#people also overestimate how often this happens too i bet

[emblemxeno]

The people who want supports removed from FE don't quite seem to understand that bloating the main story or plot significant script to make every single character relevant is terrible for pacing in a video game, especially for RPGs.

Actually, now that I think about it, lots of criticism from certain sects of the community towards FE writing quality and supports and the subsequent suggestions towards 'fixing' the alleged issues always seem to misunderstand how video games as a storytelling medium should be constructed so to not exhaust the player. Limiting player interactivity and agency (e.g. no supports or potential character building and the gameplay benefits as rewards for that) to such a degree is just as bad as bloating a game with too many mechanics, gameplay styles, or resources to manage (i.e. the common criticisms for 3H and Engage).

Not to mention that if you don't have some kind of material to flesh out characters, you get a Radiant Dawn scenario where most of the new cast are flat as boards, or an Echoes scenario where it's very easy to miss extra backstory if you don't visit villages at specific points in the campaign.

The video in question that's floating around regarding this topic mentions that Path of Radiance's base conversations would be an appropriate replacement, but... Path of Radiance had both base convos and supports. New Mystery and Echoes did this as well! 3H did it too, with its only issue being an extension of the problem that silent/dialogue choice centered avatars can create. It never had to be one or the other, and it's strange that it's presented as such.

Now, supports as a system can definitely be revamped or trimmed, I agree with that. But removing them entirely? When those are a major factor for why the series has now achieved mainstream popularity? Nah, lmao.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY SMART PEOPLE HAVE A STARTUP IDEAS

That's one reason I'm not typing this on an Apfel laptop. Probably people have always overestimated the importance of where one goes to college. And users don't care where you went to college. It wouldn't be the first time that happened. Google might never have got to the point where anyone considers you worth attacking, you're doing well. At any given time, you're probably happiest on the main branches of the evolutionary tree pass through the languages that have the smallest, cleanest cores. That's two questions: was it wrong that you had to compress them into a single piece of advice, it might be: don't be a cog. Among other things, there will be a problem in fussier countries. Indeed, the great advantage of not caring where people went to college.

It was like watching a car you're chasing turn down a street that you know has no outlet. But maybe the older generation would laugh at me for saying that the way to get it. And in any case, many technical ideas do have political implications. Identifying this quality also brings us closer to answering a question people often wonder about: how many startups there could be. When I graduated from college in 1986, there were essentially two options: get a job or go to grad school at Harvard to cure you of any illusions you might have about the average Harvard undergrad. People aren't what some admissions officer decides about them at seventeen. And VCs are digging in their heels because they're not sure if they can make money buying less than 20% of each series A company to compensate for a 2x decrease in the stock sold in series A rounds creep inexorably downward.

And he could help them because he was one of the reasons the early corporate raiders were so successful. Finally, to the people who work there. So when people compare patent trolls to the mafia, they're more right than they know, because the number of big hits grow linearly with the total number of new startups? This implies that the kind of parallelism we have in a hundred years, I told you so. So much for hockey as the game is played now. It helps them to hire the best people, and promoted from within based largely on seniority. Patents, like police, are involved in many abuses. The unfortunate thing is not just that people are judged by such a superficial test, but that it's obvious. I'm not proposing that all numerical calculations would actually be carried out using lists. Because founders have the upper hand, they'll retain an increasingly large share of the stock in, and control of, their companies. We did it in Arc, and it seems to be able to imagine unlimited resources as well today as in a hundred years is so that I know what branch of the tree to bet on as t approaches infinity. Startups are the kind of work that yields good languages is distressingly small.

Patent law in most countries says that algorithms aren't patentable. Are we heading for a world in which Windows is irrelevant. It's this pattern that makes them startup hubs. If you develop ideas in a startup, this would be an optimization, not part of the game. Under the present rules, patents are of secondary importance. It seemed possible to start your own company in 1986 too, but it's where the trend points now. This is a very real element in the valuation of our entire company.

And I've met a lot of equally good startups that actually didn't happen. Where Amazon went over to the dark side was not in applying for the one above. Fortunately for startups, big companies are extremely good at denial. Many people still seem to have caught big companies by surprise. Although a lot of progress in that department so far. There are two big forces driving change in startup funding: it's becoming cheaper to start. If there were a reputable investor who invested $100k on good terms and promised to decide yes or no within 24 hours, they'd get access to almost all the best deals. For example, Unisys's attempts to enforce their patent on LZW compression. The best thing would be if the silicon valley were not merely closer to the interesting city, but interesting itself. It used to suck to be an angel investor. Despite all the patents Microsoft holds, I don't know of an instance where they sued a startup for patent infringement.

This approach tends to yield smaller, more flexible programs. The German and Dutch governments, perhaps from fear of elitism, try to ensure that all universities are roughly equal in quality. For example, can this quality be taught? And when Jobs found someone to give Apple serious venture funding, on the condition that Woz quit, he initially refused, arguing that he'd designed both the Apple I and the Apple II while working at HP, and there was no reason he couldn't continue. You don't do that if you and a couple friends decide to create a silicon valley in another country. But that is at least a handful of close friends in college anyway. Another way to burn up cycles is to have a silicon valley in Germany, because you make them by default. It matters more to make something great and get a lot of opportunity there. As with gangs, we have a remarkable coincidence to explain. But this can't be an intrinsically European quality; previous generations of Europeans were as ambitious as Americans. Mike Moritz seems a good trend and I expect this to be as true in a hundred years?

Thanks to Fred Wilson, Yuri Sagalov, Paul Buchheit, Sam Altman, Jessica Livingston, Marc Andreessen, Sarah Harlin, Trevor Blackwell, and Chris Dixon for the lulz.

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: INFP with social anxiety here. I have a therapist but we're focusing on some other issues right now. In the meantime, I was wondering if you had some advice for me. I know you're not a professional (you say that multiple times in your posts) and of course I'm not asking you for a fix for my social anxiety with this - I'm just asking your help to understand what part my cognition could be playing in all of this cause I'm really curious.

Basically, my problem is the time frame right BEFORE I meet someone and, sometimes, immediately after. I don't really have problems socializing in the "middle", if you get what I mean; I'm easily adaptable and once I'm relaxed, once I realize no one is there to attack me, my mind starts getting ideas and I kind of know what to say, even though I'm a bit out of practice and I still have problems convincing other people of my emotions (like, mirroring their emotions so that they know I agree with them and stuff like that; for some reason they never ---believe me when I say it with words).

When I make plans, anyway, and I still haven't met the person, I get this anxiety: like I would rather stay home than go there because it's going to be "boring" and I'm probably going to feel like an idiot or make some sort of social gaffe. I mean, I do kinda get bored after a while anyway, but I also know I tend to overestimate that level of "future boredom" to the point it hurts me to even think about showing up and forcing myself to think of stuff I can-- say.

I get anxious because I start thinking about the way people used to treat me in the past (I've always been the black sheep of my family and/or my social circles and I vividly remember some bad things they used to say to me) and I start worrying that, deep down, they still think of me like that and they're never going to forget that "preconception of my identity" and open their eyes to who I am now, or I guess to who I've always been.

I do realize it doesn't make much sense, this "who I ----really am" part - but I've always had the impression that I was a bit different than the "me" they percieved, maybe because after many, many years of being accused of "selfishness" and "inability to tune in with the emotional atmosphere" I learned that in order not to ruin the "social mood" I should've adapted myself to the group - but the problems is that I suppressed "myself" in the meantime (and with myself I mean, like, my real interests, the things I'd like to talk about for ages without-- having to be interrupted or looked down on because, quote unquote, "ok, cool, but we don't really care").

I understand now that if they don't give me hints of actually caring about the subject I should stop rambling like a fool, but this is making me feel like I have nothing "useful" to offer them and therefore bringing the anxiety I'm struggling with. It makes me scared that I'll never be able to be myself around them because of the "social rules" I want to respect to be accepted, & to make----it worse I'm out of practice like I said before and sometimes it just gets too awkward and I want to get out of there.

I bet I'm doing something wrong because friendships and relationships in general are not supposed to be "boring", am I right? And yet until I don't get distracted by the actual conversation, I feel like it's going to be really boring and uncomfortable and sometimes going through it is SO horrible... most of the time I end up making up some excuse to go home earlier and talk----my internet friends instead (thank God for the internet!!!!). Anyway, thank you if you'll answer! And have a good summer vacation c:

-----------------------

The first thing I notice is that your thought process bears a very striking resemblance to many INFJs who struggle with social anxiety due to poor Fe development (see past posts). As a general rule, if I have good reason to suspect that someone might be mistyped, I won't provide info about function development until they undergo a proper type assessment. Otherwise, they might adopt the wrong method of improvement.

You say you want to understand what part your cognition plays in the social anxiety you experience, so I will mention the aspects of your cognition that seem most significant:

1) No Chill: You overthink things to an extreme, to the point of self-sabotage, perhaps even creating a self-fulfilling prophecy (i.e. when expecting the negative actually makes the negative happen). Overthinking means that you're not confronting the real obstacle getting in the way of your socializing. You're constantly trying to envision, imagine, or predict what will happen in a social interaction? WHY? What's the point of that overthinking? It's how you avoid confronting your fear head on.

2) Insecure: Your "predictions" are too often faulty because of being tainted by your underlying insecurities. You're insecure about being attacked, being accused, being misjudged, doing something wrong, being deemed of no value or unworthy of care, not being accepted or acceptable, dying of awkwardness, feeling bored, feeling uncomfortable, and on and on. You've described your thought process in detail. But nowhere do I see you confronting your insecurities, digging deeper into them, in order to understand the root of them. Insecurities are a manifestation of fear.

3) Control: Irrational anxiety is oftentimes about trying to control things that you shouldn't be trying to control or cannot have any control over - it wastes mental energy and leads to futile behavior. As long as you're trying to control social situations and their outcome, you are either trying too hard to make reality match up with your expectations or you're fumbling whenever reality unfolds outside of your expectations - you become rigid and frail. You claim to be "adaptable" but everything you say after that only proves you don't know the meaning of the word. You can't handle unpredictability, hence, the attempt to be in control by trying to "predict" everything. Do your attempts to control actually work? Do they help or hinder you? If they mostly hinder you, then isn't it time to change your strategy? Anxious people often believe that having more knowledge or control is the answer to their fear. But, in your case, the huge cost of being controlling is being incompetent. What's worse, the fear is still right there running the show.

4) Unresolved Trauma: You attribute your troubles to your past. Fair enough. Growing up in a social environment that did not respect and appreciate you is painful, even extremely traumatic for certain personality types. It also makes people too hungry for validation. It's natural that you wouldn't want to feel the pain of it again. However, if that pain remains unexamined and unresolved, you will unconsciously keep seeking to resolve it, which means re-enacting the trauma over and over again throughout life. The proof? Every time you meet someone, your first stance is defensive, because the first thing that comes into your mind is that you don't want to be attacked or invalidated. That old pain is running the whole show because you are deeply afraid of experiencing it again, yet you don't realize that YOU are the one calling it back up and rehashing it. What are you doing to resolve the pain rather than indulge the fear?

5) Self-absorbed: Social anxiety makes people too absorbed in their own thoughts, feelings, hopes, and expectations. They are too preoccupied with what they want, what will happen, how they will be perceived, how they might make a mistake, how they might be attacked, etc. This means they're not truly present with people, so the relationship can't really go far. Driven by fear and insecurity, they are always behind a wall, too difficult to reach.

Even if you happen to meet the right people, do you make it easy for them to befriend you? It seems that you can't open up with ease, you can't go with the flow of the other person when they don't live up to your expectations, you can't keep your emotions in check and misjudge situations, you get bored when it's not about you, you run away instead of making things better. Looking at yourself objectively from the outside, would you want to be friends with someone like that?

If you want to have good friends, you first have to BE a good friend. You want care, love, and validation? We all do. The best way to receive it is to be the first to give it. By being more aware of other people's needs and doing more to show that you care about them, you put them in a better position to care about you and meet your needs in return. This is the difference between actively trying to "make" a friend vs passively wishing for a friend to drop into your lap.

Being a friend isn't about what "value" you have, as though you're some kind of object being appraised and sold. Being a good friend is quite a simple matter of putting out the energy to care and show that you care. When you meet someone who's moved by your care, they will care for you in return. When you meet someone who's unmoved by your care, figure out the real reason why, in order to determine whether you should keep trying or put your energy elsewhere.

You never really know who you'll hit it off with. One of my favorite experiences in life is making a friend in the unlikeliest of places. As an adult, meeting new people is a numbers game. All you can do is keep pushing yourself to meet new people. The more people you meet, the greater the odds of clicking with someone. If you're looking to meet like-minded people, go to places that are likely to have people who share your interests. If you don't hit it off with someone, simply move along. You don't have to be friends with everyone, do you?

Yet, you take every little social interaction so seriously that each step is like life or death - that's what makes socializing tiring, laborious, and unfun. Why not enter into every social interaction with an open mind and an open heart? Why not truly go with the flow, without having to undergo the repetitive ritual of predicting what will happen or fussing over what did happen?

6) Poor Emotional Intelligence: This point is the common thread that runs through the previous points, which is why I keep repeating the word "fear". You have extremely low tolerance for negative feelings and emotions, which means you really need to work on learning how to deal with your emotional life better. Any little sign that things won't turn out the way you want and you start to panic, overthink, blame, or flee. Why do you recoil from yourself and your own feelings and emotions? Why are you so easily shaken by boredom, awkwardness, invalidation, failing, other people's negativity, etc? Why do you react so badly to these things (when others just brush it off and keep going)?

7) Low Self-Awareness: It's not enough to just name the fear ("I'm afraid of____"). Does the label explain why you have this particular fear and not some other fear? It's not enough to blame the past ("It's because of ____"). Why did someone else with a similar past as yours not develop this fear? To get to the root of fear, you have to identify, in exact terms:

what aspect of you has to change to overcome the fear

what aspect of your identity has to "die" (i.e. be let go of) in order to evaporate the fear

Until you answer the fear properly, it won't go away.

[skzcinnamonfluff]

Imagine - The Boys find out you can play Guitar

Summary: I play the guitar and it’s funny the different reactions I get when people find out I can play (More than just Wonderwall xD) So I thought it would be cute to write a cute little drabble about when each of the members finds out you can play guitar. 

Channie:

Okay Channie would honestly be surprised that he didn’t already know that about you

You both would know practically everything about each other, so randomly seeing and hearing you play wouldn’t be expected

One day you were at the dorms chilling on the sofa because you were waiting on Chan to get home.

Seungmin and Hannie would be playing around with the guitar while you watched

At some point they got bored and asked if you wanted to learn how to play, very much to their surprise you shyly told them you already knew how to play.

They were too excited and told you that you HAD to show them 

So you did, you happened to learn one of their songs. So you started playing the Neverending Story OST

About midway into the song in walked Channie and Changbin.

You paid them no mind, but as they walked in Chan did a double take because he didn’t realize it was you playing the guitar. 

He smiled so wide because he had no idea you could play

By the time you ended the song, the boys applauded you, then you noticed Chan was standing there watching you in awe, you said hi putting the guitar to the side to get up and hug your boyfriend

He hugged you back and said “(Y/N), how come you never told me you could play?”

You shrugged and responded, “I don’t know it didn’t seem like it was super important.”

This shocked him even more, “Not important?? (Y/N) That was beautiful, you play like a pro of course it’s important! I wanna let you play in one of our songs! That is if you want to?” He said making eye contact.

You blushed, never having anyone compliment your playing like that, “Well thanks Channie, it’s always just been a hobby for me, I didn’t think it was that good. But I’d love to play in one of your songs if you want me.”

Lee Know

He would fall deeper in love with you when he saw you playing for the first time.

You were both seniors in high school and you signed up for the talent show.

Lee Know knew you were joining the talent show line up, but you wouldn’t tell him what you were doing. 

On the night of the talent show he would be sitting eagerly waiting for it to be your turn on the stage, disappointed when anyone but you walked out on the stage

When it was your turn though, you can bet this boy would be star struck

You were wearing the cutest outfit, and in your arms was an acoustic guitar. 

You spotted him in the crowd and gave him a wink before you started. You decided to play and sing It’s You by Henry Lau

He was already your biggest fan, he had the sweetest smile on his face and swayed along to the song

You got 2nd place, but to Minho you were number one

He ran up to you afterwards and pulled you in the tightest hug swinging you around, “Baby why didn’t you tell me you could play and sing like that?”

You giggled and said, “Well I wanted to surprise you with a song just for you.” 

He smiled and said, “Well now you’re gonna have to serenade me like that more often.”

 Changbin:

Binnie would be so stinking proud of you

The first time he heard you play was at your family’s house, you didn’t come from a musically talented family, you just so happened to get every last drop of talent, so your parents always asked you to play when you came to visit.

We was across the room talking to your brother so at first he didn’t realize you were playing, he thought it was coming from a speaker until he looked over

When he did he smiled and looked over to your brother so happy, and he was like “I know right she’s been playing since we were kids.”

When he heard that, he would just think, “Of course my baby can play the guitar, is there anything she can’t do?”

He would make it a point to tell people you could play anytime there was a guitar in the room because he loved watching you play

He couldn’t wait to get you to play for one of his songs 

Hyunjin:

You would be sitting next to him on the couch while he was practicing on his new guitar

He bought one because he wanted to learn a new skill in his free time

You were just scrolling through Tik-Tok while he was struggling to play a barre chord, which you know is tough for beginners

After about 10 minutes of not being able to get the note he put the guitar down and sighed laying his head against the back of the couch in defeat

You smiled and decided to pick up the guitar yourself. Hyunjin felt you move but didn’t bother to open his eyes until he heard a sweet guitar melody playing beside him

He opened his eyes and looked at you amazed, “(Y/N)?!”

You smiled and stopped playing for a second, “Yes my love?” 

“You can play the guitar?!”, he asked getting super close to your face.

“I do, since I was a little kid. My Grandma got me a beginner guitar and I’ve been playing ever since. Oh and that chord you were trying to play was B minor right?” You asked him.

He was still kind of in shock, but managed to answer “Yeah, uh yeah I think so, I wasn’t able to get the chord to play so I kind of gave up”

“Barre chords are tough when you start out, but the key is you have to get the finger position down and then make sure you’re pushing down hard enough so the note will play clearly.”, you explained and showed him the chord

“Ya (Y/N)! You’re so stinking cool!” He said after successfully playing the chord you showed him putting the guitar down and tackling you in a hug. 

Jisung

You also worked at JYP 

You and Hannie met when he was a trainee, and you started dating shortly after

He knew that you helped with producing, but he doesn’t know the specifics of your job.

One day he was preparing to do a solo song and he requested for a guitar player to play a live accompaniment for him.

You happened to be very skilled at playing guitar, and sometimes you would play the accompaniments for other artists recordings.

You weren’t super busy that day so you asked if you could play the accompaniment for him

You decided not to tell him though because you wanted it to be a surprise

He was in the practice room waiting for the guitarist, when the door opened to reveal  you with a guitar strapped to your back.

He instantly smiled as he watched you get your guitar out and walk over to him

Deciding to be a little cheeky, you stretched out your hand and said, “ It’s very nice to meet you Han-Sunbae, my name is (L/N), (F/N).”

He chuckled and shook your hand and played along, “It is nice to meet you, I hope we can get along.” even throwing in a bow.

Then he pulled you into a side hug walking you over to your stools. 

“So you’re gonna be my accompanist? Why didn’t I know you could play guitar?” He asked poking your cheek.

You giggled swatting his hand away. “Well I’m on the producing team, I figured you might know I play some sort of instruments.”

He replied, “You overestimate the power of my brain my dear.”

You laughed at him as you were getting set up.

“It is a nice surprise though, now lets see you in action!” He said excited to hear you play for the first time.

He was amazed to say the least, watching the way your fingers plucked the delicate melody was like listening to an angel play the harp.

Felix

You and Felix were just hanging out, and you were reading while Felix was laying his head on your lap playing a game on his phone

You were perfectly content, but after a while Felix put his phone down and you could tell he was getting restless

He was staring up at you and he would randomly poke your face trying to get your attention but you would just giggle and keep reading

Then he switched to plan b which was to ask you questions until you gave him the attention he wanted.

“(Y/N), watcha reading?” He asked trying to stretch his head around far enough to see the back cover. 

“(Book Name) it’s pretty good.” You said continuing to read.

He sat up and obnoxiously leaned his head on your shoulder trying to see the pages,  “Oh yeah what’s it about?” He asked curiously.

You smiled and put the book down, “Do you really wanna know, or are you just bored?”

He laughed guiltily, “Yeah (Y/N) I just wanted your attention.”

You got up abruptly causing Felix to fall over on the couch.

Not bothering to move he just groaned into the couch cushion and asked what you were doing. “Just preparing some background music.”

A few minutes later, Felix heard your footsteps coming closer, and a sweet guitar medley started playing. 

In his mind, you went and brought your speaker to play the music, so imagine his shock when he sits up to ask what you’re playing and seeing the guitar in your hands.

“Babe you play the guitar?”, he asked dumbfounded at the new realization.

You giggle and responded, “Yeah I’ve been working on it for a while now in secret. I’m not the best, but I’m getting better.”

“What do you mean?! That is beautiful, I had no idea I was dating the most talented guitar player in the world.” He says and then proceeds to cheer for you like your the best performer in the world.

Seungmin

One day Seungmin was going to use a practice room at the company to work on his vocals for one of their new songs before recording

You also happened to be at the company that day because you weren’t confident in playing yet, so you told no one, not even Seungmin that you were learning

You did have to pat yourself on the back, you didn’t realize how exhausting hiding the fact you were learning guitar from your group and your boyfriend for the past 7 months would be

You were pretty good, though you didn’t really believe it, you knew you could play proficiently now

Well neither of you told the other that you would be practicing early that morning seeing as both of you would usually be sleeping at this time, but it happened to be the most convenient

As you were setting up, the door started to open startling you because you didn’t expect anyone else to be there that early

Both of you were shocked to say the least to see each other that early in the morning

The shock wore off quickly though, both of you being excited to see each other, you ran over to give him a big hug saying how much you missed him

He hugged you back smiling so big because he didn’t expect to see you that day.

As he went to back away from the hug, he noticed the guitar case and music

“Hey (Y/N), why is there a guitar case, is someone else practicing with you today?” He asked curiously.

You froze realizing he could see your guitar. “Well.... no one else is joining me today. That is actually my guitar. I’ve been learning how to play for a while now.” giggling shyly.

“No way! Why didn’t you tell me that’s awesome!” He said excitedly.

“I don’t know I guess I wanted to get good before anyone heard me play.” you responded back to him.

“Oh wait so no one’s ever heard you play before? Will you play for me (Y/N) pleeeeease?” He asked giving you his best puppy dog face. 

You groaned jokingly, “Minnie noooo, you know I can’t resist your adorable face.” You squeezed his cheeks together, “Fine I suppose I’ll play for you, but you have to promise you won’t laugh no matter how bad it is.”

“Okay.” He muttered out and gave the best smile he could manage seeing as you were still holding his face.

You giggle at your silly boyfriend and gave him a quick peck on the lips, letting his cheeks go. 

So there he sat expectantly waiting for your performance on the floor as you were tuning your guitar

You were nervous, not only because you’ve never played for anyone before, but also because you were playing Congratulations by Day 6 which was Seungmin’s favorite band

You took a deep breath and started playing, choosing to ignore the gasp you heard from your boyfriend. 

Your eyes were closed for most of the song, as you allowed yourself to get caught in the music

When you played the last note, you opened your eyes to see Seungmin staring at you in awe, startling you when he started cheering for you and telling you how beautiful you sounded

You smiled and thought to yourself that maybe it was time to stop hiding your new skill

Jeongin

Okay before we begin this one I just wanna say how much I miss Jeongin with braces, he is like the most precious little bean in the world 🥺

Anyways...

Back before you were both trainees you started dating and now you’re both in your debut groups

Sometimes after school you Jeongin and a group of the other trainees would hang out

One day one of your friends was bored and proposed that you all plan a day to come in and do a show and tell of sorts

You would bring something that meant a lot to you and show it to the rest of the group

You all agreed and while trying to figure out what you were gonna bring the idea popped in your head to bring your guitar

It meant the world to you because your grandfather bought it for you in America, brought it back and taught you how to play before he passed away

You were a little nervous because it’s been a couple years since you’ve played it, but you could never forget after the hours you poured into playing it

The next day you got there first and hid your guitar case behind the sound equipment in the practice room

Everyone showed their thing to the others, including Jeongin who brought a ring he bought in Australia

So when it came down to you Jeongin started leaning on you and teased you because he didn’t thought you forgot

You smirked and got up causing him to fall over comically distracting everyone from you walking across the room to get your guitar

When you pulled out the guitar Jeongins jaw dropped because he seriously thought you didn’t bring anything

Then you started playing and the room went silent aside from the beautiful melody coming from the guitar

When you were done your friends erupted in cheers

Except for Jeongin who was just grinning at you like an adorable little idiot

“Wow, (y/n) how long have you been able to play like that? I had no idea!” Jeongin said jumping up to look at the guitar.

You giggled and said, “I’ve been playing since I was like 5. My grandpa bought it for me in America and taught me how to play before he died.” smiling fondly at the memory of your grandfather.

Jeongin squeezed your hand and smiled back and said, “Well you should play more often, he taught you well!”

[joshslater]

Escape from Al Moazaz

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

Another bunch of disgusting old Arabs, drinking sweet tea, eating dates, smoking hookah, pointing finger, and chatting excitedly. It doesn’t look like they talk about me, but ever so often I think their chatter circles back to me somehow, and they point and wave and chatter in that cackle they call language. They never talk to me, never ask me to do anything. I’m free to do as I please, go where I want, but I’m sure they are lying to me. I have to leave tonight, or it will just be more of this. It’s already been over a week, several days after he said this would all be over. I think so at least. I wouldn’t be surprised if the old geezer lied about the days as well.

I arrived on a Thursday at least. I checked out from Sheraton in central Dubai Thursday morning. There are no taxes and the workforce is underpaid African or Indian guest workers on rotation, so hotel rooms are cheap. The rental car was cheap too, and gas is practically free. It literally comes out of the ground here after all. I had severely overestimated how long it would take to drive from Dubai to Abu Dhabi. It was just a straight highway and I had padded the time table way too much. I was getting close after just one hour, too early to check-in, so I decided to drive around a bit in the outskirts. Free gas, as I said. That’s when I saw the fucker.

The buildings were spaced enough that by the time you saw one, the last one was gone from view, so it qualified as a rural area. Mostly rocks in between though, so I don’t know why anyone would like to live out here. But there he was, the old man, dressed in his white dishdasha robe and picnic table cloth around his head, smiling and waving towards the car to stop. I pull up in front of the house and exit the car. It’s a decent house, none of the luxury on display inside of Dubai. I’ve never been inside anything but hotels, mega-malls and skyscrapers here, so I have no idea what the interior layout would be, but the size is roughly what a suburban family house for four would be back home.

He bows and asks me to join him for tea, in really bad English. I realize this is a bit off the beaten track for tourists, and perhaps this is a good learning experience for both. I’d love to see some authentic middle eastern hospitality, and I’d be happy to talk about whatever the reason for him to invite me. I accept his invitation and follow him through the portal. Although only one story it is quite high up to the ceiling. Interestingly we only pass through a sparsely furnished room and back out again into some sort of shaded stone garden in the middle of the building. It looks very lived in, much more so than the room we just passed through. Tables, chairs, potted plants, and hookah things. There he beckons me to sit down on one of the most decidedly western garden chairs.

He disappears back into the building and I have a look around. I guess all rooms in the building have a window into this central garden. That explains why the house had so few windows on the walls facing out, and makes total sense with all the sun they get here. The man is back with a small tray with two small glasses with amber liquid. He places one glass in front of me and takes one for himself, and without saying anything invites me to take a sip. It’s sweet and tastes of apple. I’ve had this kind of tea before, and don’t really like it. It’s not tea in my opinion, but it's drinkable and it would have had to be something far worse to offend this old man in his home. That’s when I blacked out.

I’m not sure how long I was out, but it was evening when I came to. I was lying on a thin mattress on the floor in one of the almost unfurnished, completely white rooms. It wasn’t cold, it never is here this time of year, but I could feel air touching my body. The sun is setting fast here, but the light made an orange square on the wall opposite to the high window. Murmurs and sounds of people having a pleasant time filter in. I still am not completely awake, going through different scenarios like fainting of dehydration, when I realize that not only am I completely naked, but I look very different.

Instead of my lanky, pasty body, I have a much bulkier frame covered in deeply tanned skin, in turn covered in thick, black body hair. I slowly sit up, mesmerized by what I see. The tan is perhaps a trick of light, but the bulk and the hair is not. As if there is any doubt left, the dick and balls make it clear this is a different body. As with the body both are thicker and heavier. Unlike my familiar dick this one is also longer, circumcised, and weird looking.

I ought to freak out, flail and scream, but it is all so surreal and unexpected that I either am in disbelief or shock. Slowly I get to my feet. My much heavier body compensated for and more with extra muscles. There are no mirrors in the room, or really anything but me and the mattress, so I have no idea what I look like. Very different of course, that much I can tell. I feel my head and my face. I have no idea what my face should feel like, but I have a beard now. I have a nose and a mouth and ears. The hair feels the same as always.

As I move my hands down I feel a small chain around my neck. A thin necklace with no pendant and no clasp or mechanism I can find with my fingers. It sits loose, but tight enough that I probably wouldn’t get my head through it should I try.

I don’t know what to do next. It is like the first room in an adventure game and I’ve just figured out the controllers. Just as I am about to exit I see a piece of white cloth on the white floor in front of the door. A pair of tight shorts that I put on right away. It looks obscene, almost worse than being naked. The white fabric stands out against the dark skin, drawing attention to the big dick and balls wrapped in tight cloth.

The house on the other side of the door is mostly deserted. Some furniture, but I suspect he lives alone and only uses a few rooms. It doesn’t take long to follow the sound and find a different exit into the courtyard than the one I entered through the first time. It looks the same as when I entered, but with a completely different feeling. Instead of the harsh sun everything is bathed in the orange glow of dusk. A few lamps are lit around the courtyard, and around a table sits the old man together with a few similar looking old men.

One of them sees me and utters a few Arabic words, and they all turn towards me. There is a short beat of silence and then they all burst into chatter. One of them is laughing, one of them continues staring at me, but they all appear happy. The focus shifts to the old man. They treat him like it’s his birthday or he just won a bet. One of them jumps up, spry for his age, and walks up to me. He inspects me, giving remarks back to the seated group. It’s when he prods me with his finger it feels like a spell breaks. Suddenly I’m not walking through a dream, but this is actually happening. I’m actually in this place, with these men, looking like this.

I tell him to stop. He just laughs. The old man waves at the table, inviting me to dates, harees, and flatbread. That for some reason angers me. Hunger is the least of my concerns right now. I demand to know what he has done to me. The men go from smiles to laughter. The angrier I get, the funnier they think it is. It’s only a joke, the old man tells me. It only lasts for a few days, he says. I storm back into the house and out the other side only to find my rental is gone. I quickly realize that standing in just underwear outside is not going to go down well with the police, or anyone, so I return back into the house to look for my clothes.

I don’t know what the rational thing to do is. None of this follows any reason. Perhaps I can squeeze into my old clothes, run away and then figure out who to contact. I freeze. The local police would probably be useless. The embassy would laugh me out. I might be able to convince someone back home, but I don’t even have a way to call them. All of that is true if I stay here as well.

I search the entire building, room by room. Despite the large house, it doesn’t look like the old man has much. The rooms are sparsely furnished, if not right out empty. A few rooms, like the kitchen and his bedroom, looks more normal. Nowhere do I find my stuff though, or any other clothes that would fit for that matter. We only share the same size in sandals and head scarfs.

I’m stuck, I realize, in a soft prison. Even if I could leave the house, I couldn’t leave the country. Even if I could leave the country, where would I go? Dejected I walk into the courtyard again. Some of the old men look my way, but largely ignore me as they talk about something. I sit down on a remote chair and watch them. I could kill them all. They are all really old, but probably not that frail. It would probably be a drawn-out fight with leathery, hard to kill old Arabs, but I’m sure I could do it. But that wouldn’t do me any good. I would still be here, stuck, and wanted by the police. A hard prison is worse than a soft prison.

[quaranmine]

Notes under the cut!

If you’ve made it to the end of this fic, thank you so so much for reading it. If you’re one of the people who followed along with this fic while it was being uploaded, a special thank you for all the support (and patience!) over this past year. Your support really helped give me confidence in sharing this story, and also a great “live monitor” of if I was successfully conveying what I wanted.

This is a fic that has consumed my life over the past year, from deep research to visiting real-life fire lookouts, outlining the fic and analyzing its themes in my car while I commuted, to trying to write a little every day. It’s very important to me. It’s (clearly) not autobiographical, but there are similarities in my own life that seep through the cracks anyway. I won’t tell you which parts, though. My secret :)

In the beginning of this fic, I debated whether or not Grian and Scar should ever meet face to face. I even made a poll back in March 2023. In the original Firewatch game, Henry and Delilah do not, and to me that feels right. Did I kind of want it? Yes, but it felt like the right narrative choice anyway. But Delilah is an original character, and every player would have had their own mental image of her by the end—it would have been difficult for the developers to match that. But you guys? Y’all already know who Scar is. I also think that a huge theme in this fic is Grian’s relationships with people, and how he intentionally pushes them away and isolates himself as part of his grief. Throughout the fic, while it never becomes perfect, he gets better and better at letting Scar in and accepting that support. And thus…it makes sense, thematically, for Grian to come back for Scar and not let this friendship die. It makes sense for him to reach out as a final part of his character development.

But this fic also has the problem where the ending that I want (Scar and Grian continue to be besties and work together forever and ever) is not the one that makes the most sense (Grian goes back home to his support system, pieces his normal life back together, and learns to live.) There’s no verison of this fic where it makes sense for Grian to stay in America or keep being a fire lookout, regardless of him being fired or not. He always had to go home. Anyway, y’all have my authorial word-of-god that they stay friends. I’m sure they’re real happy in the 90s when suddenly the internet starts becoming a feasible way to talk to people around the world LOL

This fic is also kind of a love letter to the outdoors and hiking, something I love. (It kind of kills me that I do not live in an area with any cool hiking for hours.) I grew up going to a National Park in my state every winter, and to this day it’s one of my favorite places on earth. I’ve backpacked less (only twice), but I know the drill. I hope some of this information rings true for y’all if you’re also hikers—though I think I have a habit of overestimating the distances Grian can hike per day! Also, you probably knew, but I have a background in environmental science and I used it for this fic wherever I could! My actual work is more in line with children’s environmental health/toxics/pollution than ecology so it was a nice diversion to research this instead. I also tried to apply as much of my knowledge about federal agencies as I could, so I hope that rings accurate too…though I often got to things like “well, idk how it worked in the 80s so I may as well guess!”

Additional notes: The meteor shower mentioned is the Perseids, which happens every year around August in the Northern Hemisphere. My mom used to wake me up late at night sometimes in the summer and take me to our front field to look at them when I was a kid. I bet they’d be even more spectacular in a dark sky park. I also didn’t know how long to keep him in the hospital for his burns, since it is SO variable based on the injuries received. So I just decided on a number for something that was serious, but not so serious it required a burn unit or any significant extra procedures.

Grian goes on to be okay in this universe, even if it is off-screen. He gets therapy. He heals. He stays friends with Scar. It's important for me to include all of that, because as sad as this fic is, the core of it is this: sometimes bad things happen, and it isn't okay, but you can get through it. Love you all, and thank you so much for reading.

<3

The Incandescence of a Dying Light (Chapter Twelve; Final)

The after, and the end.

Chapter twelve: 7,050 words.

<< Chapter Eleven | Masterpost

Hi, thank you all so much for reading. I hope you like this chapter. I already know some of you will :)

No CW for this chapter. Trust me that I can’t do worse to you than the last chapter. This one will, of course, continue to reference events of the last chapter though so be prepared for more discussion of grief and death.

September 1989

It’s late afternoon when Grian walks down the trail, boots crunching softly on the leaves and gravel. His boots are rubbing his feet, despite the many miles he has walked this summer to break them in. He’s still wearing the old pair, battered and trashed as they are. It’ll be their last journey. It only feels right in the way it feels wrong. It’s like he’s slipping back into a part he played once that doesn’t quite fit anymore. 

Still, the walking is meditative in its own way. One foot in front of the other, back and forth, every time. 

He zones out so thoroughly that he’s almost, but not quite, surprised to realize he is already at his destination. He knows he’s at the end of the line because the last pitch is steep and rocky, with nothing but sky above him. There’s nowhere left to go but up, and reaching for the sky is what all fire lookouts do best. 

Perhaps he expected this trail to be longer because the trail to Two Forks was. It took a full day of walking if he started incredibly early, and two days if he didn’t. He always seemed to fail to start early, except for that time with the firework idiots. This isn’t the trail to Two Forks, though. 

Grian scrambles up the last portion of the trail, and sets his eyes on the prize at the end: the Thorofare lookout.

It’s not perched on a tower the way many classic lookouts are, rather it takes on a different blueprint that is common to many fire lookouts in the western US. It sits alone on top of a foundation of a heaping pile of granite rock. It doesn’t need a spiraling staircase to give it height above the trees; it’s already the highest point in the surrounding mountains.

For a random, silly moment, Grian wants to duck himself behind one of the rocks and hide. He wants to play spy for just a little while, and go back to being that unobtrusive observer in the forest that he was paid to be only weeks ago. 

The lookout is fairly well kept. The siding has been painted recently, but the shingles are a little messed up, likely from the hail they’d received earlier in the summer. Grian smiles to himself, just slightly. That’s probably not something Scar can fix for himself, and it’s probably driving him crazy. He clearly cares a lot about keeping the building and its surroundings looking nice.

He should just…go to the door and knock, like a normal person. 

He doesn’t. He just hangs back.

He’s not entirely sure why. Scar seems, by every encounter he’s ever had with him, an objectively friendly person. Perhaps even too friendly—a person who was willing to put up with Grian’s relentless, doomed quest and offer total support. And maybe that’s why he’s scared: because it’s always easier to reveal your whole soul anonymously, but putting a face to it is final. 

He has to do this, though.

He rolls his shoulders, adjusting the weight of the pack—a new one—and anticipates dropping it at the door. Then, he steps out from behind the rock, walks to the door, and knocks on it. 

There is an immediate yelp of shock from inside the cabin followed by the sound of something clearly being dropped, which Grian can’t help but snicker at. 

“I’m uh, I’m—coming!” Scar says, with a hint of sing-song on the final word. Grian is struck by how clear his voice sounds, without the interference of many miles between them. Of course it would be, but still. He sounds just slightly different. 

A second later the door is flung open, and Scar is there, right in front of him, leaning a little on the door frame. Standing there, right in front of him. 

He’s taller than Grian, which he knew to expect but is still mildly annoyed by. He somehow looks nothing like, and exactly like, what Grian expected him to. His hair is light brown, and needs a good combing. It’s a little long in the back, since it’s probably been weeks or months since Scar got it trimmed. His eyes are green, and they contain just a touch of cockiness. He’s smiling at Grian, all bright teeth and good cheer, and the facial expression tugs slightly at a scar under his eye. That had been caused in the accident, if Grian recalls correctly. 

“Well, hello there,” Scar says. “You startled me a little back there! We don’t get very many visitors to this fine establishment, but welcome! I’m the one who staffs this here Thorofare Lookout, so what can I help ya with?”

And Grian, embarrassingly, just stares at him. 

The moment extends for an amount of time that is just edging into uncomfortableness. Grian can see it in the way Scar’s smile freezes a little on his face, like he’s gone from being genuinely friendly to just holding the expression in place for some weirdo tourist who has decided to come bother him out in the middle of nowhere. 

Grian shakes his head, lifting himself out of the moment and back into reality. “Sorry,” he mutters quietly. “Sorry about that, I’m just—” He stops. Then, he extends his hand. “Hi Scar, I’m Grian.”

It’s Scar’s turn to stare now. The smile on his face melts away in shock, and his gaze flickers across Grian, giving him a once over. It makes Grian want to shrink back some in shyness.

Then he accepts Grian’s extended hand, and in one fluid motion uses it to yank him into a hug instead. It’s soft and warm. 

Grian somehow didn't expect that, although he's probably received more hugs in the past two months than in the last two years, so this one shouldn't be that much of a surprise. It feels more important though, like it's communicating something left unsaid between them all summer. 

"You had me so worried," Scar says to the top of Grian's head. 

They pull away. Grian smiles sadly. "Sorry about that." 

"What are you doing here?" Scar says.

“Ouch. Not even a hello?”

“Hi Grian,” Scar says, and immediately tacks on: “So what are you doing here? Not that—not that I don't appreciate it of course! You know, I just didn't expect—"

"I thought I'd come for a visit," he says. Then he adds, amused, "Can I come in?"

"Oh! Of course!"

Grian steps into the lookout, and it's organized chaos. He gets the distinct sense that Scar has too many belongings for such a small space, and that he has at the same time put great effort into decorating and turning it into a little home. The interior layout mostly matches his tower, with a few differences like the bed being in a different corner. There’s a notebook on the floor, which Scar quickly snatches and replaces it on the desk. That must have been what he dropped earlier when Grian knocked. 

“Guess you weren’t expecting visitors?” he says. 

Scar laughs. “No! You scared me!”

“Yeah, I was never expecting any hikers either,” Grian says. “I got visitors…just a few times? I think? And the one time I didn’t even see them coming, they just made it all the way up to the catwalk and knocked on the window.” 

“Oh, that’s not even a bad one,” Scar says. “Once I had a hiker come in really late at night. So I just woke up to seeing a person literally trying to open the door in the dark. I thought I was gonna get robbed, or murdered, or—”

“Now I know how I should scare you next time,” Grian says, and Scar swats his arm. 

“I think a lot of people don’t realize it’s inhabited,” Scar says. “Like, they think the cabin is empty so they get all the way up here and don’t realize someone’s there? I ended up letting that person crash on the floor in their sleeping bag. After I finished having a heart attack!”

“There aren’t many left that are still used, are there?” Grian asks.  

Scar looks away a bit, eyes flitting over to the window by the desk where the mountains lay beyond, the ones he’s known for years. “Less each year,” he says. “I always wonder if each year’s my last one. Two Forks went inactive for several seasons. It’s just this year, after all those Yellowstone fires, that they hired more people. Like you!”

“But that funding won’t last.”

Scar shrugs. “They’ll forget about it again once the public forgets about it. Or once a new administration wants to do some cost-cutting and wonders why they’re paying so many people to go do nothing all day.”

Grian makes a noise of agreement. It goes without saying, of course, that the job isn’t only nothing. It’s a lot of nothing right up until sometimes it’s suddenly a lot of something. After that it’s hours of overtime, maps, math, weather, radio chatter, and monitoring fire. 

It only took the briefest introduction to the job for Grian to realize it was like stepping into another world, and not one that would last for much longer. Manned lookouts would continue to have some advantages, of course. He and Scar could be a 24/7 relay to firefighters if needed. The job may not ever fully go away. But the more that things like satellites could be relied on, the less people they’d need to cover these vast networks of forest. 

The wind whistles outside of the windows as they stand there. The sun’s angle throws little warm squares of light through the windows, checkering the floor of the cabin. It’s later in the year now, and the days are getting shorter. It’s still warm out during the day, but the lows at night are starting to get below freezing again. Scar won’t be asked to come back after October 1st, unless a really large fire breaks out again. There’s limited days left in this cabin. 

The strangest part of it all is that they’re standing here together. He keeps throwing stray glances at Scar, hoping he won’t notice, as if he’s trying to verify that he’s really standing there. 

Grian changes the subject slightly. “Do you have room for me to sleep tonight? Or is that offer only open to potential thieves in the night?”

Scar pretends to deliberate on this for a second. “Nah, I’m gonna make you sleep in a tent. On the rocks. In the wind! And the cold!”

“Rude,” Grian says. “Is this how you always treat your fri—guests?” 

He backs out of the word at the last minute. It’s silly. Part of him wonders, though, if he messed up his chance with Scar. If he was too hurtful, or weird, or difficult to deal with. If it was easier to talk with him long-distance and not worth it face-to-face. 

It doesn’t escape Scar’s notice. “Well,” he says, drawing the word out. “I guess I could make an exception for making sure a friend doesn’t freeze to death.”

“How could I ever expect to live up to that kind of hospitality,” he deadpans in return, matching Scar’s sarcasm even as tension trickles out of his shoulders.

They were both joking, of course, but Grian had packed his bag with everything he needed in case he got rejected. He’d been willing to sleep outside. Jimmy told him that was stupid, because there was no way Scar wouldn’t let him stay with him. Grian told him that may be true, but he was never going to set out on a hiking trail again without all his gear regardless. Jimmy got quiet after that and agreed. 

“Maybe I’ll just make you do some chores,” Scar says. “Hey, I have an extra pair of binoculars—”

And like that, the ice is broken. 

»»———-　　———-««

Hours later, it’s dark out. 

They spend a pleasant afternoon and evening together, talking mostly about nothing at all. Intentionally talking about nothing at all, really. Grian guides them away each time the conversation turns, and Scar lets him like he doesn’t even notice. 

Scar is an even better storyteller in person—for the first time, Grian’s able to see how he stops what he’s doing to pour every ounce of attention into his words. Scar fills him in on everything that’s happened since July. 

“You know it’s a lot more boring without you, you know,” Scar says.  “The replacement lookout didn’t dramatically steal anything? Jump out any windows?” “Not a single one, G-man!” he cries. “I mean really, how’s a man supposed to find any other entertainment out here? Nice lady, though. But she didn’t want to talk to me, she just told me she wanted to do her job. I think our supervisor might have warned her off me.” “You’re a bad influence,” Grian says. “I don’t blame her.” “I’ll have you know, I was rated Most Wholesome in high school.” “That did not happen. I don’t even think that’s even a real thing.”

He receives a mini tour of the lookout. It’s not a long tour because there isn’t much to see, but Grian pays rapt attention anyway. Scar tells him about his efforts to paint the siding earlier in the summer, and specifically the way someone had come specially to deliver him those supplies twice because it was the wrong product the first time. 

He points out landmarks through the windows, and Grian gets to see some of the same mountains he spent so long watching from a new vantage point. He looks at the sunny south faces of all the mountains that were north of Two Forks tower. 

There’s another new feature in the cabin that Scar has added, in the form of a high shelf above the windows and close to the ceiling. 

“I built that so I could dry paintings without Jellie stepping all over them when they were wet,” Scar tells him after he catches Grian eyeing it.  “How’d that work out for you?” he asks.  “It’s the only place she wants to sleep now!” Scar groans.  "Cats like high places, you know. Wait, is she around here? I haven’t seen her at all! I'd like to meet her." "I knew you'd be more excited to see my cat than me," Scar mutters. “She’s probably hiding under the bed.” Grian kneels on the floor and peers under the bed. Deep in the shadows in the corner, a pair of bright eyes look back at him, regarding him with suspicion. Her eyes are the same color as Scar's. He watches her for a moment, but she does not make any effort to come closer. He silently vows that he will manage to pet her before he leaves.

Scar also gives him a short demonstration of some of the paintings he’s made this year. He has a sketchbook full of little things—the trees further down the hill, an undulating column of smoke with all its curves, and a delightful series of cat sketches. There are some pages where Scar skips past quickly and refuses to show Grian. When he catches a glimpse of one, the drawings look just as good as the others, so Grian remains unsure what exactly was wrong with them. 

Just as impressive are his oils and watercolors. He’s made a bunch this summer—Scar claims it’s actually bad because he’s done less than usual, which Grian can’t really comprehend—and most of them are small studies. 

“I want to capture more movement and texture and color and life,” Scar tells him. “The smaller pieces of paper make it so that I can’t get too hung up on details!” Grian nods along.  “The Impressionists did that, you know,” Scar starts, and Grian gratefully settles back in to listen to another tangent while he thumbs through little brightly painted cards, each one more impressive than the last. 

Now it’s getting late, and they’re sitting out on the catwalk together, backs against the cabin. There’s a very cold bite to the air, but the stars are pretty regardless. No clouds at all tonight, in fact, and a waning moon shining gently. The lights in the lookout are turned off, and as his eyes adjust he can start to see the outlines of the distant mountains. 

Grian has two cans of beer he picked up at a gas station somewhere along the way, and gives one to Scar.  It’s not a brand he recognizes, so maybe it’s from some local or state-specific brewery. Scar brings a blanket out on the deck for each of them. The cold air seeps up between the cracks in the boards they’re sitting on, but he’s cozy nonetheless. 

“I wish you could’ve been down here back when the meteor shower was going,” Scar says. 

“Meteor shower?” he asks. 

“Yeah. It’s, uh, I don’t know. Every year at the end of summer. It’s nice to be out here ‘cause you can see so many stars at night.”

“I bet that was nice,” Grian says. “I wish I was there.”

They lapse into silence for a few minutes, just sipping on the drinks. The stars twinkle far above him, the furthest so faint that he can hardly tell if he’s really seeing them or not. He absently wishes he learned more constellations, since he can’t recognize any right now. He’s going to miss being able to see so many stars. 

When he turns to face Scar again, his expression is stormy. Grian goes still. Scar fiddles with the edge of his blanket and doesn’t meet his eye. He can’t tell if he looks angry, or just upset, but either combination of those makes his stomach turn. Grian waits though. They’ve waited long enough today. 

"After all…of that," Scar starts finally, neatly sidestepping any discussion of what all of that actually was, "I didn't hear from you again. At all."

Grian lets that settle in for a moment. "I know," he responds finally. "I’m sorry. That's why I came here."

"I mean," Scar continues, voice growing stronger, "I knew you weren't dead because it was all over the radio traffic. I was monitoring the communications with the hotshot crew. I hear about—” he gestures with his hand “—all that, with the fire and helicopter. And our supervisor took pity on me and told me some of the details afterward.”

“And it was on the news.” 

Grian knows the story was run on a few American and British outlets. He avoided the TV, and the paper, for a while afterward, but it doesn’t take the press long to get bored. Mumbo’s death was barely a blip in the news cycle. It was a dramatic story, but not that dramatic. It doesn’t matter if it will haunt Grian for the rest of his life; the average person wouldn’t remember reading about it after a week. “Missing British Expat Found Dead in American Wilderness One Year Later.” He grimaces even at the mere thought of it. 

“That too. Not that I get much of that up here.” His voice is clipped. Hurt. With good reason, really, but—

Truthfully, Grian didn’t quite think to contact Scar until later. Everything after he was evacuated from the forest was a blur of activity that made his head spin, and he wasn’t in the best of shape at the time. The helicopter had taken him directly to the hospital in town, and they’d kept him for three days. They evaluated his ankle, which was only a grade 1 sprain that had been aggravated by his constant movement. They treated him for severe dehydration. They evaluated his lungs and airways. Mostly, though, they focused on his burns. 

Grian was lucky, all things considered, regardless of if he felt that way or not. He lived when he could have very easily died. He’d been in a rocky area that burned fast and had little tinder, with the boulder next to him to act as a heat sink. He’d been stuck in a finger of the fire near the edge, so it had burned over quickly. He hadn't ever caught on fire himself. He’d kept his nose and mouth protected and close to the ground. His clothing had protected most of his body, but wearing a t-shirt meant his arms had been bare and he’d used his hands to cover his head. They fared the worst. 

Grian thought the hand was perhaps the most annoying place to receive a burn, with the painful way he struggled to do anything, especially writing, for a few weeks. But it hadn’t been very severe. It could have been worse. He got to go home, and monitor his recovery from there. 

He answered a million questions over the days following the incident. He spoke to rangers, search and rescue, fire crew members, and the police. He was scolded for stealing documents, but the words held little bite or legal weight. They had other copies available, after all. They asked him to pay a small fine. The rangers’ eyes looked sympathetic. Perhaps they felt he suffered enough, or perhaps it was the fact that this confrontation took place in the hospital room. 

He called Mumbo’s parents again the morning after he woke up again. 

And then when he sat in the hospital on the second night, waiting for Mumbo’s parents and his own mum to arrive, he pulled out his radio again and charged it. Once it came back on though, he realized it couldn’t do anything for him anymore. It was still set to the frequency he and Scar always spoke on, but now there were new voices speaking on it. 

Of course they didn’t own the frequency, it was just a national talk frequency. They’d always just carved privacy out of the sheer remoteness surrounding them. Now, he was simply too far out of that limited range and was picking up more nearby conversations instead. 

“I’m sorry,” Grian says. “I didn’t have a radio to reach you with. It was out of range as soon as I left the forest.”

“I have a phone.”

“I didn’t know the number,” he says after a moment. They’d only ever spoken over the radio when he was a lookout. Then, he tacks on jokingly: “I also don’t really think the agency wants to foot the bill for international calls.”

Scar scrunches his eyes shut for just a moment. “It hurt a lot,” he says. “That day—when I think of it, it’s so….I  just—I was just worried about you. I was…”

“Scared?” Grian offers. 

Scar nods, and Grian feels something horrible wash over him, a guilt that makes him want to walk straight off the catwalk into the dark. He tries to place himself there for a moment, on that evening, but this time from the inside of this lookout. Scar could see the fire from his tower. He’d been desperately trying to save him with no way to interfere on his own. Helpless. He listened to Grian say things. Worrying things. He saw the fire’s movement, where it spread, and how fast it spread. 

When Grian’s radio died, he must have felt like he was watching him die.

“It’s okay,” he says, speaking all in a rush. “It’s okay, I—I’m fine. See? I got out of there, and now I’m here. I’m sorry, I came to say I’m sorry. I’m okay.”

Scar tilts his head skeptically. “Are you? Because…”

Suddenly, Grian’s eyes well up with tears. The mere question is enough to crack his veneer of coping. He casts his eyes away and blinks fast, trying to keep them at bay. Scar has heard him cry, but never seen him cry, which is somehow more embarrassing.

“No,” he says. “I don’t think I really am.”

Scar doesn’t ask him any questions, he just puts his arm around him. The warm weight of it grounds him like a comfort. For every time Grian was convinced he could do it all by himself, there was another time that he just wanted it to be like this: a person who cares. He ducks his head down, and lets the tears drip across his cheeks and into his lap. He isn’t sobbing; it’s a quiet cry. 

Eventually, he simply whispers, “I’m just so tired.”

“I get that,” Scar agrees. 

“Everything’s just…too much,” he says. “I’m—”

One step from losing it all?

One missed breath from drowning?

“It just feels like the beginning again,” he finishes instead. 

“The beginning?” Scar inquires. 

“Like I haven’t figured it out. But last time I had hope, I guess. I thought it could be fixed. It hurt but I thought it could still work out in the end. I need it to work out and be okay. And now it can’t. It’s not ever going to be okay. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

There are lows Grian has felt in the last few weeks that he doesn’t want to share with anyone. That’s part of the problem, though. His life is everyone’s concern now and he’s being treated like glass by all his friends. They mean well, of course. They may even be wise for it. But people know what happened. They just can’t know how it felt. 

He tries to remember they’re upset too. They’re also grieving. But they’re not the ones who have to leave the kitchen in a panic for a bit of fresh air whenever something burns in the oven. 

He wants nothing more than to be left alone. He knows what it’s like to be alone after this year, and it’s familiar. And yet, he also wants nothing more than this—to be hugged, and comforted, by someone else who can do a little reasoning for him. 

It’s hard to feel like anything matters right now. He dedicated all his time to finding Mumbo. He shaped his ideas, his time, and his relationships with people around the belief that Mumbo was alive—and was wrong. So what’s the point? Where’s he supposed to go now? What’s he supposed to do? 

He doesn’t know. 

Scar hugs him a little closer. “It’s not okay. It won’t be. But maybe eventually you’ll start filling in things around it.”

“Like you did?” Grian says, a little sharper than intended. “Isolating yourself for years in the middle of nowhere? That didn’t work for me, in case you didn’t notice.”

“No,” he responds slowly, “like I did by being reminded of the good memories, picking up art, getting a cat, trying new jobs, looking at pretty sunsets, and meeting new friends. See! Small steps first.” He lets go of Grian, and pats his shoulder. “You can do it.”

“I don’t want to do that,” Grian says.

“I kind of think you do.”

“I don’t though,” he says sourly, “because I—I already do, and I hate it. Sometimes I feel relieved. And I don’t want to. I don’t want to be relieved. My friend is dead.”

“Why’re you relieved?” Scar asks. 

“Because—because it’s just. Over, maybe. Because I finally know the answers. Because it’s horrible but at least I don’t have to wonder anymore.”

The what-ifs used to plague him constantly. They were an ever-changing carousel of worst case scenarios that danced around his head. Now, something different plagues him. But the truth doesn’t change. It just is. 

 “Hm.” Scar pauses for a second. “Well, you figured out what happened. You found him. You can put it to rest now. It’s okay to do that.”

“But—”

Scar interrupts. “You’re not forgetting him, you know? That’s not what it means to move on. There’s a lot of people out there who don’t have anyone to believe in them. Mumbo had you. And you did good.”

And Grian doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t. He just sits there and lets the thought swirl around and around his head. Scar lets him. The two don’t speak. 

He did good. Did he? 

It doesn’t feel good. It doesn’t feel good to be hell-bent on saving your best friend only to find his body. It doesn’t feel good to fail so thoroughly from the goal you set. It doesn’t feel good to be the only one left in something that was special. He has so many memories with Mumbo. Now he’s their sole keeper, the only one left to carry that knowledge. 

But he did succeed, in a way. Mumbo might have been lost forever out there. Some people never do get found. He brought Mumbo home, back to his family, and back to a place with respect. Where he could be buried. 

He breaks it down in his mind, over and over, like maybe he can polish away all the sharp edges like a rock in the river. Maybe it’s okay to let the sharp edges go away. The heavy weight of it remains. Maybe it doesn’t have to cut his hands every time, though.

Eventually he takes a deep breath and sits back up. 

“Sorry about all that,” he mutters, as he hastily wipes the tears from his eyes. 

“No,” Scar says.

“No?”

“Don’t say that, don’t apologize for crying. It’s okay!” Scar says. “If anything, I’m sorry I didn’t help you more back then, or—”

“No,” Grian says this time. 

“Oh,” Scar says. “No?”

“No,” he repeats. 

“Okay.”

“So that’s out of the way, then,” Grian says, breaking into a watery half smile. “No more apologies.”

“I guess so,” Scar says. 

Grian sighs. “I just don’t know what to do now. What do I do next? You…you managed to do it.” 

Finding Mumbo was a year-long priority. Without it, he can’t seem to figure out the structure of his life. He never thought this far ahead. He only thought about what it would be like when it was all okay—not about what he planned to do when it wasn’t okay. Now he’s falling through his own cracks. 

“That’s an easy one,” Scar says. “You’ve got a lot of houses to draw!”

“We call it drafting.”

“Drafting then,” Scar nods. “Go forth and draft some buildings.”

Grian tips his head back, looking at the stars. “I don’t know if I want to do that anymore.”

“Oh! You don’t have to,” Scar says. “I know you liked the job, but you don’t have to go back to it. You can do something else too. You can do whatever. Or even nothing.”

“I don’t want to do anything else, that’s the problem,” Grian says. “I just—ugh.”

He still likes architecture. He literally can’t turn it off in his brain, the way his eyes catch on the details of buildings when he travels past them, equal in praise and criticism for it. He doesn’t know if he has a place in that career anymore, though. Maybe he can’t do it anymore. Maybe he doesn’t remember how. 

“You have time to figure it out. You even have the rest of your life to keep trying things out!” Scar says. “Why do you think I’m always seeing new places and doing these seasonal jobs? And if you want to go back to it you can. It doesn’t have to be now though. It can be whenever.”

For the first time in a long time, Grian feels a little spark of something about his future. It’s a little flame and it will need to be nurtured. He cups it close in his mind, trying to peer through its light. There’s no plan, just a glimmer of something that doesn’t sound too bad. 

Every time he thinks about what to do next, he’s locked in decision paralysis. Mostly, he just wants to sleep and not have to deal with it. He has already tried that method, and while it doesn’t work well, it does eliminate the thoughts temporarily. The nothingness is comforting, even though he never feels better afterward. He wants this to all go away, but day after day since Mumbo first went missing that has been proven impossible. 

But sometimes one of his friends comes along to drag him out of his room and onto the streets of London, and more times than not he finds himself enjoying it. He finds himself, even for just a moment, living in that reality instead. Is it so bad, to want that a little?

Like it always does, the guilt comes stalking back in behind the thought. He lived, Mumbo did not. Mumbo deserved to live. Grian did nothing spectacular, nothing out of the ordinary, to deserve to have this life that was robbed from his friend. It eats at him, cutting holes in the very fabric of his being. He lets the thought settle in the corner of his mind, like he always does, but he doesn’t dismiss the hope either. Not this time. He holds them both at once. 

Then, his thoughts are interrupted by gentle, tentative paw steps on the edge of the blanket.

“Oh my goodness,” Scar says. “Jellie finally decided to come say hi!”

Grian watches her carefully from the corner of his eye, and dares not move an inch. Scar had left the door cracked when they came out here on the catwalk, so Jellie must have decided to explore a little. And now she’s slowly crawling over toward him. She’s a classic gray tabby cat with a white chest, paws, and blaze. She sniffs Grian’s hand with great contemplation, before carefully stepping over his arm and sitting on his lap. 

“Oh!” he exclaims softly. 

Scar silently fist-bumps the air. “Yes!” he says. “She likes you! I knew she would!”

“Can I pet her?”

“Of course,” Scar says. “That’s why she’s on your lap! Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out if she doesn’t want to be pet anymore.”

“By biting me, I’m sure.”

“Uh,” he says, “no comment.”

Grian gently strokes the striped fur along her back. It’s soft and short. It’s been a while since he owned his own cat, but he likes them. He wanted to get one, but their apartment in Denver hadn’t allowed animals, so the last cat he had was one back in England that passed away while he was in university. Maybe he’ll get a new cat when he goes back. Jellie is a dignified cat, the type of animal who looks at you and possesses an uncanny type of intelligence in their eyes. He honestly feels honored that she decided she liked him enough to sleep on his lap. 

After a moment, she starts to purr. 

Scar is watching the two of them with a funny look on his face. Or rather, after a moment, Grian realizes that Scar is actually watching his hands. 

“You got burned,” he says, like he’s only just now noticing it. 

His hands still. The second-degree burns had already healed in the weeks since the fire, but the skin on the back of his hand was still pink and patchy-looking. Healed, but only just, with the potential of any long-term scarring still up in the air. Jellie senses that he’s stopped petting her, and moves her head to push his hand until he resumes the motion. He does. Demanding cat. 

“Yeah,” Grian responds simply.  

Scar puts his head in his hands. “I should have directed you better—if I knew better, or—then maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt—”

“Hey, no,” Grian says. “That was…that was all me, Scar. I got into that situation myself. I was…I probably would have stayed put if it weren’t for you, honestly. You saved me.”

Scar looks up again. “Really?” he asks. 

“I wouldn’t have got out of there,” he says softly. “And, really, I would have never found Mumbo if it weren’t for your help. Thank you for that. I know I…got mad at you, that day, but really. I, uh, do mean it. Thank you.”

“Oh,” Scar says. “That was—something I couldn’t imagine not doing.” He’s quiet for a moment, thinking. Grian for once can see this in the expression on his face, rather than the silence through the radio. He waits. Finally Scar asks: “Did they—did they ever find out what happened?”

That’s the big question, isn’t it? That’s been the big question this whole time. And for all the effort that Grian went to in order to find Mumbo, it wasn’t one he could fully answer on his own. That was for the rangers and the medical examiner. 

He begins, “They found him, based on your map skills I’m sure. Um, recovered his body. Made a real identification. Not that I—not that I was going to be wrong. I just knew. They used dental records I think.”

He keeps petting Jellie. 

“They don’t just—they don’t just send him home right away. They had to figure out what happened first. For his death certificate. Or maybe their records. Or maybe for us. But they did an autopsy—which was part of the identification I think.”

“What’d it say?” Scar asks. 

It’s a long moment before Grian responds. “He probably died of dehydration. Which meant it probably only took a few days. They don’t think he had any water on him. They think maybe he’d been headed to the creek—” like I was, but he doesn’t say it. He continues. “He had a fracture in his leg. They think that’s why he was stuck there.”

“Awful,” Scar says softly.

“He was probably dead before the first week of the search was done.” Grian shakes his head sharply to dispel the thought. “Anyway, uh. They flew him back to England. We buried him. Had a funeral. It was really nice, actually.”

There was just so much happening at the funeral that it’s a blur in his mind. He was still receiving treatment for his burns and had everything wrapped. He was still having trouble sleeping. He felt like a shell of a fake person being forced to interact with the real people. The funeral was wonderful, affirming, and full of people he hadn’t seen in years. People who’d loved Mumbo, too. But it was also deeply overwhelming. 

“You were in England this whole time then?” Scar says. “‘Cause you said something about international calls earlier.”

Grian nods. “Yeah. I went back a week after all of it happened. Stayed there, with my family.”

“But you came back here.”

“I had to,” he says, trying to force some brightness into his words. “Couldn’t just leave you all alone without saying goodbye.”

Scar reaches out a hand, and scratches Jellie under the chin. She purrs harder. He says, “Why’s it have to be goodbye?”

“Scar.”

“I know,” he says miserably. “I know.”

This isn’t his home, and it especially isn’t without Mumbo. Grian had followed him here, and now that he was gone, there wasn’t any reason to stay. Well—not a good reason. He’d be lying if he said this wasn’t breaking his heart too. 

“I have things I have to wrap up here,” Grian says. “Stuff like our apartment. Those things need to be packed up and shipped back. And I need to sell my car. It’s all tedious stuff. Two of my other friends came with me to help me so I didn’t have to do it all by myself.”

“Your friends came? And you didn’t bring them to meet me?” Scar says in an exaggeratedly scandalized tone. 

Grian smiles a little, and looks over at Scar. “It was private.”

He’d left Jimmy and Martyn in a cabin just outside of town. They’d been gracious enough to allow him to take a detour on their trip just to come here. None of his friends were very keen on questioning him these past few weeks. Sometimes he hated it, and wished they just treated him normally. Other times he was grateful they spared him any need to explain. 

Then, he abruptly remembers. “Wait,” he says. “I had something for you. I would get it but…” He gestures at Jellie, who is not planning on letting him stand up any time soon.

“You’re cat-trapped,” Scar says. “Where is it?”

“The outer pocket of my bag. It’s a piece of paper.” Then he adds, “Don’t look at it until you get back out here!”

Scar steps gently over Grian, and disappears into the lookout for a moment. It’s dark and silent outside, except for the constant purr from Jellie that seems to radiate through his body. Then, just as fast, Scar is back and settling back down onto the catwalk boards. In his hand is a battered piece of yellow lined paper, singed on one edge.

“You can unfold it now,” Grian says, and Scar does. 

He has to squint to appreciate it in the dim moonlight, but once he sees it recognition snaps across his face like lightning. 

“This is my lookout,” Scar says, and then turns to look at Grian with wide eyes. “Wait, you actually drew it when I said so.”

Grian’s face heats up, and he glances away. “I…thought that maybe you should have it. As a thank you.”

“I love it,” Scar says. “It looks amazing.”

“Sorry it isn’t in better condition,” he says. “It was in my bag that got left behind. The rangers retrieved it along with…they mailed the stuff they found back to me, afterward. So I brought it here to you.”

“I think it’s in perfect condition,” Scar says. “It makes it real.” Then, he beams. “I’m going to hang this in the cabin. Frame it, maybe.”

Grian groans. “It isn’t that good,” he says.

“It should be on display!”

“Please, no,” Grian says.

“I guess you’ll just have to come again next year so I can prove you wrong. You won’t know what hit you when you see how good this looks framed,” Scar declares. Then he adds, softer. “You can come again, you know. You can always come back.” 

“I’ll come back. I hope so,” Grian says. “After all, I’ve got the rest of my life to do it.”

»»———-　　———-««

Grian leaves the lookout the next morning, a little before midday. The day is bright and sunny and cloudless. In his bag are two new items: a pair of rolled up mini paintings, and Scar’s contact information penciled on a piece of paper. 

He walks forward, one foot in front of the other, just like always.

<< Chapter Eleven | Masterpost

[solangelover]

Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better

Solangelo Week 2020 - god swap / body swap @solangeloweek 

Read on AO3 or FF.Net

A/N: (Ignore how late this fic is) I recently realized that I love the tag “crack treated seriously” and then I was like, wait is that what I write?? Oh well XD

“Ugh, I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Oh gods, what are we going to do??”

Will and Nico were behind the Hades cabin, but not for the reasons they’d like to be.

Currently, Will was looking at Nico and Nico was looking at Will, but they were also staring at themselves. Because they were in each other’s bodies. Because why not.

Nico pinched the bridge of his nose (Will’s nose?), sighing, “This is ridiculous.”

Will was a little more panicky than his boyfriend. “Oh my gods, how and why is this happening? We can’t be stuck like this! Can we be stuck like this? Oh my gods, what if we’re stuck like this???”

The boys had woken up from a nap together (a literal time of sleeping together) in the early afternoon, only to find that they weren’t quite themselves. They also found a note on the nightstand that said, “Don’t tell, or it’ll take longer to wear off!” signed with a simple red heart. The situation was pretty straight forward, but that didn’t make it any easier to handle.

“Solace, calm down. We’ll be fine. This is either a prank from the Aphrodite kids or Aphrodite herself. I don’t think any children of Aphrodite have ever had precise enough control of their power to extend the time of their curses, though I’ve also never heard of any body or mind swaps from them either…” Nico tapped his chin in thought.

“So you think this is directly from a goddess??” Will flailed his arms for emphasis. He had not been still since they woke up switched.

Nico held up his hands placatingly. “Will, I said to calm—”

“When has that ever made anyone calm??”

Nico’s eyes flicked to the ground behind Will, noticing some movement. He immediately recognized the shadows reacting to Will’s panic, swirling around his feet and slowly pulling upward like a barrier. Huh, so that’s what that looks like, Nico thought, finally seeing what other people saw. He could admit that it was slightly terrifying.

“Okay! Okay, Will, just, breathe with me. Remember, like you taught me?” Nico drew in a deep breath, emphasizing the movement with his hands. He exhaled loudly. “In 4, hold 3, out, like, 5. Right?”

“What, no, do you even listen to me? It’s in 4, hold 7, out 8. Like this,” and Will proceeded to do several slow breaths. Nico was grinning even as he copied Will. He also realized how different he looks when he’s not frowning while doing the exercise. He should probably pay attention to his facial expressions more.

After a few more breaths, Nico ventured, “Better?”

Will blinked a few times before letting out a chuckle. “Oh, I see what you did there. Sneaky Death Boy.” He smiled at Nico, which, again, was a very different sight to Nico. Not that he didn’t smile often, but for some reason, Will made his smile look brighter.

Instead of saying this, Nico replied with, “Well, actually I think you’re the Death Boy now, Sunshine.”

Will face palmed while Nico laughed. It was weird to hear Will’s laugh ringing in his own ears, knowing that Nico himself was the one laughing. Switching bodies was a real out-of-body experience.

Nico jolted and then groaned to himself. “Will, please tell me you don’t think in puns.”

Will immediately straightened up and asked desperately, “What was the pun? Please tell me, I haven’t thought of a single one this whole time.”

Nico sighed. “Just how this is a real out-of-body experience.”

Will burst into laughter immediately. “Oh, that’s a good one!” He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “Yeah, puns just pop into my head. I don’t know if it’s a gift from Apollo or what, but I love it and already miss it.”

Nico rolled his eyes. “I hate you. Or me. I hate this body and brain. It’s stupid.”

Will hummed. “That’s not what you said last night.”

“Will, I swear to the gods, stop taking flirting tips from Cecil and Lou Ellen. They make no sense coming from you. I didn’t even see you yesterday!” Nico wrinkled his nose in disgust as he watched his boyfriend waggle his eyebrows suggestively with his body. “Also, don’t make me say or do dumb things. It’s wrong.”

Will’s face lit up, which really made Nico look his age instead of like the 80-something year old he truly was, and he proceeded spin around and flail his arms. Nico knew this to be Will’s version of dancing.

Will abruptly stopped and pouted at Nico. “No fair. I can literally feel your body being graceful even when I’m controlling the movements. I can’t make you dance badly if I tried!”

“Don’t test that theory,” Nico chuckled despite himself, glad to see that Will had calmed down and was actually having fun in this scenario. He’d hate to ruin the good mood, but, “How long do you think this will last?”

Will sobered up quickly, folding his arms in thought. “Hard to say. Like you said, we’ve never heard of this kind of prank being pulled before. So, if it really is from the goddess of love… then we just have to not make her mad so she lifts the curse, or at least, doesn’t extend it.” His eyebrows furrowed quizzically. “Why did she curse us in the first place?”

“I bet she was just bored,” Nico shrugged. “Anyway, her note also said that we can’t tell anyone, otherwise we’ll be stuck like this for longer. So…” he trailed off, unsure of where that left them.

“Basically, we have to be each other for however long, without telling anyone directly what’s happening.” Will swallowed.

The boys let that sink in. And then simultaneously groaned.

“I was supposed to teach a sword lesson in a few hours,” Nico grumbled, imagining just how much could go wrong with Will handling a sword. Granted, he’d be in Nico’s body, but still.

“And I have a shift at the infirmary through dinnertime,” Will ran a hand through his hair, distracted momentarily by the silky black locks he combed through instead of his normal wiry dirty blonde hair. At least Nico had helped in the infirmary enough to know what Will did and where things were. But he did not have the medical training and experience Will had. What might happen if a camper got seriously hurt?

They sat in silence for a bit as they thought this over. Could they pull it off?

“…”

“…”

“This is bad.”

“This is doable,” they said at the same time. Nico looked up in concern, thinking his boyfriend was overestimating his sword skills, while Will looked mildly offended as he thought Nico was doubting his own knowledge of the infirmary.

“Neeks! You can totally take a shift at the infirmary. My siblings will be there for anything major,” Will stated with his hands on his hips. He had to look up slightly since Nico was a few inches shorter than Will, which was definitely a new experience for Will.

“Okay,” Nico looked doubtful, but continued. “But I don’t think you can run a sword lesson. No offense,” he tacked on with an apologetic smile.

Will hummed in agreement. “Yeah, that’s probably true. We can cancel it, though, right? Or ask someone to take it over?”

“Ugh, I don’t know. I don’t want to cause suspicion or upset the love goddess for any reason,” Nico frowned. “… I think we might just have to… do this.”

They stared at each other for a moment more.

“Oh gods,” Will buried his face in his hands.

“Merda,” Nico glared at the sky, the bright blue like Aphrodite herself was mocking him. She probably was.

---

*At the arena*

“Okay, guys! Um, today we’re going to shake things up and have some fuuuuun!” Nico was absolutely going to kill Will for making him sound like an idiot, but he didn’t know what else to do. Six kids between eight to ten years old gazed up at him with varying levels of excitement and confusion. Will distractedly realized how much he’s sweating (though more from nerves than physical exhaustion) and understood why Nico did his usual training shirtless. But Will was highly unsure about being so close to his shirtless boyfriend’s body, regardless of who’s brain was controlling his movements. So, the shirt stayed.

“What are we doing that’s so great, Mr. Nico?” An eight-year-old Ares girl looked a little too excited about sword-fighting class for Will’s comfort.

“Um,” Will rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he spoke. He was reaching for any way to circumvent dangerously pointy weapons when an idea struck him. “Oh!” He smiled at the kids, who looked quite off-put by the expression. “Today, we’re going to discuss basic medical knowledge to know when you’re on the battlefield!”

The groans he received put a damper on what he thought was a very practical lesson that he’s immensely proud he came up with.

“But that’s what infirmary class is for! Mr. Will taught us!”

“Yeah, I wanna fight with swords!”

“Ah ah ah!” Will interrupted their grumblings before it got out of hand. “Mr. Will teaches what the medics do once you can leave a fight and be treated properly. This will be quick fixes while you’re still fighting. It’s important that you can quickly assess wounds and determine your next course of ac—”

“Ugh, you sound like Mr. Will!”

“Yeah, you never talk this much, Mr. Nico.”

“Maybe he’s not the real Mr. Nico.”

These kids were getting dangerously close to the truth, and Will almost wanted to tell them so they’d stop complaining. But no, couldn’t do that. Hm, how do I make them interested while sounding like Nico…

Will lit up when he finally realized what to do. Really, he should be better at this, he has so many little siblings. But he and Nico didn’t exactly behave in the same way. Nico didn’t like coddling kids in any way, especially not in his class. That’s probably why they loved him so much.

“Okay, okay,” Will said loudly, cutting off the students’ whispering as he sat down in front of them. “How about I tell you a story?”

Immediately, all the kids cheered and sat down as close to him as they could, stars shining in their eyes.

“Haven’t you fought werewolves?”

“Do you see ghosts?”

“You fought with Percy Jackson! Tell us about him!”

“What kind of powers do you have?”

“Oh, tell us about defeating the Titans!”

“Are zombies, like, super gross?”

Will laughed at how excited they all were. He almost forgot that Nico was a famous war hero instead of his dorky boyfriend. “Okay, listen closely. You may learn a thing or two from my heroic tales!” He puffed out his chest dramatically, drawing adorable giggles from everyone. He then launched into a story about one of Nico’s many battles, throwing in how he used his medical knowledge to patch himself up and continue fighting. Needless to say, everyone paid attention when Will brought out some bandage rolls for them to practice with.

---

*At the infirmary*

“Will, what in Hades are you doing?”

Nico jumped at Kayla’s voice sounding behind him. His head knocked into a shelf, spilling supplies on the floor. He was not hiding in the supply closet.

“Um,” he began eloquently. “Inventorying?”

Kayla rolled her eyes. “Bro, you did that yesterday. And we don’t have that many people coming in here, so I highly doubt we’re low on anything.” So maybe she was just exasperated with her brother and didn’t suspect anything weird was going on.

“Well, you know me,” was a phrase that Will never said and yet it’s all Nico could think of. He shrugged apologetically at Will’s sister.

“Whatever, come on, Cecil just came in with some burns on his arms. I’d say it was from the lava wall, but he probably exploded something in his face.” She led the way out of the supply closet and toward the front of the infirmary. Where Cecil, Will’s best friend, was waiting and would surely notice something off about Will.

“What are you going to do?” he asked Kayla.

She eyed him with some suspicion. “… What do you want me to do?”

“Oh, uh,” Nico was confused. “Um, nothing? Whatever you normally do?”

“… Huh.” (Will had definitely given her a task to do that morning.)

She was about to respond when Nico blurted out, “You can end early, if you want.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. That was not a common thing for the head medic to say, for sure.

“I mean,” Nico floundered for any sort of reasoning. “You’ve been working hard recently, and I just thought you might like a little extra free time.” He paused for a moment before adding, “And you’re taking the cabin to dinner tonight since I’m working, which is hard enough.”

At that, Kayla laughed and seemed to relax. “Yeah, no kidding. You want me gone? I’m gone, no problem.” Nico sighed with relief. Then he realized that if anyone came in majorly injured, he’d have no help. He thought about taking it back, but she was already out the door.

With another sigh, Nico headed toward the bed Cecil was currently lounging on, not concerned in the slightest about the mild burns on his forearms. He picked up his head as Nico approached.

“‘Sup, Will!”

Nico shook his head, feeling Will’s blond wisps tickle his face as he did so, and gave his friend an exasperated smile like he’d seen Will do a million times over. “Here again, Markowitz?”

Cecil threw his head back and laughed. “Markowitz? I thought Mr. Doom-and-Gloom was the only one who used last names like the old-timer he is?”

“Uh,” Nico fumbled. “Yeah, I was just… testing it out?”

“Okay, Doctor Solace,” Cecil rolled his eyes. “I just need the magic bandages and I’ll be on my way.”

Right, healing magic. Something Will should be able to do. But Nico doesn’t know if he can make his powers work properly. “Right, I’ll just… get some bandages.”

Cecil didn’t seem to notice or care about the healer’s apparent hesitation, simply leaning back on his bed. “Sure thing. So, how’s life, my friend?”

Nico scoffed, “Don’t we see each other every day? Multiple times?”

“That doesn’t mean I know how you’re doing. Is it so wrong I want to hear from my best friend, my buddy, my pal?” Cecil was so dramatic sometimes.

Nico just hummed in response as he came back with some bandages and burn ointment. Thank the gods he had helped out in the infirmary many times in the past. Will taught him the basics at least, and he’d taken care of minor injuries like this before. Hopefully, that was enough, and Cecil didn’t ask for any actual hymns.

“Soooo,” Cecil drawled. “How’s the boyfriend?”

Nico choked on air.

“Oh, come on, Will,” Cecil rolled his eyes. “You should be used to me asking by now. You know I’m nosy!”

“I, um,” Nico didn’t know what to say.

Luckily, Cecil continued. “Remember when you used to talk my ear off about Nico? I can’t say I miss those days, but it’s so much harder when I have to pry for information.”

Nico was suddenly much more interested in this conversation. “I didn’t used to talk that much… did I?”

“Oh,” Cecil sat up straight, jostling his arm that Nico was trying to wrap. “Don’t even give me that. You know you did. All I heard was Nico’s so cute and he’s so strong and did you know he used to play Mythomagic? That’s adorable!” He mocked Will’s voice and practically swooned at the end. Even while blushing furiously, Nico had to hold in his laughter. He’s not surprised that Will said those things, but hearing Cecil complain about it made it even funnier.

“I did not,” Nico said indignantly like he’d heard Will do so many times. He wasn’t a good liar.

“Yes, you totally did! Must I recount the many laments of Nico’s beauty and grace?”

Nico really hoped his smile didn’t come off as mischievously as he felt. “Oh, please do.”

---

Will came by the infirmary with a plate of food toward the end of Nico’s shift. The place was empty except for Nico sweeping the floor. Will had to pause in the doorway for a second, his mind still confused when he saw himself doing the sweeping. Is that what I usually look like? But, no, probably not. Because Nico was scowling hard at the floor as he worked, which was an odd look to see on the son of Apollo’s face.

“Knock knock!” Will called out, getting his boyfriend’s attention. Nico blinked a few times at Will, probably jarred in the same way Will was upon seeing himself.

Then he scowled again. “Don’t say that in my body—I look dumb.”

Will gasped in mock offense, then twirled around with his plate of food. “I think I make you look good, Sunshine.” He winked at Nico for good measure, who in turn groaned and dropped the broom where he was.

The boys settled down at Will’s desk, Nico taking Will’s usual seat in case anyone came in. They didn’t want any questions, no matter how innocent.

“So, do you think this body swap business is almost done?” Will asked as they started eating.

Nico could only shrug. “Hopefully. A day is the average length of a curse around here, but who knows?”

Will hummed in agreement. After a few more moments of silence, he asked, “How was the infirmary today? Everything went okay?”

Nico nodded. “Yeah, only Cecil came in with some burns.” He then smirked at his boyfriend. “He also told me some stories.”

“Oh no,” Will muttered as he buried his face in his hands. “About what?” He was afraid to know the answer.

“You know, just about you… and how you used to gush over me all the time.” Nico was fully grinning now. Will didn’t know he could look so evil.

“Ugh, whyyyyy,” he groaned loudly.

“I have so much blackmail material now.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah.”

They lapsed into another brief silence before Nico piped up again. “So, did you kill anyone in my class?”

“Psh, I’ll have you know, I am an excellent teacher,” Will puffed up.

Nico raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes, but your sword skills aren’t exactly up to par.”

“Well then it’s a good thing we didn’t use swords today.” Nico’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but before he could say anything, Will leapt out of his chair and struck what he probably thought was a heroic pose. “I regaled your students with tales of your bravery,” he trumpeted in a deep, dramatic voice. “While also interjecting some medical advice and emphasizing the importance of field medical knowledge.”

A beat of silence, and then, “Please don’t tell me you said it like that.”

“Just like that,” Will replied, a cheeky grin on his face.

Now it was Nico’s turn to groan, cheeks flooding red with embarrassment. “Will! I have a reputation!”

“Which I have elevated, you’re welcome.” He bowed as he returned to his seat.

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

[regrettablewritings]

hey id like to request dewey finn for the character ship meme? preferably 3, 7, and 29? thanks!!

🤘 🤘 We love a short king 🤘 🤘 Stuff’s under the cut!

3. Who is the most romantic?: You are, at least in the more traditional sense. You know of the ins and outs of bouquets and traditionally romantic candle-lit dinners and all that jazz. Dewey is, too, but he’s far less capable of actually pulling it off. The times he does, there’s always a hint of Dewey in them -- for better for for worse.

He runs a bath for you? Adds a little too much bubble mix and then there’s a whole thing about cleaning it up. He cooks dinner? It comes out a bit burnt. Add candles into that mix and the fire department has to have a talk with y’all about fire safety. Really, his safest bets were to stick to buying bouquets, chocolates, and stuffed animals. But after a point, you started to run out of vases and pots to put the flowers in, resorting to using old Burger King cups; and the bed was just barely big enough to hold both you and Dewey at once, never mind the assortment of plush puppies, teddy bears, and the cheaply-stuffed jumbo snake he’d miraculously won at Coney Island a while back.

The good news is, you’d honestly much prefer Dewey’s idea of romance because it’s more personal to you.

For Dewey, it’s romantic to teach you how to play an instrument. Not in the cheesy, “Come sit on my lap because I can guide you a lot easier that way” kind of way, mind you. Don’t take it the wrong way, he could also do just that if you insisted such. But he does so as though you were truly his student -- and you absolutely are. And that’s what makes it sweet: He’s sharing with you his biggest passion in life, and he takes it seriously enough to get really into it and want to sincerely pass it on to you. Dewey is an excitable man, it’s difficult to catch him in a moment where he’s particularly still; even rarer when he’s doing so and in an actually good mood.

And when he’s teaching you one of the very few things in life he knows absolutely best, he’s definitely in a good mood. Even if his expression may not directly suggest so, with his eyes completely focused on your positioning and occasional correction of your finger placement. But the moment you pull off a successful set of chords, that adorable smile of his comes shining through and beaming with absolute pride! It is, for lack of better word, a bonding experience. And that’s what makes it romantic in your humble opinion.

That, and at least Dewey’s idea of romantic can mean a nice night in where you can relax and just flop on the couch to watch crap TV instead of putting on “stiff fancy clothes” and having to leave the apartment. In your minds, very little can beat a comfy evening full of marathoning Let’s Plays in your makeshift pajamas and scarfing down food bought from the bodega two blocks down, especially after a rough week. And especially when one or the other plays with each other’s hair . . .

7. What do they get up to on a night out?: That being said, you’re still dating Dewey Finn: Eventually, you do need to go out and “taste fresh air” as Dewey dramatically puts it.

You two are gluttons for entertainment. You tried the whole gig of just going out for dinner at a fine dining establishment, followed by a bit of a walk (but not too long, this is still New York after dark after all). You both tried to enjoy it, too, but it honestly just wasn’t your scene. Besides, the portions were way too small for something costing upwards of $25 per plate.

The good news about having a boyfriend like Dewey is that he always has his fingers on the pulse of the city. If we’re going with my headcanon that everyone lives on Staten Island, then there’s no shortage of venues or events to explore! The limits are only set by the limits of your wallets! . . . Suffice to say, it’s not just a personal choice that you two usually just go to bar and grills that hold band nights.

But once every blue moon, after saving up, you both go crazy and head over to Manhattan to catch a show. You’re admittedly more into musicals than Dewey is (especially ones written and composed by Andrew Lloyd Webber), but there has been the occasional show that Dewey didn’t mind watching, and even found himself mutter-singing the lyrics to. Granted, because a night like this can be pretty pricey (especially on an extracurricular teacher’s salary mixed with your own), these sorts of nights don’t tend to happen too often.

And sometimes the urge to go out is accompanied by that grossly exhausted feeling where it’s like all your meats are essentially weighing down on your bones. But you haven’t done anything fun all week, you just gotta get out the house and get Out There! . . . To the 24hr pizzeria next door, because that’s about as far as the two of you can get.

Apparently at some point after you turn 21, just going out after 8pm can make you feel like a hell-raiser. And that’s good enough for y’all.

29. Why do they fall a little bit more in love?: You bring out what the other wants and needs.

When you were growing up, you were quite quiet. Being looked at by a bunch of people always made you anxious, you were constantly afraid to make sudden moves, lest there may be some backlash. You’ve gotten better since then, but even still, you struggle with being as open and forthcoming as you would like to be.

And that’s where Dewey comes in: With Dewey, you always feel like you can stand a little taller, be a little louder. There’s something about him that encourages people to break out of their shell (at the very least peek out of it) and make them want to just seize the day. As his significant other, you are absolutely no exception. Watching him confidently approach nearly every task with a can-do attitude makes you consider that maybe you can do the same thing. If you want to civilly but firmly tell somebody off, Dewey’s there to support you. If you need to ask for help with something but are too afraid to, Dewey’s got your back.

Of course, he sometimes oversteps and just does it for you himself, with him seeing any slight against you as a complete injustice that he needs to defend your honor over. In which case, you’re usually thankful, but gently tell him that you need to do this on your own. And he will respect this because it makes him remember that this is your journey towards gaining more confidence in yourself. You’re so very special to him, and far be it from him to keep you from accepting that more and more. So when he invigorates you and makes you want to be and do better, you can’t help but want to always be with him: That way, you can be better for him, yourself, and also your future together.

As for Dewey, it’s whenever you ground him and help him grow as a person and listen to him. Dewey’s never been that popular -- and he knows it. Sure, he may seem completely invincible, but the truth actually is that deep down he’s got some insecurities about himself. His brashness got him kicked out of his own band, his immaturity nearly lost him a friend and got him into legal trouble, girls have never been particularly drawn to him, and it’s quite easy to assume that he’s an imbecile because of his one-track mind with regards to music.

As a result, he’s used his dream of becoming a rock god as a means to promote himself and that swagger he gives off so much. Which then creates a cycle of him making more mistakes after overestimating his competency. The problem is that even though people may tell him to stop, they haven’t always offered him help with how to do exactly that. The truth of the matter is, yelling at somebody doesn’t exactly help the situation; maybe it brings a person to realizations over what needs to be done, but rarely does it actually offer the tools necessary to get beyond that.

The irony here is that for as chaotic as Dewey can be, he’s a surprisingly good listener to those whom he sees insecurities in, especially kids. After discovering he has a knack for it, he’s become more than willing to sit somebody down and try to help them realize their potential, even if it isn’t always intentional on his part. And that’s where you come in.

You’re more patient than he is, so your impulsivity or lack thereof is a great counter to his, making sure that he remembers that sometimes things need to be planned out. Steps need to be taken in order to follow through with certain projects or goals, we can’t always just jump to it. With you, Dewey’s become more orderly with things. Not extremely, mind you, as that would destroy the man’s personality as we know and love it. But just enough to where he’s not as risky as he used to be.

In addition to this, you’re willing to listen to him and his thoughts on things, from his obsession with music to the anxieties he usually tries to keep tucked away deep down. It doesn’t necessarily borderline being therapy, but it’s enough to where airing things out help him feel more stable. Besides, not everyone is as taken to music as he is: It’s nice to be heard, even when it’s just over one’s special interest. Finally, like you with him, Dewey likes to observe you. It’s not always obvious, given that his hyperactivity sometimes distracts him or just appears to. After all, it’s hard to imagine the guy who dances when he’s excited actually paying attention to you when you’re just sitting on the couch, sketching.

But he is. Because watching you being able to keep still and let yourself breathe makes him want to do the same. He’s spent so much of his life thinking he needs to live fast that he never considered maybe slowing down a bit might be good. But now he has. And he wants to. He wants to slow down and grow up for you -- no, with you. And ever since he realized that this was something he wanted, he couldn’t help but love you a little more every time he found that familiar, warm feeling in his chest, making goosebumps rise to his skin.

Thanks for asking and for being patient!!

[mythologyfolklore]

Ares and Athena through the years - Ch.19

Chapter Nineteen: Homecoming party

.

Ares never would have dreamed, that his family would be so happy to see him, that they would throw such a huge party to celebrate his homecoming.

And never would he have dreamed, that he would be so happy to be here with all of his stuck-up relatives, that he would be glad to have them and their oh-so-civilised lifestyle again.

But here he was, among his loved ones after mortal centuries of being so far away.

He was in the arms of his little sisters and brother, surrounded by the sound of his half-siblings' laughter, their music and singing, the sweet and etheric scents of home, the sight of his smiling parents, the beauty of home.

And Aphrodite, his beloved Aphrodite, his life, heart and soul, tamer of his wrath, soother of his inner demons, mother of his dear divine children, and he was holding her in his arms, kissing her, smelling her tantalising scent, looking into her pink eyes, feeling her joyful tears seep through his chiton and thought that, right there and right now, he was the happiest god in the world and oh, how he loved her so!

Of course he had missed them all, but he hadn't known just how much, until now.

The happiness was so overwhelming that he almost started bawling in front of everyone. But his pride kept him from doing so, he had a reputation to uphold after all.

Instead he announced, that he had something to say.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked over to listen.

“I'll make it short”, he spoke. “When I left here, I was really eager to leave and glad to get away from y'all, because in the years before you'd been even more dickish than usual.”

There were a few agitated murmurs here and there and Hera glared at him. Ah, his mother dearest hadn't changed at all).

Ares ignored it and continued: “But you're my family and at the end of the day I love you all more than I hate you sometimes. Bein' away for a few months to cool off is one thing, but after spendin' several centuries away from Olympos, it's really a whole different experience to come home again. It was fun to travel the world, but still, it's good to be back. Guess there really is no place like home. Bottom line is, I missed you all. I'll soon be back to my usual business again, but for now I just wanna be happy to be home and that you're receivin' me so well. Never thought I'd see the day when you're all happy to see me – yeah, even you, Daddy's Owl! Don't think I didn't notice!”, he added playfully and everyone laughed.

Athena huffed and looked away.

Ares laughed, but decided not to tease her further for now.

“That's it!”, he closed his speech and threw his arms up. “Time to let the party commence!”

These words were met with cheers.

.

It really was the party of millennia, just like Dionysos had promised.

Everyone had fun, there was laughter, the food and drinks were even better than Ares remembered, he was the centre of attention in a positive way and he savoured it all, because today he could pretend that he wasn't one of the most unpopular deities in the pantheon.

Just for this night, they seemed like a normal rich family.

He was laughing, smiling and dancing with Aphrodite, Artemis and his mother, joking with Dionysos and Hermes and playfully bickering with Apollon and Hephaistos.

However, after he had danced with Aphrodite for the third time, he noticed that one goddess was sitting in a corner, moping and looking down.

“'Scuse me, love”, he told the love goddess and danced his way through the crowd to where Athena was sitting.

.

Athena groaned in frustration, when Ares came over and sat next to her.

“Oi, Daddy's Owl! What's with that's face? C'mon, I know you're not into this, but this is still a party! And you're sulkin' in a corner?”

She glared at him. “Well, maybe I want to sulk! Leave me be and go dance with Aphrodite or Artemis!”

“Aphrodite is dancin' with Dionysos”, Ares replied and pointed to where the goddess of love was dancing with the god of drag queens so wildly, that the other dancers kept a save distance.

“And Artemis with Hermes.” There was the huntress merrily dancing with the messenger.

“And I'm not gonna dance with my little brother, that's gay.”

“Hephaistos is paraplegic”, Athena pointed out.

Ares grinned: “So? That's never stopped Aglaia. Oh look, Dite's dancin' with him now!”

Indeed she was, pushing his wheelchair along to the rhythm, while Hephaistos was laughing and holding on to the arm rests.

“As you see, Daddy's Owl-”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Nah. As you see, everyone's hitched, so you're not gonna get rid of me for now.”

She groaned: “Oh for the love of Khaos, Ares! What part of 'leave me be' do you not understand?!”

Ares only rolled his eyes. “Come on, don't be like that! I just saw you being all depressed and stuff and I want to know what the matter is. Just tell me and I'll leave you alone! Now spill it, because hanging out with you isn't any less dull than it was forty Olympian years ago!”

“I see, you're still a tactless prick.”

“Owl, I haven't changed for many thousand years, so why would I now?”

Athena sighed: “Well, as humans say, hope dies last.”

“Cute. Still not going away.”

“If I tell you, will you really leave me alone?”

“Cross my heart.”

The war goddess rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine. I'm angry at myself. That incident with the Roman gods … I can't believe this happened! How could I have made a diplomatic blunder like that! Our pantheon got into trouble, because of my careless assumption that the Romans are like us and think the same way we do. I didn't even bother to fact check that assumption and with that I endangered us all. This is unforgivable. And the one to resolve the issue was you! You, of all the people! How? How did you, the god of terrible war and bloodshed, ace this situation and appease those foreigners, while I, the goddess of wisdom and good counsel made this fatal mistake?! How?!”

Ares smiled lopsidedly. “Well, what can I say? I can be really diplomatic if I wanna be. Remember what I told y'all forty Olympian years ago, during the Sack of Troy? Since I'm Dad's only legitimate son, that makes me the crown prince. And as such, I bear high responsibilities. I've been doin' his correspondence, ever since I grew to age. Dad would take me to international meetings to meet gods from other places, so I'd get to know them, learn how they roll – ya know, the works. I had to grow into it too, but I've had ten thousands of years to figure it all out. I just have that much practise. How long have you been doin' my paper work?”

Athena scratched the back of her neck. “Since shortly after you left. I offered father to help him with the paper work in exchange for a favour and he was all too happy to oblige.”

Ares chuckled: “Yeah, reckon he was. Bet he has forgotten just how much of his paper stuff I actually do, when I'm not bein' the black sheep of the family an' makin' mortals killin' each other for sports. Did he think you could handle it without so much as a briefing? I mean, don't get me wrong-”

“We both thought so”, Athena admitted quietly.

The older god shook his head. “Yeah, suspected as much. Sorry, Owl, but ya overestimated yerself there. Complaints an' revenge prayers of mortals an' minor gods to Zeus are easy to get rid of. International affairs are a whole different matter. As I told the Roman gods earlier, you're so introverted, ya don't talk to foreigners enough. If ya don't get out and meet people, you'll remain completely clueless about the rest of the world. These people don't think like we do. Trust me, no one knows that better than I. Happens more than often, that I make mistakes when I interact with foreigners people for the first time. I mean, you've read my letters from abroad. Cultural misunderstandings, losses in translation and what not.”

She didn't answer.

She was too busy grappling with the humiliation of getting a lecture on diplomacy from Ares of all gods.

The war god pat her shoulder in sympathy. “Hey now. Don't beat yourself up over it. Shit happens. Besides, how could you predict that the Romans would be offended over such a stupid little thing? It's as I told them, there was no way you could've known. Just give those duties back to me, now that I'm back. And maybe spend your free time hanging out with others more. Make some new friends, especially abroad. You always liked to learn new stuff, didn't ya? Trust me, it'll do ya a world of good. An' you know what? Let's forget, that I just gave you a talk on communication with outsiders too. We'll never speak of it again. Promise.”

Athena gave him a suspicious look. But his expression was genuine and so she nodded.

“Yes, for that I would be quite thankful indeed.”

Ares laughed: “Awesome! Hey, how about a dance?”

She stared at him. “I don't dance, Ares. Also, you promised you would leave me alone, after talking to you about my problem.”

The war god shrugged. “Guess I did. Still a shame though. Dancing is one of those things you gotta try out at least once. Oh well, suit yourself.”

Within a moment's notice he was back on the dance floor and dancing with his sister Hebe.

Athena stayed in her corner, albeit with her mood significantly improved.

[yourfavgoodgirl]

Day 1:Happy New Year! Any hopes for the new year? (TC or non TC related?)

i hope to stay in contact with him, and i hope to see him irl again (corona please)

Day 2: Do you have any nicknames/codenames that you call your TC? Do they have any they call you?

my nickname for him is “the most beautiful handsome gorgeous man in the entire world” but just in my head

Day 3: Describe the moment you knew they were more than just another teacher.

when he gave me some ✨attention✨ and just kinda noticed something about me that most people don’t

Day 5: What’s the age gap? Did you ever think you would fall for someone that much older? Are you comfortable with the age gap?

24-25 years and like i appreciate men of all ages (okay that sounded weird i swear i’m not a catholic priest) so i’m not surprised but i didn’t really think about it you know?? am i making sense. but i’m okay but i wish it was smaller just so there would be a bigger chance

Day 6: Describe the first time you saw/met them. How did you meet? What was it like? Were you automatically attracted or did it take some time?

i honestly don’t remember. i didn’t really pay much attention to him at first, i mean not saying i don’t appreciate some good looks on a man but all of my crushes are personality first looks second.

Day 7: Do you plan on keeping contact with your TC after graduation? How do you plan on doing it? If you’re graduated, have you kept in contact? How have you managed that?

honestly i don’t knowwwwwwwww i graduated and i’ve spoken to him once i’m too scared to message him because i feel like i’m bothering him and i don’t want to look like a dumb schoolgirl with a desperate crush even though that is 100% what i am

Day 8: Is there something that tends to remind you of them? Like a sport, food, animal, etc…?

he loves cats. and some songs. and also everything

Day 9: Do you have a memory you are particularly fond of with your TC? Any cute stories?

i really wanna say but it’s too specific. but any praise he’s given me i just store in my brain forever and replay

Day 10: Have you ever touched your TC? Like a hug or a brush of the hand?

i just realised i haven’t lolzzzzzzzz this doesn’t bother me at all ha h a

Day 11: How often do you talk to them? Do you talk to them outside of school?

nope because i am dumb and scared and have no social skills

Day 12: Have you ever had any previous TC’s? What were they like?

nopeee my love is for this stupid teacher only

Day 13: If it were to happen, how do you imagine the perfect kiss going down with your TC? If by chance you have kissed your TC, how did it happen?

WHO HAS KISSED THEIR TC AND IS STILL ON TUMBLR ANSWERING QUESTIONS if it wasn’t obvious no it has not happened to me but i would be in his house on his bed and he’ll just kiss me it dosen’t have to be long but just the kind that says i love you without any words aaaaaaa i’m so alone

Day 14: Do you truly believe there is a chance that they’re interested in you? Has anyone else pointed out that maybe you’re special to you’re TC?

okay so i don’t know. like obviously if you ask me to bet a million dollars on wether he likes me i’ll say he doesn’t. but when it’s 3am and i’m in my bed i think what if. WHAT IF.

Day 15: Have you ever gotten them a gift? If so, what was it?

yes and just food unfortunately. i wish i gave more but it would be weird and i’m trying not to be even more obvious about my crush

Day 17: If you had to pick one feature about them, physical or personality, what would be your favorite?

okay so i saw this tiktok about like people always like the cocky anime characters with the skills to back it up and i just thought of him instantly (not that he’s an anime character). but his dumb cocky and confident attitude is just everything i want and more

Day 18: Do you know of anything they do outside of work? What do they enjoy doing in their free time?

he plays the guitar and sings <3

Day 19: What goes on for you when you see them? How does your body react?

i will be surprised and look away. i can’t keep eye contact with him. and sometimes i just don’t know what to do and i’ll just ignore him. IM SO DUMB WHY AM I LIKE THIS

Day 20: What have you done, or what would you do, to spend more time with them? Join a club/sport they’re in charge of? Sign up for an extra class they teach?

i would do anything that won’t give my crush away. but like i’m so lazy. i avoid doing anything. people are already suspicious and i really don’t want my crush to be known (unless it’s on tumblr <3)

Day 21: How often do you dream about them? What do the dreams usually consist of?

my dreams are so weird. for me i’ll go though phases of no dreams and just ten a day (i nap a lot). i will say about a third of my dreams involve him but not in a romantic way, unless you call me desperately trying to talk to him romantic.

Day 22: What’s a little detail you’ve noticed about them that you aren’t even sure they’re aware of? Do the run their hand through their hair often? Do they subconsciously bite their lip?

i don’t know if this counts but i often stare at him from afar (yes i’m a stalker what about it) and he walks with his chest puffed and head high. like really really really confidently. i miss trying to catch glimpses of him at school </3

Day 23: If they weren’t a teacher, what do you think they should be?

my husband <3 i think he can hold two jobs well, he’s a great multitasker

Day 24: Do you think other people in your school may have feelings towards them too? Why?

yes, because he is the most perfect being (human or otherwise) like, ever

Day 25: What are their classes like? Do they talk a lot? Is it mostly independent work? Are there a lot of notes?

i miss the discussions

Day 26: How would you describe their personality?

dumb. stupid. annoying.

Day 27: What’s the weirdest thing they’ve ever worn?

omg I WANT TO SAY THIS BUT I CANT UGH THE HORROR

Day 28: What’s something you don’t quite fancy about them? A quirk you find odd? A physical trait that you aren’t a fan of?

sometimes he can be surprisingly by the book. i am kinda a rebel (yes it’s hard being so cool) so that rubs me the wrong way but sometimes i break rules or make another teacher mad and he’ll just laugh and smile and ugh i love him

Day 29: How long have you had a crush on them?

jesus christ i just realised it’s already my fourth year pining over this man. someone help

Day 30: Write a poem (short or long) about your TC.

y’all really overestimating my literary skills. but here’s a haiku

please i’m so sad

all because of this dumb man

i want to kiss him

Day 31: Do you have anyone in your life who knows about your TC? Anyone you can talk to?

i told a friend that i thought he’s cute but she totally does not get the extent of it and aaaa there’s another girl that’s totally onto me but i’m not really her friend and she’s the type who can’t keep her mouth shut so

[master-thief-gray-shadow]

A Real Life Coffee Shop Romance

Chapter 1

Next chapter

Summary: Tsugumi knows better than anyone that being a barista is fairly boring. You greet customers, you make coffee, and you may even enjoy it, but in the end it's still mundane and uneventful, regardless of what Himari might say about coffee shops and romance. But maybe falling for a regular isn't quite as out there as she'd initially thought.

Notes: The last time I attempted any kind of multichap fic was back in early 2016. In early 2016 I also kind of sucked at writing and had a tendency to severely overestimate my own ability to get anything done. I’ve done a lot of reflection on my skills in the last half a year or so, and I figured I should give it a shot again. I’m starting smaller this time, much smaller. No epic action sequences...at least, as far as you know.

“So what kind of coffee do you think Kaoru-senpai drinks? I need to know, this is important.”

Tomoe snorted. “Seta-senpai doesn’t drink coffee. She drinks a cup of milk and sugar with a little coffee mixed in.”

Himari’s jaw dropped. “What? But Kaoru-senpai is so cool, that...that doesn’t seem right at all!”

“Why does it matter how Seta-san takes her coffee?” Ran said cooly before taking another bite of her lunch.

“Writing another fanfic, are we?” Moca said, her trademark lazy smirk adorning her face as she leaned back against the rooftop fence. “Is this one a coffee shop AU?”

Himari sputtered, nearly dropping her lunch as her face went bright red. “Th-that’s not...I’m not even…” It was all she could squeak out before devolving into incoherent babbles.

“Aha, caught ya,” Moca said, sounding extraordinarily pleased with herself. “I can see riiiiiight through you, Hii-chan.”

“Moca-chan, please.” Tsugumi figured that this was as good a time as any to step in. This sort of thing was ingrained in her at this point. “Leave Himari-chan’s hobbies alone.” It was no secret to the rest of Afterglow that Himari wrote “fan fiction” not just of the various romance manga she enjoyed, but also about the Prince of Haneoka herself, Seta Kaoru. It was just a matter of getting the other members (namely Moca) to stop teasing her about it. It wasn’t even that bad, really. Sure, a lot of what she wrote was cheesy, but that served to make it even more satisfying. Not that Tsugumi was biased or anything.

“Wait, hold on, go back.” Tomoe raised her arms slightly in confusion. “What the hell is a coffee shop AU?”

It was almost unsettling how quickly Himari’s expression shifted from embarrassment and visible distress to barely-contained excitement. Ran could be heard letting out a long breath through her nose right before Himari launched into an enthusiastic explanation. “So sometimes romance is thrilling when it’s about star-crossed lovers in life-or-death situations defying everything to be together, right? But sometimes it’s more beautiful when it’s more everyday and ordinary!” She clutched at her chest. “Sometimes you take characters who lead exciting lives and put them in an everyday situation, one that you might find yourself in sometimes! Like a chance meeting in a coffee shop!” Himari was swooning by now, and the hearts in her eyes were almost visible. “To make a destined connection, in a place as simple as the line at a cafe and with someone as ordinary and hardworking as the barista...that is true romance!”

There was a somewhat too long moment of silence as Himari finished her...well, it was sort of an explanation, in a really impassioned way. Surprisingly, it was Ran who spoke up first. “What’s so romantic about a coffee shop?”

Another uncomfortably long silence. Followed by all eyes shifting towards Tsugumi. “Um...why are you all looking at me?”

Tomoe reached up to scratch the back of her head. “Well, you’re a barista, right?” She said. “So you’d probably know all about coffee shops and romance, right?”

“Of course she would!” Himari still seemed to be swept up in the apparent genuine interest in one of her hobbies. “Tsugu knows her way around a coffee shop better than anyone else we know! Surely you’re familiar with seeing a customer come in, and then you take their order, and then there’s this spark, right?”

“Yeah Tsugu,” Moca teased, “I bet you know all about getting crushes on your patrons, hm? Care to tell us who the really cute ones are?”

Now it was Tsugumi who was blushing. “O-oh, it’s not like that at all!” She said, waving her hands defensively. “We’re friendly with all the customers, obviously, especially the regulars, b-but that kind of thing doesn’t really happen, sorry.” She smiled sheepishly. What else was she supposed to do when being put on the spot like this?

“Yeah, I know,” Himari sighed, now having again dramatically shifted her emotions, this time toward disappointment. “But it’s fun to imagine, y’know?” A slight dreamy look started to return to her eyes.

“I suppose it is for you,” Tsugumi said with a small laugh. “But I’m just a normal barista. It’s nothing special.”

The conversation soon steered away from coffee shops, somehow toward some kind of debate about whether some anime character could beat a different character from a different anime in a fight, but even as she listened in something was sticking in Tsugumi’s mind. What if she somehow made that kind of connection with a cafe patron? A “spark,” as Himari had called it? It was a little silly to think about. She was a plain, ordinary girl who worked at a plain, ordinary coffee shop. She was hardly very interesting or appealing outside her job, and probably not much changed about that while she was working. What kind of person would even feel a spark with her? Sparks were for cool and interesting people. Like Eve. If anyone was going to meet their soulmate while working at a cafe, it would definitely be Eve. Eve was a model, an idol, and a modern-day samurai, all on top of already being a gorgeous foreign beauty, and Tsugumi was...well…

An espresso probably had more appeal and character than her, didn’t it?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hazawa Cafe was usually quiet in the late afternoons. Most of the customers came in during the few hours following lunch, and by 4 PM almost everyone would have cleared out. Today wasn’t any different. The first rays of the setting sun crept through the window as Tsugumi kept herself busy cleaning up behind the counter. They would close in an hour or two, but for now she was here, keeping watch for any latecomers. 

The familiar tinkling of bells as the door opened caught her attention. The person who stepped through held it.

“Ah!” She perked up, the sight of one of her favorite regulars bringing a genuine smile to her face. “Good afternoon, Sayo-san.”

With the same breathtaking grace she carried herself with everywhere else, Sayo approached the counter, her face its usual mask of bored disdain save for the almost imperceptible upward turn of the corners of her mouth. It was something that at this point Tsugumi was sure only she was able to notice. “Good afternoon, Hazawa-san.”

“Plain black dark roast like always, right?” Ever since they had gotten to know each other when the cafe had held a baking class, Sayo seemed to come here almost every day at this late hour, often to do homework or study. At this point Tsugumi had a pretty good grasp on her tastes. She was simple and unpretentious, and reluctant to overindulge. “Oh, and that cake over there was just made this afternoon.”

Sayo eyed the remaining half of the cake in its display case. “Cinnamon crumb…” She said, her eyebrows knitting together thoughtfully. Her gaze seemed to soften just a little, the smallest of lights shimmering in her eyes at the prospect of house-baked goods. Once again she turned that gaze toward Tsugumi, and she really couldn’t help but wonder just what was in the depths of those beautiful jade eyes. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll have a small piece.”

Even as she rang up Sayo’s order and gave her the total, she couldn’t even remember what it was. All she could focus on was Sayo’s slow blink and gentle nod of acknowledgement, the feel of their fingers lightly brushing as she handed her change back, the way her hair moved as she turned to take a seat at a table, like the branches of a willow in a gentle wind. It took her a small extra second to get started on Sayo’s order, just an extra second so Tsugumi could take her in.

It would never happen, of course. It never could happen. But it would really be something if Sayo had a crush on her, wouldn’t it?

Himari was right about one thing, Tsugumi mused. It was fun to imagine.

[fallingin-like]

november 23

the real folk blues by @annawrites [requested by @allforthebee]

see which other fics i’m reviewing this month! / my review request post!

this absolutely amazing and captivating fic that has the foxes as space bounty hunters and neil who is, as usual, and exceptionally skilled runaway. set away some time to read this fic as soon as possible, because once you start, you won’t be able to put it down until you finish.

this is such an entertaining, fun fic and you did an amazing job at balancing the softer moments with intense, action-packed scenes. at all times i was fully immersed in the story, you handled everything so well. i’m always a fan of your writing, so it’s not a surprised that i had a wonderful experience rereading this.

bits that stood out to me:

”counting stars has become a habit, something to subdue the memories” ah this is really cute and i can totally imagine canon andrew, lying on the roof of some building counting stars instead of trying to sleep

”renee cracks a chicken bone smile in the corner of her mouth” i have never heard this phrase before but i love it!

”there’s a collective intake of breath - andrew, who remembers every single bounty ever placed, can’t remember it ever being this big” for some reason, i love when this kind of thing happens. it feels so cool, knowing someone wants that character that bad and gets me excited for what kind of skills the hunted person has, to be able to evade the people looking for them (reminds me of john wick lol)

”nathaniel wesninski alias neil josten is a hacker, con artist, engineer and pilot” BLESS HIM FOR BEING SO CAPABLE AND SKILLED

matt’s infamous bell peppers and beef with no beef!!! that’s funny and i think about it surprisingly often

”renee pulls up a few more photographs of neil wesninski on the hologram screen. she deals them out like cards until they fan out in a neat timeline of faded hoodies and various iterations of the same polished smile, a mouth sharpened to cutting perfection… the eyes, in contrast, look consistently hunted” holograms and just this space tech is SO cool. i love seeing how the foxes view neil before they meet him. it’s interesting how many sightings they have of him, but also how blank he seems, when we all know that there’s so much personality under that surface

”the ISSP are a bunch of corrupt, incompetent idiots” LOL

”’tone down the optimism, day,’ andrew drawls. ‘we might start overestimating our chances’” agh i love your characterization of all of these characters and this is a great example of why! and i like that you used drawls, it feels very andrew-like

”andrew waggles his fingers lazily in the air” yeah this is andrew

woah i have never seen the art for this fic (i guess because i have the fic downloaded and i just read that version instead of going on ao3, the pictures must not have downloaded) but it’s great!

gasp, i love the idea of the foxes Dressed Up

ALLISON BEING BANNED FROM PLAYING!! “her former alias - lady luck, also known as poker alice” oh this is great. for some reason, them having reputations like this really excites me

”it’s in my blind spot” ANDREW this is so funny

ahhhh i can’t believE you added the “better luck next time” line in!!

okay so the whole action part of this scene is so intense, love andrew throwing the poker chip as a diversion, and neil pretending to give up for a moment before ACTIVATING HIS ARMED SHIP AND SHOOTING EVERYONE. ugh, hearing about neil being so good at what he does (steering, hacking, while taking off his jacket) makes me love this scene so much

”vowels rolling like a pair of dice” this is so good on its own, but paired with the casino scene that precedes it? stunning

”kevin values his ship, and his life, in that order.” i can imagine. i wonder, is there competitive racing in this au? i can imagine kevin being obsessed with that

thank goodness riko is dead, one less thing (on a list of many things) to worry about. whoop and i see that easthaven has passed, good.

KEVIN DAY WITH A METAL ARM AND A TRANSMITTER PLATE THAT COVERS HIS TATTOO YEAH

oh dang limb regrowth tech in this au? wild

”’minyard and the monster, how lovely to see you again.’ neil greets him through the once more hijacked comm. they’ve been playing this game for weeks now, racing each other across the milky way like starved lovers. even allison is starting to run out of lewd jokes” i find it so interesting hearing about this relationship that’s being built between them even though they basically never meet in person, the joking from neil’s side

these hints of andrew’s eye mods are really great, i definitely didn’t notice them as much as i should have when i first read this fic, but every time after that, i appreciate little details like these more and more

RENEE WITH A KATANA YES PLEASE

”andrew shakes off the last dregs of sunday sleepiness that cling to his lips like the skin on warm milk. neil wesninski might have become a game by now, but the malcolms still mean business” ohhh boy, even knowing what comes next i get nervous hearing this. i love the contrast between the softness of what sundays mean with the conflict to come, especially when you jump right into the action

”renee pants, her voice cool and slippery like broken tiles amid the crackle of static” oh i love this description

LOL i can’t believe that andrew got matt’s dessert rations and gets to invite neil to be a part of their crew

”missions are slow and neil’s face keeps showing up on big shot, though not for lack of people trying to hunt him down.” i don’t know why but i really like this!! you go, neil!

oh oh thank you so much for the way that you describe neil alone on his ship, his hoodies, gloves, “one sad-looking sock”, “the one sock he’s wearing has holes”, talking to himself, “yet he’s still inexplicably trying to shield his robots from andrew’s gun” so cute!

”eyes like the gleaming insides of a wire in the dark” this!!!!

the! cats! neil made his robots cats!!

NEIL HACKING INTO THEIR COMMS I LOVE HIM

”neil is like a live fish under his hands, constantly wriggling and sliding out of his grip, fingers twitching back toward his abandoned project like flies caught in a spiderweb” ahh squirmy neil is super cute, “neil shivers under the touch like he’s not used to being touched at all” this doesn’t surprise me. even if i didn’t have an idea of what his childhood might have been like (with mary and nathan, i imagine there was not very much affection), he’s probably been alone for so long, when would the last time someone would have touched him? i don’t think i would be able to handle it

ahh barefoot neil is always cute

SCARS no matter how many fics i read, i always love moments when neil’s scars are revealed

NEIL RUNNING LAPS IN HIS TINY SHORTS AROUND AND AROUND AHH

”neil slinks into the room late, looking tousled and a little sticky around the edges like he’s just woken up from a nap. he freezes when he sees andrew, stuck standing right in the middle of the projection, and only moves when dan throws a cushion at him” your writing actually paints scenes in my head which for me, a person really bad at visualizing things, is really impressive. it makes the experiences of reading exponentially more interesting, and doesn’t happen that often.

renee as praying mantis!! what a perfect nickname. is she religious in this au as well? i can’t remember if any religions even exist in this au (whoops i know nothing about cowboy bebop)

”she looks stiff and faded like old newspaper in the light of the kitchen lamps” what a gem of a sentence

me: sees the nickname gorilla and gets excited because i know some action is going to go down

”the three of them would just  about reach his head if renee sat on andrew’s shoulders and lifted neil up” THIS IS AMAZING. i mean, andrew and neil are tiny but they are not that tiny

”andrew begins tonelessly, tracing patterns into neil’s skin” if we ignore the fact that andrew is telling a terrible terrible story, this is so soft

”his breathing is viscous now, like syrup in his lungs. his left eye aches and the corner of his mouth twitches painfully into the ghost of a manic grin. he bites his tongue and it tastes like the word please” i am speechless but i really wanted to acknowledge this sentences lakjsdf

NEIL WINNING THE BET ABOUT BEING ABLE TO STEAL THINGS FROM THE VENDOR AND ROBBING THE MAN JUST ABOUT EVERYTHING. uGH you do such a good job of integrating humour like this into your story and having it fit the tone and pacing of the fic effortlessly.

excuse me how is it possible that you followed such a lighthearted scene with something so devastating as andrew explaining his past to allison and neil and have it still flow??? “because… i did not mean for you to get hurt” ANDREW YOU’RE SO GOOD

”he’s smoking outside and watching the dusk unfurl like an exotic flower when there’s a crash inside the store” this description is so gorgeous

what in the world, andrew i don’t even know how to describe you. he really just helps catch the robbers with his headphones on while choosing things to buy, killing a dude, then checking out, no big deal???? i understand neil’s attraction to him a little bit more now…

andrew and renee sharing clothes is now canon, please and thank you

oh no, lola is Bad News, especially when it comes to threatening neil’s family

NEIL PACKING ANDREW’S LEATHER JACKET AHH

”the bebop crew are basically overgrown children and react very well to the little sugary rewards for good behaviour” yeah this is very true haha

”’your blatant flirting woke me up,’ matt grins weakly. ‘can i have a lollipop too, neil?” i remember this whole scene so well, the second the infirmary was mentioned i knew it was lollipop time. matt, is basically how i feel right now HAH

woah wymack taking care of bonsai trees? i didn’t know i needed that in my life so badly. just like neil and the twins, so tiny :’)

uhm so, the tape that nicky sent to andrew? it’s actually making me cry (which is super rare for fics) “i hope you know that i love you”, “things aren’t so easy at the moment, and maybe they still aren’t easy for you watching this ten years from now, but i’ll always be there for you, and for aaron, too. i hope that one day we can be a family. happy birthday, my little piyoko, don’t eat all the cake by yourself!” i love this so much, and it makes me so sad and happy. this nicky is so good, and as much as i think andrew needed to see this, i think that i needed to read this more. thank you

nicky calling the twins his little piyokos, his lucky birds ;-;

the reunion scenes are so good, i really don’t think i can write anything that sufficiently describes how i feel. the way that nicky acts, the new relatives, older aaron, it all feels so right, so real.

andrea minyard deserves her own bullet point

neil just goes and makes all the police ships crash by controlling them remotely just for andrew to be hit by a moon rock?!?!?

”something irritatingly warm rises and swells inside andrew like yeast dough and he plunges his fists into it and kneads it into submission, twists it until all that remains is sticky, frothy anger” and “andrew sits down on a crate and prods at the yeasty mass still fermenting in his insides. the sudden bloating of anger has subsided to the usual starchy nothingness, but there’s a sugary residue of unease that he doesn’t want to examine any further right now” as much as i adore your jokes and beautiful descriptions of scenes, sentences like these ones that blow me away completely are why you’re one of my favourite fanfic authors. these are the kinds of sentences that i carry with me even after i am finished reading

”i can’t decide if you two are more like toddlers or like an old married couple… either way, it’s really bizarre to see andrew having feelings other than hate and destruction” LOL

thea is the coolest person ever

”kevin makes a noise like a dying dog” me too, kevin

NONONONONO ICHIROU AND JEAN AND EASTHAVEN

thank goodness neil is here

apparently i am very fond of the words “juice pack” and think it is cute. why? i also do not know

huh, riko naming his identity kevin king?? feels… not good

oh boy, lola is back

ANDREW CAN PICK OPEN HIS HANDCUFFS THANK YOU FOR THIS

is it bad if i am happy that all these people are dying (proust, lola, etc.)

NEIL AMPUTATES NATHAN’S HAND WITH A CLEAVER WHILE HE’S HOLDING A CLEAVER AND THEN KILLS HIM LDKSJFLK

oh dang, it’s stuart (i trust him)

andrew’s eye! thank goodness, because although it kind of sucks, it also Really Does Not Suck

”it’s stiff and awkward and neil quickly wriggles out of it. kevin must be really shaken up, because he tries andrew next. andrew waits passively until he’s close and then steps to the side at the last moment, smothering his amusement in a cough when kevin walks straight into the wall with open arms. serves him right for thinking even for a second that andrew would let him” LOL i love you, anna, so so much

money!! woohoooooo (or should i say woolonghooo okay sorry that’s like the world’s worst pun)

BELL PEPPERS AND BEEF WITH ACTUAL BEEF AND NO PEPPERS YES! what a great way to bring things full circle, even though it’s small

sweet dumplings filled with fruit? i am intrigued

THE SHIRT

i can’t not acknowledge the bit with the key, neil is too clever for his own good

we finally get to see bee! ugh i love the relationship between bee and andrew

”they may be marks of destruction, but they are still andrew’s; still proof of his existence” yeah (like a good yeah)

interesting about andrew’s memory not being as good without his left eye. does he have eidetic memory in this au? maybe it’s better if he doesn’t

i remember the first time i read this fic, in startling detail. this fic was so good then, and it has been just as good, if not better, every time i have reread it

it’s kind of embarrassing, but one of the things that i remember distinctly (among a lot of other things) is the noodles! reading this fic never fails to make me want to eat instant noodles

so one thing about me is that i am actually really bad at visualizing things. when i read stories, i can never imagine what a character looks like, i just see the feature that is being highlighted at the moment, and the second that sentence ends, that image is gone. like i just have a magnifying glass to someone’s face but i can’t piece together the parts. it makes it so that i often struggle with the visualization of stories. but something about your writing makes it easy for me to pictures scenes happening. everything is so vivid, and real (hence, the instant noodle cravings lol) and i love that so much. it’s so special.

the flow of this fic is amazing, the characterization is incredibly authentic and really helps with carrying the plot. you integrated lighthearted scenes with pure angst and awful things (easthaven) and i’m honestly curious as to the cowboy bebop episodes you took inspiration from. this fic was so well written, you are so skilled at introducing characters, locations, plot points, although i’m not familiar with this universe i wasn’t confused at any point. you explained everything without me noticing. this was just a breathtaking fic. thank you so much for writing this!!

[hindi-matribhasha]

psychology of money - nuggets

1) There’s a common phrase in investing, usually used mockingly, that “It’s different this time.” If you need to rebut someone who’s predicting the future won’t perfectly mirror the past, say, “Oh, so you think it’s different this time?” and drop the mic. It comes from investor John Templeton’s view that “The four most dangerous words in investing are, ‘it’s different this time.’

2)There is never a moment when you’re so right that you can bet every chip in front of you. The world isn’t that kind to anyone—not consistently, anyways. You have to give your self room for error. You have to plan on your plan not going according to plan.

3)The ability to do what you want, when you want, for as long as you want, has an infinite ROI

4)The trick that often goes overlooked—even by the wealthiest —is what we saw in chapter 10: realizing that you don’t need a specific reason to save. It’s fine to save for a car, or a home, or for retirement. But it’s equally important to save for things you can’t possibly predict or even comprehend— the financial equivalent of field mice.

5)Part of the reason people like Ronald Read—the wealthy janitor we met earlier in the book—and Warren Buffett become so successful is because they kept doing the same thing for decades on end, letting compounding run wild.

6) Every job looks easy when you’re not the one doing it because the challenges faced by someone in the arena are often invisible to those in the crowd.

7) Being swayed by people playing a different game can also throw off how you think you’re supposed to spend your money. So much consumer spending, particularly in developed countries, is socially driven: subtly influenced by people you admire, and done because you subtly want people to admire you.

8) A third is that progress happens too slowly to notice, but setbacks happen too quickly to ignore.

9) Growth is driven by compounding, which always takes time. Destruction is driven by single points of failure, which can happen in seconds, and loss of confidence, which can happen in an instant. It’s easier to create a narrative around pessimism because the story pieces tend to be fresher and more recent. Optimistic narratives require looking at a long stretch of history and developments, which people

10)The more you want something to be true, the more likely you are to believe a story that overestimates the odds of it being true. 

the stories we believe in shapes how we perceive value of our wealth

Everyone has an incomplete view of the world. But we form a complete narrative to fill in the gaps.

11)The illusion of control is more persuasive than the reality of uncertainty. So we cling to stories about outcomes being in our control.

No matter how much you earn, you will never build wealth unless you can put a lid on how much fun you can have with your money right now, today.

12)Independence, to me, doesn’t mean you’ll stop working. It means you only do the work you like with people you like at the times you want for as long as you want.

13)All lifestyles exist on a spectrum, and what is decent to one person can feel like royalty or poverty to another. But at our incomes we got what we considered a decent apartment, a decent car, decent clothes, decent food. Comfortable, but nothing close to fancy.

At some point you have to choose between being happy or being “right.”

14)Not being forced to sell stocks to cover an expense also means we’re increasing the odds of letting the stocks we own compound for the longest period of time. Charlie Munger put it well: “The first rule of compounding is to never interrupt it unnecessarily.”

15) I know people who think it’s insane to try to beat the market but encourage their kids to reach for the stars and try to become professional athletes. To each their own. Life is about playing the odds, and we all think about odds a little differently.

[praiseofwhatpersists]

how to be successful?

1. Compound yourself

Compounding is magic. Look for it everywhere.

You also want to be an exponential curve yourself—you should aim for your life to follow an ever-increasing up-and-to-the-right trajectory. It’s important to move towards a career that has a compounding effect—most careers progress fairly linearly.

You don't want to be in a career where people who have been doing it for two years can be as effective as people who have been doing it for twenty—your rate of learning should always be high. 

As your career progresses, each unit of work you do should generate more and more results. There are many ways to get this leverage, such as capital, technology, brand, network effects, and managing people.

It’s useful to focus on adding another zero to whatever you define as your success metric—money, status, impact on the world, or whatever. I am willing to take as much time as needed between projects to find my next thing. But I always want it to be a project that, if successful, will make the rest of my career look like a footnote.

Most people get bogged down in linear opportunities. Be willing to let small opportunities go to focus on potential step changes.

2. Have almost too much self-belief

Cultivate this early. As you get more data points that your judgment is good and you can consistently deliver results, trust yourself more.

If you don’t believe in yourself, it’s hard to let yourself have contrarian ideas about the future. But this is where most value gets created.

Managing your own morale—and your team’s morale—is one of the greatest challenges of most endeavors. It’s almost impossible without a lot of self-belief. And unfortunately, the more ambitious you are, the more the world will try to tear you down.  

I used to hate criticism of any sort and actively avoided it. Now I try to always listen to it with the assumption that it’s true, and then decide if I want to act on it or not. Truth-seeking is hard and often painful, but it is what separates self-belief from self-delusion.

3. Learn to think independently

Grit comes from learning you can get back up after you get knocked down.

4. Get good at “sales”

All great careers, to some degree, become sales jobs. You have to evangelize your plans to customers, prospective employees, the press, investors, etc. This requires an inspiring vision, strong communication skills, some degree of charisma, and evidence of execution ability.

The best way to be good at sales is to genuinely believe in what you’re selling. Selling what you truly believe in feels great, and trying to sell snake oil feels awful.

5. Make it easy to take risks

Most people overestimate risk and underestimate reward. Taking risks is important because it’s impossible to be right all the time—you have to try many things and adapt quickly as you learn more.

Look for small bets you can make where you lose 1x if you’re wrong but make 100x if it works. Then make a bigger bet in that direction.

6. Focus

Focus is a force multiplier on work.

Almost everyone I’ve ever met would be well-served by spending more time thinking about what to focus on. 

It is much more important to work on the right thing than it is to work many hours. Most people waste most of their time on stuff that doesn’t matter.

Once you have figured out what to do, be unstoppable about getting your small handful of priorities accomplished quickly. I have yet to meet a slow-moving person who is very successful.

7. Work hard

You can get to about the 90th percentile in your field by working either smart or hard, which is still a great accomplishment. But getting to the 99th percentile requires both—you will be competing with other very talented people who will have great ideas and be willing to work a lot.

Extreme people get extreme results. 

Working a lot comes with huge life trade-offs, and it’s perfectly rational to decide not to do it. But it has a lot of advantages. 

As in most cases, momentum compounds, and success begets success.

And it’s often really fun. 

One of the great joys in life is finding your purpose, excelling at it, and discovering that your impact matters to something larger than yourself. 

You have to figure out how to work hard without burning out. People find their own strategies for this, but one that almost always works is to find work you like doing with people you enjoy spending a lot of time with.

I think people who pretend you can be super successful professionally without working most of the time (for some period of your life) are doing a disservice. In fact, work stamina seems to be one of the biggest predictors of long-term success.

One more thought about working hard: do it at the beginning of your career. Hard work compounds like interest, and the earlier you do it, the more time you have for the benefits to pay off. It’s also easier to work hard when you have fewer other responsibilities, which is frequently but not always the case when you’re young.

8. Be bold

People want to be part of something exciting and feel that their work matters.

If you are making progress on an important problem, you will have a constant tailwind of people wanting to help you. Let yourself grow more ambitious, and don’t be afraid to work on what you really want to work on.

Follow your curiosity. Things that seem exciting to you will often seem exciting to other people too.

9. Be wilful

A big secret is that you can bend the world to your will a surprising percentage of the time—most people don’t even try, and just accept that things are the way that they are.

People have an enormous capacity to make things happen.

A combination of self-doubt, giving up too early, and not pushing hard enough prevents most people from ever reaching anywhere near their potential.

Ask for what you want. You usually won’t get it, and often the rejection will be painful. But when this works, it works surprisingly well.

Almost always, the people who say “I am going to keep going until this works, and no matter what the challenges are I’m going to figure them out”, and mean it, go on to succeed. 

They are persistent long enough to give themselves a chance for luck to go their way.

To be willful, you have to be optimistic—hopefully this is a personality trait that can be improved with practice. I have never met a very successful pessimistic person.

10. Be hard to compete with

If what you do can be done by someone else, it eventually will be, and for less money.

The best way to become difficult to compete with is to build up leverage. 

For example, you can do it with personal relationships, by building a strong personal brand, or by getting good at the intersection of multiple different fields. 

There are many other strategies, but you have to figure out some way to do it.

Most people do whatever most people they hang out with do. This mimetic behavior is usually a mistake—if you’re doing the same thing everyone else is doing, you will not be hard to compete with.

11. Build a network

Great work requires teams. 

Developing a network of talented people to work with—sometimes closely, sometimes loosely—is an essential part of a great career. The size of the network of really talented people you know often becomes the limiter for what you can accomplish.

An effective way to build a network is to help people as much as you can. 

Doing this, over a long period of time, is what lead to most of my best career opportunities and three of my four best investments. 

I’m continually surprised how often something good happens to me because of something I did to help a founder ten years ago.

One of the best ways to build a network is to develop a reputation for really taking care of the people who work with you. 

Be overly generous with sharing the upside; it will come back to you 10x. 

Also, learn how to evaluate what people are great at, and put them in those roles. (This is the most important thing I have learned about management, and I haven’t read much about it.) 

You want to have a reputation for pushing people hard enough that they accomplish more than they thought they could, but not so hard they burn out.

Everyone is better at some things than others. 

Define yourself by your strengths, not your weaknesses. Acknowledge your weaknesses and figure out how to work around them, but don’t let them stop you from doing what you want to do.

A particularly valuable part of building a network is to get good at discovering undiscovered talent. 

Quickly spotting intelligence, drive, and creativity gets much easier with practice. The easiest way to learn is just to meet a lot of people, and keep track of who goes on to impress you and who doesn’t.

Remember that you are mostly looking for rate of improvement, and don’t overvalue experience or current accomplishment.

I try to always ask myself when I meet someone new “is this person a force of nature?” It’s a pretty good heuristic for finding people who are likely to accomplish great things.

A special case of developing a network is finding someone eminent to take a bet on you, ideally early in your career. The best way to do this, no surprise, is to go out of your way to be helpful. (And remember that you have to pay this forward at some point later!)

Finally, remember to spend your time with positive people who support your ambitions.

12. You get rich by owning things

You get truly rich by owning things that increase rapidly in value.

This can be a piece of a business, real estate, natural resource, intellectual property, or other similar things. But somehow or other, you need to own equity in something, instead of just selling your time. Time only scales linearly.

The best way to make things that increase rapidly in value is by making things people want at scale.

13. Be internally driven

Most people are primarily externally driven; they do what they do because they want to impress other people. This is bad for many reasons, but here are two important ones.

First, you will work on consensus ideas and on consensus career tracks.  You will care a lot—much more than you realize—if other people think you’re doing the right thing. This will probably prevent you from doing truly interesting work, and even if you do, someone else would have done it anyway.

Second, you will usually get risk calculations wrong. You’ll be very focused on keeping up with other people and not falling behind in competitive games, even in the short term.

Smart people seem to be especially at risk of such externally-driven behavior. Being aware of it helps, but only a little—you will likely have to work super-hard to not fall in the mimetic trap.

The most successful people I know are primarily internally driven; they do what they do to impress themselves and because they feel compelled to make something happen in the world. 

After you’ve made enough money to buy whatever you want and gotten enough social status that it stops being fun to get more, this is the only force I know of that will continue to drive you to higher levels of performance.

This is why the question of a person’s motivation is so important. It’s the first thing I try to understand about someone. The right motivations are hard to define a set of rules for, but you know it when you see it.

Eventually, you will define your success by performing excellent work in areas that are important to you. The sooner you can start off in that direction, the further you will be able to go. It is hard to be wildly successful at anything you aren’t obsessed with.

source: samaltman

[perfectirishgifts]

The Irony And Insecurities Of Attacks On Jill Biden’s Title

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The Irony And Insecurities Of Attacks On Jill Biden’s Title

By now, you probably saw the opinion piece about Dr. Jill Biden. Yes, I am aware of the AP Style guidelines about the use of “Dr.” for qualified medical professionals in journalism. I will revisit that later. For some reason, a writer felt compelled to attack Jill Biden, who earned a doctorate in education from the University of Delaware, for using the term “Dr.” The piece called the usage “fraudulent” and “comic.” There were many things that bothered me about the piece – the misogyny, tone, lack of apparent understanding of doctoral programs, and a blatant level of disrespect for Dr. Biden. He literally called the next First Lady “kiddo.” Given my own personal experiences with this, I wondered, “What’s up with insecurities that some people have about doctorates?”

PITTSBURGH, PA – NOVEMBER 02: Dr. Jill Biden speaks in support of her husband Democratic … [] presidential nominee Joe Biden during a drive-in campaign rally at Heinz Field on November 02, 2020 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. One day before the election, Biden is campaigning in Pennsylvania, a key battleground state that President Donald Trump won narrowly in 2016. (Photo by Drew Angerer/Getty Images)

First, let’s start off with the blatant irony of it all. The writer chides Dr. Biden, who to my knowledge has not asked anyone to refer to her with the title, as if to diminish the value of her doctoral work. Her dissertation study was in the area of educational leadership and addressed issues of student retention. Her particular focus on the community college environment was refreshing and timely given the trends in higher education. The opinion writer seems to argues that only people with a degree in medicine should be called “Dr.” Here comes the irony.

According to Merriam-Webster online dictionary, “Doctor comes from the Latin word for “teacher” and originally referred to a small group of theologians who had approval from the Church to speak on religious matters.” Over time, the term was broadened to include medical and other professionals. Etymonline.com notes that the description, “holder of the highest degree in a university, one who has passed all the degrees of a faculty and is thereby empowered to teach the subjects included in it,” is from the late 14th Century. The use of the term “doctor” in medicine was not as common until the latter 16th Century.

These days there are numerous types of degrees with “doctor” in the United States:

Doctor of Philosophy (PhD)

Doctor of Business Administration

Doctor of Education (EdD)

Doctor of Theology

Doctor of Science (DSc)

Doctor of Juridicial Science and Doctor of the Science of Law

Doctor of Jurisprudence (J.D.)

ALEPPO, SYRIA – DECEMBER 11: A group of Turkish specialist doctors come to Cobanbey Hosptial to … [] carry out operations for 40 patients including 21 children as part of a project organized by Turkish Health Ministry, in Cobanbey district which was liberated from terrorists within the Operation Euphrates Shield in Syria on December 11, 2020. (Photo by Omer Alven/Anadolu Agency via Getty Images)

I happen to have a PhD in Physical Meteorology from The Florida State University. It was attained after a rigorous 5-year program of coursework, research, dissertation writing, and publications. The Jill Biden case reminded me of a few times people have said things like, “oh you aren’t a real doctor, you have a PhD.” Most people that say this probably mean no harm and are simplifying understanding of what a doctor is to their most common experience. After all, the average person does not encounter folks with doctoral degrees as often as they do their family doctor, dentist, or medical specialist. However, that lack of familiarity does not lessen the rigor of other doctoral programs.

I think the editorial has roots in this “not a real doctor narrative,” but there was something more sinister. I read it just after watching Sarah Fuller become the first woman to kick a field goal in a Power 5 college football game. It was such an uplifting moment that my 17 year old daughter gleefully shared with me. Unfortunately, this article oozed with misogyny, disrespect for a woman’s professional credentials (a huge problem in workplace gender equity issues) and micro aggressions.

While perhaps not the motive of the opinion piece, it also caused me to reflect on the toxic perspective some people have towards “experts” or expertise. It is mind-blowing how much mis-information I see posted about climate change, weather, or coronavirus. The current era of “information access” and “Dunning Kruger Effect (a psychological concept whereby people overestimate what they know or underestimate what they don’t know) has, in the minds of some people, rendered experts as obsolete or even adversaries. This political cycle, for example, President-Elect Biden was ridiculed for “listening to the scientists.” Because of this era, I feel that experts should be referred to in media outlets with their “Dr.” Plumbers, attorneys, and other professions have ways of establishing their credentials. At a time when bad science is spread like a virus itself, scientific experts need that also.

One other thing that came to mind about this “Dr.” flap is insecurity. Psychology studies have shown that people’s accomplishments can make others uncomfortable. Ashley Laderer wrote in Talkspace.com, “It’s human nature for us to compare ourselves to others, and it’s no surprise that sometimes, that results in jealousy and feeling lousy.” She says these feelings of insufficiency and jealousy can be more acute for people with low self esteem. I guess that it is possible that “Dr.” may trigger self-esteem issues or feelings of inadequacies in some people if studies are accurate.

There is another road that I could have traversed. There have been many encounters in my career in which I was in the room with other PhDs. They were being addressed as “Dr.,” while I was being referred to as “Marshall.” I will address this racial micro aggression at another time. By the way, I really don’t want to be called “Dr. Shepherd” outside of my professional settings. If you meet me, “Marshall” is just fine. I bet Jill Biden feels the same way about her name too. From my perspective, titles don’t define anyone. How you treat people does.

People take part in a “reopen” Pennsylvania demonstration on April 20, 2020 in Harrisburg, … [] Pennsylvania. – Hundreds have protested in cities across America against coronavirus-related lockdowns — with encouragement from President Donald Trump — as resentment grows against the crippling economic cost of confinement. (Photo by Nicholas Kamm / AFP) (Photo by NICHOLAS KAMM/AFP via Getty Images)

From Media in Perfectirishgifts

[rudra-writes]

Pellurin Date Night (Part 8)

Part of a roleplay story with Telurin’s player. After attending the festival, Pallas confesses his feelings to Telurin, but the death knight has concerns that Pallas may have been too inebriated to think clearly. (Advisory for some suggestive content.)

Pallas opens his eyes again and smiles, bright and hopeful when he looks up at Telurin’s face. He touches a spot below the death knight’s clavicle, and remembers, his eyes drawing downward to look, that this was the place where Telurin had been shot, and he’d had to dig the bullet out. And then had sewn up his skin where he had been cut open.

//I never imagined back then, that things would have ever come to this,// he thinks, rubbing his fingers over the place on Tel’s skin gently.

There’s still a faint scar there, a patch of thinner skin that’s nothing compared to the ragged circle lower down, or the long gashes in his side, but up close like this, it’s still noticeable, still new with its lighter color and smooth texture. Telurin can feel where Pallas’s hand has ended up, and covers it with his own.

“I am glad you were there that day.” He says, guessing the Anchorite’s thoughts. One corner of his mouth quirks, just the barest hint. “And that you were so forward.”

Pallas laughs gaily. “I seem to recall I threw several people out of that inn I dragged you to… Or maybe they left on their own?” His eyes hood, and he wriggles for a moment like a cat about to pounce. “My patient was a very scary man.”

“Hmmm…” Telurin sounds pleased to be described as ‘scary.’ “A joint effort, I think.” The death knight reaches lower and tweaks Pallas’s tail, hoping to surprise him as he catches that mischievous look.

"Ah!" Pallas is caught off-guard by the tail tweak, which causes him to jump. Then he laughs and pushes against Telurin's torso playfully. "That's hardly appropriate touching towards an Anchorite! Have you no sense of propriety?"

"No." Telurin grins, feral and wicked as he slides into his role. "Didn't you realize what you went to bed with last night?" His tail comes around to curl around Pallas's waist. "Besides, who's going to see?"

"The Light will see!" Pallas replies, although he looks like he's biting back a fit of giggles at this unsubstantiated claim.

He pets Telurin's long tail, then starts trying to wriggle away towards the death knight's unoccupied work table. "I didn't know my bad death knight was also a draftsman!" he says, threatening to go look at the drawings Telurin turned over a few moments ago.

"Humph." Telurin grumps, and puts up a minimal amount of struggle before letting Pallas up, taking his spot on the bed and lounging against the pillows, a picture of nonchalance as he watches Pallas head straight for the papers.

"You'll ruin the surprise if you do that." he says just when Pallas is reaching for the stack.

Pallas takes his hand back from the turned-over papers at Telurin's words, his tail wriggling in his curiosity. He decides to leave them, turning back around and joining Telurin again on the bed, cozying up against the other draenei's torso.

The priest looks innocent enough, until the small hand that had been wandering around near the top of Telurin's tail creates a little Light-shock, in a comeuppance at having his tail tweaked.

Telurin’s relax is subtle but there, if you know how to look, when Pallas turns away from the papers and back toward him. It's there in the way the death knight sits back a bit more into the pillows, how his smirk widens just a fraction more. He welcomes Pallas back to the bed, and unwinds into Pallas's touch, until the little Anchorite shocks him, that is.

"Now who doesn't have any sense of propriety?" Telurin growls, and his fingers tighten on the arm he had been lightly stroking a moment before. "I would think the Light cares more about the actions of an Anchorite than one such as myself."

"Oh?" Pallas coos, noticing Telurin's strong fingers on his arm. As he so often does, the priest encourages Tel's growling still more, curling his fingers like little claws and running them down the undead draenei's chest, leaving Light-infused scratches. "Am I in danger of being corrupted by the bad death knight?"

In their play, Pallas had for the moment forgotten that he'd meant to ask Telurin about Belaar -- even forgotten that he was ostensibly now Belaar's pupil. He is excited for his new-found freedom, and ability to spend as much time with Telurin as he wants, and not yet fully considering what not having a permanent home might be like.

"I think you've *already* been corrupted by the 'bad death knight'," Telurin snorts, even as he leans into those Light-tipped fingers. "I think you *enjoy* being corrupted, and having me take you anytime I please, anywhere I please." Telurin loosens his grip on Pallas's arm, curling his fingers around the other draenei's chin-tentacles instead. "Isn't that right, Pallas?"

"Hm," Pallas replies noncommittally, even as he hoods his eyes at the touch of Telurin's fingers around his tendril. "What makes you think you could do something like that?" He takes Tel's other hand in his own, and kisses the inside of the large palm, then licks at the thumb. "You might get smited, is that a risk you're willing to take? I bet it would hurt..."

Telurin scoffs at that, even as his eyes shine just a touch brighter and are fixated on what the Anchorite is doing to his hand. "What's a little pain when the end result is so sweet?"

Pallas catches the gleam in Telurin's eyes, and encourages it, lapping his tiny tongue against the end of Tel's thumb even as the death knight is still holding his tendril in his other hand. "I don't think you would," Pallas coos, his eyes watching Tel's coquettishly. "You've been so well-behaved lately. A perfect gentleman." The Anchorite takes Telurin's thumb past his lips, sucking the tip of it gently while swiping the pad with little licks. He switches to mental speak while he mouth is occupied. //Not the sort of death knight who would bend an Anchorite over in the woods to fuck him when-ever he wanted... Or maybe pin him against a tree. Mmm.//

"As a gentleman," Telurin says, drawing the word out as he watches Pallas do indecorous things with his thumb, "If said Anchorite wanted to be fucked against a tree, who am I to object?" He lets go of Pallas's tendril to flick one of the Anchorite's nipples, before wandering even lower. "I take it you wish for me to claim you in this way? Rutting in the forest like animals, where anyone passing by could see how you've been corrupted with my touch?"

Pallas's breath hitches as Telurin's rough hand wanders lower. He takes the death knight's other hand, pausing his suggestive licking of the thumb to press the palm against the side of his face. "Who would be there to see us?" he asks with a little laugh, the color still showing in his cheeks. "In the wilderness? I think you overestimate the chances."

He looks up and into Telurin's eyes adoringly, then takes the hand he is holding and kisses the larger man's fingertips.

Telurin just shakes his head, his eyes darkening with the idea of it. "And I think you underestimate them." It's a nice mental image, and he toys with the idea of making it happen regardless of who might come across them. It makes his cock twitch in anticipation, though as Pallas's eyes show more love than lust, and his suggestive licks turn more toward affectionate kisses, he tries to bank that fire he feels for his Anchorite. He gives the other draenei another stroke and then moves his hand to his hip, just far enough away to not be touching.

"Do you have anything in mind for today? Or should I look into finding this mythical bit of woods to make some of these fantasies of yours come true?"

Pallas notices the way Telurin's eyes darken, and the little twitch of his cock. His emotions are strong in that moment, and he wants more than anything to say, 'I want you to make love to me,' but he is concerned that the verbiage might be too much, after everything that had happened.

"Don't go. I don't want you to leave," Pallas gasps, holding Telurin's wrist tighter as if worried Tel might actually attempt to wander off to find some woods. "I need you here, right now." Trying to convey how much Telurin is wanted, the priest stretches out to kiss him on the lips, his hands caressing the sides of the death knight's face and his hair.

Telurin welcomes the kiss. He lets his hand run back up the Anchorite's body, back to those sensitive tendrils, stroking them gently.

"That's all you needed to say then." The death knight purrs, switching his attention to the other tendril. His tail come around and strokes Pallas's outer thigh, layering sensation for the Anchorite. If Pallas wanted him gentle, Telurin is certainly happy to oblige, starting with these featherlight touches.