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why-not-go-with-style · 5 years

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Ineffable husbands not fully understanding the parental impact they have on Warlock. Maybe it’s not till after the apocalypse that they check in with him, maybe at school, and all the adults are just - “Omg you must be Warlock’s parents!!!! We’ve heard so much about you!” And it keeps happening everywhere they go (much to their absolute joy). Just lots of hugs for poor warlock

I need very little encouragement to write about Warlock’s shenanigans. Thank you for enabling me, anon, because this was a delight to write. I tried to have some fun with narration in this one.

***

The Dowling family was, by most measures, rich. Any family in possession of such a garden which sprawled out for many paces across their estate is rich by at least some measures. As any self-respecting rich family they’ve had a whole platoon of workers, including (but not limited to) maids, cooks, bodyguards and drivers. Most of these are irrelevant to us, just as they were irrelevant to the Dowling family, nothing beyond things of convenience. However, as the reader would, no doubt, be aware, there was a pair of beings on Dowling’s payroll who deserve most careful attention. One was the estate’s gardener, and the other was a nanny.

Despite deserving the attention, they often found themselves lacking it. The other servants endowed them with nothing beyond friendly greetings and gossip-filled smalltalk, as they would endow all others who found themselves in the position of employment by the household. The two masters of the house, the American ambassador and his wife, couldn’t care less about what their employees did as long as they did their jobs, and their jobs, in the couple’s eyes, were to take care of the garden and take care of their child respectively. The garden blossomed, and the young boy grew, so the gardener and the nanny have found themselves, on most occasions, remarkably unsupervised by the human eye.

But of course every rule has an exception, even if it is, at first, not perceived to be such.

That is to say, when the nanny and the gardener remarked to each other that they were often unsupervised by the human eye, they left out one member of the household who was, as far as they were aware, decisively not human. Little Warlock Dowling, the supposed Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness, has never once let them out of his sight for long.

The gardener and the nanny have agreed that such undivided attention from him must have been due to the fact that he sensed, deep inside, their ethereal or occult energies. What they have failed to recognise was the fact that a young child, by and large neglected his whole life by his parents, who preferred to have him in front of a TV screen and not in front of them, had simply latched onto the first pair of adults who seemed to not protest his company. And if said adults were slightly more... peculiar than others – well, young Warlock maintained, all the better.

There were many things he has noticed about Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth. Some of the things he has noticed would amuse them were he ever to voice them out loud. Some would puzzle them. Some would – perhaps – fluster them, if delivered at the right time in the right tone of voice. But Warlock was blissfully unaware of what the right time or the right tone of voice might be, so he kept his thoughts to himself, and instead asked Nanny to tell him another story.

(Nanny told delightful stories. Still, it was, perhaps, for the better that his parents never payed Warlock enough attention to listen to him retelling one of them, because then the circle of staff associated with the Dowling household might have expanded to include a therapist).

In any case, the boy grew under watchful and not entirely human eyes, and if demon Crowley and angel Aziraphale had their secret meetings outside of the estate grounds, to compare notes and exchange smiles, Warlock was none the wiser. He learned to read, and to write, and to solve problems. His father signed him up for an elite school, and a driver was assigned to take him there in the mornings and bring him back again in the afternoons. The Arrangement (of which he knew nothing) worked just as expected – the heavenly influences balanced out the hellish ones, and on the whole, apart from a taste for violence in fiction and an altruistic streak outside of it, what the boy grew to be was remarkably normal.

(Too bloody normal, Crowley insisted, in the same tone of voice in which he would insist later that Aziraphale really should have listened to him back then).

It was midway through December, as dull as winters often are (the only part of Britain which got nearly enough snow that year, or any year, was Tadfield), when Mrs. Harriet Dowling approached Nanny Ashtoreth, after the driver has carefully off-loaded her shopping bags in the corridor to be picked up by the maid.

“Hello, dear,” Harriet nodded distractedly. Nanny Ashtoreth made the kind of face she always made when anyone but the only being allowed to do so called her “dear”. “I’m going to need you to go to Warlock’s parent meeting tomorrow, and then you’re free to go for Christmas. We will call you when we’ll need you back.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nanny Ashtoreth said primly (and if she had no intention to leave the estate when the Dowlings were on their holiday in Egypt, or Hawaii, or whatever other place they have chosen that year, her employer had no business knowing it). “Have a terrific holiday.”

(One must note, unlike Mrs. Dowling who was too preoccupied by directing the maids to note anything, that much like “nice”, the word “terrific” used to have an entirely different meaning, and Nanny Ashtoreth has lived through enough years to know it. On a completely unrelated note, the only person to enjoy the upcoming trip will have been little Warlock, but that is a story for another time).

The next day, at one in the afternoon precisely, a big black car pulled up to the gates of Warlock’s school. Nanny Ashtoreth stepped out of it and followed the displayed signs towards Warlock’s classroom, while simultaneously waving her hand at said signs to make them point in all manners of different directions (for she had to stay on-brand). There were stairs, and glass walls, and motivational posters (which she considered changing a tad, but ultimately decided that it would be a bit on-the-nose). The school was exactly what one would expect from the kind of overpriced education facility demon Crowley has once earned a commendation for. It was probably for the better (worse, technically, which in Hell’s books was, of course, better) if the Antichrist were to grow up surrounded by spoiled brats. He needed a reason to hate humanity, after all.

Nanny Ashtoreth made her way to the classroom and greeted the man at the door with a polite but tight-lipped smile. He glanced down at the paper in his hands, scanning across the surnames.

“Afternoon, ma’am. You’re here for..?”

“Warlock,” she said. “Warlock Dowling.”

The man did a double take, looking back up at her from where his pencil skimmed down the list. Nanny Ashtoreth, perhaps because she had been simply observant, or perhaps because picking up on negative emotions was practically in her job description (no, the other one), could almost feel the disapproval suddenly radiating off him. She quirked one eyebrow up and held his gaze from behind the darkened sunglasses.

“You’re his mother, then?” the man asked, feigning a smile in that impeccable way only teachers can. “Adrien Franks. My pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Franks,” nanny nodded, offering her hand when he didn’t. “However, Mrs. Dowling is unfortunately busy today. Antonia Ashtoreth to your service.”

The man’s demeanour changed within seconds. Nanny Ashtoreth was left to watch in almost bewildered fascination how his polite smile morphed into a friendly grin as he grasped her hand in his.

“Oh, do excuse me!” he exclaimed. “I just thought – I probably shouldn’t have. My mistake. Are you his nanny, then?”

“That’s me,” she nodded, squinting at him. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d know of me.”

“Oh, we do,” the teacher shrugged, stepping aside to let her inside the classroom, a surprisingly quiet place without the children. There were parents (or substitutes) already inside, but they elected to eye one another suspiciously instead of socialising, as any self-respecting rich people do when surrounded by other rich people. “We get the kids to talk about their home life, to get to know them, you understand, and Warlock barely mentions his parents.”

“I wonder why,” Nanny Ashtoreth muttered. Somewhere far away Harriet Dowling dropped a wooden clothes hanger on her foot and swore.

“Yes, well, it happens. Unfortunately,” Mr. Franks sighed. “Fortunately, however, for Warlock at least, he has you.”

“Me?”

“Well, you, and the gardener – Brother Francis, was it? Warlock never stops going on about you.” Mr. Franks put the list of surnames on one of the desks, then walked back to her, clearly happy to get to break the silence. “I’m glad he has people like you in his life. He seems to look up to both of you greatly.”

“Is that so?” the nanny hummed, noncommittally. She wasn’t sure whether that was something a young Antichrist should be doing – looking up to an angel, Satan forbid! – but she was going to keep her comments to herself until she could discuss it with the said angel in the privacy of the gardener’s cottage. (Aziraphale, of course, would find it rather distasteful that the boy would even think of looking up to a demon).

“Oh, absolutely,” the teacher nodded with enthusiasm. “Of course, he has a bit of an imagination on him, Warlock, so some things he says are... a bit funny, at times, but that’s not what matters. What matters is that there are people in his life taking such good care of him. You’d be surprised how often his classmates feel ignored at home.”

“No, I don’t think I would,” Nanny Ashtoreth muttered, throwing a glance around the room. The teacher gave her an awkward smile.

“Or perhaps you wouldn’t,” he conceded. “In any case, Warlock is a good kid, Ms. Ashtoreth. Thanks for looking after him. You and Brother Francis both.”

He sounded sincere. It was, in nanny’s experience, hard to find humans who would be so sincere, especially amongst the teachers. She would never admit it, but there was something about people who cared so much for children who weren’t their own which made her if not soft, then at least somewhat hopeful about the human race (and wasn’t it ironic that they were talking about its untimely demise?).

“I will pass your thanks onto him,” she said, seriously. And then: “I think the children are back from lunch. Shouldn’t we start?”

Adrien Franks looked at the clock, then at the door. He knitted his eyebrows together when he saw the kids flooding in through the doorway, their voices filling the room in a way that would have been impossible to miss (and yet). He shrugged to himself, decided that he must have been terribly engrossed in the conversation, and took his place at the teacher’s desk.

He watched, almost unintentionally, how little Warlock’s eyes lit up at the sight of his nanny, and how he barged into her, wrapping his thin arms around her waist. She gave him an almost-smile and petted his tousled hair as he babbled about something Adrien could not hear over the general commotion of the room. He looked over the surnames list (which was now inexplicably on his own desk), decided that enough adults were present (some could stand to learn that not everyone in the world will wait for them), and cleared his throat to announce the beginning of the parents meeting.

Yes, he decided. Warlock Dowling was in good hands.

(It was probably for the best that he didn’t say it out loud, though).

***

I’ve had a whole another scene planned out, with Aziraphale this time, but the fic was getting a little long (and the scene wouldn’t quite fit, frankly). If someone wants to see it though, please notify me, for I would love to write it!

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #warlock dowling #nanny ashtoreth #brother francis #who is barely mentioned but shhh #allie scribbles #allie does prompts #very slowly but i promise i’ll get to tbe rest of them!!

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calamity-bean · 5 years

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Aziraphale/Crowley Fic Recs

AKA “There is SO much Good Omens fic nowadays, with more being added at SUCH an incredible rate, that I keep forgetting to bookmark things and thus completely lose track of what I’ve read and what I liked and which ones to watch for updates and which ones I might want to read again and etc etc. So, for the sake of my own sanity, I have made A List.”

And I thought, hey, might as well share.

I’ve divided this list into WIPs and Complete Works, but otherwise, it’s a jumble: canon-verse and AUs, short and long, ranging in rating from G to E and incorporating various tropes and headcanons. I tend to gravitate toward happy endings, so there’s probably nothing too dark or soul-crushing, but as always, buyer beware, pay attention to tags and content warnings and your own personal tastes. Works are listed in chronological order of first publishing, simply as a neutral and objective way to list them, and more will be added intermittently as I read new ones or rediscover ones I forgot.

Hope this helps someone find some good reading and directs more attention to some well-deserving work!

-- WIPs --

On Espionage and Prophecy (or How to Accidentally, but Wholly, Fall in Love With a Soho Bookseller) by RockSaltAndRoll (June 15, 2019)

1941 is the London Blitz and the year that MI5 really comes into its own with the now infamous ‘double cross’ system. The service keep tabs on suspects, root out enemy agents and try to turn them into doubles.

Anthony J Crowley is fucking great at this job. He can be sneaky, underhanded and damn ruthless but also charming and kind. It’s what makes him good at turning.

Aziraphale is just a regular Soho bookseller who loves his shop and books and good food and wine when he’s approached by a woman claiming to be MI5, wanting to recruit him for espionage. The poor man is too trusting and gets the shock of his life when he’s approached by a charming but dangerous-looking man also claiming to be MI5.

Crowley recruits Aziraphale to double cross a double crosser and Aziraphale takes to espionage like a duck to water.

Danger, hijinks, and sex ensue.

Show Me a Great Plan by WriteDreamLie (June 17, 2019)

A.J. Crowley is an eccentric "business man." A.Z. Fell is a bookseller who refuses to sell any books.

After Fell (unwillingly) helps Crowley out of a sticky situation, the two become oddly fixed on each other. And their relationship could just be the thing that saves them both.

icing on the cake by Etheostoma (June 18, 2019)

Between the black attire, swaying hips, slouching pose, and affected “devil-may-care” attitude that actually belied an incredibly sensitive nature, A.J. Crowley was a walking puzzle—and one that Aziraphale, when he allowed his thoughts free rein, wanted desperately to solve.

That being said, at the end of the day Crowley was also technically his employer, and therefore even the thought of anything more was decidedly not a Good Idea.

Vita Nova by AMidnightDreary (June 18, 2019)

“Angel, bloody hell. Hi. You doing okay? Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

It was quiet for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said then, still polite, but a bit perplexed. “Who is this?”

Crowley, upon finding that Aziraphale does not remember him, is very much Not Okay with the changes Adam made after the Apocalypse That Wasn't. He can't do anything but try and make the best out of it, though. (Which is a lot easier than it should be.)

Sparse Clutter by ItsClydeBitches (June 26, 2019)

A fic bingo collection featuring twenty-five, one word prompts. Whole thing is probably best described as "Ineffable husbands stupidity with a hefty dose of gen world building," but I'll chuck brief summaries below as I update!

Strange Pilgrims: Being the Account of a lost Angel, the Journeys of a Demon, the meaning of Free Will, of the Unravelling of a Prophecy, and of Being Unravelled by it in Turn by sousverre (June 26, 2019)

"Aziraphale going missing" would be quite enough drama for Crowley to be getting on with, thanks very much - even without a prophecy that seems to be implying the significance of Feelings, and especially with every gargoyle in London trying to reunite them.

But when he does find the angel, Aziraphale has lost his memory, his wings, and insists that he is happily married to some kind of investment banker.

Right. So the first step is to fix all that, somehow, and then - and then - and then everything can go back to normal, like it was before, which is all Crowley wants.

Right.

How do we fix this?

Put Out The Fire by Aleakim (June 27, 2019)

Aziraphale finds himself in a very awkward position as some sort of spell makes everyone merely glancing in his direction instantly fall deeply and desperately in love with him.

Absolutely everyone.

Well, apart from Crowley, that is.

And while both angel and demon search for a solution to this fairly unique problem, Crowley can’t help wondering whether Aziraphale might finally figure out some things he kept hidden for so very long.

Ink Blots and Forget-Me-Nots by gutsandglitter (July 3, 2019)

Ninth Circle Ink was hardly more than a stone’s throw from the flower shop; Aziraphale knew from past experience that it took less than thirty seconds to go from door to door (forty-five if you had to wait for a car to pass). It had been a perfect arrangement in the beginning, when they were just starting out.

aka the flower shop/tattoo parlor (human) exes AU that nobody asked for!

You Can Have Your Cake by eragon19 (July 4, 2019)

Aziraphale has been working as Anathema's assistant at her wedding planning service for near on a year now. He thinks he's seen it all, from meddling parents to nervous brides, and in one case an ex with a penchant for arson.

What he isn't prepared for is a reluctant groom with a liking for black leather and a smile that has Aziraphale's mind going to places it most certainly shouldn't. Especially since the man is getting married, no matter how awful his fiance is...

To the Stars by StarRose (July 9, 2019)

The happy ending Titanic!Au no one ever writes but everyone always imagines in every possible fandom. Aziraphale is being forcibly sent to America to be forcibly married to Gabriel. Crowley is going to forcibly screw that up.

A Matter of Convenience by ylc (July 15, 2019)

There comes a time when even the most fervent enemies must call a truce and what better way to cement such truce than a marriage? And if the involved parties happen to be the most troublesome members of the ruling families… well, that’s all for the best, isn’t it?

Barriers, and the Breaking Thereof by Cardinal_Daughter (July 16, 2019)

Ezra Fell has long been comfortable in his loneliness. He’s content to simply run the Soho Public Library and otherwise keep to himself. However, when a handsome stranger bursts in one evening with a baby, frantic and in need of help, Ezra finds those carefully constructed barriers he’s long maintained begin to crack.

Perhaps it’s time to let them fall.

Series of one-shots focusing on the lives and developing relationship between Ezra Fell and Anthony J. & Adam Crowley. Human AU.

Lavender, Chamomile, and a Rather Permanent Arrangement by southdownsraph (July 17, 2019)

Crowley owns the flower shop across the street from A. Z. Fell's tattoo shop, and can't help but be intrigued by the slightly eccentric, yet incredibly friendly tattoo artist. When Crowley does finally pluck up the courage to talk to him beyond the occasional pleasantries, he kicks off the beginning of a friendship that could so easily drift into something else entirely.

Pride and Prejudice and Angels by SanSanFanFan (July 20, 2019)

Hampshire, England, 1809

Miss Crowley's plans for a small temptation near the South Coast go awry as she realises that Aziraphale is not only a guest of a neighbouring landed gentlelady but also suffering under some kind of malady.

Match-making! Balls! Fainting! Happily Ever Afters???

Celestial Bodies by LieutenantLiv (August 3, 2019)

The year is 1923. Aziraphale's friends at the gentlemen's club invite him for a weekend away in Devon. He asks Crowley to join. It gets very silly and very messy very quickly.

That's just how things were in the roaring twenties.

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm (August 9, 2019)

As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following:

--His clothing was expensive and stylish; --He wore very strange but noticeable cologne; --His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;” --He looked angry; --He was wearing sunglasses.

What Aubrey Thyme, a professional, thought, upon first seeing her new client was: you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?

-- Complete Works --

Anthophilia by FortinbrasFTW (July 7, 2014)

Anthony J. Crowley's life seems like it's finally falling into place: his floral shop has begun to gain an undercurrent of appreciation in the design elite of London, and he might have even finally found a boyfriend who looks just right lounging on his Tenreiro sofa. Things seem almost perfect, until one day the empty shop across the street is leased to frumpy fellow Oxford alumni, who doesn't seem to remember Crowley nearly as well as he remembers him, which really shouldn't bother him as much as it does - it was ten years ago after all, and it wasn't even that good of a kiss.

The Rose Thief and the Priest by ImprobableDreams900 (January 8, 2018)

When horticulturist A. J. Crowley sees a rare breed of rose in a churchyard, he decides he won't stop until he can get a cutting—even if he has to go through the church's stuffy priest to do so.

Running in the Shadows (Damn Your Love, Damn Your Lies) by soft_october (May 10, 2019)

"In plain terms, Mr. A. Fell was a man of impeccable conduct and unusual habits, and in a similar manner to many of whom bore the first two traits, he must also take up the third: dire loneliness. Yet it had not always been thus. Indeed, there once was a time when it seemed as if he should never know solitude or want of suitable company for the rest of his days, but the circumstances by which Aziraphale might have unwound the knot that now bound up his heart had long since dragged themselves, mortally wounded, to die in the shades of regret. Their ghosts hung in his past, growing in consequence with the singular passing of each year until they eclipsed even the death of those who had the foremost hand in their making, and had the effect of separating the sequence of his days of into a gentle, blooming Before, whose painful beauty made the egregious scars of the After that much more appalling."

What Aziraphale does not know is that, from across the ocean, Mr. Anthony J. Crowley is returning to England with his newly aquired wealth, wanting nothing more than to rebuild his life after a terrible shock and, perhaps, discover why he had been abandoned by his fiancé ten long years ago.

You Might Think I’m Crazy (All I Want is You) by soft_october (March 29, 2019)

'“Look I understand, you’ve got to check up on the new occupants, make sure I’m a proper ‘fit’ for the neighborhood or whatever euphemism you’re going to use this time, 'the greater good,' I saw the film, I get it. But I peeked in at the place next door the agent mentioned and if you aren’t bothering him I really don't think you should be-”

“I’m your neighbor,” Aziraphale interrupted. “I own that place next door?”

“Oh.”'

Since the next shop over closed down, Aziraphale's had a peaceful few months, barring those unpleasant interactions with the men in cheap suits who keep trying to persuade him to sell his shop. But now a (handsome) new owner has taken up residence beside him and, horror of horrors, he wants to open up a coffee shop.

A Home at the Beginning of the World by stereobone (June 6, 2019)

"Oh," Aziraphale says. "I think Crowley might have moved in with me."

creatures of circumstance by attheborder (June 10, 2019)

Anthony J. Crowley, Jr. is the prodigal son of CrowleyCorp, the UK’s most powerful, dangerous, and controversial technology company.

A one-night stand with a mysterious man who calls himself Aziraphale tips his hopeless life upside-down into a dangerous obsession.

And somewhere else entirely, a girl-shaped creature is presiding over the back room of a bookshop in Soho, where an angel and a demon lay unconscious on the floor…

Bending Space and Time by Draco_sollicitus (June 11, 2019)

Crowley could never have envisioned a miracle quite like making an angel smile.

And when that angel is Aziraphale, well, he'll do whatever he can to experience that miracle again, and again, and again.

(Crowley spends the twentieth century bringing books to Aziraphale in an effort to make his angel smile a little more)

the words of the prophet are written on the subway walls by volantium (June 11, 2019)

Aziraphale and Crowley do the twenty-first century. (Or, Aziraphale and Crowley, dorks in love, post-Apocalypse).

a picnic plan for you and me by theapplepielifestyle (June 12, 2019)

“It’s angel food cake,” he said. He waited. When Aziraphale did nothing but nod politely: “It’s funny, see, ‘cause-”

“No, no, I get it.” Aziraphale nodded again. “Very funny.”

“Oh, shut up, it is-”

“May I ask what brought this on?”

Crowley paused. “Can’t a guy just want to try baking?”

(Or, Crowley makes Aziraphale food after the world doesn't end. It has absolutely nothing to do with how much he wants to make Aziraphale smile.)

with urgency but not with haste by Sanwall (June 13, 2019)

Aziraphale moves to the South Downs and gets bees, and Crowley gets into one of his moods.

The Play’s The Thing by volunteerfd (June 16, 2019)

“Who was at the very first rehearsal, hmm? Who read over Shakespeare’s shoulder as he put ink to parchment? If anything, I know Hamlet just as intimately as I know you.” Aziraphale picked up his teacup again and looked at Crowley over the rim of it. “Maybe even more.”

Crowley was tempted to ask if he’d fucked Hamlet.

****

Aziraphale is cast as the lead in a community theatre production of Hamlet, a lifelong dream of his and a lifelong night terror of Crowley's. But, as the hapless Crowley helps him run lines, it becomes a mystery why anyone would let Aziraphale on stage. Tears are shed, skulls are crushed, monologues are butchered, and through it all, Crowley remains supportive. After all, the show must go on--even if it is the fifty billionth production of stupid, overrated Hamlet.

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by 13thDoctor, JHarkness (June 17, 2019)

5 times Aziraphale and Crowley were mistaken for a couple, and the 1 time they weren’t.

A Regular Rip van Winkle by aurilly (June 20, 2019)

After almost an entire century spent asleep, Crowley wakes in 1888 to find the world more changed than he thought possible. His first order of business is to find his angel.

Also concerning the origin of the Baroque gavotte (spoilers: Aziraphale was feeling thirsty).

A bookshop is not a business by anactoriatalksback (June 22, 2019)

In which Aziraphale has no intention of selling books to anyone at all, let alone this infuriatingly persistent customer. No matter how nice his cheekbones are...

like a prayer for which no words exist by lipsstainedbloodred (June 23, 2019)

“What do you want, angel?” Crowley asks before Aziraphale is even properly in the room.

“Hullo my dear,” Aziraphale sounds cheery but also awfully worried, “I hadn’t seen you since - well, since-” Since they’d swapped bodies back; since Crowley had turned tail and ran from St. James’s Park like the Devil himself had been on his heels.

(in which Crowley and Aziraphale do not dine at the Ritz after that nasty business with Heaven and Hell, and Crowley has an existential crisis instead)

far too much in love to see by imperiousheiress (June 25, 2019)

“Hello, can I help you with anything in particular?” Aziraphale asks. And then, he freezes.

Inexplicably, impossibly, it’s the same man who had entered the shop the last time they’d been open. He’s sure of it. The man who he’d felt a rather insistent urge to garrote.

(Or, one of Aziraphale’s regular customers takes a little too much interest in Crowley, and Aziraphale feels somewhat unfamiliarly unpleasant about all of it.)

The Holiest by merle_p (June 26, 2019)

So when Aziraphale hears, through the grapevine, that an exorcism is supposed to happen on New Year’s Eve in Major Gruber’s flat, he knows that despite his general distaste for exorcisms, this is where he is going to be, on the slim chance that the demon Major Gruber and his spiritist friends have found is the same one Aziraphale appears to have lost.

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers by Gefionne (June 26, 2019)

Because they can’t see each other more than once every few decades, Aziraphale suggests that he and Crowley write to each other to pass the time apart. As quills for their letters, they exchange wing feathers: a gesture of great intimacy that Crowley is convinced only he perceives the depth of. But time will tell that it’s not just him who sees it that way.

Night and Day by Gigi_Sinclair (June 27, 2019)

Five times Aziraphale and Crowley encountered queer historical figures who know more about them than they do, and one time they actually have a clue.

Needed a break, gone to France x by sleepymccoy (June 28, 2019)

A week or so after the nopocalypse Aziraphale takes a holiday that, unfortunately, sends Crowley into a bit of a tailspin about where they're at

In Holy Matrimony by Myracuulous (June 29, 2019)

From the private journal of Alisha Jones, wedding planner, concerning the nuptials of Anthony J Crowley and Aziraphale and the planning process thereof, containing an account of chosen decor, guest list construction, and the holy war against the Antichrist that nearly ruined six months of professional organization and a very nice dinner.

Acts of Service by seekwill (July 2, 2019)

After receiving direct instruction from God, village reverend Aziraphale leaves his countryside congregation to serve the underserved and in-need at an urban church in London, a transition made all the more complicated by the mysterious and handsome Crowley, who always seems to appear when Aziraphale least expects him.

greatest hits by attheborder (July 2, 2019)

“But my dear, I just can’t believe you never told me that you had joined a musical group. I would have come out to support you— at your gigs!”

“First of all, never say ‘gigs’ again. Second of all, not my fault you never noticed when I showed up to dinner with a great big guitar case slung over my shoulder.”

(Aziraphale accidentally discovers Crowley’s secret: he was in a band in the 90s. And he wrote a whole album of love songs…)

Nanny Knows Best by DictionaryWrites (July 5, 2019)

Being a nanny, that should be simple. Simple. Easy as pie.

Crowley wished that were true.

human childcare for the occult (and ethereal) by suzukiblu (July 10, 2019)

The Dowlings miraculously need a nanny and a gardener at the same time, and Aziraphale suggests they flip for it. Crowley takes one moment to picture Aziraphale nannying anyone and calls dibs. It’s not that Aziraphale’s terrible with humans, he’s just, well. Terrible with humans. Truly, truly terrible.

He doesn’t want to deal with Aziraphale getting metaphorically guillotined or kicking up security’s paranoia, basically. A gardener can be a little odd, and no one will notice or care. Except Warlock, perhaps, as the only other person with any real reason to spend much time out on the lawn, but Warlock’s the one they want noticing so that’ll be fine, Crowley’s sure.

Even if it does make him cringe a little, leaving Aziraphale in charge of the plants.

keep me close by Iselmyr (July 17, 2019)

Aziraphale was expecting to see a talented but otherwise ordinary performance of Les Misérables with a genderswapped cast. Aziraphale was not expecting who came onstage.

Crowley was expecting an ordinary second night show, because Aziraphale always goes to opening nights, and Crowley never performs on them.

Except, this once, Aziraphale missed the opening, and came to the second night. Everything else snowballed from there.

lit in the darkness by ToEdenandBackAgain (July 17, 2019)

Aziraphale returns to Crowley's flat for the night after Armageddon. After all, it's hardly the first time they've shared sleeping arrangements. Or: Times throughout history Crowley and Aziraphale have shared a bed.

Reflect What You Are by Owenjones (July 17, 2019)

It's a year after the almost-apocalypse. Aziraphale makes Crowley go see a therapist.

“Have you been having any issues in particular?”

“Issues? Such as?”

“You tell me.” She could tell he had something on the tip of his tongue.

Crowley sat for a second, then blurted out, “He thinks I’ve been sleeping too much. He’s worried.”

An Answer to Prayer by Jupiter_Ash (July 20, 2019)

Prayers can be answered in a multitude of different ways. When it came to a certain cottage in the South Downs though, no one had expected it to be answered by the squealing wheels of a classic Bentley and Queen's Princes of the Universe.

All Karen wanted to do was sell a house.

The Ineffable Temptations of Oysters by gimpy_terry (July 20, 2019)

Wherein Aziraphale sometimes invites Crowley to dine on oysters with him and Crowley definitely takes him up on that offer.

did you open up your heart there? by weatheredlaw (July 21, 2019)

or were you quiet and afraid? — Aziraphale and Crowley meet over and over and over again. Aziraphale doesn't know what Crowley is, or why their souls can't seem to be parted, but he is a creature of love, and he's not going to argue with that.

A Machine for Living In by pineapplesquid (August 6, 2019)

All Crowley wants is to see the inside of the bookshop so that he can get this design for the building next door done so the clients will be happy and his bosses will stop yelling. What A.Z. Fell wants, apparently, is for Crowley and the project that’s he’s working on to disappear. Permanently.

One of these might be more attainable than the other.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #fic recs #op #also PLEASE let me know if any of the titles link to the wrong fics #i was doing a lot of rapid copying & pasting #and also if you have any others to rec... feel free to add or let me know!

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evalinkatrineberg · 4 years

Text

First date 🧚😍💖

A/N: uhhh possible tw for mentions of blood? this was a very...interesting first date with @arin-schreave

True to my past experiences with wine, I woke up the morning of my date as moody as I could possibly be. Had I known that my first date with Arin was going to be today, I would not have made the mistake of indulging with Clemence the night before. Not that talking to Clemence was a mistake - that part was enjoyable, and much appreciated. The wine, however, was less necessary.

I frowned as I put my hair into a ponytail before pulling on my running shorts and tank top. I needed to get myself together before this date, somehow. Luckily, I didn’t have to meet Arin until the afternoon, so I should be able to pull that off. I grabbed my phone, my hand already on the cold metal of the doorknob when I felt the cell vibrating in my hand. With a deep exhale, I withdrew my hand from the doorknob, and picked up the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Evalin!”

My blood began to boil as I listened to the voice on the other end of the line, as if it was an instinctual, fight-or-flight response. How could Lukas sound so chipper, downright cheerful, at this point? Had he forgotten about what had happened before I left, or was he just playing dumb, or pretending it didn’t happen? Either way, I did not have time for his shit today.

“What’s up?” I asked flatly. I truthfully couldn’t recall any other time in my life that I had sounded so disinterested in a conversation. I almost winced at my own tone before I remembered who I was talking to.

“Not much,” he began. From what I could tell, it sounded like he was walking somewhere, indoors. I could make out the faint sound of his footsteps hitting a tile floor. “Morning runs aren’t the same without you.”

Another sigh escaped my lips before I could stop myself. I really didn’t have time for this. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but speaking of morning runs, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a tight schedule to keep.”

“Right.” His voice was lower now, as if any smile he had had had vanished. “What time is it there?”

“Why did you call, Lukas?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“Proctor wanted me to follow up, and see if you’ll be accepting her offer.”

It took all of my restraint to keep myself from hanging up right then and there. “I’m pretty sure I turned her offer down when I stormed out of her lab, and then again when I pushed you off my front porch, but maybe I wasn’t clear enough.” I pulled the phone away from my ear, so that my mouth was level with the microphone, the homescreen of my phone facing towards the ceiling. “My answer is no.”

“Not that offer,” Lukas countered as I brought my phone back to my ear. “Her new one, that I mentioned in the letter - if you leave the Selection now, you can come back to your old job.”

“Well,” I started, raising both of my eyebrows, “you conveniently forgot the, ‘leave now,’ part in your letter. Regardless, my answer is still no. Furthermore, I have to go. I have a date today.”

I was about to hang up when he yelled, “Wait!”

“What?”

“You know he doesn’t love you, right?”

Click. Phone call ended. Goodbye, Lukas, I thought, making my way back to the door. I managed to make it outdoors for my run without further complication, thankfully. It wasn’t until I was almost positive that I was out of sight of the majority of the guards that I began to tear up. It seemed my father had not solved whatever problems he had thought he had solved, then. I let the tears flow, hoping that my face, at least, wasn’t in the line of sight of any of the guards that I couldn’t see, but that were still probably lurking somewhere nearby. The last thing I needed was stories of me sobbing while running circulating throughout the palace. It was probably better that I let it out now, though, instead of risk it happening later. Fuck wine, honestly. Life would be so much better without it’s side effects.

I finished my normal route, forcing the tears to stop as I neared the palace again. I could do this. I had stood up to the woman I had idolized my whole life, I had come all this way on my own, and I hadn’t been entirely unsuccessful in doing so. My only interaction with the prince to date hadn’t been bad, though it was brief, and beyond that, I’d actually befriended some of the other people here. If I was being honest, I had learned more about myself and what I was capable of outside of my area of expertise than I ever had in the years leading up to this moment. If I had done all that, I could handle one date with the prince. I had this.

By the time I had finished bathing and had wrapped myself in a robe, Julia, Christina, and Grace had arrived in my room. I returned each of their smiles, my eyes drifting towards whatever clothing they had laid out on my bed. A quick inspection revealed what appeared to be a pair of jeans, along with a short-sleeved blue and white pinstriped button-up shirt. An interesting ensemble, for sure, especially considering I’d been almost exclusively wearing dresses since my arrival.

“What sort of date calls for an outfit like this?” I asked, smiling slyly at Julia.

She shook her head in reply. “My lips are sealed,” she insisted.

“You’re no fun,” I declared, rolling my eyes, my wide grin still in place.

“I know.” She pointed towards the chair in front of my dresser. “Now sit down so we can get to work.”

I relented, taking a seat and letting the three maids get to work on untangling my hair and applying a light amount of makeup. The fact that pants were part of my selected outfit for this date had piqued my curiosity. The outfit itself was fairly casual - were we going for a walk? A picnic, maybe? That could be nice! Though, if the picnic involved any champagne, I might already be in too deep.

In a few minutes I was dressed and ready to go, my hair falling in loose curls around my shoulders and my regular watch replaced with a slightly fancier gold one. I had tucked the ends of the shirt into my pants, completing the look with a brown belt. I turned to my maids then, flashing them one last smile over my shoulder as I made my way towards the door.

“Tell us all about it when you get back.” Christina’s words came out as more of a question than a statement, prompting me to nod in response.

“Good,” Julia stated, pushing me towards the door. “Now, go!”

I happily complied, almost skipping down the halls as I made my way to the spot where the prince had instructed me to meet him. Wearing jeans and the light shirt was almost liberating, compared to the dresses I had worn up until this point. I really hoped we were going somewhere fun - maybe a scenic overlook? That’d be romantic!

My excitement only continued as I exited the palace and the prince himself came into sight. He was leaning against a car - his car, I assumed - scrolling through some app or another on his phone, not even looking up as I approached. He’s probably just distracted, I assured myself. I could understand that. How many times had Lydia snuck up on me when I’d been distracted by something on my phone?

I continued to approach, still smiling. “Hello, Prince Arin. How are you?”

The seemed to catch his attention. With a click quick of a button, he switch his phone off, looking up at me. I smiled as he slipped his phone in his pocket, giving me a small bow. “I’m fine, Lady Evalin. How are you?”

He remembered my name! That was a good sign, right?

“I’m well,” I replied, curtsying. “Thank you.” With a smile and a light laugh, I asked, “So, am I allowed to ask where we’re going, or does it have to remain a mystery?”

“Oh, we’re going roller skating,” he answered with a small nod, holding open the door of the car.

Roller skating. Not the worst option for a first date, of course, but with my lack of coordination, it could very easily go downhill quickly. He had no way of knowing that, though. It wasn’t as if I’d stumbled or fallen in front of him, yet. “Oh,” I began as I stepped into the car, “that sounds fun!”

“Yeah,” he stated simply before shutting the car door behind me. I watched as he walked around to the driver’s side, sliding into his seat and fastening his seat buckle in one smooth motion. He spared me a quick glance before his attention drifted to the guard in the back seat, who appeared to be doing paperwork of some sort. I wondered briefly if I should say hello to him as well, but quickly abandoned the idea when I realized I didn’t know how to properly address the guard.

Instead, I looked at Arin, and laughed. “I make no promises that I won’t fall over, though. My balance is notoriously terrible.” He deserved a fair warning, at the very least.

“Hopefully not,” he replied, putting the key into the ignition and starting the car. “That would be tricky to manage.”

As the car made its way towards the gates, I asked, “I take it you’ve been roller skating before, then?”

“Yes, I have.” He gaze darted over to me for a brief moment before he added, “Have you?”

“I have not,” I answered with another, more nervous, laugh. “There’s a first time for everything, though.” A grin flashed across my face in his direction before the scenery outside the window caught my attention. It was a beautiful day in Angeles - sunny, not a cloud in the sky, but also not oppressively warm. It was like humidity didn’t even exist here. How was that possible? “Wow, the weather here is always so nice!”

“It’s like this most days in Angeles by the time spring rolls around,” he stated plainly. “Where are you from again?”

Alright, so he didn’t remember that part, then. Did he remember anything beyond my name? There was only so much information I had given him in our thirty minute interview.

“Carolina. It regularly thunderstorms there - almost daily, actually,” I replied, laughing as I turned to face him again. “It must be so nice, having it be so sunny and warm almost year round. Especially because you said you like the outdoors, right?” He may not remember everything from our interview, but I certainly did.

“It can be,” he agreed, keeping his eyes on the road as the car approached the gate. “But yes, I do like the outdoors.”

I stared out the windshield for a moment, taking in the sight in front of me. The sun shone overhead, illuminating a broad stretch of road with almost no cars on it yet. I had never considered the possibility that a stretch of road could be such an exciting sight, or even simply pleasant to look at.

“I don’t think we ever got to finish that conversation,” I noted, smiling once again. “What’s your favorite outdoor activity?”

“I don’t have a favorite,” he admitted as the gates slowly began to open, “but sometimes I enjoy camping.”

Now we’re getting somewhere. My smile widened. “Ah, somehow, that makes sense. Was it a family activity for you?”

He slowly began to drive through the gates, his jaw tensing up as soon as the question had left my mouth. So, that wasn’t the question to ask then. Interesting. Did he have family issues? Or, maybe, camping was something he and Felicity had often done together. I wasn’t sure which option was less appealing in that moment - and just when I had thought that I had found a topic of conversation we could work with!

He took a deep breath, and then finally answered, “Yes. Sometimes.”

I bit my lip, looking out my window for a moment as I tried to brainstorm other topics of conversation. “What about the beach?” I apparently needed to work on expanding my conversational repertoire beyond geographic features. Making a mental note of that, I continued, “Do you like water sports, what with the beach being right there, and everything?” As I spoke, I gestured in the direction of the beach, which was so close to the palace that I could see it from my bedroom window.

“Swimming is fine, and the beach being close to the palace is where it’s always been,” he responded with a shrug.

It made sense that he would be uninterested in something he saw everyday, but I still found myself growing frustrated. I shoved that down, however, in the interest of being polite. Being snippy on our first date wasn’t going to get me anywhere. “Sorry,” I began with a nod, “having a beach close by is new to me. My family lives pretty far inland. We had a river in our city though, so sometimes we’d go boating on it.”

Jesus Christ, Evalin! Enough with the geographic features!

“Rivers are important,” was his only reply.

As far as first date conversations went, this wasn’t the worst I’d had. The first guy I’d ever gone on a real date with had spent the entire evening making jokes about how one day he’d invent a “shrink ray” and use it to make me shorter than him. Not exactly a topic that does wonders for romance, or my self-esteem, for that matter. Another time, June and I had gone one a double date with a guy she had been talking to over snapchat, and one of his friends. Their conversational skills were lacking so much so that in order to fill an awkward silence, I had asked if they wanted to know why rivers meander. Arin and I weren’t at that point yet, but we were getting dangerously close.

I laughed a little at his response in a pitiful attempt to lighten the mood. “They sure are, biologically and politically.” Maybe an academic discussion was the way to go.

“Uh huh,” he muttered, nodding absentmindedly.

Or then again, maybe not.

I sat back in my seat, looking out the car window once again as I drummed my fingers along my thighs. I refused to ask him if he wanted to know why rivers meander. I would not go down that road again. What did that leave me with, though? Discussing the books Reggie had selected for me to read? They were interesting, but I was doubtful that he’d want to talk about politics during one of the few moments in his life where he wasn’t working. “What kind of music do you like to play in the car?”

He glanced at me briefly before answering, “Just whatever I’m in the mood to play.”

Which is what, Arin?

I could feel my frustration growing. It was like having a conversation with a brick wall. I was by no means a great conversationalist, but I could at least feign interest in a topic in order to keep a conversation going.

I shoved my feelings aside, shrugging. “Makes sense. Do you have a favorite band, or song?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” He asked in response, speeding up as we reached the main road.

Grinning, I answered, “I’d sure hope so. Life would be dull without a soundtrack.” I hoped that my mother would appreciate the fact that I quoted her during a conversation with the prince.

He raised his eyebrows for a brief moment, but still didn’t meet my eye. That was fair, though. It was probably for the better that he kept his eyes on the road.

“For example,” I began, my grin widening ever so slightly, “if my father’s life was a playlist, the first song on it would have to be Toxic by Britney Spears.”

I had been hoping that that little tidbit of information would pique his interest. It was an odd song for a middle aged man to like, after all, but it was the one song that always, without fail, came on the radio whenever I was in the car with my father. The lyrics didn’t remind me of him, but I definitely associated the song with our commute to the university. Arin, however, simply nodded, remaining silent. It was becoming clear to me that he really wasn’t listening. Part of me was fairly certain I could have told him that I had been sneaking out of the palace every night to pole dance at a strip club in downtown Angeles, and the most he would do was raise his eyebrows or nod. I was too afraid to actually attempt that, however, in case spewing such a blatant lie ended up backfiring on me.

“So, what’s your favorite song, then?” If Arin didn’t answer, I was about to turn around and ask the guard in the back seat what his favorite song was. He’d probably at least give me an answer. As if he could read my mind, the guard began rustling loudly through his papers.

“I don’t have a favorite song that I’m aware of.”

“Really?” I shouldn’t have been so surprised by this, given that the only personality traits he had displayed up until this point were distracted and aloof, but I found myself humming thoughtfully nonetheless. “Interesting.”

At that point, he stopped responding all together. We rode in silence for the rest of the ride, and I took the opportunity to look at the signs on the buildings that we passed on our way to the roller skating rink.

Luckily, it didn’t take us long to get there. Maybe he’ll open up more once we start skating. Maybe he’s just a nervous driver. My thoughts did nothing to ease my worry and frustration, but they were all I had to go on. Clemence had definitely been right about one thing - Arin could not be entirely over Felicity. There was no way. I was almost entirely confident that the reason he was being so distant was because I wasn’t Felicity. The realization lit a fire in the bottom of my stomach, and Lukas’s words from this morning came back to haunt me.

“You know he doesn’t love you, right?”

Yes. I knew. I was here anyway, though, so I might as well make the most of it.

He parked the car, unbuckling his seatbelt and then getting out, not saying a word the entire time. I followed suit, not waiting for him to open my car door. He didn’t get to play the asshole and the gentleman at the same time, not with me. As I stepped out, I exhaled through my mouth, rolling my shoulder back before turning around to face Arin, where he now stood, opening the car door for his guard. The guard simply stepped out, a faint expression of surprise flitting across his face as he realized what Arin was doing as well.

I couldn’t help but smile. This was hilarious - peak comedy. With my thumbs hooked into the front pockets of my jeans, I flashed Arin a doe-eyed look, and asked, “Sorry, was I supposed to wait for you to let me out of the car?”

He didn’t respond. He hardly even looked at me as he started walking towards the entrance of the building. Didn’t he have to take etiquette lessons growing up? Clearly, he had missed the class on how to not be a dick.

I raised at eyebrow at him, crossing my arms as I followed him towards the building. Behind me, the guard quickly jogged up to the door, holding it open. Arin did nothing to acknowledge the gesture, breezing right in and up to the counter, where two sets of skates were set out. Inside, there was early 2000s music blasting, matched with strobing disco lights that changed color as they moved across the rink.

I looked at the guard, offering him a quick, “Thank you, sir,” before following Arin in, making sure to stay two steps behind him. He may not have manners, but I was going to be sure to remember mine. This poor guard had done nothing to me, or Arin, for that matter.

“Don’t thank me,” Arin called from up ahead.

I paused, nodding once as the door closed behind me and I took in my surroundings. The rink was empty, save for me, Arin, and that poor guard. “Wow,” I mumbled, “they really have this orchestrated.”

“I had nothing to do with this,” Arin corrected. He was already slipping off his shoes, one hand reaching to pick up his pair of skates.

I was so tempted to inform him that that much was blatantly obvious, and that I knew toddlers who could tell him as much, but I held back, pursing my lips. I followed his lead, and began slipping off my shoes as well, trading them for the pair of skates, which I then began to tie.

I had to say something. “Are you not a fan of planning things, then?”

“I’m not a fan of planning things I’m not interested in.”

“Oh?” I blinked, finishing up on the laces of my skates, moving my hands so that my palms were pressing against the tops of my thighs. I couldn’t hold back anymore. Besides, if he wasn’t interested in me, then I was bound to be going home soon, anyway, but I’d be damned if I was going to be sent home without giving him a piece of my mind. “Well, I wish I had that luxury, but unfortunately, do you know what not planning for a seemingly boring experiment in a lab gets you?”

“Hopefully a swift end,” he mumbled, standing up.

With a close lipped smile, I replied, “Only if you’re lucky.” I stood up then as well, making my way to the rink. As I passed him, I saw him blink once, but he remained silent.

I began skating, attempting to move my legs in time with the rhythm of the song that was playing - Girlfriend, by Avril Lavine, if my memory of songs I’d heard in my father’s car served me correctly. I wasn’t done with Arin yet, though. “So, is there anything you actually do enjoy, or is it all just doom and gloom with you?”

“Silence,” he answered, pushing off from the wall and into the rink.

Sounds like a lie to me, but okay. I raised an eyebrow at him, but decided not to argue the point. I shrugged. Maybe this wasn’t the best way to go about things. Maybe it was just a test of sorts to see how I could handle rude government officials, should I make it further in the competition. If it was, I must be failing. Yikes. I didn’t want to blow my chance yet.

“Well, it appears that for the time being, that’s impossible, seeing as there’s music playing in here.” I nodded along to the song for emphasis.

He began to skate towards me. Maybe this was a good sign!

“I’m assuming you know every word?”

I shrugged. “It was all my father ever played in his car.”

“Of course it is,” he said, letting out a massive sigh.

Really? I raised both eyebrows at him this time, my mind set on resorting to sarcasm. “Oh, apologies, I’ll inform him that you disprove of his music taste.”

He looked at me then before replying, “Excellent. Can I expect a letter of apology as well?”

The nerve of this man! “Only if you’ll accept it in Swendish,” I retorted, rolling my eyes and speeding up my pace. I had never been so grateful for the great cardiovascular shape running every morning had left me in.

“Gladly,” he began, speeding up and passing me. “I’m fluent.”

Oh, so not only is this an argument, but it’s also a race? Fine. Game on.

I sped up, easily catching up with him, eager to show off my Swendish. For once in my life, it was actually proving useful outside of my grandparent’s house! “Hvor flink du er! Når studerte du på det?” How clever you are! When did you study it? I hoped he could catch on to my sarcasm, especially as I passed him. I might lose this argument, but I wasn’t going to lose this little race, at the very least. I was going to leave this rink with a shred of dignity attached to my name.

He raised his eyebrows at me, responding, “Når jeg var et barn, lik som hvem som helst.” When I was a child, like anybody else.

Ah, yes, of course, clearly I must have forgotten the overwhelming majority of children in Illea that spoke Swendish. I wondered where they lived, and if I could join their cult. It seemed to be my best option, at the moment.

I let out a sharp laugh, mostly at his terrible accent. “Åå, selvfølgelig! Man må lære det når man er ung for å forstå det bra. Men forstår du kulturen rundt det?” Oh, of course! One must learn it when one is young in order to understand it well. But do you understand the culture around it?

“Why would I want to?” He asked, skating to one of the walls.

That response I could understand, at least. The tensions between Swendway and Illea had been mounting lately, and he was likely in the thick of it, but that wasn’t my fault, and I refused to be ridiculed for it.

So I shrugged. “It might help ease the strain in the relations between the two countries.” I skated past Arin before coming to a stop, turning around so that I was standing next to him, my back to the wall. “It’s easier to come to an agreement with someone else when you understand where they’re coming from.”

“Yes, because imprisoning an entire ship full of men can be understood.” He hit me with a from, narrowing his eyes at me.

I’d heard about that incident. My grandfather had been less than please about the whole scenario, and most of what I had caught of the conversation about it between him and my father had been the curse words he had used. It made sense that naval battles in particular upset him, since he had worked as an engineer for the Swendish navy earlier in his life, helping design the ships and submarines they now used. He was a kind-hearted man, though, and I didn’t think he wanted to see the finished products of his designs used to war, but rather for security.

I kept my face blank, looking out at the rink instead of at Arin. “There’s a cause for every action.” I was sure of that much. The political part of this was not exactly familiar territory for me. “And, while I don’t agree with the actions Swendway has taken, personally, I will say that their prisons are downright luxurious compared to the prisons here.” Another fact I was sure of - my grandfather had taken my siblings and I on a prison tour the last time we’d visited Swendway. Why, I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t about to question him at the time.

Arin did not look amused as he skated off, which didn’t exactly leave me confident that he’d take my words to heart. Remaining silent, I followed after him. What else was there to do, honestly? As soon as he noticed me, he sped up. Ah, so we were racing again, then. Excellent. I could do competition. I sped up as well, flashing him a smile as I passed by him.

He didn’t react at all, but a quick glance at him revealed that he was moving in time with the music. I tuned back in to what was playing. It took all of two seconds for me to realize that it was Toxic by Britney Spears. Clearly, the powers that be had a sense of humor. I began humming along, getting a little louder as Arin started to pass me again, leaving me to laugh at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. I hadn’t known what I’d expected when I signed up for the Selection, but it definitely wasn’t this. I sped up once again, overtaking him in a matter of seconds.

Arin attempted to speed up again as well, but this time, he didn’t pass me. In fact, before I could even turn around to look at him, I heard a loud thump behind me. By the time I had managed to do a one-eighty, all I saw was Arin, sitting flat on his butt.

“Oh my!” I couldn’t help but laugh, bringing one hand up to cover my mouth as I did. “What was it you told me before we got in the car? Don’t fall - it’ll be embarrassing?” One look at him, and I decided that I’d busted his chops enough at this point. I crouched down and extended one of my hands towards him.

He didn’t acknowledge the olive branch. Instead, he rolled himself on to his stomach and then pushed himself off the ground, waving off my hand. “Yeah, yeah.”

“As you wish,” I sighed, beginning to back up, still smiling. He deserved this, if I was being honest. He had been a massive prick for the majority of this date. It was some sort of cosmic karma that he had fallen, for sure.

As he stood up, he brushed the dirt off his hands by rubbing them against his pants. “You don’t have to stare.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, crossing my arms and shifting most of my weight to my right leg. “And what should I look at instead?” What else was there to look at - the guard doing his paperwork? I shook my head. “Are you okay?”

“Look at anything else. I’m fine.”

I turned my head downwards, pretending to look at the floor to my right, even as I caught him rubbing his butt out of the corner of my eye. I laughed a little at that, but it was time to put an end to this. Enough was enough. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Sure you are,” he snapped, narrowing his eyes at me.

“I am.” It was ture. I didn’t want him to be injured. All I wanted was to be more...normal, I supposed. To at least pretend to be into the conversation, and the Selection as a whole. He was the one who called it, after all. I should let him know as much.

I flashed him a smile again, before explaining, “Just because you haven’t been on your nicest behavior today, doesn’t mean I want to see you hurt. Besides, that’d be a dreadful end to an otherwise fun afternoon.” It was true, I realized. While Arin was infuriatingly frustrating, and got on my nerves, competing with him had actually been kind of enjoyable, or entertaining, at the very least. At least I would have had a good time before he inevitably sent me home after this.

He stared at me like I had three heads, and honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was how he truly saw me. I had a feeling I was rather different than the company he usually kept, though I didn’t think that was an entirely bad thing. “Well, that’s only your opinion,” he stated.

Shrugging, I replied, “It is, and I think you’ve made your opinion on all of this -” I waved my hands through the air. Whether I was referring to the date or to the Selection as a whole, I wasn’t entirely sure. “-abundantly clear. It’s only fair that I do the same.”

“Well then.” He inclined his head ever so slightly. “Maybe we’re finally in agreement on something.”

What “something” was he referring to? I narrowed my eyes at him. “Maybe.”

“So then, are we good here?”

Noting his expectant look, I smiled. Best to make this as painless as possible. I needed to figure out how to best explain to my family that there was a very good chance I’d be coming home soon. “Sure.” I skated towards the exit of the rink.

“Excellent,” he echoed, nodding as he made his way towards another exit, closer to where he had left his shoes. As I exited the rink and made my way over to my shoes, I noticed the guard beginning to pack up his papers. I was a bit surprised the poor guy hadn’t gotten some popcorn to watch the spectacle Arin and I had just put on. He must have had a great work ethic, and some laser focus.

I looked at Arin out of the corner of my eye as I sat down to undo the laces of my skates. I was amazed, though ecstatic, that I hadn’t been the one to fall. That turn of events had been the most unexpected, out of everything that had happened today.

“Do we just leave our skates on the counter?” I asked, frowning. It seemed wrong to not put them away somewhere.

“Yes,” he answered, nodding as he sat down to undo his own laces.

I nodded back once as I slipped off my skates, trading them for the shoes I had worn here. The moment I stood up, I frowned. It felt like I was trying to reacquaint myself with solid ground, like how it felt to stand on dry land after being on a ship for a long time. The words escaped my mouth before I could even think about it. “Wow, I didn’t realize how weird it would feel to be back in normal shoes.”

“The only weird thing here is two strangers on a date,” he argued as he put on his own shoes.

Wasn’t that the entire point of having a date? Was he daft?

“Well,” I began, setting my skates on the counter before placing my hands on my hips, staring down at him, “we could get to know each other better, but you seem intent on shutting me out.” Because I’m not Felicity. At least I didn’t say the last part out loud.

Okay, Evalin, that might have been a little too harsh.

I sighed. “I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through,” I added, noting how much softer my voice sounded to my own ears, “but I’m certain it can’t be easy. Your actions and words today say that much. But, if you are ever struck with the desire to talk, vent, rant, whatever,” I trailed off. Frankly, he was more likely to be struck by lightning than he was to be struck by the desire to talk to me, and to top it off, I had intended to end the sentence with something along the lines of “I’m here,” but there was a very good chance I might not be here much longer, if today was any indication. I let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished, shrugging and offering him a half smile.

He stood up, setting his skates on the counter. “I’m not ‘going’ through anything,” he shot back, “so there’s nothing to talk about. You can take your offer elsewhere.”

Yeah, right, and I’m the queen of Italy.

“Consider it an open offer,” I finished, crossing my arms and shrugging yet again.

He stepped away from the counter, brushing past me on his way to the door. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not.”

“Well, at least you’re a quick learner.”

He had gotten that right, at least. I followed him out, walking towards the passenger side door. “How do you think I made it this far in life?”

“Patient people,” he called to me as he walked to the driver’s side, opening the door.

“Patience is a virtue,” I yelled back over the top of the car before climbing in and shutting my door. It slammed louder than I had intended it to, and I winced a little at the sound. Why was I acting like this? Nobody had ever gotten under my skin this much - not even Lukas the night before I had left for Angeles, when I had shoved him off my front porch.

Lukas. I thought about our conversation that very same morning as I heard the guard climb into the car, while Arin scowled and we all buckled our seatbelts. Lukas. Did he expect that if I came back to Carolina, everything would just be okay again? That we’d go back to normal? I didn’t believe our old normal was something we’d ever achieve again. Or worse, did he expect me to fall in love with him instead of Arin? I almost shuddered at the idea. I had never felt that way for Lukas before, and I certainly didn’t now. I made a mental note to block his number when I got back to my room, crossing my arms and legs and averting my gaze towards the scenery outside my car window. When had this become my life? I couldn’t help but laugh.

Arin began to pull out of the parking lot, his body tense, like he was waiting to pounce. He was giving off the same aura that my father did when one my siblings or I had gotten into trouble at school, in the moments before he began to yell at us. It was almost comical that Arin might think he had any right to rip into me like that. I almost wanted to dare him to try.

I turned to look out the windshield, still smiling. “Could we at least turn on the radio? Might help with that weirdness you mentioned earlier.”

“I prefer silence.” He didn’t bother to look at me as he spoke.

Yeah, okay.

I hummed thoughtfully for a moment, raising an eyebrow, but still not looking at him. “You know true silence will drive any man to madness? True silence is filled by the sound of your own body. You can hear your breathing, your heart beating, you can hear the blood in your veins. You can hear your pulse, you can hear your bones rub against each other, you can hear your skin sliding over your muscles.”

Well, at least you’re not talking about geographic features anymore!

“Well, that sounds delightful given my present company,” he retorted, looking over at me.

I smiled at him with as much sweetness as I could possible manage, batting my eyelashes for good effect. “Well, that’s a horrible way to talk about your guard! Poor sap has to put up with you all day!”

“At least he’s compensated for his time.” His eyes flitted to the guard in the rearview mirror for a brief moment before focusing on the road again.

“Did you just admit to paying people to tolerate you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him. I was shaking with silent laughter at this point. This was absolutely ridiculous.

He rolled his eyes and began driving a little faster. Not an unsafe speed, but faster nonetheless. I simply sighed, leaning back in my seat and drumming my fingers against my leg. This couldn’t end soon enough.

Then I felt it. Or rather, I smelt it. A coppery scent, familiar, like a childhood friend, filled my nose. Of course. Of-fucking-course this would happen now, of all time. This was worse than falling while roller skating would have been. The universe really must have had a sense of humor.

I frowned, reaching up towards my nose as I asked, “Hey, do you have a tissue?”

Without looking, he replied, “Glove compartment.”

I kept my right hand on my nose, fumbling with the handle of the glove compartment with my left. Luckily for me, the tissues were on top of everything else that was in the glove compartment. “Thank you,” I said simply as I began plugging my nose with tissues.

He glanced over at me then, his face going slack as he took the sight in. “Are you bleeding?”

Of course, now he’d act like he cared. I laughed, but it came out sounding more nervous than I had intended. “Just a nosebleed,” I reassured him. “No big deal!”

He immediately pulled over to the shoulder of the road, unbuckling and opening his door. I wondered for a moment if he was going to tell me to get out and walk the rest of the way. It wouldn’t be a shocking concept. He probably cared more about the possibility of me getting blood on his seats than anything else. Not that there was really anything wrong with that, I supposed. Blood could potentially carry a lot of pathogens. He probably didn’t want to risk one of the other girls getting a disease.

I saw him through my window as he opened my door. “It’s really no big deal,” I protested, but he had already reached into the glove compartment and retrieved a trash bag and some more tissues.

“Are you okay?”

Was I hallucinating from blood loss, or was there genuine concern in his voice? He offered me some clean tissues, which I ignored as I replied, “Yeah. Sorry about this. I haven’t gotten a nosebleed since I was twelve. I don’t know why my nose chose this moment to spontaneously bleed.” I concluded with another laugh, but it sounded half-hearted, even to me.

He shook his head. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Lean forward,” he instructed, motioning for me to sit up. Who was this man, and what had he done with the Prince Arin I’d be bantering with a few minutes ago?

I did as he said. “God, I’m sorry.” I was about to go down in history as the girl who got a fucking nosebleed in the prince’s car right before he sent me home. This was worse than I could have ever imagined.

“Don’t apologize,” he admonished. “Let’s just stop the bleeding.” He opened a trash bag, offering me more clean tissues, his eyes darting between the dirty ones in my hands and the trash bag.

I had to bite my tongue to keep from apologizing again. “Thank you,” I mumbled, throwing out the old tissues and replacing them with the clean ones a quickly as I possibly could. God, if I got blood on the seats of his car, I would never forgive myself, let alone live it down. “It should stop soon,” I informed him. “Not supposed to last over twenty minutes.”

“Just keep leaning forward and pressing,” he instructed, nodding. “It’ll stop.”

“Yep,” I agreed, laughing nervously again.

I felt something on my back then, causing me to stiffen up. I looked over to see his arm extended towards me, and realized that must be his hand on my back. He must have noticed my discomfort, because he immediately withdrew his hand. I could hardly even process the whole interaction as I silently pleaded with any divine force that would listen to stop my nosebleed. If it went on for more than twenty minutes, we were in serious trouble. I did not want to finish my first date with Arin in a hospital. That was perhaps the only way in which this could get any worse.

Luckily, after a few minutes, I could feel the flow of blood slowing. “Okay, I think it’s stopping now.”

He held open the trash bag again. “Better?”

“Yeah.” I threw the last of the tissues into the bag before adding, “Thank you, and sorry again.” I opened my mouth, wanting to say more, to apologize for the way I had spoken to him even before this, but I couldn’t find the words. I was too stunned by his sudden change in demeanor. Clemence had been right - there was more to Arin than met the eye, but not in the way that she had meant. There was a good man buried in there somewhere, beneath all the heartbreak and anger.

“Good,” was all he said, nodding as he tied up the trash bag, running it towards a trash bin a little ways down the road. He then made his way back to the car, pulling back onto the road after a quick glance in the side mirror.

I stayed quiet, staring out the windshield at nothing, my arms crossed as I my elbows in my hands. I was somewhere between upset and mortified, and didn’t know how to fix any of what we had said and done. How had this all gone so wrong?

I caught him glancing over at me every now and then, and after it had happened three or four times, I couldn’t stop myself. “I’m fine. Really. Just tired, at this point.” Not entirely a lie, but not the whole truth either. I had never felt this level of despair in the pit of my stomach, and all I wanted to do was curl up in my bed and stare at the wall.

“I get it,” he replied with a nod. “We’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

I caught him looking at me yet again, but this time was different. There was something else in his eyes, that hadn’t been there before. “What?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head.

Not this again. “No it wasn’t!” I turned my head to look at him before asking again, “What?”

He shrugged, answering, “I don’t have anything to say.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, but turned my face towards the windshield again. There was no use in fighting. “Okay. My mistake, then.”

“Mhmm,” he murmured, focusing on the road for a split second before glancing over at me again.

I side-eyed him for a moment, before deciding to let the issue drop as the palace came into sight. I let out a shaky breath through my mouth, dropping my hands to my lap. The gates couldn’t open any slower, even with Arin driving through the moment they were open wide enough for his car to shimmy on by. We made it to the front, where he parked his car and then promptly unbuckled his seatbelt.

I followed suit, turning back to look at him and offer him one more, “Thank you,” before beginning to open the car door. Somehow, I made it out of the car before he did, and I began to walk around the front of his car, one hand on the hood as I did.

“Let me walk you to your room?”

I hadn’t heard him sound so unsure of something the entire time we had been on this date. Even when my nose had started bleeding, he had been calm, cool, and collected. How irritated did he think I was?

I rolled my eyes, but decided to relent. “I guess.”

He walked around to the passenger side, motioning with his head for me to follow him. I complied, walking by his side, stealing glances at him out of the corner of my eye. Now, this was the kind of interaction I had imagined as a kid, but I had certainly never dreamed up the chain of events that would lead me to this moment.

We reached the doors, and this time, he held one open. “After you.”

My eyebrow immediately shot up, but I accepted his offer anyway. “Thank you.”

Once we were inside, he led me towards the stairs. When we were at the foot of the staircase, his eyes flickered towards me again, and he asked, “You said you used to get them as a kid?”

“Not super often,” I explained, nodding nonetheless, “but often enough that it was annoying. It’s been a while, though.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “I see. Well, that’s unfortunate.”

What’s unfortunate, Arin? That I haven’t gotten a nosebleed in a while, that I used to get nosebleeds frequently, or this entire disaster of a date?

I blinked once, and then shrugged. “It’s just a part of life. There are worse things.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, nodding, “like falling while roller skating.”

I laughed at that. “Exactly.”

We reached my door then, and I stopped, looking at him for a moment. His face was filled with some emotion that wasn’t quite concern, and wasn’t quite curiosity, but some weird hybrid of the two. I began to fumble with the doorknob and said, “Well, thank you again. I hope that the rest of your day is, uh, a lot better than that was.” I could feel my face turning red, but I attempted to hide in by turning back to my door. Why couldn’t I get a good grip on this doorknob?

“Me too,” he responded from behind me. His footsteps echoed through the otherwise empty corridor as he took a step away.

I nodded, finally getting my door open. In an instant, I slipped into my room, and shut the door, leaning against it for a moment and breathing heavily. When I focused my vision on my room, I caught sight of Julia, Christina, and Grace, all staring at me, lips parted slightly as if they wanted to ask a question, but didn’t know what to ask.

It was Julia who broke the silence. “What happened.”

I just shook my head. “Do you mind if I call my sister and put my phone on speakerphone? I don’t want to have to tell it more than once.”

The three simply nodded, and I started dialing. Lydia picked up on the third ring. “Hey, Evalin! What’s going on?” Just hearing her voice was bringing tears to my eyes.

“A lot,” I answered, noting the noise in the background.

“Can I put you on speaker? June’s family is here for dinner.”

I paused. “Could you actually grab June, and then go upstairs? I…” My voice broke. “I don’t need everyone to hear this right now.”

Silence. Then, “Yeah.” I heard her call for June, followed by heavy breathing as I assumed she was ascending the stairs. “Okay, we’re going on speaker now.”

“Hey, Evalin!” June’s cheerful voice floated through the phone, bringing a small smile to my face. “What’s up.”

“You’re on speakerphone in my room.” I looked around at my maids before launching into my tale. “None of you are going to believe the date I just had.”

#selectionoc

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nxelethe · 5 years

Text

Has anyone wondered how Cradle is governed?

Now, you’ve got to bear with me here, I haven’t played all the routes so maybe we get more information later, but seriously, how the fuck is this place governed?

Probably the first issue is that Cradle is a single country, but divided into distinct zones based on military presence and the demilitarised Central Quarter. The entire premise of the game hinges on the concept of imminent war between the Red and Black Armies, that’s fine. Neither side however is fighting for independence, so the concept of Cradle attempting split based on something like distinct state ethnicity seems out of the question. Everyone seems fairly comfortable with being a Cradle citizen. Although people living in red and black territories seem to support the corresponding army, I believe it would be a stretch to call the different parts of Cradle separate states.

Adding to this motivational confusion, what are the motives of the Red and Black Armies? Red’s ambitions are made clear from the very beginning—absorb the Black Army and rule over Cradle. However, we all know this to be a ploy by the Magic Tower (we’ll get onto this in a moment) and after Amon is defeated, both armies continue to coexist with their territories intact. This has been the case for centuries apparently. The Black Army itself displays no ambition beyond securing their existence; they don’t intend to absorb the Red army, rule Cradle, or anything of the sort.

So, who runs this country? The naming system is obviously based on playing cards, but you can’t get away from the connotations that titles such as ‘King’ or ‘Queen’ entail, and through various events we’ve seen that the people of cradle turn to these armies for leadership—especially Lancelot (who, given that he inherits the title, would be most reminiscent of a King in the sense that Alice and we are familiar with).

Typically, a country will have a military force, but in order for this to work and for the force to exist, they most be funded by a government to tackle domestic and foreign concerns of said government—in most cases. Cradle’s hypothetical government, should be officially funding a military force, though that by no means excludes the possibility of a legitimate paramilitary force. Yet, Cradle’s government, the Cradle state, or anything of the sort, plays no role in its military actions. Even if the two armies were engaged in a civil war for Cradle’s governance (which the game loosely claims that they are) then the government would be expected to support one of the two armies. These armies wage war on the whims of their lead commanders, no government influence as far as the eye can see.

So what is Cradle doesn’t have a government?

OK, that’s a bit unfair; what if Cradle has a government but it’s not distinguishable, or indeed different, to the armies? With all the evidence provided, Cradle seems to be ruled via military dictatorship, a khakistrocracy, if you will (it’s very rare that I get to use fun portmanteaus so I always jump at the opportunity). Even in that case, Cradle’s governance still isn’t that simple to decipher.

Officially, there have been ‘tensions’ between the Red and Black armies, though I don’t believe them to be a prolonged ceasefire, given that the armies “declare war” in the various routes and don’t issue a ceasefire revocation. Admittedly, this is arguing technicalities, and one could similarly say that the “peace talks” that Alice interrupts when she first appears in Cradle would have been to end hostilities. I’m hesitant to approach the issue this way, because peace talks don’t NECESSARILY mean that they are terminating physical conflict and the interactions between army officers like Luka and Edgar certainly don’t seem to suggest that they are technically still at war.

Regardless, the issue of the two armies coexisting in such a way remains. Even if Cradle is ruled via military dictatorship then the Central Quarter becomes a big issue. Officially demilitarised and not allied with either army, the Central Quarter also houses the majority of the businesses in Cradle—businesses which, even back in the 19th century, would have faced some legal restrictions or at the very least recognition allowing them to exist. What power is doing this?

It can be neither the Red nor the Black army as they have no influence over the area, so who governs the Central Quarter? It has no police force, we’ve seen the armies leap in to protect citizens numerous times without external aid and it isn’t presented as a problem or violation of a demilitarisation agreement.

Enter, the Magic Tower; a civic agency and possibly the key to the entire issue.

The Magic Tower, the Big Bad of the game, has clear intentions and those are to rule Cradle through the Red army, which would at least make this question easier to answer. If this were to occur, the government would be a military dictatorship, albeit controlled by a shadow agency before eventually being overtly controlled by Amon (I would assume) leading us to a personalist dictatorship.

Where the Magic Tower truly helps in answering this question is in its nature—a civic agency. Civic agencies can be assembled by groups of individuals looking to perform a specific task for the benefit of society and don’t necessarily require the existence of governments. They are merely characterised by the ability of citizens to work collaboratively to solve common societal issues. Do they exist in areas with governments in reality? Yes. Could they exist independent of said government? Unlikely, but possible in theory.

Cradle is a small country, we’re told this from the very beginning of the game, so what if it actually doesn’t have a government?

It’s almost certain that Cradle had a centralised government once, more specifically, whilst the Red and Black armies were actually one and the same. My memory is sfoggy, I believe it was orginally a monarchy? I can’t remember, whatever the case though, it is extremely likely that Cradle was governed by SOMETHING at this point in time.

Even in our reality, countries existing without governments isn’t completely unheard of, though it is almost always well-established countries with stable economics that can trundle on without heads of state or governments. If Cradle was a relatively stable state at the time, then it is not entirely beyond the realm of possibility that Cradle could be in such a lovely stable state without a government.

We could even entertain the notion that various civic organisations assumed control of the essentials for the state’s continued function. Obviously, it’s not foolproof (*cough* Magic Tower *cough*) but theoretically it could function.

This would typically be where I call it a day and tell you that I think that Cradle is maybe a weird example of Mutualism or Collective Anarchism, except for a teeny tiny problem, or should I say two teeny tiny problems.

The Red Army would certainly be one, but really that just brings us to the broader issue at hand: the aristocracy.

Anarchism is fundamentally the rejection of unjust hierarchies so the Red Army’s arbitrary and hereditary hierarchy is basically entirely contrary to the very ideology I’m trying to marry it to. Furthermore, the mere existence of the aristocracy is basically indicative that if any anarchist systems had tried to take route they’d have fundamentally failed.

So what else is there?

I would like to propose a very oxymoronic ideology: Anarcho-capitalism.

Now I will go ahead and do the work for you here, this is also not the case because it’s shown to actually work, which is honestly the last thing anyone believes anarcho-capitalism can do. I’d also like to clarify, that this ideology is hardly anarchy, but we’ll use this classification for the sake of convenience.

We clearly see the use of money in the game, classes and, most damning of all, private property. However, no government. Perhaps a better defined description, would be a state entirely driven by free market economics without state intervention.

But, the Magic Tower is an obvious monopoly for the distribution of magic crystals, therefore clashing head-first with the concept of free market competition.

The possibility of a Night-Watchman State exists, which would also excuse the excessive military presence for such a tiny country, but this would also require the existence of a state to justify interventions by these bodies. A state which I cannot find sufficient evidence to claim exists.

So conclusion?

I haven’t a FUCKING CLUE and boy am I mad about it.

I have written a long-ass text post that my few followers are going to justifiably unfollow me for only to conclude that I have no idea how Cradle works and that Cybird didn’t give it enough thought or I would have found this slightly easier. Maybe Cradle is a nice place, so that it honestly becomes a no-brainer that Alice would want to leave the political shambles Britain, romance or no (I wouldn’t blame her).

Does anyone have any idea what could be going on? I’m borderline dying to find out at this point.

Sorry again, and thank to anyone who tolerated my nonsense until the end.

#ikerev #ikemen revolution #cybird #confused #i tried #amon please succeed so i can call this a military dictatorship and finally sleep #i haven't checked this for typos i literally do not even want to read it

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welcometohashihigh · 4 years

Text

A Solid Plan: Minato

Minato really liked this Mishima kid. When Narukami or Kurusu snapped at him, it was so irritating, but there was something about Mishima that reminded Minato of himself. He could understand why Kurusu trusted him so much, especially if he could get his hands on such important information. Though Minato was confused as to what Mishima had meant, what with the mentions of how he saw things that no one else did.

“I like you, Yuuki.”

Mishima blushed a bit at being called by his given name. “It’s ok, y-you can call me by my last name. I’m used to it.” He chuckled nervously. The aggression and passion in his voice was gone. “I just want to be your informant, if you’re going to try and solve these murders.” Akira had a prideful smirk on his face, and it took almost all of Minato’s will to not smack that smirk off. He hated how high and mighty Akira was.

“Thanks for the help, but if the media is covering everything up, how will you get us information?” Shirogane’s question was a genuine one, clearly not trying to be patronizing. “What I mean is that I’d like you to prove yourself.”

“I can tell you the name of the person I suspect the most.” A determined gleam lit up his eyes as he glared out upon the people. Minato had to admire it, especially the suggestion of getting information about someone who was part of this whole case. “As well as tell you more about that world behind the window.”

“Have you been there?” Wow, Shirogane really is a detective.

“No, but after I talked to some people about it, I found it’s apparently called the Chaos Realm.” Good lord, this kid must have some crazy connections. “And the person who I believe to be killing people is a manager at a local convenience store named Jiga Hokori. I’ve heard rumors that people start working there only to disappear later. That’s all I know so far. I only started looking into this because Akira asked me to, so I don’t have that much yet.”

Minato couldn’t deny that he was impressed. Getting information like that in such a short time must have taken some serious handiwork. He smiled slightly, though he wasn’t sure why Mishima had that effect on him.

Shirogane bowed their head. “Thank you very much, Yuuki. You’ve been very helpful today.” Mishima blushed a little, then started to walk out. “Wait just a moment, please. We should all be able to get into contact with you in case of emergencies.” Shirogane glanced at Narukami who nodded his head in some sort of approval. “I think you should exchange contact with our leaders.”

Mishima turned around, fumbling with his phone a bit. “R-right of course. Here…” He walked over to Minato, who also had his phone out. The two exchanged numbers, then Mishima went to get Narukami’s number. Once he was done with that, he excused himself and walked out.

“I want to go back through the window.” Minato stood up, casting his glare around the room. He hated the Investigation Team and the Phantom Thieves, but his better judgement told him the three groups had to do this together somehow. Luckily for him, everyone else seemed to agree with him. Hanamura stood up and stretched backwards, an excited smile on his face.

“Come on then, let’s go back to my room!”

Minato couldn’t deny that Hanamura’s excitement was rubbing off on him. He’d never admit it openly though. He followed the Investigation Team out the door, motioning for S.E.E.S. to follow as well. Ever since he awakened again, Minato had started carrying his Evoker everywhere with him. He felt safer with the gun at his hip, and found that when he got lost in thought, he’d unclip and clip the snap on the holster. The sound made him feel at ease.

By the time Minato had reached Hanamura’s room, the window portal was already open. He pulled his short sword from his coat, ready to take on whatever is beyond that portal. The Investigation Team went through first before Minato lead his team after them. Once again in the strange world, what did Mishima call it, the Chaos Realm? He had to shake his head to compose himself. The light of the place hurt his eyes.

“How should we go about this? We know close to nothing about this place…” Mitsuru thought out loud, glancing at all the teens in this new place. “I think instead of trying to explore this place all together, we should split up into our normal teams. A group this big can’t move quietly or efficiently. Narukami, Kurusu, I’d like to ask you what your groups excel at when you traversed those strange worlds.”

“We rescued people from the TV world, so I suppose that we were good at rescue.” Shirogane mused, answering for Narukami. “According to Mishima, this Chaos Realm is rather common knowledge. I can only assume the people who are murdering others are using this place. In that case, the Investigation Team can help rescue anyone who doesn’t belong here.” How intelligent.

“The Phantom Thieves stole the desires of those who had Palaces, however, those desires tended to make them transform into horrible beasts that we had to defeat.” Kurusu turned his dark gray eyes on the others. “They were rather hard to defeat, but it was necessary.”

“You could say we’re really good at defeating bosses!” Sakura piped up eagerly. This girl constantly thinks in video games.

“In that case, S.E.E.S. had to traverse a massive tower called Tartarus. It was long and winding, and we had to stay sharp to not get lost.” Minato thought to himself. “We know nothing about this place and it’s layout, but we can work at creating a map of this place. We had to constantly map out Tartarus so we could make our way higher every time we were there.” The less I have to be around these losers the better.

“Then it’s easy.” Mitsuru set the point of her rapier into the ground. “We will make headway here, the Investigation Team will focus on rescue, and the Phantom Thieves will handle any strong enemies we face. Normal Shadows can be taken care of by anyone.”

Minato found himself agreeing with Mitsuru, and thankfully the other groups found it unnecessary to argue this. His hand gripped tighter around his sword hilt as he gazed at Narukami and Kurusu. As much as he hated them, a thought crossed his mind. He approached them rather cautiously all the same.

“If your groups are going to hang back, I want both of you up with me.” He couldn’t describe the power that they had, but figured it was best for the three leaders to work together to lead the way. “You don’t have to lead S.E.E.S., I just think having a little more firepower would be nice.” Minato hoped they wouldn’t try to get upset at him.

“I wanted to be up front anyway, so I have no problem with it.” Narukami rested the backside of his long blade on his shoulder. The sword looked heavy and hard to wield, but after seeing the tall boy smash a Shadow into the ground with it, Minato had decided to let him handle heavy weaponry like that.

Kurusu mulled it over a little more, but eventually shrugged. “Sure. You’ll need my strength anyway.” He twirled the dagger in his hand, his fingers sliding so effortlessly across the metal. Kurusu was stronger than Minato, but the long knife he wielded always seemed more suited to fast, agile strikes. Minato didn’t want to admit that the lanky boy scared him with how fast he could move.

Minato nodded at the two then turned to look at S.E.E.S. His friends brandished their weapons and determination sparkled in their eyes. It was time to make their mark on Tokyo. “We have a new mission, S.E.E.S.” He raised his sword into the air in a salute. “Let’s tear this place up!” The resounding cheer that rose from his friends made warmth spread through his chest. And maybe I won’t die this time.

#hashi high #persona #Persona 3 #Persona 4 #persona 5 #minato arisato #akira kurusu #yu narukami #yuuki mishima

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angiewang19 · 4 years

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contemplating about careers

At the start of spring semester, I decided to not do 3-2, and I switched to a new academic advisor, my first semester math professor. During my first meeting with Prof. Aksoy, she asked, “What do you want to do after you graduate?”

I was stunned that she dared to ask this weighty question to a college freshman. I came from a high school that espoused “Do what you love in the moment!” and “You don’t need to plan for or think about the future; everything will fall in place when it needs to!” Most of my classmates had no idea what they wanted to do in college (let alone life), and most seniors went to college as undecided majors.

However, when I’d get home from high school every day, my parents relentlessly pushed me to make decisions as soon as I was ready. Planning for the future would give me luxuries -- more time, more opportunities, and therefore, possibly more money, happiness, and clout. While I was quick to fall back on, “almost all of my classmates have no idea what they want to do!” they knew, as first-generation immigrants, that being undecided was a privilege. To put off any form of planning is an acknowledgement that you can afford to buy time, opportunities, happiness, and clout. It is an acknowledgement that you have options that you can tap into whenever it’s convenient for you.

All of this went through my head as I tried to provide a coherent answer to Prof. Aksoy: “I’m thinking about going into consulting or finance. I think it might be nice to work in the industry for a few years to understand the purpose of my education, and then I’ll go to grad school. But... I don’t really know.”

My last sentence was my only genuine thought in this jumble of words -- I really had no idea.

She gave me a slightly disappointed look: “You need to do some soul searching. Look at your parents -- are they happy? Would you be happy doing what they do every day? You need to do something that makes you feel fulfilled.”

Before our conversation, fulfilled was a word I never gave a second thought to. Through our conversation, I realized I wanted to go into those fields because it seemed like everyone at CMC was/is fighting to get these opportunities. I think about the Goldman Sachs information session, where they didn’t talk about what exactly they did (maybe their day-to-day is actually mundane or they just assume that everyone already knows?), but they spent a great deal of effort talking about what it’s like to live in New York City as a first-year analyst and the fact that “everyone at Goldman is just so smart.” The fact that jobs and internships in these fields are so highly sought after at CMC made these roles seem glamorous in my eyes. More importantly, I saw them as prestigious destinations, and chasing prestige is addicting.

I found a question about consulting/finance on Quora:

Q: Why do so many students in the Ivy League and other elite universities go into investment banking and management consulting?

A (from a student at Wharton): A slightly majority of my classmates (and myself included) go into finance and consulting. This speaks to how we’re all insecure and value the safety of a high paying and prestigious job.

Most people (especially “students in the Ivy League and other elite universities”) aren’t idiots, so I’m sure there are decent reasons to go into either of these fields. But I realized that wanting to go into consulting/finance because “everyone else is doing it” or “it pays well” are not good enough reasons for me. Over the past few months, I realized that consulting is not a great fit for me (thank you CCG), but I still haven’t closed the door on finance. However, I don’t feel strongly about a possible career in finance (in a positive or negative light), since I haven’t done my homework on what exactly the people do. In my opinion, understanding the responsibilities of the day-to-day and the consequences of my actions at work are the first steps to figuring out whether this career will feel good in the long run.

“Feeling good in the long run” is a nebulous phrase. In the process of trying to find more concrete understanding, I thought about the distinction between fulfillment and meaningfulness, words that are often used synonymously. I believe there’s a difference -- fulfillment is when an individual feels personally satisfied, while doing something meaningful has consequences beyond the individual doing the action (think: meaningful = full of meaning).

They’re connected, as often doing something meaningful gives you a sense of fulfillment -- volunteering for a cause you believe in, Bryan Stevenson’s work at Equal Justice Initiative, Jon Favreau writing speeches for Obama. As Favreau mentions in his commencement address, the day-to-day grind of a fulfilling job might not be pretty, but the work can still make you feel empowered and inspired.

To make my point about the distinction between the two words, I believe there are jobs that are meaningful but not necessarily fulfilling -- maybe serving our country via the military. According to Ben Rhodes, Obama’s deputy national security advisor, Obama remarked that the audiences he spoke to at military bases were always diverse coalitions, but as you climb higher up the chain of command, it became all white men. So while serving your country is meaningful work, I can imagine feeling cynical and disheartened if you were trying to work your way up, and you were anyone but a white male. Finally, there are jobs which I believe are fulfilling but not necessarily meaningful. Unfortunately, the first ones that come to mind are consulting and investment banking, which aren’t typically considered the most “moral” professions. For many people in the field, it’s immensely satisfying to close a deal or engage in the daily grind of solving client’s problems and being well-compensated for those efforts. But I’d argue that managing rich people’s money or consulting for Coca-Cola is self-serving and actually perpetuates inequality -- you help the rich get richer in the former and in the latter, you’re complicit in a Rust Belt child’s set of teeth completely rotting before they reach adulthood because soda is cheaper than water or other healthier alternatives.

This is my perspective based on a limited (sheltered + privileged) worldview. It’s important to look at any opportunity from the question of fulfillment and meaningfulness, but why you make choices, especially professional choices, is more nuanced than that. Favreau says he’s been better off looking for opportunities which enable him to do something, not to be something. As immigrants, my parents tucked away many of their genuine interests in order to make a living in the very expensive Bay Area. For them, the search for meaningfulness and/or fulfillment was put on the back burner, which serves as a reminder that evaluating for meaningfulness/fulfillment/happiness is a luxury. Michelle Obama’s parents told her to make money first, and then do what makes her happy. Worded differently, money buys you any kind of freedom you’d like (hence economists say that the best gift is always cash), which buys you a sense of fulfillment or meaningfulness or whatever combination of the two you’d like.

As a starry-eyed, ambitious, and naive college student like me, I’ve kept Andrew Lee's advice in mind: “Money isn't the most important thing, but money goes where value is being created - for me, this was a really hard pill to swallow coming out of college, but you'll notice people at the top of their field tend to be able to move to other fields and have come from other fields. Why? Well, it turns out a lot of them started in places where they were surrounded by the best resources - sometimes that is money, sometimes that is people, sometimes, that is technology (or some other resource that helps you shape reality). Early in your career, people tell you to pursue your passion, but it's really the intersection of passion, economic engine, and what the market will bear. As a result, people who go to money first, find it then easier to go out of it than the other way around. It's not that you won't learn anything elsewhere, but you learn with more resources, and it turns out most people go to where resources are.”

So... I feel like this post has taken a windy path, where I ramble a ton. Scrolling up, I notice that I start with my conversation with my academic advisor, and I go to the differences between meaningfulness and fulfillment. Ultimately, I make a pit stop to the role that money plays in all of our choices (the elephant in the room, in my humble opinion). Our individual core values shape our choices and outcomes, and we can condition ourselves to feel certain ways, for better or for worse. As of right now, I think working in academia or education checks my boxes, but others won’t agree (and ha! I don’t know if I have what it takes to go into academia). Andrew Lee argues that “right now the private sector is pretty damn good at being able to achieve some powerful social ends,” and as a venture capitalist, he can fund underrepresented founders and amplify their voices in society. You have people who are marketing sustainable products (hi Lauren), and you have people like my parents who work tirelessly every day so that we can have a better life in America. There’s not one way to get there -- wherever you believe "there” is.

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owlespresso · 5 years

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Hawks / Mating Season / 7

This chapter is NSFW. My tip jar is open! I write headcanons in exchange for donations! If you’re interested, check it out HERE. I am also open for commissions, information HERE. Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

You’ve been avoiding him.

As much as you don’t want to admit it, you’ve really been avoiding him.

Hiding in your room, telling him you’ve already eaten something when he asks if you want to get dinner together, sheepishly turning down offers to go shopping, holing up in your room more than usual.

Maybe it’s a cruel thing to do, but the idea of talking to him, telling him you’d heard him maturbating to the thought of you is just embarrassing beyond comprehension.

As much as you’d like to, you can’t avoid him forever. You miss his company, his smile, his laughs, the warmth that he emanates.

Your time runs out when he comes home early. You’re still sitting at the kitchen table when the front door is thrown open, your name called in a loud and boisterous greeting. When he spots you, his smile widens in a kind of fondness best compared to an excited puppy. His pure joy at just seeing you is so cute and humbling. Knowing you’ve been purposefully evading every possible encounter with him makes your chest throb with guilt.

“Hey,” You smile as he strolls into the kitchen, instinctually beginning to gather your belongings from the table. You stand up.

You’d just wanted to make room for him, but a sudden urgency crosses his expression and he rushes over, a gloved hand on top of yours, his gaze, painfully desperate locked on your face.

“Wait, don’t go.” He protests, but it comes out pleadingly. His face is close and you’re forced to look into those gleaming, yellow eyes, fields of glowing ambrosia that you find yourself wrapped up in and consumed by. You’re pinned to the spot while he struggles for a moment, trying to find something to say or maybe the right way to say it. “You’ve been avoiding me. I know we’re not best friends or anything, and that we’ve kind of been… forced together, but I want to know why,” Ah, there it is. You swallow nervously and begin grasping at any excuse you can find. “Is it something I did?”

“No, it’s not,” You protest immediately. “It’s just me. I’ve just been… tired lately.” “Tired,” He repeats, voice flat. Desperation melts into frustration, his eyebrows nettling into a scowl. “Really? You couldn’t come up with a better excuse?”

“It’s not like I had a lot of time to think!” You blurt out, immediately giving away your little lie. You shut your lips and pull your hand away, cradling your face in your hands. Oh, gods, how are you going to do this?

“Well, yeah, you didn’t,” Any agitation that’d seeped into his voice, instead replaced by deep concern. There’s a nose of velcro straps being undone, of fabric shifting and suddenly there are warm hands wrapping around your wrists. “It’s fine. I’m not mad. I just wanna know what’s wrong and how we can fix it.”

“It’s not something you can fix.” You hesitate, letting him pry your hands away from your face. His face is close, closer than it was before and his pupils are blown wide. His gaze shifts over your face, looking over every little feature, as though trying to commit it to memory. The pure intensity of it makes your voice catch in your throat. “I’m just—worried about our relationship.”

“Why?” He asks, voice quieter, lower. You watch as one of his hands slowly reaches towards your cheek and cups it, thumb rubbing against your skin. You don’t move. You let him, lips trembling. When you don’t answer, he continues talking. “I’m not gonna lie. I like you a whole lot. So if you feel the same ‘n are worried about how I feel, then that problem’s solved,” His leans in closer, head tilting ever so slightly, lips pulling into that impish grin you know and love so much.

And then he’s kissing you. A low groan immediately rumbles from his chest, a testament to how much he’s really wanted this. His hand moves away from your cheek and wraps around your back, tugging you tight to his body, making you give a gasp that he swallows. The initial softness of his affection slips into something more intense and dark as the seconds tick by. His lips greedily move against your own and his tongue rasps against your bottom lip.

When you don’t immediately open for him, he squeezes your hip and it makes you gasp again, giving him easy access. Your hands reach for his shoulders and you clutch him as he touches and invades every corner of your mouth, stealing your breath away and making your knees start to wobble.

The need for air eventually forces you to part.

“Tell me to stop,” He breathes, forehead resting against you. Piercing, yellow eyes stare hard into yours, searching for any hint of displeasure or discomfort. One of his hands, fingers calloused, strokes down the side of your face, tender and careful. You can tell that he’s been holding back for weeks, to the point where it’s almost painful. To think, he’d felt this way about you for so long. To think, you’ve felt the same, but were too afraid to open up about it.

You don’t say anything, and he surges forward, capturing you in another, hungry kiss. His hands moved from their place on your shoulders, running down your body and up your shirt, feeling anywhere he could reach. His warm touch slid up your shirt and under your bra, squeezing at your chest. His calloused palms tease your nipples, causing you to whine into his mouth, a high-pitched noise that makes your face go hot with embarrassment. His tongue brushes against your lips and you gladly allow him entrance, allowing him to touch and take over every inch of you without qualm.

He presses you tight against the wall and you feel your legs begin to tremble with every brush of his fingers against your skin. His hands are hot, hot, hot and his mouth is ravenous. Your fingers tremble when they come to rest on his shoulders—but then he’s pulling away, leaving you empty. You whimper at the loss of contact, but your thoughts turn to mush as he bites into the crook of your neck. One of his hands reaches down to shove his pants down. Even while disrobing, he’s still pressed against you, peppering wet, needy kisses along your hot skin.

Once his pants fall to the floor his hands dart to your thick sweatshirt and you squeal as he suddenly tugs upwards, dragging the garment over your head and throwing it to some other corner of the room. He freezes at the sight of you, intent, golden gaze dragging up and down your torso. You’ve conveniently gone braless, today.

“You’re real pretty.” A sly grin crosses his face and his eyelids dip low. Before you can react, he’s surging forward again. One of his calloused hands squeezes your left breast, while his tongue rasps over your right nipple. Your back arches and your lips open in a gasp, eyes widening. He hums against your skin and you shiver at the vibration. Your eyes shut tight and you barely register the way his hand slides down your side. His thumb hooks under the waistband of your sweatpants and panties. He tugs downwards, bringing them both down with one smooth motion.

His other hand rests against your hip, thumb rubbing soothing circles onto your skin, before sliding between your legs. Your face grows hot as his fingers tease your wet folds, and your hands reach up to clutch his shoulders for support. Arousal sears in between your legs and makes your thighs rub together, though still held apart by his hand. He chuckles as his fingers tease your entrance, prompting you to whine and roll your hips into his touch. His thumb rubs against your clit and you cry out, helplessly wiggling against him.

“Hawks, stop teasing!” Your voice is a breathless cry and it lacks any power.

“Your wish is my command,” He teases lowly, finally sliding a finger inside. Your back arches, eyes shutting. Each precise, coordinated movement has you reeling, especially when he adds another finger and curls them in a way that has stars exploding behind your eyelids.

“As much as I’d like to do this properly, I just want to fuck you right now,” He murmurs against your skin. You hardly register what he’s said but your eyes open, admiring the angle of his jawline and perfect flush on his face. His golden gaze locks onto you, and the sheer intensity of it makes you shiver. You feel analyzed and exposed “Would you like that?”

“Mhm,” You nod, dazed and overheated, despite the lack of clothing. His body is hot as it pressed into you. His hands reach down to grab your thighs. You’re lifted off the ground with a gasp and your legs instinctually wrap around his waist. Your arms wrap around him, holding him as close as possible. Arousal thrums underneath your skin and drenches your cunt, your eyes shutting as your press your face against his shoulder. He pauses, pressing a kiss into your temple.

“You’re so cute.” He praises softly and you feel yourself begin to glow underneath his attention. Heat radiates off his skin, sending you into sheer bliss. You’re so dazed that you almost don’t notice when you feel the tip of his cock rub against your soaked folds. Air shudders in and out of your lungs as he tilts his hips forward. The insertion is slow and the stretch is a pleasing kind of burn.

Hawks moans when he fully hilts inside of you, the noise deep and velvety and just as beautiful as you imagined. Your walls squeeze and wrap around his cock. Your back presses tight against the wall but any discomfort is you feel is blotted out by the stars behind your eyelids. You sigh as he finally hilts inside of you, eyes opening so you can look at his face. A deep flush colors his cheeks, and his eyes are half-lidded, dazed with pleasure. His lips are parted, his hair tousled. It’s a good look on him.

His pelvis brushes against your clit and a desperate whimper falls from your trembling lips. Your hands reach up and grab his shoulders, clinging onto him like a lifeline as he pulls his hips back and thrusts them forward, beginning an agonizingly lax pace. You want it faster and you want it harder, but as soon as you open your mouth, you give a high-pitched squeal instead of any coherent words.

He chuckles, breathing against your neck.

“Faster, please—” You begin, but he’s one step ahead of you. His hips roll back and slam forward, and you can tell by the loud groan he gives that he’s been waiting to do this for awhile. His pelvis grinds against your clit with each well-timed thrust, stimulation that makes your tongue go numb and your head dizzy.

Your gaze flits around aimlessly, before you finally look up at his face. There’s a quirk to his brow and his lips are slightly parted, but his eyes, gleaming, enrapturing, stare at you like you’re the only other being in the universe. Everything else zeroes down to just him, him, him and you, you, you and all the fizzy pleasure dancing along your nerves, making you hiccup and throw your head back—

It’s much too easy to get lost in his rhythm and by the time you orgasm, you really don’t care. You spasm and writhe around his cock, in his arms and he holds you tight to the wall. He fucks you through it, still ravenous, even as his pace gets jumbled and unfocused. Your hot, sticky cum coats his cock and drips onto the floor around it, and maybe the lewd sound of it meeting the polished hardwood pushes him over the edge.

Because he spills within you without a second thought. The oversensitivity shoves you somewhere between pleasure and pain. You hear yourself cry out but you don’t feel the noise come out of your mouth.

You’re warm inside and out when he stumbles back from the wall. Adrenaline shoots through your system as he wobbles. Gods, you’ll never let him hear the end of it if he falls over—but he doesn’t. Because he’s Hawks. The number two hero, the people’s choice, the man you’re absolutely infatuated with.

He manages to amble over to the couch, bending over. Your hold on him loosens as you feel your back meet the cushions, and then you let go.

“Are you okay?” He asks and pulls out at the same time, leaving you feeling empty. Your mixed releases slip out of you and onto the sofa, and you feel your cheeks burn in embarrassment.

“Yeah, it was really good.” You shut your eyes, lay back with a sigh, catch your breath.

He goes silent, and something content settles between you both. At the beginning of this partnership, one of the secretaries had teased you about trying not fall in love with him. You’d laughed in her face.

Life has a funny way of working like that.

“...Good enough to make you stay?” Hawks’s voice piped up again, quiet, the most modest you’ve ever heard him. Your eyes open at the pure humility. No “of course you’ll want to stay with me!”. No jibing at how you’re probably in love with him. No grandeur show like you’ve come to expect from the number two hero. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“Of course.” You give him a small grin. You don’t know how the rest of this will pan out. You don’t know if you’ll love him forever. But if you keep worrying about the future, you won’t be able to enjoy what you have now. During the course of your relationship, you’ve been stressed, you’ve struggled. Being close to the number two hero is hard because you don’t know if he just won’t come home, one day. That’s why you need to love him as he is, right here, right now.

You’ll look forward to the future but dread the struggles at the same time, but the pure, unadulterated joy on his face at your answer reminds you that he’s worth it.

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #hawks #oz write #fanfiction

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wheremytwinwatches · 4 years

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[Where My Twin Watches]: Puella Magi Madoka Magica Episode 8

*comment shared a comic shipping Sayaka and Kyoko*

What. What is this. Is shipping the Blue-haired Paladin and the Red-Haired Warrior a thing? Because I'm suddenly seeing it as a thing. Seriously that is adorable. Damn it. I'm still holding the "Letting Familiars Go" thing against her, but between her Tragic Backstory and that comic I'm now shipping the two. ...given how short my last ship was I'm suddenly worried.

And we’re back! Watching bloodstained Silhouette-Sayaka hack wildly at the the downed witch while Silhouette-Madoka and Silhouette-Kyoko watch.

Jeebus.

The labyrinth breaks down as Sayaka laughs, staring ahead wide-eyed and muttering about how “It’s easy once you know how to do it. I’m sure I’ll never lose this way.”

Sayaka. Just because you can shut off pain and use magic to heal damage to your body, does not mean that you should!

Back in the real world construction site, Sayaka picks up her first Grief Seed. Well, while I’m not happy with her new fighting style, at least she got

What’s with that creepy head tilt and glance back? Have you been taking lessons from Homura?

Why did you just throw the Grief Seed

Why did you just throw the Grief Seed to Kyoko

Argh. No no no. Sayaka, you know that you only have so much magic, right? That you are not some special Magical Girl that doesn’t need Grief Seeds to recharge? I get that you think that you’re making a point, but you just fought a Witch and used up who knows how much magic, you need to recharge more than the bystander.

So what, you gave Kyoko the Grief Seed so that you wouldn’t be in her debt? Ok fine, that’s a slightly better reason. But still, you’d better find another Grief Seed soon, so you don’t run out of mana when you really need it.

Ok, see?! You just dismissed your outfit and then had to get caught by Madoka! That fight took a lot out of you, you cannot afford to give away Grief Seeds right now! Stop being Lawful Stupid!

“That idiot…” See, Kyoko agrees with me! This is not just someone with a “me first” philosophy scoffing at charity, this is a matter of keeping up your defensive ability!

Intro of Lies

Ep 8: I was Stupid… So Stupid

Later, as it’s raining…

As a mournful cello tells us that “This is a sad moment, u guys!”, Sayaka and Madoka are sitting at a bus stop, Sayaka leaning tiredly against Madoka. Madoka’s trying to tell Sayaka that going all Blood Knight is not a good way of fighting…

“Just because you don’t feel it, it doesn’t mean it’s ok to get hurt.” Yes, exactly!

But Sayaka’s just focused on winning. If she doesn’t fight like that, she can’t win, because she “doesn’t have any natural talent.” Um, you did just start as a MG a little while ago, right? It’s really not that much of a stretch to think you’d be less able than who-knows-how-old-they-are Magical Girls.

Madoka’s still trying to get it through Sayaka’s skull that even if it works, it doesn’t mean that it’s good.

“What’s ‘good for me’?”

Uh oh.

Yup, back to “I’m this shiny gem being held right in front of your face, not the meat puppet you were just talking at.”

Sayaka’s really getting fatalistic, isn’t she? Saying that the only worth she has left in the world is killing Witches. That’s she’s a walking, talking corpse, pretending it’s still alive.

Ok, personal note. Isn’t that what all people are, if we go with the idea that souls exist? Not that I want to make Kyubey sound like he was right, but the body is not the consciousness. Yes, you should take care of your soul-container, but the body itself is not ‘alive’ in that sense. You are not dead, Sayaka, you’re just… offset? Look I’m trying to talk Sayaka out of being Lawful Stupid, give me a break.

There is so much “good that others could do for you now, Sayaka! You can still have friends, you can still enjoy things like good food and music. Heck, there’s my newest ship thanks to that comic you lot posted!

I mean, that solves all your problems right there! Kyoko can teach you to stop being so self-sacrificing and enjoy your life again, you can teach her to care about other people besides herself, and together you act as a more moderate Magical Girl duo like redwulf said. And it even answers your concern about you being so different than Kamijo now, Kyoko’s just like you, an immortal magic user!

It’s not stupid, Sayaka, stop saying that it’s-

Wait.

Ep 8: I Was Stupid… So Stupid

Um, yes! Yes it is very stupid to think about how you could be happy again, Sayaka. Keep thinking that it’s stupid until you’re proven wrong. *fingers crossed*

See, Madoka just wants to make you happy again, Sayaka. So stop making her feel like she’s a bad friend.

“Then you fight them.”

What.

Why are you telling Madoka that Bunny-Cat said that she has Protagonist Powers? Why are you telling her that she could beat Witches easily?

“If you really want to do something for me, you should experience what I’ve experienced first.”

Sayaka, stahp.

“You can’t give up being human just out of a little pity, can you?!”

Ok, that’s just unfair, Sayaka.

“In place of you, who could accomplish anything but won’t-

So don’t talk like you care, when you’ve conveniently overlooked that!”

NO. BAD SAYAKA. TIME OUT FOR YOU, YOU MADE MADOKA CRY.

AND STOP DOING THE CREEPY STARES.

Jerk-Sayaka tells Madoka not to follow her, then runs off into the rain.

Wow. Ok. That was uncalled for, Sayaka. Yes, this situation sucks, but that does not give you grounds to blame Madoka for not getting her own soul torn out!

Madoka’s left standing dumbfounded in the rain, no doubt blaming herself. Argh.

And Jerk-Sayaka runs along- crying?

“I’m so stupid…! Why did I say all that to her?”

Ah, ok. Still a jerk thing to do, but Sayaka realizes that she let her emotions get out of hand. I’m still waiting for her to apologize to Madoka, but I can understand.

Aw, no. Sayaka, you are not beyond saving. Just go back and say you’re sorry for the outburst, I’m sure she’ll forgive you.

Homura? Or a sign that says Homura? Oh, do we get to see Homura’s place now?

Whut.

Well ok. This is appropriately arcane enough for the Mysterious Transfer Student, I suppose. Glaring white walls and floor, candles everywhere, floating scrolls and some huge pendulum…

Seems that Homura’s invited Kyoko over, to go over plans for Walpurgisnact. Oh yeah, the Giant Flying Thing that should drop a Super Grief Seed, I’d almost forgotten about that. Really speaks for the intensity of the “MGs are Lichs” thing that I stopped thingking about it. How much longer until she summons the Super Witch, again?

Kyoko asks how Homura knows where it will appear, the MST says ‘Statistics’.

...what Statistics?

Homura refuses to elaborate. I’m guessing she thinks that Kyoko wouldn’t approve of a plan to actually summon a Super Witch on purpose. Still, Kyoko wants more info. And so does

Kyubey

Ok, good on you for summoning your spear that quick, Kyoko. Go ahead and kick the uninvited guest out. But Bunny-Cat says it came with some important information…

“Sayaka Miki’s deterioration is happening far quicker than I expected.”

Uh oh. So her Soul Gem’s running out of juice faster than usual?

“It isn’t just all the magic she’s using. She, herself, has begun to curse the world.”

Oh crap. I’m remembering Mami’s lesson on Witches, how they are born from Curses.

Are we going to see the Anti-Kyubey soon? I’m actually not sure how much worse they could be than Jerk Bunny-Cat, but whatever actually creates Witches… could it see Sayaka as an opportunity for recruitment?

Going back to my theory that Homura got her powers from Anti-Kyubey (since Kyubey doesn’t know where she got them from), I’m thinking that she made a Ghost-Rider deal and then proceeded to renege on it, just focus on increasing her own power and protecting Muggles who don’t actively get in her way. But if some antagonist could convince Sayaka to be more active against the “selfish Magical Girls”... Oh dear.

(“I was stupid… so stupid… to think that Magical Girls could ever be good. They are only selfish, so I will destroy them all!”)

Kyoko snaps at Bunny-Cat, saying that it’s their fault in the first place. Kyubey ignores that, and says that at this rate Sayaka will be causing them some trouble before Walpurgisnacht arrives.

Kyubey: “So watch out! I don’t want to lose any more Magical Lunch Ladies than I have to.”

Kyoko’s still a bit confused, but Kyubey suggests that she talk to Sayaka about it. And Homura already knows what he’s talking about… although it’s curious where she learned “such interesting things”.

Homura has finally had enough of Kyubey and orders it out. Kyubey just turns around and walks through some shadow out of the room.

Wait, where did it walk out again? That room’s pretty bright, the only darkness is the sides of the seats- oh, wow. Ok, so Kyubey can apparently phase through solid objects or something. No wonder it keeps showing up indoors.

Kyoko asks why Homura’s letting it go, she says that there’s no point in killing it. I’d disagree, but whatever. As for Sayaka…

“Her Soul Gem has become too tainted. If it is not purified soon, there will be no coming back for her.”

So, it’s like a corroded battery? Her Gem’s not got enough full magic-packets in it, so it’s not going to last much longer? And if she want’s to keep fighting after that, she’ll need some new power.

And transition to the classroom. Jeez, in all this drama I almost forgot they’re still middle-schoolers.

Sayaka’s absent again… And Madoka’s blaming herself for not going after her.

Now it’s later in the day and… aw crap.

Hitomi’s deadline has passed. She’s going to confess to Kamijo.

The two are walking by a huge waterfall/dam at sunset, and Kamijo is cluelessly talking about he never realized that Hitomi’s house was that direction. To which she cheerfully admits that she lives in the exact opposite direction. But she went that way today because she has something to tell him.

Madoka is talking to someone, learning that Sayaka’s not home and she hasn’t been there since yesterday… wait, Sayaka has parents?! Or at least a guardian? We haven’t seen anyone, so I was honestly assuming that she was yet another orphan.

Well, Madoka’s not going to give up yet. Off she goes to find her!

Now we’re back at the dam, watching Hitomi and Kamijo talking about something but not hearing their words. As Sayaka watches from the shadows…

Damn it. Damn it damn it damn it. She’s falling, isn’t she. She’s going from Paladin to Blackguard.

Now Sayaka’s stumbling through a dark bubbly background as her theme music is playing

Nope, now she’s screaming as she slashes through a labyrinth. She’s still trying to keep her word, kill Witches…

Sayaka, your Soul Gem is looking kinda dark. Please tell me you’ve got some Grief Seeds to recharge it by now…

Footstep? Sayaka turns around to see Homura walking through the car park towards her. Sayaka is not pleased to see her blank head tilt stare.

“Why can’t you understand? You don’t have the luxury of killing familiars.”

So that wasn’t a Witch? She still doesn’t have any Grief Seeds? Good grief, Sayaka. This is a matter of having the power to fight Witches or running out and being helpless, you need to recharge!

Sayaka rejects Homura’s advice, who only comments about how Sayaka’s Soul Gem must be at its limit and tosses a- Grief Seed! Thank you Homura, that’s just what is ne

Oh for fucks sake, Sayaka! Stop being so goddamn self-sacrificing and take it, don’t just kick it down the ramp! You will run out of magic, be unable to heal yourself from your reckless fighting, and die. Get it through your skull!

Yeah, Homura didn’t like that. Even scrunched up her mouth.

“Don’t be a fool. You’re in no position to be questioning anyone’s help right now. Or do you simply hate being rescued that much?”

Damn, Urobuchi really doesn’t like the self-sacrificing hero type, does he? Sayaka’s had nothing but bad stuff happen since she started, and now the character who’s going to basically summon a demon for more power is sounding pretty reasonable.

Now Sayaka’s saying her Heroic Creed from the after the last episode’s credits, about how she’ll be a different kind of Magical Girl. Good words, but you’ve got to take care of yourself to back them up.

To which Homura can only say “You are going to die.”

“So what if I die.” Aw. Aw Sayaka, no. “It just means I won’t be able to kill witches anymore.”

Ok, fine. If appealing to your own self-preservation isn’t working, how about these two points:

-You are completely neglecting all of the Witches you could kill in the future, all the lives that you would save, in order to go all out against the Witches and Familiars right now. If you really want to save as many Muggles as possible, to go to the extreme of “The Needs of the Many outweigh the Needs of the Few”, then you have to recognize that the lives you save now fighting recklessly cannot possibly measure up to all the lives you will save in the future if you just exercise a modicum of restraint

-If you die, Madoka will cry. Madoka will cry because of your foolishness. Don’t make Madoka cry.

If you define yourself as being “of use” or “not of use”, then recognize that you are loosing effectiveness as a Witch Hunter with this self-destructive behavior. Snap out of it!

So what if you “can’t” defeat Witches right now? You did pretty damn well against the one in the factory that almost killed Madoka and Hitomi, and you’re just starting out! Get some training under your belt and you’ll be a great successor to Mami. But not like this.

Homura can only ask “Why? All I want is to save you.” Aw, so she’s seeing Sayaka as someone to help again, after the whole “Competition for Grief Seeds” thing.

“Why can’t you trust me?” Um. Well, you kinda threatened Madoka’s family and knocked Sayaka out that one time, so…

Sayaka’s so out of it she can’t even come up with a reason that she can’t trust Homura. Other that that somehow, she knows she’s a liar?

“By looking at your eyes, I can tell you’ve given up on everything.” That she’s speaking hollow words, that even now she says she wants to help but it’s not what she’s really thinking. But she won’t fool Sayaka!... yup, Sayaka’s slipping. She needs Madoka-encouragement, stat.

Homura flips her hair and-

“You do realize that you’re just making Madoka suffer more and more?”

Hey, she’s using my second point! Lets see if it works at all.

Nope, Sayaka just says that it has nothing to do with her. Right, after your outburst at her, and the fact that she’s your best friend? Suuure it doesn’t.

“You’re wrong. Everything has to do with her.”

Bwuh? Where did this come from? Are you worried that Sayaka’s brooding will get Madoka to make a Contract, and pose a risk of getting the Super Grief Seed?

Um. Homura just transformed into Magical Girl Mode. Why did she do that?

Um. Homura just admitted that she has no desire at all to save Sayaka. She just doesn’t want Madoka to have to watch Sayaka destroy herself?

Is this Homura’s twisted “Non-Magical Girls are to be protected as best able, other Magical Girls are competition” logic?

“If you refuse my help here, there is no recourse for you but to

Oh no. no no no.

die.”

No no no NO. Sayaka. Transform. Fight back. Run away. DO SOMETHING.

“If you will make Madoka grieve more than she has…”

Running? Is Madoka showing up. Oh crap, Madoka’s going to see Homura kill Sayaka, isn’t she?

“...then I…”

Raised hand.

“...will kill you…”

Bright purple light.

“...here and now. Sayaka Miki.”

Run. Run run RUN!

Homura pulled back? What?

KYOKO!

I am so happy to see you! Character development, yes!

Kyoko the Hero yells at Sayaka to run, who… slowly gets up and shuffles off. Ok, at least she’s moving?

As for you, Homura, what the hell? Get out of that armchair, you can trade seats with Kyoko after that stunt you almost pulled.

Kyoko’s yelling at Homura now, who only says to let go of her. Oh? Oh! If Kyoko’s holding onto the MST, then she can’t use her teleportation!

But she can still do something with her shield?

Oh shit! Grenade! Kyoko quite reasonably leaps back. And that’s all Homura needs to vanish before sudden explosion.

Aw damn, it was just a flash-bang. I mean, still, ouch, but I could have sworn it looked like a classic frag grenade. I must be out of practice with shooters.

And she’s gone. Hopefully Sayaka got far enough away.

Ok good, looks like she got on a train. Although she’s having to listen to two dumbasses who are probably wearing fedoras. Strange art style, everything just black and white…

“You just can’t treat women like rational human beings.” Oh shut up.

Wait, when did Sayaka stand up?

“Hey, tell me more about her.”

Um, Sayaka?

Ok, um. Sayaka, they’re just idiots, there’s no need to go too far…

Listen, these two jerks are scum, they are not part of the world you’ve been protecting. Don’t let them spoil your view of the world.

Sayaka? Sayaka, what is happening? Why are you getting all squiggly?

Aw crap. Her magic’s finally going, isn’t it?

Madoka’s still looking for Sayaka, walking by the river.

Kyubey

. Who just appeared from the shadow of a lamppost. Was it there earlier, or is this confirmation Bunny-Cat can shadow travel?

It asks if Madoka is mad with him too. And instead of saying no, our All-Loving Heroine asks that if she was, if it would turn Sayaka back human. Damn, now you’re on even Madoka’s List, Kyubey.

Kyubey claims that it’s beyond its power to do that. Sure it is, I’m pretty sure it just doesn’t want to give up a Magical Lunch Lady any sooner than it has to.

But

Oh no

Madoka, NO.

Madoka is talking about how Kyubey once told her she could be an incredibly powerful Magical Girl.

No. No no no. Don’t do it, Madoka. We’ll talk her down, hook her up with Kyoko, anything other than that.

Kyubey is going on about how “incomprehensibly powerful” Madoka would be if she unlocked her Protagonist Powers, probably the strongest being in the show. I mean, world.

“If I had made the contract with you…”

Madoka, NO! Sayaka would have made the contract for her own Wish and to help others regardless, do not blame yourself for that!

What’s this? Kyubey doesn’t understand how Madoka’s potential could be so great? It’s on a scale that theoretically shouldn’t even be possible?

(Shades of Tephi’s “That’s not how charts work”)

Will we ever get an answer for this?

“I want someone to come explain it as much as you do.” Ergh. And now I’m torn between finding out and keeping the information away from Bunny-Cat.

So the power that Madoka could unleash could twist reality, or whatever? So her Wish could, I dunno, bring someone back from the dead? (Bring Mami back)

What, you’re saying that Madoka could “even become the god of this world”?

Wait. I’m seeing possibilities here.

If Madoka could really be that powerful, more so than any MG…

I’m picturing a world where Magical Girls are known to exist, where they don’t have to hide their powers. Maybe they could find a way to get Muggles to see Witches and stay away, recognize the threat. The Magical Girl Contract could be understood, and people who can actually give informed consent could make the choice to create Soul Gems and protect the people. (sudden mental image of cops in Magical Girl outfits, ha. Or can only women make the Contract?)

And over it all, Magical Girl Madoka Kaname, leading the growing Magical Girl movement as a team of modern-day superheroines.

Please tell me that’s where this story is going. And not that Urobuchi is going to stop all over my hopes and dreams.

Enough power to do things that Kyubey can’t or won’t do? Like grant Wishes and bring people back? (Bring Mami Back) Even turn Sayaka human again? Kyubey says that it would be child’s play for her (reinforcing my belief that he could turn her back, he just doesn’t want to).

Ergh. This is… if Madoka could really have that power…

Would it be worth trading her soul for? Or at the very least moving it outside her body?

Madoka says that it would. For Sayaka.

Well. Eight episodes into a twelve-episode show. I guess that it’s about time the main character came into her own power.

Madoka will do it. Make her into a mag

WHAT

BUNNY-CAT IS SWISS CHEESE

WHAT

Kyubey is dead. Kyubey is dead and Madoka will never be a magical girl and Mami will stay dead and Sayaka will turn evil and

What

Homura?! What the hell?!

You just fucking killed Bunny-Cat! He was a jerk, but Madoka was about to get her powers! You just screwed Sayaka over, for what? Because you don’t want the competition?!

Oh for- this wasn’t about self-sacrifice, you psycho. Madoka was about to unlock enough power to make things better in this show. You of all people should understand that!

Ok, what the hell? I get that you consider Muggles like Madoka innocent, but you’re getting rather illogical about this. For the potential good that she could do, I think that knowingly putting her soul in a rock isn’t that bad.

What. Homura is crying. What. Why is the Vulcan showing emotion.

She’s babbling about how so many people would grieve if Madoka died.

Homura… are you…?

You’ve been trying to protect Madoka from the life of a Magical Girl. At first I saw it as wanting to prevent competition, then trying to guard the innocent little Muggle from the danger. But you were trying to protect Madoka specifically? Why would you do that, when it conflicts with your behavior?

“Have the two of us… met somewhere before…?”

Are we FINALLY going to get a damn explanation for the Vision? Like, Homura saved Madoka from a Labyrinth before and wiped her mind, or whatever?

Homura’s not saying. So Madoka’s leaving to find Sayaka.

...damn it. I almost got some damn answers here, but nope! Urobuchi is trolling me.

Instead of answers, we’re left with a bullet-riddled Kyubey, a crying Homura, and a running Madoka. And I wish I understood how we got here.

Whoa, what?!

“You knew there was no point in doing that.”

Kyubey?! You’re alive?

What the hell is that image, that silhouette balancing on the fence with red eyes.

“I have countless spares, of course, but making me use them up for no reason like this… It’s a waste.”

...what.

So Kyubey’s alive, and

OH GOD is it eating the corpse? Itself? What?

KANAYA: I Suddenly Dont Understand Anything And Am Currently Casting Sincere Doubt On The Laughable Insinuation That I Or Anyone Else Ever Actually Did For Even A Single Moment

Kyubey is a clone or whatever or what?

Homura’s gotten back to her feet and resumed her Mysterious Transfer Student attitude.

“That’s the second time you’ve killed me.”

Really? Was the first offscreen, or did I miss it?

“That was Time Magic, wasn’t it?”

Time Magic?

TIME MAGIC?!

“You’re not from this timeline, are you?”

YOU GUYS

HOMURA IS A TIME TRAVELER

THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING

-She knows Madoka from an alternate timeline that Madoka somehow got a glimpse of

-She’s seen all this happen before, knows where to show up and how to act to prevent things

-She could have gotten her powers from Kyubey, just not this Kyubey

-She’s fighting with the experience of two runs as as Magical Girl

-She’s acting so cold and detached because these are just counterparts of people she knew in her own timeline

-Her special ability isn’t teleporting, it’s pausing time and moving somewhere else before it resumes

That makes sense now! There’s still so much about this show that doesn’t make sense, but at least that does!

But it boils down to the fact that Homura knows what Kyubey was doing the whole time, coercing these girls into transferring their souls and becoming Magical Lunch Ladies.

...yeah, I guess that does sound pretty out there. No wonder she didn’t just outright say what it was up to.

Kyubey is being remarkable chill for recently learning his opponent has time-travel knowledge. I guess it’s pretty confident that it’s already succeeded, and even though Homura stopped him before Madoka could Contract, if it can replace bodies then it’s only a matter of time before it can catch up with Madoka and finish the deal.

But Homura is adamant that she won’t let things to according to Kyubey’s plan.

“Or should I say, ‘Incubator’?”

Incubator? What does…

Oh.

Oh shit.

Kyubey’s been storing the Grief Seeds.

Kybey’s always been around when a Witch shows up.

Son of a bitch. I kept on going on about some sort of Anti-Kyubey, who was creating Witches the same way that Kyubey was creating Magical Girls.

But if Kyubey was ‘incubating’ the Grief Seeds, planting the Grief Seeds…

Kyubey is Anti-Kyubey!

And if it’s been the one planting the Seeds…

Homura didn’t plant the hospital Seed, you did!!!

You son of a bitch! You killed Mami!

What, we’re just leaving it at that?! No way, we are going to get that thing to confess and

Oh wait, it’s Sayaka at a train station. Ok good, we found you. Let’s just get you home and talk this out. We need to discuss Operation ‘Kick Kyubey’s Butt’.

Oh hey, Kyoko found her! Guess Madoka’s still on the way. Kyoko takes a seat next to Sayaka and jokingly asks about how long she’s going to keep acting like Batman. Sayaka apologizes for making Kyoko look for her. Which confuses Kyoko. Where’s the brash Ally of Justice that she’s been fighting?

Sayaka says that she just can’t care about anything anymore, that she can’t remember what she thought was worth protecting… yup, this is classic Falling Paladin. Quick, somebody try to kick a puppy in front of her so she gets all “Justice Will Be Upheld” again.

Kyoko’s just chowing down on some potato chips during all this.

Sayaka’s pulled out her Soul Gem, and geez that is looking pretty freaking dark. How much longer before it’s completely empty and she can’t use magic anymore? Now she’s talking about how hope and despair balance back out to zero, throwing Kyoko’s words back at her. Ouch.

Yes, you saved people, Sayaka! Never forget that! But… then you started feeling resentment and hatred. Um. And hurt your best friend.

“For as much happiness as we wish on one person, we can’t help but curse someone else.” Oh come on, that’s not true! There’s… ok, give me a minute, I’m sure I can think of an example where someone doing good didn’t backfire on them in this show…

Ah! Mami saving the person who fell off the building! That was a good act that didn’t hurt her!

Aw no. Don’t cry Sayaka. Look, I know that things seem bad, but we can get past this. You can…

“I was stupid… so stupid.”

Whoa what the hell?

WHAT THE HELL THERE ARE FLASHING LIGHTS AND KYOKO JUST WENT FLYING

Sayaka. Sayaka your Soul Gem is cracking. I am fairly certain that your Soul Gem should not be cracking something that contains a soul should never break

Your Soul Gem just broke

That

That is a Grief Seed

Your Soul Gem just turned into a Grief Seed

What

“Sayaka!”

I… what…

Construction site.

“In this country, half-grown women are called “girls”, right?”

No. No no no no NO NO NO

“In that case, it’s appropriate that you, who will one day grow into Witches, should be called ‘Magical Girls’.”

…

what.

...after credits chibi-ish picture of Mami, Homura, Madoka, Sayaka , and that red-eyed ALWAYS SMIRKING MANIPULATIVE LITTLE-

Homura: “Maybe I’m being a fool, but until I know for sure whether she can or can’t be saved, I don’t want to give up.”

Episode 9: I’d Never Allow That To Happen

#wmtw #where my twin watches #ranubis #pmmm #puella magi madoka magica #pmmm 8

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nocancer · 5 years

Text

Tryna by Cancer moon

Before Young T went to bed he poured a glass of water and looked out the kitchen window to his backyard and noted how the snow made 3:00 A.M. look like 6:00 P.M.. Only difference being that if he stepped outside with his glass of water to the seeming twilight he wouldn’t be able to hear the rush-hour traffic like he usually could if it was Friday and 6:00 P.M.. Young T didn’t bother going outside because the snow was still falling a little and it’d be there when he woke up. And the neighborhood would still be silent, as it always was.

Young T woke up and his fan was still humming its white noise which he needed to sleep at night even though it was January and his dad was reluctant to leave the heat on over night. The small fan sat on his dresser and was pointed away from his bed towards his window which emitted a sharper and more blinding afternoon light than what he was used to. He checked his phone for the time, it was about noon - about the time where his parents bedroom door would open and their TV would blast the local news and his persian cat, Jo Jo, would meow at his door from which would force him out of bed to open the door so Jo Jo could jump up on his bed to sleep on his pillow from which he would either start his day or keep doing nothing. This time he laid back down, idly on his bed, with the covers pulled over his head to lessen the effects of his slight cat allergy. Jo Jo had a flat face and was grey and fat, and he occupied the entire pillow. Young T thought of how he wanted to trade lives with Jo Jo.

Young T couldn’t fall back to sleep, so he looked at his phone. He bireifly looked at worldstarhiphop, Twitter, then Instagram.

Then he went to bed with a head ache and woke up in college.

9/27/17 wednesday

Tycho: excuse me, hey, getting along just fine, I see? Yolandra: hey, and yeah, sort of, just studying, whats going on with you T: Nothing, the usual, i guess, being responsible, trying not to offend anyone. Y: Oh but you're so innocent. If anyone's offended its on them, not you. T: But my presence alone, I dont know, like I'm out of place or something. And I just want to tell people, Yeah, so, I know how strange it is, me being here and all. Y: You're a free spirit amongst prisoners. That was my favorite part about getting to know you.

Tycho: After all these years, not for a second did i think you were right for me. And thats why i liked you. Cus I'm crazy. Yolandra: thats okay? what do you mean?, i want to get inside your head again. T: [pause] Most people wouldnt understand. Y: Don't be too cool for school. Im not most people. If I knew what was good for me, I'd have cut ties with you a long time ago. But im a crazy bitch too. Havent you realized? T: Yes. Youre highly psychic when it comes to "free spirits" like me - and you, though maybe, "lost soul" would be a better term for me. Though I dont mind being lost. It keeps things interesting. Anyway, you should spend your energy on solving world hunger than worrying about me. Y: dont be so difficult. catching vibes isnt easy you know? coming for your type. Who knows, maybe youre worth it. Tycho: well, your the first to try me like this. im mysterious for a reason. Yolandra: And do you know why exactly? T: Thats for me to decide. Y: It's so damn frustrating. But I guess some things are better left unsaid. T: Most people wouldnt understand that, what youre saying. Indescribable feelings we know happened but fall short in explaining. That sort of thing. Y: I call those. "You had to be there" moments. Tycho: Honestly i never gave up on you, only myself, thinking you were different from my dream girl. it took months for me to realize that but when i did the only thing i wanted to do was forget i ever met you. Yolandra: than what? T: the rest of these simple people that surround us, they see in a way thats opposite of what i am. Y: how convenient it must be. to blame your problems on people you dont even know. and just say "fuck it." I envy you. T: just my luck haha. of being born into myself, my personality forgive me, i dont mean to be such a downer. thats my ego talking Y: you had to be there T: where? Y: in my memories. T: it matters that much to you? Y: if I could find you in a crowd, just to say something, anything, even if i have to scream it in your ear, then you'd know how much it means to me. Tycho: I'll be waiting for you to say hola.

9/30/17 saturday In the midst of an obnoxious trap beat I remember what my grandpa used to tell me. It's the harsh realities of life that stick with us the most. A dream is only a dream until you make it come true. Never hit a women no exceptions." He would say to a 7 year old me. Now I wish I had the balls back then to tell him that his strict army ass probably never had a dream that went beyond what he already knew. Like revisiting the same shitty cloud of meaningless thoughts every night till you reincarnate into someone who revisits a slightly less shitty cloud over and over until they become someone like me, who lives on the cloud everyone strives to be, forgetting those elvish looking folks of the below who never leave the house except to get groceries. There's comes a point in life where you just gotta be honest with yourself, and say hey, i just dont match the freqeuncy anymore. It's okay. I can still pretend like that one MGMT song, but im fading away. Fuck. I get naseous and imagine a cop coming around the corner which kills my vibe for a second so I take my headphones off, spit on my finger tip, ash the blunt, and walk to my dorm. I'm in water so muddy that the surface is all I have to cling onto. What lies beneath is my past, housing the memories like demons. Of course, her face, would be in the middle. Falling more faintly in detail as I wake up sober and go to sleep high and dream nonsense that somehow doesnt go away like the usual forgotten dream you usually wouldnt give a second thought to otherwise but this morning my head feels foggy and theres a vague recollection of a search going on but I dont know what it's for and my chances of knowing diminish as I go deeper into the day. A search, it's on repeat, like my brain is an actual TV. Thats probably a normal thought to have, though I've never heard it in real words. "Is my brain a TV." I say to myself. if you can call it that. but those take the shape of monsters of which, as if I had no choice, I find myself preparing for so when the moment really matters, I can either go down in a blaze of glory or come out on top like the badass I imagine myself to be. All I know is that I was born and now I have to live.

Maybe because my past is so glaringly depicted onto a person I refuse to acknowledge. All that shit was a dream. The only thing that matters is the present, right? Bill Nye the Science Guy would agree with that. Back in elementary whenever we had a sub for the day, a cart would roll in and thats how you knew. I watched his show in elementary school, when we had a substitute teacher. Those were the best days. I had no worries then, able to speak freely with no inhibitions as if duality had nothing to latch its mechanical claws onto. Wait, I'm thinking about the past again. And thats going way back. Fuck! Okay.. On your feet soldier! That baby momma drama dont fly out here in the real world. out here it's the winners and the losers, haves and the have-nots, thats the way it is.

We're here to endure anxiety. I dont care about this slave shit. I think im gonna drop out. These fucking people bro, I shouldve known better than to come here. Deep down in the recesses of my highly realized capacity for recognizing everyday objects I'm hearing the voice my computer makes. It just so happens that I'm a little different from everyone else. I see things. Feel them. Some are expressed. Others proccessed. Though most get put away for later. These things I speak of is all they'll ever be to Some bad. Some good. But in the end I understand the root cause is nothing and thats where I pretty much exist anyway. In between any and all things, including people. At least that what it feels like. So although I may come off as shy and maybe a bit soft to the average layperson I aint no bitch and I wont hesitate to put my body on the line to make some headway when it comes to cementing my place as a savage demon in the halls of said layperson's memory bank. Someone who is wise would recognize the virtue of my conviction It is only because I must prepare for that singular moment, an unknown point in the fabric of time and space. To where if theyre not careful, a life's worth of energy should be pitted against me as if one were to stand a chance against the power housed within my vessle. Theres no such thing as a polite gesture. Nobody asks me how my day is "going" for no other reason than to relay to me how their own special day is "going". reckoning between a humble acknowledgement that I can never truly grasp the reason for existing and therefor should play my part in keeping the peace, versus pure badass in a world of sheep. And the more I get to know my surroundings, the more I reach erradically for the inherent bliss found within the path of satanism.

000t333g922276888o

Spmewhere off in the distance, Crermoth sits on a palm tree idly sculpting astral suspensions into a tattered fervor of mesh for working the keys of ineptitude. She is oblivious to her surroundings, not caring for chatty and gossip which she cant seperate between her reality and theirs because she is sensitive and when the the fully recognized sage, Esoh, confronts her about she says she much prefers it that way.

Their balance among them. With the wind at her side, Hojihka refuses the initial preference of her stillness and moves in a nameless precession by the whim of her ancestral birth right. "aaa may-ee soo shay-noo"

Her possession wakes up without a name. a new and more elaborate transposition of jubilee onto each successive indifference. The attention to one area renders the outer confines a vacuum enveloping the excess span unto both of their liable to taken over like a plain, sole, unconscious will. It certainly does its job Crermoth and has become something of a plan b pill thats taken during one of her many unpredictable episodes of self hate and general spiritual torment. One time she told J-Money she was a demon in a matter of factness that still haunts J-Money in moments when he pretends it doesnt bother him.. Reliant upon the interaction of her world and the next. Crermoth normally prefers being to herself on nights like these, that way she can answer any calls at a moments notice. A dimension close enough so that she may assist her friends in earthly manners of which, by the natural law of limitation, those lacking the incessant nobility of the Orisha cannot be bothered to see to themselves, less the tether between her world and theirs be rendered a useless tattered fervor of mesh that gives way to any varitable knock of an over arching brood of usurpment of the mundane frequency. “I need space. I only have but so much light of see to her calling as a being of light, assisting the pieces of herself that we’re lost during the falling. You remember that don’t you?” She says “Of course I remember. But only as a matter of fact. Upon closer reflection I fail to see the relevance of a subtle hunch with no bearings in the present.”

I must know that I’m allowed to be straight up with you, else I run the risk of straying from my calling. If there’s anything I hate more than being ignored its catching myself being lazy to the voices. “She musn’t veer to far.” Esoh said on a mountain.

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The woman wakes up to look around. Store-bought soil, empty bike-rack, office building. "Harder. Think harder. Come on girl." She stands for dignity's sake. A car traces a hilltop in the distance. She raises her cold arms to the sun in defiance of stillness. Nothing is in tune with the nature of her being besides the stale wind of a coming day. "Where are you?" The car freezes as it reaches the horizon, but the sound remains on loop. Whirrrrr A portal manifests abruptly and Elegua arrives on a chariot of skulls. "Erzulie, madame, how nice it is to see you this early in the morning." A whisp of fire cleans her face and the car continues over the horizon. "It really shouldnt be, not like this. Where Im at should tell a lot you know." Erzulie said. "Quite a dense reply to a longtime friend, dont you think" "Hmm, considering how I slept in a bush last night and dont remember a thing. I shouldnt need to explain myself." "No? is the friz on your hair not matching the blood on your knees? I can't tell which." Elegua said. Or is the attitude possessing you as if theres no consequence for ill-manneredness? I cant tell which." So long as one's not so dense up his selfish ass that he aint notice." "Oh so now all a sudden you about the finer things in life? We can switch places less you miss me. Erzulie said. Im only pointing out the obvious." Elegua said. Erzulie replied with silence, forcing life to flash before his eyes. She learned this from her Mother, Darkness. "Attitude is possessing you. I cant tell why but its a poison I dont deserve. I was only trying to help" He continued. "I just dont fuck with being called too early. So long as youre not too dense up your ass to take notice, safe to say i'm in some shit right now." "Clearly. A product of consequence." Elegua said randomly. "Yeah, recognize. Please, for me, baby?" "No more testing your patience, Goddess immortal of justice. Save that for what I came to tell you about." "Take me to cleanliness, saintly promise of wisdom. For im not feeling myself." They left the scene to the past and pondered on the pyramid they had just made with each other. "It's nice to be home." Erzulie said. Flying over the palm trees brought Elegua back to his power. "On the basis of love." Elegua said. The salt-water washed away all glimpses of doubt Erzulie had of her beauty. And she harnessed the pastels of the ocean. Thus, all guilt was abolished and unconditional love was convinced to dance within them. Drying his body under the rays of Amen reminded Elegua of his first words. Long ago, before Time was born. "O Father, you are so brilliant." "Thank you, son. I am the Light" "Then tell me, Father, if you are the Light, and are so brilliant, then why is it you flee from Darkness?" "All I do is my purpose, which seeks to balance harmony with creation. Although it is much more complicated than that. Like always I suppose. I'm afraid you ask me a question that I cannot answer. Here, because you are so curious, I will show you." "I'm ready, Father." Light grew brighter causing Elegua to cry in his recollection of what it felt like to say words. The links in his mind straining to pull in the right words. Not too plain to where the moment would be lost in happen stance, and not too radical so that his manhood could stay irrefutable (to convey meaning.) Then Light disintegrated into everything and Elegua searched for Light ever since. So Elegua went to the crossroads, and prodded Darkness for Light's wherabouts, "I want to relive the the moments before he left for eternity. Where can I find him?" Without a hug or a kiss, she told him to let go of his experience in order to live in the now, "Take his place and move forward. Grow up, your Daddy's gone cus you never did." "How could you say that me? I love you, Mom. Yet all I get is hate. Why are you hiding the truth from me?" "If I don't hate you, then who will? You got so much to learn that my heart breaks into brass. You must leave, understand me? LEAVE, before I do what your Father did and them some. I'm this close. Believe me." With nowhere else to go, Elegua obeyed the commands of his Mother. Although lonely at first, the spirits of the dead related to his despair, and offered to guide him through all the known and unknown realms of Ether, so long as he guided the spirits of the living to his Mother. So that the dead could learn for themselves the origins of their being dead. And when Light came back, they could say "Father, we know of Hate, now teach us Love." Elegua tried telling them that it was hopeless, that his Father was there, just not in the way they imagined, that they we're actually his Father and they had to realize it through an altered perception. but that negativity only made them more adament to their cause which annoyed Elegua into a manic spell of existential irony which persisted during times of war with the Snakes on 5th density. One battle in particular Badly wounded, he pulled his chariot with his arms to the middle of a corn-field on a full-moon during the Solstice, it was there he made a pact with his self, to never be ignorant to the fact that fate was an inescapable constant within all contributors to existence. That the very fabric that distinguishes the dead from the living was comprised of scattered shards of an indestructable essence that attached itself to the spirit-body via fate which is the Father of destiny. That the collective conscious is woven by the thread of Fate, thus binding a common goal, or Destiny, inherent to all beings of both polarities, thus setting in motion the spiral of gnosis, which lends itself to the spreading of keys that open the doors to helping each other fulfill each others Purpose. "I will collect the pieces of my Father so that I may speak with him again as I did as a child. I will never forget you because I love you. You are everything to me, which is all I ever could be. Please, I want to know why you flee in the face of Darkness."

____10/9/17 monday

My pace quickens as I veer away from the crowd onto the handicap stairs. I silently count my steps to give off a pensive, non-assuming vibe. Over by the quad theres crows just walking on the grass. Yet I'm the only one who seems to notice, even from a distance. The busses haul ass down Memorial St. I've learned to always be on alert because I'll never know whats waiting for me when I turn my attention off the floor and become reminded of string theory. Artificial energy, cork boards with grime on the edges, tunnel of dull ends, spongy plywood cielings. as i step with my head down and in every so sudden a demarcation in the bricks, the reptiles answer emails. This is where I'm going. Because my soul chose to live here at some point in time not too long ago considering the relationship between all that the universe has to offer and my general apathy towards said all as in any and all one. Which has become quite of a bore ever since the first week ended I had to come to terms with the reality that friends won't simply fall into my lap like they would if I wasnt such a masochist for being lonely. The row of pillars turn to one and all I see is the contentment in the air of the lobby. In the hallway are casually turned faces which glide about in a linear fashion like the ghost of a lost bride.. I get a side-view of the people afraid to admit that this is far from the paradise we expected it to be. The brochure in our acceptance letters didn't include the drunken nights of another dimension. I'm inside the life of an architect. One who's dead by now, but lives on through his work. I'm not going anywhere, the building would say, if it could talk. And I suppose it can. Because I just had the thought, and nothing is ever truly wrong without another thought to compare it to. But then if buildings could speak existed first, and was allowed to grow and find its place in the universe, then it'd be established enough to not warrant an adversary. But the question remains where, if it existed, was its fate organized before coming into my mind, awaiting my final judgement. Substitute me for a unicellular collective conscious and it seems like we're all dealers of fate her on planet earth of the milky way of the universe of the whatever comes next (should we ever know for sure). he or she deserves all the credit for it manifesting onto the grid of my consciousness, which is a zig zag joint's worth of a high right now. The perfect amount for not giving a fuck while still staying slick enough for witty comebacks. Which wouldn't hurt right now. This building isn't going anywhere. Though I wish it would. Because I dread what I'm about to do How he must have pained to communicate something he could call his own while maintaining a dignified and safe, always safe, because god forgive, well, you know, , putting the pen to the pad, drawing collumns in front of a Victorian fassad Succumbing to authority just to eat with a roof over your head and not freeze your ass off like a homeless freak. Profit margins in the final half of quarter one are lower than 1 standard deviation to what is considered by corporate to be optimal. As of now, the college has no incentive to ship in product from outside sources. All inventory must be stored in house to the buyer's demand. You better not be late.

___ On the parking deck

Tycho: “I had a dream I was on an internet forum. Someone posted the words: “life is an endless hell. With a blurry picture of a street at night-time. Not much different from what’s in front of us. I thought that made sense, until I scrolled down, to see a video looking out the windshield of a vintage rolls royce, coasting along a pacific highway. And the lines kept going. Next thing you know I’m falling down a pitch black waterslide, dreading my destination. If I never woke up I have a funny feeling i know where it was leading.

Preacher: In that instance did you feel the need to repent for your sins?

Tycho: No. that didn’t cross my mind. It was too late at that point.

Miranda: “I used to.

T: What made it stop?

Miranda: Seeing all the happy people around me. And knowing that they’ve been through the same shit. Break-ups, Death in the family, just generally feeling lost.

My heart was broken ”

T: Getting over the mind can be a dark place when it has nowhere else to rest. You can train it to think anything.”

Miranda: True

Tycho: Lately Ive been taking these long drives late at night into the boonies. Just to see where I up. I realized theres so many lives I’ll never know about.

If i wasnt born into money maybe I’d be humble enough to hate myself for even thinking such a thing.

How’d you get out of that?

Miranda:

These know it all professors are getting on my nerves. I fear Im crossing into an abyss I’ll never fully understand. Honestly I can’t fuckin stand these people. What name do I have to make for myself that i haven’t already experienced in the depths of my soul?

Tyco: You know how they try to act like they all official and shit, like I won’t see past it.

Miranda: [agreement] They do that.

Tyco: [stream of consciousness] So I just told her look I know its a rule, but I’m all about learning at my own pace and no disrespect i love her but Mrs. Soso can only go so far in telling me how to write. You can give tips and tricks but at the end of the day, I’ve been developed my writing style.. Like I thought we were done with all this high school shit. Well I didnt say that.

M: And what’d she say?

Tyco: She was like “As you get further into your major 90% of your assignments will be in essay format.. we require full participation “ At this im like she gonna hit me with the book like hell nah THEN outta nowhere She said “However, I also believe in 2nd chances.”. On the outside I was cool but inside I was like “*fist bump* yo i cannot fail outta college like someone watchin out for me idk who but-

Chad: fuck that shiiiiit *holds up white rum in front of street light”

Friend in background: 12! 12! 12!

Abrupt scene change. Camera shows Tyco zoned out. Then police car, as Tyco begins to hide behind the tree hes smoking on.

My black hoodie and phone-call to my dealer will still be with me tomorrow as I do the same thing.

(From a dream 10/23)

Tyco is driving around serving with Shantel when she lights her phone up from the passenger seat and puts the phone to her ear.

Shantel: You are not finna be talkin all that mess on my phone. Be honest with yourself. Don’t lie. You a hoe ass bitch.

?? Caller: Why are you even calling me? I dont give a fuck.

Shantel: Wait till I pull up then and slap the shit out you. Would that be better sweety?

?? Caller: I’m at Kawaii’s 30 deep. Bring your lil boyfriend and see what happens.

Shantel: Try me bitch.

[ The economy sedan turns right on red seemingly without breaking. ]

Tyco: 30 deep huh?

Shantel: With them ratchets.

Tyco: She sounds scared as hell aint nobody sticken up for her like that. You know they gonna talk shit right but soon as we throw them hands they gon be like, I dont know that bitch.

Shantel: nah but she stupid tho like not even worth all that extra

Tyco: We’re going. Wheres that nigga house i’ll waze that shit and we get there we just pop off. Aite?

[Not looking at the road, but to her, coasting down an average 2-lane with box neon trimmed tire shops and drive-thru windows governed stately as immovable beasts of mothership stores lurk behind low-sodium trenches of the new world order’s surveillence agenda for mass poplations en masse. ]

Just follow me. I’m walkin in and gonna start a commotion just bussin and you just break this bottle on her mother fuckin head and we out.

Shantel: haaah what okay

Tyco: You’re gonna fuck her shit up som serious.

Shantel: She talk shit about you.

Tyco: It’s in the stars babe for real.

Shantel: You gonna help me find that bitch?

Tyco: You my fucken queen I love you and I got you.

Neighborhood entrance.

Cars parked for miles.

House identified first glance.

Park.

Car doors..

Hip-Hop

Grass.

Walkway.

Steps.

Porch.

Door opens and yellow tops within the frame.

!! WHERE YOU AT// YALL FAKE AND CANT FINESSEE !!

AAAAAH YOU UGLY DARK SKINNED NIGROS

The caller is sitting on a couch ass to ass with other dudes. Looking stupid.

She never saw Shantel. Who came upon her like The Ring.

She has become a party magnet. It is a Slayer concert now. Nobody knows who’s who. Though Tyco is surely getting his ass beat. He catches of glimpse of Shantel’s fat ass ducking through the doorway and he could die right now and it wouldnt matter.

*GUN SHOT*

FUCK GOIN ON HERE MANE

“This not the place for you bro. - White boy comin up here in my place of business - Tryna pop shit off like you really not a bitch”

Kawaii looks up with his glock-9 extendo at his GD party mostly all gone just like that. The poor girl is still leaking.

“She need to go to the hospital.” Her friend says.

He points the glock at his head. Despair.

“Look around before I kill you.” An invitation.

Tycho: “I sold a 4 oz today after my accounting exam. I could be GD, 74, rock purp. whatever it be its nothing but Respect yo. Got connects with chad and Becky nahmean dog. Could put you on to some numbers they white and they fiends. Please OG.

“How much for a zip.”

“80, gas.”

“Was that yo bitch?”

“yea”

Kawaii: You lyin to me?

“No.”

“She eat your ass?”

“Yeah and bounce on my BIG ASS DICK” Tyco says with autism.

K walks away.

T: they don't even sell Molly bruh

K is you fucken high you dummies. Beat this nigga ass. *Tyco imagines the why the fuck you lyyin vine and remembers the exact moment he realized that wasnt an original song but actually a spin off of a classic throwback jam by the 90s R&B group “Next” in their hit single “Too Close”.. He was driving home from the cafe he used to write high school essays in while smoking a menthol american spirit with the windows rolled down on a spring evening playing KISS 104.1 Atlantas classic jams. Then he realized there was a full 6 minute video of the vine on youtube. After watching it he felt gayer. Thats all it did for him.

Tycho wakes up on living room floor.Terry (random G, on couch): *Hands him note× Kawaii said he's sorry. No hard feelings ya heard dog?

Tyco: I guess thugs act on impulse. *looks at note* and don't count on a gahdamn thing you bitchass motherfuckers. Tyco walks into class with a black eye. The Professor talks about interest loans. Tyco meets Moe after class in parking lot.

*Moe: Waddup

Tyco: It's lemon og I just got in.

Moe: Bet. Those last cookies you got. Bomb dude. It had them frar mother fuckers leanin like they can't handle that purp like that nahmean.*laughs*

Tyco: I got some backwoods you wanna hotbox.

Moe: Yo I'm down.

10/24/17 thursday

____ Last night I decided not to hate myself. The look I get from them doesnt bother me. Really, its a simple sign from nature that I’m used to by now. A wrong impression can sustain the fog of memory, of which I will be seen from the lens of another dimension, with not a care in the world, an angel in disguise. Thats the crux of my life up to this point. To no longer hate myself. But appear as if I still do. The nameless place in our past with no address., one of which even a frat boy can relate to. This invisible standard that’s thrown us into the pits of despair must be addressed. To seperate the real from the fake. Like the others are sleep walking through class fronting like they dont see me. The pyramid of perspective is an accordian overlayed on my third eye, televising scenes of sleep walkers who stay fronting like they dont see me. Walking behind the parking deck where green dumpsters were with my phone to my ear is a feeling that remains within me until I do the same thing over again in a few days. Buying in bulk never appealed to me. And if a 20 a g was the price thered be nothing my lonely ass could do. Fuck this worthless paper, I tell myself.

I tell myself. Anyone who catches my glimpse pauses for a split second, calibrating my own opinion of the why in life. A definition of nuance that was never meant to be expressed but felt. To sense what I’ve been wanting, free and alone, after all those wasted days.

I’m signalling. Though I havent been approached yet.

Figuring that would resolve the look I give other people. I mean, christ, I turned 18 last March. And spent the Summer in a last ditch effort to secure an identity before I made my plays in college. For too long I’ve avoided the call of the light and in return have gotten blank stares.

(SOMEHOW gets wrapped up into a petty conversation with sorirty girl (on top of parking deck.)

Clarissa: I was the only one alone in the entire party.

Tycho: Why didnt you leave?

T: Dont worry I dont wanna know your major.

C; Good cus it keeps changing.

T: You think you know everything dont you? This world aint nothin babe.

C: Why do you say that?

T: What do you wanna know? That I get money? Thats nothin.

Clarissa drifts off.

Hannah: So Stacy’s telling me the banners weren’t in that right place and we’re like an hour away from starting and we still haven’t even got the chairs in order and barely anyone who was suppose to be here has shown up yet.

Tycho: Where were they?

“Well for one, Candace, I dont know whats her problem lately, but shes been gone because her best-friends now telling her she’s not rushing anymore but thats honestly a relief because that girl wheres winged eyeliner and thinks shes better than us.”

Tycho: Oh, I think I’ve seen that girl at the library or something.

I intuit that in order to justify her reasoning for not liking the winged eyeliner girl, that she channeled my very own resonant storm cloud of which I emit silently in the face of vanity..

H: Well you’ll probably see her there a lot more cus shes definitely not with us.

“Okay so thats one.” I say as if taking notes.

“Then Rachel’s out at some charity event that I never even heard of probably with a guy she’s not telling us about which is so frustrating that of all days you pick friday night at the peak of rush to go be a hoe behind our backs.”

“Did she ever show up to the party?”

“Yeah. And she was fucking drunk.” She said as if surprised but not really because this is Rachel we’re talking about, after all.

“Like wasted orrr “

“Damn I didnt know yall got down like that.”

“Umm when youre stumbling through the door and your first words to all the new girls is hallelujah bitches!

She wasn’t with a guy.

“So tell me more about the party. Like was there”

who nobody knows anyway

is that Cheyenne is just out of it because her friends now telling her she doesnt want to rush anymore and for one its like look,

Wait, who’s hannah?

Hannah’s the leader of her sorority.

Ooooh, Okay, I see why now

-Yeah, I mean if word got around that would literally mean she was going around their backs to cover up that she was lying.

> Right. Yeah I hear what you sayin. She’s trying to make it seem as if it never concerned yall in the first place but if thats the case then she dont need to be acting like she got the right to be trusted.

This goes beyond reputation. Manipulating emotions just cus she has none of her own. Conniving biitch. just to get her way goes beyond reputation.

Aint nobody wanna be around that energy.

> So what you tell her?

I get schizophrenic when it comes accepting new ways of being. The person I made him out to be was the perfect cure for my suffering. All those forgetful nights of boredom I knew what I needed all along, but was to scared to do it myself.

------ Frat house halloween party kidnap scene ----

GD shaman prays to shango for power to go out by mantra. Squad in car repeats the same mantra. The power goes out at 1:00 (or peak of the party).

Tycho throws blue flare through the side of the window

at the Tycho must find Chad and lure him downstairs near the door so the squad can get the keys to the room full cocaine and adderal. After looking everwhere he’s no where to be found. He walks in on a couple having with the girl in missionary with devil ears. “Yo chad that you?” Its

(fuckem x3) Music stops from power so he sneaks in wireless speaker in his robot costume and puts it at one end of the room. Squad member 1 will carry bigger wireless speaker and set it down when he storms in. Tycho also brings a timed strobe light to distract people and keep the illusion of the party still going.

Tycho runs down stairs and towards door with chad chasing him. Squad slaps tape and mask on him and carries like a battering ram although theyve already kicked the door.

*Power turns back on*

“Fuck em, fuck em, nigga get out my section

Don’t want to see him, I don’t want to touch him

*waves zippo lighter in front of face so chad can see him through mask*

“Ima count 3 seconds and your dead on 5 if i dont get this combination” says calmly. thus saiyth the lord thy god”

“Three... No mercy”

“Two.. Shall be given unto those”

*gives code*

“One.”

Love takes many shapes and forms.Tycho never opened up to people, hating himself for being incapable of feeling what others felt. He wanted more so he went spiritual. Which his close friends perceived as going off the deep end."Ayy whatsup bro you tryna smoke?""I have a calc exam tomorrow but I'm down after."Aight good luck on your studying tonight and then kill it tomorrow I know you got this calc is your specialty can't say the same for me but that's why you always tutored me haha."Let me know if you need more help. Figuring their was no bounds and he could be whatever, even silent, and experience irony rather than fate. How bland, he thought, to have a life plan and nothing to look forward to. Running drugs would be a necessary chain reaction. The highest elixer exceeding the bliss provided by the very weight he'd be pushing, itd be getting off on defying his own life, leaving spirit his only option. And so like a blackbird his soul seeks experience only in the clearest degree of visibility. Swerving transgressions of lonliness to levy the burdens of contrived responsibilities at societies every turn until his flight patterns veer from the trodden path to and fro the calling of reality in which he desires to preside over as a God of many statures. Untainted by works, head first into the entity of the adversary, of which he is able to predict the situational consequence in only a glimpsing moment before havoc ensues and the final hour is upon him, his loose wings coated with astral charcoal of depravity. Be caught slipping once and he loses the jump until the enevitable program takes its course - an unstoppable relationship between fate and reckoning that must be fulfilled as day turns to night. Once that happens he reverts back to being like the rest of them. Yet to the world, now desolated beyond repair, hed still be alive, exuding a calm presence that something is not quite right with him existing without remorse. The truth is simple enough, a hint just ever so slight as to never be able to cross the threshold of utterance, thus becoming rendered a convinction of self delusion on the part of the unknowing accuser, who by this time hates himself for even thinking badly of such a good guy to make peace with. The collage curtails past the illusion of what is already known and at last the watchers take notice and thus regeneration is able to take place along all the land, allowing for new energy to take the throne of anticipation. One that has harnessed the potential to become anything the wonder puts his mind too. So what if I'm imaginative? Yolandra: I mean everyone's different in their own way. Like yeah the soroitys have a dress code and all that Starbucks and capris. But I don't know. You just have to get know a person for who they are and not how the outside world perceives them to be. T: So what'd you first think of me? Yolandra: Honestly not much anything. You were one of those people who could be anything. But then I overheard you say taurus's are gold diggers and I hated you cus I'm a taurus. T: Oh sorry I really didn't mean it like that but c'mon now I can tell you have a taste for finer things you bougie little.. Boob. *laugh\ haha "you know what I mean" It doesn't bother you? What? That so much could go wrong so quickly? Look, deep down he's telling you his heart lies with getting over and you let him because that's /just what you like about him, how deep he gets. cus he's a sad and selfish individual who was never about loving anything other than vanity. The best thing to do would be to trust his actions, intentions aren't what's important right now. Really, forget about the soul connection. Loves comes through all types of people as long as you're open to receiving them. Those energies. Don't lose yourself in the illusion. Without ever taking credit for what truly matters which should be you. Then your fashion made sense to me. T: I'm so caught up in myself. I mean, it's impossible to know anything else. I'll never get to stand in your shoes. Its just truth. Yet I'm the bad guy. You're not like the other people I've met. T: Yeah I'm kind of loner if you couldn't tell already. I guess that's a good thing.T: Hey it's okay. I get that a lot... Wait what do you mean you guess? Ive found that who evers saying does a 180 in their normalcy. Knowing your even here right now is a good thing. Knowing that you're with me even when im not. Don't you think? Starting out with confidence and ending strong to be lucky if I'm not hurt. Tell me what you want out of this. Sometimes I feel so lame, then I realize how fun itd be to not care. Through the window screen i see parchments and grass blades, this is an image I've sought to ignore for its blandness thinking I was over recognizing such mundane structures. The sunlight made me drunk with non verbal contemplation. I crave this heat when I'm in low spirits. And a breeze when I'm high. My thoughts are channeled from a lonely place (My thoughts come from a lonely place) I've had no choice but to become accustomed to for my own sanity. To work faster and breach that veil of reckonning. So unreachable and enticing at the same time.T When I'm alone, welcome something more than the past if you ever cared to help me. This isn't the only world out there. And even if it was the material would eventually reach infinity. Then a black hole would open or something. Don't quote me on that, science is the hottest thing going right now. It cant hurt to butt in unofficially. As long as no one calls you on it. The universe molds to your confidence. That's another story. At the end of the day, I have too much pride to be a scientist. The God they're serving calls for a lot of self sacrifice. A self that ignores emergency when called to speak. A self i'm not prepared to lose. "Why are you here again, nothing will change, you're gonna be quiet like last time" any handle on reality I had during the sun rise flees like an ex girlfriend into the night. I'm not prepared to lose. Anxiety is that humid feeling you get when roughnecking the time away. Jaded peripherals, internet browsing, and fading friends initiate a color spectrum so cruelly vivid in its inability to be shared with the CVS cashier who looked at you wrong because you bought 3 4oz bottles of robitussin. A man who couldnt care to see the streets, stop signs, and traffic lights. Man is a slang term we use when caught in the moment. Of which matrix programming loves to grasp onto. --- 10/25/17 wednesday So here I am enjoying a piece of lackluster nothing for the sake of something I've agreed to experience in a past life I can't even remember but somehow must make amends to as if its an actual concrete thing I can touch and make sense out of without caring to ponder how life puts us in these type situations like getting your hair done a new way and meeting a friend of a friend superficially without ever following up like aight word up bro I feel you by the way hows life and what's the special fact I should become one with in this moment while not thinking too much in to things or else id be alone as if we're not alive under the stars for any other reason than to be happy but still to me that becomes too much like a flash in time rather than something meaningful because then sex would have to be our purpose for being here but you and I both know it's more complicated than that so we look into it via memories and realize the journey was brighter than the reward as in I don't remember the actual sex part but rather the day as a whole with stained glass sprinkled in on a film reel to push the past into something real and unexplainably alluring to the self of which we projected this light onto in order to perhaps know in advance maybe how to repeat this metaphysical phenomenon for a second time because we're not quite there yet although at this rate if seems that to finally reach a state of thereness would mean we wouldn't be able to be here right now having this conversation like a building block struck from below or a house of cards we have to keep faith that every moment plays its part because we had an emotion for it and therefore couldn't be rendered to nothing in a wreckless attempt force it all together rather let each tile compliment it's neighbor and bypass the need for destruction by allowing enough caring energy to flow through that filter mechanism within you that deems lifes moments as worth remembering or forgetting and pretend you never heard about forgetting and avoid it like the plague because everything that ever was is depending on you to go forth into righteous so that gods original intention for letting go of unwanted baggage be synthesized within your vessel of upgrades intelligence so that the journey can still be appreciated only this time without th deceptive veil of the end. to question the little things that somehow don't mean much but at the same time appear to us daily as conduits for good fortune and thats what we must uphold ___ 11/2/17 thursday

I you and me playcated on a surface of stones that match our longing to search in the wrong places. Convenient are we done such a conceivable time that is time which is also time because what more can be said other than us winding down a fire escape to an inexplicable hatch sitting like paper mache on our transformative spiritual natures. Gone already but not forgotten just make sure to take the negative side of every situation involving 1 or more parties so as to make sure the rythym is in order because you can't go wrong with challenging the status quo of an area you're not suppose to be in even if that seems too easy and superficial it's the right choice because even the idea of rebellion as a bad thing must be able to project into a physical thing prompt for examination so secrets may be revealed. Wouldn't you know i stopped believing in faith due to its redundancy of chasing metaphysical strings too far out for us to put into words and isn't that the source of all our angst. Depraved of propositional phrases and elemental tables it's all so clear to me now. Casandra had a bag and Mikey had his sneakers in the forefront like a low hanging fruit but of course they had personalities that weren't so easy to see unless the hard work of interfacing came into the equation. Lets judge people based on judging for the sake of basing ourselves onto something not within our realm of reality. Perception is a hard question i think maybe inanimate objects could tell us a thing or two. Low pressure sodium lamps.Documentorial lecture hall amps failing to reach the end of the pyramid turned 90 degrees away from its focal point. May disease not reach our unexplainable selves if ever they may inhabit our temporary vessels like a friend who has no friends but you and wants desperately to get along with others but is attached to your ways. Are we in hell? What can our astral travels tell us about signaling locations with Etheric marks of time dialation. Things are what they are by defintion or they wouldn t be things however stepping the observer up a notch sets in motion cancer to grow from the singular notion that we ourselves separate on a cost of lightening our load. I am partly responsible for this mess we have made. Pulling my hair out in thin strands so as to not make a difference. Some people just don't understand what it means to be so far gone yet in a place of enchantment that lets us know we're not alone as Michael Jackson plays on the ham radio and Wikipedia says the song was written by r kelly. I'm a solitary young man, joined at the seams complacency and red-ridden vanishing points to a line of sight I'd rather not identify with if I had a choice. I'm seriously considering becoming rich and famous despite others already forcing me to. I guess eventually my spirit will give in as my soul looks from a distance and says what a fool I am then goes about his day. You can't be like the rest of them no matter how hard you try. Thinking on the sensualities you avoided after this rap shit led you no where. The palace at the height of creation where Jesus stopped and stared to collect his thoughts before he kept going when his alarm rang as his slave bending consistency tracked the new melinnia into a moldy piece of sandstone cheese the better of which tasted nutty with fruity notes and 80% abv shards of liquid glass on the throat thatd make even an immortal weep a shy tear or two. The pigs down in Mississippi feel things we can't understand in their slaughterhouse decrepit and forwarned in a musk ridden air flow that's non existent to hypocritical angels who were supposed to stop atrocity but opted to sit on their ads and play virtua tennis all day. Oink says the pig. Hee haw says the donkey. Give me life says the God and there on the 30th night fags came to tell the story on their faces. The bag lady told them to shut up and stop whining but they wouldn't listen though they lost their ability to speak. Goodness gracious me oh my great balls of fire. Great balls of ball you are the Lord of my lonely century in this dimension I took awareness to when I allowed you into my heart space.And then I left asking my self: Who is this I?

755559888a

Let’s stand for a while and think about the dastardly ways we have gone under the waters and flew away from temptation. Have us saying isnt it so pretty to be in something and have that to fall back on due to the struggles of forgetting the place we come from which didnt always have it out for us this bad in refusing us of inconjunctions we can at least point to and blame our problems on saying “See! There, I told you so. That’s why we cant find our beginning!” And we’ll keep toilling the fields as halflings saving up for a chance to leave the very universe we serve. “So thats more like it. Finally something I can get my flows on to” Shelly the alien said. “The Stars dont have to like you just because you see them. They have their place and so do we” Gerald said. “Oh but they do.” “How do you know?” “Well for one they always shine bright at the most oppurtune times, like when I’m feeling down about the part of myself that conveinently seems to escape me just when I need it most. If that be so then put me on to something else and that’ll do just fine.” “Perhaps you're not as big as you thought ” Gerald held up his hand to salvage what was left of the dissolving psychic barrier between them. An invisible giant with an ocd issue. For now he could only listen. “No im not here to choose and thats exactly why Im not afraid to go where you can’t. Having the courage to admit your wrongs requires as much energy as universal rotation itself - a force which exists beyond our pleaidien awareness. ” “ But Shel- Okay whatever” Gerald paused and rolled the horizon through his scaly fingertips. “Keep calling on the unknown and you might get lost because it’s been there forever and sometimes Look, Shelly, no offense, you know I love you, but your awareness has no filter on what representation it can cling onto like danger isnt a reality to you. Me and Dazel always had to look out for you and thats just in this world what makes you think you can take on things you cant even see? “But do you believe in me? Anyone can say they love me. I’ve been hearing that my whole life. So much that it holds the same meaning as “um” does in conversation. Is that really the final conclusion we have at the end of the day? That you love me? Besides, I dont think you really meant that.”

“Here goes Miss Type-1 personality again. Always needing to label circles into squares, stars into gods, this as that, out of an inability to cope with insecurity. Leaving the rest of us as unwilling participants.”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT’S WRONG IN NATURE?” Shelly bawled.

The beach of Temofose was out of walking distance from the orange cottage they grew up in with there Mom. When they were young it was somewhere theyd go when they had nothing else to do. Euweu Sister Beach was the brighter of the two, but now too populated for their liking. Temofose is less frequented by other families and polluted by cargo ships and a lack of open views but as they stood there a semblence of twilight through the holographic cages offered closure to the purpose of them arguing in the elements about a timeline Shelly was going to step into And no matter what argument he could put forth, Gerald thought of it fruitless unless he spoke from his heart, a heart of which Shelly was currently taking the place of, so that he could not use it against her. “Shelly, I just hope you can understand how I dont want to let you go.” “I’m sorry you feel that way. But it’s my choice. Have a good njght Gerald. I love you” She said as she went into darkness.

Summer Break 2018

As a street light exploring strip malls, I am a linoleum tile on top of a trapezoid emitting frames of rave scenes. Heres where I find myself walking through last nights dream of the gang member selling duck pussy then getting assaulted by a pizza guy and a cop. Alone after those nights. Seems love was never meant to be expressed but felt. I look inside to see if I’m about to die, seeing diamonds mixed with sky. Materializing in the backdrop of my memories. Now I know why.

Now I know.

Then a wren on the fence manifests when it needs to. The perspective pyramid is that I pleaded for a higher calling. There’s nobody bohemian as me. One day I’ll take this civic off the road and escape into my sacred grove. If only I wasnt such a bitch.

I carry my single briefcase through the airport parking lot. I’m hot and out of breath. Everyone watching me. I can read their thoughts but not my own. They say look at the guy who isnt me but is still conscious enough to move his vessel.

The a/c runs down to the end of the terminal, but my spirit is squared by the stores selling vain material. The pyramid of perspective is an accordian overlayed on my mind’s eye televises scenes too chaotic to put into words. Walking through customs is an event to be remembered, I tell myself. Anyone who catches my glimpse pauses for a split second, calibrating my own opinion of the why in life. A definition of nuance that was never meant to be expressed but felt. To sense what I’ve been wanting, free and alone, after all those wasted days. I board the flight to say finally I am my own religion. If I was flying over africa I’d see bon fires, but over Georgia I only see street lights. Thinking how absurd that they will speak of me as crazy. Others will listen. A vibration through these amber aisles to look no further than my destiny. Because everyone has their destination is the way it goes. I refuse. I’m tired of being a number. Atlanta had its place. Now I’m homeless in Tokyo. This is the not-so perfect end to the chapter planned out for me by the higher power. Not-so bad neither.

Save me. I’m on the other side now.

#chapter 1 #short-story #novella #atl streetz #cancer moon #tryna

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 6 years

Text

It was her, pt. 2 (D.W.)

Summary: Dean is back in the apocalypse world, ready to save his family and her.

Warnings: mentions of death and some angst, fluff too

Word count: 1806

Part 1

Part 3

Dean was beyond excited to return. Every second that passed made him more ecstatic and everyone seemed to notice. Her face had been haunting his dreams, constantly at the back of his mind. Was she still alive was his main concern, while the second one was more focused on a plan to get her out. If she was anything like his Y/N, and she most certainly was, her stubborn loyal nature would make it hell for him to convince her to abandon her own world and go through the rift with a bunch of strangers. He'd sell his own soul...again..to make it happen and Sam knew that too.

They were already on edge with Lucifer back in the picture and Rowena being left alone to keep him in check and the rift open certainly didn’t help. Gabriel not being on full power was another problem they hoped wouldn't soil their plans, but the worst were the unexpected guests they had to take with them through the tunnels infested with vampires. Little did he know he'd be losing a lot more than he bargained for once he entered the dark ruin, coming out a shattered man on the other end. The light at the end of the tunnel seemed like a joke to him until he finally saw it and her waiting at the other end. Without a word, Dean all but collapsed in her arms, holding onto her like a dying man held onto hope of a cure. She was alive and it gave him some comfort while his heart and soul bled for his brother.

She was worried about the man in her arms from the day he left. The kiss they shared crossed her mind more often than she liked to admit. Dean Winchester had something about him that she couldn't resist and it annoyed her to no end. But when she saw him coming out from the darkness, his eyes hollow and his body slumped, she knew something devastatingly bad had happened and she held onto him, letting him lean on her like he did once before when he was shot. She didn't mind, in fact she insisted. No words were necessary, their eyes told their stories and no one dared to open their mouth anyway.

Castiel stared at Y/N, both happy and confused at the way things played out as he too felt guilty for her death. She led them back to the camp, being intercepted halfway by none other than Mary Winchester herself. Dean stumbled to his mother's embrace when she questioned Sam's whereabouts and everything clicked for Y/N in that moment. Dean had lost his brother and that's what had rendered him a broken man. It was hard for her to watch him like that, not knowing what to say or do as she was never good with comforting words herself, but she wanted to be there for him. She kept close to the mother-son duo, just in case if either of them needed her. She apparently knew Mary, but Dean didn't question it yet, he wasn't ready.

Once they arrived at the camp, settling in, Dean watched Y/N run into Jack's arms indicating they were a little closer than he knew before. She caressed his cheek before giving him a light peck on it, messing up his hair. Dean joined the pair, confused with their interactions, but giving Jack a hug nonetheless.

„Where's Sam?“ Jack questioned, but Dean could barely talk, swallowing thickly and just shaking his head slightly.

„Jack, I'm sorry. Dean...If you need anything.“ She said and he nodded quickly, putting an arm around her, leaving a kiss on her temple like he used to do with his Y/N. She didn't pull away, not even flinched and he smiled sadly feeling like he was manipulating her into being close due to the cicumstances, not knowing she didn't want to be away from him either.

Once Sam wobbled into the camp, taking everyone by surprise, followed by Lucifer, Dean was already standing before her, not letting the devil come a step closer to her once more.

„I killed you once.“ Lucifer chuckled dryly, trying to lift to mood but only caused her to shiver lightly while Castiel and Dean took a protective stance with a stern look on their faces. Not only did he save Sam in order to worm his way into Jack's life, he also had the audacity to near her again, after what he did to her original version. Dean was on edge, losing it bit by bit, but satisfied he still had his brother back. He understood why he accepted the deal, he even praised it. Anything for him to return to his family was a go in Dean's eyes. However, Lucifer trying to get close to the kid was a big no no and Y/N seemed to agree when she advised against it.

„Jack, I know you want to get to know your father, learn about your heritage and powers, but don't trust him. He's not called the devil for nothing. Okay? Be careful.“ She kissed his cheek again, smiling back at him and he nodded, grateful for her input unlike his earlier annoyance at Dean's insistence to stay clear of his father.

„He's like a little brother.“ She leaned against the wall, startling Dean as he stared at Jack and Lucifer talking with disdain.

„Figured.“ Dean responded while she took a seat next to him. She looked at him intently, leaning her head on her knees that were pulled up to her chest. She made him nervous and he tried to hide it as much as he could, but that seemed impossible.

„How long has it been?“ She questioned, her voice gentle as ever making his heart ache.

„Around two months. For you?“ He looked back, boring his eyes in hers, loving every little change in those beautiful Y/E/C hues. She had the same eyes, but there was so much more in hers, an untold story that created a mystery he wanted to solve. His Y/N was an open book, he'd be able to tell what's on her mind without a problem, but this one had something he couldn't quite figure out. Finding these little differences were hard, but they were evident to him, always.

„Almost six months.“ She spoke, averting her gaze elsewhere. Her tone changed to a sadder note, maybe even a hint of anguish in it and Dean almost smiled, assuming it was because of him.

„Missed me that much?“ He joked, nudging her lightly and she giggled. Ah, how he missed her laugh. It always made him smile and this time was not different.

„Don't be cocky, Dean. It's not a good color on you.“ She retorted and he chuckled, making her heart skip a beat. He really made her wonder about the original Y/N and how much this was killing him. If Lucifer really killed her doppleganger, than this probably raised all the red flags in his mind.

„I'm really glad you're alive.“ He said and she turned to him with a small smile.

„I'm really glad you're back.“ She got up, wiping her hands against the back of her jeans, making Dean stare at her ass while she raised an eyebrow in return.

„Stop staring and let's go. You called for a meeting, remember?“ Her lips curled upwards and he rolled his eyes playfully before following the ghost of his past.

The meeting comprised of him and his brother actively talking people into joining them in their own world, searching for a way to destroy Michael. Y/N was initially against it, but once they convinced Bobby, she was with him. A little hesitant, but she trusted Bobby and even Dean. It wasn't like she was leaving forever, or at least it's what she told herself. She slept soundly that night, not knowing off the rescue mission that took place. If she did, she'd make a fuss about it, following the guys to save Charlie at all costs, Dean was aware of it so he conveniently left it out knowing he'd take some heat for it in the morning.

They returned before dawn and all he needed was too see her beautiful face again. He stood at the door frame, scared to come closer and startle her because it was never a good idea to wake a sleeping hunter unless you wanted to lose an arm or worse, your life. He watched the moonlight fall on her pillow, accenting her long eyelashes, cheekbones and beautiful lips he so longed for. That kiss kept him up more than once and he hoped it had some effect on her too. The morning came so fast, the older Winchester falling asleep in front of her door had Y/N laughing like a maniac at the crack of dawn. She watched him drool, booping his nose to wake him up. He groggily opened his eyes, blinking away the sleepiness, letting himself believe she wasn't a ghost but a real person standing before him with her hand outstretched for him to take. They had one job: get everyone on the bus and they did. It took a little convincing, but Jack came along and they soon found themselves in front of the closing rift. Dean panicked, afraid she'd be stuck in this horrible world again so he all but pushed her through in the first group with a 'See you on the other side in a few'

She paced on the other side, waiting for any sign of Dean, Mary holding her back a few times she tried to go back for him in fear of him staying behind. It was an inexplicable feeling in her heart, one she'd hate to come true, she just needed him to come back and that way they would have time to figure it out later on. It was unnerving knowing he was in love with a carbon copy of her, worried he might be looking at her that way because of the person he used to know, not seeing the real person before him. On the other hand, she had faith. She believed her personality shone through for him to see she was her own person, hoping he'd like her just the way she was.

In the last moment, he walked through and she couldn't contain herself. In one step she was in his embrace, hugging him tightly while he had lifted her off her feet, his grip on her strong and relentless. They each couldn't imagine being separated again and neither were going to let it happen. It was a silent promise, spoken only in their joined heartbeats, but evident to all who listened carefully. Dean and Y/N found their way to each other and it would take heaven and hell to tear them apart.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural #dean winchester fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #supernatural season 13 #apocalypse

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human-resourccs · 6 years

Text

He Just Likes The Rush - Ch. 6

in which well-deserved apologies are given.

~1800 words

previous chapter

next chapter

Edward went missing about two days after the incident in Jonathan's cell; he was somewhat surprised by the severity of the reaction. Certainly, it had been… for lack of better words, 'a dick move' as his ex-students would put it (were they still mentally sound), but to go so far as to cause his departure from asylum so very hastily was… an unexpected consequence. He had wanted to apologise; after all, the reason he'd reacted so was in an attempt to preserve their continued contact. It quickly dawned on him that perhaps he had damaged things beyond repair - hinted at by the sinking feeling in his chest upon hearing the rumours of Ed's escape. These foolish emotions; he would much rather observe their effects than feel them for himself. So he swallowed the feeling down and turned his hand back to his new favourite pastime, now that he lacked his favourite conversation partner; experimentation. Lots of it. There were so many, many inmates, guards, doctors - and all he had was time, time, time.

So much time, that he soon lost track of the days and the nights and everything in-between as he talked circles around his apathetic doctors and worked through cell-mates faster than they could replace them; not that the staff cared that these people would drop like flies around him. It was less or a burden to them; their poor overworked rotas. They couldn't justify solitary, or any kind of punishment, without proof he'd done it since he wasn't a particularly 'high risk' villain. Not yet.

and, well,

he chuckled to himself.

they weren't ever going to get any proof.

Harley stopped talking to him, too. After a while of attempting to break through this bizarre mood that had taken him. He wasn't really sure when. Not doing so well on the 'friends' front anymore; aside from his newest little companion. The wandering wolf spider had started nesting in his hair at some point during the colder nights; he tolerated its presence - it hadn't bitten him, kept the cell free of other pests, and most importantly added to his generally unsettling appearance. If it stuck around long enough he might give it a name.

He stopped sleeping again, having found the time to work long into the nights with no marker for what the hour was and typically no cell-mate to become irate at the activity. It took a significant toll on him, but it wasn't anything he wasn't willing to sacrifice. The lack of… company to keep him grounded was beginning to have the same effect as before. Human contact, as it would have it, seemed to be a bit of a psychological anchor. Or perhaps it was just another hindrance to his life's work; his greatest interest, fascination, obsession.

It was convenient, then, when they finally moved him to the Intensive Treatment building. No more shared spaces; much quieter; he used to dislike being alone with his thoughts, but now it was really quite pleasant. Times like these were when his greatest ideas would spark to life; and he had so very many now to keep him occupied when he would have his freedom. His thoughts felt different like this; almost like when one tries to picture a strange voice speaking words you've never heard them speak. The only problem he had with this arrangement, he mused, was that it was too calm now. His mind was sluggish with the maddening peace, no screaming inmates, no worrying about sudden violent episodes from the less stable others; it craved some sort of input. The absolute apathy made his skin itch; like it did when he taught, first started experimenting with his wondrous toxin. There was nothing here for him; he was getting restless.

As luck would have it, in this haze, someone else took action on his behalf. Harvey Dent, it seemed, had also had enough of the drab asylum walls. A containment breach of this scale was exactly the distraction he needed; whatever his goons had done, they'd inadvertently opened half the cells on the island. He thought quickly; all it really took was a short stop at one of the staff rooms; a looted body and a stolen staff uniform. In the rush to evacuate the night staff, all he had to do in the end was behave normally to be escorted off by a security van.

It truly was amazing what a simple uniform could accomplish so long as you kept your head down and looked as though you knew what you were doing - his little companion almost gave the game away once or twice, though.

It had been more tempting than he would have liked to admit to stay behind amid the chaos and the panic and the fear to just take it all in for a while. However, he now had work to get back to - obviously, his lab was seized after his arrest, but this was a trivial matter. He'd made a safe stockpile when he sensed the authorities closing in, from there; well, he had a reputation now, and fear was something highly valued in this city. A unique service he was delighted to give, more so to be paid for it; the next few weeks were as much a blur as the ones just prior served in Arkham - though much more interesting - a whirlwind of research, terror, hastily scribbled chemical formulas; blackmail, death threats, protection rackets, all of it went straight back into his lab. The rush of it all, the gas, the police, the fear of being caught; or killed; perhaps even worse; it dispersed the crushing apathy and kept his mind sharp as a whip-crack.

It was after one of his week-long gauntlets he woke up, joints and muscles loudly proclaiming their distaste of his nightly activities; sitting bleary-eyed and squinting at his workbench in the tired haze that comes moments after awakening that he placed another irritating feeling gnawing at his ribcage. The one that wouldn't go away when he sat quietly long enough. He'd heard that the Riddler was becoming more… unhinged these days, since Jon had escaped; crueller traps, televised games - Jon never watched TV much, he'd never caught one live - that ended in glorified executions more often than not. In and out of Arkham so quickly he was making the doctor's heads spin with it. There was a connection to be made, there. Jon wasn't sure if it was a connection he wished to make but the reality of it was he doubted this foolish feeling digging its claws into his chest, furious and spiteful as the man he'd offended, was ever going to let go unless he… did something. Then he would finally know. Either it would work, or it wouldn't. He had nothing further to lose, after all. It may have come as a surprise to some (certainly to himself) that he actually had some shredded, twisted semblance of a conscience. Human, after all, then.

Damn it.

Edward briefly considered that perhaps he'd over-reacted slightly. Slightly! But, he argued internally, he always over-reacted to things. So, really, was this not a perfectly average reaction by his standards? Certainly, his puzzles had inclined in difficulty a tad; but that wasn't because he was bitter. He just felt that it was high time he sped up the process of weeding out the stupid and the uncultured and the wastrels of Gotham; if they were content to be utterly average and contribute nothing for the rest of their days, he was content to shorten those days quite considerably!

He spent his time tinkering and modifying his gauntlets to absurdly meticulous degrees; forgot all about Jonathan for a while, until the break-out, that is. Then he remembered how mad he was to have been so utterly disrespected by one of the few he called ‘friend’; the utter lack of remorse or even the smallest tokens of an attempted apology. Well, that was the last time he went out socialising. He never did in his youth and he didn't want to now. Yes, he realised that this… perfectlyregular reaction was caused in no small part by the childish infatuation he'd acquired - but he was above all that. He flatly refused to attempt contact and stubbornly continued the way things had always been, his enthusiasm for his criminal career freshly renewed, his rapid pattern of escape and recapture likely had them considering installing a revolving door in his cell. Because no prison could hold him, really! Especially not that rickety old run-down shambles of an asylum.

It was during his rare periods of downtime that the unthinkable finally happened - well, unthinkable was a strong word. Highly unlikely? Astronomically low in chance? Whichever is most applicable, he thought. Anyway-

During these quiet periods of recovery Edward would often retire to a particularly secluded safehouse where he would tinker and code and otherwise turn his hand to more relaxing pursuits than the constant extravagant performances he so often put on for the hapless masses of Gotham City. It never failed to work wonders for his mind and his mood and this time was no different.

Just then, a brief alarm flashed up, in his computer room, signalling the tripping of a puzzle room trigger. On a whim, he decided to observe whomever it was that had blundered their way in; he recalled that this was the room with the Cane-based riddle. A personal favourite of his. Before he could even reach the monitor, though, a separate light signalled its immediate completion. That was… curious.

Oh.

The sight before him, rendered out on the somewhat-cheap surveillance monitor, well, it certainly was… surprising. Pleasantly surprising? He wasn't quite sure. Couldn't put his finger on it

Jonathan stood with his gaze averted from the security camera, having simply wandered in and swiftly re-solved the very first death trap he'd stumbled into so long ago. Puzzle room, he corrected. It felt like an absolute lifetime ago, despite less than a year having had passed. He grimaced slightly, not exactly delighted by the situation he'd put himself in. He just hoped Edward would see the funny side and opt not to trigger the death trap. He held up a scrap of paper to the view of the camera.

'I BELIEVE I OWE YOU AN APOLOGY.'

it read.

'I AM A FOOL.'

The second part was purely for Edward's benefit. Not that it wasn't true, mind. It just took him longer than any sane person to realise. He did miss his company. Quite dearly, in fact. Dearly enough, it seemed, to allow himself such a crippling knock to the pride. Not that it was easy; he'd never live this down if it didn't work. But just this once, he was willing to let himself be vulnerable for the barest moment and take the gamble that Edward would understand.

And,

Well,

Edward thought.

Well… it's definitely a start.

#jonathan crane #edward nygma #edward nigma #scarecrow #riddler #danny writes

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neverendingbookshelf · 3 years

Text

Invisible String

Chapter 7 is now up!!

"I think Niall forgot to mention that I'm staying in here too tonight, but if it's a problem I can go sleep on the couch downstairs" Harry says softly while standing in the doorway, one hand on the back of his neck the other resting on the doorknob.

"No that's fine I say" butterflies immediately fill my stomach and I question the four drinks I consumed, praying that they stay down.

Harry walks over to the suitcase in the corner and I want to smack my forehead... of course thats his suitcase. He unzips the bag and rummages through his things before pulling out shorts and a t shirt.

"I'm going to go get ready for bed but I'll be back shortly, I just don't want you to be alarmed when I open the door again" he says while walking to the door. I nod my head and he leaves, softly shutting the door behind him.

I immediately grab my phone and open up the camera, praying that I still look as decent as I did when I first got here. My eyes widen once I take in my smudged mascara and my once contained hair, which now seems to be anything but.

I grab my purse and sink my hand into the bag, fishing for a hair tie. I managed to find one and gather my curls up with my hand, putting them into a half assed bun.

I then reach in for my phone charger and plug it into the wall behind the bedside table next to me.

Plugging in my phone I realize I forgot to text Ezra back and guilt sweeps through me. Before I can think of returning his message, the door opens.

Instead of being met with green eyes, I'm met with blue instead, and Niall enters.

"Harry mentioned it might not be too fun sleeping in the outfit you're wearing so I brought you one of my old tee shirts and some shorts" he says from the door way, the clothing hanging from his hand.

I smile and walk to the door thanking him.

"Convenient of you to not mention he is also sleeping in here tonight" I say sarcasm dripping from my voice.

"Oh did I forget to mention that? Totally slipped my mind, my bad" Niall says in the worst fake apologetic voice I've heard. Rolling my eyes I grab the clothes from his hands.

We say goodnight to each other and Niall leaves but not before blowing me a kiss, to which I then give a straight face and flip him off and hear him laugh as he shuts the door.

Walking back over to the bed I lay the clothes he gave me down and reach for the sweater around my neck, lifting it up and over my head.

Folding it, I rest it on the bedside table on top of my purse. I follow suit with my dress and reach for the shirt on the bed. It's dark green and has the masters logo in the center of it and when I put it on it falls to the top of my thighs.

Reaching for the blue checkered shorts I hear the door nob turn and I've barley managed to pull them over my ass before Harry enters.

"Oh my god I'm so sorry I should've nocked" Harry stammers from the door, looking down, a blush evident on his face.

"No you're fine, I was just finishing up" I say lifting up the covers of the bed and crawling in, trying to hide the blush that was probably very evident on my face as well.

I lay down on my side, facing the wall. Harry turns off the bedroom light, the room suddenly filling with the feeling of sleep, the streetlights in the window giving off a soft gold glow that lingers on the walls.

I feel the bed dip next to me and I roll onto my back not sure of what to do or say, a million thoughts race through my mind.

"Did you have fun tonight" Harry asks so quietly I almost have to lean closer to hear him.

"Yeah it was really fun, you have a lot of really nice friends, I wish I had met them when they went to school here" I respond.

I hear small soft taps start to come from the window, glancing up I see rain droplets appear one by one.

"Is that rain?" Harry asks, also twisting to peer out the window.

"I love falling asleep to the sound of rain. I feel like I always get the best sleep when it rains, but then I never want to get out of bed in the morning" I respond.

"Did you know that rain is just confetti from the sky" Harry softly mumbles.

"What?" I ask with a laugh turning to the side, facing Harry.

He glances over at me and suddenly starts to laugh, covering his face with his hands. I take a mental picture, tucking it away in the scrapbook of my mind for another day as I continue to laugh with him.

"Can I admit something? I think I'm still a little drunk" he says sheepishly, spreading his fingers so an eye peers out, glancing at me.

"Thats okay, if we're being honest I think I still am a little bit too" I say with a giggle.

He turns over to his side, dark emerald eyes staring intently into mine. A shivers rolls through my body.

Silence falls over us but we continue to look at each other, I feel like a puzzle that Harry is trying to solve in his mind, picking at the pieces of me until he finds the parts that stick together, but still not sure if he'll ever truly be able to solve it.

"I'm glad I met you Evelyn" he whispers, reaching out and tucking a loose curl around my ear. I find I've unintentionally moved closer to him, now feeling his body heat radiating under the shared sheet.

"I'm glad I met you Harry" I whisper back. He then moves closer to me, as if there's a string tugging us together slowly.

We're now so close I can see some freckles dotting his face and neck, like accidental paint splatters.

"Did you have fun tonight?" Harry whispers moving so close I can now feel his legs brushing mine.

"You already asked me that" I say, my breath hitching.

"Did I?" He asks, glancing briefly down at my lips.

"Harry -" I barely let out, about to ask him a question but losing my train of thought, glancing down at his lips.

I feel his hand rise and cup my cheek, his thumb gently brushes over my bottom lip, my mind going blank.

Heat fills my body as I struggle to find my breath. We lock eyes again, if we had been standing, my legs would be jello right now and I would be a puddle on the floor.

"You looked beautiful tonight" he says, his thumb slowly tracing my lips as his eyes follow suit before he makes eye contact with me again.

"Th- thank you" I barley manage to get out, my heart feeling like its about to come out of my chest.

"This would be a bad idea" he says slowly, moving closer so that our legs are now intertwined.

"What would be a bad idea?"I ask breathlessly.

Silence surrounds us as Harry moves his hand from my cheek to the side of my neck.

"If I kiss you right now, I will never leave" he barley whispers.

"Please-" I barley whisper and Harry's grip on my neck tightens ever so slightly, bringing us less than an inch from each other.

"You'll never have to beg me for that" he whispers in my ear and heat floods to just under my navel.

Before I know it Harry is pressing his lips to mine, the contact making my stomach erupt with fireworks, his lips a soft contrast to his calloused hands.

He begins to move his mouth against mine, painstakingly slow, as if he's trying to memorize each part of my lips.

I move my hand to his curls, running my fingers through it, resulting in his grip on my neck tightening.

Heat floods to my stomach even more and it takes everything in me not to squeeze my legs together.

He runs his hand down to my shoulder, sliding down my arms and landing on my waist.

Gripping my waist he brings my body closer to his, a small moan escapes from my lips.

Deepening the kiss, he tilts his head, increasing the pressure. I cling to his curls, wanting more.

Suddenly he pulls away, both of us merely inches from each other, breathless, and softly panting.

I look into his eyes to see his pupils dilated.

Harry shudders and butterflies take flight in my stomach once again.

"If we keep going I won't stop" he states nearly breathless.

"Why did you then?" I ask shyly, peering into his eyes.

Harry lets out a small grown, his grip on my waist tightening.

"Trust me, I wan't to, I really do. But I'd rather we be sober and not in Niall's spare bedroom" he states with a small laugh.

I let out a small huh and playfully roll my eyes letting out a "fine."

Harry suddenly reaches for my neck again, bringing me close.

"None of that now, be a good girl" he says into my ear.

I feel like melting into his arms and it takes everything in me not to rip his clothes off.

He moves back and we're once again face to face.

"It's late, we should get some sleep" he says, the rain falling softly beyond the window and I suddenly feel my eyes get heavy as if sand had magically been sprinkled on them.

Harry presses his lips again to mine, this time soft and brief before he breaks away.

"Goodnight Evelyn" he says, looking at me once more before closing his eyes.

"Goodnight Harry" I whisper back. Flipping to my other side, I feel Harry's arm drape over my waist and feel him move our bodies closer so that we're now intertwined.

I close my eyes, sleep welcoming me, still feeling the remnants of Harry's kiss lingering on my lips.

If you’d like to read more of this story the link is here ! ♥️ https://www.wattpad.com/936658902-invisible-string-h-s-hello

#harry #Harry Styles #Wattpad #tiktok #harry imagine #fine line #falling #black main character #harry edward styles

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holydragon2808 · 6 years

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Thoughts on The Legend of Korra Turf Wars (Part Two)

What’s up fellow Avatar fans? It looks like it’s that time again for me to rant and rave about the second part of Turf Wars. Feel free to check out my previous recap and review of part one here if you like. And as always, be mindful of major spoilers if you haven’t read the comics. Undercutting as usual because I love to ramble too much lol and it is a recap as well as a review so….

With all of that said, we’re picking up right where we left off in part one where the spirits returned to the spirit world through the portal after all that drama that went down among them, Team Avatar and Tokuga/Triple Threat Triads….or so we thought.

Damn…the spirits were not messing around when they said they were gonna get the hell out of dodge and that they want nothing to do with the humans and hate that the portals exist….they didn’t just pack a few spirit bags….they took the whole damn landscape with them (they really should offer a moving service I mean really. They didn’t even leave the spiritual kitchen sink here…)….so much for the beautiful Korrasami grove….I shared in Meelo’s disappointment there… I was looking forward to seeing that spot (again for us) in all its glory…oh well. But all joking aside….this message the spirits sent was just as cold and desolate as they left this place. Something’s got to give with these human/spirit relation issues…

These bleak first pages did a good job setting up the overall hopeless situational tone for this part of the story because things start bad….and they more or less stay that way because then General Iroh shows up with an army of troops to lockdown the spirit portal under President Raiko’s orders (of course). Was I the only one slightly disappointed with Iroh’s portrayal here? He seemed a bit too stiff and overly formal here (and a bit of a political tool here if I’m being candid) with Korra and the others? I don’t know, it just seemed to clash with his previous attitude. He seems like a guy who would follow orders but would find loopholes (book two comes to mind). around if he could (or at the very least not be so overly formal with Korra. (Am I making sense here? I can’t quite pinpoint my minor issue with the General on these pages….).Anyway, to Iroh’s credit he does direct Korra to President Raiko since his hands actually are tied here.

On a lighter note, leave it to Bolin to lighten the mood no matter how dire things get. I love how he put the Korrasami kiss info in his police report about Tokuga. More so Chief Beifong’s reaction (I swear this woman is the queen of “huh…whatever”). And of course politics and influence screw over any sort of action the Chief could take against Keum (and that’s part of what bites them in the ass later but more on that in a bit). Time to go hunting for some hard evidence boys! Let’s pay a visit to our favorite hexadactyly gangster Two-Toed Ping.

I have to say, I love how they’re portraying Bolin in these comics. So far they’ve found that sweet spot where they keep with his silly and fun nature without flanderizing him solely into cringeworthy comic relief. It’s just a small moment when he recalls his days of relaying messages as kids during his (and Mako’s) gang days while they’re questioning Two-Toed Ping but it was still worth noting to me. Good job Bo!

Meanwhile back with Korra and Raiko…..here we go again with this impossible jackass….well if nothing else, Raiko can play politics I’ll give him that. I love how Korra just Earthbends a muzzle on the assistant’s mouth and walks right past him like he’s not there! And he’s in the background struggling to remove it! Hilarious! But it seems like I spoke too soon in my previous review of part one when I said I was happy that the citizens of Republic City weren’t just blaming Korra for everything. I can forgive them for being a bit miffed at her (and Asami) for going on a vacation (from their perspective) while they were still homeless and destitute, but they seem to be ignoring the fact that President Raiko was too busy with his campaign to step up right away as well and didn’t even bother to check on the refugees until it was convenient for him and had to have someone literally spell it out to him that helping the refugees rebuild their homes would help save his candidacy…wow I mean the unmitigated gall here am I right folks? WTF?

Korra and Asami have a bit of an awkward moment shortly after. Seems like Raiko’s political bullshit, the refugees’ crappy attitudes towards Korra and co’s efforts to you know, keep the entire city from crashing and burning despite the collateral damage, and Korra having to break the news to Asami about their special wonderland getaway place in the spirit world being turned into a dilapidated dump practically overnight soured poor Korra’s mood here just a little bit, I mean we know how that goes right? Asami tries to reassure her here but I don’t it worked that well this time sadly. I wish I could say “things get better Korra don’t worry”….but….

Anyway…enough doom and gloom (for now). Once again, Bolin plays the role of audience surrogate hilariously too well. But before that, he also shows how well he can spin a story and suggests he and Mako film a mover about their cop adventures. I’d watch it lol. I also how he immediately pegs himself as the good cop and Mako as the bad cop (and how hilariously ironic that ends up being later). Mako seems to disagree and is a bit grouchier than usual (according to Bolin anyway). “Why are you so cranky, anyway? Is it because your two ex-girlfriends are dating each other now?” Face it you guys, if any of you say this thought hadn’t crossed your minds at least once, you’re lying and you shall not convince me otherwise! “You don’t seem cool with it.”

I love the face Mako makes when Bolin asked him point blank though. Jokes at his expense aside, don’t worry Mako. I’m rooting for you to find your special someone someday (more comics after Turf Wars are always good after all). I do like how they’re not afraid to poke a little harmless fun at him.

Sadly we don’t get a straight answer on that big elephant-rhino here because a street urchin we met briefly WAY back like four years ago in the narrative (Book 1) makes a return: Skoochy. They run him down and Bolin shows us that he may actually have more potential for the bad cop role than he thinks….practically threw the kid into the wall….damn what got into him?

Eventually, they get the kid to relent some information about the Triple Threat Triad hideout…..whether or not that information would actually be reliable by the time they investigated it would sadly end up being another matter entirely (seriously, I’m not the only one who saw that coming, right?). I did predict that the info would be bunk by the time they got there (Two Toed Ping said as such because The Triple Threats switch bases frequently) but I didn’t predict….well that….but we’ll get to that….

Now we’re back with Asami and she ends up with some very unexpected guests: Jargala and the Creeping Crystals. One of my RL friends said that Jargala resembled a buffed up Esmeralda from The Hunchback of Notre Dame and she half expected Quasimodo to follow Jargala into the room….it wasn’t a complaint or anything but it was a bit funny to hear her say that especially since I sort of had a similar thought beforehand (we were on the same page there no pun intended). Just felt like sharing but I’ve digressed. Jargala and her gang barge right in, she starts calling Asami sweetheart in a condescending manner (which Asami is quick to shoot that noise down) and offers a business proposition: protection in exchange for a small fee. How’s that for an establishing character moment? Asami breaks out the equalist glove as a rebuttal. How’s that for a “hell no?” To Jargala’s credit, she takes it in stride and gives Asami “a few days to reconsider the offer”….yeah that’s not ominous at all…

Now we’re at the Triple Threat Triad base and we have confirmation that Viper is indeed dead. The Triad doesn’t seem too pleased with the way their new boss is running things or at the very least they’re justifiably wary of the cold bastard. Speak of the devil and he shall appear they say. As soon as they start voicing their discontent with Toguka, the kid in question makes an appearance and nearly strangles Zhen (the “old timer”) to death and makes it very clear that he’s sticking around. The speech he gives as Chief Beifong and her team are infiltrating the Triads’ (supposed) Base (as its not the true base and is rigged to explode) is pretty chilling and IMO deserves recognition in its own right (even if it is long here):

“Take a good look, everyone. This is the new face of your leader. So you better get used to it, because I’m not going anywhere. That spirit intended to kill me. Instead I’ve become stronger…..quicker….and the changes are more than just physical. My mind is sharper and clearer than it’s ever been.

You could say I’ve had an awakening. I’ve seen beyond my initial vision for the Triple Threats. I realized my plan for us was too small…and far too limiting. Fighting with the Creeping Crystals over a few city blocks isn’t worth our time and effort….and serving as someone else’s muscle is beneath us. From now on, we call the shots.

My new aim is for the Triple Threats to seize control of Republic City and become the most dominant Triad in history. We will possess enormous financial and military power. I’ve made an arrangement with Wonyong Keum to become our new benefactor, so our money problem is solved. And There’s a weapons depot outside the city where the police are keeping all the tanks airships, and mecha-suits from Kuvira’s failed invasion. There’s a whole army’s worth of equipment just sitting there, waiting for us to put it to good use.

Soon, the police, President Raiko, even the Avatar….they will all answer to me. But in order for us to evolve, the old regime must die. And the first to go will be Chief Beifong and her Triad Task Force. We will prove to Republic City that the Triple Threats are a force to be feared. This city will belong to us!

But in order for our takeover to be successful, I need to know you’re all behind me. Victory will only come through unity.”

Ho…ly….shit! The Triple Threats are 100% done with kiddie games here folks. With them nearly blowing up Chief Beifong and her Task Force to Kingdom Come….shit just got real with a quickness! Like I said earlier, had they not completely dismissed Keum from the start (as Mako points out after nearly getting killed in the explosion) they might have found something sooner (though I do get where the Chief was coming from but still). Mako and Bolin are left now with no other choice but to go around the chief and political red tape to find answers. That Keum guy was hardly sympathetic but it is more than a little troubling to discover that the guy has been missing for a few days. That can only spell disaster given his money and influence….

Meanwhile back with Korra and Asami, I love how Korra is just like “damn it man can I just see my girl already?! Sheesh!” They swap stories about their run ins with the out of control gangs, Korra goes into protective girlfriend mode and Asami sort of rebuffs her (though she’s quick to explain what she meant). These two gotta get it together though I do like that things between them aren’t just hunky dory. I mean, that they have some issues with communication, they’re both independent and Asami knows that Korra already has far too many people depending on her on the regular so Asami would like to handle her own problems (you know one less burden for “Avatar” Korra or rather her over burdened girlfriend she loves). Though Korra misreads that way of thinking in general because she loves Asami and would want to help her regardless (or at least that’s the way I read it all. Feel free to message me with any other insights with that).

Anyway, Varrick makes an appearance here! I love the bait and switch with the massage thing they pulled. We’re led to believe that Varrick would receive the massage instead (and he does start that way lol. He wouldn’t be Varrick otherwise) but he actually does give Zhu Li a quick shoulder rub instead (aww….) and is generally supportive of her running for President (and just supportive in general). It’s a work in progress granted, but the fact that there IS some obvious and sincere progress here means something with these particular characters. Anyway, I’m hoping Zhu Li wins the Presidential election but I’m legit disappointed that Poki couldn’t be a candidate…..hey we still got one more part here….it could happen…maybe….

Uh-oh looks like Korra got stood up by Asami (yeah right!). I do like that Korra doesn’t jump to that conclusion (further showing how much they trust each other despite their many many awkward miscommunication issues at the moment) and rather she suspects (rightfully) that something bad happened to Asami instead. She (along with Bolin and Mako) rush to Asami’s new office only to find evidence of a fight they missed out on and Asami’s no where to be found. Considering what Asami told Korra earlier about the Creeping Crystals paying her a visit a few days prior, she’s not just rushing off on a whim here. More riled up than usual she rushes to the Creeping Crystals’ hideout without a second thought. And I love how Jargala is basically all like “No really….Asami’s not here, but since you went through the trouble to break down the door feel free to look around” with this casual tone like they’re talking about the weather. I’m hoping she and the Creeping Crystals play a larger role in the third part. Would like to see more of her.

Back at Air Temple Island, Tenzin and his family are voicing their discontent with Raiko and his incompetence along with his blatant abuse of his power. Meelo suggests marching on the portal (that kid wants far too much bloodshed for a supposed peaceful monk lol). Tenzin wants it to be a peaceful march much to Meelo’s disappointment. Though to his credit he’s “willing to try his dad’s idea first” lol.

Anyway back with Korra….huh turns out the Creeping Crystals didn’t have Asami after all. Jargala tells Korra to get lost before they make her. “I’d like to see you try” is Korra’s response. Me too for that matter! I guess I’m like Meelo. When are we gonna get an actual fight here…?……

….Okay…..nevermind…just as Bolin and Mako are bringing Korra up to speed about Wonyong Keum, Chief Beifong calls for all available hands to report to the Police Depot because Tokuga and the Triple Threats are at it again!

So, on the scene Kuvira’s death bots make a return (well at least they’re not twenty stories tall and equipped with instant death spirit ray power. Take what small breaks are available I suppose) as well as Tokuga in his half spiritual mutated glory….only to give Korra a rather hypocritical speech about learning that her actions have consequences (as if he did nothing to antagonize the spirits and brought his fate on himself). Damn….this dude is worse than Zaheer with that whole “never my fault” bullshit he’s got going on…Thankfully Mako calls him on that noise though it does very little good here….Tokuga rather smugly gloats that they swiped Asami from right under their noses and basically blackmails Team Avatar to surrender or she dies. Korra blames herself, and Tokuga and the Triple Threats march on Republic City with all of Kuvira’s mechs….oh dear…Not quite sure how I feel about that last shot of Asami. It seems like they’re portraying her to be far more helpless than she is (I hope that’s subverted with the next part).

Overall, a solid continuation. Though part two IMO has this sort of “middle part syndrome” where it feels like a lot happened and yet nothing happened at the same time (does that make any sense?). They certainly raised the stakes with the main plot but there’s been no real progress with the human/spirits (yet and still), the presidential election (will someone just impeach or assassinate Raiko already I mean damn? This point was really dragging to me), the townspeople are basically back to blaming Korra for everything etc. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still super stoked for part three. What about the rest of you? What did you like or hate about part two?

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