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a-froger-epic · 3 years

Note

tw: mention of eating disorders

hey i read something about freddie having an eating disrorder, and I hate asking this but could you please explain if you know anything about it. my poor baby :(

Hey anon!

I’m sorry it took me a while to reply. This is a sensitive topic for many, so I wanted to take my time and give you the nuanced reply it deserves.

I’ve talked about this a little before, but I might as well take the opportunity now to speak about it at length. This is only my personal opinion based on everything I’ve read about Freddie and many different takes I’ve seen others put forward.

So, did Freddie have an eating disorder?

The shortest answer to that, as far as I’m concerned, is... maybe?

Before I carry on, I’d like to say that I think everyone is free to speculate about this and make up their own mind, as well as creatively explore this in their writing, and I don’t consider my opinion to be any more correct than anyone else’s.

Why do people think Freddie might have had an ED?

There are a few things about Freddie and food which could be interpreted as ED behaviours. First off, here is what Phoebe has to say about Freddie and his eating habits:

His taste in food changed over the years I was with Freddie. When I started the group of us would make monthly visits to the restaurant Shezan, an Indian eatery, in Knightsbridge. Freddie never had a menu as they always provided his favourite selection of foods without asking. As his illness progressed, his taste buds could not take the assault of spicy foods and he tended to more bland foods. He also turned his eating habits around. He used to have a lighter meal at lunch and then have a big meal in the evening, usually at a restaurant with a big group of friends. Towards the end he would eat more at lunch and a smaller meal in the evenings.

Nothing much out of the ordinary here, as far as I can see. Freddie definitely had favourite foods he enjoyed, but then, a common misconception is that people with EDs don’t like/enjoy food, and that isn’t true. Phoebe also says this:

As I have said before, Freddie was a very light eater. Some of us live to eat, but Freddie was one of those people who ate to live. He was the master of moving food around the plate to give the appearance of having eaten a good amount. He did enjoy good food, but really didn’t need to consume very much. He loved entertaining guests at meals in the dining room at Garden Lodge and was able to disguise his non-eating by making sure everyone else was ok during the meal. Don’t get me wrong, Freddie always ate enough to keep him going, but I can’t remember one time when he leant back in the chair saying ‘I’m stuffed!’

Now here we have a lot of things to unpack. There are three things in here - moving food around the plate to give the appearance of having eaten more, disguising his non-eating and never eating enough to be full - which are definitely known ED behaviours.

However, people who just do not care about food all that much and are light eaters do also exist. In fact, I’m one of them myself. I did struggle with Disordered Eating in my teens and my early 20s, but I have a healthy relationship with food now and I never like to eat until I’m stuffed because it’s not a nice feeling, physically, to overeat. I’m also someone who easily and genuinely forgets to eat when I’m in a creative haze. Just as an example.

Also, seeing as Freddie most likely was made to finish meals all throughout his boarding school times, like many children in lunch halls, which is usually not a great experience for children who are picky or light eaters, the “moving food around the plate to make it seem he’s eaten” could well be an old habit stemming from there.

Either way, Phoebe doesn’t seem too concerned about Freddie’s eating, and even though people with EDs are very good at hiding them, Phoebe did know him for a long time and very, very well. Phoebe could also be withholding information that he considers too private. All of that is possible, all of that is speculation.

There are other things which point to the fact that Freddie was definitely preoccupied with his weight/appearance. In this interview in 1974, he says:

“Oh really,” he exclaims in disgust, “this paper has no flair - I mean to print this picture three times in succession … and just look at my arms!” He was horrified, “look at how fat they appear, now my arms aren’t like that at all - what do you think?” He rolls up his sleeves for me to inspect and I’d like to state here and now that the poor dear’s arms are quite, quite slender!

The photo Freddie is most likely talking about, is this one:

It’s not a very fortunate angle, admittedly. So I think it’s possible to see where he was coming from, but even so, he was worried about his arms looking fat at a time when he looked like this:

Yes, it is important to keep in mind that people were generally thinner in the 70s than we are used to now. (Brian, for example, was also incredibly thin.) But in this picture it really is evident that Freddie was very, very thin at this point.

Other things which are often brought into the discussion around Freddie’s eating habits is the account of him throwing a fit when Brian ate one of his biscuits once, choosing to walk after a meal at a restaurant while his driver drove alongside him and his friends, eating cereal on the floor in his dressing room, this picture where he clearly prefers salad to chicken wings (unlike Roger “What Even Are Vegetables” Taylor):

All of the above, to me, are things which can be heavily read into but ultimately don’t prove very much.

And there is this bit from Mercury & Me:

The Sun did later print a photograph of Freddie taken while he was performing at the festival, which he didn't appreciate. It showed off "Flabulous Freddie" with a slight paunch, wickedly describing it as his "midriff bulge". When he saw the picture he looked at me and shook his head in despair. 'It's typical,' he said. 'If I'm slim the papers say I'm too thin and if I put on a little bit of a belly they say I'm too fat. It's a no-win situation.'

Now, that doesn’t give off the impression to me that Freddie was particularly distraught about that article, at that point in his life. But it certainly appears to have bothered him to some degree.

So what’s the conclusion?

To me, personally, it seems quite likely that Freddie did suffer from Disordered Eating in the early to mid 70s. That’s really not uncommon, sadly, although it usually afflicts young women more than young men. But he was in the spotlight and had to care about his appearance. He was clearly very preoccupied with it, not only when it came to his body, but his looks in general - there is plenty of evidence regarding that. He was very selective about which photographs of himself he did and didn’t like. However, I find it impossible to say just how much this preoccupation affected him exactly. 1974 especially was also a very taxing year for Queen. Their management was shit, they struggled with money, they almost lost Brian, their touring schedules were brutal, the press was bashing them, Freddie was struggling with his sexual identity. There were a lot of immense stress factors, and he could have very well been someone who responded to stress by not eating - just like others respond to stress by eating too much. And Disordered Eating is not classed as an eating disorder. It is, if you will, the beginning of one.

Or, he absolutely could have developed or already had an actual ED which he was hiding fairly well, and it could have affected him a lot, but nobody would have ever known because he would have been unlikely to ever speak to anybody about it.

Both is possible. I simply don’t think that there is enough information to do more than speculate on the matter, beyond: He had a preoccupation with his looks and minded what and how much he ate throughout his life.

However, in the second half of the 70s as well as the 80s, he was still thin but had started working out and looked more “athletic” thin rather than gaunt. I think it’s entirely possible that whatever issues Freddie had with food were not a constant thing but something that may have been worse and better at times, depending on his overall mental well-being and his levels of confidence.

Or, it could have been something that he always struggled with.

Again, as far as I am concerned, both is possible and I don’t feel I can say for certain. And so, my take leans towards Disordered Eating when younger and less preoccupation with it later on. That’s the impression I get.

But I wrote all this out so that others can make up their own minds, and rather than share my exact opinion, I encourage you to do just that.

#Freddie Mercury #Tw eating disorders #meta #ask response

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rebrandedbard · 3 years

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A little drabble exchange for @theamazingbard that accidentally became more of a ficlet. Threw in a little hispanic nursery rhyme since I don’t know if we have them in english for making pain go away. I tried googling but it was unhelpful.

TW: Descriptions of blood, drinking it, gross stuff like that. Canon-typical wounds. References to drinking and inebriation.

WC: 2617

Lips Black as the Rose

Featuring highervampire!Jaskier as he tries to figure himself out after being turned. A bit of spice in there. Am I picking and choosing parts of the lore as I see fit? Yes. Is it very sexy of me to do so? One hundred percent. Will I beta this before posting? Oh absolutely not, you know the drill. ‘No beta, we die like men and get our shit wrecked in the comments’ is my go-to Ao3 tag for a reason.

Under no circumstances would Jaskier ever cause harm to another living thing, but the world did not reciprocate that exact philosophy. He’d been chased and held at the business end of many a sword, dagger, lance, and—on several unfortunately memorable occasions—a startling variety of available flatware. Things were rougher after meeting Geralt and having his usual human pursuers overshadowed by the threat of monsters.

Where once a spoon in the hands of a rabid duke would seem a most threatening opponent, Jaskier now found himself on the run from a more literal array of rabid beasts, and he could quote the running speeds the prove that having an extra pair of legs did indeed give certain monsters a leg up, so to speak, on the competition. But then, having no legs at all could prove a better advantage, and such creatures as those often had the additional advantage of long, venomous teeth.

Suffice to say, it was a difficult thing to be a lover in a world of fighters. Particularly when one falls into the company of another presumed lover, only to discover that their invitation to dinner was, in truth, an invitation to be dinner.

A vampire. Young, wine drunk, and foolish, Jaskier allowed himself to be led into the vampire’s den. It had been many years ago, he no longer remembered the details. He only remembered a sharp pain on his shoulder, followed by a woozy numbness, and he awoke in a strange bed, in an inn he did not check into, with his reflection missing from the mirror. He’d run away from home shortly after, fearing a bloodlust that was never to come.

It was a strange thing, being a vampire. After months of research, Jaskier came to no conclusions as to what it meant to be one exactly. He experimented with the content of old myths, touching silver very cautiously, taking delicate bites of foods prepared with garlic. He could cross a river just as well as any man. All in all, there was not much wrong with him, and he wondered what all the fuss was about. Well, there was a bit of fuss in that he could no longer be sure of his appearance, and he’d become more vain than ever, relying on the opinions of others to assure him that he looked presentable. This was a particular bother where Geralt was concerned, for he rarely paid compliments—if ever—and was not inclined to offer opinions concerning such trifling things as fashion or appearances.

Jaskier felt sure that Geralt would have noticed right away, but when their paths crossed again, Geralt seemed entirely ignorant of Jaskier’s dramatic change in biology. Running his tongue over his teeth, he could find no fangs. People complimented him on his eyes, still cooing over how bright and blue they were; and he’d been so afraid they’d turned a ghastly red as in the stories. From what he could tell, he appeared human. He had no violent urges to drain the blood from red-cheeked virgins, nor had he transformed into a bat and flown into the night. Sunlight only burned his skin as much as it had before, though it might have been harder on his eyes. He found himself squinting more in the afternoon, and it was unpleasant hot at times.

All in all, he was relatively normal.

“Such beauty ought to be preserved evermore.” That was what the vampire had told him that night. A great favor, immortality, but he wished he might have been offered a list of instructions to go with it. Figuring things out on his own was exasperating. And though he was not quite compelled to drink blood, there were times when he was … drawn. By curiosity.

When Geralt returned from a hunt, his flesh torn and body bleeding, Jaskier found it challenging to tend his wounds. Many times, he’d almost given into temptation. It did not help that he’d wanted to know the taste of Geralt’s skin long before the transformation. Now, there was an intoxicating layer to the fantasy, and the smell of Geralt’s blood made him hazy, like the bouquet of a strong wine. Or more realistically, the cloud of bitter vodka. If it had been a particularly nasty fight, Jaskier was sure he could taste Geralt’s blood by the smell alone, so powerful it made his nose wrinkle. He could get drunk on the fumes, and it was not always so pleasant.

He never dared try. There were too many things to consider. For a start, there was no telling what the blood of a witcher would do to him—and that was before factoring potions into the equation. Having never fed of blood, Jaskier did not know how his instincts would react, and he was sure he had some animal instinct to him now. He might drain Geralt dry in a matter of minutes, or the taste of blood might make him go insane and start tearing at his surroundings like a mad beast! Or, simplest and frightening of all, Geralt might kill him. So Jaskier kept his secret, never giving in to his curiosity.

But one day, he’d slipped.

“Fuck,” Geralt grunted. He clenched his hand and a sharp smell pervaded the air. In sharpening his sword, his hand had slipped. He’d cut the meat of his palm, just above his wrist.

Jaskier was up at once, Geralt’s bag in hand, ready to wrap the wound. He was very quick these days in getting things bundled up as soon as possible. Once the wounds were wrapped, the smell was not as pronounced. He fished out a strip of cloth and had it round Geralt’s hand in a matter of moments, working efficiently with good practice.

Geralt smiled ruefully. “A clean wound, at least. Should stitch itself up by morning.” He chuckled and inspected the wound, his eyes flicking over to Jaskier. “Haven’t done that since I was a child sharpening my first dagger,” he said.

“Did you cut yourself often in training?” Jaskier asked.

“No, not so often. We didn’t waste wrappings on such small scrapes either.”

There was a distracting shadow of red seeping through the cloth. Jaskier scoffed. “So you let it bleed into the open air, did you?”

“We were less inclined to coddle than humans.”

“Coddle?” Jaskier said, raising an offended hand to his chest. “My dear, a dressing is hardly evidence of coddling. If I wished to coddle you, I’d kiss it better and sing a little chant.”

Geralt presented his hand to Jaskier, smirking humorously. “Then do it. I’ve never heard of humans having such power as to kiss wounds better. Would save me a lot of trouble.”

“Erm … ” Jaskier flushed, considering the proffered wound. He nearly made a joke about lacking such power, being no longer human, but he bit it back. To cover his hesitation, he took Geralt’s hand and gently sang the rhyme his nurse used to calm him after a scraped elbow or knee. His tongue rolled musically as he rubbed the dressing carefully. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana.” Then he bent his head down to kiss the place.

“I don’t see what frogs’ tails have to do with my hand,” Geralt joked.

But Jaskier did not hear him. Instead, he felt oddly fixed in place, a metallic tang on the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth slightly, closed it, and licked at his bottom lip to chase the memory of the taste. As he did, his tongue scraped the end of a long, pointed tooth. He stumbled back unsteadily, muttered his excuses, and fled to the safety of his bedroll across camp. There he sat, writing nonsense in his notebook as though struck by sudden inspiration.

He’d tasted Geralt’s blood. And now he wanted more.

The next few hunts were blessedly without injury. Jaskier found he was able to breathe again. It twisted his gut whenever Geralt went off to fulfill a contract, and his conscience was at odds with this new obsession. He wanted Geralt to come back whole and unharmed. But he wanted some cut, some smallest scrape upon which to lathe his tongue. When he thought of it, he felt a stirring in his gums, and touching the place, he found the fangs had grown in again. It took concentration to hide them again. He took to smiling with his mouth closed after the first incident, and he developed a habit of biting his lips.

When they came to a larger town, Jaskier went straight to the butcher. To quell his growing need, he bought fresh meat, sneaking a sip from the blood dish beneath the draining sheep’s carcass while the butcher’s back was turned. It had the strangest effect on him. Within minutes of leaving the butcher’s shop, he felt light-headed. He felt drunk, in short, and he wobbled his way to the inn, a giggle in his throat.

For dinner, he asked the potmaid to send the loin to the cook and surprised Geralt with it: a small treat to celebrate his recent hunting success. In truth, he wanted nothing to do with it, festering in the shame of his lie. The loin had merely been an excuse: something to keep the butcher busy while he drank his curiosity like some writhing leech dredged up from the water.

It made him drunk. He made note of it in his book and swore that would be the end of things. This odd affair made it easy to forget, his stomach turning in guilt and disgust at the thought of repeating the act. He was fine and healthy without blood, therefore there was no need to partake. He could go the rest of his life perfectly happy never drinking another drop. Until the day it fell from Geralt’s lip.

Jaskier stared at it from across the room. Geralt had just returned from a fight, his eyes and blood black with potion. His armour was scratched up, covered in foulness from monsters unknown, but he was alive and whole, hardly bruised. Jaskier tried to focus on the smell of the guts dripping from his armour. It was still as disgusting as ever, even with vampiric senses to influence his opinion. The wretched blood was still unappetizing. But above it, he smelled a strange scent: sweet, a touch of iron. And there, shining on Geralt’s lip, the wet glisten of blood.

He swallowed hard as Geralt wiped the cut on the back of his hand. The blood smudged along his chin, all the more enticing. His knuckles turned white on the sheet of his bed as he held himself in place. Ordinarily, he would be up on his feet to help coax Geralt out of his armour by now, but he did not trust himself to be so close.

Geralt shed his shoulder pads, looking at Jaskier from the corner of his eye. “It’s a bit slippery,” he said. He inclined his head, beckoning Jaskier over. That was their way. They did not ask things from one another. It was simple routine, and the brief lapse was something awkward to acknowledge.

What excuses could he provide? Jaskier stood on trembling legs and made his way, biting his own lip to hide the fangs he felt beginning to grow. His fingers were clumsy as he fumbled with the clasps, far too close to Geralt’s face. His breath caught, watching a bead of dark blood roll down his lip, over his chin. His lip was stained black.

Geralt had always had nice lips, Jaskier felt. He was always reminded torturously of this fact when he helped Geralt out of his armour. How could one undress such a man without indulging in the fantasy of what came after, even a little? But oh, it was a dangerous line of thought. Now he was bewitched by his senses, his focus single-mindedly drawn to that point on Geralt’s lip. To kiss him now, to lick the blood from his lip—it would be divine. He felt his heart beat faster at the prospect, his hands stalling to unbuckle Geralt’s breastplate as he stared. Just one taste. One kiss was all he wanted.

A hand pressed against his chest, stopping him short. Jaskier startled out of his unconscious reverie and looked at Geralt in horror. He hadn’t—! Had he? His attention flicked between Geralt’s eyes and his lip, and to his relief, the blood remained untouched.

“Not just now,” Geralt said, voice rumbling in his chest. “The potions might paralyze you—at least for a day. Anything lesser would die from a drink of it. It turns my blood to poison.”

Jaskier blinked, edging back. “I … don’t understand your meaning,” he feigned.

Geralt followed him, stepping forward. He raised a hand, caressing Jaskier’s cheek gently. “I know,” he said. “You’re not the best at keeping secrets. I noticed some time ago you stopped aging, and there’s no shadow at your feet, even on the brightest afternoon.”

He swiped his thumb over Jaskier’s bottom lip. Jaskier gasped, his lips parting, and Geralt pushed in. Then, his thumb was pushing Jaskier’s top lip away, revealing a glistening fang. He nodded, satisfied, and stepped back once more.

“You’re a vampire,” Geralt said. “And not a common one either. My medallion doesn’t react to you at all.” He chuckled and added, “As if you could be common by any measure.”

Jaskier turned away, picking up one of Geralt’s shoulder pads. He clutched it to his chest, whether for protection or for comfort he could not say. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was afraid to tell you … afraid what you might say. What you … might do.”

A warm hand smoothed down his arm comfortingly. There was a teasing quality to Geralt’s voice when he spoke. A hand wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, making him nearly jump in surprise.

“In regards to what: the knowledge that you’re a vampire, or the knowledge that you want to kiss me?” Geralt asked, words hot against Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier shivered, the adrenaline of his fear quickly turning to something sweeter. “Both,” he sighed. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, to understand Geralt’s intent.

“You cannot drink of me tonight,” Geralt whispered, “but I can satisfy that other hunger, if you only have the discipline to keep your teeth to yourself.”

“What are you saying, Geralt?” The way Geralt’s hand slipped lower and lower down his front, Jaskier thought he knew. Even so …

Geralt chuckled, nose pressing to the back of Jaskier’s neck. “I’m saying I’m tired of the way you look at me like a man starving and refuse to do something about it. It’s gotten worse. It was bad enough before, waiting for you to make your move, but since your turning, it’s insufferable. I feel like the centerpiece of a banquet, waiting to be devoured.”

“You said I couldn’t kiss you,” Jaskier said, breath coming up short as he felt himself pressed back against a firm chest, a second hand coming up to tug at the edge of his chemise. “I have no discipline whatsoever. And you know that.”

“Well then.”

Jaskier dropped the plate of armour as he was pushed backward. He fell, his knees caught by the edge of the bed. Arms caged him on either side, and above him. Geralt smiled, a drop of blood falling onto the sheets below. He pressed his thumb to Jaskier’s mouth once more, something ravenous in his eyes.

“Well then,” he repeated. “Looks like I’ll have to devour you instead.”

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #vampire!jaskier #highervampire!jaskier #showing off a bit of my culture there with the little rhyme #mexican / irish blended household baby!#sadly though I learned the rhyme from spanish classes instead of from my family lmao #such is life #lips black as the rose fic #persie's tag #I TOLD you I'd leave things unfulfilled #suffer

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ibijau · 3 years

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*chanting* sangxuan, sangxuan! because I’ve been reminded that I love that ship, have a continuation of that fic where jzx is a very repressed bi with a huge ass crush on nhs

It takes Nie Mingjue about a week to realise that there's something wrong with Nie Huaisang. The first day or two, he blames it on the shock it must be for his brother to have finally graduated from Lan Qiren's classes, and with unexpectedly high grades at that. That success must have given Nie Huaisang one of his sudden short bursts of motivation, and that's why he's suddenly attending sabre practice with the other disciple, and showing up on time for lessons. Those bursts are usually short lived, in Nie Mingjue's experience. Where the sabre is concerned, five consecutive days of hard work is his brother's record.

So on day eight, when Nie Huaisang is still showing up dutifully, still trying his best to get the movements right, Nie Mingjue becomes concerned. When the lesson is over, he asks his brother to follow him to his office so Nie Huaisang can learn how to help with something, as befits a young master of a prominent sect. Normally, this is the time of the day where Nie Huaisang likes to take time to play with his birds, something he's always particularly enthusiastic about right after returning from Gusu. But this time he follows Nie Mingjue with only the briefest of hesitations.

Slowly going from merely concerned to actively worried, Nie Mingjue decides to see how far he can push this before his brother starts acting like himself again. He gives Nie Huaisang a pile of letters to be sorted through by order of importance according to a number of criteria such as the nature of the problem, the rank of the writer, and their physical location. Night Hunting doesn't interest Nie Huaisang, so it is always a bother for him to think about creatures and remember how dangerous any of them might be. He also can't see the point of keeping track of whether a duke or a magistrate is supposed to be given more consideration. As for geography, Nie Huaisang could get lost inside his own bedroom.

And yet aside from a deep, heartfelt sigh upon being given that task, Nie Huaisang doesn't show any reaction. He just picks a chair, makes some space for himself on the side of his brother's desk, and gets to work. Nie Mingjue sits down as well, ostensibly to check some bills, but most of his attention is on his brother who is never this obedient and helpful.

“Alright, what have you done this time?” Nie Mingjue asks after a while.

Looking up from the letter he's studying, Nie Huaisang stares at him with confusion written all over his face. He could pass as perfectly innocent if Nie Mingjue didn't know him better than that.

“Did you get in trouble in Gusu before leaving?” he insists. “Or on the way home?”

“Why would you think I got in trouble?” Nie Huaisang gasps, the very picture of wounded virtue. Nie Mingjue only has to gesture at the pile of letters for his brother to drop the act. “Oh, that. Well. I've decided that I need to become a better person. I can't keep wasting my youth in frivolous pursuits. The young master of a sect must be proficient in martial arts, in cultivation, and know about running an estate. Isn't that what you're always telling me?”

“And you're never listening.”

Nie Huaisang grimaces slightly at the accusation, but nods.

“I have not always been all that I ought to be,” he sighs, rather dramatically. “But I am a changed man.”

“I'm not sure that you can call yourself a man when you're not even eighteen,”

“A changed person,” Nie Huaisang corrects without missing a beat, glaring at his brother. “I need to improve my public image, or else I'll never get to marry.”

Just like that, Nie Mingjue relaxes. Out of every reasons Nie Huaisang might have had to straighten his act, this is the least worrying one. He's the right age to start thinking about that sort of things after all, and he's apparently made a lot of friends this past year in Gusu.

“Do you have someone specific in mind?” Nie Mingjue asks, trying his best to hide his amusement.

“Maybe I do,” Nie Huaisang grumbles after just a moment of hesitation.

“Boy, girl?”

“Does it really matter? You'll let me have however I want, right?”

There's a surprising note of worry to Nie Huaisang's voice, which Nie Mingjue doesn't like in the least.

“I just ask because it'll take more work to convince the parents of your beloved if it's a boy,” he clarifies, and yet his brother doesn't relax at all. If anything, Nie Huaisang starts frowning and bites his lip. “So it's a boy, and the family is stupid about these things,” Nie Mingjue guesses.

Nie Huaisang sighs and flops over the desk, ruining his careful work with the letters.

“It's hopeless, his parents are stupid!”

“Don't badmouth your future in-laws, Huaisang.”

“It's fine, you'll agree with me when you know who it is, and how much they've messed him up.”

That's a worrying statement, but for now Nie Mingjue decides to treat it as a secondary problem. It's hardly the first time Huaisang develops a crush on someone. When he was eight, he wanted to marry Lan Xichen for a few weeks. At thirteen, he threatened to court Wen Qing who he'd seen once at a conference and to run off with her. Nie Huaisang is older and (allegedly) more mature now, but Nie Mingjue prefers to check how serious this is before calculating an auspicious date.

“Well, tell me about him then,” Nie Mingjue demands. “What unlucky bastard caught your eye this time?”

“Bastard no, definitely not,” Nie Huaisang snorts. “Unlucky... yeah. He's... well, first of all, he's handsome.”

“Goes without saying. You're too vain to settle for someone less than stunning.”

Nie Huaisang sticks out his tongue and sits back up so he can slap his brother's arm.

“Rude, very rude. Anyway, he's the most gorgeous person in the world, especially when he laughs. But he sadly doesn't laugh a lot. He's been trained out of it, I think.”

For a brief moment, Nie Mingjue wonders if his brother is in love with Lan Wangji... but no, Nie Huaisang wouldn't dare to call Lan Qiren stupid.

“He's also pretty nice, when you know him,” Nie Huaisang continues, smiling to himself. “He complains a lot, but he'd offer to study with me and he'd really try to help me. And he's serious and righteous. No matter how many times I offered to let him cheat on tests, he'd always refuse because he wanted to succeed through his own work.”

“You set the bar so low,” Nie Mingjue comments, though at least now he knows how his brother got such good grades. It's almost reassuring, in a twisted way. “Doesn't cheat on tests, somewhat nice to you... I'm not really sold on this.”

“I am,” Nie Huaisang retorts, his smile growing a little warmer. “When he looks at me, it's like he's looking at the moon and wondering how he could ever reach it. Like I'm the most incredible person in his life.”

That does sound like something that would appeal to Nie Huaisang's vanity, though Nie Mingjue wouldn't quite call it enough to get married.

“And what do you see when you look at him?”

For a moment, Nie Huaisang falls silent, his expression turning serious. Nie Mingjue is half getting scared that he's made his brother realise how shallow his feelings are, when Nie Huaisang speaks again.

“I see someone I want to make happy and to protect from everything bad,” he announces, a deep frown on his brow. “I see someone who has been hurt, and it makes me hurt as well, because he's so wonderful, and the people who hurt him are the ones who should have protected him, and it makes me so angry that something like that happened to him. I just... I just want to take him away from everyone who's ever made him feel bad about himself, and bring him somewhere safe, and hold him in my arms until he's never afraid again of what others will say about him. Is that... Is that weird?”

Coming from any other Nie, it would be normal, Nie Mingjue thinks. Their family tends to have a protective streak, even toward people who don't quite need it. It's a little odd to hear this coming from Nie Huaisang, but he is a Nie too, so it shouldn't be a surprise that he loves like one.

“So I'm guessing you want for him to marry into the family, rather than you joining theirs?” Nie Mingjue asks.

To his surprise, Nie Huaisang shakes his head.

“Won't work, his parents won't allow it. Damn, they won't be happy with it even like this. But it's... da-ge, I think I'm really in love with him,” Nie Huaisang sighs, blushing at his own confession. “I didn't mean too, it was supposed to just be a game, but I really love him. If there's got to be someone, I want it to be him.”

“Then you'll have him,” Nie Mingjue promises, like it's an evidence.

To him, it is. Their sect doesn't bother playing the game of alliances through marriages that others do. They're a little more like the Lan in that respect, even if they're not quite as ostentatious about it, and they don't bat an eye at second or even third marriages. So if Nie Huaisang has decided he wants this person, enough so that he's willing to put in effort to improve himself for over an entire week, Nie Mingjue will help him. He is weak to his brother's whims, and even weaker to his rare moments of determination.

“You don't even know who it is,” Nie Huaisang protests. “You have no idea how difficult it'll be... I really might have to run away with him and become a rogue cultivator with him, because his parents are so damn stupid! And also, I'm not sure you'd actually approve if you knew...”

“Is it one of Wen Ruohan's sons?”

The immediate grimace of disgust and betrayal on Nie Huaisang's face make it hard not to laugh.

“I told you he's handsome!” Nie Huaisang gasps. “I have taste, da-ge!”

“Aside from these two, you can marry whoever you like,” Nie Mingjue retorts. “Even other Wens if that's what you want,” he generously adds, knowing full well that there were none in Gusu, and so it's unlikely that his brother's beloved is from the sect that killed their father. Even if he were though, Nie Mingjue would do what's needed to make his brother happy, trusting him to find the one person from that sect who would have any value as a person.

Nie Huaisang is less than impressed by that statement.

“You promise?”

Maybe it really is a Wen, Nie Mingjue wonders. If so, it's too late to back off.

“I promise. Any person you want, any sect, if you say it's a decent person, if that's who you want to spend your life with, I'll do what it takes.”

“I'll hold you to that,” Nie Huaisang threatens with a cheerful smile. “I want to marry Jin Zixuan.”

Nie Mingjue stares at his brother, refusing to believe he's heard that correctly... but no, Nie Huaisang is grinning like he pulled the con of the century, that manipulative little shit. He did, in a way. However much Nie Mingjue hates Wen Ruohan and dreams of slaughtering him, at least that's someone he can somewhat respect. Jin Guangshan, on the other hand...

Nie Mingjue shivers in disgust.

Maybe a Wen would have been better after all.

#sangxuan #jin zixuan #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #mo dao zu shi #jau writes #nmj knows that his brother isn't always fully honest but he loves him and would bring down the sun and moon for him #though having jgs as an in-law might be pushing the limits of his love thanks

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esmealux · 3 years

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Bloody Hell

Part: 1 / 2

Setting: After 5a

Word count: 3K

Rating: T

Summary: Lucifer’s first period.

The elevator dings as Lucifer reaches the penthouse. ‘And the Devil’s back! I found your breakfast burritos and now a guy owes me a favour, so all in all, a successful trip,’ he tells her as he takes off his jacket and places it on the bar. With Chloe’s breakfast in hand, he turns towards his sofa to grin at her, only to discover she isn’t lying there, closer to ‘naked’ than ‘dressed’, like she was when he left to fetch her some food.

‘Detective?’ he calls out, walking up the steps to his bedroom. The bed is empty apart from the crumbled black silk sheets and her bra. His heart starts drumming a little faster against his ribcage.

‘Detective, where are you?’ His voice is rough and squeaky, the words almost resonating off the walls in the silent penthouse. Much too silent.

He starts searching the entire place, looking for signs of struggle and clues that’ll show him which one of his wretched siblings has kidnapped her this time. After investigating the living room and balcony thoroughly, turning every piece of furniture, looking behind every curtain, he goes back to his bedroom to check if she’s miraculously popped up. When she (still) isn’t under the bed, he’s inflamed, his annoyance and anxiety building into infernal heat, spreading through his body like a wildfire. ‘Detective, I swear to you, I will punish whoever-’

‘Lucifer, calm down,’ he suddenly hears her say, her voice muffled. The sound has relief washing over him, calming down his blazing body. ‘I’m in here.’

As he realises she’s in the bathroom, he hurriedly strides down the hall, presses his body to the door, and yanks down the handle. It’s locked. Panic still hot in his throat, he clenches his hand around the gold, ready to break in when she snaps at him from behind the door. ‘Jesus, Lucifer, what have I told you about privacy?!’

He wants to comment on her choice of exclamation, but something in her voice stops him. ‘Right. Sorry, Detective.’ He puts a hand on the door, tenderly. ‘I just- Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ she assures him, still a little peeved. ‘Could you just do something for me, please?’

‘Anything your heart desires,’ he says with a grin, the last embers of fear now put out by the sound of her slightly annoyed (and thus natural) voice.

‘Well, I really desire that you find my purse and bring it to me. I think I put it on the bar.’

He frowns, thinking. ‘Uhm, no. You didn’t. In fact, it’s not anywhere in the penthouse, I’m afraid.’

‘Wha- You already looked?’ she asks, surprised.

‘Well, technically, yes.’

He hears her mutter something along the lines of ‘what does that even mean?’ before she, quite sceptically, asks, ‘Are you sure? Lucifer, I’m not in the mood for pranks right now.’

When are you ever? he thinks, still disappointed she didn’t appreciate his creativity last time he tried to lighten the mood. But he’s not looking to rouse her now, so he tells her the truth, hoping it will allay her annoyance, inexplicable as he finds it. ‘If you really must know, I spent five full minutes searching the entire place for signs that you’d been hurt by one of my pathetic relatives, so yes, Detective, I am pretty damn sure your little too big and quite mum-ish bag isn’t here,’ he tells her. He hears her grunt a profanity he’s only ever heard her moan ecstatically in the throes of passion; now it’s laced with frustration and despair. Something is going on with her, and he needs to figure out what it is before she ruins more of his favourite words.

‘Why on Earth do you need your rucksack in my bathroom anyway?’

‘It’s not a rucksack,’ she tells him.

‘Ah, nice try! But I will not let you deflect my truly relevant question. What is it you need, Detective?’ He tries again, more inquisitively this time.

No answer.

His brow creases with worry and the slightest hint of an ache settles in his chest. ‘What’s going on?’

Several heart beats pass. He tries to remain patient but after seven seconds, his hands are banging on the door and yanking down the antique French handle aggressively. ‘Detective, let me in please! Did you use the razor Maze made you? I told you not to do that! Are you hurt? Did you trip? Do you have a nosebleed? Dearie me, did you get yourself poisoned again? I- Just please tell me what’s wrong. Whatever it is, I want to help,’ he says, his voice going softer towards the end. With anyone else, he’s not easily alarmed, but the Devil’s girlfriend does tend to get herself into danger a little more often than the average person.

He hears her sigh, short and sharply. ‘If you want to help me, you need to calm down,’ she tells him in the same slow and placid voice she uses on people who are bold enough to point a gun at her. ‘I’m fine.’

He takes a deep, shaky breath, her words easing his nerves a little.

‘Then why are you acting so… strange? And why in Dad’s name are you hiding in my bathroom? I mean, bloody hell, Detective, I was mere seconds from filing an MPR!’

She snorts, murmuring something about a drama queen. Then silence. A deep breath.

‘Well,’ she finally says, still an annoyed edge to her tone. ‘‘Bloody hell’ is not that far off, actually.’

He knits his brow. ‘Excuse me?’

She sighs deeply behind the door. ‘It’s just, uhm, you know… lady stuff.’

He blinks, dumbfounded.

‘Oh,’ is what he replies.

He would tease her about the euphemism, pretend he doesn’t understand, but he understands. He understands everything. Thinking back to the night before, he remembers her acting a little oddly then as well - giggly and gleeful one moment, fractious and bitter the next. He’d blamed it on her tipsiness, but now that he thinks about it, and does the math, she did take him hostage on a similar emotional rollercoaster ride, one, two, three, circa four weeks ago. And, yes, four weeks before that, too. The first time, he’d thought it was the stress from having her mother stay over for the urchin’s birthday. The second time, he’d indicted the particularly troubling case they’d been working. But it hadn’t (solely) been Penelope Decker nor a frustrating and possibly record-breaking number of dead ends that had made the Detective chaotically jump around the emotional spectrum to the point he’d worried she was suffering from a light personality disorder. No, apparently, it was the tiny rascals known to humans as ‘hormones’ who’d been wreaking havoc in her brain, manipulating her emotions – then and now.

He hasn’t uttered anything apart from the one (cleverly phrased) syllable since the revelation, and she must interpret his silence as lack of comprehension, because she begins to explain the bloody thing: ‘You know, when a woman-’

‘Yes, thank you, Detective, I am familiar with the concept of menstruation. Quite popular method of torture in Hell, actually,’ he informs her, cutting her biology lesson short.

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Well, surprisingly, it’s mostly-’

‘That was a rhetorical- Never mind.’

He hears more than just annoyance in her voice now; she’s in pain. His chest aches again. ‘Is something wrong? I mean, I have met a lot of women whose deepest desires were to be knocked out cold during Aunt Flo’s monthly visit, but at least we know for certain there isn’t a mini-Satan inside you, ravaging your uterus,’ he points out in an attempt to cheer her up. It’s mostly a joke, because it shouldn’t be possible—isn’t possible—and yet a part of him is still exceedingly relieved that she, after three weeks of thoroughly unprotected (and sinfully delectable) sex with him, isn’t carrying, well, the Devil’s spawn.

‘Kinda feels like someone’s ravaging my uterus,’ she says with a groan. His heart starts pounding, hard and deafening. Dark spots appear before his eyes as blood leaves his head.

‘I- that’s not- what?’

‘No, Lucifer. Relax. I’m not pregnant.’ She tries to sound mild and calm, but he can tell she’s aggravated, and horribly pained. ‘It’s just cramps.’

‘Oh, right,’ he mumbles, a full-blown panic attack officially averted. Still, something in her voice makes his teeth grit and his eyes flare red. He wants to punish whatever in her body is putting her through such… torture, wants to torture it back. Or, since he can’t really do that, just have a quick chat with his father and whoever assisted him in designing the inhumanly excruciating menstrual cramps. (And humans think the Devil is the one who’s truly evil.) But he realises a family discussion might not actually help his suffering Detective right now, so instead he wills his voice to sound calm and asks her, ‘Is there anything I can do?’

As he waits, quite impatiently, for her answer, he pulls out his phone and googles ‘what to do when your girlfriend’s surfing the crimson wave.’ He’s about to tap on the top hit when she replies, ‘Uhm, well, yes, there is, actually.’ Her words both surprise and delight him. He loves to feel needed.

‘Lovely! Whatever you need, I’m here to fix it as your very own PA.’ He puts his phone back, letting his hand stay in his pocket, and clarifies, ‘Period Assistant.’ As usual, she rudely ignores his clever play on words.

‘Okay, I just need to know if you have any… stuff? Like, maybe Eve had a stash somewhere?’

‘Stuff?’ he asks, beyond clueless as to what she’s hinting at.

‘Yeah, you know-’ she starts explaining when he interrupts her, suddenly remembering. ‘Well, come to think of it, Eve did indeed have a stash!’

‘She did?’ She sounds relieved, and it makes his heart flutter a little. ‘Do you know where? ‘Cause I searched all your cabinets, but I couldn’t find anything.’

‘Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s in my bookshelf,’ he says, already turning to go find it. ‘Would you prefer marijuana or molly?’

‘For God’s sake, Lucifer!’ she screams behind him, the door between them doing very little to lower the sound. ‘I don’t need freaking party drugs! This,’ she says, breathing angrily. A couple of seconds pass. ‘This is what I need.’

A tissue slides out under the door. With a raised eyebrow, he bends down to pick it up and sees that she’s scribbled some words on it with what appears to be an eyeliner. He doesn’t know what any of them mean. Well, ‘ibuprofen’ and ‘don’t be an ass’ he understands, but the rest are foreign to him.

‘Right, are these strippers’ names, or…? I think I’ve made a deal with an Always once, actual-’

‘They’re feminine hygiene products, Lucifer! I need feminine hygiene products! I want you to go buy me a whole lot I can leave in here, so I’ll never need to have this conversation ever again!’ she shouts, fuming all of a sudden. ‘So go out, and get me some tampons and pads—and that’s pads with wings! ‘Cause I swear to God, Lucifer, if you come back with pads that do not have wings, I might actually cut off your d-’

‘Yes, we get the picture, Detective!’ he cuts her off, chuckling nervously. It’s not that he hasn’t experienced his partner pissed before (he calls it Tuesday as a matter of fact), but she’s never threatened to mutilate him. ‘Whatever you need,’ he appeases her, his voice sweet and velvety. ‘Anything else?’ He reads the list she has given him, carefully paying attention to every request this time. ‘Right, ibuprofen for the- yes, your cramps. I’m afraid I’ve run out, but I’m sure I can get some wherever I’ll find,’—he squints his eyes to focus on the words — ‘Always ultra thin super long pads with flexie-wings and… Tampax pearl compak super. I mean, who the Hell names these things? Not that it matters, of course. If that’s what you need, that’s what you’ll get,’ he assures her.

As he studies her order closely one more time, his stomach growls and he realises that neither of them has eaten anything yet. He immediately offers to bring her breakfast to her; surely, her body needs alle the strength it can get to overcome whatever unpleasant side-effects other than dysmenorrhea his oh, so benevolent father has so generously granted the female population of the Earth.

‘Yes, please,’ she croaks meekly behind the door in response to his offer. ‘That would be nice.’

He goes to retrieve the burritos from atop the piano where he’d dropped them in the haste of his search. Once he’s back with them, he—gently—knocks on the door. After a couple of seconds, he hears the key turn before she opens the door just enough to reach out her arm through the crack. He’s about to give her the branded paper bag, when he thinks twice of it and instead takes her hand in his, entwining their fingers. Softly, he strokes the back of her hand and pulls it lightly, prompting her to come out. When she opens the door a little more, the sight that greets him stings his heart. Exhaustion has coloured the skin beneath her eyes purple and her usually ocean blue eyes a matte grey. Her posture is oddly sunken, like she wants to curl into a ball, and her chest heaves as she breathes heavily. She looks truly miserable, and yet she’s still a sight for sore eyes, as she stands there, wearing one of his white Prada shirts and…

‘Are those… my boxers?’ he asks her with a raised eyebrow and a pleased smile. She looks down to where his eyes have just landed. ‘Well, yeah, I couldn’t- my own underwear…,’ she trails off. ‘I’ve lined them with paper towels, just so I don’t, you know. I hope it’s okay.’ She looks strangely sheepish. He leans over to place a kiss on her forehead. ‘Oh, it’s more than okay. It’s sexy,’ he tells her with a grin. ‘And quite cute, to be frank.’

She chuckles, replacing the ache in his chest with a pleasant, buzzing warmth. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use the word “cute” before,’ she points out, looking up at him through her long eyelashes as she leans her forehead against his. He notices the hint of a smile on her lips, and his own smile grows wider. ‘Well, you’ve never worn my underwear before,’ he reminds her, nuzzling her nose. ‘Mmm, that is true.’ Her voice is nothing but a whisper as she leans just an inch forward to get a kiss from him, which he happily he gives her.

‘Why don’t you draw yourself a nice, hot bath,’ he proposes, booping her nose. Then an image from Jaws invades his mind, and warily, but with a glint in his eyes, he adds, ‘Unless that would make a true bloodbath.’ She pulls away from him, slowly but purposefully. Untangling their hands, she crosses her arms across her chest (he tries not to notice how it makes her cleavage deliciously peek out behind his hardly buttoned shirt). She glares at him with a look which, historically, means they will be communicating exclusively in scoffs, snorts, death stares and well, I am truly sorry for whatever it is I’ve done but can we please forget about it and go back to being a dynamic duo’s the rest of the day. With a short yet undoubtedly disapproving shake of her head, she snatches the breakfast bag from his hand before slamming the door in his face. ‘Detective, I-’ he stammers as the gush of air hits his front, possibly making his yet to be tamed bed hair look even more scandalous.

He hears the rustling and crinkling of paper as she takes out her breakfast. ‘List,’ she demands sharply with her mouth full—and not in the way that had him gripping the sheets till his knuckles turned white last night. By the sound of her voice, he’ll need to do right by her if he wishes to ever experience that again.

‘Yes, darling, I’ll do nothing but my best,’ he promises her, casting a last glance at the list in question before folding it neatly into his pocket. He starts walking down the hall when the sound of his name makes him turn on his heels to face the door. He senses another reprimand and braces himself, softly offering a simple ‘Detective?’ in response.

‘Thank you.’ Her voice is sweet and apologetic, all aggravation suddenly gone.

‘What on-’ he mumbles under his breath, completely bewildered by her emotional U-turn. He’s wise enough not to comment on it, however, smiles instead, glad he can be of use, and playfully, yet still in a tone that assures her he means no harm, says, ‘Well, it’s the least I can do for my menstruating partner.’

‘Please stop saying “menstruating”,’ she tells him between bites, sounding a little brassed off again. He considers asking her why but decides against it, responding with a simple ‘Noted’ instead.

He hears the shower start running and decides to depart, wanting to be back before she’s done. ‘Alright then, off I go on my quest!’ he sings out, hoping it’s loud enough for her to hear over the shower spray, but the water stops and she calls out a ‘what?’. She has probably already stepped into the shower cabin, adorning his bathroom with all her wet and naked glory. Oh, to be a marble tile on the wall, getting an unobstructed view of her exquisite br-

‘Did you say something, honey?’ she calls again when he hasn’t replied. It’s not the first time she uses the term of endearment, but it still makes warmth pool low in his stomach. He’s so smitten—not a cell in his body can deny that anymore. Especially not the part of his body that’s currently straining his tailored slacks.

He clears his throat and shamelessly adjusts himself.

‘Hm? No, I was just announcing my exit. Try not to bleed to death while I’m gone, will you?’

‘I can’t- That’s not possi-’ she stammers behind him as he makes his way to the elevator, grabbing his jacket as he walks past the bar. Before she can finish whatever protest she’s trying to enounce, he’s already in the elevator, sending a text to Linda:

What in the ever-living Hell does ‘pads with wings’ mean?

Read part 2, ‘Granniest Panties’, here

#deckerstar fanfiction #fluff #deckerstar fluff #lucifer x chloe #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #lucifer on netflix #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer's first period #post 5a #T #established #writing

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pengychan · 3 years

Text

[Good Omens] Winging It - Epilogue

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: Aaand we finally made it to the end! Which is a beginning in many ways. How is it going to go? Beats me, but it probably won't be boring. Also yes, I am just posting a Christmas-themed chapter right before Easter. So sue me. I had a blast writing this one - hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing!

***

“Unionize Hell. You’re telling me we should unionize. Hell.”

“Well, it would be a first step towards giving you some bargaining power. Once demons begin seeing Satan as someone you can bargain with through the sheer force of numbers, it will be easier to convince them they can decide to walk away.”

“This is the single dumbest idea I have ever heard coming out of your mouth.”

Sitting beside Gabriel, Michael stiffened and glared daggers across the table. “If this is how you believe you can address us, we may as well end the meeting--” she began, only to trail off when Gabriel grinned, resting an elbow on the table and leaning his chin on the palm of his hand.

“That’s blatantly untrue,” he said, still smiling at Beelzebub. “You’d ve heard dumber by far.”

The prince of Hell’s lips curled upwards for the briefest moment. Michael shifted a little on her seat and glanced over at Dagon, who just so happened to be sitting beside Beelzebub for the meeting. She met her gaze briefly, but it was enough for Michael to know she was not the only one to be mighty uncomfortable at the turn Gabriel and Beelzebub’s formerly entirely professional relationship had taken. That was an odd sort of relief.

Unaware of their second-in-command’s discomfort, or just blatantly ignoring it, Beelzebub let out a thoughtful, buzzing sound. “... Hmph, I suppose I have. But I am ready to be you are not inclined to have the Heavenly host unionize.”

“Ah, actually,you’d lose that bet. We have given the go-ahead.”

The Lord of the Flies blinked. “... You have?”

“Yes. It worked out for my friends back in Southampton, so I figured, why not Heaven?”

Michael briefly wondered if she was supposed to remind Gabriel that Heaven was not precisely the same as a port city on England’s south coast, but in the end she decided against it. She was a warrior, had always been, but a good warrior knows how to pick battles and that was not the hill she was ready to, figuratively speaking, die on.

Across the table, Beelzebub raised an eyebrow while waving away a few fies “And God is not displeased?”

Gabriel shrugged, leaning back on his seat and spreading his arms a little. “I have not been fired yet, and I am taking it as a good sign. I suppose it may create a precedent for angels to leave, if so they wish, on more amicable terms than you did. And possibly with some severance. Who knows, perhaps if you had formed a union in the first place instead of going immediately for full-on rebellion--”

All right, they got sidetracked far enough. “Gabriel,” Michael spoke up.

He cleared his throat. “Right, yes. Apologies. Never mind the past. What I am saying is, it might be a viable path forward now - for beings on either side. Do give it some thought.”

“Mmh.” Beelzebub crossed their arms, leaning back against their seat with a foot braced against the table. To Michael’s surprise - and to Dagon’s utter bewilderment, it seemed - they seemed to be truly giving it some thought. “I suppose that perhaps, this does fall into the ‘so dumb it might just work’ caregory. And it’d make Hell worse for Reagan and Thatcher. I will consider it.”

“Very well. I do believe that concludes the meeting.” Gabriel said, and smiled. He’d been smiling an awful lot throughout the meeting, and not the kind of insincere business-like smiles he would usually sport on such occasions.

No, Michael thought, not usually. Before.

“Actually, there’s more we need to discuss,” Beelzebub said, standing. “Privately, if possible.”

“Ah, of course. Right this way. You’re all right wrapping this up, Michael?”

Trying with all her might not to wonder about their private discussion, Michael nodded mechanically. “Of course,” she droned, and busied herself picking up papers once they were gone, trying to ignore the demon who was very much not gone.

“... For the record, the cold shoulder treatment only works if the one receiving it cares about getting the cold shoulder,” Dagon spoke up after a few minutes, filing papers away in a folder she had seemingly summoned out of thin air. “And I do not care.”

And yet you had to remark on that.

Michael let out a snort, choosing not to argue. She hadn’t been trying to remember the being they had known before their rebellion and Falls, or at least not as hard as Gabriel probably wished her to - Sandalphon and Uriel were fairly ahead of her there - but she did have the uncomfortable sensation she had known Dagon, whatever she was called before, quite well.

Awkward, considering she was rather certain it had been her to cast her out.

“Have you had any success in tracking down the Duke of Hell?”

“Hell has a great many Dukes. You will need to be more specific.”

“I believe there is only one who is currently a fugitive,” Michael said, her voice sharper. “Hastur. The one who kille-- who almost-- sort of killed Gabriel.”

“... We lost him somewhere around Alpha Centauri, but I am certain we will catch up with him eventually.”

“Are you always this inefficient?”

“I mean, you’re welcome to try catching him yourself,” Dagon snarled, snapping the folder shut. It seemed the perfect moment for her to disappear in a cloud of foul-smelling smoke, but she did not; rather, the Lord of the Files seemed to hesitate. Michael had just enough time to wonder if she may have remembered something from before that Michael did not before she finally looked up and spoke again.

“All right, since we are suddenly supposed to have opinions now, what do you really think of this… entire… thing?”

“You mean, Gabriel and Beelzebub’s plan?”

“Calling it a plan seems more generous than I’ve ever known you to be.”

That was true, Michael had to concede. When she had tried asking Gabriel if there was a plan they should know of, he’d only replied that he was ‘sort of winging it’. It certainly was a complete u-turn from how things used to be, but if he had been brought back and… not yet cast out again over his unorthodox involvement with Beelzebub, there had to be a reason.

Perhaps whatever he had learned in his time on Earth would be the key to everything. After what she had done to him by blindly following orders, Michael was willing to heed his words now, and so were the others. If it turned out to be a mistake, they would face whatever consequences there may be as one. Never again would she lift a sword on her friends.

“... No, it is not a plan,” she finally said. “I suppose it is more of a leap of faith.”

“Faith in what?” Dagon made a face. “In God?”

Michael did not take the bait. “More in our own ability to figure things out, I suppose.”

“That’s the sort of thing humanity is all about,” the Lord of the Files muttered, and blinked when Michael let out a brief laugh.

“Well, perhaps that is precisely the point. Try being more human.”

“... Have you hit your head? From the beginning of everything, it has always been human who tried to become more like u--” she trailed off, wrinkling her nose as though she had just sunk her fangs into a lemon. “You. More like you. And from the beginning, you have encouraged that.”

“Maybe that is where we went wrong after all.”

A pause. “Are you seriously suggesting it should be you-- us-- to lower ourselves into being more like them? Really?”

“Well. It is what Yeshua did, and perhaps it was a lesson meant for us,” Michael shrugged, and tuned to the door. “After all it was humanity, and not us, to be made in God’s image.”

***

“Oh, look at that. Another wedding invitation.”

“Shadwell and Madame Tracy?”

“How did you guess?”

“They made it abundantly clear during Anathema and Whatshisface’s wedding reception.”

“Ah, fair. Do you think they’ll allow us to take Warlock to their wedding as well? He got on well with the Them, and Madame Tracy has surely invited those children.”

“Can’t see why not. Are you sure they meant to invite us?”

“This is marked for the Serpent of Eden and the Southern Pansy.They did mean to indeed.”

“No clause against witches?”

“Oh, there is. It is to be a witch-free wedding. The only exceptions to the rule are dear Anathema, Adam, the two of us, and the bride herself.”

“You’d think that by now he would have noticed she only has two nipples.”

“Don’t be crass, dear.”

“Fine, fine. Do you think he’ll ever stop thinking we’re witches?”

“Unlikely. And I am not particularly inclined to disrobe and let him count nipples.”

A hiss. “Old fool.”

“An old fool who managed to swindle both of us for a few decades.”

“... Don’t remind me.”

Aziraphale chuckled, and settled more comfortably in his armchair, setting aside the letters to pick up a book. Wrapped around the back of said armchair, the Serpent of Eden leaned his head on top of Aziraphale’s own. He tended to enjoy inhabiting that form, Aziraphale had found out, when the weather outside was cold and the fireplace was lit.

Amazing, how many more little things about Crowley he’d found he didn’t know, after so many centuries of… acquaintance. Sharing a home with someone really did lead to a lot of interesting discoveries. For one, he could now see the appeal of laying in a bed and hallucinating behind closed eyelids for a few hours.

“I could make my entrance in a cloud of Hellfire,” Crowley muttered, tongue flicking against Aziraphale’s hair as he reached to pick up a book.

“I suspect giving the groom a heart attack would put a damper on the wedding.”

“I’m not hearing a no.”

“No, Crowley.” Aziraphale reached up to scratch the scales on Crowley’s side.

He hissed again. “Spoilsport,” he said, but he leaned into the touch all the same.

“Heh. Either way, we have plenty of time to make plans for the wedding, whereas Christmas is around the corner. Do you have anything in particular in mind, Crowley?”

“You do realize demons don’t really celebrate the birthday of your boss’ son, right?”

“Ah, I suppose that’s fair. But I wouldn’t mind a quiet evening in, perhaps bake some cake,” he said, faintly wondering whether Crowley would object to mistletoe.

“Oh. Well, then I could help with the tasting, I guess. And-- wait. There are presents, right? Do you want presents?”

A chuckle “I am rather content as is, but thank you.”

“Ah. Of course,” Crowley seemed to stammer, which was no mean feat considering he currently had a mouth whose anatomy was not meant to utter words in the first place. His head slipped lower, and ended up resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “... You wouldn’t happen to know anything about whatever Heaven’s planning, would you? Things have been… quiet.”

“Not at all. Nor you have the foggiest idea as to what Hell is on to, I’m guessing?”

“Nothing whatsoever. I think I’ll wish them luck and keep it this way.”

Aziraphale smiled, took a sip of wine, and opened his book. “My thoughts exactly,” he said.

When he tilted his head to rest his cheek on top of his head, Crowley did not protest.

***

Did you throw out another of your angels?

Not to my knowledge?

You must have. Someone just got through all layers of Hell all the way down to Satan’s lap. Sliding down a pole and singing. What the Heaven is going on up there?

Let me check with Uriel.

***

“Uriel?”

“Yes?”

“Are you aware of any angels being cast out? Beelzebub insists someone just got there, and I quote, ‘sliding down a pole’.”

“We have cast out no one. Their security must be really lax. Didn’t they have a similar problem with a poet from Florence at some point?”

“I don’t think that one came in sliding down a pole, but fair.”

***

I can confirm we cast out no one. Must be a mortal.

Wonderful, more paperwork and security checks. Thanks for checking, I guess. At least he seems to be keeping Satan distracted from anything we do.

Dare I ask how?

Don’t.

All right. Have you changed your mind about coming with me to the Christmas party?

Absolutely not. But I will meet you afterwards for carnal relations.

Are you aware that it does not count as a sin and therefore it is not the middle finger to God you think it is?

Are you saying you’re not interested?

No. Usual place?

Usual place. Don’t be late.

I wouldn’t dare, Gabriel wrote with a smile, and his finger lingered over the send button for a few moments. I love you, he almost wrote, but he did not and in the end he just sent out the message as it was. Beelzebub would have found it both saccharine-inducing and redundant, and for good reason. There was no need to spell it out, really.

They were both very much aware of it.

***

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for usual celebrations?”

“Rather certain, yes. My former colleagues on Earth invited me to join them so long ago, it would be rude for me to cancel on them.”

“Yeshua might actually show up this year.”

“Ah, I am doubtful. He never did attend his birthday party, did he now?”

That was true, although not something any of them had really felt entitled to comment on. Sandalphon knew that Gabriel had taken it… not quite as a slight, but close enough. After all, the celebration was about a birth whose annunciation he was most widely known for.

Now, on the other hand, he seemed too taken with the idea of celebrating it on Earth to be bothered in the slightest. “... I suppose he didn’t,” Uriel conceded. Gabriel closed the drawer with the last of his work for the calendar year, straightened his tie, and smiled.

“Why don’t you come with me? You could use getting to know more humans, too.”

Both Michael and Sandalphon blinked. Uriel raised an eyebrow. “To celebrate Yeshua’s birthday on Earth with them?”

“Why not? I am sure they won’t mind if I bring some friends. And you could use a break, Uriel. You’ve been working on reorganizing the lower spheres for months now.”

“You know I do not get tired,” Uriel informed him, but she was already glancing over at Michael and Sandalphon.

In the end, it was Michael to shrug. “I suppose,” she finally said, “it would be interesting to see how the celebrations have changed since last time I took a look. They were not precisely cheerful, back then.”

“... When was the last time you did check?”

“Sometimes in the mid-fourteenth century,” she replied, and Gabriel laughed, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Ah,” he said, “I think you will be pleasantly surprised.”

***

“... And this is why it’s either panettone or pandoro, and anyone claiming not to take a side is coward and a liar, and--”

Fabrizio rambled on, clearly rather satisfied to have finally found an attentive listener in Sandalphon, and Gabriel chose not to interrupt him. Somewhere at the other side of the room, Łukasz was staring in absolute disbelief as Uriel drank the twenty-second shot in a row without seemingly feeling any effects, and he might just be starting to fall in love.

As he stepped towards the door and passed by a table, Gabriel chuckled. “Go easy on them,” he muttered, and Michael just raised an eyebrow at him, effortlessly beating yet another warehouse worker at an arm wrestling match. In the end, Gabriel decided that as long as the only thing getting bruised were egos, there was no reason to intervene.

He stepped outside into a cold, clear night. No comet in the sky, but he had felt a pull to come out all the same. He let his gaze wander down the street and there it was - a shadow crouched in an archway, barely illuminated by a street light and covered in blankets as he tried to keep warm. Somehow, the blinking lights of Christmas decorations on the building made the figure seem even more lonely. And that wouldn’t do, it wouldn’t do at all - especially not that night.

“Excuse me,” Gabriel called out, approaching the man. “Would you like to come inside? It is quite cold, and my friends and I are having a party - I am sure they wouldn’t mind.”

The man looked up. He had long dark hair tied back in a ponytail to reveal dark brown eyes, and his features were just barely illuminated by the street light - but it was enough for Gabriel to trail off, taken off guard. The man smiled.

“Thank you for your offer, Gabriel. I think I’ll take you up on this one.”

Ah. Well. It made sense, come to think of it. He’d always been original like that. Past the initial surprise, Gabriel straightened himself and smiled. “Any particular name I ought to call you by tonight?”

“In this time and age, Joshua will do. It's nice to see you guys paying more attention to humanity. I look back fondly on my first lifetime among them. Most of it at any rate,” Yeshua added, and stood. He straightened his back with a groan. “Ow, my spine.”

Gabriel was unable to hold back a chuckle. “Is this how you’ve been spending your birthday for the past two-something thousand years?” he asked. Until not too long ago, he would have been offended by the notion. Now he felt rather foolish for not having thought of it.

“More or less. No offense, but I enjoy Earth. Corporate events were never quite my thing.”

“None taken. I hope your mother is well?”

“The one who cast you out of Heaven, or the one who hit you in the head with a clay vase?”

“... The latter.”

“Ah, yes. She is very well. Still rather sorry about the incident, but maintains you should have knocked if you didn’t want a vase to your head.”

“That’s… understandable. But we have amended records to omit that part, so no harm done.”

“I am aware. So, is there anything I may do to thank you for your hospitality tonight?”

“... Do you still do the thing with the water and wine? Because I believe we’re running low.”

A laugh. “Ah, yes,” he said, slapping a hand on his shoulder as they headed back inside. “I think that can be arranged.”

***

Somewhere, Crowley is losing his entire MIND over the fact this guy got to use a pole on his way in.

#good omens #ineffable beurocracy #ineffable husbands #archangel gabriel #beelzebub #aziraphale #crowley #winging it

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rawrienstein · 4 years

Photo

Some kind of Future Space AU with more girls!

Big’ol in-universe Log below

Captain Twilight Sparkle’s Log

Pinkie Pie is a terraforming specialist and recreational activities “organizer”. She also enjoys spending time in the kitchen, functioning as a chef and enhancing what I personally felt were perfectly fine rations into much more palatable meals. She is very cheerful and lifts the mood of the crew very well. She’s told me that she likes to make people smile and memorized everyone’s birthday to make sure they get a party to celebrate it. It’s always a surprise party. I do not like surprises. She means well, but she has difficulty focusing for long periods of time without great effort. This is not to say she is lacking in work ethic, but it is difficult to rely on her if it’s importance is not explicitly and emphatically stated. She possesses a child-like enthusiasm and energy that is absolutely contagious, but she can become too much for me to handle. I’m confident these minor differences can be overcome, and Pinkie Pie is crucial to our success. I am happy to have her as a part of our crew.

Fluttershy is a xenobiology specialist. It’s very hard to say much about her. She is easily frightened and tends to avoid my presence. The crew has told me that she is very kind and patient, but tends to become more nervous the more people are around. I can empathize with that. She’s very soft spoken and extremely shy. She enjoys time spent with various fauna and flora on exploration missions and has an almost innate sense of which are threatening or not. I also think she might have a bias for certain creatures she deems cute when she collects specimens for further research. Fluttershy becomes notably less timid when more invasive research methods are advised for her specimens. She has a very firm principle of not doing harm and does not shy away from telling you how unethical it is. Much like Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy has Chozaves genetics and also possesses minor telescopic magnification and reduced skeletal weight. The reduced weight combined with her tall height did result in being blown away in a dust storm. Fortunately with fast thinking from Rainbow Dash and Applejack, disaster was easily prevented. Overall, I feel Fluttershy is a important to our exploration effort, and I am excited to have her as a part of our crew.

Rarity is a communications specialist and materials expert. She is commander of the Star Ship Amicitia. She is charming, well mannered and generous. Some might see her as manipulative, but I think the intention is well meant. Her materials expertise allowed her to alter our space suits for improved purpose and even personal flare. While technically against regulation, we are denoted as a special expedition team. As such, we have never actually had an official uniform designated for us. Besides, they’re much more comfortable too, that’s a huge boon for reducing stress. Spike also enjoys his time under Rarity’s tutelage, though I think he might be more smitten with Rarity’s graceful appearance. Rarity has Ucor genetics, like I do. She has stated that her psionic abilities are not particularly strong, but I have seen her generate a wall of force able to deflect a round of cannon fire. I also feel she might possess light telepathy. She seems to have an idea of what’s on everyone’s mind and how to respond effectively to it. I won’t deny her gift for gab is spectacular, but being able to disarm Fluttershy’s nervousness and then convince her to participate as a fashion model in a tiny fashion show for the crew? Something like this is powerful and dangerous if mishandled, and definitely unethical. However, I know Rarity will be instrumental in our success, and I’m glad to have her as a part of our crew.

Personal Log

Something about Rarity makes me uneasy. I do have the sense that she resents my place as the captain while she is still a commander with more years of experience, but I feel there is something else. She plays dumb, but I know she’s much more intelligent than she lets on. I just wish I knew what. She’s been so kind to the crew and me and it feels so very genuine. I’ve informed Spike to keep his eyes open, but he dismisses me out of hand. Maybe I’m a fool and jumping at shadows, but I can’t shake this feeling something is wrong.

#Pinkie Pie #fluttershy #rarity #mlp #equestria girls #Star Ship Amicitia #the gang's all here!

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unproduciblesmackdown · 3 years

Note

another ask: we have discussed Why Winston Is Autistic many a time but do you have any specific thoughts / opinions on why taylor is Not autistic, despite what certain viewers / interviewers out there might insist. i have some thoughts of my own but would like to hear yours first

oh interesting, thanks, would be v glad to share my ideas about it and then to hear yours as well

really of course gotta start out with arguing against those certain viewers / interviewers and the way they tend to misinterpret taylor as being cold / mechanical / unfeeling. taylor certainly can be out here consciously trying to set their emotions aside, or even to act against those emotions, but that's already getting to the heart (lol) of why people thinking taylor has no emotion (or even particularly less emotion than anyone else) is offbase: taylor is as emotional a being as anyone else, and in the setting of the show is one of the people more in tune with / aware of their own emotions ("i am the one of us who can handle emotions"....so true taylor!! if you have the perspective that dealing with your feelings by ignoring or repressing most of them and channeling the buildup into occasional outbursts of anger that you take out on others via aggression and/or elaborate revenge schemes doesn't really count as Handling anything) and the way that they act, whether in how they personally make decisions, how they behave in interpersonal exchanges, and how they navigate these social landscapes in general, involves reacting to and accounting for their own emotions, those of others, and how either can be a factor in what's going on around them

like, sure i get it but it's also always kind of funny when people even consider it that "surprising" that a character like taylor who is so impassive could always be paying attention to / interpreting how other people seem to feel / how people's emotions seem to factor into any situation at hand. like, it's surprising i guess if you've assumed that the fact taylor is not trying to be very nonverbally expressive and wear their heart on their sleeve (or even express themself in the same way as other characters who also aren't wearing their hearts on their sleeve might, such as expressing "i'm angry" via yelling at someone over it) is due to the further fact that taylor just doesn't feel much of anything, because if they did, whenever and however an emotion manifested, it would manifest on their face, somehow with no translation or delay or discretion between internal feeling & external manifestation of that feeling, which, by the way, would be an Objective, Universal external expression of said feeling which any & everyone would be able to accurately interpret, which is totally how any of that works for anyone, ever, including all the people who are expressive & emoting in "normal" ways (this is sarcastic)

the point there is that it makes perfect sense & is not somehow contradictory or dissonant that someone who might choose to present themself to others in a more inscrutable way when it comes to their emotions might also be someone who is very aware of how, in general, other people present / express their emotions, and furthermore might pay attention to interpreting that information, rather than be a character who's just always going "feelings??? what are those?? why & how do they factor into anything around here, i can't understand it & am thusly only going to ignore all of this" lol like. we know that taylor knows they're someone who's going to be scrutinized, kind of in general but also particularly relevant re: this world they're entering in the series, and people are going to make judgments that can hold them back based on pretty superficial, immediate information, they're showing up as an intern with no prior experience in anything but undergrad, who's nonbinary and presents in the way they want to, which doesn't happen to be a way other people interpret as totally cishet, who isn't performing the axe cap machismo, and such, and are at a disadvantage when it comes to being taken seriously or given any power or position by more established people (who also behave more according to the supposed norms and rules around here), choosing to Cultivate A Mystique. why wouldn't the person, who engages in this defensive effort which stems from, and requires, them being Aware of how emotions & the expression and interpretation of them are relevant to how other people percieve and treat them and choose to act around them, have feelings themself and pay attention to their own feelings and the feelings of others? i.e. their "mystique" aligns with, and stems from, them being aware of and understanding feelings generally, as well as their own in particular. they have to know what they're trying to avoid to be taking these measures to avoid it, and if they somehow actually didn't have any emotions, they wouldn't want or need to put up a front to not openly express how they feel to everyone around them.

and yet, of course, there's plenty of those people still going "taylor must not show a lot of their emotions on their face because they don't have feelings in the first place" when that's clearly not the case, the show has always let us know as much, and taylor Does show their emotions via facial expressions, whether deliberately communicating with people that way or occasionally being affected enough to struggle in the moment to stifle showing it on their face. not to mention that, you know, on top of everything, taylor is never completely impassive, and when they have this front up they're still using expressions to communicate with everyone, even if said expressions are more reined in / subtler than what viewers or other characters are used to / expect

so, after that prologue, this unfounded assumption people make about taylor has the two steps of 1) taylor has no emotions / interiority (except doing math) and 2) this means that they're autistic

of course, even if people are aware taylor feels anything at all, it can also just be that "well, if someone's social approach/style seems weird and wrong, that means they're autistic, right, or basically equivalent" again without thinking much about how taylor chooses to act beyond being offput by it, like whether they choose to act that way / could act any other way, or how successful it is or isn't for their purposes / what they're trying to do.

it's always kind of half joking but half serious that you Know* taylor's not autistic because so many of these viewers are interpreting them that way, just like how winston Is autistic because nobody interprets him that way, just thinks he's weird and dumb and has this general, unattributed dismissiveness / disdain / dislike for him overall

(*naturally like, nonzero chances that any autistic people interpret taylor as autistic, and anyone can actually Thoughtfully see them through that lens if they want lol or relate to them in that way, i def think there's things about them that can be Relatable on that front and like, always interesting considering the ways taylor being trans can actually be relevantly made a Parallel to someone being autistic and existing in this situation where means of expressing oneself are generally interpreted as "wrong" (and interpreted wrongly), rather than them only being able to compare it to the circumstantial & often temporary enough personal problems cishet people are having on the show)

but naturally my "counterevidence" isn't just that "well, people think taylor's autistic b/c they think taylor doesn't have feelings....but taylor DOES have feelings" lmao (and i also reject the "counterevidence" many viewers / (and interviewers, possibly) have for why they think taylor Can't be autistic*, which also doesn't truly involve thinking about the character, which is that "but taylor is so insistent on making eye contact, and besides acting wrong, not having feelings, and probably being good at math as a comorbidity, autistic people can't make eye contact!" when, of course, nothing's universal for autistic people just like it's not universal for allistic people, some people don't find eye contact difficult, and some people can & choose to mask, which can include making themselves make eye contact so that nt people are more comfortable (at their own comfort's expense) / in the hopes of avoiding miscommunication or misinterpretation stemming from "what's this person trying to say by Not making eye contact," and really this is one of those things that sure Could actually be a point for taylor being autistic, because there's the implication they taught themself to hold eye contact like that, and seems oftentimes when people who are autistic who find eye contact difficult / unpleasant try to make eye contact to mask, their options feel like they either hold prolonged, steady eye contact or they don't try to make eye contact at all. however, it's also been specified that taylor is holding direct eye contact primarily to observe what other people are conveying / get as much information as possible, rather than primarily for the purposes of themself communicating something)

(*of course there's no characters who Can't be autistic)

and along those lines, the reason i don't particularly perceive taylor as an autistic character is just sort of this general point wherein, when autistic people are masking they're trying to behave like how allistic people do and thus seem more "normal" by those standards, e.g. when autistic people's facial expressions are interpreted as too subtle / understated / otherwise lacking or absent, and if people are trying to mask they might have to consciously attempt to exaggerate their natural reactions. think it's already evident that this is the opposite of what people complain about / find Weird about taylor, whose expressions Are more subtle and dialed back, but the key context here is that for taylor, the more "normal" style of facial expressions is what comes naturally to them before and still does, despite being practiced in presenting this Mystique. it takes them effort to be less outwardly expressive, vs how it might take an autistic person effort to seem More expressive to an nt person. when this effort falters, taylor does become more expressive in a way allistic people would consider "normal," vs how when autistic people don't / can't mask, they're generally seen as Abnormal &/or simply not acting correctly / in a way that people approve of, even if they wouldn't describe it in that way (see: winston acting how he does & the negative reaction from other characters (and other viewers) because.....? cue my coined term for "people don't know someone's autistic and would in fact think they aren't (because for some reason allistic people think they'd Know if someone was autistic, regardless of whether that person knew it themself) but find them grating / annoying / offputting / etc and react with contempt / resentment”: je ne hate quoi)

there's also the fact that taylor's "masking" is a conscious measure that is meant to protect them, but they're hardly doing it first and foremost to simply try to improve communication / casual social connections, or to seem more "normal" to anyone; they're deliberately trying to communicate less on their end when it comes to nonverbal cues, presumably focusing on getting through more formal interactions such as in business, where people assessing them may often have power / more leverage than they do over what might happen, and whether they seem "normal" enough is somewhat beside the point (see also: their being nonbinary). if they Were just trying to act "right" and Normally(tm), they'd actually be able to expend Less effort and behave in a less filtered way that comes more naturally to them, so the way we usually see them acting is neither what comes naturally to them nor really just the same as an autistic person masking to protect themself / avoid negative reactions from other people that could cause problems for them.

then there's also point that, while the way taylor communicates via facial expressions might be more reined in than is considered usual (although as stated, they aren't completely suppressing all facial expressions and aren't trying to / are still deliberately using this route of communication), they're sure focusing on communicating with people verbally, rather than nonverbally (thinking as well how asia specifies that they tend to use their hands a lot when talking, vs. how what's most Default for taylor is to keep their hands clasped (or by their sides, or arms folded...) and rarely gesticulate / otherwise use physical motion as communication, and when they do, it's probably a very conscious, deliberate choice) and they generally have a fair amount to say and also speak very deliberately and at any given point people generally don't misunderstand them based on Whatever They've Just Said. they're not trying to be inscrutable or cultivate a mystique through what they say (although of course sometimes they don't want to give an Informative Response & might want to talk around something or not say anything) and people tend not to misunderstand them if they're taking taylor seriously enough to listen in the first place, they know what they want to communicate and they stick to their points and are trying to be immediately clear with what they mean. it's kind of back to the point of people not knowing what to do with them, and how it's immediately clear that taylor doesn't fit in and might not speak the same language as it were or operate on the same rules, i.e. the machismo of axe cap, not necessarily because they couldn't but because it's clear they're not at all trying to, and people don't really know what to expect instead and, as a young intern, wouldn't have to see them as competition or take them seriously until suddenly axe was. and as a point of comparision, when winston was introduced as quant kid 2, it was pretty clear he Was trying to speak the language & play by the rules (even if by going "i'm not playing by the rules" to do so lol) and was pretty quickly judged to be failing to do so by those standards. he may also not fit in, he's not really out here trying to perform the axe cap machismo or anything (especially since, you know, he works for taylor / tmc and in 3x09 wasn't trying to take that same approach they were Unimpressed with and rather focusing on what he has to offer in terms of his skill) but people aren't really thrown off in the same way as they are with taylor, who they don't know how to assess within their usual frameworks, while people can & do assess winston within those frameworks and decide he's failing by those metrics. like, obviously not this 1:1 Same Context situation, but there's the juxtaposition of mafee kind of struggling to figure out how to treat taylor in a way that they would find appealing (or even tolerable) enough on their own terms, b/c he knows that he doesn't know what those terms are and what set of rules and norms they operate in, whereas when he and winston are first seen Being Coworkers there's no sense mafee thinks that the reason the way winston acts seems weird / unfamiliar to him is that he thinks it's any shortcoming on his part / he similarly knows he doesn't know how winston operates but could figure it out (which, of course, he doesn't really have incentive to in the same way as when taylor was an intern that axe wanted to keep around) and while he might be kind of generally amicable as his Own rule of operation and sure tolerates winston to an extent and might be accepting like "okay, this guy's smart at math which is why taylor wants him around," beyond that the vibes are just like "ugh, This guy," like, that he has some sense of how he thinks winston Should be acting, which he knew he didn't really have for taylor originally, and the impatience / disdain for winston for being perceived to be failing to, or refusing to, act that way

not that taylor is never misinterpreted or misunderstood or that they never have communication problems, since nt people sure can have miscommunications Amongst Themselves, or that even once people do somewhat have more of a sense of how taylor operates they necessarily respect this, or Don't dig at them like "lol taylor's autistic" but it's back to the earlier point of like, You Know A Character's Not Autistic When: these billions viewers are theorizing that they are. same with characters presumably going "well, they still act in that Weird / Unfamiliar way i don't Get or Like, and that's what being autistic is"....vs like lmao points for winston being autistic because nobody in that audience thinks he is and just throws the kitchen sink of disdain of "this guy sucks" reasoning at him. and same for characters, who see that he's just some guy, and that unlike taylor, he's relatively fairly unfiltered and very expressive, but shockingly that doesn't make him "normal" & "likable" as some instantly charming guy who puts everyone at ease right off like, in contrast with taylor or whatever. yet at the same time, because it is not clear to people that he's operating by some different set of rules they don't yet know / understand, and he seems to be just some guy like any other guy around these funds, he's just cringe and fail and the fact that when he talks people get caught up in the delivery and react to his attempts to just share information or have a social connection just with disapproval for his social style, which is interpreted as a failure to have this Other social style ("normal," allistic...) the way everyone else does, cmon winston....and winston sometimes misunderstands other people, not really getting their Point immediately or quite getting what they really Overall mean by saying whatever they've said, which is how people misunderstand him too, but when others have misunderstood him, it's the mild to moderate Disdain for him, vs when he's misunderstood others, and this is regarded as a failure on his part, too, double empathy problem style.

going kind of long there but i think My overall point is that like, people might regard them both as being Weird, but they think that winston should be expected to act Normally & have a certain framework they can apply to him for it, he's just some guy like all these other some guys who are acting cool & epic & totally Correctly, so he should play by those rules & act that way too, but instead he makes himself Vulnerable according to those rules (communicating for the sake of communication rather than trying to pwn someone, not being A Tough Guy, daring to all but demand people's attention Ever rather than politely allow himself to be ignored, daring to talk but be a little off topic and oh my god now he's also daring to Expect A Positive Response from people, get his ass) and clearly is not acting that same way / "failing" to act that right way. (thinking about how we Know winston & very similar to ben kim re: this whole concept.....) while the same rules do not apply so easily to taylor and people know it, and even if they might resent the fact that taylor doesn't fit into their framework or have to act like them and compete via their rules to win, they don't think taylor's "failing" to act like dollar bill or something, it's pretty clear that taylor would never try to go that route. in fact, maybe that's part of the motivation for people insisting taylor has no emotions lmao, because if there's no element of choice in how they behave and this is not only what's always come completely naturally for them but also their only option, people can go like, oh they Could Never act like axe or bill or wags or whoever even if they tried, rather than having to acknowledge that taylor's very much not interested in that.

and again it's like, i'm not gonna argue taylor Can't be autistic by anyone's interpretation, if they're actually doing the least decent interpretation (not all billions viewers setting a very high bar there) and like, they can sure have moments like the "i'm scary? [...] i thought i was being inviting" thing where the way they were Trying to come across completely didn't land, people had an entirely unintended interpretation, and they didn't realize until others told them, which is like, Just Relatable Things lol. although then cue all the tmc quants being implied to be unfriendly or standoffish or whatever lmao from using the kitchen & talking to each other lol, and the whole aspect like, uh yeah if you're being godawful to these people they probably Are gonna stand off from you lmao. but it's back as well to what we've always known around here and how like, winston and taylor are similar, parallel, complementary, etc, you name it, because winston operates by his own rules, too, but people generally aren't realizing this (or interested in considering it) and taylor is someone who knows this experience well, like, in s2 they might've been in a place where they made it clear from the start like, this is who i am, this is how i operate, where if axe hadn't been willing to deal with that then they could've just left and gone to grad school, but taylor also has to have plenty of experience being perceived according to a certain framework of Being Cis and "failing" to play by those rules, through how other people reacted to them, and/or because taylor could internally sense that something was Wrong(tm) here somehow.......how could they relate to winston, who's Supposed to operate happily, easily, naturally, & successfully according to this totally objective "normal" but apparently can't or won't & that really bothers people.......how could they be willing to extend some understanding to him and allow him to operate the way he does and even put conscious effort into deliberately communicating more effectively with him in particular based on what they think will actually work for him, while he in turn is making his own conscious effort to pay attention and communicate better with and understand them as well..........sure thinking of how much was illustrated in the 4x08 moment where winston speaks up to be Right about taylor but oops everyone interprets it as too blunt/rude or what have you, and then everyone looks over with varying ways of conveying disapproval, Seemingly Including taylor, but actually they've just looked over, & after winston has taken that apparent cue & apologized, taylor clarifies that No, He's Right in a very nonbegrudging way

and also in all this there's the difference that like, you can act however you want if you have the power to Be In Charge and act how you want (tbt to taylor being in charge at axe cap but they still had to alter how they behaved and make the Proper Media References for these nerds, because they aren't ever about to assert authority by yelling at everyone about being their sun god and shut tf up and get out.....even in their Parallel Scenes with that instance of axe acting up, taylor of course doesn't actually yell at winston that they're ceo so he should shut tf up and get out, sure mafee does it for them but they listened to winston anyways. even though surely his Weird Wrong Style of delivering his points means he's wrong and not worth listening to!!! surely!!! too many french words, winston!!) anyways, my point i guess is that obviously if winston wanted to be so damn Weird, and create these vulnerabilities by not following the rules, or asking for / wanting a positive response from people, or being relatively forthcoming and earnest about his thoughts & feelings, and also being kind of again relatively easily riled, and then have a bunch of elevated idiosyncracies in how he expresses all this kind of stuff, he clearly doesn't have the power or leverage (or ability to out-aggression anyone on the machismo battleground) to back all this up, even though he Must be asking for it if he keeps insisting on not just acting Right & Normal, so this is all Arrogant and Out Of Line so that's extra reason to resent him and push back hard just about anytime he says anything at all. being sarcastic again

unfortunately i hadn't thought ahead about a solid conclusion and am not great at thesis statements but yeah, to wrap it up, of course it's not about like "ohh autistic people can't make eye contact so taylor can't be autistic, neither can winston or anyone else b/c we'd just have to find the character who can never look anyone in the eyes" or any other list of traits really like, well i don't consider taylor autistic b/c they Don't do this or Do this other thing, it's about the more general dynamics and patterns around here. the fact that the way that taylor acts which people think is evidence they're Autistic is a way they've conscious learned how to act to protect themself / present themself a certain way to other people; that when they have moments of being more vulnerable, their more natural way of expressing themself is more "normal"; that when they're purposely being somewhat more outwardly Open / behaving with less it's the same, and they're not really being misinterpreted or seeming More unusual / confusing to people for it, but rather the opposite; that we're not really seeing all that much of them trying to express themself to someone and people misunderstanding even the purpose of why they're talking at all, like we do with winston left and right really, where his Style overwhelms his Substance in other people's regard and they're not so much responding to what he says rather than (incorrectly interpreting) how he says it; and that while taylor may not act "normal" from the perspective of many characters and viewers, it's like lmfao what are you doing if you're regarding their foil, axe, as Normal, and people are successful enough at effectively communicating with taylor if those people are willing to accept that taylor acts differently according to their rules rather than just refusing to have a constructive interaction on principle or whatever, we don't really see them frequently being misunderstood even if people are listening and trying to understand and having to clarify, while this is like, a nigh constant problem with winston (although taylor is also constantly willing to listen to him, and, if need be, cue that something hasn't landed as intended / cue for him to take a different approach); their material isn't like, oh none of this is at all recognizable / relevant / similar to any autistic experience, but to me it feels more like they're having a more parallel time to say, winston, and they're someone who realizes there's no point in insisting there's some single Right Way for people to behave as their natural presentation or social style or whatever, and furthermore they realize that holding everyone to that is counterproductive, and they're not trying to make their employees put on any acts to be listened to even if they ever had to at axe cap, they're trying to let people communicate effectively and do what's actually relevant to their jobs and not all be giving each other shit all the time, and they're not just going "well, actually, acting just like axe isn't The Right Way to be, but acting like me is. or like any other given person" and even if winston does not immediately endear himself to them, they can focus on the fact they're here for his talent and not his personality & They'd Be Willing To Give Him A Second Chance, and then even though they don't "have" to they consistently listen to him, focus on what he actually means when he says something, don't punish him just because he said it "weirdly" or whatever else wasn't Winning enough and only winners are allowed to talk without someone calling them a loser, even listens when he criticizes them in a way everyone hates b/c uh he's just an indignant nerd and you should only do this if you're trying to epicly take someone on & supplant them (as mafee points out with the "don't complain if you're not gonna become a ceo yourself" unprompted angle...), they're not asking him to change his personality or his social style or anything else and they're not putting it on him if there's even the potential for someone to misunderstand him (how could there not be) whereas other people may not be outright telling/asking him to just be normal or whatever, but when they essentially punish him every time he draws attention to himself (for example: speaks) and isn't acting the Right, Normal way, that's kind of the idea

the supposed thesis statement becomes its own mini essay as usual lol. still no real conclusion, but yeah, additionally i can cite "simply the vibes" for why i interpret winston as autistic but not taylor (source: dude trust me, also that i'm especially an expert compared to the rando billions viewers / interviewers who go "so taylor's pretty autismal, huh") but it's like, we see other people's perception of and reaction to and resulting treatment of them being a problem for them all the time, of course, but them being autistic doesn't seem to be an element that's factoring into that, i.e. i don't think they're autistic. taylor's someone who maybe seems wrong or out of place to these other characters "on paper" as it were, and then who, sure, Also looks and acts in a way they find unusual, but the way they behave that seems so unusual to people is of course pretty centered on them being so relatively impassive, which is still kind of this One Thing, and which is a performance they've chosen to engage, and is more of an outer veneer as their own reaction to experiences rather than like, yes this truly permeates their being, they really don't feel anything at all and this is their Whole thing, and they couldn't possibly choose to act in a way that seems more Normal, and also this is weird and wrong and i don't like it so uh, you know, that = they're autistic imo. whereas winston, who maybe "on paper" ought to just be some Normal Guy(tm), does also put effort into how he interacts with others, he does have his own defense mechanisms too of course, but what people think is "wrong" about him and how he acts can hardly be narrowed down like "oh winston has no emotions!! like a weirdo!" and it Is a more overall, holistic, inextricable element of who he is, and despite wanting & trying to get along with people (yeah he's not always just completely falling over himself and off a cliff to do this, but why should he be) he hasn't just been able to become beloved and/or seem like a cool winner to everyone, and if he were to drop efforts to appeal to people, he doesn't become More Normal for it or whatever....and that of course people just regard him like "yep, that's the guy who sucks" without any one particular reason behind it (and not questioning their own behavior in that regard b/c of course it's just The Normal Response to someone insisting on being so abnormal / failing to be normal) and it's like.....so it goes with nt people re: autistic people lol

well again no solid conclusion there lmao but i'll go "smh hope i'm not managing to completely overlook some point i wanted to touch on, or that despite the other night where i came back to one already pretty long post three times with a 'wait also' addition, i hope i don't think of way better ways to make any of these points or some really relevant example i'd forgotten or anything" lmao

again thanks for asking a fun Specific Question, love the like implicit collaborative nature of it as well lol b/c yeah i'd also love your insight on this Taylor Mason Matter as well as anything else about them

#winston billions #long post ///#and then rian shows up and likes him immediately while; for once; he's outright trying Not to appeal to someone (her)#in a way that's like; extra encouraging lol b/c if he was trying to be as Winsome as possible then it's like well #what if he acts more Average / Usual mode and she decides she doesn't like him....#not only do people see Usual Mode Winston and decide he's grating but rian saw Antagonistic Mode Winston and went hey #actually this guy rules #she's right.......he's got Personality and finally someone to like that and be normal at him lol #(taylor is normal at him but they (the writers) sure aren't letting them talk to him like ever....)#one on one Now #okay it's 7:40am F

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rin-the-shadow · 3 years

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Crystal Tokyo Challenge: Day 12

Day 12: If Crystal Tokyo never happened, what would the Senshi’s careers be? (Feel free to include the Shitennou in this if you want)

Regarding the Senshi, I tend to assume it’s what they’ve stated their dreams to be over the course of the manga/anime/other versions. I can’t find the article that grouped them all in one place, and it’s been a little while so I may get a few things wrong, and I may take a few liberties, but:

Usagi of course marries Mamoru. I seem to recall a line in the Dream arc of the manga where she mentions wanting to join a manga-drawing club, and while I don’t necessarily see her publishing professionally, I do like the idea that she would do commissions here and there.

Ami becomes a doctor. If Crystal Tokyo didn’t come to be, I don’t know that she would be able to do the same degree of integration of magic and technology in healthcare, but maybe she would still find ways to sneak it in.

Rei takes over the shrine once her grandfather passes it on to her. I seem to recall her having some other things she wanted to do, but at the moment I don’t recall what they were. I’ll have to make a note to edit this post if I remember or if I happen to see the PGSM episode or manga chapter that made me think that (and I do think it was one of those two.)

Makoto gets married and has a big family, and she also owns and works in a flower shop/bakery. I really like the idea that her kids would help out when they get older, too.

Minako probably goes through a few different dreams, including being an idol singer. Later on, she uses the skills she had to pick up in order to do so to run several workshop classes on singing, dancing, acting, and so forth.

Outer Senshi, Mamoru, Shitennou, and Beryl under the cut.

For Setsuna, it depends on if she has to stay at the space-time door or not. But if not, then she goes into nursing and becomes a pediatric nurse. She might have done this in the manga as well, but this headcanon is largely based on the musicals, where she would sometimes take on the role of the school nurse as a cover.

Haruka goes into professional racing, and afterwards does piano. Though I am also opting to hold onto my earlier headcanon that she probably does some kind of after-school sports/racing thing for kids and teens.

Michiru becomes a professional violinist and painter. She continues painting even after she has largely retired from performing. I also still like the idea that she would do some kind of painting classes or music workshops.

I seem to remember reading somewhere that Hotaru wanted to be a nurse, but if this isn’t accurate or if she wasn’t able to for some reason, I could also see her having a small but successful career on the internet reviewing antique lamps.

Chibiusa is admittedly the hardest to answer for this, but I could maybe see her doing something art related. She seemed to like drawing in the first anime. She may also appear as an occasional co-host on Hotaru’s web show, and draws her title cards.

I have a similarly hard time figuring out what Mamoru would do, so if anyone has any headcanons on this subject, I would be happy to hear them! EDIT: A comment I got on this post tossed up the idea that Mamoru might become a social worker. I’d read a few fanfictions after making this which suggested he might go into med school, but I like the idea of him going into some kind of field which would allow him to help kids who went through similar experiences to what he did.

And of course, I will also include the Shitennou.

I like the idea of Zoisite doing coding and game design. I’m not sure why I’ve gotten attached to this headcanon as fast as I have, but it’s stuck. I think he also likes playing piano or dancing (blame PGSM/Casablanda Memories and Reconquista) but I don’t know that he would want to do it professionally.

Kunzite does something around historical research. I could see him working as a museum curator, and writing the descriptions on the exhibits. I feel like there was something else he did in PGSM when he lost his memories, but I don’t remember what that was at the moment, so I’ll make a note to check that episode and update if something is implied or confirmed. While I do have a headcanon that Kunzite has some artistic ability and can in fact draw very well, I don’t think it’s something he would want to do professionally.

Nephrite does so many jobs it loops back around and becomes funny. But all joking aside, he probably does some kind of entrepreneurship, or something that involves working with people. And of course, because of Classic Anime Nephrite’s 500 million side hobbies, he probably does do some things with those on the side, but not with all of them.

Jadeite might still end up doing something with parks and recreation. He’s probably also a bit like Nephrite and does a few different jobs at different points. If he and Rei have an amicable relationship (again, regardless of whether or not it’s romantic) he might work at least part time at the shrine, particularly since a few adaptations have him being or claiming to be a bit spiritually inclined. Like Mamoru, he’s also one I’m open to headcanons for.

I’m also going to go ahead and include Beryl, even though she’s not a Shitennou, because I’ve been watching the musicals again, specifically Reconquista and Eien Densetsu, and I want this woman to have some happiness. There was a fan-comic I read where she makes a webshow about clothing alterations, so I would like to headcanon her becoming a costumer/designer for a theater company.

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fairfaxleasee · 3 years

Note

For DADWC: "You fell victim to one of the classic blunders!" for anyone you like!

For @dadrunkwriting

Sorry, had to change the quote again for the story I wanted to go with:

CW: Body horror references, cannibalism references, Hawke is generally over shit

If she were being entirely honest, this ‘Morrigan’ person was by far Lyta Adaar’s least favorite temporary resident of Skyhold (or at least the woman had better be a temporary resident, her constant negging was starting to strain even Lyta’s patience). Unfortunately, the Orlesians insisted she come and ‘help’ (although Lyta was starting to suspect that might have just been a way to get rid of her) so Lyta didn’t feel like she could kick her out of the castle. At least yet. She was just trying to ignore the woman as best she could. Unfortunately, Morrigan had caught her while she was picking some herbs in the Skyhold garden and was currently talking at her.

“As I was saying, Inquisitor, if you’re ever interested in learning some more... uncommon uses for plants, I would happily assist. I know some people in Skyhold,” Morrigan turned her head to glare at Cassia Hawke, who was minding her own business across the courtyard and appeared to be going over some maps with Cullen and Loghain Mac Tir, “fancy themselves ‘experts’ in it, however I can guarantee you no woefully mundane ex-Viscount knows as much as a properly trained mage.”

Lyta caught some movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked up and saw that Hawke, Cullen, and Loghain had stopped looking at the maps. Loghain was leaning away from the table slightly looking at Hawke, who was bent over it with enough tension in her frame that Lyta could see her shoulder blades pressed together through her leather armor. For his part, Cullen was waiving frantically at Lyta, which was the movement she saw. Once their eyes met, Cullen swiped one hand in front of his throat then pointed to an area across the garden where Lyta could just see Varric peaking over the wall that separated it from the walkway.

Morrigan didn’t seem to care that Lyta’s attention was elsewhere as she continued as though nothing had happened (although Lyta had a suspicion that even if Morrigan had noticed something happened, she wouldn’t care). “I can guarantee you, Inquisitor, I am a very good friend to have. Unlike some, I'm not going to be abandoned at Skyhold. I have the talents to help you do great things, if you let me.”

“Lyta, get out of there!” Lyta doubted anyone else heard Cullen’s whispered warning over the sound of Hawke slamming her palms on the table in front of her.

Lyta decided Cullen probably knew what he was talking about so as soon as Morrigan’s back was turned she got up and went to watch whatever bloodbath this was going to be with Varric. Being a Qunari, she wouldn’t be able to hide as easily as he could, but it was better than being totally out in the open.

She made it to cover just in time to see Hawke round on Morrigan and stalk over with her head twisted slightly as she let out an eerily chipper chuckle and started in on the apostate, “Listen bitch, you may be talented at toadying up but it's kinda like widespread slaughter, one of those things that it's fundamentally impossible to be good at.”

Morrigan leaned away from Hawke in cool distain, “Well, you would be one to speak of widespread slaughter.”

Hawke snorted and shook her head, “Nice to see your perspective is actually as narrow as it seems.”

“To speak of narrow perspectives so. You were so overwhelmed by the office of Viscount you and your elven bedwarmer wouldn't have to flee the Marches.”

Lyta wasn’t sure how, particularly given that Hawke wasn’t a mage, but she was positive the temperature in the courtyard dropped about twenty degrees to be a better match for Hawke’s icy tone and frozen eyes. “First thing, if you want your fucking tongue to stay in one piece and where it is I'd better not hear you talking about Fenris that way again. People really underestimate what a versatile cut of meat the tongue is and as you so astutely point out I am on the run. Second thing, the rodents may be of unusual size in the fire swamp, but they're nowhere near as big as they are in Orlais. Nor do they pretend to be anything else.”

Morrigan either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the force of Hawke’s ire, “Do make up your mind, am I a toad or a rodent?”

"And here I thought you needed to be witty to survive in the Game. You're a fucking shape-shifter bitch! You're every lowly parasitic pest anyone is ever forced to endure. And seriously, any time you want to play one of my games, let me know.” She ran her eyes over Morrigan appraisingly. “Lots of other cuts of meat I can use.”

“I certainly hope you don’t think you’re impressing anyone with this display.”

“Aww, not all of us need to turn tricks to get permission to stay.”

“Well, maybe if you had you wouldn’t have been run out of every home you’ve ever known!”

“Given that you’re here, I don’t see that as being a recipe for success.”

“I hope you’re paying attention, Reaper.” Lyta turned towards Varric at his whisper, “You just watched someone fall prey to one of the classic blunders. The most well known of which is, of course, ‘Never get involved in a sea war against Qunari,’ but only slightly less well-known is ‘Never insult Elf if Jigsaw’s around to hear it.’ Actually, she just fell into two classic blunders, ‘Never poke at Jigsaw when she’s twitchy’ is I think fourth on the list.”

“I’ll... keep that in mind.”

Lyta glanced back at the verbal grudge match taking place in the courtyard. Leliana had come down at some point and was, for some incomprehensible reason, trying to intervene.

“I think you should calm down, Champion,” Varric, Loghain, Cullen, and Lyta all winced at Leliana’s choice of words. For her part Lyta had thought Leliana was smarter than that. “Take some time, try to understand what Morrigan is saying. There is no reason why we cannot all be friends.”

Hawke threw her head back and her hollow, empty laughter cut through the courtyard. Lyta looked down to make sure it hadn’t somehow cut her.

“Oh, but there is every reason we can’t all be friends. I don’t want to be her friend.” Hawke snapped her gaze to Leliana. “Or yours. But neither of you have friends, do you? It’s all tools, followers, worshippers, stepping-stones, accessories on your bloody path to power and glory. Oh, but I forget; it’s okay for you to do it, because the maker wants you to, and with your perfect sense of right and wrong, you know exactly what the maker wants.”

Leliana straightened a bit, “You think you see so much, don’t you, Champion? Well do you ever look at yourself? See what you’ve done? The suffering you’ve caused? What do you see when you look at yourself?”

“So much more than you do. But that’s a bit of a truism, isn’t it? That light of righteousness you’re just smart enough to be terrified to step even a bit away from is just so blinding, isn’t it?”

Lyta turned to whisper to Varric, “Same classic blunder?”

“Same classic blunder, Reaper.”

Lyta pursed her lips, she wasn’t sure why, possibly because it was something to focus on that wasn’t what was going on in the courtyard, but she decided to finally ask Varric, “Why do you call me that anyway? It doesn’t really fit you know.”

“Reaper, you’re a giant Qunari woman with a huge scythe, you look like a Reaper. And maybe you should take a page from Jigsaw’s book and consider leaning into it more, you have to be just a bit intimidating, you’re the Inquisitor. If I went around calling you something cute like ‘fawn’ nobody would take you seriously. ‘Course maybe don’t lean into it quite as far as Jigsaw did.”

“If you want her to stop, why don’t you start calling her something cute like fawn?”

“Well, ‘fawn’ would never work for Jigsaw, but maybe...” Varric stood and shouted at Hawke, “Say, Jigsaw? What would you think about me calling you ‘Kitty’ instead?”

“...what?” Hawke didn’t look enthusiastic about the idea.

“I... uh, never mind. And I just remembered I’m on a deadline so I’ll see you later Jigsaw.”

“And that, Inquisitor,” Loghain had gathered up the maps and walked over to Lyta while she was distracted, “Would be an example of the third most famous classic blunder - do not draw attention to yourself if you’re around Cassia and she’s on-edge.”

Lyta looked up at the Warden in confusion, “She’s what, thirty five? How are so many of these ‘classic’ blunders about her?”

“I’d suggest asking your advisors, but people who end up on the wrong end of Cassia don’t tend to enjoy re-living the experience.”

“Well then how many of the classic blunders are about her?” Lyta asked.

“Both more and fewer than you’d imagine.”

Cullen entered the conversation, “Here’s a question for you, Loghain - You couldn't have just left her in Gwaren?”

Loghain shook his head and muttered, “What is it with out-of-their-depths ex-Templars and that question...” He continued at full volume, “I didn’t leave her in Gwaren for the same reason you didn’t want to leave her wherever she was. There are a lot of people who are good, and she’s very good, but when it comes to ripping opponents to shreds there’s no one better.”

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beetlefursuits · 4 years

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Why Your First Fursuit Commission Was a Disaster! (or How to Prevent it)

Being approached by a stranger asking you to be THE fursuit artist they have chosen can make you feel AMAZING and eager to say YES!

Out of all the artists out there, they picked you!

The immediate assumption is that you can knock that project out and get some money in your pocket, while filling out your portfolio, gaining some experience, and having some fun!

But pause a moment, step back and think “Am I ready for this? Is this the right client for me? Do I even WANT to do commissions?”

Before you jump into business with someone, consider the following list of reasons that this project (or this client) might not be the correct fit for you.

Six Tips For Success in Choosing Which Fursuit Commissions to Accept (and which to avoid!)

#1. Will I ENJOY Doing This Project?

Is this REALLY something you want to make?

When a new project crosses your eyeballs and you get that excited glow, you can immediately imagine how great it will be to show off the finished product in your portfolio.

But stop and REALLY think about the project you are considering, break it down into every aspect, every small detail that you will have to source and buy materials for, that you will have to construct and sew and cut and sculpt and paint, and then decide how jazzed you really feel about building it.

300 rosettes (you realize only after counting each one) will look amazing but consider sewing each one and how does that make you feel. Sew a test spot just so you can time yourself and feel it out.

Those cool markings? How will you do that? By machine? By hand? Do you have the fur for it in stock? Does it even exist and do you know where to find it?

How will you do the long hair to get that particular shape? Does it have Spikes? Horns? Both? What will they be made from? Have you done it before? Does that prospect of making something new excite you? Or do you feel dread?

If you are not starting it immediately, consider how interested you will still be in a few weeks or months once that initial glow has faded, the deposit has been spent, and what’s left is a pile of materials and the prospect of a lot of hard work.

If there is an aspect of the project that you do not like, consider that future clients will see this work and assume it’s the type of project you wish to do again.

#2. Am I CAPABLE of Completing this Project?

Building a commission is NOT like building a personal fursuit.

With a personal project, you do not need to discuss your ideas with others, you do not need to stick to a reference or plan, you can cut corners with sewing or final finishing, etc.

A commission requires a lot of back-and-forth discussion between the artist and the client. You have to consider the opinion of someone else. You need to accurately size it to a person you have never met and who cannot try it on during the process. Everything has to be finished and durable and clean.

Following are 4 quick tips to consider if you’re ready to accept client work:

Do you know how long it takes (roughly) to build a (non personal) fursuit?

Have you already made and sold artistic liberty/artist-designed/premade projects? When you are starting out, this is how you decide on your pricing and deadlines. It’s not good to enter into an agreement with no idea what to charge or how long it will take you!

Do you have a dedicated work space/guaranteed amount of time available?

Fursuit making takes a lot of space (Huge awkward foam rolls to store and fur to spread out while you pattern/cut. Duct tape dummies awkwardly starfish out their arms and legs all the time and don’t help at all with the sewing) and it’s much easier to work on commissions when you separate life and work areas.

If you currently have other major obligations besides fursuit making (such as work, family, health, and school) which already take (or have the potential of taking) most (or all) of your available time, then it might not be the right time to take full suit commissions. Artist-designed projects and smaller projects will offer more flexibility for unpredictable and limited time—and energy.

Are there a lot of new elements to the project that you have not done before?

Some things may look easy and then when you start building it you realize that it’s much more involved than you expected. This can be a huge drain on your time, your money, and your motivation (which just compounds those first two issues).

An example could be a character with 3 tails. It’s just 1 tail(X3) right? But will they all fit correctly together? Do you make and attach them as one tail or leave them separate? Will they bounce or sit weirdly? Do you now need to make a new ‘side tail’ pattern so they splay out in an appealing manner?

Or say you take on a particularly tall client and you suddenly have to research and develop all new larger hand and foot designs as your current ones do not fit them or the padding you normally make looks too small now and needs to be remade larger.

These are all aspects worth considering. To prevent taking on more than you can handle, my suggestion is to take on no more than one new aspect (that is preferably no more than 10-15% of the project) on each commission that you’ll need to research and develop. You will probably go over time and over budget on these new processes at first (as you gain experience you naturally find ways to craft things quicker and easier) so it’s best to not knowingly take projects that you do not yet have the skills and/or experience to fulfill.

Can you take criticism?

Paid artistic work invites criticism. Sometimes something you make does not work out. You loved it and the client hates it. Or it doesn’t fit. Or it fell apart. That is all part of learning and growing and trying new things. Can you take the corrections, make it right, and move on?

If you feel that you currently cannot emotionally/mentally/physically handle potential setbacks/obstructions/times where things just don’t go your way; stick with non-client projects that are easier to control and fit to your schedule (premade suits. ears and tails. fursuit props.) and revisit commissions further down the road.

#3. Is the Client Displaying Red Flags?

Knowing which clients to turn away is a valuable skill.

As your business grows, it pays in your time, resources, and sanity to know when to refuse a commission (or when to cancel a commission) and to do so as early and gracefully as possible.

If you watch for situations like these, you can focus on cultivating happy, excited, and RESPECTFUL clients who love your work and your preferred artistic style. Not those who try to cut corners or denigrate or manipulate you for their own goals.

Here are 6 ‘red flags’ to consider when picking or accepting client projects.

The client complains (a lot) about their previous artist(s)

Simple, constructive, and legit complaints are one thing (the client says “Artists tend to get this marking wrong so here is how I really want it.” or “My last artist used these materials but it broke so can we try something else.”)

If instead the client immediately gossips about/trash-talks previous artists to you, it shows a lack of social boundaries and the high potential that they will then trash-talk about you/your work in the future.

Poor Quality Reference art.

This one is not a deal-breaker as long as it is not paired with an uncommunicative and/or demanding client.

If the client wants a “sly grey wolf” then we may proceed as long as we both understand that it will be my personal version of that idea and might not match what’s in the clients head.

If the very specifically-desired concept involves complex unclear markings, specific tattoos that are not consistent across the reference, the client’s desired fursuit and the reference do not match, a blurred photograph of a scratchy OC reference, etc; IE ANYTHING you cannot make heads nor tails of.. then ask them to clear this up with a favorite reference artist first and get back to you.

(And If YOU are your favorite reference artist, make sure to charge appropriately for the extra service!)

The client is a child or cannot/will not prove their age.

Children cannot be held to a contract in the USA and most fursuit artists require their clients to be over 18 (many are starting to ask for proof such as a photograph of a legal ID). You may choose to proceed with the project but the contract, payment, and all discussion needs to go through the child’s legal adult caretaker.

A client who micro-manages you and/or your work through constant criticism, proposed changes, or ‘redlines’ of your work.

These clients (though generally well-meaning) are honestly hell on the self-esteem. The occasional suggestion or constructive criticism (as mentioned earlier!) can be very helpful in determining the angle to take on a project or future projects.

But CONSTANT red lines and complaints and ‘suggested changes’ to your work (that they keep suggesting because they don’t even KNOW what they really want from you) means that NEITHER of you is going to come out of it feeling very happy about the art. Cancel and refund them and move on. I promise that it’s worth it.

The client disagrees with the quoted price/requests a discount/attempts to change the commission parameters.

“No” is a complete sentence.

To elaborate on that further; not everyone who asks for a discount is like this but be warned that there ARE potential clients who look for bright new fursuit makers, with the intent to jump on them early and obtain a new commission at a low price by (knowingly or unknowingly) taking advantage of the artist’s inexperience.

I am going to give a fictional example of this situation to show how insidious it can be:

You are still unsure about fullsuit commissions but you say on social media that you’re thinking you could try a head? An acquaintance says yes! Me! PLeeeeese. They seem excited so you agree for an introductory price. This new client chats a lot and seems friendly.

Could they get feet?? Feeling on-the-spot you agree since they’re ‘friends’. You’ve not made feet on commission yet so you underestimate the difficulty and under-charge. The client seems happy tho. They discuss a few changes they want to the head (that they’re sure they mentioned in the initial quote). Maybe you forgot??

This all takes some time and meanwhile they show you some reference art they just got done of a different character and ask to move the commission to this since you don’t have THAT much done yet. Also how much for hands?? They find you at a con and offer to buy you a drink. You restart the work.

A few more rounds of these (or similar) behaviours. The client starts to complain how long it’s taking. Maybe they drive other potential clients away with their actions or threaten an artist beware on you. And eventually you realize you’ve been manipulated and bullied into taking on a complicated fursuit that you had no intentions of making and have very severely undercharged for. Not fun!!

Instead of this situation coming to pass, hold your ground in the beginning and refuse to ‘add’ to a commission or to change a commission after it’s been paid for and/or started. This muddles what you’re working on and allows the client an opportunity to keep changing things forever. (instead treat the add-on as a brand new commission to be started only after the current part is finished and paid for)

Do not entertain those who think you’re not worth the price you’re asking for. Do not give ‘friends discounts’. Friends want to see you succeed!

Other artists warn against working with them.

Get to know other fursuit artists! We are usually happy to vouch for good clients and warn about any particular issues you may experience with others. Sometimes there are issues that prevent one artist-client relationship but can be managed within another and eventually other artists might recognize which clients to refer to you (and you to them).

If you are wondering how to start this type of discourse, there are public groups on Facebook or considering joining a fursuit artist’s Patreon and/or Telegram chat! Many fursuit makers have one (or both) of these with various mentoring tiers.

As an example, all of my patrons are given a link to join my Telegram chat where you can share your work and receive critique from a like-minded audience. At higher tiers you can join my Discord to share and chat in real time.

If there is a fursuit artist that you admire, ask them and see what they offer!

#4. Do I Need The Money?

Fursuits are maybe NOT quite the jackpot they might first appear to be

Fursuits are deceptive. It sounds like a great deal to gain several thousand dollars in one simple cheque, but, if you are not careful with budgeting, if you undercharge, or under-estimate how long it will take; you can find yourself falling into a state of using future projects to pay your current project materials, shipping, taxes, etc; as well as your regular life expenses like rent, car, insurance, utilities, loan repayments, etc.

The simplest practice is to prevent this entirely right from your first commission! My suggestion is to first take on smaller projects with a quick turn-over. This keeps you flexible to increase your prices or change your practices as needed. Then when you have enough savings to keep yourself afloat (so that you will not need to dip into your fursuit deposit money even if things don’t go exactly on schedule), you can take larger projects with longer turn-around times and higher price-points.

If you do find yourself in a situation where you NEED the money immediately; the issue is that you will be much more motivated to take on more difficult clients, less fulfilling projects you don’t really like, and overall accepting a worse deal for you for the reward of immediate payment (which then exacerbates the issues by giving you more work for the future and then pushing you further into the hole). Sadly, getting out of this situation can be very difficult.

Sparkle Kreations writes:

In my earlier business years, I found myself in a deep hole; I struggled financially day to day, I had over 80 clients on my list, and I was overwhelmed by the amount of work to be done. There were solutions, all very challenging decisions laid out before me. One path was the one most recommended, was that I go out and get a full-time job as I slowly refunded everyone on my list (a viable decision, advised to me by furry and non-furry alike) while I continue living and paying my living expenses. Another path was that I completely close off all large commissions, only taking on a few quick/small commissions to keep a bit of income flow, closely budgeting every dollar that I spend as I worked on my queue and knocked out my commissions until they were all complete. So I chose a hard path to regain my business name; I started by being completely honest with all of my customers and offering refunds if they chose. I then worked 6-7 days a week/8-10 hours a day, for about 5 to 6 years. I watched my budget closely, avoided going to conventions so I could instead refund customers. I now run a successful business that is financially stable, with a comfortably-sized queue, where myself and my assistant comfortably work a 5 day/35 hour work-week.

Finally, keep in mind that what really matters is not the $$$$ on the cheque but actually how it distills into $/hour. An artist is limited by the hours they are able to put into the work and a sexy $$$$ fursuit deposit might not actually gain you more in the end than several smaller $$$ projects with quicker overall turn-around times. Track your time and choose the most profitable options to promote and pursue.

(For much more on the physical realities of running a business, read my previous blog article “What I’ve Learned From The Past Decade Working as a Professional Fursuit Artist”)

#5. Can I communicate effectively with others?

Good communications are key with all client-artist interactions.

Can you stay calm, be professional, and set expectations? Poor communication (on either artist or client end) can easily snowball into angry clients and artists, stress and anxiety, emotional withdrawal from your work, misunderstandings, and even artist bewares.

There are several important aspects to communicating effectively:

Can you stay calm and professional even when the client is combative?

At some point, you will have a difficult client. When this happens, you need to stay professional and work through the issues with them. If you cannot agree then you might need to part ways. You must do so with the grace and assurance that you did everything possible to fix the situation. If you think “Taken out of context, will this screenshot look bad?” And the answer is “yes,” then you need to step back, collect yourself, and rewrite your reply.

Can you set expectations?

As the artist, you can choose your commission methods, but you need to be VERY CLEAR to the client what those methods are, what your expectations are (for them and for you), and how the commission process will proceed. Before you take any clients, figure out what you what you want out of the commission process. Do you want to take on clients for money? For the satisfaction of a job well done? For the social challenge of managing an artist-client relationship? Or the artistic drive of working to a specific goal and schedule? Aka WHY do you want to take commissions??

If you have not developed your own drive and are not familiar with your own commission process then you are not ready to move a client through that process

Are you ready to directly and clearly (and repeatedly if needed) communicate your policies to a client through the design, payment, construction, delivery, potential changes or repairs of the commission?

If you need payment by X date or they’ll be dropped from the queue, you need to inform them of this. If they have an issue with the work you did (and you need them to ship the item back asap so you can fix it before their warranty runs out), you need to inform them of this urgency and what failing to act by the deadline will result in.

Don’t leave it up to the client to know your policies. Your policies/procedures should be on your website Terms Of Service (TOS) that you had the client read and agree to, but a little refresher (plus a reasonable and clear deadline, if applicable) allows everyone to move on informed and aware of the consequences.

Do you have a method to communicate with your clients and be available for them to discuss issues with you?

I’m not saying be available 24-7 (an important self-care aspect is having certain hours of the day and/or the week to yourself without any work concerns) but if the client has an issue, how will they communicate that with you so that you can respond in an effective and timely manner? Do you prefer Telegram? Email? Twitter? Decide how you want to conduct business matters and let clients know where/when to contact you.

Do you have a method to update your clients and ask their opinions?

Depending on how you like to work, you do not need to ask a client’s opinion on every aspect of the build. However, showing your work and giving updates on the progress will make the client feel happy and secure in their commission choice.

One easy method for updating that I like is to keep a Trello board of projects where the client can always see the current progress of their commission. Telegram is a popular group chat client. It’s nice for sending pics/videos to clients and the ever classic email is perfect for initial quotes and longer back and forth discussions.

Can you always be honest with your clients?

It’s hard to run an entire business by yourself and you might promise too much or underestimate how long something will take or you life circumstances change and you now have less time to work. When these things happen, you need to be honest and transparent to your client. Explain the issues you are having (in simple, appropriate terms), apologize, and try to work with the client on a solution.

If you are going through some things that might affect work or deadlines, let them know. Keep in mind though, this doesn’t mean you have to share ALL of your struggles if what you are going through will not affect them. Just share what you feel they need or deserve to know.

#6. Do I have other artistic or personal goals right now?

Are commissions even right for you?

If you have other things that are important in your life right now, it’s perfectly acceptable to focus your time on them instead of commissions.

Depending on your stage of life, you might still be in school. Or have a family. You might have another job or a hobby you enjoy. You also might just have other artistic goals that existing commissions do not fit into right now. People love your canines but you want to try cats instead. Or cosplay.

Or you don’t know what you want to do yet but agreeing to a many-month long contract is not that.

The desire for quality fursuit work from reputable artists is high;

if you are active in your community, your peers might try to convince you into taking their project.

It’s great that they love your work! But if the project is not in the direction you wish to go, does not offer enough money in compensation for sacrificing something else you want to do instead, or you do not feel like you can dedicate the time needed, it’s okay (and probably necessary!) to say no!

The ultimate goal in taking client commissions is to have them bring you MORE satisfaction and fulfillment than they take away; Be that in monetary, social or artistic terms.

Figure out your personal drive in being a fursuit artist. Create and run a thoughtful, intentional, and passionate business; whether you decide to take on 30 clients, 1 client, or zero clients.

Above all, have fun with it! Bring those characters to life without losing your own.

#Tips #Health&Wellness

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #358

“i know the pieces fit, ‘cuz i watched them fall away”

Would you ever own a Great Dane as a pet? Oh Lord, my mom wants one so bad. She looooves big dogs. I wouldn't, though. I don't want another dog, period. What was or is your favorite quality about your recent ex? Her resilience, strength, creativity, loyalty, etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. lol. Have you ever witnessed a human being giving birth in real life? No, and I NEVER fucking will. What about an animal? Yeah, cats. What kind of things do you enjoy reading about on sites like Wikipedia? I sometimes do that for straightening out game plots after watching a let's play if I have remaining questions. Wikipedia tends to do well with compressing it. Which country’s cuisine that you haven’t tried, would you be interested in sampling? (e.g. Moroccan, Thai etc.) I wouldn't know because I'm not educated enough on foreign cuisines. What’s the last movie you watched on your own? The Shining, I think, forever ago. Fried, poached, boiled or scrambled eggs? Scrambled. Have you ever got into a club, whilst being underage? I've never tried. Are you happy with your relationship with God, or do you want more from it? I don't have one. Do you struggle with boredom? Very, very severely. I have absolutely awful anhedonia; I'm pretty much constantly bored. Literally. I just... find things to pass the time, even if I'm not really enjoying myself. What famous person do you wish you could be friends with? I'm going to assume here you don't mean a significant other, because uh... y'all been known lmaooo. I would really love to be friends with Gab Smolders (I know that's not her real name, just using her YT name), because we have very similar interests. As well, Suzie Hanson is a fucking SWEETHEART. I miss her channel. :( At some point I want to purchase some stuff from her store to support the darling. Man, thinking of this question, there's really a lot. What would you do if you were famous? Hate it, haha. Do you wish you hair were shorter or longer? It's at a fine length right now. What photo editing website or software do you use? Lightroom and Photoshop. What hair color looks best on you and what’s your natural color? I think my hair looked best black. It's naturally brown. What is your favorite show to watch? Meerkat Manor. It is so, so comforting to me. Are your maternal/parental instincts strong? Not with kids, oddly enough. I've only ever really encountered strong protective instincts with significant others like when they're sick or something like that. In school, do you/did you work better by yourself or in a group? I absolutely worked better alone. I hated group work. Do you know anyone who has a collection of old records? My mom did, once upon a time. I feel like I know someone who does now... but idk. Do you go on any forums often? Just RP ones. Would you ever agree to an open relationship with someone? Nnnnope. Do people always say you’re too thin? Uh, I have the opposite problem. Could you design a whole web page yourself? Not from scratch, no. I've only done so on free sites that give you the bare bones and easy editing. Have you ever cooked an entire dinner for your family? Definitely not. Do you prefer piano music or violin music? Ohhhh, both are beautiful, but I have to say violin. Who do you tend to get in fights with the most? My mom, I guess, not that we fight a lot. Are you attracted to spooky and macabre things naturally? YEP. Have you ever bobbed for apples? Were you successful? No. It's disgusting if you're going after others, and besides, I HATE water up my nose and have never quite figured out how to block it out without plugging it. Hypothetically speaking, if you had a child [too young to make their own decisions], what would you dress him/her up as for Halloween? It would depend on what their interests were. Do you intend to take your children trick-or-treating, if ever you have any? I'm not having kids, but if I did, I definitely would if they wanted to go. What is the coolest jack-o-lantern you have ever seen? Now THAT'S hard, I really don't know. What was your favorite candy to get from trick-or-treating? What about your least favorite? Reese's was my favorite, and I never liked Tootsie Rolls. Did you ever receive anything that wasn’t candy? Maybe? I feel like I have... Have you ever carved a really extensive pumpkin, or were they always simple carvings? Yes; I once carved a pumpkin with a raven design with "and quoth the raven, 'nevermore'" written into the back. The raven wasn't just a flat cut-out, but rather carved in layers so the light came through differently at certain depths. Are you more interested in cute, funny, “sexy”, or scary costumes? For myself, absolutely the scary ones. In general though, I'm not gonna BS ya, I love me some sexy costumes, haha, but also still scary and particularly gory ones. Have you ever intimidated or made another person feel legitimately threatened? If not, do you think that you could ever be seen as scary? I seriously hate admitting this, but Mom has confessed that my yelling has scared her before when scolding our former dog that I fucking hated. In what ways do you or would you need to be validated by a partner? (For example, liking your posts/talking about you on social media, or perhaps by doting on your with gifts.) I absolutely need words of affirmation. I just need to hear a lot that you do still like/love me. Also, if you're unwilling to actually act like we're a couple in front of ANYONE, like you're ashamed of me or something, byyyyeeee. Do you tend to succeed by weaning yourself off of something or by quitting cold turkey? It depends, I guess. Is there a specific type of pet breed/size/etc. that you don’t want? Why not? Any that have underlying medical issues, like pugs, spider ball pythons, Persian cats, etc. etc... It's just a moral thing; I don't want to support the deliberate continuation of poor genes in animals for human monetary gain. It's just wrong to me. Away from breeds, I also don't really want free-roaming animals after my cat passes, because I don't want to endanger the reptiles and invertebrates I want as pets in the future. Have you ever lived in a notoriously dangerous area? If not, would it bother you to do so? I grew up in one, yes. I never want to again. Has a friend’s significant other ever interfered with or damaged your friendship? What about a significant other of yours damaging a friendship? No. What, if anything, is something that you put pressure on yourself about? What do you imagine would happen if you did not live up to this expectation? Getting a job nowadays. I do NOT want to imagine what my life will be like if I never find employment. If you have been in a serious relationship, have you and your partner ever discussed lifetime plans that clashed? Did you reconcile them or did you break up? If you have not been in a relationship, what are some issues that would be deal-breakers? This hasn't happened, no. If you were offered to smoke some weed right now would you accept? Honestly, I want to try weed to see if it would help my anxiety, BUT I'm unwilling to ever smoke something, so no. Have you ever changed clothes in a vehicle? Yeah. Do you listen to country music? No. Have you ever had a boyfriend your parents didn’t like? No. Were you ever a trouble maker? Not really, no. Do you shave your legs? Hell, that's debatable by this point. I haven't since this past October, but I *would* if for whatever reason someone might see my legs. I am not overexaggerating when I say I naturally have men's legs as far as hair goes, oof. Do you have any person in your family with an addiction to beer? That's what my dad always drank when he was an alcoholic. He doesn't touch alcohol now. Have you ever gotten sloppy drunk at a party? No. Have you ever slept naked? Accidentally. Could you ever be friends with the person who hurt you most in life? I really don't think I could be. Do you actually like going to school? I never did. Have you ever really been in a “complicated relationship”? How did that work out? In your opinion, what makes a relationship “complicated”? No. I don't care enough to go into what a complicated relationship means, I think it's pretty obvious. Who was the first person you’ve ever fallen in love with? Is this a person you’re still in contact with? How do you know you’re in love with someone? Jason, and no. And you just... know. It's a wordless feeling . Have you ever successfully broken a bad habit? How about conquered a fear of something? Uhhhh I don't know, really. Well, I used to be AWFUL at picking my eyebrows, particularly when anxious, but I have gotten better at that. I still kinda do it, though. Onto the next question, I don't believe I've "conquered" a fear, but rather they just faded with time on their own. Have you ever read a whole series of books? Yeah. Are you going to walk at your graduation or just pick your diploma up? I walked. Do you own a pair of brass knuckles? No. Have you ever tried to break a Guinness World Record? No. Can you sing your ABC’s backwards? I can't. Do you like Skittles? I love Skittles. Do you know how to read music? I used to. Who would you say has made the biggest impact on your life? Really, Jason. He ultimately led to me getting proper treatment for my depression, which changed my life. I'm in no way giving him credit for it, but you get what I mean. You can only listen to THREE CDs for the rest of your life. What are they? Black Rain and Ozzmosis by Ozzy Osbourne, and uhhh... perhaps The Black Album by Metallica. Do you own any shirts that have a year on it? Yeah, but it's way too small for me now. It's from Back To The Future, when we actually reached the date in the movie. Have you ever done another person’s make-up? Ha, I gave Jason a makeover once. Honestly, do you double dip? Not if I'm sharing the dip with other people. Who were you last on an elevator with? My mom. Do you know anyone that has a black belt in karate? Not to my knowledge. How often do you wear hats? Never. Who is the youngest gay person you know? *shrug* Have you ever watched an animal being eaten by another animal? I've seen cats eat mice and stuff as a kid. What is the strangest, most “out there” thing you believe? Some people I'm sure would consider the fact I believe the government was involved in 9/11 as "out there," but when you look into it, it's far from "out there." Do you get along with people who are especially religious? Why/why not? It depends on how they act about it, not what they keep in their head. Now if they have just purely hateful beliefs that demonize another's existence, then no, we can't get along. Have you ever drawn or painted a self-portrait? Painted, yes, for an art class. Do you have any interesting pillow cases? No. Are you more afraid of spiders or bees? Bees, generally. Especially if we're talking things like wasps, who are just demon spawns. Would you rather donate time, blood, or money? That's a really hard question, but I guess time? Like I'm thinking volunteer work and stuff, or listening to and comforting someone. Can grills be sexy on a guy? They're sexy on absolutely no one. Last strong smell you can remember smelling? Ugh, gasoline. This one car in front of my mom and me smelled awful. Last healthy thing you ate? Apples. Do you know anybody who was abused? Emotionally, yes. Do your parents volunteer anywhere? No. Do you have a steering wheel cover? Mom's car doesn't. What do you think of when you see sharp knives? This is really morbid, but I will immediately envision what it would be like to be stabbed. I'm very afraid of knives. The highway and back roads take you to the same place; choose your route. The back roads, of course. And let me bring my camera.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''schism'' by tool

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simschallenges · 3 years

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Chinese Zodiac Legacy Challenge

(note: because the original poster has deactivated, i am reposting an archived version of the challenge rules retrieved with the wayback machine. all of the following text is a copy of the original post by @autumnalpixels.)

Thanks to the idea from an anon on tumblr, I’ve decided to make a second version of my zodiac challenge that focuses on the Chinese Zodiacs.

For those who don’t know, the Chinese Zodiacs are representative of an entire year, not a month. So, for example, I was born in 1997 and I am born in the year of the Ox. Twelve years in the future (2009) was the next year of the Ox. The zodiacs are similar in the way that they each have certain personalities and whatnot, but unlike the Western Zodiac, the Chinese Zodiac uses animals to represent each of the twelve main personalities, rather than planets.

As far as I’m aware, I don’t think this challenge has been made, and I’m thankful for the anon’s suggestion to make this! The original was really fun to make, and I hope that everyone enjoys this challenge as well. This is also going to be a 12-generation legacy, with each generation representing one of the different Chinese Zodiacs.

Side note: This legacy is not meant to misrepresent or offend anyone. The generations are being based off of descriptions of the zodiacs from this website. Feel free to read up more about each zodiac to get a better sense of your sim’s personality! I greatly encourage you to research the signs more because they are very interesting.

Starting out:

Feel free to make your founder however you’d like. Traits for each heir will be listed in their section, but their looks are up to you so feel free to get creative! You’ll start out like a traditional legacy on one of the 50x50 lots (or 64x64 if you’d like). Here is a link to Pinstar’s legacy rules.

General Challenge Rules:

Honestly this is the only way to fail the challenge, other than not producing an heir.

Generation One: Rat

“With strong intuition and quick response, those born in the year of the Rat always easily adapt themselves to a new environment. With rich imaginations and sharp observation, Rats can take advantage of various opportunities well. Rats have strong curiosity, so they tend to try their hands at anything, and they can deal with it skillfully. A lack of courage, as well as good command skills, Rats are not capable as leaders. Opportunistic and picky as Rats are, they do not have broad minds, but a narrow view. Rats are kind, but sometimes impolite to others. People of the Rat zodiac sign usually sleep late, for mice are nocturnal animals.”

You can say you’ve never really been the time of person to commit yourself to a certain thing. Whether it be a romance, a job, a hobby, whatever; point is, you get bogged down if you’re forced into doing the same thing too often. You are intelligent and talented, but you bore easily and like to learn and experience many things at once, despite how overwhelmed you get. You can be kind of insensitive sometimes and can come across as rude or that you think you are better than others, but in all reality you are a bit of a coward and are just shy and prefer to avoid confrontation. You’ve always wanted a family, but can you handle it?

Traits: Noncommittal, Genius, Loner Aspiration: Renaissance Sim Career: Due to your aspiration, you’ll be changing your job a lot, so you can pick.

Goals:

Complete your aspiration

Max four skills of your choice

Don’t get married, have at least two children with different partners.

Date around a lot, go on at least one date a week. Each date can be with the same person or different people, up to you!

Feel free to have a hobby that can make money (painting, writing, gardening); you won’t be making much money at the beginning of this generation due to needed to job hop

Generation Two: Ox

“Oxes are known for diligence, dependability, strength and determination. Having an honest nature, Oxes have a strong patriotism for their country, have ideals and ambitions for life, and attach importance to family and work. Having a desire to advance and great patience, Oxes can achieve their goals by consistent efforts. They are not influenced by others or the environment, but persist to do things in accordance with their ideas and capabilities. Before taking action, they will have a definite plan with detailed steps and add their strong faith and physical strength. So people of the Ox zodiac sign enjoy great success as a result. The most disadvantageous trait in Oxes is poor communication skills. They are not good at communicating with others, and even think it not worthwhile exchanging ideas with others. They are stubborn and stick to their own ways.”

Stubborn, persistent, overbearing. Many of your classmates would have described you that way, but you personally like the words ambitious, overachieving, and powerful to use for yourself. You can be a bit of a know it all and tend to stick to your beliefs, even when they’ve been proven wrong. However, you have grown to learn how to convince others to believe what you say (even bordering on manipulation at times). Outside of convincing people of things, however, you loathe conversing with others and would much rather spend time doing the things you enjoy, which includes working hard at your career. You grew up in a family that didn’t have the greatest time with careers, as your single parent had several careers throughout your childhood. You don’t want that. You want better for your children; to have enough money to see them succeed. But although you do truly love your children, you don’t get attached to others easily and they are no exception. You want them to succeed and do well, but you aren’t there for them when they need you because you are working. How will this affect the white picket fence family that you wanted?

Traits: Ambitious, Self-Assured, Loner Aspiration: Successful Lineage Career: Critic

Goals:

Complete your aspiration

Max your career (either branch)

Max the Logic skill and one creative skill (painting, cooking, guitar, whatever you’d like)

Get married at a young age to your high school sweetheart. Start having kids immediately, four in total. You don’t get along with your spouse and fight a lot, but you’re not allowed to divorce them. It would ruin your white picket fence fever dream.

Never become more than “friends” with your children (i.e. good or best friends).

Make your children do their homework every night and all school projects; children must have A’s in school before they can age up to teen.

Teens must have a job and at least a B grade in school before they can age up to YA.

Become good friends with all of your grandchildren.

Generation Three: Tiger

“People born in the year of the Tiger are brave, competitive, unpredictable, and self-confident. They are very charming and well-liked by others. But sometimes they are likely to be impetuous, irritable, and overindulged. With stubborn personalities and tough judgment, tigers work actively and boldly express themselves, and do things with a high-handed manner. They are authoritative and never go back on what they have said. With great confidence and indomitable fortitude, they can be competent leaders. They will not make preparations for anything, but they can handle anything that comes along.”

Even though you don’t want to admit it, you grew up a lot like your parent. You’re stubborn and confident as well, but you tend to want to work with others and crave social interaction. You want to be the best, but not in the same way as your parents; you want to have it all: a good career, a loving spouse and children, and a great social life. You enjoy get togethers and parties, and you are very popular amongst your coworkers and friends. Some would even say you were the leader of the pack.

Traits: Outgoing, Self-Assured, Hot-headed Aspiration: Party Animal Career: Detective. Once you reach level five of the career, quit your job and become a politician.

Goals:

Complete your aspiration

Max the Politician Career

Have at least a silver medal on each kind of party

Get married, have a kid, then get remarried and have more kids (number is up to you.)

Have 1 BFF and three Good Friends

Be the leader of a club with eight sims and buy all of the Clothing and Decor perks, display them around your house

Generation Four: Rabbit

“Rabbits tend to be gentle, quiet, elegant, and alert; quick, skillful, kind, and patient; and particularly responsible. However, they might be superficial, stubborn, melancholy, and overly-discreet. Generally speaking, people who belong to the Rabbit zodiac sign have likable characters. When meeting trouble, Rabbits can handle it in an orderly way; when encountering tough difficulties they are never discouraged, but are persistent to seek solutions. So they eventually achieve enviable success. Rabbits are faithful to those around them, but reluctant to reveal their minds to others, and have a tendency to escape reality. They are too cautious and conservative, which means they miss good opportunities.”

If there was ballet, you would have done ballet since you were a child. You are graceful and calm, but you have your moments where your insecurities take over you and you can become a bit gloomy. You love the arts and are more of a homebody than your parent, and love spending hours reading and writing stories and poetry. You are generally a positive person and enjoy having a small group of friends that you can go get coffee with and discuss books, rather than attending parties. You can be a bit skittish, though, and you like the finer things in life. There’s a side of you that you hide from the people you know, however; you may just not be as sweet and innocent as you seem.

Traits: Bookworm, Gloomy, Materialistic Aspiration: Mansion Baron Career: Criminal

Goals:

Complete your aspiration

Max the your career (either branch)

Have two good friends

Marry and have five children with the same spouse

Do not let anyone find out about your career. If they do, you need to get rid of them. Threaten them, erase their memory (if you are an alien), or kill them off. No one can know who you truly are.

Buy something new (worth at least 500 simoleons) every week

Generation Five: Dragon

“Among Chinese zodiac animals, the Dragon is the sole imaginary animal. The Dragon is the most vital and powerful beast in the Chinese zodiac, although with an infamous reputation for being a hothead and possessing a sharp tongue. In ancient times, people thought that Dragons could control everything in the world with their character traits of dominance and ambition. Gifted with innate courage, tenacity and intelligence, dragons are enthusiastic and confident. They are not afraid of challenges, and willing to take risks. However, the dragon is sometimes regarded as aggressive, and angry dragons are not open to criticism. They don’t consider themselves irritating and arrogant. Instead of following tradition, they strive for a smooth future.”

Your parent made you sick. Being a criminal and being so materialistic was not how you wanted to be like, so you rebelled at a young age and, as a teen, ran away to start your life anew. The only things you took with you were a few photographs of you and your siblings, and some things of your parent’s that you could sell for cash. You can be a bit reckless and impulsive, and you don’t like thinking things through, tending to follow your gut rather than your brain. You want a big family like what you came from, but you were going to make the money to raise your kids honestly.

Traits: Hot-Headed, Good, Outgoing Aspiration: Big Happy Family Career: Retail Store Owner

Goals:

Complete your aspiration

Max the your career (either branch)

Max Charisma skill

Run away as a teen, starting over. (You don’t have to bring family photos with you, but you do have to bring the Knight of the Octagon Table and other things with you that you can sell. Do not sell the Knight of the Octagon Table.)

Cannot go to school except on Wednesdays and Thursdays. Must do homework every night, however, and remain at least a C grade in school.

Open a retail shop once a YA (can sell whatever you’d like)

Get married halfway through young adulthood to a friend from high school

Have four kids

Have a garden with at least four perfect Dragonfruit plants

Generation Six: Snake

“In Chinese culture, the Snake is the most enigmatic animal among the twelve zodiac animals. People born in a year of the Snake are supposed to be the most intuitive. Snakes tend to act according to their own judgments, even while remaining the most private and reticent. They are determined to accomplish their goals and hate to fail. Snakes represent the symbol of wisdom. They are intelligent and wise. They are good at communication but say little. Snakes are usually regarded as great thinkers. Snakes are materialistic and love keeping up with the Joneses. They love to posses the best of everything, but they have no patience for shopping. Snake people prefer to work alone, therefore they are easily stressed. If they seem unusually stressed, it is best to allow them their own space and time to return to normal.”

You grew up to be a very laid back and easygoing person. You love nature and you know the value of a dollar, which can sometimes lead you to being a bit frugal. You are also a bit of a hoarder and love collecting things, and if someone even brings up getting rid of something, you aren’t too pleased with them. You are seen by many as wise and intelligent, and you definitely are. You are in tune with yourself and the natural world around you. You are very mysterious and a private person however, so while people spill their problems out to you and you help them, you don’t tell anyone about yourself.

Traits: Vegetarian, Materialistic, Loves Outdoors Aspiration: The Curator Career: None

Goals:

Complete your aspiration

Max Wellness skill

Keep all of the plants from the last generation and expand the garden to include at least four perfect orchid plants

Do not hire any services; everything must be done by your sims. (Exception: babies can be sent to daycare while your sims are at work/school or on another lot.)

Complete any collection.

You must be BFFs and know all of your partner’s traits before you can be romantic with them.

Have two kids.

Generation Seven: Horse

“People born in a year of the Horse are extremely animated, active and energetic. Horses love to be in a crowd, and they can usually be seen on such occasions as concerts, theater performances, meetings, sporting events, and parties. With a deft sense of humor, Horses are masters of repartee. They love to take center stage and delight audiences everywhere. Sometimes, the Horse is a little self-centered, but it doesn’t mean that s/he can not be interested in others’ problems. Horses are really more cunning than intelligent, and that is probably why most Horse people lack real confidence.”

You were that kid in school. You know, the one obsessed with horses. Your favorite toy was a horse, and you carried it around with you everywhere. Eventually you grew out of this horse phase (thank god) but you still loved the roots that the past few generations had of living off the land and running a farm. You are energetic and fun to be around, and you love to joke around and make people laugh. You found out by the time that you were a teenager that the farm life wasn’t for you, and you decided to focus on something that you were good at: bringing joy to other people through witty jokes and karaoke fails. You love seeing others happy, but at what expense?

Traits: Goofball, Gloomy, Active Aspiration: Joke Star Career: Entertainer

Goals:

Complete your aspiration

Max your career (either branch)

Never get married, have a one night stand that results in pregnancy

You can have a live-in datemate, however, but you two can never actually get married

Write in a journal every night

Go jogging for an hour every day

Max comedy and charisma skills

Pass down your favorite horse toy to your only child

Generation Eight: Goat

“People born in a year of the Goat are generally believed to be gentle, mild-mannered, shy, stable, sympathetic, amicable, and brimming with a strong sense of kindheartedness and justice. They have very delicate thoughts, strong creativity, and perseverance, and acquire professional skills well. Although they look gentle on the surface, they are tough on the inside, always insisting on their own opinions in their minds. They have strong inner resilience and excellent defensive instincts. Though they prefer to be in groups, they do not want to be the center of attention. They are reserved and quiet, most likely because they like spending much time in their thoughts. Goats like to spend money on fashionable things that give them a first class appearance. Although goats enjoy spending money on the finer things in life, they are not snobbish.”

You are not a snob, per se, but you definitely have an eye for the expensive, lavish ways of life. You love to spoil your spouse and your children, and enjoy giving gifts. You just can’t help that you want to appear wealthy, even if you aren’t. You are kind-hearted and love volunteering with your family to make the world a better place.

Traits: Good, Creative, Art Lover Aspiration: Painter Extraordinaire Career: Painter

Goals:

Complete your aspiration

Max your career (either branch)

Become an art collector (have one room on the house dedicated for all of the pieces of art you’ve either made or bought)

Master Painting skill

Volunteer with your family once a week

Paint a portrait of your spouse and your children

Marry and have three kids

Generation Nine: Monkey

“People born in a year of the Monkey have magnetic personalities and are witty and intelligent. Personality traits like mischievousness, curiosity, and cleverness, make them very naughty. Monkeys are masters of practical jokes, because they like playing most of the time. Though they don’t have bad intentions, their pranks sometimes hurt the feelings of others. Monkeys are fast learners and crafty opportunists. They have many interests and need partners who are capable of stimulating them. While some like the eccentric nature of Monkeys, others don’t trust their sly, restless, and inquisitive nature. Although they are clever and creative, Monkeys can’t always exhibit their talents properly. They like to accept challenges and prefer urban life to rural.”

Traits: Goofball, Genius, Foodie Aspiration: Chief of Mischief Career: Tech Guru

Goals:

Complete your aspiration

Max your career (either branch)

Move to San Myshuno as a Young Adult (take the Knight of the Octagon Table statue with you)

Max the Programming, Mischief, and Handiness skills

Learn all of the new recipes from City Living

Earn the Spice Hound and Chopstick Master traits

Marry and have two children

Make sure all of your children learn all of the recipes you’ve learned

Generation Ten: Rooster

“People born in a year of the Rooster are very observant. Hardworking, resourceful, courageous, and talented, Roosters are very confident in themselves. Roosters are always active, amusing, and popular within a crowd. Roosters are talkative, outspoken, frank, open, honest, and loyal individuals. They like to be the center of attention and always appear attractive and beautiful. Roosters are happiest when they are surrounded by others, whether at a party or just a social gathering. They enjoy the spotlight and will exhibit their charm on any occasion. Roosters expect others to listen to them while they speak, and can become agitated if they don’t. Vain and boastful, Roosters like to brag about themselves and their accomplishments. Their behavior of continually seeking the unwavering attention of others annoys people around them at times.”

Traits: Self-Assured, Active, Dance Machine Aspiration: Vampire Family Career: Entertainer

Goals:

Complete your aspiration

Max your career (opposite branch from generation seven)

Make and run an athletic club, purchase all of the energized mood perks and the fitness skill perk

Max fitness and dancing skills

Become a vampire because you are obsessed with your eternal youth

Only have one biological child, but adopt twins

You can choose to get married or not

Generation Eleven: Dog

“Dogs are loyal and honest, amiable and kind, cautious and prudent. Due to having a strong sense of loyalty and sincerity, Dogs will do everything for the person who they think is most important. As Dogs are not good at communication, it is difficult for them to convey their thoughts to others. Therefore, Dogs tend to leave others with the impression that they have a stubborn personality. Born with a good nature, Dogs do not tend to be criminals or seek dishonest gains. They just need a quiet life and a good family and, therefore, forget the ugliness and evil on Earth. Dogs are always ready to help others and do not care about their own interests, but if they find themselves betrayed by cunning people they will feel shocked and hurt. When thrown into doubt, Dogs think the world is evil and complicated. Then they criticize sharply when giving comments on something, and infer all things are according to their pessimistic point of view.”

Traits: Bro, Good, Gloomy Aspiration: Soulmate Career: Athletic

Goals:

Complete your aspiration

Max your career

Fall in love with a human and cure your vampirism to be with them

Stay married to one person, no matter what

Own several dogs (Pets EP)

Have a “pack”, aka four to five friends that you can really trust

Be BFFs with your spouse

Have four kids

Generation Twelve: Pig

“Pigs are diligent, compassionate, and generous. They have great concentration: once they set a goal, they will devote all their energy to achieving it. Though Pigs rarely seek help from others, they will not refuse to give others a hand. Pigs never suspect trickery, so they are easily fooled. Generally speaking, Pigs are relatively calm when facing trouble. No matter how difficult the problems are Pigs encounter, they can handle things properly and carefully. They have a great sense of responsibility to finish what they are engaged in.”

Traits: Good, Glutton, Loves Outdoors Aspiration: Soulmate Career: Culinary

Goals:

Complete your aspiration

Max your career (either branch)

Have a garden with one of every plant (excluding plants from GTW and OR)

Max cooking, gourmet cooking, and baking skills

Host a gold level dinner party every Friday

Have a large amount of friends (at least three)

Never marry, but adopt one child

Oh wow, we’ve made it to the end of the challenge! I hope you enjoyed. Feel free to show me pictures or update me on your playthrough on this if you’d like (tumblr: autumnalpixels.tumblr.com/twitter: @absoluteking8). You can also use the hashtag #autumnalchinesezodiac so I can see your posts and reblog some of them!

If you have any questions or suggestions, feel free to tell me and I’ll take them into consideration. <3

#challenge: chinese zodiac legacy #challenge rules #challenge rules: chinese zodiac legacy #challenge type: all #challenge type: gameplay #challenge type: legacy #game: ts4

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marvel-ousnesss · 4 years

Text

The pirate and the witch (part one)

Pairing: Harry Hook x daughter of Narissa!reader

Word count: 2477

Summary: Y/N, an orphan VK who was taken to Auradon at a young age, returns to her old home by request of the crown prince. However, things tend to go south at the Isle of the Lost.

Warning: Mild cursing

A:/N: Okayy, here goes nothing. This is my first fic and I'm really excited about it. Comments and feedback (and title suggestions 'cause I suck) are appreciated. I think the whole story might have five or six parts which I'll be posting ASAP.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE DISNEY DESCENDANTS CHARACTERS NOR THE SANDERSON SISTERS. All credit goes to the creators, writers, and producers. Same with the HP charms, credit goes to J.K Rowling.

Part two Part three Part four Masterlist

I can’t believe I agreed to do this. Of all places, it had to be the Isle of the Lost. I look at the empty sky as I waltz my way through the lonely, and dark alleys; desperately trying to forget that the clock is about to strike midnight.

Even though I’m currently in one of the scariest places that I can actually think of, I pay attention to every detail as I walk. Particularly, I notice the poor construction of the buildings and the few people that I see asleep against walls or trash containers. Every minute that goes on here makes me wanna go back, yet I’m motivated to help make this a better place — or, at least that's what I tell myself.

Last week, my friend Ben approached me after a meeting he had with his father. He wouldn’t stop talking about how terrible the conditions at the Isle are and insisting on doing something about it before the preparations for his coronation. So we talked to my parents, the king and queen of Maldonia, and concluded that we needed to see the situation first hand to come up with a good set of solutions. But, given that Ben’s parents would never let him go, I begged mine to allow me, arguing that I could blend in, being a VK myself.

I grew up in Auradon, and not on the Isle, because my mother died years ago, in another realm. According to Fairy Godmother, she was one of the most dangerous villains ever seen, and one of the evilest. Yet, instead of abandoning my on the Isle, like most would have done, —and after some arguing between royals— the king and queen of Auradon allowed Queen Tiana and King Naveen to raise me as their daughter; but I never forgot the piece of The Isle that runs through my veins.

By this, I mean my magic. According to my parents, my mother was a very powerful witch. So, when I turned twelve and officially celebrated eight years on Auradon, I asked the king and queen for permission to learn magic; which they granted, under very specific parameters.

Since my powers have a dark nature, or so says Fairy Godmother, she asked the three forest fairies, Fauna, Flora, and Merryweather, to tutor me at their cottage —this being the only place where I’m allowed to use my powers.

…..

I arrive at the small loft —or should I say hideout— that the royal guard of Maldonia had prepared for me, and take off my black cloak, setting it on the bed, right next to the few notes I have taken. Finally, after the longest day that I’ve had in a while, I let myself fall on the firm bed and drift off to sleep.

Woken up by the sound of my alarm, I get up and get ready, repeating the steps of my plan like my life depended on it —who knows, it may.

Fairy Godmother warned me about the gang rivalry that has been going on for a while and told me about some VKs who have shown to be the most dangerous.

The one she talked about the most is Mal, daughter of Maleficent. Apparently, she is the leader of the most feared squad of the Isle; which happens to be formed by none other than the children of Jafar, Cruella de Vil, the evil queen, and well, Maleficent.

Aside from them, the headmistress mentioned the pirate crew that hangs near the docks, which is the biggest competition for the so-called ‘Core Four’. It’s most known members are Uma, Ursula’s daughter; Gil, son of Gaston; and Harry Hook, Captain Hook’s son (obviously). According to my notes, Uma is the captain and Hook is her loyal first mate.

I should be fine, as long as I stay away from their little gang battle. But, being as stubborn as I am, I decide that being part of this will be the ultimate Isle experience.

I do my best to blend in as I stroll down the market and grab a few things, earning a few glares and weird looks as I pay for them. I don’t like being the center of attention, so I put on my hood and avoid all eyes. Preparing to head back, I grab a small bread loaf from a stall to my right and, when the woman behind it is about to protest, I hand her a few gold coins.

Then, I abandon the market, unaware of the two sets of eyes that I have on my back, those belonging to a certain Arabian young thief and the son of Cruella de Vil.

I become aware of their steps lurking behind me when I’m a few blocks away from the market, so I walk faster and then I find myself running from them. I manage to keep them quite far until the two of them jump their ways to the ceilings above me.

I curse Fairy Godmother for not telling me about Carlos’ talent with parkour. She said he was dangerous because of his way with technology, nothing more. Yet, here I am, running from a thief and a thirteen-year-old geek who happens to be a fucking ninja.

I run and run, without looking up or behind me. I’ve always been pretty active, so I lose them after a few minutes. Nevertheless, I don’t stop running and continue in whatever direction my feet are taking me.

……

I should’ve taken a right. That way, I would’ve arrived at my place ten minutes ago; but my dumb ass decided to take a wrong turn so I ended up in the Sanderson sisters’ hut. And, just before I turned on my heel to make an exit, I find the three awful witches standing right in front of me, displaying wicked and hungry grins.

—What have we here?— inquires the redhead, — seems like today’s our lucky day, sisters. They’re both a teeny tiny bit big, but that’s what you get here. Kids are running out these days.

I try to run but my feet fail me, and I feel an electric shock running through me before blacking out. The last thing I hear is a chorus of excited voices singing ‘double food delivery, double food delivery,’ and a strong thunder of psychotic laughter.

I wake up in a small, round cage that hangs from a bronze chain, next to a boy who I recognize as a member of Ursula’s daughter’s pirate crew. What’s his name? Henry, Howard, Helio? Harry, the first mate, that’s it! Anyway, I look around for a possible exit, but find nothing but the front door, which is right next to the cauldron and the three witches —who remain oblivious to me being awake.

Minutes go by and they remain carried away by whatever they are brewing; at least until my cage mate decides to wake up all grumpy.

—Hit my nappeer, them howling witches…— he grumbles, trailing off; but it seems enough to draw their attention.

With wide eyes and wicked grins, they make their way to us with their arms intertwined. When they are close enough, the youngest takes a look at us and licks her lips and the raven-haired one pushes her nose against the bars and sniffs us, sighing in content when she’s had her fill.

— They’re so cute, Winnie, can we keep them, pretty please?— she asks, jumping in her place a couple times.

—You can play with them until the potion is ready, but not a second more. Do remember, — she sing-songs. — Youth and beauty, beauty and youth.

—Hear that? We’re gonna have a good time!— States the ebony-haired witch, as she pokes Harry, who’s still semi-conscious, with a wooden stick. That seems to fully wake him

— Oi, watch it!— he hisses while trying to dodge the harmless, yet annoying tip. He doesn’t have much success due to the lack of space, which amuses me a bit.

—Ooh… a feisty one! — grins the blonde one. —Too bad we can’t keep you, handsome; it would’ve been delicious.

The look on her face seems to be full of physical hunger, but I detect a not so faint tint of lust in her demeanor. The reason why, with those words and the witch’s obvious intentions, my face contours in disgust, which I immediately regret.

—What’s your problem, dear one— she says, as she surrounds the cage, — don’t like me talking ‘bout your little boyfriend like that? Didn’t mommy teach you to share?—. When she’s right behind me, she sneaks a bony hand through my hair and grabs a fistful, to which I reply with a groan.

As she is about to continue the teasing, Winnifred calls her sisters.

—We can’t feed them the potion yet — she scowls.

—Well, duh… my playtime hasn’t finished— replies the blonde.

—no, Sarah, were missing the knotgrass, the fluxweed, and the rat foot— clarifies the third sister, with her pointy nose buried in the cauldrons aroma, — it hasn’t turned green yet.

—At least one of you isn’t completely dense. Come on, sisters, off to the market we go.

As if on cue, they head to the door and close it behind them.

A faint ‘don’t go anywhere’ is heard from outside, followed by another chorus of wicked laughter.

……..

—Gaunnie hook ‘em— spits the pirate, stretching his arm in a miserable attempt at grabbing the hook that lays on the floor beneath us.

I shrug, and then proceed to peak my nails, — Might wanna get out of here first, Hooky.

—Any ideas on how, lassie?— he asks between gritted teeth, growing impatient and tired of failing at hook fishing.

— A few, actually, but the sight of you in front of me, struggling like that, is quite lovely and entertaining.

With my comment, his demeanor changes completely, becoming cockier and self-assured. This, although he’s still desperately trying to recover his signature weapon.

—Then come to the docks with me,— he smirks, as he changes positions to find himself sitting in front of the lock, and begins picking it with a rake that he had inside his left boot, — we’ll get hammered with me crew and, you know, keep the heid.

As he works, his nose wrinkles, his brows come together in concentration, and his lips tighten in a thin line.

—As tempting as that sounds, I do have things to do.

It would be convenient to go with him. Ben and King did me specific instructions for my little trip, and this would make it easier. However, it just wouldn’t be my type of scene. I feel like I’ve had enough ‘new experiences’ for a few years, maybe.

—Aww, lass, ya hurting my feelings,— he fake pouts and, to no avail, tries to use a different rake.

—Feelings? Didn’t see that one coming,— I mock, gently pushing him to the side, and claim my turn with the tricky lock.

He’s about to complain, but I shush him and close my eyes. Due to the wards placed on the Isle, my magic is significantly weaker than it is on Auradon, but I can concentrate enough to channel it thanks to a locket that the king gave me for emergencies.

I grin as the cage opens itself, and immediately jump down, followed by my slightly shocked companion. Before he can, I grab the hook by the handle, and point the tip at him, just to swiftly turn it around for him to grab.

With his hook safely in his hand, he approaches the table and grabs a book, together with what seems to be a shell necklace. Then, he catches up with me outside the front door. We walk in silence for a few blocks, given that there is only one way out, and he breaks the silences that lingered between us.

—So, you know me name, yet I don’t know yours— he glances at me with curiosity and caution, —ain’t fair, lassie.

—What can I say, Hook, you are quite famous around here. I, on the other hand, am quite a lone wolf.

—Haven’t given me an answer yet, doll face,

— Name’s Y/N, daughter of queen Narissa.

—Y/N,— he tries it out, —and how come you have magic?

—Let’s say I found a loophole in the barrier.

—Uma’s gonna love this, — he says, giving me a smirk.

—Assuming I go with you, that is. I said I had things to do — I quirk a brow at him.

Before he can reply, we hear three sets of boots approaching us in a rhythmic pattern. It can only be them.

— Shit, — grumbles the pirate, then he grabs my arm and pulls me behind him and into a dark corner.

We remain silent as the steps die down, and then continue walking.

—Now that was close, thanks Harry,— I say, patting his left shoulder.

—Ya know how to properly thank me, lass,— he shrugs. His cockiness is beginning to become annoying but, to be honest, I cannot say that I don’t enjoy flirting. So, I decided to follow his game.

—Kind of sad, really,

— Away on, dollface, the hell ya mean by that?

I give him a sigh and shrug, — I just thought your game was better. Can’t believe that you sway every girl off her feet with a thick accent and a smirk.

— I did just save yer little witchy ass. You’re a buck eejit if that ain’t impressive.

— Not a ‘buck eejit’, whatever that shit means. — I chuckle dryly, — I’m just not gonna fall for your oh so great pirate act.

He shrugs, seemingly unbothered, — same here, doll, mysterious past ‘n shit gets boring real fast.

— Yet, here you are, still following some like a lost puppy.

Between flirting, bickering, and some laughter in between, we arrive at the corner that connects the docks to the way to my place.

— As much as I enjoy your gentlemanly antics, time to part ways.

— You’ll come to the ship tonight, I know it.

— You know, you’re not even my type, Harry— I claim.

He is kind of my type, you know? Handsome, witty, cocky, and fun to be with. Not totally boyfriend material, but maybe just for a good time; a rest from Auradon’s Perfect Peachy Prince wannabes.

Without a second glance, I start walking to the building I slept in but, before I’m out of view, I hear him say,—You do one me one, little witch,— and I grin.

— See you ‘round, Hook, — I reply over my shoulder.

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apparitionism · 4 years

Text

Run

This is a pointless AU, a little idea from elsewhere that’s in the process of turning into a story-esque thing, not a comedy or a drama as such, just a “here’s another way two people might find their way to each other” tale. Also I’ve never deployed a Giselle character, really, and I figured I might as well try. She’s not a bad guy, mind you, nor even an obstacle; the only obstacles, at base, are misunderstandings and circumstances. Conventional ones. They might accurately be called clichéd. Anyway, this is some kind of starting line. Bang. (That’s meant to be a starter’s pistol, by the way; don’t be getting any ideas.)

Run

At four in the morning, Myka Bering sat three steps from the bottom of the dark staircase in her apartment’s foyer and pushed her feet into new running shoes. They looked like nothing special: a standard navy blue faux leather, with their manufacturer’s stylized “Z” logo embossed in silver on the sides. The pristine white of both the slim soles and the no-tie laces pleased her, despite the fact that their just-out-of-the-box luster would of course start graying at the first exposure to the city.

Myka stood up in the shoes and bounced on her toes, her ritual commencement of every day’s run.

The instant her heels left the ground, she understood just how difficult her life was about to become.

For this decidedly unspecial-seeming shoe—the Deceit—represented the latest attempt by the Zelus athletic corporation to gain an insurmountable advantage in the sport of running.

Myka’s job was to stop them.

At her desk at work later that morning, Myka revised, for accuracy, her overly dramatic thought of the morning: a small part of her job was to help stop them. Her actual job was to co-direct certification and compliance for Athletics Authority International, the globe-spanning organization that governed running, jumping, and throwing events. The organization regularly dealt with issues of equipment inappropriately boosting performance; thus Deceits, understood one way—nondramatically—were just the latest technological challenge to the idea of a level playing field.

But based on her morning’s run, Myka did not think Deceits could be understood nondramatically.

“Did you try the Deceits yet?” she asked Pete Lattimer, her co-directing partner. They had taken to joking that in their area, he was the “athletics”—an Olympic-team-alternate decathlete—while she was the “international,” for she’d got her job based largely on her wide-ranging language fluency. Myka suspected that today, athletics aside, his answer would be “no”; they’d received the shipment of test shoes only a few days ago, and Pete was focusing more on language than sports lately anyway, Duolingo-ing his heart out in Spanish so as to one day be able to impress Kelly Hernandez, head of Latin American outreach, such that she would first agree to go to lunch with him and then, swayed partially by his language skills but mostly by his charm, acknowledge that they were destined to spend their lives together. Myka wasn’t at all sure Kelly was going to persuaded by Pete’s bilingual (or “bilingual”) flirting... though he was also concentrating heavily on vocabulary related to sandwiches, so he’d probably end up with at least a food-related happy ending.

“Nah,” he said, confirming her prediction about the shoes. “I’m guessing you must’ve, though. They as crazy as those trials records make ’em seem?”

“Crazier,” Myka said. “To me. But I want to know how they really feel. To a real athlete.”

“Somebody needs a real athlete? I see why Lattimer’s not up to it,” remarked a tall woman as she approached Myka’s desk. Myka looked up and smiled.

“Same goes for you, Giselle,” Pete said, but with cheer. “How’s communications?”

“Turn those children over my knee if I could,” Giselle replied, equally cheerful. “That’s where you can help: how’s your javelin these days?”

“Why don’t you just run away? I thought you were supposed to be fast or something.”

Giselle Wade was fast—Myka knew it, and she knew Pete knew it too. Giselle was a legend in East Texas, where she had shattered high school track records, particularly at the longer distances. She’d done the same to NCAA times, placing some out of reach for what would probably be generations. U.S. bests had fallen to her too, though worlds had been elusive... but she had some impressive Olympic hardware all the same.

“Outran you,” Giselle said, which was true; her 1500-meter times were faster than Pete’s had ever been.

They would have gone on for a while before they wound down, but their jabs gave Myka the opening she needed. “Speaking of running,” she said to Giselle, “did you try the Deceits?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And exactly what you think,” Giselle said. Before Myka could get her to clarify, she went on, “And this very morning I heard Zelus wants to push a version with spikes for sprinters.”

Myka objected, “But the thin soles!” Sole height was a major issue. The Deceit’s predecessor shoe, the Zelus Induct—which had also given runners a clear advantage—had been recognizable due to its oversized sole, packed with lightweight foam, that effectively lengthened a runner’s legs. The sole contained within the foam a carbon plate that acted as a spring, enabling a stride that used less leg energy and thus translated into distance runners having more kick over an entire race. AAI had rapidly banned that shoe, but the Deceit upped the ante because it somehow managed to do all the Induct’s dirty work, and apparently even more, in a standard-sized sole. Sprinters’ soles were basically flat, though, so how could the foam and plates fit? Not to mention: “Why would Zelus want to start a fight on another front?”

“Some other company rolls out skinny little cheat spikes first if Zelus doesn’t get on it? Old story about the toothpaste and the tube? You know.” Giselle shrugged. “All we can do is try to slow it down.”

“Ha!” Pete barked. “I see what you did there! Slow it down! Fast shoes!”

Giselle shook her head and murmured “that man” mostly to herself, but a little bit to Myka, who nodded in sympathy a commensurate little bit. Then Giselle said, “Thank sweet Jesus I don’t have to run in Deceits or against them. Glad I’m out of that part of it now.”

“I’m glad I was never in it,” Myka said.

“You know you got the discipline,” Giselle said. She’d told Myka this before.

It was a real compliment, but: “I don’t have the gift,” Myka responded, as she had in the past.

“Discipline counts. Makes up for a lot.”

“Those Deceits do too,” Myka said. “I barely even broke a sweat this morning.”

“That’s a shame.”

Myka offered a “huh?” expression, though she was pretty sure she knew what was coming.

“You, all hot and sweaty?” And Giselle sighed, a parody of infatuation. “Yes indeed...”

Myka rolled her eyes, and then they both laughed. It was a ritual: Giselle “flirted,” Myka “suffered,” they laughed.

Some months ago, not long after Giselle had been brought on board by AAI, she’d asked Myka out.

“I have a boyfriend,” Myka had said, because that was what she almost always said, as a learned reflex, in situations like that.

“Well,” Giselle said. “Look at me, getting the wrong impression. Sorry, Myka. Guess we’ll keep it professional.”

Giselle tended to put a drag on the last word of every sentence, a vocal habit that kept a listener hanging: would she say more? It might or might not have been intentional, but it was effective, particularly when combined with her linger of a Texas drawl. Thus her “professional” came out “pro... fess... io... nal.” Myka half-expected her to follow up with “or not.”

“Well,” Myka said back, when it became apparent that no more was in fact forthcoming, “not totally professional. We can still get coffee, right?” Because she did like Giselle.

Ah, there it was: Giselle gave her a still-flirty head toss and said, “Not to make the same mistake twice, but I did ‘get coffee’ with a lady one time and it turned into three days in Monaco. So we’ll see...”

Myka rolled her eyes, but then she laughed, and Giselle did too: the start of the ritual.

That should have been that.

But an international athletic governing body was apparently like every other semi-hermetically sealed social environment: a school, a team, a lab. Things got around. Mere hours after that conversation—which, granted, had taken place in the 40th-floor elevator lobby, the transit funnel for every employee of AAI, which occupied the entirety of that skyscraper level—Pete had marched back into their area from lunch and confronted Myka with, “I heard Giselle asked you out.”

Myka had tried not to respond, because really, what was there to say?

He went on, “And I heard you told her you have a boyfriend, which is what you said way back in history when I asked you out.”

“History? That was less than two years ago.”

“Anyway, I heard she believed you. Just like I did.”

“That was the idea. With her and with you.”

“I still don’t see why you didn’t just say ‘Pete, I don’t want to go out with you.’ It would’ve been fine.”

“I’d barely met you. I had no idea if you’d be a decent guy about it.”

“But I am a decent guy. About everything! So it would’ve been fine.”

“But I didn’t know you were a decent guy.” She had barely started at AAI; all she’d known about Pete Lattimer was that he’d been a decent decathlete. And that was no help at all, for every new coworker she met was a former Olympian or member of some national team or at least a famous ex-coach. It all made her feel as if she had no business working for the organization in the first place. They should have said that “athletic” was a requirement... each successive introduction seemed to drum with more force into her that a law degree and several languages were nothing against a sub-four mile.

Given that insecurity, she hadn’t needed any additional inputs or variables, so when Pete had said, “We should get dinner after work sometime,” she’d said what she almost always said, as a learned reflex, in situations like that. It had become a reflex because regardless of any other complicating circumstances—such as a new job where her body itself didn’t belong—it was easier. It was almost always easier than whatever might follow her saying anything else.

Pete said, “You didn’t know I was a decent guy, so you lied about having a boyfriend. And now you’ve lied about it again.”

She’d winced at the word “lied.” It was accurate, but she didn’t like it. Then you probably shouldn’t do it, her conscience told her. She told it to shut up. Then she told Pete, “I know that and you know that. Giselle doesn’t need to know that.”

“But you already like her better than you would’ve ever liked me.” At that, Myka started to protest, but he waved her off. “You know I mean because she’s a lady. Why didn’t you say you have a girlfriend?”

Speaking of what was easier: “boyfriend” was easier than “girlfriend.” It raised fewer questions, and it raised fewer... thoughts. And that was easier too.

It was supposed to raise fewer thoughts, anyway.

Fortunately, Pete hadn’t waited for an answer, or for Myka to start thinking any thoughts, instead moving on to what he clearly found most important: “And lady-wise, don’t you think she’s hot? I think she’s hot.”

Myka sighed. “Yes, I think she’s hot. In fact I know she’s hot. I have eyes.”

“So go out with her. She’s hot, you’re hot. Sizzle!”

“I just don’t want to.”

“Then why didn’t you go ahead and tell her that? Do you think she isn’t a decent guy?”

“Pretty sure she’s not a guy at all,” Myka had said, trying to joke him into just... stopping.

She didn’t want to get into the complicated conversation that would have ensued if she’d admitted to having genuinely, if fleetingly, regretted her reflex—because he certainly wasn’t wrong about Giselle being a woman, and he double-certainly wasn’t wrong about her looks. She was stunning; she’d had that wildly successful athletic career, then transitioned with seemingly no friction at all into modeling, at which she was even more wildly successful. Her legs were as long as the miles she used to run, and Myka was certainly, in that sense, human.

But Giselle had already developed a reputation at AAI, despite her brief tenure, for what could charitably be called a... short attention span. Maybe it was the inevitable result of her having been able to have just about anything—and anyone—she wanted, in not one but two elevated realms, or maybe it had always been Giselle’s personality as a romantic socializer, but while Myka had no trouble observing it from the outside, as a characteristic of her friend Giselle, she didn’t particularly want to be subjected to it. What if she slipped and overinvested? Exactly the kind of difficulty she didn’t need, regardless of any other complicating circumstances. Exactly the kind of difficulty she had never needed, and if she had slipped and fallen into it in the past? Well, that was the past, and she certainly didn’t need to revisit any part of that, much less repeat it.

These months later, however, some days Myka had a vague sense that a day should come when she should talk herself into telling Giselle she didn’t have a (nonexistent) boyfriend anymore. A day, that was to say, when she should ask for Giselle’s attention, if only for a short span. It seemed normal, human, to think that a short span of time, even if it led to a complicating slip and overinvestment, might—should?—be better than nothing, and so some days, Myka tried to want to talk herself into that.

But on different days, she’d think, definitively, I don’t want to. Because talking herself into it felt dishonest. Even if Giselle subscribed solely to Pete’s “she’s hot, you’re hot; sizzle” theory of the case, even if both of them might have enjoyed much of that short span of time: dishonest. Inauthentic. Deceitful.

“You’re not very good at having fun, are you?” Pete had asked her once, when she’d told him, in response to his sincere inquiry, that she had never actually dreamed of having Disneyland all to herself for a day. She’d agreed that no, she really wasn’t very good at having fun, and he’d said, “You need to get out more. Maybe not to Disney, but you need to get out more.”

You need to get out more. She’d laughed at him, because the most out she ever got, away from work, was for her 4am run. That, she could talk herself into without feeling dishonest at all. Far from it: she reveled in the discipline required for that strict self-persuasion every day, which was probably why she’d found that she could, ultimately, work well—reasonably well—with athletes. Athletics at its highest level was discipline, and Giselle and Pete and most of the others could see that Myka got that, even had that, as Giselle kept telling her.

But as Myka always told Giselle in return (not that Giselle needed telling), for real athletes, that discipline had to be kissed by the divine, and Myka had no access to such physical divinity. None at all. She was an exercise runner, lowest of the low in terms of athletic esteem. She knew because that was how the athletes said it, with a twist of pity: exercise runner. That was what she was, and she knew it.

Until she ran in the Deceits.

They were named, of course, for their unassuming look and for the illicit advantage they gave the world-class athletes. But for Myka-the-unesteemed, they were differently deceptive: they made her feel like A Runner. Giselle and her peers had been born with the kind of legs these shoes changed Myka’s into, springing from the ground with power, creating a feeling of “this is my body; this is what it can do, and if I push, still more,” and miraculously—deceptively—there was still more it could be pushed to do. Myka felt like her body before the Deceits had been Clark Kent, like it had been waiting for the chance to reveal that it wore the suit and had superpowers, like this had always been how she could run.

It wasn’t real. But it felt real.

So she understood why Deceits were breaking records—speed records now, but eventually, they would break sales records, too.

She also understood, very clearly, that they should be banned.

Even for exercise runners like her: deceiving oneself, Myka felt, was worse than deceiving others, regardless of whether they were fellow competitors or the outside world in general. Just as she didn’t want to talk herself into Giselle, she didn’t want to run every morning in those shoes. If she did, that self-deception would become a habit of mind, and Myka deep-knew that being clear-eyed about oneself was essential. A moral duty, her inner rector told her, and even though she would probably have been happier to not live her life quite that ramrod-straight (to, for example, be better at having fun), it had been her thought as she’d begun that first run in the Deceits. She’d kept on thinking it, throughout her entire route, as she devoured the miles with her newly athletic strides. Clear-eyed, mor-al, du-ty. Right-left, right-left, right-left.

Administratively, the world of athletics moved at a speed inverse to that of the track. The relatively “rapid” ban of the Deceit’s predecessor had taken six months to work out and implement, so it was no surprise that several weeks elapsed before AAI even scheduled negotiations with Zelus reps over the new shoes. They would be delicate, the negotiations, for Zelus money was essential to the sport. It was imperative not to make any penalties too prohibitive or too “insulting” to the company or its affiliates. Could already-ratified world records set in Deceits be voided? Would that lead to Zelus-sponsored athletes boycotting competitions? Could Deceits be banned? Would that be at all enforceable?

Myka knew that Dan Badger, the president and CEO of AAI, would be scrutinizing everything she and Pete and their team proposed. Newly appointed to show that AAI was turning a regulatory corner, he had made clear that his watchword was “integrity,” and that applied not only to the sport as a whole, but to every athlete who participated in it, every piece of equipment they touched, every employee under his purview, every official action they took. Unofficial actions, too: there was, as far as Myka could tell, no ethical give in Badger’s worldview. Where prior heads might have made a handshake deal of some sort with Zelus’s own CEO with regard to the Deceits—and Myka suspected something along those lines had occurred for the Inducts, most likely involving a wink-nod to the already-in-the-pipelines Deceits—Badger would have considered the mere suggestion of such a thing a personal affront.

“Why doesn’t Badge like you more?” Pete once asked Myka. “You’re exactly like him.” Myka wasn’t, in fact, exactly like him, for Badger was an athlete’s athlete, a hurdling champion from a decades-ago golden age of British track and field. That gilded aura was a carapace around him, deflecting whatever might have been directed his way from beings he considered lesser, including nonathletes like Myka. It wasn’t actively insulting or cruel, just... clear. The athletes called him “Badge,” among themselves and to his face, while Myka had the sense that if she uttered that collegial syllable, no one, and certainly not the man himself, would even perceive that any sound had escaped her lips.

Pete wasn’t entirely wrong, though; Myka had enough consonance with Badger that she couldn’t quite bring herself to resent him. His absolutely unimpeachable reputation was supplemented by the fact that he looked exactly as an athletic lion of his age and era should: face appropriately tanned for health and creased for character, hair silver and full, height calibrated as if to the millimeter to be imposing but not incongruous. He was the ideal figurehead for an organization that wanted to burnish its standing as a virtuous guardian of all that was competitively good in athletics.

In the end, Myka’s own inclinations aligned with her need to fulfill Badger’s expectations, yet neither she nor he could change the underlying economics of the sport. She might have been moved, under other circumstances, to restore her single-run-sullied Deceits to their silver Zelus box and push that box to the back of her closet, but instead she spent an inordinate amount of time looking at them. Was there any way at all to tell, just by looking, that they could do what they did?

Enforcement was a matter of measurement and testing, but these shoes were a drug for which no test existed. AAI had hired a group of materials engineers to take them apart, so Myka now knew how they did what they did: even newer foam, plus two carbon plates, set at angles to each other. They really might as well have been springs—invisible to the outside-shoe naked eye, but springs all the same.

AAI could nominally ban double-plate soles, but it couldn’t possibly dismantle every Zelus runner’s footwear at every event to ensure that the ban was being respected. Myka saw no way out other than to ban Zelus shoes across the board (for she’d been thinking, too, of what Giselle had said about spikes), but that brought her back to financial impossibility. And around she went again. And again. And again.

Fortunately or unfortunately, the rest of athletics administration proceeded without heed for Deceits, no matter how long Myka stared at them, no matter how many negotiating scenarios she tried, unfruitfully, to game out. Meets and championships and trials all continued, requiring level upon level of authorization and accompanying paperwork...

One morning, Myka was concentrating, squint-eyed, on a spreadsheet when she felt a tap on her shoulder. “Pete,” she began, still squinting at her screen, “I told you if I don’t approve the new certification tables for posting this morning—”

“I’m so sorry,” said an English-accented female voice, “but I’m not Pete. And I seem to be lost.”

Myka looked up. No, you’re not, was her first thought, which resolved into: You’re not Pete, and you’re not lost. You belong right here.

TBC

A few notes, just because:

I made up the governing body; it’s intended to be vaguely like the real organization World Athletics (formerly IAAF), which determines what’s allowable in track and field competition, but I’m not trying to replicate its structure at all. Further, the actual organization maintains that it doesn’t consult with shoe companies before making regulatory decisions... whether you believe that claim is of course entirely up to you.

Two passages from Freud’s Civilization and Its Discontents are in some sense guiding my thinking here (because I’m like that). The first is this: “Man has, as it were, become a kind of prosthetic God. When he puts on all his auxiliary organs he is truly magnificent; but these organs have not grown on to him and they still give him much trouble at times.” He’s talking about cars and eyeglasses and such things, but obviously the idea is applicable to athletic tech. An idea from a little earlier in the book seems relevant as well: “What we call happiness in the strictest sense comes from the (preferably sudden) satisfaction of needs which have been dammed up to a high degree, and it is from its nature only possible as an episodic phenomenon.” Right? We’ll see about that latter part though, Dr. Freud.

Finally, as that rude anon suggested some months ago, I’m obviously speaking to a community that’s mostly inactive now. But I’m a keeper of faith: one of the things I do best is wait. So one point of this story is that it exists. I’m waiting. C’mon and wait with me, if you like.

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Run #AU week

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