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myinconnelly1 · 1 month

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Take Everything

Criminal Minds fic

Spencer Reid x OFC

Summary: Spencer made a poor choice in the past, but when there is an outbreak related to a powerful aphrodisiac in Mia's city and he shows back up, she might have to learn to forgive him.

Warnings: Adult Language, 'sex pollen', dub!con, forensic conversation, P in V sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, other spoiler warnings in tags

W/C: 2,669

A/N: A special thanks to @firefly-in-darkness for the use of her amazing graphics/dividers. Go check her out.

Mia rubbed her temples as she looked around the crime scene. This was the fourth DOA in two weeks. Mia walked over to where the coroner was with the body. She had donned her gloves and squatted down by the man as he pulled a thermometer from the body.

“I’d say the time of death was between 3 – 5 am. But it’s hard to tell. Based on my previous autopsies, all of the victims had significantly high fevers and this will make my estimations poor at best.” The coroner cleaned his instrument and started to get the body ready for transport. “I can make some preliminary observations that support the use or overdose of Talon. Petechia around the eyes suggests a lack of oxygen. Pupils dilated and the flushed look tone of the skin all point to the hyperactivity of the nervous system.”

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to wash up,” Mia said as she stood and walked away. She took her gloves off and put them into a hazardous waste baggie.

“Hall, you’ve got to come hear this shit,” Mia’s partner called and she walked outside to join him.

It had been several months since the BAU team had been in this city. Spencer had spent almost two months here before the rest of the team had been invited. He had a personal interest in a case that they had come on, but the locals hadn’t wanted to call in the feds. Six women had died because of the mistrust between the city police and the federal agents.

Reid felt guilty about what he had done, but it’s likely that without him many more people would have died. Hotch had told him that he should never talk about what he had done to anyone after Spencer couldn’t deal with the guilt anymore, but in the end, Hotch agreed that it was a decision that saved several lives.

Deaths related to Talon were piling up all over the country. In a small, diluted amount, Talon was an aphrodisiac. However, in the past couple of months, people, especially teenagers were getting a hold of Talon in its pure form. The fine blue powder could be ingested orally or inhaled.

Hotch, Morgan, and Reid were setting up at the police station, while the others investigated the body in the morgue.

“Morgan, you and Reid start building the geographical profile. I’m gonna talk with the captain, thank him for inviting us, since we had all that trouble last time.” Hotch said before he started to walk into the bullpen.

“This is my case, Captain!

You can’t just give it to the feds without telling me.” Mia shouted from behind a closed door.

“And what kind of progress have you made on this case, Hall?” The captain had raised his voice only to be heard over the woman. “They are here to help us, play nice.”

“Good evening, Captain, thank you for inviting us on this case,” Hotchner said as he opened the door to the office. “Anything I can do to help?”

“No, Agent Hotchner, thank you for coming, here is a copy of the case file,” The captain slid the case file over, before walking out from behind his desk to help get the BAU set up.

“Play nice, Hall,”

Mia muttered under her breath as she walked out of the office and saw the other members of the BAU team.

“Fucking bet on it.”

“You okay, Hall?” one of the officers asked as she walked past her desk.

“Fucking fabulous, I’m taking the rest of the night off. Call me if someone dies,” Mia huffed as she very deliberately threw her shoulder to bump into Reid.

“Hey!” Morgan shouted at her as she walked past. Spencer tried to get him to leave the whole thing alone. “What the hell was that about? Wasn’t she the cop that got us invited on the last case?”

“Let it go, I’m sure she is still mad about how many people died last time,” Reid said, his guilt over the entire situation starting to come back to the surface.

“That’s no reason for her to take it out on you,” Morgan said watching the way his friend moved. “You were dating her, weren’t you?”

“Not really,” Spencer said trying to end the conversation and pulled out the maps and such to work on his map.

“Not really? Either you’re with someone or you’re not. Unless Spencer Reid is getting casual with his relationships.” Morgan grinned as he teased the younger agent. Reid’s ears turned red with the embarrassment that his friend was bringing up.

“Listen I don’t really want to talk about it. Can we just work? Things didn’t end well between us,” Reid finished when Morgan gave him a look begging for more information.

“Rossi says all four of the victims tested positive for Talon,” Hotch said as he came into the conference room where Reid and Morgan were set up. “There have been several people that have shown up in the ER recently with high-dose exposure. There is definitely some pure dust on the street.” Aaron put thumbtacks on the board where the DOAs had been and then flagged the locations that the survivors had claimed to have been when they thought they had been dosed.

“This is a lot of ground to cover,” Morgan said.

“We’re gonna need the cops patrolling these areas. It’d be a big help if they were all on our side.” Since the BAU team members had arrived there had been several suspicious looks and some that were downright unwelcoming. “The captain seems on board with getting our help, but I think whatever went down with Reid and Hall is causing some bad blood. I don’t need to know what it was, I’ll go call Garcia and see if we can come up with information based on the map.”

Morgan walked out of the room, obviously making space for Hotch and Reid to talk.

“You should go talk to her,”

Hotch said kindly. “I assuming that you broke things off when the case ended, and you haven’t talked to her since then.”

“Yeah, it definitely wasn’t the best thing to have done. How do I even bring the whole thing up with her? It’s been months and she is still very obviously mad. She probably won’t even talk with me. Do I just knock on her door and say I’m sorry for using you, but my friend was one of the people who was missing, and I needed a way to get on the case, so I used you?” Reid was very obviously flustered as he threw his hands into the air. “I think I really screwed up, Hotch. I think I was really into her, and now I can’t fix it.” Aaron put his hand on Spencer’s shoulder to get his attention.

“You don’t know that you can’t fix it, if you don’t try. Go talk to her. Apologize.

At least then she will know that you are sorry,” He said gently.

“Mia?” Spencer called gently as he knocked on her door. The door creaked open slightly when his knuckles rapped on the door. Concern overtook his expression, and he pulled his gun. “Mia! It Spencer, are you okay?” He closed the door and locked it behind himself so that no one would walk in behind him or leave. He heard gasping and crying from around the corner, and he prepared himself for the worst.

Reid nearly dropped his gun when he came around the corner and saw Mia lying on the rug in her living room. Her body was pointed away from him, but he could see that she had undone her jeans and let her hand slip into them and between her spread legs. Quickly, Reid put his gun and holster on the counter and rushed over to her. She was gasping and sweat had beaded all over her body. Gooseflesh pricked at Spencer, and he thought she might have turned the air conditioning to its maximum setting.

“Mia, what happened?”

Spencer grabbed one of the Talon instant test kits that he had started carrying when he was working these cases and went to get a cotton swab before he noticed that the kit already showed a little plus sign. He had simply exposed it to the air, and it was picking up contaminant. “Shit,” He cursed as he pulled out his cellphone and took off his jacket.

“Hotch,” Reid said a little louder than he intended as his teammate answered his call. “I’m at Mia’s, she’s been dosed with Talon. It must have been at her crime scene this morning. Have Paramedics get to everyone on her team that was there this morning.

I have a dose of the counteragent.

I’ll meet you at the hospital as soon as I can get her on her feet.” Reid felt the slick of sweat behind his ear as he hung up his cell phone.

“Fuck!” Mia wailed as she crunched up and grabbed Spencer’s shirt.

“I can’t breathe.” She panted.

“Mia, you’re gonna be okay.

It’s just Talon. I know it hurts,” He whispered as he let himself brush her dark hair out of her face. He was going to need to get her into a shower to lower her temperature. Her skin was clammy with fever, but he was having trouble getting up to move away from her. He felt the muscles in his stomach tightening as she moved her face close to his and her lips brushed over his.

“Why didn’t you want me?”

She groaned as she moved very quickly and straddled one of his legs. “I would have given you anything,” She said.

Reid felt his cock respond to the way that she ground herself against his thigh and the way her husky breath fanned over his mouth. She had always been one to talk when they would have sex and he had never minded. Since he had left, he had often gotten off to the words she had said to him when they were sleeping together. He had kind of thought she was ridiculous when she jumped into their relationship with both feet and told him that she loved him.

“I wanted to give you the world, but thought you would hate me when you found out about the case,”

He admitted as he realized he had never thought to ask her opinion on the whole thing and instead had ended things with her, sparing himself from her ire.

“I never cared about the case, Spence,” She whimpered when his free hand fell to where hers had been when he walked into the house. “I had hoped you would love me back. I wanted to have your baby.” It was Spencer’s turn to groan as slick started to cover his fingers. She had never talked about kids with him during sex.

Sure, he knew she wanted them, but he had been purposely ignorant about it as it pertained to their relationship.

“Make me cum, please,” She cried into his mouth as she kissed him.

It was all he could take.

He knew something was wrong but was unable to feel anything but the heat that was radiating from both of their bodies.

He wrapped his arm around her back and laid down between her legs as they fell open for him. He hadn’t noticed that she had unbuckled his belt and pants, and the way that his cock throbbed should have been a warning that he had inhaled some of the powder that was on her clothes.

Mia wiggled out of her pants as Spencer shoved his own down to his knees. It was the longest he could last without being inside of her. He hooked his long fingers into her panties and hitched them to the side as he filled her completely with a single stroke.

She whined at the sudden intrusion and Spencer thought he might fill her right then with how tight and hot she was.

“Fuck I missed you, I’m not gonna last long,” He groaned as he made small fast thrusts inside of her.

His fingers found her clit again to make sure that she finished before he did.

They were sweating like they had run a marathon when she came and clamped down so hard on him that he saw stars. He came hard.

Mia tentatively wiggled her hips and Spencer expected to be sensitive from his orgasm. But to his surprise, he found he was still hard. Had he been in his right mind he would have realized that Talon was making him hard still, and if they didn’t receive medical attention, they would just continue to fuck each other.

“Want more,” was all that Mia could get out in her feverish state.

“I’m gonna give more,”

He grunted as he leaned forward to start fucking into her again, harder this time. “And you’re gonna take everything I give you.”

“Yes, sir,” She moaned as her eyes crossed. Spencer cursed at her words. She was spurring him on with her sounds.

He had lost count of how many times he had made Mia and himself cum when she rolled him onto his back and straddled him. She took her shirt off and threw it to the side. It had landed on top of Spencer’s cellphone but neither of them noticed that.

“I thought you said you were going to give me everything,” She said as she grabbed his hands and brought them to her breasts as she rode him.

“I will,” He moaned as he rutted up into her. His thighs were starting to burn with the exertion, but he never wanted the feeling of being inside of her to end.

“Give me a baby,” she whined as she fucked him with long strokes.

He sat up and pulled her tight against his chest as they came together.

“Shit, roll over, so I can give it to you deep,” He said practically pushing her off of his dick. He kicked off the rest of his clothes and pulled Mia’s panties off, only just realizing that they had been on this whole time.

“Fuck, Spence, please.”

She cried as he lined himself up.

He took her as hard as he dared, wishing he could get his cum into her womb like this. He was aware she had started to scream his name every couple of thrusts, but neither of them noticed as the EMTs broke in the door with masks on.

Spencer’s fingers curled into her hair as they both came once more before the counteragent was aerosolized.

Mia was sitting on the side of her bathtub rubbing her temples as the headache continued to assault her.

She had woken up first at the hospital almost two days later. She was hooked up to fluids as a nurse was checking her vitals. Apparently, she was going to make a full recovery, but she needed to take it easy, and she was basically doing at-home quarantine.

She had been put on medical leave for three weeks pending her doctor’s approval, a drug test, and a psych evaluation. Something about going through a trauma and there was nothing to be ashamed of.

Her drug test was on Monday and her psych eval was later that same day. With any luck, she could return to work. Her whole body still ached, especially her core muscles, and everything surrounding them. Spencer had fucked her well, and she had enjoyed every minute of it. Thankfully he had been texting her and not trying to run away from his problems again. They had some very long conversations about trust, and Mia had decided that she wanted to give him another chance.

The alarm on her phone went off and she hit the stop button before rubbing her temples again.

“Well,” She sighed before taking a picture and sending it to Spencer.

~Are you ready to do this?

~Looks Positive to me

#criminal minds #spencer reid x ofc #police officer!ofc #sex pollen #unplanned pregnancy

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pilferingapples · 1 year

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do u think grantaire is kind? like based off of the brick? bc there is a difference in wanting progresss and loving your friends and being a kind person (not NICE but like. kind.)

Oh, interesting question! I...think he wants to be kind? So first off I don't think he's nice at all, lol. He's rude as hell. But of course, people can be kind without being nice-- Ursus in L'homme qui rit is a good Hugolian example, being a foulmouthed guy who'll insult anyone while also giving them the food from his own dish and the clothes off his back. And people can of course be very nice while being deeply unkind, as witness: too many examples to even start listing.

As for Grantaire in this regard, I think there's an important indicator of his general engagement with others in Preliminary Gayeties, when we see Legle, Joly and Grantaire talking with Navet (the only gamin we ever see Grantaire talking with!): "This. A tall blonde fellow on the boulevard said to me: `Do you know Mother Hucheloup?' I said: `Yes, Rue Chanvrerie, the old man's widow;' he said to me: `Go there. There you will find M. Bossuet. Tell him from me: "A B C".' It's a joke that they're playing on you, isn't it. He gave me ten sous."

"Joly, lend me ten sous," said Laigle; and, turning to Grantaire: "Grantaire, lend me ten sous."

This made twenty sous, which Laigle handed to the lad.

"Thank you, sir," said the urchin.

"What is your name?" inquired Laigle.

"Navet, Gavroche's friend."

"Stay with us," said Laigle.

"Breakfast with us," said Grantaire,

(italics bc Tumblr won't let me indent in asks, why)

There's a pattern here: Legle prompts kindness , and Grantaire follows his lead. I know certain people would sneer at that--of course Legle makes a lot of suggestions that use Other People's Money,how dare he!-- but (a) I hope none of those people are following this blog and (b)his friends are all people who want to help, and are united around that desire!. Legle is good at seeing how to help, even when he's not the one who can do it-- and we know already he will and does act when he does have the needed resources.

And Grantaire is Legle's friend. They don't just Hang Out By Association; Grantaire is probably closer to Legle than to anyone else in the group. He specifically came to join Legle and Joly on what they all know might be their Last Morning. He stays with them over going to Enjolras, his fixation and Reason For Everything, and his emotional reasons for staying are many, to be sure, but they all add up to that huge fact.

Grantaire repeatedly makes comments acknowledging that the world is unfair, and wishing it was better. He repeatedly argues that he is powerless, but also wishes he wasn't. He wants a better world; he wants to be part of making a better world; what he doesn't believe in, what he's taking care to not believe in, is the possibility of either of those things happening. That disconnect between Want and Can is core to his whole character.

But he's attached himself to people who believe in a better world; and to people who point out ways he can help. And he follows up on their suggestions as much as he can manage (see: he doesn't blink at backing up Legle's direct call for material aid , but cannot deliver on his promise to drum up support at the Barriere du Maine , a much more complicated role that he really doesn't understand.)

He wants there to be kindness in the world, and he wants to be part of making it happen. He is closest to people who help him see where and how he can be kind, since he struggles to figure it out on his own. He does not always see it, even then, or follow up well or even at all. But he wants to.

Does that mean he is? I dunno. Probably? Maybe?

Sometimes yes, sometimes no?

I turn it back to you, Nonny; what do you think?

#I think Grantaire is able to Do Things in nigh inverse proportion to how much he WANTS to be able to Do The Thing #but his friends help him break that sometimes #honestly very human #anyway this really is a very cool question Nonny thank you!!#Grantaire talk

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save-me-san-fran-psychonauts · 3 years

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Oh man, now I wanna know what your headcanons for the rest of the Psychic 7's music tastes are (possibly accompanied w/ Helmut's reaction)

RUBS ME HANDS TOGETHER OKAY SO.

A little preliminary stuff, i have a headcanon that Otto invented a psitanium radio that was powerful enough to dip into All of the radio airwaves (including some secret broadcasts that would definitely get them nixed if they were ever discovered) so the psychic 7 had a whole array of good tunes and radio broadcasts to listen to.

Also all of the music in this is going to be based around/before the 80s OKAY NOW ONWARD

Starting with Otto since I talked about that in me recent post: he didn’t exactly care for music back in the early days. He found it distracting and overall he liked the ambience in his lab more than whatever was on. Maybe he’d listen to classical, but overall, he was not a music guy.

That is, until the late 70s came around and the first synths started to hit the radio. Since then he has been a pretty big fan of industrial noise and early techno/electronic. Maybe a bit of synth pop if there isn’t any singing (again, a bit too distracting). Stuff like Kraftwerk, Einstürzende Neubauten, and Brian Eno.

[Helmut had been trying to get Otto into music for a long time and on one hand, he knew he should’ve expected that Otto would be interested in music produced by machines, and on the other he just wishes that it didn’t sound like the sound of hammering steel plates and loud beeping. They do bond over Gary Numan tho]

Now, Ford Cruller is an old fashioned dude. He absolutely loves Classical music, however I see him as an early Jazz and Country kinda dude. Especially with a bit of acoustic guitar. He liked it simple. Maybe as he got older he would get a bit into the prog rock scene, but early days looked a bit like Django Reinhardt (introduced to him by Lucrecia) and Johnny Cash. And all the classical music you can think of. (His Prog Rock scene might look like Emerson Lake & Palmer, Yes, Blue Oyster Cult, and Camel)

So, Ford 🤝 Bob

Liking acoustic guitar

however where Ford liked it simple, Bob’s taste leans more toward Folk Rock music. John Denver of course, but also Simon & Garfunkel, Cat Stevens, Fleetwood Mac, Crosby Stills & Nash, the works. He appreciates the quiet music but he loves to let loose sometimes (especially after meeting Helmut).

So remember when I said Ford was into jazz? It’s cuz Lucrecia introduced him to it (the good stuff, I mean). She is the other member of the psychic 7 who is a huge music connoisseur and loves to play new music she picks up at the record store. However, overall she is a lover of that classic 60s Rock alongside the Swing Jazz she would listen to with Ford. Something they could dance to together. Of course, she still listened to some of her music back from when she was in Grulovia. Alongside The Kinks and The Rollingstones, she listened to Gabor Szabo, Dorothy Ashby, and Django Reinhardt. Maybe in another lifetime she would’ve appreciated Ali Farka Toure in the 90s.

Cassie is an appreciator of pop rock. She listened to a LOT of early mandopop singers like Judy Ongg and Zhou Xuan back in Shanghai, so when she came to the states she took some of her music with her. She shared some of the shidaiqu music from China with Lucrecia and Ford and they showed her the world of American 50s and 60s pop rock. She absolutely listened to a bit of Elvis Presley, but I think she preferred female singers like Lesley Gore, The Shirelles, and Nancy Sinatra.

Helmut thinks there is no bad music, but he does have his preferences. He absolutely listened to 60s psychedelic rock like The Doors and The Grateful Dead. MAYBE a bit of The Beatles. But he loves his friends’ music and listens to it with them all the time.

Compton is by far the hardest for me to think about music wise. What the hell does this dude listen to. He might find music a bit overwhelming? Maybe he likes a little classical???? I’m not sure. He probably listens to 12 hours of rain noise.

#psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #I think about music so so much #watch me carefully curate this psychic 7 playlist I might actually do it ngl #writing about it is so much fun too

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fantastic-rambles · 3 years

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Sk8 Analysis: Adam’s Search for “Eve”

I’m tired of seeing all the hate for Adam, so... here’s some more non-hating-Adam content in which I try to relieve some of the pressure of my latest obsession. This isn’t meant to be a justification of his behavior or anything, just my own thoughts and theories on his character.

To me, his driving force is his love for skating. I honestly believe that he loves skating more than anyone else does, and more than anything else: his speech when he’s starting the quarterfinals of the tournament seems to suggest that/be a bit of a “humble brag” when he says that he’s trying to figure out who loves skating the most... because pretty much everyone knows that he’s #1 and the likely champion. Then there’s also all the times when he’s put off work in order to skate or immediately gone to the course after returning from a trip. So when he’s skating, he wants to enjoy himself to the fullest, which means that he needs a real rival, someone for whom it is not a foregone conclusion that Adam will win if he goes all-out. Which is what he’s looking for in his search for “Eve.”

Of course, the logical starting point in examining his character is his past. We do see that he has some typical “innocent childhood”-looking memories with Tadashi, who taught him how to skate, as well as good times with Cherry and Joe when they were teenagers. There was definitely a time when he was sincerely happy and didn’t engage in his current level of high-risk behavior that’s traumatized and injured a number of his opponents. But even then, it seems pretty clear that he’s on a different level than the other skaters: when Cherry and Joe first meet Adam, they have a skill test/challenge in which Cherry and Adam both jump over a stack of skateboards. While Cherry just barely clears the stack, Adam jumps over it with plenty of room to spare, which sparks the start of Cherry’s admiration for him.

But it does seem like Cherry and Joe are the two skaters who can best keep up with him, so they spend a lot of time together, and Adam even lets them see his face, telling them that they’re “special.” At that point, they were all still growing and improving, probably by competing with each other, so they had not yet reached their full potential/maturity as skaters. Even though Adam seemed to be their de facto leader since he was the most skilled and drew the admiration of everyone else, I think that he wanted them to improve until they could challenge him on equal footing, to help him also improve and enter a new frontier of skating together.

But between then and now, something changed, and all we know is that Tadashi blames himself for it, and it’s something that Cherry (and maybe Joe) doesn’t know or understand. Adam became obsessed with finding his “Eve,” the person who could be his equal in skating, and he became much more aggressive/desperate in searching for that person. When he finds someone who he thinks has the potential to keep up with him, he tests them to see if they love skating as much as he does (if they do, they won’t be scared to come back and challenge him) and whether they can keep up with him. And if he thinks that they really are “Eve,” he invites them to the world that he sees, when his eye goes all rainbow-y and he pushes both himself and his opponent to the edge. However, when he does that with one of his prospective Eves, the guy goes off a cliff, disappointing him and shocking Cherry and Joe.

So then, coming back to the present, how does he treat his opponents? It’s based on what expectations he has of them with regard to their likelihood of being “Eve.”

Starting with the one for whom he has the least expectations: Cherry. Usually, before a race, Adam will banter with his opponent and generally be kinda obnoxious, but he clearly has no interest in racing Cherry from the very start, and he admits as much (though Cherry misunderstands why). He gives off an air of just wanting to get it over with, interrupting Cherry and Joe’s bickering before the race and the whole time, he almost never smiles. It’s not that he doesn’t smile because he’s taking Cherry seriously, or that he’s upset about racing Cherry: it’s because it’s simply not fun for him. The more serious he gets, the more openly he expresses himself with his overly dramatic protestations of love, because that’s when he’s truly enjoying himself.

He also doesn’t engage in his usual showmanship, only dancing when he’s about to pull off a move, which might simply be because the “dancing” is required to set up the Love Hug/turn his board around. The early Love Hug at the beginning was a test: both of them knew that Cherry would avoid it, but Adam wanted to see how. Would he do something unexpected, or simply stick to his “overcalculated” method of skating? But Cherry ends up disappointing him, so in the end, he pretty much smacks Cherry in the face with reality. Again, I’m not condoning his violence, but I also think it was necessary in order to shock both Cherry and viewers who believed in “the power of friendship” to show them that, yes, Adam is no longer who he was, and that he isn’t clinging to the past/his fond memories. Adam himself doesn’t seem happy about doing it, unlike when he challenges other skaters with danger/violence (his previous prospective Eve, Reki, and Langa), but Cherry needs that reality check so he can let go and move on.

What he said about Cherry’s skating being “boring” and with “no surprises” is certainly incredibly harsh, but it’s not inaccurate. Even though I love highly analytical characters who can make calculations and execute them perfectly on the fly like Cherry, I agree with Adam’s assessment. Cherry is not an amazing skater: the only reason he’s considered one of the best skaters is because of his perfect technical skill, assisted by Carla. But he can’t improvise, and more importantly, he can’t improve: he’s already reached his peak. And that’s not enough to challenge Adam: even during their race, there were times that Adam was clearly holding back even as Cherry was nailing everything perfectly. So Adam has no more expectations of Cherry. He’s long ago discarded the idea that Cherry (or Joe) could be his “Eve,” so he views skating with them as boring and a waste of time because they can’t do anything that will thrill him or let him fully express his love for skating.

Next, Reki. Even though Adam knows that Reki isn’t at his level, and his main motivation is to beat Reki so he can race Langa, he still takes Reki relatively “seriously.” He’s his usual, flamboyant self prior to the race, and he does seem to enjoy himself during the race. Reki is closer to reaching his full potential, but that still puts his ability far below Adam’s, so Adam gives himself a handicap so that he can enjoy himself when he goes all-out to catch up. He also tests Reki’s potential with his very hands-on/violent approach to competing, though Reki ends up being scared off by it initially. But then he recovers and even surprises Adam with his persistence, resulting in Adam trying out a Love Hug on him, which turns out to be the final blow to Reki’s confidence. But Adam can still enjoy himself because it’s a new experience and a new challenger, so he can get a breath of fresh air even though he knows Reki isn’t his “Eve.”

Then, there’s Miya. Although it’s very briefly shown, Adam’s race with Miya during the preliminaries shows that he does have expectations of Miya. He has a cheerful, creepy talk with Miya about how he’s loved all of his opponents--not, in my opinion, in a romantic way, but rather because without them, he cannot fully enjoy the thrill of skating if he’s just skating “alone”--and during the race, he dances on his board throughout as he leaves Miya in the dust. Adam does seem happy when he says that it’s their first time racing together, because that means it’s a new experience for him. But he doesn’t test Miya’s potential to be an “Eve” with his usual grabbing him and forcing him to dance together because he believes that Miya hasn’t reached his maximum potential yet, as shown when he says that he won’t “love” Miya until he “blossoms beautifully.” So he does expect good things from Miya eventually, but he won’t race Miya seriously at this point: perhaps later, Miya could become an “Eve” for him, but not right now.

Then, finally, he has his eyes set on Langa, who is currently the closest to his ideal of “Eve.” Of course, he is aware that Langa is practically a complete beginner since he’s been watching Langa from the very start, but at the same time, Langa has so much raw potential that it excites Adam, so much so that he’s not willing to wait for Langa to fully mature as a skater. Even before the race starts and he becomes convinced that he’s found “Eve,” he shows up with a bouquet of red roses to proclaim his “passionate love” for Langa (AGAIN, NOT ROMANTICALLY), which is completely over the top compared to when he skated with anyone else and shows just how excited he is about skating against Langa.

During the race itself, he clearly respects Langa for wanting to start at the same time despite the very obvious handicap it gives Langa. Everyone else thinks that Langa is insane or stupid, but Adam seems pleased by it--because Langa is rising to the challenge and trying to fight him on equal terms. Yes, Adam holds back during the race because he knows that if he was serious, he would crush Langa (competitively, but not spiritually), but he also wants to see what Langa is made of. Initially, he seems disappointed when Langa is hanging back on the straightaway, which is a “safe” play suggested by Cherry that can’t beat him. But when he tests Langa by grabbing him and throwing them into a spin, not only does Langa not give up, but he actually challenges him back: pulling closer to increase their spin speed while smiling, which Adam is clearly delighted by. Then when he tries the Love Hug, Langa surprises him and exceeds his expectations by escaping it, even though he’s basically still a newbie. And escaping it not by dodging/running away like Cherry did, but by driving straight into Adam and flying over him. He’s willing to take risks and possibly fail, to do things that others don’t expect: a trailblazer for a new era of skating, like Adam (who developed a way to “skate uphill” and “pull off a Love Hug in a turn,” which everyone thought was impossible until he did it).

So Langa has everything that Adam is looking for in a rival: a love for skating that can’t be crushed by anything, a desire to challenge himself against opponents who should be above his ability level, and the potential to exceed Adam’s expectations and become a skater who he might even lose against. So Adam invites him to his world with the rainbow-y eye and is very clearly disappointed when they’re interrupted by the police. At that point, Langa isn’t at the level that he can actually fight on an equal footing with Adam, but it seems that he’ll be there soon, and that’s why Adam “loves” him so much and considers Langa to be his “Eve.”

He’s not looking for a romantic or sexual partner in “Eve,” but someone who can create a new world together with him: someone who can keep up with him, show him fresh possibilities, and breathe new life into what he loves more than anything else (skating). He doesn’t just want a crowd of fans who admire and cheer for him, for all that he enjoys the limelight and is incredibly flashy. He wants an equal.

129 notes · View notes

darker-soft-starker · 4 years

Photo

Starker High School AU, Pt. 2 (Pt. 1, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5)

-----

Peter will admit that during he took an extended moment during his journey home to grieve the loss of his free afternoon, and indeed the impending headaches.

And the rest of his future, if he was honest.

Not that Peter was prone to melancholy by any means, but with this assignment his fate was officially sealed, there was no misunderstanding. He was going to fail this assignment. He was going to, for the first time in his academic career, be forced to submit garbage of a caliber worthy of Tony Stark. It will forever be a black mark on his academic record.

No respectable college is going to accept him after this. In fact, he might as well drop out of school now and hit up Mr Delmar for a job. All of his prep for his MIT application is as good as useless after this. Extracurriculars? Goodbye.

Because it’s confirmed.

He’s doomed.

Swaying with the motions of the train, Peter types a text to Ned, the only person who might provide him with some much needed sympathy.

> I’m doomed > paired w/stark for an assignment lollllllllll. > help

Maybe Peter could trade with Ned. Maybe he could plead with their teacher, for honest fear of his life and scholastic integrity. He wasn’t even exaggerating. In no known iteration of this universe could Peter amicably work with Tony Stark. It would be like Harry Potter sitting down for tea with Voldemort, or Frodo and Sauron chilling with a pint and a pipe in Bag End.

It was unthinkable. Implausible. Laughable.

And Peter would laugh, were it anyone but him in this situation.

The feeling is unusual. Never had he found reason in his life to truly dislike anybody before, everyone could be redeemed or given the opportunity for penance. Natasha has said more than once that Peter would offer the devil himself a sandwich if he appeared.

Tony Stark on the other hand? No sandwich for him.

Well, maybe a slice of bread. A stale one.

While he waits for Ned to responds he catches sight of his injured reflection in the train window, which is admittedly pretty gnarly. Even with his hood drawn up, there was a noticeable berth allocated to him in the busy carriage between himself and the other passengers.

< sux. can I have ur lego hogwarts if u die?

> dude :( pity me.

< lol. so, can i?

Peter sighs.

> sure. Look after May for me, bro. delete my internet history.

< deal. godspeed

Pocketing his phone, Peter wonders if it’s too late to take up praying.

---

By the time he’s back in his apartment his mood has managed to swing back up.

Tony Stark is not going to be the arbiter of Peter’s fate. Hell no. He’s smart, he’s creative and hardworking - it isn’t up to anybody but Peter to determine his outcomes. If he has to do the assignment with Stark then he will. And he will work his hardest.

If he has to do it sharing the credit with Stark, well, Peter knows a concession when he sees one.

No matter how reluctant he is.

But he powers through it, like ripping off a bandaid. It’s fine! He’s a Parker and he’s come this far in life already against ill, Parker-like odds. What was being paired for one assignment with someone who escaped the nearest hellmouth?

It’ll be fine.

Probably.

Not letting himself linger on his fears, Peter clears out his previous plans of going on a YouTube spiral and eating sour gummies until his teeth stick, instead utilising the time to get his foot in and and begins prepping for the assignment. Cursory, preliminary research at first, before the inevitable deep dive begins.

Neanderthal, Peter scoffs, mad all over again. Who is Stark to call Peter a neanderthal? He’s second in his class. He’s a straight A student. He likes school.

And as much as he is moderately skilled in, and enjoys JV, it’s not like he received his scholarship to study at Midtown based on his physical prowess.

The graze on his cheek that stings every time he yawns is proof of that.

Stark can eat his entire ass and choke on it, he thinks darkly, as he continues his research. He doesn’t know the first thing about Peter.

The data is sobering as he delves into job listings and statistics of his projected salary in a three year margin. This is really what his teachers earn? Wow. Depressing.

The contrast of expected salary versus the forecast of steep student loans is disheartening further still.

Teaching quietly slips from second to third on his list of ideal occupations.

Turning on a playlist on his phone, Peter continues to compile notes, amassing a truly gargantuan amount of tabs on his browser. His computer, old enough to be on its’ last teeth, whirrs loudly in protest.

It’s not until his room goes dark that he thinks to check the time.

Ah, shit. It’s nearly six.

Peter pauses. Should he tidy up the apartment?

...Nah, no point in breaking a sweat for Stark.

He continues typing. Then he hesitates, fingers suspended in mid-air.

But what if Stark sees his unfolded laundry out on the dining table and publicly shames him for his old-but-comfortable Bulbasaur themed boxer shorts?

Goddamnit.

---

A quick, cursory clean ensues and leaves a relatively orderly Parker apartment. No freshly laundered underwear is in sight.

Peter wraps up just a few minutes before six. Right on time.

Taking a seat at the now clear dining table Peter drums his fingers on the surface and waits.

And waits.

---

He knows when Tony finally arrives when he hears the sound of a car pulling up outside his apartment block. The riffs of a Roxette remix can be heard playing loudly from the ground to the seventh floor of his apartment, the bass so thunderous it reverberates the windows all the way up to his floor.

Drumming his fingers on the kitchen table, Peter checks the wall clock again. It’s nearly seven.

Tony’s late.

Not that Peter is particularly affected with surprise that Tony is incapable of following basic instructions, but still. Really? Really?

By the time there is a knock on his door, Peter is already before it, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Every second between Tony pulling up and his ascent to Peter’s floor has him positively fuming. He can’t believe how this day played out. It started with such promise. He had such innocuous, but high hopes.

Clearly, he miscalculated.

Feeling a touch petty, he waits to answer, listening to Stark knock a second and then a third, more insistent time before he rouses enough calm to open the door.

He instantly regrets it when he does.

Tony’s expression is curious one as he breezes right passed Peter without waiting for further invitation. There’s a smudge of something dark on his brow, his otherwise white undershirt smeared in dark stains.

Peter watches incredulously as the other boy drops his backpack by the door with a thump.

“You’re late.”

He closes the door behind Tony and scowls at the other boys easy posture, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes taking in the apartment.

“I didn’t realise you lived all the way out in fucking Queens. Do you have any idea how bad traffic is at this time of day? Also, your elevator doesn’t work. I just climbed seven flights of stairs, where’s the hospitality?”

“Try earning it.”

The other boy rolls his eyes. “Like it’s worth my time.” He breezes past Peter and slides his leather jacket off his arms, tossing it atop of his backpack in the corner. “Look, I’m here now. Okay? You can unclench now. So, do I get a tour or what?”

“Or what. This wouldn’t have been an issue if we had just started straight after class like I said.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Tony clutches his hands to his heart before gesturing to the room. “I didn’t realise I was interrupting your busy Friday night, Parker. You got a keg and the rest of the meatheads stashed away somewhere?”

Without waiting for a response, Tony wanders around the living room like a curious child in a new play room. His gaze inspects everything all at once, from peering at up close at the wall mounted photos and hovering his grubby hands over the oddments and knick-knacks speckled throughout the space.

Apprehensive, Peter can’t help but shadow him, afraid he just let loose a hurricane in a china shop.

Without asking, Tony picks up May’s old Magic 8-Ball and gives it a good shake. Peter’s fingers itch to reach over and stop him, but stops himself because then that would require actually making direct skin contact the other boy.

Not worth it.

“Cannot predict now. Huh,” Tony says to himself before placing the ball back in the wrong spot.

They both watch silently as it rolls precariously close to the edge.

“Anyways,” Tony helps himself to an armchair, lounging back and spreading his legs wide. “I know your long-term memory is probably as defective as the rest of you, so don’t strain yourself recalling that I had other priorities.”

“Like what?”

“Like literally anything that isn’t being around you,” the other boy grins. “Now, are we doing this thing, or did you invite me over so you could bitch at me?”

“I didn’t invite you,” Peter grumbles, swiping his notebook from the dining table before sitting on the sofa, as far away from Stark as possible. Shifting, he takes his phone from his pocket and opens the notes he’d taken earlier.

“So, I cross referenced some websites and current job listings,” Peter scrolls through his research, adjusting his glasses as they slip down his nose. “Assuming you have no savings, we’re looking at an average of sixty-thousand per annum based on my salary alone. The average rent in --”

“-- Uh, why are we assuming I have no savings?”

"Because... we’re being realistic?”

Tony springs to his feet and paces across the living room.

“Well,” he says, gesturing to Peter, “if we’re being realistic, does having no savings also that mean I have no debt -- or are you paying off two student loans on your salary?”

“I don’t --”

“Do we have car loans? Health insurance?”

“Wait, slow your roll, Stark. I haven’t yet --”

“-- Of course you haven’t. I mean really, Parker, do you ever think ahead? You should try it, we do have a baby on the way, you know.” Tony clicks his fingers and points at Peter. “Oh, names! I want to call it Molly.”

“As in the drug?”

“No, as in Ringwald. Anyhoo, seeing as only one of us has the intellectual capacity to construct a budget,” Tony gestures to himself, “that would be me, consider maybe that I spent my savings paying off my student loans and bought a car for me and Miss Molly, leaving you with just your own stagnant debt. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” he says through clenched teeth, feeling utterly steamrolled. “But we’re not calling the baby Molly.”

“Yes, we are. Think of all the great nicknames. Hey wait,” Tony pauses in his pacing, “are your parents going to be home soon?”

It was in that moment Peters world narrows down to one, botched cosmic joke.

Turning his gaze heavenwards, Peter prays silently for mercy. What did he do to deserve this. This is all his bad karma come at once. This is the bad place.

“Ah, no,” he replies, eyes widening. “No, my parents are not going to be home soon.”

“Cool. Lucky you.”

Oblivious to Peter’s existential turmoil, Tony resumes his patrol through the living room, picking up a frame on the mantle. It houses an old photo of Ben, May and a young, bespectacled Peter.

It is one of the more embarrassing immortalisations of his younger self, eleven-years old and grinning widely, bearing his silver braces to the camera as he holds up a science fair trophy, curls wild and untamed.

Oh god. That was exactly what Peter needed on this unholy day - Tony Stark in his living room, witnessing Peter in his prepubescent glory.

Quick, create a diversion.

“So, as I was saying,” he says loudly, “rent is reasonably affordable with a sixty-thousand budget in --”

“Who’s the babe?” Tony points to a younger Aunt May in the photo.

Peter gets to his feet and removes the frame from Tony’s grasp. He glowers as he places it back on the mantle.

“No one you would have a chance with. Can you stay focused? Like, are you physically capable of it?”

“Okay, calm down,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got a lot of anger for someone so vertically challenged, you know that, shortstack?”

“Focus, dumbass.”

“I’m focused! Let’s see, we’ve established that I am excellent at managing my money. You have a shitty job and a shitty salary, and apparently my imaginary future self has terrible taste in men. So. Have I got that right? Where are we living?”

“Queens. LIC has some one bed, one baths that could be affordable.”

“Uh, rewind. Going to have to eighty-six that - I am not living in Queens.”

Peter stares at him.

Tony rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “Fine, whatever. But I want a Pontiac Firebird in this imaginary life if I have to deal with you.”

“For someone so keen on getting away you’re doing your best to prolong this experience. It’s literally painful.”

“Well, I just like to see you get all riled up, Princess,” Tony grins, leaning back against the mantle and folding his arms over his chest. “You have this vein that bulges on your forehead when you’re mad. Makes you look like a pitbull.”

Peter swallows the particularly acidic retort sitting on his tongue and tries not to let Tony’s words sting. Be the bigger man, Ben used to say. As difficult as it is to channel even a modicum of the mans’ eternal patience, Peter takes a deep breath and reminds himself to stay focused. The less he gets sidetracked by Tony’s fuckery, the sooner it’s over.

He mentions the next part with unease.

“...Miss Ahn said that we need references and should do field research. Speak to realtors. Ask people who have a similar lifestyle and budget.”

The look that comes over the other boys face is one of unequivocal revulsion. Peter can relate. The thought of having to spend more time with this guy makes his stomach turn.

“Well, Parker, any bright ideas who we can ask?”

The hinges of the front door squeaks before Peter can respond.

Moments after, Aunt May walks into the living room, placing her bag down on the dining table. She looks between the two boys curiously.

“Hey, Pete,” she comes to his side to squeezes his shoulder. “Who do we have here?”

Tony rushes over with his hand outstretched, an eager grin on his face.

“Tony Stark, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, ah, okay, well,” May laughs as he enthusiastically shakes her hand. Her eyes are soft as Tony smiles brightly at her. “Nice to meet you too, Tony. I’m May, Peter’s aunt. Are you... friends with Peter?”

Peter snorts.

“Definitely not. We just have an assignment --”

“-- Great friends, actually,” Tony talks over him, taking a seat beside Peter on the sofa. To Peter’s utter disgust, the other boy puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his bicep encouragingly. “Aren’t we, Pete? Hmm? Best buds. We go way back.”

Peter freezes, feeling the line of heat from Tony’s against his side, the weight of his arm on his body.

Eyes widening, he feels his skin crawl.

“That’s sweet,” May smiles, putting her hair up in a loose, messy bun. “Well, I don’t know about you boys, but I’m starving. I’m ordering pizza, Friday special. You should stay for dinner, Tony.”

Tony places his free hand on his chest.

“I would be honoured.”

May looks at Tony strangely before retreating to the kitchen to retrieve the menus.

As soon as she’s out of sight Tony takes his arm off Peter and quickly shifts away from him like he’s been burned.

“Dude,” Peter whispers, bewildered. “What the fuck?”

“Oh my god,” Tony whispers, shuddering as his face scrunches up in disgust. “I’m going to have to pour scalding hot water on all the places your skin just touched me. Ugh, I feel like I just touched toe fungus.”

Peter slaps his arm.

“What is wrong with you?”

Tony backhands Peter’s arm in retaliation and then shudders all over again.

“Your aunt is crazy hot, okay, I couldn’t help myself. It was an instinctual reaction. Is she taken? C’mon. Vindicate me.”

“I’ll eviscerate you --”

“-- I mean, clearly she married into the family, she doesn’t share your unfortunate phenotype, but I didn’t see a ring on her finger. So? Yes or no?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Peter hisses as his aunt comes back in. “She’s not available to you. Not now, not ever.”

“But she is available?”

“Don’t even, Stark. You’re like, sixteen. Don’t you have any shame?”

Tony smiles, as she nears. “Not a shred.”

“So,” May waves a menu at them. “You boys happy with pepperoni?”

Closing his eyes, Peter wishes for death.

As fate would have it, he gets pepperoni instead.

-----

If you had ever told Peter that he would be sitting down for dinner with his Aunt and a dirt-streaked Tony Stark, he would have laughed.

And if Peter were outside himself he would probably find the sharing of pizza and soda over their plastic, chequered table-cloth comical -- in that uncanny, Dogs Playing Poker kind of way. But in reality there was nothing funny about the discomfort of having Tony in his personal space or the heavy, suffocating tension that has removed the air from the room.

The entire time Tony has been hamming it up, cracking jokes with his aunt, complimenting her on the decor, asking what she does for work. Peter doesn’t know if he’s being sweet to May for the purpose of buttering her up, or, given the wealth of his family in contrast to the Parkers, if he’s being cruelly facetious.

Nonetheless, Peter has felt on edge. It’s disconcerting, is what it is. Every single movement Tony makes, every time he opens his mouth -- frequently to sweet-talk his aunt -- has Peter’s anxiety standing at attention, hyperaware of everything the other boy does.

He’s beginning to feel like a meerkat whose den has been invaded by a lion.

Through the course of a single meal Peter’s attention moves from the sky to the floor. There is no grace or higher power that is coming to save him from this profound, unusual torture.

So he focuses his hopes to the south, seeing through their tiny, cramped, dinner table, past bargaining. He’s willing to trade his soul to end it all. Surely some wayward being from hell would come to his rescue.

May has Peter’s chin between her fingers. She turns it this way and that, inspecting his injuries.

“What happened this time, bubby?” She frowns, brow furrowing. “You look like you got beat up.”

Peter, very aware of Tony’s amused gaze on them, gently pulls away from her grasp. He smiles placatingly and picks at his pizza slice. God he’s never going to live this down.

“Training accident. It’s okay, I feel fine. ‘Tis but a scratch,” he brings himself to joke.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek, carefully avoiding the fresh scabs and injured flesh. “God, you bruise like a peach. Be careful, baby, you’re our money maker,” she laughs. “What about you Tony, do you play football?”

Tony, who is mid way through chewing on a mouthful of pizza, momentarily chokes, beating his chest with his fist to swallow down the obstruction.

“Uh, no,” Tony gulps, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Nope. No recreational sports for me. Can’t.” He gestures to his chest and sighs heavily. “Asthma.”

Peter sips his coke and rolls his eyes, knowing full well there’s a half-empty pack of Marlboro Light’s in the pocket of Tony’s jeans. Asthma. What a schmuck.

“That’s a shame. Do you boys have classes together?”

Unfortunately, Peter thinks.

The other boy seems to have the same thought, as he glares at Peter from over the table. When he picks up his can of coke, he gives Peter the finger outside of May’s eye-line.

“That’s why Tony’s here,” Peter twists his napkin in his grip. “We have an econ assignment together on microeconomics. Teach says Tony’s destined to be on welfare.”

Tony leans in, chin rested on his hand. He addresses May but his stare, dark and odious, rests on Peter.

“Not accurate. Stay-at-home parent, actually. One might say that is the most important job of all. Wouldn’t you agree, May?”

She raises her Coke.

“Hear, hear.”

Tony grins roguishly, the same grin he gave the girls at the lockers earlier. “Petey here was just saying that we should ask you about your experience running a household on a single salary. We’d love to have you as a reference.”

“Was I saying that?” Peter narrows his eyes. “I can’t remember.”

Tony kicks him under the table. The hit lands right in his knee cap.

Wincing, Peter kicks back, satisfied when the other boy bites his lip to hold back a pained groan.

“Yeah, well, not surprising,” Tony says airily, waving his hand. “Hit your head today, didn’t you? Maybe you should get all that damage looked into.”

The napkin rips in Peter’s grasp.

“Maybe you should go f--”

“I’d be more than happy to help with your assignment, boys,” May cuts in.

Whatever snide reply he has in his mouth instantly wilts when he looks over to his Aunt. She looks...pleased. Delighted, almost. Her eyes under the dull, yellow kitchen light seem to get warmer, and her smile is small but softens around the edges.

Instantly, Peter feels like the worst person in the world. Of course May would be the best person to ask. She does so much for him, the least he can do is set his pride aside for one moment to make her feel good about how hard she works for their life.

He reaches over to squeeze her hand, smiling as gratitude swells unexpectedly in his chest.

“Thanks, May. That would be great.”

Across the table, a smug Tony looks like the cat who got the cream.

Without warning, Peter’s chest goes hot with contempt, his fingernails dig into his palm. He’s not sure he’s ever met anyone he couldn’t like, until now.

I hate you, Peter mouths while May busies herself with rounding up the pizza boxes.

Kiss my ass, Tony mouths back.

In an instant his expression flips from contemptuous to angelic when he stands and offers to help May clean up.

Peter stands too, sparing a disdainful glance to the floor. Turns out not even the devil was willing to give him a hand.

Natasha was right. It’s going to end in murder.

---

Peter walks Tony to the door after dinner to say goodbye to his ‘friend’. Following him into the hall, Peter closes the door behind them.

“What do you want, Parker?” Tony asks wearily, retrieving a cigarette from his pocket. “I’m trying to make a getaway here.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t do that with my aunt. I’m not joking, asshole. It’s not cool.”

“Relax, princess,” Tony rolls his eyes, fishing for his lighter in his backpack. “I’m not actually interested. Just trying to get under your skin. Worked, see? You’re easy like that. Hey, why do you live with your aunt anyways?”

“None of your business,” he frowns as Tony holds one hand up in surrender and lights his cigarette with the other. “Dude, you can’t smoke in here.”

“Can’t, shouldn’t, gonna. By the way, you’ve got sauce on your chin, it’s very distracting.”

Peter wipes at it without thinking. When he pulls it away there is indeed a smear of red sauce on his hand.

Tony walks backwards down the hall and exhales a cloud of smoke, waving in a sardonic imitation of a farewell.

“See you Monday, bubby.”

Peter doesn’t bother with a response, too tired from the week, exhausted by this whole darn day, and it’s not like the other boy cares what he has to say anyway. He takes a moment to swallow his anger before he heads back inside, sighing.

Well, at least he has an entire weekend free of Stark to look forward to.

May looks at him curiously when he reemerges, but says nothing. He considers for a moment about heading to his bedroom and playing a video game to disassociate - but then, suddenly, remembers her smile earlier, and how alone she looks now. A surge of affection hits him right beneath his breastbone.

He checks his watch and then catches her eye. Tilting his head towards the living room, he says, “Hey. You wanna eat some ice cream and watch some Colbert before bed?”

She smiles just like she did earlier and kisses his cheek. “Sounds nice, Pete.”

Maybe the whole day wasn’t lost.

As May heads to the sofa and switches the TV on, Peter catches sight of the Magic 8-Ball from the corner of his eye. He walks over and gives it a shake.

Outlook good.

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @muse-of-gods

#starker #ironspider #high school au #enemies to lovers

331 notes · View notes

aquatik · 3 years

Text

line without a hook

pairing: kuroo tetsuro x reader, kuroo tetsuro x haiba alisa

genre: unrequited love, angst?

word count: 1.1k

warnings: fem!reader, cursing, unrequited love (reader towards kuroo)

beginning notes: i wouldn’t consider this really to be angst, maybe just a heart tug. based off the song: line without a hook. bolded words are the song lyrics, they are changed around to fic the context.

“yo! tetsu-tetsu! there’s practice today right?” you said running up to the volleyball captain walking alongside some of the other members.

“there is, shouldn’t you know this little manager~” he teased as he waited for you to catch up, now is when you saw who accompanied him, those being kenma, yaku, lev, inuoka, and yamamoto. you assumed the rest were already inside the gym.

“oh i know there is, just making sure somebody else is aware of that too,” you teased as you heard yamamoto groan, exclaiming it had only happened once.

“just trying to make sure we’re all in our top condition for the preliminaries, that’s all,” kuroo sighed as he slung his bag to his opposite shoulder.

“hey lev, your sister is going right?” yamamoto questioned his tall kouhai.

“she sure is!” lev exclaimed as he bent down to try to talk to kenma, only for him to get a handheld console in his face.

“man, alisa is so beautiful…” inuoka trailed off as yamamoto shook his head rapidly in agreement.

“i know, my sister truly is a beauty,” lev confirmed as he continued walking, you had been walking next to kenma ever since you caught up to them.

“yeah, i think kuroo agrees with you lev,” kenma commented as he kept playing his game.

“kenma shut it,” their captain spoke as a blush ever so slightly crept on his face.

“uhuh, last i checked, you wanted to be perfect to impress someone tomorrow,” kenma teased, his eyes never leaving the screen.

“kenma no more video games.” kuroo said as lev laughed, screaming how “you would have to be nicer to me if you date my sister!”

“try me bitch.” kenma threatened, glaring at his best friend.

“now now, let’s calm down..” you said nervously, knowing very well how kenma can get when he’s angry. the nervousness also came from something else, you just shook it off. “we have prelims coming up, this isn’t the time dumbass…”

“woah, kuroo tetsuro having a crush? this is new…” yaku pondered while yamamoto was elbowing his captain’s sides.

“y-yeah it’s new, we have practice come on guys,” you ushered the rest of the team to their locker room while you went to change. it didn’t take you that long and you met up with the rest of the team that was there earlier.

“y/n!! there’s our lovely manager!” kai exclaimed as he ran over to you

“the one and only,” you said as he shot you a glance and you shook it off.

“guys let’s get started,” kuroo said as he walked into the gym with the rest of the members.

“alright as our lovely captain said, get started and warm-up, can’t have any injuries,” you said as you started getting everything ready for when they finished warming up.

“we would be a wreck without you,” kuroo stated as he smiled at you. that damned smile that set your heart off.

“just doing what i’ve gotta do.”

“good work guys!” you said as you handed a water bottle to each of them. they responded with a “thank you!” as you gave them their bottle.

“off to individual practice guys, let me know if you need something else,” you said as you picked up the empty bottles. most of them had walked off to practice something, leaving you behind with kai.

“so.”

“so?” you questioned the vice-captain.

“kuroo huh? can’t say i didn’t see it coming,” he pondered as his eyes gazed towards you.

“kai nobuyuki, get out. deadass.”

“sure, bye y/n~” he teased as he walked away, leaving you with a red hue emitting from your cheeks.

the final qualifiers for the spring nationals had begun for you guys. nekoma’s deciding match was against fukurodani, which let you greet your friends from that school. nekoma had to go up against nohebi after losing their first match to fukurodani. the match had been going well until yaku sprained his ankle after saving the ball.

even while helping yaku with the sprained ankle, you couldn't help but notice how kuroo would look at someone specifically cheering in the crowds. yaku had seen this and pointed it out to you, to which you gave a simple nod and continued to treat his ankle. the realization sunk into the libero and chose to keep watching the match in front of him.

“so, kuroo huh..?” yaku ponders as he winces while you’re wrapping his ankle.

“you too mori?” you sighed as you wrapped his ankle, applying ice on it. he murmurs a ‘thank you’ before looking at the match. he looked distressed but you couldn’t blame him. you sat next to him before he wanted to stand with the rest of them, you quirked an eyebrow and told him to wait.

nekoma won the match, making it to nationals. they were all jumping up and down, the exceptions being you, kenma, and yaku. you were supporting yaku while kenma wasn’t feeling energetic, but the small smile showed he was excited. most of the members were talking to the people in the crowd. you, yaku, and kai had stayed behind. yaku now depending on kai instead of you.

“you know, you should tell him y/n,” kai said, breaking the silence.

“yeah, haha, very funny.” you mocked

“you should. you never know. he could very well like you back,” he responded while yaku stayed silent for the most part.

“he could, y/n, have more faith,” yaku said, breaking his silence.

“mori. he wouldn’t, just drop it,” you said as you glanced forward.

“why would i drop it if it’s hurting you,” yaku said as he slightly shifted to face you.

“he doesn’t yaku-san, compared to alisa, i don’t even compare.” you said turning your body away slightly from the two, just enough to where you could still see them clearly.

“come on y/n, it’s not like that,” kai rebutted, “you never know.”

“yeah, why would you even say that,” yaku said as he quirked his eyebrow at you, still depending on kai for support.

“because she’s a, she’s a lady, and i am just a girl,” you said turning towards them, the tears that had been threatening to fall since from the day prior finally came, blurring your vision.

“she’s a, she’s a lady,” you repeated, looking at the pair before turning to face forward again.

“and i am just a line without a hook,” you said, your blurry vision still enables you to see the image before you: the tall middle blocker you had fallen for talking to the girl he had fallen for, and by the looks of it, she did as well. evident by the rose painting her pale cheeks.

ending note: wondering if anyone can catch the two ways i could continue this,,, either way i didn’t know how to categorize this one. i might change the picture later

general taglist: @drabblily @bellesowl @miki-snake @newfriendjen @babythotshq

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swtorpadawan · 3 years

Note

For 50 types of kisses. With my favorite swtor couple, Corellan and Kira.

Lets do 7 and 12

Kira Carsen hopped down from the Alliance shuttle and onto the pad of the hangar on Odessen as it landed, feeling elated. She’d been gone for a week while on Tatooine; one of the hottest, driest, most unpleasant planets in the galaxy. She’d spent most of that time fighting rakghouls, nightmare creatures born out of Sith alchemy, and managing a team of individuals with a rather “diverse” mix of personalities and ambitions, as well as coordinating with the independent THORN agency (The Hyland Organization for Rakghoul Neutralization, what a dumb acronym.) all to bring the Rakghoul outbreak on Tatooine under control.

For those reasons alone, she had good reason to be pleased to be back on Odessen, a place that – in just the two months since her rescue from carbonite – had become like home. This mission had been the longest she’d been separated from Corellan Halcyon since she’d joined, and that was an even more important reason to her.

But to her own surprise, there was another reason why she was truly in such a happy mood:

Her mission had been a success.

Her mission. She’d been team leader for this one. She wasn’t playing second-fiddle to anyone.

And she’d found – over the course of the week – that she had a knack for it. She’d learned to appreciate the crew of Alliance personnel she’d been assigned. Blizz – the Jawa mechanic, a native of Tatooine – had been incredibly resourceful, and was adorable, besides. "Deadeye" Leyta, the Selonian gunslinger, had a ruthless streak, but Kira could relate to her desire to protect the people she cared about. HK-51 – the same hunter-killer droid who’d joined their crew on select operations years before – was still a sociopath, but his sense of humor was starting to grow on her. Doctor Lokin – the former Imperial scientist and expert on the Rakghouls – was as tricky as Corellan had (privately) warned her. But he was also as brilliant as Corellan had said, and in just a few days – using only the gear from his field kit – he had successfully adapted an effective vaccine to this new ‘Tatooine strain’ of the Rakghoul plague, as Lokin himself had dubbed it. THORN was already distributing synthesized versions of Lokin’s vaccine and achieved containment.

Xalek… was Xalek. The Kaleesh Sith was arguably the bluntest individual she’d ever met. Even the other Sith in the Alliance didn’t seem to care for him. But she had to admit, he was (almost) as good with a double-bladed lightsaber as Kira herself was, and he followed orders when told to protect their support teams.

She wondered for a moment if this was how Corellan had felt. First with his old crew, and now with the whole Alliance. It had worked out. And the mission had given her a greater appreciation for what the Eternal Alliance truly stood for.

The whole experience had given her a greater sense of belonging.

Kira looked around the hangar, somewhat disappointed that there was no one there to greet her. The flight deck officer gave her a casual smile and a nod, then proceeded to take stock of the shuttle’s condition and fueling levels. A few other individuals around the hangar tossed glances her way, exchanging a whispered word to their fellows.

She felt much more confident about that sort of thing now than she had a week ago.

(Kira didn’t want to admit that she was a little disappointed that he wasn’t there to greet her. Corellan Halcyon had a whole Alliance to run, after all. He couldn’t afford to be seen running off every time the love of his life came back from a mission. But she was certain he was on-planet nearby; she could feel him through the Force.)

Behind her, the rest of the team – her team started to walk down the shuttle’s loading ramp.

Doctor Lokin already had his datapad out, preparing a report as he walked. The scientist had seemed quite pleased with their results. Leyta – who had been piloting the ship – was assisting the flight deck officer with checking in their shuttle. Xalek and HK were making themselves useful, carrying a crate of Lokin’s equipment and genetic samples to the labs. Blizz sauntered past Kira with backpack full of used THORN equipment he’d recovered that he seemed certain he could do something with. The small creature looked up at Kira, happily.

“Blizz thank red-haired big boss friend lady for taking Blizz on trip!” He chirped up at her in Jawaese Trade Language. “Blizz enjoy seeing old home – but good to be back on new home!”

Kira smirked at his excitement.

“Don’t mention it, Blizz. I hope we work together again soon.”

“Blizz hope so, too!” he gave her a wave, then walked off with his catch. No doubt he was headed for his work bench at the Underworld Logistics section of the base. The Jawa had proven an impressive tinkerer, so maybe his side project would result in something after all.

As Xalek and HK hauled their cargo off, Lokin paused in his deliberations to regard Kira. The older man’s smile was somehow grandfatherly, charming, and creepy all at the same time. As Corellan had confided to her privately, he was someone to watch closely.

“I must echo our small companion’s sentiments, Knight Carsen.” He bowed to her. Lokin had taken to addressing her by her old title, even though Kira wasn’t even sure if she qualified as a Jedi anymore. “This has been a most efficacious expedition, and I must commend your leadership and skill. I do hope we are assigned to another operation soon.”

Kira found – much to her surprise – that her smile back to Eckard Lokin was genuine, and not forced like it had been earlier in the week.

“Thank you, Doctor.” She kept her tone and choice of words formal. “Your work was as impressive as advertised. I would certainly ask to work with you again.”

“I am quite gratified to hear that.” Lokin’s smile turned into a toothy grin for just a second.

Yeah. He could be creepy. Kira thought to herself. She wondered how much of his behavior was intentional, and how much of it was just his nature.

“I’ll get started on my follow-up research right away.” He continued. “I would be elated if you could please inform the command staff that my preliminary findings will be submitted for review by oh-nine-hundred hours tomorrow morning.”

“No problem.” She nodded, holding his gaze firmly. “I look forward to… reviewing your work, myself.”

“Of course.” Lokin bowed again. “I’ll leave you to your own reports. Congratulations once again.”

With that, he turned and departed, no doubt heading for his laboratory.

Kira exhaled, relieved that she’d held up so well. She’d learned she could deal with the Doctor Lokins of the galaxy.

(Truth be told, she’d never met anyone quite like Doctor Lokin. But that was a problem for another day.)

For now, she had a report to make in the command center. Corellan – along with his advisors – was probably waiting for her there.

Satisfied that Leyta and the support staff had everything else taken care of, Kira headed for the corridor that would lead her to the war room, briefly mulling hitting the showers first. She’d been on Tatooine for a week, a planet where water was a luxury, spending almost half of her time in the Rakghoul tunnels. The brief sonic shower she’d taken at Anchorhead was the most hygienic relief she’d had in that time. Followed up with the day’s travel in the rather cramped shuttle, Kira suspected she could certainly have used the genuine experience of the shower in the quarters she shared with Corellan. It was a tempting prospect. But the Alliance had a reputation for being a ‘rough’ bunch. If she dallied, people – particularly Lana Beniko – might suspect she was trading on her relationship with the Commander, and that was something Kira would never allow.

The Commander. Still strange to think about Corellan that way, even if the role did suit him. He was good at it; the loyalty he commanded from his people was proof of that.

Kira was so distracted by her inner thoughts that she was taken completely unawares when a strong hand reached out seemingly from nowhere, grabbed her by the shoulder, and yanked her into a darkened maintenance closet where the door promptly slammed shut behind her.

Every instinct in Kira’s mind screamed at her to respond to this obvious attack with aggression in kind; to pull her lightsaber from her belt and lash out with the Force at her assailant.

But the Force, her soul – and her heart – all told her to do otherwise.

Kira stifled a gasp as Corellan Halcyon pulled her in for a deep, passionate kiss, pinning her against the sealed metal door. Instinctively, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as her lips tried to reciprocate the affection, only to feel his tongue assert itself possessively, slipping deep into her mouth and tracing her teeth, as if trying to memorize them. Kira released a slow, needing moan as their lips continued to press together for minutes on end. He so rarely took control like this. And the kiss… shavit. She couldn’t remember him kissing her quite like this since that night on Tython so many years ago, when kissing had been fun and mysterious and the ultimate. When the only thing either of them had wanted was to explore and then get lost in each other.

For a few fleeting moments, she almost felt overwhelmed by the sensation pulsing through her mind and body. It was like he was devouring her essence; her very sense of identity. And all she could do in that instant was to moan softly again in contentment.

But no. He would never do that to her. Even for as long as he’d been forced to deal with Vitiate haunting him, he would never become anything like him.

After what felt like an eternity – but still nowhere long enough to satisfy Kira’s sudden want – he released her from the kiss. She caught her breath, feeling like she’d been holding her breath underwater. Even after all that, he didn’t pull back completely, instead letting his forehead press down against hers, her back still against the door. Their breaths were heavy, even as they began synchronizing with each other.

“I missed you.” He whispered.

In the minimal lighting, she could barely make out his boyish grin.

Kira actually giggled in embarrassment, pressing her hands against his chest. Corellan was the only one who could make her feel girly like this.

But despite that, she was still herself. She was truly part of something special rather than being subsumed by something that wanted to dominate and destroy her. Those fears she’d had as a child on Korriban could not be further from her mind.

Kira trusted him completely.

“I can tell.” She grinned up at him, eyes sparkling in the dark.

Corellan reached up, gently caressing her cheek as she closed her eyes at his touch.

“I read the preliminary reports.” He whispered. “We’ll do the debriefing with Lana and Theron in just a bit. But I just wanted to welcome you home. And to tell you how proud I am of you.”

Kira chuckled as she cast her eyes downward, relieved that in the dark he probably couldn’t see her blush.

Then again, with their Force bond, she doubted she could fool him.

She’d realized instinctively that he’d used his Force camouflage ability just to surprise her in the corridor just now. It was the first time he’d done something like that since they’d been reunited. And he’d planned it perfectly; no one had seen him grab her in the corridor, which meant there’d be less tongue-wagging and gossip from the rank and file. He’d given her the ‘welcome home’ they’d both wanted without doing anything to undermine her position in the Alliance.

It had been perfect.

On the other hand, her competitive streak was pushing her to… assert herself just a bit.

Just because she’d found her place with the Alliance – and with him – didn’t mean she’d stop being herself.

“Tell me tough guy.” She grinned up at him saucily, reaching down and grabbing him by his belt. “Exactly how long do we have before that debriefing?”

________________________________________________________________

Author’s Notes: Something I really liked about the Echoes of Oblivion story was there were multiple moments in the story where Kira clearly takes the lead, even in the presence of characters like Scourge and Senya who are far more experienced, and the Outlander, who is theoretically the most accomplished warrior in the galaxy regardless of the other variables. She’s the one who comes up with the plan to find the ship. She’s the one who leads the group in the process of ‘Let’s meditate and go into Satele’s mind so we can fight the Emperor’. And so on. It all highlights Kira’s character development; she’s always been driven and now she’s coming into her own as a leader. Even though I don’t plan on taking my fic into that specific story, I did want to capture a measure of that.

I had another piece of fic planned regarding this mission to Tatooine I’ve alluded to, but I like this, too.

I really like the character of Doctor Lokin. I wish he had more content. The others just seemed to be an interesting mix to me.

Full disclosure - I borrowed some stuff about the kiss from an old John Grisham novel; just a line that always stuck with me.

Roping in the Rakghoul even and THORN just seemed natural. I like to world build in my stories.

Tagging interested parties - @legacyofabsolutewalnuts , @misthios00 , @raven-of-domain-kwaad , @no-name16-21 , @a-muirehen and @jagger127 !

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #oc: corellan halcyon #swtorpadawan asks #50 Types of Kisses - Writing Prompts

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dangerouscommiesubversive · 3 years

Note

Hi! I’d like to request #17, with Philip and Chase (and bonus Shoutarou with another Drive character, if you like). I just have this need for Philip to interact with all my favorite characters, and your W crossovers are delightful. ^_^

17. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Really, Shoutaro thinks, it shows a lot of restraint from Philip that he managed to wait a full week after discovering that Roidmudes were back in the world before he insisted on meeting one. Not that he’s unrestrained, of course. In fact, he’s gotten a lot better over the years about not overwhelming people with his academic enthusiasm. But there’s academic enthusiasm, and then there’s his increasing interest in the various unusual friends their junior Riders have picked up. He’d been practically vibrating with excitement since he first heard that Dr. Sawagami had run successful preliminary trials in her project to bring back the Roidmudes.

Of course, Philip could ask to speak with one or more Roidmudes all he liked, it had taken some time to arrange it. They’d had to talk to Terui, and he’d called Drive, and Drive had spoken to the four now-living Roidmudes, and then it had still taken two more months after that before anything could be scheduled just due to the tremendous problems Drive’s friends were having getting the Roidmudes legal status.

Now, though, the day's come, and Philip is enthusiastically shaking the hand of a man so color-coordinated that he could put Terui to shame and saying, "It's a absolute pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chase, thank you for coming, I appreciate it. Would you like coffee? I don’t know if you eat.”

Chase stares at him for only a very brief moment before saying, “Thank you, I do not drink coffee.”

Next to Chase--towering over him, in fact over all of them--is a man in a red coat with a thoughtful look on his face, and Shoutaro has to think for a moment before he recalls the last few messages he’d gotten. “And you’re...Heart, right? I’m Hidari Shoutaro, and this is Philip.”

Philip blinks. “This isn’t Mach? I thought Shijima Gou would be accompanying Chase to Fuuto. Shoutaro, I’m sorry, did I forget to introduce you?”

“It’s all right, partner, you were pretty excited. No, you remember the email, Gou was tied up with something last-minute.”

“By which he means he forgot that Professor Harley was going to be in Japan and expecting to see him.” Heart smiles, although he’s watching Philip with something that might be suspicion. “So I volunteered to come along, I’m always interested in making new friends.”

Chase glances at him. “You are overprotective.”

Heart makes a hm noise that doesn’t sound entirely like disagreement.

“Heart, Heart...” Philip’s eyes light up. “Yes, you’re also a Roidmude! Terui had said you weren’t interested in being interviewed, I don’t suppose you’ve had a change of heart? Forgive me, that wasn’t intended to be a play on words.”

Heart wavers for a moment, and Shoutaro can’t quite figure out whether it’s due to shyness or actual discomfort, so it’s probably fortunate that Chase is the one who answers. “Heart is not comfortable with discussing the past.”

“Ah. Yes, I entirely understand. Would you like coffee?”

“Now who’s overprotective?” But Heart relaxes visibly. “Yes, coffee would be wonderful, thank you.”

"Terui Ryuu said you and the other Roidmudes were having difficulties with your legal status, do you mind if I ask what they were? I know there are existing procedures for establishing the legal identities of non-humans, it's been done for two Bugsters in Seito. Well, three. Two and a half? Dr. Kujou is a complication."

Philip, Chase finds, is refreshingly blunt. He doesn't talk around issues the way many humans do, he cuts directly to the point, and moreover he seems pleased when Chase does the same. "There was an attempt to declare the Roidmudes property of the Japanese government."

"Oh.” Philip blinks several times, rapidly. “That's offensive, I imagine you all objected strenuously."

"Yes." Chase takes a sip of his tea. "And then once it was conclusively determined that we were people, there was the question of criminal charges."

"Really? Against you?"

"Against all of us. Heart, primarily. Brain and Medic were considered accomplices."

"I imagine your being a Kamen Rider helped with your case?"

"To an extent. I am not considered a threat. As it stands, we are no longer capable of causing gravity surges or otherwise wielding serious destructive force, and are under intermittent observation. The current legal debate centers around whether a Roidmude can be considered to have experienced mental duress."

“Hm. Really? Compelling. I wouldn’t think that was a debate at all.”

Chase considers this carefully before replying. “Why would you say that?”

“If Roidmudes are people, which they certainly are, then they can of course experience mental duress, or indeed any form of psychological distress.” Philip stares into space, hands wrapped around his coffee cup. “Unfortunately I’ve found that one of the hallmarks of personhood is a capacity for acute suffering. A being self-aware enough to love must also be self-aware enough to fear losing that which they love, and that fear can naturally be leaned upon by the unethical to coerce.” More staring into space. “Or simply to terrorize. It’s even more unfortunate when one realizes that unethical people of that type will likely always exist.”

“I...had not considered this previously.” Chase frowns, slowly. He’s experiencing an unfamiliar emotion--not that there are many emotions truly familiar to him, but this one contains elements of both surprise and happiness, and he is not clear on how one might express it.

He likes Philip, he realizes. He would like to be friends with Philip. Perhaps this is how Heart feels all the time.

“If this is the case, then in your determination, do Roidmudes have souls? I am not clear on what a soul is meant to be, but it has been the subject of discussion.”

Philip actually laughs. “The nature of the soul is one of the few topics on which I’m not the man to ask, for that you might want to talk to Ghost. In fact, I’m sure he’d be happy to discuss it with you. But in my limited experience with the subject--yes, I would think that Roidmudes have souls.” He takes a long drink of coffee. “Please excuse me if this is an indelicate question, I’ve been trying not to ask these things so abruptly lately, but my research indicated that Roidmudes have a more robotic base form onto which your human guises are layered, may I see it?”

They’re at the Windscale boutique getting Heart a suit.

They’d been discussing the Agency, and Heart mentioned having been a detective very briefly and seemed interested in the work, and this had led very naturally to talking about the boss, and from there to what Shoutaro had learned from him. Including, crucially, manner of dress, a topic that Heart seems fascinated by.

“I’d thought you could just sort of...shapeshift your clothing,” Shoutaro says. “At least, Bugsters do that, and Philip had mentioned that you do something similar.”

“Well, I can.” Heart plucks at the furred cuff of his coat. “But Tomari Kiriko’s suggested that I might adjust better to living among humans if I try to pick up some of their habits, little ones, and I like clothing.” A smile flashes across his face. “Mostly I’ve been borrowing things from Tomari Shinnosuke. He’s indicated that he’d like me to stop, though, because apparently he’s tired of having to come find me if he’s missing something he wants.”

“That’s Drive and his wife, right? We’ve never actually properly met, it’s sort of an oversight on Philip’s and my part.” Shoutaro frowns. “Do you live with him?”

Another flash of smile. “For the moment, yes. I was...revived...several months before the other Roidmudes, and they offered to let me stay with them. Mostly I watch Eiji for them and help Kiriko with housework. I’m learning how to cook. Brain and Medic are staying with other friends of Tomari Shinnosuke’s until the authorities can stop arguing about us and let us find a place of our own.”

“Well...” Shoutaro squints up at him for a moment, trying not to resent the man for being taller than him. “What kind of clothing do you like? I’m not exactly an expert on men’s fashion, but I like to think I know a little bit about it.”

This time it’s not a flash, the smile stays as Heart says, “Well, I have to say, the suits that Tomari Shinnosuke and his colleagues wear aren’t very interesting, but I do like your outfit quite a lot, it’s very sharp.”

So now Heart is trying on hats, and the Windscale salesgirls are losing their minds over how handsome he is. Normally Shoutaro would be a little jealous, they’re so used to him at this point that nothing about him is interesting to them, but he can’t quite bring himself to be. Not when Heart looks so pleased to be doing such an ordinary thing. Anyway, he’s letting Shoutaro pick everything out, and it’s so rare for someone else to be this trusting of Shoutaro’s fashion sense.

He also looks very good in a three-piece suit. But then, Shoutaro thinks, straightening his waistcoat, doesn’t everyone?

“What do you think of this one, my friend?”

Shoutaro looks at the latest hat Heart’s picked out and says, after a moment’s thought, “I think you look like a real man.”

Heart pauses. “Is that a good thing in this context?”

“Yes. The best thing I can think of, really. I mean, not that it’s bad to be a woman, but--listen, what I mean is, you look good, it suits you. Do you, uh, do you like to read at all?”

“Yes, sometimes, why?”

“We’re going to a bookstore after this, there are a couple of authors I think you’d enjoy.”

“Thank you for allowing me to examine you,” Philip says, when Chase shifts back into the human form that he’s finding more and more preferable to Proto-Zero’s, “it’s been a tremendous help to me. It’s--the many varieties of personhood that exist within the modern world are terribly compelling, but so few people are willing to speak about it at any length. Which I understand, but it does make study difficult.”

Chase nods. “I understand.” Beat. “You say personhood, but not humanity?”

“They’re hardly synonymous. Like circles and ovals. Every human is a person, but not every person is human. I haven’t always fit the precise definition of human myself.” Philip’s hand stills in the middle of a furious bout of note-taking, his face taking on a faraway look that Chase is learning to recognize. “What was death like for you? If you don’t mind my asking. Personally, I find the memory very difficult to grasp. Like a dream. I know that it happened, but when I reach for it, it slips out of my fingers.”

“It was...” It takes some time to find the way to phrase the answer. “Silent. And then when it ceased to be silent, it was because I was alive again.”

Philip nods, and takes more notes, and says, “Thank you for sharing that, I appreciate it. It’s...most people I know have never died. It’s difficult to explain to them.” The notebook snaps shut suddenly, Philip’s pen slides into its spiral binding right before it’s set aside. “Now. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Chase blinks, slowly, several times, before replying. “How do you mean?”

“You. And your fellow Roidmudes. This is not an easy world to live in, especially when one’s personhood is treated as a subject for debate instead of a given. I would like--I hope that you’ll consider me a friend. I would like you to be my friend. And as a friend I would like to offer you and the other Roidmudes whatever help I can in establishing yourselves as people deserving of independent lives.” Philip grins at him. “At the very least I’m wonderful at winning debates.”

When Philip and Chase emerge from the garage, the first thing they see is Heart sitting in one of the front room chairs with an elderly gray cat asleep on his legs, and a much younger marmalade cat draped around his neck like an ungainly scarf. His red coat is nowhere in sight; he is, instead, wearing a black three-piece suit, a vividly red shirt, and a burgundy necktie with a heart-shaped pin in it. He's also engrossed in a book in English, although when they enter the room he glances up and says, cheerfully, "Hello."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Heart, I see Shoutaro's actually succeeded in his quest to get someone else to like Windscale as much as he does, you look very good. Are you enjoying Raymond Chandler? Shoutaro, is that Mrs. Mizuishi's kitten on our friend's shoulders? Where was he this time? Mrs. Mizuishi is a bit absent-minded," Philip says to Chase, "Chobi frequently wanders off when she's looking elsewhere."

"Yes, she called when we were on our way back from the bookstore." Shoutaro's sitting at the desk, in the middle of typing what looks like a list. "He'd only gotten up a tree, Heart helped me get him down. Mrs. Mizuishi’s coming to pick him up soon."

"And I see he has Mick's approval as well."

The gray cat opens one eye and gives Philip an unamused look, as if to say, “Yeah? What are you going to do about it?” only to begin purring when Heart absently reaches down to scratch his ears.

Chase sits down next to Heart while Philip goes over to speak to Shoutaro and is immediately investigated by the orange cat, who sniffs at his ear briefly and then gets up and hops from Heart’s shoulders to his. “What are you reading?”

“A collection of detective stories. Hidari Shoutaro gave it to me. He’s making me a list of movies that I might enjoy, I think I like detectives.” Heart leans slightly so that his arm brushes Chase’s. “It’s nice to have made a new friend. I hope the questioning wasn’t too intrusive?”

After a moment’s consideration, Chase says, “No. It was an enjoyable conversation.” He reaches up offer the orange cat his hand to smell. “I think it would be safe to say that Philip is a friend as well.”

Heart breaks into a smile. “That’s wonderful! I’m very glad to hear it.”

“However, I think we are expected to return to the city shortly.”

“Right, yes, I suppose we are.”

Over at the desk, Shoutaro pulls the paper out of his typewriter, blows on it to make sure that the ink is dry, and then folds it up and tucks it into an envelope. “Here, Heart, I’ve got that list for you. And my email address is at the bottom, please let me know which one you like best, you have no idea how long it’s taken me to find someone else who’d want to watch any of this stuff. I mean, Philip watches them with me, but other than that.”

Philip laughs quietly. “I do enjoy them, partner, I’m just not as passionate about them as you are.”

Heart carefully moves Mick onto the coffee table and stands up, reaching for a black hat with a red band that Chase hadn’t previously noticed hanging off the back of his chair. Chase, similarly, has to untangle himself from the orange cat, which objects strenuously to being moved and then promptly falls asleep in his chair as soon as he’s on his feet.

“I hope you’ll visit again,” Philip says as they’re shaking hands, “for non-research purposes, of course.”

Chase nods. “I would like that.”

Next to him, Heart tucks the envelope from Shoutaro into his suit jacket and says, “Maybe we can bring Brain along next time, I think they’d get along.”

They head out the door as a group, Shoutaro saying, “You’re going to email me, right, I need to know whether you like Spade or Marlowe better.”

“Of course, although I can tell you right now that just from the reading I’ve already done I like Marlowe quite a lot.”

One more round of handshakes as they all stand next to Chase’s motorcycle, and the last thing Philip says to Chase is, “Thank you again, so much. It was a pleasure to meet you. It’s wonderful to have new friends.”

Chase nods, says, “Likewise,” and resolves to visit again as soon as it’s feasible.

#philip #chase roidmude #hidari shoutaro #heart roidmude #fanfiction #toku-fangirl-2015

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tjerra14 · 3 years

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So coming back to this after freaking out for about two hours and almost overhearing my sushi being delivered some very rough preliminary thoughts as I haven't found the ability to think straight again:

first track, A Steady Breath, seems to be playing during the gameplay sequence between the fight at the Oseram camp and the Clawstrider override, and the soundtrack snippet of the gameplay demo that's still bugging me (in a good way) that plays while Aloy rides the Clawstrider

Eyes Open is the one that is not only by an entirely new composer, but also vastly different sound-wise (sweeping, orchestral sound instead of the usual, more reduced soundscapes) which is likely a nod to the different medium as it plays during the underwater sequence and could be a brilliant way to highlight the contrast between above water and underwater sections in audio in addition to visual

To Find What Was Lost is the very first track heard during the gameplay reveal

now Riddles In Ruins seems to be entirely new as I can't find it anywhere in the audio the gameplay provided, and Guerilla mentioned it here calling it a "mysterious track", whatever that's supposed to mean

From everything I've heard so far, and what they said in their Meet the Composers vid (which featured some more new snippets which sounded highly interesting), they seem to be sticking to the premises they formulated for the HZD soundtrack as shared in this fascinating interview with MCV, which would not only make sense from a composer's point of view to achieve a consistent sound throughout the franchise, but also allow to explore new sounds and possibilities based on the "old" motifs and figures.

So basically why I can't stop marvelling at this music is that it's so very much Horizon:

the instrumentation and its very creative interpretation of it (I wonder if they straight up invented new instruments for this one, too?)

the mix of synth and organic sounds depending on which core pillar they wanted to represent the most

the "cleanness" (for a lack of a better word) of what I feel will be environmental tracks (like Riddles In Ruins), extrapolating both the beauty and vast emptiness of the world (I don't know, HZD's environmental tracks often had a vast melancholy to them, as if the music was mourning what was lost, too)

what seems to be multiple layers (or "stems" as they called it in aforementioned interview) which once again can be used in various configurations so hopefully (and likely?) there will be multiple variants of the same track in-game again which can greatly affect the overall mood of the area you're in (there's an incredibly melancholic version of All That The Light Reaches in-game, for example, or City On The Mesa with mostly bass and violins)

usage and subsequent variation of known motifs and figures (maybe I'll get around to picking some of these tracks apart a bit more someday, after all, the snippet playing over the Clawstrider ride is bugging me quite a bit as I've heard so much of it before, but also not? Kind of reminds me of Her Breath, Her Land)

while also being new, and giving off a new feeling adequate to new explorable areas within the same universe. Which is a damn great thing to pull off. Also, and I might be going out on a limb here, but the snippets they were playing whenever there where Tenakth raiders on screen (mostly the initial cutscene showing Erend being captured and led away by them)? There were a lot of synth elements in those tracks, and not just during the fighting scenes. Which could, since in HZD they tried to reflect a tribe's general technological advancement in the soundtracks associated with them, be another indicator at just how much they'll be utilising machines, and, since they're associated with Sylens as per the trailer, maybe even other tech. In any case, I'm excited.

#oh no another rant #but listen these new tracks are just so good #aaaaaaahhh #can't wait to be disappointed that the best tracks aren't on the OST again #and then spend hours hunting them down and recording them in-game #only to get an entirely new version 300 hours in with all the SFX in the world #and then my ps4 cuts off the sound randomly #hfw #horizon forbidden west

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

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Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 13

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 13 - Doubt

In the archaeological internship Lin Yan participated in, the Ming Tomb was undoubtedly a very peculiar place. The excavation work lasted three months. Before the excavation started, Lin Yan didn't even get any relevant background information. He asked his professor several times but never got a response. When he was told that would be staying at the tomb for only a week, he thought he was coming to be the team's water boy. Instead, he was unexpectedly sent to the site as soon as the plane touched down and was given one of the most important jobs of cleaning the body found in the main room of the tomb.

It was a medium-sized underground mysterious tomb. Bluestone blocks were built into arches. The apse in the room was about forty meters long. A large black lacquered coffin left slightly ajar rested peacefully on the stone platform. Lin Yan and the rest of the crew held their breath together. When the golden nanmu wood coffin lid was slowly lifted, and the gold, silver, jade and rosy brocade around the corpse were exposed, a soft cheer erupted from the tomb. Everyone couldn't help but celebrate that they found such an magnificent mausoleum that had been left completely untouched by tomb robbers. After a long while, all nonessential personnel evacuated one by one. Lin Yan remembered that the professor was the last one to leave the scene. When he left, he rested his hand heavily on his shoulders, as if he wanted to say something but never ended up getting anything out. In the empty and dark main room of the tomb, only Lin Yan and a few lights, both bright and dim, were left. Sometimes, the miner's lamp was often extinguished inexplicably. He later recalled that the owner of the tomb might have been watching him ever since then.

The corpse in the coffin had rotted into a skeleton, but the hair that remained was soft and shiny. However, when Lin Yan sat alone by the coffin and skimmed through some history books, doubts arose. The identity of the owner of the tomb was like the bronze of this mysterious palace, unrecognizable under the green rust. There was no record, no genealogy, nothing even mentioned in town and county chronologies. The tomb's eternal light placed in front of the coffin had long been dried up, and a two-foot-long black name card behind it was coated with thick old blood. The place where the name should be written was empty, and it turned out to be a non-character memorial tablet.

When the last artifact in the coffin was successfully taken out, Lin Yan was told he could return. It only took them seven days and no one had ever told him about the origin of the tomb that whole time.

The sun was shining on Friday morning, and the roses in the flower bed were rushing to bloom. There was a soft fragrance of something oily like burning opium in the air. Lin Yan parked his car at the school gate and hurried through the small square in front of the building to get to the professor's office. He was in such a rush that he went through the ground fountain in the square. After he took a few steps, bells and drums started playing and spurts of water shot from the jets, the surrounding area immediately turning into a forest of water columns shooting up.

"Shit. . ." He couldn't dodge them and got completely soaked. Lin Yan internally cursed as he rushed forward, wringing out the hem of his shirt. A few school girls had just come out of the main entrance of the building and giggled at the embarrassing scene.

Lin Yan blushed a little.

Shiny drops of water splashed off his hair and a droplet fell into his eye. When he raised his hand to wipe it away, his wrist was caught by someone. The cold fingertips wiped the drop off one of his eyelashes. Lin Yan blinked and stood there silently.

When he walked up the steps, he saw a new large poster on the left side of the automatic door. A gentle-looking middle-aged man with glasses was holding a pen, and his demeanour resembled an unopened folder in a stationery store. There was a large line next to him: Chen XX, a well-known Chinese history professor, is coming to our school to give a lecture. All students are welcome to participate. This will be a great chance to interact with the professor.

The tune played was one typically used by the Propaganda Department, the following rows of small letters are written with the specific time and content of the event. Lin Yan struggled to twist the hem of the wet T-shirt and walked towards the hall, muttering that this was probably the reason that the fountain suddenly turned on. Turning back, he frowned and stood in front of the poster for a minute. He always felt that the man on the poster was a bit familiar, but he couldn't remember who it was. After thinking about it for a while, Lin Yan shook his head and stepped through the hall.

The professor's office was on the fourth floor.

"Professor, are you kidding me? From the preliminary preparations to the end of the tomb excavation, so many people participated in it. How could it be possible that nothing about the tomb owner's origins could be found until now?"

"That tomb was already considered to be average to wealthy for the time period. Even if the owner of the tomb was not of official origin, there is always a record in historical records for wealthy businessmen."

University institutions were never busy on Fridays. Everyone was waiting for the weekend. Lin Yan’s professor was no exception. He was sitting in the office with his legs crossed when the drenched student burst into his office. Behind the table, he held a heavy purple sand teacup in his hand. Because he often went to the West in his early years, his skin was wrinkled by the wind and frost. His midsection was blessed by some middle-aged fat, and the bags under the eyes were hanging loosely behind the glasses.

The professor grew impatient with Lin Yan's aggressive tone, and patted a stack of books on the table: "Isn't that so? You see, I'm more worried about writing a report on the excavation. I've been busy for more than a month and I haven't made any progress."

Lin Yan leaned forward impatiently with his hands on the glass plate of the tabletop: "The mausoleum was left untouched. The body and burial items were intact. Isn't it possible to determine the identity of the tomb owner?"

This student had always been known for his politeness and patience. It was rare for him to be this anxious.

"That's the problem. Comparing the data compiled based on the unearthed cultural relics with the records at the time, I can only say that he's completely unknown." The professor put down the cup and tapped his finger on the cover of the book a few times: "Ming Dynasty history is not my specialty. Tell me, why don't you do some research yourself? The students in our school must be able to research independently. You should make good use of the school library resources."

Lin Yan shook his head disappointedly. Just like the professor said, there was a lot of historical data to go through. He wouldn't make any progress in the next three months. Even three years might not be enough time to go through all the information. By then, he would have run out of ten lives. What's more, he has searched through the relevant history books of the library for the past week and even asked Yin Zhou to search through the database in less legal ways, but the strange thing is that no matter what keywords they use - the age, name, location - he couldn't find any information. It was common sense that, in ancient times, even a talented person would be written about somewhere in the county annals, but this Xiao Yu was like a person from another world. The records passed over him like he had never existed.

The faint scent of book pages and wood was floating in the air, and the light blue shutters broke up the rays of sun leaking in. Lin Yan subconsciously glanced back, as if there should be a companion waiting to respond to his doubts. But Xiao Yu does exist, he thought.

Trying his best to stay calm, Lin Yan lowered his head and lowered his voice: "Teacher, this is really important to me, can you help. . ." While speaking, his gaze was fixed on the table. Under the glass plate were many old photos of the professor when he was young. There was a row of people wearing work clothes and hard hats in the black-and-white pictures. Compared to the middle-aged man with swollen eyes in front of him, there was a strange sense of contradiction in the gray-headed but happy-looking man in the pictures.

Time really did wonders.

The instructor tapped two fingers on the table. He didn't look at Lin Yan when he spoke. His eyes were a little dodged: "Why do you need to know the owner of the tomb? Do you need to write a paper?"

Lin Yan took a deep breath. He had always had a keen insight into people's emotions. When he had been sorting through clues last night, the situation that occurred in the tomb flashed in his mind. He had already had his doubts at the time, but he was so nervous and excited that he didn't think too much of it. For example, ever since he joined the team, everyone had been keeping secrets, and the professor also looked at him with that dodgy look when the excavators all left the tomb. The whole thing seemed to have been arranged long ago, so Lin Yan hadn't cared about interrupting the teacher's off-time and grabbed the phone to set up a meeting time.

"Professor, you should know why; this is a matter of life and death." After hesitating for a moment, Lin Yan frowned and said this sentence with emphasis. He pressed his hands on the table hard and turned away.

When I walked to the door of the office. He paused, one, two. . . Lin Yan counted silently in his heart.

Three.

"Wait." The professor's voice sounded from behind.

"Lin Yan, this project isn't under my control. I just heard that a lot of strange things happened when the tomb was opened. Someone came to me and asked you to go. I didn't agree with it. . . If you really want to know more, you can go ask the coordinator of the excavation yourself." The finger tapped twice on the desk. "His name is Chen, he'll be at our school next Monday for a lecture. There are posters downstairs." After speaking, he took a few volumes from the neatly arranged books and put them back on the table, gesturing that he could leave. "You can get more out of him than me"

"Last question." Lin Yan held the door frame and poked his face in: "Teacher, do you know Xiao Yu?"

"No, I don't." The answer was quick this time: "Who's that?"

Lin Yan sighed and held the railing as he quickly walked downstairs.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost #dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #chinese novel #chinese bl #english translation #yaoi novel #yaoi

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forever-animated · 3 years

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TDP Season 4 Preliminary Predictions, Part One (1-12)

So with S4 in production, no trailer in sight, and a TBA release date, it looks like there’s still a wait before we get any news on the upcoming season.

That being said, we do have some information to go on regarding what might be in store for our favorite characters. (Previous SDCC interviews, the recent Instagram Live and Reddit AMA with the creators, Callum’s Spellbook, and of course, Through the Moon.)

So I decided to put together some preliminary predictions based on the info we have so far. My desire is to create a TDP S4 bingo board just before the season airs, so that gives me 24 guesses/predictions to come up with (not including the free space). I’ll probably tweak most of these once we get our trailer, since I’m sure it’ll provide more insight as to the direction of the show.

So without further ado, here are my first 12 TDP S4 preliminary predictions...

1. Spring 2021 Release

During the Reddit AMA at the beginning of October, the creators gave the following update:

Since it’s been over a month, we can safely assume they’re in production now.

From what I understand, pre-production is mostly writing and storyboarding, possibly voice recording as well. If they’re in the production phase, that means animation has begun.

Let’s consider the turnaround time for past seasons. S1′s airdate was September 14, 2018; S2′s was February 15, 2019; and S3′s was November 22, 2019. This means that there was only a five month gap between S1 and S2, and a nine month gap between S2 & S3.

The gap between S3 & S4 has been longer than both of those. But considering that we’ve had a global pandemic and that we’ve been waiting on Netflix to greenlight more seasons, this is to be expected. We only heard about the renewal back in July. Assuming the team started work around that time, they’ve already been working for about four months.

If we estimate that it’ll be another five months before we see S4, (nine months in total, same as the wait between S2 and S3), that means it will air around April 2021. Of course, it could air before or after - depending on how long production takes. But I believe it’s safe to say that we could be seeing TDP S4 air in spring 2021.

2. Timeskip < 6 Months

We know from interviews that there will be a timeskip between S3 & S4. If you’ve read Through the Moon, you know that there’s a few weeks in between the end of S3 and the beginning of the graphic novel, and that the events of the story happen in the span of about two weeks. So we can estimate that it’s been about a month between the end of S3 and the end of TTM.

We also know there will be a bit of a timeskip between TTM and the start of S4, per the Reddit AMA, but we’re not sure how long that will be.

My guess? The timeskip between S3 & S4 will be six months or less.

I was initially going to play it safe and say “less than three years,” because anything more than that would require a recast to account for teenage Ezran. (And given how much the creators and fans LOVE Sasha, I doubt a recast will ever happen in the show.)

But realistically, I don’t think the timeskip will be more than a half a year. The events of TTM imply that the story is very much moving forward, and anything too far in the future would give the audience too much to be caught up on. So it’ll likely be only a few months of a gap between seasons, and definitely less than six.

3. New Clothing & Hair for Characters

Many of the characters in ATLA received either new hairstyles or clothing between the seasons. So following that logic, and given that Ehasz is behind both shows, it stand to reason the same will hold true for TDP.

The creators have confirmed that Callum will be going “sun’s out, gun’s out” for S4. (Their words, not mine.) This makes sense since he now knows how to cast mage wings, and he wants them to be readily accessible at a moment’s notice.

We also see that Rayla’s sporting a new cloak when she leaves at the end of TTM, so she’ll likely have this for S4 as well.

Ezran may get new garb as well, as he settles into his new role as king.

I also think it’s possible that their hair could change as well. Rayla’s on her own now, so her hair will probably just get longer. Maybe she’ll braid it or wrap it up in a ponytail to keep it out of her face. If Callum returns to Katolis, he might get a haircut in-between seasons. But if he goes straight out to search for Rayla, his hair might be even longer.

Either way, new hair and clothes seems like a given.

4. Older Zym

The creators have assured us in prior interviews that Zym is still very much a part of this story. It is called The Dragon Prince after all.

That being said, I think it’s possible we’ll see a slightly older Zym next season, especially due to the timeskip. I doubt he’ll get much bigger. He’ll probably go from being the size of a puppy to the size of a full-grown dog. And I don’t think he’ll talk yet. That seems like it won’t be for many years in the future.

Still, I think we can reasonably look forward to seeing an older Zym.

5. Mid Season Rayllum Reunion

I already have a post highlighting the reasons why I think Callum and Rayla will definitely reunite in S4, as I know many fans are wondering if they’ll spend the whole season apart.

But I think this reunion may happen sooner rather than later. By that, I’m guessing it’ll happen at the midway point - either episodes 4 or 5.

This gives us the chance to have three or four whole episodes with them apart, which seems like a reasonable amount. Then we get their reunion, which’ll likely be it’s own episode. Then we get four or five whole episodes with them together again, dealing with the fallout of Rayla’s decision, working together, and hopefully reconciling by the season’s end. This seems like it could be a nice, tidy arc for them to have for the season, so that’s what I’m going to guess will happen.

Plus, it’ll have us feeling all the feels.

6. Janai’s Brother Wants the Throne

It’s been confirmed that Janai and Khessa have a younger, unnamed brother. We know nothing about him, and the creators decided not to comment when asked about him during the AMA. This means that he’ll likely be an important player for S4.

One of the writers (I believe it was Devon) also confirmed via Twitter that Janai is next in line for the throne after her sister’s death, calling her Queen Janai.

This raises a very interesting potential plotline for S4. What if Janai decides to ally with the humans that helped during the battle at the Storm Spire? What if her brother is not happy about this? Letting a human into Lux Area was the reason Khessa died, after all.

What if Janai’s brother decided to make a play for the throne - either by contesting Janai’s rule, threatening civil war, or by trying to usurp the thone?

The creator’s have mentioned that despite the Zym being returned to Xadia, there is still a long road to peace between the elves and humans. They alluded to an “event” that makes Ezran aware of this.

Unrest / war between the Sunfire elves could very easily be what they’re talking about. And Janai’s brother wanting the throne could very easily be the catalyst for that.

7. Aaravos in the Shadows

Many fans are speculating that our main characters may now finally become aware of Aaravos’s existence in the series. As for me? I’m not so sure.

Keep in mind, outside of Viren, Claudia, and perhaps a handful of Sunfire elves, no one else in the show knows of Aaravos’s existence. He’s been keeping to the shadows, pretty clearly using Viren as his puppet.

With the end of S3, he’s in the cocoon, leaving Viren and Claudia on their own. We don’t know how long it’ll take for him to emerge, or even what form he’ll take when that happens. But we do know that he’ll be back for S4, per Erik Todd Dellums. (And apparently, he’ll have an even sexier voice.)

I imagine he and the dark mage fam will have their own arc in S4, which may eventually intersect with whatever the main cast is up to, but not for awhile yet. As for Aaravos himself, I think he’s playing the long game. And I think part of that means staying in the shadows as much as he possible can, while he consolidates power. The goal it seems is to make his form stronger and stronger, and eventually finding a way to leave the mirror realm entirely. Why would he want to play his cards too early?

So with Viren and Aaravos out of the way for much of S4, who does this leave as the main antagonist?

8. Sol Regem, Main Antagonist

Enter Sol Regem. It’s been confirmed that we’ll see him again, after all. And we know just how much hatred he has for humans. He was hellbent on frying Callum to a crisp, even after he had agreed to return the human kingdoms.

It was revealed that Sol Regem was once revered by the Sunfire elves, before he became a symbol of rage and bitterness. Still, this reverence is an important part of Sunfire history.

This is something Janai’s brother could leverage if he’s looking to usurp the throne and pit the human-hating Sunfire elves against those that are loyal to Janai. With the literal Sun King on his side, he becomes a formidable foe.

This could be the event that leads Ezran to act. Will the humans who fought at the Storm Spire come to the aid of Janai and her people? Will the Dragon Queen weigh in on this matter? Will they need to gather the other elemental dragons together in hopes of defeating Sol Regem? (If so, this is a way we could bring Rex Igneous into the story.)

This might be a bit of a stretch, of course. But it does lead for an interesting direction for S4, and S5 as well, and would be a way to introduce more dragons and keep Zym and his mother in the story.

And, as I stated in my Rayllum S4 reunion post, this gives Rayla incentive to stop hunting Viren and shift gears to focus on the more emergent threat. Which in turn could reunite Team Zym once again.

9. Rex Igneous Eats a Jelly Tart

It’s pretty much a given that we will meet Rex Igneous (the Earth dragon) in this season. You can see a sneak peak of him in Callum’s Sketchbook, which has the following caption:

It was also revealed by the creators that some “very important figures” would be eating jelly tarts in upcoming seasons.

Given this information, it doesn’t seem farfetched to imagine that Rex Igneous will be one of those figures.

10. Soren & Ezran Adventure / Bonding

Soren used to share his screen time with Claudia, but now that she’s out on her own with her dad, he’ll need a new buddy to share screen time with.

I nominate Ezran, mostly because S3 dealt a lot with their relationship, and it just makes sense to continue to develop this in S4. Plus, Ezran’s the king and Soren’s the guard. Where he goes, Soren follows.

So it makes sense that they’ll have an adventure together in S4.

11. Dramatic Claudia Reveal / Confrontation

I had this on my list for awhile, but Ehasz tweeted this and nearly confirmed it:

I think we’re going to get either a really dramatic reveal or confrontation between Claudia and another character. Either Viren, Soren, or possibly Callum. (I don’t think it’ll be Rayla, since she has no real connection to Claudia.) Or perhaps it’ll simply be a dramatic reveal for us, the audience.

Either way, stuff’s going down.

12. Callum Learns Moon Arcanum

The creators have mentioned that Callum will be learning more of the primal sources in future seasons. I think it stands to reason that moon will be next for him.

S3 already showed him starting to grasp a lot of the fundamentals of the source - both in their evasion of Sol Regem and in casting the spell to see Rayla’s parents. Through the Moon builds on this even more, with him using moon opals to cast more moon magic, and learning even more from Lujanne regarding the nature of the primal.

Being separated from Rayla might be the push he needs to finally unlock the arcanum once in for all. Perhaps it’ll be key to tracking her down, if he goes after her.

If not, perhaps understanding Rayla’s past and the decision that she made, and their reconciliation is what will trigger it.

Hard to say for sure, but I feel like this will relate to Rayla in some way. And it will definitely happen in S4.

Okay, that’s it for now. I’ll do a part 2 eventually and go through my last 12 predictions.

#tdp #the dragon prince #tdp season 4 #tdp speculation #tdp season 4 predictions #is it season 4 yet?#through the moon #through the moon spoilers #rayllum #ezran #rayla #callum #zym #soren #claudia #tdp fandom

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lifeofroos · 3 years

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A/N: It’s not an AU in the sense that Loki has been training to be a skater all his life. It is an AU in the sense that Loki and Mobius are dating and Loki has a sibling relationship with Sylvie (Like it should have been).

AO3 - KoFi

Bohemian Rhapsody, or: Mischief on ice

‘Loki, are you sure…’

Sylvie slammed her hand over Mobius’ mouth. ‘Skate!’

Mobius janked her hand away. ‘I didn’t say he shouldn’t…’

‘But you meant it. Now hush, let him show us what he can do.’

Loki heard his people yell from the side of the skating rink, but he hardly processed what they were saying. He was too absorbed into his routine.

‘He never told me he could figure skate,’ Mobius whispered to Sylvie. ‘I didn’t think he’d be so good at it.’

‘I said hush. And he isn’t that good.’ She almost took a step back when Loki landed a magnificent jump with a lot of spins that she didn’t know the name of. ‘... or perhaps he is. I thought he was joking about landing a spot in the competition and we would get to see him fall flat on his face.’

When he looked over for a second, Loki could see his friends were surprised. Hilarious - and exactly why he hadn’t told them about his placement before. It was way funnier to suddenly drop the news on them.

After he finished his routine, he slided to the side. ‘And?’

Mobius slowly nodded. ‘That went really well. Which makes sense, if you really got qualified.’

Loki nodded. ‘And you haven’t even heard my music yet!’ He dug an old ipod out of his pocket (‘He was skating with that? He could have fell and broken it!’) and handed it to Mobius. ‘It is already connected to the speakers. You only have to press play.’

‘I know how this works…’ Loki didn’t hear what else Mobius had to say. He skated to the middle of the rink. The Agent sighed and pressed a button.

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy... Sylvie raised her eyebrows. Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality,... ‘He is skating to this?’

Wrong song! Next piece!’ Loki yelled.

It took a second before Mobius had found the right button. The next song on the list was ‘Autumn,’ from Vivaldi’s four seasons.

Sylvie also had a comment ready for this piece: ‘It’s so light.’

Mobius shook his head. ‘It starts out light, the way autumn does. The closer we get to winter, the heavier it becomes.’

He was right. The closer they got to the end of ‘Autumn,’ the heavier the music got. Loki’s jumps became more difficult as well. He finished with a spinning move, before getting into his final pose, low to the ice.

Mobius clapped. ‘Well done!’

Sylvie pursed her lips. ‘Well…’

Loki skated to the side of the ring. ‘What’s the matter, Sylvie?’

‘I think you could improve.’

‘How would you know?’

‘We are one and the same, Loki.’

‘Step onto the ice and do a triple axel.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it. Can I see a copy of your routine?’

Loki stepped out of the rink. ‘Sure. See what you can change. Then you can come along to Brazil as my coach.’

‘I love the implication that you don’t even have a coach.’

‘I don’t.’

Mobius sighed and handed Loki back the ipod. ‘Good luck, then…’

Loki leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. ‘You’re coming too. I’ve got to pack now. See you tomorrow!’

‘What are you looking at?’

Sylvie scanned the gate. ‘I want to see if there are any more skaters here. I checked the site last evening…’

‘She means 3 A.M.’

‘Shut up, Mobius. You got yourself into a pretty high-end skating competition.’

‘It’s called a preliminary round to the world championships.’

‘But for someone who was unknown before!’

‘Loki… how did you even do that?’

Loki slowly shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ He took a look around the gate. ‘That guy over there. He skates, too. I do not see more of them right now.’

Sylvie intently stared at the other skater. The young man didn’t even seem to notice.

‘Loki, I looked through your routine…’ Sylvie leaned over Mobius and put a sheet of paper onto Loki’s little table.

‘Don’t wake Mobius.’

Sylvie glanced at the agent. ‘He’s probably pretending. Anyway, I added a jump here, and I took a rotation away there. I think that will add more… drama. More suspense.’

‘I am sure of it.’

‘I know you are. Now show me the kür you actually wanted to skate, instead of this.’

Loki raised his eyebrows. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You aren’t going to actually skate this. You already showed me and Mobius this routine twice.’

‘You know me too well.’

‘Go figure. Now hand it over.’

‘Did you see his kür?’

Sylvie nodded. ‘Yes. I tried to tell him what worked and what didn’t, but I have no idea if he actually listened to me. He might have decided on a whole new choreography, even.’

Mobius sighed. ‘Sounds like our Loki.’

Loki, who was just done with his warm-up round, skated to the middle of the rink. He winked at Mobius, who in his turn looked at the guy manning the music. They had given him the old Ipod, which seemed to be enough.

The song that began to play was, again, Bohemian Rhapsody. Mobius sighed. ‘You can skip it…’

‘WAIT! DON’T SKIP!’ Loki yelled from the ice.

‘DON’T LISTEN TO HIM!’ Sylvie yelled even louder.

The soundman gave Mobius a confused look.

The agent thought for a moment. ‘...Let it play,’ he told the soundman. ‘From the top.’

When he walked back to Sylvie, she gave Mobius a look as if this was the worst betrayal she had ever faced. ‘How dare you-’

‘Just let him do it.’

‘He can’t fool around-’

‘It’s one of the things you Loki’s do best. Give it a chance, Sylvie.’

Just like the classical piece, the Bohemian Rhapsody started with light music and ended with a beat that went well with higher jumps. If you paid attention, you saw the the only changes Loki made to the routine were a few rotations and a lap around the skating rink at the end, which went well with the final twenty seconds of the Bohemian Rhapsody.

‘Sylvie, why so quiet?’ the god asked, while he stepped out of the ring.

‘...it was remarkably good. It looked like your Autumn routine.’

‘If the grand coach says it’s good, it’s good!’

‘But you are not doing this during the competition! That’s too risky!’

Mobius laid a hand on his shoulder before Loki could reply. ‘Well trained, Loki. What if we get something to eat, now?’

‘But not too much! Then he can’t jump anymore!’

‘We are gods!’

‘As if I care!’

Mobius sighed and ushered them away from the skating rink. ‘We’ll get some light salads,’ he shushed. ‘Delicious and healthy.’

‘I think I could do Bohemian Rhapsody. There are no rules against it.’

Mobius turned around. ‘I was asleep.’

‘And I wasn’t. It felt good to skate to Bohemian Rhapsody, even better than it felt to skate to Autumn. I already thought it was boring, Vivaldi’s Autumn…’

Mobius sighed and pulled Loki into a cuddle. ‘We can think about it tomorrow, or any of the other three days we’ve got before the competition after. You should rest now, otherwise you won’t have the energy to skate anymore.’

‘I just…’

Mobius gave him a peck on the lips. ‘Sh.’

After one last eyeroll, Loki obliged.

‘Morning!’

‘Morning.’

‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes?’ Loki looked up at Mobius, as if he would have a different answer.

Sylvie nodded. ‘Keep that up. You need lots of energy to keep skating.’

‘I already told him.’

‘Well, I am saying it again. Wait a second!’ Sylvie darted back into her hotel room, which was next to that of Mobius and Loki. ‘I’ve got information on the other skaters,’ she yelled from inside. With a stack of papers, she came back out. ‘We can study it during breakfast. I found out how many points each skater will probably get, based on what I saw of their routine yesterday and in the competitions before this one. Believe it or not, Loki, but you actually have a bit of a chance.’

Loki looked up at Mobius. Nope, the agent looked just as confused as he felt.

‘...thanks, Sylvie.’

She looked at him with stars in her eyes. ‘I want you to do the best you can.’

‘That being said,’ mobius cut in. ‘Did you sleep at all last night?’

‘Of course! With one eye! Now let us go downstairs!’

‘You’ll need your sleep too, you know…’

‘Tsk! I can sleep when I am dead. I’ve got enemies to study now.’

‘Mobius!’

‘Hmpf?’

‘It’s seven A.M. Let’s go on a morning walk!’

‘Sylvie won’t like that…’

The god tutted. ‘Mobius, Mobius. Yesterday, I sabotaged dear Sylvie’s alarm. That will be good for her, she barely slept the last couple of days. Believe me when I say she’ll sleep till 2 P.M., late enough for us to be back and have lunch before she wakes up.’

Mobius opened one of his eyes. Damn it, he wouldn’t be able to sleep now anyway. Slowly, he got up. ‘A short walk, then.’

There was a park near the hotel they stayed at. A very nice park, even. Loki hooked his arm through Mobius’s. ‘Hear, it’s the birds singing.’

Mobius closed his eyes. ‘I never imagined you would like the sound of singing birds.’

‘I think most people do. On Asgard, they also sing, you know. It’s nearly universal.’

Mobius nodded. ‘Ah-ha.’

Loki took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t really want to talk about the skating competition right now, but…’

‘Say what you want. Get it out of your system.’

‘Sylvie takes this very seriously. On one hand, I appreciate that, because I would love to win. On the other hand… I sort of got into this for the hell of it.’

‘I figured as much. Now you are torn between winning the gold medal and getting your fun. Because there is no way you are going to continue to the real world championship.’

‘I mean, I am not sure yet.’

‘I am for you.’

Loki sighed. ‘You’re probably right.’

‘I am not entirely foolproof, of course.’ Mobius stopped walking and pulled Loki into a hug. ‘Anyway will be fine. It’ll be fine.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ Loki repeated. He took a deep breath. ‘Because most things turn out fine.’

‘Exactly.’ Mobius kissed his forehead. ‘Now let’s go find a bakery. We should eat before Sylvie decides you aren’t doing that as well as you should.’

‘Loki?’

‘Hm?’

Sylvie held up his ipod. ‘This still plays Bohemian Rhapsody before it plays Autumn. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to sneak Bohemian Rhapsody into your actual performance.’

‘Who knows.’

Sylvie raised her chin. ‘I am going to delete it.’

Loki jumped up and snatched the Ipod out of her hands. ‘I don’t think so! I paid for that song!’

Sylvie rolled her eyes. ‘At least put the songs in the right order!’

‘Okay, okay,’ Loki lied. ‘I’ll delete it.’

With a few easy buttons, he had deleted Vivaldi and changed the name of Bohemian Rhapsody into Autumn. Sylvie, wrapped up in her routines and scores, seemed to already have forgotten about it. Keyword seemed.

Loki slid the ipod into his jacket. He would give it to Mobius. Sylvie wouldn’t try to search him in his sleep, but there was no certainty that she would grant Loki the same rest.

‘Competitions shouldn’t be in the morning,’ Sylvie complained.

Mobius patted her on the back. ‘Perhaps you’ll learn now that you, too, need sleep. This competition has been draining for all of us, not just Loki.’

Sylvie grunted, unwilling to agree. ‘Let’s just go to the rink already. He needs to stretch and we need to make sure the costume doesn’t tear at the last minute.’

The costume didn’t tear at the last minute. It looked wonderful. Black, with illuminating green streaks. ‘Like Autumn,’ as Sylvie said.

There were already a few people at the skating rink when Mobius, Loki and Sylvie got there. Other skaters and their coaches and loved ones, all fussing about.

Sylvie took a deep breath. ‘Loki, I hope you enjoy this, okay? You worked hard the last few days, and I can only imagine what the months before that were like.’

Loki almost felt guilty that he was going to skate to the Bohemian Rhapsody. Almost. ‘Thanks, Sylvie. I’ll skate my hardest. I had a great coach, after all.’ He meant it. He even used some of the tips she had given him.

Sylvie quickly shook her head. ‘Enough of this. Come, stretch. You need to be warm.’

‘Loki Laufeyson: Third slot,’ the voice-over yelled. Loki nodded. He liked that he wouldn’t be the first, but that he didn’t have to wait so long that he got anxious, either.

The man that did have to go first was a popular figure, you could hear it by the reaction of the audience as he took the ice. The blond man blew a kiss at the audience and a destructive look at his opponents as he skated to the middle. His music and routine began seconds after.

‘The swan lake? This man really is creative, is he?’ Loki scoffed. Sylvie snickered at first, but her look got more serious as she saw how the man skated. ‘Creative or not, he’s good, Loki. You’ll have to watch out.’

‘Watch out for what? That his score will be higher? I’d like to see him try.’

Yet, Loki had to agree the man was really good. He landed a couple of difficult jumps with no trouble. He turned back to Sylvie. ‘What’s your analysis?’

‘His choreography isn’t strong enough,’ she mumbled. ‘The jumps are strong, but he has no flair, no story. You’re better in that regard.’ Loki nodded.

Mobius stared at the two loki’s. Up until a week ago, he had heard neither of them say a word about figure skating. Now they talked about it as if they had done it their entire lives. He shouldn’t be surprised, he knew that. But that was easier said than done.

While the second guy was doing his kür, they were too nervous to say much, except for some light encouragement.

Right before the second guy left the ice, Loki pressed a kiss onto Mobius’ lips. ‘I am going to do it.’

‘Thought so. Go get ‘em.’

Loki nodded with a smile. Sylvie silently ushered him to the opening.

As he skated onto the ice, Loki felt a familair calmness come over him. He did a small lap before taking the middle.

‘Forgive me, Sylvie,’ he mumbled, as he waited for the music to start.

Is this the real life? With a start he realised his plan had worked. A second too late, he began his routine, but it didn’t matter. He forgot the world around him as he did what he had done over and over again the past few months. Light as a feather, he skipped over the ice, making jump after jump and gracious move after gracious move.

‘IDIOT! BASTARD! DO YOU THINK I AM DOING THIS FOR FUN?’

Mobius laid a hand on Sylvie’s shoulder. ‘Come on, Sylvie, he is doing his best…’

‘He told me he had deleted the Bohemian Rhapsody! Well, apparently not!’

‘Didn’t you check?’

‘He guarded that ipod with his life. I wanted to check last night, but then it wasn’t in the right spot.’

She could see the gears turning in Mobius' head. ‘That might be because it was still in my pocket,’ he confessed. ‘Which… that little sneak. He really lied to us over a skating performance.’

‘Wanna punch him once he is done?’

‘I won’t hold you back, Sylvie.’

With a feeling of euphoria, Loki finished his last jump perfectly. He managed to do his pirouette routine without mistakes and stopped after his lap through the rink.

The first thing he saw when he landed back onto earth was Sylvie and Mobius looking like they could destroy him on the spot. Now, he could either flee and escape their anger for a moment, or he could hear his score.

After a moments’ hesitation, he shrugged and skated over to his friends. He could always run after he had heard how he did.

They gave him death glares all the way to the bench where he’d hear his score. Loki tried to pretend he didn’t see it.

They sat down, Loki in the middle, Sylvie on the right and Mobius on his left. The previous anger was gone as they all waited with great anticipation.

His score appeared. 181.25, which for now put him at the very top of the list.

He jumped up with joy. ‘You sonofabitch…’ Sylvie whispered, with a wide smile.

Mobius kissed Loki on the cheek. ‘Let’s give way to the others now,’ he whispered after that. ‘It’s not like you’ve won yet.’ Loki nodded. He decided that for now, he didn’t have to run.

The other routines went by in a blur. Sylvie sometimes made a quip about one of them, when the skaters did something exceptionally good or bad.

Only the moments were the other skaters received their scores were clear. Time after time, they scored just below Loki, with the exception of a young skater from Italy, who got a 185. Sylvie shrugged. ‘I guess that’s deserved. That’s the guy from the airport I believe.’

Once it was clear he would stay in second place, Loki hugged both of his friends at the same time. ‘Thanks.’

‘Never pull such a stunt ever again.’

‘I can’t promise anything.’ He let go of Mobius for a moment to hug Sylvie, then let go of her so he could kiss Mobius. He took a deep breath and skated onto the ice again.

Somewhere behind the rink, Mobius and Sylvie were standing, he knew as he stood on the block. And they were proud of him, he was sure of that.

‘You’re crazy…’

‘It’s okay. Sylvie can do it too.’

Sylvie was indeed gracefully gliding over the ice. She might not have the same skill as Loki, but she could at least keep herself standing. Mobius didn’t have the illusion he could do so.

‘Come, I’ll help you,’ Loki said, trying to copy Mobius’ soft tone.

Mobius stuck out his hands. Loki took them and guided him onto the ice.

‘It’s slippery.’

‘Of course it is. Relax.’

Relax? ‘Oh god…’ Heavily leaning on Loki, Mobius let himself be guided over the ice. He heard Sylvie whistle. ‘Don’t taunt me, please.’

‘You just need to fall once, then it’ll be okay.’

‘Come on… Ah!’

He fell down onto the ice and Loki fell with him. Or, no. ‘You pulled us down.’

‘As Sylvie said: You need to fall once, then it’ll be okay. Because you’ll be less afraid.’

‘How does that work?’

Loki leaned over and kissed him. ‘It just does.’

Mobius chuckled, even though he didn’t really want to. ‘If you’ll help me up, I can try again.’

‘Very well.’ Loki helped him back onto his skates. To his surprise, Mobius realised he really was less afraid.

‘Thanks.’

‘The boyfriend of a silver medal skater can’t be unable to skate.’

‘Of course not.’ He took a stride forward. Then another, and another, until he could do it without help. ‘Next year, I am defeating you.’

Loki laughed. ‘I am already looking forward to it.

A/N: Now, I am not going to pretend I know anything about figure skating...

Fast forward a year and Mobius realises he should not have said that because Loki took it to heart.

Tagging: @lokis-right-nut @deanmekel

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all-things-are-nothing-to-me · 4 years

Text

Descending into Madness An Anarchist-Nihilist Diary of Anti-Psychiatry

Just sayin’... The opinions expressed in this text represent no other than my own. My position against psychiatry is based on my own personal experience and should not be taken as an authority on the subject. Psychiatry, medications, and or psychiatric incarceration is considered helpful by some, and I wish them the very best experience with it.

But also... To the ‘freaks’, the ‘weirdos’, the ‘delinquents’, and the unruly... To those who embrace these words like daggers drawn against civility, To the insubordinate youth who refuse to tranquilize their play with meds, To those who riot in the asylums, and those who dare to escape from them...

Let the moonlight illuminate our iconoclasm, witches and savage animals spellbinding fire in the night, for the destruction of society, with the courage of unmedicated confrontation.

Any society that you build will have its limits. And outside the limits of any society, unruly and heroic tramps will wander with their wild and virgin thought — those who cannot live without planning ever new and dreadful outbursts of rebellion! I shall be among them!” — Renzo Novatore

I’m sittin’ at a big round table with about three nurses and two doctors. My eyes are sensitive to the light cus I haven’t slept in days. A nurse directly beside me has been gently nodding at me with the same look of concern for about an hour. My vision keeps blurring and then re-focusing. My hands are slightly trembling. I’ve been fighting the urge to lay my head down since I sat down. It appears this awkward meeting is almost over, and I have some papers to sign. The doctor who has been talkin’ since I got here is still talkin’ and I admit, I haven’t really been paying much attention. Finally the talking stops and everyone stands up. The nurse beside me helps me up by my arm. I start to feel dizzy. We begin walking down a long hallway and eventually enter a room. Another nurse in the room greets me with a pillow, a blanket, and a pill to “help with rest”. Before sittin’ down on the bed I’ve been assigned, a nurse calmly requests my belt and shoe laces. I comply and decide while I’m up I might as well take a shit before I go to sleep. About five seconds after my ass hits the toilet seat I hear a commotion - frantic pounding and demands to unlock the bathroom door. Confused and startled, I jump up, trip over my pants, and unlock the door. Apparently I’m not allowed to lock the bathroom door - or have it totally closed while I’m in there. I quickly finish shitting in plain view of a nurse and walk back to bed. I notice a different nurse has pulled up a chair right beside it and sits down with a clipboard and pen. I lay down and try to get comfortable while accepting the awkward close watch by this nurse beside me. As I start drifting off to sleep I reflect on everything that’s goin’ on. Oh that’s right. Earlier today I tried to hang myself in my apartment and this is my first night in a psych ward.

**** INDIANAPOLIS, March 18 th 2018 — Resource Treatment Center Riot Nearly a dozen Indianapolis police officers were called to respond Wednesday night to a riot at a juvenile psychiatric treatment and addiction facility on the city’s east side.

Eleven officers were dispatched to 1404 S. State Avenue just before 11 p.m. Wednesday on a report of a disturbance at the facility. The location is home to the Resource Treatment Center juvenile psychiatric facility, as well as Options Transitional Living, which provides sober housing for homeless or at-risk youth.

Police arrived to find that a group of juvenile residents had done more than $50,000-worth of damage to the facility and assaulted four staff members. Officers took nine juveniles ranging in age from 13-17 into custody on preliminary charges of vandalism, rioting, battery and disorderly conduct.

****

During my time at this psychiatric prison I was subjected to what’s called ‘one on ones’ which basically means I’m at risk to myself and therefore require 24 hour observation by staff. Two different nurses watched me shit, sleep, cry in my sleep, and eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I was required to take meds and a sleep aid everyday. I had face-to-face therapy once a day. I was only allowed one 15 minute phone call per day. I wasn’t allowed outside at all. I was told to “set anchor” because the faculty had no intentions on releasing me “anytime soon”.

All the reasons I was originally depressed took a backseat to this new horror show I found myself in. Everyone in my ward talked about one day gettin’ out, despite being told they would “never make it on the outside”. I couldn’t help but notice the striking similarities to incarceration at a prison for criminals. This was a prison. The more I heard stories of attempted escape, violent physical repression, and hopeless isolation, the more I realized this was not a place to ‘get well’, nor any hospital I ever been to. These prison guards wore scrubs, enforced order with chemical warfare and physical restraint jackets. “The hole” was the padded room. Those who resisted were tackled to the hard floor causing cuts and bruises. And to the nurses and doctors, we were all just “case files” or “subjects” to be talked down to and humiliated. We were in their world now and it was their rules.

“We need a program of psychosurgery and political control of our society. The purpose is physical control of the mind. Everyone who deviates from the given norm can be surgically mutilated. The individual may think that the most important reality is his own existence, but this is only his personal point of view. This lacks historical perspective. Man does not have the right to develop his own mind. This kind of liberal orientation has great appeal. We must electrically control the brain. Some day armies and generalswill be controlled by electrical stimulation of the brain.” - Dr. Jose Delgado, a Spanish professor of neurophysiology and author of the book ‘Physical Control of the Mind: Toward a Psychocivilized Society’

The era of institutionalized ‘care’ for those with ‘mental illnesses’ began somewhere around the 19th century with heavy support from the state. Public asylums were built in Britain after the passing of the 1808 County Asylums Act. This created an upsurge of asylums being built everywhere. These asylums were known for inmates havin’ to live in filthy conditions with bars, chains, and handcuffs.

The Lunacy Act 1845 was known to have changed the status of ‘mentally ill’ people to ‘patients’ who required treatment. This led to the eventual chemical treatment of people as ‘medical patients’ – despite the fact that lab tests, X-rays, and brain scans have never verified psychiatric disorders as medical diseases or brain damage. Over time, this inspired the emergence of psychiatric medical experiments on ‘patients’ in order to chemically ‘cure’ their ‘disorders’. The 20th century saw an explosion of psychiatric drugs. The first anti-psychotic drug, Chlorpromazine (brand names: Thorazine, Largactil, Hivernal, and Megaphen) was first synthesized in France in 1950.

Psychiatry, asylums, and prescribed drugs contributed heavily to reinforcing social order and individual submission through fear. As the years went on psychiatry and asylums expanded, re-defining and strengthening the power of state repression and civilized control.

Along with this came an ever-expanding culture of publicly calling out those who were considered ‘disturbed’ or ‘mentally ill’. The first to be targeted were those who didn’t fit the narrowly defined behavioral expectations of society. In the 18th to early 20th century, individuals assigned female at birth were often institutionalized for damn near everything including unpopular opinions, social unruliness or a politicized refusal to be controlled by patriarchal society. Other individuals of various assigned identities who sexually deviated from hetero-normativity were institutionalized and considered “confused” and in need of being converted.

One major marketing scheme deployed by the pharmacology industry was the social construction of an ideal emotional state that every ‘normal’ individual was expected to experience. Today this same ideal can be found everywhere – from televised entertainment to billboard advertisements and so on. The ‘happy’ and ‘depressed’ binary was used to create social pressure leading people to feel isolated or out of place for not happily accepting the conditions of society on a daily basis. Being “sad all the time” was, and still is frowned upon and ridiculed – regardless of its complex nature and the reasons behind it.

Despite being emotionally fluid by nature, the individual human (animal) is expected to fulfill the civilized role of positivist supremacy. This normalized obsession with positivity plays a key role in suppressing emotional responses of outrage to the multitude of oppressive experiences. The obsession with - and normalization of - positivist performance also encourages people to overlook the deep-seated trauma caused by civilization on a daily basis. Everything from the fear of flying, car wrecks, workplace injuries, to being late on bill payments – all examples of fears attributed to trauma. But because civilized life requires wage-slavery and commitment to continue, these forms of trauma are trivialized and written off - usually followed by something like “that’s life” or “it is what it is”.

As techno-industrial society advances, new laws are constructed to create new definitions of ‘criminality’. This means there is an ever-narrowing idea of legalism. The same can be said for psychiatry. As more labels and identities for ‘disorders’ are created, the pharmacology industry expands. And as the conditions of capitalist, industrial society continue to worsen, more misery becomes available for exploitation with the sale of “feel good” prescriptions.

Under capitalism, where there are ‘correctional’ facilities, there is a profit motive to keep them filled. Where there are ‘inmates’ to fill those institutions, there is financial gain or cheap labor. And where there is any potential for social unrest, there is an ideology and identity to categorically define an unruly individual as ‘anti-social’. Society turns ‘disorders’ into categorical identities assigned to those it considers ‘undesirable’ in order to reinforce the social conditions that pressure people into behavioral uniformity.

Today, within the realm of identity politics, psychiatric-assigned identities garner social capital where ever victimhood is glorified for social benefit. As with any form of identity politics, I have seen many individuals exploit psychiatric identities by brandishing them as reasons to rid themselves of responsibility for their actions. And as this plays out in the all-too-familiar social cannibalism of identity politics, individuals personalize these psychiatric- assigned identities and create inverted hierarchies of social entitlement.

Ultimately, a new identity-based movement is formed, gaining media recognition and becomes assimilated into the broader prison of society.

****

Thursday, September 4, 2014 Riot at Central New York Psychiatric Center A dozen staff members were injured when several inmates started rioting in a kitchen area at the Central New York Psychiatric Center on Wednesday.

Four people were hospitalized for their injuries, authorities stated. The fight broke out at about 11:45 a.m., when five to six inmates started attacking staff in one of the kitchen areas using kitchen utensils as weapons, according to the state Correctional Officers & Police Benevolent Association. The inmates tried to fight their way into the mess hall.

At the same time, another fight broke out between inmates and staff on the floor above the kitchen, officials said. The emergency alarms were raised, and security personnel inside the facility were able to break up the two fights, with help from the state police.

****

After careful planning, I was released from psychiatric incarceration much sooner than originally set. The walls were closing in on me and the monotony of daily under-stimulation, medicated numbness, and confinement started breaking me down. Witnessing the prison cannibalism of infighting between incarcerated individuals, I began spiralling worse than I had prior to being there. On top of that, my two attempts to secretly organize a rebellion had failed miserably; the wards or ‘bunks’ were so small that an artificially constructed bond was easily created between most staff and patients. Snitching was heavily rewarded.

Nobody wanted “any problems”. So instead I turned to another method of emancipation; using my own high school knowledge of psychology to convince my therapist I was merely suffering from “a broken heart” due to a “recent romantic breakup”.

Despite the full spectrum of my hatred for society, the life I was living at the time, and the complex emotional storm that raged in my head on a daily basis, I was able to convince my therapist and the other nurses I was just upset over a breakup. The humiliation of having to role-play such a lie paled in comparison to my desire for freedom from that place. Released into my mom’s custody, I was required to continue taking my medications three times a day and seeing a counsellor once a week.

Against the wards request, I went back to living in my apartment. I could see where the police had went through all my notebooks as well as a pocket book of phone numbers. The noose I worked so hard to construct and attach to a wooden beam along my ceiling was gone. To this day I don’t know if my landlord took it or if the police did. My rent was overdue indicated by the notes in my mailbox. Luckily I was working a self-managed painting job at the time so I couldn’t get fired. I could start back up the next week.

That night I masturbated for the first time in what felt like years. But I couldn’t orgasm. The next day I called the doctor who dealt my meds. According to him, my impossible orgasm was common with people on psychiatric medication. A week went by and I continued to feel numb. Nothing was interesting to me. I often found myself watching the hands on clocks move or staring out my window at passing cars. I didn’t feel sad. But I didn’t feel good either. I just existed.

After about a month of being out of the psych ward, I decided to stop taking my meds. The hassle of getting them filled as well as keepin’ up with taking them everyday just wasn’t worth it. And neither was feeling numb. I didn’t know what would happen. Would they find out and send the police to take me back? A couple weeks went by without meds and I started to feel slight changes. I was scared but prepared for the hellish withdrawals I had heard all about. I got dizzy a bit, and some headaches but nothing more. Soon I stopped gettin’ calls from my counsellor. I expected her to be upset and leave me angry voicemails. It never happened. Eventually I felt my appetite change and I could experience emotional reactions to things easier and more frequently. And I finally had an orgasm!

For the next couple years, I reflected on those experiences and began exploring the origins of my suicidal thoughts, the origins of the morbid depression that caused them, as well as the consumerist life I lived as a wage-slave law-abiding citizen.

****

A Riot on Thanksgiving Morning 2016 at Springfield Hospital Center (a regional psychiatric hospital and former slave plantation located in Sykesville, Maryland) In the early-morning hours of Thanksgiving Day, Catherine Starkes and April Savage huddled in an office with several other employees at the Springfield Hospital Center in Carroll County as patients rioted around them.

Starkes and Savage said patients threw chairs, knocked over file cabinets and tried to break into the staff's Plexiglas-enclosed refuge. The patients poured cooking oil over the floors, making them slippery. One patient tried to crawl into the office through the suspended ceiling, Starkes recalled.

It was like no other night she could remember in 22 years of working with dangerously mentally ill patients at Maryland state hospitals.

"They wanted to take over the unit. They seized the unit," she said.

****

“What we say is the truth is what everybody accepts. ...I mean, psychiatry: it's the latest religion. We decide what's right and wrong. We decide who's crazy or not. I'm in trouble here. I'm losing my faith.” -Dr. Railly from the movie “12 Monkeys”

Similar to religion, psychiatry assumes a powerful role in defining “right” or “wrong” in terms of “normal” vs “abnormal” behavior. The standardization of a particular, socially expected behavior is essential for creating categories of people defined in terms of their contribution to the collective success of society. With psychology as a basis for analytically outlining ‘problems’ and suggesting “potential cures”, mass society becomes dependent on its authority for deciding who is “normal” and who isn’t. Certain behavioral characteristics unique to an individual become outlawed in order to maintain this social conformity.

Speaking from my own experience, psychiatry and all its theories, roles, and chemical prescriptions at best aims to merely manage ‘symptoms’ of ‘disorders’ - not eliminate the sources of their creation.

By ‘symptoms’ I am referring to any set of behaviors or emotional responses that indicate an individual’s struggle to conform to societal expectations or ‘normal’ behavior.

By ‘disorders’ I am referring to the set of behaviors or emotional responses that have been selected and condemned by society, and therefore declared a ‘mental illness’ by the authority of psychiatry.

By ‘sources’ I am referring to any and all prisons, societal forms of coercion, and civilized society – all of which pressure individual subservience and ideological conformity.

The conflict of interest in ‘curing’ the ‘mentally ill’ becomes apparent when acknowledging that successful cures to particular behaviors and emotional responses would require the abolition of civilized society all together - the same civilized society that creates trauma, followed by the concept of mental illness and subsequently a ‘solution’ via many forms of emotional anaesthesia.

Another factor of social control built into psychiatry is its ability to distort and control dissenting information. Social systems that require the subordination of individuals are always sharpening their ability to suppress or demonize information – especially information derived from rebellious experience. When it is individuals themselves who are considered living examples of this information, those seeking total control will portray them in such a way that renders the nature of their rebellion a mere product of mental illness. For example, the Soviet Union responded to rebels with psychiatric wards called “Psikhushkas”. One of the first Psikhushkas was a psychiatric prison in the city of Kazan. In 1939 it was transferred to the secret police. Psychiatric incarceration was used in response to political demonstrations and attacks. It was common practice for soviet psychiatrists in Psikhushka hospitals to diagnose those who rebelled against soviet authority with schizophrenia.

Just as religious authority figures speak of purging people of their sins and demons, psychiatry seeks to purge people of their ‘sickness’ and ‘bad’ habits. In the church of psychiatry, only those most committed to social conformity (or emotional suppression) can enter the heavens of being socially recognized as ‘sane’ or ‘normal’. Normal or civilized behavior is rewarded with social capital and easier access to survival resources. And in the eyes of those who fear unbridled freedom, without the church of mental psychiatric authority, ‘the masses’ just might descend into madness...

****

Sept 5 2016 John George Psychiatric Hospital Riot Nurses at Alameda County’s embattled mental hospital say three patients tried to incite a riot overnight and escape the facility. Staff members are blaming chronic overcrowding at John George Psychiatric Hospital’s emergency room. It’s the latest in a string of troubling incidents at the hospital uncovered by 2 Investigates.

Nurses – who didn’t want to be identified for fear of jeopardizing their jobs – tell 2 Investigates that two male patients and one woman demanded to be discharged from John George’s Psychiatric Emergency Services (PES) department Sunday night. But when they were refused, they turned violent, according to staff.

The patients allegedly tried to encourage others to help them push the facility doors open to escape.

****

“The Law, social expectation, and psychiatric tradition and practice point to coercion as the profession’s paradigmatic characteristic. Accordingly, I define psychiatry as the theory and practice of coercion, rationalized as the diagnosis of mental illness and justified as medical treatment aimed at protecting the patient from himself and society from the patient.” - Psychiatrist turned anti-psychiatry, Thomas S Szasz, M. D.

While reflecting on my experience with psychiatry, including being on three different medications and my stay in the ward, I started asking myself questions I had never thought to ask before: what are the social conditions contributing to my feelings of misery? What type of behavior is characteristic of ‘mental illness’ and ‘normal’ functioning? Who enforces these definitions as universal truths to begin with? Is it the same psychiatric authority that at one point considered homosexuality a mental illness – then changed their minds in 1973?

I couldn’t help but notice that despite all the therapy, meds, and psychiatric hospitality the world outside my head was still the same. Poverty still dominated my hood, rich billionaires were still playin’ golf while the government continued bombing other countries. Millions of non-human animals were still bein’ mutilated in slaughterhouses on a daily basis, and the environment was still bein’ devastated by industrial expansion. I still needed to wage-slave away to pay my rent. And like everyone else, I needed to do this until I got too old and eventually live out my days in a nursing home. But somehow I was supposed to be ‘happy’ - or at least apathetically accepting of it all without a fuss. Obedience without incident. Without question. Or as the others in the ward had said to me “no problems”.

Currently in my life, I am still angry, still depressed, and still sometimes suicidal. But rather than seeing these things as what’s broken about me, I see them as a reflection of how fucked up the world is around me. I find little things to help me channel the anger, depression, and suicidal thoughts. I exercise, practice mixed martial arts, enjoy a walk in the woods at night. I star-gaze from park benches, rooftops, and moving freight trains. I indulge in stolen food and cherish the excitement of criminal activity. Managing my emotions is a daily activity coupled with observation and growth. I listen to the stories of others and learn from their experiences. I listen to my emotions and source their origins, making it easier to understand my needs and desires. My emotions – my madness - manifesting as anger, depression, and so on remain sharp and act as the best tools for understanding the effects of this imprisoning society on my well-being.

My disposition lacks evidence of being broken or brain damaged – if anything, it would suggest the contrary. My emotional state is a complex response to the anxiety that occurs when recognizing society for what it is – a prison propagating itself as ‘normal’ life. And integrated within this prison is a web of altered realities that materialize the logic of control and domination: Wage-slavery masquerading as productivity and personal responsibility. Coerced submission and obedience to law and order in “the land of the free”. Pictures of happy cows on packages of mutilated body parts. Borders, bio-technology, cyberspace communities of friends interacting with the emotional vacancy of digital communication.

And it is here, in this same social prison society, that the word insanity is used to describe an individual person rather than industrial civilization - the epitome of mechanized social control.

“The stars up close to the moon were pale; they got brighter and braver the farther they got out of the circle of light ruled by the giant moon” ― Ken Kesey, from the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

I believe deep down all people are ‘insane’ - not in terms of mental illness - but in terms of individual, unique differences that remain defiantly incompatible to behavioral order. In society, some people hide these differences better than others. And many people I have come across express frustration with having to keep themselves locked up inside, aching to break out. The fear of being socially labelled insane or crazy keeps people passive and submissive. But some people experience difficulty assimilating themselves. And while society attempts to frantically control and eliminate certain undesirable people and behaviors, natural responses to environmental conditions continue to produce both.

If one were to really examine the social interactions between individuals, one can see the subtle tip-toeing of animals peeking from within the wardrobe of humanism. It is the fear of being too loud, too angry, too sad, too imaginative – the fear of allowing oneself to exist at full bloom – that incarcerates the animal individual. It is the fear of exhibiting any personal qualities or characteristics that would violate the boundaries of socially expected behavior. Breaking the laws of psychiatry could be punishable by chemical injection, imprisonment, or even death.

This fear also plays a vital role in creating an obsession with relying on institutional specialization rather than peer to peer support. This obsession is normalized when, in response to someone reaching out for emotional support, friends suggest ‘professional help’ as if to surrender themselves ineffective by default. It says something about the nature of one’s confidence, ability, and will to support another when that support is often outsourced to an elite group of ‘professionals’. I’m not tryin’ to say that every individual has the capacity to support others at all times: I am suggesting an examination of the inferiority complex internalized by people in the face of institutions, and how individuals often find themselves too busy obeying the demands of capitalism, or too distracted by consumerism to make time for supporting their loved ones – let alone themselves.

If one were to examine society as a whole, one can see how over-simplified, quick-fix solutions to complex problems is built into it. If one were to examine this even on a personal level, one can see how everything about industrial society reduces personal time to the point where one often neglects their own emotional health. Against the demands of technological addiction and wage-slavery, making time for supporting one’s self and or those they care about is, however under-rated, nothing less than an act of personal revolt. “You need professional help” is often the quick response to an individual simply looking for support from close friends. Not all people (including myself) enjoy being pathologized or assigned a diagnosis like a broken machine. It is this ‘professional help’ that replaces intimate support with capitalism where someone struggling is treated as a profitable ‘case file’ and dealt a bottle of pills.

From a vibrant friend struggling with a unique history of complex emotional experiences, to a patient branded with an over-simplistic set of psychiatric identities – the individual becomes merely a unit of diagnostic measurement.

Diagnoses act as identity configurations defined in terms of symptom-based sameness. These identity assignments are constructed by the specialists of psychiatric authority, and are enforced socially by those who uphold its power. The same way that leftists are quick to use statist terminology to publicly label and shame “undesirables” or those unwanted by The Movement (for example, using the word “terrorist” to describe proponents of anarchist attack), they are equally quick to call people ‘mentally ill’, or ‘toxic’- demanding they seek ‘professional’ help. Perhaps without realizing it, leftists socially reinforce the validity of the state and psychiatric authority by reducing the complexity of individual behavior to mere psychiatric constructs and moral condemnation.

Psychiatry provides a comforting sense of order in the refusal to accept the chaotic nature of behavior. By asserting psychiatric terminology and morality many leftists seek control over social interactions with the intent to sterilize and homogenize them. This attempt at behavioral uniformity goes hand in hand with the treatment of individuals as members of monolithic, identity-based groupings. Behavioral uniqueness and variety are often discouraged or condemned when they don’t fit neatly constructed scripts. One’s behavior or emotional expression could be trivialized by being socially called out as ‘problematic’ - a label which itself requires the conformity of a generalized consensus to define and enforce.

Society and all its defenders require the dam of psychiatry to subordinate and control the tidal waves of individualist variety and social unrest. I can only imagine what would happen if the mechanisms of control failed on an individual level - if freedom of emotional expression took aim at the crystal castles of psychiatric authority, shattering the illusion of sterilized permanence. One after another an individual cannonball weakens the continuity of the structure, an ungovernable individual compromises the strength of collectivized subservience.

****

Jan 31, 2006 Riot at the Riverview Hospital For Children and Youth Five male patients at a state-run psychiatric hospital for children face rioting charges after they ripped out a phone line and tried to steal a worker's car keys before barricading themselves in a room over the weekend, a state official and other sources said Monday.

The incident at Riverview Hospital For Children and Youth occurred less than a week after employees protested over conditions in the facility, contending that the hospital is increasingly unsafe because of the volatile mix of patients.

Sources said that between 11 p.m. and midnight Sunday, a group of boys in the hospital's 11-bed Lakota Unit came out of their rooms and started confronting and arguing with staff. A male clinician and two female employees were assigned to the unit at the time.

Sources said the boys surrounded the man and tried to get him to turn over his keys but he refused. When one of the female workers tried to use the phone to call for help, the boys pulled the phone line out of the wall, sources said. The youths then barricaded themselves in a room and tried to smash a large exterior window, which broke off its hinge.

Sources said the boys intended to escape through the window but were stopped by a Connecticut Valley Hospital police officer who was called to the scene and was outside near the window .

Authorities would not release the names or ages of the boys involved. All face charges of inciting to riot, disorderly conduct, criminal mischief, unlawful restraint and threatening.

****

When, in expressing themselves, individuals let their emotions rupture the confines of psychiatric authority, and fan the flames of their contempt for social control, psychiatry begins to resemble the shell of a burnt out police car. If psychiatry is the agent enforcer of mental law and order - let it die along with every cop and agent of the state. As with identity politics, I refuse to participate in the use of psychiatric terminology when describing other individuals. As with all other socially constructed assignments, I reject psychiatric labels as they seek to limit the horizon of emotional complexity.

When, in expressing themselves, individuals become wild with nihilist hostility toward all ideological roles and identities, what is left of a society without individual conformity? What is ‘male’ or ‘female’ without being fixed to an aesthetic or performative role? What is ‘black’ or ‘white’ without the social construction of race? What is the sane/insane binary without the commanding authority of psychiatry? What is social law and order without anyone willing to obey?

My anarchy is found in the obliteration of these social constructs and the rejection of their ‘social contract’ that universalizes their false existence. I use the phrase social contract because that is precisely what accepting these identity assignments is. It surprises me to see such little prisoner solidarity with those incarcerated at psychiatric facilities. I imagine total anarchy looking like all prisons - including every manifestation of the educational-industrial complex, every zoo, and every asylum – being burned to the ground.

****

On New Year’s Day, 2018, 10 Children as Young as Age 12 Riot and Escape from Strategic Behavioral Health Center in South Carolina During the New Year’s Day incident, patients broke furniture to make weapons. The state report suggest Strategic staff missed warning signs that patients had planned to escape. They did not question residents who were wearing multiple layers of clothing that would allow them to change what they were wearing when they left the hospital.

In a less than five-hour span beginning in the late afternoon, there were seven “Code Purple” incidents in which workers are alerted to trouble. A state investigator reviewed video showing patients going from room to room, throwing a trash can, tearing up paper and tearing schedules off the walls. When one employee arrived, according to the report, he heard loud noises and cussing and saw trash all over the floor in the hallway. Patients had barricaded themselves in a room and had weapons he described as boards with six-inch screws.

“There was no staff trying to get into the room and he was told by staff, ‘They have weapons. Don’t go in,’” records say. “The nurse described the situation as a ‘riot, complete breakdown.’”

By the time police arrived, the south Charlotte psychiatric hospital had descended into chaos. Patients at Strategic Behavioral Center — some wielding wooden boards — attacked one worker, barricaded themselves in a room and escaped through a broken window.

**** For many years I paraded psychiatry as a valuable scientific instrument for understanding the inner workings of human behavior. I no longer find it useful after learning to recognize people as complex beings with unique emotional responses to this civilized nightmare. I have come to recognize psychiatry as, at best, another form of identity politics that ultimately attempts to force the infinite complexity of emotional expression into rigid categorical boxes.

Individual people are far more than ‘bipolar’, ‘psychotic’, etc could accurately express. While a person may experience combinations of emotions socially identified by a psychiatric category, their emotional state can not be summarized or represented by any list of fixed terminology.

My refusal to define a person by the emotional struggles they experience is similar to the reasons I refuse to identity people struggling with intoxication as ‘addicts’. An individual's struggle in coping with society is complex and unique. Psychiatric labels and identities are tools of the state – an entity which I reject. As a tool of civilization, psychiatry creates alienation and violence by treating people found to be emotionally unfit for society as ‘broken’, and therefore socially inferior. I personally refuse to disregard an individual’s struggle for survival by assigning them a psychiatric identity that puts blame on them as ‘mentally ill’ - rather than focusing attention on industrial society itself. Like prisons for ‘criminals’, the ‘correctional’ facility of the psychiatric ward seeks to condition submission through coercion and confinement. Solving or curing ‘mental illness’ in the societal sense often ends up becoming a re-defined ability to condemn, suppress, or sterilize emotions.

Like all governments, presidents, and authority, psychiatry never gave me freedom. Assigned psychiatric labels didn’t help me – they only filled me with an internalized sense of victimhood and inferiority. Medication didn’t ‘cure’ or ‘fix’ me – only damaged me, numbing me to my own senses in order to create an emotional void between me and the fuckery of civilized life. So instead, with nihilist celebration I descend into madness, taking aim at social order and civilization. With armed animalism I realize now that there was nothing to fix - my natural contempt for domestication and social control reminds me that I was never ‘broken’ to begin with.

With maniacal laughter I mock the conventional standardization of human behavior. I reject the authorities of psychiatry, their holy book (The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM–5)), and their prisons. I refuse to continue being a test subject for their ever-expanding pharmacotherapeutics. I am an individualist against the collectivized consensus used to materialize institutions of psychiatry. I am a nihilist - hostile to the ideological sane/insane binary and all social constructs that, with pathology, attempt to categorically subjugate individuality. I desire nothing less than a feral revolt against civilization. If civilization and psychiatry marry at the church of morality, then let my anarchy be a fiery black smoke that chokes their gospel of social control.

#anarcho nihilism #anti civ #green anarchy #individualist anarchism #nihilism #post leftism #prisoner support #flower bomb #anti-psychiatry

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jflashandclash · 4 years

Text

Tales from Mount Othrys

Alabaster: The Delicate Dance of Chance II

Author’s note: Are you ready for fluff??? ALL THE FLUFF?! And some angst—BUT MOSTLY FLUFF!?

Alabaster didn’t remember much about getting off the stage. He did remember shaking so violently that he feared missing a step on the side stairs. When the crowd swarmed them, he was vaguely aware of Pax warding them off and navigating them through the mass of people.

Axel made some announcement about taking a girl for the first dance and snatched the hand of Charlie—their five year old mascot—who giggled with glee. This caused an uproar—both that Axel was dancing and that he’d picked Charlie as his first partner. Alabaster could practically hear Lucille’s future squeals about how cute it was.

But, that’s all he could recollect. There was a blank spot, where Alabaster must have shut down from the humiliation and horror of being on stage without any warning. Coherence came when Pax shoved Alabaster to the punch table.

With a few comments that Alabaster didn’t hear, Pax diverted the remaining admirers. Several monsters and campers were still glancing their way, and a few of his siblings waved at him enthusiastically. But, this was manageable. This was distant.

Pax shoved a plastic cup of punch into Alabaster’s trembling hand. His touch lingered over Alabaster’s fingers for a moment, likely noticing the quiver. Pax went on his tiptoes to whisper in Alabaster’s ear, as quiet as he could while still being heard over the music. “Your Mist show was amazing.”

Alabaster jerked back.

He wanted to hit Pax. Though, he knew it was misdirected anger. Who he should be hitting was Matthias or Jack, who likely planned the grand entrance on stage. Or—

The music increased in volume, encouraging shouts of delirium. Monsters and campers tangled on the dance floor. Alabaster had never been to a school dance, but this looked like the nightmare version of what he assumed one would be. They were in a gymnasium with a stage on one end. Tables were scattered along the walls for food, drink and loitering. The back had interactive games, like Pin the Sword in the Demigod: Camp Half-Blood Edition. The center was reserved for dancing.

And, in the middle of that dance floor was Axel Pax, bowing to a thrilled, giggling five-year-old. He handed Charlie off to Chris (likely with strict instructions to escort her off the dance floor, least she be crushed by mingling Cyclopes). Then he turned a smile to Lucille. With the smooth demeanor of a vampiric count, he transferred into the next dance. No one was going to say no to the attractive, typically reserved, stoic and heroic character.

The reserved, stoic and heroic character that caused that nonsense on stage. While Alabaster wouldn’t have been up there if it wasn’t for Jack or Matthias, Axel had forced him into panicked improvisation and showmanship.

“I must disgrace Axel Pax,” he growled.

Pax startled. Over the edge of his plastic cup, he said, “I’m not sure what maniacal soliloquy you had internally, but the rest of the audience is still confused.”

Alabaster snorted. “I’m going to punish your brother. Maybe I can tell Lucille to spread the word that he’s looking for a male partner.”

Pax laughed. He set his cup back on the table and drummed his fingers beside it. “Oh, dancing with boys won’t bother him.”

Axel paused twirling Lucille in front of her girlfriend, Echidna. Echidna wasn’t the daughter of Summanus’ (the god of nocturnal thunder’s) real name, but Pax’s nickname caught because of her prickly personality. Despite this, when Axel offered, and Lucille shoved Echidna towards him, she begrudgingly accepted the dance. She shot a quick glance at Charlie. This was incredible progress—she couldn’t get within ten feet of men a year ago or be separated from Charlie for more than a few seconds.

Alabaster tore his eyes from Axel and examined Pax skeptically. From what he’d seen, Axel had all the traits, and the cultural background, to be homophobic.

The thirteen-year-old shrugged. “This isn’t exactly a no dancing with people wearing the same underwear kinda place.”

A preliminary glance around proved there were girls dancing with girls and boys dancing with boys. It was with such commonality that the gesture seemed to mean nothing about their inclination. Alabaster wasn’t sure how that worked here, since that would have been a social taboo in his Cotillion classes.

Pax’s smile became distant and sad as he watched Axel save Echinda from tripping all over herself. Pax leaned against the drink table. “Besides, between the circus and our sister, he had to learn not to care. She was a crossdresser and made sure we were comfortable with all sorts of people.”

Opening up twice in one night, Alabaster mused. They hardly spoke of their siblings, other than that Pax missed them. Their near death experience must have made Pax feel more relaxed around Alabaster. The younger boy seemed to have something on his mind recently. Alabaster often caught Pax zoning out in the laboratory, staring at Alabaster’s sleeve or spell book. Alabaster had wondered if it was for a prank.

The smile on Pax’s lips quirked into a smirk. His eyes focused back on the present. “Axel doesn’t favor dancing with boys though, unlike me,” he said, giving Alabaster a wink.

Alabaster snorted. “Stop messing around.”

Pax looked away and popped his cheeks. He straightened his posture, released the table, and turned towards Alabaster. “I want to have fun at this party. Your whole vengeance on my brother for ambiguous reasons—”

“Humiliating me—”

“--that’s villainy and great and stuff, but I don’t want you on it all night. You’ve got his weakest link right here.” Pax pointed both his thumbs at himself. “But I’m not going to help you brainstorm ideas unless you really try to have fun tonight. Now let’s go stuff our faces with Nachos and show Morpheus how to really dance.”

Alabaster stared at him. “We have two different definitions of ‘fun.’ The most probable outcome to incur enjoyment is seeking vengeance.”

Pax pouted. He glanced down the refreshments table. “You’re my babysitter. I going to make a bee line to the first nut-based desert I see and shove it into my mouth if we don’t go play on Matthias’ Wii , and it’ll be your fault.”

“I won’t save you from anaphylactic shock if you do that,” Alabaster said. He frowned. Pax would be integral to bringing Axel down. And they were stuck here for at least another hour-and-a-half.

“What’s the best game on Matthias’ Wii ?” Alabaster asked.

***

Alabaster wanted to complain about Mario Party’s reliance on a random number generator and how it devalued the skill level of the player, but that would require him to admit he relied on that random number generator to win. When playing against actual gamers like Matthias and Chris, he knew there would be little hope in him winning in something like Super Smash or Tekken.

Out of the games they played, his favorite was poker. All magic was legal. He won Pax ten Reese’s Sticks before Prometheus came over and threatened his reigning championship. Alabaster’s “pallor tricks” didn’t seem to work as well on the Titan and Prometheus’s bluffing skills were godly. Well, titanly.

Pax decided Prometheus’s impending win meant he needed to eat all of his candy at once, something Alabaster suspected he’d regret in about ten minutes.

Once the Cyclops bouncer wrestled the last six Reese’s Sticks from Pax, he hopped to Alabaster’s side. His brown and hazel eyes twinkled while he rubbed the chocolate and peanut butter off his chin.

Alabaster didn’t realize he’d been smirking with each his wins. Between Pax’s excitement and cheering and Alabaster’s strategizing, he’d forgotten where they were.

Pax snagged Alabaster’s sleeve. “Come on!” he cried before Prometheus could gloat. The tuxedo-wearing Titan spread his long, thin fingers over the cards as Pax dragged Alabaster away from the table.

Once they stumbled from the game sector, Pax stopped short. He gave Alabaster a huge grin, pulling up his shirt to reveal two Reese’s Sticks hidden along his beltline.

Alabaster snorted. “I’m surprised you didn’t steal more.”

Pax winked and dropped his shirt. “We could go back for round two later. For now…” He took a few steps further onto the dance floor, tugging Alabaster’s sleeve again.

Alabaster’s tranquility shattered. He stared at Pax, listening to the thud of the subwoofer and watching the mass of bodies moving behind the Belizean boy.

Alabaster hadn’t realized it, and he would never admit to it, but he’d been having fun. At the thought of merging into that flowing blob of people, monsters, sweat, and social anxiety, fun evaporated. Cold sweat formed on his brow.

“No,” he said, yanking his arm back from Pax.

The younger boy’s pout returned. “I’m going to make you a shirt that says that.”[1]

They stood there, others swirling around them. Someone bumped their shoulders while running by, shouting, “Don’t be lame and have no shame! Warlock, creep out of your lair, dance, and have fun!”

His face went hot with humiliation. When Alabaster raised his wrist to check the time, he found his fist clenched. An hour had passed while they were playing games. Had the passerbyer’s mockery not bothered him so much, he might have marveled over how fast the first hour went. He assumed it would be agonizing.

But, he could tell the next hour would be much worse. He thought about his laboratory and how much he could get done while everyone else was out. After the Roman attack, everyone should have been working to move and restore the building, not throwing a party “in their honor.”

“This is just a thinly veiled excuse for everyone to feel good about acting like idiots,” Alabaster said. “And a waste of time.”

Alabaster couldn’t remember how Pax got him to play along with this stupid party. Then, it came back: Axel forcing him into showmanship. The humiliation turned to anger. He didn’t need the younger Pax brother to concoct something against Axel. “I’m heading back to camp,” Alabaster said.

He turned to leave. Pax frantically grabbed his arm. “Wait!” Pax shouted. “Wait—we were having—you’re my babysitter! I’ll choke on tree nuts and get kidnapped by bad guys if you’re not around!”

Considering Pax’s ward, Jack, was a schizophrenic with a history of attacking his family, Alabaster thought his concept of “bad guys” was a bit skewed.

Alabaster scowled. “Ajax, you’re thirteen. You’re too old for a babysitter. Grow up.”

Pax’s eyes widened. The rims reddened. He blinked rapidly and looked away. “We don’t have to dance,” he whispered.

Alabaster yanked his arm back again. “This isn’t dancing. This isn’t music. This is a group of unskilled buskers following a formula to produce ‘musical’ garbage because people don’t know how to express their hormones without it.”

Shock wove their mouths shut.

Musical garbage.

Someone else had said that around Alabaster. He remembered sitting in the back of the family’s Mercedes Bends, visiting his father in the hospital. The chauffer cheerfully turned on music for them. His grandfather fired the chauffer, saying what Alabaster had said: that this type of music was a cheap replica of what real musicians could create.

Just like his grandfather thought Alabaster’s magic was a cheap replica of science that couldn’t save his father.

Alabaster couldn’t believe he’d quoted that horrible man verbatim.

At the “buskers” comment, Pax flinched. Although they’d never told Alabaster directly, Alabaster had guessed that Axel and Pax busked, or illegally street preformed, to get by before Camp Othrys. And Alabaster just used it as an insult.

“Ajax,” Alabaster unfroze his tongue, “I’m sorr—”

Pax turned and bolted into the mass of dancers, towards the stage. A couple nearby exchanged a confused glance at his passing and looked over at Alabaster.

“Ajax!” Alabaster called. Although every cell in his nervous system wanted to reel backwards, he shoved past the couple to go after his friend.

After taking ten steps forward, Alabaster realized that finding Pax would be impossible. There were too many people, too much movement, and Pax was too small and conniving. Considering how many monsters and demigods were over six feet tall, the five-foot-nothing demigod could vanish.

This was irrational. Alabaster shouldn’t worry. Pax was in a safe environment, surrounded by friends, and didn’t actually need a babysitter. They would meet back up later, after both of them had time to let off some steam, and Alabaster could explain that he didn’t mean what he said and that Alabaster had only said those words because he… because he…

Is so incompetent at relaxing, I couldn’t rationally explain my anxiety before snapping.

Alabaster didn’t want to wait to check up on Pax. He despised the thought of making someone feel the way his grandfather used to make him feel. Worse for Pax: what if his and Axel’s father didn’t approve of their street performance? Alabaster didn’t know what nerves he’d struck, and not knowing meant he couldn’t mentally prepare for what damage he’d done.

There were too many people, too close. The music had grown louder as Alabaster made his way towards the stage. The subwoofer rattled him internally. Alabaster felt clammy. With all the laughter and joy whirling around him, he felt isolated and sick. Especially with the stares of confusion at his rushed passing.

A sense of hopelessness threatened to overwhelm him when the music quieted.

With the weirdest transition he’d ever heard, the thud of electronic wound down, like the music itself was dying. The DJ, a dark-haired Titaness wearing a modernized toga-dress, cleared her throat in the echo of the mic. The Eldest muse—Mnemosyne’s voice was silky. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Monsters and Ghouls, we have our first good request of the night!”

Pax withdrew from the raised DJ booth and hopped back to the floor, only three yards away.

After the chime of bells, the calming sound of a stringed orchestra flooded the speakers, soon accompanied by a wind instrument—probably a flute.

Several demigods groaned. One or two whined. Alabaster was horrified at what Pax had done to the rest of the party’s occupants and whether or not Mnemosyne had been mocking him.

Then, all the monsters cheered.

“I love the oldies!” Dr. Thorn, their local manticore, exclaimed. He ejected two spikes into the air in celebration, grabbed a Scythian dracaena, and began the elegant twirl of the waltz. Alabaster didn’t want to know where those spikes would land.[2]

Alabaster would hardly call Tchaikovsky an “oldie” but he marveled that these monsters were eternal and their concept of time differed from their own.

While several half-bloods exited the dance floor, a flood of monsters entered. Jack dragged a rather inebriated-looking Luke out to spin with him. Chris and Matthias hopped by, paused, grabbed hold of each other with mock-serious expresses on their faces, and began a goofy, sloppy shamble.[3] Prometheus ruffled Pax’s hair and said, “Good choice,” before bowing to Mnemosyne.

Their DJ grinned, set her headphones to the side of the sound table, and hopped down from the booth.

In an empty space of floor, Lucille giggled. She kicked off her high heels, hopped up to her toes, and began to dance point, her flowy skirt mimicking the motions of a ballerina’s tutu.

Near the food tables, where most of the confused demigods had gone to stand, Axel bowed to Mercedes, offering their Spymaster his hand. Mercedes tucked her embroidered hijab tighter against her chin. She gave Axel a coy smile and flicked him off with her other hand.

Axel must have just finished dancing with Lou Ellen. She stood beside Mercedes, still bright red in the face from the dance. Alabaster was already annoyed with the inevitable week of Lou Ellen’s squealing. She glanced at Mercedes, glared at the older girl—from jealousy or aghast at Mercedes’ refusal, Alabaster couldn’t care to tell—and shoved her forward, hard.

Mercedes stumbled forward into Axel’s arms, adding a second forced dance to Axel’s count for the night.

With all the commotion around them, Alabaster approached Pax. He paused a foot away from him. “Why’d you pick this song?” he asked.

Pax rubbed his face against his forearm, sniffling back the last of his choked tears. “You—you play it a lot when you think other people aren’t around.”

Alabaster unclenched his fist. “It was my grandmother’s favorite scene from Swan Lake.” One of his favorite memories: when she was alive, she would hum along as she stained glass in the piano room. His grandfather hated that she used the room like that, but she claimed it had the best lighting.

“If you were going to leave, I wanted to make sure you at least liked the last song playing before you left,” Pax said. He looked away, hugging himself.

All the tension eased out of Alabaster. He sighed and wasn’t sure if he was more relieved that Pax had stopped crying or annoyed that Pax had beat him—Alabaster couldn’t leave with such a considerate act.

“How many people know how to waltz here, you think? That aren’t monsters, I mean. It might be hard to find a partner,” Alabaster said.

Pax took a step closer. He puffed up his cheeks, popped them, then quietly said, “I know how to waltz.” He offered a trembling hand out, palm down in the female partner position, to Alabaster.

Alabaster stared. Slowly, he glanced to where Jack and Luke were dancing and Chris and Matthias were… he refused to call that a dance, but awkwardly shambling. It wouldn’t be too weird, right? Everyone knew Luke was a ladies’ man, and Jack and Flynn were a “thing,” and Chris and Matthias were just joking…

And Lucille, after all, was doing a ballet pas seul with a cheering circle around her like she was break dancing.

Alabaster exhaled and took Pax’s hand. He slipped his other hand under Pax’s arm, and positioned it on Pax’s shoulder blade. Pax violently shook as he lowered his free arm atop Alabaster’s. Pax was the perfect height for this, being a foot shorter than Alabaster.

That busker comment must have stung Pax worse than Alabaster thought. To have him shaking like this? He frowned, taking a slow step forward with his left foot. He expected Pax to stumble and mix up his footing. Instead, Pax flawlessly stepped back with his right foot.

They started with a basic box step. He wasn’t sure how much Pax would remember from his Cotillion classes or how easily Pax would be able to reverse the footwork to follow instead of lead. When Alabaster added in a rotation to their box step, and then lifted his elbow and their hands to properly shape their posture, Pax continued perfectly. When Alabaster began to go up on his toes for the “2 and 3” count of the waltz, then down onto his heels for the “1,” to give the rise and fall effect of the dance, Pax mirrored the footwork. By the time Alabaster added in the swing and sway to make the dance have a rolling effect—raising his rib cage when they went to the side, or tilting his body when they went forward or back—his curiosity had peaked.

“You know how to follow really well,” Alabaster observed.

The fluid and repetitive movement of the dance calmed Alabaster. This was a familiar environment. The only unusual part was dancing with a boy. Though… he supposed he’d danced with his male instructor when he was learning.

Pax had stopped shaking. Now that they were in a rhythm, Alabaster could glance down to see if Pax still had tears in his eyes.

The younger boy was staring at Alabaster’s collar—the only part of posture he wasn’t doing correctly. His cheeks were flushed with the movement and, likely, his prior tantrum. A little grin touched his lips at Alabaster’s comment. “Thanks. You’re really good at leading.” Alabaster raised an eyebrow at him. He’d been expecting some stupid, witty retort.

Pax glanced up. His blush deepened and his eyes shot back down to Alabaster’s collar. “Oh! Um—Lapis and I—my sister—we used to switch places on our Cotillion teacher. Axel, Hiro, and Kouta would play along, altering our names and pronouns to fit according to the day. The instructor never knew if which one of us was a guy or a girl, and she was too scared of getting in trouble for mixing it up to ask Dad. As long as we learned both parts, she didn’t care.”

That sounded exactly like something the Pax brothers would do.

Examining Pax’s facial structure, Alabaster could see how the instructor could mistake Pax for a girl. He had all the features to make a convincing crossdresser: with Pax’s wild, raven hair spilling all over his shoulders, his rounded face, button nose, wide eyes, squishy cheeks, and full lips. He was a little too muscular to pass for the average woman, but Alabaster had seen some ripped female demigods and wouldn’t be shocked if Pax’s sister—Lapis?—were similar.

With the baggy, punk-style jacket he wore, Alabaster could easily imagine Pax as some flat-chested girl half-drowned in her friend’s borrowed clothing.

And with the thought, Alabaster felt his chest constrict. For some reason, he felt horrendously uncomfortable.

Alabaster spun Pax out for an underarm turn.

Nothing would change if Pax were a girl. Then, she would just be Axel’s annoying little sister, instead of an annoying little brother—one that followed Alabaster around the laboratory, cheered when he succeeded in one of his experiments, made him hand-crafted presents, and was always ready with a goofy, lame joke to try to make him laugh.

Why couldn’t Alabaster shake the idea that something would be different?

The song would come to an end soon. Alabaster recognized the crescendo. He hadn’t realized until then that they’d danced through two songs—now it was the Waltz of the Snowflakes. Mnemosyne must have a Tchaikovsky Waltz playlist.

Although the last two songs had been relaxing, Alabaster was eager for the end. Something felt off and he didn’t know why. It wasn’t the same anxiety as before. No, he’d almost forgotten about the others—

Alabaster glanced around, finding Jack had stopped dancing to watch them.

Alabaster released Pax’s hand and took a step back half-a-second sooner than he should have according to the music. Pax stumbled, not ready to stop following.

That goofy smile on Pax’s face widened. “It’s okay. I also get distracted thinking about life, the universe, and everything, and forget how to end a dance.”

“Nice song choice, Ajax,” someone said beside them.

Alabaster jumped, having forgotten how many people were around them.

Mnemosyne climbed back into her DJ booth. The throb of electronic and modern pop thudded back into the gym. Bored demigods cheered. Dancing monsters grumbled.

Axel stood near them, one hand still on Mercedes’ shoulder blade. Although he’d lowered their hands from the dance, his other hand still held hers. He continued talking to Pax, giving Mercedes a half-smirk that would have made half the girls in the gym faint. “You helped me find the best dance partner in Camp Othrys,” he said.

Mercedes did not look amused. Her expression was as deadpan as ever. A lock of curly black hair had escaped the corner of her embroidered fabric. He had to wonder if Lucille forced her into some makeup. Mercedes typically wore the simplest, plainest, and most practical clothing she could, without make up or hair accessories other than her veil.

“Pax One,” she said to the older of the two, “you found a temporary victim of circumstance that is now going to ruin Matthias’ life in Tekken. If you’ll excuse me.” She bowed her head, as though about to vanish into shadow after a spy mission. For a split second, he thought she frowned at Pax.

“Uh-hu,” Axel said. As soon as she removed her hands, he took a step after her. “If I win a round of Tekken against you, I win another dance.”

Pax stared at his older brother. “Axel, you’re awesome and everything, but you’re going to get obliterated.”

Mercedes’ head didn’t move as her eyes shifted between the two brothers. “Listen to Pax Two. He is wise… unless you’re willing to gamble information on this game.”

The offer sounded like a threat.

Alabaster saw a minor opportunity unfolding.

“If you’re going to do that, you should keep Tran around,” Alabaster suggested, smirking at Axel. “Least someone consider lying.”[4]

Mercedes let a tiny smile slip. “The child of Aletheia, Goddess of Truth. Thanks, Torrington.” She nodded her appreciation. “Are you feeling lucky, Pax One?”

Axel shot Alabaster a glare.

At least he’d successfully started his revenge on the older Mayan.

Pax tugged on Alabaster’s sleeve. “We can worry about Axel’s downfall later. Let’s get some punch and go for a walk!”

“My downfall--?”

“Come on!”

***

In two weeks (hopefully) are you ready for MORE FLUFF!?! …. And angst. AND MORE FL—oh, oh, next week is more on the angst side. *ehem* I see.

I hope you guys enjoyed! Thank you for reading :D

***

Footnotes:

[1] And thus, Grumpy Cat was born.

[2] Technically, our spiky friend should be dead by now, but I didn’t know that when I originally wrote this scene and I enjoy having random spikes reigning on this parade.

Also, this was written to Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake Suite, Op. 20a, TH 219: Act 1: Waltz.

[3] Okay, I’ll finally admit it, my representation of Chris and Matthias’s whole character are based off family members. <3 you guys.

[4] Call out to my home boy, VCRx.

#Tales from Mount Othrys #TFMO #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #PJO #heroes of olypmus #HOO #Alabaster #Pax #Mercedes #Axel #Fluff #FLUFF SO MUCH FLUFF #IT'S LIKE ME CAT MATED WITH A TRIBBLE AND IT ROLLED IN EXCESS SPIDER WEB DECORATIONS #........................................ ew

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