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tortoisesshells · 3 years

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for I scorn to do any one a mischief, when it is not to my advantage (~1100 words, POTC, AU of the AU set in AWE, pre- Nellie/Norrington, rated T for language and Nellie’s generally bleak attitude towards death)

the one where Nellie lost her entire family to the fever, went a little mad, became a pirate, realized she’s a rubbish captain but a decent administrator, and still ends up having to deal with James Norrington,

or,

How in hellfire had it all come to this? – Nellie Treat, alias Captain Dyer, was thinking. It was so late it was nearly morning, not that a single sliver of sunlight could be seen in the gloomy depths of Shipwreck Cove’s magazine; she was in her stockings, counting barrels as though she could make more gunpowder appear by force of will alone. It had never seemed a wholly adequate amount, but the advent of war made all her scrounging and stockpiling seem entirely worthless.

There were other worries too, though those were slightly less pressing: if war was coming, and it surely was – it would come to the Cove as a siege, unless their opponents were singularly stupid. Alas, Lord Beckett and the Governors of the EIC were cruel men, but capable. A siege – a blockade – meant long weeks, if not months, without resupply; there was no space in Shipwreck Cove to grow its own crops, and to be sufficient to its own needs. The spring was all well and good (the old, weathered part of her that had once had a husband and children who delighted in word-play laughed, but a short, painful one – a laugh like one from a consumptive wretch), but it could not keep them from starving – and worse, after some time without any fresh rations, living on ship’s biscuit and salt junk and dried peas, and perhaps some fresh fish when they were lucky – that was when illness would set in. And there would be nowhere for any of them to go.

Save Hell.

Nellie began to count again, and kept counting until she heard the tell-tale clatter if footfalls above her head, and an unfamiliar – well, barely familiar – voice calling to her from the world above:

“Captain Dyer! I require a word!”

And when the King of the Brethren Court demanded something, it behooved Nellie to give it. She clambered up the ladder and emerged blearily into the dim pre-dawn light, to find Elizabeth Swann and –

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

“The same as the rest of us, I expect,” countered the Pirate King, pushing – actually pushing – the man she had been walking with forward. “I believe you two have already met, so there’s social niceties done with. Admiral Norrington has volunteered for our campaign, Captain Dyer; I believe you can find a good use for him.”

Like cannon fodder? Nellie thought, but did not say, electing to remain silent while sizing up the Scourge of Piracy himself. He didn’t seem quite as tall as she remembered – though the last time she had seen him, she had been chained up like a dog in a Fort Charles cell, only a few hours from the hangman’s noose. Those years ago, he’d looked as though he’d been hewn straight out of Braintree granite, cold and very nearly cruel – though, she corrected herself begrudgingly, still carefully watching the officer as though he were a street cur who might bite her, Norrington had not been truly cruel, just hard. The hardest case Nellie had ever seen – though Hendricks, after he’d affected a swashbuckling rescue and let her lick the worst of her wounds, had laughed gently, and asked –

An even harder case than you? –

Norrington didn’t look so impervious now. Proud, yes, but … dented. Haunted, even.

So selling the world to Lord Fucking Beckett for the cost of some gold braid on a coat hadn’t been everything he dreamed of?

But Captain Swann was staring at her expectantly, and Nellie hadn’t survived so long as she had in a cruel world by turning up her nose at any advantages with presented themselves to here, even if this particular one made her think of Greeks bearing gifts far more than any other thing. Fine. She’d be damned before she let her home go without doing everything in her power to save it.

“I’ll be much obliged to you, Norrington, if you can provide me with accurate numbers regarding the strength of the Bombay Marine fleet – and any other information that might make this reek less of Thermopylae.”

The King wrinkled her nose at that – a gesture that made her seem terribly, terribly young – no one had ever told Nellie how young, but Elizabeth Swann seemed younger than Mary had been when Nellie –

Well.

“You may leave him with me,” Nellie said, in a nearly conciliatory tone, “I’ll mind he doesn’t cause any trouble around the Cove. Thank you, Captain Swann.”

(Ought she to be calling Swann ‘majesty’? Nellie didn’t much want to, and not only because King Swann was seeing fit to leave her practically locked in the armory with the man who’d come the closest, in her short and brutal career, to killing her.)

King Swann excused herself with all the pomp of the office, as though she’d been born to it – she might well have been, considering how close her father was to George himself – and leaving Nellie still coolly surveying the man who had been the Scourge of Piracy.

Her neck itched.

“You’re Captain Dyer,” he said, evenly.

“As you see.”

“I remember you.”

“It was a fairly spectacular escape,” Nellie replied, with something that might have been preening, from a less grim woman.

“I still have no idea how you did that.”

“And I’m afraid you’ll have to continue to live in disappointment.”

“I don’t expect I shall ever return to Fort Charles as its master, so your caution, while admirable, is misplaced.” He had a curdled smile on, palpably bitter. “It’s far more likely that someday I shall have to do as you have done.”

But perhaps he realized that Captain Dyer was no more likely to tell him her secret to save his life than she was to satisfy a point of curiosity, and so he left it – and – fine. She would be practical about this. Norrington had very nearly sent her to her Maker, and her shoulder had never been the same since that disastrous confrontation that had led to her capture. But if Norrington was here, and could give her the slightest thing which would help her perform her task and save her home from destruction – well. She could be civil. She would.

“If you are serious, then we shouldn’t waste any more time,” she said, letting herself drop into an old chair that was likely more teredo-worm than teak, “I don’t expect I shall survive this newest adventure, but I am going to try. Sit. Tell me everything you know. I can tell when a man’s lying, mind, so save us both the time and trouble.”

Norrington, looking at her warily, did as she said. “Where would you like me to begin?”

“The beginning and end of the whole affair,” she shot back, “How many ships?”

It was a bleak conversation, indeed.

#fic #my fic #customs and duties #customs and duties aus

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demauryss · 3 years

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murphy’s law | 1/2

anything that can go wrong will go wrong. eliott just learns it the hardest way possible.

or, kind of an expansion of hold you here my loveliest friend

alt er love advent calender, day 18

(for my dearest mtea @bluronyourradar, this is the thing which i was writing for you. i tore my heart in half while writing this hehe hope you enjoy reading this. part two coming soon i promise :-))

The thing about giving your heart to your best friend is, you never actually see it happening. You don’t see it coming. It just happens. Maybe at the speed of tar moving over the road. Maybe at the way the sunlight fades behind the darkness of the night. Maybe in the blink of an eye. But it happens.

You see, they’re always there. You find their smile punctuated by the way they look at you, and their words sweet like honey and heart as warm as a stream of water on a hot day. The fluttering of their hands over your skin and in your stomach burning like the crackling fire you’d have stood in front of, smoke from the ashes mixing with the tears in your eyes as you’d have turned away. They’re always there, so you don’t see.

(Maybe sometimes you do. Amidst fleeting glances and stopping heartbeat and sometimes, concrete as the sky and bottomless as the ground beneath your feet. You don’t.)

And it’s the best thing, those short moments where you don’t have to worry about someone else having a hold of your heart, twisting it to their desires. It’s the best thing about giving your heart to your best friend. Because you’re as blissful as you can be around them. Because you’ve always felt this welcoming warmth radiating from them which envelops your bones and makes a home for you inside itself, stopping you from stepping out of it into the unbidden cold, which is sharp and sinks itself over you.

And when your best friend gives their heart to you, you take it without any questions asked. You hold it close to the space where yours used to be. You spend your nights dancing through the grass and your days lifting the feeling slowly settling in your head, blurring your thoughts and fading every sense of reality. You hold on to their heart tighter than your own, and maybe that’s the first mistake you make.

Because then your grip on your own heart starts to loosen. Till a time comes that it completely shifts away from you. Because your brain is busy protecting your best friend’s heart and forgets the part of itself which you have given away.

And because. Because you let yourself. So there comes a time when your best friend hands your heart back to you. They hand it back, warmed and loved and wrapped in a curtain which makes it to look like it hasn’t been used before. They hand it back, a delicate bundle of fibers and beats mixing into one.

And you’ve spent so much time in cutting all the nerves and vessels tying you to that beating flesh. You’ve spent so much of yourself living without that part of you. And when you get your heart back, despite of your wishes, you don’t know what to do with it. You place it beck inside your chest, behind that cage tightening against the walls, hoping it would find its place back. But it sits there, a foreign and estranged piece of you; a displaced swing finding its equilibrium again; a stretched elastic held against its wishes to recoil.

Because you know if you let it go it would return to them in a heartbeat.

And that’s another thing about giving your heart to your best friend. The first time it happens, you don’t realize it. But the second time, when your heart literally crawls out of your chest, and walks away from you and back to your best friend. It rips your skin in the way, leaves your hands frozen, unable to stop the process, as you watch it run away from you.

And you watch, realizing that it will never be yours if you stop it now. So you watch. And you let it go.

And with it comes the realization that the thing beating inside you was never meant to stay there and hide. That even after they return your heart to you under the guise of doubts and ache, it’s ready to turn away in a second. That no matter the layers you put over it and the pain you go through to cover the fierceness with which it is beginning to tear itself from you; it won’t work. And there comes a time where you’re left to collect the pieces of your skin and the fibers your heart has left in its trail.

And that’s the worst thing about giving your heart to your best friend, you see. The realization, the feeling, the fucking knife which keeps on twisting in your chest and you keep screaming for it to stop, just stop. But the blood seeps away and the wound gets deeper and you find yourself filling it with the dust in your lungs and the shivers in your hands. But it fills your mouth with iron and your legs become studded with lead when you realize – you realize that no matter what, your heart will never be yours to keep after that.

Lucas’s mother owns a candy shop. When he hugs Eliott his hair smells of butterscotch and banana, all combined into one. It’s peculiar, but the thought fades into the back of his head when Lucas nuzzles his face into his chest, and as his hands squeeze the space above Eliott’s hips in a frantic cry of help.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, muffling a laugh behind the wild mess on Lucas’s head which needs to be toned down desperately – but Eliott isn’t complaining. “What is it this time?”

Lucas separates himself from Eliott, his lips puffed in a pout and eyes filled with a look of great disgrace as he grimaces. “Blueberry and basil! Like would you believe that?” He shudders effectively, his eyes going wide as he looks at Eliott. “It tastes terrible.”

Eliott shakes his head, “Terrible as in sriracha and peanut butter or terrible as in terrible?”

“Terrible!” Lucas throws his hands up as he starts walking into the shop. Eliott follows him. “Like how you’d expect someone's locker to smell like after months of dirty clothes accumulating there.”

Eliott shakes his head, a smile playing at his lips, “That’s oddly specific, and besides, I don’t think it’s that bad. I mean, you said the same thing about orange and tarragon and it ended up tasting bloody amazing!”

“I knew you would say that,” The small rainbow embroidered at the left side of Lucas’s olive green sweater catches Eliott’s eyes when he turns around to frown at him. Eliott has half a mind to remove the piece of lint and fraying thread from it, like they used to do before. Pieces of wool caught on Lucas’s hair, eyelash on Eliott’s cheek. Dirt smeared on Lucas’s face, and charcoal on Eliott’s fingers.

He has half a mind to fall back into the circle he barely made out of alive, and blow away the lint for it to catch something somewhere else. But he stops himself.

They don’t do it anymore.

“What makes you think so?”

Eliott’s first memory of Lucas is from the same spot Eliott’s standing on with the two jars of Ali’s homemade orange marmalade. Lucas’s eyes are a shade of an orchestral blue which he finds tainting the memory, and there’s a troubled smile blooming over his features a minute later when he hears another pair of footsteps coming closer.

“Eliott, is that you, dear? Please help me in letting this devil know he’s wrong. You’re the only one who can help me right now.”

Lucas lets out a wounded groan, his eyes widening as he whispers, “That.” Eliott smothers his laugh when Lucas starts to rush in the opposite direction to the resounding footsteps.

“I don’t work here and you never saw me.”

Ali nears into Eliott’s view just as her son disappears behind a display of colorful candies wrapped in pretty ribbons. Eliott, even when he was stumbling about his footing around Lucas, had always been awed by the intricate knots and the curves Ali has placed in the ribbons. When she approaches him, her eyes soften into a blue much like Lucas’s, but still on a different side of the spectrum.

“Lucas’s being a diva again,” she tells him, holding out a wooden spoon dipped in a questionable mixture in a purple bowl. It smells strongly of sugar and home, an exact opposite of what Lucas had so graciously – and wrongly – described. Ali holds out the mixture for him to taste, and he does so, dipping in a figure in the velvety warmth gathered on the tip of the spoon and bringing it to his mouth.

“It…actually, it tastes so good.”

He knows Lucas is hiding behind the shelves somewhere. Before, when it used to be as simple as Eliott using his fingers to do the counting on, or the stars simply dotting the sky without meaning anything, Ali would have Eliott and Lucas spending hours in her little kitchen, having them as the testers of whatever she would have made. It started out as a rush of a breeze for Eliott quickly picking up space before transforming into this pleasant routine he hasn’t departed from yet.

(Despite letting go of the person it all started out with.)

Ali’s smile brings Eliott into a cocoon of familiarity, “Tell this brainless idiot hiding here somewhere. I swear God really messed up when he gave Lucas those taste buds.” She shakes her head and Eliott laughs.

“Please stop talking about me like I’m not here,” He hears a muffled voice, one coming from directly behind him. Lucas emerges, licking around an orange colored candy which Eliott is absolutely sure isn’t meant for eating by him at all. His suspicion is confirmed when Ali gives her son a disapproving look, which he absolutely dodges when his eyes start burning brighter.

“And you please stop stealing the stuff I made which you previously rejected with those abominable taste buds of yours.” Ali bites back and Lucas turns a faux-offended face towards her. It’s familiar. It’s warm. It burns.

“I’ll have you know my taste buds are anything but that; very high in demand too. Tell her Eliott!” Eliott is more shocked on the mention of his name than the suffocating feeling the simple request brings as his lungs almost collapse on themselves. Lucas is unaware of the weight his words had on Eliott, as he struggles to keep his breathing even and heart forcibly inside his chest. There’s something very primal about this feeling – the one of tightness in his lungs and restlessness in his legs – something which takes him back to the very first time he’d seen Lucas a decade ago – right here in this candy shop with butterscotch in his smile and sugar in his hair, gripping Eliott in a saccharine tanginess bound to hold him for the rest of his life.

Lucas says something, and Ali threatens to catapult the bowl of the gooey mixture over his head. Eliott watches, silent, when Lucas shakes his head – all faux annoyed – as his mother stands rolling her eyes at her bratty son.

“Anyways,” Lucas says, looping his arm through Eliott’s at a place where a familiar burn seeps through the material of his shirt. “Since all of your attempts of stealing Eliott from me have considerably failed, can you let us go now?”

Eliott makes a sound of indignation in his throat. As if –

“As if you need any permission from me.”

Ali hasn’t even completed the sentence, and Eliott is being forcefully dragged towards the door. He’s always been amazed by the strength Lucas holds, now even more so when he finds himself just near the door between shouting a goodbye to Ali and taking his next breath.

“Hey,” Eliott starts when they’re outside. He’s resisting the pull Eliott has on him. It’s somewhere around the sun beginning to set behind the clouds. “Slow down, will you?”

Lucas looks at him, eyes narrowed as if he’s seriously judging Eliott, “Yann will have my head on a plate if we do.”

And Eliott would like to know where that we in this conversation came from. But before he does…..”And we can’t have that now?”

Lucas grins, “You know we can’t.”

Lucas Lallemant is a tide –

He’s a force which keeps on moving forward, carving shorelines and curved shapes in places Eliott finds hard to keep up with. He’s high when the moon comes, rising on his toes to offer Eliott a hit of the blunt curled in his fingers, sometimes snug between his lips. Sometimes he rushes away. Sometimes he crashes against Eliott – but then he slips out of the gaps between Eliott’s fingers, through the cracks in his skin – and settles somewhere hidden, alien, and then Eliott has to crawl – follow the trajectory he would have carved, only to find him crashing against his walls with a rhythm impossible for Eliott to match, to get hold of.

He’s a force which keeps on giving – to shores, to coasts. To the moss gathered on stone wearing with time and tide – with him. He gives – he gives till Eliott finds himself surrounded in every pore, every grain that is Lucas. He comes like this: little ripples on the surface of Eliott’s skin setting in motion

And that’s when he takes. The sand which lines the edges and the plants covering the base, tearing away their roots, dissolving them into smithereens much like Eliott’s heart in his hands and the blood in his mouth from biting his tongue too hard as it escapes; his heart among the waves melting on the floor and rising upwards, higher, faster. Till the blue of him surrounds Eliott in a lightning contrast against the warmth of his hands, resting, curling in his chest and plunging him into once deep then hallow darkness as he rises.

And when the ebb comes – Eliott drowns in it.

Idriss takes him by the lapel of his jacket onto the balcony once they’ve reached Yann’s flat.

“Hey,” he says, his voice weighted by the bass which beats under his feet. Lucas gets swarmed into the crowd, one part of it taking him, another forming a barrier for Eliott to reach him.

“How have you been?”

It doesn’t register in his brain; the grave being which holds Idriss's words together for Eliott. He hums out a non-committal response, which does little wonders to ease Idriss off of his case.

“Eliott,” the end syllable of his name catches on a sigh as it comes out of Idriss’s mouth. But he wonders. It’s his name, isn’t it? Then why does it feel so foreign when Idriss says it; like the Eliott in his name and the Eliott that he is are two completely different beings.

Outside it’s cold, but still there is a feeling of warmth – all nebulous and out of place. Eliott doesn’t know what it means, just that he isn’t used to feeling this way.

“What is it?” His voice feels hollowed, and it must have been a trick of light, but he sees Idriss flinch.

“You stood up,” his voice sounds equally grave, “again.”

Eliott has to grasp behind the lines to understand what he means. “The date,” Idriss complies, when he sees the lost look on his face.

Eliott stills for a moment. He was supposed to go on a date. But, did he want to.

“Idriss,” Eliott sighs, turning around and putting all of his weight on the railing, hoping it would swallow the thing weighing him down like mercury. “I don’t want to be set up on dates. You know that.”

Idriss doesn’t speak for a moment. But then, “You can’t keep doing this to yourself Eliott,” He lands a hand on his shoulder, “you can’t.”

Eliott stays quiet, he doesn’t know what to say. What is it he’s doing, exactly? “Forget it-,” He says, at length, “- just leave me on my own. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Eliott feels it, inside him, the feling holding him getting impregnated with lead and rust when Idriss replies, “But did you – with Lucas?”

What?

Idriss reads his confusion. “Did you talk with Lucas about the reason why he didn’t want to be with you anymore?” Eliott bites his tongue and something other than physical pain fills his senses at the soft reminder of what went down mere three weeks ago.

“No,” His voice sounds scratchy, like it has taken him a great strength to get the simple word out. “Lucas doesn’t owe me an explanation. Besides, you can stop feeling for someone you thought you liked, no?”

The air is still and Eliott feels desolate from the domain outside his mind. He almost doesn’t register Idriss and his quiet, “But can you?” Almost.

There, something burns in his eyes and his chest and his throat feels awfully familiar to a thorny stem Eliott has grasped in his hands. There, outside, as leaves begin to fall and Idriss lets out a small whisper of comfort, that Eliott feels overwhelmingly small and separate from the significant part of the universe holding Lucas and the currents of waves rising from his touch.

Just tell him, Idriss says and when he leaves Eliott chants a mantra of too late too late too late in the havoc of his mind. And then Lucas comes, like a tide. He looks up at Eliott with fire behind the blue in his eyes and water raising it up instead of dimming it out. He takes away Eliott’s heart, yet again, the space in his chest feeling like a hollow piece of log left to be accumulated as moss on stagnant water and dew on drooping leaves.

And when he leaves, he robs Eliott off of his breath like a flood does one of his belongings, leaving him wrecked and floating uncertainly in the sea of the world.

He makes a mistake one day.

They are on the roof of Eliott’s building. Lucas’s hands are covered in gold which glitters in his soul and the stars above. His tongue tastes of mulberry and wine when Eliott licks in his mouth. His lips bleed soft kisses into the place Eliott’s neck meets his jaw. His eyes are dusty asteroids which circle into Eliott’s orbit with a force which knocks him of gravity and his breath when they close with laughter as Eliott finds the particularly ticklish spot on his neck.

I’ve been waiting for this, Lucas says, his voice light and warm and so, so soft. Eliott feels a cloud of smoke in his lungs. Me too.

He makes a mistake that day. He falls.

But then he’s standing next to the fire which Idriss and Yann created using plastic wrappers and leaves they found lying around. Lucas is a comet, the, his cold hands gripping Eliott’s as the fire pricks his eyes and the smoke in his lungs becomes a relic from before.

I can’t do this Eliott, He chokes, his voice heavy and sad and laden with so much hurt that Eliott has to take a step back. We’re – we will be better as friends. I’m sorry I just can’t.

So Eliott swallows around the charred cage in his chest doing little to keep his heart still. Okay, he whispers. Lucas’s red-rimmed eyes curving into a sad, watery smile burn like a star in Eliott’s gut.

He makes a mistake one day. He doesn’t stop falling.

November comes, and Eliott finds himself shifting between cold winds ruffling his hair and tinging his cheeks with a cold he feels in his bones. It takes him skipping rocks among dirt and catching falling leaves in the palm of his hand. It takes him to Lucas, nestled between the shelves in his mother’s shop, eyes wide and engulfing warmth as sugar and syrup drips from his mouth and stains Eliott’s shirt in a stubborn red.

Eliott sees Lucas, sees him coming for his heart, and the pang which rises inside his chest feels sound in the void which grows around him. It becomes foreign, the security the pain brings him. But he drowns in the cold warmth encompassing him when Lucas smiles and asks him about another constellation, or when he brings Eliott’s coffee from the shop on the curb – when they talk, and their once, five month relationship becomes a fleeting whisper; a puddle after rain gone when the sun came up.

They don’t mention it, and neither their friends. Somewhere between that, Idriss takes the hint and stops trying to get Eliott to go on dates. His heart grows accustomed to having Lucas’s hold over it, and the thorns growing in his throat shrivel. They don’t fall like Eliott thought they would, and sometimes it happens that Eliott feels them digging into his windpipe, swallowing his voice when he sees Lucas from across the room. Or when his eyes glisten like gold and honey all combined into one.

He keeps taking Eliott apart, piece by piece, but Eliott grows familiar to the feeling making a home inside him. And when Lucas holds his hand and points to a falling star much like Eliott looking for a place in the universe, it doesn’t hurt.

Except when it does.

There’s a hole in his jacket.

Eliott finds it the noon he’s inside the video store he worked at. He must have gotten it when he’s jacket got stuck in his neighbor’s fence, and in his haste, he must have pulled it, hard.

Lucas finds it funny for whatever reason when Eliott delivers him the news with sadness. His laugh rings through the speaker of Eliott’s phone. “You and that jacket, I swear.”

“It’s my favorite,” Eliott says, hoping his tone would convey his feelings to Lucas, “It’s been with me through thick and thin.”

“Yeah I know,” Lucas sounds solemn, “We’ll make it right,” Eliott believes him.

“But listen,” Lucas pauses, then begins again, “the reason I called you – I wanted to ask you something.”

Eliott holds on the phone, “Yes?”

“Sarah let me off with two passes for this art exhibition tonight. I wanted to know if you – if you’d go with me?”

Eliott’s chest gives a resounding ache which travels like water through his body, chilling his fingertips so much he can barely feel the phone held in them. The thing is – they don’t do this anymore; this just Lucas and him alone thing. He hasn’t done anything like this in such a long time that he forgot what being with Lucas – just Lucas – is like.

And he can't wait to remember. So. “Yeah,” he breathes out, “of course I’ll go.” With you.

“Perfect,” Lucas’s voice hold quiet happiness, something Eliott is sure is so fragile he’d break it if he takes another breath.

So he holds it, deep inside his lungs when Lucas says, “I’ll be at the store at 6:30. We’ll walk together.”

And he holds in when he says goodbye, a promise tethering on the edge of something so strange yet so comforting at the same time. His lungs burn, and his chest caves in.

But Eliott gets to work.

Evening drags November to a cold, scruffy end. He can’t feel his hands when he accounts the last of the sales into the computer. It hits close to six when he finishes, and decides to spend the rest of the time till Lucas’s arrival sorting out the DVDs left on the counter.

It’s between that, one moment picking up the assortment and the other spent looking over his phone lying on the side as it lights up with a notification, that there’s the sound of someone closing the door behind them.

Eliott whips around, heart in his throat at the prospect of seeing Lucas, but the person standing in front of him takes him by surprise.

“Hi Eliott.”

Lucille’s smile is warmer; her hair is shorter, blonder. Eliott takes a hard minute to reply.

Lucille,” He’s sure his tone doesn’t do justice to the feeling she brings inside him. It’s been long – a long time since he last saw her. And that too ended on partial good terms.

But still he tries his best to smile.

“How have you been?” He asks, awkwardly placing the DVDs from where he picked them up. Lucille shrugs her shoulder, and a small laugh leaves her lips.

“Good, I’m good.” She says. Eliott nods, then, and tries to shake off the uncomfortable tension settling around him and over his shoulders. Lucille comes to his rescue, thankfully.

She points to the array of movies behind him, craning her neck to the side as she speaks, “I – I needed a recommendation, actually.”

Huh. “The movies. I – I kinda need one for uhm- this date night. My girlfriend- uh, Sophie is into screenwriting and stuff, so I want to do something to impress her.”

Eliott turns his neck sideways, “And I’m the only one you can come to for that?”

Lucille smiles sheepishly, “You know you are.”

He laughs, bright, and turns to sift through the movies he pretty much knows her girlfriend will surely appreciate. He’s always loved doing this, rec-ing stuff when asked – whether it be movies or artists or funny enough, dubstep artists to listen to.

(The credit for the last one goes mainly to Lucas, and Eliott feels proud to share that at least he’s helped him get into the kind of music he himself loves. Even when the insults Lucas throws after listening to the music are worth keeping in a jar and remembering for later.)

Lucille takes the movies he picks out.

“How are you and Lucas?”

Her tone carries an infinite amount of casualness which Eliott is sure she isn’t faking. But it makes him still – you and Lucas in a sentence together. They don’t go like that. Never have.

“We uh – we’re not together anymore.” He says, voice low and taut as he rings her up. “Uh- yeah. We broke up.”

Lucille is silent. Then, “Oh. I’m sorry.”

He stays silent. When he’s done with her items, she takes it from him without a word. I’m sorry. It’s funny how many times he’s heard that.

“Um- Thank you,” She’s quiet, soft. Eliott smiles, as terse as that may be. “I’m happy to see you, Eliott.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m happy too.” He admits, because he is. Because she’s familiar. Because he knows her.

Lucille smiles, as she clutches the items to her chest, “If – If you’re free some time, I’d like for you to Sophie. She uh - knows about us, and I’m sure you both will like each other.”

“You’re sure?” He teases, and she slaps him lightly on his arm; familiar. Rolling her eyes, she bites back, “Yeah, idiot.” Eliott laughs; it’s warm.

“I’d love to meet her,” is what he settles on, and it’s what which has Lucille brightening up further. “Great,” she says, and leaves Eliott not before rising up on her toes and giving him a half-awkward, full warm hug which Eliott gladly accepts.

When she leaves, it becomes a game of watching the hands on the clock move. It’s fifteen minutes over the time Lucas and him and decided. But still Eliott sees no sign of him. He’s worried. There’s no text or call from him either, and Eliott knows he could do so too, but it doesn’t guarantee him not sounding desperate.

Five minutes to seven and he gives up, closing the store and walking out into the clear night sky. He spots a couple of uncluttered, adrift stars he doesn’t know yet. Cold air nips at his skin, eyes search for the sign of the familiar boy walking towards him. But he finds nothing.

He sighs, then, and starts walking in the direction of his apartment. Maybe something came up. Maybe Lucas is okay. Maybe he forgot. Maybe maybe maybe.

It’s then that the phone in his holed jacket rings, bringing him back to the now. He hustles to take it out, and as Lucas’s name blinds his eyes, his heart returns with a hopeful tingle in his chest.

His breath fogs in the dark as he whispers, “Hello?”

“Eliott,” Lucas’s voice feels distant, like they’re the same poles of a magnet and the field between them is just pushing them away.

“Lucas, are you alright?” It hurts, that it’s the first thing which comes to his mind. That something happened to Lucas – with Lucas, and he wasn’t able to make it to him. He hates it. He hates it.

“Yeah uh – I got held up. I’m sorry I couldn’t- can’t make it. I just – I didn’t – couldn’t find time to call you sooner. I’m so sorry I -.”

Eliott cuts Lucas off, “It’s alright,” his heart beats on the floor. His legs remain frozen on the sidewalk. It’s not Lucas’s fault if he found something more important than Eliott. He doesn’t owe him anything, anyway.

Eliott doesn’t hear the rest which follows. There’s something – someone on the phone behind Lucas, someone who calls Lucas – “You’re coming back Lu?” Eliott hears the voice.

Then he hears Lucas, loud and clear, “Yeah, baby, you go ahead. I’ll be with you in a second.”

Baby. Lucas only ever called Eliott that. He feels something twist inside him as his lungs burn with a ferocity which leaves him aching all over. His fingers go numb, and his feet drag painfully on the gravel.

Lucas seems to be talking, and Eliott only catches the end through the static in his head.

“I gotta go. But I – I promise I’ll make it up to you, Eli. Okay?”

Eliott purses his lips, doesn’t fight his hear combusting as a layer of heavy rust settles over it, preventing it from moving back to Lucas as he lies motionless there, on the concrete, forging stars from its dying matter.

Okay. Eliott whispers when Lucas hangs up. Then he releases his breath and starts walking.

#skam france #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #elu fic #skam france fic #alteradventcalendar #penned #tuseralex #userdyamond #tusersunflower #tuserlivs #tusercaro

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loadedtoast · 3 years

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36/F/NZ

I have grown weary of social media as of late. The kind of social media where everyone has an opinion regardless of its impact on others, where people can type things they wouldn’t say in person and perpetuate misinformation (I am pro-vaccination). I am also growing tired of the (barely) subliminal messaging I receive about diets and body image that troll my feeds.

But I am a social creature by my very nature. Aren’t we all?

My first blog title is a nod to my ASL (age, sex and location). It’s an ‘early internet thing’.

If you are my age, you will recall (hopefully) the advent of ICQ and MSN… The patience of waiting for dial up to connect – god forbid someone else was on the landline – after school so that you could connect with friends, strangers, potential cuties… The potential cuties however were (and still are) not always what they appear to be.

But I am not here to blog about dating. Or house prices. Or global warming, avocados or other woes facing the younger generations – am I still young?

I never thought I would say this. I want to talk about having kids.

I will declare upfront that I want for nothing. I am a reasonably successful, professional woman without kids. I own my own home (or at least half of it). I live a city lifestyle, am fit, healthy and have a wonderfully loving and respectful partner (you know, one of the types of guys that speaks up and isn’t threatened by independent and successful women) - A rarity for which I cherish more than the rest of the stuff I list above. I am sure I will write about it at some point, but he is the product of a single mother doing a fucking incredible job in the most challenging of circumstances. Hats off to her!

As I was saying. I want to talk about kids.

I have never wanted them. And now we (not I. We) want to dip our toes into the pool that an increasing number of 30-somethings decide to jump into …

I am grappling with so many things. Things that are unique to us females.

I spent my teenage years being actively taught more about how to cook, clean and be a good girlfriend than I did about my own body – stuff I am learning now in retrospect (also a probable, future blog). I went onto the pill as soon as I got my period. It was a ‘precaution’ (for whom?). I learned about my vagina because I suddenly needed to put something inside it (not for pleasure) to stop my monthly bleeding from causing me more shame than I already felt – because periods are a woman’s burden to be carried in secrecy, and to be joked about by guys when the emotions get the better of us… “on the rag?” “must be that time of the month…”.

I am now 36 and just starting to become woke (as the kids say it now).

My teenage years, I imagine, were not unique. I recall one sex ed class at high school (yes, just one hour) where we learned about sex leading to STIs (previously called STDs) and pregnancy. Pregnancy was the devil and needed to be prevented at all costs (health, time and concern - which the female generally absorbed).

We skipped the bit about consent, respect and two-way intimacy – I found out about those by trial and error.

I got through to my mid-20s and the rhetoric changed. Instead of those I looked to telling me babies were bad, suddenly, babies were all the rage. I had come out of university with my two degrees, ready for that promised career, and to travel and build the life I wanted.

I felt confused.

Now, I was never the ‘maternal type’. I wonder now if there is such a thing or if its just something that we are carefully manicured into thinking that it’s what we want all along. I never wanted baby dolls and prams as play toys. I wasn’t into pink and pretend kitchens. Instead, as a kid, I was into sports, horses and motorbikes. I climbed trees and played games that used my creativity and imagination.

So, when I reached my mid-20s and people started to ask me about when I wanted to ‘settle down and have kids’ I rejected the entire notion of it. I said I didn’t want kids. In fact, I was well known amongst my peers for saying I didn’t even like kids. Which to a point is true. I don’t like ALL kids. Some kids will not grow into good adults and I place the responsibility for that on nurture not nature. This may be controversial; however I wish to believe that we are all born into this world with the potential for good.

New-born babies were thrust into my arms, because you know, I will need practice… How come boys don’t have to hold babies? I felt awkward. Like I was rejecting something that I was ‘born and bred to do’. But I didn’t want it. Not then.

When I told people I didn’t want kids, they were shocked. Kind of like the shocked face of people when I tell them I don’t drink alcohol anymore – you know, culturally unacceptable behaviour by any Kiwi’s standards. This was quickly followed by, “Oh, you will want them one day… it will all change. Trust me”.

Patronizing much?

I can now say that I felt harassed in those moments. Let’s label it.

The questions and opinions I would get were unnecessary, unprovoked and unhelpful. I honestly wondered why everyone was so invested in my interest in procreating – more so than being interested in me as a person with my own wants and needs. I guess this was part of my training for being a mum. A call out to all the mums who work tirelessly – yes, work (you have a job and it’s the hardest job of all).

I stayed the course and purchased my own home, got a great job that I worked hard for (don’t we all work extra hard, ladies!) and I prepared myself for a life with no legacy (legacy, I learned from those closest to me, is achieved though children, not a career, when you are a woman).

And then I met this guy.

He wanted kids. I kept true to my long-held comms line (like the ‘no comment’) and said I didn’t. And then he did something that I will never forget…

He said it was my choice. My choice.

He asked me why I had made that choice – his right to do after disarming me. I said, without thinking, and for the very first time… “I’m scared”. Shit, no backing out of it now…

I was scared because alongside all of the rhetoric that is forced down our faces about motherhood were the truths. The home truths. The ones I had witnessed in person. I had seen and heard, that taught me all about the value of a woman when she becomes a mum.

Now – disclaimer – I am not saying that I never seen or heard good things about being a mum. But hell, I did see and hear more average things than good things.

I saw and heard about how all the females in my immediate sphere of trust had given their careers up (in the current trajectory that they were on or entirely) when they became mums. If they didn’t choose being a mum, they were falling short of society’s expectations. If they became a mum and chose a career over full time parenthood, they were ‘outsourcing’ their most important role - as a mum.

I saw and heard my mum take the lion’s share of parenting, putting herself last. I saw and heard her play the part of mum and dad while my dad built his career – for us. The career that was really for him – let’s be true, it was his dream he was pursuing, not mine and not hers. I saw and heard her be proud of others but not of herself. I saw and heard her cry, a lot.

FYI I am very proud of my dad and I love him to bits. He is human. So is my mum. They made choices, together, in parenting us, but those choices were not made by people with equal power in the relationship and subsequently the choices did not always (actually, very rarely) benefit mum as a whole person.

I saw and heard my mum find ways to make herself feel better. She was good at buying things she did not need or want.

I saw and heard my mum largely unsupported, doing a thankless job. A job that society places no tangible value on. If you become a mum, and take time out of the workforce (i.e. you leave your job) to raise a child, you are considered unemployed (i.e. you are negatively placed on the ‘books’ aka GDP – not an investment, not a value-add activity, but a cost – you know, that the Government carries).

Funnily enough, ‘unpaid work’ of which parenting falls into, is the single largest sector of our economy but it is unpaid and therefore under-valued. Mums and dads who parent, are not seen as contributing to the nation’s economy. Where does our future workforce come from again?

And then once my last sibling left home, so did my dad. My mum was alone.

Due to her lack of ‘work history’ she could not apply for a credit card – dad could. Mum oversaw the family business finances and ensured we were looked after but did not ‘take home a wage’. Dad did. So, as usual, mum missed out and just kept on missing out. I can’t help but feel incredibly shit for mum. For all women.

These things shape my views on becoming a mother.

As do my own personal experiences.

As bad as this sounds, mum made sure I was better off. I got an education; a good career and I was raised to be independent and to ‘hold my own’. Funnily enough, I don’t recall ever ‘learning’ to hold my own. It wasn’t a session at school, or a mother-daughter discussion. It wasn’t a workshop or a coaching session at work.

Sarah Everard.

I have been following, as many women are, Sarah’s story in the news right now. Well, I correct myself – it’s not her story. It’s the story of her demise, chosen by a man she did not know or chose to know. There is an international groundswell of rage erupting from women around the right to be safe.

I saw an article written about this, and I thought, “shit, me too” (excuse the pun). A woman had put words to all of the ways in which we just know how to ‘hold our own’… the keys between the fingers when walking to the car late at night, the text to a friend “text me when you get home”, the pretending to be on a phone call, or the running without music to keep vigilant and at the ready. And the worst… Literally having an escape plan in your head as you walk down a dark street, or past a pack of guys.

This is an everyday experience of practically all women. Everywhere. I don’t know how we know it; we just do. But we shouldn’t have to.

These things are relevant and ever-present when I think about and talk about motherhood. It is ingrained in me, and has been from a young age, to be prepared for the worst, to take personal responsibility for what could happen to me, and to be prepared for things that men don’t have to worry about (it’s not their responsibility after all).

The reality is that my partner and I bring a completely different world view into a conversation about having kids together. How could it not be?

I am honest with him. I am scared. I have so much to lose – things that I have fought so hard for. On balance, I know there are gains, but one tends to focus on the things familiar and previously experienced.

I have a career built on proving myself. I once spent three months (I was an HR Manager and not a shit one) negotiating with my male boss for a salary increase to be on par with my all-male leadership team colleagues, whose roles were not as large as mine. I had to prove why I ‘deserved it’. I got it in the end. And my male colleagues successfully argued for their salary increases directly afterwards as well… sigh.

I am scared because I don’t want to lose my career. I don’t want to fall behind, and I know I will.

While I have children, my peers will continue to work, earn money, earn Kiwisaver for their retirement (and therefore increase the interest accrued), be rewarded and promoted (and increase their salary)… I will not accrue any leave. I will not get a salary increase or increase my retirement savings. I will not get promoted.

I will more than likely come back to work part time, because my partner and I will make choices and my job is the more flexible of the two. I will start earning again – but less. I will increase my Kiwisaver and get rewarded again – but at a pro-rated rate. I will probably work just as hard squeezing a full time job into fewer days for less money, while also trying to be a mum (also a 1 FTE job).

I worked it out. Furthermore, I will be reducing my in-the-hand income while on maternity leave by 82% while receiving the Government’s maximum paid maternity leave allowance (while I can).

I work extremely hard, but I am privileged. I can see why mums feel torn. I can see why there are massive impacts down the line for gender equity. And I can also see how we have missed a beat here around putting families and children first in NZ and our stats show this… Check out our OECD education stats, our wellbeing stats, our child welfare stats etc… Having working mums is not the issue. It’s the lack of choice driven by negative financial outcomes that makes being a full-time mum the poorer choice (pun intended).

I am scared because I may find it too hard. I am 36. My energy is not what it was. I hear new mums don’t get much sleep. I currently work between 50-80 hours a week. I am not sure how to do both, well. But I am unsure how to be happy, just doing one of these things.

I am scared because I may change. I will have a new focus – this could be amazing, it could also be hard. My friends are career focused. Not baby focused. Will we still have the same relationships? Will I become boring? Will we have the energy to go away with friends on weekends? Who will babysit?

I am scared because my body will change. My body is 36. I look after it. I exercise and eat well. I am not ready to look at myself in a mirror and feel mournful antipathy. Ouch. I know. Women are great at self-loathing and body-shaming ourselves. We learn it from the media. And men. And sadly, also from other women.

I don’t have many friends who don’t hate some or all of their bodies. We are told and shown what we should look like – and men are also shown what we should look like. Porn has its place, but it is not real. Unfortunately, these images require personal trainers, personal chefs, fake tans, implants, botox, fillers, makeup, hairdressers etc… Women don’t get paid as much as men. It is expensive being a woman.

Babies can mean stretch marks, fat that doesn’t go away, sags and hormone driven changes that you cannot explain. It impacts your pelvic floor.

I have heard from other women these things negatively impact on intimacy in the bedroom. How could it not if you are feeling like your body has been replaced with one you don’t know how to rock? And if we don’t rock our bodies, how will our men get off on it?

I am scared that my relationship with my partner will become secondary to the needs of our child… and our individual needs to sleep and have ‘me time’. Our relationship is strong. It is built on respect, communication and trust. I know this after years of relationships where these things were in part or fully absent.

Are helicopter mums born that way or does a switch flick when they have kids?

I want my relationship with my partner to be #1, always. Of course, it is our choosing to make it so. However, I also know what it’s like to put in effort when you’re both tired. Our relationship functions now around shifts, commutes and long work hours. We have it sorted. Add a child and less sleep into the mix and I honestly don’t know how people do it.

We are best friends who talk a lot. So, I hope that’s enough.

I am scared because I don’t want to fail. I am a high achiever. A child is something you don’t want to fuck up. I haven’t done it before and yet I have no interest in having all of the women in my life (or as I have heard, also those not in your life) tell me how to do it. Advice on ‘breast is best’ is unwelcome, Karen… I see and hear how women are given advice. Often entwined with judgement. I then also see and hear men get praised for ‘doing it alone’.

I am scared because after all of this time, if I choose the title ‘mum’ over all else, what if I cannot even become one? This is a real fear and nothing is a give-in. Wanting it, does not make it so.

I am scared because I don’t want to find myself alone at the end of it. This scares me the most. I have seen how the most important woman in my life sacrificed everything and then when it was her turn, it turned out she was the sacrifice.

...

When I write this, the Devil’s advocate voice plays out in my head. “Oh, she is a feminist”, “she is just insecure” “is she really thinking of starting a family with a partner if she thinks he will leave her?”, “she’s a but angry – old chip on the shoulder”.

I am secure in myself. I have done stints in therapy – it’s a gym membership for the soul. I am liberal, yes. And a feminist – name a sound-minded female who isn’t pissed off about the additional hurdles in her lane on the track. My partner and I are solid, or we wouldn’t be talking about having children – talking is what adults do in a healthy relationship.

I am scared. In a way, it is healthy. If I was going into it thinking “I have this nailed” then I am probably delusional, naïve or just plain arrogant.

I am writing this because it is cathartic. It is a way to express the things I feel. And to share them as I expect so many other women (and men – yes, two men can have babies together too) feel.

#mum #parenting #newmum #career #firsttimemum #startingafamily

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halfcharacter · 4 years

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Rufus Shinra Analysis in FFVII Remake (2020) vs FFVII (1997)

taken from my original thread on twitter here.

[MASSIVE REMAKE AND OG GAME SPOILERS, you have been warned]

From what we’ve seen in Final Fantasy VII Remake so far, Rufus (in my opinion) is 100% more interesting than he was in the original Final Fantasy VII. In the original game, Sephiroth/JENOVA infiltrates the Shinra building and murders everyone inside. Then, Sephiroth/JENOVA stabs President Shinra and leaves his body at his desk with Masamune sticking out of his back. Palmer, who had witnessed the entire thing, calls Rufus (who is in Junon) for backup. Rufus responds by boarding a helicopter to come assume command of the company in the wake of his father’s death.

Rufus arrives just as the protagonists discover President Shinra’s body, and they rush out to confront him. Rufus doesn’t know who they are, so he asks. Each of the gang gives a brief one-liner of their “occupations”, and Rufus responds with “what a crew” which is A REALLY GOOD SNARKY LINE I’M SAD ISN’T IN THE REMAKE. In Final Fantasy VII Remake, the part where the party reveals their ‘occupations’ is instead given to Heidegger, and only Aerith, Barret and Red XIII are present.

An interesting major divergence from the original game then happens in Remake. In the original, Rufus begins his inauguration speech:

That’s right. I’ll let you hear my new appointment speech. ...My old man tried to control the world with money. It seems to have been working. The population thought that Shinra would protect them. Work at Shinra, get your pay. If a terrorist attacks, the Shinra army will help you. It looks perfect on the outside. But, I do things differently. I’ll control the world with fear. It takes too much to do it like my old man. A little fear will control the minds of the common people. There’s no reason to waste money on them.

As Rufus begins by talking about how Shinra used to work, the player starts to think “Oh good, maybe things are about to change for the better. Maybe he’s a good guy!” WRONG.

Rufus then drops the bombshell that he has no intention of being ‘better’ than his father—in fact, he’s worse. While his father used money to rule, Rufus will instead rule with fear. I’m not sure why this speech was cut from the Remake, but my guess is that they’re going to keep it for a later instalment because it’s just a+ in terms of setting up just how cruel Rufus actually is.

In the original, Cloud then asks Barret to take Aerith and escape the building (present in Remake) because the revelation that Sephiroth is alive “is the true threat to the planet” (not present in Remake). when Rufus and Cloud are alone, Rufus asks, “why do you want to fight me?”

Cloud responds, “you seek the promised land and Sephiroth.” Rufus’ last line before the boss battle is “I see. I guess this means we won’t become friends.” THIS IS A REALLY INTERESTING LINE which is not in the Remake because OG!Rufus and Remake!Rufus are quite different.

In the original it is implied that Rufus was planning to team up with Cloud, or at least gain their support since they’re both going after Sephiroth. It’s only after Cloud refuses his offer that they fight, and the fight was more of a story fight than a true challenge.

HERE IS WHERE THE FINAL FANTASY VII REMAKE REALLY DIFFERS RE: RUFUS. Remake gives us a short scene with the Turks thinking back on their actions regarding the Sector 7 pillar, before Tseng gets a phone call from Rufus and says, “the VP needs us.” The Turks then leave.

The first time Rufus is seen is when the AVALANCHE helicopter is shot down, and Reno asks, “you sure you want to do this personally, boss?” to which Rufus smirks. In the original, Rufus arrives at the Shinra HQ because he heard that his father had died. In the Remake, Rufus was already on his way to Midgar when his father dies. Why is this? An important clue comes from the Turk-centric game Before Crisis, as well as the actual boss battle vs Rufus himself.

Before Crisis reveals that Rufus had previously planned to assassinate his father with the help of AVALANCHE but was found out. This assassination attempt is confirmed to be canon within the Remake from one of Heidegger’s lines early in the Remake. President Shinra placed Rufus under house arrest, but still retained him as VP (even if in name only). While fighting Rufus in the Remake, he tosses two coins in the air and the camera gives us a closeup of them. The coins read “Shinra Inc.” and “A New Era”, among other things.

Players of the original will know that “A New Age” is how Rufus brands his version of Shinra, particularly seen on his banners during his parade in Junon. Remake!Rufus has already managed to have his new currency minted BEFORE HIS FATHER EVEN DIES. So, what does this mean?

It means that what’s likely to be the case in Remake is that Rufus called Tseng to come pick him up because he’s either staging another coup/planning to take control right there and then. He just happened to have weird timing and arrived at the same time as Sephiroth/JENOVA and the protagonists, and his father had just died (at the hands of Sephiroth/JENOVA).

Rufus in the original didn’t show any sadness about his father dying, but Remake!Rufus appears to have taken that one step further in that he was preparing for another attempt, and had already had his new currency minted in preparation for his success and ascension.

It’s interesting also to compare President Shinra and Rufus. President Shinra is very much tied into the corporate structure—he rules using his wealth, he’s very business minded, and his closest allies are his execs. Rufus on the other hand prefers to use fear and black ops to get his way, which is shown by how he has a much stronger relationship with the Turks. The Remake showcases this internal conflict nicely with a brief scene near the end.

In this scene, Heidegger slips up and calls him “Mister Vice President”, which Rufus ignores. Tseng then walks in and says, “Mister President”, and Rufus replies, “that’s right.” Tseng smirks at Heidegger as they leave. This shows how Heidegger (and the other exec’s) control is being usurped by the Turks. I’m interested to see how the Shinra power struggles are going to be further explored in the Remake, because it’s one of my favourite parts of the whole game.

With regards to the actual boss battle itself, it’s very interesting how much stronger they’ve made Rufus in Remake. the original boss battle was very easy and was more of a story fight than a true fight. Rufus in the Remake is one of the hardest bosses because he just fucking counters EVERYTHING you do. he’s DESIGNED to be irritating as shit to the player, because he has a single attack that staggers him instantly, but the game doesn’t tell you what it is. Furthermore, the way Rufus fights is incredibly flashy—spins and twirls, shooting coins, etc. it’s all a dance to him. It’s very strongly implied that he must have been trained by the Turks, because he’s still a regular human, but he’s on a comparable level to Reno and Rude, if not even stronger.

In the original, Rufus fights Cloud because Cloud refuses to let him leave, Cloud having recognized him as a threat. In the Remake, Rufus HIMSELF chooses to fight Cloud. He willingly gets out of his helicopter to confront cloud BECAUSE HE WANTS TO. Reno even points out that Rufus doesn’t have to do it personally, but Rufus craves a fight with cloud. Rufus in the Remake fights cloud for sport and takes great pleasure in doing it as well.

In the Remake he comes off as a highly dangerous opponent who is both smart AND a capable fighter, giving Cloud a run for his money, while in the original he was pretty much just trust fund kid with shotgun and dog.

Remake!Rufus and Dark Nation/Darkstar combo off each other incessantly, implying that they’ve been fighting together for a very long time. Rufus also CONSISTENTLY taunts you throughout the entire fight, while Cloud (and the player) are getting really annoyed at him.

All of these elements set Rufus (and by extension, New Age!Shinra) up to be way stronger and more dangerous opponents than they were in the original game, where after the beginning Midgar portion they were pretty much just joke opponents vs the real threat, Sephiroth.

Another extra thought: Why can Rufus seemingly see the whispers?

The whispers are said in the Remake to be drawn to people who attempt to alter destiny’s course and ensure that they do not. Rufus seems to be able to see them, but Tseng cannot, and is confused by it. I’m assuming what this means is that Rufus’ actions have already defied fate in some way. Nothing of what he did on-screen really changed the original game’s timeline, so I think this means that he has done something off-screen that we the player hasn’t seen yet, but had timeline changing effects. Another idea is that in the original game Rufus and Shinra just “follow” sephiroth in the same way cloud and co. do. If the Remake is giving Rufus/Shinra more agency, as well as Cloud and co. themselves, it’s not hard to imagine that now Rufus himself can possibly pursue new timelines/events, rather than just following after Sephiroth. In the original, you have parties of people just following “Sephiroth” to the northern crater for the Reunion, but now all bets are off. Rufus also “dies” in the original and Advent Children retconned it, and I’m wondering if this means Rufus is also defying his fate to “die” on top of Shinra HQ near the endgame.

I'm REALLY interested in this re-imagining of Rufus and Shinra, and i can't wait to see more of them in remake. THANK YOU FOR READING ALL THESE MUSINGS ON MY FAVOURITE CHARACTER IN FFVII.

#Rufus Shinra #Final Fantasy VII #FFVII #Final Fantasy VII Remake #FFVIIR

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woodwind-sensei · 5 years

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Top 10 Figure Skating Programs: 2018-19 season

It’s been about a month and a half since the normal figure skating competition season came to a close, bringing us one step closer towards the next Olympic Games. With the advent of the new IJS, the programs we saw this year was nothing like we have seen before, and some of them rank among the best programs in figure skating history (that’s right, I’m going there, kids). Without further delay, here are my personal Top 10 figure skating programs from this season.

10. Mariah Bell (USA) “To Love You More” short program, choreographed by Adam Rippon

Mariah Bell missed an Olympic berth last season, mostly due to inconsistency and packaging issues. With a majority of the major U.S. ladies out of the picture this season, it was high time for Mariah to step up to the plate. I absolutely loved the upgraded packaging and content. The short program was so positive in spirit, and it was a pleasant surprise to see Adam Rippon’s competitive choreographic debut (to my knowledge) to be a job well done. I hope we see a lot more Celine Dion power ballad programs in the future.

9. Shoma Uno (JPN) “Stairway to Heaven” short program, choreographed by Mihoko Higuchi

Figure skating’s resident smol boi/silver princess Shoma Uno hit it big with this short program. Sexy, daring, and smoldering with intensity, Shoma showed his capability of the dramatic with this program. Though his inconsistency with the jumps made it hard to enjoy sometimes, he just has an x-factor on the ice that draws you in. That spread eagle after the triple axel gets me every time. It’s such a small moment, but it gets me so excited because I’m completely hooked by how statuesque he becomes in such an instant.

8. Peng Cheng/ Jin Yang (CHN) “Ophelia” short program, choreographed by Lori Nichol

Peng and Jin had been the pair that was ever the bridesmaid. When Peng was with veteran pair skater Zhang Hao and Jin with up-and-coming star Yu Xiaoyu, the federation decided to switch these two partnerships up. Yu/Zhang always got the political push, and that somewhat left Peng/Jin in the shadows. That all changed this season, and a lot of it had to do with this short program. They really found a style all their own: simple, uncluttered, yet packed with stunning elements and a cute and charming spirit. We’re going to be seeing them for a while, and I promise you, they will be a force to be reckoned with.

7. Wakaba Higuchi (JPN) “Energia” short program, choreographed by Shae-Lynn Bourne

Wakaba Higuchi might have had a spotty season this year, but this short program showed us why we fell in love with her in the first place. Shae-Lynn effortlessly displayed her power in this program, emphasizing Wakaba’s capability of flow and control while balancing fun and working the crowd. Japanese Nationals was the peak of this program’s life, and I certainly hope Wakaba uses this as an exhibition piece in the future. Shae-Lynn was also responsible for her legendary James Bond free skate, and will choreograph Wakaba’s short program next year to “Bird Set Free” by Sia.

6. Kaori Sakamoto (JPN) “The Piano” free skate, choreographed by Benoit Richaud

So, as all three of my online figure skating fan friends know, I am a Kaori stan. I love and appreciate children of pure sunshine with fantastic skating skills, and Kaori is just that. Though this program isn’t the best program she’s had, what I think works is that the program is built on momentum. It builds continually, reaching a climax with the choreographic sequence moving straight into that stellar triple loop. It also shows how Benoit choreography is supposed to look. Benoit Richaud uses a lot of angular movements but tries to combine it with the natural flow a skater must have over the ice. It works better on Kaori than opposed to his other big ladies’ client Bradie Tennell (USA). Bradie’s movements and angles are so sharp and harsh it seems forced and almost unwatchable, while Kaori’s smoothness over her blades is more pleasing and interesting to digest.

5. Sui Wenjing/ Han Cong (CHN) “Rain, in your Black Eyes” Free Skate, choreographed by Lori Nichol

Sui and Han made a surprising comeback after withdrawing from the Grand Prix series due to an injury and surgery to Wenjing. This program was iconic. From the very opening poses, it absolutely melted me. I don’t think it’s as good as their Blues for Klook short from a few years ago, but this free skate was overall amazing.

4. Evgenia Medvedeva (RUS) “Orange Colored Sky” short program, choreographed by David Wilson and Sandra Bezic

Evgenia’s move to Brian Orser created so much buzz, and everyone was waiting to see what she would do with choreography not from Ilia Averbukh or Daniil Gleikhengauz. I have to say, they really hit the nail on the head with this one. I thought the rebranding to the ingenue was so great, and the little touches from Sandra really brought the program to life. Those opening poses were my favorite part. It’s unfortunate that this program was eventually shelved, because I definitely liked this program more in comparison to the Tosca program, but I understand how important it is to make sure Evgenia has authority over her own skating career.

3. Gabriella Papadakis/ Guillaume Cizeron (FRA) Free Dance to Rachel Yamagata songs, choreographed by Marie-France Dubreuil

Papadakis and Cizeron continue to evolve their unique style with this amazing free dance. I was personally very curious to see how they would have topped their timeless Moonlight Sonata FD from the Olympic year, and this program is right up there with the best programs of all time. The way they look at each other throughout just draws me in. Even the softest touch with a finger puts them in total sync. My favorite moment is the twizzle sequence that really comes out of nowhere. It’s so smooth. And then that low, flat curve lift is out of this world. No one can touch this team.

2. Lim Eun-soo (KOR) “Somewhere in Time” short program, choreographed by Jeffrey Buttle

Eun-soo’s rise to the senior ranks was one of the big buzzes of the season. With a recent move to Rafael Artunyan, it looked like she was ready to take her competitive career to the next level. And this short program was BEYOND almost every program that everyone else had. Every element was beautifully woven into the choreography. She just looked stunning on the ice almost every time. The only criticism I have is that the sleeves on her costume were a bit distracting, but that’s such a minute detail on an otherwise ethereal program.

1. Satoko Miyahara (JPN) “Song for the Little Sparrow” short program, choreographed by Lori Nichol.

This was the clear standout program of the season for me. Out of all the skaters from the previous Olympic cycle, I thought it would be hardest for Satoko to keep up with the pack. But I was proved wrong, with this short program proving that artistry is still what brings the audience into a skater’s performance. Everything is so perfectly placed: every hand had a purpose, every stroke had a meaning, and it all melded together to create a masterpiece. This is what skating should be.

So many of the programs were good this year, but these 10 are the ones I want to watch over and over again. They set the bar for the Olympic cycle so high, and it’ll be interesting to see if these programs will be surpassed. We’ve already had some interesting announcements in terms of next season. I’m particularly intrigued to see Benoit Richaud work with Satoko Miyahara. The premiere of that program at Fantasy on Ice wasn’t stellar, but I’m interested to see how the program will evolve as Benoit and Satoko continue to work together. Figure skating continues to bring it with amazing programs, so next season should be an interesting ride.

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daisydoctor13 · 5 years

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Fic: Mistletoe and Wine

Berena Advent: Mistletoe

“Right, let’s get to Albies,” Bernie called at the end of the shift from hell. Winter vomiting, Christmas lights getting tangled in ladders, runaway patients and an inspection had all descended on them in a 12 hour period, but the team had pulled together and come out the other side.

“Ms Campbell and I will buy the first rounds.” This was met with a cheer and a raised eyebrow from Serena herself.

“Oh, will we? I don’t remember agreeing to this,” she grinned and waved away the start of Bernie’s apology. “No, you’re right, they all deserve it. Best staff in the hospital.”

“Give me a hand with these drinks Bernie,” Serena gestured and she joined her at the bar. It was busy, the staff rushed off their feet. “They’ve really gone for it with the Christmas decorations this year.”

Bernie hummed in agreement, but she had to admit she hadn’t really been looking around the bar. Ever since their kiss on the floor, since that glass of wine in the office where they’d agreed to keep it confined to theatre - no, YOU agreed - all she could look at, think about was Serena.

Serena had moved on, an emotional kiss that had sent her into turmoil for a few weeks but in the end, it was nothing. Bernie knew this and kicked herself every time she caught herself replaying the kiss or staring at her or wishing things had gone differently.

The hardest part had been watching Robbie arrive at the hospital, work his way back into Serena’s life. Serena hadn’t told her much, vague details that hinted at nights spent together, and she said even less when she broke it off.

“I still have Jason.”

She'd shut down any more questions from Bernie and got back to work.

Tonight, she looked radiant. The rush of endorphins from a successful shift made her eyes sparkle, the light glinting in her hair. She followed her lips as she gave the order to the bartender, couldn’t stop staring and ignoring the voice in her head telling her to stop.

“Bernie? Are you alright?”

She dipped her head, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Fine, long day that’s all.” She picked up the first couple of drinks and returned to the table, trying not to look too flustered.

A moment later Serena slipped in next to her, a small frown of concern on her face. Bernie avoided her eyes and sipped the drink, trying to catch up in the conversation.

Two rounds later, Bernie could feel the tension melt from her body, replaced by the warmth of Serena next to her, her melodious voice, and the alcohol slowly seeping into her veins. Fletch returned from the bar with a triumphant look on his face.

“Look what I found!” He produced a sprig of mistletoe from behind his back and Raf groaned.

“I ordered a packet of cheese and onion, Fletch.”

“They’d run out,” he shrugged. “But this is much better. Come on, let’s get in the Christmas spirit, eh? Pucker up, Raf!”

They laughed and cheered at Raf’s scrunched up expression when Fletch planted a kiss with a loud “mwah”, Bernie could tell her honk was cutting above the rest. She soon stopped as Fletch turned to her.

“Ladies, your turn,” he grinned and she was sure he must have been reading her mind all evening.

She turned to Serena, not quite sure what she’d be thinking. If she was shocked she was hiding it better than Bernie. She raised an eyebrow and quirked a grin.

“Nothing wrong with a quick kiss between friends,”

Bernie gulped, nodded because what else could she do? There was that kick in the teeth. Friends.

Fletch held the plant above them and Serena leaned forwards. Bernie met her, pressed their lips together and oh, how soft, and how delightful did they taste with the slightest hint of Shiraz.

They parted and she looked at Serena, trying to work out if she’d overstepped, gone too far. Her focus was on the rest of the table, and Bernie tried to concentrate but her mind was in overdrive. She sipped her drink, wishing it was a short whiskey that she could knock back and not a glass of wine.

Eventually her glass was empty and she made a show of checking her watch.

“Better be off. See you all tomorrow,” she stood, shrugging on her coat and giving a wave to the group. She didn’t look back, didn’t stop to do up the buttons properly, or find her gloves. The cold bit her when she stepped through the door and she paused. Deep breath. A quick kiss between friends, that’s all. No need to tie yourself in knots.

She closed her eyes as she fumbled with her buttons, as if doing up the coat would somehow hold together her emotions. It was for the best, she knew that, but there was still that tiny selfish part of her which wanted more.

She felt a tentative hand on her arm and she looked up to find Serena, brow furrowed and concern in her eyes.

“Are you okay, Bernie? You left in a bit of a hurry.”

She searched for an answer, opening and closing her mouth without success. She didn’t know what she wanted to say, whether she wanted Serena to know the truth, or to carry on as if everything was fine.

“I hope it wasn’t too uncomfortable for you,” Serena gestured vaguely at the door. “I should have known you wouldn’t enjoy it, I-”

“No, no that’s not what happened at all,” her words rushed out before she realised what she was about to say. “It was the opposite, I very much enjoyed it, but we said-”

Her breath was stolen as Serena closed the gap between them, her hands finding Bernie’s hair as she deepened the kiss. Time slowed as Bernie let go of the tension in her shoulders, melting into Serena and trying to memorise every part of this, how it was different to last time but still oh so familiar.

Serena pulled back, an apology on her lips but Bernie shook her head.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for months.”

“Me too, but you seemed pretty set on keeping it confined to theatre.”

“I thought it was for the best, what you wanted,” she looked down, embarrassed.

Serena shivered and took a step closer to her.

“We should talk more, but not here. Why don’t you come back to mine for a nightcap?” She leant close to her ear, making Bernie’s hair stand on end. “Jason has even put up some mistletoe in the hallway, and I didn’t think it would be getting any use this year.”

@berenaadvent

#oh yes look it's me i'm alive #i definitely didn't pass out drunk on saturday night #but anyway you're all about to get spammed with advent fic #Berena Advent 2018 #berena advent: mistletoe #berena #my fic

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hollenka99 · 5 years

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A Growing Family

Summary: In the aftermath of the war, Jameson is still struggling. Not only that but there is more bad news on Siobhan's side of the family. So he focuses on his family and attempts to be happy with what he's got. As such, the Jackson family grows by four new members.

February 23, 1919 Dear Mother,

I hope 1919 has been treating you well thus far. Siobhan and I have some news.

Our fourth child should arrive sometime in the fall, likely September or early October. I am secretly hoping for another daughter. Not only to achieve an oddly satisfying symmetry. This child will be less than 18 months younger than Sophia. I do enjoy entertaining the idea of the two girls sharing a close sisterhood due to the short gap between their ages.

Do not be mistaken, a son would be equally welcome. After all, I gain more experience with raising boys with every day that passes. Despite their difficult beginnings, Anthony and Ollie are rather good friends now. It was Anthony, after all, who dubbed his little brother 'Ollie' in the first place.

Speaking of Oliver, I caught him playing around with his mother's piano the other day. When I asked him what he was doing, he told me Anthony was only better at playing the instrument because he was bigger. He insists he'll be bigger than Anthony one day. When that happens, he'll be the one who is better at playing piano. It does make me laugh how a child's logic works.

Yours. Jameson

April 30, 1919 Dear Mother,

Now that we have celebrated Sophia's first year of life, I feel I may be able to relax slightly. She's certainly not invulnerable but she's more so than last April. She's still not able to stand independently but I have been assured that this developmental delay is common in children who were born prematurely. For us, we see no need for her to be rushed. After all, a crawling child is easier to grab before they do themselves harm as opposed to one who can run.

Anthony enjoyed his time on set last year so I'm planning to work out how to incorporate a first grader into one of our movies. Four years have passed since he made a cameo appearance in The Puppet Man. I've asked Ollie if he's interested but he declined the offer. I suppose you can't win them all.

I am working on a second project as of right now, not related to the pictures. You should be able to see the results later this year.

Yours, Jameson

June 27, 1919 Dear all,

Those Europeans scare me. They all must be mad. I thought the war ended in November. Yet here we are in June, with the Allies threatening to resume the conflict if Germany don't sign that peace treaty in Versailles. I was under the impression it was all a formality to officially document peace. They can't just order their men to return to the trenches after all this time, can they? People have been spending these past seven months attempting to rebuild their lives.

I don't know what conditions Germany is agreeing to. However, I do know the terms should be reasonable. They may be forced to play the scapegoat but placing the blame too harshly could trigger a resentment amongst the German people. God knows how dangerous that could be if taken advantage of.

This League of Nations that Wilson proposed could work. If a number of countries allied themselves together, it might prevent another Great War. Although, it hasn't escaped my notice that it was close alliances that caused the domino effect during the July Crisis of 1914. I suppose all we can do is have faith the politicians know what is best for their respective countries and for the world in general.

Yours, Jameson

August 2, 1919 Dear Jameson,

You have to stop doing this. By all means, use writing as a creative outlet. I don't mind you attempting to work through all of this mess. That said, I wish you would be sensible. If you're going to write an anthology full of anti-war poems, keep it to yourself. At least you had the sense to publish them under an alias.

I'll admit it took me a few minutes to understand your pseudonym. Laurence Wilson is quite a clever disguise. I suppose you chose it so nobody outside of our family would recognise you. I tried to explain it to Mother but she argues you should have used Silas instead. It makes sense, masquerading with the name of our other grandfather, but I'm sure it wouldn't have quite fit with what you were going for.

I worry about you, Jameson. My biggest concern, other than you ruining your reputation, is that this is still an issue. October will be here soon and with it, the second anniversary of Harvey's death. You must let go, if not for your sake then for your family's. You both made mistakes that you weren't able to rectify. Sometimes that is the cruel way the world works. The two of you simply drew the short straw.

We all miss Harvey dearly. It is not only you who wishes he were still here. I hope you understand we were all affected. As for your irrational decisions, you cannot keep doing this to us. You know how much of a worrier Mother is.

Yours, Mabel

August 15, 1919 Dear Mabel,

This has never been about who misses him more or can grieve the hardest. Please don't speak as though I have turned bereavement into a competition. I never made just the one mistake. I made several major ones that lead to countless smaller actions I regret.

I was so close to resolving the feud between us. I received his final letter and set down to write my reply. I remember still writing when Pearl and Clifford came to share the contents of Mother's letter. It frustrates me to no end that he was able to apologise but he would never see my apology.

It wasn't only Harvey I wronged. I ruined my friendship with the person closest to me outside of our family. There were times when I felt closer to David than my own brothers. If it were not for Clifford and Harvey, I would have made him my best man without a second thought. I had hoped he would have chosen me to perform that duty when the time came for him to marry, seeing as he was brotherless. That shall never happen now. His son will have to be raised on mere stories passed down from his mother and grandparents.

All of this is because I am a fierce pacifist. Why has not wanting the world to descend into bloodshed and violence cost me so much? Answer me that, Mabel. I didn't want either of them to contribute to the fighting, especially as they would be risking their lives by getting involved. I went about it the wrong way, I know that. I expected it of Harvey but certainly couldn't foresee David choosing to enlist. I don't know to whom I was harsher. My hand moved before my head could contemplate the repercussions. You have no idea how cautious I am when writing to my loved ones nowadays. Placing letters in envelopes fills me with paranoia. I may read through this letter when it is done and decide it will never be sent.

I can never forgive myself. Never. During the Advent of 1914, I went to confession as I tend to do in preparation for Christmas. When I leave, I usually feel freer. I'm sure you understand what I mean. By admitting your faults to God and saying a prayer or two, you are supposedly cleansed until the next time you commit a sin. Yet, in 1914, I failed to have that sense of peace within me. At the time, I assumed it was because I still held on to resentment and was somewhat privately wrathful. The Advent following Harvey's death, once more I asked to be forgiven. And, once more, I felt as if it failed to be effective. This whole process feels more like a formality to satisfy those around me than something that benefits my soul.

I believe that upon my death, hopefully decades from now, I will finally be able to speak to Harvey and David, face to face as we should have done years ago. Maybe then I can make peace with all of this. Until then, I can't do much except for take each day as it comes.

Yours, Jameson

Henry Robert Jackson Male September 15, 1919 Los Angeles Siobhan O'Hara Jameson Jackson

September 15, 1919 Dear all,

Our third son, whom we have named Henry, arrived in the early hours of this morning. Needless to say, his entrance into the world was far less stressful than his sister's. He is still technically early too but what is one day in the general scheme of things?

The boys are very pleased to have another brother. Anthony is bound to be telling his friends at elementary school tomorrow. Oliver has been fussing over our latest addition. As for Sophia, I feel she is a little too young to particularly care about the new baby the same way her brothers do. That doesn't stop her from checking in on Henry every so often with curiosity.

The most humourous reaction to the baby is courtesy of Lyra. She has found herself hovering around Siobhan all day so she can get a good whiff of Henry. Siobhan cannot take a step in any direction without being cautious of the Dalmatian who is potentially under the feet.

Yours, Jameson

October 1, 1919 Dear Jameson,

Two sons, a daughter then another son? I dare say you're copying me.

Congratulations on the birth of your fourth child, Jem. Give Siobhan my love too. You know, it's a shame we live so far apart. Arthur and Henry could have grown up good friends, given there is only three months between them. That's not to say they can't be playmates whenever you visit us.

Yours, Mabel

February 9, 1920 Dear Mother,

Yesterday, the three of us drank together to commemorate what should have been Harvey's 40th birthday. We talked about him freely. After a while, I felt comfortable enough to join without restricting myself. I even laughed once more at the story of him introducing Edith to us. Pearl still swears she didn't intend to immediately spill wine on her at the table. The whole session has made me thoughtful though. This could potentially be the first time since before the war that I've be able to reflect on my memories of Harvey fondly. Since then, those memories seemed too bitter to remember.

Perhaps this is what I have been lacking, a chance to speak without fear of being misunderstood. I knew Clifford and Pearl were willing to listen. I've known this entire time but, in a strange way, I have failed to internalise that information. I have subjected myself to dealing with everything alone. I am a fool for doing so. I have spent the majority of the past decade being a halfwit.

At the end of December, I promised myself I'd endeavour to have a fresh start this decade. At the time, I wasn't completely sure how I would go about that goal. Other than being more cautious about the what I write, of course. I'm glad it only took me 5 weeks to receive this epiphany. It certainly saved me some time.

Tell Edith and the girls that I say hello, Jameson

May 22, 1920 Dear Jameson,

Forgive me if I'm intruding on matters that you want to remain private but I am worried about your wife. She didn't seem herself at the reception last week. I could sense something was wrong when you visited for Christmas too. At the time, I assumed there had been some dispute between you so I didn't interfere. I am guessing it is the same issue bothering her as five months ago.

Is she alright? I hope whatever it is can be resolved soon.

Wishing your family well, Your mother

June 3, 1920 Dear Mother,

It is a family matter that is worrying her. Do you recall me telling you about Huntington's Chorea when we announced her pregnancy with Anthony? The disease has made itself known in our generation. Her brother has begun to exhibit symptoms. At the moment, it is mainly mood swings and clumsiness. It will only get worse from here on in.

As to be expected, this development has greatly affected Siobhan. Not only is her brother sick, she may be next. It may be fairly likely that by 1930, she could be inflicted with Huntington's Chorea as well. This reality is weighing heavily on all of us. We had desperately hoped we could go without this worry.

Of course, Michael being affected is not proof in itself Siobhan will suffer the same fate. It simply brings the matter close to home again. With the topic so relevant once more, the two of us have spoken and mutually agreed Henry will be our last. We knew having children was akin to playing Russian roulette, long before we entertained the idea of starting a family. If the disease runs through Siobhan and her line, we could have subjected four individuals to potentially inheriting the condition and watching their mother suffer through it.

We both secretly wish we could have given Sophia a little sister. Neither of us admit it, as doing so would be actively insulting to our three sons. We have four loving children. We must learn to admire what we already have.

Yours, Jameson

August 19, 1920 Dear all,

Yesterday brought good prospects to Sophia's future, even if she won't feel its effects until she is 18. They have ratified the 19th Amendment so voters cannot be denied their right on the basis of their sex. Which means, come 1936, she will be able to cast her first vote. Thinking about it, I believe an election is due that year. So there, she will turn 18 at the end of that April and some six months later she can choose which man she trusts more to avoid leading the USA astray.

Technically, women of California gained their right to vote around the same time we moved here. In the very least, I understand that to be true. Unless she moves to another state as an adult, it is the Californian regulations she must pay attention to. Despite being of Irish and Canadian descent, she is still a citizen of the United States of America thanks to jus soli.

Britain and Ireland have only granted partial voting rights to their women. I am told that only those who are over 30 years of age are eligible. I suppose there is more work to be done across the water. While Siobhan has never been the type to tie herself to railings or starve herself in protest, she has been eagerly supportive of the cause.

What are the laws in Canada now? Having lived in America for so long, I realise I've found myself somewhat out of the loop.

Yours, Jameson

September 3, 1920 Dear Jameson,

It's a good thing the world is progressing like this. Judith and Sophia won't have to worry about not having their voices heard. It's exciting to think how differently they will stand among their male peers as they grow up compared to our generation. Honestly, I'm surprised it has taken this long for politicians to realise that they were restricting half the potential voters.

Here in New Brunswick, we were granted the right to vote last year. We still can't run for office but neither myself nor Mother are particularly affected by that. Several provinces preceded us in legislation changes. I think Quebec is yet to catch up with all this.

As for the British Isles, let's hope they lower the age limit soon so that women will have to be 21 like men to vote. The women have really made their case. If they're not throwing themselves in front of the King's horse, they're starving themselves to the point the government introduces a law to stop them.

Yours, Mabel

September 26, 1920 Dear Mother,

I have been debating whether to join you next month for Thanksgiving. When Anthony and Oliver were younger, I wasn't so worried about leaving California. Now that Anthony is in third grade and Ollie will begin Kindergarten next year, bringing them to Canada is proving trickier. In the coming years, when Sophia and Henry become old enough to be sent to school, visiting Saint John will be even more difficult.

The third Monday of October will fall on the 18th this year. Of course, Oliver's 5th birthday is that Thursday. My intention is to stay a little longer than I normally would so you can celebrate it with us. However, in doing so, I would be keeping Anthony from his classes for up to two weeks. You can tell why Siobhan and I are of two minds about Thanksgiving. You could always come in November so we could celebrate it the same time as the Americans. That said, papers are always a hassle and November here is as warm as summer for you. A warm Thanksgiving has never felt right to me.

I will certainly be there at the end of February for your 70th birthday. There is no way I would miss such a special celebration. You'd better be prepared because all of us are coming. You'll have find the space for six adults and five children. We're not trying to cause tedium, I swear.

Yours, Jameson

March 6, 1921 Dear Jameson,

It was such a pleasure to have you back home for my birthday. I particularly love the necklace you bought me. However, by a large margin, my favourite treat was to see your children again. They are all growing so quickly. When Anthony was telling me about 'Peter Pan and Wendy', I nearly had to remind myself that he is already eight years old and literate. What did you do to the boy who was struggling through written words the last time I saw him?

It was especially sweet to watch Sophia and Henry discover snow and frost. I have never seen a child so confused by it. You can assure them I believe their attempt to help their big brothers build a snowman was commendable. I have never met a snowman with such low arms though. I suppose they were unable to reach the torso.

I think you made the right decision by keeping the little ones inside during the snowball fight. Being so small, they would have probably received an accidental snowball to the face in the heat of the moment. These things happen. You fell victim to it a number of times when you were their age.

It is a shame they aren't able to experience winter the same way you did. Maybe we could compromise and agree you will travel to Saint John every Christmas? Either way, thank you for visiting me and I hope you had a smooth journey back to Los Angeles.

Missing you already, Your mother

May 3, 1921 Dear all,

Clifford presented me with a script earlier this week. He wrote the whole thing himself. It's a decent story but he's assigned me the task of improving it. I'll admit, he needs to work on visualising stage directions and how characters will move about the setting. The screenplay has a disproportional quantity of dialogue compared to the action. If we can find a better balance, this will be his first production as the writer. I'm looking forward to discovering how the public enjoys the picture.

My biggest concern is the subject matter. This was clearly inspired by the situation with his children. I know, after spending so long negotiating with Elizabeth to receive them, he feels their letters to him are merely a formality. Lord knows he can't picture Clara as any older than two years old. He's only met Daniel the once, immediately after his birth.

He was so happy last August to be given a second chance with Louise. He deserves the opportunity to prove himself now that he doesn't act so frivolously. I remember how ecstatic he was to receive his first correspondence from Clara herself, as illegible as her childish scrawl was.

Things will be different with Louise. He's not going to be some distant figure like he is to her half-siblings. Even so, he makes a good uncle to his nephews and Sophia.

Yours, Jameson

May 17, 1921 Dear Jameson,

It's good that he wants to branch out. Just be careful. You never know, he may surpass you in the future if you teach him your methods too thoroughly.

Why don't the two of you visit New York again? It could be a nostalgic vacation for the two of you. Not only that, you can bring your children and show them the city. Wouldn't it be nice to show them sentimental places from your time there? Children enjoy learning how their parents' relationship came to be.

Yours, Your mother

May 30, 1921 Dear Mother,

Ah yes, Lady Liberty. It has been a while since I saw her. However, it is slightly absurd to suggest we should go to New York just because his children are there. I will probably take my children to see how the city has changed one day but not to sneak around like some ne'er-do-well.

Yours, Jameson

September 3, 1921 Dear Mother,

This week, Oliver began Kindergarten. Obviously, this is an important moment for him. No-one was more excited to see him attend Selma Avenue than Anthony. I have heard from Ollie himself that his brother keeps him company during recess. While Siobhan and I agree this is a caring gesture, we have privately suggested to Anthony that it may be beneficial to leave his little brother to make friends on his own. As soon as we were done speaking to him, he nodded and promptly went to explain to Oliver he'd be left to deal with the school yard alone. Ollie looked so crestfallen to learn the first week was a trial period. I will never understand my eldest son or his ability to turn on a dime.

However, the beginning of the academic year is not the true reason I am writing. Siobhan is nearly four months along. I have tried to dissuade her from a fifth pregnancy. I eventually didn't have the heart to argue with her. I have always wanted to grant our children a better start than either of us got. She simply wants to give Sophia the sister she never received in her youth. After all our discussions concluding with a decision to leave our family at four children, my will should have been sturdier. If this child is a girl, my resolve will be stronger should she ask again.

In any case, I am happy. I don't wish to be misconstrued. This was as much of my choice as it was hers. Plus, I have always loved seeing how the children interact with their siblings. Our home is a lively one and I am enjoying it being so. It's the kind of household I was accustomed to in Saint John.

Yours, Jameson

February 19, 1922 Dear all,

Did you hear about William Desmond Taylor's murder at the start of the month? It's a terrible thing. I hope they find whoever shot him quickly. Although I never met the man, I did admire his work. Cliff, Pearl and I were discussing him after the news of his death broke. He was a good director from what I've seen.

His final resting place not far from where we live. I decided to pay him a visit. I wanted to tip my hat to him, so to speak. It's Clifford who wants to pay his respects, in my opinion. He is Jackson Trinity's main director, after all. I think he may have taken slight inspiration from Taylor at times.

Yours, Jameson

Theodore Stanley Jackson Male March 2, 1922 Los Angeles Siobhan O'Hara Jameson Jackson

May 24, 1922 Dear all,

The Veterans of Foreign Wars have been selling poppies in the lead up to Memorial Day next Monday. I took the liberty of purchasing a few for you in case you would like to find comfort in them. Or you can leave them be until November, if that suits you.

All the best, Jameson

June 6, 1922 Dear Jameson,

Thank you for thinking of us. Your gesture was greatly appreciated. Unfortunately, you are a little late to this poppy scheme. They began doing the same thing here in Canada last November.

I've returned some of them so you can have some spares. I know how easily young children tend to misplace or lose things. I'm glad you chose to buy some of those poppies. I did not think you would do something meant to support those who fought.

With love, Mabel

August 7, 1922 Dear all,

It is hard to believe that a full decade has passed since I became a father. Hints of regret for missing Anthony's birth do still appear each year. Although, by now, it is so inconsequential. Why fret about one when I've managed to be around for the subsequent four? If he ever becomes upset by it, I can always blame his Aunt Pearl for not running fast enough to fetch me. Not only that, he is at fault too. I could have made it if he weren't so eager to meet us. Still, as I stated before, it's become trivial over the years.

We bought him 'The Story of Doctor Dolittle' and its sequel 'The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle' by Hugh Lofting for his birthday. It's about a doctor who can converse with animals and prefers their company to that of human patients. He has begun reading the first book in our sitting room. I suspect he is trying to get through as many pages as possible before Siobhan finishes preparing the cake. Ollie supposedly left the house to play with Lyra in our front yard. It is very peculiar that Lyra is lying on my bed while Anthony's new bicycle has mysteriously vanished from the hallway. I will be sure to discuss the strange happenings with him, whenever he chooses to return. Do you think I should deny him a slice? At least Sophia and Henry are entertaining themselves quietly inside which makes a change for once.

I am being called for cake so I will end my letter here. It is a jelly roll with strawberry jam so I am looking forward to taking a bite.

Yours, Jameson

November 3, 1922 Dear Mother,

Sophia does not act the way you would expect a little girl should. She enjoys straying from us, usually taking Henry with her, to explore her surroundings. All children accumulate dirty laundry but she may be eligible to set a record. She is hardly rolling in the dirt like some feral creature but, without fail, she will always return to us with some dirt on her person. It doesn't matter if it is soil on her hands or grass stains on her tights. I blame the fact she has nothing but brothers. They indirectly encourage her to play rough by doing so themselves. What's worse is that Henry follows her lead. If she were able to climb partway up a tree, he would surely imitate her. One of these days, one or both of them will harm themselves. It is tiring attempting to keep up with the duo.

What I can see in Sophia is that she finds great joy in using her hands to create. At her age, she does not possess the right amount of dexterity to be presented with the opportunities to truly show this off. She may be slightly too young to be introduced to sewing or knitting. Although, she does show interest in it. Perhaps in a year or two I could leave her in Pearl's care so she could be taught. Unlike Pearl, I may have lost some of my abilities thanks to neglecting the activity.

It is odd that she has little interest in playing an instrument, even a piano. In no way am I expecting every child of ours to be virtuosos simply because of their mother. Besides, Oliver has enough enthusiasm for the five of them. I only feel that it would be a worthy pastime while she grows enough to explore other hobbies.

On a completely unrelated note, have you ever tasted a cake with a pumpkin filling? No, I hadn't either. That is until my birthday on Tuesday. Seeing as I was to become 35 years old and my birthday happens to fall on Halloween, Siobhan thought it would be a clever idea to do something special this year. If pumpkin is an acquired taste, it is not one I have acquired. Not that I would ever admit that to her. She put so much effort to please me that I could never break her heart her like that.

I can never escape pumpkins whenever my birthday approaches. The children love preparing several of the fruit to leave outside our home on the 31st. Oliver even asked to receive one for his birthday two weeks ago. I had to remind him that it would be thoroughly rotted by the time the holiday arrived 10 days later. Maybe I should film a short based on carving pumpkins one October. It would have to be a short. If any man can create a decent script for a full length feature inspired solely on carving pumpkins, I'd like to meet him.

Yours, Jameson

January 18, 1923 Dear all,

Germany's economy appears to be worthy of living among the trash. Their prices are so inflated that I wouldn't be surprised if a loaf of bread cost me millions of marks. Didn't they attempt to fix their financial troubles by simply printing the money at one point?

See, I can't understand why Germany were made the scapegoats. They came to the aid of their allies the same way the British Empire and United States helped ours. If any country should be blamed, it should be Serbia for the assassination and Austria-Hungary for declaring war on them in response. I suppose it could be easier to point fingers at the country who have been at the forefront of Prussia for centuries. Of course, despite the books I've read on the subject, I could be talking nonsense. They do say you should never discuss politics in polite conversation.

I also hear they are growing increasingly anti-Semitic. You're likely to find that sentiment anywhere you go. However, it is unnerving to hear they are naming scapegoats within their own country. Anti-Semitism amongst Christians has always confused me. Yes, the Jews chose to persecute Jesus. Was that not the whole point? I wouldn't say the population of Jerusalem were possessed. A higher power possessing you, now that is a scary notion. No, influenced is a better term. The Jews were influenced to play their part in a plan that had been centuries, no millennia, in the making. For Christ's sake, Mary herself was Jewish. You don't see anyone condemning her, do you?

Long story short, I have yet another script idea brewing. Something along the lines of a man being able to conjure surplus amounts of money at will. Originally, I planned to make the protagonist's powers akin to that that of Midas but with dollar bills. I'm unsure what the end product will look like.

Yours, Jameson

April 25, 1923 Dear all,

We have added a couple of new members to our family. They are two Jack Russell Terriers, a brother and sister, whom we have named Woodrow and Holly.

No, we did not name one of our pets after the last President. We were inspired by the Hollywoodland sign they're constructing near our area. It's meant to draw potential homebuyers to this part of Los Angeles.

I have heard some advice that siblings should not be brought home together. It is related to their pack dynamics, one must be dominant no matter what. It can also negatively influence the way they interact with humans and other animals. However, I believe with the correct training, all this can be avoided.

The children adore them and Lyra seems to tolerate the puppies. With five children and three dogs, we appear to have made quite the family.

Yours, Jameson

#the life of jameson jackson #tlojj #jameson jackson #jacksepticeye #writersofjack #my writing #crosspost #originally posted on Quotev and AO3 on Dec 9th 2018

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folkloreguk · 6 years

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🎄 December 7th 🎄

A/N: Happy December! I decided to make a kpop-scenarios-advent-calendar for all of you! I will post at least every second day up until Christmas! They will either be fluff or smut, sometimes only small drabbles, sometimes long scenarios. And all my scenarios will be optional bias (male, at least in the smuts) so all of you can enjoy them! x

genre: smut

~2700 words

summary: Your boss makes you wear an elf costume at work, just when your cute neighbor starts working at the same store (This is kind of a part 2 to the smut I posted on December 3rd but you don’t have to necessarily read it to understand what’s going on!)

here’s my jungkook advent calendar I did last year!

MASTERLIST

(Again, use protection!!!), H/N means “his name”

Usually, you liked your job. It was a part-time job at a big shop that had just about everything, earning you a little money while you were studying. The people there were nice, and they didn’t give you the hardest work. Before Christmas, however, your boss had come up with a terrible idea. (Although she thought it was terrific.)

When you had come to work on the first of December, you had found a costume lying on the table, you name written on a tag with it. When you picked it up, you sensed the trouble right away. The costume was a green dress with a red belt, fluffy white fur at the hems around your neck and wrists. That wasn’t even the worst part. It came with red and green striped tights and an obnoxious green hat. The shoes were curved at the front and had a bell on them.

“What the hell is this?” you asked your co-worker, who was entering the room.

“The boss is making us wear elf costumes,” she said. In fact, your friend was wearing one right now, making you laugh out loud at her.

“Don’t laugh,” she complained. “You’ll look just the same.”

You felt doomed. But your boss was a nice person, and you didn’t want to ruin your relationship with her, so you decided to put the ugly clothes on.

On a different occasion, you would have laughed at yourself. Now, you didn’t feel like it at all. People were going to see you like this and laugh. You took a deep breath before walking out in the shop. The whole day you managed to avoid human contact or even to be seen. After an old lady told you she “adored your costume”, you felt a little more confident. At least someone wasn’t making fun of you. At the end of the week, you even managed to forget about what you were wearing and talk to costumers again.

When you started work the next day, you were supposed to stack some children toys. You were busy, when suddenly you heard the excited voice of a small child.

“Mommy! Is that one of Santa’s elves?” the little boy asked, pointing at you in awe. His eyes were glowing in amazement. When you waved at him, he smiled shyly and hid behind his mother’s back. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all, you thought.

Half an hour later you regretted thinking that thought. It was when your cute-handsome-godlike neighbor walked into the store. You felt like escaping out the backdoor and never come back. It got even worse when you saw him talking to your boss. She was showing him around, and you knew exactly what that meant. Oh, no. How were you going to avoid him at your job when he was working here now? You were convinced, if he saw you like this, all your chances you’d had with him would be blown away.

You had only seen him faintly, since his heater had broken and you had invited him over. You’d ended up having sex. After that, you blushed whenever he said hi in the hallway of your apartment building. You hadn’t hung out or talked for longer than a few moments after the incident, and you had no fancy of meeting him in this outfit. Over the day you didn’t just realize how difficult it was to run away from him, even if the shop was a gigantic hall. You also realized he had the privilege of not wearing one of these ugly costumes (which only made it seem more embarrassing that you were wearing one).

Your heart was racing from all the fast-walking you had been doing, getting away from him. You were on your way to the break room, where your boss had just called you. When you turned around the corner, you gasped. Just before you crashed right. Into. Your. Cute. Ass. Neighbor.

“Hi!” you said, acting as if you hadn’t even noticed him and hadn’t been fleeing from him the past few hours.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, giving you a knowing look. Then, he looked you up and down and chuckled. You wished for the ground to swallow you whole.

“Ah, Y/N!” your boss called, nearing the two of you. “I need you to do something.”

You were glad she was going to give you a job and you could get away from your neighbor before this could get any worse.

“I need you to show H/N our storage. We’ve got all our hands full out here, so I need you to give him a short tour,” she said. You stared at her, not believing what she had said. Then, you realized you had to answer.

“Yes! Of course,” you stuttered quickly. You wished you could have said no, but it was too late. Your boss thanked you sweetly and walked off.

“Let’s go,” you mumbled at your neighbor. He was still grinning. He looked madly cute, with a gray sweater and tight black pants. His hair was styled nicely, and you were trying not to stare. You spun around, sure that he would follow you. For a solid three minutes you walked through the entire shop, silent. You were convinced he was checking out the back of the ugly costume by now, probably more than entertained by your boss’ idea.

“Here’s our storage,” you announced, sliding your key card through the slit by the door. The storage hall was gigantic, with high walls and endless rows of brown boxes. It was probably possible to get lost between the rows, if you didn’t know your way. But you did.

“This is where you can look up what’s in store,” you showed him the computer by the entrance. He was still grinning at you, but nodded. While you explained the system and how to type in the product number, he listened with attention.

“Let me show you the other side of the store, where the goods arrive,” you told him. When he smiled his handsome smile at you, you finally asked him. “What? Just say it. I know that I look ridiculous.”

“You look cute,” he said, taking you by surprise. “Really damn cute. I don’t know how you pull it off, but you do.”

You laughed sarcastically, not fully believing him.

“I mean it,” he added. He had pulled on his sweater’s sleeves again, until they were hanging by his sides like paws. You blushed a little, and showed him the way. You walked for a while through the hall. After some time you reached the back of the store, with the massive doors for the trucks to deliver the ware. You showed him everything, how to open the doors, how to use the computer to check in the boxes and keep everything organized. You leaned against the small table behind you, watching him as he tried to operate the computer himself. As you gazed at him, you noticed his jeans. They were the same he had worn the day you had hooked up. You still remembered the rough material against your thighs when he had ground his hips against you. The way he had moaned your name had been so hot. You had never thought about sex at work. Suddenly you had nothing else on your mind. Slowly, he turned your way, his eyes searching for yours. He seemed to have something on his mind.

“You know, I wanted to hang out with you again, since we…,” he started. “But I didn’t know if you wanted to. I didn’t know if that was a one time thing…Looks like fate found it’s way and now we’re here.”

He was coming closer to you, and you were almost sure you had the same thing on your mind.

“I don’t want it to be a one time thing,” you said, suddenly flustered. The hall was dim, but you could see his eyes light up.

“Good,” he said, rushed. Then, he closed the distance between you, his hands holding your face. You felt his breath on your lips and your chests touching, hearts beating together in eagerness. When you finally kissed, it was like an explosion. Like you had waited this whole time, just for this moment you didn’t know was going to come. His hands wandered down your body, to your hips. He pushed them backwards into the edge of the wooden table. They ghosted over the back of your thighs, signaling you to jump. You reacted, sitting on the table, hands buried in his hair. He stood between your thighs, his lips kissing their way to your neck while he pushed up your dress to your thighs. You shook your feet around vigorously, getting rid of your hideous elf-shoes.

You reached to your ridiculous hat and pulled it off your head, while his hands drove you almost insane. He was stroking your thighs, inches away from your center, eagerly grabbing the soft skin. But you were just as impatient. Your hands went to his soft sweater, pulling it upwards until he got the idea. His shirt came off in the process and you took a few seconds to admire his upper body and how his muscles moved under every small breath. Then he was kissing you again, his tongue hungrily slipping over your lips. A small gasp left your lips when his fingers roughly pushed against your clothed center. You realized once again your surroundings. Although you were almost sure no one would come into the storage soon, you wanted to hurry up.

Your hands pushed him away softly, leaving him utterly confused. His hair was messed up from your hands, his lips pink and slightly parted. You jumped off the table, hands going right to his belt.

“Let me return the favor from last time,” you said, fumbling with the hem of his pants. He didn’t complain when you had finally opened them and yanked them down his legs. When they were mid-thigh, you bent down to his half-stiff member, kneeling in front of him. You took him in your hands, pumping him slowly while you looked up at him innocently. You had barely started and he looked completely worked up. You played with his shaft, thumb running over the tip of his cock, making him swear under his breath. His half-lidded eyes were basically begging for your mouth.

So you decided to give it to him. You teased him, licking a stripe from the shaft to the tip. He took a short breath. Slowly, you opened your lips and closed them around his cock, tasting pre-cum. Picking up pace, you began bobbing your head rhythmically, your hands covering the part that didn’t fit in your mouth.

“Just like that,” he muttered, groaning softly. You knew he was watching you, and the thought only excited you more. You swirled your tongue over his tip, paying special attention to it. He moaned a little, letting you know how good you made him feel. His voice cracked slightly at the end, his breath coming out in short gaps. You felt him move above you, but didn’t pay attention. You were busy sucking him off. You tried to alter the pace, keeping him on edge. For a couple seconds you’d go slowly, leaving him holding his breath. Then, you’d quicken your actions, earning his raspy moans you loved so much.

You almost laughed out loud when you felt what he was doing. Softly pulling your hair, he made you stop, only to put the very hat -you had taken off- back on your head.

“Really?” you asked, giving him a look. He chuckled, but you could still see how worked up he was. His chest was moving unnaturally, his cheeks red.

“It’s cute,” he said, just like before. Then, he took your hand, helping you up. Still grinning like a fool, he reached under your dress, pulling down your tights. When cold air hit your wet folds, you realized just how badly you needed him right now. You were glad he was thinking the same thing.

“Would you do me the favor of bending over for me, sweetheart?” he asked, like you had all the time in the world. You did as he told right away. Your dress still on, you leaned your upper body on the table, wishing you had somewhere to hold on to. Suddenly, you felt his fingers. He groaned when he slipped them past your entrance so easily, a desperate whimper escaping your throat. Using his other hand to rub your swollen clit, he pushed his fingers into you, pumping them at a tardy pace. His name fell from your lips, quietly wanting more than just his hands.

“What is it?” he asked, teasingly. “Use your words.”

“Fuck me, please,” you breathed, hoping he would do as you asked. For a moment, he sped up his motions, making you cry out in pleasure. If he had kept going, you would have cum in no time. But he stopped, and for once you didn’t mind.

You both hissed in release when the tip of his cock entered you. His hands were grabbing your hips as he began to fuck you. You closed your eyes in awe. His member brushed over your g-spot perfectly, with every sharp thrust. You were glad he was holding you, because your knees felt fragile and you couldn’t form a straight thought. The sound of skin on skin was the only thing heard in the enormous hall, along with your moans and ragged breathing.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he muttered, his hold tightening on your hips. You felt his finger nails digging into your skin, but you couldn’t care less when his cock filled you over and over. He bent over, to level with your head, breathing just next to your ear. His breaths were uneven and sometimes interrupted by a growl. You felt yourself get closer to your high with the seconds passing, eyes shut tightly.

A whimper of surprise left your lips when you suddenly felt his fingers on your clit. He had straightened up again, rubbing your center in rapid circles.

“H/N- Oh my god…,” you moaned, not managing to create a coherent sentence. “Don’t stop…”

And he didn’t. In fact, he seemed to only pick up speed. You tightened your walls around him, seconds from your orgasm. His groan signaled agreement, as his thrusts began to become sloppy. He was the first one to cum. The moan he let out was almost animalistic, his last thrusts hard and short. His fingers didn’t stop their actions, though. You shuddered when he found your sweet spot, adding more pressure. Your fingernails dug into your palms and you bit your lip in concentration. When you came, you saw galaxies behind your eyes, your hands attempting to hold on to something, but the table’s surface was flat. He slowed down but didn’t quite stop yet, riding our your orgasm fully. Only when you flinched in sensitivity he quit, his hands softly caressing your hips.

When you turned around you were still breathless. He took you in surprise when he came closer to you, locking your lips once more. The kiss was sweet and deep and felt different from all the ones you had. When he pulled away, he was smiling again.

“Do you think we could go on a date sometime?” he asked. “This is fun, but I want to know you better than this. Especially now that we’ll see each other more often.”

You couldn’t help but grin as you nodded your head eagerly.

The next afternoon you could barely wait to get to work. You didn’t mind putting on your costume, and you were in such a good mood, your co-worker asked you if something had happened. When you left the break room, you walked into no other than your lovely neighbor. The best part was, that he was wearing the male version of your costume, which, in your opinion, looked even worse. He looked everything but happy. It was finally your turn to laugh.

“Not so cute anymore, huh?” you asked, tilting your head and grinning in triumph.

“Not on me, no,” he admitted. Suddenly, you heard your boss call his name. “You, however, still look adorable.”

He winked at you quickly, before walking off to find your boss. You couldn’t believe how you had gotten this lucky, but you didn’t mind it one bit.

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sherrybaby14 · 6 years

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Simon’s Snowflake

This is for @simons-thirst-squad Advent Calendar

Prompt: Snowflake

Summary: You want to be a Savior, but Simon has other plans for you, smut

Warnings: Smut, DUB-CON (A little non-con, but mainly Dub) DO NOT READ IF THIS OFFENDS YOU

Pairing: Simon/reader

Words: 2500

BAM! You barely had time to recover before the fist slammed into your eye, sending you down to the mat with a force that made you arch your back and suck in hard for breath. With coughing gasps you twisted on to your side.

“Sorry Snowflake, better luck next time.” Simon crouched down next to you, through your watery eyes you saw the grin on his face before he rose. “NEXT!”

You nursed your wounds and your battered ego for the next month, spending your days in the laundry room working at your job and your evenings trying your hardest to train. Next month you would do better; prove you weren’t a snowflake.

The tryouts came faster than you expected, but again you were shoulder to shoulder with the other possible recruits.

“So you sad bunch think you have what it takes to be a Savior?” Simon walked in front of your line up. “If Negan didn’t notice you when you first got here, what makes you think something has changed?”

You had this speech memorized, sure the words changed but the message was the same: don’t bother, you’re wasting the Sanctuary and Negan’s time. You’d spent a year trying to get noticed, move up out of the laundry room, but it never worked. When Negan decided he needed more fighters it was your chance, but for the last six months, you were never chosen and normally ended up concussed from the tryout.

“Ah, Snowflake decided to show up again.” Simon stopped walking, even though he was so thin his muscular build still made you feel smaller than you were as if he were some sort of lean giant, one that didn’t have an ounce of body fat on him. “When are you ever going to learn?”

“Don’t call me that.” You snapped away from thinking about the man’s body. It was better to keep your mouth shut, but his words always got under your skin.

“Snowflake? But that’s what you are.” He gave a chuckle. “Who from this sorry lineup should I have take you down this time? I’m getting tired of watching you melt.”

“Why not do it yourself this time?” You gave his chest a shove.

There was an audible gasp from the others in the room as Simon fell back a step. This was a mistake, you knew that, but months of ridicule and loses pushed you to your edge. Maybe you were going to lose again today, but that didn’t mean you would stop trying.

“Nah.” Simon smirked as he looked you up and down. “I prefer a fair fight, not interested in taking on something as delicate as you Snowflake.”

Without hesitation, you pulled your fist back and threw it at his face. Your follow through was too strong and you tumbled forward out of the lineup as you hand collided with nothing. Simon dodged your punch and spun around to face you in the process.

“That wasn’t very nice Snow.”

With a grunt, you tried to hit him again, but Simon dodged. You were not about to stop and continued to lunge for the man, but he bobbed up and down like a boxer, avoiding ever punch and kick you tried to deliver.

He was trying to wear you out. It was a classic fighting technique you studied over the last half-year. Don’t make a move, let your opponent do all the work and then knock them out when they’re done. It took some calming of your rage, but you stopped your onslaught and froze, fists up, waiting for him to make the move. Simon’s bouncing stopped and he shook his head.

“You’re not stupid Snowflake, but even after that little demonstration I’m still not going to throw a punch.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you get back to the laundry where you’ll be safe little girl?”

WHACK! Your hand had a mind of its own as it reached out and slapped Simon hard across the cheek. The echo rang across the room. You made contact! It wasn’t a punch, but the slap was hard enough his cheek had turned.

“Get out.” Simon turned his head upright. The playfulness was gone from his eyes, instead, there was an intense anger, that sent a shiver down your spine.

This was not the place for a witty remark and your smile faded as you started towards the door.

“Not you Snowflake.” He grabbed your upper arm and tugged you backward, turning you to face him in the process. His eyes locked with yours again and this time you knew you’d gone too far. “Everyone else. GET OUT!”

You didn’t look, but the sound of feet shuffling told you the room was cleared. Simon’s gaze burned into yours, you didn’t want to look, but couldn’t help but steal a glance at the handprint forming on his cheek.

“You think this is funny? This is a game?” His fingers dug harder into your arm. “People die out there every day. It’s not just the Walkers were fighting, but intelligent enemies with plans. Mix the two together and it’s deadly. Is that what you want? To risk your life every day?”

“Better than wasting away in a laundry room.” You tried to twist away, but he pulled you closer.

“I thought you would lose interest, but you keep getting better.” Simon’s other hand came down and grabbed your chin, tilting it up towards him. “I don’t want you to get better. I want you to stay in the Sanctuary where it is safe. Do you understand me?”

“Fuck you!” You shoved at his chest, but the man barely moved an inch. You through both of your arms to the sides, hitting his in the process and letting yourself out of his grasp. “I’m not a little girl! Or a snowflake that’s going to fall apart the second I hit the ground! I deserve the chance to help! I deserve the chance to fight!”

You let out a low scream and hurled yourself forward, throwing your shoulder into Simon’s stomach. The movement caught Simon off guard and in a second he was sprawled on his back on the mats. A surge of pride and victory went through your bones, but it was short lived when his hand reached out and grabbed your wrist. In a moment you were flipped over, on your back pinned to the mats. His hands were above your head, holding you down in place, but you weren’t sure he needed to hold them as the weight of his body rested on top of you.

“You’re right.” You ignored him and continued to struggle underneath him, trying to buck him off.

“CALM DOWN!” He squeezed your wrist tighter.

You struggling stopped and you forced your body to still, giving your brain a second to catch up.

“What did you say?” There was no way you heard him correctly.

“I said you’re right.” His eyes danced between yours, trying to get a read. “You’re not a little girl or a snowflake ready to break.”

You didn’t see this coming and felt your body relax even more. Simon’s weight stayed on your core and his grip on your wrists loosened.

“You’re MY Snowflake.” He let out a breath. “A one-in-a-million person, and honey I’m not even sure there are a million people left alive. I will die before I let you melt away.”

“Wha…” Before you could get the question out Simon’s lips pressed down hard against yours.

His actions were so fast there was no time to think or respond. His mouth parted and your lips did the same as his tongue pressed against yours. His kiss was surprisingly soft and you found yourself returning it more eagerly than you expected. Simon was more like a god to you than an actual person, and you never imagined yourself in a situation like this. It left you clueless how to respond.

His body weight lifted up and one of his hands moved to your hip as he tugged your workout pants down along with your panties. The motion brought you back to reality and you let out a noise and tried to break this kiss. Simon responded with a grunt and pushed harder against your lips, keeping you in place on the mat as your bottom went to your knees. His hand started to trace up your thigh when you finally tuned your head to the side, getting free from his mouth. Simon seemed oblivious to your actions and continued kissing your neck.

“Wait!” You tried to squirm away, but the position kept you pinned. “Too fast.”

“It’s been months of teasing.” Simon nibbled your neck as his hand got closer to your core. “Melt for me.”

Your leg was pinned under his, making your legs spread. You brought your hands to his shoulders and tried to shove him back when his fingers came to your folds. A gasp escaped your lips that quickly turned into a moan as his thumb found your clit and started rubbing in circles, his fingers moved down your slit to your entrance and slid inside you with ease making the moan increase.

“See Snowflake?” He kissed up your neck until his face was in front of yours again. “Already so wet for me.”

This was wrong. You didn’t want to be the man’s plaything, you wanted to be a fighter, a Savior. But his finger started to pump in and out of you and your body and will was coming undone beneath him.

“Stop.” You weren’t sure the word was audible between your panting.

If it was, Simon ignored it as his mouth found yours once again. His lips and tongue were warm as they swirled against yours. Your brain started to grow cloudy with need and pleasure. It had been too long since someone had touched you this way, and you didn’t know if anyone as strong as Simon ever had.

“That’s it.” He started peppering your neck with kisses again. “Melt for me my Snowflake.”

He sensed your resolve weakening as much as you did. Now was the time to stay strong and crawl out from underneath him, you knew that, but then he increased the pressure on your bud and starting curling his finger inside of you. Instead of screaming for him to get off of you, your hands wrapped around his biceps and squeezed as your panting and moaning increased.

Simon’s tongue darted out and licked your neck, going from clavicle to ear, it was the last thing your body could handle as the waves of pleasure erupted inside of you. You crumbled underneath him like a mess, your head whipped to the side as his mouth sucked hard on your exposed skin. His hand didn’t slow down either, prolonging the pleasure from your orgasm, making your toes curl.

When he pulled his hand away your head was swimming and the realization of how wrong this all was tried to force its way back to the forefront of your brain. You looked up and Simon was on top of you. He looked between both of your bodies and you felt a pressure at your hole. With a heavy head, you looked up to see his cock about to spear you, making your heart race. You dropped back down and touched your hands to his chest, shaking your head no.

“Shhhh.” Simon leaned down and kissed your lips. “Do you really want me to stop?”

The hand that was fisting the base of his cock dropped and his thumb found your clit again. He pressed down and started to rub causing you to squeal underneath him as an aftershock of pleasure rocked through you. Your hands grabbed on to his muscled arms again as you whimpered.

“Do you want me to stop Snowflake?” Simon’s eyes looked evil above you, but not as evil as his hand was between your legs, rubbing you into submission.

The feelings in your body only added to the confusion in your brain and there was no way you could form a response.

“That’s what I thought.” His tongue flicked out and licked his lips as he flexed his hips forward and started the slide inside your wet tunnel.

He filled you instantly. When he made it to the hilt you thought you might burst and struggled to catch your breath as you held onto his shoulders. His thumb continued to rub your clit as he started pulling out and sliding back inside. You became aware of just how wet you were by the fact his movements were so easy.

It didn’t take long until the both of you were panting. His thrusts become rougher and more powerful. Each time he was fully inside of you he felt bigger than before.

“Cum for me one more time Snowflake.” Simon bit down on your neck. “I want to watch your face as you scream around my cock.”

As if he were your master your orgasm spasmed at his words. Your muscles clenched down around him, making him feel even bigger than he was. You were certain inhuman sounds were coming from your mouth, but the ringing in your ears made it impossible to hear.

“Fuck Snowflake,” Simon grunted and thrust inside of you, exploding his white foam into your womb.

“Wait.” You tried to push him off, but your muscles were spent. “Don’t want to get pregnant.”

“Well, I want you to.” Simon nibbled your ear. “You’re my one in a million and I’m never letting you go.”

Simon’s cock continued to twitch inside of you and his words sent another chill down your spine. You didn’t know if it was the haze from the orgasm or the way he seemed to possess you, but right now that sounded better than anything on the planet. Maybe you were Simon’s one-in-a-million, maybe you were his snowflake.

tags: @mogaruke @kellyn1604 @wildfire @princessmanson @notanothersong @captainemwinchester @kawaiirepublic @buckyscrystalqueen @blondesouthsquad @purplemuse89 @screeching-pterodactyl-fangirl @taintedgenre @roschelesworld @negan--is--god @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers @mac5323 @marauderice @thecynicalnerd @enchantingoblivion @jmackie1983 @theonethatgotaway213 @mytreasures4eternity47 @jeffreydeanneganstrash

#simonsadventcalendar #twd smut #simon's thirst squad #simon/reader #reader insert #The Walking Dead #dubcon #Smut

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motivatingspeech · 4 years

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The Story Of Nokia: How Nokia Went From Phone Titan To Obsolete

The Rise And Fall Of Nokia: How Nokia Went From Phone Titan To Obsolete Explained

Across the globe, Finland is known for various things: heavy metal bands, soreness, unique bus stop etiquette, and Nokia. Currently employing over 100,000 people worldwide and boasting annual revenues of over twenty-nine billion dollars, Nokia has risen to become a global force. But its beginnings in history are as unique as the country, where it all started. We’ll examine the rise of Nokia and how it became one of the world leaders in mobile phone technology. Founded over 150 years ago, Fredrik Idestam wanted to capitalize on Finland’s huge forestry industry and created a paper mill near temporary. Not long afterward he built a second paper mill near a town called Nokia, on the Nokia and Vertu River. A few years later, Fredrik Idestam partnered with a man by the name of Leo Mechelin, who had grander visions than running a couple of near paper mills in the backcountry of Finland. He convinced Fredrik Idestam the former public company Nokia AB and after Frederick retired, Leo Mechelin used the same River to start generating electricity in a new venture for the company. At the same time, a man by the name of Edward Pollan founded Finnish rubber works which made rubber products like boots and tires.

After World War I, Michelin’s Nokia AB was failing and was bought out by Finnish rubber works, enabling the company to continue generating electricity and paper products. A third company was also destined to join the Nokia family of companies. In 1912 Finnish cable works was founded and then acquired by Finnish rubber works 20 years later. The timing of their deal could not have been better. After the devastation of World War II, the Soviet Union was desperate to rebuild its infrastructure. For Finnish cable works, a company that sold telephone and electrical cables, they were positioned to make a fortune. The massive influx of cash helped the company strengthen its financial position. Expanding their opportunities into new markets. The conglomerate would grow into an unrecognizable company from the modern Nokia that we've come to know today. They operated within nearly every industry you can imagine. TV production, paper manufacturing, gas masks, plastics, and chemicals to name a few. The start of the new focus happened in the early 70s when Nokia invented a new digital switch for telephone exchanges. This began a long history of developing telephone technology that helped transform the cellular systems used around the world. In the late '60s, Nokia was already producing radio-telephones that were used in cars and by the military. By 1978 they claimed 100% coverage across all of Finland with their radio car phone systems. It was just a year later that the diverse Nokia took steps to align with a TV maker called Silora to develop a brand new Nordic mobile telephone network. It was the world’s first cellular network. An upgrade from the previous radio system used at the time. It was known as the 1G system. The very first cellular generation which used analog signal. By the early 1980s Nokia launched its first car phone the Mobira Senator. It was effective but incredibly bulky with each unit weighing in at 10 kilograms. Soon after they released the Mobira talk man, half the weight of the first version but still too clunky and only accessible in a car. The first truly portable cellular phone was the Mobira Cityman weighing in at just 800 grams. But it came with a huge price tag at 24,000 Finnish marks, the equivalent of 8200 U.S. Dollars today. Due to its exorbitant price a city man didn’t really catch on. That was until a photo of President Mikhail Gorbachev, president of the USSR was photographed using it in Helsinki in 1987. Almost overnight it became a cult status symbol. Owning it proved your wealth and power. It also earned the nickname the Gorba after the Soviet President himself. Nokia continued developing its cellular network establishing the 2G GSM network that went from analog signals to a digital signal. By 1987 the 2G system standard across all of Europe. It enabled data to be sent digitally. Eventually paving the way for SMS text messaging in July of 1991 the Finnish Prime Minister made the first phone call on the 2G network and about a year later the world’s first text message was sent. It read Merry Christmas. The 2G system would later go on to take the world by storm. Eventually gaining over 3 billion users. In the early 90’s Nokia was facing some financial problems. In an effort to streamline the business they started to sell off divisions and create separate entities. First went there paper industry, the origin of the whole company. Followed soon by tires and rubber production. After selling off most of the other industries Nokia had one singular focus: Telecommunications. In 1994 Nokia released its model Nokia 2100: a new entry-level phone series designed for anybody to use. It included the now-iconic Nokia ringtone and the game snake. Demand went through the roof. Originally Nokia predicted a run of 400,000 units for this series they ended up selling over 20 million worldwide. Nokia couldn't make the 'Nokia 2100' fast enough. They saw that managers were trying their hardest to buy just enough materials to keep their factories producing. They created a whole new division to overhaul its entire supply chain. In Western Europe alone mobile phone users went from 5 million to 23 million in just four short years. Faced with the same challenges as other brands like Ericsson and Motorola, Nokia had to make drastic changes if they were going to keep up with the increased demand for mobile phones. Instead of relying on one supplier in Japan, Nokia learned how to build their technology in their home country and taught it to a Finnish electronic supplier. They also outsourced their plastics to a Finnish company as well for their five factories around the world. Once they solved their supply chain issue, Nokia rapidly outpaced its competitors. From 1996 to 2001 they multiplied their revenue 5 times over. What’s also truly amazing is their domination of the industry. They had become the world's largest mobile phone provider. A position they held for 14 years. It appeared nothing could stop the rise of Nokia. But then Apple introduced the iPhone which would mark the beginning of the end for Nokia. The iPhone was more than a mere sleek device made from premium materials. A major upgrade from the cheap-feeling plastic used by other smartphones at the time. It was also the world's first smartphone to feature a multi-touch display. Overnight the smartphone touchscreen revolution was born. The world would begin its shift away from physical plastic to digital on-screen keyboards. Over the next few years, Nokia's global market share would crater to less than 5%. Today its stock prices plummeted over 90%, since the iPhone's debut. Nokia's greatest lesson is to be wary of complacency. Innovation went both ways. On one hand, the advent of 1G enabled their success, on the other hand, it was their unwillingness to take risks which allowed Apple the opportunity to steal their throne. Read the full article

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worldofadvent · 7 years

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NEO World of Advent Chapter Nineteen

Cipher stood at the edge of his Family's property, oddly nostalgic about the apartment complex, as though each random quirk were something special and to be missed. Like the oddly colored layers of concrete that surrounded their pool or the way their lights shone in their rooms as he approached them at night. It might not be the end of this after all, Cipher had to remind himself. There was always the chance that the test proved negative, and that he really was just a random kid Neo Arcadia stuck with cleaning up someone else's mess.

His Family stood at the gates beside him. The younger kids really didn't know the significance of what this meant yet, but they seemed to sense the gravity of the situation. Even Matt's hands were oddly still and not rummaging through someone's pocket for spare change. The older teens, the people Cipher had entrusted his Family to, whom he worked with every day to keep them all in order, were in various stages of acceptance.

Charles had taken the news pretty well, all things considered. He had promised Cipher to Head the family in his place should things go well at Neige's office. Kent and Bradley were a little slower to accept the change. In the days that followed, they had given him a wide berth, as if figuring out how to address him beyond Cipher, Head of Family 024. And Shirley… She had taken the news the hardest, for sure. Still, Cipher thought as he gave his assembled Family a weak smile, she had shown up. That meant a lot to him.

"I guess this is it," Cipher said. "I just want you to know that it's not really goodbye. It just means I won't be around as much. I'll keep in touch; I already set up a time to talk with Charles every night at 8. You guys can join in if you want."

"Of course." Brandon nudged Shirley. "We'll be there."

"Thanks." Cipher breathed a sigh of relief; he had hoped that it wouldn't just be Charles on the other end. That might have gotten awkward after a little while. "It's not even a for sure thing anyway. Maybe Neige really is crazy or this is some elaborate ruse." He really hoped that wasn't the case, but he wouldn't know for sure until it actually happened.

"Even if it doesn't turn out like you hope it does, it's not like you don't have a place where you already belong." Shirley tried to keep the poison in her voice to a minimum, but Cero could see a hint of the rage that had slowly died down since that fateful night he had let them all know of his decision to take the test. "We'll be here."

"Hey, I want to meet Zero if you are though." Kent grinned. "How cool is that, your dad might be the savior of the freaking world."

Hoo boy. Cipher felt another wave of confusion and panic. As if meeting the folks wasn't stressful enough; now he had to deal with them maybe being famous heroes. "Ciel is important too," he said in his mother(?)'s defense. "She's partly responsible for us existing at all and her Ciel System is what allows the city to function... I see I've lost you."

"Slash slash! Pew pew!" one of the younger kids made gunning motions with a finger death ray. Bradley nodded sagely.

"You just can't argue with that logic," he said. Cipher rolled his eyes but couldn't help but smile.

"I'll miss you losers," Cipher said. "Try not to let the place burn down while I'm gone, okay? Seriously, Matt," he said to the most problematic Advent in their family. "Please don't actually burn the place down."

"I won't," Matt promised. "I actually like having a roof over my head, you know."

"Good." Cipher felt relieved with that small matter of business in order. "I guess I'm going then. I'll let you know what happens later."

"It's going to pretty obvious if you're not," Shirley said. "If you're not back in a few hours, we'll figure it out."

"Got it." Cipher raised his arms awkwardly. "Group hug? I know I said we don't do those, but this seems like an extenuating circumstance." The four of them initiated a mass dogpile, which the younger kids had no problem with executing. When enough of them had moved from Cipher's prone body and he verified that he had no broken bones, Cipher hailed a cab that would take him to Neige's office. He didn't quite trust him to drive safely with everything going in in the back of his mind.

It was a relatively short ride there; outside Neige was waiting for him expectantly. Cipher had already called earlier to let her know that he was actually going to take it so she could have whatever black market gene test ready for him when he got there. "Hey there Champ," Neige said. "You ready for this?"

"As I'll ever be." Cipher stared at the doors of the building, wondering if he was about to be the source of the next major scoop. "Let's do it."

"I know this isn't easy for you," Neige said as she directed him to her office. "You've got guts. If nothing else, at the end of the day, you stood up for yourself."

"I know," Cipher said. "I just kind of don't want to return empty handed if that makes sense. I don't know what I'd do if this doesn't work out like you think it will."

"We'll burn that bridge when we get to it," Neige said. "If we get to it." She brought out a long syringe. "I hope you're not afraid of needles."

"I was hoping there would be an alternative way of sucking my blood out," Cipher admitted. "Do you have one of those blood prick things?"

"Don't wuss out on me now," Neige said. "Just relax; it'll only take a second. I may have done this more than once, you know."

"Aren't you a reporter?" Cipher stared at her suspiciously. "How do you know how to use medical supplies like this kind of thing?"

"I'm a reporter," Neige shot his words back at him. "That means I have to be able to do a lot more than sit behind a desk and write."

"Fair enough," Cipher said, wincing as the needle punctured his skin, looking away as the tube filled with his own blood. The sight of the crimson liquid made him woozy. "Are we done?"

"All done," Neige assured him. "This machine can cross reference different genomes fairly quickly if you already have a sample of what you're crossing it with."

"Do you have a sample?" Cipher didn't relish the thought of sitting there while a machine calculated his fate.

"Of course I do," Neige said as she brought out a few more vials of blood. "Don't ask me how I got these; it's best if you don't know."

"Duly noted." Cipher watched as Neige set the machine up. It was a tall black thing with different knobs and a glass screen that remained blank for the time being.

"This thing will turn green if it's a match," Neige said. "The numbers will tell me just how close the samples are. But it's not like we're comparing apes to chimps here; if that thing does turn green, you're the real deal."

Cipher watched the machine intently as Neige placed his phial beside another. "We're going to use Ceil's first," Neige explained. "Advents primarily take after their human parent after all."

The butterflies in Cipher's stomach turned into a swarm of nervous excitement. His stomach actually cramped from the force of the stress and he found himself doubled over as the machine started making a soft sort of noise before it at last turned the shade of young grass.

"It's a match," Neige said. "You really are her son. Just to make sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I'm going to analyze Zero and Cero's blood along the readings as well."

Soon, the machine turned different shades of green, a pale seafoam green with Zero's sample and deep emerald upon being matched with Cero's. "Advent siblings are really close, genetically speaking," Neige explained. "That means that, beyond a shadow of doubt, Cero is your biological sibling."

Cipher felt lightheaded. He wanted to feel giddy, excited. He wanted to be happy, but he found himself too overloaded with the realization that he actually had a family. Not just any family either, the leaders of the Resistance.

'It's a lot to take in I know," Neige said. "Take your time." She kept an eye on him while fiddling with some things behind her desk. "Let me know when you're all set for the call."

"Call?" Cipher scratched his head. "Are we really doing this now?"

"Well yeah," Neige said. "I told them I'd let them know as soon as I found either of you. I figured you'd want to be a part of it."

"Alright," Cipher said. "But you're going to have to do the explaining." He didn't trust himself to be able to say the right words.

"I was already going to," Neige said. "Just sit tight. It's on speaker, by the way." The phone rang for six agonizing times before letting Neige know that the voicebox was full. Neige growled in vexation and redialed the number, only to be met with the same message. "Figures," she muttered to herself. "I have the most important message she'll ever hear from me and she can't even be bothered to pick up the damn phone."

"So what now? Do we just call her later?" Cipher's tolerance for excitement was quickly reaching its limit.

"Oh hell no." Neige jingled a pair of keys. "We're going to tell her in person. I hope you don't mind if I drive; I don't trust those auto cabs you see all over the city."

"You have a license right?" Cipher eyed her keys nervously. "Auto cabs are usually much safer, aren't they?"

"I prefer to be in control of my own destiny." Neige hummed a short tune as she threw on a coat. "Come on, we've got to give your folks a heart attack."

"Hopefully not," Cipher said as he settled in the passenger seat of her cruiser. It wasn't much different from auto cabs, save for the addition of a steering wheel and the pedals. Neige pushed a stick forward and the car revved to life. "That would kind of suck."

"Jeez, no kidding. Let's hope that being on the run from Neo Arcadia hardened them up a bit, shall we? I'd hate to have your reunion spoiled by Ceil's having to be rushed to the hospital."

"That doesn't actually happen, does it?" Cipher wasn't exactly knowledgeable about the usual sequence of events that followed something like this.

"Oh no," Neige said. "Just about never. They'll be fine, it's you I'm worried about. You know that they're going to be just as nervous meeting you as you are them, right? They've been looking for you for years now." Neige's phone rang. She eyed the caller ID critically. "Pick up your damn phone, woman. And tell Zero to be ready, I don't want him to be off blowing something up when I get there."

Ceil's voice could be heard through the receiver, even though it wasn't set to speaker mode. "What's up Neige? Normally you give us a bit more time when you stop by. Is it something important?"

"You could say that. Just get your baby daddy in the same room or whatever, I'll explain when I get there." She closed the call with a click and silenced her phone. It still vibrated, Cipher noticed, and did so for the remainder of their trip. "It's her fault," Neige said. "She should have picked up the first time."

Soon, they were at the gates. A machine went through the motions as it verified Neige's ID, asking what the nature of her visit was. "Family visit," she told it. "Neige and Cipher." Two badges popped out a second later. Neige tossed him his as she skidded into a parking spot. "Not bad," she critiqued her job. "I didn't even scrape the paint this time."

"This place is huge," Cipher said. It could fit at least ten of the Forge inside easily. "I had no idea how massive it really was."

"It's fairly big," Neige agreed. "Kind of has to be, what with all the people they get. Not everyone's content with life in the big city." She shut the door and locked it with a chirp from her keys. Hey," Neige said as the thought came up, "Your next match is soon, right? They just got finished with the other divisions. Maybe Zero can give you some pointers, eh?"

Cipher was sick as they mounted the steps up to the entrance. "I'm just going to let you do the talking, okay? I don't feel so good."

"Gotcha." Neige led the two of them inside. Neige found someone she knew, apparently and engaged in quick pleasantries. "This is Allouette," she told Cipher. "She's kind of like a sister to your mother."

"Mother?" Allouette's eyes traveled to the badge on Cipher's vest, mouthing the words 'Family Visit,' then 'Cipher.' She dropped the clipboard she was carrying along with some other stuff with a crash that soon became a tight embrace. "CIPHER! I can't believe Neige found you." She held him at arm's length, giving him just enough space to breathe. "How?"

"I'll explain later," Neige said lowly. "Can you lower it a few notches? You're causing a scene and I kind of wanted the kid's parents to see him first."

"Of course." Allouette brought her hands to her face. "I'm your Aunt 'Lou," she said giddily. "That's what your brother calls me."

"Uh, hi." Cipher felt overwhelmed by the force of the nurse reploid's emotion. "It's good to meet you."

"Oh," Allouette squealed. "I can't wait to tell them! I'll let them know we're on our way." She dialed something quickly, telling Ciel to get over there stat. Her face was flushed as she gazed at Cipher. "They're going to be so happy to finally meet you."

Soon, there was a small scene as a blonde woman with bright eyes just like his rounded the corner, panting. Beside her, a tall red reploid looked around anxiously. Soon, they zeroed in on Allouette and the boy she held in a tight vicegrip. Cipher looked up, meeting his mother's piercing blue eyes for what felt like hours. Her hand flew to her mouth and tears sprang at the corners of her eyes. She ran forward, crushing Cipher in the tightest embrace he'd ever experienced. It was warm, filled with unconditional love, and absolute. Cipher found himself crying with her as he returned the hug. It felt right, somehow. Like a piece of some puzzle had finally been put back into place.

"My boy," Ciel crooned. "My baby boy." Soon, she relinquished him so that Zero could look at him. The reploid hero seemed to be at a loss for what to say. Somehow that was comforting, Cipher found himself thinking. Someone else who didn't quite know what to make of his sudden arrival. The reploid's face warped into something raw and vulnerable. He held Cipher at length before Ciel nudged his side. "Go," she whispered. "He's your son."

Zero bent down so that they were eye to eye. "I always wondered what you would look like," he said at last. "I lost hope… i thought I would never know." He put his arms around Cipher, bringing him close. Somehow, the hero's grasp was softer, gentler than his human wife's, but no less filled with that sense of absolute and unconditional love. "Welcome home, Cipher." He wiped tears from behind Cipher's back. "I thought I'd never get to say that. Welcome home."

"Hi," Cipher said nervously, hesitantly. "Dad." Zero nodded in the crook of his shoulder. "I uh, I guess this means you're my parents." The statement felt dumb as he said it, entirely redundant. But they would never know just how much it meant to him, to be able to say it. "My family."

"You're home now," Zero told him. "I don't care where you've been or what you've done. You're here now. You're safe now." He held Cipher closely, as if he was afraid he would disappear if he let go. Cipher squirmed uncomfortably and Zero released him. "You have a brother," he said. "I'd very much like for you to meet him."

"Cero?" Cipher smiled. "The Resistance Kid. I guess that makes me the Resistance Kid too."

"He hates being called that," Zero (his father!) said. "He likes to be called Cero. Come, we'll introduce you to him."

Ciel nodded. "He should be downstairs," she said. "With Clover, as usual."

"Who's Clover?" The name was unfamiliar to Cipher. But then, he supposed, this was all unfamiliar to him. He was venturing into new territory, giving the comfortable familiarity of control up for something much, much greater.

"Cero's cyber elf," Zero said. "But she also doesn't like being called that. She's quite the character. I hope you two get along well."

Cipher found himself wondering who this Clover character was and why she came with a mild advisory warning, but said nothing. He let, for the first time in so very long, someone else decide what was best for him. Downstairs, someone roughly a year or two younger than Cipher was talking to an even younger girl with light brown hair the color of chestnuts. They seemed to be in a heated argument, but enjoying it somehow. Ciel made the first move, getting their attention with a quick wave. Cero looked up, looking about as dumbfounded as Cipher felt when his eyes locked in on him. Cero's mouth hung open, and the girl beside him glowed. Literally. As if the day couldn't get any weirder, the girl actually emitted some form of illumination in her own excitement.

"Cero," Zero said. "This is your brother. Cipher. He's home. At last."

Cero gave Cipher a curious look, as if probing him for answers he didn't have. "You're my brother," Cero said stupidly. Cipher chuckled; at least he wasn't the only one making redundant statements. Cero's dumbfoundedness slowly turned into a cautious, but hopeful smile. "So you're my older brother, Cipher."

"Yeah," Cipher said. "You look just like me." The two gave a small chuckle at that, connected through some strange, inexplicable bond of blood. "So uh, I'm home?"

"Yeah. This is going to take a little getting used to," Cero admitted. "But I can show you around if you'd like."

"I think I'd like that." Cipher looked up, sandwiched between a blonde woman and a tall red reploid with a similar mane of blonde hair and their son who was also his brother and all the unspoken emotion that words just couldn't do justice. They were an odd looking family, Cipher thought, but what family wasn't?

#megaman #megaman zero #mmz #capcom #long story #ocs #fanfic #fanfiction

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