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chipper9906 · 3 years ago

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Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 6: No More Tricks

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WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 8,958

Overall Word Count: 57,236

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (6/?)

Chapter Preview:

“Good to meet y’all,” Miss Minutes said with that unnerving smile, walking – but not really – across Mobius’s desk and over to Loki and Sylvie. “I’m sure you can’t wait to get to work protecting the sacred timeline!”

“Oh, simply ecstatic,” Loki said with as much sarcasm as he could fit into one sentence. “Something to finally give my pathetic life some meaning. How about you, Sylvie?”

“Like a dream come true…” Sylvie drawled.

“Great to hear!” This Miss Minutes was, apparently, incapable of picking up sarcasm.

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One of the (few) good things about the sprawling size of the TVA was that there were often parts of it with no one in sight. It was on one of these floors, where the files hadn’t been disturbed for so long that they were collecting dust, that the Gods of Fate had smiled upon them and opened up the Time-Door into.

Mobius’s head was the first to peek through the Time-Door, looking both left and right down the miniature hallway. Once he had confirmed there was no one that had seen the Time-Door manifesting from nowhere, he waved both Loki and Sylvie through, before stepping fully back into his place of work.

“This feels so wrong,” Sylvie complains as they walk, tugging at the restricting dress shirt around her neck. Loki regards her from the corner of his eye, scanning up and down her body as he takes in her new uniform.

“It is a little weird seeing you without your armor.” Loki reaches out to tug at the lapels of her TVA blazer, grinning unabashedly when she smacks his hand away with a weak glare. “–But for the record, I think you look stunning whatever you choose to wear.”

“Oh dear God,” Mobius groaned dramatically in front of them, forcing Loki and Sylvie’s gaze away from each other and over to him. “Is your plan to just constantly flirt with each other to get me to find these files faster? Coz I’ve gotta say, it’s working.”

“It almost sounds like you’re eager to be rid of us,” Loki said, sounding almost offended. Almost.

“You’re both probably bearable on your own, but the two of you together?” Mobius shook his head. “Nightmares, the both of you. An insane amount of people exist out there in the Universe – now made even bigger with this whole mess you’ve made – countless amounts of variants you could have run into, but no, you had to go and find versions of yourself and hook up with them!”

“First of all, are you telling me you aren't a little bit curious to know what another variant of yourself would be like?” Sylvie asked, bringing Mobius to a grinding halt and turning to face them.

“No, actually. I'm not,” Mobius said in disbelief at her question. “I could have happily gone on with the rest of my life without ever thinking that, thank you. And now I know I won’t be able to stop thinking about it.”

“Give it a try,” Sylvie said, throwing a wink in Loki’s direction that nearly made Mobius groan out loud again. “And secondly… no one understands you better than yourself. We have our similarities – a few Loki traits that seem to stick no matter what form we take – but… we’ve both walked different paths. Genetically different, souls the same; but whilst they were formed the same, they’ve been molded by our experiences. So, whilst we may not see things the same way sometimes, at the end of the day, we just…”

“Understand each other,” Loki finishes for Sylvie with a tender smile.

“God, it really is like puppy love,” Mobius mumbled as he turned back around and continued onwards. “Feels like I’m watching a couple of teens trying to figure out how feelings work…”

“That’s… an apt comparison, actually,” Loki admitted as they both picked up the pace to keep up with Mobius, not wanting to get lost in the maze of TVA corridors. It was only occasionally that they walked through a section with a worker milling about the place, or saw an occasional Minute-Men either patrolling the area or simply passing through to wherever it is they had been ordered to go to.

“Things seem calmer than last time,” Loki noted. He wasn’t sure whether it was good or bad that the TVA wasn’t still freaking out about the whole multi-versal situation they had on their hands. Every now and then, as they passed through different corridors, Loki would see a flash of that horrific statue proudly displaying 'Him' as he stood over all his subjects. At least they knew now that Sylvie’s guess of being able to select a previously opened Time-Door and return them to the same TVA was correct…

“Things seem empty,” Mobius corrected him. “This place is usually bustling with activity -- and now it’s a ghost town. If we’ve dispatched most of our workers out into the field, then…” Mobius sighed deeply. “Things can’t be doing too well…”

Mobius came to a sudden stop as they rounded a corner, nearly walking straight into a TVA worker who had also been rounding the corner. The man blinked in surprise at Mobius, not even registering Loki or Sylvie behind him. The man pushed his glasses back up his nose, frowning at Mobius before looking somewhere behind him.

“Mobius? Where have you been? They’ve been looking everywhere for you, man. Judge Whittle’s about to blow a fuse if you don’t get down to his office stat.”

“Forgot I need to grab these guys,” Mobius lied smoothly, gesturing with a flick of his head back to Sylvie and Loki behind him. “They have some, uh… some research I asked them to collect for me that I think could be of some use.”

The man finally looked over to them, thankfully not looking too suspicious of them as his eyes darted between them both. “Right… Well, you better not keep Judge Whittle waiting. What with everything going on, I think he’s trying to hold onto some sense of time, and being late again might just snap his last thread.”

“That’s why I’m headed there now,” Mobius assured the man with a pat on his shoulder and a friendly smile. The man returned the smile, giving all three a respectful nod before walking past them and disappearing out of sight around another corridor. Mobius released a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, fixing his already tidy tie as a force of habit.

“I have to say, you’re an excellent liar,” Loki commended Mobius. “Are you sure you’re not a variant of us, too?”

“God, I hope not,” Mobius retorted, continuing to lead them forward once more.

“Wait, hang on-,” Sylvie said, tugging at Mobius’s arm. “Did he say Judge Whittle?”

Mobius looked back to Sylvie with a confused frown. “…Yes?”

“What about Judge Renslayer? What happened to her?”

Mobius stopped outside of a stereotypical-looking office door, pausing with his hand on the door handle. “Judge who?”

Both Sylvie and Loki shared a look of surprise, strangely unsettled by the idea that Renslayer apparently didn't exist in this timeline. Or, at least, hadn't been taken from her life to work in the TVA. What other changes would they have to expect to come across in this timeline? And how much of an effect would each small change have?

"Doesn't matter," Sylvie told Mobius. "Just... someone we know from another timeline."

"And by 'know', do you mean 'have killed', or...?"

"Us personally? No," Loki answered. "But last we saw you — the other you — you were headed back to the TVA to give Renslayer our regards, so... we don't actually know what happened to her."

“Given my fighting skills? Nothing, probably,” Mobius guessed, yanking down on the handle and swinging the door open. It was only once Mobius had stepped inside and out of the way of the door that Loki noticed the little golden plaque attached under the little window, the name ‘M. Mobius’ etched into the metal.

“Come on. I don’t know how much time we have,” Mobius called them into the office. “Considering I’m expected in Whittle’s office, we probably don’t have long until someone comes to fetch me.”

“You have an office?” Loki said in surprise, stepping into the room with Sylvie close behind.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“The you I know never took me to his office,” Loki replied, glancing around the small space that had been allocated to Mobius. It looked… well, like everything else in the TVA, really: neat and organized, drab and boring; painted with soul-sucking colors that, at this point, reminded him of a prison.

“Maybe he didn’t have one.” Mobius dropped down onto a squeaky office chair, fiddling around with the buttons on one of those ridiculously bulky-looking computer monitors until it whirred to life. “I can’t imagine every variant of myself is good enough at their job for—”

“He was just fine at doing his job, actually,” Loki was quick to defend Mobius. Which was quite strange, as he was defending Mobius to… Mobius. “Managed to out-lie me a few times, which I can assure you is a tricky thing to do.”

“He was the only one of your bumbling workforce that was able to keep hot on my tail,” Sylvie joined Loki in defending Mobius, much to Loki’s surprise and… a little bit herself, if she was being honest. “I was able to stay one step ahead of him until he roped this idiot in—” Sylvie jabbed a thumb in Loki's direction. “—And he led you right to me.”

“To try and recruit you.” Loki now had to defend himself. “I wasn’t exactly a volunteer worker; it was work with them or be reset.”

“And here comes the old couple bickering…” Mobius mumbled under his breath. Before either Loki or Sylvie could point out that, whilst technically over a thousand years old, they were still considered young by Asgardian standards, Mobius had opened up some sort of application that brought up some virtual files in a holographic display.

Much to both Sylvie and Loki’s displeasure, these files were also accompanied by the cheery bright orange face of Miss Minutes. Sylvie barely restrained herself from unsheathing her sword hidden beneath her blazer and slicing the southern-speaking mascot in half like she desperately wanted to do back in the Citadel.

“Well, hey there!” Miss Minutes greeted them, sounding as chipper as ever. “Ooo, new faces! Do we have some new recruits, Mobius?”

“You could say that…” Mobius answered, brow pinched in concentration as he swiped through the seemingly endless amount of files in the TVA’s database.

“Oh, simply ecstatic,” Loki said with as much sarcasm as he could fit into one sentence. “Something to finally give my pathetic life some meaning. How about you, Sylvie?”

“Like a dream come true…” Sylvie drawled.

“Great to hear!” This Miss Minutes was, apparently, incapable of picking up sarcasm. “Is there something you needed my help with, Mobius?”

“Yeah, actually.” Mobius scratched across his upper lip, disheveling his neatly combed mustache. “I’m, uh… getting out new recruits up to speed with what they need to know about… about ‘Him’.”

“Have they had the talk yet?”

Loki wasn’t entirely sure why, but something about that question made him want to shiver off this layer of discomfort that seemed to coat him. At the same time, the last time someone had ‘the talk’ with him, he was unable to look his mother in the eyes for a good few days.

Mobius’s eyes flickered up from the monitor to Miss Minutes. “Yeah, they’ve had the talk; they know why they’re here.”

“Well okay then!” Miss Minutes chirped, crossing her arms behind her back with a gleaming smile. “Anything in specific you need me to find?”

“Yeah, any files we have on His TemPad,” Mobius said, wheeling himself back a bit from the desk and yanking open one of the drawers.

“Bit of an odd request,” Miss Minutes commented as she began flipping through the holographic files in front of them. Mobius continued digging through his desk, searching through different folders with a look of concentration. For a moment, Mobius’s hands stilled over something, but Miss Minutes' overexcited voice stole away their attention.

“Alright, here we go!” Miss Minutes flicked the holographic file through the air, and both Loki and Sylvie wore matching frowns as it disappeared from sight. The question of where it had gone was answered as Mobius pulled his TemPad out from his desk drawer with an “Ah-Ha!” of success, proudly waving the TemPad in their direction.

“Anything else you need me to do for you?” Miss Minutes asked, sounding both polite and… terrifying.

“Uh, no -- this’ll do.” Mobius returned Miss Minute's politeness with a smile of his own – even if it did appear quite forced and strained. “Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome!” Miss Minutes said before disappearing in a weird move where she seemed to fold into herself, all three in the room thankful for her absence.

“I never thought a cartoon clock mascot would make me fear for my life,” Loki said, still staring suspiciously at the space where Miss Minutes had vanished from.

“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here…” Mobius muttered, fingers dancing across the TemPad as he brought up the files Miss Minutes had just sent him. His eyes scanned rapidly across the screen, skipping to what seemed to be the most important segments of information.

“Interesting…” Mobius leaned forward against his desk, resting his head on his hand and tapping his index finger against his upper lip.

“What’s interesting?” Sylvie asked, not appreciating that she couldn’t see the information she needed, whilst knowing that it was right there in someone else’s hands.

“Oh, just how vastly superior that thing on your hand is to this,” Mobius answered, waving his TemPad around like it was now useless. “For one, the efficiency on that thing? From what I’m seeing, it’s probably… four or five times more so than ours?”

“So, you’re saying that this TemPad can do more before it runs out of battery?” Loki asks, pointing to Sylvie’s hand.

“Not that you even have to worry about that,” Mobius said with a disbelieving chuckle. “You noticed how that thing doesn’t have a port to charge it?”

Sylvie shot Mobius an annoyed look, crossing her arms across her chest. “Just how oblivious do you think I am?”

“Man, you guys really do find a way to turn people’s words into an insult against you,” Mobius noted, sounding almost amused by the revelation. “Is that a self-conscious thing, or…?”

Sylvie, on the other hand, did not look amused. “I’m good on the therapy session, thanks. You were saying about charging it?”

“Oh, au contraire -- I think therapy would be an excellent choice for you guys,” Mobius teased with a grin, which he quickly wiped off his face at the death stares he got in return. “Alright, alright. The thing about charging this TemPad is… well, that you don’t need to.”

“Come again?” Loki asked.

“From the looks of things, His version of the TemPad kind of… recharges itself?” Mobius struggled to find the best way to explain what he had just read. “Well, not entirely from itself. The TemPad makes a connection, if you will, with its owner. Or… master, I think would be a better word.”

Sylvie raised her hand up closer to her face, peering down at the TemPad. Almost on cue did its surface come to life, emitting a soothing hum as power ran through its complicated circuits.

“And… what does the connection do?” Sylvie asked, looking away from the TemPad back to Mobius.

“It uses you as its batteries,” Mobius answers. “It recharges through you. Your life force, your energy, whatever you wanna call it.”

“Uh, should we be worried about that?” Loki asked, just barely resisting the urge to yank the TemPad off Sylvie’s hand and throw it as far as he could at the thought of it draining away her life.

“Considering ‘He’ is still alive after eons of using it? No, I don’t think so,” Mobius assured them – although just barely. “At the end of the day, ‘He’ is human, just like us -- uh, well, me, anyway. Taking into account the fact that you guys are both demigods with access to magical powers, I’m pretty sure the TemPad will barely scratch the surface of your energy.”

“Then… how did it not affect ‘He Who Remains?’” Loki asked. “Something that needs that much energy… it has to take its toll.”

“Maybe you can ask him before you kill him,” Mobius suggests. “My best guess? ‘He’ probably needs to ‘recharge’ himself. You know: sleeping, eating; all that boring mortal stuff?”

“You say that like we don’t need to eat and sleep, too.” Sylvie retorts.

“Uh-huh. Still doesn’t change the fact that you’re gods. I mean, how old are you guys again?”

“Point taken,” Loki conceded on both their behalf. “How long does the TemPad take to charge, then?”

“Depends on how drained it is,” Mobius says, turning his attention back to the displayed file. “It’s charging all the time, so as long as you’re not opening up Time-Doors left, right, and center, it usually has enough power that you don’t even have to think about it. If you somehow do drain the power enough that it’s nearly empty then… from ‘His’ experiments, it seems it takes a day or so to get it back to full power.”

“Experiments?” Sylvie picked up on the word. “What kind of experiments?”

“Well, ‘He’ didn’t always spend his time behind a desk organizing the strands of time. Before he created us, it was just him out there -- jumping from timeline to timeline, trying to bring some semblance of peace and order to the chaos.”

“About that–,” Loki interjected. “–The whole ‘jumping from timeline to timeline’ thing... Did ‘He’ jump between those timelines randomly?”

“Uh…” Mobius turned back to his TemPad, scrolling through the block of information it displayed. “Seems like it, for the most part.”

“So there’s no way to select a specific timeline?” Loki asked, casting Sylvie a down-trodden look. “No way to find a specific timeline?”

“We weren’t exactly designed for that,” Mobius replied, flicking away the information on his TemPad. With a few more presses of his fingers, the screen of his TemPad displayed a diagram of the sacred timeline -- if it could even be called that anymore. What he showed them more closely resembled a plate of spaghetti than the single straight line of the timeline. “See this right here? This is exactly what we were supposed to stop. We weren’t meant to travel between timelines, because the very existence of another timeline outside ours means we failed at our jobs.”

“But that’s what it was like before the TVA was created,” Sylvie pointed out. “Somewhere in there is the timeline we came from. We just need to find it again and travel back to it.”

“What for?” Mobius asks. “Why’s your timeline so important?”

“It’s the sacred timeline,” Sylvie answered, quickly continuing when Mobius opened his mouth to argue. “Yeah, I know, your timeline was also the sacred timeline, but it wasn’t until me killing ‘Him’ created all these different timelines.”

“Okay, sure-,” Mobius said with a nod. “That still doesn’t explain why you want to go back to that timeline. You killed that version of ‘Him’ in that timeline, didn’t you? Why else do you need to go back?”

“Because that timeline contains a few people that could be useful in defeating the other versions of ‘Him’,” Loki answers.

“And… how do you know that?”

“Because they were the only versions of themselves that were able to kill another mad ruler,” Sylvie says, glancing at Loki with her face softened in pity. “The only being who was destined – and able – to kill us…”

“Oh…” Mobius cleared his throat awkwardly, unsure whether to continue scrolling through his TemPad or keep talking. “Uh… I don’t know if this is inconsiderate of me to say, but… maybe it would be worth getting that guy to join your team? Since he was able to kill you, maybe they could-,”

“No.” Loki didn’t even need to give a reason why he was against that idea. The tone behind that one word said more than any explanation he could give.

“Fair enough, scratch that idea-,” Mobius made the smart move and returned his attention to his TemPad. “Selecting certain timelines, selecting certain timelines… Ah, here we go! Seems it’s… huh.”

“What? What’s huh?” Sylvie asked.

“There is a way to select a specific timeline. Kind of,” Mobius answered, standing from his chair and making his way around his desk to them. “Could you hold up the TemPad for me?”

Sylvie did as Mobius asked, holding out her arm in front of her so the TemPad was on display.

“You remember what I said about the TemPad making a connection with the user?” Mobius asked, getting nods from them in return. “Well, the connection goes deeper than that. So much so that… only the person who has been designated as the leader of the TVA can use it.”

“What?” Sylvie splutters. “I’m not the leader of the TVA-,”

“Tell that to the TemPad,” Mobius returned.

“Sylvie… I think he might be right,” Loki said, getting Sylvie to snap her head towards him. “He wanted us to rule the TVA, remember? Someone to take over his job. He offered us the position, took off the TemPad, and then-,”

“But I didn’t accept it!” Sylvie argued, looking more and more horrified with every passing second. “I just-”

“Took the TemPad,” Loki cut her off, filling in what she was about to say.

“Far as the TemPad is concerned, you’re the leader now,” Mobius told her. “You see those gold lines running across the surface?”

“Yes, but what’s that got do with anythi—”

“They’re not just for design,” Mobius answered before Sylvie could finish. “Those lines? They’re actually timelines.”

Sylvie blinked in surprise, glancing first over to Loki, then down to the TemPad.

“You see, ‘He Who Remains’ wanted to make sure he could return to his timeline whenever he needed to,” Mobius continued, nodding to the TemPad. “Mostly to make sure none of the other variants of him were wreaking havoc on his timeline, but also… just to return home, I guess. Do me a favor and run your hand along its surface, would you?”

Sylvie shot Mobius a curious look, but did as he asked anyway. The surface of the TemPad shifted, the squiggly lines running along its surface passing by in a blur of movement. Then, it seemed to settle on a certain design, displaying the usual bright gold line with branches coming off of it.

“That right there?” Mobius began, looking between the two of them, and then down to the TemPad. “That’s your timeline, Sylvie.”

Sylvie’s head shot up at that, feeling her heart clench at his words. It was… it was impossible. Her timeline didn’t exist anymore. Judge Renslayer and her Minute-Men had made sure of that.

“Now see, if I try and select a timeline-,”

Mobius’s hand moved towards the TemPad, and almost on instinct did Sylvie pull it away from him, holding it protectively to her body. Mobius let out an exasperated sigh at the defensive action, dropping his hands back to his sides and shoving them into his pockets. “Really? Isn’t trust supposed to be a two-way system?”

“From what I’ve heard,” Sylvie said as Loki unconsciously tried to move closer to her. He had done this a few times before, and this time, she found herself moving closer to him, too. “Not sure your argument works when you clearly don’t trust us, either.”

“Can you blame me?” Mobius asked, getting you a genuine huff of laughter from Sylvie.

“No. If anything, I respect you for it,” Sylvie said.

“Good form of self-preservation, really,” Loki added.

“Fine. I won’t touch it.” Mobius turned around on the spot, strolling back over to his side of the desk. “Guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“What would have happened?” Even if Sylvie didn’t want Mobius to touch it, that wasn’t to say that she wasn’t curious as to what he was trying to show her.

“Nothing,” Mobius answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “It wouldn’t have responded to me -- because I’m not its owner.”

“But… why would He have just given it up like that?” Sylvie asked. “I hadn’t agreed to anything yet.”

“‘What’s the worst that could happen,’“ Loki mimicked He Who Remains’s words. “Either we took over, or an infinite amount of Him manifests into existence and fights to get back to where He was. No matter what option came to be, he no longer needed that TemPad.”

“Still seems strange to me that he just… gave you the TemPad,” Mobius thought out loud, placing his hands on the desk and resting his weight on it. “That is what I saw, right? He just… took it off and slid it across the desk to you.”

“Yeah… He did,” Sylvie’s face pinched into a frown, slowly looking up to Loki. “Loki, did you ever notice how… he seemed almost excited at the idea of me killing him?”

Loki mirrors her frown, thinking back to what felt like a lifetime ago now. “In what way?”

“He was looking at you guys kinda funny during your big fight,” Mobius said, drumming his fingers across the desk.

“Was he?” Loki asks. “I was a little too distracted at the time to notice.”

“He even looked strangely invested when you guys, uh…” Mobius trailed off awkwardly, hoping they would fill in the blanks for themselves. When Loki and Sylvie only stared blankly back at him, he hung his head with a dejected sigh. “Oh, for the love of… When you kissed, for god's sake…”

“Oh…” Loki was surprised to feel the flush of heat to his face. “Again, a little distracted -- which, I think was your plan.” Loki cast Sylvie an annoyed look at that last part.

“Already said I’m sorry–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah -- how about we move on from that.” Mobius hurried them past the miniature bickering session that was likely to start. “Or… no wait, let’s go back to that.”

Loki and Sylvie looked to each other at the same time, like they were somehow able to communicate through eye contact alone. “Let’s go back to… us arguing?” Sylvie wanted to clarify.

“Yes! But, no, don’t actually argue—” Mobius somehow made this all the more confusing. “What was it that He said to you guys? Something about trust, or… being unable to trust—”

“He asked me if I could trust Loki.” Sylvie, of course, remembered this. She knew she’d never forget. “And… if I could trust anyone at all."

Mobius nodded to himself, staring down at his feet as he thought. “Why would he say that? If he wanted you to work together, to lead the TVA together, then… why would he plant those doubts in your head?”

“It almost seems like he was trying to get us to fight,” Loki said to Sylvie. “Maybe… he never really wanted us to take over.”

“You think he wanted to die?”

“I think he wanted to be reborn,” Loki corrected Sylvie. “I don’t think he was just tired; I think he was bored. After countless years of writing everyone’s stories – himself included – I think… I think he wanted you to open up the multiverse, to live an infinite amount of lives outside of his own script.”

Sylvie shook her head with a bitter laugh, her lip curling in disgust as she looked down to His former TemPad. “My whole life, I only had the thought of watching His life drain away to get me through the day… And now, it turns out I did what he always wanted, anyway.”

Sylvie reached out a hand towards the TemPad, the glow of its timelines reflecting in her shining eyes. She ran a finger softly across the timeline – her timeline – watching as the TemPad slowly moves with her finger, displaying the different branches that come off of her timeline.

“Is this really my timeline?” Sylvie doesn’t look away from the TemPad.

“It’s what the files say,” Mobius tells her.

“How is that possible?” Sylvie tears her eyes away, looking up to Mobius. “My timeline was pruned.”

“Exactly. It was pruned,” Mobius says. “But now we have this whole mess of branches, forming into a whole mess of timelines.”

“So?”

“So, somewhere out there is a timeline where you were never picked up by us,” said Mobius, looking pointedly to Sylvie’s TemPad. “Oh, right -- it’s that timeline right there.”

“A timeline where the TVA never interfered…” Loki says in wonderment, turning wide eyes towards Sylvie. “Your timeline never would have been pruned…”

“My family…” Sylvie whispers, finding herself frozen in shock. “My home… my life…”

“So… we’re on Sylvie’s timeline now?” Loki asks Mobius. “How would that work when we, apparently, don’t exist…?”

“This isn’t Sylvie’s timeline,” Mobius said, scooping up the TemPad he left laying on his desk and tucking it into his jacket. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. When you grabbed the TemPad and opened a door here, it should have opened up into a TVA on your timeline. But… it didn’t.”

Mobius took a seat on the edge of his desk – despite the perfectly fine chair right there in front of him – crossing his arms against his chest with his back partly turned to them. “What were you doing whilst you were opening the Time-Door? Was there any interference?”

“Oh, um…” Sylvie glanced awkwardly to Loki, whose raised questioning eyebrow quickly dropped into a look of realization at her pointed look.

“Ah…” Loki drawled out slowly, scratching at the back of his head. “Would us, uh… touching be classified as ‘interference?’”

“Oh, you were–” Mobius cut himself off with a burst of laughter, slapping at his knee. “You opened up that Time-Door whilst you were kissing, didn’t you? That explains it…”

“Does it? Feel free to pass on that explanation to us -- you know, if you feel like it.” Sylvie didn’t appreciate being the recipient of Mobius’s ridicule.

“The TemPad was trying to open up the Time-Door to your specific timeline. Problem is… it didn’t know which one of you to focus on. Can’t open one door into two separate timelines, so, it had to compromise. Instead of opening up a Time-Door into either one of your timelines…”

“It opened up into one where we don’t exist.” Loki guessed correctly.

“You both canceled each other out,” Mobius tacked on.

“And what about the others?” Sylvie asked.

“The other… what’s?”

“The Apocalypses we jumped to,” Sylvie clarified. “Were they… were they my timeline?”

“If it was just you touching the TemPad? Then yeah, it would have been your timeline.”

“That must have been why it was different,” Loki said in realization. “Those attackers… they came earlier than they were supposed to, didn’t they?”

“One small change can lead to a whole ton of butterfly effects.” Mobius slowly made his way to the side of the desk, sliding the drawer closed as he went. “Some of those changes can be small, like… like someone speaking one word on one day differently. And then the other changes…”

“Can breed a multi-verse ending conqueror,” Loki finished grimly, getting a shrug of agreement from Mobius.

“So… we know we can get to my timeline. Is that the only way we can select a specific timeline?”

“Right, the uh, the other sacred timeline,” Mobius mumbled, scratching at the back of his head as he thought. “Well… you came from that one, right? You made a connection between that timeline to this timeline when you shoved Loki through that Time-Door.”

“But we’ve moved on since then,” Loki pointed out. “If Sylvie touches the TemPad, it’ll display her timeline, won’t it?”

“If that’s the one you select, sure. But–”

“But the TemPad saves previously opened Time-Doors.” Sylvie already knew where Mobius was going with this. “That’s how we got here in the first place. I opened up a Time-Door I had already opened before, back in the Citadel.”

“Which is the timeline currently on display,” Mobius said. “All you’ve gotta do is follow that timeline back… and it’ll connect to the timeline you came from.”

“Hang on…” Loki turned his attention back to Sylvie, his brow furrowing in thought. “What about my timeline? Would… would that have been re-created too?”

Sylvie placed a comforting hand on his arm, giving his bicep a kind squeeze with an understanding smile. “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Loki looked genuinely taken aback as she unwound the TemPad from her hand. For a moment, she simply stood and held this greatly powerful device in her hands. She kept her eyes locked with his, a note of understanding passing between them as she slowly held out the TemPad for him to take.

Loki didn’t take it. Not right away. “It might not work. Not just because my timeline might still remain erased, but… what if the TemPad can’t have two owners?”

“’He Who Remains’ made it clear he wanted both of us to rule.” Sylvie pushed the TemPad into his chest. She grabbed hold of his hand, pulling it up to the TemPad and curling his fingers around it. “Besides… we might be two separate beings, but our souls exist as one and the same. If it works for me? Then I know it’ll work for you, too.”

“You are very confident,” Loki noted with a small smile, his weak grip on the TemPad strengthening as he finally took the TemPad from her.

Loki couldn’t bring himself to look at the TemPad as he slid it onto his hand, experimentally flexing his fingers to get used to the feeling of the cylindrical object sat atop his hand. Sylvie nodded at him in encouragement when his eyes landed on her, letting her hand slip away from his arm to make sure they were no longer touching.

Loki finally dropped his eyes down to the TemPad. Sylvie’s timeline continued to blink up at him, just waiting for its new owner to press his touch into its surface. Loki let his hand hover over the TemPad, a moment of shaky hesitation passing before he swiped his finger across the flat surface of the TemPad.

In the blink of an eye, the surface began to change. Billions upon billions of timelines flashed before his eyes as the TemPad searched for his timeline, and for one heart-stopping moment, Loki wondered if it would simply be searching forever, his timeline removed from all of existence.

And then it stopped. It stopped, and Loki and Sylvie could only stand and stare at the brilliantly gold streak of lightning that stared back at them. Right there was Loki’s timeline. Right there was a universe where none of this had ever happened -- an unlimited expanse of possibilities his life could have taken.

And that’s when Mobius held the pruning stick to Sylvie’s neck.

Loki knew it was foolish of him to let his guard down, even if in the presence of – who he supposed – was a friend. But it wasn’t his friend. This Mobius might have been witness to the events that led to their friendship, but he didn’t experience them. And that was made all the difference, it seemed.

One second, Sylvie was right there next to him, looking at the TemPad just as he was. The next, she was just… gone. Loki’s head snapped up in a daze, taking in the sight of Sylvie struggling vehemently as Mobius wrapped an arm around her neck, keeping her pinned to him as he held the glowing end of the pruning stick much too close to Sylvie for either of their comfort.

Sylvie looked more pissed at herself than she did at Mobius. Just like Loki, she had made the foolish mistake of letting her guard down. The entire time she had been here, she had every possible guard up and alert, just waiting for the moment this all went to shit. And then… and then Mobius had told her that somewhere out there is the family she knows, the family she never got to grow up with, and she had stupidly returned back to the state of that little princess of Asgard who had no reason not to trust anyone.

“Don’t struggle.” Mobius’s words did not come out as a command. Not that he wanted them to sound like it. It was more a word of advice than anything. “I don’t want to accidentally catch you with this thing.”

“Then why are you holding it to my neck?” Sylvie forced out through gritted teeth, continuing to struggle despite Mobius’s warning. She kept her gaze focused on the pruning stick Mobius had snuck out of his desk drawer, her hands dug into the arm around her neck, tugging uselessly at them to get his hold to loosen. Except, every defiant pull to his arm only resulted in the pressure against her neck tightening, coming dangerously close to cutting off her air supply.

“Mobius, what are you doing?” Loki spluttered out, yanking out his dagger from his jacket pocket in a flash of metal.

“What I have to.” Mobius took a cautious step back away from Loki, dragging a very uncooperative Sylvie with him. “And don’t you think about going for that sword, Sylvie. The moment I feel your arms move anywhere down, I’ll prune you before you can even come close to touching it.”

Sylvie laughed mockingly at that. Loki stood in a battle-ready stance, looking very much not amused by Mobius’s words as Sylvie had. “You’re not used to the whole ‘threatening demeanor’ thing, are you?” Sylvie goaded him.

“I’ll admit it’s not my forte.” Mobius carefully maneuvered himself back around the desk, placing it between him and Loki. Loki slowly moved forward with him, coming to a stop just in front of the desk. “Especially when I don’t want to be doing this.”

“Then why are you doing this?” Loki hoped his pleading tone would get through to Mobius in some sort of way.

“Because it’s my job,” Mobius forced out the words with as much authority as he could muster.

“You’ve seen the truth!” Sylvie grunted, still fighting against Mobius’s hold. “You know what He did to you! To all of us!”

“That doesn’t change the importance of my work.” Mobius’s words make the weight in Loki’s chest sink heavier. “Or the importance of His work. I agree with you that this whole thing ends with Him; I just don’t agree with your method. I think… I know that the strands of time are only safe in His hands. Only He can untangle and sort out those strands and ensure the timeline runs through to the end without any problems.”

“Mobius, no–” Loki desperately hoped he could get through to him. “If that was the case, then we wouldn’t be right here, would we? You wouldn’t have existed if that was the case. Sylvie and I wouldn’t exist. But that’s what's happened, whether by His deciding or not. If we just sit back and let him rise to power once more… what’s to stop this from happening all over again?”

“And what if your version of Him isn’t the one that comes out on top?” Sylvie asks Mobius, lessening her struggles now that Mobius held the pruning stick even closer, buzzing away mere inches from her face. “Somewhere out there is a variant of him that isn’t interested in pruning the other timelines. Instead, he only wants to rule over them all.”

“It’s up to Him to decide what we’ll do about that,” Mobius replied, much to Loki’s dismay.

Mobius sighed lightly, ducking his head with his eyes clenched shut. “Please, just… do as I say. I meant it when I said I don’t want to be doing this. I think… I think you guys could be of some help to us–”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Sylvie groaned. “You’re trying to recruit us now?”

“Not right now,” Mobius corrected her. “I know you won't right now in this moment. But… you’ll see. You’ll see that this is the only way. Now, please, if you’d just… hand over the TemPad. I promise we won’t reset you, or put you in a time-loop -- nothing like that.”

“Mobius–” Loki tried again, only to be cut off by the man in question.

“It won't be long before someone comes into this office. I can’t guarantee they won't do something drastic if they come in and see you like that with your weapons. But if you come cooperatively–”

“We’ll be slaves to the TVA, just as you are?” Sylvie asks, voice soaked in disgust. “No thanks -- I’d rather take my chances with the pruning stick.”

“Yeah… yeah, that’s a good point,” Mobius mumbled, much to Loki and Sylvie’s confusion. “You… you voluntarily pruned yourself, didn’t you? The both of you were pruned, and you made it out…”

“We did,” Loki confirmed, taking a single step closer, feeling the wooden panel of Mobius’s desk pressing into his knees. “And we both took down the creature He himself tamed and weaponized to devour timelines whole.”

“In other words… do it,” Sylvie spat at Mobius, giving one last attempt at breaking free that yields no results. “You know as well as we do that that’s not a threat to us. Not really.”

“No, I suppose you’re right,” Mobius agreed. Seeing Mobius deactivate the pruning stick briefly filled Loki with a surge of hope, wondering if maybe, just maybe, they had found a way to deescalate the situation. That hope prompted surged out of him, however, as Mobius flipped the pruning stick around in his hand, now holding the pointed, sharp spear end of the stick against Sylvie’s neck. “You might be able to escape pruning… but can you come back from a blade in your throat?”

No. No, they could not.

“Mobius, please,” Loki begged one more time, holding out a dagger in front of him. “Stop this. You’ve seen reason, I know you have. I don’t want to do this as much as you don’t–”

“Then just hand over the TemPad,” Mobius said like it was a no-brainer decision. Loki felt his muscles coil in anticipation as the very tip of the spear pierced Sylvie’s flesh, clenching his jaw hard when he saw the small trickle of blood slip down her neck. He had to make a decision–

“You know your magic doesn’t work here,” Mobius reminded him with an almost pitiful expression. “This is it, Loki. No more tricks from the trickster.”

Loki decided.

“No. There’s no magic,” Loki agreed, holding out his dagger like he was about to drop it in surrender.

Loki dropped his hand down in a flash, connecting with the surface of the TemPad, just as he had seen He Who Remains do back in the Citadel. Mobius blinked, and then Loki was gone. He startled, not even having time to ponder over what had happened before Loki blinked back into existence behind him – not that he could see – and slid the dagger he held in his hand right in the small of his back. Mobius jolted at the searing pain that erupted from his back, barely able to get out a gasp of pain as his body locked up.

“–But I still have your technology,” Loki completed the rest of his sentence before yanking the dagger out from Mobius’s back.

Sylvie took advantage of the slackening of Mobius’s grip, forcing an elbow back hard into the side of his ribs. Mobius had completely let go at this point, but she still spun around on the spot, bringing up her leg and kicking Mobius hard in the chest. Mobius went down without much resistance, slamming into the wall behind him with a pained grunt. He slid down to the floor, leaving behind a trail of red against the wall as he went.

“Huh…” Mobius’s eyes were unfocused, staring blankly to the ground in front of him. “You know, I… I could have sworn I heard you said to that other me that… that you were done stabbing people in the back.”

Mobius dredged up just enough energy to raise his eyes up, meeting Loki’s agonized ones. There was… nothing in his eyes. No blame, no hatred, no fear. But… there was nothing good there, either. No forgiveness, no kindness he’s seen from Mobius plenty of times before. It was just… blank. He was blank.

One second, Loki's staring at a man whose heart was still pumping, whose blood still circulated around his body. Then, he was actually able to see the moment the life drained away from him, like a candle being blown out. Any semblance of the man he knows disappears from Mobius’s eyes, his head dropping down to his chest before he slowly slumps down to the ground, staring without seeing.

The weight of the dagger in Loki’s hands had never felt as heavy as it had before. His shaking hands lift the dagger up, the buzzing fluorescent lights of Mobius’s office reflecting off the shining surface of the blade. The dagger had served its purpose, had done what it was designed to do. And yet, as Loki stared down at the offending item and took in the sight of Mobius’s blood coating the once perfectly clean metal, he wanted nothing more than to cast it into the eternal flame and watch it melt into nothing.

How many times had he done exactly this? He was far from inexperienced in battle, and far from inexperienced in hurting those he cares about for his own gain. So why, this time, did he feel the burn of bile in the back of his throat? Why, this time, did his hands shake so hard that he let his trusted weapons drop to the ground? Why, this time, did he find himself stumbling down to the ground, breaths coming short and fast as he stared at the corpse of the only friend he’s truly ever known?

“Loki…” Sylvie’s voice sounded far away and muted, as if they were underwater. In the back of his mind, he registers that she’s moved in front of him, blocking him from seeing Mobius’s corpse. Her concerned face fills his vision, blurry as if his eyes were filled with tears. Wait… were they? It would certainly explain the stinging sensation he felt in them, and the wetness he could feel rolling down his face.

Her hands cup his face, desperately trying to bring him back to himself. Just like Mobius, his eyes had gone scarily blank. “Loki, it’s not your fault. It’s not, okay? That’s… that wasn’t him. That wasn’t Mobius -- not really.”

Something flickers back to life in his eyes. They shift around, searching across her face as if he was finally seeing her here, still with him, sat right in front of him. He swallows hard, his gaze drifting to where he knows Mobius’s corpse lies behind her.

“I know.” Simply hearing Loki speak out loud helped to lessen some of the fear that had been constricting her chest. “But… it also is.”

Sylvie didn’t even know what she could say right now that would be of any comfort to him. She had never really had to comfort someone before, or had someone comfort her. Except… well, she supposed that Loki had attempted to comfort her a few times: back on Lamentis when it seemed like the end of the line; or in ‘The Time-Keeper’s chambers when they realized the Time Keepers weren’t real. But then, even if she did know how to go about comforting him, this certainly wasn’t the place to do it. Not with Mobius’s body sat right there behind her, and not in a place where they could be locked up at any moment.

Sylvie turns her head towards the office door, just waiting for the sounds of rushing footsteps to echo down the hall. A part of her thinks it would almost be better than the silence they found themselves in -- apart from the repetitive tick of the clock hung in the top middle section of the wall Mobius was slumped by.

She needed to get Loki out of here. She didn’t care where, or what timeline it was, it just had to be not here. Sylvie brushed her thumb tenderly across Loki’s cheek, wiping away a stubborn tear that clung to his skin. She dropped her hands away from his face, turning to Mobius’s body with a grimace. Avoiding looking the corpse in the eye, she reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the TemPad he had stored in there, trying her best not to disturb his body too much.

“Sorry, Mobius,” Sylvie whispers as she moves away from his body, casting him one last regretful look before straightening herself into a stand. The TemPad in her hands was at least familiar, and yet… it felt wrong to use, now. Shaking her head, she flipped open the screen to the TemPad, letting out a breath of relief that it was fully charged. She entered in the information for the Time-Door without much of a thought, its manifestation enough to force Loki’s gaze away from Mobius’s body.

“We need to go,” Sylvie reaches out a hand towards Loki, grateful that his eyes follow the movement of her hand instead of settling back on Mobius. Loki nods, hesitating for a moment before he picks his dagger back up from the ground. His TemPad clad hand clasps onto Sylvie’s, taking her offered help as she pulls him up to his feet. She doesn’t let go of his hand, even when he’s stood back on his feet, and when Loki squeezes her hand in thanks, she knows she's made the right decision.

“Don’t look.” Sylvie moves in front of him, forcing his eyes onto her. Loki does as she asks, forcing everything in his vision apart from her to go blurry and out of focus. Sylvie slowly starts walking back towards the Time-Door, pulling Loki with her as she goes.

What Loki and Sylvie didn’t know was that, after they stepped through that Time-Door, someone did come into Mobius’s office. But it wasn’t just a group of Minute-Men. Nor was it Judge Whittle.

Deep purple robes brushed against the floor as the figure stepped into the room, calculated dark eyes scanning across the room before falling on Mobius. The man sighed, more in irritation at not having caught the intruders red-handed than in the sadness he should have felt for having lost such a devoted worker.

“They found their way in,” The man calls out to the security detail stood post next to the door. “Get someone to retrieve this body once I’ve looked over it. We need to check for any cross-contamination.”

The man waited until one of the security detail had hurried off to carry out his orders before stepping further into the room. He strode over to Mobius’s body, crouching down onto one knee with his head tilted to the side as he looked him up and down. He reached out, grabbing Mobius’s arm and rolling him over onto his stomach. Immediately, he took sight of the dark patch of red soaked into the back of Mobius’s jacket. With careful hands, he pried the jacket off of the body, followed shortly by the now stained white button-up shirt.

The man clicked his tongue, resting an arm on his knee as he looked to the open wound that had been carved into the center of Mobius’s back. There’s a tentative knock to the office door he had closed behind him, looking over to it as it swings open. The Minute-Men he had requested filed into the room, standing at attention and ready for orders.

“You—” He points to one of the Minute Men in line, who somehow manages to stand straighter now he had been singled out. “—Come here.”

Obediently, the Minute Man hurries over to the man, nervous eyes fixed dead-ahead as he waits for further orders.

“I want you… to take a look at the wound,” The man instructs him, folding his hands behind his back and nodding his head towards Mobius’s body. “Look at the shape of it… the size of it. Do you recognize the weapon that inflicted it?”

“Um….” The Minute Man stammers out, voice trembling with nerves as he kneels down by Mobius’s body to take a closer look at the wound. “It… it seems like a small blade, Sir.”

“Hmm… I’d have to agree with you on that one.” The man places a hand on the Minute Man’s shoulder in what should have been a comforting gesture, but was far from it. “A small blade, expertly wielded, by someone who is… intimately familiar with the weapon in question. And… considering the placement of the wound, I’d have to say familiar with this analyst, wouldn’t you?”

“I… I suppose so, Sir.”

“You suppose? Okay, well, I’ll give you my final theory.” The man’s grip on his shoulder tightens, feeling the trembling of the Minute-Man underneath his hands. “I think… the damage done here was by a dagger. Do you know what that means?”

The Minute Man remained frozen under his hands, wisely letting the man monologue away instead of actually answering.

“It means it’s them. It means that they’re finally starting to make a move… It means that what I saw, and what I heard, was true. It means… it won't be long before they start hunting down me.”

Next Chapter - - - >

#sylki #sylki fanfiction #sylki fanfic #pro sylki #loki/sylvie #lovedagger #enchantricks

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frenchie-sottises · 4 years ago

Text

Monster. (Underfell!Papyrus X Reader.)

Run.

That’s all you could think of.

Run.

She was closing in on you.

Run.

The door wasn’t much further.

RUN.

Your hands firmly held the handle and pulled it. The door swung open, and you took the chance and darted out. The unholy screech of fear and desperation pierced your ears and into your very soul. However, just because you were on the other side, it didn’t mean that nothing would stop her from opening it and snatching you back in.

Your feet immediately started treading through the harsh snow. Your heart was still racing, allowing you to ignore the harsh cold nipping at any exposed skin you may have had. You tried to rid the horrific noise she made by focusing on where you were now. You were always told, by multiple people, that you should never look back. That kind of lesson could apply to many things, but in this context, you were away from the goat monster and now in an environment where anything could pop out of these woods.

You continued in your most applicable choice of footwear. The tread marks were, unfortunately, imprinted in the snow. As much as you thought about covering them up, you soon realized that going back meant you would leave even more footprints, so it was best to continue forward. A few steps ahead was a log, one large enough to make an appropriate resting spot, but you knew well enough from the flower that it was “kill or be killed.” Any point of resting, especially in an open area, would put you at risk for God knows what, so you quietly sighed as you stepped over it.

You yawned once your heart started to finally slow down. It showed just how drained you were since the moment you understood that Toriel was mentally unstable. It further didn’t help that weakness began to show itself in your legs, making you regret stepping over the log more with every second. Despite your body’s protests, you kept going.

Not lingering too far behind was a broad skeleton wearing a typical winter jacket. He, for once, didn’t rest and make puns with the monster on the other side like he normally did. He suspected something was awry, and he wasn’t wrong for acting on those suspicions. However, he didn’t expect those suspicions to involve such a weak creature.. or so he thought.

He stood before the log you stepped over and grimaced upon it. His usual toothy grin contorted into a snarl as he lifted his leg, unleashing a loud CRUNCH from within its lifeless bark, and making your head snap around as he vanished from existence.

Well, that made you look back.

You decided to keep going, knowing fully well that going back was one of the stupidest decisions in existence to make. While your weakness was debilitating enough to cross out the option of running, it didn’t stop you from picking up the speed of your walking pace. It was only a few more feet till you were forced to stop, as the bars in front of you were too narrow to squeeze through. You thought about going around, as the gate did end, but looking over and seeing the spikes made you realize that it was just as pointless.

You analyzed the door and noticed that it lacked the typical lock and chain you’d often see on media. In fact, it didn’t even have a lock from the looks of it, which only confused you more as you know what prison doors looked like. Nevertheless, you saw this as an advantage and decided to try and open it. Your first instinct was to go one way, but it didn’t budge, so you tried the opposite direction, in which it still didn’t move. You then tried to see if maybe it would slide, as some doors can do just that. Even this proved to be completely useless.

“Fuck my life.” you muttered.

A deep chuckle sent your heart racing again. You had no choice but to turn around and see the bony monster laughing at your frustrations.

“It’s a decoy, human.” he croaked.

Despite your heart racing, your face expressed more of an annoyance at the statement than fear of the monster in front of you. Of course it was a decoy. A cruel joke had to happen at some point.

His shark-toothed grin widened at your expression. He even started to shake, a shake usually shown by someone who tries to hold in their laughter. You wanted to smile in response to him laughing, but you were torn between it and the possibility of whatever may happen to you now that you’re interacting with him.

He held his hand out, “Oh, where are my manners. I’m Sans, by the way.”

You stared at the hand for a moment, but deciding to not be rude as you were weak, you decided to go ahead and shake it. You yelped as a shock of electricity struck through your body, making whatever hair you had stand on edge. By this point, Sans was audibly laughing.

“The good ol’ joy buzzer!” he exclaimed, “Shit never gets old!”

Yeah… never gets old. Not the best timing right now.

You sighed as you tried to calm your nerves. The skeleton himself was soon calmer than you’d wish to be and stared at your shaken frame.

“Calm down. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m not really into that sort of thing anyway.” he smiled.

You furrowed your brows, but believe it or not, you knew about the existence of other universes, so you knew this version of Sans wasn’t supposed to be a threat till much later. With this info in mind, you felt your nerves ease down.

“My brother, however,”

Oh god, that’s right.

“he’s a bit of a human fanatic. Hell, I’d say maniac.” he chuckled fakely.

Sans was nothing compared to Papyrus.

You turned your head towards the skeleton with a concerned expression on your face. He saw it and immediately put his hands up.

“Hey, hey. There’s nothing to be concerned about. Just because he’s a human maniac doesn’t mean he’s that scary.” he stated as he raised a hand to rub the back of his neck, “He just… doesn’t know his boundaries sometimes. He doesn’t really show his excitement, so people tend to see him as a ‘crêpe.’”

You showed a small expression of annoyance at the pun, as it wasn’t the best time to do so right now, but you decided to ignore the pun and focus on what he said. You were confused. You knew this Sans, so you would know about this universe’s respectful Papyrus. Papyrus was always depicted as loud and gruff, but was actually quite friendly once you got to know him. Some other people depicted him as very unmerciful and murderous, so to hear Sans say that he “doesn’t know his boundaries” triggered mixed signals in your head. Your red flags wanted to go off, but knowing how most depictions are, you wanted to see for yourself how he truly was.

Sans looked at the gate, and then back at you.

“Hang on, kid. I’ll help you get ‘pasta’ this.” he chuckled as he snapped his fingers.

In a flash, you both disappeared and reappeared on the other side. You shivered as you felt the static run through your body. The broad skeleton only chuckled at your expression.

“You’ll get used to it, kid.” he stated, “It’s nothing to be too ‘shocked’ over.”

These puns made you wanna punch him and laugh at them at the same time.

Regardless, Sans’s smile was soon gone, “You might wanna hide behind my station, kid. Usually when I’m gone this long, he goes to look for me.”

He had a point. The brothers, in most universes, were pretty close, so it would make sense that Papyrus would arrive soon if he went out to look for his brother. You quickly walked over and crouched down into the open cupboard. It wasn’t long till you heard the crunching of another monster, which was guaranteed to be him.

Sans acted like he was still looking for anything out of the ordinary as he turned to face his brother, “Hey, boss.”

“Sans, for the last time. You do not have to call me that.” the taller skeleton sighed in vexation.

The shorter skeleton gave his usual grin, “Sorry, bro.”

Your ears raised at the rich tone in his voice. Most people depict him with a voice similar to the classic Papyrus, only making it deeper and far rougher as to fit his intimidating appearance. You weren’t expecting something to be the equivalent of what chocolate ganache would sound like. It sent chills down your spine already, which began to strike your temptations to peak around from inside the cupboard.

Papyrus analyzed his surroundings before looking back at his brother, “Have you found anything anomalous?”

Sans shook his head, “Nah, bro. Have you?”

The taller skeleton sighed in disappointment, “Unfortunately no. I even contacted Dogamy and Dogaressa for any possible findings, but they reported to me with nothing. I truly believed that this would be the day to capture another human.”

Sans’s expression turned into one of empathy, “Sorry, bro. Maybe next time.”

“You can only say that so many times, Sans.” Papyrus mumbled.

He shrugged, “Maybe, but it’s gotta happen eventually, right? Six have fallen already.”

As the two began discussing the subject at hand, you finally decided to take the risk. You slowly began to shift and turn to peak around the corner. You got as low as you possibly could, knowing how tall some monsters can be. As Sans kept Papyrus occupied, you managed to peak one eye around the corner.

Seeing the sight of him sent more chills down your spine. His voice suited him, but you may have underestimated how well it did suit him. He was tall for one, easily over eight feet. However, your eyes kept drifting from one area to another upon his appearance. Aside from the height, he was hefty for a skeleton. You guessed “big boned” wasn’t just something the shorter skeletons went by, as it was clear that the “bones” that made up his arms were defined in a similar manner to muscles. Your eyes then drifted to his armor, especially those massive shoulder pads. They heaped over the bulky pauldrons and swooped upwards in a proud fashion. They were outlined in gold, which shimmered in what light was being produced from above. They were even accompanied by several more, which weren’t as detailed, giving the pads a sense of dominance.

Your eyes then drifted to his gauntlets, which were a deep, blood red. They were spiked, but in a manner that looked more like they were there for the purpose of being tools rather than just for looks. For what purpose? You didn’t really know the answer to that. You went further down and saw his claws, which, considering the distance between you and him, were impressive. If those are his actual claws, you wondered how he did anything with them.

You went down the torso and saw the many scars on his spine, which made you question why he wasn’t wearing anything for his midriff. Hell, the same could be said for his arms, as they didn’t have much protection either. From the front and back, maybe, but not from the sides. It didn’t stop you from noticing the skull on his belt, though. It seemed to show similar expressions with Papyrus himself, and it only led you to guess it was just some magic thing monsters had.

His pants appeared to be a type of latex, as it shined within the light. In spite of that, your eyes couldn’t stop staring at the boots. They were the same blood red like his gloves, but the top edges of them had a gold-on-black diamond pattern. They were outlined in gold just like the rest of his armor. Knee high and high heeled, he stood proudly in them. You would be able to see more of his appearance, but the scarf he wore hung all the way down past his butt.

You tried to stick out more as he wasn’t looking, but son of a gun if he hadn’t have moved like he did. Your head shot back behind the station, heart racing again. You hoped he hadn’t seen you, but your temptations were going wild again. You didn’t get to see his face. You got to see everything else except his face.

You decided to try the same tactic. By this point, he should’ve been busy with his brother. Yes, this was a dangerous environment, but if he was anything like the other depictions, he would be used to doing it so often. This meant that there was a chance of him not seeing you, as he’s so used to seeing everything in a certain order. You ducked your head down low again and peaked around the corner, silently gasping from what you saw.

You gravely underestimated how fitting his voice was. He was far more artistic compared to other portrayals, especially since he wore thick eyeliner. Said eyeliner looked like the original “cat eye” eyeliner used by Egyptians, which brought you home a sense of connection with the rest of his outfit. Seeing the eyeshadow made you realize that, unlike the others, this Papyrus actually wore makeup. His eyeshadow was a deep red, and it glittered in the light. From above, he sported definite eyebrows. They had to be drawn on, cause they were just too sharp to be natural. You then noticed his mouth as it moved. You knew skeletons had teeth on display, but it appeared that it wasn’t exactly the same kind of case with this monster. The “teeth” that were visible moved more like lips, and in some angles, you could’ve sworn you saw a “second” pair of teeth from behind.

As your eyes went back up, you froze. You were now caught by his eyes. They were black, but irises and pupils showed themselves from within the darkness. They glowed despite there already being light, but it was all beginning to be too much for your senses. They may have intimidated others, but you saw eyes full of passion and libido, and it was starting to make you weak.

You couldn’t help it.

He was fucking sexy.

You physically pulled yourself back as he moved to leave. Your heart was now racing, but it was no longer racing out of fear, but out of yearning. You heard the sounds of crunching from Sans, and you turned to see him towering over you.

“You’re safe now, kid.” he rasped, “He should be gone for a good while.. Why are you blushing?”

Oh fuck.

He soon made the connection in his head, “Kid, what the fuck?! How long have you been staring at him?!”

You nervously shrugged.

He only facepalmed, “Great. All that work for nothing.”

You apologized in your typical manner, but it was only responded with a sigh of disappointment.

“I hope you realize that just because he doesn’t seem to notice you doesn’t mean he actually hasn’t.” he grumbled.

You lowered your head in guilt. He distracted his brother for a reason, and you blew it. You wanted to mention to him why, but Sans already knew.

“I don’t think some of you humans have preferences when it comes to what’s attractive to you, don’tcha?” he asked.

You rocked your head from one side to another before shrugging. Some people did, but others were into weird shit. You weren’t exactly sure if being into a skeleton was the start of being on the freakier side of things.

Sans seemed to understand what was said, “I see. Guess you’re just someone who doesn’t want to be ‘bonely.’”

A chuckle managed to escape your throat. You were starting to feel more comfortable with him around, especially seeing how he distracted his brother just for you. Even though he might turn on you later, a small victory is still a victory.

“The underground’s dangerous, kiddo,” he explained, “but as long as you managed to stay away from my brother and the dogs, you should be fine.”

You nodded as you got up from being in such a small space. You stretched and thanked Sans as you went about on your way. You knew how dangerous the underground was, so it was only a matter of time till you suffer your first murder here. Sans only watched as you went on your way.

“God, I hope Paps doesn’t find them.” he muttered. __________________________________________________

Oh hey, I managed to write another X Reader. This time it’s with a skeleton.

Word count: 2,791.

#Frenchie Rambles #UF!Papyrus X Reader #Underfell!Papyrus X Reader #Underfell #Underfell!Papyrus #UF!Papyrus #Underfell Papyrus #UF Papyrus #Underfell!Sans #UF!Sans #Underfell Sans #UF Sans #Underfell Papyrus X Reader #UF Papyrus X Reader #My literature

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atiny-piratequeen · 5 years ago

Text

Character Analysis: Park Seonghwa, the 'Frozen Prince'

Name: Park Seonghwa

Languages: Sabir, English, Portugese, French, Turkish, Greek, Arabic, Korean (Modern Day) Japanese (Modern Day), Mandarin (Modern Day), Thai (Modern Day), Italian (Modern Day)

Crew Position: First Mate, Tactician

Powers: Cryokinesis/Ice Powers (Inherited from Greco-Roman God, Boreas)

Compass Position + Arrowpoint Stone: Eastern Facing located on his right wrist , Blue Celestite

Eye Color: Gray (Natural)/ Snow White (Demonic Form)

Hair Color: Blonde (Natural)/ Jet Black (Demonic Form)

Likes: Reading, Seafood, Making Flower Crowns (He’ll never admit it without a fight), Training, Horseback Riding

Dislikes: Lazy People, Cowardice, Fruitless Gossip

Prince Park Seonghwa.

A man rumored amongst townsfolk to be blessed by the gods. Unusual blonde hair, stunning gray eyes, it has been a long time since the kingdom has seen such a capable leader.

A foreigner, brought to the Mediterranean kingdom by marriage, he spent the entirety of his childhood learning to be the model prince. The prince’s posture is perfect, he never dodged his studies, he could tame the wildest mare, to everyone, he was the obvious choice for the kingdom’s king.

Something...more than a few people are opposed to.

First Mate Park Seonghwa

No longer a prince, but still just as elegant, Seonghwa has yet to lose any of his old habits during his time out at sea. Being the first person to join the crew once Hongjoong became captain and the first person to be turned immortal, Seonghwa worked hard to prove himself and continues to be one of the most reliable members of the crew.

Seonghwa may be a little stiff when it comes to meeting new people, but being so close to a certain ‘Kind Pirate King’ has opened his mind-and heart-to meeting new people and the prospect of second chances.

-Mythology-

As one of the four wind gods of the seasons in Greco-Roman mythology, Boreas is the purple-winged god of the North Winds and Winter alike. In some depictions, instead of his wings being purple, he has white wings with purple attire fluttering behind him.

His parents are Astraeus and Eos. Astraeus is often said to be the father of two notable sets of sons; the Astra Planeta, five sons representing the stars. The other set of sons are the Anemoi, the four wind gods, with Boreas representing the frigid North Wind.

Boreas’ wife, Oreithyia, (the princess of Athens, as her father was King Erekhtheus) was swept away by him one day as she played in a riverside meadow, with companions (remember, folks. Don’t sweep away your crush and basically kidnap them. That’s not cool.)

Older tellings would depict Boreas residing in Thrace, an area described as the lands around the north of Thessaly. In those depictions, Boreas lived either in a mountain’s cave, or in a beautiful palace, with his home said to be upon the Balkan Mountains (or Haemus Mons).

Oreithyia would become the immortal wife of Boreas and bear him four children; Zetes and Calais (their sons), Chione and Cleopatra (their daughters). (Also, no, this Cleopatra isn’t that Cleopatra). All of their offspring have their own tales about them, and Chione is even regarded as the goddess of snow.

Boreas’ tales are not as widely told, compared to other gods and goddesses, but he has been mentioned in some of Homer’s tales (specifically in Achilles’ tale), as well as being included in Aesop’s Fables, in a contest between himself and sun god Helios.

-Power Applications/Demon Transformation-

When Seonghwa completely reverts into his demon form, his hair will go from whatever color it currently is to an inky black color, with his gray eyes lightening to an almost pure white color. Elongated ruby-colored marks will appear over his eyes, with the one over his left eye being slightly longer than his right. The same elongated ruby-colored marking will stretch over his lips to form an elongated smile, though I assure you, if you make this form come out, the last thing he’ll be doing is smiling.

Having been bestowed Boreas’ power, Seonghwa can create ice and snow at will and his prefered method of combat is to dual wield his falcatas, one being the rune-engraved one he took from his kingdom and the other being an ice one he forms at will.

Seonghwa has mastered his power, using it in small applications here and there for domestic things aboard the ship such as keeping food items cold to prolong their life while out at sea and also using his powers to slow opponents in combat. Since his powers are a part of him, no amount of cold will affect him negatively.

In fact, if he was in the tundra or somewhere equally as cold, his powers would only be heightened.

Despite his proficiency with his falcatas, as well as any other form of blade, Seonghwa is more than capable to fight hand and hand, and will use his ice powers to freeze body parts of opponents he touches.

-Character Song Breakdown-

All of the main boys have a song assigned to them in the AtT playlist to go alongside their origin chapters. Seonghwa’s character song is Friction by Imagine Dragons.

I’ll only go through some verses and talk a bit about their connections I put to the chapter. If you haven’t read Chapter Two of Against the Tide, I suggest you do that first, as the song breakdown includes some major spoilers.

‘Get down with the victim

We both know you need them

You're stuck in the middle

Of all irrelevance

And your heart is beating

'Cause you know that you gotta

Get out of the middle

And rise to the top now’

Seonghwa’s accomplishments overshadow that of his older brother, Zafer’s. The bloodborne prince is lazy and very much inadequate, but believes it is his birthright to be crowned prince regardless. Feeling victimized and finally feeling the weight of his adequacy, Zafer decides to rise out of his mediocrity, unfortunately at the expense of everything.

‘You can't fight the friction

So ease it off

Can't take the pressure

So ease it off

Don't tell me to be strong

Ease it off

You can't fight the friction

So ease it off’

Zafer runs from his problems and finds the easy way out of things, while Seonghwa tackles his problems, no matter how difficult, head on. Though these lyrics can be directed towards Zafer and his avoidance of responsibility and desire to ‘ease’ his responsibilities off onto someone else, the delivery in-song fits perfectly well with scenes where there is physical conflict. Whenever I envision this song, I definitely imagine Seonghwa fighting with his falcata in-hand. The power, the intensity, all of it kept in every graceful and deadly swing of his blade.

‘Oh why can't you let go

Like a bird in the snow

This is no place to build your home’

In the middle of Seonghwa’s transformation, he reveals his true fears, how he doesn’t need to trust in anyone, how him opening up and trusting someone (his brother) got the closest person to him (Queen Dahlia, his mother) killed.

The Boreas-infused version of Seonghwa nearly takes complete hold of him, had it not have been for Hongjoong breaking the ice-literally.

Once he’s calmed down, defeated his demonic self and taken control, Seonghwa is much more open to trusting others, though he still often takes the longest to warm up (ha) to newer members of the crew.

-Character Blurb-

Seonghwa gently wove various tropical flowers into one another, a small, peaceful look on his face as he held up the tiny ring, jolting when he looked past the hole to find Hongjoong staring curiously at him. He startled, all but throwing the ring of flowers behind him as he stared at Hongjoong with wide eyes.

“P-Putois-”

“What was that?”

Seonghwa’s eyes narrowed as he moved to hide the ring with his body as Hongjoong tried to peek onto the bed.

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying.”

Hongjoong dove onto the bed, laughing merrily as Seonghwa tried to scramble and snatch the ring out of view. The captain wrapped a shadow around his wrists, yanking them back before he grabbed the ring, blinking in wonder at the simple, elegant item.

“It’s a ring of flowers. Why are you hiding this?” The smaller man mused, sitting half way in Seonghwa’s lap. Seonghwa went beet red, clearing his throat as he took the ring, hesitantly putting it around his wrist as he looked away, huffing.

“Petite peste-” He muttered before he sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair.

“It’s...embarrassing. It reminds me of my mother. We would make them together…” He trailed off, biting his lip.

Hongjoong looked at the flower before he smiled, wrapping his legs around Seonghwa’s waist, holding his hand out as an assortment of blossoms grew from his palm. Seonghwa’s lips parted in surprise as Hongjoong held his hand out.

“Show me how to make them, then. We can make them together.” He offered. Seonghwa blinked in surprise before he chuckled and nodded, kissing his head lightly.

“Oui, mon putois. Pay attention, okay?” He moved Hongjoong out of his lap and showed him step by step, all with a small smile on his face.

-M.List-

#fie writes #against the tide #att character analysis #park seonghwa #seonghwa

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vagrantblvrd · 5 years ago

Text

Twist of Fate (1/1)

Summary: Between one thing or another they haven’t had the chance for leave in a while.

Notes: Prompt fill for Anon who wanted Battle Buddies with one of them trying to win a stuffed toy at a carnival booth. :D?

(Read on AO3)

Between one thing or another they haven’t had the chance for leave in a while. Always a critical mission here or world-threatening crisis there. Enormous mountain of paperwork to forge through with command breaking down their necks, that kind of thing.

So this?

A chance to unwind for a few hours on (relatively) friendly soil before someone back at HQ secures them transport back home is a nice break.

Jeremy’s charming a booth operator, Ryan can hear him from here. He’s using that atrocious southern accent of his that slips every other sentence. Can never hold on to accent for long, will swing from southern to some mangled form of British or other to an approximation of Australian.

Irish, sometimes, when he’s feeling a little family pride.

Half a dozen other accents that would rightly insult their native speakers if they even recognized them for what they were. (Jeremy...he’s just bad at accents.)

Ryan can’t help the fond little grin that breaks out as Jeremy walks towards him. Smirking like an asshole and two heaping plates of amusement park food.

Greasy, covered in cheese, and likely to contribute to heart problems somewhere down the line just looking at it.

“The hell is that?” he asks, as Jeremy hands Ryan one of the plates, gesturing towards an area with picnic tables under canvas awnings.

Jeremy, because he’s Jeremy, shrugs and shovels a sporkful of the stuff in his mouth.

“Who knows,” he says, “Lorna gave it to us for free and promised there’s less than ten percent rat meat in it.”

That -

Okay, yes.

They are in Los Santos, cesspool of the great and beautiful state of San Andreas, so that’s a thing. (Only here, Ryan knows, would that kind of statement be something to be proud of.)

“Let’s never come back here again,” Ryan says, because any percent of rat meat in anything is too much.

Jeremy, because he’s Jeremy, laughs at him like he thinks Ryan’s joking. (He’s not, but really, what are the odds they’ll end up back here again anyway?

========

Ryan must have been a horrible human being in a past life because they end up in Los Santos again.

To be fair, it’s probably the safest place for them to be now what with the whole thing with the agency and all.

“Wow,” Jeremy says, limping a little. “This places smells worse than I remember.”

To be fair they didn’t exactly take the scenic tour through Los Santos’ sewers the last time they were here.

Oversight on their part because it’s just lovely down here.

“Less talking, more walking,” Ryan grunts, and it’s mostly the bruised ribs talking. “Also, yes.”

Jeremy snorts, moving closer and being all so subtle about worrying about Ryan falling on his face and into ankle-deep sewage as they trudge along.

One of Ryan’s old contacts has set up business in Los Santos, ought to be able to help them out, if they can find him.

Just gotta keep the cops from finding them after the commotion they got pulled into. Daylight robbery and comical ineptitude on the part of the cops that had them mistaking Ryan and Jeremy as the robbers, and they’ve only been in Los Santos for a few hours.

It’s been a hell of a day. (Week? Month? He’s lost track by now.)

========

Between one thing or another they haven’t had the chance for time off in a while. Always a job here or a heist there. Cops on their assess because Jeremy just won’t let this whole damn Rimmy Tim business go and people notice. (People in Los Santos are just different than people anywhere else. Sniff that shit out like you wouldn’t believe.)

Still.

Every once in a while they manage to get some time to themselves away from the chaos of the crew. Get the opportunity to walk around the city without someone looking at them and pegging them as public enemy number one.

They end up back at Del Perro Pier where they got their first real look at Los Santos all those years ago. (A lifetime ago.)

It’s changed a lot since then, chic little restaurants and cafe’s replacing most of the outdoor eating areas. Food vendor booths with their questionable foods boasting about the lack of rat meat in their dishes like that was the selling point that would convince people to hand over their money.

Although...he’s not so sure the food these chic little restaurants and cafe’s are selling are much better when he thinks about it.

Ryan still doesn’t know what they had for lunch, but it was tasty enough and odds are good they won’t live to deal with the consequences anyway.

Not with the way the Fakes approach life, all chaos and anarchy and this careless disregard for their own mortality like they’re racing the clock. (Everyone’s always running out of time, more so here in Los Santos than anywhere else Ryan’s been.)

Jeremy nudges Ryan with his elbow, tips his head towards the midway and waggles his eyebrows.

“You know,” he says, grin on his face and mischief in his voice. “We never did get the chance to really check this place out before.”

That sounds ominous, given it’s Jeremy and nothing’s exploded or even combusted around them for, oh, a good couple of hours.

“Huh,” Ryan says, and lets Jeremy drag him towards trouble.

========

So here’s the thing, right.

The two of them, they’re doing alright for themselves these days.

The agency’s one of those bad memories behind them they don’t have to worry about anymore thanks to a judicious application of explosives and planing and petty vindictiveness. (Mostly the explosives.

They’re part of a crew that doesn’t want them want to claw their own skin off, might even feel like family. (The stupidly annoying kind you’d do just about anything for, but would be a mistake to let certain members know because they’d never hear the end of it, but there you go.)

High up enough in the food chain here in Los Santos without their status in the crew they could get by just fine if things ever fell apart. (Unlikely as that is.)

So why, Ryan wonders, why is he losing his goddamned mind over an amusement park game booth?

Ridiculous little pellet gun in his hands and the faces of horrendously drawn clowns laughing at him as he fails to hit a single bullseye even though he’s a damn good marksman. Hell of a sniper, even if he’s gotten a little rusty over the years with Jeremy on overwatch while he gets up close and personal, uses his size and reputation for maximum effect.

The booth operator is a bored looking teenager with this tiniest of tiny smirks tugging at the corner of her mouth and obviously laughing at Ryan and his repeated failure to win the grand prize.

A whole stack of consolation tickets and one or two low-level monstrosities meant to be some form of adorable animal, but no luck with the giant purple and orange abomination Jeremy had eyed before moving on. Or trying to, before he realized Ryan had forked over money trying to win it for him. And failed and failed and failed.

Ryan shouldn’t even care about it this much, he knows that.

They’re hardened criminal types now, and battle-weary spec ops operatives loaned out to some hush-hush secret agency before then. No room in their lives for sentiment or nostalgia and all that because those were weaknesses they didn’t need.

Jeremy had done the smart thing, passing the stupid little stuffed animal by, but Ryan?

Stupid, idiot Ryan had noticed the little flicker of a smile on Jeremy's face, some bit of childhood nostalgia or something else, and in all his infinite stupidity decided he’d give winning it a try because why the hell not?

They’d sacrificed enough to get where they are, and something frivolous like this was more than deserved.

All Ryan had to do was hit the bullseye on all the targets in a set amount of time and the damn stuffed dragon was theirs – Jeremy’s, whatever.

Seemed simple enough, which should have been a warning sign.

“Son of a bitch,” Ryan hisses, and sets down more money for another go at the stupid targets in front of him.

Jeremy’s not quite at the point of laughing at him, but the asshole’s certainly enjoying Ryan’s complete failure to win this game.

Stupid goddamned rigged game.

Ryan was one of the agency’s best marksmen, had all these certificates and cute little trophies from “friendly” competitions – and all that to back it up. (Not to mention the carefully redacted files and trail of bodies that set of skills netted him.)

He’s up there when it comes to snipers you can find in Los Santos – maybe not as good as Ray, but then again who is anymore – but he can hold his own.

And yet somehow he’s finding it nigh impossible to shoot a goddamned clown in the goddamned nose.

Nightmarish renditions of the things painted on wood and laughing at him every time he clips the outer ring around them.

“Ryan,” Jeremy says, the way he does when the situation has spun out wildly out of control in a manner that isn’t exactly life-threatening but still the kind of disaster where Ryan just wants to set the world on fire. “Oh my God, Ryan.”

Ryan glares at Jeremy because that’s not helpful, and – still laughing it up – Jeremy takes the toy gun from him and takes a turn.

Hits the bullseye every damn time even though his aim’s sure to be off with the way he’s still giggling like an idiot.

Grins up at Ryan as he shoves the stuffed dragon in his hands and a moment later gasps in overblown surprise at the sight of it in all its tacky glory.

“Oh, Ryan,” he says, hands on his face like that kid from that one movie, look of surprise and utter delight on his face. “You shouldn’t have!”

The feigned surprise and soft joy is ruined by the giggling he can’t seem to stop, but when he takes the dragon from Ryan and leans up for a quick kiss to his cheek, it’s a little more tolerable.

Okay, a lot, because Jeremy is happy, even if it’s at Ryan’s expense.

All bright joy and clear laughter and Ryan’s heart does this little flip in his chest because it’s been a long, long time since they’ve had the luxury for either and he intends to hold on to it as long as he can.

#jeremwood #ragehappy #battle buddies #Kings of Nowhere #vagrant fic #Anon #Prompt Fills

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destroyermariko · 6 years ago

Video

youtube

Yeah I got a little bit crazy the other night after seeing an ad for a business consultant guy who reckons everyone else is doing it all wrong and he’s the only guy with the answers blah blah oh but he’s not trying to scam you or anything, you just need to sit through his 1h+ video and sign up to some $2000 course hahahaha get lost! So I ended up making the image below, and the 1300 word rant, and now the video above, what is my life lmao!

Before you trust a business or social media "guru", check to make sure their claimed successful business is something other than what they're currently trying to sell you. If their only other major achievement was in the past, make sure it wasn't a fluke. And even then, take EVERYTHING they say with a grain of salt - everyone who has a business is trying to make money, but the ones trying to sell you dreams of success, oh boy, what a fucking minefield!

The tl;dr - think for yourself, do your research, and do NOT open your wallet unless you are 100% satisfied that: 1. it's not a scam 2. they know their stuff, and 3. you NEED them because you have a problem you can't solve for free by googling it yourself.

(If you're just lazy though, tbh, to some extent you deserve to lose your money over this shit.)

And now for the rant portion of this post.

I'm fucking sick of "business consultants" who go on about their own successful business - but that business turns out to be the one that YOU are about to pay for! They are ONLY successful because of lemmings like YOU!

I'm also sick of these guys on YouTube who reckon they have the secrets to YouTube - but their only really successful channel is the one YOU are currently watching to get advice from. They are ONLY successful because YOU watch their advice!

And the same goes for a lot of the other social media champions out there. Would they have been successful if they were trying to promote or advance something other than the amazing secrets to success? Or are they just exploiting the insecurity and desperation of others, which boosts their numbers, which gives the illusion of them being usefully successful?

I say "usefully" successful because a lot of them seem to be genuinely successful in their consulting businesses, but if it's only because of their claimed status as Holders of Secrets, then be very suspicious, especially if they talk up their own success as part of their marketing pitch to you!

And yes, presumably they had to start somewhere, to get that initial following of lemmings, but... this is the internet! They can just pay someone to make their accounts look impressive to get it started! If you cannot find out how they got their initial success and why people initially started taking advice from them, stop! You should never blindly trust anyone, but these people especially! No transparency? No sale!

This is important, because if they couldn't gain real success in whatever you're trying to find success in, how can you trust their advice will work for your specific situation? You don't know! Unless I guess if your goal is to also become a Holder of Secrets, which some of the business consultant types in particular suggest you do, ew, the circle of exploitation, gross!

Also be wary if their success as a business or social media guru came before whatever other success they end up having. Once you have a loyal following in one area, it's not as difficult to leverage it for another thing you'd have had no chance at if you'd done it the way you're telling your lemmings to do it.

Of course, even without genuine success in whatever they're promoting, some of what they tell you may be legit, or may be applicable to you, but you WILL have to think for yourself. There are so many of these wankers out there, at times with conflicting opinions and advice, and particularly in the fast-moving ever-changing area of social media, a lot of them are just making their theories up as they go, or blindly following some other guru's opinion then passing it off to you as if they know for certain that it works. This is why you need to take it all with a grain of salt. Use your own brain, do your own testing, don't treat them like all-knowing gods.

Speaking of fast-moving and ever-changing, let's look at those who WERE genuinely successful in your area of interest before becoming a consultant... are they still doing well? Because what worked yesterday may not work today. If they've switched entirely to their consulting business, lol, guess where the money is? It's in their consulting, not in the area they used to be successful in. If they aren't still active in the current market, you need to ask why. Did they genuinely switch careers because they want to help up-and-comers like you? Or did they do it because they couldn't keep up, and consulting is all they have left? (Or just greed/less effort/etc.)

Also, never mind people trying to scam you, or giving bad/obvious advice, or even giving genuine helpful advice! Before you start paying them, do some goddamn research to make sure you couldn't just learn their "secrets" for free by putting in the tiniest bit of effort yourself. This is especially true if they're trying to sell you some course, because if you can't be bothered to do the tiniest bit of googling, chances are you don't have the concentration span to complete it, even in the off-chance it does turn out to be quality, so you're still probably paying them for nothing.

And if they are on the useless side of the force, you need to realise that them selling you a lacklustre course is the EASIEST way for them to make money off the mindless. The course is already set up, waiting for you to take it. Zero ongoing effort from them! Whereas if it's one-on-one consulting, at least you know you're getting some time from them, even if their advice turns out to be crap (or obvious shit like "hey, you haven't listed your website on your profile", wow, you've gotta be really lazy to pay for that kinda advice). Oh sure, maybe the course took them a while to build, but once it's there, they can just go flog it off to any sucker willing to pay $2000 upfront! Oh, you read a good review? Are you sure it wasn't fake or paid for?? Remember, this is the internet!!

Anyway, I have more I could say, but THANKS A LOT ASSHOLE TURNING UP IN MY ADS WITH YOUR GARBAGE SCAM!! LOOK AT ALL THE TIME I'VE WASTED GOING DOWN THIS RABBIT HOLE BECAUSE OF YOU!! Well not just you, because these things have been annoying me for ages now, but I could have done something with my evening, instead I was researching your history and what you're actually trying to sell behind the 1h+ video and where you came from and how you contradict yourself and then however long it took for me to write this rant and make my silly picture in an obsessive rage...! FUCK YOU, I HOPE A METEOR SMASHES INTO YOUR RENTED PENTHOUSE YOU WANKER!!

The best part about that guy is where he totally bags out social media... yet he posted a Facebook ad to bring his irritating existence to my attention, and also has every other social media account anyway. Oh so getting off social media will improve my business aspirations will it? WELL WHY HAVEN'T YOU DONE THIS?? Also, you are NOT making $30 million a year, you idiotic liar. You might as well start your own Nigerian Prince scam with how obvious your nonsense is. Lucky for you, enough dumbshits exist to keep both you and the Princes in business!

[insert extended rant here]

Hey there gurus with a thing to sell. If you wanna impress me, tell me some useful advice I can't find out for free, or easily work out for myself. I enjoy learning about these things, but hurrah for the open internet, I'll be keeping my $2000 to myself! Your secrets are bullshit.

Goddamnit, I've missed my bed time deadline.

I'm not even running a business, why is this shit being advertised to me? Thanks again, scary big data privacy breach machine lol.

#scammer #don't trust anyone #think for yourself #rant #angry girl #social media training #online marketing #internet marketing #how to succeed #exploitation

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theladyem · 6 years ago

Note

Regarding your tags on the "video game that feels like home" post... You are literally living the dream... please explain how one accomplishes this?

I’m taking this question very literally! Because the answer is honestly kinda fun!!

For people new here- these are the tags mentioned:

#stardew valley#but now it’s weird because I moved to a much smaller town from my corporate job where I work on helping build a community center#my backyard has chickens and a garden and I walk to work#and know….almost everyone?#not quite everyone#but I get waves from across the street now#it’s kinda wild

Preface: At this time last year, I had JUST lost my job, was about to start what would turn out to be a horrific amazon temp shift but couldn’t start thanks to disability misfiling, and had no idea what I was doing in life or why.

Only mentioning that preface to give context on how much can change in a year

I’m going to go through these steps from most difficult to easiest-

1. GETTING THE JOB

By FAR the most difficult. I decided that I actually needed to go ahead with that career change after that amazon gig. This means getting experience in a new field and maybe also grad school after that. I ended up finding an americorp program run through one of the universities here. This program takes people interested in city planning, economic development, agriculture systems, and a lot of other topics, and throws them into a rural town in Oregon with a job about that. I started the application process in march, was officially in it in early august after a very LONG interview process, and then moved here in September! My project is on revitalizing the downtown area of my town and helping making it a place for the town to gather- which they don’t really have otherwise.

Part of the reasons why some downtown centers struggle to succeed is because they don’t have a third space. They don’t have a place for people to just exist, build community, and just hang out. So I’m not physically building a community center like you do in Stardew- but I’m helping figure out the plans of what sort of space would work best to help give this community a space to do…whatever. to just be. (Hypothetical options for us right now- an indoor market with ample seating and hang out space, or a park in the middle of downtown (with a splash pad! some parents really want one of those). I also help put on events in downtown- because that’s another way people form memories and links to places. other people in my program have similar but different jobs where they do the same thing by working with the library, or the parks department, or the local tourism group, etc etc etc because the situation is unique for each community!

So yeah, I’m not hunting for random items that junimos want and having them rebuild the community center. But I’m talking to a lot of people and trying to find out what sort of space they need to take it and make it their own! Which is kinda magical honestly

2. KNOWING EVERYONE IN TOWN

I hate this answer because it’s expected but like, it works? Ya gotta talk to people. Gotta go places. Engage with small talk with the cashier, go to city council meetings (which I’ve been finding very fun), ask the shop owner about their window displays, be involved in events that make you have work days in someone’s house while the rest of their family runs after and tries to control normal life and also an infant etc etc etc.

Want to be that person who knows the mayor? He tells you about how he’s been the mayor of this town for x years etc etc? This method can also be applied to the city planner, any member of city council, the person who runs the library whatever. Copy paste this text/email after you’ve been to 1 or 2+ things where they just happen to exist-

“Hey (person in power you want to know)- I really value your input and would like to spend more time with you. Any chance you are available for coffee or lunch anytime this week?”

Boom it works and now you’ve had lunch with a city councilor- they paid for lunch by the way- and now they walk up to you to get your input after meetings. The son-in-law of that family whose house you interrupted for a work day waves at you from across the street. All cashiers and shop owners are friendly with you.

I’ve only lived here 2 months.

3. BACKYARD WITH CHICKENS AND A GARDEN

also a stream. I forgot that part. There’s a stream that runs through my backyard.

This is the easiest because it was shear dumb luck. I did nothing. They offered this place as a rental to me during the interview so like, I did nothing there. Just find some eccentric lady to rent a room from. Requirements: Eccentric lady MUST originally be a farmer from town but has also has lived 20+ years in various areas in South America selling real estate and now moved back to her home to start a business. Yeah this one is dumb luck I can’t help you there.

SO yeah. There’s your literal step by step guide! I’m only at like 40% stardew valley similarity right now, but that’s a pretty big deal seeing where I was last year at this time!

#also if you want details on the job I can get you hooked in!#always looking for new people interested!#warning: playing the game is now weird #i've started it up a few times #only to close it and then just go outside #moonglade-poetess

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atomkrp-blog · 6 years ago

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WELCOME TO XAVIER’S, SHIBASAKI NOZOMU !

… loading statistics. currently aged twenty-five, entering first semester of xavier’s in seoul, south korea. decrypting files… mutant has the following records: strength +6 durability+7, agility +5, dexterity +4, intelligence +3. currently, he is classified under tier omega.

BACKGROUND.

shibazaki.

the name falls off the grid as grandchildren after grandchildren marry into unpromising families. those of the gene incapable. varying bodies of normalcy as society boasts to embrace the majority; the conventional, non-threatening fascination there is in being human. it’s safer this way, the family portraits are hung on the walls without a blemish.

all that the ancestors have fought for are stories to be told, memories of nothing, and lies to be fulfilled.

“around 5:34pm this afternoon, the midosuji train line has become jammed due to horrific circumstances.”

“another train wreck? well, this is new.”

“no, no, they haven’t said yet. listen.”

“whatever it is, it’s keeping your father from letting us eat dinner.”

the newscaster continues, “witnesses have said that a drunken man fell into the subway tracks just several minutes before the train’s arrival. however, while the story is currently getting live coverage, a student from minamigata high school leaped into the tracks, risking his own life in order to save the stranger.”

“minamigata?” her face sours. the mother sits quietly as she rests the last bit of silverware onto the table. the cameras are shaking while exhaust fumes into focus, hoards of people clearing the area with an obvious dent garnishing the dome of the train. the newscaster, clearly baffled with his precipitating words continues talking about nothing. through the smoke, and in one piece, bodies are struggling to reach the edge of the yellow-tiled floors. a familiar face does the trick.

“shibazaki?”

just like in movies, dramas and animated films, tokyo is larger than life. sure, the little quaint neighborhood back in osaka draws a keen number of wandering-eyed folks, visitors or not, but it is tokyo that sets the limits.

the people are a bit colder; cooler. the days are lively as so are the nights spent without a wink of sleep. they move father fast on their feet, speak with a knowledgeable yet standardized tone that somehow rings unconscious to the ears.

“i don’t know,” you reply reluctantly when father asks how you’re liking the new school. “i introduced myself in the front of class and a boy said i sounded stupid ‘cause of my accent.”

father laughs. he laughs with his belly, this loud and humiliating laugh that god forbids it sounds like the rest of the class howling that morning. “tokyo kids are kinda blunt, huh? that’s supposed to be our thing.” mother is nowhere to be found for comfort and reconciliation. she might’ve been upstairs on the phone talking to her sister about you and this mutant related nonsense while having to relocate cities too dense for your liking.

all for your gratitude, though it starts to feel like your father’s. almost as if you’re intended on living a life he failed to have.

“don’t let one kid generalize your entire experience. after all, you just started,” he says with a can of beer in his hand. then he goes onto a lecture that leaves you unattentive. something about the significance of the school with educating young mutants, x-genes, how his great-grandfather would be happy to see you attaining the lifestyle that this entire lineage has been waiting decades for.

everything’s slowly starting to get carved out.

“i miss yodogawa a lot, y’know that?”

kaori chuckles on the other end. “pick one. me, or yodogawa.”

“we’ll be adults soon. i can’t say i miss a city without you feeling funny?”

“i never said i was jealous, nozomu.”

“it’s really starting to sound like it.”

her energy reads mildly exasperated, though you don’t mind. it’s all banter.

“anyways,” it’s you that breaks the silence. “i’ll be graduating next spring, and i’ve yet to submit college applications. you think i should take a year off? kyoto university of the arts won’t leave me alone with open house letters filling up my mailbox.”

the line sounds lonely for a few moments until she starts to speak again. “you’re still thinking of studying photography?”

“digital media more or less, but yeah.”

“you’re gonna struggle, maybe not in school but wouldn’t it be hard finding a job? it’s not like you’re going into medicine, or business or something.”

“i like photography.”

she chuckles again, but it’s not the kind sort of chuckle that gives you butterflies the way it would when you were fourteen. “you could profit more off of being in the government doing mutant things rather than taking pictures for a living, nozomu.”

negligible. an uncomfortable feeling sits atop your chest. “kaori, i’ll call you back.”

“what?”

“i’ll call you back.”

“super strength, was it?”

“close. it’s, um, enhanced body, actually.”

the boy probably looks not too far off between age, and he nods like he grasped onto a chunk of new information.

“yeah, it’s just basically being able to be strong while fast, with endurance, agility.. a whole bunch of other things that i probably have forgotten, but it’s like a big starter kit,” you say. “kind of.”

“what kinda name did they give you?”

“vigor.” embarrassment is evident in your word for word delivery.

“vigor for strength? it’s fitting! i’d like to see it in action, or see vigor in action.” his smile is wide and annoying, but it’s genuinely friendlier than most. “i’m kazuya, by the way. funatsu kazuya. it’s good to have you on the winning team.”

“you can’t go out there again! it’s too dangerous!”

overlooking the earth in shades of red and black, smoke shrouded tokyo’s most impressionable skyscrapers.

“y’know, out of all the dumb things you’ve done, this is really gonna top it all.”

kazuya’s eyes are red with irritation. somewhere on the top of an unknown building, you both watch as the world returns to gravel.

“you gotta trust me on this one.”

he disappears in the humid rain of ashes. descending into a whirlwind of ambulances, broken driveways, and police cars, you pray that he lives beyond today.

the numbers of human and mutant casualties arise. civilians; women and men and children, hidden mutants and humans, fell in the hands of violent, anti-mutant demonstrators. the tokyo institute for the adept collapses to shards.

three months later

strange how life works.

being situated in a neighboring country gone unrecognized than on the map, in history books, and on television. with a scholarship and some pity letters from the japanese and korean prime minister to fund your education, all in praise for your dna makeup.

your journey doesn’t stop here.

MUTATION.

ENHANCED BODY. in which the user who possesses such capacity is granted physical abilities that heighten what is normally considered “peak human performance”. the mutant’s physical power is naturally elevated than those of their classification or species, no matter how little to no effort possible they put in for conditioning and exercise. as necessary, the subject is faster, stronger, and generally resilient to those of their type, however not carrying apparent otherworldly or supernatural qualities.

STRENGTHS.

ENHANCED STRENGTH possessing strength stronger than what is considered normal / beyond of what an average person should entail

ENHANCED SPEED the mutant is able to travel / move faster than what is considered normal out of those within their species

ENHANCED ENDURANCE able to withstand physical stresses with better-staying power than what is considered on an average level compared to those within their species

WEAKNESSES.

balance, mass, and gravity still play a heavy part in affecting the weight on various objects. the mutant is not vulnerable to bodily strain from heaviness.

without proper care, the mutant is susceptible to physical pressure and damage. putting the ability to use outwardly, in place of customary warnings regarding the weight of an object puts the mutant in constant danger.

exerting strength or speed in various parts of the body all entail to different energy levels being at risk for loss. meaning, the mutant’s durability can resist time longer if only focusing on the limbs rather than the entire body.

the mutant can be receptive of breathing or lung-related problems as side effects when actively moving at a fast pace. same applies to strength, lifting or maneuvering heavy objects can stunt breathing.

the current condition of the mutant is vital. if in bad health, it will greatly impact their performance, durability, and longevity as they will decline weaker with execution.

the abilities granted are not supernatural nor mental-leaning. although it does take an adequate amount of focus to rightfully displace power, meaning without other lying distractions, the mutant isn’t relying on mystical entities of the sort

#at:profile #tw train accident

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a-million-stories-for-you-blog · 6 years ago

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Stanford Pines Application: Accepted

Name/Alias: Rosenthorne (Or Jess or Thorne)

Preferred Pronouns: She/her/They/Them

Age: 29

Time Zone: Central

Discord name: *Private* (since you already know who it is 8U)

Triggers: Not much. Bit of a crime buff so I’ve seen/read a few morbid things. Or a lot. Don’t like feet.

Personal/About Yourself: I can be nice and squeaky clean or I can be downright morbid and not so clean. Depends on the situation. I’m a stickler for canon when it comes down to it. Not much for romance but I can write for it when the mood allows. I have written a LOT of smut in my day though. I love the strange, the unique, dark humor, dark stuff in general.

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Character Name: Stanford Filbrick Pines

Headcanon Age: Young to Adult (But like 15 minutes older than Stan XD)

Headcanons About Character:

-Asexual, aromantic. This is mainly for the fact that in Journal 3 he wrote that he found ‘romance more baffling to him than the greatest mysteries of the universe’. If that doesn’t scream asexual, I don’t know what does.

-Despite being asexual, he is very touch starved. He wants people to talk to him. He doesn’t mind hugs, holding hands, platonic cuddles, laying side by side while talking about anything really (it doesn’t have to be science based), etc, from those who are very close to him. He will always do what he can for those who mean a lot to him. Any unsolicited touching without his acknowledgement of who it is will usually end with someone’s arm twisted behind their back and on their stomach on the floor out of reflex.

-Has a hard time opening up to people and is still learning on how to do so. This is the result of being viciously bullied growing up with Stan as his only friend. This makes being touch starved even worse.

-He did love DDMD in middle school on up and tried to join the local clubs full of other nerds who adored the game, however he was shunned and avoided like the plague due to his extra fingers. Undeterred, Ford continued to make OCs and strategies in hopes that one day he’d have friends to play it with.

-He would quickly finish his tests in school and, instead of turning it in, ‘accidentally’ leave it somewhere that Stan could cheat off him. While Stan did this, Ford would use this time to draw or read paranormal books.

-Terrified of swimming in open water at a young age, opposite of Stan’s fear of heights. He slowly grew accustomed to the idea of sailing when Stan started to weave the idea of adventures on the high seas. He did have a fascination with boats despite his fear and he had tried learning to swim in a community pool, making him a mediocre swimmer. After he arrived in Gravity Falls, he included swimming in the lake as part of his exercise regimen. He had hoped to swim the areas Nessie or Ogopogo had been rumored to be.

-After Ford closed the curtains on Stan when he was kicked out, Ford sunk to his knees and cried while hugging a pillow. Time was lost to him (he spent two weeks in his room, barely eating what his mother brought to him or going anywhere). His heart and trust had been shattered by the only person he had ever trusted. During that time, his father started to beat ideas into his head, building him up to a more egotistical persona, one that re-sparked his interest in inventing and school. He made Ford believe he was better than everyone, that he was special and only people like him were destined for something greater. However, the motives to get Ford moving again was not without want of personal gain. Filbrick still wanted those potential millions. These motives have severely harmed Ford’s ability to forgive Stanley. Ford is slowly unlearning what his father had instilled in him.

-To Filbrick’s dismay, Ford did not go down the path of ‘potential millions’ right away. The father had tried to make Ford change his mind about going out west to pursue his interests in favor of being hired on as a scientist somewhere. However, the flattery had made Ford a bit more cynical to the world around him. He did not share his grant money like his father expected him to. He pretty much cut ties with the rest of his family minus the occasional phone call to his mother.

-If it weren’t for his mother and later Fiddleford and Bill in his early years, Ford would have been worse off. When he throws himself into his work, he forgets to take care of himself. He wouldn’t shower for weeks on end, forget to eat or sleep to the point of passing out and would often forget what day or year it was.

-Loves horror movies and has somewhat identified with the monsters but greatly criticizes them. He has never showed any fear toward ‘old school’ horror movies. However, he hates jump scares and will react violently to them out of reflex.

-Ford’s trench coats have been modified to be ‘bags of holding’ through a technique he learned while traversing the universe. When you look into one of the many pockets, you find nothing but a void of stars and nebulae which pretty much are ‘pocket dimensions’. **BU-DUM-TISS** He could pull more than a live rabbit out of any one of them at any moment. Probably an extinct Dodo bird or a mini noodle dragon.

-Ford has doodles all throughout Journal 1 and 2 of characters he created for DDMD. He also has a strategy journal floating around the shack somewhere that contains some of his best material that has been lost for years.

-He buys ALL of his clothes in bulk, sometimes the boots already have their own mud stains or have them printed on them at all times. It’s a look Ford loves. Speaking of looks, not all of his black pants are actual pants. Some of them are spandex or yoga pants in case he’s afraid he may rip normal pants when having to do something athletic.

-Yes, he does have 12 PHDs. He earned one on earth but the rest were earned during the 30 years he was away. None of them are in the medical field. That’s what spells are for. One has to wonder if the other eleven are even valid in our dimension. Even he ponders that but will probably aggressively state that they are.

-Everyone expects him to like classical music. While, yes, this is true, he actually took a liking to rock and alternative music. However, he somehow knows all the lyrics to songs that were not made in his time, possibly from a parallel timeline where he got his PHDs.

-He has commissioned Mabel to make him a knitted Plaidipus plush that he shamelessly sleeps with every night. Its name is ‘Theory’.

-Ford keeps up an exercise regimen that he doesn’t force on anyone. He couldn’t care less about anyone’s physical prowess unless they wanted to adventure with him. He doesn’t want them hurt. He only comments on his brother to rile him up from time to time. Sibling rivalry and all.

-Ford has killed before and he will kill again if he has to. He doesn’t like talking about it but most of his kills were the result of either protecting himself or someone or getting something he desperately needs.

-He has a lot of scarring all across his body. While he will admit half of them were from his years in the multiverse, a good chunk of them were from Bill after he found out that Bill was plotting against him.

-After Stan’s memory recovery and his adrenaline came down, Ford had to be taken to the hospital as a result of Bill’s torture on top of the ride in the alien shuttle that would have taken him to an intergalactic prison. He didn’t stay there long. In fact, after he was bandaged up, he declared himself healed and walked right out the front door. Remember, none of his PHDs were in medical. He probably memorized a healing spell.

-Ford may be looking into changing his name after seeing the list of charges Stan put on his legal name. Yeah.

-He and Fiddleford keep a close connection. When he isn’t skyping the kids on his adventures with Stan or spending time with Stan, he is talking with Fiddleford. They pretty much rekindled their bromance. He somewhat owes his life to Fiddleford for all the times the man had saved him from his own stubbornness.

-With Dipper turning down Ford’s offer of apprenticeship, Ford has turned his sights to another adventure loving child who was more local and could probably keep up with him like, if not better than, Dipper had. Wendy. However, during their first adventure out, instead of voicing her opinion on a matter, she ended up knocking sense into him with the back side of her axe. The clanging of it against the metal plate in his head echoed throughout the woods.

Example Writing Piece:

There he was. Lying flat on his back on the kitchen floor of his cabin with a bewildered look on his face as a pair of long, twiggy legs draped over his chest and hugged around his arm that was outstretched and held fast against a thin chest. Never in his life did he think he could have been taken down so easily by a man who claimed to be a complete pacifist.

“Say it!” Fiddleford panted, tightening his grip on the arm some while lying on his own back, perpendicular to Ford’s body.

“Never!” Ford snapped out of his bewilderment and started to try to struggle against the hold. “They’re nothing but a stupid fashion trend!”

“Facts are facts! Leg warmers are a practical piece of clothin’!”

“What warmth could you possibly get from leg warmers?!”

“Not all of us have paddin’ in the winter, Stanferd!” the assistant growled and twisted the arm. A yelp echoed off the walls as Ford tried to manage to get the upper hand. He should have been able to dominate this… whatever it was. He was a good bit stronger than his friend. When Ford found that he was not going to get out of the hold without resorting to dirty tactics that would hurt Fiddleford, he sighed and smacked his open palm on the floor next to him to tap out. “Ah ah! Ya gotta say it!”

“No!”

“Say it’s practical! I ain’t lettin’ go until you do!”

“Fine! Leg warmers are practical! Now get off!” Ford tried to remain irritated but then started laughing at the whole situation. All this over leg warmers? Well, now he had a topic to get under his friend’s skin other than his cubic’s cube. Maybe next time he’d get a running start.

#discord roleplay #accepted #stanford pines #gravity falls #gravity falls roleplay #submission

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gaypasta · 7 years ago

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do you want fries with that?

chapter 10/? Read on Ao3 Chapter Directory

“Can you recycle candy wrappers?” Richie held up a small piece of pink bubblegum wrapper, no bigger than his finger.

“No, it’s usually coated with a thin layer of plastic.”

“Isn’t plastic recyclable?” “Yeah, but not that one - or at least when it’s been added onto paper. I think.”

Richie nodded and tossed the paper into one of the bin bags, the other, which was to be used for recycling - was sitting by Stan, who sifting through a ridiculously huge pile of bottles, throwing the empty vodka and beer bottles into the recycling bin. “Beverly really enjoyed the party, huh?” Richie smirked as he pulled on the elastic strap of a small white bra, shooting it at Stan like a rubber band.

Stan peeled the bra off his shoulder with disgust and folded it, leaning over the bin bag to set it neatly on his pillow, “Yeah, I think she left in a hurry, she left her jacket and purse here too,” Stan glanced over at her waterproof jacket, which was folded neatly on his bed. Not that it had been left like that, Stan had picked it off of his floor and folded it after making his bed. He treated other people’s items with respect.

“Reckon your parents coming home spooked her?”

“Probably, she didn’t expect them to come home to get ready for work and rushed out, or at least that what it looks like.” “Think she went out the window?”

“No, only you do that.”

Richie shrugged, “She would though.”

Stan thought about it for a moment before replying, yes - Beverly probably would. Both her and Richie are as reckless as each other.

Stan dumped an avalanche of beer and cider cans into the bin bag, which resulted in a wince from Richie, who wasn’t expecting the noise. They continued cleaning in peace, Stan methodologically moving from one area to another, picking up cans and bottles and food wrappers and putting them in one of the two bin bags. Next he would check the area for any stickiness, if any soda had spilt on his carpet he would have to steam it - which would prove difficult as the steamer is very loud and there’s no way he would be finished steaming the carpet when his parents got home - even if they were working late tonight. Next, he would pick up any small debris, such as confetti or chips - he wasn't just going to let the vacuum take the brute force - what was he, a monster who wanted a broken filter? Then he would dust, then if applicable, varnish. He wouldn’t go as far as to disinfect, there was no need - although he knew all too well that Eddie would disagree. There’s a reason Stan didn’t even attempt to ask Eddie for assistance.

He glanced over at Richie who - quite frankly - was all over the place. He picked up a crinkled paper bag and shoved it into the wrong bin bag. Then he would move more cans and debris out of the way to dust, then going back to somewhere else that had caught his attention. Richie seemed to find the concept of focusing on one thing at a time foreign, like a toddler just running around the room touching as many things as possible. Stan just shook it off, it was better than nothing.

Stan had let Richie clock out at the same time as him, despite Richie’s shift not being near finished, which caused a mild uproar from Eddie, who looked like he was in the second stage of decomposition. Richie just threw a weiner at him and told him to ‘stick it where the sun don’t shine, buddy,’. A HR nightmare, granted, but Eddie visibly paled and went back to his work, shaking his head at a burnt pan and scrubbing it furiously. Stan presumed he was probably imagining scrubbing Richie’s smug smile off of his face. He’s been there.

They cycled home together, Stan’s dirty apron (Richie insisted it hadn’t even been worn, despite Stan pointing out the ink marks around the pocket) folded neatly in his backpack, alongside his spare apron and the keys to the Diner. Richie kept his apron on for the ride home, the string at the back almost getting caught in the wheel several times. The heavy winter sun threatened to blind them as they cycled down the winding avenues and backstreets Stan had led them, but they had got there - noses bright red and a lot of shivering beneath their coats, but they had got there.

They hadn’t talked much on the way over, Richie did his usual trying to swerve into Stan, but besides that, there wasn’t all that much discussion happening. Richie noticed, but Richie always noticed when there was silence, he always felt an almost compulsive need to fill it.

“So…” Richie’s voice cracked slightly, “Gary’s Mom really did piss in your cornflakes, huh?”

Stan groaned and rubbed his eyes, “Ugh, Richie - I just wanna forget about it.”

Richie shrugged and moved a full bottle of some bright neon liquid out of his way as he scavenged for more empty cans, “I get it though, rude customers can be absolute badgers. Badgers R Us, badger central, breaker-breaker we have a code 4-24 badger breakout - please respond.”

Stan looked up at him in confusion, “Badgers?”

“Yeah like… dickheads, annoying cunts - you get it.” Stan threw a rolled up pair of socks at Richie’s face, it hit his face and fell to the ground unceremoniously.

“No using the C-word in the house, you ‘badger’.”

“Oh, sorry your majesty. Holy place of the Lord, is it?”

“He’s always watching, you know. You’re never safe.”

“Smite me.” Richie kicked the socks back over to Stan, who picked them up and delicately placed them back into his drawer. They were red socks, so they had to go between his black socks and his orange socks. He shifted a few pairs of black socks over to make room so that it would be aligned right, “You should’ve just kicked her out, save the arguing.”

“I couldn’t just kick her out, Richie.”

“I would’ve.”

“Which is why you haven’t got promoted.”

“Fuck off, the world isn’t ready for my unreal management skills. The world would be cowering at my feet, CEOs would be slitting their wrists in fear of losing their companies to me. I’ll be the world’s first ever trillionaire.”

“World’s first ever famous loudmouth.” “Shut up, that’s Gary’s Mom.”

“She’s not famous though.”

“She’s our most famous fussy customer. Mike loves seeing her coming.”

“Our famed bit-terrible person more like.”

“Bitch? Were you going to say bitch?”

Stan flipped Richie the finger and went back to tying off the bin bag he’d filled. Richie huffed and let go of his bag, it hitting the floor with a heavy sound of glass. He found his way to Stan and dropped himself behind him, so they were sitting back-to-back. The warmth from Richie’s back bled into him a little, it was almost therapeutic. Stan could hear the faint noise of a fingernail on tin. It echoed around the room, seeming to bounce on the walls.

“You get too hyped up about what people say, you know.”

Stan’s back straightened, “And how do you suppose that?”

“You’ve been walking around like someone just gutted your cat all day. Just because some square was being a bitch. You’re gonna meet a buncha rude-ass fuckers in your life, Stan - no point being all mopey and woe-is-me when you do.”

“You’re the only rude-ass fucker I know.”

“Har-har-har,” Richie sarcastically retorted, “I’m being serious. Why you gotta let someone like that put you in a mood?”

Stan sighed and relaxed into Richie, hiking his knees up and resting his elbows on them, “It’s just - I don’t know - she was so unnecessarily hostile it was unnerving -” “I know like who the fuck cares if your kid gets diabetes! Let him have the candy!” Richie fisted the air.

“What I was going to say,” Richie lowered his arm, “she was so hostile about you. About the very thought of her son being near someone who’s gay. She spat it out as if she was talking about a criminal or a pedofile - like with that amount of putrid hatred, I just can’t understand it. I get that some people find it unnatural - hell it is unnatural - but so are radios, and planes and cars and no one has problems with those. No one actively hates them or thinks they’re the work of sin.”

“She probably thought she was talking about a paedophile, to be fair.” Stan heard the pop and fizz of Richie opening a can.

“Did you just open a beer?” Stan felt Richie nod his head, his messy hair tickling the back of Stan’s neck, “What do you mean?”

Richie swallowed the mouthful of beer and tapped on his can nonchalantly, as if this was a conversation he needed to put little thought into, “Gay people usually are pedos, that’s what they think, at least. Probably thought we were fattening up her kid because I simply just cannot resist some glorious love handles.”

“People don’t really think that though, it’s not the thirties anymore.” Stan held a little doubt in his voice.

Richie let out a laugh, not necessarily sour but not particularly sweet either, “I’ve been called it dozens of times. Oh, little sheltered one, you have a lot to learn about the cruel mistress we call society.” Stan glanced over at Richie, who was taking another drink of his beer. His movement must’ve caught Richie’s eyes as he lifted his attention from his drink to Stan. “Do you want one? It’s five o’clock somewhere my man. Unless yer en Eireland! It’s alwaes foive o’clack there so it is!”

“If I say yes will you promise to not do that God-awful accent again?” Richie laughed and reached across to a can of beer which had been abandoned by his dresser. Probably from Stan hurriedly clearing out the kitchen and dumping it on his bedroom floor before he was late for work. Richie worked his finger under the ring and popped it open, handing it to Stan.

The pair sat in silence for a moment, in the midst of a half-tidy, half-messy room with the wind dancing through the room every so-often and sending a shiver down the boys’ spines.

“There’s no need to get your knickers in a twist about it, Stan. Really.” Stan sighed and nodded, he knew he was being a little overly sensitive about the entire situation but the way the woman was so overtly disgusted by the thought of someone who was gay or that way inclined was making his stomach sink every time he thought about it. He was a religious man for the most part, sure. And he recognizes that in Leviticus it’s recognized as a sin, but only God and servants of God can judge. Stan has no authority to judge anyone for their sins and neither do the awful people of Derry. “I’m used to it by now. Hell, why do you think this handsome and charismatic devil wound up with you sad sack of losers?”

Stan took a small drink and shrugged, “Always assumed it was because you are the personification of tackiness. Do people at school really know about it?”

Richie shrugged, “At school? Those assholes barely know how to wipe the shit off their own asscheeks nevermind knowing anything about me. They hear rumours and they think a lot of things. Just so happened that this rumour wasn’t completely wrong - not that I’m telling them that.”

“I suppose they do always call us a bunch of queers…”

Richie laughed, “Yeah, I got my head flushed in the toilets outside Gym one day because I said one of the guys off the basketball team had good form.”

“You know what good form is?”

“Not a fucking notion, his ass just looked great.” Stan and Richie had a chuckle at that. Stan felt oddly at ease in his messy room, with Richie’s hair tickling his neck.

“Hey, Richie?” Richie made a grunt in response, grabbing for another beer, “Want to watch a movie?” Richie made another grunt, a happier grunt.

So Stan stuck on a movie while he and Richie finished up the cleaning, it only took about twenty minutes but by then they were both ready to relax. They were lying on the bed, the TV tilted on the dresser so they could see it from their viewpoint on Stan’s single bed. Richie wanted to lie on the floor, but Stan pointed out to him, why would he have a bed if not to lie on? The floor was spotless, all of Stan’s possessions were in their rightful spots and the house had been vacuumed. Richie had taken care in ensuring that the bin bags were in the wheelie bins and that there was definitely no stray cans laying around the house.

There was only one problem, which Richie had been so keen on pointing out, there was still a fair bit of alcohol left. About a dozen cans of beer, a couple stray ciders and a half bottle of what appeared to be an expensive brand of tequila. Richie stares at the collection, longingly throughout a good portion of the movie. Stan rolled his eyes, “You’re not having another. You’ve already had two.”

Richie fell into the bed in a huff, “You’re not my real Dad!”

Stan gave in and reached down for a beer for Richie and a cider for himself - he recognized that this wasn’t something that he would normally do, in fact, Stan wasn’t really one for partaking in drinking at all, but he figured that after a day like that he deserved it. Not to mention that the quicker that this alcohol is gone - the better. Stan knew that Richie wouldn’t take it home as his Mom would probably indulge herself. Stan kind of assumed it was best not to ask - if Richie could’ve taken it home, he would’ve.

Stan watches Richie for a moment, gulping down his drink as if it was the last one he would ever have, dribbles of beer running down his chin and dripping onto his creased t-shirt. His hair was in disarray and his glasses were crooked - as usual. Stan looked at Richie, his messy clothes, his mismatched socks and was expecting himself to have a need to fix it. He was waiting for his mind to try and force him to brush out Richie’s hair and fix his glasses and basically just change his entire outfit, but no. Not today, at least. Today Richie’s wonky glasses were merely as they were - wonky. His mismatched socks were nothing more and nothing less as a bold fashion statement. And the beer running down his chin? Just plain gross.

Stan looked around his room, his door wasn’t just closed right and he could spot a dirty smudge of god-knows-what on his doorknob. The string on his curtain was wrapped around itself and swung left and right with the breeze from his open window. He looked down at Richie’s shoes which were placed delicately beside his bed, the laces were tied wrong and they were facing the bed, not the door. All these things Stan had noticed, but he had to look for them. He found himself seeking out a reason to be irritated, but there was none - because even though all these ticks would have normally sent his mind crazy. He just took them as is. He knew they were there and the existed in the same way the moon does - you can look at it, and see that it exists, but it does nothing more and nothing less than that. Without the moon, we would be simply that, without the moon. The dirt on the doorknob or Richie’s shoes are nothing more than that, just what they are - existing the way that they were meant to.

Stan felt relaxed, for the first time in a while. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was toying with his head. Or maybe it was Richie, who was so content in being unperfect that Stan could stare in awe at him for a week. Stan realised it was beginning to get dark, which meant that it was coming time for Richie to return home before it was impossible to see clearly. The thought of being in his home - which had been previously full of his friends laughing and dancing and having fun - alone made him feel almost scared. He had been left home alone when his parents were working late many times before, but since he had a taste of companionship on those nights, it felt almost too bitter to let them go.

“Richie, do you want to stay over tonight?” The words were out of his mouth before he had really even thought about them. He didn’t really need to though, Richie was always a welcome addition to the Uris household.

“Sure, let’s get hammered.” Well, that wasn't exactly what Stan had in mind, but if needs must.

“Sure, I’m not taking any tequila though.”

“Cool, double tequila shots for Stan, got it.” Richie nodded as he jumped off the bed and waltzed to the kitchen, as if Stan’s home was as familiar as his own. Stan thinks back to the times that his parents had invited Richie over for dinner after the boys were out playing all day. He always wondered why they only ever invited Richie over for dinner - maybe his parents had been more observant of his friend’s homelife than he ever had. The small inkling of guilt was soon washed away when Richie came back into the room with two shot glasses in hand.

He poured them both a shot of tequila and he had hit is back before Stan had even had the chance to smell his own, he really wasn’t a fan of tequila at all - or any spirits at that, but Richie had already downed his - and Stan wasn’t going to break the tit-for-tat rule. So he knocked the shot back and swallowed it as quickly as possible, trying to get the liquid out of his mouth as quickly as possible. He coughed as his throat burned. “That was disgusting. How do people actually like this stuff?”

Richie laughed at Stan’s reaction and mocked him before grabbing himself another beer, “I don’t think anyone actually enjoys drinking it. It’s like coffee - all the adults have basically peer-pressured themselves into thinking it’s good because it’s a thing adults drink.”

Stan scrunched his face up, “Coffee is pretty gross.”

Richie nodded, taking a swig of his beer and putting his attention back to the movie. Stan wasn’t even sure what part of the movie they were at, his attention had been all over the place for the past while. All he knew was, after a good ten minutes or so, he began to feel the familiar lightheadedness that he had felt last night. He only had two drinks though, surely he can’t be feeling the effects of alcohol already?

“You up for another shot, my guy? I know you pretend to hate this alcohol stuff but I know you secretly live for it.” Richie hadn’t even gave Stan time to respond before he was pouring another shot and Stan didn’t even have time to conceptualize what was happening before he swallowed the shot. He just took whatever Richie gave him to drink without question. He swiped a bit of the clear liquid off his lip and hissed as it burnt a papercut he never even knew he had.

“Richie - I think I’m drunk?”

Richie stared at Stan as if he had grown an extra head before his face twisted into somewhere between shock and horror, “Please, tell me you had breakfast this morning because I know for a fact you were too busy for your lunch break today.”

Stan thought for a moment before shaking his head, “No I woke up late.” The world seemed to continue to move slightly after shaking his head.

Richie dragged his hand down his face, before handing Stan back his half-empty can of cider, “That’s your last drink of the night, you lightweight. I’m going to order pizza to help sober you up while I have a smoke before you puke all over the beautiful carpet I spent thirty-five years cleaning. Capice?”

“G-got it.” Stan took the drink and relaxed into the pillow, trying to focus on the blurry moving people on the TV as Richie, clearly a little tipsy himself, clambered over him to get to the house phone in the kitchen. Stan could hear soft thud followed by Richie cursing and calling the coffee table a lot of names. Stan cradled his lukewarm cider as he heard Richie give the pizza order down the phone, listing off Stan’s address with as much ease as Stan.

It wasn’t moments later when Richie bounced back onto Stan’s bed, a smoky air following him. “You were quick,” Stan noted, words slurring slightly.

“I realised I still had enough tequila left for a couple more shots and what sort of fool am I to pass that up, Stan?”

“I guess a pretty big - uhhhhhh- fool.”

“Good attempt there, bravo.” Richie remarked as he lifted the tequila and took a shot directly from the bottle, Stan watched in a mix of horror and amusement - surely Richie was going to puke. Richie hissed as he took the final shot, and Stan swore he saw him gag a bit before he grabbed the cider out of Stan’s loose grip and took a swig of that, swirling it around in his mouth. Richie groaned as Stan told him to put the bottle in the recycling bin - which had already been taken outside. He did as he was instructed, and came back with a red face and less stability in his step. What was it about going out in the cold that made your alcohol hit you like a train?

They lay there for several minutes, Richie draped over Stan’s legs and Stan sinking into the pillows, watching the movie. Stan could see Richie swaying every so often, trying to keep his head balanced on his hand - or maybe it was Stan that was swaying. Either way, someone in this room is most definitely not sober.

The sky was pitch black and there was no sound bar the soft revving of cars driving past and the so familiar static sound of Stan’s hand-me-down television. The movie was coming to a close soon, if Stan remembers right. He wonders briefly what they were going to watch next before giving up on the train of thought - Richie would surely pick something half decent. Stan felt Richie squirming over his legs for a moment before laying still. Stan assumed that Richie was just trying to get comfy on top of Stan’s bony knees. That was until Richie had repeated the action about five more times and Stan finally barked out, “What are you squirming so much for?!”

To Stan’s surprise, Richie shot up like a rocket and looked him dead in the eyes. Stan straightened up in the pillows, wondering what was up with Richie, but he fell back into the pillows when Richie grabbed his face and drove their lips together for the second time that weekend. Stan’s heart starting speeding in his chest as Richie slowly worked their lips together - and after Richie was sure Stan wasn’t going to pull away, he climbed on top of his best friend and held his face, his pinky finger occasionally making contact with his eyebrow.

Stan, although in a state of shock, couldn’t help the fact that he was working his lips alongside Richie’s and instinctively pushing his body up to get closer to him. He felt the softness of Richie’s tongue pass into his mouth and he couldn’t help but give in to Richie’s mouth. The feeling of Richie’s mouth on his, and the closeness of their bodies made Stan’s arms break out in goosebumps. The dizzyingly violent taste of tequila bounced between their tongues and the taste of cheap cigarettes only ceased as a reminder to who Stan was kissing. If the feeling of Richie’s hair tickling his face, or Richie’s fucking knee an inch away from his crotch wasn’t enough - the taste of Richie was dancing along his tongue and into his stomach - not like a fire or a flame - more akin to the soft amber glow of a cigarette.

As Richie moved into Stan - pushing him further into the mattress - Stan could almost push dirty thoughts from his head. Almost. He found himself grabbing onto Richie’s creased shirt for dear life - as if the shirt itself was stealing the oxygen from his lungs. He traced his hands up to Richie’s collarbone and with a touch as delicate as a feather - danced his pointer finger along it. It felt oddly intimate - the knots that were winding in Stan’s stomach only tightened - he was afraid he might choke.

Stan was ripped almost violently from his internal fixation on his best friend, when he felt a soft, tentative nip at his lip. It wasn’t sharp or particularly painful - but it was something. It was a gateway into something a lot darker, a lot drunker and a lot of things that he and Richie were not. Best friends don’t bite each other like that. They don’t leave bruises or anything like that.

Stan jerked from Richie’s mouth and held the spot Richie had toyed with under his finger, looking down at the space - or lack thereof - between him and Richie.

“H-hey, Richie?” Stan’s voice cracked a little unexpectedly and he cringed inwardly at how nervous he sounded.

“What?”

“This isn’t going to make things weird, right?” Richie sat up a bit so he could focus a little better on Stan’s face. Stan could feel his face prickling with heat - he could only imagine that his face was glowing red, which didn’t really help his impression of trying to look cool and collected, “Like - we’re best friends. This isn’t weird at all?”

Richie tilted his head to the side, “Making out with your bro? Nah, totally cool. Best way to spend an afternoon if I’m honest.” Richie caught a glimpse of the utterly unamused Stan and rolled his eyes dramatically, “Listen - simple science. If you make out with me - just for kicks, funsies - whatever - then when you go to make out with someone you actually care about, a girl or girlfriend situation, then you’ll not completely suck. Do you hear the gospel I’m preaching?”

Stan wasn’t completely convinced, “We’re drunk.” Stan murmured, meeting a face of confusion on Richie’s face, “People do weird stuff all the time drunk. It doesn’t mean anything, people shove fireworks up their ass when they’re drunk - it doesn’t make a face on their character though.” Richie stared blankly at Stan for a moment, almost as if he was looking to say something - he didn’t though. He just fixed his glasses and moved back onto his heels, as if to move off of Stan. Stan held him in place though, fingers catching the loop of his baggy jeans.

“I - uh - I mean,” Stan coughed, having a little difficulty finding his words, “We don’t have to stop.”

And like that, Richie moved swiftly back into Stan’s mouth - as if any longer away from it would have physically hurt him. They moved together with a little more confidence, their mouths clashing with a little more force, and small breathy noises escaping into the room from their open mouthed-kisses in harmony with the static of the VHS tape needing to be rewinded. Stan slipped his tongue inside Richie’s mouth and felt Richie’s lips move slightly into the form of a smile, before grabbing Stan’s face with a certain authoritative glee that Stan didn’t dare object to.

He could feel what he could only deduce to be Richie’s boner pressing against his own groin - not intentionally, or so he thinks. Richie isn’t grinding on him or humping him or anything, he’s just moving through Stan’s mouth and brain like a cunning snake, slipping through him and toying with his head. Stan could feel the whispers of his first and only wet dream licking at his consciousness.

He could almost feel Richie sucking marks into his skin and toying with him, playing with him in such lewd ways that he blushes to think that his mind even conjured up the image. He felt an urge for it, to feel Richie against him. It was natural - of course - he was in the midst of puberty with someone lying on top of him - what else would his hormones do?

In his mind, Stan knew he wanted more than that - he wanted to feel intimate with his best friend in a way that would only make sense to him and Richie. No one else on earth had a friendship as inconsistent and riveting as them, and Stan wanted everyone to know. He and Richie weren’t like everyone else - they balanced each other in such a perfect way that Stan knew that it had been nothing short of fate - a cruel fate, albeit when Richie was in a mischievous way, but they seemed to dance around each other perfectly in harmony without any need for choreography.

Stan groaned into Richie’s mouth as he moved his body closer to Stan, the two were almost moulding together at this point - and both of them were nothing more than hormonal messes, needing the touch of each other liked frenzied starved dogs. They were grinding into each other - hoping that the other wouldn't notice, doing anything to relieve the ball of tension in their stomachs. Stan gripped at Richie’s hair and prayed to God to turn a blind eye on his current sinning.

Stan couldn’t take it anymore - he needed more than kissing, his body was on fire in a way that he had never experienced before. Without something more, Stan felt as though he was going to faint. “R-Richie, I need-”

And as Stan’s luck would have it, the doorbell rang throughout the empty home - cutting through the two boys’ moans and exertion. Richie blinked at the closed door, almost as though he had forgotten where he was. He fixed his glasses and attempted to tame his hair, as if Stan’s desperate grappling hadn’t made it frizzy beyond redemption.

“Pizza, it’s the pizza.” Richie laughed, “Cockblocked by pizza - not sure how I feel about that one, to be honest. It’s difficult to be disappointed by pizza.”

Stan nodded, not really relating. He kind of wanted to ring the pizza boy’s neck. Hormones sure are a wild ride, huh.

#stozier #it #it 2017 #it fanfiction #dywfwt #YES its been two months #AND WHAT ABOUT IT

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crimsonrevolt · 6 years ago

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Congratulations Taylor you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Selina Sapworthy

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Taylor! We are so excited to see you take on a muggleborn for the first time. The way you’ve written Selina, she’s unlike any character we’ve seen from you before and we’re really interested to see how you develop her and how she’s going to add to Aversio and the roleplay.

application beneath the cut

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

It’s Taylor! 19, going by female pronouns and in the EST timezone

ACTIVITY

I’d say probably about the same as it is now. I do have my dips every once in awhile, but I have a pretty decent system to stay caught up.

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

It was an Andromeda Black tag originally, but I’ve been here for almost two years.

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

I think I’m probably a combination of Harry and Ron. In a lot of ways I relate to them both in different ways; Harry I relate to in his upbringing and family always being difficult and more toxic than anything else - but his need to take care of everyone else, and sarcastic nature are also things I relate to strongly. And, with Ron, the feeling of being a failure or not living up to anyone else, that deep insecurity and the way he lashes out when he’s been hurt I understand a lot, especially since I get older.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Nothing I can think of!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Selina Adira Sapworthy

Selina - In French the meaning of the name Selina is: Latin caelum meaning sky or heaven. (x) Adira - of Hebrew origin, and the meaning of Adira is “strong, noble, powerful” (x)

FACE CLAIM

Emeraude Toubia

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

When I started to consider the idea of going for a third character, there was a list; on the one hand, I thought the idea of playing somebody truly dark would be fun to go back to. But then, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that as fun as writing truly dark characters (ie, Bellatrix) can be, it wouldn’t be a new challenge. And I wanted a new challenge. So I began looking through all of the open characters and came to the realization that writing a Muggleborn is something I haven’t done in far too long. So I began looking at open bios again, and Selina drew me in instantly.

The more I looked at Selina and began to really think about it, the more that she started to really speak to me. Here you have a woman who is so determined to make a difference that she never stops pushing herself to meet expectations that she places on herself. And they aren’t easy expectations by any means; she’s incredibly intelligent because being sub-par at anything makes her skin crawl. She’s so well-rounded and well-versed because to do anything less than would be a disservice to the gift she was given. Because that’s what being a witch is to her, a privilege. Here you have a woman who, as a child, was loved but felt ordinary. And then she turned eleven. Then, she received a letter that changed her life. Suddenly the world opened up to so many new possibilities, so much new knowledge and opportunities for the young wide-eyed girl. Not taking full advantage of it would be the worst thing that she could do.

Selina’s intelligence was something she fought for, wanting to immerse herself in whatever she could possibly find about magic. Her family was entirely Muggle, it wasn’t as if they could ever teach her about it. If anything, they asked her about it more than anything else. She was the student who self-taught so she could debate with her professors during class - the first degree ‘self indulgent, insufferable know-it-all’ that Hermione is so frequently referred to as. There’s a reason people groan when Hermione raises her hand and recites things from memory: the staff has seen it before. In yet another Muggleborn Gryffindor who could be too smart for her own good.

She was never a stranger to the bigotry that came with being of Muggle heritage; people scoffed at her, every insult in the book was tossed at her. More than once Selina was told her blood was dirty, that she had no place in the magical world she was part of. For awhile, it got to her, but with time she realized that if anyone was without in the wizarding world it was the elitists that were afraid of anything they didn’t understand. That was when her skin grew thicker, and she decided if she was going to be seen as a disgusting Mudblood, she would go all out. So she outsmarted everyone she could find, made every Pureblood in her class despise her solely because she could. It became a sport more than anything else, proving she had just as much right to being a witch as anyone else.

But then she left school, and the war started. Suddenly her quick tongue and determination to hold her own put her family’s life in jeopardy. Her parents were going to be defenseless against magic if anyone chose to go after them, and it was as terrifying as it was disgusting. She sought out alliance the first chance she got. It wasn’t her fault Aversio got to her first, but she didn’t ever regret it. Joining the 'rebel forces’ gave her a chance to gain protection for her family - her parents and twin brothers, a set of siblings ten years younger and clearly a surprise. Selina vowed to protect them no matter the cost, even made an Unbreakable Vow to the organization. She fell into something that she couldn’t ever step out of, but it kept her family safe. And with any luck would end with change, making sure Muggleborns and anyone else could life freely.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Selina views romance as a waste of time in the current state of things. What good would falling in love do her right now? She has enough to worry about, trying to assist Aversio and win the war so that she won’t be indebted to anyone anymore, so her family can be free. Viewing herself as a woman, and being damn proud of it, and a firm believer in equality, Selina is pansexual but in the times she lives in, probably just considers herself someone attracted to anyone. Sex is a good way to blow off steam, but it’s no time for romance.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

Pinterest Board

Playlist:

Nightmare - Arshad I’m living in a terrible nightmare This wicked little game I never wanted to play An answers gotta be somewhere out there Equations need solutions and we’ll solved it today

Deep Water - American Authors When it pulls me under, will you make me stronger Will you be my breath through the deep, deep water Take me farther, give me one day longer

Believer - Imagine Dragons I’m fired up and tired of the way that things have been Second thing second Don’t you tell me what you think that I can be I’m the one at the sail, I’m the master of my sea

Where the Lonely Ones Roam - Digital Daggers Meet me in the gutter Make the devil your friend Just remember what I said Cause it isn’t over yet

- Leaving Hogwarts, Selina was sitting in a pub one night, angry at the way things were going when she was approached by one of the original Aversio members. It was then she was introduced to war and made a snap decision. She would join the war efforts if she could protect her family, so a decision was made. Selina would be among the brains of the operation, using her intelligence and loyalty to assist ending the war and they would, in return, protect her family. An Unbreakable Vow was made in secret, something she refuses to allow anyone to know of. But the risk of her family being hurt or killed keeps her loyal, changing her more than she expected.

- Selina goes on to write several books on Herbology and Divination, and is eventually honored in a portrait hung inside of Hogwarts castle. While these books haven’t been published yet, she works on them by continuing to study. Sometimes her work is used to assist Aversio, but her notes and research are scattered on stray parchment around her home. She isn’t sure what she’ll go use it for yet, but someday it’ll be put to use. That much she knows.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it: “Ooh, hm…if I could, I would probably create a potion using Devil’s Snare. Oh, don’t give me that look, it can have its uses. It would be used for similar causes to Veritaserum, only instead of causing the drinker to tell the truth, it would punish them for lying. The Snare could constrict their insides if anyone tried to use deception. Of course, there would probably be a counter-solution to undo any damage from being too severe, but it could be useful, especially in current times.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you: “I think I’d like someone like Aurora Sinstra with me if I was ever going back into that forest. Yes, I said 'back’ - I did have my moments of rebellion in school, let’s move on - and other than my wand, I think I’d like to have my potions set. You wouldn’t believe how much is in that forest that can be useful in creating new things.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make? I find most decisions to be relatively simple in our current go of things. Though, I suppose…finding moral grey areas in situations where you have to find a way to be fair. What seems reasonable to one may not be to someone else. For example, I don’t see why anyone should make alliances they don’t plan on following through on, especially when you should know what you’re getting yourself into when you decide to pledge loyalty to something.

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you? That I was a coward. Mock my blood all you want, gods know nearly everyone has. But I’m no coward, I follow through, I fight. That’s all there is to it.

REACTION TO LAST EVENT DROP

Selina is angry. She’s distrustful of the Order and the alliance of Aversio, not understanding why anyone would wish to align themselves with people who don’t ever seem to do anything but make plans and sit on their hands. The fundraiser offers a chance to gather intel, but only if done correctly. And while the propaganda against Rodolphus Lestrange is hysterical, it only draws more attention to people who don’t seem to have a plan if retribution occurs. A firm believer in always having an idea of what you’re getting yourself into, Selina can’t help but think everyone around her has lost their minds and is growing more impatient by the day.

WRITING SAMPLE

The hall was dark and empty as she trudged along, her boots echoing on the wooden floors providing the only source of sound. On both sides of her flanked burly wizards she recognized by face alone. Her escorts into a situation that could no longer be backed out of. That was what Selina reminded herself of as she entered, finally recognizing the wizard who had recruited her in the first place. No turning back now.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly as she made her way into the dimly lit, otherwise vacant room. The men who had shown her in shut the door, one standing beside it as a guard while the other raised his wand and began twirling with boredom between his fingers as he watched Selina and his boss take each other in. A lump formed in her throat as she remembered what she was about to do, but she was quick to force it back. There was no time to dwell on it now. All the secrecy and hushed plans had been leading to this. The promise that her family - her brothers, her father, her mother - would be protected was too powerful to pass up. They could never know what she had agreed to, would never understand. Selina herself, nineteen and defiant in all other forms of life, still had trouble with it.

Still, when presented with his hand, she placed her own inside. The third wizard raised his wand and gold coils began to wrap around Selina’s arm, connecting her to the man beside her. It was an uncomfortable feeling, one that never in her life had the young witch expected to ever feel. She had never believed there would be reason for an Unbreakable Vow, not until rumors of Muggle families dying had become more frequent. Lost in her thoughts, trying to adjust to the discomfort that accompanied the magic circling her arm, she barely recognized when it was her turn to speak. It was only when the man she was vowing loyalty to cleared his throat expectantly she snapped out of it. “Repeat that?” She managed, stumbling over the words while trying to keep her voice as steady as possible.

And then there it was. The question. Do you promise to remain loyal, to assist our cause in whatever ways possible, as we proceed into the new age of war against Britain?

There it was. The lump again. There could be no turning back now, should she decide that this wasn’t what she wanted. If someday she was asked something she couldn’t do, it wouldn’t only be her own death but the possibility of her family’s as well. That reminder served to steady her, the golden cords only seeming to tighten, anticipating the response.

Holding her chin up, Selina made sure to look both men directly in the eye before answering. “I will.”

#accepted app #HP RP #skeleton rp #lsrpg

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justorklifestyle · 4 years ago

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SBS Spotlight: 10th Fitness

Our business relies on small business: that is why we came up with the small business spotlight where we select one small business a month to feature on our website and all of our social media platforms. We like to find small businesses that have been looking for unique ways to stay afloat, businesses powered by passion and not profits. The businesses where the owners are truly invested in what they have and only want to see their dreams prosper. We want to support the real small businesses of America. To be featured as part of our Small Business Spotlight, please reach out to us either by calling or texting 862-803-0225, by emailing us at [email protected], or by visiting us on our website at www.justork.com. Our own unique way of giving back to the community we serve; the spotlight is a free post to our website blog and social media channels, with additional paid marketing features available as well for extra promotion.

Justork Lifestyle is back with the Small Business Spotlight. This Saturday we are featuring a self-inspired self-starter:

Itzel Solano is the owner of 10th Fitness, Private Personal Training. Read an inspiring story from Solano’s humble beginnings in Mexico City to where she is now. Reading her story, you realize that she took all the hardship thrown at her in life and used it to build the foundation of her brand. Visit her today in Houston and take a look at her first gym. Walk in and feel the motivation. One-on-one seasons geared towards 100% focus on each client. Love it. Nothing more inspirational than the investment of a small business owner in their craft...

My name is Itzel Solano, and I am the owner of 10th Fitness, Private Personal Training.

I was born in Mexico City, Mexico, and was brought to the US by my parents when I was 8 years old, who were searching for better opportunities for their children.

I never in my life thought I would be opening a gym, since I was overweight almost my entire college career. Nor did my education align with personal training at all. But life has a way of molding you for your true purpose.

I graduated from Prairie View A&M University with a dual degree in Architecture and Construction Science, and a Masters in Architecture. It was a very stressful career to go for at times, with lots of all-nighters and long nights in the Architecture building. It was easy to put on weight, as my health and fitness weren’t the priority at that time. But I started losing sight of who I was, and I knew deep in my heart that I had to make my health a priority.

I began to work out shortly after I started Grad School, and I immediately got hooked. I loved the structure it provided me, and the discipline I was building by using my afternoon workouts as relief after a long day in the Architecture building. I was seeing change in not only my body, but my mind. It made me laser focused and energetic. I graduated with a 3.85 GPA and got an Architecture job right out of school. But I truly believe that had I not taken on a fitness lifestyle, I wouldn’t have achieved the success that I got.

All I had ever wanted in life was the corporate job of my dreams, to apply my creativity into something I loved, and to pay my parents back for all their sacrifices. But the more desk jobs I got, the more it started to hit me. The highlights of my days were after work, when I got to the gym.

It was until my 3rd job after college that I was sitting in front of my desk drawing up another boring plan, daydreaming about how I could help others achieve their fitness dreams when COVID hit the United States. I was laid off, along with a few others on the Design team. In a way, life had thrown me the opportunity I was too scared to jump at this entire time. It was then that again, health and fitness had to come on top. I wasn’t made to sit at a desk and work for somebody who saw me as another number. I had a bigger purpose than that.

In January of 2021, I opened 10th Fitness. I had fallen down so many times in my own fitness journey, and gotten myself back up, that I decided my gym would represent that even when you fall down 9 times, you gotta get up 10!

My gym is completely private to one personal training client at a time. It is geared to have the ultimate focus on you and your goals. All personal training packages include sessions, nutrition coaching and complete 24/7 access to me, a NASM Certified Nutrition coach, Personal Trainer, and Bodybuilder.

I opened my gym in the Northside of Houston, Texas. In an area where healthy options for food and activities aren’t really available. This is more than my own fitness dreams, it is about making a larger impact on this community, and the people who need it most.

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Justork Lifestyle

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Justork lifestyle is a business consultant and financial advisor. We help small businesses from start to finish; from the funding stage all the way to product launch. One of our consultants is with you, every step of the way, to answer all of your questions and drive your business to success. For more information, please visit our website or reach out to us via email at [email protected]. We offer a variety of services, including but not limited to:

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years ago

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Countless Roads - Chapter 6

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 6 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

A/N: The timing of this is completely coincidental, this whole fic having been written over the last year or so, but this chapter happens to be Halloween-themed. So happy Halloween, everyone!

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All things considered, Len's amazed that it takes Lisa until her junior year to think of it.

Perhaps the real reason is that that's the first year Len and Mick start going to the university area to visit her. It's noticeably more high class an area than the ones they usually frequent, and Len only gives the okay because the statutes of limitation have run out on all of their currently outstanding warrants, which means that even if the cops do finger them, they can't do anything about it.

The area's also got a lot more people with a lot more leisure time than the areas Len prefers.

That's probably why Lisa had her no-good, awful, terrible idea.

"No," Len tells her, but he already knows he's going to give in. He's never been able to deny Lisa anything she really wanted. Well, nothing but the ability to ruin her life by taking up crime the way he has. Her record is clean and it's staying that way as long as Len can manage it - probably not forever, he's acknowledging it now, but he's going to hold off until there's no way to avoid it.

This, though, this isn't crime.

This is just dumb.

"C'mon, Lenny! It'll be great!"

"No."

Len glances over at Mick in hopes of some back-up, but no, Mick's grinning his head off like the goddamn troll that he is.

"No!"

"He's giving in," Mick tells Lisa wisely. "You can hear it in the growing desperation in his voice."

"You sure can," she agrees.

"This is stupid," Len argues. "Too stupid for words!"

"It'll be fun."

"No, it won't."

"Give me one good reason why it won't be fun."

"Because I see actual ghosts!" Len exclaims. "I have no reason to go to a haunted house!"

"Lenny," Lisa says with a giant grin. "That's why it's gonna be so much fun. You've never been, have you?"

"Never saw the point," Len says grumpily.

"I can't believe you've been denying Mick the pleasure all these years," Lisa says. "He wants to go, doesn't he?"

"You bet I do," Mick agrees enthusiastically.

"He only wants to go so he can laugh at me," Len argues.

"You bet I do," Mick says, sweet as he can manage with a shit-eating grin on his face. "What's your point?"

Len groans.

Looks like they're going to a haunted house.

Which apparently has all sorts of bizarre preconditions Len would never have guessed.

"What do you mean I can't bring my gun?" he asks Lisa, scowling. "I paid money for this concealed carry license."

"Money that wasn't yours," Mick points out, which, yes, but it doesn't matter; Len actually spent it. It's damn hard to find a judge corrupt enough to sign off on a gun license for a felon.

Luckily, this is Central City, and damn hard doesn't mean impossible.

"You still can't bring it into a haunted house," Lisa says firmly, hands on hips. "You might shoot one of the performers."

Len scowls at her. Sure, he's been forced to up his game recently, thanks to the mob war between the Santinis and Darbyninans that just got started, and upping his game at this stage means higher end heists, higher end heists means more risk, more danger, and more ruthlessness – and yes, sometimes killing people, especially people that threatened to back out of major jobs in the middle, people that Len couldn't trust wouldn't go running to the cops to squeal in exchange for a cut-down sentence on something else. But just because he's gotten to the 'killing people' point in his career doesn't mean that he's going to shoot innocent performers. He doesn't shoot innocents, and he would've thought Lisa would've known that.

"Out of fright," Lisa clarifies.

That just makes Len scowl even more.

"Relax, will you? It'll be fine, boss," Mick says, laughing. Officially, that's just something he uses for jobs in public, but he's started calling Len that, off and on; says it helps him remember.

He also says he likes the way Len's cheeks flush sometimes when he calls him that, but whatever. Len does not blush. He's cool and cold, damnit.

...he's working on it, anyway.

Len's newly imposed rule – you're in, you're in; you're out, you're dead – has at least and at last started getting him some respect in criminal circles, which always appreciate seeing ruthlessness when it's accompanied by success.

And Len has been successful. Other than those first early convictions for burglary, he's gotten better and better at getting away clear. The most the cops have had on him recently are a few jobs they can't pin on him and one or two misdemeanor trespassing charges.

They're starting to remember his name.

Not as much as they remember Mick's, mind you. Mick's pyromania remains as strong as ever, and during the lean times when the criminal underworld has gone underground to avoid renewed police focus – usually during election years – and there's no easy targets that haven't already been hit by others, there's more call for arsonists than there is for thieves, even highly skilled thieves.

Not that the police could pin those on so-called 'notorious arsonist' Mick Rory.

It helps that, as a ghost, he doesn't leave any DNA evidence.

But either way, all this led to one conclusion: Len and Mick are mad, bad and dangerous to know. They're the sort of people who carry weapons and know how, and when, to use them.

They do not get scared at haunted houses.

"You're gonna scream like a little girl," Daniela cackles.

"I hate you all," Len says.

"Have fun!" she sings out.

"Just for that, you're coming with us," Len tells her.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Daniela says. "Or, well, anything other than another lead on that asshole who murdered me – " Len is still looking, damnit! Serial killers don't walk around with a goddamn sign on! "—but hell yes, I'm there with bells on."

"Where are we going?" Nora asks, emerging from the kitchen.

"Len's never been to a haunted house before," Daniela says gleefully. "Ever."

"I have my own actual dead people! I ain't gonna be scared of some assholes in sheets!"

"Oh, my, you're going to be in for a surprise," Nora laughs. "I'm definitely coming."

Len rolls his eyes.

"How's your baby boy?" Mick asks Nora politely.

"College applications," she says, mingled joy and sadness at it: joy, for her son's growth; sadness, that she's not there to help him through it. She consistently declines Len's offers to give her some life to go say goodbye, though; she says that just saying something to him wouldn't be enough for her to pass on and anyway she's afraid that seeing her would only make him relapse into the anxiety attacks he'd been having for years after her death. It's a tough situation she's stuck with, and Len feel pretty bad for her, but he can't bring himself to be too upset; she's great to have around, very level-headed but with a wicked sense of humor and, at times, a temper as fiery as Mick's. "He's starting to send them out."

"Graduating senior already?" Len asks, then shakes his head at her nod. "Wow. Your baby boy's only five years younger than Lisa."

"Closer to four," Nora says. "He's nearly nineteen; he had to repeat a year due to family trauma."

Due to her murder, that is.

"See, this is why going to a haunted house is dumb," Len says to Lisa, opting to lighten the mood back up. "We have two real life murder victims right here with us."

"I'll ask Serafina to join us," Daniela decides. "She's just a hit-and-run, but it still counts. Then we'll have three murder victims to go a-haunted housing with us!"

Serafina, a law school graduate of Korean descent and non-binary gender, turns out to be more than happy to join them.

Lisa can't stop cackling with glee, and that makes everyone smile.

"I'm outnumbered," Len grumbles, and picks up the brochure Lisa obtained to figure out where he'll be driving the lot of them. "Wait, hold it! This says it's at an abandoned cemetery! I ain't going to no abandoned cemetery! Do you know how many dead will be there?!"

"It's an exaggeration," Lisa says, rolling her eyes.

"If there are any unquiet dead there, we'll protect you," Mick reminds Len.

"Nice try," Nora says.

Damnit.

The drive there is relatively uneventful – Mick watches Len like a hawk, which is thoroughly unhelpful and kind of insulting, given that Len's the one who taught Mick how to drive in the first place – and then even once they arrive, it turns out there's a line.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Len grumbles. "Not only do we have to pay for the privilege, they make us wait for it, too?"

"Grow up, babykins," Daniela says, skipping away to go gawk. "Go stand in the line."

Len goes.

He wishes he had his gun.

He wishes he had his gun even more when one of the fake tombstones (rather amusing little poems on them) shoots open and someone – or something – leaps out at them from a trapdoor hidden underneath.

The only reason Len is certain that the apparition is part of the haunted house is because everyone else in the crowd shrieks and jumps as well.

"Lenny," Lisa says patiently. "Lenny. You're very nice, very brave, jumping in front of me and all that, but you're blocking my view."

Len sighs and returns to his place in line, watching as what is now obviously a (surprisingly detailed) zombie limps around the line, groaning at people.

Mick prods at Len's arm. Len looks at him.

"I leap in front of you," Mick says. "Not you in front of me."

"It was instinct."

"It was shitty instinct. You soccer-mom-armed me! And I'm the invulnerable one!"

No kidding. Len remembers very well how Mick's invulnerability had been the only thing that'd saved their hides when they'd been dumb enough to get involved in the stupid mob war with a job that wasn't as well-thought-out as Len had thought it was. It isn't just Len getting his stupid ass kidnapped because of payments anymore, oh no, now it's the Santinis and the Darbyinians, each with a grudge and a hell of a lot of firepower. Len and Mick had gotten the hell out of the war for now, making it clear they were purely freelancers, but the war was becoming more and more all-encompassing and they'd end up having to either side with a Family or making themselves respected and feared enough to be able to scare both sides off when the inevitable came calling.

Since neither Mick nor Len has any interest in working on Family lines, that meant that these days they're focusing on establishing their own reputations.

And part of that, yes, meant using things like Mick's invulnerability to its best advantage.

"I'll let you take the real threats," Len offers.

Mick rolls his eyes at him.

Len has only ever walked by the haunted houses they'd had in his neighborhood when he was younger, the ones in the poorer parts of town that even the slums looked down their noses at, and he hadn't been impressed by the quality.

Apparently, and no one had told him this, haunted houses have seriously upped their game in recent years.

"What the fuck?!" Len shouts.

Lisa is dying. "Oh man," she cackles. "Oh, man, Lenny, your face!"

"The fuck even was that?!"

"The half-spider mutated monster or the evil scientist with the rotting arm?"

"Neither! The other thing!"

"Really?" Daniela asks, eyebrows arched and shit-eating grin on her face. "Out of everything in the hallway of horrors, the cannibal is the thing that gets you?"

"He was eating someone's face off! That’s just wrong!"

Nora cackles behind him.

"I'm glad I'm amusing the lot of you," Len grumbles. He actually is glad, especially poor Nora's been sad recently about missing all of her baby boy's important milestones. But still. A man's got a reputation to uphold, and this stupid haunted house is doing nothing for it.

And then Len jumps half a foot into the air because some demonic squid shoots out its tentacles from the wall.

"Your face," Mick wheezes. "Oh God. Lisa. Lise. Tell me there will be photos."

"So many photos," Lisa says happily, leading the way into the next chamber.

Len's idly tracking the number (this is room ten – how big is this place, anyhow?) and mentally mapping the place, mostly to keep from strangling anybody – Lisa was right to take away his gun, sadly; he's reached for a weapon at least three times so far. Still, it’s fine. Not having it doesn't make him less dangerous.

Though it does make him think that assassinating someone at a haunted housed would be a great way to go about it – an audience already geared to assume that any screams or dying noises are fake, that any bloodied corpses are special effects, that any smell is clever chemicals...

The thought occupies him a bit (mostly through the cockroach room – Lord, why is there a cockroach room?!), enough that he only vaguely notices one of the haunted house attendees, face painted white and his clothing dusted with flour, coming forward to tap Lisa on the shoulder and explain that she should follow him for the next segment.

Some multipart horror involving Lisa spitted on a stake, Len can only assume, and that's what he does assume right up until Daniela turns to ask him something and sees the guy leading Lisa away.

"Len!" she shouts. "That's him!"

"What?" Len asks, bemused. No one else responds, of course; he doesn't have enough energy to make three people as strong as Mick, and at any rate being invisible means that Daniela, Nora and Serafina don't have to pay for a ticket. Mick turns with a frown.

"Him!" Daniela shrieks. "Him! The one! The one who beat in my face, Len!"

"Wait," Mick says. "The serial killer?"

"We've already seen the serial killer exhibit, guys," Lisa calls over her shoulder.

"No," Len says, eyes going wide as he puts it together. Daniela's been on his case to find the asshole who murdered her – and a number of other sex workers in the years since – since day one. "Lisa, the guy next to you is an actual serial killer!"

"What?" Lisa asks.

"Don't be crazy," the guy next to her scoffs, putting his hand on her arm. "Come this way or you won't be able to participate in the next room's haunt."

Nora dashes forward, through the wall, and shouts, "The next room's about killer robots! No audience participation!"

"You're lying," Mick growls, stepping forward.

"Get your hands off my sister," Len adds.

The guy takes one look at the two of them and turns to run.

His mistake is in trying to pull Lisa along with him.

She spins around and knees him in the balls. "Don't you ever grab me!" she shouts.

"He's the one who killed Daniela," Mick snarls.

"Get him!" Daniela shouts, lunging at him, but she's too weak; she passes straight through and all he does is shudder.

Mick and Len both step forward, but that's when the guy pulls out a gun.

"Who the fuck is Daniela?" he pants. "How'd you know?"

"Ooooh, if I could strangle you!" Daniela hisses.

"I told you to let me bring a gun," Len bitches to Lisa.

"There aren't normally actual serial killers in haunted houses, Lenny!"

"With your brother's luck, we shoulda known," Mick says, taking a half-step over until he's blocking Len.

Len scowls at him and nudges him in Lisa's direction. He can take care of himself.

Mick scowls back.

"Will you all stop talking?!" the guy shouts. "I've got a gun!"

"Yeah, and from the way you're waving it around like a kid's toy, I bet you know how to use it about as well as your undoubtedly limp dick," Lisa snaps.

Mick and Len share a glance – only Lisa – and Mick charges forward to get between the serial killer and Lisa just in time for the guy to pull the trigger.

Mick catches the bullet in his shoulder, of course. "See what you did?" he tells her, plucking it out and waving it at her. He doesn’t bother faking the bleeding. "No sense of self-preservation, you Snarts."

"How'd I get pulled in there?" Len protests. "I ain't the one that mouthed off to the serial killer with a gun!"

"Don't get me started on people you've mouthed off to, buster!"

"What the hell is wrong with you people?!" the guy shouts, but by this point the noise and the commotion and – Len would bet – the backed-up line has drawn over some actual haunted house employees. Volunteers? Len's not sure.

Their makeup's a lot better than the killer's, anyway.

"Excuse me – " a realistic skeleton starts.

"This man was trying to get me to go with him so I could be part of the haunt," Lisa announces, pointing at the killer. "He said he was an employee here, and when I refused, he aimed a gun at me!"

The guy looks down at his hand to confirm that yes, the gun's still there.

Not for long, though; Len plucks it out of his hand - way too easily because the guy barely had a grip on it by this point, too slack-jawed with disbelief - and offers it to the skeleton. "Careful with that," he says mildly. "It's got live ammo."

The skeleton looks at the gun in horror, then at the guy. "Uh, he's definitely not one of the volunteers –"

"Maybe you should call the cops," Mick suggests.

"Fuck no," the killer says, and tries to run.

None of them were really expecting it – it's a one-way haunted house starting to fill up with people on each side, where the hell does he think he's going to go? – which is probably why he gets as far into a hidden passage by the wall as he does.

Doesn't help, of course.

By that point, Daniela's run back to Len to wordlessly beg for some extra life, which he's given her, and she uses everything he gave her in a single burst of poltergeist power, snaking out the audio-visual cables that were threaded through the walls to wrap around him.

"Asshole," she says, not without some serious amount of satisfaction. "I'm gonna love watching your trial."

"What the fuck was that," the skeleton says, high pitched. "That wasn't part of the set up!"

"A ghost," Len says innocently. "Ain't this place supposedly haunted?"

Lisa elbows him in the ribs.

It's all terribly anticlimactic after that, of course. Someone calls the police and they all have to give statements, with one of the detectives (some guy named Joe West) commenting that this might very well be the only night he actually believes Leonard Snart to have an alibi.

Very funny.

They end up charging the guy on attempted kidnapping just to get him with something, but Len insists on the fact that he's a serial killer with enough emotive force that West reluctantly calls up a judge and gets a warrant for the guy's house, where they find two of the girls that have gone missing from the streets recently, one a prostitute and the other a college student with bad taste in makeup - apparently he targeted them based on that? Fucking people sometimes. It mostly resulted with Lisa getting incredibly insulted about the guy's inability to tell a classy traditional smokey eye from a trashy raccoon or something like that, anyway, since Len's honestly got no idea what the words coming out of her mouth meant after the first minute. But the two rescued girls agreed with her, so, okay.

West goes into hyper alert after that, which is all to the good, and Len even manages to get in there that the guy's responsible for killing Daniela, though he obviously can't provide proof. They find some evidence in the guy's house, though, which means he is definitely not long for this world – through the justice system's mercy, or through Len's. He's got enough friends in prison willing to shiv a particularly sick fuck if the justice system can't bring itself to do it for them.

And, of course, a few people caught blurry images of Daniela's trick with the cables, and the line to go to that particular haunted house the next year is five times as long.

Lisa insists on going again.

Len still thinks it's stupid.

Lisa says he's just scared.

Which is totally not true.

(But do they have to keep using that cannibal makeup?!)

"You got a problem, huh?" Mick growls in the other man's face, the fierceness of his glare not at all dimmed by the manic grin that shows how much he's enjoying himself.

"Mick," Len says, long-suffering. He’s reclining by the table, a position of power. “Let him go.”

"Nah, boss," Mick says, not turning away from the man he’s got pressed up against a wall. Not that Len actually intended him to – they’ve got a reputation to uphold now, after all. They have to show that they’re willing to put their hand in when someone is screwing with one of their jobs, no matter who it is. It's all according to plan; Mick's just freestyling a bit. “See, I think he's got a problem. I think he wants to say something. That right?"

"No! No, not at all, nothing to say," the man gibbers. Mick is very large and very intimidating, even to powerful mobsters' sons like Nicolas Santini, who are notably less confident when their bodyguards get beaten up and knocked out, and they're being held up three inches from the floor by their jacket lapels. Len and Mick had nabbed three targets before the Santinis could get to them, which pissed them off, and little Nicholas had been sent to “solve” the problem through the usual bull-headed Santini approach of threats and intimidation.

He hadn’t exactly gotten very far.

A blood family member of one of the most fearsome Families in Central City, technically even a Don by their standards, and yet here he is, quivering like a bowl of jello before a pair of freelance thieves.

Very good freelance thieves.

Nicholas Santini really should’ve listened to his cousin’s stories about how they’re not just thieves, they’re monsters that rise from the dead.

Len smirks.

They’ve gone a long way from the days when Len got kidnapped and Mick got shot trying to rescue him, and Len likes it this way much better.

Not that this solves the problem for good, of course. Sending a member of the actual Family against them meant that the Santinis were taking Len and Mick’s firm no-Family-affiliation freelance position a bit personally, which both wasn't a surprise but was still really annoying. Len’d have to make a point of hitting some Darbyinian targets in the next few months just to make clear that their neutrality was unaffected; that should be enough.

Personally, Len’s just happy that he was able to get Lisa to go out of town after she’d graduated. Now that’d been a fight for the ages – the way this one definitely wasn’t – because Lisa had been reluctant to leave Len even if she didn’t have the same attachment to Central City that he did.

An attachment that she referred to as “idiotic” and “unhealthy”, which it was not. A man can love the city he was raised in, even if that city was objectively a hellhole ripe with corruption, poverty and crime.

Huh, maybe that’s why Len likes it so much. He fits in so well here.

Okay, sure, there’s been the growing number of weird science laboratories getting settled here – Mercury, Star, the whole sheebang – but there’s an army base not far away to serve as clientele, cheap land with very low environmental regulations, and by this point Len’s honestly used to the idea of his slums being used as rich people’s dumping grounds.

He doesn’t like it when they do that, mind you, which is why he robs the rich assholes in charge of bringing toxic dumps to his city more often than he does anyone else, but there’s not much else he can do to express his displeasure.

At any rate, Lisa had managed to get a job offer at one of the most prestigious engineering firms in the country, all the way out in Boston, and that’d gotten her to go when none of Len’s other arguments had worked, if only because Len had refused to let her pass up the opportunity and she’d reluctantly agreed.

Sure, she still visits regularly – Len visit her, too, but he can’t force her not to come to Central – but at least she’s out of the worst of the mob war.

“I swear!” Seriously, is the guy still whining? Honestly, Len’s ashamed of him; he’s born and raised Family, he ought to have a bit of a backbone. They’re not even torturing him! They’re not even threatening to torture him! The worst they’re threatening him with is a bit roughing up! They really don’t make them like they used to, and thank heaven for that. Len’d far rather put up with idiots like little Nicholas here than the big kahunas that his dad swam with when Len was a kid: Don Cesare, Don Giovanni, Don Tomio of the asshole-kid-smashed-up-Len’s-head fame... “I didn’t say anything! I didn’t mean anything!”

"That right?" Mick growls. "'cause I woulda sworn I heard you talking earlier, saying things about Snart here..."

"No!"

"Mick," Len says, finally managing to quash down his amusement enough to sound appropriately stern. "He's not worth wasting your energy on."

"Fine," Mick says, and releases the guy's jacket. "Looks like it's your lucky day. Now go."

The guy goes as quickly as he can manage.

Mick returns to Len's side, now grinning like a loon.

"Was that extra bit entirely necessary?" Len asks, trying not to smile. Mick does so enjoy himself when there are people to push around...

"You know it is," Mick says firmly. "We gotta make clear you’re the one in charge of me, so that your reputation’ll get even more fearsome than mine; that's the only way they'll respect you. Order of operations, boss."

Len shakes his head. It’s not that he isn’t convinced – Mick can be very convincing when he wants to be – but at the same time…

"You'll get in trouble one of these days," he warns, not really meaning it.

Mick snorts. "What's the worst that can happen?" he asks, rolling his eyes ostentatiously. "They gonna kill me?"

They end up shooting him.

Len groans in annoyance.

Not again.

You’d think they’d learn by now.

"I'm thinking of going back for my masters," Lisa says. "Maybe a PhD."

"Really?" Len asks, phone shoved between his shoulder and his ear. "I thought you said you were done with school. Straight into the workforce, you said."

"Things were said," she sniffs. “I’m not going to be held responsible for past-Lisa’s statements.”

Len chuckles and steps around the still-cooling corpse on the floor – an ex-associate who'd thought he was above such things as rules. Len squelches the feeling of guilt: the guy had thought he could get away with skimming off the top of the funds they'd collected for the job because he was buddies with Mick, even though Mick'd warned him he wouldn't get any special favors, and then to add insult to injury, when Len'd called him out on it, he'd had the arrogance to try to pull out of the job entirely.

Len's reputation makes it very clear what happens if you're out, and that reputation makes it impossible not to do what he did next.

Still, Len can't help feeling bad about it. He hates killing people – it only adds to the number of ghosts in the world, unless he's lucky, and ghosts of people he killed are always unquiet – but not killing's a luxury he can't afford if he wants to survive in the criminal underworld.

He has to be cold and heartless, just like dear old dad – may he rot in hell or a jail cell, wherever he is now – always said.

Plus, this means he needs to get someone new, and he hates mid-job recruiting.

"If it's what you want, Lise, you should go for it," Len tells her. "You know you don't need my permission."

"I know," she says. "But there's always the matter of money to think about."

"Ahhhh, I see," Len teases. "This is less of an FYI and more of a call to the big brother bank, huh?"

"Actually, I'd been hoping to earn my own way," Lisa replies. "Unfortunately, doing grunt work as a baby engineer in a big company that pays peanuts –" The market for bachelors-only engineers is a tough one, according to Lisa. "— and skating in some ice shows in my spare time only gets me so much."

Len has the sinking feeling he knows what her next comment is going to be. "Lise, I can just give you the money," he points out, trying to forestall the inevitable.

It doesn't help.

"I want in on one of your jobs," she says firmly. "Time for me to earn my own way."

"I've let you in on jobs before," Len protests.

"Sure, in baby jobs," Lisa says. "I know you're planning something big, and I want in."

"I've already collected a crew, Lise."

"Mick says you need a new ringer."

Len stops, affronted, and glares at Mick, who shrugs, clearly well aware of what's being discussed. Undoubtedly why he’s hiding behind a newspaper across the room.

That doesn't make it any less inappropriate. Len literally just shot the guy! How did Mick even find time to tell her?!

"Lise – "

"I can do the job, Lenny. Gimme a chance."

"I know you can do it – " Lisa's one of the natural grifters of this world; Len's always been impressed by her skills. That’s never been his problem. "—the question is, why would you risk a perfectly good, clean record when I can just get you the cash?"

"Oh, please," Lisa scoffs. "You haven't been caught in ages. And if you're feeling particularly paranoid about my record, you can plan me a nice getaway. Ghost-amplified, if necessary."

Len scowls. He still doesn't like it.

"I already owe you so much, Lenny," Lisa continues. "Let me actually help with this one. Please?"

"What's your real motive here?" Len asks, suddenly suspicious. "You like it when I give you gifts."

Lisa sighs.

Hah! Len knew there was another reason.

"I need it for my resume," she finally admits.

Which –

"What? How?"

"Not my work resume, you jerk," Lisa says, sounding amused. "In case I ever need to pull a job, really need to, and you're not around to vouch for me. The Snart name goes a fair way towards it, but nothing substitutes for actual experience – you've said so yourself."

Len grumbles. He has said so, damnit.

"I have the baby jobs you let me help out with," Lisa continues. "One or two big-name heists with notable takes that I can name-drop would let me skip the little leagues, go straight in with the guys that know what they're doing instead of the crappy ones that need to go back to con school –" Meaning prison. "— before they get their act together."

"But why do you need to do crime at all?" Len asks, aware that he's whining. "Lise -"

"Even with your talents, you might get caught one day," Lisa says, her voice suddenly hard. "And if that day comes, when that day comes, I want to be the person you call to help mastermind your escape. Me. I want to be second in line in your phone –"

"You're my first speed-dial, Lise; you know that."

"— second only to Mick."

Well, yes. Len's always going to go to Mick first, but he doesn't need a speed dial for him.

"You know what I meant," Lisa says warningly.

Len sighs. She's not wrong. It would be good to have another person he can rely on, someone he can really trust, especially if it comes to a question of needing to plan an exit route that relies on revealing the full extent of Mick's ghostly abilities. Going temporarily invisible and intangible is incredibly useful for a thief, but Len’s determined to make sure that no one else in the underworld ever figures out what they can do. He’s been threatened too many times to be comfortable with anyone knowing all of his tricks, and his tricks include Mick.

He’s done a good job of it so far, making sure that everyone thought the stories about Mick rising from the dead are just exaggerations, but there will undoubtedly be jobs, or at least prison breaks, where he’ll need to use Mick’s abilities and rely on a crew, and that crew had better be only made up of people he really, truly trusts.

But this is his baby sister.

“Lenny, please,” Lisa wheedles. “It’s important to me. I want you to be able to count on me the way I’ve always counted on you and Mick.”

Well, if she puts it that way, it’s hard to say no.

And, well, they do need a new ringer now that what’s-his-name is no longer going to be available on account of being dead and having passed on…

“Fine,” Len says, giving in with a sigh.

Lisa cheers.

“How long till you can get to Central City?”

“Couple of hours,” she says promptly. “I’m already on my way to the airport.”

Len rolls his eyes. Of course she is.

“Great, I’ll fill you in on the job when you get here,” he says. “You’ll need to be in tip-top grifting to do it, though; it’s going to be a tricky one.”

“A tricky one?” Lisa asks, sounding amused. “Is there something the great thief Leonard Snart, robber of ATMs and breaker of jewelry stores and museums, still considers tricky?”

Just for that, Len’s going to tell her now.

“We’re gonna rob a moving train.”

Lisa laughs.

Len doesn’t.

“…you’re joking, right?”

Len smirks.

“Lenny!”

“I was getting bored with the ATMs and the jewelry stores and the museums,” Len says innocently. “Wanted to up my game a bit. What’s wrong with that?”

“Are you insane? We don’t live in a Western!”

“Now, now, Lisa, you never know when you might need to be able to ride a horse or a fire a six-shooter,” Len says, starting to laugh, his straight face breaking at the tone in her voice.

“Just for that, we’re taking horseback riding lessons with some of the leftover money,” Lisa warns. “You, me, and Mick.”

“Sounds fine to me,” Len lies. How hard can riding a horse be, anyway?

Lisa is still mumbling curses on his name when Len hangs up the phone.

“It go well?” Mick asks, looking up from his newspaper hopefully.

“Yes, Lisa’s joining us for this one,” Len tells him, rolling his eyes again when Mick breaks out into a broad smile. “And afterwards, we’re all going horseback riding.”

The smile disappears.

“…what?” Len asks. “They can’t be that tough.” But he’s uncertain now. Mick’s expression of horror is really convincing.

“We had horses on my farm,” Mick says grimly. “You are not getting on one of those hell-beasts.”

“You know what,” Len says, “I’ll just – let you tell Lisa that when she arrives.”

And then he flees, laughing his head off, because now Mick’s shouting curses after him.

Serves him right, conspiring behind Len’s back like that.

#dccoldwave #mick rory #leonard snart #lisa snart #my fic #deadfic

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mielikki-austin · 4 years ago

Text

My imperfect recollection of the pilot episode of 9-1-1: Lone Star

So, Master Pancake did a live mock of the pilot for a show I somehow never knew existed called 9-1-1: Lone Star. JD and I watched it, and told friend Josh about it the next day. Me: I have to describe this show though Josh: please do Me: so this was made recently Rob Lowe is a fireman his son is also a fireman they live in NYC so RL was firemanning when 9/11 happened and he keeps a bit of melted slag on his desk Josh: This already sounds like the Calvin and Hobbes cartoon where he's setting up a huge collision between a plane, a tanker truck, a dinosaur, and whatever other toys he has around. Me: RL is tortured because many of his friends have died from 9/11 cancer, and in the episode he finds out that he has.... LUNG CANCER! (dramatic music!) His son, who is gay (dramatic music!), has a history of drug addiction (dramatic music!), and ODs when the man he proposes to dumps him (dramatic music!) we're like 10 minutes in at this point Meanwhile, in Austin! Josh: Okay, you can cancel the previous statement I made. Me: A security guard puts a foil-wrapped burrito in a microwave, and sets an entire manure plant on fire, which explodes and kills the entire Austin FD except for one guy (dramatic music!) Josh: okay now this is turning into my favorite movie ever Me: Some Official Guys come to NY and ask RL to head the Austin FD, which he initially refuses because he loves NY so much but when his son ODs, he decides he's gonna move to Austin with his son and they're going to whip the FD into shape and he'll live with his son in a gorgeous house with a view of the Hill Country that costs $4500/month to rent Josh: (Checks off "The Refusal Of The Call To Action" from the Joseph Campbell monomyth checklist.) Me: RL gets applications for firefighters "from all over the state" He hires: -a Muslim woman who has 6 citations for insubordination, because she is a loose cannon -a black trans guy -an illiterate Hispanic guy who can't pass the written FD test, but has a heart of gold the one guy who WASN'T killed from the last batch of firefighter guys applies, but is a dick, barely keeps himself from ripping RL's head off in the interview, denies he has PTSD, but loses his shit when RL says he isn't ready to come back (dramatic music!) Josh: This is already a lot. Me: Meanwhile! Josh: WHAT MEANWHILE THERE'S ALREADY TOO MUCH STUFF TO DO A MEANWHILE IF YOU WANNA DO A MEANWHILE YOU GOTTA GET ANOTHER MOVIE Me: Liv Tyler is seen screaming outside of a house, accusing the occupant of murder. Josh: WHYYYY THIS IS TOO MUCH MOVIE Me: she runs out into the street to the crowd of people who've gathered to watch her scream at a closed door, and a kid in the crowd is having an asthma attack! (dramatic music!) Josh: WHAAAAAAA Me: She scolds his dad, who says he can't afford to take the kid to a doctor because he is poor and Hispanic She tells him to come to her vaguely-described clinic or business or something The police show up, and they know her, because her screaming at this door is apparently a regular occurrence Evidently her sister disappeared and she thinks someone in the house (or maybe the house) murdered her sister. (dramatic music!) NEXT, the FD is called out to a spicy food emergency Josh: NO EFFING WAY JD: This is not a movie, it’s a show and this is the first episode Me: a man eats a hot pepper and starts to die (dramatic music!) Josh: NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPERS NOPE Me: RL and the multiculture pals show up, and start dick-swinging "clear the area, the FD is here!" Josh: Was this one of those "written by an AI trained on disaster television" scripts? Me: Then Liv Tyler shows up and swings her dick and tells RL &c. to back off, because unlike in NY, the FD has to back off in medical emergencies to her, as head of the PARAMEDIC DEPT (dramatic music!) Josh: How... um... how... how did any of the actors deliver their lines without falling over laughing? Me: RL is skeptical, and she says "You didn't read the Travis County manual, did you?" and throws the spicy food victim on the table, cuts his lung open, and saves his life (dramatic music!) Josh: wait no no no no Me: next emergency! (dramatic music!) Josh: no cutting on lungs that's not a thing you do for spicy food NO MOAR EMERGENCIES EVERYONE GO TO BED NAO Me: a woman is in a car wreck, her car is upside down on the road and we find out that she is PREGNANT (dramatic music!) RL directs everyone to do things, because the water on the road smells like gas, and jaws of life are invoked, and stuff happens Josh: of course stuff happens absolutely everything happens in this thing nothing is not happening Me: then the woman cries "but my baby!" Turns out, there was another child in the car (dramatic music!) everyone looks for the baby, who is eventually found 30 feet up in a tree (dramatic music!)

Josh: YOU ARE MAKING THIS UP THIS IS NOT A REAL THING THAT REAL HUMANS MADE FOR SERIOUS Me: he was flung out of the car (still in his car seat) into the tree when the car rolled I AM NOT KIDDING Josh: I KNOW YOU ARE NOT KIDDING BUT I ALSO DON'T WANT TO BELIEVE THIS THING WAS ACTUALLY MADE Me: Meanwhile! Josh: NO MOAR MEANWHILE I MEAN IT TOO MUCH MEANWHILE MOVIE Me: Guy with PTSD is at home getting shitfaced and continuing to insist to his black wife (dramatic music!) that he doesn't have PTSD she reminds him of his nightmares and stuff he whines that it's not fair Josh: that checks out Me: she reminds him that she is black so he can shove it with this not fair bullshit Josh: new favorite character JD: Seriously this is a 48 minute pilot Josh: it was gonna be toddler-in-a-tree but black wife is my new favorite character Me: she coaxes him to take her out to the apparently one bar is Austin, which is possibly the actual Broken Spoke bar Josh: WHY NOT Me: so they can at least get fucked up in a bar instead of at home like losers turns out, RL and Liv Tyler and their crews are there celebrating after the tree baby incident Josh: this movie needs more Adderall. Or less Adderall. I don't know. Me: Liv dares RL to join her in line dancing, which RL is REALLY GOOD AT (dramatic music!) Josh: YAY RL YOU MIGHT HAVE PICKED A BAD MOVIE BUT YOU'RE STILL AN OKAY DUDE Me: RL explains that country was really popular in NY a few years back Josh: It was. Sigh. He's not kidding. Me: RL also has a touching moment with his gay drug son, who thanks him for making him move to Austin, then gay drug son starts line dancing with, I think, illiterate Hispanic guy with the heart of gold? Josh: BINGO That's a BINGO on the card I just invented for this pilot. Me: black wife confronts RL in the parking lot and tells him to SAVE HER HUSBAND because he SAVES PEOPLE RL agrees to let clearly mentally unstable PTSD guy come back to work THE NEXT DAY Josh: IF THIS THING MEANWHILES AGAIN I SWEAR TO GOD Me: PTSD guy comes to the station, and notices all the dead flowers people had left for the dead fireguys at the station in the garbage so he immediately starts giving RL shit about being a city slicker who is a Big Damn Hero because of 9/11 who's coming down from on high to help the FD that was fucked up by exploding poo RL says "I have cancer" (dramatic music!) Josh: YES Me: and PTSD guy is all, okay, but you're still on my shit list for throwing away the dead flowers then he turns the corner, and over the bay where the trucks come out of the station is a thing with the pictures of all the dead poo firemen and a sign that says "WE REMEMBER" or some shit (dramatic music!) PTSD falls down and starts crying Josh: YAAAAAY Me: RL tells him it's going to be okay and PTSD is a bummer and stuff then a little white girl and her white mom show up to give cookies that they made to the new crew, turns out they are the daughter and wife of one of the dead firemen Josh: this show just fires pathos at you like a six-year-old with a t-shirt cannon Me: cue montage of Muslim woman praying, trans guy considering his skin care regimen (I forgot about the part where RL helps trans guy with his skin care regimen), illiterate Hispanic guy is cleaning the firetrucks or something, and roll credits Josh: THREE MORE PATHOS PLEASE FOONT FOONT FOONT Me: I wanted to lay it all out before I forgot, and marvel at the trope-fest Josh: How many people wrote this movie? And how much speed did they have in the writers' room? Me: all of it oh man, check these out; the first episode was a harbinger of trope saturation to come: (Wikipedia episode synopses) "The team responds to a man suffocating in corn within a grain silo" "The team is called to a brawl at a male strip club; Paul helps Josie, who got hit in the eye with stripper glitter." Josh: I like how they have to clear out a rattlesnake infestation with a fire extinguisher. Me: "At a sirloin eating contest a woman collapses" Josh: "Owen gets good news about his cancer while learning that his experimental immunotherapy drug was tested on dogs, some who were abandoned. He adopts Buttercup, a Bernese Mountain Dog who has the same kind of lung cancer, as the 126's new semi-destructive mascot." Me: "On another call at a cow breeding facility, a disgruntled customer sets a fire to distract from his theft of bull semen." Josh: "On another call, a handyman's epileptic seizure is mistaken for electrocution." THIS PAGE IS THE GODDAMN BEST JD: And don’t forget this is all very clearly filmed in Southern California that is standing in for Austin Me: yeah, the trees were all wrong Me: "On another call Grace helps an older man with a flu who ingested a cloud of cremains while disposing of a friend's ashes." "The team responds to a used car lot event where a bull got caught in the side of a vehicle and needs the hydraulic jaws-of-life" "a man hit in the head reveals to the paramedics he has CPPD (calcium pyrophosphate dihydrate crystal deposition disease), a condition characterized as extra painful arthritis. En route to the hospital he goes into cardiac arrest needing defibrillation; the treatment reacts with the man's ingested medication causing a toxic vapor which causes the ambulance crew to pass out, and the vehicle to flip." Josh: THIS IS AUSTIN WHY ARE THERE BULLS EVERYWHERE Me: "The team at 126 deal with a call at a gender reveal party when a man is burned by a grill." TEXAS TEXAS TEXAS JD: Austin is a small town where people ride horses to work Josh: I'm not gonna lie, living in this fucked version of Austin would be awesome. Me: Jesus. Just read the whole last episode.

"Chaos ensues in Austin when a solar storm causes the electricity and power equipment to malfunction. Them 126 team has to rescue the passengers of a light aircraft caught in the lines of high voltage electric towers while transporting a sick man for a liver transplant. During an outing with Carlos, TK questions his relationship with him after Carlos begins asking. When the malfunctioning traffic lights cause several accidents, they rush to help people before the 126 arrives. In the homeless camp, Michelle discovers that her lost sister is alive and living there. Michelle and her mother try to get her back home but she chooses to stay at the camp, despite her schizophrenia. With the lines scrambled, Grace gets a call from the damaged ISS, and manages to connect its last astronaut, dying from radiation poisoning, with his family to say goodbye. Back at the park, TK confesses his addiction to the rest of the team and that he's realized he wants to be a firefighter after all. Later, he also reconciles with Carlos."

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thekintsukuroikid · 7 years ago

Photo

December 23 2017.

I never wanted to post these. I wasn’t going too.

It wasn’t until I saw the pictures of my family members did I realize I actually did capture something worth sharing, worth working on, worth feeling good about.

I’ve been on meds for awhile, been to therapy too. I’m starting to feel like I have the tools in my toolbox to start making some steps forward. I just don’t feel like I have the self belief to really go for it.

I’m tired, i’m frustrated and I’m finding it increasingly harder to rationalize this fight for myself. I remember being so excited when I moved away that finally I had the ability and the freedom to focus on myself, all of myself, especially my mental health. The commitment to do so has be fraught with setbacks and frustration.

The silver lining to which is the sheer immensity of kindness and love I’ve received from my friends. I question how I deserve it…obviously, and I am always wary of making sure our conversations aren't always about negative stuff. I don’t want to drag em down, or be a bummer. I always believed the most insulting feeling in the world is being pitied. I’d rather be hated than pitied. Maybe i’m just being loved.

I always need external context, I never feel like I can start or finish or be without some sort of external form of permission, context, and sometimes motivation.

Whether is a girls number at the bar, or a degree on the wall I can never truly feel happy or connected to a moment, or an outcome unless I can work out how i’ve earned it. I almost never do.

What this means Is that I am often left floating, never really sure of myself in any given situation. Never really sure if what Im doing or experiencing is really building on a person or values as opposed to the consistent stringing together of just getting through the day.

Taking pictures is a hobby that feels safe to me, it feels worth pursuing. I think because deep down I have never felt like the main character of my own story, behind the lens I don’t have to be.

I named this blog after Kintsukuroi because I loved the meaning behind the art of fixing broken pottery with gold. I wanted to feel like I could do that for myself. Shine through my flaws. But even if I don’t, you can still fill the cracks with pyrite instead of gold and still hold water. Maybe that’s ok.

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See the key to enjoying family vacations is finding little moments of solitude, of respite where you slip out the back and escape for a few hours armed with a bluetooth speaker and a book that wasn’t assigned reading.

-I found a beach chair on the very edge of the resort property, a small wooden fence and a small one person security shack all that separated me from the public beach area filled with local kids splashing and yelling.

- I played something slow and looked out into ocean and came up with as many lame water metaphors as one could presumably concoct under the circumstances of time and a mild hangover. - I present them here:

See I preface all of this by saying writing all flowerying and poetic like this is like eating buffallo wings really fast, like it tastes good but is always accompanied with the heartburn of being this self indulgent. It just kinda feels douchey haha. Ah fuck it lets go. Maybe self indulgent is the point? When else can you be self indulgent right?

How do I explain the fear of wondering if I wasted my best years simultaneously treading water, and never actually getting wet. How do I reconcile that? Am I gonna be in my late 30s wondering what its like to feel smart enough, or hot enough or good enough. That seems like it could suck, I mean it sucks now, what happens when it also feels like I’ve run out of time?

Speaking of water...

Sabrina Benaim said that Depression is turning lonely into busy.

and I am always busy.

She said that

“Depression is sleepwalking on an ocean of happiness, I cannot baptise myself”

- I get that. You see it all around, potential everywhere, happiness so close it seems within reach and everyone around you thinks so too, yet you can't submerge yourself in it. You just drift along, walking on the water that is happiness and not being able to get yourself soaked in it. Always staying dry.

- Maybe in my own metaphor if depression is the actual water?

- I wonder if Happiness is instead the sky you look up to when you’re treading water, concocting dreams of rescue helicoptors or philanthropic Pterodactyls swooping down to save you from your lack of cardio.

-I’ve tried to learn more about treading water by watching people who know how to swim really really well.

Google defines the Rapture of the Deep as an incapacitation that occurs when you dive too deep into the ocean, and no longer know what way is up. It can happen even if you learn how to swim really really well. One way or another some people just sink.

...and some people just take themselves way to seriously...I wonder if thats me?

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January 20th 2018

AN ADENDUM

I am not afraid of the dark.

Night time makes snack food taste better.

Depression is a slowdance lit ever so romantically by the light of the street light by my window. the glow of the 3:00am on the clock backlighting my stirrings, as a defiance against the convention of normal sleep patterns that’d make even my teenage angst say dude chill…take a nap.

- I envy people.

Not because I want some material thing they have, or some accomplishment. -

- I’m jealous of people who’s ears don’t constantly ring with self doubt. I always felt like I wanted to be a producer instead of just a consumer. But I’ve never had the self belief to stand by what I make...or just make. You know how people play hard to get? I feel like I play hard to want. Like all the time. Trying to be happy means sometimes trying to hard and that is annoying as shit.

I cannot for the life of me understand how people can just, be.

I cannot understand how people can get through the day with more hope beyond just getting through the day. I’d give one eye just to have the other see through that lens.

I cannot understand for the life of me how people know what to do, like ok you’re a therapist how did you know you wouldn’t be the worlds best advertising agent, or a poet or a spot welder? how do these other options not keep you up at night?

- How many people actually try Luge, like what if there is the worlds best Luger (sp?) and he’s instead stuck in the accounting department fantasizing about how to ask out the intern in accounts receivable? He could be fucking Luging bro.

What I’m saying is I cannot understand how people know who to be friends with, or where to live, or who to marry? What if a more compatible partner is out there but she lives in Nicaragua...Fuck dude you gotta go to Nicaragua maybe! maybe the beauty is that out of 7 billion people, out of a million decisions, and happen stances, out of a million one in a millions, you found each other. Maybe thats worth something too? The grass is greener where you water it and all that but how do you know you should be planting grass and not palm trees....or Weed?

How do you know what parts of the tree to prune, what parts can you cut to make it grow and what parts will kill the tree?

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I do try my best, see thats the frustrating part I think. I've tried. I tried to be patient too, To not get ahead of myself. or try to feel like im entitled to feel better just because im trying too.

This has been the most open I've ever been with the people in my life bar my family. Not a single person i've told has reacted with anything other than a reaction of love and care. No matter how I try I can't feel like I deserve it. I’m so scared of opening up too much, and stifling how much and how long I talk about the bad days, I lie about how many good days im having because I don't want this to be a burden for them. I don't want to get left behind because when im alone this thing starts getting the better of me. This is all a bad mix of feeling like I have the most to lose and feeling like I have the least amount of resources i’ve ever had to not lose them.

So much has changed and yet, it still feels like I have nothing to show for any of this.

I read somewhere once that possession is the enemy of love.

That you kill a flower by picking it. Instead of watering it where its rooted.

Maybe more patience is required, it’d just be nice for a sign that somethings sprouted, that i’m doing the right things to bring forth an eventuality that this chapter of my life will be over. I just wonder when perseverance ends and delusion begins?

I went into my brothers room to give put back a book. I found his sticky notes plastered all over his desk with like meditative buzz word, he's got books on history of architecture and james baldwin and eckhart tolle with the bookmarks well into them. He's starting his own creative company, hes filled out an application for the NYT. he's doing freelance work. hes already killing it with his company and in school. He is an awesome photographer, he's a fashion whiz. he's a veritable genius. and I can't get out of bed. I walked 3 steps out the door today, said nope, and went to bed. I went to bed at midnight last night and didn’t leave my room until 4pm. Im not saying this in a jealous way or in away that harbours any negativity towards him. I love my brother, even if we are never going to be on the terms I hoped we’d be. To be honest I'm not really interested in the things he's into so him being good at those things don't take anything away from me. Its just insane to me how far behind I feel. I can't even basically function and he's taking on the world. If he were where I am, the world would be robbed of so much of the things he can do. I just feel like i'm robbing myself of what I could maybe do too. and It used to be a thing where If I saw somebody getting theirs, id be like aight I gotta go get mine too and id be motivated and it'd give me a boost. Because I believed in my better. I believed I had more to give. now I just, I can't envision any of that for myself. I don't even know what it looks like anymore.

I know that isn’t a fair comparison, I know he’s healthy and I’m not, I know comparison is the thief of joy.

It’s just, I started this whole getting healthy thing to start feeling more like myself. To start to answer the questions about what I could do if depression wasn’t at the forefront of every endeavour I chose to undertake, every thought that crossed my mind and every relationship I established. The fact is I feel no closer to answering that question. None. I feel farther than ever. I am the product of such wonderful privledge, to waste those gifts on a disease so self centred and indulgent seems ridiculous to me, yet here I am.

I have people walking with me now on this whimsical mental health adventure I’m on. Which is weird, because for the first time I’ve had to be cognizant of where my arms flail, or how much room I take up on the sidewalk. We walk together lock step, looking at that straight lined horizon, for something to eagerly burst its linearity and meet us more than half way.

While I appreciate the company it’s come with the added fear of what will happen if and when I have to stop, to stumble, to catch my breath, and for the sake of time, they keep walking. Until I can’t see them. Until the horizon is no longer something to move forward too. No north star to guide me home.

See gratitude is anxiety.

Always wondering how you’ve earned the luxury of a second to breathe, to use that moment to appreciate.

Always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

#jamaica #ocho rios #photography #street photography #travel #beach #nikon #d3300 #depression #mental health #lost in my mind

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