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phroyd · 3 years

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I’m not going to pretend that I know how to interpret the jobs and inflation data of the past few months. My view is that this is still an economy warped by the pandemic, and that the dynamics are so strange and so unstable that it will be some time before we know its true state. But the reaction to the early numbers and anecdotes has revealed something deeper and more constant in our politics.

The American economy runs on poverty, or at least the constant threat of it. Americans like their goods cheap and their services plentiful and the two of them, together, require a sprawling labor force willing to work tough jobs at crummy wages. On the right, the barest glimmer of worker power is treated as a policy emergency, and the whip of poverty, not the lure of higher wages, is the appropriate response.Reports that low-wage employers were having trouble filling open jobs sent Republican policymakers into a tizzy and led at least 25 Republican governors — and one Democratic governor — to announce plans to cut off expanded unemployment benefits early. Chipotle said that it would increase prices by about 4 percent to cover the cost of higher wages, prompting the National Republican Congressional Committee to issue a blistering response: “Democrats’ socialist stimulus bill caused a labor shortage, and now burrito lovers everywhere are footing the bill.” The Trumpist outlet The Federalist complained, “Restaurants have had to bribe current and prospective workers with fatter paychecks to lure them off their backsides and back to work.”But it’s not just the right. The financial press, the cable news squawkers and even many on the center-left greet news of labor shortages and price increases with an alarm they rarely bring to the ongoing agonies of poverty or low-wage toil.

As it happened, just as I was watching Republican governors try to immiserate low-wage workers who weren’t yet jumping at the chance to return to poorly ventilated kitchens for $9 an hour, I was sent “A Guaranteed Income for the 21st Century,” a plan that seeks to make poverty a thing of the past. The proposal, developed by Naomi Zewde, Kyle Strickland, Kelly Capatosto, Ari Glogower and Darrick Hamilton for the New School’s Institute on Race and Political Economy, would guarantee a $12,500 annual income for every adult and a $4,500 allowance for every child. It’s what wonks call a “negative income tax” plan — unlike a universal basic income, it phases out as households rise into the middle class.

“With poverty, to address it, you just eliminate it,” Hamilton told me. “You give people enough resources so they’re not poor.” Simple, but not cheap. The team estimates that its proposal would cost $876 billion annually. To give a sense of scale, total federal spending in 2019 was about $4.4 trillion, with $1 trillion of that financing Social Security payments and another $1.1 trillion support Medicaid, Medicare, the Affordable Care Act and the Children’s Health Insurance Program.

Beyond writing that the plan “would require new sources of revenue, additional borrowing or trade-offs with other government funding priorities,” Hamilton and his co-authors don’t say how they’d pay for it, and in our conversation, Hamilton was cagey. “There are many ways in which it can be paid for and deficit spending itself is not bad unless there are certain conditions,” he said. I’m less blasé about financing a program that would increase federal spending by almost 20 percent, but at the same time, it’s clearly possible. Even if the entire thing was funded by taxes, it would only bring America’s tax burden to roughly the average of our peer nations.

I suspect the real political problem for a guaranteed income isn’t the costs, but the benefits. A policy like this would give workers the power to make real choices. They could say no to a job they didn’t want, or quit one that exploited them. They could, and would, demand better wages, or take time off to attend school or simply to rest. When we spoke, Hamilton tried to sell it to me as a truer form of capitalism. “People can’t reap the returns of their effort without some baseline level of resources,” he said. “If you lack basic necessities with regards to economic well-being, you have no agency. You’re dictated to by others or live in a miserable state.”

But those in the economy with the power to do the dictating profit from the desperation of low-wage workers. One man’s misery is another man’s quick and affordable at-home lunch delivery. “It is a fact that when we pay workers less and don’t have social insurance programs that, say, cover Uber and Lyft drivers, we are able to consume goods and services at lower prices,” Hilary Hoynes, an economist at the University of California at Berkeley, where she also co-directs the Opportunity Lab, told me.

This is the conversation about poverty that we don’t like to have: We discuss the poor as a pity or a blight, but we rarely admit that America’s high rate of poverty is a policy choice, and there are reasons we choose it over and over again. We typically frame those reasons as questions of fairness (“Why should I have to pay for someone else’s laziness?”) or tough-minded paternalism (“Work is good for people, and if they can live on the dole, they would”). But there’s more to it than that.

It is true, of course, that some might use a guaranteed income to play video games or melt into Netflix. But why are they the center of this conversation? We know full well that America is full of hardworking people who are kept poor by very low wages and harsh circumstance. We know many who want a job can’t find one, and many of the jobs people can find are cruel in ways that would appall anyone sitting comfortably behind a desk. We know the absence of child care and affordable housing and decent public transit makes work, to say nothing of advancement, impossible for many. We know people lose jobs they value because of mental illness or physical disability or other factors beyond their control. We are not so naïve as to believe near-poverty and joblessness to be a comfortable condition or an attractive choice.

Most Americans don’t think of themselves as benefiting from the poverty of others, and I don’t think objections to a guaranteed income would manifest as arguments in favor of impoverishment. Instead, we would see much of what we’re seeing now, only magnified: Fears of inflation, lectures about how the government is subsidizing indolence, paeans to the character-building qualities of low-wage labor, worries that the economy will be strangled by taxes or deficits, anger that Uber and Lyft rides have gotten more expensive, sympathy for the struggling employers who can’t fill open roles rather than for the workers who had good reason not to take those jobs. These would reflect not America’s love of poverty but opposition to the inconveniences that would accompany its elimination.

Nor would these costs be merely imagined. Inflation would be a real risk, as prices often rise when wages rise, and some small businesses would shutter if they had to pay their workers more. There are services many of us enjoy now that would become rarer or costlier if workers had more bargaining power. We’d see more investments in automation and possibly in outsourcing. The truth of our politics lies in the risks we refuse to accept, and it is rising worker power, not continued poverty, that we treat as intolerable. You can see it happening right now, driven by policies far smaller and with effects far more modest than a guaranteed income.

Hamilton, to his credit, was honest about these trade-offs. “Progressives don’t like to talk about this,” he told me. “They want this kumbaya moment. They want to say equity is great for everyone when it’s not. We need to shift our values. The capitalist class stands to lose from this policy, that’s unambiguous. They will have better resourced workers they can’t exploit through wages. Their consumer products and services would be more expensive.”

For the most part, America finds the money to pay for the things it values. In recent decades, and despite deep gridlock in Washington, we have spent trillions of dollars on wars in the Middle East and tax cuts for the wealthy. We have also spent trillions of dollars on health insurance subsidies and coronavirus relief. It is in our power to wipe out poverty. It simply isn’t among our priorities.

“Ultimately, it’s about us as a society saying these privileges and luxuries and comforts that folks in the middle class — or however we describe these economic classes — have, how much are they worth to us?” Jamila Michener, co-director of the Cornell Center for Health Equity, told me. “And are they worth certain levels of deprivation or suffering or even just inequality among people who are living often very different lives from us? That’s a question we often don’t even ask ourselves.”

But we should.

Phroyd

#capitalism #economics #poverty #slavery

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tsaritsa · 3 years

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tagged by the beautiful and sexy and successful @fullmetalscullyy + @megthemighty. ty babes ur both fergalicious mwah how many works do you have on ao3? 40

what’s your total ao3 word count? 275,381 words

what are your top five fics by kudos?

may i feel, said he

for the serpent has died and i’m leaning by your side

enthrallment

against the run of play

a strange fate with wandering limbs

i’m really proud of each of these pieces for different reasons. mifsh is a love letter to mar and to the fandom generally; ftshdailbys (what a fucking acronym lmao) was one of the first pieces i did with the intention of hitting a specific word count; enthrallment is a reminder to myself that pain does eventually pass (and that riza/bradley is sexy af); atrop definitely helped develop my love for multimedia fics and playing around with how we show information to the reader; and asfwwl was as much a study of riza as the people around her

do you reply to comments, why or why not? absolutely — although i tend to wait for updates to reply to the previous chapters if it’s an ongoing piece. i’m always stunned by the comments i get and i treasure each and every one of them. ty for giving me a little joy in my daily life

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? i guess it depends on ur perspective. a strange fate is essentially dead dove on arrival — and bellyache deals with some unsavoury themes as well

what’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? prolly that v saccharine valentines day fic. personally it makes me cringe a little now, but if that’s what floats ur boat, then go for it

do you write crossovers? if so, what’s the craziest one you’ve ever written? specific aus are as close as i’ve gotten - the crown!au would be the best fit. the concept of doing a marvel-esque endgame showdown has never really vibed with me; especially for the fma universe, which is incredibly niche and unique in a variety of ways

have you ever received hate on a fic? hahahahahah remember the time when ppl were bitching about mifsh on here bc it was ‘everywhere’ and we were ‘no better than rcyeddies’ with the power imbalance and it was a ‘glorified self-insert fic’ and we were deviants for sharing it and had made the royai fandom ‘cheap’ and ‘an awful place to be’ bc they were so much more than fucking?

yeah me neither lol. i’d also like to state that i’m not bitter about this anymore — but it really did feel awful to read those things, and for ppl to judge us and the substance of the story without ever bothering to talk to us before doing so. i’d like to think the fandom is a kinder space now, where we can just. move on if we don’t enjoy something, instead of sniping about it publicly and deliberately trying to make ppl feel bad

and if u were one of those ppl who were mean: either die mad and jealous lmao OR write something better and more engaging if u want ppl to shut up about may i feel. that’s literally all u have to do 🤷

do you write smut? if so, what kind? i write sexy smut. sometimes it’s an au where they’re in a ballet company. sometimes they’re at university. sometimes i forget to finish them in a timely fashion

have you ever had a fic stolen? not lifted verbatim. but there have been a few times where — and it’s not just my gut feeling, others have brought it to my attention — ideas and phrases align a little too neatly for me to brush it off as mere coincidence. at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter

have you ever had a fic translated? i’ve been very lucky to have a few translated: a few in spanish, russian, and mandarin as well, if memory serves me right

have you ever co-written a fic before? y’all know i have. may i feel and starstruck are the published ones, but maybe more will surface. we’ll see

what’s your all-time favourite ship? royai for sure. they just tickle a very specific part of my brain

what’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? won’t say i can’t finish any of them bc there’s always the chance i will — just a matter of sitting down and figuring out what needs to happen

what are your writing strengths? this made me pause for a bit bc in truth i’m not terribly sure. i’d like to think my dialogue is strong — not only in terms of characterisation, but in the ability to move the plot forward without having to simply tell the reader what is going on. y’all know i love making things sound pretty as well — assonance my beloved

what are your writing weaknesses? it’s a double-edged sword. as much as i love writing to a particular aesthetic, that definitely hinders me too when i get too involved with the details rather than examining my writing from a birds-eye perspective. i also know i struggle with keeping things simple — from explaining something as just. as it is as well as bigger issues like “let me just tell y’all about the history of the economy of resembool from the years 1872-1911 even though this was meant to be a throwaway sentence″

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? i think it can add a ton of depth to a scene — it’s more a case of ensuring that the context around the dialogue can help the reader infer meanings without feeling so unsure they want to go search the translation. for the most part in may i feel, i think readers have been able to understand without too much hassle when a character uses spanish (but also we all know enough rudimentary spanish that it’s not utterly foreign). using a non-latin written language like mandarin or thai would definitely take me out of the fic more — but again, it’s all in how u apply it

what was the first fandom you wrote for? fruits basket! i never published it tho

what’s your favourite fic you’ve written? currently it’s my piece that will be published for this years fma big bang. i’m really excited to share more about it next month (and publish it on october 3rd!!)

tagging @firewoodfigs, @royai, and @bringingglory if y’all haven’t already gotten around to it

#would u believe i'm writing fic again?#who would've thought lockdown would give me time + space to do so hah

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purewebsite · 3 years

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literalbuzzkill · 3 years

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Below I'm gonna vent so y'all can ignore that XD

I'm basically making this post as a timestamp/reminder for myself about Covid2020 and what I had to deal with during it (even though it's still a relentlessly ongoing problem, as of Jan2021, yikes)

Below is my personal experience in switching from working everyday as an essential retail worker to now a stay at home unemployed/leave of absense person. Don't feel bad about not reading it, it's long, boring, and I can't really expect anyone to actually be interested because the struggle is real and who wants to be reminded of the grim reality we can't currently escape? XD

[The Start:]

I was still working retail up until a few months ago because most people left. And being short staffed already before covid at my store, things became an even worse unmanageable nightmare because they started to work the remaining staff to death because no one really knew what to do which sucked and everyone was rightfully afraid of what was happening all around them, plus everyone internally was hoping that this would all blow over in a decent amount of time and we could all return to normal and never speak of it again. Considering Covid started around late January/early February in 2019 and today's date (for my future reference) is Jan 4th 2021, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that it certainly has not blown over in a decent amount of time like originally hoped for. Oof.

I was a closer but because of covid my job turned into 'every position at the store and everything/anything that you can possibly get done'. All the stuff from morning team, mid shift, and nightshift rolled into one. Cashiering, phone calls, cleaning, ship from store, backroom, covering multiple breaks, and every department on hardlines salesfloor,

(I did everything except for guest services, food service, clothing, and hr)

you name it XD because most people abandoned ship and Yeeted (which I dont blame them for, t'was a big mood) our store did not hire replacements until literally a few months ago. After I left. Nice.

We were not getting paid any extra, having to stay late, running around with an unending unfinishable list, having to deal with rude customers and cranky bosses, full 8+hour shifts having to wear a mask (even in the break room, and sometimes missing breaks all together because of the large work load) Another problem, my job did not supply masks, proper cleaning supplies, gloves etc to us until an unacceptable amount of time had passed since the start of the virus. Now I didn't expect them to be stocked and fully prepared immediately, obviously.

It was also pretty frustrating getting reprimanded by customers when supplies were low everywhere and some things necessary for existing safely could not be bought anywhere due to high demand, which was only natural, but some people actually acted like it was our personal fault for the store for being sold out of things like hand sanitizer, masks, gloves, toilet paper, and even accused us for holding it in the back for ourselves (which wasnt the case, customers are top priority at our store so the workers usually got nothing to take home or buy, even if we had pulled it from the truck or stocked it ourselves.)

Aside from the excessive draining from normal retail where we already suffer from Karen's and the often unpleasant general public, the Rona made the daily grind even more intense, as if we already thought it couldn't get any worse.

Straying away from that for a second, personal lives were now also affected greatly. Added on top of this new fear/caution/lifestyle was not being able to see my fiance or his family for months because they are all at very high risk. (Unfortunately I am too, but I really needed the paycheck so I thought I had to keep working until the inevitable, which was not looked forward to, but as long as I was potentially exposed with my job we all had to be apart unless I decided to quit and risk not having enough money to pay my bills or survive.)

(Side note for context: My fiance and I have been very lucky enough to see eachother almost every day for 4 years. Surprisingly we have not gotten sick of eachother yet and kept up with that regularity. And though we are engaged, we dont live together, but we do only live 15 minutes away so we just drive over to eachother everyday. Anyway, point being that going months without seeing him at all killed me internally hardcore. This was before zoom was popular and we were not about to resort to Skype. His parents are older and closer to me than my own family and were not comfortable with any form of in-person visits so we usually just did phone calls.)

And eventually I gave up,

I made it halfway through this pandemic working everyday, not seeing the only people I considered family, and I couldn't do it anymore. It literally didn't feel human.

Not to mention this did not help whatsoever with my pre-existing problems, bad depression, anxiety, ptsd, Self h, etc... it was all just getting way too out of hand with more stress piling up daily and taking too big a toll on me to the point where I couldn't deal with my regular lifestyle anymore. I needed a break and a change to severely turn myself around.

So a few months ago I finally went on leave of absence and it was the hardest thing for me to do but honestly the best thing I did. Because everything was so uncertain and I worried about how helpful unemployment would be towards my bills, if I'd lose my job for being gone too long due to an open ended leave of absense for the sake of my health/safety, and honestly I loved my job and my coworkers, but many of them had already left so at that point it became easier for me to leave.

I'm currently making more on unemployment than my job was paying my bi-weekly and doing leagues better mentally, emotionally, and physically, than before when I thought I could last the whole time working through covid hoping I wouldn't catch it and probably die because my health is not 100% gucci in the first place. I was too stubborn to quit until I got to a breaking point and then realised that putting my health/life on the line when I'm at risk during a pandemic for literally no reason other than feeling bad for my one really kind boss (who ended up leaving for a better job anyway right after I left)

in my brain the whole time I figured "eh if I die then I die" but there was a major upside to saying "you know what, fuck this" and leaving.

I've gotten to take up hobbies and do things that I've wanted to do for like 10 years, I improved my financial situation, bought my dream car(A 2004Crossfire), got engaged to the love of my life, had more time to read, write, learn, create, help my fiance record his first official music video, support smaller businesses, get back in better physical health, regain stability, and a new respect for life, health, friends, family, acts of kindness, and how easy things used to be before covid and how it was unintentionally taken for granted.

Not gonna lie, at first I was pretty mad that people on unemployment made more than essential workers, but I also knew that it wasn't their fault for their personal situations or reasonings for needing it. The problem was mainly that many Companies/jobs could have done more, treated essential workers better, given more help, compensated financially, offered forms of protectionagaint the virus, or done literally anything extra at all to help employees who were struggling or who stay to continue working there during a terrible pandemic, and some companies/jobs have done good things for their workers in response of the outbreak which is awesome.

Workers should absolutely be compensated for their extra efforts, time, and pleasant attitude in this difficult time, and treated better than they are. Some things should 1000% be different but some things in this world are still a work in progress.

And also, for people with health issues that are at risk but working anyway for whatever reason, there shouldn't be any shame felt for taking care of yourself or by the people who have to go on unemployment, those who can't work, lost their jobs, need help or a break, or just can't do it anymore, because it hits hard when you realise that even though your effort is important and you're doing your best, playing an important role in society, you could also be risking your health/life or even possibly someone you live withs, for a company that will replace you pretty easily if you're suddenly gone.

I worked at my store for 4 years, was extremely hard working and did everything and anything I could to stay as long as I could during this, but I realised that I'd rather not risk myself and be treated how I was.

Ultimately, the sad reality is that covid has some people forgetting that humans (whether working or not) are humans too that can die or fail at any time given the current circumstances. Some situations are unavoidable like a pandemic, but we can do our best with whatever reality we meet, whether it's being essential the whole way through like some are able, and knowing your health well enough to be able to judge what's best for you individually for now.

but regardless making sure you're not taking yourself for granted in the process.

I'm lucky enough to not have gotten covid yet, and I hope it stays that way.

If your job isnt doing what it can for you in this time, dont be too stubborn about staying

Its not worth risking yourself for your job honestly, and I really hope peoples jobs do as much as they can for those they employ.

If you aren't working, do something with your time that you'll remember (safe things obviously) and if you are still working keep up the awesome progress, stay safe, and be blessed. ❤

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rosy-night-sky · 5 years

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Of Treasure and Adventure

Genre: Treasure hunter/Indiana Jones AU

Pairing: Ot7 x reader

Summary: Your grandmother gave you a gift that she won in a game, so naturally you are curious as to the origins of it. A decision was then made that you should seek the answers to your questions. However, you never expected your decision to lead you on a treasure hunting quest.

Tag List: @sevenincubistolemyheart

Chapter 1

The endless chatter and commotion of the marketplace echoed throughout of New Delhi. Various shopkeepers and traders yelled out their so called amazing products or the astonishing sales. Silks, spices, foods, animals, anything you could think of was there. Products were sold and coin flowed in steadily, although not as rapidly as before.

However, you weren’t here to trade or buy anything, although many things did happen to catch your eye. No, you were a reporter sent by a British newspaper company to cover the events of the growing Indian independence movement. The movement had caused quite a stir back in England, and the people there are anxious on what will become of India.

Honestly, although as a reporter you weren’t allowed to give your opinion, you were in the minority among the British, believing that India had a right to become independent from the imperializing country. The British, of course, acted cruel to the natives of the country, acting like they were no more than servants.

In addition to your assignment, you decided to take care of another issue. In your possession, handed to you from your grandmother, you had a small, ornate tapestry heavily influenced with Indian design. You were rather curious on the origins of the item and whether or not it was deemed valuable. You had already gone to many historians, but they all said that it was nothing of note.

You obviously weren’t going to take that as an answer and realized that you could only find what you were looking for by going to its home country, which was why you were currently entering a building acting like you were about to conduct some shady business. You got in contact with a historian who was willing to look at your tapestry and try to see if he could search for it origins. You were elated when he agreed to help you, and you couldn’t help the bubbly feeling of nervous excitement rush through you as you climbed the steps to the place where you both agreed to meet.

The floor you landed on looked like it was supposed to be a fancy bar, what with the fine tablecloths and baskets upon baskets of flowers littered everywhere. You saw many British military men chatting and drinking with familiar company. You ignored them and looked for the historian, who happened to be seated on the balcony looking over the city.

You strolled over to him and stuck your hand out. “Dr. Kim, I presume,” you greeted with a smile.

The man tore his gaze from the ongoings down below and turned his attention to you, a bright smile stretching from ear to ear. The first thing you noticed was how handsome and professional he appeared. His gray suit was nicely pressed without so much as a single hair or piece of lint on it. He adjusted his round glasses before returning your hand shake. “Miss. Y/l/n, so nice to finally meet you,” he replied. “As much as I’d love to stay and discuss your tapestry, I am currently overlooking a university class trip. So I’m afraid we’ll have to make this meeting quick.”

You nodded in understanding. “This won’t be an issue, doctor. I’m rather eager to hear what you have in store.” You both took a seat, and you found the pillow seats to be rather comfortable although quite worn from use.

“Now then,” Dr. Kim began, “may I?”

Once more, you nodded and grabbed the folded cloth from your leather bag. You placed it on the table before unfolding it to reveal the intricate image woven into it centuries ago. Although many colors graced it, it was beginning to fade from age. You could only imagine how vibrant it must’ve looked when it was first crafted.

Dr. Kim adjusted his glasses once more as he took in the history before him. You could practically see the wheels and gears turn in his mind. His eyes scanned it rather intensely, as if it was the last piece of Indian history on earth. Finally, he lifted his eyes up to you with a questioning look. “May I ask where you got this?” he asked, his hand cupping his chin in thought.

You smiled fondly as you recalled the memory. “My grandmother gave it to me. She told me she won it in a game of poker from an Indian lord back in the day,” you chuckled. You and your grandmother were always very close, and you were sad to remember how she passed away just a year prior to this trip. Perhaps she was the reason why you were so adamant on finding answers to the mystery of this tapestry.

The historian laughed almost breathily, and you noticed the cute dimples form as his lips formed a smile. “I should have figured, this doesn’t look like something that an Indian lord would be willing to part with.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion and slight curiousity. “How so?” you prodded further.

He spread out his arms and if to say behold. “Well, this is finely made for starters, only the best quality of thread was used to craft this, and it is nicely preserved as well. The style of design used here suggests that this was made during the classic period of India,” he explained, his eyebrows raised in astonishment.

Unfortunately, you weren’t quite informed on the history of India. So you couldn’t exactly place a year on that given information. “So when’s that?” you asked, feeling a tiny bit embarrassed on how ignorant you were.

“Well...” His voice trailed off as his mind went to work. “If I had to pick a year. I’d say this was made in the early hundreds... B.C.” He rubbed a hand on his neck, as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying.

Your jaw fell unceremoniously as you could feel the air in your lungs disappear instantly. “You’re saying I’ve been carrying an artifact... that’s thousands of years old...?”

He laughed sheepishly and nodded, which only lurched your stomach to your throat. You almost used that tapestry as a napkin on multiple occasions. Also, how on earth has this thing not unraveled or dissolved yet?! “Holy shit...” you breathed out.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Like I said, this has been preserved very well.”

“Um, yeah, I’d say so...” You ran your fingers through your hair. “How come the other historians back in England didn’t have heart attacks over this?”

Dr. Kim shrugged his shoulders, a small smile gracing his lips. “No offense, but British people aren’t interested in Indian history.” He then looked at his wrist watch abruptly. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss. Y/l/n, but I’m afraid I have to get going. I have to make sure my students haven’t wandered off and gotten themselves killed.”

You blinked yourself out of your bewildered daze and redirected your attention to the doctor. “Oh! Erm, of course, doctor. This has all been a very...” Your voice trailed off as you searched for the proper word to use in this situation. “... enlightening experience.” You stood up as you said this and made your way back inside.

“Namjoon, I-”

Suddenly, your body collided into another person, causing yourself to lose your balance all but for a moment. You held up your hands as if show how apologetic you were. Your eyes landed upon a much younger man than Dr. Kim. He had a youthful appearance that made it seem as if he hadn’t even graduated college quite yet. He was dressed in a nice, white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, khakis, and brown leather shoes.

You couldn’t help but admire how handsome he was as his chubby cheeks flushed a faint tinge of pink. He smiled sheepishly and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “Ah, sorry, ma’am,” he apologized earnestly. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

You lowered your hands and returned a warm smile of your own. “It’s no problem. The fault’s mine, my mind is a little frazzled at the moment,” you explained, chuckling at the end of your statement.

Dr. Kim then stepped into the exchange. “Jungkook, I’d like you to meet Miss. Y/l/n. She is a reporter covering the independence movement.”

Jungkook bowed his head in greeting, his dark hair brushing over his beautiful eyes. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” You couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter ever so slightly in your chest.

“Jungkook is one of my students,” Dr. Kim informed, a look of pride glimmering in his eyes. “He’s probably here to tell me about the other students, right?”

The student blinked his eyes, as if suddenly remembering why he came up there in the first place. “Oh, yes. Jaehee wanted to show you some pots she believed were made in the eighteenth century.”

The doctor arched an eyebrow in slight interest, digging his hand in his pockets. “Did she now? Well then, I better go and see for myself.” He nodded his head to you. “Miss Y/l/n.” With that, he left with the student. You were now alone with the ancient tapestry. You suddenly felt as if you were unworthy to carry around such a valuable artifact. Perhaps she could donate it to a national museum? Who was she kidding? The British might get wind of it and steal it for themselves.

You grabbed the tapestry and exited the bar, heading down the stairs, your footsteps echoing off the walls. You couldn’t believe it. Your grandmother won a two millennia tapestry in a game of cards. If you went to the right people, you could end up a millionaire. Finally, you could live an easy life without scrambling around for every odd job.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, you were just about to put the tapestry back in your leather bag, but a cheery voice suddenly spoke up. “That’s quite a drape you have there.”

You turned your head to the source of the sound and found yourself looking at a small, make-shift shop set up in the far back area of the room. Colorful blankets and curtains hung around to give the shop a rather bohemian appearance. The shopkeeper sat on a comfy looking pillow behind his stand, looking up at you with a sweet smile.

Curiousity piqued your interest as you took a few steps at the shop. You brushed away a few giant leaves from the potted plants arranged at the sides of his stall. His whole vibrant arrangement gave off a rather magical, almost fairytale aesthetic.

“It’s not a drape,” you corrected him. “It’s a tapestry.”

He tilted his head to the side quizzically. “What is the difference between a drape and a tapestry?” he questioned, his chin resting on his folded hands.

You pondered on it for a few moments. “A tapestry has images on it, I suppose.”

“I guess you’re right there,” he replied, a rich laughter escaping his lips.

You looked at a sign standing next to him that was written in both Indian and English. “Hope’s... World...?” you read questioningly.

He smiled sweetly again. “My wish is for my products to be the solution for all your hopes and dreams.” He gestured for you to sit on the pillow laid out on the other side of where he was sitting.

You accepted his invitation and sat down, mostly because you were curious of what this shop exactly was. “So then... Mr...?”

“Hoseok,” he introduced himself, extending a hand out to you, which you shook. You then gave him your name

“Alright then, Hoseok, what is it that you do exactly?” you asked, noticing all the different spices and herbs strewn about on various shelves.

Suddenly, Hoseok got up from his seat and moved toward the back shop. “I’m what you call in your language a tea merchant,” he explained. “I simply sell teas that help ease all your troubles away.” He then returned with two cups and a steaming pot. He sat back down on his pillow and poured the warm liquid in both cups, offering you one.

You gladly accepted the drink and sipped on it, tasting the sweet spices on your tongue. “Is this chai tea?” you questioned, quirking an eyebrow.

He laughed again, setting the pot to the side. “Ah, you British, you know your teas very well.” He then whispered, “It’s a secret recipe of mine. My mother would kill me if I told you.”

You then smiled as you took another drink. “Say no more, I had a grandmother who has an amazing custard tart that she said she’d take to her grave,” you recalled, chuckling at the fond memories. Your mind began to relax and feel calm. You were unsure if it was because of the tea or the soothing atmosphere of the tea shop that calmed you.

Hoseok gave you an excited grin. “May I see your tapestry, please?” He bounced on his pillow like a child opening his presents on Christmas. You couldn’t help but comply with what he asked. After all, it was merely two thousand years old. What’s the worst that could happen?

As you unfolded the tapestry, Hoseok viewed it over intently, running his long fingers over the fabric. He seemed absolutely enthralled by the worn pictures and faded colors. His childlike eyes ran over the tapestry over and over again, taking everything in as if he would never see it ever again. He finally tore his gaze away and looked up with a knowing smile. “This tells a story, you know,” he revealed, catching you off guard.

You raised your eyebrows in astonishment. “Really?”

He nodded eagerly. “Yes, you see these people here...” He pointed to a group of people who appeared to be fleeing away from soldiers on horses, who were firing their bows upon them. You couldn’t help but feel slight pity for them, but nonetheless nodded. “These aren’t Indians at all. They are, in fact, my ancestors, Koreans, fleeing from their homeland from the Chinese in 108 B.C.” He then pointed at the soldiers. “My people fled to protect the most valuable treasure in our kingdom. The Dragon of the Stars, said to be made of every precious gemstone on earth.” He moved his finger back to animated Korean who was carrying something in his arms, but the color was too faded to really decipher what it was. On the other hand, you could barely make out the outline of what appeared to be a small dragon. However, you would have never known it was a dragon if Hoseok hadn’t pointed it out.

The tea seller continued, “My people fled to the one place the Chinese couldn’t reach, where this tapestry was made.”

“India,” you breathed out, followed by a stifled yawn. “I’m sorry, I don’t find this boring. Please continue.”

Hoseok chuckled. “I suppose it has been a very exciting day for you. It certainly has been for me now that I’ve seen this.” His eyes crawled back down to the tapestry. “You are a lucky woman to have this. I’d estimate this would cost a few million.”

You leaned against your propped up arm, finding your eyelids to grow heavier and heavier by the second. “A few million?” You drawled out, yawning once more. “That’s a lot... Say, Hoseok, how could you tell this explained that story just by looking at it?”

Hoseok smiled, finding your drowsy attitude to be rather cute. “I guess you could say I’ve always been interested in the history of my people.”

You mumbled in agreement. “I should be going now. I don’t know why I’m suddenly exhausted right now.” You reached out to grab the tapestry, content with the knowledge Hoseok shared with you. In fact, once you rested up, you were definitely going to find someone who would pay the right price for this.

You could see the deflated look in Hoseok’s eyes, but he reluctantly allowed you to leave. “Here, let me help you,” he offered, folding up the tapestry into a neat pile.

You were about to help him when a huge bout of exhaustion overwhelmed you. You swayed from side to side, finding the floor to sway as you wobbled. Your eyelids felt as if weights hung from them, dragging them down further by the second. You felt as if you hadn’t slept in a week.

“Hoseok...” you mumbled before suddenly collapsing to the floor.

The last thing you saw before you fell into unconsciousness was Hoseok smiling sweetly upon you with the radiance of a thousand suns. He looked absolutely heavenly, as if he was a god come down to bestow his blessings upon you. “Sweet dreams, Y/n...”

You obeyed him and fell into a deep sleep.

—————————————

“Who are you?”

“You may call me Mr. Kim... Kim Seokjin...”

#bts #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #fanfiction #writing #treasure hunter au #ot7 x reader #bts x reader #indiana jones au #of treasure and adventure

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cok--ayip · 4 years

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lvnarearchives · 4 years

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under the cut, you’ll find my best attempt at some character development headcanons. my brain hates the fact that i did this one before the set of questions with basic biographical info, but it be like that and now i have to live with it.

𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟎𝟎𝟎𝟏. › asher nathanael larsen.

► medical issues ➔ a progressively bad rotator cuff injury before they came into their powers and healed from it. still has phantom pain sometimes. also, withdrawal symptoms every few months when they try to go straight and narrow. ► knows far too much about ➔ naloxone. what it does, how to administer it in either form, how long it lasts, where to steal it from in a pinch. he knows he’s making terrible decisions; might as well learn how to save someone else’s life. can clock a fake id in under a minute. ► fears death via ➔ drowning. he waves it off as having fallen into a river once, but it’s more along the lines of ‘held underwater as part of a forced exorcism’... ► chances of being “evil” ➔ if you ask their parents and oldest brother, they already are (or at least, possessed by something that is). realistically though, they’re too soft. the only thing ash has ever harmed in absence of self-defense is themself.

𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟎𝟎𝟎𝟐. › chloe doran.

► medical issues ➔ none. she’s scarily healthy, not a blemish on her. she’s gotten one cold in the time rj’s known her; doctors have floated between ‘impressed’ and ‘concerned’. ► knows far too much about ➔ supernatural creatures. it goes like this: if there’s something she doesn’t know about, she immediately researches it (whether or not that information is reliable, well...that’s what cross-referencing is for). in present company, it’s currently the history of witches and extensive folklore on fairies. ► fears death via ➔ has not had enough life experience to realize the lasting impact of death, or to have had it affect her personally. ( plus, she does live with a necromancer. ) it’s mostly something that happens and upsets the people around her, which then makes her sad. she does have a lot of projected worry about being hunted down by someone rj’s wronged in the past, but isn’t constantly thinking about it. ► chances of being “evil” ➔ ...yikes. chloe, on her own, could not even conceive of why someone would hurt anyone else —— however, she is extremely gullible, rejects the concept of deception, and can very easily be persuaded to do anything that isn’t outright suicidal. so chances of her being manipulated into being evil? disconcertingly high. and there’s the whole ‘harboring the soul of a witch hellbent on human sacrifice’ thing.

𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟎𝟎𝟎𝟑. › emilia [surname pending].

► medical issues ➔ a traumatic brain injury, and before erica bit her, epilepsy. she’ll suffer from wolfsbane poisoning every full moon, but that’s neither here nor there. ► knows far too much about ➔ fish! most small pets, really. her grandma has a koi pond, but seeing as she can’t exactly install a pond everywhere she goes and especially not on a college campus, emi’s taken to more common freshwater fish. she has a small tank of four fancy goldfish. admittedly, her commitment to a single interest leaves a lot to be desired, so erica’s probably right in denying her the bunny...and the gecko...and the turtle. ► fears death via ➔ doesn’t, really? she’s an eternal optimist, and honestly, her concern is usually on the wrong part of the punchline whenever something bad happens. her reaction to the bite was more of a ‘crossing genetics could lead to bad things and that’s uncharted territory’ than ‘i might die’. going along with the optimism, despite all evidence to the contrary, emi...did very much think she would end up with a kitsune’s lifespan. ► chances of being “evil” ➔ hahahahaha. none. absolutely none.

𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟎𝟎𝟎𝟒. › laura diana hale.

► medical issues ➔ none. ► knows far too much about ➔ kind of the opposite? she’s been dead for eight years. everything’s changed. ► fears death via ➔ betrayal by someone she trusts, even moreso by anyone she loves. she’d never considered it as an option before, but, well. also, fire. ► chances of being “evil” ➔ relatively slim to none, but boy does she have a vengeful streak. as the (now) essential matriarch of the hales, she’d do nearly anything to protect what’s left of them and only somewhat suffer from the weight of her actions.

𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟎𝟎𝟎𝟓. › megan mi-young choi.

► medical issues ➔ low bone density as a consequence of anorexia. deprivation amblyopia, a stutter that grows more pronounced when stressed, and lactose intolerance. yeah...she’s kind of a mess. ► knows far too much about ➔ greek and latin history, in accordance with her major. along with that, landmarks and artifacts of either of the two cultures. also, she’s ridiculously good at identifying sounds——plus the general build and direction of the thing that made them. ► fears death via ➔ nothing. and that’s not ‘nothing’ as in ‘she has no fear of death’, it means that dissociation and lost time are so commonplace for her that she’s terrified of going about her business and one day a simple conversation will just be...the last thing she ever remembers. ► chances of being “evil” ➔ enough that this qualifies as a valid question, and that’s the frightening part. she doesn’t know what happens when she goes into fugue, but there’s been one too many instances of blood in her sink or tub for her to sleep soundly.

𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟎𝟎𝟎𝟔. › nicolas gabriel vicente hernandez.

► medical issues ➔ astigmatism. ► knows far too much about ➔ murder cases. between his thing for true crime and his abuelita’s reluctance to change a channel more than once, he’s seen many episodes of many i.d. (the tv channel) shows multiple times. ► fears death via ➔ nico is very much an ‘if i die, i die’ type of person and doesn’t even regret it much, outside of inevitably upsetting his family. ( secretly... death by cop. not even remotely by the sheriff or the bcpd, but he tends to politely turn down opportunities to cover larger protests or events in more metropolitan cities because of this. ) ► chances of being “evil” ➔ none. he’s a menace to society, and a little bit of a fuckboy, but honestly? he was raised better than to do anything that could even be classified as mean. it’s always justified violence, and even then the worst he’s ever done is like...break a window or throw a punch.

𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟎𝟎𝟎𝟕. › reagan avery rj sinclair.

► medical issues ➔ none. ► knows far too much about ➔ every one of her clients’ business, courtesy of blood magic. but all that aside, knows more about family law than she ever wanted to. ► fears death via ➔ why fear death when you wield death? i’d say the thought that most disturbs her is dying due to her own stupidity. not being cautious enough, or anonymous enough, or placing a sliver of trust in the wrong person. once upon a time she worried about starving to death, or being homeless and succumbing to the elements, but now she has a borderline obnoxious amount of money, which is truly the root of all security. ► chances of being “evil” ➔ some might say she already is. it’s entirely possible that she’s killed or cursed people whose only crimes were making the wrong enemies, but those enemies bankrolled her, so. with survival and self-interest as a priority, very likely.

𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟎𝟎𝟎𝟖. › sydney nayel asmara.

► medical issues ➔ aside from the ocd and hypochondria, syd had vitamin d and iron deficiencies before she got put on supplements. ► knows far too much about ➔ anything, if she tries hard enough— parasites / uncommon diseases. she has a whole lot of time to kill and end up watching a lot of monsters inside me and mystery diagnosis, to her own horror. but also, point her to a lock and she can probably pick it. ► fears death via ➔ everything, particularly since she’s had the misfortune of seeing her own (possible) death a few times. the one where she breaks multiple bones and slowly dies from the pain / internal bleeding is probably her least favorite. ► chances of being “evil” ➔ even split, as it’s a matter of perspective. she sees what serves as a threat to her or the people she knows, but it’s never specified what side she has to be on. she was in fact (technically) an agent of the harvest, so.

𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟎𝟎𝟎𝟗. › tessa monroe hewitt hale.

► medical issues ➔ partial paralysis of her left leg due to third-degree burns. it’s been sixteen years, so the scars are as healed as they’re going to get. she doesn’t feel pain; in fact, it’s the opposite, and the crutch helps her manage the dead weight. ► knows far too much about ➔ music history. she has a handful of favorite classical composers that make up the majority of her daily playlist. ► fears death via ➔ fire. self-explanatory. ► chances of being “evil” ➔ with her extreme and ongoing guilt complex, impossible. even if certain people are comfortable with her thinking she is.

————end.

#i. type. › musings.#iv. musings. › a. larsen.#iv. musings. › c. doran.#iv. musings. › l. hale.#iv. musings. › m. choi.#iv. musings. › n. hernandez.#iv. musings. › r. sinclair.#iv. musings. › s. asmara.#iv. musings. › t. hewitt.

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eris0330 · 5 years

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Hiraeth - Twenty one

☽Pairing☾ ; BTS | Reader ☽Genre☾ ; Angst

☽Word Count☾ ; 2.5k

☽Summary☾ Returning back to Korea after years of being under the ground, to see your parents. You wished it was all it took, to feel complete again. The aftermath of confusion, betrayal and sorrow was the reason to never come back into the boys presents. But it wasn’t until, seeing one them enter the same cafe, at the right time.

☽Warnings☾ Mention of suicide and along those lines.

☽M. List☾ ; 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10 // 11 // 12 // 13 // 14 // 15 // 16 // 17 // 18 // 19 // 20 // 21 // 22 [ongoing]

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Present…

In the early mornings of brewing hot water and coffee, with different variants of oatmeal while the eggs are sizzling on the pan. Hoseok had awoken earlier than the others and decided to prepare breakfast, as the others were resting out the alcohol. The boys had stayed up to late night, watching different youtube videos, of them, you and others that could be close to your case. The drinks refilled quicker with lousy dancing and bantering, while the music soothed in the background. It was a night to remember, unfortunately it was only Hoseok that kept the alcohol to a minimum. Secrets were shared, confessions of lonely boys, future worries got thrown back and forth.

“Ooooh smells gooood~” Jimin chimed, sitting at the breakfast bar to look at Hoseok setting up the table. Jimin yawned fondly while cracking his tense bones, to then see Namjoon join beside him. Polishing his glasses, his lips were swollen from a deep sleep in his own room. “Morning~” he spoke with a rust voice, while clearing the smudge off his glasses.

Taehyung slowly approached to snack on a banana, not waiting further for the boys to arrive. His smacking of lips grows in the room, while nodding a firmly ‘good morning’ too.

Jungkook stepped forward from the deep hallway to help Hoseok put the food ready on the table, letting it be in the centre for everyone to grab. “Are the others up too?” Jungkook questioned curiously, seeing Namjoon and Jimin shrug appropriately while Taehyung pointed towards the hallway. After two seconds, two men with rough morning hair were standing at the entrance of the hallway while giving each other a glance. There weren’t exchanged a word and they each found a spot at the table, while Jin stretched his arms along the way.

“You’re all such early risers” Jin yawned deeply, pouring oatmeal into a bowl. The others chucking at his remark, thanking for the food before indulging into the breakfast. The sound of munching and juice poured into glasses, reminding some of the boys of last nights ‘party’. After a quiet breakfast the boys helped with the dishes, while some were lounging on the couch to dwell on a filled stomach. It took some time before they decided to go wash up and getting their cozy outfits on, because even though it was an off day, they felt this strange urge to have somewhat ‘decent looking’ clothing on.

“So, any news?” Jin spoke, settling himself on the floor to stretch his body in various positions. His long legs spotted any angle of the room, while Yoongi positioned himself as a ball in the lounge chair. The boys following troop to find a spot at the couch or empty chairs looking at their phones, while Jungkook put on some background music. Hours passed and it was almost noon. Their stomachs were about to rumble of anger, or rather hunger, to be exact. Jin was chosen to cook lunch, with two of the others from the group. Though, no one was volunteering with a cheer, so they decided to play a game of who picked the shortest straw. Back in the days it was about to find something useful in the house, to have long sticks and one short stick. Now in the futuristic days, those things are mounted into their phones. So, the game didn’t take very long and the lucky winners, were Jungkook and Taehyung. Thankful for the errands of the day before, they had all the ingredients that they needed, though they were confused why they decided to buy extra but something told them it was the right thing to do.

It was a chaos in the kitchen, with magic tricks involving caramelized potato and different ways to cut the vegetables in shapes. That’s how it usually went, cooking as a trio in a small kitchen. Jin always taught Jungkook new things and skills to prepare the food, or know when something is cooked and even what to do when the food taste bland. Taehyung always admired Jin’s skills in cooking and were doing his best, to show how good he has become in his cooking skills.

Yoongi and Jimin decided to put the plates on the table, while Namjoon were grumbling by himself in the lounge chair. His thoughts anywhere else than in the room, or to be heard by others. He felt strange, sitting by himself but also a snitch of happiness looking back at the others. The way they chuckled, played around and helped each other, felt remising. He couldn’t help but smile and Hoseok seemed to notice, as he nudged Namjoon on his thigh.

“Don’t get lost now” He chimed, before inviting himself to sit at the table. The delicious scent of food was growing in the room, making the other join the table in the speed of light. As the last things were placed, they all thanked for the food before indulging themselves. The sounds of munching and happy murmurs of their taste buds cheering, made confidence grow within the cooking masters.

“So, since we got here, we might as well talk about our plan” Jungkook spoke, with rice stored in his cheeks making them puff larger than usual. Namjoon couldn’t help but smile of the cute sight, that were lining up to a bunny.

“What plan? It’s not like we can do much than roam around on social media. Out of all places, I doubt she would be here in Jeju” Jimin added, fetching a piece of meat from the pan. The others knew why they had to come here, but they didn’t know if it was the real deal or just an excuse to get away from work.

“Never say never” Yoongi muttered, munching on a chewy piece of meat. Namjoon sighed loudly, before taking a big bite of his meal. His hands clapping softly, gaining the other’s attention.

“Right, before we got here, I had a talk with Bang. About the articles that is flowing around” He spoke softly, making the other slow down their eating process.

“Those articles are still up everywhere on social media and even the dating scandal between her and Wonho, but it’s like people don’t want to stop talking about our disbandment” Hoseok mentioned, poking at his meat as he watches the other’s reaction.

“It’s not like they are dumb. I have read a lot of theories online about the whole disbandment and they aren’t far from the truth, even now it has gotten better after the dating scandal article.” Jungkook added, remembering that single theory article about the cover up a disbanded member due to medical issues. Even though the article had faults, it was almost true as it could be.

“Come to think of it, how did Wonho know about the whole thing with Jimin and Y/N?” Taehyung questioned curiously, munching on a piece of bread while looking at Jimin with big eyes. Jimin could only scoff of the question, feeling the pain return that he once experienced in his own home.

“Wonho sleeps around with Jisu” Yoongi answered annoyed, taking a toothpick to take out the piece of meat stuck between his teeth.

“Wonho?? Jisu??? Are you serious??” Jin almost yelled in shock, thinking of the love that was once shared between Wonho and you, but also the hatred that was formed with Jisu.

“So Jisu is with Wonho and Soomi is a Youtuber. How did it end up like this?” Taehyung questioned in disbelief, that it felt like everything went better for everyone else than themselves.

“Also, when Soomi isn’t under contract anymore, she’s pretty much free to speak about everything that happened years ago” Jimin mentioned, clenching his jaw of the thought.

“Will that even matter today?” Jungkook questioned, switching his concentration on the food and the boys.

“Of-course it will. Media will do everything to get a good story, even if it’s years ago.”Jin answered, leaning back into his chair.

“And our agency will be in shambles.” Namjoon sighed loudly, looking down on his empty plate. His eyes lit up, putting his elbows on the table to lean his chin on the back of his hands. “Alright. Let’s get our story straight. If Soomi suddenly decides to spill the beans about us, or the industry. We know what happened and if we keep our cool, no one will pinpoint it. We told them that Y/N disbanded, due to private issues. That’s personal information and WE still have contact with her. There is no bad blood between us and neither with other groups, because we don’t act any different. Soomi doesn’t have any proof, that we are connected with her. She doesn’t know what happened to Y/N before she was sent away, so therefore she has nothing on that matter. If we keep saying to the public that we still have contact with Y/N, they will believe us over some Youtuber. Alright?” His deep voice was booming in their ears, of his solid plan about you. Namjoon was worried, whether Soomi would keep her mouth shut or publicly slander their name around.

“What if they want proof? That we still have contact with her? She’s here, but we haven’t even gotten the change to meet her…” Hoseok questioned softly, making Namjoon gulp. He didn’t know what to answer, than to either keep it a secret from the media and hope it will lay down, or finally tell the truth. It was eating him from the inside, with the lies he had to live with. To protect the boys, to protect the agency and to protect himself.

“We give them proof.” Yoongi finished, with a dead face towards the boys. Yoongi was tired of hiding and accused of doing things that was false. The boys became silent, looking at Yoongi who’s eyelids lowered and the aura changed. His hands were shaking, as if he was anxious and no one knew why.

A faint knock on the door interrupted their silence, making their bodies jolt of the sound. They each looked at each other, thinking of who the person could be. Their manager was staying in a different residence, but it was even then strange for him to knock.

“I’ll get it” After a few seconds of contemplating at the sound, Yoongi decided to go fetch whoever was at the door. As he vanished to the hallway, the boys were sitting patiently stacking the plates.

“If it’s cookies, I want 3 boxes!” Jungkook yelled, making the others laugh in the midst of silence. The sound of steps approaching made their heads turn and freeze, hearing that it wasn’t only one pair of feet hitting the wooded floor. A female like figure came into their view, with a black gym bag sat neatly by the side. The others were frozen in shock, with Yoongi staring in silence behind the female figure. The significant scent crossing their noses, to each second feeling like an hour.

“Y/N….” Your name colliding with their cries as they all rushed to embrace you, with your own tears mirroring. Jin and Hoseok was the quickest to come through, feeling your warm bodies against them. The others joining a split second after, forming a big group hug. Their arms tightening around you, staying like this for a few minutes. Swinging you back and forth, as if they tried to make a baby fall asleep. Their own bodies in shock, not able to know what to do in a situation like this. It was first Namjoon to let go, before the others followed troop. Their eyes were blood shot, while Jin stammered to find words. His eyes swinging between the table and you, not realising how close you are to him.

“O-oh god it’s a m-mess in here… T-that’s so r-rude of u-us. I’ll g-go clean it u-up” It was like everything stopped him from speaking thoroughly to you, but the wide shouldered man was quick to grab the plates while Hoseok hurried to help Jin. Namjoon came close to cup your face, feeling your tears stream upon his hands.

“God I missed you, Y/N” He cried, taking you in for another embrace. Your nose digging into the crook of his neck, feeling his warm skin against your own. Your body shaking within his touch, but soon let go, to see Jungkook approach. His eyes big and curious, just like the first time you met each other in the BigHit building. His finger stroking along your cheek, feeling the scar run under his fingertips. Tears pooling in his eyes to fall upon his black t-shirt, feeling you pull a smile.

“Looks like we’re twins, huh?” You commented softly, making his cries louder with whimpers to hug tightly. The sound of your voice is so delicate to his ears and he always thought, that he was never able to hear it again. Your fingers grabbing tightly onto his shirt, letting him know you’re real and never leaving again. Jungkook let go of you as he was choking on his own breath with cries, letting Taehyung come close. His body taller than yours, almost staring you down with watered eyes. His locks were wet from the tears, letting a hand run through your hair. Your eyes observing him, letting him examine you like a piece of art. His hands were shaking, feeling the strands of hair run between his fingers. Your own hand, meeting up with his to tie them tightly together. Forming a light smile, you caught his shaking eyes.

“I’m real, Taetae...” You whispered, sending electricity through his body to indulge you. His arms wrapping you like a Christmas present, to almost lift you from the floor. He couldn’t speak, his cries were loud and clear. They were used to tears, when they were sad but it was rare, they cried this loudly due to happiness. After a while, Taehyung could finally let you go. Looking at you for answers, or even questions that he always had within him. Jimin was standing a few metres away, crying like others but shaking of fury. The veins on his arms were big and pumping, as if he had been working out for hours. His lips were pursed into a thin line, while watching Taehyung step away from your body. Jimin’s eyes examined every curve, every piece of motion of your breath. You waited for him, to come close but he never came. He stood still, like a rock and watching your every move. You decided to come closer, but his body jolted at your step.

“Jimin…” Your call for him in a whisper, sent shivers down his spine. Running a hand through his hair, frustrated of how he felt of your return.

“No-…. I-I-I need to-… I need to get away.” Jimin spat quickly, walking with heavy steps towards the bedroom to close it shut. Your heart shattering of his words and not getting the reaction that you wished, seeing the fear happen before you. Yoongi came close, putting a hand on your shoulder to assure you that this isn’t a dream anymore.

“It’s okay, give him time” Yoongi whispered, clenching your shoulder of comfort. Hoseok and Jin hurried back after cleaning the table, to watch Yoongi stand beside you.

“You knew about this, didn’t you?!” Hoseok questioned loudly in shock and confusion, looking at the man furthest away. The others looking equally confused and furious, of how Yoongi could keep this a secret from them. Letting them be in pain for so long, as he was the only one knowing you were going to meet them again. Yoongi stepped in front of you, holding his hands up in defence. His eyes examining the blood shot eyed boys, knowing that he was in trouble but needed to explain himself.

“Let’s sit down and talk, alright?”

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unicorn-sprinkles-101 · 5 years

Text

I'm an autistic, mentally ill young adult who very desperately needs to find a new place to live.

I can't exactly recount what happened during most of my childhood but I have to say that my parents have drastically spiraled out of control since then.

My mother had never really been a big impact on my life other than being my primary guardian and taking me from place to place. Other than that, she has little to no emotional connection to me and especially not now. I don't really "hate" anyone listed here, I just don't care for my family anymore and don't want anything to do with any of them.

My mother is completely unable to work, relying mostly on disability since I was a baby due to an ongoing condition. My father refuses to get a better job to support my mother and I, often leaving us with around $5-$10 at a for gas money (often with tons of quarters) or to take with me when it is absolutely required.

Now that I've turned 18, things have gotten much harder when it comes to me being used for financial gain. I do admit that alot of that money was used towards me in some way or another while I was growing up, but not anymore.

While my father is unable to let go of grandmother's old house (which has gone to shambles), one of my mother's friends has lives under us in the basement after being rendered homeless, which can make akward when describing family troubles.

She started living with us a while ago after her trailer finally caved in after we packed water jugs back and forth to her location for several years.

Ever since she moved here, she's developed an overbearing attachment to her "animals". It got so bad she refused time and time again to put her very ill 16-year-old dog to sleep, rendering them unable to walk, see, eat or hear for months on end. The breaking point was when they bled out all over the kitchen (which we knew would happen eventually), which was traumatic for us and highly unnecessary for the dog to go through considering how miserable they were when they came here.

She has made tons very rude and hurtful comments to me about how I'm such an "abuser" when I told her dogs (she has 3) to go away or get off the couch in front of her. She often claims that I'm abusive towards my guinea pigs, saying that I don't "take care of [my] animals".

This friend of my mother has also made comments ranging from my weight to my behavior and called me names ranging from "brat" to the more recent "trashy white girl" while my mother rolls her eyes and tells me it was all just a joke.

She's physically done things towards me such as shoving me out of the way, crushing me on the bed, and almost hauling a foot tall scratching post towards my direction after I refused to get her a broom the second she demanded it (I ended up getting it for her anyway.

However, physical altercations between me and my mom's friend are very rare and this type of behavior is often seen as the norm in my area, so unless it's something that left bruises or sexual assault, it isn't really that big of a deal compared to the other stuff I face on a daily basis.

It only got worse after I graduated from highschool. It got so bad that it became worse than all of the countless harassment I faced throughout my highschool education combined.

I was forced to give up over 3/4s of my $700 worth of graduation money to my mother in order to pay off bills, food, and other neccessities. While I ended up snagging some small gifts for myself (apx. $120) before it was all sucked up, I know I'll probably never be able to get paid back that amount of money from either one of them and I feel extremely cheated as a result.

While I was legitimately excited to see them grow as people in a good home, my sister's kids have drastically changed for the worse ever since they've been shoved in a tiny old trailer and moved back to the classic small town community full of people with money (maybe extracurriculars will keep them busy).

The youngest of them (8), who is often dumped here on a daily basis, has disrespected us in a variety of ways including: eating at the computer after my mom's friend made a rule not to, not picking up after themselves when they did so (often leaving uneaten food out), and using every other dollar my mom had to go get candy and drinks from the Dollar Store (they stole my leftover change in front of me and lied about it, but that was a one-time occurrence).

The back room often smells like trash because my mother puts off going to the dump until the very last minute.

Nobody can keep up with the animals, use a flyswatter on the cat to keep it from climbing everything and having to lock it up so it wouldn't take the food straight off our plates while we were eating.

While two of the dogs from my mom's friend stay downstairs in the basement, the third one stays up here and refuses to go downstairs.

The dog is well-behaved (aside from agressive barking) but while it doesn't pee anywhere in the house (as far as we know), it appears to leave, traces of leftover urine on pillows, blankets, and the furniture (or at least the odor, although I felt small wet spots on the couch before) which could spread germs, not good for someone with a few open sores.

None of them use leashes, so when this dog bursts out the door it takes off up the street aggressively barking at everyone and everything, with little to no repercussions from either adult. The overly intense noise from this small dog has gotten way out of hand, making me a nervous wreck.

These two stress factors combined with everything else makes it impossible to keep the house clean by nearly any means (I'm doing my best just to sweep off the porch).

I'm grateful that my mom's friend took one last shot at trying to clean up the bedroom, but there's no point in trying to keep anything kept up when all it does is get destroyed.

Moving to my own place means I won't have to look after anyone else but me and my pets (guinea pigs). However, I don't have anyone to support me in my endeavors.

As my parents often failed to attend my physical and emotional needs, I became highly unstimulated and constantly stressed as a result. This has lead to severe bouts of depression and executive dysfunction, which has caused my mom's friend's harassment to get even worse.

Not only did they fail to properly take care of my needs all throughout highschool, we've never been able to afford ANY sort of renovations to the house during our residence here (about 8 years), aside from basic roofing which was performed by a small Hispanic business instead of a professional company.

The only two instances of DIY fix-ups I can remember during my 8 years here are replacing the shattered windows with plexiglass (which happened years ago) and recently restoring some of the rotten floorboards under the washer that were caked in mold.

The simple act of taking a shower has now become one of my worst dreaded nightmares and unless I move to a safe environment then I won't ever be able to properly take care of myself like I dream of doing someday.

Even though it'll take top surgery to make me feel comfortable taking showers again, moving to an inspected apartment means I have one less worry about falling through the basement and the rancid smell of burnt urine that sometimes reeks from the basement.

I never went outside much, aside from sitting on the corner of the porch since the rest of it was turned green by air conditioning water and the walkway was flooded by overgrown plants (even they've been given more respect than I have).

I often vented through various social platforms but I decided that enough is enough: I needed to grow as a person and stop shoving all my problems on others.

It was then I knew I had to find a way to escape. Unfortunately, in order to move out I needed at least a little bit of stable funding, which I'm very, very far from.

My sensory issues make it hard to gain interests in whatever food was cooked (ex. spaghetti, dumplings), and I didn't have the desire to eat expired canned greens from the food bank, which have since been covered in roach poo. They're pretty much everywhere you go.

Even the cleanest of countertops could be seen crawling with a few roaches. They reside deep within the microwave along with fried maggots from ages ago.

They have also made their way into the refrigerator, making it difficult to scour what little there is without feeling grossed out. It's getting harder day by day to tell the difference between of the smallest of bugs and pepper. Since we we can't afford a closed-top hamper, our dirty clothes are often covered in roaches trying to find a place to hide, making it difficult to gather the strength to wash them like I should.

They've also taken over my computer, rendering my unable to even touch it for months.

No amount of bombing, traps, or pesticides will clear them either. They were there to begin with, and they always come back.

There's even been an increase in other types of bugs, most notably fly's and gnats.

The Crock-Pot would often fill up with mold every other week because me and my mother didn't like chowing down on her friend's grand "homestyle cooking" every day.

We didn't eat it as much as we should've because it was often bland in taste and we don't know how to make her stop (I know I can't). She ended up making a fuss when we tried to make suggestions, so we let her get what she wants even if it wasting precious ingredients we could've used to make something we could actually eat.

To make up for it, I often had to buy single cans of Spaghettio's at a time from the Dollar Store and call it my meal for the day.

Now it seems like I can't even do THAT anymore.

It got to the point where I even considered that any drink besides water, hell even soda, could have some sort of nutritional value. It was better that eating nothing, after all.

I often pondered mother's financial choices when came to these things but as we all have been told "mother knows best" and we as children should not be allowed to question our parent's decision.

She recently told me my SSI completely cut because the government labels me as "being able to work". It turns out that they cut my disability check as opposed to SSI but I'm still left just as broken inside as before.

Why? Because there's absolutely no way I can save up such a large amount, we need every last drop to survive off of. I've used a very small portion of it to buy some little stuff to help me cope from time to time, but I'm gonna refrain from that from now on until I completely move out.

Even though the issue has been resolved for now, I'm tired of being dragged through hoops when I know they'll just try to cut it off again. I can't keep staying here because I'm sick and tired of having our only source of income dangling on a string.

I would really like to gain some much needed work experience and I plan on applying to Wal-Mart as soon as I upload this post.

However, there's one problem: I have no source of reliable transportation to get to my job.

My mother had to borrow money off of my grandmother (as she has done in the past) in order to have the gas to pick me up from therapy this week. While that tank of gas may last a bit, this is not sustainable enough for me to keep any sort of job regardless if it were part-time or full-time. The three job options in this very small town don't offer a position that would be comfortable enough for me to perform the tasks I am assigned and two are often known for mistreating their staff members on a regular basis.

Another reason I want to get a job in a bigger city is so I can continue to work once I move closer to Wal-Mart, which will save tremendous amounts of gas money and time. To avoid the trauma of driving, I will probably be using a transport bus as opposed to using a car.

The reason it appears that I don't look after my guinea pigs as much as I should is because their cages are inaccessible making it excruciatingly difficult to clean their cages and fufill their needs. With my own apartment to live in, I will have the ability make room for them and I can organize a place for my piggies in a much more open location free of mess.

I'd really like to keep them with me when I move alone, especially considering that I adopted one all the way from Louisville (I live around the west side of KY). I want to give Marlene the proper life she deserves after traveling across the state to take her beautiful soul home with me.

While I probably won't have access to a small animal veterinarian to get a proper diagnosis, my older guinea pig Chloe (about 4 years) had a massive tumor/cyst on her leg burst open a while back.

Her weight has drastically increased to the point where she feels like a limp water balloon when I attempt to pick her up, so it lead me to assume that her body is slowly being taken over by some form of internal cancer.

Even though there's nothing I can do to heal her, my ultimate wish is for Chloe to drift away peacefully in a safe environment free of bugs and other filth. This means that not only do I have myself to care for, but my two precious babies as well.

I admit that I have been going through a slow regression in regards to financial behavior, but I would love to learn how to shop responsibly while keeping my true interests at heart. I have plenty of plushies and figurines to keep me company at the moment. Some I'll sell to make room for new ones, but most of them will there to comfort me during stressful times.

After buying one of the most beautiful children's lamps I had ever seen at GoodWill, I soon found out that buying doesn't have to be boring and dull like all the adults have told us all our lives. I learned that you should buy furniture and clothes based on how it makes you feel instead of relying on others to tell you what to do, I would love to purchase decorations for my apartment that reflect who I want to become as a person.

Not everything should have to be about scrounging for my next meal.

However, the funds from this will go towards covering down-payment, rental costs, and buying a new setup for my guinea pigs if they are allowed at the apartment (I don't want to track bugs from the old cages, plus they need a bigger space).

I wanted to let you guys know that I will have to use a portion of the donations

to cover my mother's monthly electric bill. As much as I want to talk myself out of it, she literally relies on me for money so I don't exactly have the ability to opt-out of that right now.

The extra stuff (such as small appliances, furniture, groceries, and of course... a limited-edition plush or two) will be paid for using a compilation of my paycheck and whatever I earn off of Redbubble.

I'd love to start a YouTube channel where I do things like art, gaming, and reviews to strengthen my voice and get it out into the world in a peaceful, sanitary environment free from interruptions or harassment over a seemingly innocent/important subject matter.

There's lots of things that I missed out on when I was younger and I bet it would be so awesome to finally express myself free of constant toxicity and hatred.

I deeply love OK K.O. and I'd love to honor the impact that this person of color and his creation has left on me someday, as well as continue down my path of original content that I've been waiting to share with you guys!

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margridarnauds · 5 years

Note

Director's Cut: Paradise Lost?

Thanks! I know I mentioned it before, but I’m really excited to talk about this one!

Paradise Lost

My newest child, whom I love even though I have no idea how I’m going to feel about it in a couple of months.

The full backstory to it is that me and @janetcarter were talking Terra Nova, as we are wont to do, since we have our own batshit insane version of that show that only really makes sense to us. (It involves bondage dinosaurs, authoritarian regimes, oppressed Americans, spray bottles, 1789, and about 867% more gay than the original show could have possibly conceived of.) And they’ve been rewatching it, so they’ve been kind of liveblogging it to me, and we were discussing Taylor being an authoritarian bag of dicks again. (This is an ongoing conversation; it’s great.)

And they made the mistake of saying this:

And it eventually led to me doing a half-mad rant that would form the skeleton of Paradise Lost. In the annotations, see the original text in italics VS the final text.

“YEP.

“DIRTY WORK.”

“THERE’S NO OTHER WAY I CAN INTERPRET THAT ONE” “MAYBE SHE DOESN’T KNOW THE FULL DETAILS ABOUT PHILBRICK BUT YOU CAN BET YOUR ASS SHE KNOWS *SOMETHING*”

And, from there on, it was all Paradise Lost. I ended up copying and pasting those messages in a GDocs file, edited it, added some description and a few plot points, and within a day I had a one-shot.

So, I accidentally wrote a one-shot out in a Tumblr pm and I was just like, “You know what? Fuck it. I need to write a one-shot out of this. My productivity’s been low recently, anyway. Merry Christmas, Avery, hohoho. Have some angst.”

It was actually really exciting, in a sense, because this is a totally different setting than I’ve been working with for the last year and it was a chance to expand my horizons, even though, as has been HELPFULLY pointed out to me, it’s still set in the past. Just…millions of years ago as opposed to just hundreds. I played myself there.

(Annotations under cut)

Taylor’s kid talks when he’s drunk.

Pretty much the first new sentence that I knew I was going to include. I really like the idea of Mira addressing Lucas mainly as “Taylor’s kid,” like, despite him being a pretentious little prick who thinks he’s a genius, she still views him as a whiny kid.

It’s something they put up with for the sake of the mission, he comes in, gives them their marching orders, and takes a bottle or two of moonshine, the pink-purple liquid spilling across his lips along with the stories.

The fruit they come from is called “Frut” and it’s an ongoing joke between me, Avery, and @elluka, so it only made sense for me to include it here as an in-joke. Lucas loves that sweet frut juice.

Also: It is 100% canon that they make alcohol from it. I ended up having to look up what dragonfruit juice looks like to make sure this would be as authentic as possible.

Not that she cares enough to make sense of the stuff, to Mira they’re all the same as those calculations he draws out on the rocks in bold white chalk, rambling on and on.

Most of the others, they’re smart enough to avoid him, they’ve been out here long enough to know a Slasher in the woods when they see one. So, that means Mira’s the one to keep him company, giving him another when his stock runs out, praying that there’s enough left over to keep up morale, because that’s always a problem in a hellpit like this.

People get lonely, start thinking about the past, wanting things that they can’t have. The alcohol, even if it’s weak compared to the real stuff, helps them drown it out for a little while, though she doesn’t take it.

Sadly enough, we get so little Sixer development that we don’t really know what morale’s like in-camp, the show’s too busy telling us that these are Bad People because they oppose God Emperor Taylor, but I would suspect that, given that unlike the colony, they only ever intended to be here temporarily, it would have to be pretty miserable. How long were they told it would be? A couple of months, a year? After all the years it would be, I can only imagine the homesickness from some or the resignation from others.

Tl;dr: Yeah, I suspect they would be bargaining with Boylan for some of that frut juice or they have a still in-camp, though it probably has to take a backburner to more important things like medicine and food.

Instead, she keeps Sienna’s face in her head at all times, wrapping herself around it, thinking of her bright smile as she’d walk through the door, dropping the raggedy toy that Mira’d got her after a mission as she ran to greet her. (She tries to think of whether it was a T-Rex with the faded red fabric and the drooping limbs with the stuffing worn out of them or a spinosaurus, and when she can’t, she feels the need to get out of this place and back into the real world like a jolt in her brain.)

The reference to Sienna’s toy came in fairly late, but I actually really liked it, because (1) It adds that worldbuilding as far as Mira’s economic situation and (2) It reminds me of a bit from the original script where Terra Nova was HUGE, so of course dinosaurs would be a big thing now, and there’s a certain irony to Mira being sent to destroy something that her daughter loves so much in order to give them a better life. Also, I’d just seen a review for various spinosaurus plushies, so I might have been inspired.

It’s also really important that she refers to 2149 as “the real world,” as her way of distancing herself from whatever she does in Terra Nova, as well as distancing herself from Wash and her feelings for her. “This isn’t real, this is a job, it’s not the real world, it’s an alternative timeline.”

This time, there wouldn’t be another time. She’d get the job done, get home, and give Sienna the life that she deserved. And she doesn’t give a damn about what she has to do to get it. That’s what she tells herself, and it’s what she’ll believe.

One of the things that I really admire about Mira is how FOCUSED she is. That’s something that can be both a major pro, since it means that she’s very driven to get her goals, but it also means that she can be harsh when she feels like other people are falling behind and not focusing, even, say, to a young child like Leah Marcos.

Until then, she’d keep giving Lucas Taylor the moonshine, quietly hoping he’d choke on it, until he wound up drooling on the floor before going off to brood in a cave for the next six months.

In case no one can tell the level of respect I have for Lucas Taylor, Boy Genius.

Alright, but judging from Mira’s interactions with him, she is clearly deeply unnerved, and even though his calculations are necessary for getting her back home…well, if he chokes, it’s not really HER fault. It’s this terrible situation where she’s stuck with him even as she’s clearly scared by him and would probably want him dead under any other circumstances.

“You know what? Those people-I-I feel sorry for them! They’ll never know the truth about the Great Nathaniel Taylor,” he raises his arm suddenly, as if he was trying to give a clumsy toast, spilling moonshine everywhere.

“Seriously, WHY THE HELL wouldn’t Lucas at least tell the Sixers? He knows that to the colony, it’s The Great Nathaniel Taylor, but the Sixers don’t have any stake there”

Uh huh. Daddy Issues story #326 - Been there, done that, she thinks as she wipes some of the sticky liquid off of her cheek.

This was honestly one of my favorite lines to write. One of the things that I mentioned to Avery while I was live-blogging writing this is how much I honestly LOVE Mira’s POV, given how incredibly snarky she is. It’s like she’s aware of what show she’s a part of and she’s dedicated herself to ripping it apart.

I’m so used to working with viewpoint characters who were born centuries ago it was honestly a bit refreshing, as much as I love Lazare “Javert was busy so they booked me instead” de Peyrol and Solène “Women’s motherfucking March on Versailles” Mazurier. Mira is just so fundamentally DIFFERENT, being very blunt and no-nonsense as well as the aforementioned snarkiness, that she was really a treat to work with.

The way the kid talks, you’d almost think that this kind of thing was unusual . They were all soldier’s kids, these days. They’d all had to do what they had to to survive, and not all of them had mommy and daddy propping them up through the early years, either. Going from home to home, place to place, hoping that a bomb wouldn’t explode over their heads, holding a gun in their hand from the first time they could salvage one.

“Lucas was there, and in between crying about his daddy issues…why wouldn’t he expose Taylor to the world?”

It’s always been a pity to me that we really didn’t get all that much backstory development for 2149, except for that it’s a Very Bad Place, pollution, wars, etc., so it was a bit of fun trying to imagine what Mira’s past might have looked like given she’s obviously not as privileged as the Shannons or the Taylors, the former of whom are definitely INSANELY privileged. I have to think of when Taylor’s doing his whole “I survived 118 days in the wilderness” thing and Mira snaps back, “Yeah, we’re going on 1000.” There’s this…edge to her, and it takes a lot to impress her, and I have to think it’s because she’s survived so much that there’s really little that can surprise her.

She makes a non-committal sound in response.

“You don’t believe me, do you? Nobody else does, but you see -” Lucas laughs as he leans forward, and Mira wonders if he’s really lost it this time and what to tell Phoenix Group if their golden boy’s finally cracked under the pressure. “I was there. When my father killed him. And now-Now he wants. To kill me. I know everything, about how General Philbrick tried to get my father to step down, and my father killed him as if he was some carno that’d gotten lose. He buried him under Pilgrim’s Tree, he buried him there and let it rot, but-” Lucas smiles, sharp and predatory, and it hits Mira in the gut that he believes this “He couldn’t kill me. I know the truth.”

She eyes him as he is, trying to run it through her brain. Taylor’s a son of a bitch, but not a murderer. As if he doesn’t notice, he goes on, slamming down his bottle with a dramatic flourish as he spreads his arms out wide, “The great Taylor family tragedy-The mad king, the exiled prince, and, as always, no one listens to the oracle. But it’s all here,” he taps his head, “It’s all right in here. Don’t believe me?” He says, with the smug self-confidence that makes Mira want to punch his teeth out, even smugger with the alcohol. “See for yourself. Remember the name: Richard Philbrick.”

“'Don’t believe me? See for yourself.’ Lucas would say, with that smug self confidence that makes Mira want to punch his teeth out, settling instead for ignoring it.

I really, really hate writing Lucas, because it feels like no one would ever say this, but then I remember that he described his relationship with his father as “A Shakespearian drama that borders on Greek tragedy.” Like a pretentious douche who strings together important-sounding words. But, I do kind of like the idea of him treating himself and his father as just…players in a larger game.

Mira finds herself thinking of it long after he’s back to drooling on the floor, with a hell of a hangover coming in the morning. The kid’s been loose in the wild for too long, everyone knows it. It’s like playing with a tiger to get anything out of him, and most of the time, he speaks in equations, not words, as he holds his brilliance over everyone else’s head. God knows what goes on in his mind.

“And at first Mira wouldn’t believe it, because Lucas is demonstrably unstable + would make up ANYTHING to discredit his father, but as time goes on it makes more sense. And, after all, Philbrick has dropped off the grid”

The line about equations, not words is exactly how I feel whenever he appears on screen and the rest of the characters have to pretend that the words he’s piecing together actually make sense.

And he hates his father. Not that you need to be a genius to know that one. He’d say anything about him, so long as it’d rain on Taylor’s little “big bright beautiful tomorrow” parade. Taylor’s an optimist, always going on about that bright new future for everyone. Peace, love, the American way, all that bullshit. Murdering someone-It’s not his MO. There’s nothing in the three inches-tall dossier they handed off to her the week before she went through Hope Plaza that’d say that.

I had to get “There’s a Big, Bright, Beautiful Tomorrow” stuck in my head for this.

She turns in her hammock, watching the tops of the trees sway gently in the wind through the little netted opening that’s as close as she’s got to a window, as a pteranodon flies across the moon. There are times she could almost get to like this place. She thinks of Sienna and frowns. Almost.

You will never know how pissed I am that we never got to see “Mira’s Lair” as Taylor calls it. I think that they would have to have some form of netting to keep out the mosquitoes and any other creepy crawlies, but yet again, the worldbuilding was shit there and I’m sad.

(She remembers the first time she’d seen the moon, without the pollution there to cover it up or a million lights to dim it, white and gleaming and so big, Wash’s arm, strong and warm, around her as they’d made their way to the colony.)

The kid’s lying, she tells herself, there’s no point in taking the bait.

In the morning, he’s back to scrawling more equations on rocks, and she’s back to taking care of her colony. That should be it.

It isn’t.

It sits there in the back of her mind, buzzing like a little mosquito that she can’t quite swat. She hates that about the kid, how he can get under her skin, make her think.

Taylor as a murderer? It doesn’t fit with that squeaky-clean, messiah complex image he’s tried to work up. Not that he’d be the first. Everyone has their demons, and God knows what’s underneath that benevolent dictator image. But if he was, then…

If he was, then Wash is involved, too. But of course she can’t say that, because that would be admitting it to herself.

I have to think that given the amount of corruption in 2149, Taylor being a bitch wouldn’t be a surprise, and that’s something I tried to show, but that it doesn’t fit HIM (and, more importantly, Mira’s still trying to protect Wash in her mind.)

She ignores it, and ignores it, but it’s still there, in the back of her mind, and finally, she gives in.

“She ignores it, and ignores it, but it’s still there, in the back of her mind”

Is Taylor really capable of that?

“Is Taylor capable of that?”

So she checks. Still being in contact with 2149 has its perks, and she doesn’t have to run that kind of thing by Taylor (convenient, the voice whispers in her ear, that he controls the access to the outside world. She’d always thought it was so no one decided to get stuck on something dangerous like “democracy” or “basic human rights,” but it’d be useful as Hell if he was keeping something a secret.)

“And keep in mind: The Sixers can CONTACT THE OUTSIDE WORLD AND GET THAT INFO”

Philbrick’s missing they say, but there are holes in the record. Missing in South America? It’s the new “went on a long vacation and never came back.” And even if she’s not out there writing equations on rocks, she’s not stupid. Stupid gets you killed, where Mira’s from. Her employers play the evasion game, remind her what she has to lose if she presses, and she folds. Officially. But she knows one thing: Richard Philbrick’s dead, and wherever he is, it’s not South America.

So she checks. Philbrick’s missing they say, but there are all those little holes.”

Honestly, I hate writing any kind of detective work, because it all feels like a reach, so this was a hard section to write. But also absolutely necessary.

Boylan seems to know everything that goes on in the colony, for the right price, and she corners him one day after they’ve just gotten ahold of some medical supplies.

Thank God for Boylan providing the plot-convenient information. Or not providing it, as the case may be. He actually wasn’t planned, but when I was writing it, it felt like I needed more between the web search and Mira making her realization, so Boylan got to make an appearance. Yay, Boylan.

He just shakes his head, “Isn’t enough money in the world to make me tell you that.”

You know it’s bad when Boylan’s not willing to haggle for information. You know, it’s sad when you think of it: Boylan guarded Taylor’s secret faithfully for years, and only gave it away by accident…because he was tortured by the man he’d once considered a friend. Taylor deserved all the fallback from that one.

“You and he used to be old war buddies, now you can’t stand each other. So what happened?” She tilts her head as she stares him down, the way she knows makes her people stand down when they’re being stubborn.

He just shakes his head head again, walking away, and that’s all the confirmation she needs that something’s up.

Philbrick’s disappearance.

Taylor turning on his own kid.

Taylor turning on Boylan.

It all starts to make sense.

But there’s one thing left, one thing she needs: Proof.

The next time Lucas shows up, she glares at him, “The body. Where is it?”

He smirks in response and takes her to Pilgrim’s Tree.

I really debated including this section, because it seems to go against canon, but I couldn’t imagine anything LESS than that convincing Mira, when she knows that the body’s there.

That’s the thing with secrets: They never stay buried, especially if you leave someone alive to tell the tale.

“The thing with secrets is that they NEVER stay secret long” - Literally the first line of the rant that kicked this off.

And the body of a man, missing a limb in just the right place, well, that tells a story all on its own. There’s no point doing anything with it, when all they have’s the word of Taylor’s unstable son and a corpse against a legend. Better to put him back in the ground and wait for when it can be useful. As they cover the body again, spreading dead leaves across the upturned soil so it looks undisturbed, Mira feels her gut twist.

This was my haphazard attempt at keeping things consistent with canon, as much as it could be.

It’s never been personal between her and Taylor. It’s just a job, just like it always was (she tells herself as she thinks of trusting dark eyes sparked by the firelight as Wash sat opposite her, stretching a black hairband absently between her fingers, her black hair loose around her shoulders. That night, she’d forgotten her mission for a moment. Just a moment, but it was enough.)

“And slowly, but surely, things make sense. And honestly, Mira’s horrified, because it was never PERSONAL between her and Taylor. It was a job (she tells herself as she thinks of trusting dark eyes by the firelight).”

It doesn’t really make sense for MIra to have that undercurrent of bitterness that she has towards Taylor in canon; my girl’s a mercenary at nature, I can’t see her taking it personally. But this? Was honestly the first time Mira’s character clicked for me.

Also Wash + her hairband is one of my favorite things, in no part because of the 1789 crossover meaning that she and Laz get to bond over their ponytails. As is Wash sans hairband, because I’m gay. And imagining Wash’s younger, idealistic self honestly hurts, because Mira’s betrayal took so much of that from her.

She knows why she didn’t want to believe it: For Taylor to be capable of it, that means that everything Wash told her, all that bullshit about a better future, is a lie. Wash is always there by Taylor’s side, saying “How high?” even before he says “Jump.” (He doesn’t deserve it, she thinks; if she was with them, she’d be raking in a solid 2 or 3 figures more as a medic alone.) There’s no way she doesn’t know.

“And maybe she doesn’t want to believe it because for Taylor to be capable of it, that means that EVERYTHING Wash told her, about a better future, is a lie. Wash is as complicit as Taylor, she’s always there by his side, there’s no way she doesn’t know.

Also, props to Mira for STILL thinking about how much Taylor doesn’t deserve Wash even as she’s realizing that Wash is complicit in human rights violations.

She’s never been one for the new, better future that Taylor goes on about, about second chances and fresh starts, she has to spend her time on solid ground with what they have now rather than chasing after rainbows and unicorns. But when Wash talked about it, hope in her eyes, Mira’d almost…

And as it all comes together Mira feels a little bit of her heart (which is already mostly hardened, after years of war, years of eat or be eaten only a few inches of red pulsing muscle remain, and it’s for her daughter and Wash) calcify.

And as it all comes together Mira feels a little bit of her heart (which is already mostly calcified, years of war, years of eat or be eaten hardening it, only a few inches of red pulsing muscle remain, and it’s for her daughter and Wash) calcify.

This is one of the bits that remained virtually unchanged from concept to final product, mainly because I really, really liked it, and it’s probably the reason I ultimately ended up writing it down in the first place.

“Still doing Taylor’s dirty work?” She’ll ask, several years later, as Wash looks up at her in-Hatred? Anger? Surprise? Mira blames the smudged black eyeliner for hiding her eyes.

‘Still doing Taylor’s dirty work?’ I know the truth now, is what she’s really saying, I’m not naive anymore.”

Not that it matters. Not anymore.

She’s trying to say that it doesn’t matter what Wash thinks and that she’s over it, but she isn’t. She was still hoping, on some level, for Wash to say something. But then she doesn’t, and so Mira uses her as leverage for what she wants, telling herself that it doesn’t matter because it’s all for the mission, anyway.

I know the truth now, is what she’s really saying, I’m not naive anymore.

I know.

And somehow, it doesn’t feel as good as she thought it would.

This line was the only thing I could think of to end it on, even as I didn’t like it overly much, but I wanted it to be a very bittersweet at best ending from Mira’s perspective. She’s broken free of the lies Taylor told, at least she thinks so, she’s brought Wash down a peg or two, but it can’t be a victory because she really didn’t get what she really wanted, which was for Wash to renounce Taylor and jump in her arms.

My other alternate title was “Prometheus” [which I discarded because (1) It was Lucas levels of pretentious and (2) it centered Lucas rather than Mira], and I feel like both of the titles kind of encapsulates the idea there: You get the knowledge you want, but at what cost?

#long post #my writing #fallenidol-453

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robininthelabyrinth · 6 years

Text

Fic: Nocturne (11/30) - Ao3 Link

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Pairings: Mostly Gen (variety later to come)

Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.

(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes’ ‘taur AU)

—————————————————————————————— ——————————————————————————————

Galadh is just as Clarus remembers it: a positive riot of color and sound.

Each house is painted in startlingly bright tones with different colors for the windows and doors and sometimes - often, really - having twisty, almost flowery designs painted as further decor, and buskers and street-sellers line virtually every street to sing out their wares or play an instrument. Even the people follow the same theme: with the exception of those in black mourning, the clothing they wear is bright and cheerful and noisy, their hair worn long and woven through with beads and feathers and braids. Even the Hunters here find that greens and yellows work better to blend with the wild jungles deeper in the islands than the dark browns and blacks preferred on the mainland.

And there are birds everywhere.

Colorful birds, loud birds, talking birds, birds perched on rooftops and on trees growing in the center of the sidewalk and on parked cars and bikes and even some birds sitting casually on people's heads as they sit at the cafés, speaking as much with their gestures as with their words.

And that's not to mention the monkeys. Just casually there, sitting on garbage cans and chowing down the way raccoons or squirrels do on the mainland, or at least did before the Starscourge started to reduce their numbers and turn them into mutated creatures out of nightmare.

Ah, Galadh. Nowhere quite like it, in Clarus’ view.

Interestingly, despite Galahd's long history as undisputed Lucian territory, the population here tends towards canidaetaur rather than felidaetaur, with inlanders generally being woodland creatures, like wolves and foxes, while beachsiders are often creatures that enjoy water, like bears and beavers and jaguars - though of course the population here, like everywhere else in Lucis, is growing increasingly mixed and diverse over time.

And, of course, let Clarus not forget to mention the food – the heavy scent of spice in the air, peppers and chilis and other mysterious spices that are hot enough to burn even people from Leide, who pride themselves on their spicy peppers, right alongside the stalls filled to the brim with freshly-caught fish or unusual fruit brought down from the jungles.

Clarus must admit that he enjoys Galahd's determined fondness of food and their resulting appreciation for heavier figures. He knows the tendency probably stems from the famines that still sporadically strike the islands whenever more severe hurricanes than the usual yearly fare batter them, but – as a tiger with, shall we say, not as much time to exercise as much as he probably should – he still appreciates it.

Oh, yes, and there’s the hurricanes.

Can't forget those.

That is, of course, the part of Galadh that Clarus doesn’t like, particularly as midsummer marks the onset of the rainy season, or more accurately the rain-and-storm season: Leviathan’s blessing, Ramuh’s curse, as the islanders liked to joke.

Galadh, wild child of the sea and storm.

Poetic, really.

At least their passage here was pretty quiet, thanks be to Leviathan – the Tidemother is generally blissfully calm for the period right around midsummer, her favorite day of the year – and they arrive without any large fanfare, just as planned.

The poor Harbormaster who came to collect their papers had something of a bad moment when he saw his King and Queen holding the paperwork with polite smiles that only barely covered how amusing they found this whole situation. It was rather funny, but, more importantly, it allowed them to disembark with remarkable swiftness and without all the ridiculous pomp that usually accompanies pre-announced royal visits - speeches and surprise presentations by local choirs and bands and whatnot. Always extremely charming, always extremely irritating to a traveler who just came rather a long way and just wants to take a nap.

Of course, no matter how quickly they managed their arrival, there still managed to be just enough time for Regis to be swamped by the (very surprised) local Galahdian politicos, but Regis is an old hand at these sort of events: he and Aulea are very effectively glad-handing them with the goal of putting them off their scent and reassuring them that there's no reason to be concerned. By all rights, Clarus ought to be helping with that, but instead he’s with Scientia, watching the children run around acquainting themselves with the harbor town – something he prefers by far.

The children, at least, are having a positive blast.

They're all keeping quite busy – Gladio looking through the stalls selling bright clothing and beads and jewelry made of shells, Ignis staring enraptured as one of the street vendors efficiently butchers and then sizzles up a giant shrimp in a medley of spices, Noctis and Prompto leaping over each other and rolling around in the sand of the beach...even Luna seems to have escaped her usual reticence, looking around her with a broad smile.

"Hey, pretty lady!" a local girl around Luna's age, holding a basket of brightly colored flowers with more flowers woven into her hair like a crown, calls out to her. "Buy a flower for your hair?"

Luna turns to look. "Oh, they're lovely!" she exclaims, clapping her hands together and trotting over to look closer.

The local girl – a maned fox 'taur, if Clarus is getting his more obscure species right – gapes at her. "Oh, wow," she says. "You've got the daintiest hooves I've ever seen."

Luna blushes.

Clarus is reminded, suddenly, of the first time Luna met Cindy, back in Hammerhead – her eyes going as wide as saucers and her cheeks going pink as the normally precociously self-possessed girl stuttered over a basic introduction – and he smiles. A pity, really, that the Glaciad is so far away at the tail end of winter – it looks like Luna will have her hands full of people she might want to ask to join her for that romantic festival's traditional joint cup of hot cocoa.

"Thank you," Luna is saying. "I love your legs, too – they're so long and graceful –"

"Oh, you don't have to say that –"

"No, really!"

Now both girls are blushing. Clarus pretends to inspect a vase, enjoying the little childhood romance unfolding in front of him – it's like something out of A Springtime's Stroll, the paperback romance novel he's currently reading. Cyrella thinks he's ridiculous for enjoying them, but Gladio certainly enjoys them as well when Clarus reads them aloud to him – he’s currently very invested in the resolution of the ongoing love quadrangle...

"Would you like a flower, then?" the girl blurts out, clearly desperate to get back onto some sort of even footing. "For your hair?"

"Oh, yes, I'd love one," and here Luna falters and glances down at the ground, "but I’m afraid I don't know how to put them in my hair."

"Oh," the local girl says. "Well – if you like – I can show you..?"

Oh, smooth, smooth! Clarus thinks admiringly. Well done, Luna!

(He is particularly amused by the idea that Lady Lunafreya, born amongst the beautiful blue sylleblossoms of Tenebrae, might find anything to do with flowers difficult.)

"I couldn't possibly bother you while you're at work –"

"No, no, I was just about to go out on break – my name's Crowe, by the way –"

"And I'm Luna. Do you mind if we go to the shade somewhere? It's only that I'm not used to it being so bright – it's my first visit to Galadh –"

"No wonder, what with you being so pale. Sure, come with me – you know, if this is your first visit here, I could show you to a nice ice cream parlor – the best one on the islands - my parents run it, it's just down the block –"

Luna glances briefly at Clarus, who nods his approval. "If it's just down the block, I don't see the issue. Keep your phone on," he advises. "I'll tell Scientia."

The two girls beam and run off.

Clarus is barely able to restrain himself from laughing at how efficiently Luna secured herself a date, even though he suspects that neither girl is entirely certain of what it is – after all, Crowe can't be much older than twelve to Luna's eleven. Ah, kitten love! Or puppy love, in little Crowe's case, and fawn love, in Luna's.

Oh, he wishes that Cyrella was here for him to share the joke! If only that damn doctor hadn't absolutely forbidden her from sea travel...

Ah, well.

He goes over to Scientia, who has her nose buried in a book that's half the size of his torso. "Luna –" he starts.

"Has run off with that Crowe girl to the ice cream shop, yes, I overheard," Scientia says, not looking up from her book. "They'll be back shortly – I saw it as we passed earlier; there's no room in there for them to sit. We should plan our next steps after that."

"Technically, the Hydread isn't until tomorrow, on midsummer itself; it’s only the Eve," Clarus offers. Luckily, he's already gotten used to the way Scientia's mind is already five steps ahead of everyone else's – he's learned to take it as a compliment that she doesn’t feel the need to explain herself to him. When she's in court, or dealing with people she thinks are slow, she suddenly becomes remarkably clear and straightforward and just a touch judgmental. It's a bit frightening, not least of all because Ignis does the same thing – and Clarus suspects that Gladio and the other boys are starting to pick up on it. They’re going to be terrors, each and every one of them. "We could spend the day doing tourist things, instead."

"What a marvelous idea," Regis says, limping up towards Clarus – no worse than usual, Clarus is pleased to note. He's managed to lose his Galahdian escort, probably by fobbing them off by promising to go to some fancy dinner later, and leaving it in their hands to prepare something suitable to his rank. "I don't think I've ever gone tourist-ing. What's there to do?"

"There are several famous landmarks," Scientia says dryly.

"No, thanks," Aulea says, following Regis closely. "Those we'll see by necessity when they want Regis – or I – or Noctis – to appear at all of them to wave at the local populace."

"Probably true," Clarus agrees ruefully. The price of being royalty...

"We could go to the beach and sun ourselves," Cor suggests. He looks rather fond of the idea. He would be, the overgrown kitten.

"Beach!" Noctis shouts. "We want beach!"

"Yeah! Beach!" Prompto joins in.

"No, thank you," Ignis says, wrinkling his nose fastidiously. "I don't want sand in my fur, thanks."

"The sand's somewhat inevitable everywhere you go in the beachside," the girl from earlier, Crowe, says. She and Luna have indeed returned, holding ice creams in one hand and holding each other's hands with the other.

Clarus is going to die of cuteness overload, he just knows it.

"Sorry, kid," she says apologetically to Ignis. She clearly hasn’t recognized any of them, which clearly pleases Regus immensely. It won’t last, of course, but it is nice to go a little incognito for a change, and Regis is clearly relishing every moment of it. “It really does get everywhere.”

"Is there anywhere we can go that won't have sand, then?" Ignis asks with a sigh. "I assume going inland would be too burdensome..?"

"Sadly, yes," Aulea says. "We need to be here tomorrow for the Hydread ceremony. Besides, I rather like the sound of sand."

"Well, there's always the caves," Crowe offers hesitantly, Luna squeezing her hand supportively.

"The caves?" Regis asks.

"Oh, they're lovely," Crowe says effusively. "They're technically inland, but they're right by the waterside, not far at all. No one ever goes to them in the summer, since they're lots prettier in the winter, but you can't come to Galahd and not see the Caves of Wind and Wave."

"Are those the ones with the cave paintings?" Scientia asks, even putting down her book – a major achievement. "I've heard good things."

"That's where the old ceremonies to raise Leviathan used to be held," Luna murmurs, leading the adults to glance at each other meaningfully.

"I could do caves," Gladio says, glancing at Ignis. "Caves are cool. They're spooky."

"I don't want to do spooky, though," Noctis pouts. "I want to go to the beach."

"Well, how about we split up?" Regis offers, smiling. Clarus likes the look on him: he looks years younger, and lighter. He's needed a vacation for far too long. This isn't a real vacation of course – they're here for the Covenant with Leviathan – but it's just close enough to one for it to already have good effects. "I'm rather interested in these caves myself – Aulea, Cor, why don't you take Noctis and Prompto to the beach, while the rest of us go look at these caves?"

"Really, no one goes in the summer," Crowe says hastily, clearly embarrassed now that they're taking her up on her suggestion. "The tides are high, you know – you can't really get the full impact of it –"

"The paintings are still supposed to be visible, even in the summer," Scientia says crisply. "We'll take our chances, I think. Will you show us the way to go?"

People do not generally say no when Scientia asks something of them. Crowe does not do so now.

Clarus arches an eyebrow at Regis. He knows his old friend well enough: this little splitting up isn't really about preferring the caves to the beach. It's about Luna's statement – that this might be where they need to go for the Covenant – and the fact that Regis wants to check it out first before letting Noctis anywhere near.

Regis smiles back, utterly unashamed of being seen through.

"Fine," Cor says. "You take three-fourths of the guard."

"What? No. Half, at most. Someone needs to watch over Noctis."

"Two-thirds. I’m watching over Noctis."

"Fine."

"Guard?" Crowe echoes with a frown.

"Don't worry about it," Luna says with a bright smile. "Can you show us the way?"

"Sure," Crowe says, smiling helplessly back, utterly distracted. "Come with me."

"Have fun at your beach," Clarus tells Cor with a grin. Cor rolls his eyes back.

Cor and Aulea head off towards the beach with Noctis and Prompto, while Regis, Clarus, and Scientia take Gladio and Ignis and follow Crowe, with Luna in tow close beside her, on a much less crowded trail inland. Their Crownsguard escort drifts along with them, quiet and unobtrusive.

It's a pleasant walk – somewhat steep, but nothing they can't handle, especially at the slow strolling pace they've adopted – for the first half-hour.

Then they discover that the main road to the caves is apparently closed for repair.

"Damn," Regis says mildly, frowning at the roadblock with its large and very unhelpful sign. "Guess we'll have to go back."

"Nah," Crowe says dismissively. "We can go in the other end, if you don't mind walking single file."

"We don't," Scientia says. "Other end?"

"Yeah," Crowe says. "It's not really an official entrance, but all the local kids go through that way. Cuts down on the line. And you end up on the Oracle's platform, the ancient one, which is pretty cool."

Clarus frowns. He's not sure this is a good idea –

"Excellent," Regis says. "Let's go."

Clarus sighs faintly. The vacation business is clearly going to Regis' head.

Still, Crowe is starting to stride down a much smaller dirt path and Regis is following, not to mention Ignis leaping along the rocky road like – well, like an excited goat kid. So there's clearly no choice but to go onwards.

It's another half-hour, this time padding along increasingly small and shabby roads before they get to the cave entrance. Still, that's more due to their slow pace – Gladio and Ignis keep dashing off to look at flowers or plants or even small animals – than the distance, even if the last portion of the descent towards the cave is, in fact, such a narrow path that going down single-file is the only way to proceed.

Crowe seems to have belatedly realized that she's guiding around some moderately important people (it was probably the Crownsguard's presence becoming increasingly less subtle as they left town and trees behind and forcing them to go out in the open despite their best attempts to remain subtle) and has been spending the last few minutes attempting to downplay the loveliness of the caves she spent the first half of the trip boasting about.

"– really, it's summer, so you won't get the full effect, like I said," she's saying, somewhat desperately. "The light's all wrong, you know, and the water level's pretty high, so you don't really get a sense of scale – there's a reason people don't ever come here in the summer –"

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Luna says, not for the first time.

"I mean, the cave paintings, they're there, sure, but we're coming in at the weird end, you know, since the other road broke down, so I don't know exactly how many we'll be able to see –"

"I'm sure it will be fine," Scientia says sternly.

Crowe shuts her mouth with a small peep.

Clarus and Regis share amused looks. It's rather nice not being the intimidating one of the group, for once.

Unfortunately, Crowe's nervousness is such that even Scientia's implacable force of will can only stop her for a while. "It's just that I wanted to say it up front," she murmurs as she pushes aside the vines growing on the cave wall to reveal a battered old door so well hidden that even the Crownsguard that preceded her couldn't find it, and stepping straight though before they could stop her and insist that they go first, "so that you won't be disappointed when...wait, hold up, what in Leviathan's name is –?"

Clarus, who slipped in second – he's the King's Shield, he doesn't need a Crownsguard escort to go gawk at some cave walls – puts his hand firmly over Crowe's mouth.

"Say nothing," he murmurs into her ear, his eyes fixed at the sight over her shoulder, even as the rest of their party filters in through the door.

The caves are lovely – as huge as promised, with the famous blue-and-green sheen – but Clarus has no time for that.

The caves which no one visits during the summer, the caves with the main road to them marked as being under repair –

The caves are not empty.

"What is that?" Scientia asks, keeping her voice as low as possible. She's picked up Ignis and covered his mouth with her hand; Gladio stands by her side, looking with increasing alarm at the grave-faced adults around him, but luckily he's had enough training to know that it’s time to go quiet.

"That," Regis says grimly, his voice low, "is a Niflheim airship."

"No," Clarus corrects quietly, looking at the gigantic ships wrought in black metal, with glowing red windows – it's not one ship; it's two, no, three massive airships, each one of them a fleet ship capable of holding multiple attack ships filled with MT soldiers or the carrier ships which Niflheim traditionally fills with daemons to help terrify the local populace after the initial conquest, and next to those behemoth ships there are also a number of smaller sea-ships equipped with tows designed to pull the airships into and out of the caves. "That is an invasion force."

Crowe starts struggling in shock for a moment, but then it fades and Clarus feels comfortable releasing her. "Invasion," she whispers, pasty-faced with terror. "Of Galahd? But..."

She trails off.

Clarus knows what she meant to say. Galahd's long history as undisputed Lucian territory is primarily for two reasons: one, sea-averse Niflheim wasn't particularly interested in a territory that dealt with yearly hurricanes that ranged unpredictably from 'problematic' to 'devastating', and two –

Two, whether they came by air or by sea, the isolated Galahd would see them coming.

But that didn't apply if they were already here.

They must have started smuggling the ships here piece-by-piece the very second the tourist season ended and built them up in Galadh itself.

"What are the forces available on Galahd?" Regis asks, quietly but forcefully – the relaxed father on vacation gone and replaced by the King of Lucis. The ring on his finger is glowing faintly, only noticeable because of the gloomy darkness of the caves.

"Not enough, your Majesty," Clarus answers, knowing what Regis really wants to know. "Not to resist a force of this size. The Galahd Coast Guard is formidable, but it will be utterly overwhelmed. We could call up reinforcements from Insomnia Port, but their warships will take hours to equip, and then more to get here – particularly since they'll need to keep some back to protect the Port itself."

"Still, a few hours will surely be enough –" Scientia starts.

Clarus cuts her off with a firm shake of his head. "They were probably originally planning on attacking during the notoriously calm weather of the Hydread tomorrow," he says, his sharp eyes fixed on a platform on one of the airships furthest away from them and closest to the supposedly "closed" main road to the caves. He recognizes one of the figures there, one of the Burgomasters of the port town in which they landed. He was part of the party greeting Regis and Aulea with vaguely panicked expressions earlier, except evidently his panic wasn't because he need to find a way to host the royal family in a suitable manner. "It would've been a massacre, all those people unarmed and celebrating, Insomnia Port all cluttered up with the paper ships for the holiday and slow to respond...if they kept to that original schedule, we’d be able to summon help in time.”

“You don’t think they will?”

“No. They weren't expecting the King of Lucis to arrive with a squadron of Crownsguard, and it's thrown off all their plans, since they don’t know why we came. Regardless, the reason doesn’t really matter: whether we’ve come to try to fight back against them, or whether it’s an accident that gives them an opportunity to strike at the royal family and shatter Lucian morale, they know they need to move quickly, before back-up arrives. They'll be attacking now, instead."

Even as he watches, the first of the great airships creakily begins to cast off, the ropes and chains holding it in place by the dock starting to fall loose, one by one.

"My parents –" Crowe croaks.

"Scientia," Regis says, taking control. There's that tone in his voice, the one that draws the eye irresistibly towards him - that deep, almost-growl that precedes the roar of the lion. There can be no doubt in anyone's mind, now, that the King of Lucis is speaking. "I need you to take the children back up the path as quickly and quietly as possible. When you get back to an area with cell service, immediately inform my wife and Cor of what is happening, then alert Insomnia Port. The local town must be evacuated at once, with their Coast Guard and every able-bodied member of the militia – or who's willing to try to fight – told to expect invasion. The Crownsguard will go with you to assist with preparations."

He turns to Crowe. "Do not despair. This is Galahd, and you, its children, are born of the sea and storm," he says to her, and her back goes straight, her head lifting higher under his regard. "You will not fall so easily before Niflheim's might, and I swear to you that Lucis will not stand aside and let it happen. Are your people trained in civilian evacuations?"

"Oh, yes," Crowe says eagerly. "We're all trained – but the alarm is only meant to go off in the event of an unexpected tsunami –"

"You will go at once to activate that alarm," he says. "You may do so on my authority. Know that Insomnia Port will send what reinforcements it can as soon as it can."

"Will – do you think we’ll be able to hold them off, your Majesty?" she asks.

He puts his hand on her shoulder and looks her in the eye. "We will fight to defend your country," Regis Lucis Caelum vows, and no one who looked at him would doubt that he meant it with every fiber of his being. "Whatever we can do to ensure that Galahd does not fall, we will do. But even should it fall in the end, know that Niflheim will pay for the privilege in a river of blood."

Crowe's eyes are shining. If she survives, Clarus would wager that Cor will have another new recruit for the Crownsguard in a handful of years. She nods and goes without another word.

Scientia lingers a moment longer after Crowe has left running at full speed. "Your Majesty," she says.

Regis looks at her.

"There is – another thing," she says, uncharacteristically hesitant. "That we could do. Perhaps. To make the odds a little less – overwhelming."

"At this point, all suggestions are very welcome," Clarus says wryly. "We're facing a force that's likely four times the size of the existing military power on this island, assuming Niflheim hasn't changed their typical approach to invasion. Every little bit might help."

"More than a little bit," Scientia says, and her habitual impassive calm has settled over her once more – her hesitation before was merely uncertainty as to the extent of their need, Clarus realizes, and now that he has confirmed the direness of the situation, she has put aside all doubt. "Let me remind you that we stand now at the Oracle's platform, where once, long ago, they called upon the sleeping Leviathan."

They all stare at her, Clarus and Regis and even the head of the Crownsguard escorting them, a sturdy 'taur named Riyad. Her meaning is quite clear.

Scientia turns to Luna, who has very nearly been her adopted daughter this last year and who she loves dearly, and yet her voice is calm and certain when she asks, "Can you do it?"

Luna swallows, and nods. "If I had the Trident –"

"The royal Armiger," Clarus says, looking at Regis. "It's only a shadow of the real Trident, of course; the real one is in Sylvia's care, but it might do the trick regardless. And if Leviathan rises –"

"Then the raging sea will come with her," Regis finishes. The Tidemother rather famously does not enjoy having her slumber disturbed. "I see the mission I sent Crowe on was more accurate than I realized - there may indeed yet be a tsunami here today."

Luna stands up straight – only eleven years old, dressed in a white frock selected more to be appropriate for the beach than for formal ceremonies, but with steel in her eyes. Sylvia's steel, but Scientia's, too. "I will do it," she says. Her voice brooks no disagreement – not any of theirs, nor even of Leviathan herself. "With or without the true Trident. I will summon Leviathan."

"You will, and you will do it well," Scientia says, and Luna's back, somehow, goes even straighter with pride. "Two instructions: do not die, and return safely to us when you are done. Come along, Ignis, Gladio."

"But –" Gladio starts to protest, looking at Clarus. "Dad –"

"I need you to go, Gladio," Clarus says firmly, fixing the image of his son in his mind. He prays this will not be the last time they see each other alive, but he knows all too well the risks of war. He’s always known. "I am needed here, to guard my King and Luna, but I need you to go to the town to help with the evacuation, to help save lives. You are an Amicitia, my son: a Shield. This is what we do. Go now."

Gladio's lower lip is trembling, but he nods firmly. This time, when Scientia begins to move, he goes with her without complaint.

Clarus watches them until they disappear up along the face of the cliff, then turns back to his King – and his Oracle.

"Let us begin," Regis says, and summons the Armiger.

Cor ends the call on his cell phone.

Aulea, standing beside him and listening to Scientia's report from the second he realized what it was, looks grim. "What do we do now?" she asks, her eyes fixed on the surf where Noctis and Prompto are still leaping over each other, splashing and rolling in the wet sand like the excitable kittens (well, kitten and puppy) that they've barely outgrown being.

"Scientia reports that Crowe has gone up ahead, so the evacuation alarm should sound any minute now," Cor says. "Everyone will go inland, I assume; we'll join them. Once I see you and the children are safe, I will go help with the resistance efforts."

"There's nothing else..?"

"The priority is keeping Noctis and Prompto safe," Cor says firmly. He knows he should add that Noctis' safety is especially important now, given the Prophecy, but he can't bring himself to do so – it's true, of course, but he can't voice anything that would suggest that if Aulea finds herself in a terrible position of being only able to rescue one child, she ought to pick her own, the Chosen King, future savior of the world, instead of...

Instead of his own.

Aulea puts a hand on his shoulder. She understands, without words, what he means. "I will look after them both," she promises, grabbing her bag and tossing him the sword he brought, because he always has at least one sword even for supposedly innocent trips to the beach. And to think Clarus was teasing him for being paranoid! “Remember, should the worst come to worst, I can in times of dire need call on Regis' shadow Armiger, too, and I'm pretty handy with that bow."

"You always were the cleverest," Cor tells her, but he's unable to laugh at his own joke, so it comes out sincere. "Come on, let's get them."

Neither Noctis nor Prompto particularly wants to stop playing, but one look at the faces of their guardians puts an end to their complaints.

The alarm begins to ring.

Alarms, plural, would be more accurate – blaring sounds start coming from all directions, and flags colored red suddenly unfurling from the tops of all the highest buildings.

"Tsunami!" someone shouts.

"On the Hydread?" someone else exclaims disbelievingly.

But, disbelief of no disbelief, they all start moving inland. The people of Galahd do not play games with the sea, Cor is pleased to see.

The noise of all the beachgoers abandoning their bags and towels and picnic baskets and trudging up towards the town, and the safer high ground of the inland beyond, is very nearly deafening, but Cor's ears have been trained since childhood to hear and identify sounds even through the roar of the battlefield. That talent has saved his life more than once.

He identifies such a sound now.

"Aulea, stop," he orders, and she does, clutching both children's hands in hers and pulling them in closer as Cor draws his sword, turning just in time to deflect the dagger thrown at their backs.

They look like regular Galahdians, out for a day on the beach – loose clothing, one of them even shirtless – but they move like soldiers, and there are weapons in their hands, pulled out of baskets and sun-umbrella poles.

Niflheim trained, Cor determines, even as he darts forward to attack those nearest to him. If Scientia's report of Clarus' prediction of an attack expected tomorrow is right, and he has no reason to doubt it, these people would have been mingling with the crowd for days to ensure that they looked familiar to the others, safe, and then they would call out for people to follow them, and people would have done so – and only once they had led them somewhere out of sight would the swords and the guns come out –

They're good, these infiltrators. They have to be to do their jobs – to go alone into enemy territory to murder panicked and unarmed civilians who might try to fight back is not a job for the weak or the untrained – but, at the same time, they're infiltrators. They're disposable; they have to be, to be sent ahead into such danger.

They're not that good.

Cor kills the first three before they've taken another step, and the next two after that before they've even fully finished drawing their weapons.

But there are more still coming.

Many more.

Cor lifts his sword in a ready stance, his mind calm and clear. Niflheim’s forces have identified them, then; this many infiltrators all blowing their covers, all at once, can mean nothing else. They have been given new orders – to get these particular targets – that supersede all others.

Good.

That means none of them will be left to murder innocent civilians in the retreat.

Aulea has put Noctis and Prompto behind her, producing a gun from her beach-bag.

Cor’s trained on sand before, and he doesn’t let the uncertain surface slow him down, even as the ‘taurs rushing him trip and fall as they try to pounce. He ducks and darts between them, rearing back on his hind legs to rip at their bodies with his forelegs while he strikes at them with the sword in his hands. The daggers he rips free from their hands he throws back at the ones with guns, and he can hear Aulea start firing at them as well.

The crowd has started to run away from them now, leaving them alone on the beach – his Crownsguard are here, Basiana and Serio and Maero and Tristus and a bare handful more, and on his orders they form a protective ring around Aulea and the children – but the infiltrators are doing a good job separating them from the crowd.

And the sea has started churning.

“Leviathan is rising!” Aulea shouts, jerking her head towards the sea – it very effectively distracts the ‘taur Cor is fighting now, and Cor uses the opportunity to strike him down before glancing at the ocean.

The waves are coming hard now, large and choppy and frothing white at the tops as if a hurricane is approaching, and yet Cor is standing on the beach: there is no wind to explain the winds, and only a scattering of clouds in the sky.

Leviathan is, indeed, rising.

“MTs!” Maero bellows. “From above!”

Not good. Cor leaps ahead, cutting down two more infiltrators – he’s gotten most of them, now – but he sees what Maero saw: a drop ship, buzzing in from above. It’s been sent ahead from the fleet ship Scientia had reported seeing undock itself, no doubt in response to the infiltrators’ report that the Queen and Prince appeared to be (relatively) unprotected.

Cor glances towards to the town. The nearest Galahdian Coast Guard outpost – a lone station – has seen the oncoming threat, and the poor lone ‘taur that was manning it is screaming on his radios, shouting out orders and gesturing towards their little group, but back-up will clearly be some time in coming.

He gestures to Basiana and Serio – stay back, watch them – gestures for Maero and Tristus to back him, and he charges straight into the MTs as they land on the sand.

This is much harder – the infiltrators were more agile on the sand, having been trained for it, but the MTs are wearing full armor, and their unnaturally jerky movements sometimes make them harder to predict than standard fighters.

Niflheim MTs, soulless robots with armored metallic bodies shaped like a standard hound ‘taur, like machines but with the intelligence and reaction times of regular ‘taurs behind those empty glowing red eyes – Cor knows, from the information that he obtained from Justina’s laboratory, the monstrous way in which they are made, but it doesn’t matter to him now. It can’t matter now.

Now, all that matters is the fighting.

Cor has always known that one day he would come across a battle he would lose, and this one isn’t looking great. But he will not let them have Prompto or Noctis, even if it costs him his own life.

One MT – a gigantic axe-wielder – manages to get him with a nasty backhanded swing, forgoing the sharp side of the axe in favor of just walloping Cor on the side of the head, knocking him off his paws, but just as he’s lifting the axe to bring the sharp end down at Cor – Cor struggling to lift his sword in an attempt to at least deflect the blow –

The MT’s head gets blown off with a massive blast.

That’s not Aulea – she only has a pea-shooter, really – and none of his Crownsguard have a gun that powerful.

The Coast Guard...?

No.

There are ‘taurs charging out of the water, guns in their hands – two otters, a capybara holding the rifle that probably saved Cor's life, and even a frankly massive hippopotamus ‘taur dual wielding two-handed bastard swords, one in each hand. They’re not dressed like Coast Guard – in fact, Cor’s never seen the slick wet fabric they’re wearing before, something like waterproof neoprene that shimmers wet in the light.

“Queen Mother!” the capybara ‘taur calls out. “Bring the Chosen King here; we can keep him safe!”

Aulea starts, badly, and one of her shots goes wide.

Cor understands her concern – no one should know that Noctis is the Chosen King of Prophecy, because they haven’t told anyone – but he can see more drop ships in the distance, the gigantic fleet ship not far behind, and he doesn’t think they have a choice about who to trust right now.

He gestures to his Crownsguard – keep formation and advance – and calls to her, “Bring the children, Aulea! Quickly!”

She nods, putting her gun away, and snatches up both crying children from where they were hiding behind her.

They’re only six.

Cor’s eyes narrow in a burst of fury, and he takes advantage of the MTs trying to cope with this unexpected threat from an unexpected angle to throw a lightning bomb at them. He’s standing close enough to it that his fur goes on end, but the vast majority of them go down all at once, and between him, his Crownsguard and the otters from the sea, they’re able to kill the rest of them quickly.

“Quickly,” one of the otters says, glancing back at the ocean with concern. “The bubble won’t last that long at the surface.”

Cor doesn’t understand, but he runs towards the ocean, his Crownsguard at his heels, because Aulea is nearly there, coming up to the hippopotamus.

“Into the surf,” the hippopotamus ‘taur is bellowing. She’s a massive woman, with deep black skin and tight corkscrew curls that are already defying gravity despite the thrashing waves of water all around them. “Now!”

They follow her into the raging tide.

Prompto is crying, Cor can hear him, crying and howling; Noctis is wailing, a high hollow shriek; Aulea is shouting, desperate for answers; the waves are crashing around them, louder and louder and –

They all tumble forward into what Cor can only describe as - well, as a giant bubble.

The water is held back by the clear almost plastic-y sides of the bubble and the roar of the waves is muted. Perhaps most importantly, they seem to be breathing without difficulty. The capybara is at the front (Cor thinks) of the bubble, doing something on some sort of keypad, and the bubble begins to move forward, first simply away from the beach in a straight line and then, once they’ve gotten past the shallower waters of the beach, starting to turn down to head deeper into the waters.

“Woooooow,” Prompto – always inclined to look at the bright side of life – says, his tears drying up. He elbows Noctis. “Look, Noct! Fish!”

There are indeed many brightly-colored tropical fish around them.

“You should also look at the coral reef,” the hippopotamus ‘taur suggests kindly. “We’ll be passing that soon.”

Noctis sniffs a little, still not fully recovered. “Coral reef? I think Iggy was talking about that on the boat ride over…”

“Yeah, he was,” Prompto says. “He had that book – with all the colors! When will we see the reef, Ms. – uh, sorry, what’s your name?”

“I am Dido,” the hippopotamus ‘taur says. “The capybara is Bomilcar; the otters are Mago and Minthos.”

“My name’s Prompto Argentum,” Prompto says proudly. “That’s Cor Leonis – he’s my Cor – and this here’s Noct and that’s his mom, Aulea. And then there’s Basiana an’ Tristus an’ Maero an’ Serio an’ –”

“What sort of ship is this?” Basiana interrupts to ask, looking around. She hasn’t put her weapon down: good. They might be trusting these 'taurs, but there's a limit to any amount of trust. “I’ve never seen anything like this before – where did you get this tech?”

Aulea has different concerns. “Why did you call –” She hesitates a moment, since the other Crownsguard members are not necessarily in on the secret yet. “Why did you call Noctis what you called him?”

“Because he is, of course,” the capybara ‘taur – Bomilcar – says, relinquishing control of the bubble to one of the otters in a practiced hand-off. “We were sent by our King to yours, so as to offer our aid when you approach the Hydrean for the Contract. We are the closest land to the Tidemother’s domain, after all.”

“Your King?” Cor echoes, eyebrows arching. As far as he knows, there’s only one King – that of Lucis – while Niflheim has an Emperor, Tenebrae an Oracle, and Accordo a Secretary.

“Oh, yes,” Bomilcar says. “King Hasdrubal the Third – the King of Atlantioi.”

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #cor leonis #lunafreya nox fleuret #clarus amicitia #prompto argentum #noctis lucis caelum #regis lucis caelum #aulea lucis caelum #ignis scientia #apollonia scientia #crowe altius #gladiolus amicitia #my fic #nocturne

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acourtofhopeanddreams · 6 years

Text

ASOIAF RARE PAIR WEEK - DAY 5

I'm gonna write you a love song (Jon Snow/Theon Greyjoy)

Robb, Jon and Theon are starting a band, but they can't agree on what kinda songs they wanna write and sing. Robb just wants to travel the world and win the hearts of many girls around the globe, while Jon really wants to make a difference and sing about something that actually matters. And surprisingly enough Theon picks his side and not Robb's.

Written for @asoiafrarepairs Rare Pair Week, based on the trope: "Salty Teens AU" (I literally had to google this, so...I hope it's somehow right... ;-))

“Guys…” Robb placed his guitar next to him on the floor. “Why does it have to be this complicated? Why can’t we just write a few love songs and throw in some compliments to pretty women. That’s what the people wanna hear. That’s what they’ll vote for during the contest.” He shook his head, his curls dancing around his face while he did so. “You’re acting like our songs are gonna change the world!”

“Yeah…” Jon shrugged his shoulders. “That's what I want our songs to do.” He paused for a moment. “Everyone can write stupid love songs with cliches and stuff.” His fingers kept playing the same riff over and over while he talked. “I don’t wanna be like everyone.”

Theon bit his lip and folded his hands in his lap. “Robb, I hate to say it, but…” He swallowed. “I agree with Jon on this one.”

Jon smiled a thankful smile at him, only looking up from his fingers for a brief second. He always seemed more comfortable when he held his guitar. It was as if all those things he worried about, all those things he was angry about, all those things he didn’t dare to say but wanted to say so badly, came out easier when he was holding a guitar. He didn’t even have to sing. He wasn’t even a great singer. But he could just talk, or rap, or murmur. Or something in between. It all worked better than talking without the guitar.

“I thought we wanted to become the new One Direction! Travel the world, meet girls, see all those places we’ve heard about at school.” Robb shook his head in disbelief.

“Look…” Jon sighed. “Nothing against One Direction, but…” He licked his lips. “Their songs have all this power and they’re played everywhere.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying. That’s what we want, right?” Robb raised his eyebrows, but Jon shook his head.

“I don’t want just that.” He changed from a mayor key to a minor key, as if the music he was playing followed the mood he was in.

“What he means…” Theon took a sip from his water. “If you have that many people listening to your song, maybe you should use it to talk about the bigger issues.”

“Bigger issues? Isn’t love a big issue? Isn’t accepting who you are a big issue? Are you now telling all those crying girls touched by their songs that those songs are not about big things?” Robb widened his eyes. “I wouldn’t throw that on the internet or talk about that in an interview. You’ll be killing your own fame before it has even started.”

“I’m not gonna write love songs, Robb.” Jon stopped playing and finally looked up. “I know nothing about love. But I know a lot about racism, about all those people who can’t get equal chances, about all those kids who can’t just write a stupid love song and get famous because they’re not white and privileged and handsome.”

“Jon…” Robb wrapped an arm around his half brother’s shoulders. “You are white and privileged and handsome.”

“I know!” Jon raised his voice. “And yeah, if we’d write love songs and poppy tunes we might be traveling the world within a few months with loads of screaming girls chasing us. Is that really what you want?”

“Yes!” Robb shook his head. “I just want to have some fun. Don’t get me wrong. All those things are really important and I would love to talk about it in interviews, but…” Robb paused for a moment. “I just wanted to make some easy music, for everyone, without all those heavy social issues.”

Theon stood up from his seat and he slammed his best friend on his back. “We can try to make those heavy issues sound easy and for everyone?”

“Yes, that’s why we’ve watched Jon working for four hours and now he still hasn’t gotten anything but a bass line and the first three tones.” Robb placed his guitar on the standard in the corner. “Let me know when you have your first song finished. I’ll go and watch all episodes of that new fantasy series everyone is talking about. Let’s see who finishes first.” He walked out of the small room in the cellar, isolated to assure that the rest of the house wouldn’t be disturbed by their ongoing band practice.

Robb was however right.

Jon had been writing for four hours straight and the only thing he thought was kinda good enough to meet the public eye, were the bass line and the first three notes. He was full of ideas, literally. But it was not that easy to transfer all those amazing ideas in his head into lyrics and music he could stand behind.

“If you wanna leave and come back when I’m done, that’s fine with me.” Jon placed his fingers on the strings of his guitar again and started humming.

The main problem was that there were too many issues he wanted to talk about. The growing hate between all those people who thought they had nothing in common while they were so much alike. The government not being bothered by poor people getting the healthcare they need without ending up without a roof over their heads. Jocks at high school getting away with the most horrible things, just because they were good at sports. Girls not daring to walk home at night on their own. So many people not earning half as much as they deserve because they have a different skin color. All those kids learning to be afraid of the cops because people like them get shot without a reason.

He simply didn’t know where to start, what to write first.

“O, no…” Theon shook his head. “I want to stay. If you don’t mind.” He bent his head and stared at his feet. “I like…” He hesitated for a moment and Jon wasn’t sure, but he believed that Theon’s cheeks reddened. “I like watching you play and compose.”

Jon furrowed his eyebrows and he looked up. His glance met Theon’s for a short moment and strangely enough he felt a pleasant tingle rolling down his spine. “You like watching me play the same four tones for hours?”

“Yes, I…” Theon shrugged. “You look different when you play. More at ease. As if…” Theon nodded at the guitar Jon was holding. “As if your guitar is making you forget all your worries and sorrows and the weight you put on your own shoulders and…” Theon paused once more. “Watching you like that, with the un-deepest frown on your forehead, makes me feel at ease too, as if I know that…” He sighed. “As if I know that as long as there are people like you, who want to do everything they can to make the world a better place for everyone, there is hope.”

Jon kept silent for a moment. Not even holding the guitar helped him to find the right words to answer. He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever said something like that to him before. And he wasn’t sure if the words would have meant the same thing to him if someone else had said them.

“You’re…” Theon interrupted the silence. “You're handsome when you play. You’re handsome when you don’t play too, but…” He stuck the tip of his tongue between his lips. “You're even more handsome when you do play.”

Jon felt a smile spreading across his face. His heart raced rapidly in his chest, hammering against his ribs. “Normally when people watch me…” He clears his throat, but his voice is still weaker than it usually is. “I get the feeling I have to live up to something. It’s like…” Jon shrugged. “It's like their presence makes the words less private. It’s like I can’t just try things out, but…”

“Do you want me to leave? I can go watch that show with Robb. I probably missed the first few minutes, but I can catch up with it.” Theon already attempted to stand up, but Jon reached for his hand and forced him to stay put.

“You didn’t hear the but yet.” He coughed. “It's different with you. Really.” Jon’s fingers started playing. He didn’t play the same riff he had repeated for four hours. He didn’t play the first three notes he had considered okay. He just started playing, without thinking about it, and all of a sudden he felt a song growing beneath his fingers. “It's like you pull the words and the songs out of me…”

Theon smiled back. He smiled that idiotic smile of him and Jon felt the restless butterflies in his stomach coming to life.

“I guess…” Jon licked his dry lips. “I don’t need to travel the world and have millions of girls screaming in front of me. I just need you and my songs and a little change in the world to make life easier for everyone, to make it better for everyone. And I guess, if I’d had all that. I’d be happy.”

Theon shove a little closer towards Jon and he wrapped his hands around Jon’s upper arm. “You already have me and you already have your songs. I’m sure the rest will follow.”

“I have you?” Jon looked up, but his hands kept on playing. It wasn’t his mind bringing the music in his heart to life, it was his love.

“If you want me?” Theon’s lips brushed Jon’s cheek. They were surprisingly soft and tender and while Jon kept playing, Theon kissed his jaw, his neck and eventually Jon turned his head towards Theon so Theon could kiss his lips.

He didn’t stop playing. He just closed his eyes and gave in to everything he wanted and everything he needed.

Deep down he knew that maybe his songs were not gonna change the world. Maybe they didn’t have to. If his songs, if he himself, could change the world for one person, maybe a few more, he would already be more than happy.

“I know what my first song is gonna be about.” Jon was out of breath and his fingers started stinging.

“You do?” Theon whispered before he kissed Jon again.

“About all the guys and girls who’ve been beaten for loving someone society didn’t want them to love.”

“So, you’re gonna write a love song anyway?” Theon grinned and Jon grinned back.

“I think Robb might even like it.”

#Theon Greyjoy #jon snow #asoiafrarepairs #asoiafrarepairweek #Robb Stark #game of thrones #got #game of thrones fanfiction #jon snow fanfiction #robb stark fanfiction #theon greyjoy fanfiction #jeon #is that their shipname?#theon/jon #jon/theon #salty teens au #rock band au #high school au

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twiststreet · 6 years

Text

Progresso Report - April 2018

This is an ongoing series of charts that I keep to track my slow but inevitable ascendance to a higher and more eternal plane of existence than you, a frail normal person bereft of the life force that courses through me. As I believe Paul Atreides once explained to a Reverend Mother of the Bene Gessit order, the First Law of the Mentat is that “A process cannot be understood by stopping it. Understanding must move with the flow of the process, must join it and flow with it.” Or as I believe Tommy Lee once said, in The Dirt: Confessions of the World’s Most Notorious Rock Band, “Every day after rehearsal, I would pick her up in my van, we’d park somewhere quiet, and she’d squirt her shit everywhere. I loved to just sit there and let her cum on me. Eventually, however, my van started to stink. I drove my mom to the store one afternoon, and she kept asking what the smell was. I had to pretend like I didn’t know.”

April was a goddamn messy one-- but mostly in the sliver of the ol’ living that I keep off that internet, between work stress and private life stuff and health and welfare and everything else. Whole mess of a month there, so not sure what there’s left to talk about in one of these. These charts are all about optimizing “spare time,” but hoo-boy, some months.

But... Here’s the chart:

The Weekly Section:

Cooking - Recipe (1): 2/4 -- Cooking - Dinner (2): 5/8.

Not a lot of cooking this month-- on account of some health spooks, I got pretty confused what I should be eating or not.

The internet is the most spectacularly bad piece of technology when you’re trying to figure out what you should be eating or not, incidentally. Every article about diet on the internet is like “Whatever you do, don’t eat peanuts. *blah blah blah* Have you considered eating more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? The best part is the peanut butter.” Most of the articles make no sense.

Plus, any one fix-your-diet article on the internet is contradicted by at least two-to-five other articles. Nothing agrees with anything else.

Anyways, I got pretty, pretty spooked about my health/lifestyle this month (very specifically: after I ate the dish pictured above-- that was a rough night)(it tasted pretty good tho)-- I had some spooks, sis-- I had some spooks. So, I had to go and hire myself a nutritionist to get that figured out.

I was worried they’d be like “stop eating all Asian foods and also stop breathing oxygen”, crazy-talk, but mostly they zeroed in on cutting down on animal protein. Which is turning out to be pretty tough for me actually-- it turns out I eat a lot of that stuff. Big Food sneaks animal protein into all the good recipes, especially if you count pig semen as being animal protein. (And I for one do!)

But that’s the plan for right now, cutting that down. I haven’t 100% figured out how to get back to cooking while all that’s been going on-- haven’t cooked as much. Need to plan more what I want to be making, though...

Sketchbook Work (1): 6/4. I haven’t drawn enough in a while, so I’m smack-dab back at square one, again. This was not a confidence building month.

I was trying to do character designs so I could use them to build little loy-poly people to populate out the game world I’ve been building. (Which is a huge detour from what I’m “supposed” to be working on, which is building out a convenience store...). So I’ve been looking at these character designers (mostly Japanese folks-- they sure seem to be better at that shit than anybody else), and weird fashion blogs, but when I sit and draw, it’s just been... It’s been pretty gruesome because I’m trying to run before I can crawl. I’m still struggling with circles and squares, so trying to do hot fashionz... Why would that work? Why would that ever work??

Reading (2): 6/8. Don’t remember anything particularly-- I think the only comic I read was the first issue of the latest Ennis Punisher series. I didn’t think that was particularly good, at least on the story side, not compared to that Fury book he’d done, anyways. I thought that first issue overpromised and under-delivered, but it’ll probably be a better trade. But it’s going to have a hard time competing in my head with Fury book which I just think highly of (and it kind of bummed me out how low-energy people were about that series...).

Besides that-- read some short stories? I just got in the mood to read science fiction short stories.

Read a Harlan Ellison short story from his last collection that I’d never gotten to-- a pulp riff called “The Toad Prince; or, Sex Queen of the Martian Pleasure-Domes.” I like Harlan’s pulp riffs because he usually knows to build all the tawdry action stuff on top of a foundation of a pretty open, obvious and proud misanthropy. I think that’s a pretty reliable combo-- never hurt with comics, anyways, from X-Men on.

For me, reminding the reader of people generally being awful turns out to be a pretty trustworthy way to get you to root for or feel suspense for a character, even if maybe not a healthy way, even if those tropes tend to blind some bad-nerds out there to the whole “maybe people will be less awful to you if you’re less of a shitty asshole” life-hack, myself included, I guess, lump me in with some of them folks...

(I mean, not this latest batch of pillow-skulls causing ruckus because that’s a whole other thing. Have you looked at comics people wild-ing out on the internet lately, and like comics draw-y dudes being like “let’s hear both sides” and all the crazy shit? Seems like that world’s all bad news, lately... )

Read a Ray Bradbury short story, too-- The Lake or The Beach or something like that. That wasn’t worth the time, though. I was in the mood for something else, though, when I read it, so maybe that’s on me. Bradbury’s conservatism-- his Americana, that kind of stuff doesn’t speak to me, and it was him in that mode, where... I was just in the mood for something more plot-y or conceptual or .... something different than what I landed on. Some folks can sell nostalgia but Bradbury’s just... something itchy about it.

(Everything I read last month was better than how I spent last week-- way too much time got spent reading about incels for no good goddamn reason. The fucking evil lunatic variety, but also, that’s not who the term was coined for, is the thing. So, if you dig into people talking about it, which yaaaay I chose to do, there’s just these layers of sadness out there, man-- in particular, people who’s shit got all burned, you know, massive severe life-altering skin burns, and stories from sex workers about having to work with them so they’re not just condemned by their misfortune. I spent way too long reading about that.

Serious Burn Victim Sex Stories got a little depressing...? People generally are depressing! I mean, people need sex and to be touched and all that stuff, but man, porno sites got fucking comment sections, so obviously that’s not happening for more people than I think anyone wants to acknowledge. A lot of sexless marriages out there-- that really pushes buttons I don’t want to think too much about having to read about, folks talking about what that’s like for them (spoiler warning: unhappy!).

Fucking comment sections on porno sites. Someone at the dawn of internet porn was like “free porn’s nice and all, but it really needs comment sections-- this needs to be more like Autofocus. Sure, free porn-- but where’s the camaraderie. Autofocus-it up! People come for the porn, but they stay for the Autofocus”...)

Laundry Night (1): 2/4. I want to have a regular weekly weekday Laundry Night, so I’m not rushing around on Sunday’s as much, losing good weekend time, and can be more present for weekends, instead of feeling like I’m constantly playing catch-up on chorin’ when the weekend rolls around. Starting to build more of a habit there, but habit-building’s slow going...

Planning Session (1): 0. I actually really need to start doing this one though on account of needing to plan my diet more. I’m worried this one’s just a nice idea on paper but not something I’m going to make time for, though. But I haven’t given up on this one yet... I know there’s a good idea here!

“Mini-Stepper”/Globogym (3): 9/12. I’d joined a Globogym in March, which had replaced the Mini-Stepper entry. And then after my health spooks in early April (which kept me from going much the first two weeks), I went further and signed up for a trainer, that I’m seeing twice a week since trying to do things properly on my own was obviously a losing battle.

I was spending a lot of time wandering around the gym, confused what I should be doing, like a dog that just woke up from a nap, which feels extra-shabby when you’re amongst the studley people. So I thought a trainer would help with that. Plus, it turns out going to a sales pitch for a trainer when you’re in the middle of a health spook, maybe isn’t the most fiscally prudent decisionmaking. I was just like “Yeah, sign me up, here’s the PIN to my debit card, steal my identity, whatever you want, I’m in.” It was like going to the grocery store when you’re hungry...

The training has been interesting-- I like the part where I don’t have to be responsible for making any decisions a bunch. I’d love to have a trainer whose only job was helping me to choose what to watch on Netflix. Just get everything trained up. But between the nutritionist and the trainer, this year’s shaping up to be more a “get (some of) my shit together” kind of year than I had figured going in. My spending’s a little out of control, thanks to all this, but... That’s shaping up to be the theme...

Shave (2): 1! I have a trainer now, but I’m still fully committed to looking like I’ve given up on myself 100%. When I redo these charts for the next trimester, I really have to figure out a way to make these less embarrassing... jesus christ... The whole idea of these reports is to try to embarrass myself into moving more, pushing harder, but this one’s... I’m feeling it on this one. Haha. Oh man...

Tidy (1): 2/4.

The Monthly Section:

New Restaurant (1): 1-with-an-asterix/2.

I finally got to try Eggslut. Which I’ve been wanting to have for a long while now-- they do egg sandwiches-- but then it got...

It got weirdly publicized when the pedophile who made-up Ren & Stimpy-- that pedophile started harassing the woman who was like “you’re a pedophile” after that article came out, right? And it was awful and disgusting and repugnant like everything else about that guy’s existence, but in the middle of his nonsense, he just started yelling some kinda crazy shit about Eggslut, like “People at eggslut are going to know you’re a dirty slut” or something.

But I went to Eggslut and I’m pretty sure they couldn’t tell I was a dirty slut. (Ladies). Or they were at least nice about it-- nobody said “can we put this egg sandwich inside of you, whore?” to me, like they did that one time at Chili’s, so five stars on Yelp for that. So I don’t know-- I kind of think that horrifying pedophile might not know what he’s talking about, you guys! I hope it doesn’t ruin my career in animation to say so.

Anyways: it was a decent sandwich. I went on an off-hour though-- supposedly the lines get pretty ridiculous...

And then, for the asterix, I was at Umami Burger. I’ve eaten there for years, been to Umami more than a dozen or two times probably, ever since they opened that first place on La Brea, so I can’t count that as a “New Restaurant.” But I finally got to have that Impossible Burger, which is slowly showing up different places around the city-- they started selling them at the Fatburger by my office, too. That’s the new-fangled vegetarian burger that tastes super-meat-y on account of some Frankenstein soy leghemoglobin concoction.

You know you’re not eating meat-- I don’t think it’s going to pass a Turing test. It’s not like anyone on Westworld is going to shove one up their ass, and the audience will be like “why did that happen?? Was that meat or veggies? Why is this happening on a robot slave plantation? Do people go to those for fun in the future??” But for a vegetarian burger, I thought it tasted entirely reasonable, way more reasonable than the competition in that space that I’ve ever tried. But I’d just say I think there’s an uncanny valley thing going on with it...

I had it before I was told I had to cut down my animal protein consumption, so I’m more excited about it now that I know I gotta be doing that.

LA Stuff or Travel(3): 2/3.

There was an art gallery show, across from my gym. New York in the 50′s and 60′s shit... the Picasso’s were tight, bro. I don’t know-- usual gallery stuff; nothing special, nothing jumped out...

And then I went to the Pack Theater for a show. The Pack Theater’s one of those small theaters on Santa Monica that only squeeze in like 40-50 people, I gotta figure. (I think by law they can’t seat more than 100 people...? Isn’t that how it works). It was a Saturday night late show so the crowd was reasonable sized-- but that was a pretty goddamn great show.

It was Heather Anne Campbell playing Ayn Rand and hosting a talk show for other famous dead writers. I just think highly of her generally, and she was having a good night, as far as I go. It was her, and it was James Adomian playing Walt Whitman-- goddamn, that guy is so fucking funny, has been for so long now-- he was just destroying. (He’s really great on the live Dollop episode about the New York to Paris car race, incidentally, which is a fucking good one, if you’re in need of podcast-ery or are into the whole Wacky Races genre...)

And then other comedy people played James Joyce (reading primarily from his letters to his wife, which as you may know are absolute fucking filth, the filthiest shit, genuinely uncomfortable to hear read out loud even at a comedy show filth)(in particular, his letter of the 8th of December, 1909-- jump out of your skin you’re a skeleton now filth), and then Jane Austen and Emily Dickinson both had some solid bits, got some big laughs.

I hadn’t seen some live comedy in a while so it was a good show to dip my toe back in there. Or just seeing Campbell and Adomian killing that hard at a fucking “pay what you can” show-- it’s just how crazy good this city is with comedy, if you make an effort to track some down... I don’t know. I’d missed seeing stuff... I’d gone too long. I felt pretty dumb afterwards on that point-- just haven’t been making an effort there lately even though I’m surrounded by stuff of that quality that’s, like, technically-free...??? Dumb. I live dumb.

Documentary (1): 1. Just the Apu documentary. I’m glad I saw it, just to get a sense of how far off people were who were screaming about it, but I don’t know if I’d recommend it to anyone, either-- it’s really strange to me that this became a thing with people who aren’t Indian. And then the time spent watching the angry people yelling at what they imagine this documentary might be saying (but isn’t)-- it’s that thing about the internet that... It’s happened to me and easy bet that I’ve done it to other people, it’s happened to everyone who’s done the thing with any skill, which is ... It doesn’t matter what you’ve said. People are just going to argue against what they want you to have said, and what they want you to have said is the thing that’s easiest for them to argue you about and feel like they’ve won. I don’t know. People are bummers! Matt Groening’s a bummer!

Movies (4): 2/4. God, I just saw Avengers and Black Panther. Ugh. Glad I tracked that!!! Glad I built a whole system to just track that was what my life was for an entire month.

I saw that Avengers twice-- just to be sociable with friends I don’t get to see often. People wanted to see that Avengers movie-- what can I do? It’s just... I just felt nothing both times. It’s just not satisfying to me as a movie.

The obvious comparison is to Empire Strikes Back, but ... and maybe this is just me excusing the flaws in Empire because that movie got at me when I was young, but I think that Empire functions as a movie more than this one does. Luke loses in Empire and Han losing in Empire is meaningful for reasons that are actually contained within the movie, at least, which I don’t think is true of the Avengers movie-- who wins and who loses feels weightless in this one. But.

Second time through, I still laughed the hardest at the shot where Jar Jar Brolin is crying because he’s sad he has to do murder...? No one else in the theater laughs at that part besides me, but it’s goddamn hilarious-- people are watching a Jar Jar that was cut to look like Josh Brolin cry!

My favorite part is the 5 second long Saving Private Ryan bit where they go inside the monster spaceship as the doors start opening and the monsters start crawling over each other to get out and attack people I think that’s a dope 5 seconds.

Nothing I needed to see again, but you know, I liked the folks who invited me the second time around, so. It gets harder to see some folks, as time goes by and all, so it’s nice that these big movies create an excuse, at least.

Highlighter Video (1): 0. Listening to podcasts but haven’t heard anything I’ve been that moved by to chop up.

Write Script (1): 0, but a lot of prep work this month, getting closer to figuring out what I want to be working on.

Part of me wants to get a new comics project going -- I’m thinking this summer might be less stressful than I was afraid of, but this game is going to take forever and a day, best case scenario, just to build all the sets.

But, god, what a time to even want to think about being in that world...? Can you imagine a bigger GET OUT sign than the one comics is hanging on itself right now? I want to shove my head in that fucking nest and see what kind of scabies try to crawl under my skin...? Fuuuuuck that.

I mean, it’s one thing to do a comic and have to hunker down with “no one’s going to care, just go ahead and fart, no one’ll be around to smell it” like with the other stuff I’ve done, and another thing entirely to even have to worry for a heartbeat about having to be like “oh, hyperspeed-dumb maggots might care and have words for me for being near comics while brown.”

But I mean, I’m not painting a target on myself by being on twitter, so all that message board drama might miss me for that. I mean, I don’t want to victim blame buuuuuuuut man, comics folks knew what was up with fucking unmoderated message boards back when pretty fast and then that became, like, forgotten lore...??? I mean, I get that people signed up for an unmoderated message board with their real names because they were there to promote shit, drum up that patreon kickstarter whatever money, so you can’t victim blame too much, but... I just don’t think you can figure there’s much surprise to that getting ugly, is all...

Revisiting the older problem with comics projects right now though-- lack of information. Anytime I sketch out plans, I try to google up basic info about sales numbers, or what I could expect if I tried this or that idea-- and there’s just very, very little solid info to be found. I know people who I could ask, but that’s not really the point, you know? (Also: I’m shy!) I find that very frustrating, especially after spending times looking at games, where people are very into sharing info and post mortems and research tools and all that shit.

Anyways, blah blah blah, I did nothing cause I like talking about it more than being about it, episode 9 billion and five. These charts is taking a bite out of your boy this month!!!

(I’ve decided to just start calling myself “your boy” in tumblr posts... I feel like this is a big step foward for me... towards Valhalla...)

Youtube Tutorial (1): 0.

Q1 Goals:

I finally did a Yoga class that my gym offers, after way more than a decade of wanting to try a yoga class. (I’d set up going with other people so many times and having it fall through... And googling and then not going and... It was a whole thing).

It turns out there are different kinds of yoga, and none of them are tai chi, which is always what I thought yoga was, all chill and pose-y. I took the “end up on a mat wheezing and legit worrying that my heart was going to explode right then and there” hyper-intense kind of yoga...? I seriously thought at one point that I was going to physically die.

Not really what I was aiming to experience for the last decade plus. My plan is to try again after the training’s sunk in more and I’ll have less “heart-is-going-to-explodo” anxiety. But... I just thought I was going to get to look at girls...??? Which I did-- I got to look at girls; but I looked at them because I was like “I hope that girl standing on her head whose body be banging also knows CPR when my heart explodes and that she cool when blood sprays out my damn ass like in a Lone Wolf & Cub scat video.” That wasn’t my fantasy! That wasn’t my fantasy!

I’d heard about it but I still wasn’t ready at the end when all white people yelled Namaste at each other. But I was less ready to hear that the dopey schmoe who did that comic where all the DC Characters raped each other just got done with a Gandhi biography comic-- some superhero rape comic dude is going to teach the kids about Bapu... But you know, white people love us, so what are you going to do? (Ladies)(uh, specifically, ladies who know CPR and don’t mind butt-blood..)

Highlights:

Cutting out personal or family stuff, for the most part…

I just have John Mulaney on SNL, Cunk on Britain, Parker Posey on Lost in Space (rest of the show is bleeeeeeeeh, though; Posey’s fun), and a line from Riverdale (”Goodbye Chic”) written down! Just TV stuff. I didn’t mention Barry or Killing Eve or Atlanta or that Joel McHale Show but I’m watching those, too...

So... that was my highlight...? I watched some TV. (*Begins crying*)

Nah, it was just too much was going on in the rest of my life, this month. It just wasn’t that kind of month, sister-man. Lot of other stuff going on this month, it felt like, and just... not a chart kind of highlight month, I guess...

Overall: This has been a journey into embarrassment.

#what gets measured gets managed

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