten, disingenuous politicians farcically conveying their condolences while scampering around to cover up for anybody in the police or border control who were in on this whole operation before we popped the lid on the entire stinking cess pool. Allegedly,” she said, letting the final word ooze out with bitter contempt.

Emily stopped herself, arched her head back and released an almost satisfied groan. It did feel good, at least somewhat. Sweet, sweet release.

She looked at Brian the bartender, now staring at her with eyes as wide as saucers, rendered speechless by her outburst of pent-up rage and verbal diarrhea that came from a festering disease that was what Emily’s view of humanity had become.

Her heart raced, but the frayed ends of her nerves had stopped screaming. For now.

After taking a long drag from her cigarette and savoring the next cloud of smoke she exhaled, she dug around in her pocket to get out some cash, spilling it out onto the counter in form of crinkled dollar bills and coins and leaving a pathetic tip because that was all she had on her.

Her voice dropped in volume, “Thanks, Bri. Good talk.”

She patted the money she was leaving on the counter and stood up straight. Or as straight as she could manage, because she drunkenly swayed a bit—which she elegantly masked with her years of drinking experience by slinging her jacket on.

One of the other patrons whose stare lingered on her for too long drew another deadly glare from Emily.

“The fuck are you lookin’ at?” her words muffled as she kept the cigarette clamped in between her lips. His eyes widened and he lowered himself over his drink while the other people at his table went silent with him.

Brian stammered out something, but Emily was too wasted already to really make out the precise words, and too far gone for that night to give a damn. He was probably going to check in on her and see if she was alright, yet again. Bless his soul.

She pushed open the front door. The jingle of a bell overhead caused her to flinch when she staggered out into the drizzle of rain outside the bar and she let the door slam shut behind her. Emily popped the collar of her jacket and wandered off into the city’s night.

After taking a final angry drag from her cigarette, she tossed the butt into a gutter and buried her hands in her jacket pockets while she stumbled on her way home, in the rough direction of her dingy downtown apartment.

She came upon a homeless guy sitting on the sidewalk with a cardboard sign right next to him, but the letters written on it blurred into something incomprehensible to Emily’s drunken stare. He was wrapped up in layers of sweaters and jackets and had a hood up over his head, with some newspapers spread out on top to shield him from the rain. But the sheets of paper were turning dark quickly, soaking up the raindrops as they grew in size and frequency.

With the rustling of the newspapers, the homeless man looked up at her, but the darkness concealed most of his features beyond a gray beard and skin that looked like a roadmap of sunburnt wrinkles.

“You should get outta the rain, buddy, s'gonna be a downpour tonight,” she told him.

He just stared at her. Shadows cloaked his eyes and a pit formed in Emily’s stomach.

“I ain’t got any change. Just pissed it all away just now. Sorry, man.”

She tried to lock eyes with him, but found no eyes underneath that veil of darkness over his own. The lack of a reaction began to creep her out. She gave him a bowing nod and walked on with a clipped, “Night.”

A few steps further down the sidewalk, she figured she might regret it, but considered inviting him home. The poor bastard might freeze to death on a late autumn night like this.

“When the world is a prison, there are those who are the prisoners cursed with unknowing, and the jailers who hold the keys to their unseen cells. Which are you?”

Those words rolled out with a fluid clarity and a gravity to rival the weight of the world. There was something about them—a sense of finality—that lent them a sinister air. They came from behind Emily—from that homeless man.

She turned slowly. Her heart raced, this time not with anger, but a growing sense of dread. She feared to see what this homeless man had turned into. His voice was as voluminous as that of a giant, as imposing as a king.

But there was nobody there. Emily looked around in disbelief. There was nobody else in this narrow street. The drizzle intensified until it turned into full-blown rain.

A cold shudder ran down her spine and Emily shivered. She suddenly remembered the pictures of Tran from the autopsy report, pale and lifeless, with eyes closed. An innocence destroyed by the monsters of this world. A horrible truth that Emily had helped unearth.

Emily went home and locked all three locks of her apartment door, shooing her three cats off her bed and crashing onto the covers without undressing.

The dark void of a dreamless sleep enveloped her within seconds and the next day, nothing would be the same, ever again.

This was the final night before her awakening.

—Submitted by Wratts

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the-everlasting-dream · 6 years ago

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In My Head - Rafael x MC

Summary: A commentary of MC Jaya’s thoughts during the date with Rafael last chapter.

A/N: My brain - and by extension Jaya’s - is weird. Sorry. You have been warned. This is kinda bad but idc

Tags: @chantelle-x0x , @choicessa, @mariamulroney , @drakewalkerwhipped , @thewolvesss , @mfackenthal , @srawesleyghuewrites , @topsyturvy-dream , @enmchoices , @gardeningourmet @debramcg1106 , @alesana45 , @meladoridarcy, @blackcatkita , @tmarie82 , @annekebbphotography , @lizk77 , @jayjay879 , @tornbetween2loves , @akrenich , @theroyalweisme , @likethetailofacomet , @sleepwalkingelite , @littleblossom-18 , @ooo-barff-ooo , @drakewalker04 , @mkatschoicesblog ,

Rafael Aveiro: @kennaloverofdragons , @ifyouseekheart , @brightpinkpeppercorn

Jaya FC: Pooja Hegde

Shower? Done. Deep condition? Done. Moisturise? Done. Shave? Goddamn Jaya its the first date, nothing’s gonna happen. Rafael Aveiro is not that kind of guy… And I am not that kind of girl..

Standards. Yep totally got those.

Okay okay, time for the most important part of date prep. Picking the outfit.

What did he say again? Dress comfy.. Comfy, Mr Aveiro, means my panda onesie and Ugg boots. I hardly think thats first date material right there. Unless it was a movie date, and we got to build the PERFECT outfit.

Think casual but cute. Classy but not like we’re trying too hard. Yep okay lets go. Ooo this dress is cute and it could pair it with those cream wedges... Where are they - NOOO. That stupid chocolate stain from my going away party is STILL there?

So scrapping that idea. What about that leather skirt… Found it. Okay nope. I look like a hoe in that. We’re going for wholesome not HOEsome here.

What do I feel casual in? Pencil skirt? Dress? Jeans? Ugh Raf could you be anymore ambiguous in your description? Don’t you know that girls require a detailed agenda of what we will be doing on the date so we can plan our outfit accordingly??

Oh my god why do I not have anything nice to wear??

Ughhhhh I just wanna throw out my whole wardrobe and start again.. I wish Asos had instant delivery like you payed the the thing and it would just magically show up in your closet. I could put together a killer outfit in minutes..

Too plain… too boring… I’m pretty sure that should be in my laundry pile… That’s my lab coat..

Oh that’s a cute skirt… I’m pretty sure I wore that to the concert with Bryce… I don’t wanna outfit repeat though…

Does this match..

Nope.

WHY CAN'T I FIND ANYTHING TO WEAR??

Everything I have makes me look too short, too fat or like I’m trying too hard. I just wanted jeans and a nice top but evidently that’s too much to ask..

What would Lois Lane wear? Wait how cold is it going to be tonight?

…Okay no skirts then. Alright he said dinner so that means no white or light colours coz we don’t know where we’re going so lets just go with jeans and maybe I could go with that burgundy off shoulder top I got last week? Huh.. that actually doesn’t look too bad.

Damn I actually look kinda good… Lets hope he thinks so too.

Alright now to give this mane a quick blow dry. Ugh why do I have my hair so long again? I literally do nothing with it but chuck it up in a pony tail… I should chop it off, do a new year, new me thing for spring or something..

Okay done.

Now make up. Think classy and cute. Lets put on some music…. Hmmm.. Bollywood Jams… What haven’t I listened to in a while.. Got it.

Panghat pe aake saiyyan marode baiyaan And everybody blames it on Radha Chhedde hai humka daiyaan, bairi Kanhaiya And everybody blames it on Radha

*Twenty minutes of singing and dancing later*

Okay Jaya focus. Focus like your life depends on it.

Time for *deep breath* Eyeliner..

Don’t… make… a…move… Okay that actually looks good. Time for the other one. Don’t… make… a…move… Fuck they don’t match… I’ll just make the other one thicker… Not that thick! Maybe I can use some concealer and make fix… Nope now that one’s too short.. Maybe… okay that looks worse…

Fuck eye makeup I’m just gonna skip it

Are hoops too much for a first date? Do I subscribe to that ‘the bigger the hoop, the bigger the hoe’ thing…? Maybe…

Nows not the time for experimenting Jaya. Focus. Now lipstick.. I cooooould go with red.. Who am I? Priyanka Chopra? Oh wait even Priyanka doesn’t wear red… Ok PC don’t let me down, I’m going with nude..

Shit is that the bell?! Okay okay, wallet, phone, shoes, I haven’t picked shoes yet! Ugh okay lets hope he doesn’t notice the chocolate stain.

Coming, coming. Oh wow he looks hot. I mean how does he make just a green jacket and t-shirt look good. Remember to speak Jaya. Say hi. Keep it cool. Goddamn Superman, you’ve got one adorable smile. Huh this old thing? Its just something I threw on… in pure desperation and defeat.

Omg guys pls don’t make a huge deal of this… I am so getting a roasting when this is over.

Please let’s go. Hang on where are we going? This is true. He can’t show me the city from indoors. Guess we’re doing an outdoor thing then...Apparently its a surprise. I can do this whole spontaneous thing.. Yep easy peasy.. so not still wondering if I’ve over dressed but if his outfit is anything to go off I think I should be fine?

Umm do you know where we’re going? Coz i have no idea. And I hope you’re not taking me some place to get mugged. DONT say that out loud Jaya. Focus on the conversation.. He’s asking you if you like Boston..

God he’s gorgeous. And humble too. So different from any other guy I’ve dated. From any other guy I’ve met actually… They don’t make em like they made you Rafael Aveiro.

He claims he’s not Superman but this is totally a Clark Kent outfit.. just missing some glasses. I bet he’d look hot in glasses. Does he wear glasses? I need to know immediately. Nope he doesn’t. 20-20 vision… Just like Superman.

WOAH

I would have totally missed this place if I hadn’t known it was here… or hadn’t had my own personal Superman showing me around. Heh.

Okay enough superman jokes.

I don’t even know where to look, the food, the smells, the sounds, the people, its kinda like the night markets back home. And oh my god what is that smell? Best street food in Boston… Yep I don’t doubt that for a second...

….Is it too cliche if I say Indian food? Coz I have been dying for some Aloo gobi since I came to Boston and — THEY HAVE CHANA MASALA!?!? IM TAKING IT ALL SORRY NOT SORRY Subhanu you’ll be out of business by the time Jaya Da Silva is done with you.

Wait he knows everyone here? And they know him? Did he like… save everyone in this city or something?

Okay wow this is getting a bit crowded, is it too cliche if I grab his hand? Almost… there… Oh were at our seats… Bummer.

Did he just… pull out the chair for me? Homeboy is earning some major points over here… I am impressed.

Damn he really does know everyone. If that wasn’t so impressed, I’ve be suspicious. Oh wait he’s grown up with these people. That explains it.

Community man.. Family man. Good match.. God I sound like the aunties back in Chennai.

He’s way too adorable to be single. A sweet guy, who cares about the community and is genuinely kind and smart? Guys like him do NOT pop out of no where… What are the chances he’s got some crazy dark secret..

Goddamn Jaya calm down with the analysing. Just relax.

Crap he just asked me about my community? What part should I tell him? The crazy expectations, the insane reputations to uphold or the life ruining rumours? Lie Jaya. You gotta lie. You can’t dump the truth on him this early on. He’s a nice guy but even he will turn tail and run if you tell him about your m-

Oh our foods here. OMG I apologise in advance but this has got to be one of the best chana masala’s I’ve ever seen. Patti would feel threatened. Let’s see how it tastes. SO FLIPPING GOOD. OH MAH GAAAHH

Raf I hope you don’t mind if I pig out coz I’ve been dying for Patti’s food and this is the closest I’m probably gonna get and this is pretty damn close.

Is he looking at me enough? Omg is he looking at me too much? Don’t have something on my face? Okay lets subtly move your hand up and.. okay that was subtle enough right? Holy crap I had gravy on my mouth and he didn’t say anything… Maybe it wasn’t noticeable?

Do I prefer a community or my own space? Hmmm… How do I answer this tactfully…

Oh this is nice. We’re picking up a rhythm here. Just casual chatting… He is actually really funny…

Okay Rafael Aveiro I see you. You’ve got that hidden sass in you that I sure as hell am going to bring out…

Oh damn I stand corrected, we are already at the roasting phase — more like a slight toasting really but he’s bring up The Grand Bathrobe Incident of two weeks ago. Oh great, I am never going to live that down. But hey if it landed me here I have no regrets...

Wow he’s actually got a bit of green in his eyes. I never noticed that. Why have I never noticed that? Probably because I’ve never been this close to see it…?

Oh wait I need a mint. All this chicken tikka and garlic I am gonna to do a major refresh if we’re going to do any kissing… or whatever.

Wait he just gave me a look. What does that mean? Are we going to… no it can’t be. Omg I did NOT wear my cute underwear.. what if we have sex? Nope Jaya nope. No sex on the first date. No matter how cute the green in Superman’s eyes are.

Hmm guess not… Anyways

*Later*

No way he likes the same flavour of Skittles as me! He’s already planning a movie night for us? Wait is that a hint at another date? Or was it just a general thing?

Wait where is everyone else? Are we the last ones here? Hang on a second how did he pay without me noticing?? Nope I can’t let him pay, I- He’s not hearing any of it. Okay fine I won’t argue but next time I’m paying.

Did he just… ask to walk me home? Can this man get any more precious??? Of course honey you can. Gosh I’m melting right now, this is so adorable…

Oh my god, our fingers brushed. They brushed again.. And again… Please take my hand, please take my hand. I really wanna hold yours but I’m too socially awkward to do that.. Thank god he got the hint. This is nice… real nice…

Okay that walk was way too short for anything to happen. We’e stopped outside my porch. I am SO happy I ran into you Raf. you made my shitty day so much better. Oh god this is like one of those movies where they stand outside the door for ages not wanting to say anything… I really wanna kiss him. Goddamn he’s dreamy as hell…

How do I tell him I want him to kiss the life out of me without… you know.. telling him I want him to kiss the life out of me?

He’s gonna say goodnight? Wait THATS it? Just a goodnight and go? Wait I think he got the hint, he’s taking a step closer. Wow he’s tall, I’ve always liked them tall dark an handsome.. His eyes… wow..

Oh my god is this really happening? Does he want to kiss me? Of course he wants to kiss you, you dolt, he’s leaning in closer. Can’t you see the look in his eyes? Why is he waiting… Crap he’s waiting for me.. What if I’ve misjudged this whole — Oh fuck it here goes.

Mmmm

Woah..

Abshhgkl… can’t… articulate… kiss... too good…

Breathe Jaya breathe. All tingly now. His arms are so strong… He can leave them around me… He doesn’t have to let go just yet… God he has the most amazing shy smile.. I could kiss him again… and again… and never stop… Do we have to stop?

Oh yep he wants to stop. Thats…not unexpected… He wants to take it slow remember? Its probably a good thing. I don’t know what I’d do if I managed to sneak him upstairs — out of sight to all my roommates of course — get him pinned up against the wall, inch my fingers up that nice but totally unnecessary shirt of his — I bet he’s got amazing abs too — and just —

Jaya! Stop it. Stop perving on the nice boy! This is your first date, he already wants to take it slow, lets not ruin this by not being able to keep it in your pants. Now pull yourself together and say goodnight.

This is like a freaking rom com. Am I in Love Actually right now? He’s actually waiting for me to get in the house before leaving. Chivalry is obviously not dead everyone. Rafael Aveiro alone is keeping it alive.

Oh fuck my keys, where are they where are they, shit hurry up he’s waiting for you to get in, don’t ruin the moment for me stupid k— Ah finally.

He looks too adorable to leave out on the front porch. Smile and say goodnight Jaya like a grown ass adult. I really want run over and kiss him. And from the way he’s looking at me, I think he wants to too?

Nope self control Jaya. This is what we practice in this household. Close the door and go upstair— Oh my god he’s whistling as he walks away. Ahhh does that mean he had a good time? Because I sure as hell did. I hope he asks me out again. Or I could ask him out this time.

Either way I hope we can see a lot more of each other soon because you are something else Superman. Something else indeed.

#rafael aveiro #rafael x mc #open heart #choices open heart #jaya da silva #choices #playchoices #choices fandom #choices fanfiction #elle's a weirdo #sorry this is what happens in my brain #but like the censored version #a lot of weird stuff didn't make the cut #you'll be happy i cut it

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thewalkingtriangle · 7 years ago

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Momentum, the nega-Media Trump's speech to The Boy Scouts Of America

Let's be clear on this: Politics is part of the scouts world. Anything that helps shaping the future is part of the scouts world, that's how they grow. But that was not the place, and in my opinion, regardless of his position, he was not the person. A Jamboree represents the will to reach other scouts, to share experiences, music, games, stories. He is a president, he serves the country, and in respect to the spirit of scouting, and of that event, he should have had more Countenance.

Yes, I do not believe the scouts had what they deserved with their president's speech.

And in all these news against Trump I do not believe they are getting it either.

Media mentions Obama's absence only because it can use it against trump.

They do not show the immense crowd of young people willing to act on the scouts honor. Nope. The good will they have. Nothing. "But, think of the children!" - to play that card like this over and over again for political and clickbait reasons is low, scouts are not victims, they are children and young adults, but never victims, they should grow to become strong and reject the values that go against their experiences. Against the rudeness of their president if need be (who is the honorary chief of the scouts), and also against accepting being placed as the victim that, in this era of information, will be brainwashed just by a speech.

But The Boy Scouts deserved more, they deserved a good speech from THEIR president, which is for the time being Trump.

In a modest wish of mine, I took the liberty of cutting out all that shows little countenance from the original, or as I call it:

The nega-Media Trump's speech to The Boy Scouts Of America

to be noted that the bold parts are the one’s actually interesting for the speech in the view of a story telling and good message for scouts. And I say nega, cause common, open any news article beside fox news all other things besides him being egoistical and political are forgotten.

Thank you everybody, thank you very much, I am thrilled to be here, thrilled.

And if you think that was an easy trip you are wrong, I am thrilled. xix(?) Jamboree Boy Scout Jamboree wow and to address such a tremendous group, boy you have a lot of people here (...) it looks like 45 000 people, you set a record today, you set a record. That's a great honor believe me. Tonight, we put aside all the policy fights (...), and instead we are going to talk about success about how all of you amazing young scouts can achieve your dreams, what to think about, what I have been thinking about. (...)

There are many great honors that come with the job of being president of the United States but looking out at this incredible gathering of mostly young Patriots, mostly young. I am especially proud to speak to you as the honorary president of the boy scouts of America.

You are the young people of character and integrity that will serve as leaders in our communities and uphold the sacred values of our nation. I want to thank Boy Scouts president Randall Stephenson, chief scout executive Michael Servo, Jamboree chairman Ralph de la Vega and the thousands of volunteers who have made this a life-changing experience for all of you and when they asked me to be here I said absolutely yes. Finally, and we can't forget these people I especially want to salute the moms and the dads and troop leaders who are here tonight. Thank you for making scouting possible. thank you mom and dad. Troop leaders, when you volunteer for the boy scouts, you are not only shaping young lives, you are shaping the future of America. The United States has no better citizens then its Boy Scouts, no better.

The values, traditions, and skills you learn here, will serve you throughout your lives and just as importantly, they will serve your families, your cities and, in the future and in the present, will serve your country. The scouts believe in putting America first. (...) I'll tell you, the reason I love this and the reason I really wanted to be here is, as president, I rely on former Boy Scouts every single day and so do the American people. It's amazing how many Boy Scouts we have at the highest level of our great government, many of my top advisors in the White House were scouts. Ten members of my cabinet were scouts. Can you believe that? Ten. (...[1]...) (...) (...)

A lot of love in this beautiful place, a lot of love and a lot of love for our Country. (...)(...[2]...) (...) (...) (...) (...[3]...) (...) As we can see, just by looking at our government in America scouts lead the way and another thing I notice and I noticed all my life, there is a tremendous spirit in being a scout, more so than almost anything I can think of, so whatever's going on keep doing it, its incredible to watch, believe me.

Each of this ladies will tell you that the road to American success([4]), and you have to understand their American success and they are a great, great story was paved with the patriotic American values and traditions they learned in the Boy Scouts and someday, many years from now when you look back on all of the adventures in your lives you will be able to say the same: I got my start as a Scout. Just like these incredibly great people that are doing such a good job for our country, so that's gonna happen. Boy scout values are American values and great Boy Scouts become great, great Americans. Has the scout law says a Scout is trustworthy, loyal (...). (...)

But here you learn the rewards of hard work and perseverance, never ever give up, never quit. Persevere, never ever quit. You'll earn the satisfaction of building a roaring campfire, reaching a mountain summit or earning a merit badge after mastering a certain skill. There is no better feeling then an achievement that your earned with your own sweat, tears, resolve, hard work. There is nothing like it. Do you agree with that?

I am waving to people so small, I can't even see them. Damn,(...) that is so incredible (...) (...) (...) Thank you, I am honored by that, by the way all of you people I can't even see you so thank you. I hope you can hear.

Through scouting you also learn to believe in yourself, so important, to have confidence in your ability and to take responsibility for your own life, when you face down new challenges, and you will have plenty of them, develop talents you never thought possible, and lead your teammates through dare and trials, you discover that you can handle anything, and you learn it by being a scout, and its great. You can do anything, you can be anything you wanna be, but in order to succeed you must find out, what you love to do, you have to find your passion, and you know what? No matter what they tell you (...)

(...[5]...)

In life, in order to be successful, and you people are well on the road to success, you have to find out what makes you excited, what makes you wanna get up each morning and go to work, you have to find it. If you love what you do, and dedicate yourself to your work, then you will gain momentum, and look you have to, you need the word Momentum, you will gain that momentum, and each success will create another success.

The word Momentum. I'll tell you a story that's very interesting to me. When I was young there was a man named William Levvitt, Levingtton's you have some here (...) and he was a very successful man. Became unbelievably (he has a homebuilder), became an unbelievable success and got more and more successful. He built homes and at night he went to these major sites with teams of people and he'd scour the sites for nails and sawdust and small pieces of wood and they cleaned the site so when the workers came in the next morning the sites would be spotless and cleaned and he did it properly. And he did this for 20 years and then he was offered a lot of money for his company and he sold his company for a tremendous amount of money, at the time especially. This was a long time ago (...) and he had a very interesting life. (...) Oh, you're Boy scouts but you know life, you know life. So, look at you, who would think this is the Boy Scouts.

So he had a very, very interesting life and the company that bought his company was a big conglomerate so they didn't know anything about building homes, they didn't know anything about picking nails and the sawdust and selling it and the scraps of wood. This was a big conglomerate based in New York city, and after about a 10-year period they were losing a lot with it, and it didn't mean anything to them, and they couldn't sell it so they called William Levin up and they said, would you like to buy your company and he said yes I would. So badly he wanted it, he got bored with this life (...) you won't get bored right? Know, truthfully, you are workers. You'll get bored too, believe me. Of course having a few good years like that isn't so bad, but what happened is he bought back his company and he bought back a lot of empty lands and he worked hard on getting at zoning and he worked hard on starting to developed, and in the end he failed, he failed badly (...).

And he was now he was much older, and I saw him at a (...) party and it was very sad (...) I see, sitting in the corner was a little old man who is all by himself, nobody was talking to him (...) so I went over and talked to him and I said (...) Mr. Levitt, how are you doing? Not well, not well at all (...) and he explained what was happening and how bad it’s been and how hard its been, and I said what exactly happened? Why did this happened to you? You are one of the greats ever in our industry? Why did this happen to you? and he said, Donald I lost my momentum, I lost my momentum.

A word you never hear when you're talking about success, when some of these guys that never made ten cents, they're on television giving things about how you're gonna be successful and the only thing they ever did was a book in a tape but I'll tell you, I'll tell you it was very sad, and I'll never forget that moment and I thought about it and it's exactly true. He lost his momentum meaning he took this period of time off, long years, and then when he got back he didn't have that same momentum.

In life, I always tell this to people, you have to know whether or not you continue to have the momentum, and if you don't have it that's ok, because you are going to go on, you are going to learn to do things that are great. But you have to know about the word momentum. But the big thing, never quit, never give up. Do something you love, when you do something you love as a scout, I see that you love it. But when you do something you love you will never fail. What you are going to do is to give it a shot again, and again, and again. You are ultimately going to be successful. And remember this you are not working. Because when you do something that you love, like I do (...[6]...) But when you do something you love, remember this, its not work. So you'll work 24/7, you are going to work all the time and at the end of the year, you are not really working, your don't think of it as work. When you are not doing something that you like or when you force yourself in to do something that you really don't like that's called work and it's hard work, and it's tedious work so as much as you can do something that you love, work hard and never ever give up and you're going to be tremendously successful, tremendously.

With that, I have to tell you, (...) (...) (...[7]....)

We are indeed making America great again, what is going on is incredible (...[8]...).

In the boy scouts you learn right from wrong, correct? You learn to contribute in your community, to take pride in your nation and to seek out opportunities to serve, you pledge to help other people at all times. In the scout Oath you pledge on your honor to do your best and to do your duty do God and your country.

(...) But the words duty, country and God are beautiful words. Basically you are pledging to be a great American patriot. For more then a century, that is exactly what our Boy Scouts have been. Last year you gave more then 15 million hours of service to helping people in your communities. Incredible. All of you here tonight will contribute with more than 100,000 hours of service by the end of this Jamboree. One hundred thousand.

When natural disaster strikes, when people face hardships, when the beauty and glory of our outdoor spaces must be restored and taken care of, America turns to the Boy Scouts because we know that the Boy Scouts never, ever, ever lets us down. (...) We know we can count on you, because we know the values that you live by. Your values are the same values that have always kept America strong, proud and free. (...) (...) (.......) American hearts are warmed every year when we read about Boy Scouts placing thousands and thousands of flags next to veterans’ grave sites all across the country. By honoring our heroes, you helped to ensure that their memory never ever dies. You should take great pride in the example you set for every citizen of our country to follow.

Generations of American of Boy Scouts have sworn the same oath and lived according to the same law you inherit a noble American tradition and as you walk through your lives never cease to be proud of who you are and the principle you hold dear and stand by. Wear your values as your badge of honor. What you have done is incredible, what you done is admired by all. So I want to congratulate you Boy Scouts.

Let your scouting oath guide your path from this day forward. Remember your duty. Honor your history. Take care of the people God put into your life and love and cherish your great country.

You are very special people, your are special in the life of America, you are special to me. But if you do what we say, I promise you will live scouting’s adventure every single day of your life. And you will win(...) and help people in doing so. Your lives will have meaning and purpose and joy, you will become leaders. And you will inspire others to achieve the dreams they once thought were totally impossible. Things that you said could never, ever happen are already happening for you. And if you do these things and if you refuse to give out to doubt or to fear then you will help to make America great again. You will be proud of yourself, be proud of the uniform you wear and be proud of the country you love.

And never ever forget: America is proud of you.

This is a very, very special occasion for me (...[9]....) but this is very special to me, and I just want to end by saying very importantly, God bless you, God bless the Boy Scouts, God bless the United States of America, go out have a great time in life, compete and go out and show me that there is nobody, nobody like a Boy Scout! Thank you very much everybody. Thank you very much.

[1] mentioning who from his cabinet is/was a scout

[2] not sure about this bit but alas make it more about the community, or the actions of each individual less about the individuals themselves(unless it's BP)

[3] really sure about this part though ... common, Obamacare....?

[4] let’s say he said success instead of sex

[5] oh the Obama remark.

[6] reference to he loves what he does

[7] things about his win, common, fast-forwarding this part. not the place. not the place

[8] CHILDREN DO NOT UNDERSTAND STOCKS

[9] talking about himself too much again

All would have been great to the scouts if he had done just this, it would have been, personally, even better than Obama’s 2 minutes speech via webcam. This speech would encourage young people and not lose them with concepts they are far to young to understand and to make decisions upon. It would not draw the attention of the media to the Jamboree for all the wrong reasons.

I do not care of who Trump is or what he has said in other ocasions, today he, as the president of the USA, did not perform well his duty to the young ones.

#Momentum #Trump #scout #jamboree #politics #boy scouts #obama

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