#<-could be referring to about eight different things depending on what you followed me for | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-swedes-knees · 3 years

Text

Time in A Bottle (Agent Mobius x Reader)

Summary: Everyone has a guilty pleasure. For Mobius, it's a slice of pie in a very specific slice of time.

Word Count: 1.8k

Located in the middle of Downtown, bordering on the corner of old-time druggies and newly gentrified condos was a moderate sized building with an exorbitant monthly rent.

It was a theme restaurant, if the theme was 'we opened in 1953 and we'll be damned if we change the decor'- done up in chrome and frosted glass windows that clashed against the surrounding brick and mortar. The neon sign bearing the establishment's name had burnt out years ago, but it wasn't the type of place one would seek out.

Unless you were Mobius, that is.

[09:45:00]

Technically, he shouldn't be here.

His unit was nearly a mile out, or, more accurately, they would be within the hour. Dates like this, where a simple flap of a fat pigeon's wing could ripple into Nexus event after Nexus event had a name. A proper designation in their severity and frequency of necessary resets.

But he just always referred to them as 'a real pickle'.

You glance up at the front door as the brass bell affixed to the frame jingles loudly. The man that enters looks around the place before making eye contact with you and smiles. He points to the empty bar and you nod your head.

Once you finish refilling the other customer's drink, you see that he's made himself comfortable in the middle stool.

"Hey there." You greet from the opposite side of the counter. He offers a sheepish greeting in response as you set a water down in front of him, balancing a plastic straw on the rim of the glass. "Can I start you off with some coffee? Just made a fresh pot."

"That'd be great, thanks."

You place the mug and matching saucer in front of him and pour. For a moment you look up at him, and he's smiling a very genuine smile- something very rare these days.

As soon as it's full to the brim you're reaching under the counter and grabbing a clean glass sugar pourer, placing it right next to his cup.

"How'd you know?"

"Customer service intuition, I guess." He thanks you before unfurling the napkin containing his flatware. Like someone with real proper manners, he drapes the napkin over one of his legs before stirring an ample amount of sugar into his drink.

You can't help but notice just how much he fits in to the whole aesthetic with his well fitted brown suit and slim tie. New York offered a multiplicity of personalities, and you'd become quite numb to anything and everything that would walk through that door.

Yet, someone about this man was intriguing, familiar in a way. Like in the past life he was a PI that you hired to confirm your husband's affair.

Both a confidant, and a stranger.

"Feel free to take your time, but, do you know what you'd like?" You note his closed menu pushed to the side. He raises his eyebrows and nods while mid-sip, and you pull out a notepad and pen from your apron.

"Sure do, could I get two slices?" He points the vintage rotating pie cooler to your left and specifies his selection.

Easy enough. You put two generous slices onto separate plates, and he declines your offer of whipped cream or ice cream on top.

"Good choice, this one's my favorite."

"You don't say." The knowing twinkle in his eye wasn't noticed as you busied yourself with refilling his coffee. He holds his hands up in mock defeat and sighs. "Well, I guess you'll have to join me." The ceramic scraped against the quartz tabletop as he pushed one of the plates across the bar, directly opposite himself.

"I'm on the clock-"

"Don't worry, another customer doesn't come in for-" He pauses to flex his arm, riding his jacket sleeve up just enough to check his wristwatch. "12 minutes and 43 seconds."

[09:52:16]

"Am I supposed to trust you on that?" You raise an eyebrow, and his only response is a slight head tilt and pushing the second slice a nudge closer to you.

It wasn't every day courteous men offered you a break in the form of your favorite desert. Your face screwed up in contemplation as you looked at the only other two patrons in the diner before giving in and grabbing a second set of flatware. "Well, it is slow-"

"For a Friday?" He has another bite before setting down his fork and dabbing at his face with his napkin.

"Is it Friday already?" You sigh, bent over the counter to take a bite of the pie. Delicious as ever. "Hardly feels like it, all the days are melding together."

"I think this one will stand out."

"What is the date, anyway?"

"May 4th." You make a hum of acknowledgement and he gives you a lopsided grin. "2012, incase you forgot the year too."

"I'll mark it in my calendar," You laugh, using your hand to cover your mouth as you continue to chew. "'The Day I Met-'"

"Mobius." He introduces himself, extending his hand over the counter and you shake it. His grip is firm, authoritative. Before you can reply with your own name, he refers to you by it while maintaining perfect eye contact.

You can't explain why, but it feels so right when he says it. Like it was perfectly made to be pronounced in his charming Texan drawl with just the faintest hint of gravel.

While you're fixed in a stunned silence his eyes deliberately dart to the lapel of your uniform. You follow his gaze and laugh at yourself for neglecting that you were indeed wearing a nametag.

"So Mobius... like, from maths?"

"Yeah, like math." He eyes his untouched water and picks up the plastic straw. His fingers move carefully, removing the straw from the perorated paper. You watch with curiosity as the man twists the paper once and pinches the two ends together with his thumb and index finger.

Mobius holds his opposite hand out to you, confident, waiting. With a bemused smile you allow him to guide your hand. His skin is warm, presumably from the way he had cradled his coffee mug, but it's comforting in a way. His rough hand guides you, your finger tracing the geometry of the paper-straw shape.

"A path that twists and turns... but always ends back at the same spot."

"I wasn't very good at math." You admit, and gesture around as if working in a place like this was a testament to that fact. "Why does it matter that it always ends where it began?"

"Well, that all depends on perspective. Maybe it doesn't matter. But to the one who observes it, it makes all the difference." You quirk an eyebrow, silently pressing him to elaborate. "Maybe that point's... where you got your first kiss, the feeling when your favorite football team scores a winning touchdown, a perfect sunset-"

Mobius catches himself trailing off, and looks down at his plate. He puts another bite onto his fork and cheers it to you.

"Or having pie in good company."

You look around the mostly empty diner before bracing your arms against the counter, leaning in as if you were to whisper some great secret.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a bit odd?"

[09:59:06]

"No-" His eyes crinkle as he laughs. "No, that's a new one. But you find it charming." He winked, actually winked, and leaned back in his stool, smirking into his coffee.

Your fork was halfway to your mouth as your just stared at him, frozen. You feel your mouth open and close a few times as you try to think of a somewhat dignified response.

"How would you know that?"

"I just know things." He shrugged.

"Like what?" You challenged.

"How about, Paul- over there." You crane your head to follow his line of eye, your coworker currently bussing a table that had just left. "Worked in this place five years, loves Coke- from the glass bottle, nothing else. Has a girl on the Upper East Side and runs a decent sized internet radio station out of his apartment."

"You're one of his listeners." You narrowed your eyes at him, a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Oh, no. Hyperpop... not my style."

"Alright, BBC Sherlock-" You countered. You give a subtle head tilt to a woman sitting in a far off booth, papers spread out on the table around her pancake combo. Whoever she was, she definitely wasn't a regular. "How about her?"

"Mrs. Braverman. Youngest of eight siblings, English teacher at the charter school up the avenue. Actually prefers imitation maple syrup to the real thing."

You know very well Mobius could be talking out of his ass. But he's confident, nonchalantly so- like this was a game to him and he was obviously winning.

"What about me?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Your anticipation is palpable as he swallows his final bite, taking the time to wipe his face of crumbs before smiling softly at you.

"You are... a poem of a person. Charming, capable, when you walk into a room people notice- even if you convince yourself that they don't." His gaze is steady, patient, and he's looking at you as if you're the only person in the universe. "You have big dreams, far beyond all... this... and you're gonna make it."

[10:04:59]

The sound of the door chime breaks you out of whatever hypnotic state you had found yourself in. Sucking in a breath and blinking away the very beginnings of tears in your eyes you tell the new customer to sit wherever they like.

Mobius took this chance to check his handheld, sighing at the time and the ever-growing slope of the branch variation.

The reset charge would be set soon, with or without him there.

"Look at that. Duty calls." He stands up and pulls a billfold from his jacket pocket, not even counting as he puts the cash down on the counter.

Mobius turns to leave, but hesitates. He turns back around to face you and places his hands on his hips. Allowing himself to play into the fleeting illusion just a tad longer.

"One more thing I know about you-" Mobius rubbed his chin in careful consideration. "You have a date tonight."

"Ah-" You wag your finger at him and shake your head side to side, "got one wrong."

"Did I? Ah- well... How about we change that?"

You pause. The plates you had been holding found their way back to the counter as you set them down slowly. Once again in a very short time span, he had left you speechless.

"That... was possibly the lamest pickup line I've ever heard." Though you mean it to be snarky, it sounds more like praise coming from your smiling lips. "I get off at 6:30."

"Alright." He looks perfectly pleased with himself as he lightly knocks on the counter with his fist. "It's a date."

Walking out the door, Mobius gave one last look at the diner before reporting to the event site.

He knew would see you again, always at 9:45.

#agent mobius #mobius #mobius m. mobius #agent mobius x reader #mobius x reader #loki series #loki #marvel #marvel x reader #sorry for the interruption from my usual content #but I love time traveling men

637 notes · View notes

neversleepagainau · 3 years

Photo

please do not repost my art.

~~~

at long last, im so excited to announce that this ask blog is officially open! many people know I’ve been working on this intro for roughly five weeks, and I’m very excited to finally share it- possibly as excited as I am to FINALLY begin telling this story!!!

first of all, tumblr completely ruined the quality of that last panel- if you wanna see the full sized gif (warning you now, it’s enormous), you can find that here! And, if the gif is hard to read/hard to view, there’s a static version of this panel below the cut!

There’s also a ton of extra information that could answer some questions you might have, as well as a list of potential triggers to watch out for in the future! However, it is really long, and when I say really long, I mean it’s chapter-in-a-book-long so please don’t feel obligated to read it unless you have extra questions/have some bad triggers you wanna make sure to avoid.

Otherwise though, I can’t wait to see what kind of questions you guys send these two! One has to wonder… where in the world are they headed off to in the dead of night…

First of all, here’s the static image of Panel 8, as promised!

And now for some extra info on things going forward.

On every single canon update, there will be a description of themes in this story that could unsettle or discomfort some viewers. I’ve included tags to blacklist, and explained exactly how these situations might arise so folks who are sensitive to this kind of thing can prepare themselves accordingly!

I would recommend at least skimming this list if you know you have some bad triggers! This story will never get too dark or intense, as I’m attempting to stay true to the original spirit of MSA, but this doesn’t mean it won’t touch on those themes at all.

also, in regards to how much of this art is hand drawn by me- the honest truth is 99% of this is entirely freehanded. I took colors from the videos, but otherwise only used them as reference. However, if I ever used a canon asset to help me, I will always specifically say what exactly was borrowed directly from canon in a way that was more than just using images as reference and taking colors. for this post specifically, I’ll word it a little differently, but this will all be much tidier in the future.

the van asset is 97% freehanded by myself- I did take measurements of the canon asset, and marked my canvas so I’d know the width and height of the van, and vaguely marked where the tires would be.  I did trace the antennae ontop, as well as the cloud decals, one of the curves on the right side of the windshield, part of the door window at the very bottom lefthand corner, and the rear view mirror. The logo was not recreated, I directly took that and just altered the colors to fit the van. Other than that, everything you see on that van was freehanded. The van was also the only thing I used a canon asset to help me with for creation of it, meaning that the rest of the art in this introduction is entirely freehand.

moving on from that- updates will not take an entire month like this did. i will not be doing eight full color illustrations for every single update, and for right now, at the minimum, they’ll happen weekly! i can provide more information going forward once I work out how I’m going to go about things a little better, since things won’t be as huge as this introduction was. don’t worry though, the quality of the art itself will stay the same throughout the whole story!

and yes, lewis and vivi are in this too! there’s a big cast of characters, and lew and viv are just as much at the center of this story as arthur and mystery are- don’t worry, you’ll see them plenty soon enough!

finally, before we get to the content warning stuff, if you ever have any questions about how I’m running things, or need clarification on anything, please let me know! I’m happy to explain things in more depth if needed!!! and now, here’s the last chunk of this INCREDIBLY long introduction. ~~~ WHAT FOLLOWS IS A VERY LONG (!!!), IN DEPTH LIST OF THINGS VIEWERS MIGHT ENCOUNTER IN THIS STORY THAT COULD TRIGGER THEM. If you are not super sensitive or have very intense triggers, you don’t really need to read what follows unless you want to. Otherwise, I would at least skim this, so you know what tags to block so you won’t have to see this type of content.

Don’t let any of this worry you too much, by the way! This story is very likely not ever going to get extreme in any manner, I just like to be very cautious, just in case!

Also keep in mind that you can always ask me to add tags to a post, and it’s highly unlikely I will refuse said request. If I do, it will be for a very good reason, and I’ll explain it thoroughly, as well as remain open to any discussion about it. With that in mind, here are things to be aware of:

CHARACTER DEATH/REMOVAL FROM STORY: There may be characters in this story that you will get attached to that end up dying or not being in the story at all or as much as they were before. This story has chances for different outcomes depending on asks, but there are some things I have set in stone and a few of them involve these themes, so please be mindful of that. The tags to blacklist to avoid updates that touch on this specifically are #character death or #character removal.

DISTURBING CONTENT: This is vaguely worded because it is a bit of broad umbrella. There may be themes of body horror, gore, violent/upsetting/disturbing depictions of death (not any worse than Lew’s death, if it ever is I’ll be sure to specify ahead of time), creepy/unsettling designs and environments, so on and so forth. The tag to blacklist to avoid updates that include anything I consider to be disturbing to view is #disturbing content.

ANGST: This story will get sad, and broach on themes of abandonment, loss, trauma, depression, paranoia, self-hate, and things in this nature. What I can immediately promise is this story will NEVER have themes of suicide or self-harm. I do not feel this story needs to go there, nor do I wish to take it there. Also, while there is angst, I do not believe in beating characters up mercilessly- the angst is for the story and their development. This is not going to be a story that is only angsty. However, if any sort of angst upsets you, the tag to blacklist to avoid updates that include heavier, angstier themes is #angst.

PARANOIA: A few of the characters often get a sense of being hunted or followed, or something lurking around the corner, which can be upsetting to some viewers. A few characters may occasionally have moments where they express their anxieties in depth. The tag to blacklist to avoid updates that include heavy mentions of paranoia/depictions of it/make the characters (and potentially audience) feel paranoid is #paranoia.

UNREALITY: Lewis has some powers that can warp space and create illusions, and potentially will be in situations where he uses them in ways that could mess with people’s perception of reality. This can be very uncomfortable for some people to view, so in updates where this may happen, the tag to blacklist is #unreality.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES: This story will NEVER be explicitly NSFW, and will rarely ever feature these themes at all. It is mainly for the occasional joke here and there, but absolutely nothing more. However, if any implications of something slightly more adult make you uncomfortable, the tag to blacklist here is #suggestive themes.

ANIMAL HARM: Mystery may enter situations where he ends up getting hurt during this story, though he will never endure any kind of situations that mimic real life animal abuse. If seeing an animal be harmed in any way remotely upsets you, the tag here to blacklist is #animal harm.

~~~

If you made it all the way to the bottom, you’re a champ!!! While posts will definitely not be this long going forward, I really appreciate you taking the time to read this!

558 notes · View notes

shinobicyrus · 2 years

Note

But like I've seen boosters that will literally set up shop outside the store they just got the stuff from and scalp it at a lower price cuz the cops won't come if they steal an amount under a price? How is that okay? Or are you talking about something else? I'm genuinely curious cuz all i see right now is the fact that living in Cali is making me tired cuz i don't know what's real or not anymore

(I guess this is in reference to my frustrated rant earlier?)

So just to get it out of the way, stealing did not get legalized in California. Prop 47, which is where this all started, simply adjusted the categorization for small, nonviolent crimes like petty theft and certain petty drug offenses. All it did is increase the dollar amount by which theft can be prosecuted as a felony from $400 to $950 to adjust for inflation and cost of living.

If you steal something and it's less that $950? That's still a crime, it's just not a felony anymore. That’s a difference between a fine and less than a year of jail time, to 3-5 years, depending on the severity.

The reason they did this, by the way, was not because of some progressive “woke” ideology, but because California’s prisons were so overcrowded the State Supreme Court ruled that it constituted cruel and unusual punishment.

They made petty theft and certain non-violent drug offenses misdemeanors because there were too many people in jail already.

One thing that also doesn't get mentioned a lot either? Prop 47, the very thing everyone is blaming for all the ‘rampant shoplifting,’ happened in 2014.

Kind of makes you wonder why we’re hearing about all this now, eight years after the fact.

It could be that those shoplifting numbers are being inflated, or at the very least misunderstood. Individual spikes in scattered areas doesn't necessarily mean there’s a lawless crime wave sweeping the entire state.

Or perhaps this may be, I dunno, a strategic political backlash against recent movements that want to reform policing and the criminal justice system in general and thus opposing groups are trying to create the perception of rampant crime to scare moderates and convince the public that harsh penalties are necessary and the police protect us from chaos etc, etc, ad nauseum.

That statement you said before “i don't know what's real or not anymore” really spoke to me friend, because the more I look into this, the more I can’t but think that the confusion is the point.

People want to confuse the issue. It’s a lot easier to show some footage of a few dramatic instances of crime and convince people there’s a crisis. Look what happens when I Google ‘is shoplifting legal in california’ which was suggested by the search bar:

Oh geez, first result is describing how shoplifting is de facto legal in California! A bold claim! Let’s learn more!

...how is this the first result? Who even are these people? Let’s Google ‘Hoover Institution’ and see what we learn:

The Hoover Institution on War, Revolution, and Peace is a conservative American public policy institution and research institution that promotes personal and economic liberty, free enterprise, and limited government.

So the first result isn’t a reputable news source trying to inform, but a conservative think tank. This is a well-funded, century-old political apparatus. They are not trying to report facts to you, they are trying to sell you their picture of the world.

I’m not saying corporate owned news and newspapers are bastions of unblemished truth, but it really says something that a conservative think tank with a self-declared preference for business owners has managed to firmly plant itself in the top results of Google searches on this subject, which is what most people will click on first.

Trust me, I get it. Researching this stuff is hard and time consuming. Following sources, finding out if they’re reputable, knowing how to word your query; this is a skill that most people aren’t taught how to do - which makes a lot of people vulnerable to quick, easy answers.

For instance, another important detail no one seems to mention is that there is a huge difference between shoplifting - which is generally a crime of impulse that is rarely caught and results in only a small amount of goods taken - and Boosting, which are those smash and grab jobs which are usually perpetrated by multiple individuals and depends on speed and shock rather than stealth. Those tend to be organized criminal enterprises, and regardless of the value of the goods from a single incident, organized crime is a completely different beast than shoplifting. The fact these two very different things are being used interchangeably blurs the issue and creates even more confusion.

Now, let’s say for a moment that I’m one of the many Wrong and Incorrect Assholes on the internet and there really is some rampant shoplifting/boosting going on. Some real lawlessness. Some real Future Detroit in RoboCop shenanigans.

Everyone’s so concerned about poor CVS losing their inventory, but in all my research in crime statistics, while both police unions and business owners call for a return to stiffer sentencing, I have seen no one wonder aloud why people would be stealing besides “they’re criminals.”

If there are spikes in petty theft, would that be so surprising, considering that we’re still living in a pandemic that caused a major jump in unemployment that, as of December 2021, is still affecting 1.2 million people in California alone?

That even the people with jobs are also being affected by the inflation the pandemic created and is being exacerbated by corporate greed?

That homelessness in California affects over a hundred and sixty thousand people (more than three times the entire population of my hometown!) and has only been getting worse?

Sorry, but even if shoplifting was becoming rampant (a big ‘if’ as mentioned in a previous source), I don’t really feel that much for say, CVS, that saw $7.9 billion in profits in 2021 but is still slated to close 900 stores for reasons that have nothing to do with having a pitiful amount of their inventory stolen.

As to your rather bold booster, who has not only openly stolen goods (still a crime) and is sticking around with said stolen goods to sell them (also a crime) out in the open and the cops still aren’t showing up when called?

Buddy I hate to say it but it sounds like the cops don't give a shit and have always had an abysmal track record at solving these kinds of crimes anyway.

That's not a ‘bad law’ problem. That's a cop problem.

#It's also a Capitalism problem but I've wasted enough ink already #metaphorical ink #Sorry Long Post #Shoplifting #Crime #Policing #Criminal Justice #Anon #Propoganda #Asks #Sorry Anon I don't know if I actually answered your question #but I hope this helped?#A little?#I don't pretend to be an expert on crime statistics or economics #the important thing is to question Who is telling you a narrative #and Why they might be telling it to you #and whose interest it serves

20 notes · View notes

specialagentsergio · 3 years

Text

love, in ink

summary: Spencer wants to do something special to commemorate your relationship. (or, reader and spencer get a couples’ tattoo)

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: tattoos & tattooing, one very light sexual reference bc i'm a hoe

a/n: i recently got my first tattoo and i’ve been absolutely obsessed with tattoos ever since, so here you go. location and design was purposefully left vague so you can imagine anything you want, but i do write reader as already having at least two tattoos.

word count: 2.9k

masterlist

Spencer’s been thinking about it for years.

Two years, eight months, and twenty days to be exact.

Looking back, four months and ten days was pretty early to be thinking of something so permanent. But he couldn’t help it—contrary to how he thinks people perceive him, he’s a romantic. A bit of a hopeless one, really.

In any case, he had been right. Almost three years after your first date, you’re still together and absolutely in love. You live together, your lives are inseparably entwined. Every day has been an affirmation of the conclusion he came to three months into your relationship—you’re the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

So really, four months and ten days wasn’t all that early to think of getting a tattoo with you.

He doesn’t have any, but you do, and he’s always loved them. He likes running his fingers over them, pressing kisses to them, rubbing moisturizer into them, and aiding you in making sure they’re all well covered in sunscreen before you’re going to be outside for a while.

He’d never really considered getting a tattoo until he saw how much you loved yours. It’s one of your favorite forms of self-expression, you’ve told him. You say the body art helps you feel more confident, comfortable, and at home in your body. Confidence in your body—that’s definitely something he could do with. But above everything, because it’s something you love, and Spencer loves you, it’s an experience he wants to share with you.

He brings up the idea over dinner forty-five days before your three-year anniversary. You’re reading while you eat—a common occurrence in your home for the both of you. He spins his fork in his hand a few times, then carefully sets it down and says your name.

You hold up a finger to ask him to wait; he watches your eyes move across the page as you finish the paragraph you’re on. Your attention is on him as soon as you’re finished. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” He’s nervous—he knows you love him, but what if you say no anyways? What if you don’t want to get a tattoo with him? They are permanent, after all. “It’s… I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he admits.

Your eyes widen when you pick up on his anxiety. “Oh god, are you breaking up with me?”

He nearly chokes on the water he’d nervously sipped. “Wha—no, no!” he rushes to assure. “I—I love you. I don’t—I don’t ever want that.”

You take in a deep breath, carefully putting your book aside. “Alright. Okay.”

“Why would you think I was breaking up with you?” he asks, concerned about the conclusion you’d jumped to. “Are… are you not happy? Are things not good between us, for you? I thought—well, think, they are. Maybe I’m wrong? I could be. I’ve never been the best at reading social clues. Have I missed something? I’m sorry if I have. I--”

“Spence, Spencer.” You interrupt his nervous rambling and reach across the table, placing your hand on top of his. “Things are great between us for me. I love you, too. You were just so serious when you said you wanted to talk, it caught me off guard. It’s… not an uncommon way for a conversation about breaking up to start.”

“Oh. Sorry. I—I didn’t realize it could come off like that,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay. As long as we’re not breaking up, I’m happy.” You give his hand a squeeze before leaning back in your chair. “So, what is it you want to talk about?”

“Right.” He squares his shoulders and wipes his damp palms on his pants. “Our three year anniversary is in forty-five days, and I was thinking to celebrate, maybe we could… get a tattoo together?”

Immediately you break into the most beautiful smile—he’s happy to have an eidetic memory when it comes to moments like this. “Really?” you ask, body tense with excitement.

“Yeah. Really,” he confirms. “I, um… I guess you’re on board, then?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Yes, yes, yes! Oh, Spencer this is so exciting! Your first tattoo!”

He doesn’t bother to correct you about calling it his first. He’s got no plans to get more, so this could very well be his only tattoo. But he doesn’t want to dampen the moment, so instead he says, “I don’t really have any ideas for it. I just want to do it with you.”

“Wait here.” You disappear into the bedroom and return with a folded piece of notebook paper. It’s worn and wrinkled, the edges curled in. He unfolds it carefully to find the page covered in your handwriting. Some of the writing looks more rushed than other parts. Some sections are in blue ink, some are in black. It’s clear you’ve been compiling this list for quite a while.

He reads it at his normal, rapid pace, but it takes him a few moments to understand it. “Is this a list of…?”

You nod. “Tattoo ideas.” He looks up at you in… well, in awe, and you shrug. “I don’t want to just get your name on me, as nice as it is.”

“How long have you been working on this?”

“Um.” The answer seems to embarrass you a little. “A… a couple of years.”

“Years?” he repeats. “But you never said anything.”

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured into getting a tattoo,” you say. “Since they are, you know, permanent.”

“Relatively.” He looks back to the paper, running his fingertips over the indents left by the pressure of the pen. “They naturally fade with age, and can age prematurely through sun exposure.”

“Yeah. Listen, it’s okay if you don’t like any of my ideas.”

Spencer shakes his head—he likes a lot of them, but he already knows which one he wants—he knew as soon as he read it. He points. “This one.”

You bend down to see it and smile. “I was hoping you’d pick that one.”

“It’s perfect,” he says, and presses a kiss to your cheek.

---

You handle pretty much everything, contacting one of your favorite artists and pitching the idea. You’ve been tattooed by her before—specifically, she did his favorite of your tattoos. So he’s happy to have her do this one, too, putting down the deposit without hesitation. The artwork she sends back is everything he pictured and more. She’s taken the idea and brought it to life better than he could ever hope to. A few tweaks here and there, then the date is set. You’ll be getting tattooed the Friday before your anniversary.

Yours will be done first, near the end of his work day—when he arrives, you should be just about done. It’s not exactly how he imagined it happening, but you said it would be better this way. If he sits and watches you get the entire thing done, you think he’ll end up psyching himself out about his own tattoo.

“Is it really that bad?” he had asked.

You shrug. “Well, it’s pain, so it’s obviously not super fun, but it’s tolerable. You overreacted when I stubbed my toe last week, so I think it’s probably best if you’re not there watching me the entire time.”

“I don’t like seeing you in pain,” he defends sheepishly.

“Exactly. I’ll keep you updated with texts and pictures, though, okay?”

He agrees, because honestly, you’re probably right.

Getting into bed with you the night before he asks, “What does it feel like? Besides it just hurting.”

“It’s different for everyone. It also depends on where you get it.” Spencer bumps your arm with his nose, silently requesting for you to adjust your position in a way that allows him to press as much of his body as he possibly can against yours. You place your hand in his hair once he’s settled, as usual, then continue. “It does kind of… vibrate. That’s something I didn’t expect going into my first tattoo.”

“Vibrate?” he repeats. “That’s… well, I guess it makes sense, considering how tattoo machines work.”

“Mm-hmm. But I wouldn’t worry about that part if I were you. Last time I checked, vibration isn’t a sensation that bothers you.” A very slight tug on his hair. “The opposite, actually.”

The squeak he makes is involuntary. “I, um… okay. I’ll—I’ll keep that in mind.”

He’s treated to a little laugh, but then your tone changes. “Seriously, though, Spencer. It’s okay if it ends up being too much, or just not for you, and you can’t finish the tattoo. Or if you just don’t want to finish it. I won’t be mad.”

He’s taken by surprise at first. It is a worry that he’s been harboring, that all the sensory input will be too much, but he’s never said anything about it, so how did you know?

Then again, it’s you. Of course you know. You always do.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

---

“Hey, how can I help you?”

Spencer looks up from his phone to the woman who’s just come into the front of the shop from the back. As promised, you’d kept him updated on your tattoo process with texts and pictures.

“Um, I—I have an appointment?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but he’s really nervous—you were definitely right to have him come in later than you so he doesn’t have enough time to get really worked up.

“Who’s it with?”

“Megan.”

She glances over her shoulder. “Megan is currently with someone. I can go ask her how long the wait will be.”

“No, it’s okay, she’s working on my partner. We’re—we’re getting tattoos together,” he explains.

“Oh, fun! I’ll lead you back, then.”

He follows her to an open doorway. Your body is still and unmoving; Megan is hunched over your skin. You smile when you see him. “Hi, Spencer.”

“Hey. Um, how’s it going?”

You sigh. “Well, to be honest, I think this is going to be my last tattoo.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Megan says without looking up.

The little angry huff you make before replying with “I know” makes him smile, and his nerves settle a little. “Why do I do this to myself?”

Spencer can tell it’s just a rhetorical question, asked in good humor, but he can’t stop himself from answering it regardless.

“There are many different reasons that could drive someone to get a tattoo despite the pain, including the adrenaline and endorphins the body produces in response to pain, stress relief, and the need for creative expression.”

“Stress relief?” you repeat. “I haven’t heard that one before.”

“It is a strange concept at face value. An example, though, would be getting a tattoo to mark the end of a difficult period in your life. Some people get them to symbolize personal difficulties or trauma, or to memorialize people they’ve lost. It can be a form of catharsis that helps them process painful emotions, memories, or other stressful feelings.”

Your head tilts as you take the information in. “That’s interesting.”

“Alright.” Megan leans back. “It’s done. Go take a look.”

Spencer follows you to the full length mirror. “Oh, wow,” you breathe out as soon as you see it. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Spencer.” You touch his arm. “What do you think?”

It takes him a few moments to answer because he’s been overcome with emotion. He’s overwhelmed with just how much you love and care for him to have permanently embedded a reminder of him into your skin. “It’s perfect,” he whispers.

“It is,” you agree.

You return to Megan and she takes a few photos of the tattoo, promising to text them to you, then gets started on the aftercare. “You know the drill,” she says, but still gives you the instructions for what to do as the artwork heals. He only barely registers what she’s saying—his eyes are glued to the tattoo.

“Okay, let me get everything switched out and cleaned up, and then we can start on yours, Spencer.”

“Hmm?” He tears his gaze away to find Megan looking at him. “Oh, right. Okay.” He sits off to the side with you while she disposes of supplies, replaces them with new, sterile ones, and wipes everything down.

She works fast—before he knows it, Megan has shaved and cleaned his skin, and has him in front of the mirror as she places the stencil. It takes a few tries to get it just right. He apologizes when she has to print the stencil again, but she waves him off. “It’s your tattoo and it’s going to be on you forever. I want you to be one-hundred percent happy with the placement.”

His nerves spike back up when he’s settled down and all ready to be tattooed. You sit in a chair on the opposite side of him than Megan, and when you offer your hand, he grabs it immediately.

“Breathe, baby,” you say gently. “Try not to tense up too much.”

He does try, but still jumps a little when Megan’s gloved hand touches him. “Sorry,” he says breathlessly. “I’m a little nervous.”

“Oh, no, you’re fine,” she reassures. “I won’t start until you’re ready.”

“I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay. I’ll start with just one small line.”

It’s a strange sensation, unlike anything he’s felt before, but it’s… not horrible. He’s been scratched by cats in the past, and it feels kind of like that, but hot. There’s the vibrating you had mentioned, too.

“How was that?” Megan asks.

“Not so bad,” he answers honestly.

“That’s great. I’ll keep going then. Settle in. Just let me know if you start feeling funny or if you need a break, alright?” At his nod, she goes to work, and he switches his attention to you. He knows he shouldn’t, that it’ll probably come back to bite him in the ass, but he can’t stop himself from teasing you.

“I don’t know why you were complaining earlier,” he says in his best innocent voice, with his best innocent expression. “It’s not that bad.”

The way your mouth drops open just a little bit is adorable, and so is the noise of disbelief that follows. “Yeah, okay. Tell me that again at the end.”

“I will,” he replies, mentally adding probably not to the sentence.

You roll your eyes and let go of his hand to sort through your things. You give him a lollipop when you find it.

“What’s this for?” Suckers aren’t really his favorite candy.

“Your adrenaline is probably going to drop now that the tattoo has started and I don’t want you to pass out,” you say. “The sugar will help prevent you from getting lightheaded.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

The tattoo goes well overall, he thinks. It’s definitely painful, but like you said, it’s tolerable. He’s certainly felt worse. Near the end, though, he really starts hurting, and a grimace slips across his face.

“She’s almost done,” you reassure. He hasn’t been looking at it, but you have. “Also, what was that you saying earlier?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “It’s not even the needle, you know. It’s the paper towels.”

“A lot of people say that,” Megan says. “Just a few more minutes left.”

He spends those last few minutes questioning every decision he’s made in his life that has led him to this moment, and swearing to himself that he’s never going to do this again. But then it’s over and he’s looking at in the mirror, and it’s suddenly like the past five minutes never happened.

Spencer loves it. He absolutely adores it. Not just the art itself, but how it looks on his body and how it’s making him feel.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you ask, making him jump a little. He’d been so fixated on the tattoo that he didn’t notice you joining him.

He ponders for a moment to find the right words. “I’m beginning to understand why you like doing this so much.”

You grin. “It’s great, huh?”

“It is, yeah. I kind of want to touch it; is that weird?”

“No, but don’t,” you reply. “It’s an open wound.”

“I know.” He looks back at Megan. “This is perfect. Thank you so much.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she says. “Thank you for trusting me with your first tattoo.”

When he drags himself away from the mirror, she goes over aftercare with him, and he listens more intently this time. A few things are going to be a little inconvenient, he thinks, but it’s more than worth the trade off.

You take his hand as you leave the shop. “I’m so happy that I got to do that with you.”

He squeezes your hand back. “Me too.”

You reach the car, but before he can move towards the passenger side, you pull him in close. “I love you.”

His free hand comes up to cradle your cheek. “I love you, too.”

You kiss him, soft and sweet. “Happy three years,” you say when you pull back.

“Here’s to three more?” he offers, a little nervous, but mostly hopeful.

Your smile leaves no room for doubt. “I like the sound of that.”

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

hit up my inbox if you wanna talk tattoos bc i fucking love them. what do you see spencer getting with his partner?

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor , @spencerreid9

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #fluff #my fic #tattoos rlly are a rabbit hole for some of us like i already have an appointment for my second one lol

142 notes · View notes

dameronology · 3 years

Text

tea & whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 1

part one: an insight into how microwaving tea should be a capital crime (fem! reader)

song for this chapter - ldn by lily allen

summary: you’re Percival; reigning queen of the Kingsman, certified bad-ass and one of the most self-sufficient women to have ever graced the City of London. A mission with the Statesmen is a chance to further your career and tighten your grip on international success - it’s a shame that Jack Daniels already has his eyes on the throne. He also has his eyes on you, and it proves to be a problem for you both. {series masterlist}

this has all the kingsman characters but doesn’t follow the canon of golden circle. eggsy, tequila, champ, merlin etc all crop up throughout the series as well! if u want to be tagged, gimme a shout

- jazz

You didn’t usually answer the door when someone knocked after 11PM.

It was just common sense, really. Only serial killers, creeps and people who had the wrong address would knock that late. You could have taken on any of those three regardless - you were a bad-ass after all - but you were also busy. You’d been tirelessly working all day at the office, and the grind didn’t stop just because you’d got home. The stack of paperwork beside your computer felt like it was never ending and you simply didn’t have the time to answer the door. Working as Kingsman was more of a lifestyle than it was a job.

‘Oi!’

You almost jumped out your seat when the banging moved to the window beside your desk. It overlooked your front lawn and the quiet street you lived on - well, as quiet as a street in central London could be. Classic to the city, rain was lashing down on the glass, obscuring your view of whoever your visitor was.

Right, you could add Eggsy Unwin to the list of people who knocked this late.

‘What the hell, Eggsy?!’ You sighed, opening the front door. Your colleague quickly rushed from where he was standing by the window, elbowing past you and into the dry warmth of your house. ‘It’s almost midnight-’

‘- I’ve been calling you for hours!’ The agent exclaimed.

‘I’ve been working all day.’ You replied.

It wasn’t the first time he’d turned up at your doorstep at a stupid hour. Eggsy was your colleague, but first and foremost, he was your best friend. He had a tendency to drive you up the fucking wall and right back down again, and had done since you were in your school years, but he’d always been a little dependent on you. Whether it had been letting him crash on your sofa when his stepfather became too much, or giving him a lift home from the police station at 2AM after he’d been arrested, you always had his back. He had yours too, but you rarely needed it. Even after becoming a member of the Kingsman and essentially saving the world, you were still the first person he came too.

After wrapping Eggsy up in a towel and escorting him to the kitchen, you placed a mug of warm tea on the table and sat beside him. Work could wait - for an hour or so at least. Chasing an internationally-reclaimed terrorist certainly took precedence over whatever your friend’s problems were, but if he needed you, he needed you. Bros before hoes might not have been the perfect saying for the situation, but the sentiment was definitely there.

‘What’s happened now?’ You quirked an eyebrow. ‘I know it ain’t an arrest because you would have called from the station otherwise.’

Eggsy thinned his eyes at you. ‘I haven’t been arrested in two years.’

‘So what was it?’

‘I had a fight with Tilde.’ He admitted. ‘I don’t know what happened, but she’s mad at me.’

‘Were you talking before she got mad?’

‘Yeah.’

You raised your mug in the air. ‘That’s probably it then.’

‘Y/N!’ He swatted your hand away, causing tea to spill out onto the table.

You sighed. ‘D’you wanna talk about it?’

‘No, I just need a place to crash.’

You stood up, leaning over the table to give his shoulder a squeeze. ‘You know where the spare room is, right?’

‘That’s it?’ He pouted. ‘Tea and a squeeze on the shoulder? My life is falling apart!’

‘Don’t be a drama queen.’ You replied. ‘I have to work - and you should be too. We’re close to getting Calahan.’

Calahan was the codename for the terrorist you’d been tracking - at least his current one. The man had worked under several aliases, jumping from country to country before finally falling under the jurisdiction of the British secret services. The MI5 and Scotland Yard were too well known to work such a sensitive case; the location of their offices were publicly known, making it easier for Calahan to slip in double agents. The civilians, however, had no knowledge on the Kingsmen. A tailor’s shop was a perfectly good front for a place to set up base and track the man down.

Thanks to your success on your previous missions, Arthur had put you in charge of finding him, with Eggsy assigned as your partner. He was just as good an agent as you, but you had little sympathy for his domestic issues.

‘I was working on it all day.’ Eggsy held his hands up in surrender. ‘But with all due respect, Percival, I don’t work into the late hours of the night. I know how to switch off.’

‘That’s because you’re a man, Eggsy.’ You reminded him. ‘I am one of three women at Kingsman.’

‘That’s still three more than there used to be.’

‘You’ve already pissed off one extremely patient woman tonight.’ You warned him, referring to Tilde. ‘Do you want to go two for two?’

‘No.’ He huffed. ‘Women are just complicated.’

‘Or maybe men are just dumb.’ You smiled sweetly, before brushing a hand through his hair. ‘You should get some rest.’

‘So should you.’

‘I’m fine.’ You shook your head. ‘I’ve got a meeting with Merlin in the morning. We’ll have to leave at eight.’

‘Do I have to go? Merlin hasn’t said anything to me-’

‘- yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I said so.’

He couldn’t argue with that.

The following morning, you were headed for the Kingsman headquarters by 9AM. Having filled Eggsy with some coffee and half a bacon-sandwich, he had cheered up considerably. You did feel for him - he had been right when he said that women were confusing - but your attention was still very much on work. That was the norm, really. You lived and breathed for your job. It wasn’t your whole identity but it was certainly your whole life. You were recruited at eighteen and now, it was all you knew. The other agents were your family.

‘C’mon, Eggsy!’ You demanded, practically leaping out your car. Your arms were piled high with files, keys dangling from your fingers as you kicked the door to the Mustang shut. It had been a present from Kingsmen for a particularly successful mission.

‘There’s no rush.’ Eggsy chided from behind you. ‘You should enjoy a little leisurely stroll once in a while. It might do that vein on your forehead some good.’

Whilst you were decked out in a blazer and black jeans, Eggsy was in his usual snapback and sports jacket. He trailed beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets as you both slipped inside the shop. It was quiet inside, the only sounds coming from the bell on the door and the sound of your heels on the polished wooden floors. You didn’t just wear them because they made your legs look endless - they doubled up as weapons too. Merlin hadn’t done anything special to them, it was just that anything was a blade if you tried hard enough. Your five inch Christian Louboutins were no different. The fact the bottoms were already red was purely a convenient coincidence.

‘She still hasn’t called me.’ Eggsy murmured.

‘I’m sure she will.’ You gave his arm a light squeeze. ‘Tilde loves you, Egghead.’

‘Fucking ‘ell.’ He let out a snort. ‘You haven’t called me that in years.’

The two of you made your way down the hall and towards the meeting room. Merlin was already sitting at the table, pens and notepads laid out in front of him. Considering that you’d worked together for years, you hardly knew the man. He was always working, always building new gadgets or arranging missions. Did he ever sleep? You wouldn’t have been surprised if it turned out that he’d been a droid this whole time. Someone had mentioned his name being Hamish once, but he didn’t seem like a Hamish. You always pegged him as more of a...Simon. Or a Mark.

‘You two are late.’ He greeted you.

‘It’s nine o’clock.’ You shot back, dropping into the seat opposite him.

‘Early is on time.’ Merlin folded his arms across his chest. ‘On time is late.’

You rolled your eyes at the agent. ‘You know how London traffic can be.’

Choosing to ignore your comment, the Scotsman hit a few buttons on the table in front of him. The whiteboard in front of you jumped to life, lighting up with a picture of New York City - specifically, Midtown. You’d been to the city several times for work, usually to do recon or on protection details for British politicians before diplomatic visits. Outside of that, any missions in North America were outside of the Kingmen’s authority. That was when it fell to the USA’s secret services - a bunch of people you weren’t particularly fond of working with.

‘Calahan slipped out of the country.’ Merlin stated. ‘He’s been spotted in Manhattan by several of our contacts at the Bureau.’

‘What?!’ You guffawed. ‘I thought we had tabs on him. You told me we had tabs on him-’

‘- let me finish, Percival.’ He cut you off. ‘We let him.’

‘You…’ you scoffed in disbelief. ‘You let a known terrorist escape the borders?! You know that I’ve had tabs on him for months! Are you trying to waste my time?’

‘Calm down, agent!’ Merlin repeated, this time in a more firm tone. It was easy to let your temper get the best of you - but at the same time, it was the very thing that had allowed you to force your colleagues into submission. ‘He has more charges on his back in American jurisdiction. We have a better chance of convicting him over there.’

‘You could have told me that before I spent six months tailing him.’ You dropped back in your chair, folding your arms tightly across your chest.

‘Your mission isn’t over.’ Merlin replied. ‘You know more about Calahan than any men here or across the pond. I want you posted in New York for a few months.’

‘Oh?’ You sat up, interest peaked.

Working internationally was usually the first step to becoming a senior agent. It was one thing to commandeer the respect of your colleagues but to throw your name into the ring on a global scale? That was how you made it big time - and big time meant big time. Your work would go from being based in London, to taking you all over the world. Kingsman who worked on an international level could be in Moscow one day and Bogota the next. Once they retired, they were legends. It was the kind of success you’d dreamed of your whole life.

And New York was the first stepping stone.

‘It’s only if you want it, of course.’ Merlin pulled you from your thoughts. ‘The Statesman have agreed to accommodate you, should you choose to accept.’

‘Statesmen?’ You tried to hide the displeasement in your face. ‘Like...the cowboys?’

‘Is there a problem, Percival?’

‘No!’ You quickly replied. ‘It’s just...I worked with one of them once. It wasn’t great.’

‘Here we go.’ Eggsy murmured from beside you. ‘She witnessed Agent Tequila make tea in the microwave.’

‘And I swore never to work with them again.’ You hissed under your breath, fists clenching.

‘I can see how that would be disturbing.’ Merlin agreed. ‘Though I’m not entirely sure it’s enough reason to turn down a potentially career changing mission.’

‘No, you’re right.’ You nodded. ‘But I can bring my own kettle, right?’

‘I can’t believe you brought your own fucking kettle.’

‘And I can’t believe that Merlin is making me drag you along-’

‘- it’s only for a week.’ Eggsy held his hands up in defense.

Eggsy, who had momentarily forgotten his relationship woes, had been posted out in the city with you for the first five or six days. Merlin and Arthur had been pretty insistent on him joining you - something about making sure you didn’t blow your lid at a cowboy. It was funny, because you were usually the one babysitting him. That being said, deep down you were glad to have him there with you. It would have made settling in a little easier.

You were moving faster than him, the sound of your heels clicking on the marble floors of the Statesman headquarters as you floated towards the front desk. The building was right in central Manhattan, bang in the middle of all the beautiful things New York had to offer. Not that you were going to experience many of them - you were here to work, after all.

‘Percival!’ Agent Tequila was posted by the front desk, a grin spread across his face as your eyes met. ‘And...I know they told me your name, but I’ve forgotten.’

‘He’s Galahad 2.0.’ You stuck your hand out to Tequila, offering him the kettle. ‘This is for you.’

‘A...a kettle?’ The agent gave you an odd look.

‘If I’m going to be working with you for the next few months, I cannot witness you making tea in a microwave.’ You explained. ‘I may murder you in your sleep otherwise.’

‘Jeez, lady.’ He muttered. He would have argued, but if there was one thing he’d learnt from your last collaboration, it was that nobody entered into a fight with you and won. ‘But it’s okay, you’re not with me this time.’

‘Oh?’ You quirked an eyebrow. Tequila began to make his way to the lift, signalling for you and Eggsy to follow.

‘No, you’re with Whiskey this time.’ He explained, pressing the button for the top floor. ‘He’s a little more senior than me.’

‘Whiskey and Tequila?’ Eggsy muttered in your ear. ‘What’s their boss called? Pale ale?’

‘Champagne.’ You replied.

‘Good one.’ He snorted.

‘No, Eggsy.’ You whispered back. ‘He’s actually called Champagne.’

‘Fucking hell.’

Yeah, you thought, that kinda sums it up.

The three of you stepped out the lift and onto the top floor. The views from the windows were almost breath-taking; it wasn’t often that you got to see 360 degree views of one of the most beautiful cities in the world. The skyscrapers stretched out further than the eye could see, eventually melting together in the distance where the sky met the land. It was almost breath-taking just to think about - the people, the opportunities, the magic that New York had to offer. London was your home, and you couldn’t even begin to dream of leaving, but your mind did wander off a little.

‘Whiskey! I got your girl!’ Tequila yelled, pressing a button on an intercom outside one of the offices. He gave Eggsy a quick glance. . ‘And...the other one.’

‘Sweet Jesus, Tequila!’ A strong Southern accent came back. ‘You don’t gotta yell every time you use the fucking thing! I’m gonna be deaf as a goddamn doornail before I’m fifty.’

A moment later, the door to the office opened and Agent Whiskey stepped out. He was about the same height as Tequila, but a little older. He was wearing a cow-boy hat and there was a...was it a swagger? A spring in his step? Either way, the temptation to stick your foot out and stop him in his tracks was overwhelming.

‘Well hello, pretty lady.’ Whiskey greeted you with a shit-eating grin. ‘I hear that you’re the little birdy who’s gonna give me Calahan?’

‘I prefer Percival.’ You monotonously replied. ‘And if I’m the little birdy that’s gonna give you Calahan, then you must be the yankee who stole him from me.’

‘Girl’s gotta bite.’ He gave your hand a shake. ‘I like that.’

‘This is Galahad.’ You pointed to Eggsy, who was inwardly holding his breath at the whole exchange. He was mentally counting down the minutes before you smacked off Whiskey’s cowboy hat. ‘Let’s see if you can acknowledge his gender three times in one breath-’

‘- okay, that’ll do!’ Your best friend pulled you back, taking Whiskey’s hand in place of yours. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Whiskey.’

‘Please, call me Jack.’ The cowboy replied.

‘Whiskey. Jack.’ Eggsy murmured under his breath. ‘Oh my days! Imagine if your surname was Daniels.’

After a brief conversation with Jack about his surname - during which you had seen Eggsy Unwin more entertained than ever before - you were taken down the hall to the agent’s office. Meanwhile, Eggsy and Tequila were escorted off to exchange some files that you’d both gathered.

Whiskey’s office was exactly as you could have predicted; a mixture of dark wood furniture and red tones. The air smelt of his aftershave, with a hint of brandy and earth.

‘Your desk is that one there.’ Whiskey gestured to a slightly smaller set-up in the corner.

‘I don’t get my own office?’

‘Since we’re gonna be working in close proximity, Champ figured it was best we double up.’ He explained. ‘Saves us doing a whole revolving door movement when we gotta talk to one another.’

‘Makes sense.’ You placed your bag on the desk, admiring the view for a moment. All of your files on Calahan had been uploaded to the Statesmen’s online cloud, whilst your other belongings had been delivered to the apartment you were staying in. ‘Nice view.’

‘It ain’t bad.’ Whiskey nodded. ‘You been to this neck of the woods before?’

‘Only when British diplomats need a babysitter.’ You replied.

‘Babysitting?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s what you Kingsmen do? You babysit?’

‘Why d’you think Eggsy is here?’ You shot back. ‘To babysit me.’

‘Now why would a well-mannered redcoat such as yourself need a babysitter?’ He could barely hide the grin in his voice, leaning back against the window as he peered at you over his glasses.

‘How would I put it in your terms?’ You pondered for a moment, offering Whiskey a sweet smile. ‘Is there a Southern term for I eat cowboys alive?’

He gulped. ‘I...I don’t think we got one for that yet.’

You nodded, turning your attention back to staring at the view in front of you. ‘You should come up with one. It might be useful.’

#jack daniels x reader #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey imagine #agent whiskey fluff #jack daniels fluff #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey x you #kingsman imagine #kingsman x reader #eggsy unwin x reader #eggsy unwin imagine

272 notes · View notes

thefinalcinderella · 3 years

Text

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 9 - To Beyond (Part 1)

We’re finally here folks. After two years we’re finally at Hakone and boy is it long

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. JR stands for Japan Railway and refers to the trains operated by the company

Previous | Next

January 2nd, 7:45 a.m.

The start of the Tokyo-Hakone Round-Trip College Ekiden Race was fifteen minutes away.

After the roll call twenty minutes before the start, Prince tried to go down the subway’s pathway again. Earlier in the morning, he had been able to run on the sidewalks above ground to loosen up, but now that was impossible—there was a large crowd of people in front of the Yomiuri Shimbun’s Tokyo headquarters in Otemachi, waiting to watch the start of the Hakone Ekiden.

From the Yomiuri Shimbun’s headquarters to the Wadakura Gate along the inner moat of the Imperial Palace, the sidewalks were lined with walls of people which consisted of cheering squads from each school, staff, and Ekiden fans who were celebrating the New Year with cheerful faces. The echoing sound of drums and the school songs of each school. The colorful flags and banners in the cold wind that eddied around the buildings. The rising noise and excitement.

“Where are you going?” Kiyose, who was accompanying Prince, stopped him. “Your body’s already warmed up. What will you do if you get tired before the race starts?”

“I know, but I feel sort of uneasy when I’m not running.” Prince paced on the spot. “I didn’t think there would be so many people here.”

Kiyose never thought the day would come when he would hear the phrase “I feel uneasy when I’m not running” come out of Prince's mouth. He smiled reassuringly.

“You’ve had plenty of practice. You’ll be fine. Did you go to the bathroom?”

“Many times,” The Yomiuri Shimbun’s staff entrance was open for athletes and officials to use the restroom and change clothes in the waiting room. “It’s always crowded with the runners running in the first leg.”

“You’re not the only one who’s nervous. Don’t worry.”

He couldn't let his body be chilled by the wind. Kiyose took Prince to the back of the newspaper building. There were not many people there, and Kiyose and Prince ran lightly side by side.

The final entries, announced at 7 a.m., were posted on the wall of the building.

“Rikudou didn’t assign Fujioka-san to the second leg.”

Prince tilted his head curiously. Rikudou had put Fujioka as an alternate for the leg entry. Fujioka was the captain of his team and the best runner in Rikudou, but he hadn’t heard any rumors about him getting injured, so he wondered if he wasn’t feeling well. Each school had been paying attention, but Fujioka still wasn't announced in the final entries for the outward journey that morning.

“They probably plan on putting him in the ninth or tenth leg,” Kiyose said.

It seemed that Rikudou was trying to assess the situation carefully; it was thought that if anybody could stop them from winning again this time, it would be Bousou University. In the leg entries, Bousou had made it clear that they were taking the fight to the outward journey.

If Rikudou were to only face the elites of Bousou, the outward journey would be quite a tough battle, even for Rikudou. Perhaps the plan was to hand over the victory for the outward journey to Bousou and take the return trip and the overall victory, which was determined by the total time of the round trip. There was no doubt that Rikudou was trying to decide which leg of the return trip to put Fujioka in depending on their ranking when they reached Lake Ashi and the time difference with Bousou.

“But don’t think about Rikudou right now.” Kiyose lightly pushed Prince’s shoulder. “It’s almost time to go back to the starting point. Do you remember what I told you?”

“Yeah.” Prince nodded vigorously and took off the thick bench coat that reached his knees. The gathered spectators made way for Prince then, who was wearing Kansei’s black and silver uniform.

The cold didn’t bother him anymore. As the first runner, Prince had a sash hanging from his left shoulder—it was black with the words “Kansei University” embroidered in silver thread. The plasterer’s wife had been steadily working on it since they passed the qualifiers.

Prince gently touched the precious sash. It would connect the ten of them and return to this place tomorrow. He definitely wouldn’t let the sash be interrupted midway.

Kiyose adjusted the length of the sash and tucked the extra parts into the waistband of Prince’s shorts so that it wouldn’t get in his way when he was running.

“Prince, sorry for making you go along with us until now,” Kiyose said.

The music being played by the cheering sections grew louder. “Athletes to the starting line!” A staff member called out.

“Haiji-san, I don’t want to hear those kinds of words,” Prince laughed. “Wait for me at Tsurumi.”

Prince entrusted his coat to Kiyose and stood at the starting line along with the nineteen other people running the first leg.

It was 8 a.m. in Otemachi, Tokyo. Clear skies. 1.3 degrees Celsius. 88 percent humidity. Wind from the northwest at 1.1 meters.

For a moment, the area was completely silent, and then the starting gun sounded.

Prince started to run. There was no need to look back. Because Kansei University’s first Hakone Ekiden was only created by advancing down this road.

---

As Kiyose had predicted, the race unfolded at a leisurely pace. With Tokyo Station on the left hand side, they passed Wadakura Gate. The cheers of the spectators and the wind around the buildings tore away at their backs. As the group spread out horizontally, they moved forward along the damp road at a pace of 3 minutes and 7 seconds per kilometer. Even Prince could keep up with this.

Perhaps it was because of the wide road, but it didn’t seem like they were making much progress no matter how much they ran. Around him, he could sense people checking and restraining each other, wondering who would be the first to break out.

“Keep going slowly,” Prince recited in his mind.

The wind blowing through the gap in the buildings made the temperature feel cooler than it was. Remembering Kiyose’s advice, Prince got behind a slightly larger runner from Teitou University; it would be bad for Prince, who had a speed disadvantage, if he had to use his extra strength to secure a place. Having secured a good spot to guard against the wind, Prince concentrated on keeping up with the group.

The pace remained almost the same even after they entered the Daichi Keihin highway from the intersection at Shiba 5-chome. They passed the five kilometer mark at 15 minutes and 30 seconds.

The coaches from each school were following the runners in their coach cars. The coaches were allowed to talk to their runners over a speaker connected to a microphone at the beginning of the race, during the last kilometer, and every five kilometers. However, no coach gave instructions before the five kilometer mark; there was so much tension in the group that it was impossible to speak out carelessly.

Rikudou and Bousou were battling for the lead, but every time they tried to put on a spurt, they repeatedly got swallowed up by the group. The first leg was 21.3 kilometers long and it was only the start of the Hakone Ekiden. If you failed in putting on a spurt and got worn out here, it would trouble the runners in the following legs, and the mentality of not being able to take the plunge was swirling through the group.

Forgetting about the presence of the lead car and the TV cameras, Prince moved forward desperately, but with a composed expression on his face.

At the same time, Kiyose had just transferred to the Keihin Express after having arrived in Shinagawa from Tokyo Station on the JR line. (1) Holding Prince’s bench coat, he put the radio earphones in his ears. Picking up the sound from the TV and learning that the group hadn’t broken up yet, Kiyose let out a small shout of “Yes!” He drew attention from the passengers around him, but he couldn’t care less.

The TV announcer and commentator spoke as though they were bewildered by the slow pace.

“There has been no change in the race at all.”

“I think the stronger runners can be more aggressive and go for the record.”

“You don’t have to say unnecessary things,” Kiyose snapped without thinking. The slow pace is fine. Nobody make any moves. Run as a group for as long as you can.

His phone rang. He looked at the display and saw that it was the landlord in the coach car. Kiyose hurriedly pressed the button, wondering if Prince had begun to drop out.

“I don’t know what to do, Haiji,” the landlord said easily.

“What’s wrong?”

“They’ll be at ten kilometers soon. Should I shout something at Prince?”

“Does it look like he’s having trouble?”

Kiyose gripped his phone.

“No? He just passed Yatsuyama Bridge, but he’s holding on well. The group is still staying in a horizontal line.”

“Then you don’t have to say anything.”

The Yatsuyama Bridge was just before the eight-kilometer mark. There were gentle ups and downs as they crossed the railroad tracks on an elevated level. If they were still in a horizontal line after that, they should be able to stay like that until they reached Rokugo Bridge, the most difficult point in the first leg. Endure it, Prince. Kiyose called out in his mind.

“But what kind of coach would I be if I just sat in the car and stayed silent?” The landlord seemed bored. “It’s like I’m just driving to Hakone.”

“All you have to do is to be at the ready. If Prince is having a hard time, encourage him.”

“How? I can’t sing the school song, I’m tone deaf.”

“No coach would encourage their runners with the school song nowadays,” Kiyose sighed. “In that case, I want you to give him a message from me: ‘I have something I want to tell you. So come to Tsurumi even if you have to crawl.’”

Prince heard that message at the fifteen-kilometer mark. The landlord in the coach car, with a microphone in his hand, shouted that at him in a hoarse voice.

What do you want to tell me? Let me hear it.

His breathing was becoming more and more labored, but Prince felt inspired again. He had also been successful in receiving water, at which point he was informed by a member of the short-distance track and field team that “this kilometer was exactly three minutes.” The pace was speeding up. As expected, victory would be decided at Rokugo Bridge, which was the 17.8-kilometer mark.

After twelve kilometers, there had been a situation where the race seemed likely to move—the runner from Eurasia University had made a move and the group had stretched out vertically. However, Rikudou and Bousou had quickly followed, and the others had chased after them like they were being dragged along. Ultimately, no one dropped out of the group.

In this situation, the Rokugo Bridge would decide everything. Prince could tell that everyone tacitly understood that.

Rokugo Bridge was a large bridge over the Tama River, and it was 446.2 meters long. There was an uphill climb to reach the bridge and a downhill climb to get off the bridge. The ups and downs were physically demanding after running nearly twenty kilometers.

When he finally started to climb the slope of the Rokugo Bridge, Prince's legs suddenly became heavy; he couldn’t believe how steep the slope felt. Prince gasped and swung his arms to try to move his body forward.

At that moment, there was a change in the rhythm of the group. The breathing of the strongest runners suddenly became quiet, and right at the moment Prince realized “it's coming,” the Yokohama University runner put on a spurt. Bousou and Rikudou followed suit.

The group quickly broke apart and stretched out vertically. What stamina these guys have! Prince couldn’t do anything but stare in amazement at the growing distance between him and the rest of the group. He wanted to keep up with them, but it was impossible; as they descended Rokugo Bridge, the top group was getting faster and faster.

“Don’t rush. If you can keep up with them until Rokugo Bridge, there won’t be much of a time difference. Besides that, just think about running at your own pace.”

Kiyose’s instructions before the start of the race came back to mind.

That’s right, I just started doing track. No matter what kind of spurts other people do, I can only run with all my might.

He was already about a hundred meters away from the head of the group, but Prince didn’t give up—didn’t get pessimistic—and ran patiently.

Just started, huh? So, am I going to continue doing track? Even though I’m in so much pain because I got dragged into it.

Prince opened his mouth for oxygen and a small laugh slipped through as he exhaled.

The gentle and warm morning sun shone down on him from the front.

---

At the Tsurumi relay station, Kakeru and Musa were huddled together, looking at the screen of a portable TV—an electronics store in the shopping district had lent it to them for free.

“Oh, Prince-san has been outstripped,” Musa said sadly, staring at the TV in Kakeru’s hand like he wanted to see Prince disappearing from the screen for as long as he could.

“But there shouldn't be much time difference from the top runners.” With Prince’s heroic figure properly burned into his eyes, Kakeru looked up. “Musa-san, let’s catch up in the second leg.”

“Yes. I will do my best.”

It was about time for the first leg runners to arrive at the Tsurumi relay station. Musa took off his woolen hat and scarf. The temperature was 3.3 degrees Celsius. There was almost no wind, and it was clear, but it was still bitterly cold for Musa. He had consulted with Kakeru and decided to wear arm covers that would cover everything from his wrist to his elbow; this way, if it got too hot, he could take them off and just wear his running uniform.

“Did you drink enough water? Even if you think it’s cold, you don’t want to get dehydrated while you’re running.”

“If I drink any more water, I would have to urinate standing up while I run.”

Musa laughed. This was the first time he had used words like “urinate standing up.” “It doesn’t suit you,” Kakeru also laughed.

The voices of the announcer and commentator came from the portable TV Kakeru was holding.

“In the second leg, each school is fielding their ace or ace-level runner. Eleven out of the twenty runners can run ten-thousand meters in twenty-eight minutes. Four international students are also making their appearance here.”

“Manas from Bousou University, Iwanki from Koufu Gakuin University, Jomo from Saikyou University, and Musa from Kansei University.”

When his name was spoken, Musa and Kakeru looked at the TV. They saw themselves on the screen. They looked around in surprise and saw a TV crew approaching them from behind. Musa smiled awkwardly at the TV camera.

“Kansei’s Musa is a bit unique: he is a government-sponsored engineering student and it seems that until last year, he had no experience in track and field. Kansei is taking on Hakone with only ten runners, but most of them have no experience with track.”

“I can’t believe they were able to make it this far. It’s quite a feat.”

The screen cut to the studio, where the commentator was nodding in agreement. “They must have put a lot of effort into their training.”

“The Kansei team is rich with individuality. I am looking forward to seeing how they will perform in their first ever Hakone.”

The screen cut to a commercial and the TV crew left. Oh no, Musa seems to be getting nervous again now that he got introduced on TV, Kakeru thought.

Kakeru’s phone rang. It was from Shindou, who was at the Odawara relay station to run the fifth leg. As soon as he pressed the answer button, Kakeru passed the phone to Musa.

“Musa, you were on TV!” Shindou said. He sounded very muffled.

“How is your cold?” Musa asked worriedly, and Kakeru also leaned in to listen. Shindou had gotten a fever on New Year’s Eve and still hadn't been feeling well that morning.

“I’m fine. Are you okay, Musa? You’re probably nervous right now.”

“Yes, a little bit,” Musa answered. Could Shindou see what was going on at the Tsurumi relay station? Kakeru was stunned at the depth of the bond between Musa and Shindou.

“Hey, Musa. Think about something fun,” Shindou said in a nasal voice. “Once this is over, it’s finally New Year’s for us. I’m thinking of going home to my parents’ house during winter break. Do you want to come with me, Musa?”

“Is that okay? You’ll be spending time with your family, won’t you?”

“My parents are waiting for you to come and visit. We live in the boonies where there’s nothing, so there’s nothing to do there except building snowmen.”

“What is a ‘snowman’?”

“That’s right, you've never made one. Then, it’s settled. Let’s go back to my home together.”

“Yes,” Musa nodded. “Thank you very much, Shindou-san.”

After hanging up, Musa’s eyes showed no more hesitation or fear. The cheering along the road grew even louder—they could probably see the runners now. Kakeru and Musa approached the road.

Kiyose came running from Keikyu Tsurumi-Ichiba Station carrying a bench coat. He saw Kakeru and Musa and exhaled loudly, saying, “I made it in time?”

“Musa, how are you feeling?”

“I am feeling good,” Musa assured them strongly. Kiyose checked his expression and his shoelaces, and made sure there was nothing out of place.

“Good. Prince will probably come here in last place. But don’t get shaken by that and just run as usual.”

“If we are in last place, then I will feel better, because we cannot get any worse than that,” Musa joked. “Besides, I am more comfortable chasing than being chased.”

“That’s the spirit,” Kakeru said, accepting Musa’s bench coat.

The Rikudou runner arrived at the Tsurumi relay station in the lead. The relay station was set up in front of a police box along Route 1—it was a nondescript tree-lined street, and since it was straight and level, one could clearly see the runners arriving one after the other.

The staff member who received the message hurriedly called out the school names. The runners of the first leg came in that order, so runners of the second leg went to the relay line to wait for their teammates.

Rikudou’s sash was relayed from the first-leg to the second-leg runner. His time was one hour four minutes and thirty-six seconds from the start at Otemachi. After him came Yokohama, Bousou, and Eurasia, handing over their sashes in that order with almost no time difference. It was a very close race, as the runners had been clustered together until the end.

Musa bent down. Kakeru leaned out into the road. One after another, the runners of the first leg came and handed over their sashes, and the runners of the second leg ran out of the Tsurumi relay station. There was still no sign of Prince. It was thirty seconds since Rikudou had passed.

“It’s Prince-san!”

In the shadow of the competition cars, they saw Prince, running with his teeth clenched. The staff member was calling out the names of the schools that were still at the relay station at the same time. “I am going,” Musa said. He stepped out onto the road and stood on the relay line.

Musa turned towards Prince and raised his hand. Prince was running desperately while swinging his arms, but when he noticed Musa’s figure, as though remembering, he removed his sash from his shoulder. The elastic waistband of his shorts snapped lightly against his side as though to scold him.

Just a little more, just a little more.

“Prince-san! Prince-san!”

Musa and Kakeru were shouting. Kiyose was standing next to Kakeru, waiting patiently for Prince to arrive.

After crossing the relay line, Prince put the sash he had been gripping in Musa’s hand as Musa began to run. The sash connected the two of them for a moment, and then it quickly slipped through Prince’s fingertips.

My heart hurts. I can’t even keep my eyes open. I wonder if this wild breathing belongs to me?

Prince stopped and pitched forward, almost falling, but then realized he was caught in someone’s arms.

“I take back what I said to you at Otemachi,” Kiyose’s voice was right next to him. “I wanted to say this to you: Thank you for coming all the way here with us.”

“You passed,” Prince muttered.

Kakeru and Kiyose took the Keihin Express to Yokohama and then the JR to Odawara. Since they were short of hands, they planned to go on ahead to Lake Ashi and meet with Shindou, who was running the fifth leg.

They were worried about leaving the exhausted Prince at the Tsurumi relay station, but Prince told them this:

“You two, just leave me behind and go to Hakone. I already finished running. When I can walk again, I’ll go to the hotel on my own.”

Prince had the role of keeping track of the race on TV in a hotel near Yokohama Station. Kiyose and Kakeru were also planning on returning from Hakone that night and staying in the same hotel to prepare for tomorrow’s race.

After rehydrating, Prince managed to get up, so Kakeru and Kiyose left the Tsurumi relay station.

The bench coat Kiyose had brought from Otemachi was once again being worn by Prince. Now, Kakeru was carrying Musa’s bench coat. Shindou would be wearing it after his climb. If they just barely had enough manpower, they also just barely had enough clothing.

On the second day of January, the seats on the Tokaido Line were almost all filled with people running after the Hakone Ekiden and families who seemed to be going for the first shrine visit of the New Year. Kakeru spotted an empty box seat and sat Kiyose in it. Kiyose took out a notepad and ballpoint pen from the pocket of his bench coat.

“Prince’s time?”

“One hour five minutes and thirty-seven seconds,” Kakeru answered after checking with the stopwatch function on his watch. Kiyose wrote down the data on the notepad.

“The time difference with Doujidou University, which was right in front of us, is eleven seconds. The difference with Rikudou, which is in the top position, is one minute and one second. We still have plenty of chances. Prince fought bravely.”

Kansei’s sash was handed over from Prince to Musa at the Tsurumi relay station, and they were in twentieth place out of the twenty teams competing. The Kanto Athletic Union’s selected team, which was made up of runners who had participated in the qualifiers, would use the individual times of each runner as an official record, but wouldn’t enter the rankings as a team. Therefore, Kansei was ranked nineteenth, but when they finished running the first leg, they were still unmistakably in last place in both name and reality.

But Kiyose was right: it was a time difference that could be overturned. The slow-paced development was a blessing for Prince and Kansei. The race had only just begun.

Kakeru was carrying the portable TV, but reception in the train was bad. “Try this one,” Kiyose told him, and gave him the radio. Right when he was twisting the knobs to try to get sound, Kiyose’s phone got a message. It was from King in the Totsuka relay station, who was with Jouta, the one running the third leg.

“Haiji, we’ve got a big problem! Look at the TV!”

“I can’t,” Kiyose said.

Previous | Next

#Kaze ga tsuyoku fuiteiru #kazetsuyo #kazetsuyo translations #run with the wind

34 notes · View notes

woman-loving · 4 years

Text

I don’t identity as a “bi lesbian,” but I feel there is room for a woman to identify as both bisexual and gay/lesbian, and I don’t agree with the arguments I’ve seen against “bi lesbian” identity.

One thing that annoys me about detractors of the identity is the occasional claim that it is basically an internet phenomenon that arose within the last five years or so. Actually, women have been claiming both bisexual and lesbian identities for decades. There have constantly been debates about how bi women fit within lesbianism, lesbian identity, and lesbian community since the gay/lesbian movements have been active. This isn’t something that has ever been universally agreed upon, and there never will be universal agreement on it.

Just for reference and historical interest, I’ve compiled a few selections from articles and books, mostly from the 80s and 90s, that are by or about lesbian-identified (or gay-identified) bisexual woman, or that at least mention them. Inclusion doesn’t indicate my approval of the author’s perspective or argument; this is to provide a bit of history on the discourse.

What is a Lesbian? To me, a lesbian is a woman-oriented woman; bisexuals can be lesbians. A lesbian does not have to be exclusively woman oriented, she does not have to prove herself in bed, she does not have to hate men, she does not have to be sexually active at all times, she does not have to be a radical feminist. She does not have to like bars, like gay culture, or like being gay. When lesbians degrade other lesbians for not going to bars, not coming out, being bisexual or not sexually active, and so on, we oppress each other.

--Trish Miller, "Bisexuality," Lavender Woman, Vol 2 Issue 5, August 1973.

The definition of lesbian that I suggest, one that conforms to the two methodological considerations above, is the following:

5. Lesbian is a woman who has sexual and erotic-emotional ties primarily with women or who sees herself as centrally involved with a community of self-identified lesbians whose sexual and erotic-emotional ties are primarily with women; and who is herself a self-identifed lesbian.

My definition is a sociopolitical one; that is, it attempts to include in the term lesbian the contemporary sense of lesbianism as connected with a subcultural community, many members of which are opposed to defining themselves as dependent on or subordinate to men. It defines both bisexual and celibate women as lesbians as long as they identify themselves as such and have their primary emotional identification with a community of self-defined lesbians. Furthermore, for reasons I will outline shortly, there was no lesbian community in which to ground a sense of self before the twentieth century, a fact which distinguishes the male homosexual community from the lesbian community. Finally, it is arguable that not until this particular stage in the second wave of the women’s movement and in the lesbian-feminist movement has it been politically feasible to include self-defined lesbian bisexual women into the lesbian community.

Many lesbian feminists may not agree with this inclusion. But it may be argued that to exclude lesbian bisexuals from the community on the grounds that “they give energy to men” is overly defensive at this point. After all, a strong women’s community does not have to operate on a scarcity theory of nurturant energy! On feminist principles the criterion for membership in the community should be a woman’s commitment to giving positive erotic-emotional energy to women. Whether women who give such energy to women can also give energy to individual men (friends, fathers, sons, lovers) is not the community’s concern.

--Ann Ferguson, “Patriarchy, Sexual Identity, and the Sexual Revolution,” Signs, Autumn 1981.

Individuals who came together a month ago to discuss bisexuality and its relationship to radical feminism decided recently to begin a serious, regular study group on human sexuality and its social/political/psychological manifestations in our culture.

There are eight of us in the group. For all, understanding bisexuality, both in our own lives and and in our society, is a primary goal. To this end, we decided on a format of readings and discussion, with a facilitator for each meeting, that would bring us through the range of sexual options available in the United States today, from male-identified heterosexuality to lesbianism, to a final informed examination of bisexuality in the context of all that we had learned. Throughout our exploration, feminism will provide both a point of departure, and a point of return.

We started by trying to define some terms, specifically "feminism," "gay-identified bisexual," and "bisexual". Alot of us were amazed to see how many different interpretations each term, especially "gay-identified," could have. Is someone "gay-identified" because they devote a majority of their time, energy and emotion to the gay community? Or does an individual's radical critique of heterosexuality make them "gay-identified"? And does "gay-identified" also imply "women-identified"? Some people felt that one could be gay-identified, and still not be woman-identified. And exactly how many Meg Christian concerts make you "lesbian-identified"?

We didn't reach any conclusions, but had fun realizing that being bisexuals, we are dealing with a whole realm of experiences that can be classified in any number of different ways; and that the variety of possible bisexual lifestyles is as varied as the women who are in the Network.

--Barb H, “Study Group,” BBWN, Vol. 2 No. 4, July-Aug 1984

I recognize that homophobia is at the root of biphobia. I came to lesbianism long before my sexuality was clear to me. I lived an open lesbian lifestyle for four years. I cannot deny the importance of this experience, nor do I want to. For me lesbian identity is more than, and/or in addition to sexuality; it is a political awareness which bisexuality doesn't altar or detract from. 10 years ago when I left my husband and full-time role of motherhood, it didn't make me less conscious of what being a mother means. In fact, it gave me a deeper understanding. I am still a mother. That experience cannot be taken away from me. In much the same way, my lesbian awareness isn't lost now that I claim my bisexuality. When I realized my woman-loving-woman feelings, and came out as a lesbian, I had no heterosexual privilege; yet there were important males in my life, including a son. I am bisexual because it's real for me, not in order to acquire or flaunt the privilege that is inherent in being with men. My political consciousness is lesbian but my lifestyle is bisexual. If I keep myself quiet for another's sense of pride and liberation, it is at the cost of my own which isn't healthy--emotionally, politically or medically. Not only is it unhealthy, it's ineffective.

Since I have come out I have triggered many lesbians to blurt in whispered confidence--"I have a man in the closet. You're brave to be so open. What am I going to do?" These are not easy times. AIDS has given biphobia free reign in the lesbian community (and admittedly with much less destructive effect than how AIDS is fueling homophobia in society at large), it is all right to trash bisexuals, not to trust us for fear of AIDS. Bisexuals are untouchable to some lesbians.

We have to deal with oppression in a constructive way or we will be factionalized forever. Time is running out. We have to see the whole and the part we play in it. Forming family communities with people who share your sexual identity is important, but trashing is nonproductive. The sexual choices we make are equally valid for our individual experiences. AIDS is not a gay disease; it is a human tragedy, a plague that doesn't recognize boundaries. I urge bisexuals to take a political stand, and to become a visible, viable energy force. It is important and timely to open this dialogue in each of our communities. Nobody belongs in the closet. The only way to get a sense of "our" community is for us to begin to speak out and identify ourselves. When we verify the connections and the networks of our oppression, we build a unity that avoids the, "I'm more oppressed than you" syndrome

--Lani Kaahumanu, “Bisexuality & Discrimination,” BBWN Vol. 3, No. 6, Dec 1985-Jan 1986; Reprinted from the 1985 Gay Pride March magazine, San Francisco

What makes the Third Annual Northeast Conference on Bisexuality what it is? The breakfasts and dinners--the entertainment--the excitement of meeting others who feel like family. My first event of the conference was stumbling onto a cocktail party just around the corner from the Registration Desk, which turned out to be part of the Woman's History Week! A bit embarrassing after greeting many people with wine glasses in hand, asking them how they heard about the bisexuality conference!

I'll skip now to describe my experiences at the lesbian-identified affinity group and the two workshops I attended. Why do women who identify as lesbians go to a bisexuality conference? There were about 10 of us in the room, each with a different answer. Most of our relationships at the present time were with women; after that the similarity ended. One woman had affairs with men when not seriously involved with women. Another, in a non-monogamous long-term lesbian relationship, had recently begun a sexual involvement with a man. one woman, now involved with a bisexual woman, was here to discuss her feelings about the situation. Some of us had led exclusively lesbian lives for a number of years and were wondering if we'd closed off important parts of ourselves. Whether or not we would act on our sexual attractions for men, acknowledging them were important to us.

Our personal herstories contributed to our diverse opinions. For some, coming out was relaxed and easy and relationships with women refreshingly egalitarian. Others found sexual awakening and coming out difficult, and lesbian relationships fraught with many of the same difficulties as straight ones. We also discussed reasons lesbians don't accept bisexual women, such as fear that she'd leave for a man or desire to preserved woman-only space. We questioned the reality of "heterosexual privilege," wondering whether any women could really have it. We discussed the sorrows in our lives, such as family histories of alcoholism, incest or physical abuse, and the joys of our relationships, our work and our lives.

--Stacie, “Lesbian-identified Affinity Group Workshops: Lesbian Sexuality & Politics of Sexuality,” BBWN, Vol. 4, No. 2, April-May 1986

[Robyn Ochs]: What is your current sexual identity?

[Betty Aubut]: I call myself a "bisexual lesbian." I will always politically identify as bisexual, which to me means opposing restrictive categories. Some days I feel real separatist, and other days I feel that I want to be involved with men. Being bisexual to me means that I see men and women whom I'm attracted to. A man would have to be very special for me to want to get involved with him but I will fight for bisexual rights whether or not I'm sleeping with men. I see the bisexual community and movement as a very important bridge between gays, lesbian and straights. As long as gays and lesbians are considered completely 'other' from the mainstream, we'll never have any power. I consider myself gay. I think bisexuals are gay and gay liberation is our liberation. I don't consider myself 100% straight and 100% gay; I am 100% gay. That doesn't mean I won't sleep with a man every now and then--some lesbians do that. I never used to identify as lesbian out of respect for women who made the lifelong choice never to sleep with men, but then I realized that was a lot of bullshit. Calling yourself lesbian does not necessarily mean you have made that lifelong decision. Now I mostly identify as a lesbian--so I call myself a bisexual lesbian. I don't sleep with men right now, but I have male friends whom I spend time with and cuddle with. I've even become socially involved with some of the men from the men's network. I'm proud of where I am now because it's been so hard for me. People who have known me for a long time can't believe the change.

--Robyn Ochs, “Bi of the Month: Betty Aubut,” Bi Women Vol. 5, No. 2, April-May, 1987

Sharon Sumpter is a bisexual lesbian activist and psychotherapist who works with women survivors of abuse, institutionalization and sexual oppression. Her book-in-progress, In Pieces, is dedicated to opening the closet doors for former "mental patients." "I went into my work to undo the criminal things that were done to me and that I saw done to other women." She thanks Deena Metzger and Asherah for this, her first published work.

--Contributors' Notes, Sinister Wisdom, Issue 36, Winter 1988/89

Representatives of lesbian-feminist separatism may feel singled out as special targets of our anger and distress. To the extent that this is true, the seeds of anger lie in lesbian separatism as a politic: In this reading of feminism, specific sex acts take on politicized meaning. These are said to have consequences for the consciousness of the person performing them. Lesbian feminism is arguably the most proscriptive gay or lesbian politic, generating in its adherents the greatest tendency to judge others' (especially sexual) behavior. Gay men, for example, seem more likely to cite personal antipathy or simple stereotypes about bisexuals as a source of their chagrin. A great many bisexual women, particularly those who are feminist and lesbian-identified, have felt both personally and politically rejected and judged by the separatist sisters. Even those with no such experience may feel wary having heard of other bisexual women's stories. No one like to feel attacked, even politically.

----Carol A. Queen, "Strangers at Home: Bisexuals in the queer movement," Out/Look, Vol. 4, Issue 4 (16), Spring 1992

Closer to Home successfully deals with these and other problems of self-identification. As most of the writers are "lesbian-identified bisexuals" (one of several labels used for the sake of convenience), the definition of lesbianism is also reevaluated. Is a lesbian a woman who relates emotionally and erotically with women or a woman who does not relate emotionally and erotically with men? Must a woman fit both criteria to be considered a lesbian?

The "Principles and Practice" section expands these main course theories of identity with side dishes of memories and personal feelings--feelings of not being queer enough; of breaking all the rules, even the gay rules; of being dissatisfied with the waste of energy from political infighting. It's odd for lesbian-identified bi's to find themselves viewed as politically incorrect. It's maddening to have one's past feminist work invalidated by the inclusion of a man (or men) in one's life. It's frustrating to find oneself faced with a choice of being honest or potentially losing support of women's groups. It's confusing to work for the freedom to come out of one closet only to be asked to stay in another. As Rebecca Shuster write:

"If we choose a lesbian identity, we are subject to systematic oppression and internalize that oppression in a package that includes marginality; invisibility; isolation...; and countercultural rules about how to relate to women and men. If we choose a bisexual identity, we are subject to systematic oppression and internalize that oppression in a package deal that include a feeling of not belonging or having a home; defensiveness; isolation...; and countercultural rules about how to relate to women and men. Precisely because bisexuality represents freedom of choice, society ensures that the identity comes with its own package of mistreatment and constraints."

----Beth Herrick, "Bisexual Women Pushing the Limits," Sojourner, Vol. 18, Issue 10, June 1993

The first step is to move toward building alliances within our bisexual communities. Many communities are united by a commonality of the oppression. This is not so in our community, partly because of the different ways people identify as bisexual: gay-identified, queer-identified, lesbian-identified, or heterosexual-identified. Some people are bisexual in an affectional manner only; some are bisexual both affectionally and sexually; and some are bisexual only sexually. Since there are so many ways to express our bisexuality, the first step toward alliance-building is to work internally to accept all members of our own community. It is imperative that we build alliances across our own differences; otherwise, alliance-building will fail. Acceptance of the diversity of bisexual labels within our community will allow us to pursue alliance-building with decisive strength in the heterosexual community and what many of us consider our own lesbian/gay community.[3]

--Brenda Blasingame, "Power and Privilege Beyond the Invisible Fence, in Bisexual Politics: Theories, Queries, and Visions, 1995

Personally, I am unable to separate out the various ways that I am oppressed (as a woman, as an African American, as a bisexual lesbian, as an impoverished single mother) and say that one oppression is worse than the other, or that I desire one form of liberation more than another. I do not want to experience threats to my life, my child custody, or my job security because of racism or homophobia. I don't want to be oppressed for any reason!!!

--Dajenya, "Which Part of Me Deserves to Be Free?," in Bisexual Politics: Theories, Queries, & Visions, ed. Naomi Tucker, 1995

A good deal of criticism has been written about heterosexuals who are surprised when they find out the true sexual orientation of someone who they didn't think "looked gay." These criticism assert what is of course true--that there is no such thing as a gay or lesbian "look," since of course, everyone who is gay, lesbian or bisexual, looks that way.

Unfortunately, many of my experiences as a lesbian-identified bisexual woman have said to me that having an appearance or demeanor that diverges from the expected means I will not be accepted as truly belonging in the lesbian community. Despite my attendance at gay pride parade, dollars spent at gay resorts and in support of gay causes, and numerous attempts to participate in gay and/or lesbian groups and volunteer events, I have often felt unaccepted by this community.

--Amy Wyeth, "Don't Assume Anything," Bi Women Vol. 13, No. 4, Aug/Sept 1995

Joan Tollifson relays her struggle to make sense of her life and her spiritual awakening in Bare-Bones Meditation. Born with only one hand, she grew up feeling different, found identity and purpose as a bisexual lesbian and a disability rights activist, but struggled with drug and alcohol addiction. She first embraced Zen Buddhism then a very bare-bones form of spirituality that has no form. This exuberant and amazing testament is for the many people who don't fit into the conventional molds of existing religious traditions.

--"And on Publisher's Row," complied by Jenn Tust, Feminist Bookstore News, Vol. 19, Issue 4, Nov-Dec 1996

#bisexuality #bi lesbian

489 notes · View notes

linalove4561 · 3 years

Text

okay so basically this is me being an actual conspiracy theorist but I've been hyperfixating on Adam god damn Stanheight for about eight months now and I have some god damn theories about his own game , why he lost , and how he was a vital part of Lawrence's game.

{ Disclaimer , idk what the saw fandom has come up with since 2004 , if Leigh whannell himself said the exact shit from his lips I am not aware and I'm just like rambling }

honestly don't read this if you're not as obsessive as i am because this is about to be long as fuck.

OKAY !!!!!!!!

Let me start this with the main key points of both their tapes, in reference to Adam and Adam alone.

Adam's tape explained his reason for being tested was not just for his seedy job. But for being angry and not ever acting for himself.

If you're angry enough to have it mentioned in your Jigsaw tape, you're too angry for life.

Specifically in Lawrence's tape is the fact that all it fucking said was to kill Adam.

That's where all of my arguments will come from.

We have seen trap victims who themselves were not being tested. We've seen a million of them.

We also know Adam was technically given a key, despite how odd and impossible it seemed for Adam to actually keep it from going down that drain.

He was still supposed to have a way out after the test had ended.

And lets go ahead and say that the key was always supposed to be drained, that entire idea of him being a person used as leverage for Lawrence before he's set free is bullshit, that's fine !!!

Because despite the end of the trap, Adam had very clearly been given his reasons for being tested. He knew Lawrence was meant to kill him.

Adam was told he was a voyeur. He sat back and watched life happen around him, never actively participating. Detached and observing others and implementing him into reality, but never directly.

Adam was told to take control of his own fate.

Adam has everything on his side of the bathroom needed for Lawrence to actively succeed with the help of hints.

He was the only one who could reach the tape player. The saws and photos were on his side.

Lawrence has his wallet and the words on the back of that picture. Should Adam never give Lawrence a thing, all he would have was X marks the spot.

That box. And Adam would know at that point that Lawrence was supposed to kill him had he let Lawrence's tape be played.

He would know better to take anything from that man. To stay alive.

Adam, instead, continued to go through the motions. He let Lawrence figure out where the saws were. He let Lawrence have one of those fucking saws. He let Lawrence know about the X and the lights. He let Lawrence know fucking everything and anything he could to be sure Lawrence had the mentality to get them both out of there.

{ can i add here adam listened to everything lawrence said, about getting the tape player, about giving him a saw, about playing his little acting game I didn't know where else to fit this in but it's part of the argument that Adam didn't do shit for himself }

Sitting back. A third party. Waitng for his trap partner to put pieces together for him, and giving him every God damn piece of the puzzle when they hit a dead end.

The picture of Ali and Diana. Revealing himself and who he was. Giving Lawrence any knowledge he needed if it meant LAWRENCE could move forward with him following behind. Always one step behind

Trusting the man who is meant to kill him to instead take charge of his very life that had been placed in Lawrence's hands -- to save him. Not for him to save himself.

Watching and interacting indirectly or not at all when given the chance to be a sardonic and unhelpful asshole.

So that's the first thing, y'know ?

He was told to take control and save his life, not to watch himself die. And he did just that. He watched Lawrence Gordon saw himself away to a gun, and gave and watched Lawrence Gordon do so of his own free will.

He gave Lawrence the tools to succeed out of a cowardly, dependant nature. Never in his own life. Always in someone else's. Living off of others and exploiting them.

He did the exact opposite of what he was directed towards.

THAT'S NOT IT THOUGH !!!!

Like I said, the fact that Adam's fucking anger had to be pointed out in a FUCKING JIGSAW TAPE.

That means it's bad. Adam has said it in the trap himself about his girlfriend leaving him for it.

And he didn't even have to say it. He spent half the trap screaming at Lawrence. If he wasn't screaming, he was throwing saws, breaking glass, and threatening to cut Lawrence.

Screaming at an unknown figure.

Screaming at his frustrations. Every fucking thing he says is harsh and biting until he silently resigns himself to this shit.

He never wasn't angry. He never was taking charge.

I honestly fucking believe with all my heart had Adam done what he should have, what was asked of Jigsaw. And it really wasn't much. It was urging him to calm down. To take in his situation. His tools. And to get himself out. Lawrence be damned to Hell.

He had the tools. He had a saw. He had the ability to do an Eric Matthews. He had six fucking hours to get his shit together. To get himself out. To save his own life.

The only thing he actively did to move towards his freedom that wasn't on Lawrence's shoulders was kill Zep.

And saying all that he heard that fucking tape and then did

THE EXACT FUCKING OPPOSITE.

And you're all like , well what the fuck then if Adam wasn't killed by Lawrence and Lawrence didn't kill Adam, the fuck does Lawrence get to live for?

You know why he gets to live?

Despite the time limit being up, Lawrence showed his desire to live. Lawrence did something unthinkable to save and get to different human lives. Lawrence cauterized his own fucking amputated foot.

John had plans for Lawrence as soon as he took him into his trap, and none of us can deny that fact. So long as he won the game.

He didn't quite so much win, but he did do what Jigsaw always wants.

Someone to prove their desire and willingness to do anything to live or to save anyone else.

And y'know what Adam was?

Adam was a fucking key for Lawrence.

Adam had his ways to win that trap without that key.

And he chose to remain a screaming, closed off asshole who relied on someone else to get him help after watching them do anything that needed to be done in that trap.

That is Adam's game over.

Not the key.

His way of handling that trap.

{ Added ; There is no fucking scenario where they both live. Either Lawrence leaves Adam to rot, or Adam leaves him to rot. If Lawrence Gordon lives, there is no reality in which Adam would be free. }

~ feel free to talk and discuss because this is just my interpretation and I wanted to share ~

#saw #adam stanheight #lawrence gordon #jigsaw #ayyyye hyperfixation time #guys im an adam simp i mean him no harm but come one he's a meany #he's actually a scumbag but he's our scumbag

31 notes · View notes

kinda-just-chillin-here · 4 years

Text

Greek Mythology and Julie & the Phantoms

My first watch through of Julie and the Phantoms (JATP), I noticed a few similarities and parallels to certain myths within Greek mythology. On my million rewatches, I paid more attention to see if there were others. This post is all my observations of the parallels, as well as a few possible theories for season 2 the writers could follow for certain storylines. This is a ridiculously long read, I apologize.

**Disclaimers:

There are spoilers, so if you haven’t finished watching for the first time yet, don’t read this.

The content in Greek myths can vary depending on the source. This is largely due to the fact they are just super old. So some of the myths might be slightly different. I did my best just to compare to the gist of the myth.

I’m going to refer to Luke, Reggie, and Alex together as either Sunset Curve or the boys to save space.

I apologize for any typos and mistakes; midterm season has left me with an empty head.

1. Orpheus

Obviously a major motif in the first season is the Orpheum. Orpheum literally means House of Orpheus.

Background information of Orpheus:

His mother is Calliope (muse of epic poetry), and depending on the version of the story, his father is either Apollo (god of the sun, healing, music, medicine, archery, and poetry) or King Oeagrus of Thrace.

Orpheus was considered to be one of the greatest musicians. He had a “divinely gifted voice that could charm anyone who heard it,” no god or mortal could resist his music.

Let’s look at some of his myths.

Orpheus and Eurydice:

The basic summary of this myth is that Eurydice, Orpheus’ wife, died after being bitten by snakes while running away from a man, Aristaeus, or a satyr (depends on source) who wanted her for himself. Devastated, Orpheus began singing sad songs until he was advised by nymphs to go to the Underworld and bring her back. After singing to Hades and Persephone, they agreed to let Eurydice return to the main world. However, they warned him not to look back before they both entered the light of the surface. He happily began his trek back to the surface. When Orpheus reached the exit, Eurydice in toe, he turned around to see her, anxious to make sure it wasn’t a trick, that she was really there. Only, Eurydice was still in the Underworld, she hadn’t crossed over yet. Orpheus turning around when he did, caused Eurydice to remain in the underworld.

So who’s who?

Julie = Orpheus (talented musician and desperate to save their love from the Underworld)

Sunset Curve = Eurydice (dead and trapped)

Caleb = Aristaeus and Hades (wants Eurydice/Sunset Curve for himself; controls the place the dead are)

Hollywood Ghost Club (HGC) = The Underworld

How do they relate? Stand Tall (s1e09) is where it all goes down.

Like Aristaeus, Caleb is pursing Sunset Curve because he wants them for himself (and Caleb is also threaten by the power they have).

Caleb has the boys trapped in the HGC, just like Eurydice in the Underworld.

Julie had to deal with the idea the boys died (again) when they didn’t show up before the performance. At first she couldn’t, she ran out until she had a sign from her mom, telling her to go on stage. You could argue this sort of parallels the nymphs telling Orpheus to plea to Hades, or that it parallels Orpheus on his journey back to the surface after Hades agreed.

This is where Julie and Orpheus differ. Julie goes onstage, fully believing in the sign from her mother; that even if the boys don’t come, she can do it. The lyrics of Stand Tall are pure genius. “Keep moving on, never look back.” That’s exactly what Julie does. Unlike Orpheus, Julie doesn’t look back. And the boys appear, no longer trapped by Caleb at the HGC. Julie breaks away from the Orpheus formula and wins.

@multifandomterrors wrote an essay on how it relates too! She has three theories of how it fits and I definitely recommend you check it out!

Bonus reasons Julie is Orpheus:

Orpheus joined Jason and the Argonauts. When the ship was approaching the Sirens, Orpheus saves the crew from death by playing his own music, drowning out the Sirens’ Song. Likewise, Julie is able to save the boys from Caleb. You can argue that her singing Stand Tall acted as a beacon, beckoning the boys away from Caleb and back to her, saving them in the process.

This one is more of a long shot but oh well. Orpheus is said to have a “divinely gifted voice that could charm anyone who heard it,” that no god or mortal could resist his music. The boys say that Julie has “the voice of an angel.” Throughout the season, as soon as Julie starts to sing, people are generally drawn in, even Carrie by the end.

Onto the next parallel...

2. Lotus Eaters

As soon as the slightest idea of the boys missing the dance was hinted at I knew it was going to happen because ~formulas~, but once they got to the HGC, I had a strong feeling it was going to be a Lotus Eaters situation.

Summary of the Lotus Eaters:

In The Odyssey, Odysseus and his crew encounter the Lotus Eaters. They do as their name suggests, they eat the peculiar Lotus flower. When the lotus flower is eaten, those who eat it are “overcome with a blissful forgetfulness,” and want to do nothing more than stay where they are. The crew mates had to be dragged back to the ship, otherwise they never would have returned to their duties. The most well known adaptation of this is probably the Lotus Casino in Percy Jackson & the Olympians series, where the characters spend days/years there, only thinking it was a few hours/days. It’s a time warp per se.

So what’s what?

Hollywood Ghost Club = Lair/island of the lotus eaters (everyone there appears to have no other worries in life)

The music & dancing = Lotus flower (sucks everyone in)

How do they relate?

Once Caleb starts performing, Sunset Curve are sucked in. Eventually, they are overcome with a “blissful forgetfulness” and forget about Julie and the dance. They only get sucked back out once Caleb mentions it’s the witching hour.

Alex literally says “This place is some sort of time warp.”

When the boys try to leave, the dancers and then Caleb try to reel them back in.

The next is not directly Greek mythology, but distantly related:

3. Disney’s Hercules

The story in Disney’s Hercules isn’t exactly what the myths of Heracles are. It’s Disney, so of course the stories are romanticized and changed significantly. First of all, in the original myths, Hercules is really named Heracles, and Megara is nothing more than Heracles’ wife that ends with a tragic story.

In the movie, Hades wants Hercules dead since he is the only one that can ruin his plan to take over the world. He enlists Megara (or Meg, whose soul he owns) to get to know him and find his weakness. As Meg gets to know Hercules, they fall in love. Hades uses this as Hercules’ weakness, and once he outs Meg for working for him, Hercules is emotionally defeated. However, he still gives up his power for 24 hours, as long as Meg remains untouched by harm. Of course that doesn’t happen, and Meg dies while saving Hercules. Her soul is returned to the Underworld, and Hercules journeys down there to save her, even though he might die doing so. Except he doesn’t; he saves Meg, and it’s happily ever after.

So who’s who?

Alex = Hercules

Willie = Meg

Caleb = Hades

How does it relate?

Like Hades wants Hercules dead, Caleb wants Alex (and the boys) under his control because they are too powerful. He’s threatened by them.

Even though Willie didn’t mean to bring the boys into the mess with Caleb, he still did (no hate, I love my son). Willie acts as Meg in this situation because Caleb still uses him to get to the boys. Caleb gets to put his stamp on them.

Willie, just like Meg, decides to not help Caleb anymore, though he’s still stuck. He cares about Alex, he doesn’t want him to be stuck at the HGC like him forever; he doesn’t want Caleb to own Alex’s soul. So, Willie helps Alex and the boys with their plan to crossover.

In Stand Tall, right before You’ve Got Nothing to Lose, Caleb appeals to each of the boys’ weakness. Caleb says “Everything you want, including Willie, is right here.” Just like Hades uses Meg against Hercules, Caleb uses Willie against Alex.

Potential Season 2 Willex Storyline

The parallel to Hercules and Meg isn’t finished. Alex hasn’t saved Willie from Caleb yet, and Caleb hasn’t been defeated yet. We don’t see Willie after the Willex hug in Stand Tall. I think it’s safe to assume that Willie is not safe from Caleb, especially since he helped Sunset Curve escape Caleb’s curse. There’s a lot of things that could happen. One of my assumptions is that Caleb is going to use Willie as bait to lure Alex back in. Another is that, like how Hercules goes to the Underworld to save Meg’s soul, Alex is going to actively choose to return to the HGC to try to save Willie from Caleb.

And the last parallel to Greek mythology in season 1...

4. Cheyenne Jackson

He plays Hades in Descendants 3, a Disney movie, meaning he’s the same Hades as in Hercules.

Caleb Covington, you could argue is the “king of the dead” in JATP

That’s it, that’s the parallel.

Possible Season 2 Storylines

Cephalus and Procris (I’m not as familiar with this myth, but it basically goes like this)

Cephalus and Procris are happily married and very in love with each other. One day, the goddess of dawn, Eos, kidnaps Cephalus because she wants him to herself. Depending on the version you read, Cephalus either sleeps with Eos, or he doesn’t, but regardless, his only concern is how much he loves his wife, Procris. Eos finds that annoying, and plants the idea in his head that Procris is cheating on him when she releases him eight years later. Cephalus returns to Procris, disguised as another man, to see if she would remain faithful. A disguised Cephalus continuously brings Procris presents, and slowly, Procris is swayed by the mysterious man. When Cephalus reveals himself, Procris runs away, ashamed, and joins Artemis’ hunt. Eos wins essentially. She get’s Cephalus... until Procris returns, trying to make amends with her husband. He takes her back, but not long after Procris hears rumors that Cephalus has been unfaithful. She follows him on a hunt, hiding behind a bush. Cephalus hears a bush move, and thinking it’s an animal, he shoots, killing Procris. In the end, Eos still wins as Procris is no longer in the picture, and she could theoretically be with him. Expect Cephalus exiles himself and Eos is never seen again.

How could this apply to JATP season 2?

Julie = Procris

Luke = Cephalus

Caleb = Eos

Caleb-Possessed-Nick = Disguised man

Since Caleb possessed Nick at the end, I assume his plan is to get Julie to pick Nick, thus pushing Luke away from her. Caleb wants Luke and the boys to himself, and as long as Julie is in the picture, that won’t happen. As Caleb-Possessed-Nick tries to flirt and get closer to Julie, Luke will see this and get jealous. His jealousness could lead to tensions between Julie and Luke, making the band a bit awkward, maybe even a big fight that pushes Luke to think about joining Caleb, or at least isolating himself where Caleb would have easy access. I think it would be a very loosely applied parallel, but the idea of Caleb working to cause a rift between Luke and Julie to get Luke by himself is a major possibility. Regardless, Caleb-Possessed-Nick is going to get in the way of Luke and Julie’s slow burn pining for each other.

A General Thought Not Related to Greek Mythology

Regardless of what the writers end up doing, I think Caleb’s best plan would be to target the boys individually; like the continuance of the Hercules parallel with Willex and potential Cephalus & Procris parallel with Juke. I don’t know how he would isolate Reggie, maybe something with his family, but targeting the boys one-on-one would be the most strategic move for Caleb. He could even get super manipulative with it. He could say something like “Alex already agreed” or something along those lines to try to persuade the boy he is talking to.

Additionally, I don’t have any theories on where Carrie and Julie’s relationship may go, but i’m looking forward to a Carrie redemption arc. As far as where Bobby fits in, I read someone’s theory that Caleb may approach him, offering to help keep his reputation as Trevor Wilson, if he helps deal with the boys somehow. I’m sure there’s a potential greek myth that fits a potential Bobby and the boys storyline, but out of the ones I can think of right now, there aren’t. Betrayal is a huge theme in greek mythology though.

Anyway...

While the original target audience was kids and the show probably wasn’t meant to be this deep, as a screenwriter myself, I find it super useful (and fun) to parallel classic stories and myths when I write. It can add a sense of nuance to the story, especially when done right. I hope the writers (assuming at least the Orpheus and Lotus Eaters parallels were intentional) continue to parallel the season with some form of myth or classic story, only to then completely flip the ending.

If you actually took the time to read ALL of this, my god, I applaud you, you amazing human. Thank you so much for reading it. I’d love to hear what y’all think or what theories y’all have as well!

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #jatp #julie molina #madison reyes #luke patterson #charlie gillespie #alex jatp #owen patrick joyner #owen joyner #reggie jatp #jeremy shada #caleb covington #hollywood ghost club #carrie wilson #trevor wilson #dirty candy #flynn jatp

109 notes · View notes

realityhelixcreates · 3 years

Text

Lasabrjotr Chapter 79: The Rites of Blood and Knowledge

Chapters: 79/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg 13(Blood)

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),Thor(Marvel) Wanda Maximoff, vision, Bruce Banner

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time, In Reference To Blood Mixing Mentioned In The Eddas

Summary: The great ceremonies begin.

The dreams were powerful that night, whisking you off to far away places, off to the increasingly familiar form of the gargantuan space artist. There was a strange nostalgia out here that you were slowly coming to recognize as being not your own. How could it be? You had never physically been here, only visited in dreams.

With green and blue sparkling at your right and left, you drifted along in their orbit, yet another asteroid in a primordial star system.

First Wielder.

The concept filtered through your mind, trailing a warm and wistful longing behind it.

Peace. Eternity. Creation.

Before battle. Before separation. Before imprisonment.

Before all.

The star system was strange: every time you came here, the sun was a little different. A variable star, its brightness oscillating, it was still young and new.

There was only one planet in this system, located fairly close to the star. The presence of the colossal giant perturbed the asteroids and gas around the star, but their great mass prevented them from coalescing.

Comets formed in great numbers from the gas and ice beyond them, whizzing past them, inspiring new drawings. Asteroids clumped up against them; a brush of their great hand sent them flying, to collide into one another, to spin away from their unstable orbit, and join the comets on their cross-system journey, to crash into the singular planet.

The colossus watched with the patience of true immortality, as the planet burned and erupted, filled up with water, and clouds, and sky.

Thoughtfully, they regarded an asteroid they held in one hand, then, with their color-stained fingers, they began to draw.

The wistfulness and regret reached their peak, and you woke up in the empty bathtub, with a thought ringing in your head.

The Wielders always came to a bad end.

******

Loki was somewhat disgruntled to discover that you'd been having these dreams without him. He didn't scold, but his concern was clear. You described them in as much detail as you could, but, to your dismay, he didn't have any explanation for what you'd been seeing while you slept.

It would just have to remain a mystery. The upcoming day was going to be far too busy to dwell on it.

Both you and Loki had dressed in your absolute finest, your armor polished bright, your skirt covered in embroidery, your chest and neck festooned in beads of carved gold and pearl. You still felt a little bit like you were so buried in finery that you became invisible, but you tried to carry it with pride. All of this had been put together especially for you, and that hard work deserved to be shown off.

Loki was so magnificent in his fur-trimmed cloak, and elaborate helmet, you had to firmly tell yourself not to spend the whole day just staring at him all moon-eyed.

Maybe just a few hours.

Today, the Second Feast, was really the main event, as far as this Buridag was concerned. At noon, you would participate in the Blood Taking ceremony, wherin you would 'mingle blood' with the royal brothers, in order to be formally adopted into Asgardian high society. This would cement your status as high enough to advise Loki as one of the most important members of his personal entourage. And before the evening feast, you would perform the ritual that would confirm you as an official Seidkona.

But before that, you would have the time to run around and enjoy the festival.

It was set up like a combination job fair and reenactment fest. Stalls lined the streets and filled courtyards, peopled by the crafters of Asgard. Smiths, armorers, and carpenters, goldsmiths, lapidaries, scrimshanders, and glassblowers. Weavers, spinners, leatherworkers, and dyemakers, artists, musicians, chefs, academics, mages, stonemasons, construction workers, scribes, dancers, and cheesemongers. All the sights, and sounds, and scents, and flavors that made up Asgard were being demonstrated and celebrated.

Your Father and Tara joined you in the streets, and Loki reluctantly released you into their care, having some preparation left to do.

Tara, flouncing around in an apron dress and domed brooches very much like your usual style, gushed over how beautiful you looked, and your father, rather sheepishly dressed in an Asgardian greatcoat and cowl, agreed openly.

“You look like a princess.” he said. “A real one. You...You walk different now. Talk different. You look so strong.”

“Is it me, or are all these people following us?” Tara asked, not very quietly. A few chagrined people in the crowd that flowed in your wake down the street peeled away, and wandered in different directions. The rest either had less shame, or had orders to keep watch over you.

You spared the group a glance. There appeared to be a solid mix of Asgardians and humans, several of which had their phones out. You surmised there would be a new wave of photos of you on the internet over the next few days.

“Keep your cowl up dad.” You advised.

“Want me to run them off?” he offered.

“Nah. I don't really mind if they take pictures of me. Can't really hurt anything.”

“Wasn't so great last time.” Tara pointed out. “I spent a lot of time stanning for you.”

“Well, last time was sensationalized bullcrap. This time is a nice festival. I mean, check out that guy!”

That Guy was a glassblower in his stall, spinning a huge, bubble thin amphora of rose pink glass. You had seen its like before, but never seen one made.

“Oh, they age crystal mead in those! The pink lets in the right wavelengths of light that give it it's shimmering quality.”

“What's crystal mead?” your father asked.

“Don't try more than a few sips, if anyone offers.” you warned. “Asgardians have iron guts. Their booze is way too strong.”

“Yeah, they warned us about that on the plane.” Tara said. “And yesterday, it looked like they had everything divided up by species, so no one got the wrong thing.”

You took them around to various demonstrations: spinners spinning yarn, brewers preparing several of Asgards many alcoholic beverages, apothecaries showing how basic medicines were made, a cobbler putting together a nice pair of boots.

“So, Asgard's really advanced, right?” Tara asked. “Why is everything like Ye Olden Times?”

“Asgard's never had that big a population, even at it height. There just isn't that much demand for mass production. Most things are bespoke, or self-made. Quality depends entirely on the maker, so that, of course, becomes a competition. And that, in turn, becomes a matter of cultural pride. Also, they have thousands of years to get good at what they do, so Asgardian made goods are super high quality, and they judge personal worth by that. I don't think they'll ever automate; it would go against a lot of what they stand for.”

You snagged the three of you a traditional Asgardian snack; fat sausages, wrapped in savory pastry. You thought it might be good to have something else in your stomach before the first ceremony.

Tara called them Asgardian corn dogs, which you couldn't wait to share with Loki, if only to watch his nose wrinkle with disdain over the undignified term.

“So when do we have to let you go?” Tara asked.

You checked your phone for the time, stuffing the last of your sausage into your mouth.

“Eh, I've got a few minutes left. Better start heading over though.”

Your winding path through the courtyards took you past minstrels, impromptu dances, and games, to a large, tall dais that had been put together as a temporary mirror to the throne room. It towered over the City Hall courtyard like a ziggurat. You'd be up there soon enough, but currently...

“Who's that?” your father asked, pointing at a man standing at the top. “Doesn't look like Thor.”

You squinted up at the figure, his bright armor shining in the rarefied sunlight.

“Ah, That's Heimdall. He's the Guardian of Asgard, and god of...uh, sight? I think? Vigilance? It's not quite that neat and simple, you know? The whole 'God Of' thing is a bit more complicated than that.”

“So that's a god?” your father asked. “How can you tell? Are they all gods? What does that even mean?”

“All good questions. Mostly because they are very hard to answer.”

Your father and Tara jerked at the sudden new voice, and, not for the first time, you found yourself amazed at how easily a man of the sheer size and importance as the king of Asgard could sneak up on people.

“Your Majesty.” you said calmly, inclining your head. Your father and Tara dipped into awkward bows, a little awed by the mythical figure before them. Thor didn't necessarily demand obeisance, but he didn't exactly discourage it either; he let people act as they felt appropriate.

“Not every Asgardian is a god.” Thor explained. “Those that are go by the term 'Aesir', a common name through most of the realms for beings of that type. You are born Aesir; you cannot become one by outside influences. However, Aesir nature doesn't always become apparent at birth, it often doesn't manifest until adolescence. As for what it means to be Aesir...that doesn't have so straightforward an answer. I leave it to the philosophers, who, incidentally, are in booth seventy-eight.

Anyway, I have come to collect your daughter for the ceremony. There isn't much time left, so we'd all better get in place. If you go through those two poles there right now, you can get very good seats.”

“This could get a bit weird.” You warned. “It's a ceremony more ancient than any recorded human practices, so it's probably going to seem archaic.”

“Oh, it's not so bad.” Thor said. “It's been updated and refined over all those years. For instance, everyone remains clothed now, and there are at least seventy percent fewer entrails used.”

Your father coughed, and you rolled your eyes. Thor's sense of humor was difficult for you to understand, considering how serious he was about everything. The thing about Thor's jokes was that he might have been joking about something that had really happened, or he might have been joking about something he'd completely made up, but he would never specify which.

“On that note, I've got to go.” you said. “Entrails to sort, and all that.”

Your father coughed again, Tara patting him compassionately on the back.

“Good luck!” she called to your receding back.

******

“Now, you've been fully briefed on what will happen during this ceremony, correct?” Thor asked, as the two of you loitered near the back stairs of the temporary dais. People were filtering in to seats and standing room around the courtyard, waiting for things to start.

“I think so.” you said. “If I've got this right, there's going to be a special dance-”

“The Alignment of the Celestial and Worldly bodies, yes.” Thor said. “It symbolizes everything that must come together to bring the 'adoptee' to the greater 'family'. In this case, it will tell the story of how you came here to join our family.”

A soft warmth crept up your neck, and heated your ears beneath your helmet. You knew it was all socio-symbolism, but the notion of 'joining the family' hit differently now that you were on intimate terms with Loki.

“And then all the braziers will have some kind of incense thrown in, and in the smoke, we'll all go up the stairs like we're magically appearing. Honestly, it sounds like it'll look really cool.”

“All ceremonies contain a bit of theatrics.” Thor agreed. “Perhaps that is the most important part. Or that's the part that makes it important. I wish we still had some of the traditional ceremonial incense, but we just don't have access to the materials anymore. You would have liked it; it was much more floral than most of what you have here. We did manage to get some lavender though. That should be nice.”

“Maybe one day, when the Bifrost is more stable.” You said. It did sound very nice. “Loki said that you, and he, and Heimdall will sing a blessing song?”

“Yes, a divine blessing from a trio of Aesir. It's got to be three. And then...”

“Yeah. And then.” Loki had told you about the bloodletting. He had been very frank about it. “I know. I'm nervous, but not afraid.”

Thor nodded. “Sometimes there are unforeseen effects, but never anything bad. You'll be perfectly safe.”

“I know. The nervousness just comes from knowing it'll hurt. Even if just for a short time.”

You buckled under Thor's hand when it came down on your shoulder, enveloping the whole thing.

“Loki would rather slice out his own guts than draw your blood, trust me. He's been trying to figure out how to get around it for weeks. Unfortunately, the blood is the most important part of the magic. It carries all of the power. It's very old magic: according to him, this is practically the only part of the ritual that has remained unchanged from the beginning.”

“Did there really used to be entrails and naked people, or was that a joke?”

“Ehhh, well, yes and no. This ceremony originated with the Vanir, and they are not opposed to nakedness under certain circumstances. In this case, everyone who attended was expected to leave the clothes they came in at the door, and wear a special loincloth instead. This was actually to prevent violence, by barring hidden weaponry from being brought to ceremony grounds. So rather than pure nudity, everyone was dressed as scantily as was possible.

As for entrails...unfortunately yes, that was also a part of it. A seer would perform a divination using the entrails of a slaughtered animal. That practice was going out of fashion, even before the war, and I don't think anyone today even remembers how it was done.”

You shuddered. Yes, it was a different culture, and a long time ago, but it still grossed you out.

“I'll have to remember to thank Loki for trying to get me out of it, even if he wasn't successful.” You said. He really did put in a lot of effort behind the scenes. If only he were more open about some of that effort, so you could appreciate it more.

“He was adamant about the bull.” Thor said. “Demanded a private ritual the night before. Put your helmet up on the pillar, then sacrificed and butchered the beast himself. Insisted on it. Did our ancestors proud, but you know he knows his way around a knife.”

“I wish he'd told me. I was really stressed about that whole thing. I'm glad, in the end, that he was thinking of me, but I really wish I'd known. I wouldn't have lost so much sleep!”

“It was a little last minute.” Thor admitted. “I approved it the instant he explained, but we had to do it pretty much immediately afterwards. He really should have told you, but I fear my brother is usually more invested in the making of plans, rather than what to do once they come to fruition. I feel you will be a positive influence on him, though.”

Even though he was wearing his eyepatch, rather than the mismatched prosthetic, his one blue eye was open and sincere.

“I think so too.” you said. You already were influencing each other. It was impossible to live so close, to sleep in the same bed, without doing so. But Loki did have a bad habit of assuming things, a by-product of his upbringing as a leader, you supposed. You would simply have to speak up more.

Perhaps you had gotten too comfortable. But perhaps you wanted to be too comfortable. It might be a holdover from your year of struggle, but having someone who wanted to do so much for you was very tempting. You knew it would be better to strive for a balance, but you also knew that, unless Loki somehow diminished himself severely, the two of you would never truly be equals.

But you admired that greatness, and somehow, those all too common flaws in him made him easier for you to love. They made him so real.

An ambling drum beat started up, accompanied by the brassy ting of zills, and a flute. Loki joined you and Thor in peeking out around the dais, just as a group of dancers spread out around the courtyard.

You'd been told that the dancers represented personages from history and legend. You were pretty sure that the three women who orbited the dance stage equidistant from one another must be the Norns, and you assumed the cluster of people standing beneath a glittering tree branch and clanging their zills were probably meant to be the ancestors of the royal family.

The dance told a story of a woman dressed like you, and a man dressed like Loki, wearing silver bells at their wrists and ankles that jingled with every step. They made everything look so much more graceful and sensual than it really had been: Holding hands like the rune branding had been on purpose, dancing circles with each other, like everything had been friendly and not at all awkward from the very beginning. How elegantly 'you' swooned into 'his' arms, while the assassin was caught. How triumphantly 'you' defended 'him' against the Huldra. And how beautifully 'he' clasped 'you' in a romantic, yet properly chaste embrace.

There was none of the blood, none of the fear, or anger, or petulance, or confusion. No loss, or loneliness, or uncertainty.

But that was how it worked, wasn't it? None of those things could be shown to the general public. This was ceremony. This was spectacle! This was what would be remembered.

The pair danced away, out of sight, the ancestors retreated, and the Norns raised their arms in unison. All around the courtyard, attendants dumped incense into the torches and braziers, sending thick smoke and mysterious perfume wafting over the entire area.

“Show's on, darling.” Loki said, grasping your shoulders, and leading you up the stairs. A new wave of anxiety washed over you as you rose above the sweet smelling clouds like a legend. Heimdall stepped aside to let you pass, Loki and Thor leading you right up to the edge of the elevated platform, where waited a podium, upon which rested a brass bowl. An unfamiliar rune was stamped on its bottom. So that was where the magic would happen.

Thor held his hand out over an unlit brazier just in front of the podium and concentrated. Scarcely a moment later sparks danced between his fingers and jumped to ignite the fuel. The light illuminated the clouds of incense, obscuring the audience. Cut off thus from every other person out there, you didn't flinch as the trio of gods each placed a hand on you, and began to sing.

You couldn't help but wonder if they had done this before. It was a complex song, with rising and falling harmonies, parts layered over one another, something that couldn't have been easy to learn. As their voices dipped and flowed, you felt the power rising, just like out in the camp, months ago. Why could you sense divine power? Was it because of your magic? Was there anyone out in the crowd that could feel it too?

Thor's good eye had begun to sparkle with crackling white energy, the power of the blessing he was singing into you. You assumed Heimdall, behind you, was lighting up orange, and when you turned your head to glance at Loki, you were suffused with the gentle glow of the blue light from your dreams.

All of the anxiety drained out of you at the touch of that light, your arms dropping to your sides as relaxation took over.

Everything was all right. Loki was right beside you. Thor and Heimdall were with you, their voices reverberating through you, their blessing upon you. The rare winter sun filtered down over you like a blanket, as the last notes of the Aesir's song filled your head.

Loki gently took your hand, gazing earnestly into your face as the calming light faded from his eyes.

“Forgive me, my love.” he whispered.

A sudden, painful jab, ripped you out of your cocoon of sunny calm. With a sharp cry, you turned to stare at your fingertip, pierced deeply by the tip of one of Loki's knives.

Loki held your hand over the brass bowl, letting the blood drip, enough to cover the rune at the bottom. Then he tenderly bandaged the tiny wound, lines of regret around his eyes. Thor held his hand out for a slash, and then Loki turned the blade on himself. Blood slowly filled the little bowl, as a light throbbing started in your head. Every drop that rippled its surface was like a giant heartbeat within you.

Once it was full, Thor and Loki began singing again, lifting the small bowl between them. They held it up to the sun, and then poured it onto the burning brazier. The fire sputtered, sizzling, sending a huge cloud of smoke directly into your face. You gagged on the scent of burning blood, practically bathed in it, a layer of death-scent on your skin. The song cut through it, thrumming in your ears, an echoing promise of cherishment and fidelity.

The blood burned down into nothing, the smoke slowly clearing. All of the people in the courtyard came back into view, the upturned faces solemn. The dancers below picked up the chorus.

And you understood them.

Loki took your hand and lifted it up, flourishing to the crowd. They cheered, while you stood there, stunned. You understood what they were saying, their enthusiastic calls, their songs. The blood smell lingered in your nose, the throbbing swiftly receding from your head.

He led you to the stairs down as you wobbled, but you never made it all the way down. Dizziness overcame you, and you collapsed into Loki's arms.

#lasabrjotr #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

14 notes · View notes

byamylaurens · 3 years

Text

On Structuring Plot: A List Of Useful Resources + My Recent Process

I was asked on Instagram last week how I go about structuring my stories, whether there’s a set way I like to do it, or if it’s different for every story, or what. I promised an answer last week, and that didn’t happen, but hey! It is this week and now I can answer! 😀

The truth of the matter is, I feel very self-conscious about plot structure. It’s the area of writing I’m least comfortable with, and so my attempts either end up with me just writing and ignoring structure entirely (A Fox Of Storms And Starlight), or else plotting everything else in meticulous detail, usually with the help of Liana Brooks (How Not To Acquire A Castle, as evidenced in our epic plotting video).

And then there is everything else, which tends to fall in the middle. Honestly, it depends on the book, and the mood, and how much of a concrete, specific handle I need on the story before going in.

Because that varies widely, too. When Worlds Collide, the final book in the Sanctuary trilogy that won Best Children’s Book 2019 in my state? You’re reading the first draft, prettied up with some proofreading for typos. The first book in the series, on the other hand? That’s the …eighth, I think, draft? And again, everything else falls somewhere in the middle, though generally speaking I plan my novels more than my short stories, and things that feel “fast paced” more than things that luxuriate more in the prose. Though even that’s not entirely true. And it overlaps with the length tendencies.

SO. Rather than continuing to ramble about my actual processes (variable), I thought I’d share with you a range of resources that you might find useful (if you’re a writer) or simply interesting (if you’re not, or even if you are I guess).

1. Liana Brooks’ Outlining Sheet

Liana, who you probably know is my writer-buddy and co-conspirator with regards to Inkprint Press, is excellent at plot. She does developmental edits for a really reasonable rate, and is absolutely stellar at what she does. So it’s without shame that I recommend first up her outline sheet, which is a take on the Lester Dent Plot Formula (google it).

2. Beat Sheets.

For when a general outline with key touch points isn’t detailed enough, there are beat sheets. The best ones I’ve found came from Jami Gold, and you can download them here. I’ve also converted them to word docs with scenes numbered for a 40-scene/chapter book and a 20 scene-chapter book, and you can grab those here (word docx download).

3. MICE Structure.

I posted this video on Friday, but Mary Robinette Kowal’s MICE theory has been hands down THE most useful plotting resource I’ve encountered for me personally. I’ll elaborate on this a little more below, where I’ll talk specifically about a project I’m working on right now.

4. Brandon Sanderson’s Plot Lectures.

I listened to these nearly a year ago, then relistened recently and was interested to discover I’d done something similar with Moon Shot, the project I’m currently plotting. Definitely worth a listen. It’s a little more general in scope than the preceding resources, but very necessary for a sound understanding of what your plot should be DOING.

You can also check out the posts I wrote on plot structure years ago, starting here.

Okay, now to the specifics. On Tuesday, I posted the following to Instagram, which is what precipitated the question that resulted in this post:

This is me working on Moon Shot, and it’s the first time I really used the MICE process on a longer work very deliberately, and I LOVED IT.

So I thought I’d quickly delineate for you here exactly what I did. (ETA: Quickly, ha.)

Worldbuilding. I had a giant conversation with Liana about the worldbuilding for the world, and how the main sci fi element works. She took notes and emailed them to me.

Brain Dump. I did a stream-of-consciousness dump into my notes just rambling through things roughly sequentially, and stopping to research the sciencey stuff I needed.

List Of Questions. From this, I listed out on my small whiteboard (A4-ish size) all the questions that would be asked and answered in this book. Will they escape? Why can’t they go to Earth? Who are the kidnappers? Etc.

MICE. I then colour-coded each question according to it’s MICE category: milieu, inquiry, character, event. If that doesn’t make sense, go watch Kowal’s video first (resource 3 above).

General Plotting. I broke out the bigger whiteboard (A2 size?), separated it roughly into quarters across the ‘page’, and added every question to the board. Some questions are asked right at the start of the story, so that’s where their coloured line started, then I estimated roughly when the question would be answered in-plot, and ended their coloured line there. This was hands-down the most useful part of plotting, because it let me see a bunch of things in macro: I’d overloaded the third quarter with too many answers, and there wasn’t enough in the second quarter. Certain questions COULDN’T be asked until other ones were answered, and if I left the answering too late, the next arc would be too squished before the end of the book. And so forth. So I played around, adjusting arcs until I got a fairly even spread of questions and answers across the book, with little clusters at the 1/4, 1/2 and 3/4 marks. I also looked to make sure that I had enough strong questions asked in the beginning that weren’t answered until the very end.

Specific Plotting. For each arc, I now knew WHEN in the book it had to be. So I grabbed three A3 pages, taped them together in a long line, divided the page into 25 columns (see point 8 for why), and wrote headings with the basic beats of a story. Call to action, midpoint, final puzzle piece, act 2 antagonist, and so forth. See resource 2 above. Then I took my MICE arcs and started filling things in: this scene needs to answer this question and raise the next one. This scene needs to answer this question. That sort of thing. Not the specifics of what the characters are doing, but the underlying bones of what the SCENE needs to be doing.

Conflict! Once the beginnings and ends of each MICE arc were in place, I referred back to the MICE principle to figure out what kinds of conflict I needed to add. For example, one of the opening MICE arcs is a milieu question: How did the kids escape? Knowing that this is a milieu, I know I need to add points throughout the story where they run into dead ends in their attempts to escape, all the way until they actually make it out. Another MICE arc revolves around a mystery, so I knew I needed to throw red herrings and misleading information in there to influence the decisions the characters are making. I used different coloured highlighter to mark the main long-running arcs to make sure I was sprinkling them evenly throughout the book, and not accidentally ignoring one for too long.

Point Of View. I now had a really good idea of what was happening in each scene, so on to POV. Most books wouldn’t need this step necessarily, but part of the POINT of this book is that it has POV scenes from all 25 of my Year 8 students from a couple of years ago (you have not LIVED until you’ve tried this, oy, my head). AND on top of that, every character has one of eight different superpowers. So I wrote out all the character names on sticky notes, colour coded according to superpower. Then I played around. Which superpower would be useful in this scene? Which would lend an interesting lens to the events? Post-its meant I could test things and swap them around easily, until I got an order I was happy with, with the superpowers kind of evenly sprinkled throughout the book (as much as possible; they’re based on Myer-Briggs personality type, which, yes, most of the students were kind enough to do the test for me so I could allocate their powers accurately, HA, but it means some superpowers are more common than others).

Text Type. One of the only ways I could think of making this book hang together cohesively was to tell it via epistolary, which means including a bunch of other text types as well as narration (or instead of). So there are story bits, but also emails, letters, maps, interviews, transcripts and more. So once I had everything else in place, I figured out which scenes were going to be which text types so that again, there was a balance of them throughout.

PHEW. What a process. Still, overall it only took me about three hours, and it was SUPER FUN AND SATISFYING to do. I’ll DEFINITELY be doing at least steps 1 – 7 for a couple of future books, because it was just a really inherently enjoyable process for me, and makes me confident going into the book that the scenes will do what they need to do.

Here’s a sneaky peek at what some of the final outline looks like… 😀

On Structuring Plot: A List Of Useful Resources + My Recent Process was originally published on Amy Laurens

#Amy Laurens #Australian author Amy #beat sheets for writers #before you write #Brandon Sanderson #Canberra writer Amy #how to plot a novel #How to Write #Jami Gold&039;s beat sheets #Mary Robinette Kowal #plot plot plot the book #plotting masterclass #structuring stories with story structure like a well-structured story with structure #writing #writing resource #writing workshop #you too can write a story woo

37 notes · View notes

reflections-in-a-critical-eye · 3 years

Note

Hi! So, why BTS? And why now? I want to follow your blog, but may I speak openly?

Writing about BTS through the lens of various critical theory is amazing. You are so smart. I am going to be honest about my own biases here, so feel free to trash me for it. I am anonymous after all so trash away as is your right. I understand.

There is often a supposition from critics, both professional and amateur, that the fandom- frequently presented as an immature, undifferentiated mob of cultists- is unable to think critically and must have basic things explained to us so that we don't throw stones at the free speech warriors of truth and standards (not saying that this is your attitude). I find that a little alienating. This fandom has existed for eight years. We have seen blogs and empires rise and fall.

I also don't think that it is an accident that the desire to project these more critical ideas into the public sphere usually comes after a year of being a full on ARMY (judging from my friends experiences). I have read peices about BTS's work referencing Lacan, neo-marxism, post-structuralism and other such stuffs. (My friend used to have an analytic blog that she chose to shut down a few years ago). I am going to be a bit blunt again, so trash if you must, but I think what was being exposed in those pieces was not only "critical thinking" but an excess of emotional investment in BTS, and the desire to intellectualize or justify it.

BTS got a lot of people through 2020. Those long content dives kept people sane. But now, based on a lot of the dissapointed PTD criticism, it feels like some people are waking up hung over and kind of bitter. Emphasizing the three English singles and ignoring BE, an album they worked on for months, seems like a symptom of this. Removing BE from the narrative seems to advance theories of BTS's 'Americanization', lack of creative agency and homogenization into some inferior or less Korean form of pop. BE should not be dismissed as irrelevant to this discourse. Many western artists take an average of 2 years between albums. BTS put out a lot of work. Maybe some of the distrust of criticism that we plebes have comes from the suspicion that critics may use art and events to construct a story. As a person of Asian heritage, LGO going #1 on Billboard meant a lot, emotionally.

I hope none of this caused offense. If it did please just ignore. Thanks for your great thoughts. Wishing you success in your goals.

Hi! Your ask did not cause offense, I'm more than fine to talk about this.

There's a lot to unpack here, so I'm taking it one by one.

Why BTS and why now? I chose to write about BTS because it's been an interest of mine for quite long. I mean, I didn't expect more than a year later to be here. My past obsessions usually lasted between 2 to 3 months, max, and everything felt so intense, but then it faded for a few years. (The last band I really focused on was Pearl Jam back in my first year of college while I was going through a bit of a difficult period in my life).

Yes, I have become a fan during the pandemic. It was sort of inevitable for it to become such a huge focus (escapism from the world outside and from writing a thesis). If I had started this blog a year ago, then you're right in one way: it would have been emotional investment and my desire to intellectualize and justify it. Basically that's what I did in the first few months (when I was on my own, in no community whatsoever). In order to explain myself and others why I'm spending time on this, I used to read research articles. But that's not the full truth and that's because to me such practice comes naturally, just as when I was 16 I couldn't just watch and enjoy movies, I had to read about them every day, or how I'm surrounded by pop culture just as everyone else, but I want to read books about it so I'm willing to do that for months. It's how I'm wired, so in a way, of course it had to happen with BTS as well.

The reason why I decided to make a blog now it's not necessarily because I ''woke up'' or that suddenly I see ''the truth''. Perhaps you may have had that impression because of my first post where I talked about PTD and the recent talks about ''Americanization''. I touched on that subject because I was closely following it, but that is not to say it was my only purpose on making a blog. I feel that, a year later, I'm more secure with my general knowledge and that of BTS. I couldn't have done it before that. I also plan to talk about other topics as well, not just what's ''hot'' at the moment. If I didn't have any other ideas, I wouldn't have made a blog.

And I'm certainly not here to teach anyone or ''plebes'' as you said, anything. And I also know that I'm not going to be the last to have a blog, write a think piece or publish something about BTS. People are allowed to engage in all types of discourse, depending on what they like and what they feel comfortable with. There are countless blogs with countless topics and perspectives. Some last, some don't, that's just how it is. I don't have huge important plans to teach the fandom, my ego is not that big and this is just a hobby for me. It's also not the first time I'm publishing something, but it is the first time on my own blog, despite being on tumblr for 10 years now.

But you are right when you talk about people forgetting about BE and I may add, Film Out which is more recent. I too thought that LGO going #1 on Billboard was incredible. It was a song in Korean that really reflected how people felt during the pandemic. Not just LGO, but the entire album is a true reflection of current times on top of being just simply good music. The album was promoted as well, different versions of the MV, the logs that preceded it focusing on production, it really made me look forward to it and it did not disappoint. The last few months of 2020 have been really good for what BTS has delivered. To go back to your argument, I don't think it's about constructing a story. Yes, in a way people could be accused of ignoring BE, but what's the problem with focusing on what's been going on at present? We shouldn't be surprised about that, PTD was released not too long after Butter. It was full of promotional material ever since May.

I stated in my blog introduction that I'm in film studies, so I will end up making a lot of references because I can naturally make my point across. Let's say I'm a fan of Xavier Dolan. I've watched his first films, fell in love with his aesthetics and his stories. Then he releases something that I don't really like, doesn't work for me. Then another. And then another. I'm thinking, ok, this is the direction he's going with, it's not as daring as what he used to do before, but so what? He gets the awards at Cannes, but I'm still writing a negative review of his film Mommy. Doesn't mean I'm wrong, doesn't mean the Jury at Cannes is wrong, it certainly doesn't mean that I don't like Xavier Dolan anymore. We're just looking for different things.

We write about things that are happening at the moment and how see them now. We make judgments of value based on our current knowledge. Who's to say that in 10 years people won't look back and think: those critics had no idea what they were saying about BTS (Antonioni's L'Avventura was booed at Cannes when it was released in 1960 and now it's considered a masterpiece and even taught in schools). But that's just a possibility right now and if in 10 years I'll remember that I used to write about this, perhaps my opinions could/would change. Maybe less than10 years :)

#asks

11 notes · View notes

fishybehavior · 3 years

Text

His biggest heist [Part 1]

Borg tower; the pinnacle of technology, security, and the future. Filled with information and innovation. It was one of the symbols of New Ninjago City and has been propped up as unbreakable.

So Jay decided to break in.

And that wasn’t even the best bit, he was getting paid to do it too.

Eight hundred feet in the air, on a window washer lift making it go as high as it could go. It was 10 pm, and Borg industries were having its annual gala. Security was lax so high up, everyone focusing on the first dozen floors, anything about 50 should be bare of breathing guards. But then again, Borg Industries was known for unconventional guards. But that's where Jay’s secret weapon came into play.

“How’s the hacking going Zane?” Jay spoke into his mouthpiece, the familiar metallic voice on the other end huffing in reply.

“No, you’re still out of range. They work on a short-ranged signal for a reason.”

“Well sorry princess, I thought it’d be better now we’re halfway up this stupidly tall building.” He muttered as the lift would go any higher. They were hovering at about floor 55, and he needed to still get up another 20 or so floors. “Welp, I guess I’m just climbing the rest.” He sighed as he unclipped his harness rope from the lift, messing with the controls for his harness.

“What! Your free climbing? The wind speeds are 40mph, you’ll be blown off!”

Jay was messing with the new features he added to his gauntlets. “Don’t worry, I’ve been working on a feature that allows me to stick to glass with electro-static leftover from the residual power.”

“First, you can't just confuse me with technical language like everyone else to get me to stop talking. I know what you're saying, and secondly, that feature isn’t field-tested. You don't know how well it works in real-world conditions!”

“Well, I guess it's time to test them then!” He cheered as he stuck his hand on the glass, it stuck and he tested it before he put his foot out and allowed it to stick. Soon he was completely off the lift, attached to the glass window like gum. Laughing gleefully he started to climb up the wall.

He could still hear Zane mumbling, “I swear you have a death wish.”

Jay elected to ignore the comment, “Tell me when you're in range.” He continued to climb about 10 stories, quickly becoming used to his new life as a tree frog as he methodically climbed the architecture.

“You're in range,” Zane quipped, and Jay stopped, letting his partner take over for the next bit. Zane had to hack in the short wave connection of the android guards. Allowing him to enter without alerting them and without tipping off Borg something was off with his toys.

“Do you have it, Zane?” Jay questioned, he didn’t like sitting here like a duck. Ducks got spotted and fed bread, and he wasn’t hungry.

“Finished,” The AI boasted, “Those androids are ridiculously simple once I cracked the firewall. Their visual and audio inputs are on a loop, so as long as you don't touch them they won't know you're there.” Jay could practically hear him smile. Zane may not always like his criminal behavior, but he couldn’t deny that this was so much more fun than playing go-fish in his dorm.

Jay finally got to his floor, giving Zane a minute to disable the alarm, he cut through the two-inch-thick glass with his laser cutter. Pushing in quietly he stepped into a dim hallway, getting surprised as an android guard walked up to him. He had to step back, flatting himself to the wall so it wouldn’t touch him. But it walked by, disappearing into a door right next to him. Opening the door with its identification code.

Jay let it walk in and before the door could close he slipped followed after it. Walking into another dim hallway with three doors on the end, “Ok Zane, I should be close, can you get me through the doors?” All the doors needed an id to get through, but he couldn’t follow the same android, it was going through the left door and he had to go right.

“Already ahead of you. Do you need me to tell you where to go too? How about what we’re looking for too,” He asked slightly annoyed.

“Haha. You’re very funny.” Jay quipped back, going to the right door to enter. He knew that Zane hated doing all the work, but this wasn’t a simple museum where the most he needed was noticed when the police called. The security here was tight, and the only way he could do it is if he stayed unnoticed. And he couldn’t hack everything as quickly or as unnoticed as Zane could. And being quick was the key to getting in and out without being caught.

Zane provided a code, and Jay projected it onto the scanner beside the door, opening it and Jay slid through. Jay continued to sneak throughout the seemingly endless hallways, avoiding the android guards that stood by some doors, and others that walked up and down the hallway. Staying as far from them as he could, he trusted Zane’s hacking, but things could always go wrong. The deeper he got into the building, the dimmer the hallways became, telling Jay that the security here was taking more electricity than previous. Whenever someone would come here legally they would turn on the aux lights, but he wasn't being very legal at the moment. Not that it bothered him. His bionic eye was equipped with ocular adjustments more sensitive than his natural eyes, making the dimness seem brighter than it was.

Jay opened one more door and saw the door he was searching for, it looked like all the others, but it had android guards on either side. Approaching the machines he looked at the door, it opened just like all the others, with a scanner on the right side right behind the android. It gave him about four inches to maneuver, but that should be just enough. Taking a deep breath he slid his arm between the two, and with a flick, he activated the projector for the code right onto the scanner. The door giving a slight hiss as it opened, Jay froze waiting for the guards to attack him. But they didn’t even twitch as the door opened, sighing he pulled his arm back and walked in. The door shut behind him and lights flicked on automatically. Bathing the small room in harsh light. Hissing at the sudden brightness Jay tried to take in what he was seeing.

There was only one thing in the room. A red mask with white markings swirling about the face. The mouth was closed with big teeth prodding from the mouth. The eye holes were rimmed in black as the mask's impressive eyebrows squinted in discontentment. The mask was in a glass case, and there were four more guards at each corner of the display case.

"Ok Zane, what am I looking at?"

"A mask in a display case," Zane answered simply, and he could hear him chuckling as Jay facepalmed at his response. "I know I know." Zane chortled as he looked at the alarms and electronic triggers around the room. "By opening the door with a legal code, the room sensors were disengaged, but the androids are directly linked to the case. If it's opened without authentication, they will either attack you or attempt to destroy the mask."

Jay stepped closer to the mask, looking for any physical triggers too, "Ok, so what's the authentication key?"

He heard Zane hum as he tried to answer his question, "A vocal command it seems. A person who matches the vocal key and a certain phrase is needed, but I can't decipher what the phrase is." He huffed in frustration.

"Here show me. I'll help." And the code appeared on his gauntlets projector. The two looked at the code, slowly decoding what meant what. Finally, they were able to get a phrase, "Release alarm on case 198-021, by the authority of Cyrus Borg." Jay read aloud, chuckling at the unoriginal phrase. "Could you construct a synthesizer in Borg's voice?"

"I can certainly try, but it may take some time."

"How long?"

"At least ten minutes."

"Can you do it in seven, we don't have the luxury of time."

"I'm working as fast as I can, but you may need to try and find another way if you can't wait," Zane said, returning to work on the synthesizer.

Jay huffed, as he studied the case and the androids. He knew the blueprints of robots well, he could just short-circuit them. But he couldn't do all four at once. And anyway, once he took one out, every android not assigned to a position would converge on him. Not a welcome outcome, so he either had to get the voice key or find a way to keep the alarm system from triggering. But that was going to be tricky because it was a physical trigger on the glass case, either for pressure or an electrical current. If you disrupted it, the alarm would go off. Maybe he could cut into the glass itself? Take out the top and pull out the mask? He'd have to make sure that the mask itself wasn't on a pressure plate as well, but it would be a good option.

"Zane, how's the key going?"

"Poorly, I'm able to get the rest of the phrase, but the different pronunciation possibilities for 198-021 make it nye impossible to make a perfect key with no reference."

"Well, what you have now, will it work?" Jay questioned

"I'm uncertain. I don't know if the phrase needs to be verbatim to work. If it's not right, we'll set off the alarms." Zane hummed in thought, calculating the risk that going through with the vocal key would take.

"It's too much of a risk, we should try to break into the case itself. Zane is the mask on a pressure plate?" Jay questioned the AI, and he heard him hum in thought as he looked through the available resources.

"I can't tell for certain. There are two triggers, but I can't tell if one is for the mask, or if they're both for the case."

"No matter which one we choose, we risk an alarm. I'm going to try and cut into the top. Zane be at the ready. If the alarm does go off, I need you to deactivate the four androids here and the two at the door." Jay said, he knew that there wasn't a kill switch that would work for all the androids, needing to be turned off individually. But if he was going to get out without being caught, he had to depend on Zane's ability for multitasking and speed. Or he'd be a fish in a barrel.

"Of course," Zane hummed, setting up the code to try and find the kill switch. Once he activated it Borg would be notified that something was wrong and the other androids would converge on their location. Which drastically cut their chances of escape. Too much for Zane's comfort. "Ready when you are." He stated ready to kill the androids if needed.

Jay rolled his shoulders, loosening the stress that's been building for the last half an hour. He knew he only had about 10-20 more minutes before something happened. Either someone noticed the androids were on loop or would spot him on camera. He had to act now or get caught. Taking a deep breath he adjusted his laser for the thickness and type of glass he was cutting.

"Here we go," he breathed as he began to cut.

#ninjago #thief au #thceif #jay #zane #cyrus borg #borg tower #hiest #break in #part 1 #lets GOOOO #i finally wrote something!!!#fic #im sorry if this makes no sence #i finished at like midnight #i just really want to post it

24 notes · View notes

wychive · 3 years

Text

𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 — 𝙡. 𝙟𝙮. (#𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙠𝙛𝙣)

fic type // oneshot — 3.9k

prompt // when an individual is born, their magic aura makes itself present indicating what magic they would be using. very few were born with a dark magic aura and died within their first breaths, you were one of the two recorded births that made it. now you were searching for the other one

pairing(s) // juyeon x gn!reader (pltn.)

genre(s) // PG18 & adventure, fluff, angst

warning(s) // knives, stabbing (in a dream), nightmares, mention of food, depiction of anxiety, description of smells, being drunk, deceased major and minor characters, blood, corpses

author's note // it's finally here! i've been working on this for a few weeks already and that's why it's so late :'( thank you to @omigogames for proof reading this ily queen 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 this was for @kpopficsnetwork' s halloween event that they held last october <3 please read the rest of the member's works on the event! i recommend listening to wandering and as the world caves in (at the angsty parts) while reading this as it really sets the mood. i hope you enjoy!!

you wiped the drop of sweat off your forehead as you approached the top of a hill. you sat down on the grassy floor and took out a flask still full of drinking water. you downed a quarter of it, feeling your body re energize as you do so. you never thought it would take this long to search for them.

how many months has it been? five? six? you've lost count, having to travel miles across the world just to find the hidden treasure you've been seeking for years. see, you were born with a 'unique' aura. everyone has their own which determines what kind of magic they would be using for the rest of their lives. your family had the common ice or water elementals but you turned out to be the black swan in a ballet full of snowy white ones.

you were born with an aura that was powerful enough to cause a black out, in other words, you had a dark magic aura and somehow managed to survive throughout the years. your mother was no different from the rest but she tried her best to guide you on controlling your powers or even combine your magic powers with hers to make an elemental combo. she died two years before you went on this journey to find the one only other person who successfully survived their own birth of having this magic aura. the only things you knew about them were that they were at least 20 years older and that they were born as a female.

the fact that only you and one other person have this magical ability made you think about them day and night. were you their soulmate? or did they think of you too? were they a kind or evil person? did they ever confuse people like you did? were they affected by society's comments that they're now shut away in some dungeon? you could go on and on for days about this special person even though you haven't met them yet. you were eager to find them, even if it took you years to do so.

as you wondered about the unique person, you stared into the dark abyss with shining dots, not realising your eyelids were shut soon after. that night you dreamt of all the possible outcomes this journey would end, mostly happy endings where you would find the person and be their friend or you get to spend the rest of your life with them. you did not want to think of the sad ones, yet your mind wanted to see you suffer. nightmares were common as they came with your dark powers but you still hated it when they disturb your perfect sleep. with that, you woke up from a nightmare just as the person was about to strike a knife in your chest.

the pain felt so real that as soon as you woke up, your hand clutched onto your chest. luckily (or not so) you heard the uniform paced heartbeat from your eardrums. this caused you so much as you did not even see that the sun was just above the horizon, greeting the earth a good morning. you sighed in relief as you thank the universe for not getting you eaten by a wild animal.

you stood up, stretching your arms and legs after another night of sleeping on a thick cloth. you packed up your things and placed your sturdy backpack on you before starting your trekking journey. you checked your phone for any updates or news of the world that was not so boring as you began to walk south towards a small town. once approaching the main road, you slipped your phone back into your front pocket before following the flow of cars.

a smile appeared on your face, looking at how idle the town was at eight in the morning. it wasn't so noisy as most of the cars had stopped at diners or cafes for a tasty breakfast. the only things you could hear were people greeting each other with a simple 'hello' and the birds that had just been awoken from their slumber.

you checked the amount of money you had left; apparently, it was enough for you to last three days for all three meals and then it was downhill from there. you shook your head, thinking of ways to earn at least a little bit of money before moving to another town (if you needed to). your eyes drifted from the trees to the bakery that was on the opposite side of the road.

you could see the silhouette of a person placing buns in their respective containers. the person was in chef whites, with their sleeves rolled above their elbows. you really didn't want to catch feelings for anyone at the moment, especially in this state of being homeless and short on money. nonetheless, you were hungry and so you decided that you wanted some fresh baked buns on a saturday morning like this.

as you walked into the cozy bakery, you noticed a variety of desserts and buns arranging from croissants to baked pizza buns. the aroma in the air made your stomach growl. you took one of the pick-up trays and a pair of tongs and immediately went for the custard and red bean buns.

"oh my god," a voice exclaimed followed by a bit of coughing. "why do you smell so bad?"

you brought an arm to your nose, smelling yourself. you actually didn't smell half-bad. it only has been a day since you showered properly, how could it be that bad? you rolled your eyes as you looked in the direction of the voice. ah, it was the silhouette from earlier.

"is this how you greet customers?" you shot back, raising one of your eyebrows.

"no, of course not," the person said. "but your stench is unbearable." they scoffed and shook their head, giving a smug expression.

"well, i'll only be here for just a bit. don't worry about it, i'll be out before your regulars arrive," you said, assuring that you WOULD be out before anything else happened.. but you did not. as you didn't expect the prices of food to be that high.

"look at this place," the employee said, leaning his palms against the edge of the counter. "what did you expect?"

he was right, the place looked like it was straight up from a renaissance painting with its mini chandeliers and pink roses on the sides as decorations. it did look like a modern cafe twisted with some hint of the classics.

"is there anything i could do? to pay for this i mean," you asked them, hiding your embarrassment of the lack of money.

"depends… what kind of element do you use?"

"...ice," you lied. no one would want a rare dark element in their place.

"hm.. i guess we could use some ice making help," they thought, then looked back at you who seemed desperate for the job. yes, it would hold you back on a few days but you really needed the money.. and a place to stay if they let you.

"okay, then. you're hired," they said as they lent out a hand for you to shake. it was covered in leftover flour and smelled like yeast. you grabbed his hand and shook it.

"the name's juyeon, and you?"

"y/n… i'm guessing you're a fire user?" you replied. it was obvious as he was cocky, yet a charming fella. you could say a demon in disguise.

"clever, i like that in people," he smirked, his face looked smug and it really pissed you off- but he might be your new manager or boss so you stuck up to it and let out a simple fake chuckle. "any other questions?

"do i get a place to stay along with the job?"

"no but you could stay over at my place," he acknowledged. your eyes dart around the room before they landed on him, as you let out a laugh.

"excuse me?"

"you heard me. i have a spear bed and everything," he said. you were baffled, it seemed like he didn't care if you were a serial killer, plus, he only knew your first name and what 'element' you responded to. what were you going to do?

"fine," you said, already looking forward to the comfort your body was going to feel once you finally sleep on a mattress.

"alright then, let's get to work barista."

as you both get to his apartment, you gazed at your surroundings. everything looked neat, and not a spick of dust were to be seen. you look at the mini hallway in the studio apartment of his and see two doors, opposite of each other and another at the end of it. before you could even step foot in the kitchen, the male pulled you aside. your reflexes almost caused you to punch his stupid face when you remembered that you were just a guest at this comfort place of his.

"rules," he said, in a stern voice. "one, not too much noise between eleven at night to six in the morning. two, don't use too much of the hot water because i'm touched starved too-"

you rolled your eyes at his last remark, acknowledging that it was a cruel true joke. "-three, save some snacks for me if you're planning to eat it all and four, we leave the bakery together and come back together. i'm not sure who your guardian is but, i'll make sure you're in one piece once you return to them"

"i'm my own guardian, excuse you."

"still, your safety is guaranteed when you're with me," juyeon claimed. you thought it was rubbish but still, he had a bigger brother vibe with the way he spoke and so you went with the flow.

"the left one's mine, the last one's the bathroom," he said, referring to the hallway of doors you were staring at. the muffled sound of news reporters from the television drowned itself in the background when you close the door behind you. a smile appeared on your face as you got to have your own room, without juyeon ever bugging you.

you place your heavy army backpack beside the door as you lay on the bed that was neatly made. you smiled, finally having a proper place to sleep. you thank god for the (annoying) co-worker that you met that day. you didn't even have a chance to shower before your thoughts drifted away, causing you to sleep.

the next morning, juyeon woke you up by shouting your name from the kitchen multiple times. you groaned at the sound of his voice at seven in the morning when you were used to waking up at nine. you sat up and started your day from there. thankfully, it wasn't too exhausting.

a morning walk to the cafe bakery was thankfully peaceful with the both of you not being the big social type nor the small talk type. the warm rays of sunlight made your morning so much better. you began working at the bar, where you produced many types of tea and other refreshing drinks. you managed to conjure up ice easily with some tricks your mother taught as a child.

you introduced yourself to the regulars as a new employee at the place and they politely welcomed you to the town and cafe. their smiles were genuine and sweet, they gave off a motherly feel whenever it appeared. yours, too, was genuine. you missed being in a community like this, so dearly that you almost teared up at the sight of a child being kind to you.

the night was better. the walk back to his place was filled with stories about the regulars that juyeon had been told. you had inserted some dull dad jokes here and there, making him let out a chuckle at least once.

once you both arrived at the apartment, you immediately went to get your shower supplies and headed to the bathroom. while showering, you thought of ways you could find her faster. you have tried multiple ways but still couldn't find solid proof of her whereabouts. you sighed scrubbing the bubbly shampoo onto your scalp. you could ask juyeon for help but your identity would be revealed and he might just kick you out for that. maybe, just maybe, you could keep this act up? for a little longer. at least until you get enough money to live on your own.

that was what you did for the next few months, keeping your act up for the rest of the world. you were careful not to reveal too much of yourself, not spreading too much information across to other people, not even juyeon. even if you had secrets, he still treated you as normal as everyone else. though, he did seem weird at times as if he could read your thoughts. this scared you as it wasn't impossible to learn occlumency even if it took time. over time, you and juyeon developed this best friend bond with each other; protecting and having each other's backs when needed. of course, he was the same person as the one you met on your first day around town which left a sense of comfort in you.

a nightmare dressed as a daydream was what you were as you would sneak out on nights before non-working days. you had to let out a piece of your dark powers out somehow. even if you knew how to conceal them, it didn't mean you could control them forever. you found a cave in the far east where no one would hear nor see you, and so that became your little relaxation cave.

not so long after, you found out that there was a man who could find things you couldn't. some say he had connections to the deeper net or even that he was related to some who were part of an underground gang. nonetheless, it didn't stop you from seeing the fella once a week or two. this method made itself a purpose as he gave you more information than any general person could; her hometown, her family members, and so much more.

it seemed like a miracle, though you never thought that she would have children, more than that of a son and a daughter. a fact that surprised you was that she had the same surname as your roommate. that was all the information he had, it was not much but you still thanked him for it. your night-ventures continued on, exploring the town and gathering bits of information through drunken folks at the tavern.

you would get home just before dawn and sleep until noon. of course, the male you lived with would nag you on waking up late but he never really cared either. he loved to see your bite back with your poor choice of words. everything felt right and everything felt okay, you were in peace with the world.

"where are you going?" his voice emerged from the darkness, causing your body to jump.

"i'm just gonna get some drinks," you answered, in a confident tone as you bit your inner bottom lip.

"are you going to go see him again?" juyeon asked, snickering along with his words. "don't think i don't know what you're up to."

his statements and questions made your mind run wild; how did he know? why didn't he ever stop you? did he understand what you were doing? did someone tell him? you became a still worried mess, not knowing what to say nor do. you were stuck in a pose as if medusa were to turn you into stone.

"please, just tell me where you're going tonight, or bring me with you," he said, his voice groggy as if he had woken up from a short sleep.

"no, i'm sorry, juyeon," the words flew out of your mouth as your thoughts re-organized themselves. "you can't"

"why not?" he asked, once again. at this point his questions seemed like an endless stream of cloth.

"because- you just can't," you sighed, relaxing your shoulders and going up to him. you didn't have any excuses because you weren't used to lying so much to someone who you cared for. "it's dangerous if you do, please just listen to me."

he sighed deeply as he always does before he nags. "i want to listen to you, y/n, but you going off in the middle of the night and coming home late isn't… so you. do you need to talk? or something. i know i'm not good with comfort but i'm here for you if you need to let out anything at all."

you felt broken, because you knew how much he longed for this type of relationship. he had told you about his sister that passed not so long ago and how much he adored her. you were about to say something when he placed his hands on your arms and gripped them, as a sign to not leave him.

"could you just tell me? please? i promise it would be a secret," he pleaded, truly worrying about what became a routine.

"you should sleep, juyeon. you have work tomorrow," you tried to avoid answering the question as much as possible but he made it so hard.

"i just want to know-"

"juyeon, you don't need to know. it's nothing important. you don't need to worry about me, alright? i promise i'll be okay," you said, in a sensible tone. you heard sniffles from the male that stood before you, as his grip on your arms loosened. he cracked a smile which held in pain mixed with joyful memories.

"you sound just like her," he said, in a shaky tone. he sounded weak, and you could see the pool of tears around his eyes. in that moment, you felt your breath turn shallow. you closed your eyes and immediately embraced the bigger man into a tight hug. you knew who he was referring to as he would do it so often when you opened your mouth to say anything. "you're like her" or "you act like my mother, you know that?", he always stated these in a cheery manner, but seeing him shatter like this made your heart wrench.

you decided to skip your night shenanigans when you lead him towards his room. you've never been in it but stepping into it, felt so cozy as if it were a cold breeze on a hot summer day. you sat him down on the edge of his bed, seeing his tears turn into a gold-ish colour. you sighed, seeing this side of him. you always saw the bright sunflower yellow but not this burnt out maroon red. you sat in silence as his sniffles calmed down.

the balcony door let in a ray of moonlight which shone on the boy beside you. you turned to look at him, and saw a grin emerge from his lips.

"thank you," he said in a whisper-tone. "for being here, y/n."

juyeon stared at the pale full moon that was on display for the people of the earth. "i'll always be here," you say, holding his hand. it was a nice intimate moment for the both of you. the state of serenity made you think about the things that led up to this right here and it was all because of a person whom you've never met.

"y'know.. she had the same powers as you," juyeon said, sipping his hot chocolate. you both were seated at the kitchen island with hot cocoas and mini marshmallows. it was almost four in the morning and so you both decided to stay up a little bit more, as if the sands of time didn't take precious hours of rest.

"she was a frost user as well?," you asked him, eager to know his family background.

"no," he said, chuckling before stuffing a few marshmallows into his already rich drink. you sat there, with one lifted eyebrow. "what are you talking about exactly?" you asked, warming your hands as it cupped the mug in front of you.

"you know what i mean," he said, holding in a deceiving smirk. your eyes widened and your hand gripped onto the mug handle. it wasn't the fact that he had discovered your hidden powers nor how he had hid the information that he knew your powers but it was the fact that the person that you were looking for all this time had died.

all the traveling and suffering lead you to this moment had been for nothing? you did all of this for her, and yet you turned into a sobbing mess when you visited her grave. juyeon held you close as you weeped when you saw her headstone. it absolutely broke you even if you've never even seen her nor heard her. he stayed strong for you when your head was buried into his chest. he could even feel the mix of rage and sadness as your powers seemed to leak from your tears.

"i miss her too," he spoke up, still caressing your weak state. "i'm sure she would have adored you so much, y/n"

your feelings got the best of you and soon every noise stopped, with only an ever-lasting ring in your ears. your tear-filled eyes opened to see a ring of dark purple surround you like a globe with your feet dangling in the air. it was a new, unspoken sight to see but what had happened outside the bubble was a new horror to you.

juyeon was laying on the ground, upon the many other graves. his skin covered with burnt marks of some kind, and his chest area covered with blood spots which may came from bullets. your bubble disappeared as you jumped down on the ground, going over to his lifeless body as fast as you could.

"y/n.." he said, breathless. "i'll be okay."

"but.."

"they'll be here soon."

you were confused on what he was referring to - not until you heard police and ambulance sirens coming from a distance. you cupped his face which managed to give you a small grin even in his hurtful state. "don't leave. don't leave me please."

"you need to run, y/n"

"stop. stop.. saying that," you pleaded, with some of your leftover tears dripping onto his burnt clothing. you could hear his last breaths too, which made it harder for you to ever leave his side.

"i'll see you later.. alright?" he asked, as his final words. his body fell to limp in your arms, when your tears started flowing like a never ending river. the sirens were coming closer at the scene of the crime, and there you sat, clutching onto him with your last hope of humanity. you didn't care about the police nor the property you destroyed, you lost him. you lost HIM.

in that moment, the world stayed still with no promise that it was going to spin again. your head felt dizzy as your limbs felt numb. you knew it only had been a few minutes but it felt like centuries with your silenced screams. you didn't want to be outcast, you were already alone in the world with no one else you could call for help. everyone else had their counterparts but all you had was yourself. you hated the thought of being lonely and so you stayed there, weak, just to feel something worth living for.

49 notes · View notes

purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1277

Who are you most nervous about introducing potential significant others to? Ooooh moving forward, probably Angela hahahaha I have no idea how I’d break it to her if ever I do start seeing somebody again. She’s well aware of all the shit that I let slide so she might get intense with the scrutineering.

What is the most exciting thing about your life right now? Just the fact that I feel on top of the world these days. My days of being depressed and picking at my insecurities seem to be far behind me and the change has looked to be apparent coming from friends who’ve told me I seem happier, louder these days.

What was the most important non-academic thing you learned in high school? To not be scared to fight harder for the things you believe in or what make up your identity, coming from having to hide a same-sex relationship during that period. That feeling of being constricted and having to hide to stay on some conservative seniors’ good graces really pissed me off so high school was really crucial in letting me discover just how much I’d be willing to fight and test the waters to be able to live as me.

Have you ever had a job that deeply affected your personal life? How so and do you still work there? Hmm no, not really. If anything my job is one of the things that helped make me a lot livelier and happier.

Do you have a “one who got away”? It felt that way at the start when my view was still skewed, but it didn’t take long until I realized she was not a loss at all.

If you were in a superhero movie, would you be the hero or the villain? Hero.

If you found a mouse in your house, would you be frightened? Mice or rats are the literal worst fucking thing I could see in my house. I definitely see myself making a big deal out of it lmao, especially rats.

Have you ever tried to perform magic tricks? Nobody ever taught me, so no.

Can you do more with a yo-yo than just "go up and down"? Nah, which kinda makes me feel ashamed because considering it was a Filipino who invented the modern yo-yo, I feel like it should be my responsibility to know a few tricks LOL.

What is one form of technology that you wouldn't be able to live without? Instant messenger.

Did you get an allowance, growing up? Why or why not? Starting high school. Before that I was living in our family’s duplex, so my grandma could make packed meals for all of us – not to mention the fact that my parents were also still on their way to establishing themselves at their respective workplaces so we weren’t all that well-off yet.

When we moved into our own place, we started with my mom making our meals but eventually it just proved to be time-consuming and a lot of work considering she also had a job to go to. With that and the fact that both my parents at that point already got a couple of promotions, we switched to allowance.

Would you rather go to a water park or an amusement park? Why? Amusement parks though I would only probably head to the safer rides and food stalls with all the deep-fried offerings haha. I cannot handle more intense rides. On the other hand, water parks have always sounded nasty to me.

What is one instrument you wouldn't mind learning how to play? Piano.

What's the longest amount of time you've had to wait in line for something? The stupid LTO, because you can never count on government agencies to be efficient. Technically my whole time in there took a couple of stages, but all in all I spent eight hours there.

What is something that you would like to learn more about? Korean. I just graduated from my Basic Korean 1 class but I already have plans to enroll in the following course, since I seemed to do well and I want to keep the momentum going.

What is something that one of your family member collects? Mom has a large collection of chef-themed figurines and other sorts of trinkets like a chef timer, shot glasses, etc - but mostly the figurines - that she has displayed in a glass case. I should keep that in mind for when I start Christmas shopping, actually...she hasn’t updated that collection in a long time. Thanks for the idea!

Have you ever moved to a new school before? If so, how did it feel? No, not in the middle of the same period since I went to the same school from kinder to high school for 14 years. I only “moved” when I started college. Like I’ve said in previous surveys, it felt freeing to finally not under be the hands of an environment ran by...well, Catholics. It was a culture shock to see rallies everywhere, to find out I could wear short shorts or even go to school naked if I wanted to, and to see boys in my class (I went to an all-girls), but it was all the good kind of shock.

Have you ever legitimately forgotten to do homework? Always, because I never wrote them down.

Do you enjoy autumn leaves or spring flowers more? Why? I experience neither season.

Depending on where you live, why might a day of school get canceled? Typhoon.

If you could meet any fictional character from a book, who would it be? Melanie Hamilton from Gone with the World.

What are some common places that people tour when they come to your city? I rarely see foreigners here since my area isn’t particularly known for tourism; most go to the island provinces like Cebu, Aklan, Palawan, etc. If I had to recommend spots here, I’d tell them to go for Pinto and maybe the rooftop bars that offer a view of Manila’s skyline.

What's one food that you did not enjoy as a child, but do as an adult? Chicken curry, which I used to dread.

Would you rather have a mermaid tail, a fairy's wings or a unicorn's horn? I guess the wings just because I feel like it’s the only practical one.

What is an animal that you'd like to have as a pet but it's not allowed? I don’t think that way about animals I can’t keep as pets anyway.

What are some things that you do to make the world a better place? I always clean up at restaurants (my mom doesn’t understand why I do it because “the servers are here for a reason, Robyn”) but I always see the relief on their faces when they see I’ve stacked up the plates and cups so I don’t see a reason to stop doing it. I keep the door open for people who happen to enter/exit a building the same time as me, share dog adoption posts, don’t make a fuss about or towards a shop staff who messes up...things like that. I hope it’s able to help, even if just in a small way.

Has the last person you had sex with ever had sex with someone besides you? I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has already.

What’s your favorite store at your mall? We have several malls within the vicinity but I like frequenting NCAT.

Have you ever done a workout DVD? No but my mom is fond of those.

Who usually takes out the trash in your family? Either of my parents.

What song are you currently obsessed with? My Universe is soooooo good. It’s Coldplay’s classic sound but they somehow managed to perfectly blend in BTS’ style as well, so I love how it turned out.

When you go fishing, do you make someone else get the fish off the hook? I've never gone fishing.

Do you take any prescription meds? Nope.

What happens if you don’t take them? Who was the last person you dreamt about? My dad.

Do you prefer your tea sweetened or unsweetened? Sweetened, though I don’t usually actively look for iced tea. I’d have it if it was served, but I don’t typically order it for myself.

How often do you honk your horn? As long as I am annoyed, which gives my mom a mini heart attack every time because she insists I just let people have their way to avoid getting into fights. Sometimes when she’s driving and someone’s being stupid on the road I lurch forward to do the honking for her and it pisses her off soooooooooo much but it also gets the job done so *shrug*

Do you have any children? If so, names and ages? I don’t.

Have your parents ever witnessed you doing something inappropriate? What? TMI but I almost got caught doing the m-word once but my reflexes were at lightning speed that day so when my door opened I was able to fix myself up and appear as though nothing was happening lol. My mom also saw a hickey on me once but I was able to veer the conversation away when she started inquiring.

Did you get babysat a lot as a kid? No, I did the babysitting.

If you were the principal of a school, what would you do differently? Actually deal with teachers who mistreat or make issues towards their students. I had several teachers I know didn’t like me but I could never do anything about it because there was no way in hell the school was going to take my side.

Are you doing anything fun tomorrow? Continued from yesterday. If I took this question yesterday to refer to today I would’ve answered yes because we actually have a really fun PR stunt scheduled for execution today, wherein we get to sponsor someone’s whole wedding from food to flowers to the host and fillm crew :D :D But tomorrow is just Monday so the real answer to this is no.

What is something you'd like to receive as a housewarming gift? I dunno the usual housewarming gifts, but I would appreciate anything practical, or anything that you’ll need at the least expected times, like batteries or even like Sticky Tack.

How old were you when you first experienced the effects of puberty? Oooh I was an early bird – I was 9 when I could first tell my first period was on its way; it came a month after I turned 10.

What is your least favorite holiday, and why? I don’t dislike any holiday because they all mean a day off work lol.

What were some outdoor games you played as a child? We usually played piko (hopscotch), our local version of freeze tag that we dubbed “Ice ice water” for whatever reason, and a garter game that we call 10-20. Dodgeball was a favorite during recess and lunch, too.

Did you accompany your parents on "Take Your Child to Work" Day? That’s not observed here, but my mom did use to take me and my siblings to her first workplace. Are cemeteries peaceful to you, or do they freak you out? They’re actually more interesting to me than anything else. I like learning about the different lives of many different people, even if I only technically know them by their birthday and date of death. Sometimes the inscriptions would be more detailed and tell more about their life, sometimes I’d come across babies who only lived a few days...and it’s just interesting to have those glimpses into life.

Which ancient civilization would you be interested in learning more about? Filipino, because Western colonization destroyed proof of most of it.

Do you have better long-term memory or short-term memory? Long.

What was the last situation that made you cry? Describe. I cried this morning. Nothing bad or heavy, I just found myself thinking again about my mental state last year.

Which forest animal would you be most afraid to encounter? Anything that wouldn’t hesitate to tear my limbs apart.

Do you believe in anything supernatural? (ie: spirits, etc) No.

Has anyone close to you ever gone to war? No. The closest link I have to the military, other than my dead great-grandfather, is Angela’s uncle who’s like a general or like a colonel or something, idk titles.

Have you ever experienced altitude sickness? Yeah, occasionally. Pressure in the ear is a bigger nuisance to me, though.

Is there anything, any event, you wish you could remember more clearly? The last time I saw my grandfather. My only clear memory of him that day was stepping out of the house to leave (my mom and I were visiting) and him sending me off with the message to always be kind and good. If I had known I would never see him again, I never would’ve left.

Have you ever rubbed anyone’s feet? Hmm no, not that I can recall.

If you had to get advice from someone of the opposite sex, who would you go to? I’d go to Hans for certain advice, but not for every single situation. He’s the only person that comes to mind.

What was the last new food/drink that you tried? So last Wednesday I finally got to try this Instagram-based doughnut shop that I’ve been eyeing since August and it turned out to be even MUCH BETTER THAN EXPECTEDDDDDD. Like yeah their photos were always mouthwatering but I didn’t expect it to taste as good as it looks, since most pretty food I’ve encountered usually end up just tasting meh. Anywho, I got two orders of their sampler box and they served me their specialty bacon doughnut, signature brown butter, and a bunch of their chocolate and peanut butter variants and I loved every single fucking thing.

Have you had a good day today or was yesterday better? Oh it’s hard to tell, it’s only 9:05 AM. Both days might be uneventful, though.

Have you ever played Sudoku? I don’t actually get how to play it hahaha. I feel like I’m too stupid for sudoku.

Do you ever take surveys for money? I tried it last year when applying for jobs was still a bitch for me, but the thing is most of those surveys look for employed participants so there was rarely ever a survey that fit me anyway.

Do you like Barbie or Bratz better? Bratz.

Do you prefer purple or green grapes? I don’t like grapes.

Who was the last person that made you laugh? Idk, probs one of the boys since I was watching videos of them earlier today.

Where does your best friend live? A nearby city.

Who did you last confide in? Angela.

Does your car have an alarm? Sure.

Where was your mom born? Somewhere in Metro Manila.

What can always make you feel better no matter what? My dogs.

What is something you’ll never eat again? Why? I don’t think there is anything. I feel like I’m always bound to retry things and that I would be open to doing so, even fruits. One thing I’m firm about never drinking again, though, is coconut water. Get that SHIT away from me.

What is currently happening that is scaring you? I’m not feeling scared these days.

Have you ever found a stranger’s note somewhere? If so, what did it say? Probably. But nothing sticks out.

#survey #surveys

2 notes · View notes