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distraughtmary · 2 years ago

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To Uncreate You. Chapter 3

Dmitry’s uneasy slumber was unceremoniously interrupted by the deafening sound of the school bell, or so it seemed. His hand instinctively reached for the smartphone, and Dmitry belatedly realized that it was in the bag he had left on the humble-looking desk. Grumbling, he raised himself from the bed, cold-sweaty and weary from the restless night, and uncovered the phone from the bag. The lock screen showed 6.30 am, which was 3 hours earlier than Dmitry’s usual waking hour.

‘Fucker,’ Dmitry muttered and decided to check his social media timelines.

All the jokes he had posted to mask the stress had zero likes or replies, and while there were some signs of activity in the group chats, he chose not to bother. After all, they did not believe him about what he done as his first act of magic, and even when Dmitry had provided the evidence, his so-called friends had insisted on calling him a fraud and a stuck-up. In spite of that, he remained in the chats and reluctantly followed those people because there were only so many spaces where one could discuss Japanese idols of the 1980s. However, Kudo Shizuka and Moritaka Chisato could not save him at that moment, and Dmitry wondered if he had the courage to end the vicious cycle of mockery. The thought was promptly dissolved by a new video post from one of Showa music bot accounts, which featured a singer he had never heard of, so he had to bookmark it to watch later. The cycle continued. Having exited the social media apps, Dmitry let his finger hover over the dating app with 5 notifications, but building a relationship was the last item on his agenda after everything that had transpired. And he still did not know what his schedule was going to look like and how much it was going to mess up his life.

The messaging app had a single notification, and Dmitry discreetly opened it to check the sender. It was Ulyana, his friend from the university, if he could call her that, asking him if everything was ok. While Dmitry knew the answer, he was not sure whether Ulyana would take a simple no with zero explanation. He reflected on the last time they had seen each other offline: it was the graduation ceremony. Dmitry had tried to look his best in a 4-year-old suit, and he might have overdone the face and the hair, which had looked too shiny, but no one had noticed, or everyone had pretended not to notice. Ulyana had looked stunning in her sky-blue dress, her fair hair neatly resting under a plastic tiara. She had whispered her love to him on the stage during the acceptance of the diplomas, both of theirs red, and he had fled immediately after receiving his, causing quite a stir in the auditorium. He was glad that his grandparents had not been able to attend the ceremony and thus were blissfully unaware of the incident. He had wanted to delete whatever contacts he had had with Ulyana but had resolved not to be a coward and had told her the truth, expecting her to do the job of erasing him from everywhere. Contrary to his assumptions, Ulyana had taken the news surprisingly well, and her interest in Dmitry’s life had only increased. She had told him to make a dating app account, had told him to have more faith in himself, and had told him not to give up when his magic had been discovered. She had become his only friend, and he owned her a proper reply.

‘Still tired as fuck. Met the principal yesterday and I don’t wanna see her ever again,’ Dmitry typed lazily, not expecting an answer so early in the morning.

‘What’s she like?’ the screen suddenly lit up with a pop-up notification.

‘Ur up already? Dmitry typed, his eyebrows raised.

‘Yeah, the classes start at 7.30, and I have to do stuff and then catch a bus.’

‘When I was a student they started at 8.30. Guess I dodged the bullet because teachers have to arrive even earlier’

‘I hate that you aren’t suffering here with me but I might like the job. Except for the emphasis on patriotism, that part sucks’

‘Part of the reason I rejected the offer, and then the lyceum principal told me I’d lose the job anyway’

‘OK, but what’s the deal with her?’

‘She seems to know everything about me, and she warned me not to get close with a guy I just met, even though it was him who was too clingy (angry emoji)’

‘And how does she know about THAT? Only your brother and I know’

‘No idea, maybe they are monitoring my socials and that dating app you recommended. Damn, I gotta delete that shit!’ Dmitry’s finger momentarily went to the settings, and in a few more taps the app was gone.

‘Fuck, I had no idea, sorry’

‘No problem, they are probably looking at our messages rn too, and there are cameras all over this room, but I don’t give a flying fuck somehow’

‘Shit. Wait, you mentioned some guy. Who’s he? Is he cute?’

‘Let’s not talk about that’

‘Why?’

There was a knock at the door, and Dmitry opened it, cursing to himself. He did not even care who it was.

‘Hi,’ Egor’s face looked apologetic, as if it was him who had waken Dmitry and not the bell.

‘It’s him. Catch you later, Uli,’ Dmitry’s fingers were fast.

‘Tell me the deets later (winking emoji),’ said the last notification as Dmitry put the smartphone aside.

‘Hi,’ he said to Egor, controlling his face hard not to reveal that they had been talking about him.

‘Rough night?’ Egor asked kindly.

‘You could say that,’ Dmitry was nonchalance itself.

‘Look, breakfast is at 7, and we have 15 minutes left, and… do you need to go to the restroom?’ Egor asked, his eyes scanning the room, and Dmitry got the implication.

‘Right, I didn’t have a change to go last night, just let be grab my bag.’

‘Why?’ Egor was genuinely curious.

Instead of answering, Dmitry slung the bag over his shoulder and left the phone on the table.

‘I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry,’ he said to the invisible listener.

Egor looked at Dmitry questioningly but said nothing. They left the room with Egor in the lead, and Dmitry observed the surroundings. The inside of the Lyceum resembled a typical Russian school, the same Soviet minimalism disguising the fact that the building may serve as a bomb shelter at any time. Dmitry could not fathom whether it was a stylistic choice or the building was simply old because there was no information about the establishment anywhere, and it was invisible from the outside. However, the mystery hardly was a pro in Dmitry’s eyes; it was another confirmation that something wrong, and the constant surveillance did not allay the misgivings. He wondered if the restroom was also equipped with cameras, which would be extremely perverted of whoever had conceived such an idea, but Egor seemed determined as they were walking to the door with a doodle potentially indicating a man. After they had entered the room, Egor heaved a sigh of relief.

‘Whew, I thought someone was going to stop us or worse.’

Dmitry surveyed the restroom without much enthusiasm. It had two sections: the one with two mirrors and sinks, where one could wash their hands after doing whatever nasty deed was necessary, and the other with urinals and closed stalls, the farthest being closed for maintenance, as the yellow sign suggested. The room had a suspicious smell, but it was only expected from the boys’ realm. No feet were visible under the stalls, which meant that only Dmitry and Egor were present, and the former relaxed.

‘Okay, this place seems safe despite the awful smell. Tell me how you knew the way here and the way to my room and what the principal told you while I do my business,’ Dmitry approached one of the sinks and looked at the mirror.

‘Fuck, I look like shit. Gotta fix that before the kids die out of fear,’ he started rummaging in his bag and produced a couple of creams, a chapstick and a hairbrush.

‘You look fine. You don’t even have to shave,’ Egor remarked carefully.

‘Whatever. Talk,’ Dmitry was already washing his face and squeezing one of the creams on his palm.

‘Last night I asked her to show me the way to the “bathroom” before going to my room. I really needed to go, and I had no idea about the cameras. Then I asked her about your room just in case, and she said it was the third on the left from the stairs. As you see, she didn’t lie. She also mentioned the cameras and the breakfast time and told me to shave. Oh, and she welcomed me again and promised a good time here’

‘Interesting,’ Dmitry was applying cream to his face. ‘Because outside of the cameras, she told me nothing of the sort. I smell bias.’

‘What did she tell you?’ There was a hint of concern in Egor’s voice.

‘She told me to stay here all year long,’ Dmitry said, massaging his face. ‘To give up my job and to stay away from you. Completely innocent pieces of advice.’

‘Damn, really? Are you going to follow those?’

‘Not until she gives me a good reason to,’ Dmitry rinsed his face and reached for another cream. ‘I don’t really like doing what people tell me to, you know.’

‘That’s fair,’ Egor was a bit abashed. ‘So, what’s the plan?’

‘What plan?’ Dmitry was busy with rubbing the cream into his freckles.

‘I can see that you don’t like it here, and I’m not so keen on the school either. Especially after they forced me to resign from my dream job that would set me up for life,’ Egor’s expression was stern and serious, and Dmitry could feel the pain in his words.

‘They didn’t do me as dirty as they did you, but I didn’t apply to any school for a reason, and now they want me to work here, teaching something I have no idea about,’ Dmitry was done with his face and started combing his fiery hair. ‘And very likely for free too, but I’m a capitalist pig through and through.’

Egor was about to ask something scandalous, but he caught Dmitry’s sharp gaze in the mirror and thought better of it.

‘Well, what are we going to do then? Because I have no fucking idea,’ Egor proclaimed instead, his shoulders twitching in discomfort.

Dmitry snorted, chapstick on his lips as the last part of his routine.

‘We wait. We learn. We get to know more people, the adult students, the teachers, and so on. We try to understand what they want from us. And maybe we find a way to escape all of that, but I have a feeling that we won’t be safe anywhere in this god-forsaken country.’

‘Aren’t you a clever chicken, red-hair,’ an unfamiliar smug voice said from the other section of the restroom. Dmitry dropped the chapstick in the sink, mumbling such obscenities that Egor had to let out a nervous laugh, but he also assumed a defensive position. Seconds later, the owner of the comment appeared. It was a guy who could be the same age as them, although there was a certain hardness to his face that made him look slightly older. Short fair hair circled his head, and his fringe almost formed a heart symbol, but there was no heart in his hazel eyes that burrowed through Dmitry and tried to reach his darkest depths. The image lasted mere seconds, but Dmitry had already wanted to be on the different continent from the guy. Then the blondie half-smiled, and his stare became less piercing.

‘Relax, I’m not gonna rat you two out to Tanka. Or should I drop the rat?’ the guy’s gaze shifted to Dmitry’s paraphernalia still sitting on the sink.

‘If you mean the principal, then she already knows everything there’s to know about me’, Dmitry replied mischievously, putting his equipment back in the bag. ‘I doubt your little song is going to change anything.’

‘Oh, you must be that guy everyone’s been fussing over. Not that I’m complaining because the big heads forgot about our individual classes for a minute, and I won’t say no to some vacation time. Such a fierce thing you are, red-head,’ the guy licked his lips shamelessly and put his elbow on the half-wall separating the restroom sections. ‘Name’s Valera, and let me tell you that you ain’t the first or the last to think that you can outwit the school, but it always wins. Everything the hag told you – do it, or you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your stay here, which could be forever for all I know.’

Dmitry and Egor studied ‘Valera’ suspiciously, but Dmitry did not think he was bluffing. He opted not to ask what Egor’s take on the guy was as they had been busted and left at the mercy of the lad who looked like someone who could beat Dmitry senseless for what he had conjectured Dmitry was. Still, ‘Valera’ seemed like just another bully to him, and he knew how to handle them after having survived in Russia for about two decades.

‘Well, thank you for the advice, Valera,’ Dmitry said demurely, his eyelashes fluttering. ‘Anything else we should know?’

Valera was rendered speechless for a moment due to Dmitry’s sudden modesty but quickly regained his composure.

‘The restroom is empty because all the young ones are in the dining hall helping with the arrangements,’ he said, his wolfishness greatly subdued. ‘Yall are lucky it was just me because someone is always on duty to eavesdrop hence there are no cameras here’.

‘What’s in it for you?’ Egor finally addressed Valera, his face distorted in distaste.

‘We adults should stick together, is all. Not everyone wants to though, and if y’all stay on your own, we are fucked,’ Valera curled his fingers in a fist, and Dmitry could feel what was going to happen next.

‘If you want a fight, you’re gonna get it, fucker,’ Dmitry assumed an awkward offensive pose, his own fists with the thumbs out.

‘What, no,’ Valera perfunctorily observed his hand and untangled it. ‘I don’t fight with… whatever, if you wanna continue this whole making yourself pretty thing, you better do it when no one’s here or in your room.’

Dmitry’s face went scarlet, and he mumbled something about deadly ultraviolet radiation and not doing that to be pretty.

‘But it’s not the principal who is watching the camera feeds, right?’ Egor involved himself in the conversation again. ‘I doubt Dima… Dmitry would want anyone else to snoop around his business.’

Dmitry looked at Egor strangely, his face still reddened and covered with the back of his left hand, but barely moved his lips that might be in need of more chapstick.

‘Yeah, the guards are watching the feeds, and there’re like 3 of ‘em. Don’t know their rotation though, but if only one sees that, basically all three will know. No clue how the gossip will go from that moment on,’ Valera offered with barely any reassurance.

‘Whatever,’ Dmitry blurted out. ‘If they want to be bigots so bad, then they aren’t getting any of this ‘interesting’ magic.’

He turned to Egor, his face flustered with anger and a plethora of other emotions he was not willing to admit.

‘Now, Egor, was it? Let’s get the hell out of here because I’m so hungry I could eat a bear.’

‘I wouldn’t…,’ Valera started saying, but Dmitry kicked the door open and disappeared into the hallway, with Egor on his heels.

#writing #writeblr #amwriting #m/m romance #m/m fiction #queer #to uncreate you

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yellowocaballero · 2 years ago

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Iron Fist is Kinda Weird

Or: How do we talk about talking about social justice?

I have a diseased brain poisoned from reading comic books since elementary school, and I think it's fun to look at bad things and wonder why they're bad. I ended up writing Danny Rand AKA The Immortal Iron Fist for my Moon Knight fic series and I got so deep into researching him and the Heroes For Hire that he began to interest me. I ended up having a lot of opinions about it, things went out of hand again, I wrote a very weird Iron Fist story, and I'm officially giving up and putting my thoughts down about the character.

TL;DR: Iron Fist's history, character, and most notable relationship has an intrinsic relationship with race that really shouldn't be ignored, but the consistent framing of the character is highly revealing of the assumed context of media about social issues.

Yeah, there's some stuff to talk about. Rest under the cut. I want to make a giant disclaimer here that I am speaking from the perspective of the origins and histories of the characters, and that I am sourcing from the 1970s-1980s Heroes For Hire comic.

Unfortunately Important History

In 1974 comic book executives realized that martial arts movies were highly popular among teenage boys and were making a lot of money. Similarly, the other comic book execs across the hall were also realizing that Blaxploitation movies were also super hot right now. Thus, Iron Fist and Luke Cage were born. With this identical genesis, it's fitting that they ended up so tightly paired.

Thanks in part to the martial arts movies and the booming Hong Kong and Japanese industries, Orientalism was at a huge high America. Probably highest since the 1920s when the whole archeology thing and movies with dancing women were really taking off. TV shows like Kung Fu, about a man who wandered around knowing kung fu, were about the glories of kung fu and featuring a half-white half-Asian man played by a white man. Similarly, Blaxpoitation movies (which I know relatively little about besides the fact that the NAACP hated it, so that's probably the main takeaway here) were probably the first American film genre predominantly featuring Black people. Blaxploitation films...talked about Black issues...kind of...in a way, and you can see that thread in Luke Cage. The main thing you need to know about Luke Cage was that Dwayne McDuffie, one of the founders of the imprint featuring the only comics that actually deserve to talk about race (DC you neutered Static Shock), hated him. The background for these guys and the cultural & media landscape that gave birth to them is important, but you mostly just need to get that they were born from an American voyeuristic fascination with sensationalized depictions of other cultures.

Frog (Luke) and Toad (Danny) Are Friends

To their credit (?), they did eventually realize this about themselves, and Danny and Luke's strong friendship was characterized by their polar opposite backgrounds. Danny had been adopted at nine years old by the mystical Oriental city of kung fu etc, became the specialest little white boy and harnessed his chi to become the hero of K'un Lun, and travelled back to America in a revenge quest to find his father's killer and avenge him and inherit a fuckton of money. Luke was in a gang and then prison and he's very bitter about the prison industrial complex. They're good friends and a great team, but you can see repeatedly that no matter how seamlessly they work in the field they essentially can never understand each other. The most interesting parts of their relationship involve the push and pull of this disconnect, where Danny's naïve and clueless about America and Luke has to teach him about how the world works and the injustices that POC face. Luke teaches Danny about racism and checks his privilege like a thousand times a day. Observe.

Danny doesn't know or give a shit about money so he cluelessly tells Luke that they are best friends, what's mine is yours! Luke's tetchy about it because of Blaxpoitation Baggage. Danny's offended and he doesn't know why, Luke's old wounds are reopened and he struggles to explain it. Frog and Toad have racial conflict.

Danny is, basically, the clueless white guy. The backstory panels highlight that: he was trained in kung fu in K'un Lun, and now he's swimming in money and privilege in America and Luke feels weird about it.

Look at the way Danny talks about himself - Danny talks about his life in K'un Lun as if he had gone to the weirdest boarding school of all time. He talks about K'un Lun from a distance, using words an American would use. Danny is the privileged, sheltered white guy.

He does not think of Asia as an actual home. He doesn't identify with it. Narratively and thematically, he is a white guy who grew up in a sheltered place learning kung fu and now he's Dazed And Confused in America struggling to connect with his best friend's very unsheltered experiences.

The conversations Danny has with Luke about race are held as a white person. It is Luke explaining racism to a white person over and over again. It is a white person's clueless privilege being knocked down a peg again and again. Danny could be from Antarctica or Mars and his relationship with Luke would be he same.

Wait, Why Would A Dynamic Entirely Around Race Never Engage With The Fact That One Party Grew Up In Asia

You tell me buddy!!!

Why! Why make this choice? It is RIGHT there! Why would a guy whose entire schtick is living in Fantasy Vaguely Tibet from ages 9-19 never once speak from that cultural perspective? Why flush all of that experience and perspective down the drain?

Why would Danny engage with the world as a privileged, clueless white guy? He was just a kid when he left America. He doesn't engage with these conversations with Luke as, "Wow, your weird American situation's fucked up", he engages with it as "That can't possibly be what America is like!". Like a white person. There is no difference between Danny and someone who never left their boarding school as a child.

Is this really the most interesting way to talk about race? The characters, by virtue of their history and genesis, are inherently about race. Why are we talking about it as a Black guy constantly educating a white guy instead of as a Black guy talking to a white guy who grew up in Fantasy Tibet? As a a product of capitalism to a product of Whatever K'un Lun's Fantasy Economy was. As a product of a highly racialized society to an aracialized society. As someone who's from an area of great cultural and racial diversity to someone who grew up in a racial and cultural monoculture.

Why does Danny not have a complex relationship with his own race? He was the only white guy around for ten years, that has to be kind of weird. How does he relate his adopted culture to his home one? How does he deal with the white privilege he does hold when he doesn't understand why he holds it? I can seriously go on. I absolutely did go on.

None of this makes any sense. And the only way it makes any sense if if you see that Luke & Danny's conversations about race are not actually conversations about race. They are Luke explaining racism to the reader. Danny is the audience stand-in. The audience is obviously American white guys, so Danny has to be white and engage with the entire thing as an American white guy would. As he audience stand-in Danny has to come from the same place and viewpoint as the assumed reader, so he has to come from a place of white privilege.

It sucks. Not every reader was a privileged white guy. Not every reader was white. This narrative decision, conscious or unconscious, cut off a lot of interesting choices at the kneecaps. Because there is a basic assumption that white audiences cannot relate to nonwhite characters, and that they are incapable of looking through another's eyes and learning from their perspective.

How Do We Talk About Talking About Race?

Why should we care that Iron Fist is uninteresting and bad? This is not news. The premise has always been vaguely racist and boring. I've read some pretty nifty Iron Fists in my time and there are a fair handful of good Iron Fist comics, but the very root of the character is Orientalist. This Dances With Wolves style of 'story about POC but the lead has to be white or white people won't watch it' scenario is very old hat.

Heroes For Hire is interested in race. Luke Cage & Iron Fist are characterized by race. Their writers can admit this or not, but it's true. At its best, this inherent disconnect opens up the comics for potentially interesting breakdowns of racial dynamics, prejudice, the prison industrial complex, privilege, and American society. Luke & Danny talk about everything from capitalism to crime. Pretty reliably, the comic tends to actually try.

But all of these conversations are fixed through a white gaze. Luke talks through a white gaze, Danny's characterized by a white gaze, and these conversations are written with the white audience as the implied constant observers. At a certain point it never really feels like two different perspectives clashing and changing - just one perspective, talking about two different issues from both sides of its mouth.

I have mixed feelings on #ownvoices, but I think this is what people mean when they talk about it. There is a provincial, reductionist scope of perspectives allowed into the conversations Heroes For Hire holds, and although that's not a crime it's abjectly disappointing when compared against the interesting stories that could be told.

I haven't read a modern Iron Fist comic in like ten years, and the last time I read Heroes For Hire was during the cursed Civil War situation. I really don't know if modern Heroes For Hire and Danny & Luke are still like this. They probably aren't! But the same problems probably still underlie the two characters, and their origins will always occupy this strange space.

TL;DR: Read Milestone comics. Start with Static and move to Icon & Rocket. These are the only comics about race people should read. Look up their history sometime, it's fascinating. Ignore Luke Cage & Iron Fist. Good god.

#my writing #iron fist #luke cage #danny rand #heroes for hire #it was all RIGHT HERE and they didnt DO ANYTHING WITH IT #i got pissed off and decided to. do something with it #I think when you make it so that danny doesn't remember america #and change danny from #weirdest boarding school member of all time #into #guy who is from this country #more interesting stuff opens up. if ur not a coward.

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yakocchi · 4 years ago

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My Darling’s the Strongest (Scenario Event) // Leonardo

(graphic is separate from the event)

me: wow i wonder what cool and amazing new content there will be for white day week cybird: we heard from no one that u like reprints that only have new ranking avatars. so heres another reprint that only has new ranking avatars me:

…….cybird it’s ok to not make every event have ranking cards. yea i know they make gangbusters versus events without cards, but if it results in less new scenario events overall… that’s not great

anyway, it’s been like 4 months since a new Count scenario event has been released (which is a better track record than several charas) and i wanted to do a longer string of text to test out a keyboard i ordered. yea im very fickle with my output but ehehe what’s new i archive leo events sometimes, so i decided to dredge one up to translate. i actually wanted to do vlad’s first post-main-route event as a sort of celebration for when it would inevitably happen, but then said scenario event appeared and it ended up being an AU. why does this game like AUs so much? the canon universe already pretty farfetched… u literally have dracula and ure telling me u would rather put him in a situation where he would not be dracula. cowards

This event (first released ~July 2020) was made for the 3rd Anniversary of JP Ikevam later that month. The event was split into two parts, where iirc the first part contained the Count, Arthur, and Mozart. Leo was in the second part with Napo and Isaac.

Spoilers under the cut!! Please credit if you take any of it, thenk u (･ω･*) image-heavy!!

…

The master of the manse, from time to time, starts his conversations with the most unexpected topics. One of those “times”, was today.

...

[Count]: “—So, I’d like the two of you to go out for the Best Couples’ Contest.” [Leonardo & Kara]: “Huh…?” As soon as we had excused ourselves into his quarters, the Count had said something completely unexpected. Leonardo and I had responded with a confused noise spilling out of our lips. (The “Best Couples’ Contest” is that event where they pick the best couple in Paris, right?) (I wonder why he suddenly decided to say he wants us to go.) Even as the two of us stood bewildered in front of him, the Count’s smile remained, untarnished. Leonardo then heaved a massive sigh…

[Leonardo]: “Now, I’m used to you telling me crazy things—" [Leonardo]: “But at the very least, could you give us the entire story, O’ great Count?” The Count began to speak once more—

[Count]: “Well—” [Count]: “Last night, I had visited an acquaintance upon them telling me that they had gotten their hands on some good wine.” [Count]: “At one point, they informed me that they were going to hold a contest to determine the best couple.” [Count]: “Then, they asked me if I was acquainted with any prospective couples for it.” Leonardo then took over from Count as if he had read this story before.

[Leonardo]: “Then, in your drunken state you selfishly entered me and the little sweetheart to the contest, did you?” (And that means… the Count thinks me and Leonardo would have a chance?)

The Count responded to Leonardo’s summation of the events with apparent amusement. [Count]: “I do believe I wasn’t drunk at the time, I’ll have you know?” [Leonardo]: “That’s even worse, then.”

[Count]: “Oh my, Leonardo. Is it really all right for you to say that?” [Leonardo]: “Hah?” [Kara]: “gh-…” The Count had turned in my direction— and so Leonardo, as if in pursuit of the gentleman, then turned to face me as well. Their gazes seemed to urge me to confess my true feelings on the matter, and I earnestly comply.

[Kara]: “Ah-, I… I just thought it sounded fun.” [Kara]: “And on top of that, I’d be really happy if everyone acknowledged me and Leonardo as the best couple.” (Even though I’d be nervous to stand in front of so many people,) (I’d be able to boast that such a wonderful person is my lover…) (And I also think it’d be a good opportunity to see if I’m able to become a suitable woman for Leonardo.)

[Leonardo]: “…” A surprised expression appeared on Leonardo’s face for a moment, before it was replaced with a smile…

[Leonardo]: “Shall we partake?” [Kara]: “Huh? Is it okay?” I had blurted out my question, and Leonardo gently patted my head. [Leonardo]: “This situation’s turned into nothing but a good opportunity, so we might as well have some fun and aim to win this thing, yeah?” [Kara]: “gh- Okay…!” Glad that Leonardo was also interested, my voice naturally gained a bounce to it.

[Kara]: “But, I wonder how they’re going to determine the best couple?” Muttering this, the Count then handed me the invitation, which had a general outline of the event written inside. Promptly opening it, written was—

(The contest is to be a few days from now, and I can look forward to what we’ll be tested on… on the day itself?) The portion I wanted to know about most of all hadn’t been written, and I internally slumped my shoulders. The invitation concluded with a single line— “The key to victory is to have a mind and soul of love towards one another,” (I guess the ‘mind and soul of love’ is supposed to be a hint, but…) [Kara]: “Hmm… With just this, I don’t know what the contest could be about, at all.” [Leonardo]: “Don’t sweat it, sweetheart.” (Huh?) Leonardo brought his face up close to the Count… And as if he had devised a scheme, a mischievous smile had turned the corners of his lips. [Leonardo]: “You’re close with the contest organizer, right? I’m led to believe that they have some sort of hint on ‘em.” [Count]: “Leonardo…?” [Leonardo]: “We may have willingly chose to participate in the contest— but it doesn’t change the reality that it was our lovely Count who dragged us into this in the first place.” [Leonardo]: “So, naturally, you’re gonna cooperate with us, no?”

As a result of forcing the Count (against his will) to spill the details, we were able to make a guess on what we’d be doing in the contest. But…

most everyone else in this event: (thinking hard on what to do bc they dont kno what the contest is going to cover) leo: fuc it CHEAT

…

[Leonardo]: “…” (…Leonardo has an awfully complicated look on his face right now.) In my mind, I think over our discussion from a moment ago:

The organizer of the couples’ contest appears to have hosted several dance contests as well. To put it plainly, the organizer is both a huge socialite and a huge fan of dances. (So, individuals are called from high society circles to be chosen as the “best couple”, and) (The probability of competing based on our dancing… is high.)

[Leonardo]: “Hagh…” [Kara]: “…Hehe.” Seeing Leonardo’s pouting face, I unwittingly laughed. Then— [Leonardo]: “What are you laughing for, sweetheart?”

[Kara]: “I just remembered something from back before we became lovers.” The conversation of that day, the day where a weakness of his had been exposed, replayed in my head—

…

[Leonardo]: “…I can’t dance.” (Huh…?) [Kara]: “You’ve got to be kidding, right…? You can build and play instruments, and yet…” [Kara]: “Is it because you don’t go to many socialite parties to begin with, so you haven’t had many opportunities to dance….?” [Leonardo]: “No, I’ve participated in ‘em the point where I’ve even had a hand in producing those sorts of dazzling venues.” [Kara]: “’Producing’…” (This person really can do anything and everything. No, no, that’s not true…) [Kara]: “Leonardo, the mystery that surrounds you is only getting deeper and deeper.”

[Leonardo]: “I avoided having to do it.” [Kara]: “…’Avoid’?” [Leonardo]: “…Try to imagine it. Me, dancing?” [Leonardo]: “It doesn’t suit me, I don’t have the look required for it…” (…What… is this?)

[Kara]: “…Hehe, ahaha!” [Leonardo]: “…Hey, sweetheart. What are you laughing for?

…

(He said the same thing back then.) Unable to hold it in, I continued to giggle… [Leonardo]: “Don’t laugh.” [Kara]: “I think you’re the one smiling here, though?” [Leonardo]: “…I’m just feeling terribly nostalgic right now.” Answering me, his eyes held a gentle light within them as if cherishing those days, [Kara]: “You still hate dancing, I assume?” [Leonardo]: “Even to this day, I find it embarrassing to do. Radiant, cheerful stuff doesn’t mesh with me. But—" (Huh?)

The second I wondered if Leonardo was going to start something, he suddenly pulled my waist towards him for an embrace… [Kara]: “Woah, woah-…!” Regaining my senses— Led by Leonardo himself, I properly danced. [Leonardo]: “I’m able to dance like the average person now— and it’s all because you came to keep me company.” While I was still surprised, Leonardo dropped a light kiss on my forehead. [Kara]: “Nn-…” Flustered, I looked up to find a completely composed smile on his face… [Kara]: “…ngh-“ An impulse overwhelming me, I lean my head against his chest.

[Kara]: “…Sly as usual.” [Leonardo]: “Hm?” [Kara]: “Even though I thought I had finally found a weakness of yours, you’ll get over that hurdle too pretty soon.” [Kara]: “When you do things like that, you become sly so smoothly, exquisitely.”

(When he shows this side of him… I get driven to work even harder than before so I can catch up to him.) While even feeling a frustration from it, I turned my gaze back to Leonardo.

[Kara]: “It seems like this world is going to become one where there’s absolutely nothing you can’t do.”

[Leonardo]: “…Maybe?” (…Hm?) For a second it felt as if he were pondering over something, a particular emotion washing over his face.

But before I could say anything, I was swiftly embraced, and that thought of mine scattered, and vanished. [Kara]: “l- Leonardo?” [Leonardo]: “Hey, look there, sweetheart.” (Huh?)

Following Leonardo’s gaze— I could see the dusk dying the sky from a distance away. (Pretty…) The view that he showed me, was beautiful. But, at the same time… my chest was tightened by this sorrow. (Although the scene before our eyes is the same between us, time passes differently between us…) (During moments like this, I feel that difference.) (However— When we became lovers, I had decided that no matter how different we are, I’m going to embrace the present, make the most out of it.) (I’m going to savor even the passing seconds, cherish them… as we live together, as two.)

As if to confirm he was really there, I embraced his warmth in return… [Kara]: “Leonardo, I’m looking forward to the contest.” [Leonardo]: “Mhm.” In the vivid sunset, we smiled to each other.

…

—Time passed, and the night of the contest arrived at last.

…

(W-Wow…) When we had entered the venue in our formalwear, there were several couples eagerly waiting for the contest to start. (All of the people here have to be participants for the contest, huh. …Somehow, my heart’s pounding.) I took a deep breath to calm myself down, and when I did that— Leonardo, as if to soothe my heart, lightly stroked my hair. [Leonardo]: “Why is it necessary for you to feel all anxious?” [Kara]: “Leonardo?” [Leonardo]: “To the point where there’s just no way we can lose to any couple here— I love you, you know.”

[Leonardo]: “—Well, and you?” Inquiring me, his smile was brimming with self-confidence… And caught up in his mood, I smiled cheerfully.

[Kara]: “I love you too— to the point where it’s impossible for us lose to anyone…!”

[Leonardo]: “Heh… Very nice, then.” [Judge]: “—And so, the contest shall begin now. The means of competition is to be by dance.” (Ah-…!) We look to each other, and Leonardo, extending his hand towards me, says, [Leonardo]: “Kara… You’ll do me the honor of a dance, no…?”

PREMIUM END

[Kara]: “Yes, I’d be delighted!” (Even though I was so nervous about this until now… Now, I can’t help but just be excited about it.) (I want everyone to quickly feast their eyes on our dancing, and our bond!) Taking his hand, I nestled close to him as an elegant melody began to echo within the dance hall. To become a flower that offsets the man before me, I step forward—

…

—When the contest had ended without a hitch, the both of us walked along the moonlit Seine as we made our way home. The chilly breeze felt pleasant on my heated skin. [Kara]: “We really were able to win!” (I was able to prove my bond with Leonardo to all of Paris… I’m so happy that I can’t stop a smile from showing on my face.) [Leonardo]: “I did say we wouldn’t lose to anyone, didn’t I?” [Leonardo]: “But, well, to think… the winning prize was a year’s supply of wine of all things. ‘Guess sensuality and allure are as good as goddamn useless to them.”

he’s trying to say that he doesn’t like the prize cuz it isn’t very sensual/sexy (suppose he imagined a prize for a lovers’ contest would be more along those lines). even Arthur in the epilogue is like “…thought the prize for a best couples’ contest would be more special”….

[Kara]: Hehe, it’s a nice prize, isn’t it? Let’s drink it with everyone else in the manse.” [Leonardo]: “If you’re satisfied with it, that’s good, I suppose.” As he spoke, Leonardo looked to be the same as usual, but his eyes reflected some kind of joy from within. (I’m glad that this will become a lovely memory I’ll have about him.) (…But, even then) The very sight of Leonardo of when I had danced with him in the dance hall, wouldn’t leave my head. [Kara]: “Your dancing was really, really stunning.” [Kara]: “As I had always thought… you’re the strongest one around.” [Leonardo]: “What’s all this about, hmm?”

i probably should’ve bothered explaining it last year since i used the title “My Darling’s the Strongest” for the other translation but uh might as well do it now that it’s explicitly used in the story so by “strongest”, it doesn’t necessarily mean physical strength (though it can be). It’s “strongest” as in a form of “mightiest” or “most powerful”, kind of like when someone says “my baseball team is the strongest in the league”,

[Kara]: “I just think that you’re the mightiest lover as there’s nothing you can’t do.” Carried away by the thrill of victory, I professed my thoughts. In doing so Leonardo’s brows lowered, and a bit of a troubled smile graced his lips. [Leonardo]: “If I’m able to put some effort into it, then I guess there’s really nothing I can’t do. But…”

[Leonardo]: “There is something I simply cannot do, no matter how hard I try.” (Huh…?) [Kara]: “Something you can’t do… I can’t imagine such a thing existing.” He was undoubtedly an almighty genius, and was also the type of person willing to confront even his awkward dancing skills head-on.

At my murmurs, Leonardo continued as if the topic was no big deal.

[Leonardo]: “It exists.” [Leonardo]: “I cannot become an ordinary human.”

(gh-…) His words had vanished into the night breeze.

I inadvertently stopped in my tracks, and he stopped as well… and the both of us stood still in that one corner.

In my current view, the moonlight illuminated his figure as he stood before me. [Leonardo]: “As a pureblood vampire,” [Leonardo]: “I give you much loneliness— A loneliness that, if I were an ordinary human, you would never have to experience.” [Leonardo]: “However, if I went and lamented over every single little detail of that truth, I would be rendered unable to be with you. —Thus from the very beginning, I do not intend to lament either.” [Leonardo]: “I’m going to use as much of my power as I possibly can to grant your wishes, and that’s all.” (Using his power, my wishes…) I recalled the exchange we had a few days ago:

…

[Kara]: “Ah-, I… I just thought it sounded fun.” [Kara]: “And on top of that, I’d be really happy if everyone acknowledged me and Leonardo as the best couple.” [Leonardo]: “…”

…

[Kara]: “Did… you say that we should go and try to win the contest… merely because I…” With a smile, Leonardo proceeded to stare intently at me. [Leonardo]: “Well, there’s that, but additionally… I had the same motive as you had.” [Leonardo]: “I also had wanted the both of us to be acknowledged as the best couple.” [Leonardo]: “I wanted news to spread that I had been able to become the man of such a wonderful woman, you know.” (gh- Leonardo…) Leonardo, whenever and wherever, envelops me in his great, unparalleled affection. Roused by the surging love within me, I went to grip his hand.

[Kara]: “…Leonardo, I want to be by your side tonight, and all night.” (I want to give him, in return for the love I received from him… those same feelings, that same love.) (I want him… to feel my love as well.)

[Leonardo]: “…” [Kara]: “gh- Ah-!” I was suddenly yanked towards him; and almost stumbling over my feet, it had closed the distance between us. Bringing his lips to my ear, he whispered:

[Leonardo]: “What a coincidence. I was just thinking the same thing.”

…

—As soon as we entered his room, we melded, deeply kissing each other. [Leonardo]: “…Hah-, Kara…” He called my name with a wet, heady timbre between kisses, the sensuality of it making me go lightheaded. Crowded atop the bed, he pried my lips open with his finger… [Leonardo]: “Thinking about it, I haven’t received a reward from you yet.” [Kara]: “’Reward’…?” [Leonardo]: “When I’m feeling, touching you like this… I know that you’re not so dumb to be oblivious to what I want?” [Kara]: “ngh-…” Taking a guess on what he desired from me, I slowly brought my face closer to his.

[Leonardo]: “Good girl. Come on— Try to turn me on with a kiss?”

FIN

yes the event really stops here before the epilogue teaser. cybird when a sexi scene is about to start:

since this was a glorified keyboard test, this is mostly a one-off… so don’t expect leo translations from me otherwise ahah

u know, it’s always weird to me that leo’s stuff is always very sorrowful bc of the vast diff in lifespan, humans vs. vampires thing. like, does he not plan to turn her into a vampire? the wedding stuff makes it sound like they’d like to be together forever but they still don’t really like to broach the topic itself……… kinda sus given that the Count’s stuff gets several mentions of biting in events and vlad clearly doesn’t mind biting whenever (and is just waiting for her to give him the go-ahead). ive seen some ppl talk about how maybe leo likes her because she’s human (both as in being a literal human and the figurative idea of being “human”) and honestly……… it is kinda messed up to think about, but i can see it LOL now im not saying the other pureblood x mc relationships are super healthy but that’s a convo for another time

well at least these guys don’t have to ask someone for vampire-turning assistance. im imagining one of the other charas having to ask the Count to bite mc akin to how teenagers have to ask their parents to drive them and their friends around to do stuff…….. who wants to relive that nightmare

also sorry if like leo’s voice doesn’t match up with w/e the official engl localization does. ive literally never played an engl cybird game in my life, so it’s a crime of ignorance i swear. tho imo if they’re not making him sound like a rascal… that’s very lame, im not gonna lie

the epilogue is obviously not available for purchase rn, but please buy it and/or support the game with purchases when you can!!

As always, thanks for reading!

(gif source)

#ikevam #ikemen vampire #wats this fools tag #ikevam leonardo #?? i guess #spoilers #leonardo da vinci #seems a bit improper to do the one connected with the real guy

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hannjunkyu · 4 years ago

Text

hello! i’m peyton & i’m going to be writing for han junkyu aka the cookie skeleton aka the cringiest man on either of the islands, probably (but he doesn’t believe in cringe culture so it’s okay!) go ahead and leave a ♡ if you’re interested in plotting with us and i’ll send you an im!

𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐑. 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓.

twenty-one and clueless. do not ask him about his future.

very artistically-inclined. his parents (especially his mom) placed greater emphasis on self-expression and creativity than education while he was growing up, which greatly shaped the man he is now. he’s been painting for longer than he’s been reading, so you could say it’s his most ~refined~ skill

but he’s also been dancing and acting for a while, too. initially trained in contemporary dance, but he’s more interested in hiphop now! also super into singing... i’ll just say this: if it’s creative/artistic, he’s into it! does have a tendency to spread himself too thin and has always been this way, so while he has various skills, he lacks a specialization.

used to be really promising. claimed that he was going to be a star and everyone believed it. unlike most kids, he had a very clear plan and was headed in the right direction. plus, he was well-known in the community, well-liked. very respectable kid

perhaps his parents gave him the wrong impression bc he ended up dropping out of high school and he was like “haha you told me education wasn’t that important” and they were like “we didn’t think you’d drop out??!?!”

and then things started going downhill because he kept traveling to auditions and participating in online auditions as well for all kinds of companies (modeling agencies, acting agencies, idol agencies bc mf didn’t know exactly what he wanted to do, still kind of doesn’t) and most of the time he was able to pass the blind round but every time agents found out he’s a hs dropout, they put a strike through his name.

ended up FINALLY getting an offer in early 2020-ish but was told he’d have to relocate to seoul and, as it turns out, junkyu’s a fuckin coward. didn’t want to leave his people so he turned it down much to..... Everyone’s dismay

now he’s working part-time as a cashier / sales associate / whatever at graciegrace! wants to work full-time, but atm he’s stuck begging his coworkers to give him some shifts and upselling like crazy to try to prove that he!!!! deserves to be a full-time employee!!!!

yes it’s the most expensive store on the island... yes he only works there because he needs that employee discount... yes he wears exclusively graciegrace clothes while he’s on shift and nonchalantly strikes poses like he’s a fuckin model while he’s supposed to be cleaning the shelfs and organizing displays... mind ur business!

his parents don’t really like him atm because he had Such A Bright Future and now he’s a retail worker, so he’s living on his own which means he needs money even more bc he doesn’t have his parents to leech off of. if not to feed himself, then to feed his trio of hamsters. so he sells artwork as a side hustle

mainly commissioned stuff bc if he just painted what he wants to, it would be anime girls sipping lemonade by the pool and no one would buy any of his pieces, so. gotta give the people what they want..... he likes to work in a ~dreamy~ kind of style with pastel color schemes, but he’ll rly do whatever if he’s getting that coin

junkyu’s obsessed with anime. started watching it shortly before he dropped out of hs, got really into it as a method of escapism after he dropped out and realized that life is hard. 9/10 times, if he’s meeting someone for the first time, he’s going to compare them to some background character from a niche anime that only nerds like him would know. i’m Personally not an anime fan so i can’t provide examples but jus take my word for it

kind of speaks japanese? he’s been studying it for a few years because he wants to watch anime without subtitles and he’s...... decent, but not fluent by any means

currently has hot pink hair because (1) he wants to and (2) he’s matching with an anime girl he likes atm.... guess who she is

obsessed with all things pretty/cute. buys a lot of sweets simply for the packaging which he REALLY needs to stop doing because he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, so they usually go to waste. collects stuffed animals, not afraid to admit it. will go crazy any time he sees a cat, dog or any other soft animal that will let him pet it.

his wardrobe’s full of pink, his home is full of pink, his phone case is pink, his favorite pair of sneakers is pink. kind of shocking to anyone who’s just getting to know him because who the fuck can see SO MUCH of one color and not get sick of it... junkyu! that’s who!

still wants to be involved in the entertainment business, kinda too scared to leave so these days he’s planning on opening up a theater in town. except apparently there are certain qualifications you have to have and..... Money’s Involved..... so he’s currently working towards a ged, don’t ask him about it

has a ton of random luggage and packed boxes in his house bc he’s lowkey always thinking about leaving, just doesn’t really have the guts to actually do it.

doesn’t believe in cringe culture, which on one hand is good for him but on the other hand, bad for everyone else. kinda hard to handle sometimes because you want to think he’s joking when he acts the way he does, but he never is.

seems like an ~elegant artist~ when you see him from a distance, which is admittedly very intentional. dramatic, always thinking that people who might happen to spot him should fall in love with him immediately so he tries to be Oddly Mesmerizing in everything he does. the illusion always breaks when he opens his mouth.

goes for a run every single morning! if you live on starden island and happen to be an early bird, you’ve probably seen him far more often than you’d ever want to.

aesthetics: rose petals on the floor, exaggerated confessions of love to distant acquaintances, muted cartoons in the middle of the night, strawberry icecream, sunny days, the feeling of a stranger’s dog coming over to greet you, clicking immediately with new people, the smell of fresh laundry, sunrises, 90′s anime, knowing you’re going to regret something and doing it anyway, neon shutter sunglasses.

#intro.

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wellhellsbelles · 4 years ago

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Hii!! I'm so so glad you're back :3 your fanfics were truly my faves. I've had this idea for a fanfic where riley wants to ask farkle to prom but is too scared to do so, so she makes a deal with him that if no one asks them to prom, they'll go together, and something happens and riley has to confess that she wanted to go w/ him and asks him w/ a poster that says: you, me, prom?

ahhhh thank you so much for enjoying my stuff and thanks for the prompt! i hope you enjoy this little fic :)

“So, are ya gonna do it?”

Maya’s face pops up as soon as Riley’s shut her locker door, eyes sparkling in a puckish sort of way that can only mean trouble. Riley clutches her AP Literature textbook against her chest, a brow raised.

“No.”

Maya groans.

“You promised! You told me that today would be the day! You said, and I quote, “Maya, if I don’t do it on this date, you’re allowed to make me buy you something from my mom’s restaurant for a month.” Look, I even have proof of you holding up the calendar with the big red circle outlining today’s date!”

Riley’s best friend whips out her phone, swiping through pictures until she finds what she’s looking for. She holds it up as if it’s incriminating evidence, but Riley doesn’t much care—well, she does, because that picture she took is downright unflattering and should be deleted immediately.

“Let me see that,” Riley demands, and Maya hands her the phone, clawing at her when she trashes it.

“Hey!”

“No one needs to see that picture, Maya. I’m trying to forget what my haircut looked like at the beginning of the year.” She begins to walk off, trying desperately to ignore Maya’s prodding to no avail.

“Riley Matthews, are you going to chicken out? I thought Matthews don’t quit,” Maya says, grinning when it stops Riley in her tracks. “Ha! I got you there.”

Riley moves to make her rebuttal, but the warning bell rings to alert them that they need to be heading to their next class, so she simply rolls her eyes, waving goodbye to Maya as she heads in the opposite direction.

“We’re tabling this, Matthews! Don’t think I won’t let this slide!” Maya calls out. Riley shakes her head, sighing as the weight of anxiety starts to lift.

Yeah, she’s aware she’s a coward. But she’s not about to do it—there’s being brave, and there’s being absolutely idiotic, and if she did go through with it?

It’d change a lot.

She’ll take the chance of being a coward any day over spilling her guts.

Riley’s never been one to believe in coincidence, so when Farkle swings through her window effortlessly later that day, she can’t help but damn fate a little.

“Alright, you, me, AP Literature. Now,” he says, tossing his bag onto her floor and landing on her bed with a thud. Riley pushes her feelings way down inside her, swallows them until she’s able to pretend they’re nonexistent, and glances up at him.

“Why does it feel like all you ever come to me for anymore is AP Lit stuff?”

Farkle scoffs.

“Please, we had a horror movie marathon last weekend. Plus, I brought a bribe. You do still take bribes, right?” he asks, pulling out a bag of sour gummy worms.

“Your bribe has been accepted. Gimme,” she thrusts her hand out, making a grabbing motion. Farkle laughs giving her the bag. She tries to tear it open with her teeth when she can’t rip it with her hands, whooping triumphantly when it tears.

“Don’t hog those. I want some, too.”

Riley wants to tell him he could bugger off, but she knows that sentiment would be null and void. She’d rather give up an arm than force him out of her space, and if that meant sharing his gift of sour gummy worms, she would.

“Leave the—”

“Blue-red ones, I know,” he finishes cheekily, pulling a couple of yellow-red ones out and plopping them into his mouth.

“So, AP Lit?” she asks. Farkle pulls out his textbook and notebook, settling himself comfortably on the end of her bed.

“Am I allowed to say I don’t love poetry? Because this class makes me not a fan of poetry,” he says, nose curling as he reads a question, “Why aren’t there any good science poems?”

“There are, you just aren’t looking for them,” Riley tells him simply.

“Lies. Name one off the top of your head right now,” Farkle jibes, throwing a gummy worm at her.

“The Old Astronomer by Sarah Williams. ‘I have loved the stars too truly to be fearful of the night.’ If I ever did get a tattoo, it’d be with that quote,” she answers, picking the gummy worm off herself and eating it. She looks back at Farkle, who remains . . . unconvinced.

“Pretty quote, still not interested in poetry. I think it’s the form.”

“Okay, what if I told you to look at the scientific method steps like a poem? Because it basically is. BOOM, exploded your mind with hot knowledge!”

“Riley, please. Don’t ruin science for me.”

Riley sticks her tongue out at him, gently kicking him in the thigh with her foot as she settled comfortably into against her pillows. She’s already finished her AP Lit homework, onto her AP Chemistry homework now, but she’s always ready to help Farkle when he needs it. The degree to which she’d drop everything for him, just for him, is downright . . .

Embarrassing.

But she’s learned to take it in stride. There’s something about his presence that always makes her feel a certain sort of way now, but she just reminds herself that this is Farkle, her best friend since she was five, and there’s nothing to be scared of.

Then Maya texts her, and she remembers what it is exactly she’d been fretting.

i know the minkus boy is at ur house!

he just sent me a snap of u

u look like ur having a midlife crisis on ur bed there

better fix that by

i dunno

ASKING HIM THE STUPID QUESTION

Riley shuts her phone off, tossing it to the side to return to her Chemistry textbook.

Chemistry! She’s supposed to be studying for chem, and she will not—it’s absolutely out of the question—say the question that’s in her head.

I thought Matthews’ don’t quit.

Damnit! Maya’s right, Matthews’ don’t quit.

They shouldn’t.

“Farkle?” she calls out to him, ignoring the way he’s mussed his hair in an adorable fashion from being fraught by the poems laid out in front of him.

“Yeah, Riles?”

“So . . .” Just ask it. Ask him, you dummy! “Uh, are you going with anyone to prom?”

“Oh,” he blinks, as if not anticipating the question (he probably wasn’t, come to think of it), “No, not that I’m aware of. Why do you ask?”

Here goes nothing.

“Youwannagotopromwithme?” Riley blurts all at once, the words rushing out of her mouth like vomit. Farkle stares at her, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times as if he’s trying to gauge if she’s serious or not. In fact, the longer he doesn’t talk, the quicker Riley tries to think of a way to recover from this, because ABORT MISSION ABORT!!!

“You know, if no one else asks you? Or you don’t ask anyone else? We can just go as friends,” she supplies, chuckling nervously. Something flashes across Farkle’s face, something that Riley thinks is akin to disappointment, but as soon as it’s there, it’s gone.

He shrugs.

“Sure, why not?”

Riley sighs with relief.

“Okay, cool. Just let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.”

The night does not return to normal after that. In fact, it’s awkward up until the moment Farkle swoops back out the window with a goodbye and a half-hearted smile. As soon as he vanishes, Riley collapses face-down into her pillow, screaming into it out of pure frustration.

We can just go as friends.

Who is she?! That’s not what she wanted at all, but she chickened out because Maya was freaking right!

But if she had seen the look on his face before she added that . . . Riley made the right decision. She’s sure of it, because if she had been serious?

That’d probably be it, friendship over.

It’s . . . it’s better this way.

She’s certain of it.

. . . Right?

“So?” Maya asks as she arrives beside Riley’s locker the next morning, their usual meet-up. Riley groans, leaning her head inside the locker.

“I asked him and then added just as friends when he didn’t respond right away. So, you know, I kind of asked.”

“Just as friends?!” Maya screeches at her. Riley places her hands on her own head.

“I know! I know. I wasn’t able to go to sleep last night. It was a stupid thing to do anyway, it just made everything a billion times more awkward. Why did I let you talk me into this, Maya?”

“Alright, did he say yes to that, at least?”

Riley nods her head.

“Okay, good. We can work with that. We’ll just have you romance him at prom, no problem.”

“What do you mean ‘no problem’? Yes, problem! I am not doing that, Peaches. I’ve humiliated myself enough for one lifetime. I think I’m going to opt out of prom, maybe bow out of senior year in disgrace or something.”

She hears Maya exhaust a long breath before she’s helping Riley out of her own locker, spinning her around and resting her hands on her shoulders.

“Riley Matthews, you are letting your feelings for a boy get to you too much. Yeah, he’s Farkle, but you’re Riley. You’re magnificent and amazing and if he doesn’t like you back? That’s his loss, because he missed the mark.”

“Thank you, Maya,” Riley smiles softly, hugging her best friend. Maya hugs her back and then releases her, giving her a look that can only mean trouble if Riley knows her well enough (and she does.)

“Okay, you know what? This whole ‘friends’ thing isn’t going to work. I need you to ask him out for real, because I know you’ll hate yourself for it if you don’t. I know it’s a hard thing to do, but you know better than anyone about making hard decisions. So do me a favor and ask him again by the end of this week—properly, mind you—and then the two of you will live freaking happily ever after because if I know Farkle, he’ll be hard pressed to say no. That boy has spent too much of his life in love with you. It’s not any different now.”

Riley allows herself to soak that in.

Is Maya really right? He did love her, but Riley’s not certain that was a real type of love. But then again, Farkle’s never been one to half-ass things. He’s loved her so many ways, so why not love her the way she loves him now?

“I’ll do it,” Riley agrees against her better judgement.

Wednesday passes. She doesn’t ask Farkle to the prom. Thursday passes. She doesn’t ask. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday all whirl by her quickly, but she still hasn’t mustered the courage to ask. Even after the wonderful pep-talk Maya gave her, Riley still couldn’t find it in herself to breach the subject with him because she was just scared.

Liking Farkle really scared her, and she didn’t like that at all. Because scaring her meant that these feelings were more than just a passing phase, that she was bound to be stuck in this limbo of he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not for the rest of forever until she broke it.

So Sunday night she plans to ask him Monday at the end of school, even gets Maya in on it so that she can’t back out again.

She can’t back out this time; she won’t do it.

When Monday rolls around, Riley thanks whoever is out there that, while they share classes, she and Farkle don’t share the same class periods. It’s what’s helped her endure her second semester of senior year; while she appreciates having him there, she’s not sure she wouldn’t waste her class time glancing at him across the room.

Her last class period of the day moves both fast and at a snail’s pace, so when the bell rings it surprises her so much that she takes her several minutes to gather her things. Riley’s never been more off her game in her entire life, but then again, she’s never had to actually ask Farkle to prom for real before.

(Well, she’s never had to ask Farkle out period. That was always his game, not hers. Too bad she can’t get pointers from him.)

Riley heads out to meet Maya at her locker, passing by the stragglers who haven’t made it out yet, but something catches her eye instead.

It’s Farkle, at his own locker, with a girl who has people standing with her, holding several letters decorated with fake flowers spelling out PROM.

Riley’s too late.

PEACHES

where were u???

i stayed at ur locker

like we planned

i even asked farkle if he saw u

he said he didn’t

so something happened

pls tell me ur okay ☹

Riley doesn’t bother texting Maya despite knowing she owes her best friend an explanation. She’s too busy wallowing in self-pity and the humiliation of rejection to deal with anyone right now.

She should’ve been quicker. She shouldn’t have been a chicken about it and just told him about her dumb, stupid feelings and gotten it over with. Anything at this point would be preferable to the sting Riley feels in her chest when she thinks about how she missed out on not just being Farkle’s date to prom but experiencing prom with him. It’s not the same without him by her side.

So no prom for Riley Matthews. She cashed in on her one chance at going Junior year, and as far as Riley was concerned, this probably meant her chance with Farkle, too.

But fate is not as kind to her, because Farkle climbs through her window, landing on the cushions of the bay window bench with a soft thud.

“What the heck,” he says, breathing out a sigh of relief when he’s spotted her, “Maya and I thought you died in a ditch! What were you thinking?”

Riley has no response for that. In fact, she’s pretty certain her brain’s shut off entirely for the foreseeable future, because in no way had she planned on encountering Farkle for as long as she could hold it off.

It’s now or never, Matthews, a voice that sounds vaguely like Maya whispers in her mind. Riley exhales.

Right.

“Are you going to prom with that girl?” she asks instead, eyes set with determination. Farkle stares at her, bewildered.

“What?! Your response to Maya and I worrying about your safety is some trivial question about prom?”

“It’s not trivial to me!” Riley exclaims, the burn of embarrassment bubbling up out of her. The intensity of her words must cross Farkle’s radar, because his eyes are widening.

“Riley? What’s going on?”

She makes a decision then, unable to fight with these godforsaken feelings any longer. She tosses the poster she’d worked painstakingly on for hours onto the bed, gesturing to it brazenly.

“I was going to ask you to prom for real today. I know I made a joke of it the other night, but I really meant it. I wanted to go to prom with you because I like you, Farkle. I’m tired of ignoring my feelings and pushing them away because I think it might benefit you. These feelings I have are real and they’re not going away any time soon, okay?”

Farkle’s eyes shift over to the poster, eyes tracing the words over and over again, as if it’s taking him a while to register it.

You. Me. Prom. Let’s do this thing?

It was hard for Riley to come up with a way to ask him that was both clever and meaningful, and she chose something that was between them and only them. He had once told her, “You. Me. Mars. Let’s do this thing.” It was always something that hardly meant anything to her back then but means the world to her now, or at least, it did before she realized she’d been too late.

“So?” Farkle asks, voice rough as if his throat had run dry. Riley tilts her head.

“What?”

“Are you going to ask me properly or not? We’re losing daylight here, Matthews,” Farkle says, arms crossed against his chest. Riley scoffs, rolling her eyes. She doesn’t quite get why he’s trying to be cruel to her at this point, but whatever.

“Farkle Minkus, I wanted to know. You. Me. Prom. Let’s do this thing?”

“Yes,” comes his answer, flowing off his tongue as if it’s the easiest thing he’s ever said in his life. Riley nearly jumps out of her seat but recovers at the last second.

“Yes?”

“Riley Matthews, yes, of course I’ll go to prom with you.”

“But—”

“No, I didn’t say yes to that other girl because I had already told you that we could go together. Sure I was kind of disappointed when you said it was as friends, but . . . you’re my best friend. It doesn’t matter what capacity our relationship is, I just want to be with you.”

Riley doesn’t get it.

“Wait, so what you’re saying is—”

“Riley Matthews, I’ve loved you since the first grade. I don’t think I ever stopped, really. So yes, I’ll go to prom with you as your date, because I’m so in love with you it isn’t funny,” Farkle tells her, giving her a gentle, lopsided grin. Riley scrambles off her bed the same time he rises from the bay window bench, the two of them embracing harder than she ever has in her entire life.

“I’m sorry I freaked out on you,” she admits into the crook of his neck. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

“It’s okay. You’re the same Riley you’ve always been, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#riarkle #ask #riarkle fanfic #riarkle fanfiction #riley x farkle #farkle x riley #i should not have stayed up this late to finish this #but i was determined

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maddiefriendlovesbilly · 4 years ago

Note

Spencer x Ghost?

Spencer x Ghost

(AAAAA- it has been months since you sent this to me, and all i can say is im so sorry) Side note I have my friend @lethalbreadkills helping me with this one!

For reference: Maddie (maddiefriendlovesbilly) is green, Jimmy (lethalbreadkills) is red (((its 4:30 at the time i have joined this so im dead braincell wise sorry yall))) and Orange is stuff we decided together :3

Also this is so very chaotic im so sorry for this anon but this has been in my fuckin drafts for SO LONG and this is the only way its getting finished (its now 5 am uwu) im so sorry for all the shitposting i do its a mess. I shouldnt have been allowed here. (we finished at about 5:30 am its hell <3)

Sphost? Ghencer?? Sphoster??? I adore and despise them all equally.

We have decided that it should be BeanieGhost

Anyway I think this ship is really cute

They’re both so neurotic I can only imagine the chaos that would ensue

One of them starts a rant on some topic and the other joins the hell in

I’m an advocate of LETTING SPENCER INFO DUMP BECAUSE HE DESERVES IT OKAY

And Ghost would let this dream come true???

I would die for both of them and if Spencer told me I had to die I wouldn’t even complain, no questions I’d just be like “Aight.” I trust him that much.

(Not sure I trust Ghost’s judgment enough to do that unquestioningly; sorry Ghost)

Back on topic

I can’t imagine these guys on anything that comes close to society’s definition of a date

It’d be more like “hey you wanna come on this hunt with us?” “maybe, depends if there’ll be snacks” or like chilling in Spence’s room binging the entire star trek: original series in one sitting or “oops sorry about that level 11 entity that attached to my soul and is now wreaking havoc in your house, wanna make out later to make up for it?” “Fine but you also have to play three rounds of Call of Duty with me afterward”

They wouldn’t be romantic often but like highkey? I can see them throwing themselves into the line of fire for each other with a recklessness only they could survive

We can’t forget that Spencer is a more than 60,000-year-old overpowered demon/god/entity/thing, which, yes, could throw a slight wrench in this ship for multiple reasons, but I choose to make angst out of it instead.

Side note: Ghost is a chronic conspiracy theorist (and you can’t tell me otherwise) and every once in awhile Spencer will offhandedly say something like “Y’know I helped the Egyptians build the pyramids” and Ghost just goes fucking feral.

Look, I’m not saying Spencer IS touch-starved and most likely has issues creating and developing relationships and therefore avoids interpersonal connection, especially offline, but I AM saying he is prime material for it. (thats a lie thats exactly what shes saying don’t believe it) (I’m projecting okay dont judge me) (loser imagine projecting)

Imagine with me for a second: Why does Spencer willingly stay with a family who locks him in their basement with only minor complaining? He’s a near all-powerful entity just released into the world for Spence’s-sake - If he wanted to, there’s no telling what havoc he could wreak! So why doesn’t he? Why would someone so powerful, so terrifying, so dangerous that a group of people decided to seal him away forever stay with the first family he finds in sub-par conditions for years - especially someone who’s seen to be as high-maintenance as Spencer? Let me hit you with a theory: He’s chasing the feelings of validation, safety, and love - no matter how rarely it’s shown - that a family can provide. Being socially isolated for even a few years can do a number to a person’s psyche (I should know, I’m projecting onto this character right now), let alone thousands.

Now maybe Ghost can’t match thousands of years in isolation, but damn if he doesn’t have a few years of crippling loneliness on his record too.

I can see the two of them learning how to be vulnerable around others together, emotionally and physically; learning how to open up and how to talk through issues; and some third point, because points are better in threes.

(May I suggest that these losers are both trans but thats just me adding in my own projection lmao)

(You absolutely may)

Imagine the conversation thats just “so i have a murderer in my head thats an ass” “rip to u ig sounds like a you problem :///”

imo spence has trouble expressing emotions other than like,,, annoyance and haughtiness, its like sort of his go-to defence, so showing Ghost his emotions is a big step for him

I hear you, and i say yes good. (found this one headcanon that i kinda live by where he was uh, either autistic or adhd i dont remember but theres that too) OH yeah that would be at thing huh. Spencer: *is emotionally vulnerable @ ghost* ghost: oh shit im trusted??? Oh fuck uh.

Yeah so like…. Ghost and spence showing emotion at eachother is kind of :flushed: ghost be like: whats an emotion. Imagine having emotions fuciiing loser hhaha,,,, *laughs nervously*

Ghost is also very emotionally distant with most people so it would probably be like “what??? The fuck?? Emotions?????? You have those???”

Ghost and Spencer be like *gay*

So another idea is that maybe Spencer realizes Ghost doesnt play any games [like the uncultured SWINE he is] and decides he must [remedy] this and so he introduces him to like, nintendo first. (some bitches thought that said nintendo fortnite. Im bitches) and theyre playing like, mario kart or smash or smth and Ghost gets really [fuckin into it]

Ghost and spencer: *literally in eachothers laps playing fucking wii tennis*

Spooker: what are the- *TOAST FUCKING SLAPS A HAND ACROSS HIS MOUTH* shut up you dont wanna know what happens when its mentsonssbfdjfsd (sorry i had a stroke uwuwuwuw)

(Theyre in denial we don’t judge in this house)

They will not hesitate to play dirty either, they will straight up push each other over and vaguely flirt

Ghost is losing and straight up fucking goes “ur hot” and spencer actually dies and boom ghost is the winner. sparkle emoji Magic sparkle emoji

“I am Not a HomoSexual:™:” “Yeah, sure you aren’t” “Screw off”

Pet-names-ish: Asshole, Gaymer-Boy, casual insults, Mr. Spirit Bitch, Mistake, Loves Ghosts More Than His Boyfriend What A Fucking Loser aka Gay-ass

Pros:

They both open up a lot most likely. Gain someone to trust since they’ve sort of been through the same things (though on much different scales)

I can see soft hours of hanging in each other’s bedrooms

Spencer is a tsundere you cant tell me otherwise youre just a coward if you disagree

So is Ghost so this can only go well

Every time Ghost has to solve a case at the Acachallas Spence is just peaking out from his basement like “the fuck is this?? Hot Man??????”

Enemies to lovers 500k (Gets Hot and Steamy :flushed: NOT CLICKBAIT!!!!11!!!!! 18+!!!!!!! GAY LOVE StORY!!!!!!) Lemonz!!! Made from teh Sexiest of Wattpaders UWUWUWU YAOI Boys Love don’t like don’t read!! (this is so fucking stupid jkfnd) I hate this with a passion Q^Q. All my years of being a basic watpad fanboy have helped me to the moment i bring maddie to tears

The steam is just like,,,,, holding hands and being angy all the fuckin time the steam is literal because their anger translates into actual steam

Cons:

Their angst has nowhere to go and it just sits between them like two raccoons at a dumpster-style mexican standoff

They really start off hating each other huh. Like, I know this can still lead to healthy relationships but neither of them are very good at healthy relationships with people he hasn’t known for his Whole Life so that’s an Oh No.

They totally feed off of each other’s stupidity (but this could be seen as a pro too so take that as you will) as well as anger - im talking one-upping each other kinda shit

Its ridiculous honestly how intense it gets, like they straight up need intervention sometimes because they dont realize they can just STOP

Conclusions:

I think this would be a relationship that would that a lot of time and hard work to make work, but i think in the end it would be really super cute!! Like it would make no fuckin sense to anyone else but somehow they’d understand each other and help each other through their similar issues. Also theyre both big nerds in different ways and i think they’d have just ranting sessions back and forth over and over and it would be soft!!!!! So yeah, i think it would work, at least, i want it to :D

So. Maybe?? I feel like it could, but they’d need to work pretty hard to make it healthy and not constant fighting. Could be stupid amounts of cute and wholesome but also could be stupid amounts of oh no and pain, depending on how the two act. If they learned how to get along with each other and work past their differences it could be super cute and soft. Just a very, er, bumpy beginning. And middle. And end. (this makes me very nervous,,,,why did you mention an end) (wouldnt you like to know weather boy) (TvT) UFDUNS bumpy but soft . Agreeing with the loser gay, want this to work it’d be interesting :3

#spencer x ghost #jess writes #ishhhhh???????#venturiantale #venturiantale pie #johnny ghost #spencer acachalla #johnny toast #jimmy casket #fred spooker #let me know if you enjoyed this or not it was intense #sr #ship review #ship reviews #vt ships #vt ship reviews #vt ship review #vt sr

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the-reverse-mermaid · 6 years ago

Text

Feel Again: a whump fic

Hey buddies! I’m working on my WIPs currently and i am so grateful for ur patience but i’ve also had this thing sitting in my docs for several months and I wanted to share it at last, but just a clip because..well...in whole, it’s kinda darker than my usual stuff so the whole thing may or may not be posted in the future. This is a gift for the wondrous @parkrstark who had a birthday recently and who is a beautiful person and talented writer <3 Enjoy, my love~

FIC INFO: around 5k words, IronDad and SpiderSon, hurt/comfort, warnings for nightmares, panic/anxiety attacks, past dehumanization; also it’s implied that Tony is Peter’s guardian bc May died...sry, i was too coward to write her ^^;

...

It’s been seven days, ten hours and fifteen minutes.

Peter watches, blank-faced and empty-eyed, as bowl and spoon are placed in his hands. It makes Tony feel like he’s dealing with a robot, but even his robots are more lively than this. Taking Peter’s spoon, the man presses the Cheerios under the milk so that every piece of cereal will be soggy, just the way Peter likes. In times past Tony had made fun of him for the preference, and Peter had ardently defended it as the only right way to eat cereal.

Now the memory of Old Peter echoes in the back of his mind like a glimpse of an alternate reality.

“Think you can finish all of that, buddy?” Tony asks, leaning down so he’s in Peter’s line of sight. Dulled brown eyes trail up to him, then back to the bowl and he nods, picking up the spoon. Tony breathes a sigh of relief as the kid starts to eat, chewing slowly.

He checks his phone and feels a nervous thrill at the notification there: I’m about to come down. Still want to do this? He glances at Peter before typing and sending a quick, Yes, ty.

“Hey, bud, remember that time you, me and Pep spent Saturday morning watching dumb cartoons and eating breakfast food til noon?” he begins, picking at his own cereal to seem casual about it. “I thought we could do that today, since she’s got no meetings til this afternoon. Whaddaya say?”

Peter pauses. He lifts one shoulder indifferently, but Tony can see anxiety hidden in the movement. Apathy and fear; whatever happened in the last four months stripped Peter-- lively, expressive Peter-- of all but these two emotions. They might as well have stolen Tony’s entire fortune; that loss would’ve hurt less.

Before Tony can think how to reassure him or possibly backtrack, there are footsteps in the hall and Pepper is rounding the corner with a bright smile on her face.

“Hey, guys!” she greets, pausing in the entrance of the kitchen to look them over. She’s comfortably dressed in pajama bottoms and her ‘I lost an electron’ shirt that she and Peter both own, her hair down and feet socked. It’s 10 times less intimidating than her usual business suits and high heels but still Peter squirms closer to Tony’s side and eyes her warily, choosing to look at her feet rather than her face. Pepper wilts a bit at the reception.

“Morning, hon,” Tony calls. He pushes a pleading ‘we can do this, just act normal’ into his gaze, and Pepper, bless her, seems to get the message. “We’ve got cereal over here, help yourself.”

Pepper grabs a bowl off the counter and crosses the room, her movements deliberate and nonthreatening. There’s no change from Peter, whose own bowl is sitting in his lap like something hardly worth his interest.

“Hmm,” she hums. “Cheerios are good, but mind if I add to the spread? I think we’ve got some frozen quiches around here somewhere, that sounds good to me.”

Tony smiles. “Go for it.” As soon as she walks away he nudges Peter and says quietly, “You’re okay, Pete. Nothing to be stressed about, yeah? Pep is just like me: she wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

For what it’s worth, the kid does relax minutely. In the interim of Pepper opening packages and using the microwave, Tony picks up the remote and turns on the TV, browsing around for something safe and feel-good before settling on Nickelodeon, which is showing some animated movie. Peter’s eyes flick up to the screen.

“Alright, I got mini-quiches and even some blueberry muffins, ” Pepper announces upon her return, both hands holding trays of said items. “Totally gourmet... And by gourmet, I mean Costco brand.”

“The best,” Tony agrees, snatching one of each as soon as she sets them down. “Which would you rather have, bud?” He turns to Peter, who is done with his cereal and is now looking at the new food. At Tony’s invitation he hesitates but points at a muffin and Tony tries not to get too excited about it as he hands one over and watches the kid begin nibbling the top. So far things seem to be going well.

Now he’s just gotta go through with the next step.

Around ten minutes in, the movie cuts to a commercial break. Tony shifts in preparation to stand up and Peter immediately follows suit, not even questioning, but carefully Tony takes the boy’s hands and holds them at arm’s length. Peter looks at him questioningly, a rare moment of eye contact.

“I’m just gonna take a bathroom break, okay, bud?” he explains. “You stay here with Pep.” He tucks Peter’s hands to his lap and stands.

Peter keens and sits up straighter, wide eyes kindling anew with anxiety. Tony feels like the worst human being on the planet, but he knows he needs to do this. He needs to help Peter do this.

“It’s just a few minutes apart,” he promises. “I’ll go straight there and back.”

“And I’ll be here with you the whole time,” Pepper chimes in. She scoots closer from the other side of the couch and puts a soothing hand on Peter’s back, easing him back into the cushions as Tony leaves the room. The man tries not to look back as he hears her quieting and comforting the boy’s whimpers. Pepper is a better people person than Tony will ever be and he knows she’ll take good care of him, but Tony’s fingers still itch with the urge to turn right back around.

As soon as he gets to the bathroom, Tony pulls up a feed of the living room on his phone via FRIDAY’s cams to watch the room he just left. On the couch, Peter is decidedly not coping as well with Pepper as he does Tony, but he isn’t having a meltdown; in fact, he’s allowing her to sit close and keep an arm wrapped around his shoulders, though his forehead remains creased in apprehension. The poor kid looks like he’s fighting with himself to be patient; his gaze is torn between watching the TV and checking the doorway for Tony’s return.

Biting his lip, Tony puts his screen away and sighs. He paces the small space, checking his watch impatiently until at last five minutes have passed.

On his way back he hears it.

The yelling.

“Peter? Peter, honey, you’re okay! Please calm down, you’re home, you’re safe-” Pepper.

His walk turns into a sprint as he rounds the corner, heart in his throat, and takes in the worrying scene before him.

Peter is curled up in a fetal position on the couch, Pepper kneeling in front of him with helplessness on her face as she tries to get his attention. Peter’s hands are pressed over his ears, his eyes clenched shut, his whole body shuddering as he rocks and cries inconsolably.

“What happened?” Tony demands.

Pepper hurries backwards so Tony can take her spot. “I don’t know what- what agitated him,” she says in a rush. There are tears in her eyes. “He just suddenly started panicking and hyperventilating and- and he won’t let me touch him, he screams if I try-”

“Don’t scream!” Peter says suddenly. Both adults’ attention snaps to him. His eyes have opened but they’re unseeing as he croaks, “Don’t scream, they- they’ll hear! Be good, be good, be good, I- I’m good- please, I’m--”

“Peter, hey,” Tony tries, carefully putting his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

At the touch, Peter flinches, his head smacking against the couch. His whispering gets more frantic. “I’ll be better! I will! I-”

“Peter, please, stop!” The man takes Peter’s face between his hands. “You’re safe. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. Can you hear me, buddy? It’s your- it’s Tony.”

Peter goes still.

“Tony,” he repeats. His face crumples slowly, lip trembling. “I miss Tony...”

The man of iron feels his heart splinter. I miss you, too, Pete. Come back to me.

“You’ve got him,” he says. “Tony’s here now. He’s got you. He’s gonna keep you safe.”

In the stillness that follows, all is quiet save the sound of Peter’s rapid breathing, but even that is slowing and evening out. His blinks several times as the storm clouds in his eyes dissipate, light returning gradually as the seconds pass. Tony’s thumb strokes away a tear still rolling down the boy’s cheek, and at last Peter focuses and looks at rather than through him.

They stare at one another for a long moment. The teen swallows and opens his mouth with a shaky inhale, a fresh sheen of tears filling his eyes.

“S-sorry… my bad,” he rasps.

Tony’s brain short-circuits for a moment, and all he can think is how unbelievable it is that the most of Peter he’s seen in so long could come as the result of such an episode. He doesn’t know whether it makes him want to laugh or cry.

He pulls himself onto the couch and gathers his kid into his arms, one hand bracing Peter’s back, the other nestling in his still-overgrown curls. Peter responds by clinging around his middle and pressing his ear to Tony’s chest, no doubt timing his breaths by the heartbeats there.

It’s only after Pepper leaves to find them a blanket that Tony sees the TV screen and the image it’s paused on. It’s an infomercial… an infomercial for obedience training. The closed captioning advertises “Don Sullivan’s Secrets To Training The Perfect Dog: order the DVD set now and get a complimentary Command Collar”.

Tony had never had strong feelings about infomercials in general but at that moment he wants nothing more than to buy every single TV station and destroy them all. Screw Don Sullivan.

He’s surprised when Peter suddenly huffs a humorless sound. “I’m pretty broken, aren’t I,” he states quietly, voice wrecked.

Tony pushes his fingers through the scruff on the back of Peter’s neck, wishing so hard that he could turn back time. “No,” he refutes. “No, you’re not.”

Peter is quiet for a long time, so long that Tony wonders if he’s given in to the pull of post-panic-attack exhaustion and fallen asleep. But in a tired voice weighted by more sadness than any man, woman or child should ever know comes a tiny reply:

“Yes, I am.”

...

Peter has scars. A lot of them.

It’s been fifteen days since and he’s barely improved, still clinging and hesitant to speak or make eye contact with anyone other than Tony. He lets himself talk in small bursts but it’s nothing like he used to be; he can also manage up to fifteen minutes alone without having a panic attack if Tony has to shower or use the restroom. He does the same so long as Tony waits for him outside the door (within range of hearing his heartbeat).

After the disastrous separation experiment, Tony isn’t eager to push much more than that.

(Peter has scars.)

Some are thicker than others, especially on his wrists and his back; the white lines criss crossing over his form tell tale of screams long since silenced. Just seeing the marks makes Tony’s knees weak with a concoction of feelings he can’t describe-- prominently there’s horror, because he remembers how every injury was discovered and treated on that first night back and it was like Tony himself was taking a beating… and then there’s regret-guilt-anger-helplessness, because the cuts are healed now-- Peter’s healing capabilities took over soon after he got the proper nutrition and medical attention-- but poison memories are sealed inside.

If he hugs the kid a little longer than necessary after watching him get his boot cast removed and seeing the scar tissue that mars him there too, Peter doesn’t seem to mind. The kid leans into his touch more now than he ever did before.

“Alright, little shadow,” Tony says brightly as he pulls away, using the nickname that had never been more appropriate in their relationship; having a kid clinging closer than a literal shadow at all times did that to you. He glances one more time at the newly-healed foot and gets an idea. “What do you say we celebrate this cast coming off? Wanna take a walk around the compound, get some fresh air?”

Peter looks up at him through his ragged, unstyled hair, doe eyes wide but empty. Tony smooths his bangs back and the kid blinks once as if to focus. Tony can see him trying to be there, trying to care. Trying and trying and trying.

“...’kay,” he whispers, fragile. He lets Tony take his hands and help him stand.

Once he’s got them bundled up in jackets to withstand cold winds that roll off the water, Tony hiding a wrist gauntlet on the hand in his pocket (because yes, he’s that paranoid), the two of them (as one figure) step outside for the first time in-- in a while. Definitely a while.

A cool breeze follows them on their walk and Tony allows a deep breath of actual fresh air to clean out his lungs and settle in his veins. It’s not very often he gets to enjoy the benefits of living outside the city.

They end up walking along a trail that follows the Hudson and Tony decides that this actually was a good idea: the nature-y sights and sounds seem to help bring Peter to life. There’s a glimmer of contentedness in his face as he looks out over the trees and water and sky. He loosens his grip on Tony’s arm and settles for a gentle handhold. Tony looks at him sideways, feeling a swell of hope rise in his chest, right behind where his arc reactor used to be.

“It’s nice to get out, huh,” he says softly. The edges of Peter’s eyes crinkle in what might be the world’s tiniest beginning of a smile.

Other than occasionally checking that Peter’s leg isn’t hurting, Tony shuts his mouth and lets the white noise around them do its thing. He’s been talking too much lately anyway, trying to overcompensate.

They’ve been walking for almost an hour and stopped to admire a small waterfall when Peter suddenly bristles and presses himself close to Tony’s side. In paranoia, the man pulls his gauntlet hand out of his pocket and is all but ready to activate it, when all that comes around the path toward them is a wobbling toddler in a puffy coat.

They stare at him. He stares back, a gap-tooth grin on his face. “‘Ah-dy!” he says in greeting.

No, nope, I’ve definitely got my hands full being just ONE kid’s Daddy, Tony thinks worriedly, when behind the toddler appears a man who moves to scoop the boy up in his arms. The man holds the boy, who’s probably about 18-24 months old, by his feet and the kid shrieks in delight, wiggling around upside-down.

“Leaving me behind, guys?” a woman’s voice calls before a third person appears, putting her arm on her husband’s shoulder and glancing curiously at Tony and Peter. Peter hides himself behind Tony, eyes on the dirt, and Tony manages to cast them a weak smile to be polite whilst squeezing his kid’s arm reassuringly.

The man sets their kid down and he immediately spins around, looking at the waterfall. “Wa-er!” As he tottles away, Tony catches sight of the symbol on the back of his coat and does a double-take.

“Nice jacket,” he says without thinking.

He glances down at Peter. The kid has noticed too-- his eyes are locked on the symbol, expression unreadable.

The man turns around from where he and his wife are watching their toddler. He follows their gaze and laughs. It’s a tiny Spider-Man themed coat.

“Thanks! Spidey’s our family’s favorite. He saved Shannon’s life when she was pregnant with this dude,” he says, indicating his family members respectively. “The guy may not be around lately, or moved, or- whatever, there’s lot’s of theories- but... he isn’t forgotten, not for us.”

“-ah-DEE!” the little guy calls from where he and the woman have wandered, and this time he seems to be referring to his actual daddy so the man gives them an awkward little wave before walking off to catch up.

The strangers gone, Peter sags into Tony’s side. His face is still unreadable. Tony can’t think of anything to do other than wordlessly steer them down the path toward home, wondering at the heavy thought bubbles building over his kid’s head.

…

Sixteen-and-a-half days.

A strangled-sounding scream cuts through the dark and into Tony’s heart like a knife.

Tony’s startled but he isn’t surprised; startled because of the rude awakening from being asleep at the kid’s side, and the ever-terrifying possibility that something might be wrong, but not surprised in the conventional way because he’s aware that this has happened every night since the kid came off the heavy meds.

Peter is whimpering strings of ‘please’ and ‘no’, and Tony turns on the bedside lamp to see him huddled in a ball, eyes closed and budding with tears, one fist stuffed in his mouth to stifle the noise. He winces when Tony puts a hand on the side of his head.

“Peter,” Tony whispers, so tired. “Peter, bud, you’re okay. It’s just a bad dream. Open those eyes for me?”

Peter whines, but his eyes do crack open to anguished slits. He’s shaking beneath Tony’s palm, and biting down so hard on his hand that the man sees a trail of blood running down his knuckles. Tony’s other hand gently pries the fist out away from his mouth. Peter lets him.

“Hey bud,” the man greets softly, catching the kid’s gaze. Peter stills as his surrogate father rubs a thumb along his temple soothingly.

Tony smiles sadly. “What did I tell those nightmares last night, huh? My kid is off-limits; only good dreams allowed. Iron Man decrees it.”

Peter stares at him, breathing erratic as his awareness returns. He inhales sharply, an attempt to calm down, but his breath catches on a sob on the exhale. He covers his face with both hands and dissolves into fresh cries, leaning into Tony as the man takes the back of his head and pulls him close.

“Shhh,” Tony murmurs, fingers carding through the curls at Peter’s nape. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. Go ahead and cry, I’m here.”

It takes some time for Peter to cry himself out. Tony doesn’t stop whispering reassurances the whole time. He can tell by the pace of the breaths beneath him that Peter’s still awake.

“You can tell me anything, Pete,” he offers gently, as he has every night. “I’m here for you.”

Peter has yet to tell Tony about what happened to him, or about the nightmares that haunt him so badly. As he comforts, Tony traces his thumb across the hollow under Peter’s eye, wiping away wetness there and remembering how the straps of a muzzle had traced the same spot in a perverse fashion not so long ago, before Iron Man had removed and destroyed the thing in disgust.

Some scars can’t be bandaged as easily as others, but for the first time in all such nights, Peter does respond.

“Mr. Stark,” he says so softly that Tony holds his breath so as to not miss anything, “Mr. Stark, I- I don’t- I just don’t understand.”

It’s in these moments, somehow, that Peter is most himself. The storms drag Peter out of his hiding place. “What don’t you understand,” the man prompts. He pulls back to see the teen’s face. His young brow is furrowed in- confusion? concentration?

Peter chews his lip for a moment before going on. “It’s like, when I was there… all I could- all I dreamed about was home. But now I’m here and I, I can’t- I’m st-still there, you know?” He meets Tony’s eyes. “What if I can’t ever really come home?” he concludes hopelessly.

Tony does unfortunately, painfully know what he’s asking about, because he has a similar trauma and it’s called Afghanistan.

“You just need time, buddy,” he says. “I know what you mean, trust me, I do. It just gets better with time.”

“Is it worth it?” Peter presses suddenly. “Am I-” His eyes trail sideways to the sheets and he swallows. “Am I even worth it?”

Tony’s jaw hardens. “That’s not even a question.”

“I-I did bad things… And, and I’m not the same.”

“You didn’t have a choice, kid. And being different? That’s not as bad as you think.”

“I’m ruining your life.”

“Peter, you are not-”

“I’m inhuman and I’m a waste of space.”

It’s the way he says it, like it’s a known fact, something he’s been drilled with and long since accepted, that really gets under Tony’s skin. He’s been pretty good at holding himself together so far, all things considered, but can’t help that he feels his own eyes stinging with tears at the sound of his kid reiterating the garbage he’s been brainwashed with.

He sits up so suddenly that Peter startles.

“I’m not really tired anymore,” he says briskly, throwing the covers off himself and trying to discreetly wipe at his eyes.

Peter pushes himself up too, eyes wide and concerned. “Mr. Stark?”

“I’m feeling like a trip to the lab, maybe a snack on the way. How ‘bout you, kid? Wanna join your old man for some late night wandering?”

Peter presses his lips together in confusion, but he nods. Tony pushes the covers back more so that the kid can get his feet on the ground before stepping out himself, the both of them slipping into their usual bracing of one another.

Apparently speaking, and now getting up, is too much deviation from the routine for Peter because in his eyes he’s slipping back into himself, expression closing off. Tony hopes he doesn’t feel embarrassed; Before-Peter would’ve been, but Now-Peter is hard to read.

FRIDAY turns on lights as they pad down the hall, already long since attuned to Tony’s nocturnal habits. A quick stop at the kitchen supplies them with a bowl of Chex mix, and then the lab doors are whooshing open and Tony’s realizing he doesn’t actually feel like tinkering. He just needed a reprieve to collect his thoughts but now he’s got Peter out of bed for no reason and it’s not healthy, he’s gonna ruin his kid, he’s a terrible guardian-

He shakes his head. One thing at a time.

“Come sit with me,” he says unnecessarily, leading a compliant Peter to the couch and settling him down with the bowl of Chex in his lap. Neither of them move to eat any of it. Tony takes a seat beside him and drums his fingers on the knee of his worn sweatpants for a long moment, looking around for something to do now that he’s brought them here.

His eyes fall on a forgotten Target bag sitting stuffed in one corner and the metaphorical light bulb goes on.

As quickly as he sat, Tony’s back on his feet. Peter’s gaze follows him as he crosses to a nearby screen, booting it on and then retrieving the items he needs from the shopping bag. He shields his activities from Peter and whispers instructions to FRIDAY before finally whirling around to look at his kid with a crazy grin. It probably seems like he’s gone crazy at this point.

“Buddy, I have one question for ya,” he states, hands raising and pausing for dramatic effect. “Have you ever played… Just Dance?”

Peter stares at him the way one might stare at a fascinating tornado. He slowly shakes his head.

Tony laughs nervously. “Uhh... me neither. But listen, after you moved in, I kind of-” ...panicked... “-sent Happy to the store to find things you might like to have around the house? Like video games? I don’t know what kids like. Happy doesn’t either. He must’ve checked the internet or something because he came home with this, and kid, can you imagine Harold Hogan in the store buying a dancing game? Now that’s an image I treasure. On behalf of his efforts, I think we should give it a go, right here, right now.”

By the time the rambling stops, Dum-E, U and Butterfingers have made their way to this corner of the lab like curious cats trying to interpret their boss’ strange behavior. Noticing their presence, Tony throws his arm out to point at Dum-E. The other two bots startle comically.

“You,” Tony declares. “You can hold a wii remote, right? You and me. Let’s dance. Pete, you’re on the tambourine. I don’t actually have a tambourine. Just keep time by knocking, like this.”

The man leans forward and raps his knuckles twice against the side of the chex mix bowl. It’s not like it’s loud, or even necessary, but it’s something to get the kid involved. Peter looks a little lost, but not in the dissociative way- more like he’s trying to figure out if he’s actually awake or if this is a weird dream he’s having. Still, Tony’s on a roll and he feels dangerously confident. Not quite confident enough to ask Peter to dance, but enough to make a fool of himself in the hopes of bringing comic relief to one of their awful nights.

Within a few minutes, FRIDAY has configured the game on Tony’s screen and the main menu music is playing through the speakers. One newly-unwrapped wii-remote is clutched in Dum-E’s claw, safety strap secured, and Tony’s using the other to flip through the menu and create player profiles.

“Okay, so…” he mutters, finally arriving at the song selection screen. “What do we have here... Gotta make sure we choose an easy one. Not for me, of course; I’m worried about dum-dum over there.”

His eye catches on a song title, and he pauses to let the sample play. At first it was just because the song is marked “Beginner Level”, but he recognizes the clip as a tune he’d once caught Peter humming as he worked on some homework. Being the privacy-respecting parental figure he is, Tony had proceeded to tease him relentlessly because One Direction? Wow, Pete, gotta say I didn’t peg you as a pre-teen girl from 2012.

Still, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter perk just slightly, the little dork-- and it’s enough that Tony’s pressing the ‘play’ button without further mental argument.

The screen changes to four dancers, two of which are labeled for his and Dum-E’s remotes. As the opening measures of guitar riff begin, Tony mimics the pose of the avatar on screen and peeks over his shoulder.

“I need my tambourine player,” he reminds, and though Peter’s face is twisted in an expression of intrigue, he quickly readies his knuckle against the side of the Chex bowl and starts tapping it in time with the music.

And Tony dances.

“You’re insecure… Don’t know what for. You’re turnin’ heads as you walk through the do-o-or.”

“How the crap?” Tony mutters, watching Dum-E hit every move perfectly whilst his own avatar misses several points. “How-“

“Don’t need make-up… to cover up. Bein’ the way that you are in en-uh-uh-ough.”

The graphics go crazy for the beginning of the chorus and Tony cringes, though that changes when behind him he hears a small laugh that makes his heart stutter. He doesn’t look just yet, just tries harder to wave his remote hand in time with the song with exaggerated movements.

“Baby, you light up my world like nobody else. The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed-“

This is definitely written for preteen girls, he sighs internally. Still... it’s undeniably catchy. To add to the show, he starts mumble-singing out the words aloud as they scroll on-screen:

“The way you smile at the ground, it ain’t hard to tell, you don’t kno-o-ow, you don’t know you’re beautiful-”

That’s when the ‘tambourine’ beats stop. When Tony looks behind him he sees the kid shaking with silent laughter, an open-mouthed smile on his face.

He meets Tony’s eyes and for once there’s no weight of the world there. He’s just-- Peter.

It’s a sight too beautiful to describe.

“Oooh, keep trying!” the game prompts when Tony forgets to keep up. Their eyes flicker to the screen and Tony huffs.

“I’m not cut out for this follow-along stuff,” he says airily, giving up on it completely. “Tony Stark follows no one’s rules but his own.”

And with that, he slings his remote strap around U’s claw and breaks into his own freestyle moves, the ones he usually reserves for dancing in private, when he’s sleep-deprived and a little loopy. Be that as it may, Tony Stark knows he is a good dancer; he never imagined it would come in handy for a moment such as this, but heck, there’s not much he wouldn’t do if it got Peter doubling over in peels of giggles like he is right now.

When the song hits the chorus a second time, Tony grabs a screwdriver off the shelf, turning it upside-down as an impromptu microphone, and he sings the next words directly to his beaming kid:

“Peter, you light up my world like no-bo-dy else. The way that you- have- hair? Na-na-nanana-- The way you smile at the ground, it ain’t hard to tell, you don’t kno-o-ow--”

Peter goes still, a lingering smile on his face as he listens to Tony’s altered lyrics.

“-If only you saw what I can see, you'd understand why I LOVE you so PERFECTLY-- Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe you don't know, oh oh- You don't know you're beautiful! Oh, oh-oh, Pe-ter you’re so beau-ti-ful!”

Tony breathes out, surprisingly choked up. He repeats the message as emphatically as he can, for however many times the song repeats it, his movements getting more silly and more sloppy until the music finally ends, bots trilling excitedly in the background about Dum-E’s somehow-perfect score.

He lowers himself to the ground in front of Peter, panting from exertion. The hum of menu music plays behind them but the game is forgotten.

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” Tony breathes. “You are worth… everything. The whole world. You were, you are, and you always will be.”

Peter’s eyes shine like stars. He melts into Tony’s hold when the man leans forward.

…

Peter has scars, but Peter is not his scars.

#tag as starker and i hunt u down and replace your shampoo with hair remover #im joking but PLEASE DO NOT TAG AS A SHIP #the song is supposed to be cute and silly and dad-jokey #Irondad and Spiderson #tony stark and peter parker #irondad fanfiction #my writing

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honeymoonjin · 5 years ago

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florezco jm: dude ur so pretty like a butterfly!! im jealous, but i wanna know if ur room really was full of butterflies? like super full? were they even in the bathroom? also, teach me some stuff abt butterflies cuz it lowkey sounds heckin cool

Jimin blushes, his flattered smile puffing up his cheeks. “Thank you,” he mumbles shyly. “I’m so glad you’re interested! Butterflies are really wonderful creatures! We do have a lot of them in our house, but butterflies are so small, so it never feels full. It’s usually just that we have to be careful to check before we sit down, and sometimes you might wake up in the morning to a flutter on your cheek. But we keep the window to my office open so they just come and go as they please.” He hums, eyes wandering indecisively. “Oh, goodness, there are so many cool things about them I don’t know where to start! Quite a few butterflies have ultraviolet pigments on their wings that we can’t even see, but other butterflies can! And there are a bunch that are completely transparent! If you’re interested, I really suggest reading more into them. You may just find your passion like I did.” Speech finished, Jimin turns his focus back to the bowl of sugar water he’s been mixing for them.

——

send my characters an ask coward

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adrrianraines · 5 years ago

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hi! i just started playing choices, and i wanted to hear your opinion on what books are worth spending diamonds for and what books aren't. thank you so much :))

hi there love, welcome to the fandom!! enjoy the circus! it gets rowdy but it’s entertaining– 🤡

i just wanna tell u that my opinion may differ from others so you’re free to seek other opinions too if you deemed my answer unsatisfacory ! so lemme list to u what books are worth to waste diamonds on and which ones are not in my opinion. the ones i might have not mentioned are probably in between or in the middle.

so, for diamond spending, if you’re kinda on the economic budget level of can afford to purchase some-many, then these books are the bomb and would definitely be worth your penny.

i. : bloodbound. pretty ironic huh considering i’m a bloodbound idiot myself. lmao. but it’s worth every penny if u haven’t farmed enough diamonds! also yes you can farm in this app. the reward system is pretty generous once u know how to utilize it. tho some LIs wouldn’t have an immediate diamond option while others have one almost immediately, just weigh whether u need to purchase it or not. the diamond scenes for each LI is equally compelling and incredibly worth it. what i do tho for the most efficient way of spending those ingame currencies is that i don’t buy all outfits. u don’t actually need it. some scenes may suggest but honestly? ive tried having the outfits and not having it and it’s not that much of a difference. i keep the diamonds to spend for important scenes such as the tapestries for back stories and some diamond scenarios that might be informative/entertaining. i’ve bought all diamond options for Adrian so sue me

ii. : the royal romance/heir. same thing with bloodbound. sure, the hair options are majestic. the outfits? have u seen other books release stylish outfits? i personally have not. it’s really magnificent. although sometimes pb milks it, if you’re smart & can live with letting down ur LI for not spending a penny on their vanilla smuts and group gatherings then you’re good to go! just spend it on important pieces of scenes/info that are being paywalled by pb for god knows what reason. trust me, you might be baited but not all diamond options are actually worth it. i love trr/trh don’t get me wrong but this bitch is poor so sure as heck not gonna spend my diamonds like a mad banshee on random shenanigans.

iii. : open heart. dear god. the backbone of all those reused faces in like whatever new book that comes out with pb as of late. jesus. btw the diamond options are worth it! i like to spend diamonds for my LI and some options that are needed by the plot. you’ll know which are those once u get to start the book! i just don’t buy anything related to appearances unless it’s necessary to the plot. pb ain’t gonna bait this broke bitch because if my LI truly loves me they’ll accept me even if i wear a garbage bag

iv. : platinum. okay? where should i begin? because u actually need diamonds in this book? hello? i started this book without spending diamonds and where did that take me? a broken guitar, missed opportunities and slow rising fanbase lmao. so please do yourself a favor, save up and check out walkthroughs on how to survive being a star without spending diamonds like crazy. there are actually various options available but u can check it urself so u will be guided. i made terrible choices with my brokeass here and let’s just not talk about that

v. : it lives anthology ( it lives in the woods & it lives beneath ) anyone who knew my ass will know that i’m so much of a cheapskate that i didn’t spend a single diamond on this godtier book and i survived just fine. u can check walkthroughs but i doubt it’ll be much of a help since most of the critical choices are timed and u need to use 200% of ur brain to survive this mess. lmao. okay not 200% but u get my point. ilitw requires to many diamond options to raise nerves of ur crew but u will be fine if u just spend it on important stuff. BUT SURPRISE BITCH LMAO EVERYTHING IS IMPORTANT OTHERWISE U R DEAD OR UR FRIENDS ARE DEAD LMAO. but in ilitw u can save the maximum survivors by just making all the right choices!

don’t even get me started on ilb. it lives beneath? THE BITCH DIES BENEATH. LIKE HOW– THE AUDACITY– i lost a fucking pinky because i was too much of a coward to spend my nonexistent diamonds. like how dare thee! lmao. just... just spend ur diamonds for this for the most critical and crucial circumstances. make the correct choices and then you’re good to live. it also has options on where u don’t need to spend diamonds but still making the correct choices under pressure either by timed or by confusion contributes greatly to this story.

vi. : nightbound. YES. YES PLEASE. nightbound is 100% worth to spend on. have u seen that hair? god i love that ombre color!! also uhhh please buy some weapons for ur own good lmao. and just be wise on where those diamonds are going. i always stick by a rule whenever it comes to spending ingame currencies– don’t buy if it’s not necessary to the plot. just purchase what is important, collect information to unlock scenes at the end and choose ur choices wisely. don’t die.

vii. : the elementalists. now. this book. GDI THIS BOOK. this is freaking diamond book???? whenever u spend ur day with ur LI gosh it will ask for diamonds. ( ily beckett dear but ur gf is a brokeass bitch & i cant always spend time with u picking flowers or hanging out with merpeople /crying obscenely ) there are diamond options here that are more important than the smexy scenes with ur LI. diamond options that will allow u to learn things and get equipments that will be ultra useful for the story and plot. what i love about this book is that it’s so personalized to the point that u might feel u truly r ur mc that’s why u might be compelled to purchase things such as outfits and etc but honestly? i went to the dance with the most lameass garb but still got to enjoy it just the same. but the diamonds you spend to learn new infos and heighten ur power? those are the most worth it tbfh. also some non diamond options are actually good than the diamond ones so enjoy familiarizing the world of brokeass people while playing. that’s just me telling u that since im broke i didnt get to glimpse those diamond options sob

viii. : a courtesan of rome. YOOOOOOO this book is wild lmao! i’m incredibly torn whether to tell u to waste ur diamonds for ur LIs or be frugal and choose wisely. follow ur heart while playing this. i absolutely loved how, even if not wearing the most delightful garbs, ACOR mc still kills it as a courtesan. u know what they say, true beauty shines even in the darkest places or the smarmiest set of clothes. she can wear a guard’s armor and she still be slayin. very pretty. i’m in awe.

ix. : perfect match. more like the perfect way to go broke lmao. honestly a god tier book. spend wisely and watch out for options that will ask u to spend diamonds to contribute to the plot. some options will ask u like honestly the other books so by now you know what to do. stay for the plot. it’s really great. and while u r playing please tell eros they suck. 😌

x. : mother of the year. i beg of you to spend ur diamonds on ur child please they deserve the world.

xi. : desire and decorum. honestly speaking i haven’t done that much diamond spending except for my upcoming wedding in book 3 so yes. same applies with what i said, look out and watch for options that will require u to spend but will provide u juicy information as a result. i haven’t bought a single outfit for my mc. i just bought diamond options for my LI and some for some important info and perhaps a bit of information for investigations.

xii. : ride or die: a bad boy romance. GOD. SPEND THOSE DIAMONDS. SPEND THOSE DIAMONDS 🚨🚨 THIS IS NOT A DRILL I TELL YOU. lmao jk but heyyyy god tier book with worth it purchases ! awesome character designs whispers mona eherm i’ll probably replay to try colt’s route since i’ve honestly only been all about mona for this book but yes. worth the diamonds ! in this book i have spoiled myself and honestly every diamond purchase with the mpc is super duper ultra worth it !

xiii. : books like wishful thinking, veil of secrets, endless summer, the crown and the flame are god tier books that are incredibly worth it for ur diamonds. trust me. tcatf actually has a point system where u can gain in game points and can choose whether to use it or use diamonds for certain options. honestly godtier. endless summer has an interesting way in gaining and losing nerve points and relationship points too! veil of secrets needs ur diamonds for investigation and clue finding and wishful thinking has a very unique premise. everything is worth it.

xiv. : i’m adding the freshman series because /zig ortega/ is worth every penny please and also HSS Class Act and HSS. if you’ve played pb’s highschool story which is a separate app then you’ll enjoy these books.

some books like AME and RCD will require u to spend diamonds for options and might demand it for the plot but i got through everything there and really u can play it without doing so.

honey please don’t spend diamonds for home for the holidays and sunkissed. please. i beg of you. unless u spend diamonds for eliana then fine forgiven but ugh. just please no.

the books i haven’t mentioned like RoE is something i honestly wouldn’t mind with or without spending diamonds. the story is just the same. some are paywalled options. leo’s options are actually interesting since it will shed some light for cordonia but i havent seen pb tackle it directly to the main trr series so idk about that.

others can add some info too to help our dearest friend here so if you must, feel free to jump the ship and add 💞✨

#playchoices #asks #anonymous #idek what im talking about thank u for thinking of me while asking but im honestly a broke bitch idek how to tell u what books r worth it #ive been living frugally and being careful of how i spend this bitch is broke

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frantic-aspic · 6 years ago

Text

character info time!

since only two people here know about the lads y’all are seeing here i decided to make a post with their info. feel free to scroll through this if ur interested! probably won’t be too long (and there will be pictures) im STILL putting it under a read more bc it might be slightly long (and there will be pictures)

---

here he is! the boy that started all of this! this guy got adopted by a maws after ending up in a ship that got stuck in the sea. He carries around a lifesaver & works as a snatcher, he cant swim so he travels by boat. it can take him a while to meet another squids as 90% of the interactions he’s had with them was salmon run stuff. he can get excited easily and can sometimes pretend to be rude but he’s both a coward and a softie. (he usually avoids squids unless it’s someone salmonids know, and might avoid going into squid form if surrounded by salmonids that don’t know him well as he wants to pass as a salmon himself.) he only shows up in lost outpost.

y’all will see this guy a lot. he’s easy to befriend and very laid-back, but does a decent job as a stinger. i don’t have much else about him, he’s another close friend of moog. he’s chill with everyone as long as no one is harming anyone. he also enjoys closed spaces more than open spaces.

this is the maws that adopted the boy. she’s pretty old and kind of stubborn to anyone except her son. she doesn’t stay in the same place for too long so she may be quick to leave. she rarely participates in salmon runs herself but likes to be there whenever moog is joining one be either to cheer him or to help him out if he’s in a bad place. she also likes jokes.

and here is the fourth member of the squad! he’s a steel eel driver but he’s almost (if not already) as big as a cohock. he owns a house in lost outpost where he’s been living since he was a kid, mogu can’t stay on water for too long nor can swim so they just dropped him off at his place. he’s pretty much his adoptive cousin. he’s always serious and only seems to care about himself and his vehicle, plus he’s a fairly good mechanic and works at either repairing or building stuff. he often fights with his cousin over petty stuff too.

anyhow have fun asking me stuff about them. or asking them stuff. or interact? i’m good with either.

#characterinfo #have fun yall

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katsukiboom · 7 years ago

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Hey I hope I made it for the ask box being open? 🙈 I've been reading all ur stuff for a while and I really like everything u write for bakugou. Can I get hc for bakugou with an s/o who is normally calm and rational but the first time they encounter a villain as a class (1A) the so starts shit talking and egging the bad guys on. Like full on laughing and then proceeds to actually fight pretty well. Afterwards just goes back to calm neutral. Thank you!!! I hope this one was okay.

It was more than okay! I actually did a lot of HCs, I felt pretty inspired lol I’m super glad you like the way I write for him, I’m always worried bc it’s super easy to overdo it, so I always try my best to balance it out! I hope you like it my dude ♥

BakugouKatsuki

He never understood what was so great aboutcrushes or having a partner until he met you – you were so calm, so peacefuland good-looking it was almost infuriating

Often he’d try to be paired with you duringtraining just so he could see if you were more than just an easy-going person,and if there was more potential hidden behind that gentle smile of yours he’dbe the one to bring it out, it was almost like a challenge for him

He experienced yet another defeat when youconfessed your feelings to him first, his heartbeat picking up and his cheeksreddening as he clumsily accepted

Katsuki would never talk shit about you oryour talent although he does like to tease you sometimes, saying that your calmdemeanour will bring you trouble in the future – he’s the only one who can do so however, and if someone did so much as sayone bad word about you he’ll have your back in no time

It’s not that he sees you as a weak person;he’s just afraid people will try to step over you somehow

That’s why, during a surprise attack at thepark when the whole class had decided to take advantage of the Saturday warmth,he tries to pull you away as soon as the villain appears

It’s only one guy but he seems to have aQuirk that can make him grow in size, reaching up to 7 feet and making him lookeven more menacing

Along with Deku and Todoroki, Katsuki isready to start fighting until the pro-heroes get there when he hears your voicecoming up from behind them and your form walking forward, your usually gentlelook replaced by a cocky one he doesn’t recognize at all

“Oi, you little shit,” you say without hesitationas you let out a chuckle, “how much of a coward do you have to be to attackinnocent people?”

Katsuki’s eyes are open wide as he staresat you and your courageous attitude, something he would’ve never thought youhad in you

“Whatthe fuck do you think you’re doing?” he whispers from the side, but youjust give him a side glance as your smile grows and you start preparing yourQuirk

“I’m going to have a little fun with thisfucker… that’s if he wants to face someone like us – must be a pretty stupiddude to attack right here.”

Honestly can’t believe his ears and eyes asyou, the sweetest, gentlest person he knows is there, facing a villain morethan double their size as if he was no more than a small Chihuahua and spillinginsults left and right with a big grin on your face

You’re the one who throws the first punchand Katsuki has to stop himself from launching at you and pulling you back, seeingas you took the villain by surprise and almost made him trip – he looks at hisclassmates and nods slightly as if telling them that you got it under control

As he watches you fight and debilitate thevillain he can’t help but think that he’s underestimated you before

The pro-heroes get to the area mid-fightand have to physically stop you from keeping on attacking, an action to whichyou have the weirdest reaction to in Katsuki’s eyes: it’s as if someone turnedsome sort of switch off inside your mind, your expression softening and yourattacks stopping abruptly

“(y/n), what the absolute fuck was that?”he’ll ask as he wraps his arms around you when you’re with him again,completely marvelled at what he has just witnessed. “You’re, like, thestrongest fucking person I know.”

If you apologize for anything, he’ll tellyou that it’s alright and then point out a few flaws he noticed during yourcombat, always wishing for you to improve

He’s left confused after that day, notquite sure what to do with the knowledge that there’s a whole different personalitybelow the one he always sees

Secretly hopes there’s another small attackwhen you’re around just so that he can see that side of you again – lowkey feelsreally interested on it

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha headcanons #boku no hero headcanons #mha #my hero academia #mha headcanons #my hero academia headcanons #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #mine #Anonymous

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anti-mistajules · 6 years ago

Note

For the aromantic asks, would you pick which ones you want, or if you could do all of them? I’ve never heard about it before but I’m really curious and would like to know more from your point of view

Well bc you’ve never heard of it before here’s a little definition I got from here (if u wanna read more about it):

An aromantic is a person who experiences little or no romantic attraction to others. Where romantic people have an emotional need to be with another person in a romantic relationship, aromantics are often satisfied with friendships and other non-romantic relationships.

What arospec label(s) do you identify with?

I’m just plain ol Aromantic

Sexual orientation?

Bisexual

Are you romance-repulsed?

To a degree? I don’t usually mind seeing romance in media, I just get a little uncomfortable with seeing PDA and when people view me in a romantic way I feel like physically sick.

Do you relate to voidpunk?

Do I relate to what now?

What kinds of attraction (romantic, sexual, aesthetic, sensual, platonic, etc) do you experience?

Sexual, aesthetic, and platonic definitely! Im not too big on sensual attraction and I don’t feel romantic attraction at all.

How do you like to show people you (platonically) love them?

I’m a huge ‘acts of service’ and ‘gift’ person! I do whatever I can to make things easier for my friends and try to give them gifts they love and deserve! I also like to spend time with them when I can and talk about whatever! Basically if I can talk to you on the phone or in person past 12am, I love you friend!!

Do you want to remain single all your life or do you want to have some sort of life partner?

I wanna remain single, I really need my alone time I couldn’t imagine living with someone for an extended period of time.

If you want one, what is your dream partner?

no!

Which is your favorite of the 3 aromantic flags?

Uhhh fuck im not too flag savvy??? I like this one:

Your opinion on soulmates?

allonormative as fuck and perpetuates the idea that you need another person in your life to ‘complete’ you which is complete garbage!

Your opinion on shipping?

Shipping is fun but I don’t get too into it.

Do you ship characters in romantic/sexual relationships, or do you only ship characters in familial and platonic relationships?

Honestly all of the above but mostly platonic and sexual.

Are you out to anyone in real life?

My close friends and my immediate family. Or at least I tried to come out to them but they were just like “you won’t get married?? Ya right lol ur stupid” and I didn’t use the word ‘aromantic’ so I guess technically im not out to them?? Its not something I hide, but when explaining it to others I don’t use the word bc I don’t wanna explain or want people to think im one of those “tumblrinas’ who ‘make up orientations’ bc there’s a lot of negativity to unpack there so I just don’t bother

How did you come out?

Once I found out what aromanticism was I immediately related to it so I told my best friend first and we had a conversation about it and then Id just be like “hey I don’t get why people date people…I don’t wanna do that” to everyone else.

Do you know any aromantic people in real life?

Nope! I would love to meet some!!

How do you feel about your aromanticism?

Honestly its so freeing…I feel very validated knowing there’s a whole community of people who feel the same way I do about romance. Im pretty proud to be aro with my friends and online but irl to my family and acquaintances Im not as open with it.

What is the worst part of being aromantic?

The lack of representation and the constant erasure. I highkey hate being grouped with asexuals so much bc not every person who is aro is ace and vice versa! They’re separate orientations but they are NEVER treated like it and its so annoying. (THIS IS NOT ACE HATE!! I SUPPORT ACES WITH ALL MY ARO HEART!!! LOVE YALL!!)

Also the constant fear that you cant be friends with the opposite sex bc they’ll always want to be romantically involved and that your allo friends will leave you for their S/O lol

ALSO WHEN UR PHONE CHANGES AROMANTIC TO AROMATIC >:///

What is the best part of being aromantic?

Not being in a relationship lol people complain so much about their relationship troubles and im like ‘damn COULDN’T be me’

How did you find out about aromanticism?

I found out through either Tumblr or google I cant remember which??? Or maybe I saw it on Tumblr and googled it? Either way Tumblr was a factor

When did you know you were aromantic?

I tried dating my best friend and ended it in like 3 days bc I felt so fucking weird about the whole thing like very uncomfortable??? Like I felt like I couldn’t talk to him about certain stuff anymore and just being called someone’s “girlfriend” makes my skin crawl. I always had some weirdness around romance but I thought it was just bc I haven’t “found the right person yet” but if anyone was the “right person” it was my best friend and I couldn’t do it. So I did some research and found out about aromanticism, related so hard, and have been very happy with the label ever since.

Do you have any aromantic headcanons?

SONIC THE HEDGEHOG AND BRUCE BATMAN WAYNE ARE AROMANTIC AND YOU WILL PRY THOSE HEADCANONS OUT OF MY COLD, DEAD HANDS YOU COWARDS

What would be your dream representation of an aromantic/aro-spec character?

An aromantic character who is allosexual (preferably bi) who loves their friends and family and would do anything for them! Doesn’t go “EW!!! GROSS!!” At romance but is just like “nah ill pass, loving my friends is all I need!” and isn’t super oblivious to romantic gestures or infantilized/made into a joke for not being interested in romance. Also if they call out allonomativity that’d be tight

Who is your aromantic icon/idol?

NOBODY BC THERE ARE NO AROMANTICS IN MEDIA

What is your favorite song that relates to aromanticism, or is simply not about romantic love?

Analysis Paralysis by Awake at Last (At least I don’t get a romance vibe off of it??) and Sonic Youth by Crush 40 for all you Sonic fans out there. (And honestly most sonic songs are aromantic BANGERS)

What is your favorite movie that is not focused on romance?

BATMAN V SUPERMAN !!!

What is your favorite tv show that is not focused on romance?

POKEMON !! Im gonna be honest with y’all I think the reason Im aro is bc I watched nothing but Pokemon until I was like 10 (I didn’t stop I just also watched other things) and it is the least romance oriented show ever like….while y’all where out watching Disney princesses ‘fall in love’ or whatever I was crying over Pikachu’s Goodbye so don’t talk to me about heartbreak. Also Ash and Pikachu’s friendship (and of course his friendship with all his traveling partners) really fucking resonated with me and I think thats why I hold my friends above all else.

What popular romantic pairing do you see as only platonic?

SONAMY

Do you experience squishes?

I think I’ve had maybe one or two but they went away quick once I realized that I just like this person bc I think we’d be good friends and I get excited at the thought of making longterm friends.

Do you own any aromantic pride merch or outfits? What are they? If not, what would you like to own?

I do not but id love to own a flag or two

Do you have any advice for anyone who may be questioning if they are aromantic or on the aromantic spectrum?

Just own it. I’m actually actively trying to take my own advice bc like I said I don’t use the word irl but like,,,if you think you’re aro or somewhere on the spectrum, find a label that speaks to you and just own it. Being Aromantic isn’t cringey, its a valid orientation just like any other and I will fight anyone who says otherwise. Ive spent too much time pretending to be alloromantic just to fit in, I’ve embarrassed myself too many times by pretending to be allo, Ive gone too far into my life pretending to be something im not just because its easier for others to understand. Ive gone through too much to discover my orientation to have some fucking losers on the internet tell me that its ‘not a real orientation’. Im aromantic. I feel comfortable in that label and no one can take that away from me.

#ask anti #Anonymous

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jamiedodgerart · 7 years ago

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if you're happy to tell us, i'd love to head more about ur inquisitor :00!! his debates with dorian sound fun

:DDD yeah sure! soz this is late

pica’s 1/6 of an inch tall

(im kidding. his name was originally a pun, but not a typography one - he’s a rehash of an old oc i had way back in the day, who was based off a magpie. hes actually on the short side for a dwarf, i want to say around 4′3″)

he was a lyrium smuggler before the inquisition, and specifically was the front man who sold it. he’s a champion liar and man of many faces, and knows how to disappear in plain sight (which is easy if you’re a dwarf and most law enforcement on the surface are humans. to a human guard dwarves all look the same and theyre too short to really get a good look at their faces). he had a pretty transient lifestyle- he didn’t get tied down, didn’t get too attached to anyone or anything, had pretty few posessions. he was 26 (or the dwarf equivalent of 26. hows dwarf aging work in dragon age anyway) when the carta got him to spy at the conclave, and you know how that went

look ok. the first half of his career as inquisitor was just. wingin’ it. no one really knew what the fuck he was supposed to be doing, least of all him, so he just pretended he knew what he was doing till, i wanna say the end of into the abyss. after talking to mal hawke some he learned that, hey, everyone’s always winging it, and also that his decisions kind of really mattered. (and that those decisions he makes can. kill people) for the first time in his life, he realizes hes actually important, and what he does changes things on the large scale

so after that, he got to thinking. the world kinda sucks. and it sucked before the war. and the leaders of thedas are really not doing all that much about it, except trying to kick each other in the nuts while their enemies are weak and completely forgetting that politics Cannot Survive as a practice if theres no farmers able to make food for diplomats to eat. so, orlais, if your farmland is all gunched up with battlefields, then you need to fix that, don’t you. but the inquisition is really, really good at providing stability! it’s good at establishing patrols, safe trade routes, providing local employment, and is a fairly reliable consumer of local goods. so pica capitalized on that, and quietly spread inquisition presence all over southern thedas. this led to immense inquisition influence, with very little fanfare.

you can guess why the rulers of thedas tried to get rid of him as soon after corypheus was taken care of as possible. they branded him a tyrant and like. ok. they werent like. super far off. bc at this point he was kinda trying to see how much of the world he could take over before anyone noticed/tried to stop him and also figured he could do like, a way better job at leading it than the current rulers could. and he wasnt beholden to anyone either (not like empress celene! elected to her throne by… uhhhhhhhhhhh divine providence or something. i mean shes doing an ok job but like i didnt vote for her) so if he really really wanted to he could go full dragon reborn

ive got off topic but point is he figures humans have had their go and they fucked it up, so it’s a dwarf’s turn and he’s going to put the world back together himself. (ps hey bioware can we have some dwarf stuff in the next game. im js. weve had a whole load of elf nonsense and its nice and all but dwarfs had a cool ancient society too yknow)

after trespasser he elects to keep the inquisition around, because he worked hard to make this glue keeping the bits of thedas stuck together and he’ll be damned if he’ll let solarse and his minions screw it up. but it gets nerfed heavily and hes pissed about it

he romanced cassandra! i really like their relationship- they look to each other for moral guidance. pica knows he can get flighty and relies on her to keep him in line, and always asks her for advice when he sees her in the courtyard. he usually doesn’t follow it but he feels it’s important to have her perspective on things

they disagree on a lot of stuff (like he made celene and briala co-leaders but she was in favor of gaspard) but he trusts her judgement, and supported her in becoming the divine

he’s a little weird about religion, specifically relating to the stone. the surfacer part of him that hates caves is like pff hippie garbage, but the bit that’s generations old and wants to belong to a larger whole of a culture is Super Into It. cole said he felt the stone’s presence around pica one time and externally he didnt react but internally he was yelling WHAT THE FUUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKKKKKK I LIVED IN SUCH PEACEFUL IGNORANCE I DIDNT NEED TO KNOW THAAAAAT and after the mythal thing hes like fuck believe what you want. whatever floats your boat. we live in a world where nugs have little people hands so if it comforts you to know a god did that then live your truth

re mages he figures theres a way better way for them to fit into society than the circle. its dumb. they can LIFT THINGS WITH THEIR MINDS. USE THAT FOR BUILDING. they can HEAL WOUNDS WITH THEIR MINDS. THEY CAN TALK TO SPIRITS AND SHIT THEY CAN PROBABLY FLY WHY ARENT WE USING THIS THEY’RE WASTED IN TOWERS LEARNING TO SHOOT FIREBALLS OR WHATEVER people who fear magic are cowards. chantry more like sham-try.

hes big on research and development. he sent samson to dagna for research and in the au where mal lives he sent anders to her too. cos. like. dude COEXISTS WITH A SPIRIT. thats cool as SHIT how does it WORK.

(im gonna make a post abt the mal lives au soon. its good)

hes largely responsible but he has also impulse bought at least three stuffed dragons. also, if the textiles technology were available, hed have dragon jammies. it’s the little things in life.

he collects notes he’s found talking about him and hangs them up by his desk. his favorite is the one samson wrote calling him a damnable rogue. he says hes doing things right, if he’s making people mad

hes trans! im not sure how thatd be regarded in dwarf society, in undergrounders i doubt it’d be very acceptable given their emphasis on reproduction, but house cadash has been on the surface for generations and has probably adopted more liberal views on lgbt stuff. either way hes not very open about it, and it’s really easy to pass when he’s around humans (i get the feeling dwarves and humans look for different things, when they’re trying to guess gender. for example hes got some beard scrub, which in human terms means male but in dwarven terms probably either means very young male or unkempt female) (the added implication to this is that varric might keep his beard to stubble so he looks younger) he met krem and had an instant Trans Solidarity moment, which also comes with the Trans Fear that the person Knows that you’re trans and could out you. it’s a weird kind of trust and for me feels like that one performance art piece with the people holding the bow and arrow. anyway hes cool w krem but doesnt talk to him all that much. theyve got pretty different interests.

his best friends are probs cole and dorian! he’s very curious, and likes to hear different perspectives on things. he and dorian often play chess and discuss all sorts of stuff. they end up yelling a lot because they both want to talk but the other started saying something before they were done with their point, which they started saying before the other was done with their point, and so on. he doesnt get very far in the slavery argument until hawke starts chillin at skyhold more regularly and can adequately school him on the state of tevinter slavery (fuck i gotta make a post about that. mal’s had a lot of development since i last talked about him)

he listens very seriously to cole’s observations. he can really appreciate the input of someone who watches so much more than speaks, and heartily supported his ventures in becoming more human.

he also gets along very well with josephine and likes to trick her into taking days off. hes also always down to chat w dagna and scout harding! and varric, of course. it’s always nice to talk to someone without having to crane his neck up at them all the time

(this is the reason he doesnt usually spend time w bull. hes just too tall and its uncomfortable knowing your face is at your friend’s dick height while ur trying to discuss battle strategy)

uhh trivia, at one point i thought i’d fucked up cassandra’s romance by not flirting with her enough so i meant to go for dorian’s instead, bc while i had wanted to romance cass since uhh i dunno one of my mutuals first reblogged a picture of her, i underestimated how charming and cool of a guy dorian ended up being. so in canon i say pica had a crush on both of them for a little while

its late and i think i got mostly everything so enjooooooy

as a parting gift, this is him

youtube

#crownsnbirds #dragon age #pica cadash

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thesolitaryhobbyist · 8 years ago

Text

Yuukoku no Moriarty highlights/comments, chapters 4 - 10

Selective, but I tried to include important points. Doesn’t detail the resolutions of the actual heists/crimes. Minor/vague spoilers unmarked, a few more significant spoilers in a separate section at the end.

Chapter 4: The Case of the Noble Kidnapping

Opium, and the military.

Unspecified bad blood between Albert and Moran.

(Maybe Moran being ex-military might be relevant?)

William is kidnapped.

William’s catchphrase really seems to be “I will hand down your punishment!”, more or less.

MI6.

I won’t say more for 2 reasons: 1. I didn’t seriously try to understand all the details (sorry, I’ve misunderstood Albert enough); and 2. The entire plot hinges on one reveal, which I’ll mention below.

Chapter 5: The ‘Noahtic’, Act 1

‘Noahtic’ is the name of a cruise ship.

How William plans to go from Durham’s local hero to London’s Napoleon of Crime, a rough summary:

[interior, Moriarty London residence, a meeting between the Moriarty brothers, and Fred and Moran]

William: ‘The [class] system can’t be changed immediately. But what we can do is plunge London into the depths of hell. Turn it into a city of crime. [...] Crime isn’t the end, it’s the means. The system can’t be changed immediately. But people’s hearts, they change in an instant. People are mobilised by their feelings, you must have understood that from Durham. What hits people the hardest - that’s death. [...] We’ll direct a production and decorate the set to allow death to come to the forefront [...] People’s...the country’s eyes will be opened. [...] The time has come for the curtains to rise. If this ‘play’ on this big stage succeeds, we can accomplish anything.’

Albert: Oh, and I’m in MI6, so I can pull strings.

William: Let’s start by exposing this one Earl’s misdeeds.

(So that’s why these chapter titles use ‘act’ in them. And also probably the/an inspiration for the name ‘William’, as in Shakespeare.)

Holmes and William have a deduction-off on the Noahtic:

Holmes: I deduce you’re a mathematician! I saw you staring at the golden ratio in the staircase!

William points out what Holmes does is technically abduction, then goes on: ‘You play violin, but you aren’t a performer. Moreover, you excel at physical combat. And if I may, you also have an interest in scientific experiments, and are a bit reliant on drugs. It’s obvious you’re an Oxbridge alumnus (!), yet you speak with a cockney accent (!!). That must be because you’re proud of your roots, particularly on your mother’s side (!!!)...am I right?’

Holmes: HAHAHAHA srsly, ur hilarious

(Bless this cockney Holmes.)

Chapter 6: The ‘Noahtic’, Act 2

At the Moriarty London residence:

Moran: ‘Cleaning up after a big operation like this is tough, eh, Fred? Maybe using civilian lives bothers you? But “death is what moves people most”, isn’t it? I'm telling you, if I was Enders’ [the killer on the Noahtic] target instead of that man, I’d have willingly given my life. If William’s plan needed me to sacrifice my life, I’d do it any time. You would, too, right, Fred?’

Fred: ‘............got it.’

(Yeah...Fred Porlock.)

Holmes: 'When you eliminate the [...]' Blah blah, you know the drill.

I didn’t catch if there was a specific reason he was on the cruise, though.

Chapter 7: A Study in ‘S’, Act 1

When you want to avenge your fiancee’s death, who you gonna call?

On the coach ride back from that consultation, Moran offers to kill Holmes "any time", but William turns him down.

(He and ACD canon Moran need to have a chat about killing Holmes...)

Holmes is theatrical and impish, and speaks quite casually.

Mrs Hudson yells at Holmes in the street to pay rent, while he’s carrying a bag of apples, and he tries to give her an apple as ‘payment’. They fight in the street. The public is entertained.

Stamford passes by. Holmes asks to borrow money from him, but he suggests finding a flatmate.

Mrs Hudson rejects three would-be flatmates before Watson shows up.

Watson’s moustache was sacrificed to the bishounen character design cause, sadly.

When Watson first enters 221B, Holmes is ‘dead’.

I present to you:

Goth jewellery Holmes.

That woman is Mrs Hudson (well, Hudson-san). She’s “eternally 17″, according to herself, but “about thrice that”, according to Holmes.

Watson tries to smooth-talk Mrs Hudson when she’s angry at Holmes for meeting her at a seedy pub, instead of a restaurant, to introduce her to Watson. (Spoiler about this at the end.)

She’s not impressed, and thinks he’s some kind of womanizer.

When Mrs Hudson complains about Holmes’ abilities being ‘wasted’, Holmes excuses himself to go to the toilet.

Then Mrs Hudson tells Watson that Holmes worries her a lot, and because he’s like a kid, she doesn’t want him to live with just anyone.

Watson smiles and points out that she worries about him “like family”.

Holmes and Watson team up to beat up the man who harassed and groped Mrs Hudson.

After that, Mrs Hudson gives Watson her approval.

Enoch J. Drebber is an Earl here.

Holmes is arrested because Earl Drebber ‘wrote’ “Sherlock” in blood on the floor of the room he was killed in.

(Because dying messages are totally a thing, eh? [insert Ace Attorney joke here])

Holmes and Watson address each other using given names from the get-go. Just how things work in this manga, apparently. The Yard still address Holmes as ‘Holmes’, though.

Volume 2 omake, a summary

“William’s room / No entry! / Except Lewis”

Lewis wants to help with William’s plans, but William always says it’s fine, Lewis, it’s too dangerous for you.

Internally he’s like: brother, that hurts!

One day, he knocks over William’s diary while cleaning his room.

The angel on his shoulder (yes, this trope is used) is like: reading other people’s diaries is wrong!

The devil is like: at that rate, finding another way to be useful is wrong! and dude, we’re villains!

That’s fair enough, so Lewis reads it.

That night... and the next night, and the next night... he makes stargazy pie for dinner, with increasing numbers of fish.

Because William wrote in his diary that Lewis’ stargazy pie was delicious, and he hoped he would make it again.

Everyone loves it. Except Moran, who yells that he’s sick of it. No one cares.

(But the real question: if the diary isn’t a throwaway plot device, is there any other juicy info in there? Or is it just full of food reviews?)

(I’m not sure which I’d prefer.)

(And it’s not impossible William planted the diary.)

Chapter 8: A Study in ‘S’, Act 2

Meanwhile, in Utah...

Kidding, nobody in this is from Utah. Earl Drebber is from Wales.

Lestrade and Gregson! Lestrade is much more cooperative than Gregson. (Spoiler at the end.)

Watson is quick to trust Holmes and believe in his innocence.

The elaborateness of the crime really brings Holmes back to that Noahtic case...

Baker Street Irregulars!

Fred ninja-jumps up to the rooftops in an alleyway.

Chapter 9: A Study in ‘S’, Act 3

That entire confrontation between Jefferson Hope, Holmes, and Watson is pretty great. (Spoilers at the end.)

Holmes makes a pun on Jefferson Hope’s name.

Holmes: I don’t care about credit, just write “Holmes is amazing!” in your [Watson’s] diary.

It’s published. Holmes is not amused.

Watson: ‘Even when the whole world hates you [Holmes], I alone will be on your side!’

(Gee, that’s not foreboding at all.)

Watson makes Holmes wear The Outfit to meet the press outside 221B. Holmes is not amused.

Holmes passed his ‘audition’ as the ‘main character’ in William’s play, though he doesn’t know it yet...

Chapter 10: The Hunting of the Baskervilles, Act 1

WTF, Sir Charles Baskerville?

He and some other nobles abduct children, then hunt/abuse/mutilate them, like something straight out of Kuroshitsuji. And he has a ‘trophy room’.

I personally don’t find the panels too gory, but stuff does happen on-page.

Moran immediately cancels his plans for the night - i.e., sleeping with one of the women he bragged to at the pub about his new job as a ‘butler’ - so he could accompany Fred to report the Baskerville tip-off to William.

Fred is reluctant to go because it’s late and the abductors come early in the morning, so there might not be time. Moran is like naaah don’t be a coward, let’s run for it, William looks at the big picture, but I know he doesn’t ignore suffering when it’s in front of him.

(Moran backstory, when?)

And about that job - Moran shirks work when Lewis and William aren’t around, and Fred covers for him.

And Moran says though Fred seems distant from William, he and Fred have a special connection to each other.

(Now I can’t help but see Fred’s attitude towards Moran as some kind of rebellious younger brother thing and I cannot wait for backstabbing to happen outside the omake.)

Lewis still wants in on the action, and finally confronts William after Moran gives him a ‘but you’re brothers, tell him how you feel!’ pep talk.

William: oh nooo, I only wanted to protect you, Lewis, but I didn’t consider your feelings, only my ego! From now on, I’ll let you in on the action, too, just like old times!

Other unsolicited comments:

Lady in the vol. 1 colour spread of the Moriarty comrades’ debut album photoshoot: please don’t be Irene Adler, please be someone else, please.

Judging by the page one literal cliffhanger, this won’t be how it goes, but consider: instead of baritsu-ing William over Reichenbach, Holmes shows up late and stabs him with a broken oar. (...This duel.)

William is 24/7 cool, even when he was abducted in chapter 4. The only times he’s really cracked so far were the chapter 1 page one cliffhanger, and his conversation with Lewis in chapter 10. Please crack more, William.

Chapter 4 SPOILER

The kidnapping was planned so Albert could bust some opium smugglers, who were the kidnappers.

Chapter 7 SPOILER

When he went ‘to the toilet’, Holmes gave that man a message ‘from’ Mrs Hudson, to get him to approach her.

‘She’ wrote that she liked a certain kind of role-play...

Because Holmes thought Mrs Hudson would ask Watson to be his flatmate if she saw that he’s a “gentleman brimming with a sense of justice”.

And Watson really is, so he's pissed when Holmes tells him

But his tirade is cut short because the Yard comes.

Chapter 8 SPOILER

Lestrade, who's driving the Yard’s coach (uhh, whatever the right term is), swerves so the doors open and Holmes and Watson can escape. When Gregson demands an explanation, Lestrade claims a cat suddenly jumped onto the path ahead.

Chapter 9 SPOILER

Jefferson Hope asks Holmes to kill him. If he does, Fred, who’s watching from a rooftop, will tell him about the criminal mastermind who advised Hope.

Holmes points his gun at him.

Watson: nooo, there has to be another way! *points his gun at Holmes*

Holmes shoots.

...at the ground.

Holmes: haha what do you take me for? I don’t want to be told the answers. I’ll find them on my own. *handcuffs Hope*

Watson: *tears of joy*

After the Moriarty crew pass the press mob outside 221B, there in response to the news of Hope’s arrest, Lewis says there was a ‘60% chance’ Holmes would have killed Hope.

William says the whole thing was a test of Holmes’ character. The gist of the conversation is that Holmes will be of use in exposing the upper classes’ sins.

#yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #professor moriarty #sebastian moran #sherlock holmes #ynm notes

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castlehead · 8 years ago

Text

[BENEATH THE PLYMOUTH. chapter nine, conclusion]

I. Can’t life end again, before the sun Goes down over the hills like a parasol? Life polluting our heads with questions That don’t know their own answers …

Then why give it us? the private said. I mean,

Armies kill and are killed for these, and ya En’ up with what monstrous

Bleakness stripes in blood; that is your prize. With flagging limbs I speak my Rage at the enemy. My True Veteran Rage, Which is my food and drink, I cross the

Battlefield and I singlefile my bros And doesn’t this matrix of bootstring Done up on you quicker now if We get incoming fighter jets? You are Meanwhile living it up like a damn Yossarian with them foolish virgins The new recruits till I

Send again for u to drive another imbalance right Weepwoop weepwoop weepwoop

Tried and true are the men to get killed first After all, nothing like

Deaths of honorable men To stew up the lesser rage of cowards for to deal In lamenting them, as if it were for fun, sportiness,

Oratory, red and blue lights! crack Open a cold one with the boys! magnifico! raises

Chalice to those sent to a Rightful place in the heavens, those Weak mounds or plots now, some Severed from life by the single nip Of severe pill intake after the war

You’re too fucking good for a life of Seizures take this xanax instead.

. . . . . . . . .

What am I doing I am here, I am atop a mountain, lets call it, Am breathing full for the first time, In my headspace I persist An effluvium; while a desperate gush’f a need For sanctuary tells me I am far from Ahead of turning this damfool twilight In my head away from its Croaking doubts, and guilts, Can barely.

This Twilight, What have I left to examine of you? I say Sagely to the private, do all that you did, as well Upon / A separate, spent drift, perspective, etc.,

While the wolfish / Folk don caps Of what they wrongly think they

Are. This could be a story about why I wanted to kill myself Or it could be about whatever I want to make it about, Hopefully something, something less dramatic. Well. I hope you like it. I worked very hard on it. It Makes me want to weep to think of it, and yet I must, I want to tell you all of what it means to make a difference Atop a mountain, I see you there, my love, Please, please love me, there is not much I can say Except, love me. All this daft World. All of its haunting Contradictions, nifty spools out of sense I cause

Rounding the corner, get them, chase them, Go deep into the forest, up the climate. Up, Up

Have you found, the little that speech can give you back is width enough for a heart in grief to corrode Or two? Sleep, sleep, dear one. I have ye, ye is much obliged to nurture me myself, but unlike I you, u dont have to me, For I nurture myself well enough already. This someone else in this house of mirrors you keep talking about, quaking With unfed genius, and whom is monster, monster, knocks upon the head, to heel up This phantasm, intimidate it backwards a little, scorn its brunt, then deftly reconnoiter With it later back at the chasm’s lost wrinkle there where not one minute of time is spent not laughing about the situation. A light could swiftly get penetrant the brains of the unfed genius, the wreck, The wry one, the lost thing betokening all worlds’ wishing that human vanity hath brayed like a horse for, and Prayed, prayed for, to congeal as even the protozoa of a spark at the top of a mountain; to let hope congeal in plenty as the blizzard Of the century to garnish the summit.

You have the prototype, but it is a him, and he is to love what love had always needed to Be! We mold and mold what we want the world to be, mold it out of a wish Or three,

. . . . . . . . .

II. Each interesting temperament says hello to me, Before fleeing from me,

They pass and pass like they meant something once but won’t tell Anymore, as I wait to be given back what has been once robbed, still

Hell. What’s the difference really? Been once asking me for the last Of its energies, itself will change, always change. So it goes with The whims of opinion, as to what sits well in one’s stomach,

Or if not that at most just rumbles hungrily there, or gets one’s noticing Depreciating, or not. Anything wld lead me to an answer I’d get besotted of,

Ornate reasons for expression are my thing. Showy excuses for my skewed bind called my life.

That rattle here and there around the point I try to make a success As the voltage is turned on I mark my last of humanity goodbye,

As I remember ur indolence / I so forget my Thoughts, feelings, guilts, shames.

And it is mostly all the same. Watch me empty buckets of sorrow! My eyes. My continual essence is such a pain in the ass. I prefer Additional things in the mix, more than mere sadness. But Our relative experience, though relative, would try to deny Us that even, wouldn’t it? That all could simplify into an urge For relief, something that goes against the little voice That says, These are more than just

Words. But I want them to mean something, really, I really do; want them to bring you places, string You along on their meanings, bobbing and chafing:

Even by faith there being a verbal string to the argument Makes an argument. Reason’s transcendent like That and can make for bitchin’ metaphysical

Recognizingz. What. Something crucial loafs In my empty canister called body. So sue me. It, that is, What I am, doesn’t do anything there but magically

Stays aloof without disappearing: this buried thing: well I Daze myself off into space and meet you there, like, In space: and anyway waiting too long would

Be a rightful hazard for my personality to squeal about In being aloof. I have no ridiculous thing to write But instead forth go into magnifying what is said

Already like a patient requiring ibuprofen by exaggerating The pain that is still pain. More fun is this, this getting Shot with a gun-syringe of aenesthetics: they

Say “Ready for time out” when they do it: You wake up later feeling licked

Like, like a trainwreck, vibrating in freezing AC cold.

Yet if the headache’s needed, then, getting It treated should squelch the purpose. Leave my maladies There, you kno, safe in the trinketbox. Leave me traumatically

Unaided. Like until I hanker badly for an answer myself That I try and remember to give after the longest Period of time possible. So if I can’t,

I want. Feel so stifled. What is important to you: Making sense but making sense new: making poetic Thinking a type of poetry in itself: it works after all:

Let’s ask that question: if I am ambient in my relative Nature, or if the vibe is something more jagged, Which is already something wavy and ambient, An eccentric trick of the mind to woozle itself Into angles of self and pithy creation would Eventually present itself; but do not do it. Yu will not remember how for the life of you. It will just be a picture you see of what you want. Such ignorance

Fascinates one into playing, like, by their own rules, starting To play with concepts. I want to stick to one but Don’t even have one. Strange taste

In my mouth there is. So much there is of self That committing to one thing, even per page, is Backwards, bawdy, bluntly reasonable tho

Past its secure, random prints the weird entry Glamorizes, then makes a thing: I went to those to Mean something, like, went to the words, I mean:

What of it: this is going to be something I Hopefully do not regret, that my large, shiny being notices as Light through the window, getting reflected on by the closing

Door of a car: don’t doom me to just that though: I am a searcher: I’m trying really hard: doe a deer, Blabla: I have the right wrinkles for to

Explain my argument sideways: planecrash: Runtish reason, bleed me out of you into a body My own, hopefully: fuck my answers

For everything: I don’t care about the bad choices. The, that is, horrible reasoning, is not, is a Way, a new one, to work my way

Through poetic thought: my elbows hurt for example: My back does: a weird taste in my mouth: righteous Diligence, give me some rapport with

These words, craft em like gems that are squeezxed And tormented to life, force it, force it to live, I need This living thing in me to express its repressed

Stuff so long repelled: don’t do me like A normal, hoggish perspective on the matchlit Cave we squander through: through and through,

I impress upon myself impressive gonging shouts, Right?: or do I never mention the invisibleness of What I speak of, you know, outside of just then.

. . . . . . . . .

Despite my own personal dilemmas, I have An element unknown by this practice,

Settled in decisive waves of calendar And rotation, space and juxtaposing,

Retracted stuff and statements left bled till Steam lost. I have these unknowavles

Without constraint as things my diction nails To the wall of the page. But I have

Dilemmas, things I create for to Be baffled by them, scorn, growls,

Soggy mittens in wintertime. Nothing Counterintuitive, I always say, gets past me.

I allow those confusions room in my material Cell, breathe out flowering my spent

Petals to a floor of verbiage. OK. What can I say ?? Though ?? Really,

That the cricketsong is unbelievable, The night drinks up that thick

Music; that everything now is considerable, And I decently understand; and that

Everything, even what I do not know, Is important. So as to this,

III. Constantly, barely on a cuticle Would reality seem to stand for us;

You are not so fine, so tenuous as your situation, which is reality, And which offers up zero places for you to trip and fall into the sky.

Regretfully at that would the whole of reality disappear, as Soon as there were not these gravitational beings humans are, To classify and disseminate reality, which is in other words not What you think it is but what you will never see it as and more,

More than just a pretty thang, due to a sounding sunlight, due to, To say, an obstreperous daygloss over the city; but is in the worlds Behind admitting a lack of a name for this non-language, which Although remarkably loud on the still, static eaves, seems [yes] To have come overnight with the junipers. But the sense of sight,

The sense of sight simply was not auditory. And other things, Were fine, were fine as cuticle. Now, as for the problem of sight,– It was already a completely different sensory-experience, one I watched at once go wither off many roofs like flakes, go silent By the weeping mud round their walls overtook by river, but This not immediately. A sourceless jangling like of jewelry first:

Shattering out-seeming a white sun: a wake of these fragile things. Like paint-chips. Saw something, somehow ornamenting rays,– Wither from my grasping. For back then I’d left the peanut Gallery as per usual, my focus on imagination’s latest fare,

As I walked away from my cute little fucking friends or whoever. They went off none wiser, lolling their tongues At stonyfaced adults, so

I chose pursuing possible phenomena: I sense-guessed some Strange thing off there to my side, and in my sight alone:

It was as light, yet if light had A sound, a fastidious muttering to,

To complement its urging bright, and Brilliantine crisp form, giving

Marker in particular, as I noticed more, those looser, tattered Parts of sun and chidden dun. So as, in physicality or Whatever manifesting this gets called, to make

It sound its shifting throughout all degrees, cajoling and Maneuvering almost as if it had feet tapping steps to take.

I was 10, and though I kept awhile that booming stepping light In thickspun places for my mind to go and mend an ear for, And. Back me to that spot, so that itself the unilateral instant

Of perception would not dim, well so it dimmed, And I forgot the noise;

Cotton fills between my ears at the thought, to the point I you know like wouldn’t barely hear a foghorn; then Aggravation past recalling. I can’t now even know if

Anything is absent. That’s how bad it is. Events, E’en if they’d been in paint, certain ones’re more Past recalling than the bluntest detail

Of whatever I’d kept warm enough of it all, by The fire of possible to picture, there, you Know: in the mind’s eye. More important to Remember the erasure electrodes could feed Than the one they could stifle with a ball-gag.

That raged-out delight in your eye could Seed in you and with enough

Of this obscure hallucinogen consumed, zoom the pneumatic Parturitions what had been waiting to canter out out in hot Speech straight from braincavity, for

The benefit of your local Shaman: Into the brushy groins thus go

The Cocky British Adventurers, searching for the fountain Of youth, or at least some village where they can get high. The voodoo dey is pay to see, like, to cure incontinence;

Don’t tell! By the barrel in transport go things to forgetting; A given day, from spore to spore remits; direction is avoided Like a bad thing so we all go back to where it growed from

In the states. More than inner leagues of a breastbone, This is a serious matter. Or rooms we might Could spend all day a-lounge

Upon our rucksacks waiting for inherited luck To be what haunts us, that to crumble, buckle, Quick to breathe, then nothing,–would not so Succeed: spirit pulls us from the fingers of spirit With grand tweezerpairs,

But: what of the dangerous chemical overlapping, could that not Melt any elated feeling straight between its own two hands Lifting it, fruiting out the cracks, from that elation, once again, Which: are nay pieces of the will to dry up the anima/animus For good: like British testicles in the Rainforest its, your Very hands do not, refuse to

Let you handle, now, because, you Know, it will burn for awhile if even it, whatever is Controlling the nefarious block between

Whatever happiness of a sort and their significant Person: birthed into that happy flesh, that skin, That thing that will remind one, you, of the fabulous,

Unshed lair at the foot of the mean, corrosive stairs, Pregnant with mercy for the steps of light on it only.

Listen: go by that so as to seize new life: if wholly for more Artful-slung ascents, wax the temples of yr head And go under, and send accents of voltage, Pole to pole to pole.

WE ALL OF US are of what WE were,

Which cannot gather ‘mustard’ nor In mustering it up should you go without A sort of wheeling will: well: no soul should be Without a healing will: it which fights between Your lungs and what your heart insists

Was, has been there before: they, uh Will know they are observed And know not to do so There now; this too

Comes as natural As all these, as ventricle. There’s An aqueduct to tamper with.

Mine and mine through it–all the overwhelming shit of it all, For stuff yours. Just, don’t

Besiege, sweat and Sweat to illness; or make it yours; or do you and I,

Walking down the dirt road with our selves styled right in front Of us at the edge of madness–meanwhile, the road is at the edge Of the psychiatric hospital–pursue towards our to us so-so Talismans, like the reveille to break ‘us all’ into morning,

With an empiric dournesss and a poetic somberness like dirty rocks? Nay hope to find for this or that eclogue, a meaning punctual, as

We clean them like pissed Jockys, Answering only for the gold but in a

Locked eye–or interminable, breathless moment. These could Be spied by some among

Us less romantic as the crummy afterburners Of a godhead: but to us and others like ourselves not morsel at all, But at the very head

Of the war, and us the blood-mud of a battered theatre, rocketing For battlefield-next; to capture a frantic vibe or two

As might well make us frantic? To display The snack and succor of our wellbeing again, that is; Perhaps in a happiness the other there, at least

–Amongst these mossy graves: where yours, my, and Our ideologies get bestowed on, stoic although out of order, us, Again. Like some gift cherishing its other one,

We blind to our own cherishing. We tempted to hunker into place

On the flat of a large rock: and still we worry of A frightening mishearing of the argot from the first

To spell you out as tending to follow your arbitrary wisps again, Dodging the spitting of these asps forlorn by the same proxy Sense walks out to let fill for it too, whom try and try in fidgets To tell you realistically: you is, uh

Mercurial to sell your snappy deathtraps To the others sitting hunching In the back of the light, awaiting the unveiling Of The Random Vision: it all, and it will, flies back at you, The one elated: from their dark shelters it comes To make that noise you knew only light to. Then, as the speech

Of one given so much to dreams that it were a Sickness the mind ingratiated unto the Rest gives up the ghost and calls itself the same thing

Given to these corruptible seconds you’d happened to get The high beams on at the correct angle of phrasing-light, and Especially since it was not found, and by it I mean, this

Especial species, while scoping out out of greed for an exotic Metaphysical animal rustling softly somewhere dangerous along The curtain, made entirely of infinities: you

Waited for to steal the show, but, then, kabamm, And we lose it: our salutary mistresses

Delayed the minstrelsy, time melted, weak shooting At a fenced-in target: as we themselves blast

All motors, play chicken with feelings fine as cuticle: the Cheering to get mutuality in a busted zipper halfway Down the coat: I sleep in a cot: don’t feel sorry: for you:

Our someplace mistakes beautifully without any Communication’s dotage, without interest, In it for the art: usher us along this rock a bit, And all to stomp down the feeling.

The freckled derelict impetuous parts Our molded forming spits panoply to graciously, as Our freeze of eye at each other, and with that a dolor of collar And crimp at the shoulder, and hands to arms clasping Tenderness to the hilarious sound of trombones:

To filtered, moribund animosity all is as spiritual adiposity, and to The spine’s own place in hurting is there a weakest when true

Hue. Trickling Minuses down each disc, doth it, doth it doth it, and Bring you to the tomb the tomb, tomb, tomb.

Happiness focused atom-wise to blathering lambs’ limbs’ Context pillowy gets us confuséd fledged from right to left

And then to do, uh, do so is Yet the where where is someplace stronger, smaller. Right eh ?? The speech, argot, recommends its woes Like fashionable trinkets at a gas station. And decides

Us to go down the drain like toiletflush these untimely Dissimilars, once posh, now as but the gourmand’s Misery. Before the game, he ate a bunch of hotdogs,

Came to the eating contest for a snack. Yet which is of tidings Is that being flatlined on nonbeing like a medley of thrown

Sounds through to the end of the roll of the last toilet -paper in the WholeWORLDEver. Crates us as off

We go like in a box to nice otherness, while Seconds remind us of the ghost

In the moon we forgot to call mightily and we are Now stuck in this bricklump desuetude.

In the very moon our trembling lips lie about knowing it Afar, and I care not how long the line spits landscape; Don’t; or does perhaps. I want to speak visions Of colors. And now for another

Thing: this is different because it leaves up to discussion The rather ornamental debacle. Dry squalor.

Heated up desertions of eye. Fickle hold, o hold. Broken record you is. Well: my army had Nothing with it come to much

But a father what that grabbed the attitude off The collar of the young punk with spots on’is faythe. Like golly.

Repetition you let us pay for your drinks And get stabbed like Marlowe in the eye. Shiver, Species. For it is what we tell you do.

Collective unconscious needs dramamine stash, before All civilization hurls into the closest bucket and- -Frightens the children. Pellucid is the sky’s heart. He’ll know what to do and, uh, what forgive.

Something cold in this heart. Heal me, heart. Respond A bit too soon to the call. Discuss politics. Fuck you. And be Young Joyce uncomprehending at the

Christmas table with Old Dante Muckering up the gaffe of talking blunt about

The PRIME MINISTER Bad gaffe made the more.–

I took a thousand stout men and made them soldiers. Still the question was not solved: do we or do we not Exist: I founded lackeys like the Prime Mover I is. I am, Tell me, young lamb, [eyecontact] I am like

Roses sweet-smelling yes. I have an ankle that is a chip off

The shoulder and there is so much you’d never suspect through The blinds: you are blind to much: anything but old rinds I give

You to see. Of cataclysmic woe, Is uncouth to say it comes, betimes Betimes.

I natty up the RansomStash of money, think I hurl in some other dimensionanony

Rubbled out of zeitgeist. Like what’s left of what Was once important. MAKE EVERYTHING EXPLODE Says the mind, to the maker, and dirigible the static Plane being’s on or is not on. I have a backache. A good part of the poem is that you do not

Know who the referent ‘I’ is. Wonder retracting statements From itself is and remains the wonder of those statements It did not pursue, nor highlight.

That’s what I tell yeh. My GOD who how he did it ?? Till next horn’s blowing.

The new fodder’s here.

I look at my watch all pithy. I want to talk about something

Different, Now:

IV. These moving things, in

Front of my memory are in front there, as if they could be In front: preparing to be remembered. As like water floating On air, an air once obvious lightness, now heavy but only as Waged by its distinction plashing down weightless;

A rose fighting God for a crumb. What I thought mine,

The diviningrod for the gold that is as it is, while The dappled glinting hurlings-out of sun its Buried symbolism: the rod was looking Surly and sad at me

With its inanimate, punk-poker countenance, asking an Arresting conference between myself and all What is in the coming-trough of that

Empty ray my sun begins behind, waiting For the lordly entropy unkind bids for power Wreak of all over the mystified Others’ whispered Commissions to blesséd rekindlings of an ease For suns as mine, and for them

Eagerer plumbs the problem into the general, poetic Selfhood you and I equate to the choral bastion For all the body politic to get unto itself

A final haunt for meetings with those in the field; First, get me to the shallow symbol quicker, for The more is, within, that is

Our fighting, unfound parts, found Out to their believing-to-be-seen, awkward, Aggrandizing root, the more is seen Human all our trickling signs;

As, for example, the professor nodding Dipping glasses from eyes might say

Profoundly, You have me breach into your sociopathy: Behind these displayed tears eyes mutely Carry over bucket by bucket

Past the lids, then Closed goes your roving imagination To the many grunted teachings, wanders to

The place affect and displeasure dwell In commune much as the sun and moon Are. You contrive and contrive Despite a lack of closure. Evil

Grunts; then, the old magician steps upon his Own tricky sidewalk, back broken, spine Flailing out of the flesh like

Sides of things intentionally prized, for Being many-sided, being peripheral, being thus The clamp-down on upon the rift between a Self and self, the murderous wage, a drifting Buoyed survival technique, culminating In the petty boutique where make fancy our

Designer desires. Manically let you grin, let you-

-And find me there and bitterly beneath your skin, Interred, an errant bug clutched by the teeth Of cells, entirely made of mature dismay

At this rattling feature or that, a singing twitch Ersatz dissolves in simply prudery, although the Match is boundless once uncovered to its Eloquent extremes, its funny bets

Atop a covered wagon on the turnpike to Work, ensuing gases here and there, plucking Marred hairs and ingrown nails from the More similar decripitudes of life, yet leaving still

The undone pyre of waxing-worship to Intend itself beyond, beyond a folly, and beyond An enigmatic coach a breed of stag gallops With, like a friend, a friend or fiend,

A whipping to the nakedness our traveling, A scorching of impassioned earthen to What’s the sillier darkness of conceit, deceit, Received by amplifying weeping, or By entrancing the metaphoric tides an Element-electric wouldn’t send

To the chop-house. Let whom lay beneath The tarpaulin conceive this second poem with Next day’s wrathful heat to incubate

Idea, idea of shrouded modern people Messing with themselves with chemical And flirty doctrines flirting on the bilious; We are about what sadly is not serious.

And you, cheap gourmand, upon his food And slaughtering by the minute every truth His 'times’ replayed like plays in college football

Or, which multiplied disheartening with Kids; which antiquated meme and vine impelled To the furnace, and were meant to be an irony Without a foreground, or just merely funny Will, in time, call all of itself lamed

By richer generations whom do not tie severely The knot so early, nor that one of frame-of-mind,

Nor vicious as the adding of more poem to This poem, this tape, this wrong, this blare,

This carousel, could our analyses of flickering face Be less human than the rest. Dispassionate tools.

. . . . .

To jealous the color of every real ordinary. Mass composites are what the want want To be: load up my carriage, run faces by me For the right one to win

Me over, roam grim sealingwax doubles Like they were the robotic asswipe Your linear ability commands to howitzer The shit out of. I want

To destroy all the air. Then of course, would fain destroy This feigned couscous, by words Jellied in the fridge next to the words, and which gets Warmed up, connotes feelings words alive Trumpet menagerie by menagerie. Flown out of itself

The memory wants back to mentioning, Dries off on the water: the weight of all of this Wants to invite God and the rose To brunch, you know, just to talk

About maybe focusing instead on the sad Memory, unsaid. Split like atom

The discontented flash of thundering. The only thing deeper is unwanted

By you, though you think you do, but no, you Do not, do not know what you

Want from these tears the Result of a brief squabble that should Have been rightly emptied into

The Well Of Lidded Impactfulnation, I mean, man, imaginpainshun. The sidewalk entered a flaccidity unbefore Seen, saturated by these decked freckles of Unbelievable, haunting rain as

The city burned just to get some light On this one page in shadow or Night merely spilled,

Rotting, all over this oops And contracted by the mean tacklers Of bulls. Then revert to those gutted, realize

The pen is dusty and empty, the tears A stupid fragility that makes broke the back Of a mountain not included in

The latest Jake Gyllenhaal deluxe set Of withered, weathered - - sexual frustration In the form of abstract painting full of themselves That is, mainly stuffed with their own selves, Which, pretty much, is everybody you Just had fight with, like, what

They are like, since we’re filled with Ourselves or at worst another fills or is filled By us, which is dangerous especially For emotional bohemians on the klutzy radar Muttering germs of new shit In the corner, like, the

Corner of the crooning voice you can’t place, Can’t raise, faze, amaze, or daze; What ridiculous fun it is to chop the world in half, Leaving only robotic faces tunefully chosen In essence. Maybe you lose the song But it comes back early once That nifty ‘copsiren simulator’ busts Everyone fleeing from the party, and an Avalanche of high folk pour out

Like tears of once what was, unto lids, The resultant dripping, squeezed into their lighted Aspect, performing light again

On the random Chair of Life where drunk poet sit, Whispering saturated sidewalks, eating couscous

By themself, since everyone of us has turned Into a wax rendition of the invisible, and by this Needle of a difference doth split the chained

Opines of unhealable hunger’s dust Where the bulls we fear once were, are not At present.

Dance, dance, ludicrous, failing mind, for nigh you won’t again So mourn, you, rebel from the rest of yourself and die,

Remove in revving happiness up what hath Embraced you, baffled, from two steps away.

It is the corner’s voice. It is the coroner’s voice, bespeaking Valuable Soul, but sans shirt, shoe

. . . . . . .

truly keep me in your bad massacred heart that lunges against your ribcage like it’s selling something it’s like an animal against you you know

find out what lingers between you and beats and stales there and planetary in the dust without a friend but the one you pay for

without an anchor you live your life to listen for some kinetic power somewhere there

unduly and lacking but what you have pawed at for so long now you have

it so live to stir people do such well this man is a tired broken thing wearing an old tattered coat he is grimacing against the bitter cold and

of his way of writing he is sure that he is without an echo back to himself peacefully he lights a fire beneath his fragrant ass he is of the metronome of fart and feeling in feeling

it is in the basics you reach for the flower in my lungs through my throat you have an ascertaining of body in your body

you wild as fire wrinkle orange and yellow separately of it you are the fire of beauty of both

you stick to listening to what’s between the chambers of desire your mind goes crazy and gets stuck in yet

without feelings without the hope of feelings you still feel you are the argot of feelings you want to waste your life trying to fix me I want to taste my life in your ice cream’d hands I want to desire the reality behind things a bit

I want to hire another human to attend to my morals and come upon a spree of finite conclusions for me

our register of voice makes enough of that for the two of us to hear it however low

to wander throughout and divide the equation we would have solved using another’s breathy brain

tell me I am true for what I think of that is that I am untrue tell me my own wrinkles of fire again despoil meaning from the craning of my neck to look upwards at a sky filled with myself filled with the clouds of myself and it makes

me go away into the feelings try me with those feelings and keep my hunch cracked like the tar across the road reality follows

driven by those high and fruitful voices…

#poetry #poem #powtry #pome #depth as predicament #the sad truth of it all

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