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owlwithatypewriter · 2 years ago

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Lay Bare Your Sins: Chapter 2

AO3 Link Previous Chapter CW: Politics, swearing, mentions of character death(s)

"Halcyon? Really?"

"It means 'a time of peace and prosperity'!"

"It sounds pretentious."

"Isn't that your entire brand?"

"PHIL!"

~*~*~*~*~

Wilbur hates press conferences. They're long and tedious and the suits he wears are always itchy - no matter how much he washes them or what fabrics he brings to the tailor, the suit jackets are always hot and heavy on his shoulders, the ties strangling like a snake in the deep jungle. At least he's not in a three-piece this time - in fact, he's not sure his dad will ever get him in one of those monkey suits again, not after this.

His super-villain (and how Phil hates that title, but Wilbur doesn't mind) attire is much simpler - a thick leather trench coat over a skin-tight shirt, which is covered with light-weight carbon-polymer armor. Fingerless gloves (fashionable and functional), thick pants with more armor, and dark combat boots. A maroon beanie covers his unruly curls, and a silver opera mask covers the upper half of his face and swoops down to cover part of his left cheek. Unlike the rest of his costume, the mask is exquisite, the gold music notes carefully emblazoned in gold a stark contrast to the dark motif the rest of his clothing carries.

Yeah, much better than navy wool and red silk.

The rest of the heroes and villains at the press conference are all in full costume as well, despite their secret identities having crumbled the night before over pizza and exhaustion and the difficulty of eating a slice dripping with cheese while keeping delicate ceramic and precious metals clean. Then again, the room is crammed, wall-to-wall, with reporters and cameras. Nobody wants their true identity revealed - not yet, at least. Now when everything is still unsettled and raw.

Phil is standing beside President Schlatt at the podium, announcing the creation of the Halcyon Coalition and the systemic dismantling of the harm the Hero Commission did to the city. He's wearing his green and white robes, and the wide-brimmed hat lined with a heavy veil that shields his face from sight. His wings - large, black, flawlessly preened - are tucked against his back, held low, non-threatening. Skimming over the gathered reporters, Wilbur spots two who are avian hybrids, their own wings held tense. They're not the only ones nervous - the entire cast of reporters are anxious, the feeling palpable in the small room. They're jittery, and those jotting down notes instead of facing the cameras have dark circles beneath their eyes. He doubts they've slept in the past three days.

Three days. The complete collapse of a government system in three days. It was extraordinary, according to Techno (though not the fastest in history, and Wilbur had tuned out his brother's ramblings as he began talking about something called the 'Independent State of Catalonia'). Impressively, they'd had most of the press on their side the whole time. While the Blood God killed Dream, Jack (who tended to work behind the scenes, despite being an important part of team-villain) had delivered both physical and digital copies of everything they had on the Hero Commission and Dream to every media outlet in the city - from the large L'Manberg News Corp to the smaller district-specific newspapers.

The reporters took their duties seriously - every bit of information was scoured and reported on, from the illegal hybrid laboratories to public funds set aside for soup kitchens and homeless shelters being pulled away to pay for lavish parties and material goods for the Hero Commission board. Television shows, reality programs, even commercials were shoved aside in favor of 24/7 reporting on everything that was being revealed. Reporters from various channels chased each other, rivalries forgotten as they built on each other's discoveries to lay out just how corrupt the system had become. And now they had been assembled, over-caffeinated and pressed cheek-to-cheek, watching the leader of the city and the man they'd accused of major crimes for the last decade lay out how the world would work in the future.

"Our first priority will be shutting down the illegal hybrid labs," Phil - the Angel of Death - explains calmly, "as well as the hybrid-trafficking and black market rings that have been set up in the city. The nations of Hermitcraft and Hypixel have agreed to lend us help as we clear these organizations out and will support our efforts to rescue every person affected by these horrible places. Anyone with information about them - any information at all - is encouraged to share what they know. We have a website set up for people to submit tips, completely anonymously."

Schlatt is nodding along, following the script the Angel had discussed with him before inviting the press in. "While the Halcyon Coalition focuses on that, I will be working with my staff and representatives of all city agencies to ensure that all of the soup kitchens, homeless shelters, and food pantries closed by the Hero Commission in the last decade are reopened and fully stocked and staffed. Anyone interested in volunteering and assisting in cleaning and repairing the buildings, or staffing them once they are reopened, is welcome to call City Hall or go to the city website to learn more about applying." The normal lazy drawl Schlatt usually has when addressing the press is absent - he sounds tired, but determined.

The prompter attached to the podium continues to scroll, but before the Captain can take her turn to start talking about the measures the city will be taking for the next few weeks to keep civilians safe during this drastic change, a woman (one of the avians, a red-winged blackbird) stands from her chair, hand thrust in the air. Without waiting to be called on, she loudly blurts out, "How can we trust you?"

A murmur runs through the reporters, several shuffling uneasily as the cameras pan over them before refocusing on the front of the room. Wilbur glances at his brother - the Blood God, with his half-face boar mask and sweeping red cloak - who is staring straight ahead, jaw clenched. The Angel glances at Schlatt, who looks ready to try and spin an excuse, then at the rest of the assembled heroes and villains, before turning to the reporters with a sigh. He reaches for his face, and Wilbur feels his stomach plummet as the hat is removed, and a thin black gaiter pulled to rest around his neck.

There were audible gasps from those gathered, and Wilbur knew exactly what they were seeing. A middle-aged man with deep laugh-lines and silver-blue eyes, with straw-blonde hair that brushed his shoulders and an amused little smile pulling one side of his mouth as he took in their shock. Even Schlatt, who'd been speaking to the villain non-stop the past three days and who prided himself on being on good terms with the civilian, is shocked.

Philza Craft stares out over the reporters and grins.

The head of the largest corporation in the city - Corvid Inc. - rocks back on his heels and ruffles his feathers as he soaks in the stares, revelling in the reveal. The millionaire (billionaire? It's unclear, due to how much charity work comes from his personal fortune) glances over at Schlatt, who manages to snap his jaw shut but can't quite pull his eyebrows back down from his hairline. For a long, long moment, nobody speaks, and it seems like nobody is going to.

Wilbur sighs exaggeratedly and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet with a flourish, making his movements large and sweeping ("The audience in the back needs to be able to see what you're doing", his theater teacher had told them, "so make your movements big and noticeable!"). He's keenly aware of everyone's eyes on him as he ruffles through the billfold, before pulling out a hundred and holding it out to Techno.

The Blood God radiates smugness as he plucks the note from Wilbur's hand, grinning widely as he crams it into his pants pocket. "I told you," he rumbles, voice changer deepening his voice and carrying easily through the silent room, "less than a week and he'd out himself."

The two can tell that Phil is barely holding himself back from fondly calling them 'little shits,' but that would be too identifiable to the press. They'd long been in the public eye as Philza Craft's adopted twin sons, after all - he'd been caught on camera referring to them with the affectionate insult more than once, usually after Wilbur dragged Techno into some kind of disaster that ended up televised (they still weren’t allowed in the Sweet Frog downtown). Good times.

The Captain clears her throat, bringing the room's attention back to the podium. Phil turns back to face the reporters, several of whom are still reeling, including the red-winged blackbird, who is still standing. Phil shoots her a kind smile, ruffling his wings a bit.

“I hope this answers your question, MIss…?”

The reporter blinks, then answers, “Kristin Watson, Featherweight News.”

“Miss Watson,” Phil repeats, “I have always held the safety of this city and its citizens as my highest priority, both publicly and privately. When the beginning corruption of the Hero Commission came to my attention ten years ago, I did my best to assist those impacted from the shadows. Unfortunately, the Commission used that against me and labeled me, and those assisting me, as villains. Hence the,” he gestures to his face, giving the hat still in his hand a little flap. “You may not trust the Angel of Death, but I do hope you can still trust me.” His smile softens, small and genuine, as he focuses it on the reporter.

She flushes and nods, wings ruffling along her back as she sits down, scribbling furiously on the notepad balanced on her knee. There are still a few reporters who look unsettled, but most have calmed at the sight of the city's beloved benefactor behind the Angel’s veil. There was almost no one in the city who had been untouched by his generosity, after all - especially in the lower districts. He’d sponsored schools and soup kitchens and homeless shelters, and his firm had dozens of paid interns in all kinds of fields, giving brilliant kids in tough situations the opportunity to grow and succeed. The explosion six months ago had taken place in one of his botanic research centers, the boy killed one of those very interns. The man had been devastated when it happened, in tears when he spoke of young Toby Underscore’s death at a press conference. He and Schlatt, who worked together to better the city for years now, had leaned on one another at the funeral as they buried the president's son.

And then information had come out, pinning the explosion on the Angel of Death and his compatriots, and the city had become enraged, calling for his blood. The half-year since had been filled with escalating battles between the heroes and villains, the former pushing the bounds, causing more and more injuries, coming close to killing a few times. The latter had been just as enraged at the accusations, lashing out from the shadows though rarely rising to the baited battles the heroes tried to draw them to. Vigilantes had dropped back, watching the big names battle from afar, unwilling to join in without the resources or healers on hand to back them up.

It made sense, now - the Angel was Philza, and Philza had been torn apart by the death of a young man he was in charge of teaching and protecting. Being falsely accused of orchestrating his death explained the escalation when the heroes and villains did manage to meet, but more than that, it explained the unexpected stretches of silence. The thick files and dangling keychains of USBs that had been delivered to each media outlet suddenly made a lot more sense - Philza had been preparing his final blow, changing from merely trying to reign in and restore the Hero Commission to destroying it completely. And it had paid off.

The awards ceremony. The video interrupting the cheesy slideshow exalting the heroes. The crystal-clear hidden camera footage of Dream in his office conferring with someone about the explosion the day it happened, watching something - undoctored footage, most likely - and remarking on the idiocy of the man who flicked a lit cigarette to the floor near the fertilizer storage room. Whoever had set up the camera (Warden, most likely - he was a tech genius, one of the many things that made him so dangerous) had made sure the audio would be picked up as well. It captured the report of Toby Underscores death coming over the radio, it captured Dreams thoughtful hum, it captured him suggesting to the other person (who wore a hood and had yet to be identified) that perhaps they could use this to frame the villains, to encourage Schlatt to take more drastic measures against the 'scourge of the city.'

"After all," Dream had said, leaning back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, "they DID just murder his son in cold blood. We can use this to our advantage."

Wilbur was fairly certain that if Techno hadn’t gotten there first, Schlatt would have killed Dream with his bare hands, powers be damned.

“Thank you, Mr. Craft.” The Captain gently nudged him away from the podium. “Right, let’s get back on track.” She begins outlining city-wide changes, explaining how the heroes, vigilantes, and police officers will be working to keep an eye on the streets to avoid any more rioting. A curfew is suggested, though she is sure to explain it won’t be strongly enforced at this moment as long as nobody sets another Hero-based business on fire. There are still members of the Hero Commission who haven’t been arrested yet, she is sure to remind them, and there’s no telling what they’ll do now that they’re wanted criminals. It makes the streets dangerous, she emphasizes, and asks for anyone with information on them to use the same tip website Phil had mentioned earlier.

“One final thing of note,” Phil slips back behind the podium as she finishes, “Pandora will be shut down as quickly as possible.”

There’s an immediate response, people speaking up angrily at the idea of criminals being released to run freely on the streets. He gives them a moment to rant before raising a hand, requesting silence. “We are not releasing dangerous criminals into the streets,” he corrects them, “but there are plenty of enhanced people who have been imprisoned for no reason other than refusing to work for the Commission. My good friend Upswing,” Phil gestures to the not-quite-villain, not-quite-hero, not-quite-vigilante with a sweep of his wing, “has agreed to offer the services of the Las Nevadas lawyers in going through case files and dismissing charges against those who were wrongly convicted. As for those who are actually guilty of their crimes, a new prison will be built that is more…humane.”

Behind him, Warden shuffles. The once-hero was responsible for the creation of Pandora, and while he took pride in his craftsmanship, he did admire what it was used for. The destruction of the prison had been a constant point of contention between the two, a common argument that arose when the two were left alone together for more than a minute. Phil had finally won out with the agreement that Warden could design a new prison to replace it, as long as it was humane and safe, and not just a windowless torture chamber for the imprisoned.

“I believe that is everything we wanted to address,” Phil glanced between Schlatt and the Captain. “We’ll start working on improving the outer districts immediately, and if anything important comes to our attention we won’t hesitate to call another conference.” He pauses, taking in the confused expressions of the reporters before his words click.

The outer districts. Not the lower districts.

It’s a small thing - a simple rewording, but he can see those who grew up on the fringes of the city, in the low-income and collapsing neighborhoods, lighting up at the renaming. Outer. Not lower. Because they are just as important, and stand just as tall, as those born in the city center.

A few reporters raise their hands, shouting questions, but Schlatt shoos them off the stage and through the door to the greenroom, responding ‘No comment!’ to the reporters as they leave. As soon as the door swings shut, cutting off the clamor, he’s running a hand down his face, pausing with it clasped over his mouth as he stares at Phil, who gazes back with an amused head tilt.

“...I need a drink.”

~*~*~*~*~

Philza being the Angel of Death dominates the news cycle, alongside the intended content of the press conference. Wilbur makes sure to snatch up every newspaper that has pictures of his father - both recent and old - and is especially delighted to see his face on a gossip magazine, superimposed beside the blushing reporter he’d spoken to. That’s one to frame, he decides, buying a second copy and shoving it in his bag. He’s out of costume for the moment, though not out of character. Today, however, he is playing Wilbur Soot-Craft, the adopted son of Philza Craft and doting son home from college to assist his father in running the business as he handles the black market.

It’s all an act of course - the Covid Inc. board, all hand picked and implicitly trusted by Philza himself, has the day-to-day running of the company well in hand. Phil will need to occasionally sign off on some papers, but nothing earth-shattering will happen while he steps away. But Phil doesn’t want anyone knowing Wilbur or Techno’s true identity, so they’ve agreed to ‘step in’ and help out the family business, hiding away in their dads office each day while actually running their own investigations. Thanks to Charlie (loaned by an annoyed Upswing, who hadn’t expected his generosity to be revealed at the conference) and his shapeshifting, there were multiple photographs and videos of Wilbur and Techno meeting with Echo and Blood God, killing any rumors of them being villains alongside their father.

Someone had pointed out that Blood God and Techno both had pink hair, and Wilbur had swooped in, claiming that Techno was a huge fan of the big BG, so much so that he tried to dye his hair the same color. He even made up a story about a young teen Technoblade being so enamored with the villain, he tried to sneak out with his father one night and meet him, only to fall partially off the roof and crack his head open, thus the scar across his nose.

“But,” Wilbur had finished the story with a flourish, beaming at the few reporters who had cornered him on his way to the bakery, “he didn’t care, because Blood God is the one who caught him when he fell.” There was a mix of titters and ‘awws!’ from those gathered, but before he could continue embarrassing his twin, said twin was hauling him down the sidewalk by the back of his shirt. “Bye ladies!” Wil called as he was dragged, shooting the three women a wink until he was dragged through the door of Niki’s Bakery and Cafe.

“You’re an idiot.” Techno grouses, dropping his grip and watching WIlbur flail to regain his balance.

“Yeah but I’m your idiot.” Wilbur flutters his eyelashes, before turning to the counter, ready to loudly greet his best friend and show off his stash of Phil photos. Niki is not at the counter.

“Order something or get out, bitch.”

#fanfiction #owlwithatypewriter #DSMP #dream smp #tommyinnit #philza #dreamwastaken #goergenotfound #SapNap #wilbursoot #quackity #technoblade #DreamSMP ensemble #superhero au #hero/villain #hurt/comfort #found family #worldbuilding

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miekasa · 3 years ago

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any spare levi headcanons tonight????? 😁😁😁😁

Sure, why not, he is the love of my life after all. These are pretty random, and fit in some sort of generalized modern boyfriend au. Hopelessly domestic, as that is the nature of nearly everything I write for Levi, anyway. Also still terribly obsessed with the idea of him with a motorcycle, so there’s that.

He owns at least six black blazers. They’re nearly identical; slight differences in texture and cut, one with lapels, one that’s boldly all leather that you swear you’ve never seen him wear. They’re kind of his go-to staple, other than a sweater.

That being said, he doesn’t exclusively wear all black. His closet leans towards more neutrals, sure, but he’s not allergic to color. You might not catch him wearing neon orange on the average day, but he’s not averse to a nice shade of green, any shade of purple that suits his mood, even a softer pink.

He has towels and rags he sets aside especially for you when he comes over. He always washes them and put them back in place when you leave so that they’re ready to go for next time.

Claims to not have any attachment to the shows/dramas you watch, but he’s totally backseat watching. Halfway into every single series, he starts sitting down when you turn it on, and scoffs at dumb decisions the characters make.

He splurged on one of those frame TVs that look like a painting when they’re idle. It was a good investment in his opinion.

He doesn’t hate Starbucks drinks—there’s worse things out there in terms of quality of tea. What he despises about the establishment is the way they call out names for you to pick up your order. He’s learned that mobile order ahead is the way to go.

Has slippers for around the house, so consequently, you have slippers for walking around his house. He keeps both pairs (and a few extra for friends and guests) tucked neatly beside the door for easy access; yours always go next to his.

Does not understand the purpose of a robe. Buy him one tho and he will suddenly find an excuse to wear it: making breakfast, lounging around watching TV, doing some light cleaning and dusting. It’s comfy, alright, he can admit that much.

The little puppy you got him that he swore he was not going to warm up to now gets the royal treatment. The best doggie goods and treats, top rated shampoos, cutest drying towels, even a miniature couch he constructed just for the pup. They’re best friends, there’s no breaking that bond now.

Speaking of the puppy, affectionately named Captain, Levi can be found walking him every day shortly after work. They have a few different routes, but they always pass by the local vendors/market, who enthusiastically anticipate their appearance every day. Some of the older ladies running stands have even taken to bringing a few treats with them for Captain—after bundling up some goods for Levi, too, of course.

Captain also has a special doggy backpack Levi uses for when he’s on his motorcycle. If you follow anybody on TikTok in his area, you’re bound to see at least one video of the pup while Levi’s out riding. He’s become viral on social media without even knowing it.

(When you show him a video someone posted of him and Captain with well over 100k likes, and a million views, he only rolled his eyes. But remembers that particularly day; remembers the folks had a kid who politely asked to pet the dog, so he let him. He also maybe asks you to send the link to him).

On the subject of the motorcycle, there was a good few weeks he wouldn’t let you on it. Always found an excuse, a smart reply that was punctuated with gentle push on your forehead and calling you too clumsy for it. Later, you found out it’s because he’d ordered you a helmet; didn’t want to risk you riding without one.

He always keeps it in the storage compartment should he make a stop to pick you up while he’s riding; and he usually wears at least two layers to have a spare to wrap you in before you get on.

When he cooks, he always makes sure there’s enough for leftovers and/or to give you some later. He also bakes frequently, and at least once a week, he stops by with some kind of treat for you—“Trying out a new recipe, let me know if you think it’s missing anything.”

On the subject of food, he won’t police what you eat to annoying extent; he knows that not everybody has the time or will to make pasta from scratch like he does. But, he will smack your wrist if you consider ordering fast food when you’re over at this place. Give him 30 minutes and a single pan, he’ll make something much better than whatever you can find on Uber Eats.

Really, though, he doesn’t mean to obnoxious about the homemade food thing, it’s more habit for him. Growing up, he had to learn to be resourceful, so buying fast-food isn’t ever at the forefront of his mind. Cooking for you also turns out to be something somewhat intimate that he enjoys, so just let him.

Once bought an Apple Watch because he liked the look of them, it wasn’t insanely expensive like other high end watches, and it could connect to his other devices, so why not? A week later he returned it, the ping of his notifications were in one too many places for his liking.

You tried to convince him to keep it—“At least for when you’re jogging! It can track your activity and calories!”��but he clicks his teeth. He’ll survive without keeping track of them.

He learned the hard way that jogging with Captain is no good. His legs are too tiny and Levi ended up carrying the puppy the entire time. Captain is more of a walk dog… or ride on the back of his bike dog.

If you changed anything in his phone settings—like the ringtone for you contact, or the sound his keyboard makes—he wouldn’t go back in and try to figure out how to reset it. Unless it was something obnoxious, like adding an autocorrect shortcut to say something lewd.

He doesn’t really listen to music when he’s just walking. When he’s on a run, that’s fine, but he somewhat prefers to just… hear the environment around him when he’s on a stroll or a break from work. The only reason he’d have headphones on in public is to take a phone call, but even then, he’d prefer to wait until he’s somewhere more private.

He likes having you over at his apartment and has contemplated asking you to move in. He doesn’t want to rush anything, though, so he’s content with your sleepovers for now. (Though he really cannot fathom that you call them “sleepovers” like you’re 14. Please).

He speaks to his mother at least once a week, and she always asks about you. Levi tells her that you’re fine, gives her small updates about you, but Kuchel really just wants to know when the wedding is. He pretends to be busy whenever she starts asking and conveniently ends the call.

Occasionally, he’ll stop by and take you out for lunch. Depends on how much time he has during the day for himself, but he always enjoys sharing a meal with you.

Whenever you’re out with your friends drinking, Levi will pick you up. Even if you already told him that you’d Uber home; as soon as you text him that you’re going to leave soon, he’s already on his way.

He makes pretty good cocktails himself. Teases you for running his alcohol supply dry when the truth is he has more of your favorites in his cabinet than his own. He secretly likes the way you flirt with him when you’re tipsy.

You don’t always cuddle on top of each other when you sleep together. You can just lay by each other and that’s enough; but sometimes, you catch Levi turning towards you in his sleep, reaching for your hand. His body seems to search for yours subconsciously, and you swear there’s a hint of a smile on his sleeping face when you put your hand within reach.

Do not try to pay for dinner when you’re out with him. He’ll pull the “I’m going to use the restroom” move and pay the bill behind your back if he needs to. Open your own doors, maybe; pull out your own chairs, sure if you want; but not this.

He flosses very diligently every night. Mostly because he fucking hates the dentist, so if he takes the extra steps and is extra careful with his teeth, he doesn’t have to go as often, right?—Wrong, it’s the one time the roles are reversed, and you and Hange have to wrestle him into the doctor’s office.

On the flip side, if there are any doctors you routinely avoid and/or forget to schedule check ups for, fear not, because Levi will do it for you. He’ll drive you there, too—the only caveat being, that he usually doesn’t tell you where you’re going until you’re almost there. You think he’s doing the mysterious man surprise date thing and then boom, he’s pulling up to the ophthalmologist. Good luck.

He’s purchased a physical, paper copy of the news on every one of your anniversaries, birthdays, and other special occasions. He keeps them all neatly tucked away in a drawer. Sometimes, he looks back on them—sees what was happening in the world around you on that day. Maybe someday he’ll cut them up and bind them together in a book for you.

He doesn’t like having headphones in when you’re home with him, and preferred if you didn’t either—unless it was for work or school. He welcomes you to use his speakers and play your music aloud; he likes listening to what you listen to. If you look closely, you can catch him humming along or tapping his foot when he really likes a song.

Saves pictures you send him in an album in his camera roll. Occasionally can be found scrolling through them—particularly if you’ve been away on a trip, or he hasn’t gotten the chance to see you because of conflicting schedules.

He takes relatively short showers and doesn’t have a strong preference for the water temperature, so he lets you shower first. Unless you want him to join you, of course.

It’s not hard to tell when Levi wants you. He becomes noticeably more touchy, even if that margin isn’t too wide by anyone else’s standards; and he rarely tries to hide it. It only happens in the privacy of your apartments; but he’ll come on to you—leaning a bit further into conversations, a hand on your knee, a kind of cloudy look in his eyes.

Sometimes he forgoes the attempts at being subtle, just kisses you out the blue, carefully backs you up against the wall, puts his hands on your hips. He can be awfully direct when given the opportunity.

#anonymous #[dreamy sight] levi where art thou levi.......... i am yearning deeply #levi x reader #aot x reader #levi smut #levi fluff #snk x reader #aot imagines

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treybriggsthewriter · 5 years ago

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This makes me nervous, but I’m going to post it. I’m going to try my best to achieve my goals. I’ve put in a ton of work already, so I’m looking for additional help.

From the campaign:

My name is Trey Briggs, and I'm a black woman who writes paranormal horror, speculative fiction, and other types of fiction. You can find my stories at MaybeTrey , Astrid the Devil , and on Instagram , Medium , and Wattpad .

My stories are aimed at black people who want to read dark stories that focus on original black characters that are complex and interesting. I genuinely believe Black audiences deserve a variety of genres to delve into, and I want to introduce them to paranormal horror, dark romance, and fantasy that they haven't gotten enough of in the past. I also believe that this can be done across multiple mediums, and I spend my money with black creative professionals to make these experiences extend beyond my words. For the last two years, I've run my stories on sites and Instagram to great reception. I like to craft complex experiences that offer looks at character backgrounds, side and backstories, full websites for each title, and more. I also provide encyclopedias, maps, audio journals, and other ways to get into each world. During these last few years, I've run into a lot of walls, jumped a lot of hurdles, and tried my best. I've worked with amazing black artists, voice actors, and actresses, musicians, designers, and more. I trust my ability to run a project, especially when it comes to planning and finding talent. My overall goal is to run a team of black creatives that crafts novels, graphic novels, audio experiences, and animated series for a dedicated audience.

Why I Need Help Long story short: I have the skill, I have the marketing/website building/business experience, and I have the drive. There's a lot I can do on my own, but there's also a lot that gets left behind because I don't have the money I need to proceed at a steady pace. I need help with funding so I can focus, hire the right people, and craft these stories the way they deserve to be crafted. I have thus far spent over $60,000 of my own money on my projects over the past two years - the writing and site-building are easy for me; the rest has to be hired out. I have art, site costs for hosting, domains, templates, specific plugins, and maintenance, audio (and vocal artists to pay), musical, and editing costs. I'm by no means rich or even particularly financially stable. I have taken on tons of extra clients for my digital marketing business, transcribed hundreds of hours of audio for dirt cheap, and taken out personal loans. I even worked a second full-time job along with my full-time business last year to afford to produce the content I love. It's starting to take a toll on my mental health. I plan on continuing to fund these projects out of pocket (and finding ways to do so), but having financial help, however big or small, would allow me to move a lot faster and with less stress. It would let me flesh out ideas and concepts that I have had to scrap because I can only physically handle so much extra work. I run a full-time marketing business from home, homeschool my autistic 10-year-old, and generally have a busy life. Some of the strain is taking a toll on me, and I don't want to give up. Having some financial backing could allow me to drop a client or two after a few months and focus on the work I love to do.

How You Can Help I mainly need a start—a sort of base. I want to emphasize that I plan to continue to provide the main bulk of funding for my projects. I know my goals are ambitious, and I know each step will take time and money. I welcome any help to make the process smoother and to get around the initial hurdles. I'd like to have ebooks and novels offered on my site by the end of the year (along with the free serials and stories). Funding means that I can broaden the projects, include more free aspects to my sites, and secure direct financing through sales of ebooks and audiobooks sooner. It also means that I can offer MORE stories, whether they are online only or fully fleshed out novels and sites. I am swamped with trying to work enough to cover all my bills and creative projects, so I lose a lot of time I could spend plotting and writing. If I have better funding, I can get my stories out quicker (and with fewer mistakes).

The Initial Stories Let's talk about my stories! If you're familiar with my work already, you can skip to the next section. My main story site is Maybe Trey . Currently, I have two big titles and a bunch of smaller ones that I am seeking help with funding: Astrid the Devil

Astrid the Devil is the complicated story of a girl who inherits not only her family's features and DNA, but their fears, struggles, and fights. It's the story of a condition called Devil Syndrome, the women who suffer it, and the monsters that devour them. It's the story of the fight to save the people you love at the expense of innocent lives. At its core, Astrid the Devil is the story of a woman who inherits the chaos of three generations before her. It's a look at what is truly passed down to our children, and how they're left to fight our battles in the aftermath of our failures. It's the tale of an indescribable monster and the women who struggle to defeat it. It's a journey into how their every decision could save or destroy an entire world. Astrid the Devil is the story of Astrid Snow, but her story can't be told without the story of the women before her.

Vicious: On MaybeTrey and The Vicious site (in progress)

Somewhere, a war is brewing. That's the only thing that's for sure to Junnie Gorton, a young horned girl suffering from a debilitating disease called Horn Rot. She typically dealt with her low survival rate and abnormally large horns by escaping the world with her best friend, Lewish. Now she's forced to figure out which side is which, save her entire species, and find out the truth behind the sudden uprising in her home. Horn Rot, a highly contagious and violent disease spreading through horned people, is causing mass amounts of madness and death. Normal horns grow in ways that will pierce, suffocate, and maim their owners, and the only one who can stop it is Junnie's mother, Lyria. As Lyria falls deeper and deeper into an anti-social revolt, the country reels. While Junnie broods, her entire species must prepare for mass extinction. Her brother plots with a group of people with less than good intentions and Lewish is quieter than usual. In a civilization brought up on extreme violence and competition, Junnie and Lewish try their best not to get swallowed by their culture, their lives, or their horns.

Bunni and Bosque :

Bunni lives. Bosque dies. We all know how this story starts. Bunni is obsessed with destruction and death. She comes from the healthiest Horned family in her country. She's from the oldest, purest bloodline in the world. And she's bored with it. Bunni spends most of her time trying to escape her duties as a pureblood. She wants things dirty, messy, foul, inconsistent. Having parents that are willing to kill to keep their bloodline pure is annoying. Knowing that she'll live a long, full life, produce more perfect children, and die unscathed is agonizing. Bunni wants something to mourn. We all know how this story ends. Bosque is destined to die an agonizing death, alone on his family's land. He's watched everyone he loved and grew up with perish. Sometimes it was because of their disease. Sometimes it was because of the malice and hatred of others. While he's absolutely withdrawn and satisfied with his life, Bosque has never had a chance to live it. He spends his days basking in the sun, bathing in wood baths, and contemplating the end. Bosque isn't interested in joining the rest of the world. He'd rather die out, alone, where his family belonged. Bosque wants to go peacefully. But neither expected to meet each other one day in a supermarket. Neither expected to fall in love, lust, and every vicious and dirty thing between. Neither expected to be so right for each other, all while being wrong for everyone else. You know the end of this story. Bunni lives, Bosque dies. But maybe something will change.

My smaller titles, Bunni and Bosque /Aite and Jude, can be found at Maybe Trey .

The Business Plan

The initial phase of my business plan is to get the sites populated with ebooks and audiobooks for sale. I also have prints that can be sold. Right now, I am in the audience-building phase while I save up for editing the full novels.

In terms of an actual business with which to publish the stories, I already have a registered publication company in Illinois: Wolfless Studios LLC. I took this step earlier this year with plans to self-publish Astrid and Vicious. So that is paid for and done.

I have also gotten initial editing done on the first six chapters of Astrid, though it will need to be edited from the beginning again once everything is said and done. I've spent over $1000 on that so far, and it would go a lot faster if I didn't need to save up to edit each chapter.

Astrid the Devil is fully plotted, outlined, and only needs the last three chapters. Bunni and Bosque and Vicious are newer, but plotted and already deep into character development (all being shared across social and Wattpad for audience growth). Aite and Jude and other shorts are plotted, and three other unshared stories are plotted and at the editing phase.

Other costs and ways I would use the funding (I would still put in my own money and do as much on my own as possible):

Initial $30K

$6000 - $7000 Line and Copy edits for Astrid (currently at 250000+ words/expecting over 300000 at $0.02 rate)

$6000 - $7000 Line and Copy Edits for Vicious

$3000 - $4000 Line and Copy Edits for Bunni and Bosque

ISBN Purchases (Separate ISBN for each format for each book) - https://www.myidentifiers.com/identify-protect-your-book/barcode

Covers for Astrid/Vicious/B&B Print Versions

Site Hosting Costs and Maintenance for 2 Years

Site completion for all stories

Initial store and app development

40K - Marketing and Graphic Novels

Social, Print, and Web ads

Email Marketing Campaigns

Booths at Decatur Book Festival (depending on COVID)

Social ads and promos

50 to 60 pages

First two chapters offered as free promo with email sign-ups

Audio journals for each character

Situational audio journals

Encyclopedia for Astrid (finishing up)/Vicious

65K - Hires and Next Phases

Ability to hire a Full-Time Editor

Audio Series for each (professionally done)

Vicious Graphic Novel

Additional Title Added

Short animations for both Vicious and Astrid (with plans to fund more with book sales)

Fleshed out Story Sections (Novellas for each character of each series)

Short comic series with Astrid and Vicious side characters

Possible to plan out monthly subscription service with new stories and 'story package' deliveries

75K -

Astrid the Devil Graphic Novel

Vicious Graphic Novel

Astrid the Devil Animated Short

Ability to hire part-time Web Developer

Additional bigger title

Anything Over - I ascend into pure light. And also, I can add titles, cover more mediums, and eventually expand my publishing to other black creatives.

From there, I should be able to handle the funding via sales of books, comics, audio, and more. Again, I will always offer mostly free content across the sites.

I believe in proof of concept, and I have diehard fans on my social platforms. With no outside funding, I've been able to a lot on my own. I'd love to expand my business into one that does the same for other black authors, artists, voice actors, and animators somewhere down the line.

Thank you so much for your consideration. I appreciate all my readers, present and future, and I appreciate any help!

See incentives and more on the actual campaign: https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-trey-publish-black-paranormal-horror-stories

Thank you so much!

#support black authors #writeblr #support black creators #black creators #original characters #original story #donate #buy black #black businesses #my writing #Astrid the Devil #Vicious #Bunni and Bosque #Aite and Jude #Trey Briggs the Writer #paranormal horror #speculative fiction #gofundme

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x-reader-theater · 4 years ago

Text

A Shakespearean Soliloquy in Two Parts

Relationship: Asexua!Spemcer Reid x Asexual!Male!Reader

Summary: “Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings.” William Shakespeare, Julius Ceaser

Warnings: Scool shooting, asexual Spencer Reid and reader, implied autism.

Word Count: 7520 words

A/N: To be frank, I meant to post this at like, three pm. Also Asexual Spencer Reid owns my ass and I will only write him as such. Please enjoy. Edited by the outstanding, amazing, show stopping @mystic-writes . I love you please forgive me for forgetting.

"Are you sure/That we are awake? It seems to me/That yet we sleep, we dream" –A Midsummer Night's Dream

"Hey, Shelly," you say with a smile at the small book store you are currently checking out in. "Good to see you again."

"You as well! Only one book this week?" Shelly asks and you nod.

"Yeah. I have too much work to do, so I can't focus on more than one book," you say.

She scans your book and you pay quickly. She hands you the book back and says with a smile, "Enjoy your book!"

You nod and turn around quickly, taking a step, before colliding with someone. The books in their hands go crashing to the floor, and you do as well, crying out as you land suddenly on your tailbone, and stars flash before your eyes.

"I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have been that close and I wasn't paying attention, and I should have been looking where I was going and-" you hold up a hand to silence the man who was speaking a mile a minute in front of you.

"Really, it's okay. It was my fault," you say, wincing as you try and get up.

The man holds out a hand out and you take it. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He takes his hand back almost immediately once you're standing and you smile. "No, not really. Just bruised my tailbone," you say and the man sighs.

You lean down and pick up a couple of the books he was carrying, and when you go to the last book, his fingers brush yours. You look up and see your faces are inches from one another, and you feel your face heating up. You see him blush as well and you both pull your hands away. You stand up so he can grab the last book and you shove the books you're holding into his arms.

"Sorry again!" you say, not looking at him, and you leave because you can’t embarrass yourself any more.

It isn't until you're in your car that you realize you gave him your book as well.

"Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love." –Hamlet

You walk into the Alley Cat Café, a new café that just opened a block from your flat that also offered an area where you could hang out with adoptable cats. You never went in there because you would just adopt all of them and you didn't have the time for that right now.

You walk into the café and the little bell above the door jingles to signal your arrival. You walk up to the counter and order your regular, the Calico Chai, and pay before finding a seat near the back close to the window where you could watch the cats. Your order is called, and as you get up, you look over to a table, and see a very familiar man reading a book at a remarkable speed.

You distractedly grab your tea and go back to your table, gathering up your things before plopping yourself next to the man.

"Hello again!" you exclaim and he jumps, looking up from his reading to glare at whoever interrupted him.

When he locks eyes with you, however, his eyes widen. "Oh! Hello!" he exclaims and a small smile forms on his lips.

"I think I may have given you my book on Tuesday," you say sheepishly, and his eyes widen even more and his mouth drops open adorably.

He turns and fishes around in his bag, before turning back to you and holding out a book in both hands. "I've been carrying it around with me hoping to give it back to you," he says, blushing, and you grin, taking the book from his hands, your fingers brushing his.

"Well, thank you," you say, grabbing the large book.

"So, the complete works of Shakespeare, huh?" the man asks and you nod.

"Yeah. I've never actually owned a copy before," you say. "I've only taken it out from the library or borrowed it from friends. I actually wanted to major in Shakespearean studies in college before ultimately deciding to go another way." The man nods, and silence falls over you for a moment before you say, "You know, I never got your name."

"Oh! Doctor Spencer Reid," he says with a wave.

You wave back and say, "Doctor [Y/N] [L/N]."

"What's your doctorate in?" he asks, excited.

You reply, "Biological Anthropology. I teach it at Georgetown."

"That's where I got my PHD in Chemistry," Spencer says and you grin.

"Really? When was that?" you ask.

"Thirteen years, two months, six days, and seventeen hours ago," he says and you blink owlishly.

You think for a moment before saying, "You must have been really young when you got that."

He nods. "I was seventeen. It was my second PHD. I have three. One in mathematics, one in chemistry, and one in engineering. I also have five BAs."

You stare at him for a moment, not saying anything, before you whisper, "That's really impressive." You feel your cheeks heat up. "I didn't get my PHD until I was nearly 25."

"I have an IQ of 187, and eidetic memory, and can read 20,000 words a minute," he says and you smile.

"You're one of a kind, Spencer Reid," you say, holding your book to your chest. "That must have been a very lonely childhood though," you remark, and he looks away from you. He nods but doesn't say anything. "What do you do now?"

"I'm a profiler with the FBI in their behavioral analysis unit," he explains and you smile.

"Maybe I'll have you come in and lecture to one of my classes some time," you say and he smiles. "Though Biological Anthropology isn't very exciting to anyone but me…" you look away and scratch the back of your neck, but Spencer assuages your fears.

"Actually, I find it quite interesting. I read an article the other day about how work stress is actually de-evolving humans, causing their bones to actually lose density, causing them more physical pain and inability to do physical tasks, as well as loss of sleep, appetite, and more," he says, and you grin.

"But, the study was only on French individuals, and it could have different results based on where the study is done. Like, in Japan for example, there may be the same amount of stress but they handle it better because in their culture, work is just a part of life and you have to deal with stress. Or in America, where we have different ways of dealing with stress that may cloud the findings," you add, and he nods.

"That is true, though you'd have to factor that into the initial hypothesis and-"

Spencer is cut off by his phone ringing. He picks it up and the phone call ends quickly.

"I'm so sorry to have to do this, but I have to go to work. We have a case," he says and you nod in understanding.

"Of course. It was nice talking to you Spencer. I hope we can talk again some time!" you exclaim.

A small smile tugs at his lips and he says, "I do too, [Y/N]."

You stare at each other for a couple moments before he turns around and leaves the café. You sip your now cold tea and realize you didn't get Spencer's number.

“Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt." –Measure for Measure

You sit at the bar and nurse your glass of water as the music and lights cause a headache to split at your temples. You groan and massage your head, but it doesn't do anything to relieve the pain. You take another sip of your water, and look up to see a familiar face looking down at you.

"Co-workers bring you here too?" Spencer asks and you smile and nod.

"Yeah. It's Fiona's birthday today and she wanted to go to a club," you say, and Spencer sits down next to you. "I got dragged along. And apparently I got a splitting headache too."

"Do you want any help with that?" Spencer asks and you look at him, questioningly. "Turn around."

You do as he asks, slowly, and you feel his fingers lightly resting on your neck. You wince as he presses into your spine right where your head and neck meet, but after thirty seconds he releases, and your headache dissipates. You grin and turn around.

"How did you know to do that?" you ask.

He shrugs. "I had chronic migraines when I was younger, and I read a book on pressure points once," he explains and you nod in understanding.

"Right. You're a genius," you say with a forced smile and he frowns. You sigh. "You just…" you put a hand on his cheek, and he stiffens for a moment before relaxing into your touch. "You make me feel inferior. Like I'm just never going to do as well as you."

Spencer grabs your hand lightly and squeezes it, putting it away from your face as he looks into your eyes. "Trust me, you have nothing to worry about. You're a doctor working at one of the best schools in the country," he says and you smile. He returns it. "And, don't compare yourself to me. I can read 20,000 words a minute. I'm a freak. You're more normal than I am."

"Spencer Reid, don't you ever say that again!" you exclaim, taking his other hand in your own. "You are not a freak!" He goes to protest but you take one of your hands from his grip and put it over his lips. "Nope. No arguing. What I say is final."

You pull your hand away and you see he's smiling. "Yes, Doctor," he says, his words dripping with sarcasm.

You grin, before gasping. He looks alarmed as you say, "Oh! I forgot!" he places his hands on your arms. "You didn't give me your number in the café!"

He sighs in what looks to be relief, before reaching into his pocket and taking out his wallet. "You want to see a magic trick?"

You nod and he grins an adorable smile that has you grinning as well. He holds up a business card, probably his business card, and moves his hands in front of his face, and when they cross back over, the card is gone.

"Oh come on! It's behind your hand! I know this trick," you say, and he raises an eyebrow.

He opens up his fingers and turns his hand around, showing it's nowhere to be seen. Your eyes go wide and your mouth drops slightly in awe.

"Hey, I think you have something in your hair… right there…" he says, pointing to your left ear, and you reach up before he can touch you.

You feel something, and when you pull it out in front of you, you see it's Spencer's business card.

You laugh and flip the card over, checking to see if it's real or not. But it very much is.

"Wow Spencer, that's amazing!" you exclaim and his cheeks flare red. You take out your phone and put his number in, calling it. He looks up at you and you place your phone to your ear. He picks up and you say with a smile, "There. Now you have my number too."

"This sounds very strange, can I hang up now?" Spencer says out loud, and it's repeated in your ear only moments after. You laugh and nod, and the two of you hang up your phones.

Almost immediately, his phone starts ringing again, and you put up your hands in innocence.

"JJ," he says into the receiver, pausing for a moment, before saying quickly, "I'll be right there." He hangs up his phone and places it in his pocket, before saying quickly. "Sorry, that was work. I really have to go."

You smile and nod. "You have a job to do. Go save some lives." He smiles and turns to leave, but you call out, "Spencer!" he turns around and you stand up, lean forward, and place a kiss on his cheek. "For good luck."

He grins and walks out of the club. You watch as a couple more people file out, and sit back in your seat and finish your water.

"Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. then your love would also change." –Romeo and Juliet

You're flipping through papers when you hear someone call out to you.

"[Y/N]!" they shout and looking up you see Spencer Reid walking down the hallway towards you, a messenger bag slung around his shoulder. He was wearing something similar to what he was wearing in the club only two nights ago.

"Case ended early?" you ask and he nods.

"Yeah. Child abduction. We had less than forty eight hours to get the child back alive since the family didn't report her missing until twenty four hours had passed," he says.

"And did you? Get the child back alive, I mean," you ask and he nods. You grin.

"Oh, good. So! What are you doing here? You didn't come just to see me, did you?"

Spencer blushes and you place a hand on his arm. "No, Doctor Priya Chopra wanted my help on an article she's going to write about fungal growth on skin and the potential benefits it could have, as well as any side effects it may cause," he says and you nod.

"Well, I can show you to her office! She's new so it wouldn't have updated on any maps yet," you say and Spencer nods.

He stops and you halt in front of him, turning as he says, "Oh! Do you want me to carry any of your papers?"

You smile and shake your head. "No, it's okay. I'll just have to walk back anyways. My office is in the other direction."

"Oh, I don't want you to have to go out of your way. I can probably find it on my own…" Spencer trails off, looking helplessly at the myriad of plain beige hallways.

You shake your head and bump your shoulder with his. "Really. It's not a big deal. I want to do this," you say with a smile. He smiles back and you lead him down a couple hallways, until you stop at a door with a nameplate that reads, 'Dr. Priya Chopra, PHD'.

"Well, this is your stop," you say, almost sad with a slight slump to your shoulders. "With that eidetic memory of yours, I don't think you need me to show you around anymore."

Spencer places a hand on the small of your back and points at the paperwork in your arms. "You look like you could use a little help. How about I come by after my talk with Doctor Chopra? I know where your office is," he says and you grin.

"I would love that, Spencer," you say, and watch him until he disappears behind Doctor Chopra's door.

"One may smile, and smile, and be a villain." –Hamlet

You hear a knock at your door and you look up from your work to see a familiar head pop out from behind the door. You grin and say, "Parker! It's good to see you again! Come in."

The young man with dark circles under his eyes slowly walks into your office, he wrings his hands out in front of him, and sits down in the chair across from yours. He slowly takes his backpack off and reaches in, pulling out a grey folder. The movements were slow and methodical, but you can see the young man's hands shaking slightly as he does so. Finally, he pulls out a stapled stack of papers and holds it out to you.

You take it carefully and frown, looking it over. It was one of his essays that you just gave back a couple days ago with a big red 'F' on the front.

"Why did you fail me?" Parker whispers and you sigh.

You lean back in your chair, folding your fingers on your stomach as you say, "Your essay is all over the place. There isn't a coherent theme or message in any of it. Also, you should really find someone to help edit your grammar at least. You have misspellings and incorrect comma usage all over the place, Parker." The man in question looks down away from you and you sigh again, this time louder and lean forward onto your desk. "How about this. Go to the writing center on campus, find someone to help plan out your essay, and if you do a good job, I'll bump up your score to at least a B, if not more if you do really well, okay?"

Parker looks up at you and gives you a toothy, forced smile, almost as if he doesn't smile much in his life, and says, "Thank you, Mr. [Y/N]."

You smile and nod, handing the paper back to him, and just as someone knocks at your door, he gets up.

Opening the door, Parker comes face to face with Doctor Gerard Holden, professor of microbiology at Georgetown, and the man looks shocked for a moment before steeling his expression and saying over Parker's shoulder, "Dr. [L/N], do you have a minute to talk?"

You smile and nod, before addressing Parker again. "Parker, I want to see that essay on my desk in a week and a half at the most. I hope to see some improvement."

Parker doesn't turn around but he nods and slides out of your office as quickly as he can without touching Dr. Holden. When Parker leaves, the older man walks into your office and closes the door behind him.

"That boy is very strange. I don't know how you put up with him. I've had to kick him out of class before for being disruptive and talking out of turn," he says and you sigh.

"He's a good kid and an even better student. I bet if you pushed him a little more, and actually called on him in class, he wouldn't interrupt so much," you say and the doctor in front of you is pale. "But, I hope you didn't come here to discuss our students."

The man shakes his head and goes into a lengthy question about having you guest lecture during one of his classes. You agree quickly and get the time and date and what you'll be covering before Dr. Holden opens the door to your office.

You see Parker standing on the other side of the door, and you know he heard everything you and Dr. Holden discussed about him.

"They do not love that do not show their love." –The two Gentlemen of Verona

It's a Saturday. You and Spencer are sitting in your apartment reading. Spencer's stack next to him is significantly smaller than yours, and whenever he finishes a book, he places it on your stack. Whenever you finish yours, you place your book on the ground and pick up whatever book Spencer just finished reading.

It's nice.

"If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die." –Twelfth Night

"Come on! I don't want us to miss this!" Spencer exclaims, grabbing your hand, and pulling you along as he runs through the small park.

"Wait! Spencer! I didn't know we were running! I would have brought my inhaler!" you exclaim as you try and keep pace.

Spencer doesn't stop though as he says, "It's not far, now come on!" The two of you continue to run through the trees, and eventually you come upon a clearing. There are a few couples there, but not actually as many as you would have expected. The thing that shocks you the most are the group of college age students all standing around with boxes in their hands.

"Spencer what-"

"Shh!"

You step closer to him, still holding his hand as the students all step up, and take the tops off the boxes. Light start flying out of the uncovered cardboard boxes and you realize that they're lightning bugs.

You gasp as a swarm flies towards you before dispersing into a hazy cloud of blinking yellow and green emanating from the lower abdomen. You reach out and the bugs fly away from your hand in streaks of light and you laugh. You turn, grinning at Spencer's face. He's looking right at you.

In the low glow, you can see Spencer's handsome features on display. His cheekbones are softer in the light, his auburn hair a deep brown and his hazel eyes reflecting spots of green back at you. You reach up and place a hand on his cheek. He looks beautiful.

"What is this?" you ask, breathless.

He smiles softly and you look down at his lips. They look inviting. "The biology majors at Howard under Professor Trudy study fireflies for a semester before releasing them here. Did you know that many fireflies do not produce light? Usually these species are diurnal, or day-flying, such as those in the genus Ellychnia. A few diurnal fireflies that inhabit primarily shadowy places, such as beneath tall plants or trees, are luminescent. One such genus is Lucidota. Non-bioluminescent fireflies use pheromones to signal mates. This is supported by the fact that some basal groups do not show bioluminescence and use chemical signaling, instead. Phosphaenus hemipterus has photic organs, yet is a diurnal firefly and displays large antennae and small eyes. These traits strongly suggest pheromones are used for sexual selection, while photic organs are used for warning signals."

You're silent for a minute before you say, "You said firefly."

Spencer frowns. "Huh?"

"You said firefly. People around here say 'Lightning bug,' which means you're not from around here. Where are you from?" you ask, and his frown subsides.

"Las Vegas," he says and you smile.

"You're a long way from home," you reply, looking around at the lightning bugs floating lazily around you, taking in their new environment. You look back at him and say, "I'm glad you're here Spencer. I'm glad I ran into you at the book shop. Literally," you say, laughing lightly.

"Me too," Spencer says with a small smile on his face.

You lean up and kiss him, quickly, before pulling back, not really giving him a chance to react. He stares at you, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open, before leaning in and capturing his lips in yours again. You lean against him, turning so your front is pressed against his, he places his hands on your hips and you thread yours through his hair and rest them on the back of his neck.

When you pull away, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, but you're so lost in Spencer's eyes you hardly notice.

"I am not bound to please thee with my answers." –The Merchant of Venice

You jump as someone hits their bowl a little too hard with their spoon, causing a loud crashing noise it seems like only you can hear. You can feel your heart rate picking up as another person accidentally drops a glass on the floor, shattering it. Your eyes dart around as people talk loudly over one another, shouting to be heard over the low din of the restaurant.

"[Y/N]!"

You look up at Spencer sharply, your eyes going wide.

"Are you okay?" he asks, reaching a hand out. You nod but don't take his hand, instead picking at your nails underneath the table. "I was just talking about the underlying effects of corsetry in the modern era…" Spencer continues as if nothing is wrong but another loud crash causes you to jump and lose focus from him again.

You hear Spencer sigh and you look up at him, your cheeks flaming up. "Sorry…" you mutter.

"What's wrong?" he asks plainly.

"I-" you begin to say, but flinch as someone laughs loudly at a table nearby you. "I don't really like restaurants. They're too… loud."

Spencer looks at you with that blank stare for a moment before sighing in what you hope is of relief. "Same here. A co-worker of mine suggested I take you out to dinner and when I told him I don't like restaurants either, he just said you would," Spencer explains.

You frown. "Who did he think I was? We read books in your apartment all the time!"

Spencer looks away sheepishly and pulls his hands into his lap. "I haven't used pronouns for you, so he assumed you were a woman."

You snort. "Wouldn't be the first time." Spencer frowns at you. "I've dated a lot of bisexual men with straight colleagues. The co-workers always assume I'm a woman."

Spencer nods, and the two of you are silent once again in the loud restaurant. You flinch once more as something crashes together, and Spencer sighs.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" he asks, almost begging.

You nod enthusiastically. "Yes. Please. We can go back to mine?" Your eyes widen at that. "Not for sex!" you exclaim and a few people look over at you. You blush in embarrassment and say, quieter, "I-I just meant to read or watch a documentary or something. I didn't mean to imply."

Spencer smiles softly. "It's okay. I didn't even realize. I'm not sexually attracted to people."

Your eyes widen and you grin. "Me neither!"

Spencer grins with you and the two of you hastily pay and make a quick exit out of the busy restaurant.

"God hath given you one face, and you make yourself another." –Hamlet

"Mr. [L/N]?"

You jump and look up from your work and see Parker standing in your office. You put a hand over your heart and laugh. "Parker! You scared me!"

"Sorry…" he says, not making eye contact.

You chuckle as you say, "I should put a bell on you…" you see Parker flush a deep red but you ignore it. "So, what can I do you for?"

Silently, still red and blushing, Parker pulls out a stapled stack of papers from his backpack and holds it out to you. You take it and see it's the revised version of his essay you failed last week.

"I did want you asked…" he says quietly and you quickly look over the first page.

You smile up at him, grateful. "Thank you, Parker. I'll get it back to you by the end of the week-"

"NO!" he shouts and you jump at that.

"Parker, I have a lot of work to do and-"

But he cuts you off again, shouting, "No! Get it done now!"

You sigh, knowing he's not going to relent, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. "Okay. How about this. How many classes do you have left today?"

"Two…" Parker says, and you almost miss it seeing as he's so quiet.

You nod. "Okay. How about I work on it while you're in class and you can come back after."

Parker nods and without another word, leaves your office. You sigh loudly and lean your head into your hands.

"I must be cruel only to be kind; Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind." –Hamlet

That night, you're sitting in Spencer's apartment, his head in your lap as you both read. You can't help but think of Parker, of hearing him yell for the first time since you met him. The boy was always so quiet, except in class where he was engaged and able to answer every question, even if his answers were a little all over the place.

"[Y/N]?" You hear Spencer ask and you look down at him, dazed.

"Huh?"

"You haven't even looked at your book for six minutes and twenty-seven seconds," Spencer says and you frown. You put your book face down next to you on the side table and rub your hands over your face. You feel hands at your wrists, and they tug slightly, pulling your hands away from your face. "What's going on?"

"Just a student of mine yelled at me today," you say. Spencer frowns and you lean down, kissing where his brow was furrowed. "It's okay. I've just never seen him even raise his voice above a whisper besides when we're in class. And even then he doesn't yell." You pause, and sit back up. Spencer sits up as well and lets go of your wrists, leaning into your side. "A lot of the students and faculty don't like him because he's disruptive in class, but I know he's a good student. He's driven and knows a lot. He just needs to be pushed in the right way." You sigh again and lean over to rest your head on Spencer's shoulder. "I told him that I would finish editing his essay by the end of the week but he yelled at me, telling me to finish it right then and there. I told him I would finish it by the end of the day. I knew he wasn't going to stop asking, so I made a compromise I thought he could live with."

You look up at Spencer's face and see him frowning. "How long has he been like this with you?"

You let out a huff of humorless laughter. "What, you jealous?" you ask, joking.

Some of the tension eases from Spencer's face but he doesn't stop frowning.

"No, I'm not jealous. I'm just cautious." He looks into your eyes as he says, "You should be too."

You sigh and lean down, kissing him. "I know. I will be. I just don't want to push him away. I think I'm the only friendly face he has around campus…"

Spencer nods, and opens his mouth as if to say something, but he closes it, and the two of you spend the rest of your evening in silence, unanswered questions lingering in the air between you.

"Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall." –Romeo and Juliet

"You okay?" you ask Spencer one night while you're sitting on your bed together, watching something on your laptop. Tonight you were trying to get him into Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but he seemed more distracted than normal.

He looks up at you, a glazed look in his eyes before sighing. "The case we finished today? It was a stalker case. This man was in love with this woman and we had to make her tell him she was in love with him to get him to let his guard down," Spencer explains and you turn to face him, not saying anything. "We shot him. In the end. He died while the woman was sobbing into her husband's arms." You reach out and place a hand near Spencer, not touching him. He reaches out and takes your hand, kissing it. "I just keep thinking about how she'll never feel safe around another man again."

"You did what you could and you saved her life, Spencer," you say quietly and he looks at you sadly. "I'm so proud of you."

"But what about the people we can't save?"

You sigh and kiss Spencer lightly. "You can't think about that. Think about the families you saved, the women, the children. You saved a life! That's amazing, Spencer."

Spencer smiles and nods but he doesn't look convinced. You just kiss him again and go back to watching Buffy.

"<i>For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?</i>" –Much Ado About Nothing

You startle as a knock sounds at your door. You aren't expecting visitors. Spencer's out with work, and he said not to expect him back for a few days. It's only been two, and he can't have caught the guy that quickly already.

But when you open your door, Spencer is standing there, his eyes puffy and red, and before you can ask any questions, he's pushing himself into your arms. You stumble back and close the door before sinking to the floor, letting Spencer cry into your arms.

"Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, But Lust's effect is tempest after sun. Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain; Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done. Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies." –Venus and Adonis

"I love you," you say one evening while you're sitting on the couch, Spencer's head in your lap. You're running your fingers through his hair as you say this, making it fan out around his head like a halo of auburn curls.

He cracks an eye open at you and smiles. "Really?"

You roll your eyes. "Yes. I do. And I just thought I should say it," you say, and Spencer sits up, leaning in to kiss you. You put your hands on his cheeks and smile into the soft kiss.

He pulls away and says, "I want you to meet my mom."

Your eyes go wide and you open your mouth as if to say something, but nothing comes out. You frown before asking, "When?"

"I have some vacation time saved and we could wait until summer break!" Spencer exclaims, causing your frown to drop. "You're not teaching again until the second half of summer break, so we can see her then."

"I've never been to the west coast before…" you say, trailing off and looking away. Spencer goes to say something but you cut him off with a smile. "But, that's okay. I want to meet her."

Spencer grins and grabs your face, kissing you like his life depends on it. You laugh as he gets up and runs out of the living room, whooping with joy.

"I love you, Spencer Reid!" you shout.

"Love you too!" he shouts back.

"Lovers and madmen have such seething brains Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends." –A Midsummer Night's Dream

It's a week until the end of term, finals right around the corner, and you have been stuck in your office for most of the day. Most of the week actually. You gave your students the last few days off to study for their finals, and to finish their final essays for you while you finished editing the last of their work before you were bombarded with essays and tests.

Your phone rings on your desk, but you turn off the noise, groaning as the red light beeps incessantly. It's been doing that for the past half an hour. You even had to turn your mobile off and shove it into an unused drawer of your desk.

After another five minutes of the light beeping, you pick up your phone.

"WHAT!" you scream into the receiver.

"Uh, Dr. [L/N]?" you hear someone say quietly into the phone.

"You know, I'm very busy right now and I can't handle distractions so if you would just-"

"Someone's shooting up the school."

Your blood runs cold as a knock sounds at your door, and you watch the knob turning. You gulp as the voice on the other end of the line tries to get your attention, but you can't hear them. All you can hear is the creak of your door as it's slowly pushed open.

"Mr. [Y/N]!" You hear someone shout as they enter your office. It's Parker. And he's holding a gun. "I thought I heard you in here! Who are you talking to?"

You go to answer, but the words die in your throat.

"I- I don't actually know. They-they were calling to tell me about you," you say finally, hanging up the phone as the person yells on the other side of the line.

Parker closes your door and walks over to your desk with a happy smile on his face. "I came to get you, [Y/N]," he says, and you force a smile onto your face.

"Really?" you ask, hoping your nervousness doesn't give anything away.

He nods. "It's just you and me now! Forever!"

You gulp, but smile. "Uh huh…"

"The only thing left in our way is that whore who calls himself your boyfriend…" Parker says, and your smile drops.

"Spencer?" you can't help the wavering in your voice as you say his name.

Parker nods and places his hand against his chin. "Yes. Maybe you can call him? I'm sure he's already on his way over here."

You gulp, but nod. You pick up your desk phone and dial Spencer's number from memory. While your memory may not be anywhere close to as good as his, you forced yourself to memorize it in case it was an emergency.

After the first ring, the phone is picked up. "[Y/N]? Are you okay? I've tried calling you for the past twenty minutes and you haven't picked up!" Spencer exclaims on the other end of the line.

You take a deep breath before looking up at Parker, who's smiling expectantly at you. He nods. "Spencer, can you come to my office?"

"I'm outside. Is everything okay?" he asks.

"Tell him to leave his gun and vest outside," Parker whispers and you nod.

"You need to leave your gun and vest outside," you say, your voice shaking with every word.

"Oh!" Parker exclaims and leans forward. "And tell him if he doesn't do all that, I'm going to kill you."

You let out a sob and say into the phone, shaking, "If you don't do what's been asked, he's going to- he's going to kill me, oh!" you exclaim, another sob escaping your lips. You hear Spencer start to say something, but Parker puts a finger down on the plunger and you hear the dial tone in your ear. You slowly take the phone away from your ear and look at it shaking in your grip.

You watch absently as Parker's fingers brush yours, getting you to open your hand, and you let him take the phone, and put it back down on your desk.

You keep staring off into the middle distance, even as Parker's hand rests on your chin. He turns your head and your eyes lock onto his. You can see the simmering rage bubbling underneath the feigned love that he's projecting. It's probably not even conscious. You don't know if a man like him even <i>could</i> fall in love.

You hear a knock at your door and Parker moves away from you, but grabs your arm forcefully. Your hips push into the desk painfully and you let out a small whimper. Parker's hand on your arm relaxes slightly and he pulls you around your desk to stand next to him at his side, his gun pointed at the dark wooden door that is slowly opening.

You see Spencer slowly pushing the door open, his other hand raised to show he's unarmed.

"Stay there," Parker says, holding his gun level at Spencer's chest.

"Okay. Okay," Spencer says, putting his other hand up. "No one needs to get hurt."

Parker shakes his head. "No. No. They do. They're going to come in the way of us!"

Parker looks down at you and you look up at him, wide eyed. "No, they won't. No one can come in between us," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "Spencer's right. No one needs to get hurt."

Parker closes his eyes and shakes his head again. "Spencer, Spencer… Why Spencer? Why him? Why not me?"

You grab his arm and say, "It is you, Parker! It will always be you!" you look over at Spencer, asking with your eyes if you're doing a good job, if this is what you should be doing. He gives you a miniscule nod. You remembered from before when you talked about guys like Parker. "I don't love Spencer. I love you."

Your heart breaks as you say this, but you know that Spencer knows it isn't true. Parker's the only one who needs to believe it.

"Say it," he says, before looking over at the man in question, "to him."

You gulp and look at Spencer, leaning more into Parker's side as you say, "Spencer, I don't love you. I never loved you. I'm in love with Parker. Nothing will be able to keep up apart."

"[Y/N]..." Spencer says, heartbreak evident on his face. Either he's a really good actor or he actually believes it. You sincerely hope it's the former.

Parker nods when you look at him, and grins. "Let's get out of here…" he says, holding out his hand. You take it gingerly and he pulls your back to his chest, still holding Spencer at gunpoint. He flicks the gun further into your office, and Spencer moves with his hands up, tears streaming from his face as he moves across from you in the room.

Parker backs up slowly through the room towards the door, his gun still pointed at Spencer. As soon as he steps out into the hallway, you hear the gunshot.

You feel Parker fall behind you, and you run back into your office, falling to the floor, and only then do you start crying. You sob loudly, and when you're pulled into a chest, you only cry harder.

You hear Spencer whispering to you, and you feel his tears on your hair, your neck as he says, "I can't lose you too. I can't. I just can't…"

You pull him closer, pulling your legs to your chest as you sob, "I love you. I love you so much. I didn't mean anything I said!"

"I know," he whispers, kissing your head. "I know."

"I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest." –Much Ado About Nothing

"I've never been to Vegas before!" you exclaim as you get off the plane. "Can we go to any casinos? I've never gambled before!"

Spencer chuckles as he grabs your hand, pulling you through the airport. "We'll see. I've been banned from a few, so I don't know if they'll let me in…" he says, trailing off and you laugh. "Did you know that what most people think of as Las Vegas is actually called Paradise? In the late 1940s, after the second world war was over, the city of Las Vegas actually banned gambling. The rich gamblers in town weren't happy with that so they created a town called Paradise and made gaming legal there. Well, it's not a town, but more like unincorporated land that doesn't follow Las Vegas' laws."

You grin and grab your bag when it comes around. While Spencer was talking, you had gone to the baggage claim and your bag had already been around once. While Spencer was used to traveling light, with only a go bag, you were not.

"I did not know that," you say, leaning up to kiss his cheek as he pulls out towards the exit.

You get the car he rented and you let him drive you to Bennington. He wanted to go back to the hotel for a night before seeing his mom, but you didn't want him to waste any more time. You would freshen up after.

You and Spencer are ushered through the sterilized, but still personable, halls of the sanitarium, and into a large room with a couple of other people in it. You see a blonde, short haired woman sitting on a couch and Spencer starts walking over to her.

When she sees him, her face lights up and she exclaims, "Spencer!"

"Hey mom," he says, giving her a wave. "I wanted to introduce you to someone."

She turns and looks you up and down, before wringing her hands out and looking at her son. "Is this the man you told me about in your letters?"

Your eyebrows raise at that and you ask Spencer, "You talked to her about me?" he looks at you, nervous, but you smile. "All good things, I hope." He grins and grabs your hand. You turn to Diana and hold out your hand. "Hi. I'm Dr. [Y/N] [L/N]. Spencer's told me so much about you. He really loves you."

She smiles and takes your hand lightly before letting go. "Yes, he's told me a lot about you too. He loves you too," she says, and you smile at him.

"And I love him," you reply.

"Journeys end in lovers' meeting; every wise man's son doth know" –Twelfth Night

#Spencer reid #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x you #spencer read x reader #diana reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #spencer reid x y/n #my work #my writing

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heauxplesslydevoted · 4 years ago

Text

Three’s Company

Summary: Naomi goes to lunch with the newest member of the diagnostic’s team.

A/N: Listen, I will not rest until Tobias and Ethan are friends again.

~v~

“It’s not going to be as bad as you’re making it out to be, Ethan. Above all else, Tobias Carrick is a doctor and a professional.”

Ethan resists the urge to roll his eyes at his girlfriend. This situation isn’t her fault, and it’s not like Naomi can help the fact that she’s optimistic. He still huffs under his breath though. “Being a doctor isn’t synonymous with being a professional. Trust me, Tobias is nothing of the sort.”

The news of Tobias Carrick not only coming to Edenbrook but also joining the diagnostics team hasn’t been well received. On top of a pretty tense exchange between Bloom and Ethan, Harper also made it known that she wasn’t a fan, thankfully not as outwardly as Ethan had.

Naomi however, has remained neutral. She doesn’t have history with Tobias like Harper and Ethan do, only knowing him through their biased second hand accounts. Ethan grumbled that he’s arrogant–though the same can be said about him as well–and selfish, but Naomi isn’t one to judge someone without knowing them. And besides, he pitched in to help save her last year, so for the time being, Tobias Carrick has a few brownie points with her.

“You’re being dramatic. He’s been a doctor as long as you have, he went to the same prestigious medical school that you did–”

“He graduated at number two,” Ethan interjects.

At that dig, Naomi huffs. “You’re being ridiculous. And petty, for no reason.”

“Bloom went over our heads and hired him, so I’m automatically suspicious. I apologize for not believing this wasn’t done specifically to annoy me.”

Naomi can concede to it being a bit suspicious, but she isn’t going to admit to this conspiracy of all roads leading back to Ethan. She’s not going to needlessly feed into his ego and rile him up.

The two of them continue their trek throughout the halls of Edenbrook in silence, their fingers loosely interlocked the entire way there. Naomi revels in it, because she knows it’s the calm before the storm.

Before they cross the threshold to the office, Naomi stops Ethan in his tracks. She cranes her head back so they can look each other in the eye. “Listen, like it or not, Tobias is here, and until he does something that warrants your hostility, at least be cordial. Our patients don’t deserve us at anything less than our best.”

Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose, and silently counts to three, attempting to steel himself.

“Fine.”

“Thank you.” Raising their joined hands, Naomi brushes a fleeting kiss across his knuckles. “Now stop pouting, Ramsey, we have work to do.”

Ethan untangles their hands only to open the door for Naomi. Once she steps inside she’s greeted with the sight of Tobias fiddling with Ethan’s coffee maker. He looks and flashes them a sly smile. “Mornin’, lovebirds! Ready to get to diagnosing?”

Ethan flashes Naomi a quick look. This is going to be a long day indeed.

~v~

So Tobias’s first day with the team wasn’t smooth sailing like Naomi wanted. Ethan and Harper made it clear that his former friend and roommate wasn’t wanted anywhere near the team, whether it be through passive aggressive eye rolls, thinly-veiled exasperated sighs, or outright aggression via Ethan that spiraled into a tense argument. Naomi remained neutral, corralling all of the attention back to the task at hand: helping their patient.

Naomi isn’t interested in spending another day babysitting these grown adults, so hopefully day 2 is a lot more smooth.

And so far, she seems to be getting her wish. Morning tasks were distributed without a fight, and after their morning huddle, Harper went downstairs to prep for a surgery she has coming up later. The remaining 3 members of the team are all in their own little corners of the office, Ethan typing away on his laptop, Tobias lounging on the couch, and Naomi sitting at their large desk, a pile of books and printed copies of online articles all spread out in front of her.

The words are all starting to blur together, her focus slipping away with each second that ticks on. Being in the office isn’t doing anything for her creativity or brainstorming power. She needs a break.

Naomi closes her textbook and pushes out of her seat, tired of studying. She makes her way over to Ethan’s desk, observing his hunched shoulders and the deep line between his brows. She rounds his desk until she’s standing directly in his line of vision. “You know what? I think it’s time to take a break. How about you and I get out of here and get something to eat?”

Ethan tears his eyes away from his computer screen long enough to look at Naomi. He frowns softly. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to take a raincheck. On top of the actual work I have to do for this team, Leland is demanding that I put together a presentation for the board meeting at the end of the week.”

“About what?”

“About the team. Cost versus benefit, outcomes, methodology, etc. Basically, he wants me to sell the diagnostics team to him all over again.”

“Sucks to be the boss at times?”

“De facto boss,” Ethan corrects. “Remember, this team is supposed to be a democracy now. Anyway, I want to get this presentation done as quickly as I can so I can stop thinking about it.”

“I could go for some lunch,” the third person in the room speaks up. Naomi and Ethan both turn around and see Tobias staring back at them. “Oh sorry, am I interrupting the private conversation the two of you are trying to have in our communal workspace?”

“What do you want, Carrick?”

Tobias’s eyes bounce back and forth between the couple. “Naomi wants to escape these four walls and get food. You aren’t available, and I am.” He shrugs. “What are you in the mood for, Valentine? I could go for some Italian, and there’s a good place a few blocks from here.”

“She’s not going to lunch with you,” Ethan grits out possessively.

Naomi’s head whips around faster than she can stop herself. Since when did he get to make decisions on her behalf, especially when it’s not work related?

A small smirk settles on Tobias’s face. Naomi’s physical response to Ethan’s declaration does not go unnoticed by him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know your name was also Naomi Valentine. Whatever the case, I wasn’t speaking to you.”

“Naomi doesn’t–”

“Naomi doesn’t need an advocate to speak on her behalf because she’s an adult,” Naomi interjects sharply.

Whether she wants to accept or decline Tobias’s invitation to lunch, it’s her decision to make, not Ethan’s. His tumultuous relationship with Tobias is not her burden to bear, and he’s not going to force it upon her.

And just to prove it to him, Naomi turns around, her full attention back on Tobias, eyes alight with defiance. “You know what? Italian sounds delicious.”

~v~

20 minutes later, the unlikely duo is nestled into a corner booth of the Italian restaurant Tobias suggested. It’s a nice family owned joint that is currently experiencing a lunch rush. Every inch of the place is bustling with activity, the aromatic smell of sautéed garlic fills the air, soft music playing in the background. And while Naomi has yet to try the food, the restaurant is warm and inviting, and she likes it.

“You know, I’m really shocked you decided to take me up on my offer,” Tobias says, cutting into Naomi’s silent appraisal of their surroundings.

“I wasn’t going to turn down a free meal,” Naomi responds smoothly.

“A free meal?”

“Of course. You invited yourself, so you’re paying, Dr. Carrick. I’m thinking of ordering dessert, too.”

An easygoing smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as she speaks, and Tobias laughs. “I meant it because loverboy wasn’t too happy with it.”

“As much as I respect Ethan’s opinions on things, they don’t dictate my life. His issues with you have nothing to do with me, and if you think you can use me as a pawn to piss him off further, I’d advise you to think again.”

This young woman is brazen and full of sass. Tobias likes it. “It wasn’t my intention, I swear. It’s no secret that I’m not a welcomed member of the team, and you happen to be the only one who doesn’t roll your eyes or sneer whenever I speak. You are the closest thing I have to an...acquaintance, I guess.”

Naomi’s defenses deflate slightly at his shocking display of earnestness. She was expecting some display of bravado from the attending, so this has thrown her for a loop.

Tobias is nervous. She picks up on that energy almost instantly.

“Well like I said, their issues with you have nothing to do with me. I try to give everyone a fair shake.”

“I can respect that.”

“But in the interest of said fair shake, you have to answer a question for me. What are you doing here?”

“Here, in this restaurant?”

“At Edenbrook,” Naomi clarifies. “Kenmore is a level one trauma center, it was saved from getting snuffed out when it merged with Solomon, you guys stole my research candidate which brought in a lot of grant money. You had a decent gig there, so why did you come to Edenbrook? Why did you accept a position on Ethan’s team?”

Tobias shrugs. “I hit my threshold at Kenmore. I was at the top of the food chain, I had seen everything there was to see, done everything there was to do. I was...bored and restless. Edenbrook got injected with new blood, everything is new and exciting. Bloom said he wanted to take the team to new heights, and he offered me more money than I know what to do with to be a part of the vision.”

“Okay so who’s to say you’ll be satisfied just being a member of the team? How do I know you won’t attempt to stage a coup and take Ethan’s position?”

“Relax, sweetheart, I’m not gunning for your boyfriend’s spot.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart. There’s no need to be condescending.”

“I apologize. But Ethan’s spot on the team is safe. I don’t need Leland breathing down my neck and micromanaging me the way he does Ethan.”

Naomi’s eyes roam his face. He doesn’t have any tells, no eye shifting or twitching, no sudden movements with his hands or mouth, he doesn’t fidget in his seat. She has no reason to believe he’s lying, so she takes him at his word. “Okay.”

“Any other burning questions?”

“Why aren’t you and Ethan friends?”

Tobias doesn’t immediately answer, opting to take his sweet time to think on it. He pulls his lip in-between his teeth, before shrugging. “We’re too similar. Too driven, too ambitious, too stubborn. Two people can only go on the same path for so long before a collision happens.”

“It got ugly because you two wanted the same girl?”

Tobias scoffs. The faceless woman that he was adamant that he was in love with is at the bottom of his list of concerns. “She was just the tip of the iceberg.”

That manages to catch her interest. Naomi sits up in her seat and leans forward slightly. “So what happened?”

Naomi can see the exact moment that Tobias withdraws from the conversation. His posture gets stiff again and he averts his gaze.

“Okay, riddle me this, Carrick,” Naomi continues. “Ethan told me he reached out to you after you had your falling out, but you rebuffed him. Is that part true?”

“He called and asked if we could talk, I said no. I didn’t hear from him again until everything happened with Leland last year.”

“You didn’t want to make amends?”

Making amends and having his old friend back did sound nice once upon a time, but being friends with Ethan again means being in his shadow again. And that’s what led them to this whole thing in the first place. Tobias sighs and scrubs his hand across his jaw. He came here to eat a plate of ravioli and maybe annoy Ethan, not pour his heart out. What is it about Naomi Valentine and those big brown eyes of hers that makes him want to twist himself inside out and spill his guts? Is she some sort of siren?

“Making amends means I’d have to own up to my wrongdoings. I’d have to swallow the fact that I torpedoed our friendship,” Tobias confesses before he even realizes the words are out of his mouth. “Admitting fault and being vulnerable isn’t my strong suit.”

She doesn’t mean to, but Naomi giggles. And that giggle turns into a laugh. A loud one that attracts the attention of a few patrons, a hard feat to accomplish in the middle of a bustling restaurant, but she does it with ease.

“I’m sorry,” Naomi says once she finally calms down. She takes a deep breath before continuing. “God, no wonder you two were best friends. You are just as emotionally constipated as Ethan.”

“Emotionally constipated?” Tobias’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline at the blunt statement. And once the shock wears off, he laughs along with. “Touché, Valentine. Touché.”

~v~

Across the way, at the bar on the other side of the dining room, Ethan watches as his girlfriend and his former friend carry on like two bosom buddies.

Ethan decided to follow them approximately 10 minutes after they left, sheer curiosity getting the better of him. Before he could stop himself, he was in his car and at the restaurant, seated far enough away from them so he’s out of their line of vision, but close enough to see.

Naomi is in the zone, talking excitedly and Tobias sits there, soaking it all up like what she says and does is gospel. Their friendly interaction stirs irritation in the pit of his stomach, but it’s when Naomi lets out a boisterous laugh does he reach his limit. Ethan’s grip on the small tumbler in his hand tightens, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t end up with a million tiny shards of glass in his palm.

What on earth has Tobias said to make Naomi laugh like that? And why is he laughing with her?

Ethan doesn’t like it one bit, for a multitude of reasons. He doesn’t like other men being around Naomi–it’s ridiculous and sexist of him to feel this way, but Ethan is a possessive caveman, and he makes no bones about it. Seeing her actually laughing with Carrick of all people and enjoying his company makes him want to throw the drink ware he’s currently holding.

Deciding enough is enough, Ethan slams the glass down onto the bar and stands up. After dropping a $20 bill on the counter he makes his way over to Naomi and Tobias, unadulterated jealousy and alcohol fueling every step.

Tobias notices him first, and he jerks his head in Ethan’s general direction in order to get Naomi’s attention. She turns around and her eyes go wide at the sight of Ethan.

“Ethan? What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

Now her eyes are narrowed. “You finished that big presentation you had to work on?”

Ethan sniffs haughtily. Leave it to her to throw that back in his face. “I decided that a break was okay.”

“And you coincidentally ended up at this restaurant?”

“Yup.”

Naomi stands up, muttering a quick “excuse me,” in Tobias’s direction and grabs Ethan’s hand, pulling him away. They nestle into a quiet corner of the restaurant, far away from the table, closer to the kitchen. The door constantly swings open and closed, as the waitstaff goes in and out.

Once they get a moment of quiet, Naomi glares at Ethan, the expression on her face nothing short of annoyed. “Are you spying on me? Because spying on me implies that you don’t trust me.”

“What? Of course I trust you!”

“So what are you doing here, Ethan?”

Ethan bites the inside of his cheek and rocks on the balls of his feet. “Okay, so I was spying.” Naomi opens her mouth to say something, but Ethan beats her to the punch. “It’s not because I don’t trust you! It’s him that I don’t trust.”

“Tobias has been nothing short of a gentleman,” Naomi says and Ethan snorts. “He’s acting a lot of a lot more mature than you are, I can say that much.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is you treating him like he’s a criminal when he’s given you no reason to do so.”

“He’s given me plenty of reason, Naomi!”

“The last time we saw Tobias, I was near death and he helped save my life,” Naomi says, and that’s more than enough to get Ethan to shut up.

Ethan’s heart slams against his rib cage with enough force to make him think the organ is trying to leave his body. Months have passed since the assassination attempt, but the mention of it is enough to cause Ethan to go into a panic.

“And the time before that, we stole a patient right out from under him, and before that we got into a fight at a freaking hospital softball game,” Naomi continues. “You haven’t been all good, and he hasn’t been all bad, so stop pretending to have the moral high ground.”

“This past year, you made a lot of strides in your personal life. You battled a lot with your mom, but you came out of it, a more well rounded individual, so do not let Tobias’s presence cause you to backslide. I’m not saying he has to be your best friend, but I refuse to tolerate this type of nonsense past today.”

He takes a moment to digest what she’s saying, begrudgingly of course because he doesn’t really want to admit that he hasn’t been behaving like the mature, adult professional that he usually is.

Ethan nods and places a kiss on Naomi’s forehead, his lips lingering there.

“Are you listening to me?”

Ethan kisses the apples of her cheeks, inwardly smirking as he feels Naomi smile. “I promise you that I’ll keep myself in check from now on.”

“And if you don’t, I will.”

The threat causes Ethan to lose focus. She clearly doesn’t mean it in a seductive way, but he can’t help that his brain instantly goes to the gutter when she’s involved. Now he wants nothing more than to be alone with her, with any flat surface readily available.

“Yes ma’am,” Ethan murmurs before capturing her lips with his own.

Naomi doesn’t allow herself to get swept up in the kiss, because she knows Ethan is using it to distract her. She untangles herself from his grip and pulls away before he’s able to get any more leverage.

“Can we go back to the office now?” Ethan asks.

“Absolutely not. I came here to have lunch, so we’re having lunch.”

Ethan frowns. “You still want to go through with this?”

“I didn’t come here to teach you a lesson, and I’m actually enjoying Tobias’s company, so I’m staying. And you’re staying here too.”

“No.”

“You followed me here, you don’t have a choice.”

Ethan reluctantly follows Naomi back to the table, where Tobias is studying the menu. He doesn’t even look up when he hears footsteps approaching. “I’m debating on if I want the ravioli or the chicken parm, which one–” his voice falters as he sees Ethan.

“Look who’s decided to join us for lunch!” Naomi says brightly, steamrolling over the building tension. She pushes Ethan into an empty chair, not giving him a second to turn away.

Tobias opens his mouth to object, “But–”

“I’m going to head to the restroom,” Naomi says. “And one of you guys is ordering me a limoncello, because Tobias is treating.”

She flounces off, not giving either man a chance to respond or argue with her.

Tobias laughs. “Is she always like this? So bossy?”

“Naomi is unapologetically assertive,” Ethan corrects. “She makes no bones about it.”

“The scary part about it is I’m 100 percent going to order her a limoncello, because she’s not the type of person you say no to.”

This time it’s Ethan’s turn to laugh. It’s nice to know he’s not the only unsuspecting sap that cannot say no when Naomi turns on her charm.

Once the laughter tapers off, the former friends are plunged into silence. Ethan checks the time on his watch, watching the seconds stretch on. He needs Naomi to come back. Seriously, how long does it take to use the restroom? He spares a quick glance at Tobias, who’s pointedly not making eye contact with him either.

Eventually Tobias speaks up, “Look, I didn’t come to Edenbrook to cause any trouble. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity that came with more money than I could count.”

“Naveen started this team with the most honorable of intentions,” Ethan says. “This was his life’s work, and he entrusted me with it. You cannot possibly understand the loyalty I have to him, so forgive me if I’m extremely protective over it and skeptical of your motives, which haven’t always been pure.”

“I’m just here to save lives, and work on the most fascinating medical cases of our generation. I know how important this team is, and I’d never intentionally disrespect Naveen like that.”

Ethan nods. That’s all he can really ask of Tobias. “Then I guess we’re good.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

Another beat of silence passes and Tobias awkwardly drums his fingers along the stem of his water glass. “So...you and Valentine?”

The question is out of left field and Ethan’s brows furrow in confusion. “Uh, yeah, me and Valentine.”

“I like her,” Tobias says definitively. When Ethan glares at him, Tobias rolls his eyes. “Not like that. Relax, I get it loud and clear that she’s off limits. Besides, I know you’re head over heels in love with her.”

A scarlet flush creeps up Ethan’s neck at Tobias’s matter of fact declaration. “Love? I’m...we don’t...I don’t–”

Tobias smirks. “Oh man. You’ve got it bad.”

That much, Ethan is willing to share. “Yeah, I do.”

“Naomi did say we’re both emotionally constipated, and that blubbering you just did proves her point,” Tobias teases. “But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

The L-word has floated around in the back of Ethan’s mind for months, but he’s always been able to squash it down, locking it away in the deepest recesses of his brain. But hearing someone else say it is something entirely different. Ethan can’t run away from the thought.

Tobias has known since last year. He suspected something when Ethan came to defense during the softball game, but it was confirmed as soon as he saw them together after the incident with the senator. He had never seen Ethan so out of sorts, not even when they competed for the affections of the same woman back in school. Naomi is different. She has the power to bring Ethan to his knees.

“I hope you know that you’re punching way above your weight with that one,” Tobias adds teasingly.

It’s something Ethan thinks about constantly. Naomi could do so much better than him, but every day she chooses him. “Absolutely.”

“And for what it’s worth, she’s just as much into you. The woman gives you heart eyes whenever you’re around. It’s disgusting, to be quite frank.”

The sentence warms Ethan from the inside out. He’ll never get over knowing Naomi wants him just as much as he wants her.

Thankfully Naomi chooses that moment to come back to the table, giving the men something else to focus their attention on. She settles into a seat next to Ethan, and he immediately wraps an arm around her, his fingertips stroking her arm. Tobias observes the fleeting moment of intimacy with a private smile.

Naomi’s eyes flicker back and forth between the men. “Everything okay over here?”

Tobias and Ethan both look at each other, a silent moment of understanding passing between them. Ethan nods. “Everything is fine.”

Naomi smiles. Maybe there’s hope for them yet. “Good. Now let’s flag down a waiter and get some food.”

~v~

Tags: @mvalentine @choicesaddict5 @professorkingslay @maurine07 @aka-calliope @bluebellot @whimsicallywayward15 @blossomanarchy @takemyopenheart @jamespotterthefirst @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @paulfwesley @the-pale-goddess @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramseyx @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @blainehellyes @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #tobias carrick

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fisherrprince · 4 years ago

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ask dump (big long)

1) ABDBHTDND YEAH THEY DID UM, they did the ”no THANK you..! etc etc BUT IM WEAK” song too! Wild how that is now. points at them hey I know those guys

2) OHHH….. THIS HITS……….. I like missio sometimes but this is a nice chorus also: Vanitas… yeah I, like, always love music recs. they can be hit or miss but it’s only fair with how much music I find and then immediately go what if I showed everyone

3) how many does he have in there now, eleven? Twelve??? He signed up for one mouse and he got eleven human children or at least nine to ten human children, two young adults, and two regular adults who aren’t going to be helpful—

4) aaaaaaaaa thank you!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

5) MMM I haven’t thought extensively about cowboys for a while… it’s been mostly space up here for now, haha. I like my space murder. But that’s not to say I haven’t given them some fond passing thoughts! Two bros sitting in a river 5 feet apart cos they’re covered in mud and smell awful and one of them is very loudly blaming the other for the plan that involved hiding behind a barn (actually the last thing I wrote in my notes is a mini totally unfinished drabble of hiding in Lea’s bar but the “great hiding place” Lea has is in his floor)

6) gosh I Have to wonder if it’s a case of destiny/universal “the nature of humanity is that every so often someone invents homestuck again” or if we just, like, had common knowledge of the book of prophecies. Or not even the Book, maybe, I have to assume that knowledge/observance of the Foretellers phased out pretty quickly, but prophecies left unfulfilled would linger for generations probably. Or maybe they’re even old stories, a tale of seven masters of the past drawn in to a chess game, or the game based on the old fairytales, or the numbers 7 and 13 are ingrained in local culture … see, because obviously Xehanort implies that this prophecy/old masters stuff ISNT common knowledge, but Eraqus CERTAINLY knows about it and it’s in all the architecture/local myths… ok but then also, if we’re to take the opening chess game as more than just clever symbolic narrative bookends, everyone’s symbols ARE right there. I just kind of registered that’s probably what you were talking about. In which case our questions are still there, how much did the common populace know and how much did eraqus know? Did he like, end up with three apprentices who had very distinct chess symbols as keychains and go uh oh john or what—

hey why’d you do this to me. I’m a tired college student in scala on my sixth response paper about the prophetic legitimacy of foreordained keybearers versus the self-imposed creation of destiny as following common legend and I’m arguing with some guy named Einar about how you can’t just fake a prophetic fulfillment by claiming to be the Crown piece in chess. You can’t just KIN A CHESSPIECE, Einar.

7) ABGDJGD TY..!!! To be honest they also live in my head rent-free! Some of them need to start paying rent because I’m supposed to be in school getting Better at storyboarding—

8) hard same hey thats just bc magnet is uhhhh. The best spell? Aside from mine spells

9) SEE AGAIN I DONT KNOW bc for one Sora obviously isn’t ENTIRELY unique, if he’s able to be diagnosed so quickly, but this “holding your nobody and two to four other people in there” kind of thing probably has never been seen before. But for another, Roxas and Xion have copied a keyblade. Just like — a keyblade? Copied entirely? Wild.

anyways keyblade manifestation is a mystery to me and I’d love to see it explored because what we know the Lore is, is this: they were fashioned after the likeness of the x-blade. They can be bequeathed to others (shown to not necessarily mean that exact keyblade is passed down, probably this means the ability to wield can be bequeathed). They can be WILLFULLY given. They come from the heart, they are not welded out of steel. They are…. questionably sentient, or maybe just sapient, or somehow are picky about who holds them. Side note khwiki is telling me things I Did not know about the whereabouts of Ven’s heart during 358 and also the ability to wield two which requires more than one heart obvi but which is named synch blade??? always question the wiki but these have sources. Anyways. Keychains can swap their forms so they have a Base and Custom Skins mode. There are three kinds, Light (common), Darkness (Michael mouse??? Not his bbs one the rod one which I GUESS is a counterpa Iiiiii am getting off trackaaaaa), and Heart (which I’m guessing is just the x-blade, maybe the gayblade, and the kh1 keyblade of heart??). Um. What was my point here. OH yeah I was just gonna say Bro Wild. This is completely a mystery to me. Does every keykid’s base form keyblade look different, and we were all just given cool keychains? Are there some kids who melded unique keychains? If I were connecting dots wildly and with reckless abandon I’d say yeah and also you cannot just suddenly one day wield one, you HAVE to be bequeathed, but as soon as that happens it sparks the creation of your own personal heart sword. Every keyblade is manifested independently — those wielding a family keyblade have the ability to summon their own, if necessary, but the family sword is taking up that space in their heart and theyd have to get used to making their own. since, it seems, keyblades (summoned) will die and solidify if their bearer dies, but keyblades (unsummoned) will either disappear or summon themselves somewhere else and retain a small piece of your… essence. A legacy keyblade, I feel, would be a little something like feeling every past Avatar and you are the avatar, but you can’t talk to them. They’re there tho. Also I think that having an exceptionally strong heart would be not only a moral requirement for ensuring the keyblade’s duty is upheld, but also a physical requirement! youre carving out a bit of your heart to make room for a sword. Weak hearts should not do that even if they want to.

aye… how was that longer than the scala answer? You got me on tangents again in these essays I

10 (submission from licilou22)

NGDBFDBFSHGDHFDHGDA 😎👉🏼👉🏼👉🏼👉🏼👉🏼 WHEEZING

#ask #MANY ASKS (10)#well 9 and a submission #anon #kh #oh to be a tired scala graduate student #oh to write thesis papers about keychains #anyways love u alll……. Thank u for asks #…… 💕💕💕👁👄👁#paopubell #rosie-kairi #licilou22 #infernal-fox #metazone

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laequiem · 4 years ago

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She kills my self control - Chapter 8

/ Includes dialogue from The Cruel Prince, Chapter 21-22.

“Crawl," Jude blurts out.

A shiver went from the tip of my tail to the top of my spine. In my most indulgent fantasies, I am the one ordering her to crawl. In my worst nightmares, it's the other way around. Once again, I have the impression that nothing about this is real. Still, I can’t help but smirk.

cw: unhealthy coping mechanisms (alcohol, sex); physical abuse; nsfw

read on ao3 • previous chapter • next chapter • all chapters

Chapter 8. A little death is better with somebody at your side

Elfhame was waiting for its new ruler to be crowned and I, its disappointment of a prince, missed the coronation.

After the initial change in air pressure, the ground shakes, and I feel dread creep through my drunken numbness. I get to my feet. The girl I was with is gone. The fox mask she was wearing is still on the ground where it fell when we were making out. I pick it up and secure it to my face, hoping to get back in the throne room without anyone recognizing me.

As quickly as I can without looking conspicuous, I make my way out of the cellar and towards the ballroom. My mind is whirling, my vision is blurry, but I have to reach the throne room before my absence is noticed.

When I enter the room, I am greeted by absolute chaos. Knights are gathered around the throne. A bottleneck of folks from every court stretches from each possible exit as guards inspect everyone.

I approach a table closer to the dais and absentmindedly fill myself a goblet of wine as I crane my neck to look past the knights. There is blood everywhere. The throne looks weaker than it did a few minutes (hours?) ago, like its roots are not being nourished by the land anymore. The flowers that bloomed earlier are withered. But out of everything up there, that is the least alarming thing. Bodies upon bodies lay lifeless on the dais. My eyes catch on a heap of blue fabric stained red. Loyal Caelia, a bolt sticking out of her chest. Next to her, fierce Rhyia, with a knife in hand and a slit throat. Determined Elowyn, her gown covered in dried blood dripping from her neck. My sisters, barely more than strangers to me, slaughtered. I see other bodies nearby: guards, knights, a headless female, and my older brother Dain.

This can’t possibly be real. Am I dreaming? Did another court attack when we were at our weakest? Is it a coup coming from our own people? I feel bile rising in my throat.

I see no trace of my father. I scan the room for him, but my gaze catches on dark navy fabric coming out from under a banquet table.

No, no no no no no. Anybody but her.

The Grand General came back to Elfhame last night and my father threw a ball in his honor. Madoc is holding a child’s arm forcefully as he toasts with the soldiers. She is fae, a year or two older than me. But she is not the only child he brought back. Two other girls came to the ball with him, but he is not parading them around like he is doing with the older girl. They are standing alone in the corner of the room, as far away from anyone else as possible.

I look at my father. He is toasting with the general, courtiers at his arm. I look at my mother. She is dancing with a Lord from another court. They have not so much as looked at me in weeks. I found the revel by accident, roaming the halls of the palace in an attempt to find something to eat.

I run towards the new girls. They look like copies of each other - brown hair and brown eyes, tan skin, frail little things. They are both wearing ill-fitting beige dresses, as if whoever dressed them did not know what to wear for a ball.

“Are you servants?” I ask when I reach them.

“No,” they answer together.

“You look like servants. Fetch me food.”

I make to grab for one of them, but she backs up before I can. They run away and I run after them. They duck under a table, as if I couldn’t see them.

I lift the tablecloth and smile. They try to back away, but the table is set against a wall, trapping them. I grab one of them by the hair and drag her out from under the table. I pin her to the ground by the wrist. I move her hair away from her ears.

“Human! You’re human!” I exclaim with glee, “Maybe I’ll eat you.”

Someone pulls my hair and forces me away from her.

“Leave my sister alone!”

I whirl on the second girl. I bite the arm holding my hair. She lets go of my hair with a startled scream, but she starts punching me in the chest.

“Jude, stop this right now.” Madoc’s strong voice echoes through the room.

The girl freezes, eyes wide with fear. She gets up.

“Your Majesty, forgive her,” the Grand General tells my father, “She does not know how to behave around royalty yet.”

My father waves a hand in dismissal, unbothered. I look at the girl, Jude. She’s staring at me fiercely, a silent promise of violence.

I bolt towards the table. The pressure in my chest slackens when I see the fabric shift. She is alive. I reach under the table and grab her arm.

“You’re mortal,” I say, as if it wasn’t obvious. My eyes dart to the knife in her hand, then back at her face, “It’s not safe for you here. Especially if you go around stabbing everyone.”

“Not safe for me?” she snarls, “Get down here before you’re recognized.”

Why would it matter? Surely, nobody would think of me as a threat to their coup.

“Playing hide-and-seek under the table? Crouching in the dirt?” I laugh, unable to keep my composure and hide my anxiousness, “Typical of your kind, but far beneath my dignity.”

Suddenly, she throws her arm forward and punches me in the stomach.

“Ow!”

Jude drags me under the table with her. Sure, I had imagined us hiding under tables before, but I never imagined it being to avoid being murdered.

“We’ll get out of here without anyone noticing,” she whispers, “We stay under the tables and make our way to the steps to the upper levels of the palace. And don’t tell me it’s beneath your dignity to crawl. You’re so drunk you can barely stand anyway.”

I snort, “If you insist.”

As we make our way, through the music and wild laughter of rowdy guests, I hear snippets of conversation, allowing me to put the pieces together. Balekin is alive and looking for me, Madoc killed Dain, my father is dead.

My father is dead.

I look at the signet ring on my finger, the proof of my royal blood.

“He despised me.”

Would my father have crowned me, if all my other siblings were dead? Would he have crowned me before he crowned Balekin? I doubt it. He would rather keep the crown, knowing as I do that my reign would doom Elfhame. Yet, I will mourn him.

“Balekin?”

Another disdainful snort, “My father. I didn’t much know the others, my brothers and sisters. Isn’t that funny? Prince Dain- he didn’t want me in the palace, so he forced me out.”

Dain is the only one I will not mourn. He put me at Balekin's mercy knowingly. Brought me down to raise himself up. If I am Prince Failure, he was Prince Perfect, the High King's pride.

“And now they’re all dead. Thanks to Madoc. Our honorable general. They never should have trusted him. But your mother discovered that a long time ago, didn’t she?”

Cruelty and laughter. My only weapons against fear, against the reality of being the last one alive to crown Balekin. He will hunt me down, force me to crown him. Will Jude bring me to him directly? She is Madoc's ward, after all. She might just bring me straight to her father, who will gladly give me over.

“Crawl," Jude blurts out.

“You first.”

Fighting with her, teasing her, humiliating her. It all comes so naturally to me, and I am willing to bet it does to her too.

We move from table to table, until we are close to the steps leading out of the hall. I lift the tablecloth and exit first, then offer her my hand. She does not take it.

Jude makes to go towards the steps, but I stop her.

“Not like that. Your father’s knights will recognize you.”

Her fierce gaze narrows, “I’m not the one they’re looking for.”

I frown under my mask.

“If they see your face, they may pay too much attention to whom you’re with.”

“If they knew me at all, they’d know I’d never be with you.”

And yet. She sighs, then takes the pins out of her braids and lets her hair loose. She ruffles her hair. I am taken aback, unable to stop staring.

“You look…”

Mortal. Lusty. Obscene. Untamed. Filthy. Gorgeous.

“Give me a second.”

Thankfully, she leaves before I can finish my thought. The dress I designed, her menacing attitude, the hair. It’s all too much, too close to my fantasies. Cardan, you pathetic wretch. Your family was slaughtered and you think about banging a mortal. I grab a bottle of green wine from the table and guzzle it down while she is gone. When she comes back, she is wearing a mask like I am.

“Come on,” she grunts as she drags me towards the guards watching the steps.

“Look elsewhere for your pleasure,” one of them says authoritatively, “This is the way to the palace, and it is barred to common Folk.”

Who is he calling common?

“We will do as we are bid,” Jude replies submissively as she tugs me away. I stand my ground.

“You are much mistaken in us,” I reply with a saccharine smile.

If nothing else, sweet-talking is my forte.

“The High King Balekin is a friend to my lady’s Court,” I drawl as I slide my signet ring off of my finger, “You may have heard of Queen Gliten in the Northwest. Balekin sent a message about the missing prince. He is waiting for an answer.”

“I don’t suppose you have any proof of that?”

“Of course,” I reply as I hold out the ring, “I was given this token so you would know me.”

They step back. Half-truth, the language of the court. I smile and grab Jude’s arm, dragging her eagerly up the steps.

“What about the mortal?” one guard inquires.

“Oh, well, you aren’t entirely mistaken in me. I intended to keep some of the delights of the revel for myself,” I give them a knowing smirk.

I guide her up the steps, then unlock the door to the upper level of the palace. As soon as we enter the empty hall, I hear the lock turn. Confused, I turn towards her, only to see her point a dagger at my face. She presses it under my chin and I stiffen.

“Jude?”

“Surprised?” she grins at me, fire and hatred burning in her earthy eyes, “You shouldn’t be.”

She presses the knife deeper and I feel the sharp blade resting against my skin. Not a nightmare, then. Real.

“Why?”, I try to sound bored but it comes out more like a whine.

“Because your luck is terrible and mine is great. Do what I say and I’ll delay the pleasure of hurting you.”

My luck is terrible. My tormentor stands closer than she ever has, but I am not the one holding the blade to her throat. I feel shame wash over me as my blood rushes south at the thought of her pushing that blade deeper.

“Planning to spill a little more royal blood tonight?” I sneer as I try to wiggle my way out of her grasp, “Feeling left out of the slaughter?”

“You’re drunk.”

An obvious statement, I guess, to mirror the one I made earlier about her mortality. I lean my head back against the stone wall and close my eyes. I cannot bear to look at her, determined and deadly, cunning little mortal.

“Oh, indeed," I scoff, “But do you really believe I am going to let you parade me in front of the General, as though I am some lowly—”

She presses the knife harder to my throat. I swallow.

"Of course," I laugh nervously, “I was passed out cold while my family was murdered; it’s hard to fall more lowly than that.”

“Stop talking. Move.”

“Or what? You’re not really going to stab me.”

I kind of wish she would.

“When was the last time you saw your dear friend Valerian? Not today, despite the insult implied by his absence. Did you wonder at that?”

My eyes fly open. Valerian’s presence is definitely not one I missed, but I did wonder where he was. It is unlike him to miss a revel, especially one with such bloodshed. I stare at Jude, trying to find the answer to this riddle she just posed in her eyes. She gives nothing away.

“I did. Where is he?”

“Rotting near Madoc’s stables. I killed him, then I buried him,” she boasts, a vicious smile on her face, “So believe me when I threaten you. No matter how unlikely it seems, you are the most important person in all of Faerie. Whosoever has you, has power. And I want power.”

I blink a few times. She… killed him? I knew she hated him, hated us. But I never imagined her going out of her way to find him and murder him. No matter how much he deserved it.

“I suppose you were right after all,” I say in disbelief, “I suppose I didn’t know the least of what you could do.”

“Time to move,” she cuts in, “Go to the first door and open it. When we’re inside, we’re going to the closet. There’s a passageway through there.”

“Yes, fine,” I bark back at her.

It’s humiliating that Jude, of all people, knows this palace better than I do. I put my hand between the knife and my throat to push it away, but she holds it and it cuts my fingers.

Shit.

I put a bleeding finger to my mouth. “What was that for?”

“For fun,” she croons, then lowers the dagger.

She pushes me forward. “Will you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“No. Now move.”

I go to the first room and immediately spot the closet. I open it, then I look back at her. She is still holding that damned dagger, her eyes burning holes in my back.

I crawl in reluctantly.

#tfota #the folk of the air #cardan greenbriar #cardan #jude duarte #jurdan #judecardan #the cruel prince #fanfic #smut #angst

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jawritter · 5 years ago

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You and Me...

Chapter 11

***SERIES WARNINGS**** Rape, non-con, male!rape, injury, violence, description of injury caused by rape, nightmares, self-harm, panic attacks, implied female non-con, language, ass hole Jensen, hurt!Jensen, dark fic, smut. If there is anything else I will add it as I go.

***Chapter Warnings*** Talk of nightmares/night terrors, light description of injury, language, I think that’s pretty much it for this chapter.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jared x Reader

Word Count: 1777

A/N: Anyway, all mistakes are mine, please don’t copy my work, Feedback is golden. If you want to be added to the series tag list, or my tag list just let me know! I hope you enjoy this one. This is something I actually did and witness, and I realize this one might be hard to read because it is a little heavy.

Summary: It’s funny how one choice you made can change your whole life. One mistake can alter your course, and set you on a path that forever will haunt you. Two people find themselves getting through one of the hardest trials of Jensen’s life, on just one small promise. You and Me. We’ll get through it together…

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***YOU AND ME MASTERLIST***

It had been roughly two weeks since Jensen was released from the hospital.

Physically he's doing a lot better.

He gets around pretty good now, normally even. It would be hard for anyone on the street to see that there was ever anything wrong with him when he walked by you. He'd become pretty self-sufficient pretty quickly. The bruises had mostly faded, only leaving the worst ones still a sickening yellow color. Most of the scratches and lacerations on his body had healed or were almost healed. Most of his strength returned to him.

On the outside, he looked fine, but it wasn’t the outside that had become the problem. As much as he tried to hide it. Even though the physical aspect of his attack had almost faded completely, it was the battle of the mind that was beginning now.

When you looked into his eyes something was still dead in there.

You learned pretty quickly that Jensen had a pretty passive-aggressive way of dealing with things. It was just what he hid behind, and you knew that, but still, it didn't lessen your concern for him.

You noticed him drinking more, and you were afraid that would become a very unhealthy coping mechanism.

The nightmares had gotten worse.

To be honest you would have characterized them as night terrors. Except they didn't just happen at night. You had learned just from watching him that these “flashbacks” could be triggered by a sound, or a smell, or even something someone says.

It wasn't something he could control.

He had started to go to his own house during the day some, but at night he always ended up right back with you. You were secretly glad. You didn't like the thought of his nightmares starting, and him beginning there all alone. Most of the time when he had one he’d either wake up violently ill or hysterical, there was no in-between.

He had taken his kids to the local zoo with Jared the other day on one of his visitation days with his kids. Because of his usual nightly problems he thought it was best that they didn't stay the night with him. Not something you really want you kids to see.

He had been back to the studio, using it you think as a distraction. That's not uncommon though, people use music all the time as an escape from reality.

The only good thing that had happened really over the past two weeks was that you had gotten a contract writing for a local publishing company reviewing transcripts, and technically you could work full time from home now. You did tell Steve and Jensen that you would finish Jensen's project through before you left. You were there when he started it, and you wanted to see the finished product.

This morning started much like all other mornings since Jensen had moved in with you.

You were sitting in the living room drinking your coffee. It was still very, very early. It was the weekend, so neither yourself nor Jensen had to work today. Still, your body is used to waking up so early, it had developed its own alarm clock. Therefore you were up at 5 am regardless of what you did or how late you went to bed.

Jensen was still sleeping soundly in the room the two of you now awkwardly, kinda shared. You were honestly afraid to touch him. Afraid it would trigger one of his flashbacks. So you slept as far away from him as you could in your king-sized bed, usually putting a pillow between the two of you so that you wouldn't accidentally roll over to him in the middle of the night.

It wasn't that you didn't want to be close to him. You wanted nothing more than to feel his arms wrapped around you as you slept, but you were pretty sure that he was not capable of doing that. He had told you in the hospital that there were some things that he wouldn't be able to do. Physical contact was one of them.

Not thinking about what you were doing a day after he moved in with you, you walked up behind him when he was standing at the sink and put your hand on his shoulder, throwing him into a violent flashback, that took almost an hour for him to come back from. That’s when you learned touching him probably wasn’t the best idea.

Sometimes he would reach over and grab your hand when the nightmares were really bad, he would let you sit next to him and run your fingers through his hair until he went back to sleep, other than that though that was it.

You were sitting lost in thought, the house pretty much dark, only the light from above the stove lightly lit the room. When your phone lit up next to you. It was Jared.

"Hello?" you say quietly careful not to wake up Jensen.

"Y/N? I didn't wake you did I?" he asked.

"No, I've been up," you tell, him running your hand down your face. Wondering why in the hell he was calling this early.

"Okay listen they caught Jensen's attackers. There were four of them... Plus Jennifer,"

That last part struck you hard.

"Jennifer? Really? Are they sure?" you asked, shock radiating through your body.

"Yeah. She was there through all of it according to her confession. Apparently, she gets her kicks off watching Jensen being raped and tortured, claiming that he owed her that much after what he did to her, when, come to find out the whole thing was a set up from the beginning. She thought she’d go on a date with him, get him drunk, maybe fuck him, get some side cash, and leave, but apparently, things didn't go the way she planned, and she got her family involved to “pay him back” for what the did to her." Jared Said through gritted teeth.

Your stomach churned. You didn't like talking about what they did to Jensen. Your heart just couldn't handle it. Especially seeing the reproductions that he was still dealing with from the whole ordeal.

"Did they all confess?" you asked, hoping and praying Jensen wasn't going to have to testify in front of a room full of strangers plus his attackers.

"Yeah, they all confessed. From what I understand there was so much evidence from the pictures that the hospital had taken, plus the doctor's reports, and DNA evidence that they really had no choice but to confess," he said, sounding just as sick about all of this as you were.

"He's not gonna have to testify will he?" you asked, holding your breath.

"No, not unless he just wants to confront them. Which I doubt he does. These perverts are going to jail for a very long time. The amount of evidence against them is overwhelming, and the police believe this isn't the first time they’ve done this to someone," Jared said.

It made you sick to think about there being monsters like this out there in the real world. People like Jennifer, who you’d never expect to be involved in something like this.

“Thanks for letting me know Jared, now I just have to figure out how to tell Jensen.”

“You can do it Y/N, he trusts you,” Jared said.

With that, the two of you got off the phone. Jensen would be waking up soon as you wanted to have this breakfast ready like you did every morning. You didn't know how you were going to tell him that they had caught his attackers. You hated even bringing up his situation with him. He would get so distant and quiet.

Not fifteen minutes later you heard the bedroom door open and Jensen made his way over to the small bar and sat down. You knew he had because you heard the chair slide across the tile. Your back was to him plating up his breakfast. When you turned around what you saw nearly made you drop the plate.

He was sitting there, pale, and crying silently; looking at his hands that were shaking on the bar. You sat the plate down and carefully walked over to him, surprisingly he reached for you. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him tightly to you. The two of you sat like that for the longest time before he finally spoke.

"I'm not well," was all he said, so quiet that you barely even heard him.

"What hurts? Are you sick?" you asked. Immediately thinking it had something to do with his physical injuries.

"No, not that," he said, then pointed at his head. "I'm not well."

That made your heart sink. This was the first time he’d admitted that he was struggling, even though you knew that he was, and honestly it scared you.

Had he gotten worse?

You had been trying to figure out a good time to bring up seeing a therapist, now seemed like a good time as any.

"Maybe we should make that appointment with that therapist that your doctor suggested to you," you suggested gently, afraid he would get angry.

"Will you come with me?" was all his said, no more fight in him at all.

"Yeah, I'll be there the whole time. Remember what I said in the hospital. We're gonna get through this. You and Me."

Jensen nodded his head and buried his face in your neck, wet tears streaking down his face, and onto your skin made your heart feel like it just wanted to stop beating.

You knew that suggesting a therapist may sound harsh to some people, but there was no manual on how to deal with something like it. No material to read to figure out a normal healing process, especially for man, and there was no way to know that you were doing this right or wrong,

All you could do was make small steps together, in hopes that you were both stumbling in the right direction in getting him better, and right now you had to go with what logically could help him, and maybe someone who was trained to deal with this sort of trauma.

Even though you knew this was probably going to be one of the hardest things Jensen ever had to do, he couldn’t keep all this bottled up, he needed a safe space, and a trained professional to help him.

Squeezing him as tight to you as you could you tried your best to ground him in this mess that he was going through, you promised you’d be right there with him, and you were going to keep that promise, no matter what you’d do it together.

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

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princeasimdiya12 · 5 years ago

Note

I adore your talentswap backstories! I'd like you to write some headcanons for my Talentshift SDR2 au. It consists of Mechanic!Hajime, ReserveCourse!Mahiru, Photographer!Ibuki, Musician!Fuyuhiko, Yakuza!Gundham, Breeder!Chiaki, Gamer!Mikan, Nurse!Nagito, Lucky!Imposter, Imposter!Peko (impersonating non-despair Junko), Swordswoman!Sonia, Prince!Nekomaru, Coach!Teruteru, Chef!Hiyoko, TraditionalDancer!Akane, and Gymnast!Kazuichi. If not, I completely understand.

Hey anon! I’m glad you enjoyed them! ^_^ And I’d be happy to make some headcanons for your AU. But just to let you know anon, I would appreciate it if you asked me first before sending me your listed requests. I honestly don’t mind writing headcanons for talentswaps (I honestly enjoy doing that) but I would appreciate you asking me and then sending them to me. That way it doesn’t take me by surprise.

So without further ado, here are my headcanons for your SDR2 Talentswap AU.

Peko Pekoyama as the SHSL Imposter

While Peko was adopted by the Kuzuryu Clan, she didn’t have a choice in her lifelong profession like Fuyuhiko did.

She was made to work as an infiltration agent.

As a professional imposter, Peko learned how to analyze and copy the body movements and behaviors of any potential person.

She also was taught how to apply makeup to make her disguises as accurate as possible.

Her assignments involved abducting low level workers of rival clans and taking their place while disguised as them.

She’d then relay the rival clan’s weaknesses and business transactions towards the Kuzuryu’s so they can exploit them.

Peko was discouraged from having any personal interests or hobbies so that her infiltration and identity theft skills wouldn’t be tarnished.

This made Peko feel more like a tool and how she only existed to promote the success of the Kuzuryu Clan.

When Fuyuhiko was scouted to go to Hope’s Peak, her superiors used their connections to grant Peko a spot with him to keep an eye on him.

She would take on Junko Enoshima’s image given that the supermodel was busy with her own personal affairs.

Although no one can recognize her while disguised, the viewer/player can recognize Peko with her thick glasses and piercing red eyes.

Hiyoko Saionji as the SHSL Chef

Hiyoko came from a family of culinary masters who amazed Japan with their creative and flavorful dishes.

There was unfortunately alot of drama within the family as they each wanted to train Hiyoko so they can pass their personal culinary training onto her.

Her grandmother managed to win and was one of the most ruthless teachers ever.

Under her training, Hiyoko received burns, cuts and having her food thrown in her face just for making the smallest of slip ups.

Her brutal training mixed with having negative relations with her family made her bitter and aggressive towards everyone around her.

She also has a hard time trusting others to work with her in the kitchen due to multiple incidents where dishes were poisoned and nearly tarnished Hiyoko’s reputation.

Because of this, she prefers to work alone in the kitchen. When she’s assigned to work with partners or underlings, she can be best described as Gordon Ramsay if he were a sassy lost child.

She often holds a knife or a frying pan whenever she’s threatening someone she doesn’t like.

Her culinary specialties involve desserts such as wasabon and kompeito.

Ibuki Mioda as the SHSL Photographer

Throughout her childhood, Ibuki was neglected by her caregivers so she took up photography as a means of distracting herself from the loneliness of her household.

She managed to earn her success by taking high quality photos of lovers in romantic situations.

At her middle school, she made it a game for herself to see how many pictures she could get of different couples at her school without getting caught.

While developing her photos, the couples tried to chastise Ibuki for her actions but they immediately changed their minds when they saw how cool the photos looked.

Ibuki gained a reputation among her peers for her photos and now everyone wanted one too.

This resulted in Ibuki getting alot of “friends” who only wanted to hang out with her just so she could photograph them doing what they wanted while conveniently leaving out the photographer herself.

The fact that these people only cared about her talent so she can capture their memories for them gave Ibuki a sense of familiar loneliness.

Despite this, she wants to enjoy her talent as much as she can with an upbeat attitude.

Ibuki’s favorite subject to photograph are people.

She loves to people watch since the people walking around come in different shapes and sizes and are always doing something unique that you wouldn’t expect.

Sonia Nevermind as the SHSL Swordswoman

Sonia came from a family of professional swordfighters who taught her the power of the blade at an early age.

She grew up on European fairy tales and legends of powerful heroes who used their swords to fight for justice or prove their superiority against enemies who opposed them.

Her family taught her classical fencing, mordhau, the half-sword, destreza and several other fighting styles which she claims are a secret.

She earned her title after winning multiple swordfighting tournaments, many of which were held underground.

Despite her victories, she’s actually been hospitalized due to the extreme injuries she received from sword wounds and physical attacks from her opponents.

Since these wounds have yet to diminish her fighting power, Sonia feels that it’s best to pay them no mind so she can continue her family’s legacy.

She’s never seen without her longsword which she made herself. She calls it Stjerneild because there were shooting stars on the night of making it and also since she burned herself during the process.

Sonia isn’t afraid to boast about her fighting skills and eagerly offers her girl friends the chance to learn how to use a sword.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu as the SHSL Light Music Club Member

Rather than becoming the next heir of his family business, Fuyuhiko wanted to pursue his dream of being an idol.

He takes his career extremely seriously and wouldn’t do stupid stunts or scandals that could jeopardize his work.

To make up for his young appearance, Fuyuhiko uses outfits that have a punk aesthetic while also incorporating black and gold color schemes to make him look older.

Alot of his songs feature themes of embracing your personal talents or how it’s better to carve your own path rather than rely on others.

He knows how to play the electric guitar and the keyboard.

Having refused his parents’ intended career plans, he feels that he can’t screw up his career or else everything he ever worked for will be for nothing and he’d have to crawl back to them for support.

His sister Natsumi often joins him during his tours and unofficially becomes his manager and bodyguard during her visits.

He has a hard time dealing with fanclub meetings because the fangirls would make jokes about his baby face which would drive him insane.

Akane Owari as the SHSL Traditional Dancer

Just like in canon, Akane had to take care of her younger siblings while struggling to survive her poor hometown.

While she did take different jobs to support her family, she would lose those jobs constantly because she kept getting into fights against strangers who tried to grope and harass her.

One day, while she was training by herself in an empty plaza, a woman passed by and paid close attention to her fighting form and rhythm.

She revealed herself to Akane as a traditional dance instructor and offered to train Akane to perfect her skills.

The girl wasn’t interested in doing something fancy like dancing but she changed her mind when she realized that her dancing could be used to raise money for her family. To which, she accepted.

While the instructor taught Akane the fundamentals of mai and odori techniques, the girl performed better when she used her own skills.

While frustrated, the instructor decided to rework her teaching style so Akane’s performances would be passable while also integrating her own skills.

She ended up winning multiple competitions and performances and used the prize money to move her family into a bigger and better house.

Although her reputation as an “easy waitress” would often rear its ugly head and would make Akane become agitated.

Her dancing moves incorporate alot of her old fighting techniques.

She wears a cherry red kimono with a yellow dragon etched on the side as a design.

At the end of each performance, she can be found at the snacks table eating just about everything.

Nagito Komaeda as the SHSL Nurse

Nagito lost his family when he was just a child.

Having pity on the boy, along with finding traces of frontotemporal dementia, the head doctor of the hospital he resided in decided to adopt the boy as his own.

Nagito became the doctor’s apprentice and learned of the different techniques that came with working in the medical field.

The doctor taught him which drugs/medicines were used for what along with how to use the surgical tools properly.

He personally saw different medical cases each more mesmerizing than the last.

He became fixated on the concept of death and how it was an integral part of life.

When he became old enough, he started to work as a nurse and partake in the same surgeries he saw as a child.

While he certainly participated in a number of cases that saved the lives of his patients, he also had a number of cases that resulted in death.

He personally requested to handle the patients that were unable to be saved so he can spend their final moments with them and capture the memory of their deaths.

There’s been word from the medical staff that he tries to comfort the dying patient and their family with speeches on how they shouldn’t be afraid of death and how the patient will move on to greater things in the next life and how the families will become stronger afterwards.

This has earned him the nickname “Angel of Death”.

He wears mint green scrubs and carries a portable bag withhis own medical equipment.

Teruteru Hanamura as the SHSL Coach

Despite his physique, Teruteru has amazing stamina and is capable of lifting heavy objects that ordinary people would have trouble lifting on their own.

Teruteru can analyze a person’s physical stature and determine which exercise or physical activity best suits them.

He always offers massage therapy proclaiming that it’s the best way to strengthen the body and relax the mind.

There are multiple cases where the players he’s worked with have accused him of sexual harassment or groping their bodies.

He has a complicated relationship with his family.

The younger siblings antagonize him for pursuing a career that isn’t related to their family’s restaurant business while putting more hardships on their mother.

His mom on the other hand, is more accepting of his career and asks that he focus more on what he enjoys doing in life.

Teruteru’s massages originally stemmed from how he would give massages to his mama to help alleviate her of her body aches.

He wears a dark red track suit and gold chain. Mixed with his combed over hair, it makes him look like a sleazy gangster.

Chiaki Nanami as the SHSL Animal Breeder

As the daughter of a rich family that hardly had time for her, Chiaki’s parents bought her a variety of animals to keep her company.

She found comfort with them but was heartbroken when she noticed that they became saddened and died.

She became motivated to learn from them so they could stay alive for long as possible.

Chiaki began studying different types of animals and what behaviors are ideal and which are concerning.

After school, she would venture to local animal shelters and veterinarians and offer to volunteer so she can work with different animals and examine first hand their behaviors.

She earned recognition by forming connections with the animals in her care and teaching them commands.

While she prefers the company of animals to humans, she will make an effort to help her human clients have a better relationship with their pets.

She can often be found napping alongside any of her animal friends.

Sagishi as the SHSL Lucky Student

Saigishi grew up in an orphanage having been abandoned by their family before they can remember.

They noticed that they had an unusual luck themed streak when it came to playing with the other kids.

If they were playing soccer, they would accidentally kick the ball into the window which surprisingly knocked out a janitor that was about to assault one of the orphanage workers.

If they tried to pass a love letter to another child they had a crush on, a burst of wind would fly the letter straight into the child’s face and they’d end up having a terrible accident.

If they were preparing food for an upcoming dinner, they would end up pouring too much vinegar into the meal which would spoil the dinner resulting in the staff having to order pizza for the kids.

Saigishi developed a reputation as a kid with creepy powers which both amazed and terrified their fellow orphans.

The kid realized that their luck would only benefit the people around them but would make bad things happen if they tried to use it for themselves.

At the urging of their friends, they ended up participating in the Hope’s Peak Lottery and wound up with the chance to join them as the next SHSL Lucky Student.

Sagishi was worried since something bad would eventually happen if it was the work of their luck, but they decided to take the offer knowing that they needed to make a future for themselves.

They wear a white collared shirt with old jeans.

They still have a mullet which has a small ahoge on the top of their head.

Mikan Tsumiki as the SHSL Gamer

She still had a horrible childhood growing up where her family and classmates would bully and abuse her for a variety of reasons.

Not wanting to put up with their abuse anymore, Mikan decided to drop out of middle school and become a hikikomori.

Using her worn out computer, Mikan found comfort in playing online video games.

She personally enjoys fighting games as she imagines her enemies as her abusers and would deliver swift justice on them by beating them up.

Mikan has a preference for playing as male characters since the female characters wearing skimpy/stripper-esque outfits bring back painful memories for her.

After sufficient online practice, Mikan gained enough confidence to try tournaments in the real world.

But she kept this secret from her family in fear that they would use this to torment her.

When it comes to tournaments, she unleashes her pent up anger and frustrations for her past tormentors by cursing at her opponents as she beats them.

While her fandom is impressed with her gaming skills, they do question why they would call her opponents by a different name and accuses them of doing something awful to her.

When she wants to calm down after a heavy day, she likes to play relaxing games with cute animals.

Nekomaru Nidai as the SHSL Prince

During his childhood years, Nekomaru stayed in his room because of his heart condition.

He received private tutoring based on the history of his kingdom along with different world cultures.

His father and mother spared no expense in providing the best doctors and medical professionals who could ensure that their son would be physically fit.

When he started making appearances outside of the palace, there were rumors that the frail prince was placed in a secret government program that was designed to create super soldiers.

He’s often recognized for working first as a soldier under his father’s militia before becoming of it’s main generals.

Nekomaru is well versed when it comes to proper etiquette and engaging in the company of royals or high class aristocrats.

He has a personal club made of suitors who have fallen for his image as a charming (and handsome) prince.

He also devotes alot of time to interacting with the middle class of his kingdom as he believes having a bond with his people is important for a royal to have.

The main uniform he wears is a blue military outfit with a silver sash and a black beret with a family jewel in the front.

Gundam Tanaka as the SHSL Yakuza

He inherited the throne of the Tanaka Empire at an early age due to the death of his father.

He wasn’t able to remember his father but the stories passed by his underlings and advisors describe him as a devil who was incredibly powerful but dangerous when provoked.

His mother on the other hand, remembers him as a loving man who was very attentive toward her needs.

Gundam would unintentionally embrace his father’s memory thanks to his “overlord” personality which would make him come off as overly dramatic and sinister to his enemies.

His reign as a yazuka lord involved more emphasis on spiritual affairs by bringing spiritual communities under his Empire.

He personally believes that maintaining ties with the spirits and Gods will grant the Tanaka Empire a stronger chance of survival.

While maintaining relationships with minor businesses under his control, he would also invite potential gang groups for tea ceremonies and offer them the chance to join him.

He’s been trained by his advisors in using a katana and gun making him skilled enough to handle even the most dangerous of gang members.

While he’s capable of defeating them, he vows never to take the blood of anyone weaker than him or unless he’s given no other choice.

Before entering high school, Gundam was able to have his upper and lower body tattooed with images of oni demons and spirits.

He found the Four Dark Devas when he passed by a street and saw the four hamsters foraging for food in a dumpster.

He also expresses admiration for Sonia’s impressive swordfighting skills and has offered her an opportunity to work for his Empire if she wishes.

Kazuichi Souda as the SHSL Gymnast

Kazuichi got into gymnastics by reading alot of shonen manga.

He was impressed by how athletic and fit the heroes were so he wanted to train and be like them.

When not helping in his dad’s shop, he would try practicing parkour near the streets of his town to help him develop better flexibility.

While practicing at middle school, his teachers noticed his potential and offered him a spot in a gymnastics program.

His dad didn’t like him getting into “girly shit” like gymnastics and frequently insulted him for it.

He would often perform for his friends which impressed them at first. But then things got troublesome when they requested him to do flips and jumps for their amusement.

It got worse when they tricked him into breaking into a second story classroom so he could steal the answers for an upcoming test.

Not wanting to be taken advantage of again, Kazuichi gave himself a radical makeover so no one would mess with him.

Along with his pink hair, his outfit consists of a black tanktop with neon green stripes and yellow shorts.

Hajime Hinata as the SHSL Mechanic

His parents rented his own shop for him to work at but they personally didn’t invest their own time to work with him.

To avoid having to think about his loneliness, Hajime placed all of his effort and thinking into his work.

He began receiving requests to repair average household appliances before moving on to bigger machines.

He’s received alot of praise for improving the appliances while also explaining to the owners on how they should best maintain their appliances so they can last longer

The machines that he worked best with were vehicles and motorcycles.

Despite being underage, Hajime managed to practice driving on his own and learned how to drive the basic motor vehicles.

While he’s grateful for his mechanic talent, he often worries if he’s really living his life to the fullest and if there’s something missing that he needs to achieve.

His favorite invention is a hoverboard that he uses to ride around his hometown to clear his mind after a hard day’s work.

His mechanic uniform is a mechanic uniform with a design similar to that of a racecar driver.

Mahiru Koizumi as a Reserve Course Student

While Mahiru was interested in the idea of going into Hope’s Peak, she wasn’t confident enough in her photography skills to go through with the entrance exam.

At the insistence of her best friend Sato, Mahiru ended up in the Reserve Course so they can fight for the chance to be special.

While she didn’t mind the work provided by her classes, Mahiru took notice of how her peers had a hard time with paying for their tuition along with even getting into the Talent program.

She also had to deal with Sato having to fight against her old rival Natsumi who was picking fights with her while trying to get recognized herself.

She became an unofficial peace keeper of her class as she would chastise her classmates for picking fights against each other or making rude remarks.

As time went on, Mahiru herself was unable to keep up with her classes since the money to pay for them was running low.

She would later receive an e-mail from the Steering Committee offering her a chance of entering the Talent program through an unconventional method that was funded by the school.

She had to cast that thought aside when Natsumi ended up dead and Sato is all but stated to have killed her out of frustration.

Soon vengeance would claim Sato’s life with Mahiru finding her in an empty classroom and on the brink of death with her head bleading.

Before dying, Sato begs her friend to make something special with her life and not to waste it in the Reserve Course. She knows that Mahiru will do great things in her life and that she believes in her.

Casting her doubts aside and refusing to let her friend’s death be in vain, she accepted the Steering Committee’s offer by participating in the Hope Cultivation Project.

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glorious-blackout · 4 years ago

Text

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part Two

@rock-n-roll-fantasy Aaaaaand here’s Part Two 🥰

Part One, Part Three

Click.

The world shimmers and fades instantaneously before reforming like an intricate puzzle before his eyes. The effect is mildly dizzying but Mark doesn’t mind, taking in his new environment with a nostalgic smile creeping across his face. With the mere press of a button, he has transformed the illusion of a lively seaside resort into one of a teeming London street. An elegant 1960s Aston Martin glides past him and passersby hustle and bustle on overflowing pavements, too caught up in the intricacies of their own lives to pay him any heed. That’s okay though. Being invisible is a rare luxury these days.

The skies above are a murky grey, but the heavens have yet to open. Mark’s eyes scan the numerous shop exteriors boasting dolled-up mannequins and ‘unmissable’ offers, before finally settling on a grotty club exterior at the far end of the street. Memories of queuing outside its doors to watch the likes of The Jam or The Sex Pistols flow through his mind like a film reel, to the point where he can almost feel his cheap leather jacket growing sticky with sweat amidst the heat of the crowd. He remembers being highly impressed by The Jam and deciding that getting utterly shitfaced was the best way to endure The Sex Pistols, but every gig he attended in those days had carried with it an undeniable thrill. His heart aches with longing as he relives the frantic push of bodies and the roar of the crowd once the lights went down; the deep groove of the bass reverberating through his chest; the way his shoes stuck to a floor which had acquired several layers of spilt beer over the course of the night. More than all of that, his heart sings with nostalgia for the drunken – and occasionally drugged – haze that washed over him as he closed his eyes and lost himself to the music pounding against his ears.

No doubt a similar experience would await him now if he so desired, but as he watches the crowds come and go on the rush-hour streets, the air of nostalgia slowly fades. Company is not what he seeks right now. Even if his heart was crying out for the opportunity to dance in a stranger’s arms, he doubts the concert experience awaiting him through those locked doors could ever align with the perfection of his memories.

Click.

The image dissolves again, and a pleased sigh escapes him as claustrophobic city streets morph into a landscape awash with deep green hues. Droning chatter and car horns make way for lilting birdsong, overlain by the faint rush of a breeze coursing through crisp summer leaves. He raises his head to watch as sun beams drift through a thick, protective barrier of gnarled branches, their golden rays dancing across the forest floor as the wind subtly shifts the world around him.

A light mist implies a recent rainfall. Scattered dewdrops linger on low-hanging leaves and Mark can almost smell the damp earth as he lets himself be carried past the growing pines, the forests’ debris crunching underfoot as he walks. He cautiously steps over a skeletal root and takes care to avoid the sprouting bluebells scattered across the earth, following the deeply-trodden path until he reaches a small, circular clearing at the peak of a steep hill. Overhead branches make way for a direct beam of light and a clear blue sky, and Mark closes his eyes as the sun kisses his face and long grass sways around his ankles. He allows himself one moment to enjoy a nearby warbler’s morning song, before his finger reluctantly tightens on the remote and his surroundings are banished once again.

Click.

The cacophony of waves crashing towards shore and overhanging gulls squealing above the ocean forces his eyes open once more.

For the second time in ten minutes, he is powerless to resist a contented smile as he gazes upon a perfect blue sky, unmarred by clouds or chemtrails. Calm, shimmering waves wash up against golden sands before politely receding, leaving streaks of foam in their wake, and on either side of him the coast curves endlessly with no other individual in sight. If he were to stroll along the sandy path, he would eventually reach the root of a grassy hill which offers direct passage to a rocky cliff-face, serving as the perfect spot to leap into the freezing waters below.

Recognition tugs at his mind like an insistent child as he tries to pinpoint his exact location. Los Angeles? Cornwall? Perhaps he’s even wound up on the Mediterranean coast and his brain is merely trying to take him on a tour of past holidays. Either that or the beach is an amalgamation of many; a fiction created to resemble the closest approximation of heaven on Earth. As undisturbed peace washes over him, Mark finds that he doesn’t care where he is. He simply lets himself get lost in the view and the ocean’s song, and if he empties his mind, he can almost imagine the heat eliciting sweat from his skin and the specific tang of salt in the clean sea-air.

It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed when his reverie is broken by an insistent ringing. Too long no doubt, if the sharp ache in his heart is any indication. For a moment he considers letting the video-call go unanswered. As one shrill beep follows another, his treacherous mind cannot help but wonder if he should ignore his summons and spare himself the agonising scrutiny he’s about to endure. It’s certainly a tempting notion, albeit not one he can indulge in for too long. He has been waiting all day for this call, and these meetings have become too regular for him to convincingly claim he forgot it was happening.

Bidding a silent, mournful farewell to the earthen beach before him, he clicks the button on the remote with a sense of finality; peeling the virtual reality mask from his head the instant the screen goes black. The act of removing the mask takes more effort than it should. The cool straps feel like they’ve physically fused to his skull, and one glance in the mirror above his desk is enough to have him frantically smoothing down sweat-soaked hair. Fat lot of good it does too, not that he particularly cares. His caller will have to settle with dark, mussed locks to match the impressively dark bags under his eyes, though he imagines the latter has become a common sight of late.

He takes a moment to pack the mask away in its case. The device had been a present from Matt on his thirtieth birthday, gifted with the intention of forcing him to join in on games of Fifa. The attempt had been successful for all of two weeks, but Mark has long since stopped using it for mindless video games or trawling through bleak news channels, having instead developed a liking for the mask’s Ambience settings. It’s unlikely Matt will ever forgive him for that, if the accusations of him being a “boring old git” are any indication.

As the ringing persists with no end in sight, Mark huffs a sigh before hurriedly brushing stray strands of hair away from his face, finally reaching across the desk to answer the call with a single swipe on his touchscreen. Relief floods through him as the high-pitched screech makes way for blessed silence, albeit the pleasant solace doesn’t last. The widescreen immediately plays host to a familiar image that makes his heart sink; that of a well-lit office with a pale-blue backdrop and, sitting centre-stage with as uneasy an expression as ever, the man who has made a habit of calling him every single week since the dawn of time, or near enough.

Officially the man’s name is Mister Murphy, which seems entirely too ordinary in Mark’s humble opinion. Of course, Mark is far too lowly to have earned the privilege of conversing with him on a first-name basis, not that he particularly minds. He has absolutely zero interest in become buddies with him, and has made a point in recent years to drop the polite title of ‘Mister’ altogether. Jamie had taken it one step further once by drunkenly referring to Murphy as ‘The Voice of God’, and while Mark would never dare confess it to the man himself, the sarcastic nickname has sunk its claws deeply in his mind.

Murphy looks vaguely troubled today, which isn’t necessarily a surprise. The air of being vaguely troubled seems to have permanently latched onto him, in much the same way as it clings to most disgustingly rich businessmen who hold themselves accountable for the profits of billion-dollar franchises. Tranquility Base is far from the only hotel under Murphy’s watchful eye, but it is certainly the most high-profile, and thus Mark has grown accustomed to his every action being thoroughly dissected through a computer screen. The novelty’s certainly worn off with time.

Of course, to a casual observer, Murphy’s troubled demeanor is far from the most noteworthy thing about his outward appearance. In most people’s eyes, his palpable discomfort probably wouldn’t even register. No, the detail which had deeply unsettled Mark upon receiving his first ever call had been the striking resemblance between Murphy and himself.

They’re not exact copies of each other, but it’s a close thing. Murphy looks marginally older, with deep permanent lines on his forehead and crow’s feet creeping towards his eyes, but the difference between them can only be a couple of years at most. Murphy’s hair is longer and boasts a lighter shade of brown under the office lights, though Mark guesses that’s due to him having the option of lazing beneath a scorching sun. Then there’s the goatee, which Mark has elected to avoid on the presumption that it would look faintly ridiculous on his own face, though Murphy seems to possess the natural gravitas required to pull it off.

Those minute details are where the differences end, however. The deep brown eyes which have a habit of piercing through Mark’s outer shell are strikingly similar to his own. The long nose and pointed chin are practically identical, and even the faint scar above one eye is the same. The resemblance had been so deeply unnerving during those initial introductory calls that Mark retains no recollection of any words exchanged over the course of them, but as the meetings have become more frequent, their shared likeness has simply become yet another bizarre detail in his ever-more ridiculous life.

“You look tired,” Murphy admonishes before Mark can utter so much as a polite greeting.

That’s another crucial difference between the two of them, Mark notes. While he has succeeded in maintaining his Yorkshire accent throughout his extensive travels, Murphy’s vaguely Transatlantic drawl resembles a bizarre amalgamation of what a child would presume a posh English speaker might sound like. It’s an impossible accent to pin down; even trying to guess which side of the pond he originates from is more effort than it’s worth. Rather than being unsettled by the mystery, Mark has clung to it like a lifeline over the years. He has come to acknowledge every notable difference between himself and his boss with a desperate sense of pride.

It ultimately takes him far too long to respond to Murphy’s assessment, which no doubt only proves the accusation to be wholly correct.

“Well, you know,” he starts lamely, though he doesn’t have the energy to admonish himself. “We’ve been busy lately. Probably haven’t been sleeping as much as I should.”

It isn’t a lie, though Mark would be hard-pressed to remember a time where he wasn’t busy to the point of exhaustion. Murphy’s accusation has probably been uttered more times during these video-calls than a polite ‘hello’, but the man has yet to offer any solutions that would help lighten Mark’s back-breaking load.

He keeps a trained eye on Murphy’s face, searching for any micro-expressions which could help guide the conversation forward, but he remains infuriatingly impassive as though silently willing Mark to keep talking.

“I, uh-” Mark huffs a weak laugh and finds his eyes drawn away from the screen, suddenly more preoccupied with picking at the skin of his fingers. “I’ve taken a few evenings off from the band, just to take the edge off. We’ve flown a chamber orchestra over, so they do alternate nights now. Just to add some variety, like. They’re a bit on the expensive side but they’re good at what they do. The best even. The guests seem to like ‘em.”

“I’m sure they do,” Murphy says dismissively, straightening in his high-backed hair and rubbing at his forehead with barely concealed impatience. The image reminds Mark of a long-suffering parent preparing to admonish an unruly child after they’ve splashed paint on the walls of their bedroom, forcing him to fight the urge to release a bitter laugh. “But I’d advise against taking frequent nights off. You and your little band are the main attraction. Our guests don’t pay the fees they do for some run-of-the-mill orchestra they could watch at their local hall.”

“Well, I don’t hear anyone complaining,” Mark responds with barely contained venom. He’s treading on extremely thin ice and he knows it, but he stopped being terrified of Murphy years ago, and the man’s superhuman expectations of him have grown more grating week by week. “If I recall correctly, our profits have been better than ever this year.”

There’s a pause at that which seems to stretch for hours, and Mark cringes at the way his breath shudders in his chest as the figure onscreen swallows down barely-concealed anger.

“That is true,” Murphy concedes, no doubt with a certain degree of reluctance, though to the man’s credit, his voice remains remarkably even. “And we’d like to keep things moving in that direction. Which is why we need you, Mark. Your work is important to us, even if you don’t seem to agree.”

It’s not intended as a compliment, and Mark isn’t naïve enough to take it as one. Maybe he would have been flattered by those words once. When the hotel was still a passion project of his – a cardboard model created at the dawn of a new space-age – but that was before the reality of the business had leeched him dry and left him cold. Murphy doesn’t care for him any more than he cares for the cello player in the backup band; the only reason he’s bothered to learn Mark’s name is because he knows he can profit off of draining him dry.

He lets the silence stretch on to the point where it must surely be uncomfortable. His fingers have stopped providing him with ample amusement and he moves on to fiddling with the hem of his cuffs, fastening and unfastening the cufflinks in a comforting routine. Perhaps if he continues to say nothing, Murphy will grow bored of him and move on to terrorising one of his many other underlings. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

No such luck, it would seem. Though Mark doubts he could ever have predicted the words that his doppelganger would utter next.

“Are you happy there, Mark?”

The cufflinks suddenly become far less interesting. Mark forces his eyes to meet Murphy’s own and tries not to shrink under a gaze which is simultaneously alien and all-too-familiar. Murphy hadn’t sounded particularly concerned for Mark’s emotional wellbeing, and he’s under no illusions that the man actually gives a shit about him. No doubt there’s a game afoot, but the rules feel too convoluted for him to bother trying to participate on an equal footing. He’s not a gambler, contrary to the impression he likely gives off considering the star feature of his establishment.

It occurs to him that he doesn’t know how to answer the question. In simple terms – yes, he should be happy. He’s secure in a job he’s worked towards for as long as he can remember. His friends are here with him, both onstage and off, and he doubts he’ll ever stop loving the experience of performing music to an adoring crowd. He’s still relatively young and free in the grand scheme of things, and he gets to gaze out at the finest view mankind could ever hope to envision on a daily basis.

And yet, the moments of true happiness feel sparse and fleeting. Reserved to brief moments onstage, or the warm embrace of a friend, or an evening of heavy drinking and dancing in the arms of a stranger. Beyond that he mostly just feels... exhausted. Empty. Like there’s a chunk of his soul missing and he can’t figure out where it is or how to find it.

None of which he has any intention of admitting out loud, especially not to the man on the screen.

“Yeah, I’ve been doing good,” he lies with practiced ease, even summoning up a smile for good measure. It doesn’t linger, and he’s sure Murphy picks up on the way his face falls, but he doesn’t have the ability to care. “Just been a bit tired, like you said. That’s all.”

Murphy hums under his breath, but does not seem particularly concerned by Mark’s answer. Mark almost wishes he would say something else – start waffling on about hotel business or profits or even the bloody taqueria so he can zone out in peace – but there does not appear to be a particular agenda today. Now that the ‘Information Action-Ratio' is open for business, all topic of discussion seems to have dried up, and Mark is still awaiting the eureka moment which will precede his next bright idea.

As the continued silence becomes unbearable, a sudden madness takes hold and Mark begins to ruminate on the idea that has been forming in his mind for weeks now. The proposal is a ridiculous one, despite the fact that it shouldn’t be. Suggesting it to Murphy of all people feels even more so, but for some reason Mark has chosen today to be brave. Brave or stupid, it’s impossible to tell.

“I were actually thinking-” He stops, reassesses, and inwardly scolds himself for what he’s about to say, knowing full well the response he’s going to get. Against his better judgement however, he presses on, prompted by the slight twitch of his opponent’s brow. “I guess I were starting to think it was time for a break. Nothing too drastic, just a couple of weeks or so to get my head in order. Catch up on some rest. I’d stick around in case anyone needed me, but I reckon I could always hand the reins over to someone else in the meantime.”

The more he speaks, the more ridiculous the notion seems, until there’s little else for him to do beyond bow his head and finish with a feeble, “I dunno, it were just a thought.”

Murphy considers his proposal wordlessly, brows furrowed in silent concentration and expression guarded. He doesn’t look angry, which is unexpected, but he doesn’t particularly look like he’s been moved to action either. Instead, Mark watches as a subtle smirk tugs at the edge of his lips, and when he does speak again it’s in a low, calm tone that manages to seep into his very bones.

“And yet you changed your mind.”

It isn’t phrased like a question.

Before Mark can protest, he feels a warm fog settling over him like a blanket’s embrace, making his vision blur for a split second as his eyes grow heavy. The moment passes almost as quickly as it arose, though even when his vision returns to him, he still feels trapped in a daze. Murphy’s words resound through his skull like an echo bouncing off the walls of a cave, long after he finds himself pulled from his trance back into the present.

He suddenly recalls mulling over the possibility of a break, not long before losing himself to the charms of the VR mask, and ultimately deciding that it would be a pointless affair. That the tight schedule ahead of him wouldn’t allow a weekend off, let alone a two-week stretch of lazing by the pool or lounging in his hotel room or – god forbid – a lengthy trip back to Sheffield on a company rocket.

“Yeah,” he admits, though he frowns as his voice emerges as small and uncertain. “Yeah, I must have done.”

“Good,” Murphy says with a hint of what might be a smile. It’s hard to tell if he’s genuinely pleased with Mark’s answer or if he just seems less troubled than usual. “Well now that that’s settled, I won’t be keeping you much longer. I’ll catch up with you again next week.”

He doesn’t give Mark time to utter a dazed “yeah” before the call ends with a short beep. The screen is swallowed up by his homepage in a flash; an ancient image of him with the lads, off their faces and grinning stupidly in an old Sheffield pub which has long since closed its doors. He watches numbly as the image of his younger, carefree self morphs into a screensaver of hotel blueprints, before forcing himself to shut down the computer with an air of finality.

Murphy’s weekly calls tend to leave him feeling drained so his current fatigue is nothing new. Perhaps it all ties into his displeasure with business dealings and his particular hatred for the man and his smarmy manner, but more often than not the problem seems to run deeper than that. It always feels like Murphy is much closer to Mark than the thousands of miles between Earth and the moon would suggest, and his influence is inescapable no matter how valiantly Mark fights to resist it. Even the shorter conversations bring little relief. If anything, Murphy’s clear desire for the conversation to end only adds to the impression that he considers Mark to be little more than dirt on the sole of his shoe.

He’d tried to explain his unease to Jamie once, but his struggle to find the right words likely undersold his discomfort. Jamie had only encountered the man once before, having stumbled in on one of their earlier meetings, though to his credit he’d gathered enough of an impression to deem the man an “insufferable twat”.

That reminder is all it takes to break Mark out of his funk, and he indulges in a weak smile before lifting himself from the chair with a groan. At some point over the course of their conversation, the faint artificial lights lining his walls like tinsel have kicked in, signaling the arrival of evening. Well, as close an approximation of evening as one can have while living on a celestial body with barely any sunlight. Mark casts a glance over his suite and inwardly debates whether the king-sized bed or the fully-stocked fridge residing in his tiny kitchenette is tempting him more. Despite the creeping exhaustion which seems like an old friend at this point, the latter’s call is loudest, albeit it isn’t food he craves. Drinking himself into a vicious hangover has become the only appropriate response to a call from ‘God’, and many a night has been spent in pale-faced misery with his head resting against the toilet-lid in quiet anticipation. He doesn’t have a show to play tonight so he’s unlikely to be missed, and tomorrow’s guests aren’t due until well into the afternoon so there’s no need for him to put on a polished performance in the morning either.

He quashes that idea quickly enough. Not the part involving alcohol of course, but rather the notion of drowning his sorrows alone, even if there are certainly worse places to do it.

When he first arrived, his suite had certainly been elegant, albeit in a detached, clinical way that rooms for the ultrarich often are. Cosy, perhaps, but sparsely decorated and lacking any sense of personality that made it feel welcoming. Over the years, however, he’s indulged in several ridiculous purchases and dedicated countless hours to transforming the suite into a homely space. The result is a rather garish mishmash of accessories and decorations which many of his guests would likely baulk at, but seeing as this is the one place where he isn’t required to put on a mask of professionalism, he honestly couldn’t give two shits what anyone else thinks.

The four-poster bed, tidy kitchenette and oak-wood desk housing his computer and scattered notes are all fairly standard, but the seventies pop-art lining the walls and slender lava-lamps flanking his bed - bathing the room in a shifting aquamarine glow - are a tad more unconventional. Tucked into the corner beside his bed rests his beloved Steinway Vertegrand, draped in multicoloured lights which dance upon her ivory keys. Resting atop the wooden surface lies an opened notebook, the sight of which tugs at his heart insistently. If he were back home, those white pages would have so many notes scrawled into them that they’d have been rendered almost entirely black, but as it stands, he cannot remember the last time a song came into his head. Not that the guests or his bandmates seem to care, but his creatively stale mind bothers him more than it should. Though that certainly doesn’t stop him from playing well into the night, reciting the words to old Bowie or Cohen songs as his fingers glide effortlessly along the keys, gently so as not to earn a complaint from his slumbering neighbours.

Much as it pains him to admit, the piano is not the suite’s main attraction. The well-stocked bookshelf filled to the brim with dog-eared novels doesn’t hold that title either, though on peaceful nights those well-worn contents certainly play a vital role.

In the end, nothing can hold a candle to the large, circular window at the far end of the room; its shape and the stunning view beyond giving the impression of an observation deck on a drifting starship. There is no evidence of human interference on this side of the hotel, and the calm grey surface of the moon stretches endlessly beneath a pitch-black sky. Sometimes, if he squints, he can spot the dusty surface of Mars in the distance, and he has dedicated many long hours to resting on the curved, padded windowsill and simply gazing out at the stars. He could waste an evening doing the same now, if he so wished. He could cast aside any intentions of getting royally shitfaced and instead settle down with a good book in his little observation deck, letting the unspoiled view lull him into a sense of peace that not even Murphy can penetrate.

The notion is tempting, and a deep pang of longing grips his heart, but he quashes it down and tears his eyes from the window. Peace is not something that will come to him easily. Murphy had made that crystal-clear in his dismissal of Mark’s request for a break, though he can’t help but wish he’d fought harder. He’d intended to; had even considered the possibility of threatening to quit just to get a rise out of the man, but Murphy had ruined everything by sinking his claws into his brain with little more than a silky voice and the power of suggestion. It’s a remarkable skill of his which will no doubt drive Mark into an early grave one day, but at least then he’ll get some sleep. The urge to consume a large quantity of alcohol rears its ugly head once more, and he surrenders to it with little resistance.

Not here though. This room is too much of a haven for him to risk decorating it with wine stains and vomit. Of course, without the familiar comforts of Jamie, Nick and Matt, the company of the guests is unlikely to be any better than solitude, but he imagines getting drunk in public with a group of like-minded individuals is slightly less pathetic than the alternative.

Decision made, he staggers to the bathroom to splash cool water over his pale face in the hopes that doing so will wake him up, and stares grimly at the tired figure depicted in the circular mirror. All of his earlier fussing over his hair has at least tamed it to the point where it looks somewhat presentable, though he doubts even a week-long coma could erase the dark shadows encircling his eyes. The beginnings of a five o’clock shadow resides on his cheeks, but after staring numbly at his own reflection for several minutes he finds he cannot gather the motivation to shave. Instead, he simply scrubs his damp face with a towel and forces his lips into a weak smile, as though to reassure himself that he can still appear outwardly human.

Finally satisfied with the mirror’s image and once again grateful for all the tiny differences between himself and Murphy, he swans out of the bathroom with newfound eagerness and nabs his room key from its perch, before leaving Room 521 behind and exposing himself to the masses.

#writing #Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino #Simulation Theory #Muse #Arctic Monkeys #my fic

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dollarsblog461 · 4 years ago

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Macbook Pro Openvpn Connect Download

A VPN protects your internet connection, so you can browse the web safely, enjoy your favorite websites and services, and access geo-restricted content from anywhere. It’s easy to configure a VPN connection on an iPhone, and we’ll show you the fastest way to do it.

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What is a VPN on iPhone?

VPN, a virtual private network, lets you access the internet via a secure encrypted connection. This adds an extra layer of protection to your browsing, so nobody can snoop on your online activity.

There are two main cases when you may want to use VPN on your iPhone:

Protect your data online. VPN is a must while using public Wi-Fi. Such networks are typically unencrypted, so bad guys can easily get access to your passwords or credit card numbers. VPN encrypts your data and makes it unreadable to hackers, so you can safely check your bank account from a local coffee shop. VPN is also useful at home if you don’t want your ISP to snoop on your activity.

Access your favorite music, movies, websites, and services from anywhere. VPN makes your device think you’re in another location, so you can enjoy Netflix, Hulu, Disney+, and any other services that may be restricted for you.

How to set up a VPN on iPhone

The fastest and easiest way to add VPN to your iPhone is by using Documents by Readdle. Documents is the super app for file action. It lets you do what you want with your files, from watching movies to PDF editing. Documents features a built-in VPN service that works across all your apps.

Here’s how to configure a VPN with Documents:

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Launch the app and jump to the VPN tab.

Tap the big Start button.

That’s it! Now, you can enjoy safe and private browsing. You can also pick a different server location if you need to bypass certain geo-restrictions. VPN works across all your apps, even when you close Documents.

How to connect and disconnect a VPN on iPhone

Once you’ve added a VPN in Documents, you can quickly turn it on or off in the app:

Open Documents.

Jump to the VPN tab.

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How to manually set up VPN on your iPhone

We’ve just explored an easy way to add a VPN to your iPhone. Alternatively, you can configure a VPN connection manually in the settings of your device. You’ll want to use this method when you already know all the connection details. For example, your employer can provide this information to let you set up a corporate VPN.

If this is your case, follow these steps:

Open the Settings app on your iPhone.

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After adding all the details, tap Done at the top right of the screen.

Once you’ve added a VPN configuration, a new VPN toggle will appear in the iOS settings. Just turn it on to start using the VPN.

If you’re looking for the easiest way to use a VPN on your iPhone, download Documents. Turn on a VPN with just a few taps, enjoy safety and privacy while using public Wi-Fi, and get access to your favorite content from anywhere.

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Are you experiencing those Wi-Fi problems with your Mac? For example, your MacBook Pro won’t connect to wifi, connected but no Internet or the network speed is super slow, etc.

Our smartphones may be equipped with the latest wireless data capabilities, but our MacBooks definitely aren’t. We rely on WiFi to do our daily work, and when it inevitably experiences an error of some sort, all you want to do is throw your hands in the air.

After all, WiFi frequently seems to be on the more technical end of things, shrouded in mysterious terms like “DNS”, “modem”, and “IP address”. It can be a bit intimidating to try and fix without worrying that you’re either doing nothing or making the problem worse.

But no one likes mindlessly refreshing a webpage and hoping the WiFi fixes itself in the meantime, so in this guide, we’ll show you a few ways you can take matters into your own hands to find a solution.

Do You Know?

You can troubleshoot network connections in the office or at home with WiFi Explorer. It’s an awesome app that shows you what’s going on with your network and helps you fix it when needed. The app offers a range of extensive details about all your Mac networks in the vicinity, including their band, signal quality, range, security status etc.

Your Internet Service Provider (ISP) is what determines your maximum internet speed, but your usage at home is what ultimately determines how well your connection functions. Whatever your provider advertises is always going to be more than the rates you actually get, but you can always make adjustments on your end to get things running faster.

Bandwidth is not the same as Internet speed. The Internet speed is how fast data can travel on your network, whereas your bandwidth determines the volume of information that can travel at that speed. A larger amount of bandwidth means you can request more data at once, which will make your connection seem faster, but it’s not worth paying for if you don’t use your Mac for much beyond Facebook and email.

It’s important to connect to secure networks even if it means using a Virtual Private Network (VPN) or proxy. While it’s tempting to use the free coffee shop WiFi, the lack of protective password puts your computer at risk because malicious users can use the shared network and attempt to break in. If you must use one of these networks, a proxy or VPN can protect your computer by isolating it from the other connections.

Connection Problems

Issue 1: Physical router interference

Cause: A router sends electronic waves, but these can be impeded by thick walls or other large blockages such as a row of metal filing cabinets.

How to Fix: If your router is currently buried behind a file cabinet, in a closet, or otherwise awkwardly placed you should move it to a more open and central location. If your router is already in a fairly clear area, consider where you’re sitting. Can you minimize the amount of distance between you and the router, or otherwise move closer?

Alternatively, consider purchasing an extended if you can’t seem to move the router to a location without too much interference.

Issue 2: Neighborly router interference

Cause: As we said earlier, a router sends electronic waves. These waves occur at certain frequencies and can be interfered with by other electronic devices such as microwaves or your neighbor’s router.

How to Fix: Most routers come pre-calibrated to certain frequencies or contain software that helps them pick the best channel. You can manually change the channel though by following a few steps.

Step 1: Find out your router’s IP address. This is usually printed on the router, but you can also check in System Preferences > Network > Advanced > TCP/IP > Router;

Step 2: Copy the IP address into the address bar of your browser and hit enter. You’ll be directed to your router’s settings;

Step 3: Select the channel you want. Make sure to choose a channel 5 to 7 away from the original, since many frequencies overlap;

Step 4: Use Wireless Diagnostics to monitor which frequencies make the biggest difference in your wireless signal.

You can get open wireless diagnostics by navigating to Spotlight and then beginning to type “wireless diagnostics”. It should be the first option.

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Open the app and click “Continue” to start diagnosing.

Issue 3: MacBook Pro or router failure

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Cause: When there doesn’t seem to any conceivable reason your WiFi shouldn’t work, it’s not your fault. Sometimes the MacBook Pro, the router, or both experience an unexpected error that’s invisible to the eye and impossible to figure out exactly what went wrong.

How to Fix: Your best bet at solving this type of problem comes in two parts: your computer, and your router. Follow these steps:

Step 1: Turn off the wifi on your computer from the menu bar along the top;

Step 2: Turn off your router by physically disconnecting it (or pressing the power button if it has one) so that all the light turn off;

Step 3: Restart your MacBook from the Apple menu in the top left of the menu bar;

Step 4: Once your Mac has restarted, turn the router back on. You’ll need to wait 2-5 minutes for all of the lights to come on and for the signal to begin sending again

Step 5: Turn your Mac’s WiFi back on, and allow it to connect to the network.

While this method isn’t guaranteed to work every time, it often solves mysterious wireless issues and with a little luck, your problem is minor and will be resolved with a bit of restarting.

Problems Once Connected

Issue 4: WiFi connection is spotty

Cause: If we’ve said it once, we’ve said it a million times: your router transmits waves, and when these are weak at your location, you’re going to have connection issues. In this case, you may have been able to connect to the network but now service is patchy at best. The cause is simple — you’re too far away for the frequency you’re trying to use.

How to Fix: There are two different ways you can fix this issue. First, move closer to the router if you can. This is the easiest way to attempt to solve the problem and maybe all you need to do.

The second way is to use a different frequency band than you normally would. By defaults, your router uses the 2.4GHz band, which is weaker than the 5GHz many router models have available. If your router supports 5GHz, you should switch to this instead- it usually appears as a different network in your WiFi list, with a “5GHz” or “5G” as part of the name.

For example:

If you have a large home, an extender might be a more practical solution. It will amplify the signal from your router so that it can reach the areas of your house that usually suffer from poor coverage.

Issue 5: WiFi connection is very slow

Cause: If things have suddenly slowed down, it’s highly likely you can point to another person to take the blame — someone else is eating up your bandwidth! Make sure to check your own computer first though, especially if you’re running multiple programs in the background.

How to Fix: The easiest way to figure out the culprit is by running a quick scan using Advanced Network Care, it’ll show you the connection speed issues found with your current network and fix it if needed. An alternative is a Wifi Explorer as we already mentioned above.

However, you can also fix that manually. Bandwidth refers to the volume of data that can be transmitted over your WiFi connection. Certain apps can require larger bandwidth and thus restrict the data available to everyone else.

If this occurs in your home, the first step is to check your own applications. The most common offenders are multiplayer video games, video-intensive apps, or files that are uploading and downloading. If your Mac isn’t running anything strenuous, then ask the others in the household if they are.

Macbook Pro Openvpn Connect Download Software

While you can’t get more bandwidth without paying for it, you can ask anyone on the network to limit which applications they use at one time. In the worst-case scenario, you’ll need to wait a few minutes while a download finishes or until the other person is done working.

Final Words

WiFi issues on Mac are among the most frustrating issues that can occur on your computer. They’re confusing, bothersome, and significantly slow your productivity. We hope the methods listed above help you resolve any issues you face.

Macbook Pro Openvpn Connect Download Windows 10

Do you use a different method to troubleshoot your wireless network? Tell us about it in the comments below!

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ellie-mnop · 6 years ago

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Hi everyone! I just finished the 100 Days Of Languages challenge and I wanted to do something new afterwards, so I came up with a challenge of my own! I’m calling this the Checkerboard Challenge because it’s an 8x8 grid. Along the top there are eight language-related skills, and on the side there are eight modes of learning, so each box contains a way to study a particular skill using a particular mode. I wanted to do that because exposing yourself to the same information in different contexts is so helpful for learning and I wanted to apply that to how I study Portuguese. The result is a list of 64 different ways to study languages, 71 if you include the alternate options listed below, each one versatile enough to be repeated as often as you want using different topics or resources and hopefully interesting and useful for your learning.

Ways To Use This Challenge

Complete all of the challenges on the table, in whatever order you want.

Choose a particular skill you’d like to work on. Complete all of the challenges in that column.

Choose a particular method of learning that works well for you. Complete all of the challenges in that row.

Use dice or a random number generator to pick a challenge to do every day, and see how long it takes you to get bingo or connect four or something.

Choose whichever of the challenges sound useful to you and incorporate them into your regular studying routine.

There’s no obligation to post anything you make; even when I say to record yourself doing something, that can just be for your own future reference. (It’s recommended for the collaborative tasks that focus on creating resources that would be useful to other learners or interacting on social media, but even then you can just write the posts/comments and not post them if you prefer) However, I would love to see anything you do want to share, or any updates on your progress, so you can post anything like that with the tag “checkerboard challenge” which is also where I will be posting the tasks I complete.

The tasks are listed below, with more detail than what would fit in the boxes.

Reading

(Visual) Read a comic book, comic strip, or webcomic in your target language. Depending on your skill level and the amount of time you have, you can choose anything from a single strip of a newspaper comic to a full-length graphic novel

(Auditory) Read along with a chapter of an audiobook, or another piece of writing with accompanying audio. Some language learning websites have articles with recordings of native speakers reading them. If you want, or if you can’t find anything else, you could even use a song and its lyrics.

(Hands-On) Option 1: Play a video game in your target language. This can be a computer or console game, or an app on your phone or even a little browser game. Check the language options on games you already have to see if your target language is available, or if not, many free games have lots of language options. / Option 2: Read and follow a recipe or another set of instructions, such as an art/craft tutorial, the rules to a board or card game, a DIY project or a magic trick.

(Logical) Solve riddles or logic puzzles in your target language. (Alternate: Read a short mystery story such as a minute mystery (or something longer if you prefer) and see if you can solve it before the characters do.)

(Collaborative) Talk by text chat with someone else learning your target language, or a native speaker learning your language.

(Read/Write) Read an article or a chapter of a book (or the whole thing) in your target language. It can be about any topic, and can be a children’s or adult’s book depending on your skill level and preference.

(Personal) Find and read a translation of a piece of writing that’s important to you, such as your favorite book as a kid that you feel nostalgic for, or a poem that resonates with you.

(Creative) Read story in your target language and illustrate what happens. The quality of the drawing isn’t important unless you want it to be; the important thing is to help you process what you’re reading.

Writing

(Visual) Choose a photo, either at random from a generator or by choice on a website like Unsplash, and describe it in as much detail as you can. Your description can focus just on describing visible details in the image, or you can make up contexts for and stories around the things you see, whichever you prefer. (Alternate: Do this with a physical object nearby instead of a photo.)

(Auditory) Try writing simple poems, focusing on the auditory features of what you’re writing such as rhyme and rhythm. You can use a rhyme dictionary to expand your vocabulary in an interesting way while you’re working on this. It’s not necessary to worry too much about the artistic quality of the poems unless you want to.

(Hands-On) Write instructions for how to do something you know how to do, such as recipe, a life skill, a game or sport, an art of craft project, or even your method of language learning.

(Logical) Create a persuasive piece of writing that logically argues a point. It doesn’t have to be about a serious or controversial topic. For example, you can defend your prediction for the next season of your favorite show, or what would happen if some fantasy or sci-fi concept were real (maybe a good way to practice the conditional tense if you’re studying a language that has one), or why your best friend is awesome.

(Collaborative) Use a language learning social media app like HelloTalk. Comment on posts and make your own.

(Read/Write) Write a summary of something you’ve read in your target language. You can either read in your native language and summarize in your target language, or do both parts in your target language.

(Personal) Write a journal entry in your target language, talking about how your day or week has been or what you are thinking and feeling. (Alternate: Write about one of your memories.)

(Creative) Write a small story in your target language. It can be about whatever you want, and it doesn’t have to be very long or detailed. You can (option 1) write it as prose, which could be better to practice description and narration or to focus on a particular verb tense, or in (option 2) a script style which could be better to practice conversational language.

Listening

(Visual) Watch a video with narration that describes it, such as a nature documentary, an instructional video such as a cooking video, or a video reviewing something.

(Auditory) Find an online stream of a radio station. Pay attention to both the music and what the announcers say.

(Hands-On) Watch a video demonstrating a craft project, recipe or other task and follow the instructions.

(Logical) Watch or listen to a mystery story and try to solve it before the characters do. This can be a whole movie or novel-length audiobook if you want, but it doesn’t have to be; even an episode of something like Scooby Doo should work.

(Collaborative) Exchange audio with someone else learning your target language, or a native speaker learning your language.

(Read/Write) Watch a video or listen to a piece of audio and take notes on what you learn.

(Personal) Watch a dub of a piece of media you are familiar with, such as your favorite childhood movie.

(Creative) Option 1: Listen to a story or other piece of audio and illustrate it. / Option 2: Listen to a song and make up a new verse.

Speaking

(Visual) Make a video of yourself showing something and talking about it, for example a tour of your home or neighborhood, a review of something, or a video about your pet.

(Auditory) Listen to a piece of audio and try to repeat what you hear. You don’t have to pause after every word and repeat it, it’s probably better to go at least sentence by sentence or with parts even longer so you can keep things in context.

(Hands-On) Explain to someone, or record yourself explaining, how to do something, possibly while demonstrating.

(Logical) Record yourself explaining, and possibly demonstrating, how something works, such as a science concept.

(Collaborative) Record yourself explaining a concept you’re learning, like a grammar topic or how to use a particular word.

(Read/Write) Read out loud and record yourself.

(Personal) Make a recording of yourself talking about something that’s important to you or a memory or anecdote you have. (Alternate: Make a vlog entry (even if you don’t have a vlog to put it on) talking about your day.)

(Creative) Record yourself telling a story, or tell one in person to someone.

Vocabulary (Most of these, with the exception of the first two, can be done with any vocabulary list you want.)

(Visual) Choose a page from a visual dictionary to study. One way you can do this is by studying the words and then covering the labels with sticky notes or whiting them out on a copy and trying to fill in the blanks.

(Auditory) Choose a song in your target language, and look up and study any unfamiliar words in it.

(Hands-On) Option 1: Use your vocabulary list as a scavenger hunt list. This works well if you have a lot of nouns and adjectives on the list. For everyday household items, you can look for the literal items on the list, while if they’re more obscure you can look for pictures or other representations of them. / Option 2: Act out the words on your list. This works well for verbs and adverbs, as well as more abstract nouns or adjectives like emotions. You can record video of yourself doing this and later look back at the video to try to guess the words.

(Logical) Option 1: Make a crossword puzzle using your vocab list. If you write the words and clues, there are tools online that will build the puzzle itself for you, or you can do that by hand on graph paper if you prefer. You can either wait a while and then solve your own puzzle to see how much you remember, or give it to another language learner to solve an ask them to make one for you to solve. / Option 2: Look into the etymological history of the words to find out why they mean what they mean and whether they have any connections to words in your own language.

(Collaborative) Create a vocab list post around a theme, including words you are studying as well as any related words you already know. Include any resources that you think would be useful to someone using the list, such as sample sentences, pictures, or whatever else you want.

(Read/Write) Try to write a small story or other piece of writing using as many of your vocab words as you can.

(Personal) Write a sentence about what you think of each thing on your vocabulary list.

(Creative) Try to write an interesting sentence using each word on your vocabulary list. (Alternate: Illustrate each word on your vocabulary list. You can do this on index cards if you want, to make illustrated flash cards.)

Grammar

(Visual) Create a color or shape coded system to classify a concept like verb tenses or noun gender. For example, you can read through a piece of text and highlight all of the verbs using a different color for each tense, or you can make flash cards with your vocabulary words and mark them with different symbols depending on the gender.

(Auditory) Grammar is a common topic for educational songs. Find a one intended for kids who speak your target language.

(Hands-On) Using words on sticky notes or index cards, build sentences that demonstrate grammatical concepts. If you have access to some of those little word magnets in your target language, those would probably work great for this, but if not (and I know I don’t) you can write various words, affixes, etc. on index cards or sticky notes, or use your existing flashcards if you have them.

(Logical) Create a table, chart, or diagram of a grammatical concept you’re studying.

(Collaborative) Write a post explaining a grammar topic you are learning.

(Read/Write) Read through a text, to find (and maybe highlight, circle, etc.) examples of a grammatical concept, then write more examples.

(Personal) Write about a part of your life that corresponds to the grammar topic you are studying. For example, for the future tense, you can write about your plans or hopes.

(Creative) Write a small story relying on the grammatical concept you’re studying.

Pronunciation

(Visual) Look up diagrams of how to pronounce sounds you struggle with. These can be found as images or in an animated form in YouTube videos, and usually show what your tongue, teeth, etc. are supposed to be doing when you pronounce the sound.

(Auditory) Find a recording of a native speaker, record yourself saying the same thing, and listen for differences.

(Hands-On) Try to pronounce some tongue twisters or other pronunciation-based challenges.

(Logical) Try learning the linguistic names of sounds you work with, and look into how they compare to other sounds. Wikipedia has articles about the different sounds that can exist in languages and tables showing how they are used in various languages.

(Collaborative) Record yourself reading something that contains sounds you struggle with and post it for feedback, possibly on an app like HelloTalk.

(Read/Write) Look at the written IPA pronunciations (these can be found on Wiktionary) of words you learn and look up what the symbols mean.

(Personal) Sing along to songs you like in the language, especially (for the personal category) nostalgic ones or ones meaningful to you.

(Creative) Write a tongue twister using words that are difficult for you to pronounce and practice saying it.

Cultural Context

(Visual) Explore a museum website in your target language. The museum should be located somewhere where your target language is spoken, but it up to you whether you want to look at an art museum, a science or history museum, or something else. Look at the exhibits and read the descriptions.

(Auditory) Create a playlist with traditional, classic and modern songs in various genres that either were invented in or popular in a place where your target language is spoken. Ideally using resources in your target language, learn about the songs and genres.

(Hands-On) Using resources in your target language, learn how to do or make something from a culture that speaks it. For example, you can look up a recipe, a tutorial for a dance style, the rules to a game, or how to make an art or craft project. (Make sure the thing you pick is being openly shared by members of the culture it came from.)

(Logical) In your target language, learn about a scientist / inventor / etc. from somewhere the language is spoken. Learn about their work, with explanations of what they invented or discovered, and if you want, find out other information about their life too.

(Collaborative) Comment on or otherwise interact with the blog/YouTube channel/etc. of a native speaker, after you read or watch it, of course. (You don’t need to receive a reply to check off this box, because that part is not under your control.)

(Read/Write) Try reading a significant work of (children’s or adult) literature in your target language.

(Personal) Learn about something relevant to your job/hobby from where your target language is spoken, using resources in the language.

(Creative) Read about artistic or literary themes, movements or eras where the language is spoken, and create something (it can be something simple) using those concepts.

[Image: The title “Language Learning Checkerboard Challenge” above a purple 8x8 table. The information contained in the table is repeated above.]

#langblr #studyblr #language learning #language challenge #learning languages #checkerboard challenge

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willow-salix · 5 years ago

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Day 97 of Isolation on Tracy Island

Hey guys, Virgil here, I’m updating you all today because she’s given up and made John take her up to Five because she needs some peace from all the complaining.

Having been occupied for the past few weeks she and Kayo had finally found the time to start their hula hooping lessons. They tried to be sensible about it, they got up early thinking that Alan and Gordon wouldn’t be awake but even that didn’t save them.

They had been alone for no more than fifteen minutes, just enough time for her to give Kayo some basic instructions and show her where to position her feet when Alan arrived, curious as to what they were up to.

Witchy insisted that if Alan was going to be there then he had to learn too, I think she was hoping that he would hate the idea and go away, no such luck.

She warned them that they would get some serious bruises around the midsection before the day was done but it didn’t put them off, apparently they were tough guys and could handle it just fine.

“Now, hold your hoops straight at waist height, so it's just resting against the small of your back.”

They copied perfectly.

“Now, if you’re left handed put your left leg forward and push to the left, right handed, right hand forward and push to the right.”

“Push?” Alan asked.

“Yeah, push,” she spun the hoop to the right and with a few twitches of her hips the thing was spinning perfectly, it was quite mesmerising to watch actually.

“You mean spin?” Alan confirmed.

“If I had meant spin, I’d have said spin,” she informed him huffily. “It’s called a push, it’s a technical hooping term.”

“There are hooping terms?”

“Of course there are, there are terms for everything.”

“Sounds like an excuse to me,” Alan continued baiting her.

“Shut up or get out!”

“Hey, I only just got here! I haven’t even said anything yet,” Gordon protested, slipping through the door and taking up position by me to watch, I had been given permission to stay because I am apparently the good one, the calm one, the one that everyone likes, that’s why everyone wants to be more like me and less like my brothers. I’m not sure that that is true but it’s flattering nonetheless, especially as I am now on a T-shirt.

“Just give it a go, push...or spin,” she gave Alan a pointed look, “in the same direction as your forward placed foot and thrust.”

“Thrust?” I asked, not sure I’d heard her properly.

“Yep,” she nodded. “Thrust.”

“It’s hooping, you twirl the hoop,” Gordon laughed. “It’s in the name, the hula, ” he did a very bad impression of a hula dance, complete with swishy wave arm motions. Now I know why John likes to pretend he’s not related to us.

“Come and try it then,” Kayo challenged.

“Sure, nothing to it,” Gordon grinned, striding over and taking a hoop from the corner and stepping into it. They all watched as he spun the hoop around his waist and with his arms stuck out straight above his head, proceeded to flail and wiggle like one of those inflatable tube men. As I'd predicted the hoop dropped like a stone to thump against the floor.

“Let me try again, I just need to get my rhythm.” He tried again but this time with hula arms. The hoop hit his arm, making him yelp in pain and once again it hit the floor with a bang.

“You gotta thrust, like this,” she dropped her hoop and did a move that looked vaguely obscene, a back and forth motion with her hips.

“Yeah, I’m not doing that, I’m out,” Alan declared, dropping his hoop and retreating to sit beside me on the weights bench.

“I’ll give it a go,” Kayo shrugged. “I want to learn, you’re teaching me, so I’ll listen.”

“So will I, I can thrust,” Gordon assured us. No one commented on that.

For another ten minutes she attempted to teach them how to hoop but it was failing miserably, Kayo was too stiff, Gordon was too loose and the hoops apparently had a mind of their own.

In desperation she made me call for reinforcements.

Scott swaggered in with a wide grin on his face. He raised his arms like he was a superhero.

“I am here! Make way, I was born for this!”

John followed behind a little more sedately. “Do I want to know why we have been summoned with the words ‘she needs you to thrust’?”

“Hula hoops!” she grabbed two spares and handed them over. “I keep telling them you don’t hip swivel, you thrust.” She demonstrated again, both with the hoop and without. Scott didn’t look like he was paying that much attention but John was studying her carefully.

“OK, hoops up, pick a side, push to that side and then back and forth thrusting, got it?”

They all nodded. This time Kayo did a little better, Gordon was still waving around like a flag, Scott was a tad over enthusiastic with his thrusting and John took his time. They all dropped their hoops.

“Kay, just loosen up a little and try to swing through a little more, Gordo, just a bit less flailing, Scoot...just less...everything, slow down a little and not so vigorous, John, almost perfect, just a tad faster.”

She was actually a good teacher, she took the time to go over to them one at a time and with a hand on the small of their backs and one on their stomach, directed them in the movement and pace they needed. Nicer than she was when she was teaching me yoga, then she was just laughing.

"Any excuse to touch me suggestively," Gordon teased.

"You wish," John snorted, not looking remotely concerned as she moved on to making them thrust with her beside them with their hands on her hips to follow her movements.

This time she popped on some music, something I didn’t recognise but it had a good beat that she said would help them keep the rhythm.

Kayo was definitely picking it up, Gordon was getting better but still kept speeding up and dropping it, Scott was still going a little mad and I was worried that we were going to have another back injury in the family very soon. Mine is feeling a lot better but I’d been told to sit this one out as the hoops are weighted to 2kg’s and can give your hips, waist and back a good pummeling apparently and she told me I wasn’t allowed to risk it.

John stopped his attempt and stood out of hoop whacking range to watch her as she moved, studying her from all angles, then nodded as if that had cracked it. John has always been the one to keep an eye on whenever there is any kind of challenge, which lets face it, in our family it’s a daily occurence. He’ll take his time, sit and watch, studying everything, calculate it in his mind and then when he does try he usually knocks it out of the park within two goes.

This time was no exception, he took up his position, spun the hoop and with a couple of perfectly timed hip thrusts, found his rhythm and just kept going, the hoop spinning around his waist like a top. He actually got a little cocky and crossed his arms seeming perfectly at ease already.

“Yes, that’s perfect!" she cheered, blowing him a kiss. "Awesome, babe, you're doing so well."

“How are you doing that?” Scott asked, utterly bemused that his usual tactic of hard and fast wasn't working for him.

“I know how to follow instructions when I’m given them.”

“But you’re keeping it up,” Gordon stared in disbelief.

“That’s never been a problem for me,” John shrugged, not dropping the hoop, making it look effortless. “It’s just physics. The hoop isn't hitting your hips to go round, it’s bouncing off your back and stomach, that's what’s pushing and therefore spinning the hoop. It’s simple. Physics."

Witchy nodded. “Yep, you just thrust and keep your pace steady. It's a great workout. I can do this for hours.”

"John has an unfair advantage," Gordon accused.

"How so?" I asked.

"He's obviously used to interpreting her crazy orders," Scott joined in.

"Not my fault that you can't control your own hips enough to get a smooth glide, it's not savage thrusting, it's a good pace and I'm man enough to listen when I'm told to go faster or slower, just do what the she tells you, it's not rocket science."

"Says the rocket scientist."

"Says the only person actually doing it right."

"Boys, why do I feel like this conversation has moved on from its original point?" she asked.

"Because you know them?" Kayo answered with a shrug.

I was very glad that I wasn't in the middle of that strange conversation and just watching (and recording) from the sidelines. At least no one was judging my performance or thrusting ability, not that I'd have had any problem doing as I was told, I'm the one that flies the big bird, slow and steady wins the race.

They had been told they had to practice on ‘both sides’ which apparently means starting on the other foot and spinning in the other direction to work out both sides of their abdominal muscles, something they weren't too happy about. She kept them going for over an hour until all of them were complaining that their stomachs hurt and that their hips were bruised where they had been whacked with the hoop over and over, but Kayo had finally gotten the hang of it and had succeeded in keeping it spinning for a good few minutes.

Scott had dropped the hoop on his foot and bashed it off his knee by trying to keep it up when it dropped and Gordon had smacked his into Kayo's hoop because he was struggling to stay in place and thrust. But in the end they all managed to keep it up, that was until they cheered, looked down at it and lost their rhythm and dropped it again.

They were all groaning and clutching their middles by the end of the session and blaming her for being a sadistic teacher. I’m just sitting here, writing her update and feeling very grateful that I wasn’t allowed to join in as now it’s my turn to laugh at them hobbling around like old men. Revenge is sweet. Be more V!

#virgil tracy #All about the Virg #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 1965 #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction #tracy island #thunderbirds in isolation #isolation island #self isolating #social isolation

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