#give us at least a “medley” of how it all goes for everyone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rocorambles · 3 years

Text

It's Always Been You

Pairing: Semi x Reader

Genre: SFW, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff (I swear it’s more fluff than hurt/comfort), Getting together

Summary: You’ve always known Semi was your first choice. Now you just need to convince HIM that it’s true. Easier said than done.

Prompt: “When will I be someone’s first choice? Tell me, when?”

A/N: This is my contribution for the HQHQ SFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this prompt. (Also this is an AU where the boy’s and girl’s volleyball teams practice in the same gym. Just go with it. LOL Please and thank you.) Thank you for beta-ing @sawamooora~

There’s a certain sense of pride and anxiety that comes from being accepted to Shiratorizawa as a student athlete. Pride from knowing your athletic prowess has been recognized as being at least notable. Anxiety from not knowing if that’s all it’ll amount to, talent that’s forced to remain seated on a bench as other, even more capable athletes surpass and outrank you. But as wide-eyed first years, Semi and you don’t feel that full weight yet, not as you watch and learn from your senpais in awe, and it’s that curiosity, that love for the sport that brings you two together.

Semi’s always been on the quieter side, but when he sees you in the corner of the girl’s side of the gym all by yourself, practicing setting a volleyball against the wall, recognizing you as a fellow newbie from his class, he takes his chance. It’s an easy friendship, one that easily crosses from the court, to the classroom, to after school study sessions and hangouts. And even though it sucks to still be set aside on the bench, left to cheer on your upperclassmen while the both of you hone your skills, it brings both of you comfort that you’re not alone, that you have someone else cheering you on, growing and improving right alongside you.

It’s hard work trying to stand out among all the hopeful first years at Shiratorizawa, but the endless hours of hard work and encouragement you give each other, the shouts to keep on going, the careful bandaging of each other’s fingers before and after grueling practices, it all pays off. The two of you proudly stand side by side in your second year as your parents snap a photo of both of you donning your brand new team uniforms, marking you as starting players.

The adrenaline of the cheering audience, the exhilaration of being in a real game, it’s everything both of you have wished for and more. But through the excitement, a nagging worry tugs at Semi as he watches the new rookie setter, Shirabu Kenjirou, from afar.

There’s nothing wrong with Shirabu. He’s a smart kid, albeit a little short tempered and rude at times, but aren’t they all in high school? But it’s not his attitude, not even his shitty haircut that bothers Semi. It’s the ease with which he connects with the rest of the team, the natural skill and talent he possesses, the way Coach Washijou stares at the younger male with interest, that has Semi striving harder, his desire to stand out and prove himself only hindering him and the team more.

And reality comes crashing down around him one day as a shrill whistle jars him from his razor sharp focus, the paddle with his number being held up by Shirabu making his heart drop to his stomach as he’s subbed out, face heating with humiliation and embarrassment as his teammates eagerly high five and clap the younger setter on the court, welcoming him into the game.

Just like that, he’s been replaced.

It hurts, but he knows it’s to be expected. He had seen it coming, and acknowledges that it’s the better decision for the team. But that doesn’t make it sting any less. And he watches with steely eyes at how effortlessly Shirabu melds in with the team, the ball easily and smoothly connecting.

He thinks this is the worst of the heartache, vowing that he’ll just work harder, at least be a useful pinch server. He’ll be the best setter he can when he’s needed. But what he isn’t expecting is the lancing stab to his heart when he sees you rush over to Shirabu after the match is over, the way you’re practically bouncing on the soles of your feet as you fawn over the younger setter, congratulating him on his first game, complimenting him on a job well done, not even sparing a glance in his direction. In your defense, you do make your way towards him eventually, but he can feel the pity in your eyes, the way you approach him as if he’s a wounded animal, and he slaps your hand away before it can come in contact with his arms, storming off, leaving you gaping in his wake.

The situation was poorly handled and he knows he owes an apology at minimum, but those words get stuck in his throat when he spies you chatting one-on-one with Shirabu at practice the next day while the boy’s and girl’s teams share the same gym. It’s vaguely reminiscent of watching a horror film and despite the way he freezes, heart clenching, Semi can’t tear his eyes away as you demonstrate some setting techniques and drills to Shirabu. And when your bandaged fingers carefully wrap around the younger male’s forearms to adjust his posture, Semi rushes off, unable to bear watching how once again, he’s become irrelevant.

He wonders— hopes that it’s just a one off thing, that things will return to how they once were. But they don’t, and he watches as Shirabu and you laugh and joke, high fiving and cheering each other on as you help one another practice, time and time again. He tries his best to ignore it, gritting his teeth and using more strength than necessary in his practice serves, brushing off the concerned questions from even usually stoic Ushijima. But it all comes to a head when Shirabu is absent from practice one day and you cheerfully walk up to him like no time has passed, like you hadn’t turned around and instantly betrayed him for a better version of himself, grinning as you ask him to practice with you.

There’s a sick satisfaction in how quickly your smile disappears, the flash of hurt in your eyes when he sneers at you, thanking you for “gracing him with your presence”.

“Glad you could find it in yourself to make some time for me. Thought you’d skip out on practice to take care of your little boyfriend.”

“What-”

The whole gym stares at both of you as his harsh voice echoes throughout the area.

“When will I be someone’s first choice? Tell me, when?!”

Semi and you don’t talk to each other for the rest of that year, although not for quite the same reasons.

For Semi, it’s a completely burned bridge and, as good as seeing you feel some of the same pain he feels is, there’s an emptiness inside of him as he goes home that night. The belief that he’s ruined everything between the two of you heavily weighs inside of him.

For you, it’s a medley of hurt, shock, and confusion. You give Semi the time he needs to cool off, give yourself the time and space to ponder and think into the late and early hours of each night, wondering where everything went wrong.

Shirabu? Boyfriend? How could Semi possibly even believe that?

Being an upperclassman means mentorship and guidance. So when Shirabu had come up to you one day after he became the boy’s team’s starting setter, you had graciously offered up some tips, let him know that you’d practice with him if you were free, encouraged him. You had missed your easy banters with Semi, missed how in sync and in tune with each other you were. But how could you turn away an underclassman in need?

Yet, the more you think about it, the more you really try and understand Semi’s perspective, guilt gnaws at you, clawing at your heart.

Had you meant to neglect your closest friend? An emphatic no.

Could you see why he had felt abandoned? ...A begrudging maybe laced with remorse.

Do you want him back in your life? A resounding yes.

You know it’ll be hard work to regain Semi’s trust, know he has a stubbornness that’s hard to crack — especially when it’s been hot glued together by seeming betrayal. But you’re just as determined, just as headstrong, and to both the dismay and amusement of both your teams and classmates, you twirl together in a chaotic dance.

To say he’s caught off guard when you knock on his door one morning to walk with him to school is an understatement, but when realization comes crashing down on him, he scowls, and his parents watch while shaking their heads and hiding a laugh as you scramble to keep up with him while he pointedly ignores you and speed walks a few steps ahead of you.

His mom points out to his father the way their son slows down just the tiniest bit when you stumble in your haste to catch up.

Ushijima watches in uncomfortable confusion as you sit with them at lunch, plopping down in the empty seat beside Semi, chatting away at your old friend despite the way Semi resolutely stays silent, not even sparing you a glance.

But if the ace notices the way Semi doesn’t snap at you or pull his bento box from you as you grab a piece of fish Semi’s mom had cooked, he doesn’t say anything.

Shirabu pouts when you completely bypass him, fondly ruffling his hair as you stride towards Semi, volleyball in hand at practice. And both your teams watch in exasperation and fascination at the unintentional comedy show the two of you provide as you waddle after Semi like a baby duck following its mother, quacking your head off and never giving up even though Semi pretends he doesn’t see you in the corner of his eyes, mimicking every drill he does.

Coach Washijo and your coach wonder if they should slap both of you on the heads for this madness, but when they observe the way Semi painstakingly slows down and exaggerates his form when you struggle with an exercise, they roll their eyes, turning their attention to the other players lounging around.

Yet as amusing as it is, all shows must come to an end and your grand finale arrives with the devastating loss against Karasuno, the chances of going to Nationals again ruined just like that for the third-years.

Even for you, a bystander in the audience, just another spectator in the crowd, it’s a hard pill to swallow. Unshed tears glisten in your eyes when you see the years of hard work they’ve all put into the sport go down the drain, the slump of Semi’s shoulders as they walk off the court. You can’t even begin to imagine how the players themselves are feeling, don’t know a single word you could say to make this alright. Yet your legs are sprinting, wobbling and shaking in their frantic need to comfort your long-time friend, to try and soothe him, to tell him how proud you are of him, how this doesn’t change how you think and feel about him.

It’s more than a little awkward, panting to catch your breath as the entire dejected team stares at your sudden appearance in confusion. But Tendou’s always been a little quicker, a little sharper than the rest, and he grins, practically shoving Semi in your direction, playfully waving farewell at both of you before slamming the locker room doors shut before Semi can process what’s happened.

There’s a tense silence as you try and wrap your suddenly dry mouth around words.

“I’m sorry for your loss-”

You jolt at the cold scoff, the way Semi quickly spins on his heel, set on re-entering the locker rooms, turning his back on you.

“I don’t want to hear that from you. Go comfort your little boyfriend. I’m sure our star setter would eat those sweet words right up-”

“SHUT UP!”

This time it’s Semi’s turn to clamp his mouth shut in shock, hesitantly turning around, eyes wide as you storm towards him, jabbing your index finger into his chest.

“I swear to God, if you mention Shirabu’s name one more time while I’m talking to you, I’m going to muzzle you until you can’t say ANYTHING.”

(If either of you hear Tendou’s giggle from behind the closed doors, neither of you mention it.)

“I came to talk to YOU because I miss YOU. I like YOU. And if you could take just a minute to get your head out of your ass, you’d know that you’ve always been and always will be my first choice.”

Your chest is heaving, blood rushing in your ears from the exertion of your passion. But the reality of your accidental confession comes crashing down around you and your face heats in embarrassment, heart plummeting at the way Semi just gapes at you, speechless. You turn to rush away, mortification triggering your flight response. But a gentle, but firm tug on the hem of your shirt keeps you still.

You brace yourself for the rejection you know is coming, nervously turning around, slowly lifting your head to meet Semi’s gaze. But your heart flutters at the hope and disbelief in his eyes.

“But I thought...You and Shirabu- OW!”

You roll your eyes, a satisfied smirk on your face at the way he gingerly rubs his head, shooting you an accusing look.

“I did warn you about mentioning him, didn’t I?”

But before he can open his mouth to retort, you gently peck him on the cheek, giggling at the flabbergasted and stunned expression on his face, cooing at the faint blush that radiates across his skin.

“Hurry up and get your things. You owe me a popsicle for being such an ass this past year.”

There’s a lot more cheering and celebration in the locker room than there should be for a team that’s just lost their shot at Nationals as Semi re-enters the space, his already packed bag (courtesy of Ushijima) shoved into his arms by a gleeful red-head.

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #semi x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader

165 notes · View notes

philliamwrites · 3 years

Text

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.5]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.4k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 4 | Chapter 6

Chapter 05: Born to Trouble

Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.

[Hiob 5:7]

A breeze picks up loose leaves and carries them over a steep hill. The sun, directly above your heads, emits no blazing head and still, wearing light armour and carrying weapons leaves a layer of perspiration on your forehead. Every minute marching towards where the Eagle House students and their astute professor are waiting builds worry and the desire to turn around and put as much distance as possible between you and them but the rope tying you to the task called obligation makes it impossible to sate it.

A slight pull makes you pause and scratch the thin skin under your eye, the feeling so strange as if someone is tugging your mind in the complete opposite direction. Now that is a new sensation, and you’re careful to remember that when answering the onslaught of questions Hanneman will surely prepare once he’s back. Feeling no pain, you write it off as exhaustion for now, already looking forward to relax in the sauna later and wind down.

“Is something the matter, Herald?” Dimitri asks. Save for a few scratches and a smudged cheek, he looks fine and appears to be in great spirits. You want to lick your thumb and wipe off the dirt but smearing spit on the heir of a kingdom might not be a great idea in front of his future subjects.

“Everything is fine,” you, the Liar, say with as much conviction as your conscience allows, which is surprisingly easy. Maybe you were a performer before your amnesia, acting on a stage for an audience that celebrated you switching roles with an ease like changing clothes. Dimitri as well trusts your words, though he could as well be playing the role just to lessen your worry.

The last possibility to stall the unavoidable confrontation vanishes. They are waiting for you near the stronghold just beyond the forest from which you emerge after another painful, tense march. The remaining Black Eagle students are positioned in a triangle around Byleth. At its tip stands Edelgard, strong and tall, her axe ready to strike whoever stands between her and victory. Flanking her are ever-brooding Hubert and—

“Linhardt?” you gasp, freezing on the spot which makes everyone sticking to your heels walk right into you. Sylvain only saves himself from falling because he quickly holds onto Dedue who tolerates it like a friendly bear allowing a little bird to sit on his back.

“Is he doing something?” he asks, tiptoeing to get a better look. “What’s going on?”

You point a finger at the Black Eagle student. “No one told me it was allowed to bring students back from the sidelines.”

“Because it isn’t,” Dimitri says, patiently pulling a twig out of his hair. “Those who have lost cannot re-enter the mock battle.”

You stare at everyone separately, hoping it carries enough weight for them to understand your problem—rather why is no one questioning the obvious? They consider you with as much confusion though, at least something you have in common.

“Then why is Linhardt participating again?”

They share worried glances.

“Herald, what are you talking about?” asks Dimitri with a crease between his eyebrows.

It is enough to make your next protest come out more desperate. “An hour ago, Felix and I dealt with Ferdinand and Linhardt. I told you!”

“But—” Sylvain’s face goes blank with surprise. “Didn’t you say you guys got Ferdinand and Dorothea?”

“Dorothea?” You didn’t even know she participated. “No, I swear, we— Why would I claim something different?” They lack the answer to that just as you and any minute pondering it longer is stolen by a vicious MiasmaΔ that splits a tree behind you in two.

“Hey!” Sylvain shakes a fist at Hubert. “Use magic only in moderation!”

His answer is another MiasmaΔ that nearly knocks Sylvain off his feet. Before you can form words, Edelgard takes a swing at you. The hit would have undoubtedly leave you with a concussion were it not for Dimitri’s quick intervention. He deflects her blow though his lance gives a worrying crack.

“Dimitri.” Edelgard’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s time. We can finally settle the question of who’s stronger.”

“Very well.” Dimitri’s stance doesn’t falter even as sweat gathers at his temples. “I accept your challenge. With you as my opponent, I won’t hold anything back.”

Edelgard’s mouth twitches. Dimitri demands with a sharp jut of his chin for you to get out of the way. You don’t argue. Not with the rest from the Eagle house approaching. Dedue, reading your mind, or rather the frantic look in your eyes, charges towards Byleth, leaving Linhardt and Hubert to Sylvain and you.

You focus on Linhardt, mouth burning to question, “What spell did you use to switch places with Dorothea?”

He is so baffled by that, you move without thinking—a swift strike, the sword turned midway so the blunt end smashes into his nose. He stumbles back with a sharp cry, a hand flying up to stop the blood running in rivers down his uniform. There is no time feeling bad for catching him off guard like that. A picture flashes before your eyes. You throw yourself to the ground and feel the lance swipe over your head not a second too soon. You roll back up on your feet, glaring at Hubert. He simply raises a brow in challenge. Sure, you accept, fully aware there is only one way to win against him.

“Edelgard!” you gasp in horror. Hubert’s head twitches but he doesn’t fall for your scheme.

“Really, Herald? I know Her Highness can take care of herself. You need a better trick than that.”

“Really? Then how about this trick?”

This time, Hubert whirls around and is greeted by Sylvain’s fist to his jaw. Combined with your MiasmaΔ, he doesn’t stand a chance. That victory is only short lived though. Out of nowhere, Byleth appears and knocks Sylvain out, not batting an eyelash. She towers like a vengeful spirit, arriving to seek retribution. Trying to move around her, you don’t leave her out of sight for once, your mouth dry and your heart beating so fast your ribcage hurts. The tension is thick enough your swords could cut right through it. It is so tense, in fact, you only manage a dry, “Hey.”

Byleth raises her sword. “Hello.”

“Great day to … you know.” You mirror her movement. “Clobber each other with wooden swords.”

“Less talking, more fighting.” Byleth charges.

You turn and run away.

She immediately pursues like a wolf chasing after a deer. If you weren’t so focused on moving your legs as if your life depended on it and not tripping over something, you could swear someone from the sidelines is cheering for you. Someone sounding like Claude.

“Herald, try a surprise attack! She’ll never expect you to stop and swing your sword at her!”

No, no, no, he can come down here himself if he has a death wish. But another chance emerges before you, one waiting in the lush thicket that you disappear into in hope to lose her. That hope is quickly vanquished when twigs and dry leaves break right behind you shortly after you breach the edge of the forest. In your panic, you grab onto a branch and pull it with you until you’re sure the blow will at least make Byleth stagger to catch her breath. When you let go, she already knows what you’re up to. With a vicious blow, she breaks the branch and throws her sword at you when you try to run past her back to the field. The pain is unlike anything you’ve felt during training. It brings you to your knees, the stronghold in sight and yet so far away from the forest’s borders. The impact knocks all breath out of your lungs, making you unable to call out for help.

Byleth stands before you, her sword back in her hand and risen to deliver righteous punishment—until it isn’t Byleth, it is a man, but you can’t see his face, his features hidden by dark shadows.

Don’t, you think but your mouth forms “You don’t have it in you” instead and before you know it, you speak those words out loud. The picture disappears in a flash so bright, a paper bursting into flames, pain explodes in your head before everything zooms back into painfully sharp focus.

Something changes in Byleth’s eyes, her hesitation a surprise immediately costing her gravely for Dimitri appears by your side, facing her and a desperate sound of relief escapes you because that means Edelgard is out of the game. It is only a battle of stamina at this point, the battle blurring as you stumble to your feet and help Dimitri to overpower Byleth even though your back is a medley of pain. Judging from how her reacting slower, you get a picture of who from the Black Eagles was fighting the most up until this point.

Everything happens too fast. It takes one turn, one swipe of Dimitri’s lance, incredible luck that Byleth starts to get exhausted, and a second later, her knee gives in and she’s on the ground, a wooden edge to her throat. The silence is only disturbed by the second roar of trumpets signalling the end of the mock battle.

You gasp.

Dimitri gasps.

Byleth blows a strand of hair out of her face, her face a blank slate.

Screams and shouts erupt from where everyone else is waiting for you, drowning Jeralt declaring the Blue Lion’s win.

“Herald.” Dimitri’s smile dazzles you more than the sun’s light, radiant and handsome. “We did it. We did it thanks to you.”

“No, it was you—” A wave of fatigue washes over you from overusing your power. Exhaustion smothers you, so suddenly that your vision blurs around the edges. Your limbs are leaden; you feel as though you are sinking into mud. Before you hit the ground, Dimitri catches your arm and steadies you.

It is the unpredictable comedic sort of timing were the cosmos decides it is the right timing for the rest of the students to catch up.

Sylvain lets out a loud, suggestive whistle, appearing way too chipper for someone just brought back to consciousness thanks to white magic. “Who knew His Highness would decide to court someone wide out in the open like that? Did you invite our dear Herald to dinner first?”

Ingrid pushes him hard. “His Highness isn’t like you,” she says at the same time Dimitri asks, “But I do plan to invite our Herald to dinner.” All eyes are on him. It is suddenly really hot even though his gauntlets around your arm are cold. “We all are invited to celebrate our victory with a feast in the dining hall.”

“Aww, goddess help him,” Sylvain sighs, looking like he’s about to facepalm his hand through his forehead.

Any response on your part is delayed by Rhea and Seteth reaching your group after congratulating each student who participated on their work.

“Congratulations on winning the mock battle, Herald,” Rhea says, looking incredibly pleased. From the very beginning she’s probably expected nothing less and you wonder if her smile were as content had you failed. “You showed great leadership and trust in your students, who all did exceptionally well.” She’s smiling at every one of them like a proud mother. It leaves a warm, fuzzy feeling inside your chest, her contentment a beacon that banishes the last shadows of doubt in your heart. You could get addicted to this feeling.

“Now, please return to the monastery,” Seteth advises the students. “We have a few matters to discuss with the faculty members.”

As the students disperse, Dimitri quickly ducks his head in your direction. “We will speak more later.” He trails after his friends, falling into step with Dedue.

“Look at them, being so excited. How adorable.” Manuela smiles, not showing any signs of anger about losing the fight or exhaustion flicking the students back together. “Good job leading them, Herald.”

“And yet, I must advise you to participate more actively in the battle itself next time.” Seteth crosses his arms in front of his broad chest, not sharing Rhea’s idea on how a good job looks. “Professor Byleth showed great assistance and fighting spirit. You would do well to learn from her.”

Byleth gives a little shrug when you glance at her. She doesn’t seem to care much for that.

“Don’t be so stern, Seteth,” Rhea chastises him fondly. “There is still so much room to grow for all of them, our dear Herald, Professor Byleth and the students. For now, let us return and allow them a moment of respite. Their first real mission awaits them at the end of next month.”

Seteth pulls a face as if he bit into a lemon but doesn’t object.

“I have one concern myself,” you quickly throw in before tracking back, wondering how no one else mentions it. “When Linhardt and Dorothea—”

“I would like a word,” Byleth suddenly says, grasping your wrist lightly in such an easy, familiar way you immediately shut up. They leave you two to it as you follow them a couple hundred feet behind, both silent though the voice in your mind doesn’t shut up about the dozen of questions bouncing back and forth. After what feels like hours, Byleth finally says, “You noticed it, didn’t you?”

You stare at the road, a yawning void in your head where just a second ago a cacophony of questions caused a headache, unable to put two and two together. When it finally clicks, you wipe your head so fast in her direction it pops in your neck. “It was you? How did you do it?”

Byleth doesn’t answer immediately. Her gaze drifts over the treetops, calmly swaying from left to right. The battle has concluded half an hour ago, but it already feels like a lifetime has passed and the peace and quiet of nature around you is like a completely different world. The land surrounding the monastery is exceptionally beautiful, luscious and overgrown with flora that covers the ground in a colourful patchwork rug. How the rest of Fódlan must look like…

“When we first met, you asked how I could trust you. It will sound strange but you and I, we are connected.” She’s still looking up ahead, now at the towering spires of the monastery piercing the sky.

Your mouth is dry. “Connected how?”

She stops now. When she turns and looks at you, again the thread that ties you two together strums in an ancient tune. You stop breathing for that second.

“You control the flow of the future, and I control the flow of the past.”

You still don’t understand. Byleth reads as much from your lack of response. “What I mean to say is, I rewind time. When you defeated Linhardt, I turned back time’s hands to have Dorothea walk his path instead to keep my healer. I just never expected anyone would notice. And no one did. Except you.”

It’s like those words don’t reach you. They recoil from a waterfall that rushes through your ears, distorting the words. When your brain finally finishes freaking out about it, only one thing appears of importance. “You cheated!”

Byleth wears an expression that clearly states, That’s rich coming from you.

“I— That—” How can she remain so calm? This information tilts your world, turning every hour you spent lying awake at night in your chambers wondering if you’re the only one with a power like that into a painful memory. “Does that mean you have a Crest as well? If our powers are alike, surely there must be an answer to why we have it. If we talk to Hanneman about it—”

“You won’t,” Byleth cuts you off, her tone as sharp as her sword. “You will share no word with anyone about what I just revealed, or I will strike you down.”

The wind picks up, flickering your robes left and right and rocking trees that bow in humility to a force much greater than them—a feeling you can relate to. Cold sweat runs down the back of your neck. This isn’t a threat. It’s a promise.

“You spend too much time with Hubert,” you manage with a trembling smile only held together when the tension dissipates from Byleth’s face.

“Professor Hanneman is still studying my Crest,” she says, a tinge of sorrow in her voice that strikes you harder than any danger or threat, “but I can assure you my abilities are not tied to it. I’m sorry.”

She must have felt what you so desperately wished for: a connection. The assurance that you are not alone in this world with this strange power.

It makes the way back to the monastery like a march through mud, laden limbs walking towards a goal you don’t know will be worth all the exertion. When the silence becomes too unbearable, you build up the courage to ask, “What are we, Byleth?”

She drops her gaze to the ground. It is the very first time you see uncertainty hover like a shadow over her face. “I wish I could tell you, but I don’t know.”

The sky turns an orange canvas when you finally return to the monastery. The last villagers from the small town downhill start returning home, their tools laid to rest inside their carriages. You can’t wait to sink into a nice hot bath, washing away the dried sweat and grime from the battle and change into loose, comfortable evening robes. You don’t come further than past the entrance hall. Leaning against a high pillar, Dimitri is adjusting the loops on his gauntlets, blond strands falling into his face like golden strips of sunshine. Before you reach him, Byleth says with a light touch to your elbow, “Please see Professor Manuela about your wound, okay? You did great today.” You promise her you will and watch her until she disappears through a hall leading to her personal quarters.

With your attention on him, Dimitri looks up and stands straighter. He grins at you, his smile sudden and jarring like a thunderclap.

“I have been waiting for you, Herald,” he says and takes you by the wrist. The cold of his gauntlets bites at your skin, making you hiss. His hand immediately drops, and he turns around in panic. “Oh, apologies. It is difficult to control my strength sometimes and—”

“No, no, that’s not it. I was just a little surprised.”

He sighs in relief. “Still, I am sorry. I will try to refrain from doing that in the future.”

“Dimitri.” You graze his clothed underarm with a finger, unsure if that was a wise decision when his eyes widen in surprise. How is it you only notice now how long his eyelashes are? “I think we have seen today I am not that fragile.”

His eyes jump away, avoiding contact, the blush creeping up his neck clearly standing out against his pale skin. He clears his throat. “I just wanted to make sure you will join us for dinner. I was not joking earlier when I said we should all celebrate our victory.”

“Are you guys sure? I’m not your teacher and in the end, I didn’t do all too much.”

Dimitri shakes his head. “Nonsense. You fought with us and led us to victory. We would love to celebrate with you, and while you won’t be with us all the time, I’d love nothing more than to share our happiness with you. Joy can be so fleeting, after all, and I’m sure the rest of the class feels the very same.”

“If it really is okay with you all…” You glimpse over at him. Why not. Why not enjoy some leisure time with the students. You could surely use it to get to know them better and distract your thoughts from Byleth’s revelation. “Just give me some time to get ready. I’ll see you in the dining hall.”

“Actually, please come to our classroom,” Dimitri says. “I don’t know how Sylvain managed it, but the kitchen’s head lady allowed us to dine in the classroom.”

Your brows fly to your hairline. Dimitri answers with a little, low chuckle. You both have a pretty good idea how he managed to pull that stunt.

Back in your quarters, you wash away the dirt and pick a simple robe the colour of freshly pressed parchment. The water’s heat renders today’s injuries to a dull pain save for the scrapes on your knees that still burn but are clean now. Hunger quickly catches up as well, dispersing your last doubts of intruding the class’ celebration. After leaving your room, you stop by the infirmary where Manuela makes quick work of your remaining wounds with her magic, turning purple bruises into faded yellow spots you immediately forget once you step out and head to your destination.

The tables are already laid, arranged into a formation that resembles a circle allowing conversations to flow easily. You expected them to be already stuffing their faces but when you step into the Blue Lion’s classroom, the only source of light is a dim candle flickering in the middle of some students huddled together. Only Mercedes’ soft voice is audible, not counting the little whimpers from Annette or Ashe shuffling as he tries to hide behind Dimitri who appears to be the only one invested in her story.

“… no one knows how deep the tunnels underneath the monastery run. But once they reach where walls are built from skulls and bones, they turn and go back … or try to do so, for who knows what horror lurks behind every corner.”

“Nooooooo,” Annette cries, clutching to Dimitri’s sleeve. “Why would anyone go somewhere like that?”

“A-and who built it in the first place? Tunnels lined with bones…” Ashe shudders, still looking smaller than Dimitri even though he is the one sitting.

“A fascinating idea.” Dimitri’s excitement, bright as a spark, doesn’t bounce over to his friends. “To imagine there could be a whole civilisation living right in plain sight like that.”

“I can’t imagine we wouldn’t notice,” Ashe reasons. His conviction would be more credible, would he not still cling to a white tail of Dimitri’s shirt. Before you can join and see if you would fare better listening to stories about haunted and forgotten places, Sylvain steals past you, his voice making you jump. “Shouldn’t you guys be finished by now?”

Seeing your sour expression, he simply winks and hurries inside, carrying a big steaming pot. Followed by the rest of the Lions, they carry plates with dried meat, slices of bread, vegetables and cheese, and place them on the tables for everyone to just pick whatever they want. With a flick of your wrist flames flicker to life inside both fireplaces and the candles on top of the chandelier above your heads. Everyone hurries to find a seat. The students have all changed out of their battle garments into the academy’s summer uniform, its fabric much lighter than the heavy embroidered regular uniform they wore upon your first meeting.

“My dear friends.” Dimitri raises a cup, holding the thin stem between slender fingers. It would look more elegant were its contents not simply orange juice. “To our victory today and many more to follow.”

They raise their cups to toast except for Felix who knocks his drink back as if it were strong liquor he desperately needed to sit through this evening gathering. He doesn’t look as pale as before. A quick check up by Manuela after the battle affirmed that he was alright and simply fatigued from countless sleepless nights spent at the Training Grounds.

The other participants don’t look too bad either. Bruises that vividly blossomed hours ago have faded, swollen purple eyes already start to heal—all certainly thanks to Manuela’s quick work. Sylvain surely won’t be as successful chasing girls with a shiner that makes the prettiest violet jealous of his colour and Dimitri tries to hide it but you don’t miss him tensing from time to time or moving his hand towards his side; probably a bruised rib he doesn’t want anyone to know. He catches your stare and offers a slight, boyish grin under half-closed eyes that only whispers of a shared secret only meant for you two. It does a funny thing to your stomach, a flip or drop, a light twist like missing a step and the fear of falling only to meet solid ground a split second later. You quickly look away and focus on spreading curd on a loaf of bread, not trying to think too much about how the muscles strained under his clothes wielding his lance or the fierce determination colouring his eyes a shade brighter when victory is in palpable proximity.

You feel a piercing gaze, hot like a solid touch on your skin. Quickly whipping your head around, you catch Felix’s glare from across the room, completely ignoring whatever Sylvain is telling him. It leaves you completely tense for the rest of the dinner, wondering what his problem is and why he is so hostile towards Dimitri specifically. You’ve heard from some students who have walked into an argument those two had, something about a massacre two years ago but details, as is their nature, grow hazy over time and distort until they evolve into something completely different and unrecognisable.

Felix holds your gaze for a long second, and it is only later after you all clean the classroom from your festivities and decide to retire to bed that you catch him by himself. The monastery at night is a desolate, lonely place save for a couple stray souls wandering about, either on their way to their chamber or out for a quick, last evening prayer inside the chapel. Felix’s destination is none of those as he strides towards the Training Grounds and you call out to him. He slows but doesn’t stop his step until you catch up. “You’re on your way to training, right? Shouldn’t you call it a day? Especially after what happened—”

“I’ve got no time sitting around and making smalltalk,” Felix snaps, and a month ago you would have thought he aimed his anger towards you but recently you’ve discovered he’s towards the whole world—always glaring, always hissing like a cornered, wounded animal. “There are more important matters like growing stronger—”

“And suffering from overexertion, I suppose.”

Felix pulls a grimace. “It was a mistake I don’t intend to repeat. You saw Professor Byleth’s strength. It took two of you to win, and even then, it was mostly luck. I just want to try out some moves Professor Byleth exerted today so I can surpass her strength next time I challenger her.”

“Why is it that you seek to fight so much?” you ask, deciding forwardness to be a better approach than idle chatter with a person like Felix. He doesn’t give immediate response, not because he ignores you, as is your first assumption, but because he gives it some thought.

“Why, hm… I learnt to thrust a sword before I learnt to write my name. This is how it is for all children in my country, the perfect environment where I could live free of stodgy values and virtues. Grow strong so you may live, and live to grow stronger. That’s what I was taught.”

It is no secret Faerghus is the land of knights and chivalry, and still it is hard to imagine a small version of Felix wielding a sword even before he learnt how to use a quill, scraped knees instead of black inked fingertips. What a strange world.

“As long as you don’t forget to take a break should it get too much. Everyone was worried today.”

“Everyone should mind their own business. I’m not their problem, and they aren’t mine.”

You’re too tired to argue relationships don’t work like that, any minute longer on your feet and they’ll simply give out. Wishing Felix a goodnight, you turn towards the chapel but don’t get very far.

“Herald.” Felix is halfway through the door. “Let me give you one advice.”

“That is?”

“Don’t get too close to that damn boar.”

You’re about to ask what he’s talking about, but he continues, “Beneath all that princely polish, he’s an animal, nothing more. He’s strong and skilled, sure. But don’t place your trust in him as a human being. Take care he doesn’t chew you up and spit you out.”

Not waiting for a response, Felix moves on, leaving you with more questions than answers. Every creature with two eyes can see hostility between Dimitri and Felix crackling like lightning about to strike the ground and burn down forests and villages. But to go this far and say these words about his future king … Words that couldn’t be more contrary to the impression he’s left on you.

Whatever Felix wanted to accomplish, his words succeed to remain in your head the whole night, driving off any sleep you direly needed after that day. But even without that, your mind is occupied with questions. It is like stumbling into a spider web, sticky tangles everywhere with no way out.

Who is that man you remembered? It was such a brief, yet striking memory, of what moment you cannot recall. His hostility was evident in his stance, sharp sword high up to drive down with enough force to cut your head from your shoulders. And yet here you are.

And your words, You don’t have it in you. If you were familiar enough with that person to know this, who was he to you, and what had stopped him? Did he have a change of heart and instead used the blunt end, giving you a concussion and amnesia instead? Where is he now? And would he return to finish his work?

Since that day, you look out for anyone fitting that built: tall and lean, visible even through robes with a design completely different from anything you’ve seen around the monastery. Asking Rhea or Seteth could be an option, but strangely enough, you don’t want to reveal it to anyone yet, not until you’ve found an answer yourself first.

That is how your first moon at the monastery passes. Now there are more questions than before, more secrets to carry with no clear goal in sight. Lessons continue, you attend seminars and life unfolds in Garreg Mach, surprising you how easy it is growing accustomed and familiar with the place and its people—some more so than others.

Byleth still invites you to her obligatory weekend-tea time sessions, rarely accepting no for an answer even though tea isn’t really what you consume to wind down. She’s acting like your talk after the mock battle has never happened and you do your best to mimic her even though you’d love nothing more than to see her power in battle. That opportunity shows at the end of the following month when Byleth and her class are tasked to deal with bandits the knights cornered in Zanado, the Red Canyon, but Rhea has different plans and instead sends you with the Golden Deer House to the village at the foot of the mountain to help clear debris a flooding left on one of the main roads leading to Alliance territory. It takes two days until the stench from the muddy riverbank is completely washed out of your hair.

There is still no sight of the man from your memory, even though word about the Herald’s return has reached every corner of Fódlan by now. It makes you wonder if it’s less a matter of if and rather when he sets food inside the monastery. No additional memory has resurfaced, no sudden epiphany provides explanation and you doubt that will change even though Seteth drags you inside the chapel to pray for the goddess’ help whenever his time allows. Mostly, you use those occasions to ask her to make Raphael and Ingrid leave some Nirvana Cake for you.

Then there is your other little secret of course. After another month of waking to an indistinguishable voice calling out to you every once in a while, you’ve grown used to it, finding a strange comfort in someone or something looking over you. Maybe it is the goddess. Maybe she is trying to reach out to tell you something important, to give divine insight and reach out to her followers. You just hope once she comes through to you, her words won’t proclaim hardships and sorrow.

41 notes · View notes

sevensided · 3 years

Note

how did you get into writing fic? i'd love to start but idk even where to begin! I loved adats so I was wondering do you have any advice?

Oh my goodness! I am so flattered you’ve asked me this. Yes, I can absolutely help. I’ll throw a bunch of rambling under the cut.

I started writing fic probably when I was... sixteen years old? A lot of my early works were oneshots. I couldn’t figure out how to do anything plot heavy for the life of me, so I just stuck to AUs or whatever I felt like. I wasn’t in any particular fandom -- I really wrote whatever I had ideas for. I remember I tried once to do a plot-heavy story and I received a review absolutely ripping it to shreds. Like, it was so cruel I cried lol. I ended up deleting the fic. Years later, I get what they were trying to say (basically, more substance, less style), but at the time it cut to the quick. Really, it was only when I was in my twenties that I started writing work that was longer and/or better.

The fandom that helped me actually write plot heavy work was a historical-based fandom. As I’m a historian, it was perfect. I got to use my research skills and knowledge to create works that, above all, aimed to feel authentic. I mainly read historical fiction, so I was familiar with how that genre worked. Miraculously, people loved my work. I think I wrote about ~200k in the period of a year? These were several short stories (20-40k) and a few oneshot filler fics. While I was part of this fandom I also helped organise a Big Bang which was a lot of hard work but was extremely rewarding. Along with that, I interacted mainly with other fic writers, so I spent a lot of time chatting to people about ideas and encouraging other writers, and it just created a lovely medley where no concept was impossible or any line of dialogue too difficult. We supported each other and it was truly like a little commune. I gradually stepped away from the fandom mainly because it was just a part of my life at a very specific time, and almost as soon as that time was over, my love for that story/ship faded, but I firmly believe I figured out a lot of how/what I do now purely through that experience.

Regarding ADATS

With ADATS, it stemmed entirely from wanting to “explain” three months in canon (at the end of season three). I was interested in the idea of season four setting up Will/Mike in canon, and I wanted to test the source material to see if I could draw from what already existed to create something authentic. I began with that simple idea: what happened from July to October in 1985? Then I thought about the major themes I wanted to hit -- family, friendship, coming of age, sexuality -- and I nested them around the bigger concept: how do I get Mike from being ostensibly straight to realising he is gay? That meant thinking of two steps: Mike discovering his attraction to guys; Mike discovering his attraction to Will. Those two concepts were separate “arcs” that needed addressing in different ways. Balance was key to weaving them together and making the reader feel like they knew what was coming (and that they felt smart for putting the pieces together) without just rushing through and going “now kiss!” That’s partly why ADATS needs a sequel, lol: because it’s not finished!

Writing process

The first thing I do when I start to get an idea is I write it down. Sounds obvious. But when you have a killer line of dialogue come to you in the shower and you think “I’ll remember that” -- reader, you will not remember it. You gotta get it down ASAP! I do that the whole way through, as generally I’ll be thinking of scenes I’m stuck on and then it’ll just come to me and I’ll quickly jot it down.

The next thing -- or what I do in the meantime -- is start structuring. I plan. I try to plan a lot. Sometimes it’s okay to write “and something happens here to get them here”, because you’ll figure it out later, but for the most part I’ve discovered that planning is like gold and you can’t get enough of it. I break my work up into generally 3-4 parts/sections, and I treat each section like a mini story. So each part needs a conflict and resolution, and it needs to flow into the next section. You need to have a feeling of things evolving and maturing. Once I’ve planned those little bits, I start thinking about the bigger plot arc and how I can drop in hints along the way. I’m probably not a subtle or skilled enough writer to yet pull off that sort of gasping twist you get in really excellent books, but I’m trying to get there. It’s hard, is what I’m trying to say, but that’s okay, because we’re all learning.

Then I generally do aesthetic stuff. Sounds stupid, probably. But nothing helps me get more into a mood than doing a Pinterest board or -- most of all -- making a Spotify mix. I start thinking about the vibe and the general atmosphere, and then I almost exclusively listen to that mix when I’m working. Sort of like muscle memory? Just to get the creative juices associated with that particular selection of songs.

Another thing I’ll do along with plot structure is character structure. This is a biggie. I mean, a story is nothing without characters. So I’ll just jot down a bunch of bullet points of characters and particular aspects that I want to highlight or remember. I hate continuity errors in fiction. Like, if someone says they work on Maple Street but later in the fic they’re working on Pine Street. I hate that. So I keep note of specific things that my main character might notice at repeated points in the story (colours, places, smells, names, sounds -- so they’re all consistent even as the narrative evolves). That’s another thing -- your characters’ motivations. Not everyone is going to be a huge player, but they all do serve a purpose. The most important character is obviously your main character. I personally think it’s important to let your M.C. be an arse at times. They’re going to be mean, they’re going to misinterpret things or fly off the handle... just let ‘em. Let them be wretched humans, and then bring them back and make them realise what they’ve done. Let them learn! I love consequences in fiction, lol.

At the same time, I’ll probably start writing. We’ve already written down some snippets of neat dialogue or descriptions, but now we should start the actual process. For me, I used to start at the beginning. Usually this was the most fleshed out anyway: I’ll have a clear idea of the beginning and the end, but nothing in the middle. These days, if I have a scene in mind that I can’t forget, I’ll just write it. It will possibly get scrapped or rewritten, but that’s okay, because at least you’ve got it down and now you can devote your brain power to something useful (like figuring out what the middle is supposed to be). I’ll have half a dozen of totally out of context scenes just littered in my Word document that I’ll add to as I go along. Eventually, though, you’re going to start writing properly, and that’s when you write your opening scene.

Opening scenes: super important. Every time I write a scene I think: what is the point of this? What do I want the reader to learn or takeaway? Sometimes you do have filler scenes, but they also serve a different purpose (perhaps to establish a group dynamic or to explore/describe a character’s surroundings). Mainly, though, every scene should push something forward in some way, whether it’s character development or a plot point. So, with an opening scene, I always think you have to establish: where you are; who you are; what they are doing; where they’ve come from (in a philosophical and practical sense); and where they’re going (ditto). That doesn’t have to happen in the first paragraph -- that would be silly. But if you sprinkle that information in over time it’ll gradually build up a picture of your character and that way the reader can get an idea of who they are. You basically need to give a snapshot of what your story is about. This also goes back to the character creator stuff: where they are at the start should be different to where they end up. How that happens is, of course, because of plot, and because you’ve structured everything to the nth degree, we’ve got a very clear progression of that character’s growth (/s easier said than done lol).

General advice

Write down everything: every idea, a bit of dialogue, a description, whatever. Write it down. Doesn’t have to be neat. Just has to be on paper. You can’t remember everything, so if you’re spending time trying to hold those things in your head, it’s taking up space for new ideas to come along.

Structure, plan, structure, plan. Sometimes it’s boring and I hate it. Other times, when I’ve not written in a few days and I open the Word doc and think wtf is this supposed to be, I am very grateful for Past Me for leaving such detailed notes. Seriously, it helps so much. Oneshots don’t really need planning, in my experience. You just get those out there. But multi-chaptered stories really do, even ones that “just” focus on a relationship.

Whatever you want to write, commit to it. Space goblins invade Hawkins? Do it. Eleven and Max find themselves in a cult akin to Midsommar (2019) and must escape? Yes. Just... whatever you want to do, remember that you’re writing it for you. Write what most interests you, what makes you when you reread it go AHHHHH I LOVE THIS!! Because that makes it a thousand times easier to actually get on with the writing when you enjoy what you’re doing.

Write a lot. Every day, if you can, or at least at designated times. Occasionally I have a very specific headspace/vibe I have to be in, but sometimes it just hits me and I’ll say to my partner “I need to write now” and just disappear, lol. The more you write the more you write. It’s so, so, so true. Cannot emphasise this enough. When I wrote that ~200k in twelve months? It was because I literally wrote every. day. Or near enough. Remember that some days you’ll write 200 words, and other days you’ll write 20k (this happened to me with ADATS -- part of the reason I finished it so quickly was because I had sprints of writing 10k+ at a time that only happened because I was in the rhythm of it). Write, write, write. Who cares if it’s crap! No one will see it until you are ready. In the meantime, just write!

Probably last of all (although I could go on and on) is connect with other writers. If you’re struggling to start, sometimes just talking about it can help a huge amount. I hope it goes without saying that you can message me whenever you want, anon or not, and I will talk to you. We can talk about ideas or I can beta stuff, whatever you want! Find like-minded people and talk to them about what you want to do. Another thing this helps is in advertising your work when you do publish. I see a lot of first time fic writers get super down because they publish their magnum opus on AO3 but no one comments. Honestly, it’s because no one knows you’ve published! You don’t have to be tooting your own horn every which way, but just actively talking about your work and even collaborating with other content creators with get you hyped and other people too (and the input and encouragement other fandom members give is just... out of this world. Anon messages helped me finish ADATS when I was really worried I wouldn’t [that’s the truth]. Seriously, support is everything). When you have people excited about your work, you get excited. It’s really as simple as that.

I could go on but this is already horrendously long. I hope even a bit of this helps! If you want to chat or have any more questions, just hit me up any time.

#writing tips #writing help #writing advice #answered #i really hope this helps/answers your question!#i can do something more structured if you want #otherwise here are just my initial thoughts #Anonymous

61 notes · View notes

heartofsnark · 3 years

Text

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Four): Leave My Head Among The Stars

Notes: Okayyyyyy, so here’s the thing, I started to write this chapter and what I planned to have in it and then I suddenly had 66 pages of content. So, I had to split it up. So I have three chapters, including this one, written up. So, these next couple updates for this will be fairly quick. I’m trying to get to johnny quick, but act 1 is a doozy, I hope you’re still enjoying the content though.

Word Count: 9268

Chapter Warnings: Mild violence, weird sexual tension,

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

Fingernails scratch at V’s back, the merc whining as she’s gently stirred awake. Her eyes are still blurry with sleep and the sun is just beginning to filters in through her window when she looks up at the older woman. Sunlight illuminates Cecelia, makes her freckles stand out on her tanned skin and turns her eyes molten gold. Her lips move and V has to refocus, not just stare at the far too out of her league woman, and focus on reading her lips.

“….work….”

That’s all she can read across Cecelia’s lips and she grumbles, rolling off of the older woman. V wraps her blankets tightly around herself, forming a cocoon as her fuckbuddy leaves the bed. She watches for a minute, before it hits her; she makes a vague disgruntled noises as she grabs the hem of Cecelia’s shirt, stopping her from leaving. The older woman looks at her for a moment, like a deer caught in headlights as she looks at the sleepy curled up merc tugging at her clothes.

“Pancakes…” Is all V says, assuming her voice sounds as heavy with sleep as it feels, she grabs some eurodollars off her bedside table. The merc pushes the money into Cecelia’s hands, paying her for the food she brought in last night. Cecelia’s face drops, though V’s sleep laden brain can’t begin to understand why.

“Well...kinda...feel...prostitute,” V’s unfocused eyes struggles to read Cecelia’s lips, but she can fill in the blanks. That this exchange of money, even if meant for pancakes, has made Cecelia feel like a prostitute.

“Don’t worry,” V yawns, signing a little sloppy from exhaustion, “I don’t pay for sex, so you’re fine.”

Then V’s passed back out against her pillow.

V wakes up, an hour or so later, rolling out of her sheets, Cecelia already long gone. She rubs at her sleep laden eyes and shoots a quick text to Jackie, letting him know she’s ready to meet up whenever he is, so she can see his big news. He texts back almost immediately, proclaiming he’s on his way. V decides to use her time to quickly clean up the mess of last night; cleaning her toy and changing out her sheets. She’ll have to do laundry soon, but that’s an issue for later tonight… or later this week...or month. V will figure it out, at some point. She grabs a quick shower and changes her clothes.

Despite the heat, she opts for a cropped hoodie, jeans, and her old slightly ratty backpack. Her mask, air hypos, max docs, bounce backs and extra weapons packed inside along with ammo. Night City necessities. It may seem like a bit much but, her mask can’t fit in her pocket and Jackie likes to spring gigs on her. She slides her optic contact case in her pocket, alongside her phone, turns on her translator choker, then puts in her hearing aids. Her ears twinge, still a little raw, she was more focused on sleeping than doctoring them last night.

She tucks her favorite knife into a thigh holster and her preferred gun in a hidden holster in her waistband. Armed to the teeth, V ties her boots and heads out the door, letting it lock behind her, nose twinging again at the smell as soon as steps out. V starts out through the big walkway that goes into balconied steps, though the view is just more apartments, the elevator that leads to the front is a floor down across from one of the clusters of shops that sit on that floor. Every couple of floors there's a services level. In this one megabuilding alone there are probably twenty restaurants and forty gun shops. Hell, her vending machine in her apartment has the option to order a joytoy or sex droid from the brothel eight floors up.

Her holophone buzzes, bleeps, and lights up inside of her pocket as she walks past the cluster of vending machines. She checks, expecting a text from Jackie, that he’s already waiting on her. And instead groans.

REMINDER, TAKE YOUR MEDICATION!!!!!!! :3

Her phone notification screams at her and she groans under her breath. She stomps back up the stairs and back into her apartment, grabbing a flat Nicola Sakura and using it to swallow down her immunosuppressants, then she leaves her apartment, again. V’s mentally cursing her own forgetfulness, she can remember to keep twenty different weapons on her, but her medication manages to slip her mind routinely.

The chatter of strangers fills the services floor as she walks through, past the initial pocket of vending machines, then restaurant stands, and then as if to mock her when she eats that garbage; a gym section of the floor. All of which is followed by a gun shop. It's all a weird medley of sounds and smells that her sensitive self struggles with.

Theres the clinging of sodas from the vending machines, the searing sound of cooking dishes, the talk of strangers, the grunts of people working out, the thwacking of people hitting punching bags, the clanging of weights, advertisements screaming at her to buy something, the muffled sound of gunfire from the Second Amendement’s shooting range, and robotic whirrs of Coach Fred’s punching bag robot.

And the smells, dear lord the smells. Gunpowder, sweat, and cooking food; all mingled with people’s own body odor or perfumes with just a sprinkle of hot trash.

She considers turning her hearing aids off and grabbing her chapstick, as she passes by Coach Fred’s section of the floor where he offers boxing training, a raised platform to box on. He punches and trains against his training droid.

“Hey, V!” The older man calls out, before she can mute the world, padded robot stopping next to him, “How you like my new Punchin' Bag? Just gave me a nextgen ass-whoopin', he did. Be curious to see how he handles the likes of V... Heh. So how 'bout it?”

“Pff,” V can’t help but scoff just a little, Coach Fred is easy a foot or more taller than her and more muscular, but he wants to see her take the damn thing on, “sure.”

“Light on your feet. Keep that head movin'!” The boxer tells her as she steps up into the crude boxing area and he steps out.

V cracks her knuckles as the automated training bot stands in front of her, the small merc raises her fists, all the only sign the droid needs to initiate combat mode. It swings a right hook at her and she dodges. A left hook next and she blocks, countering with her own punch, knuckles connected with it’s padded head. That first strike knocks it off balance enough to land two more, the bot stopping in defeat. Easy enough, maybe Coach Fred put it in easy mode?

“You got one helluva punch there, champ. Ever thought of monetizing it? I can arrange a fight or two. Whaddaya say?” The former coach asks her, sitting down on a bench.

She’s not so sure, most of her combat skills being focused on killing opponents and getting the drop stealthily. She can hold her own, but fighting a gangoon on the street where only one of them is going to walk away from it is different from a controlled fight with rules. Sparring with Jackie and the odd training session with Fred or Vik her only experience in boxing. But… money is money. She can give it a shot, go low stakes on the first one, she does well keep going. If she blunders it, no big loss.

“You arrange fights still?”

“Mmhmm and I think you got a knack for this, You've got sharp instinct, good edge. You can go far, especially if you get chipped. These fights… let's just say they aren't legal. Buuut… very lucrative.”

“And you get a cut, I assume.”

“I get a small percentage of the total winnings, you know, as your agent. You get the rest.”

“Of course, I’ll consider it, zip me the details of the first fight.”

“Like I said, good instinct.”

V rolls her eyes and continues through the service floor with a wave bye, passing by a Fuyutsuki and someone spray painting a cement wall. The bright neon red of the Second Amendment gun shop sign bathes the end of the services floor, just across from the elevator.

“V!” Wilson calls out and by god, why’d she turn on her hearing aids, “got some sweet new .45’s in, come take a look!”

“Can’t right now, in a rush, when I get back, promise!” She signs quickly, uses her elbow to jam the call elevator button.

It thankfully reaches her floor fairly quickly, allowing her to wave a quick bye to the older man, and stepping inside. There’s a slight relief as the doors close and she hits the floor she needs, the elevator carriage rocking into movement. While the screens still play advertisements, it's one sound, instead of a hundred. She uses some more lip balm, vanilla flavor on her lips and the sweet smell hitting her nose.

She adjusts the volume slightly on her hearing aids, lowering it just a bit more as the elevator comes to a stop. While not technically a services floor, the front entrance of the building is nearly as bad. There are at least ten or more restaurant stands in that area, V walking past everyone trying to sell her a burger or hot dog.

The sunlight hits her as she walks down the stairs that lead to her building and she spots Jackie, well his back. He’s sitting at a food stand that’s a very short walk from the building, because there certainly is not enough inside of the building. He’s got his face buried in a takeout box of synth-beef chow mein, not even noticing as V creeps up on him.

V’s nearly at his back and the street vendor raises an eyebrow, no doubt wondering if his customer is about to be robbed. Then she’s jumping to throw her arms around Jackie’s neck in a mock headlock, more so just hanging off the giant’s back.

“And its V with the headlock~” She jokes, voice low in his ear and he laughs. His chuckle making his chest vibrate and she can feel it.

“Someone’s feeling better,” he comments as she detangles from his back, “you, get your beauty sleep or…?”

He waggles his eyebrows at her as she climbs up onto the seat next to him, swinging a foot out to kick him. Her boot just bouncing back off his shin.

“I don’t kiss and tell, Jackie, you know that,” she signs and rolls her eyes, red flushing up her cheeks at the thought of giving details.

“Yeah, I just like seeing your face go that shade of pink, hehe.”

“I swear to god if your big news was just an excuse to give me shit.”

“Nah nah, got something to show you, first, chica.” Jackie grins ear to ear, like the cat that ate the canary. He tosses his trash into a bin and smacks her shoulder to follow him, bouncing like a kid on their way to the christmas tree.

“I’m already terrified,” she taunts as she hops down and follows him to a curb, a motorcycle parked there.

It's an Arch Nazare, slightly older model but not ancient by any stretch. From the sideview, the detailing is slick. Black with red branding and detailing, the exhaust and some pipework a bright gold color. The gold’s a little gaudy for her liking, But, she sideyes Jackie. His favorite red and black jacket, heavy gold jewelry bouncing on his chest. Gonk probably sunk more into the paint job then he did the actual bike. She can’t help but chuckle and when he proudly leans against the bike, his grin ear to ear, megawatt and shining brighter than the sun. When she peeks at the top detailing she can see a Calavara style skull decal on the dash. It screams Jackie.

“What’cha think, jaina?”

“It's beautiful and very you; how’d you manage to score a ride like that? Custom paint job too, I presume. Must have cost a pretty penny.”

“Muy peque, took out a loan , but ah, totally worth it. Got her on the cheap actually, Dorsett job dividend.”

“You already blew your cash from that job?”

“Someday you’re gonna have to actually spend your money and live a little, V, you know that?”

“Nothing wrong with saving back for something nicer down the road,” she retorts, thinking of her little jar of cash in the storage space beneath her bed. She’s been trying to take so much from every payday aside to save.

“And uh, what are you saving for again?”

“....a Kusanagi...or a Projectile Launcher...or a bigger apartment...or…”

“You’re stockpiling cash and you don’t even know what for, chica,” he laughs at her indecision, her ultimate splurge item she’s saving for changes weekly, “look, check this out.”

He straddles the motorcycle and turns the ignition, the Arch roaring to life and it’s… loud and rumbly, not even remotely subtle. She can picture it now, him showing up to a gig on it and getting blasted to pieces immediately.

“No, V, don’t,” he cuts the engine, pointing a finger at her from where he sits on the motorcycle.

“What?”

“Don’t make that face at me!”

“What face?”

“The face you make when you’re about to piss all over my parade.”

“I do not piss on your parade.”

“You do and you’re about to do it right now, I know you V, you got a billion thoughts rattling around that skull of yours and not one of them is good.”

“All I was going to say…”

“Mmhmm.”

“Is, you should maybe consider swapping out the tailpipe.”

“It’s got a rumble, the chicas love that.”

“It’s got a rumble that tells every gangoon within a twenty mile radius that you’re coming their way.”

“Fair enough.”

“And… you should probably tinker with the fuel injection too, upload a new map, and slap on some thermal tape until you fix the exhaust.”

“V!”

She folds her hands on his shoulder, then balances her chin on top of them, giving him puppy dog eyes. He’s huffy, not meeting her gaze. V knows damn well her tendency to be a buzzkill, especially in comparison to Jackie. Its a bad habit that always leaves her feeling guilty, but also an impulse, because...if she isn’t prepared for worst case scenarios...that’s death.

“But I am really happy for you, it's a gorgeous ride and you look like a total badass on it.” She whispers, close enough that only Jackie can hear, hoping the honey sweet words will make him feel better. And she can see the smile pulling at his lips, that soon becomes that big grin she loves as he finally meets her gaze.

“Okay, okay, your buzzkilling is forgiven. You can stop blowing wind up my ass.”

“Hehe,” her face drops with realization, “Jackie, where’s my car?”

“Oh, uh, I dropped it off to my guy, Miguel. Fixed it up like new, you can call it whenever you want. But I figured, you’d rather grab a ride on this baby.”

“Ooooh, hell yeah.”

“C’mon, was planning on stopping by Misty’s, lets go.”

That’s all the provocation V needs, hopping onto the back of the Arch. The backseat space is limited, Jackie taking up the vast majority of the seat. But she slips behind him easily, wrapping her arms around his stomach. Her hands can’t quite fully meet around him, having to just tangle her fingers in the front of his jacket. Then the engine comes roaring to life, Jackie taking off from the curb.

She can’t help but laugh, Jackie not holding back as they go speeding down the city roads. He blasts the radio, blaring a song she doesn't know from the bike's speaker, mingling with Jackie's laughter and the wind whipping around them.

But it's not overwhelming, not too much, never could be with Jackie.

They weave through traffic, riding on the middle lane and not letting anything stop them as they pick up more and more speed. She’s pressed tight against his back, leeching off his warmth as the wind manages to send a little chill up her spine. Her cheeks ache from grinning as they cruise over a hill in the highway, catching air for a moment, her entire body bouncing when the bike hits the road again. If not for her tight hold on his jacket, she might have gone flying which only makes her laugh harder.

He doesn't slow down until they start to reach the stretch of city where Misty's store and Vik's clinic are, Jackie slowly pulling up onto a curb to park. Their bodies shifting forward at the stop, V’s chest pressing even closer into Jackie’s back for a moment.

"Joyrides over, jaina," he says, playfully tapping her hand where it sits on his stomach.

She lets go, allowing her friend to pull away and get off the motorcycle. His body language starts to shift, as he stands in front of her, looking off somewhere else. He takes a deep enough breath that she can see his chest move with it, then he crosses his arms and kicks at the pavement.

"She's a smooth ride," V signs to him, swinging her legs over the side of the bike so she can face him directly. Is he second guessing his decision? She didn't mean to make him feel bad about the choice.

"Uh," Jackie scratches at the back of his neck, "remember what I said, about having big news?"

"Is..the Arch not the big news?" She asks, pulling a leg up onto the motorcycle and resting an elbow on her knee.

"Ah nah, I'm proud of it, but this...chica, is so much bigger than that.”

"Okay...you wanna tell me or…?"

"Got a sweet ass j-o-b lined up for us; you, me, and Bug."

"I get the feeling this is different from our usual gig.”

“I mean, maybe it's not as big as that,” he puts his hands on his hips and shrugs, trying to play coy with his news, “Just that it's fronted by a little-known someone named Dexter DeShawn.”

“What!?”

“Only the top fixer in Night-fuckin'-City! Fat-assed Black Jesus of the Afterlife. Three hundred pounds of partly gold-plated cool.”

Dex Deshawn is one of Night City’s best, a fixer known for working in the Afterlife club, where the best jobs and contracts are done. Two baby mercs like her and Jackie couldn’t dream to set foot in the place, still cutting their teeth and making their name. Hell, Dex hasn’t even been active in NC for two years and V’s still heard of him, leaving that much of a mark on the city. But, she chews the inside of her cheek.

“He’s back in the city?” She asks first, wanting as much detail as possible.

“Yeah, gang wars two years back. Somehow Dex got caught up in the craziness. Lotta bodies lyin' in the streets by the time the shootin' stopped. Eh, Dex got lucky, though. Managed to slip under the radar tir tempers cooled. Took a while… but he's made one hell of a comeback.”

“Two years is a hell of a break, the fuck was he doing?”

“Ah, guessin' he shoved pizzas in his mouth while jerkin' off to hardcore virtus. Important thing is he's back, needs a fresh crew and he found us.”

If he’s made such a comeback and is still that high up in the underground world, why would Dex come to them? They’ve been steadily building themselves up over the past six months sure, a solid network of fixers who work with them and a reputation for clean work. But, they still aren’t legends, not major league players. V isn’t even chipped much beyond the basics. People like Dex have a black book of borged out solos with corp money funding them, that can do basically anything they can do but better and quicker.

Only difference is, they’d be cheaper. So, unless he’s looking to exploit them for some rinky dink shit job…

“Okay,” she signs, deciding to just ask, “but why the hell would he be scouting us? You and me ain’t exactly major leagues yet.”

“You, me - nah. But T-Bug, she's the one that hooked us up, got us talkin’ knew it was a done deal the moment he laid eyes on me. 'Cause, c'mon - ain't nobody who can resist this. Am I right?”

“Wait, when? Where the fuck was I?”

“Uhhh, probably in the sheets with Cece, if I had to guess.”

“You said you had a date with Misty last night!?”

“I did, didn’t I.”

“What the fuck, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Dex is big on meeting his crew members one on one. Wanted to get a read on me, without anyone else around. No point in getting you excited until he was sold on me."

“Okay, fine,” she rolls her eyes, she would have appreciated a heads up, but there’s worse tragedies, “So, what’s the gig? He give you the specs?”

“Well, that's the thing, you see. Our lord and savior wants to tell you everything himself. Face to face, have your turn in the hot seat.”

“Oh, okay… how’d it go with you and Bug?” She can’t help the nerves suddenly bubbling up inside of her. V has to meet one of Night City’s top fixers, convince him she’s worth hiring. That’s only vaguely terrifying.

“Eh, not that bad, but… T-Bug and Dex go way back. And my face is yesterday's news, you’re the wild card here. Dex says he needs to check you, talk to you No pressure, but the whole thing is riding on you at this point.”

“Yeah, no pressure.”

“Ain’t as bad as you think, okay? Trust me. Dex is the real deal when it comes to fixers. Don't get me wrong, don't got nothin' against the Padre or Wakako, but… Dex is in a league of his own You know what I'm sayin'?”

“Still a fixer, may just be roping in the cheapest gonks he can find, so he can drop our corpses in the landfill once everything is said and done.”

“Hey now,” his tone dipping a little lower than usual, “didn’t pull you out of the trash just to see someone to throw you back in, mija.”

She doesn’t miss the softness in his eyes, the hazel green looking at her so affectionately, then his large warm hand ruffles through her hair, bringing that tinge of red back to her cheeks. Mija is a rare term of endearment from him, just that bit more familiar and sweet than his usual chica or jaina. As much as she worries, she knows if anything does go sideways, Jackie will be there to help her.

“I know that, Jackie,” she signs, then jabs his stomach, trying to dispel the tender mood, she searches for a topic switch,“so, when's the meet with Dex?”

"Uhh...now."

"What?"

"Just around the corner, next to Gramsci Burgers, he's waiting on you."

"What!?" She blinks, in disbelief. V has to meet him, today, now. Completely unprepared. Has Jackie lost his goddamn mind?

"Time sensitive stuff, V, we gotta get this ball rolling, and quick.”

“And you couldn’t have said any of this before?”

“No worries, you’ll be fine, I’m gonna go pop in to see Misty,” he points his thumb back over his shoulder, “while you talk us up and seal the deal, alright?”

“Not alright, none of this is alright.”

“You got this, chica, just make us look good.” With a heavy clap on her shoulder, he starts to walk away. Fucker.

“I’ll key your fucking bike!” She signs, upping the volume on her translator.

“Love you too, jaina, text me when you’re done!~” He yells back, knowing her threat is an empty one.

Then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd around the storefronts. V groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. Why on earth does she let him do this shit? A heads up, that’s all she asks for. Now, she has a meeting with one of the most influential fixers in Night City, with no idea of what to say or how to handle it. Make them look good, how the hell does she do that? He’s a loud mouth and she’s deaf, they sound more like a sitcom duo than a competent pair of mercs.

V shuts off her choker translator and gets her mask from her bag, sliding it onto her face and putting her hood up. The young merc climbs down from Jackie’s bike, leaving the dusty boot print on the seat, a little bit of petty rearing its head. She wrings and twists her hands together as she walks towards Gramsci’s Burgers, boots stomping across trash strewn pavement. She passes by hot pink tinted windows in buildings with strippers dancing to entice passerbys, a large open alleyway where a few groups of homeless people cluster in together.

The merc keeps her head down as she passes a skirmish between a group of Tyger Claws and the NCPD, a blood bath beneath an overpass. Between pigs or tigers; she has no preference. Not her fight. The sound of an emp grenade being thrown, pushes the merc to change the side of the street she walks on, she’s gotten used to the violence of Night City before the smell.

Shaded beneath a cement overpass is a sleek black limousine; Chevillion Thrax 388 Jefferson. An expensive well armored vehicle, one that certainly suits a man of Dex’s status. If the car itself was not enough protection the six foot seven bodyguard standing outside the rear doors tops it off. A portion of his face silver plated and his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. She takes a few steps closer when the large stoic mass of a man sees her. He says nothing, only opening the rear door.

V swallows the lump in her throat and adjusts her mask; nerves pit in her stomach, a chilled sweat on her skin that doesn’t come from the August heat.

The smoke hits her first when she starts to climb inside the car, despite the open windows and door, choking her through her mask. If it were anyone other than Night City’s top fixer, she’d already be gone. Instead she sits in the leather seats, sitting next to Dex. While crude, Jackie’s description was apt.

Dex Deshawn is a large man; dark dreadlocks and a rounded belly. He puffs away on a cigar, his right arm gold from the elbow down. The fixer and Jackie have similar tastes in colors it seems; red, black, and gold. Gold cyberware, a gold watch, and gold chains all adorn the fixer. Red leather vest over a black shirt and red tinted sunglasses hiding his eyes. The guard shuts the car door.

“Miss V, masked merc herself. A pleasure,” he greets her, his voice deep and smooth. His bodyguard is moving to get into the driver's seat.

“Happy to meet you,” she signs and she can see a little twitch in his eyebrow, as her tech translates. Its unorthodox.

“Weren’t joking ‘bout you; no face, no name, and no voice,” he chuckles, seemingly amused at her quirks before speaking to the driver, “let's roll.”

A beat of silence, V’s mind already spinning at those words. Jackie is incredibly excited for this gig, she’d hate to be the reason it tanks, not to mention it’s a great chance for her too. A chance into the major leagues, to really prove herself and make bank doing it. But if Dex is… put off by her secretive tendencies and unorthodox presentation, that could spell disaster.

“Mind if I ask you something right off the bangle?” Dex’s voice pulls her back from her thoughts, the car moving as the fixer switches his cigar from gold fingers to flesh ones.

“Go for it.”

“Would you rather live in peace as Miss Nobody, die ripe, old and smelling slightly of urine? Or go down for all times in a blaze of glory, smellin' near like posies, 'thout seeing your thirtieth?”

The question takes her aback for a moment and the gears in her head start to turn. Honestly, she never even thought she’d make it to twenty. Felt like she’s been living on borrowed time ever since she was a kid; the first press of iron against her skull from her own father at nine. There are corpos pushing two-hundred and she can’t comprehend living beyond thirty. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t want a long, happy life. But, it’s never seemed like an option. She doesn’t necessarily want to die young, it just seems inevitable, but she can’t say she truly cares if she dies old either.

“Quiet life was never on the table for me. But, truth is, no matter the lifestyle you live, we’re all one stroke of bad luck away from death.”

“That so?”

“Look, I’ve been dodging death all my life. Been shot, beat, stabbed, hacked, strangled; you name it, someone’s done it to me. More close calls than I can count. And I’m still sitting here. This girl used to live with her sister, just a few floors above mine. Then she caught a stray bullet coming home from the gas station. Went to buy a snack and a gang fight broke out. She wasn’t in a gang, wasn’t a merc, just a nineteen year old kid who’d chat my ear off about how she wanted to have her own bakery one day. So, why did I make it to twenty and she didn’t? “

Death doesn’t discriminate and it doesn’t care what kind of life you’re trying to live. Its nipped at her heel all of her life, but hasn’t taken her and won’t until it’s damn ready. What’s the point in hypothesizing whether her life will kill her sooner or if she’d live longer if she settled down; neither are a guarantee of anything. She might as well live her life how she sees fit, hit the major leagues, and death will strike her whenever it sees fit. V has watched and heard so many tales of those in her megabuilding, good people, better than her… losing their lives for no good reason. Because there is none; no logic to suffering, no rhyme nor reason to why or when death takes us.

“Jackie did say you think too much,” Dex laughs, “though maybe he just doesn’t think enough.”

“Not the answer you wanted?”

“No right answer, just a pet topic of mine, helps get a read on people. T-Bug voted for the quiet life, been planning her retirement for years. Jackster went blaze of glory, no shock there. And then there’s you, throwing the whole damn question out.”

“Someone’s got to keep you on your toes.”

“Maybe so.”

There’s something in his slight grin, his tone, and smooth voice that tells her this is going well. That somehow, she hasn’t fucked this entire thing up, yet, emphasis on yet. Her hands itch to fiddle with her shirt, no longer signing and needing to keep busy. But she stifles that instinct, forces her leg to not bounce with nerves.

“A’ight,” Dex speaks up after a moment, “listen close. Scannin' a serious job, now. Plain gargantuan compared to smashin' up a scav haunt.”

So, she’s gotten the gig? Don’t act excited, she tells herself, exited puppy merc is not a good look.

“What’s the job?” Moments like this she’s so glad she’s nonverbal, her throat feels like sandpaper. Her palms sweaty as she signs.

“There's this… prototype tech - a biochip, to be precise. Job’s to grab it. Simple.”

“Simple, sure… Assuming the tech belongs to a corp?” It has to be something big for Dex to be scouting for it.

“Mhm - Arasaka. Surely that's no problem?” His brow raises above his glasses.

“Course not, corps fuck us over everyday, be a crying shame not to return the favor every now and again.”

“Shit, you ain’t playing around. Got a feelin' this could be a start of a beautiful friendship built on heaps of eddies.”

“One step at a time, you got some sort of plan for grabbing this chip?”

“Two things,” he holds up two gold plated fingers, “First's a conundrum with the Maelstrom boys. Needs active resolvin', that. Second's a rendezvous. Simple. Client who brought us the job's anxious. She wants to parley with one o' the team.”

V’s face scrunches; why would the client need to meet? Its unusual to say the least, clients don’t usually meet the mercs directly. That’s the entire point of a fixer, a middle man to get them in touch and keep the deal fair. They’ve already got in touch with the fixer and arranged the gig. The hell else do they need?

“What’s the client’s deal? Why she need to meet?”

“Woman's name's Evelyn Parker. Vettin' her wasn't easy. Put the word out was lookin' for any kinda intel…”

The merc rolls her fingers, when Dex’s words drop off, encouraging him to explain further.

“Some brothers from Pacifica got back to me. Tol' me to stop lookin', end of convo, heheh. Anyway, our lil client insisted on meetin' someone with skin in the game - you know, who'll be there for it all. Yours truly'll be remote, T-Bug ain't no people person, and Jackie's only good at some things - I know you know what I mean. Pretty much leaves you.”

“Because I’m sure being unable to see my face or hear my voice will put her right at ease, I’m sure.”

“Ain’t there to give her the warm fuzzies, Miss V. She needs to know I sent a solid merc who does solid work.”

She both gets it and doesn’t. Jackie is the most sociable of their little motley crew, but he can be hard to take seriously, coming across as a bit more goofy. Its not a dig, she loves that about him. But, if you’re trying to convince a client you’ve gotten the best mercs for a job it can be a detriment. T-Bug tends to make people, especially strangers, feel downright insulted. So, V supposes she presents as a middle ground. Serious, yet vaguely off putting in her presentation, but competent and she won’t call the client an idiot even if they are.

“Understood, whats the deal with Maelstrom?”

“Slot in the shard,” he explains, getting a shard from the door compartment, holding it out to her. She takes it and slots into her mask, the interface suddenly clouded with a map and UI interface.

“Got a classic tale for ya. Psychogang, doin' its thing two weeks back jumped a Militech convoy, got away with the gear. Corp don't even know Maelstrom's involved. Now see, convoy was carryin' the Flathead - a little combat bot, a prototype. And I need me that bit o' high-grade military tech. 'Cause if we don't get that bot, we don't get no 'Saka chip. An' we sure as hell don't get no happily ever after. But don't get excited, it's a single-use toy.”

The images shift to show her the bot and its details, it reminds her of a spider. A flat metal base with spindly legs from its sides. The serial coding of the tech comes up.

“Now, I flat out purchased the damn thing from Maelstrom. Problem is, I did so from a gent went by the name of Brick. I say "went" 'cause Brick was the leader. Three days after we'd sealed our deal, his friend and gangmate, one Simon Randall, AKA Royce, plain dropped his ass. Royce is in charge now.”

The interface shows Brick; his actual name Declan Griffin. He has the pretty standard Maelstrom look, more metal than flesh. Glowing red optics implanted into his face, sandy hair shaved on the sides. Then it switches to Royce; no less decked out, but bigger and wider built. His head completely shaved with a thick dark beard; his red eye optics seeming to go further back, like his entire frontal lobe might be gone. Standard Maelstrom attitude; scrap out the flesh that matters, switch it out with chrome and damned the consequences.

“ And I got no way of knowin' if he aims to honor his predecessor's word. To add to this ‘shitstrom,’ one Meredith Stout of Millitech has developed an interest in said convoy.”

A woman pulls onto the screen, long blonde hair slicked back off of her face, icy colored eyes and dressed in tight black corp clothes. Sharp facial features and cyberware around her left eye. Standard corp look. The shard deactivates, nothing more to show, the world comes back to her view.

“New leader, what’s his deal?”

“Straight psychopath- chrome-lovin' kind.”

“And the skirt?”

“Corpo agent, internal affairs, Been skittin' 'round town askin' after the convoy as if her life depended on findin' it. The one lead she got's zip-tied in her trunk. Stick up her ass ain't growin' any shorter, so she must be gettin' desperate. Be wise to think how you could use that,” he smirks, “ ‘Course, to do so you'll need that frazzled cat's info. Sendin’ it now.”

V’s holophone lights up, as Dex’s optics glow beyond his glasses, him sending her the contact information. She’s not entirely sure if and how she’d use the Militech angle.

“Okay, think I got everything I need to get to work.”

“Why that's just music to my ears. I'll set up the meet with Miss Parker at Lizzie's Bar. Flathead, though, is gonna be all you.”

They both go quiet for a moment, V thinking as Dex continues to puff away on his cigar. Dex seems to approve of her, going ahead and giving her the prep work, but this opportunity could still be lost. If the client doesn’t approve or the Maelstrom debacle goes sour. This isn't a done deal, not yet. But she got through step one, which feels herculean. But something is still nagging at her.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Something I wasn’t clear on?”

“Why us, me and Jackie? T-Bug I get, but why me and him?”

“Think I’d be better off looking elsewhere?”

“No, no, I ju-”

“Chill, I’m just teasing, Miss V. I get it, really, not even a year in the city, right?”

“Yeah…”

“As far you’re concerned you’ve barely cut your teeth, right? Wondering why I’m scouting someone out who’s still in merc diaper?”

“About sums it up.”

He’s laughing again, seeming to find her confusion funny, or maybe there’s a joke she’s missing. But that doesn’t make the knot in her stomach go down any easier.

“Talent don’t always recognize itself, I suppose,” he laughs, “thing is I took a break from the city for a good two years and its left me with… a bit of appetite. Wanted to scout a fresh team. New Bug from before and I heard Jackie name around before I took my leave, just in passing not a merc you’d look twice at. Heywood boy with some messy work.”

“Hmm,” she hums behind her mask, hoping this isn’t going to be Dex shit talking Jackie.

“Nothing against the cat, I know you’re chooms, but when I get back to NC and start looking for talent; well turns out Bug is working with Jackie on the regular. Ask her what’s changed, tells me he got himself a new partner. Skilled merc who’s helping him out; stealthy, effective, and damned good at what she does. Bug don’t give out compliments like candy. Ask around a little more, well, damn near every fixer’s got something to say about Jackie and his newest partner Miss V. Six months and she’s more talked about than some mercs who’ve been doing this for years.”

“I don’t know about all that.”

“Believe it or not, I got a couple years on you, Miss V,” he jokes, “so trust me, I know talent when I see it.”

“Thanks.”

Silence falls back over the car ride, V taking in what he’s said. He’s blowing smoke, he has to be, she’s not anything special or talented. She just does a job like anyone else. Maybe Bug’s word does mean a lot, but V still can’t say she’s doing anything more than anyone else.

“One more thing, Miss. V,” Dex says as the car takes a turn, “Quiet life or blaze o' glory?”

She can’t say she has a more concrete answer, still not confident she prefers one to the other. V can’t imagine herself doing anything else, she’s not cut out for it. But, doesn’t mean there aren’t parts of that life she doesn’t crave. Stability, security, and eventually settling down; doesn’t sound too bad. She finds herself thinking of Jackie and Misty. Despite Jackie wanting the blaze of glory, she knows he talks about marrying Misty and having kids one day. His life no more quiet than hers, but he still has plans of becoming a husband and father…

The car starts to slow, pulling up to the curb around Kabuki Market, construction work scaffolding lining a space between two buildings.

“Later, now,” Dex gives a short farewell as the car stops and V gets out of the limo, scuffing her boots across the pavement. The limousine pulls away, leaving V alone on the sidewalk. An empt

She tugs her holophone from her pocket, pulling up Jackie’s contact. The first ring barely starts before he’s answering; his face in a video call panel in her mask’s optics. There’s no doubt in her mind that he’s been messed up with anticipation.

“Just got done chatting with our new fixer.”

“Heheh. Gordito's a big deal - literally and not, yeah?”

“Intense, but guess I faired alright, wants us to klep some tech, but we got prepwork first.There's this combat bot, military prototype. Maelstrom grabbed it. He paid to take it off their hands and then they had a switch in management.”

“Right, right, heard about that. Royce versus Brick - hostile takeover.” Jackie’s tone is terse, uneasy. Valentinos and Maelstrom have a history, while Jackie might have left the Heywood gang, it doesn’t mean that history is suddenly gone.

“Yeah, we got to talk to the new guy, Also gave some details of a Militech agent, in case we could use her to get what we want.”

“Ehhh, I don’t know about that, chica. Militech’s more likely to cut you throat than cut you a deal.”

“Not a fan of getting the corp involved either, but I sincerely doubt they’ll just hand it over. And I really don’t want to have to spend eddies on a tech he already bought.”

“It’s your call V, but I say keep the corpos sidelined.”

“Well, then there’s the other thing. Client who puts the job on the job wants to meet with me.”

“What? Why?”

“Apparently, she’s intent on meeting someone who will be there directly, I got the go ahead.”

“The fuck is Dex gonna do? Ride around in his limo, chat chicks up on the holo?”

“Hey, said it yourself, his job means his rules.”

“Must know what he's doin'… So, how you wanna play this? Maelstrom or Client, what's first?

“Client, she’s the one putting the job on the table. If she doesn’t give us the nod, then there’s no point in risking our neck with Maelstrom.”

“Orale, In that case, I'll head to All Foods, put my nose to the ground, sniff around. Hasta luego.”

Jackie hangs up and V sucks in a heavy breath; checking the time on her holophone. It’s five, an hour until six which is when Lizzie’s opens up. That alone seems like, an interesting choice on the client’s behalf. A braindance club run by the Mox, one of the only gangs V can say she genuinely likes. It’s made up of mostly sex workers who defend other sex workers. The club is mostly used for people to get braindances of the sex workers; but there’s a bar and dancefloor as well. V and Jackie have been there on gigs before. Not a bad little joint, but she has to wonder if this means the client is a Mox, a joytoy trying to rob Arasaka blind?

Speculation will get her nowhere, she decides, rubbing her face under her mask. She has some time and she’s not far from where T-Bug said she should pick up her little gift. A layered roof store on the top of two floored structure across the street, a bridge over the road leading her to it. Having to find a stairway outside the marketplace that loops around to the bridge.

T-Bug sent her to a dark little netrunning shop where a girl wearing dark glasses works at the desk. The exchange doesn’t take long, T-Bug had the clerk save back a Ping quickhack. A fairly basic little daemon that works with V’s mask, contacts, and internal cyberdeck. The clerk lets her play with it, pinging their security camera. Then V’s finding herself leaving the store with barely five minutes killed.

She fiddles with her phone, considering the Militech woman’s contact. Jackie’s right, not that she needed the reminder that corps are a fucking nightmare. But, the truth is she doesn’t truly know what the hell to do about Maelstrom. They need the bot; Dex made that clear. But the chrome loving gangoons don't really like to honor their deals, they’d sooner carve out V’s tongue and replace it with a cyber one just to see what happens. They’re going to expect Jackie and V to pay again. Or they’ll expect a war. And starting a war with a gang, on their turf, while they’re fresh off robbing a Militech convoy… Its a death sentence.

Fuck it, won’t hurt just to meet with the corpo, see if it gives her any ideas. V’s smart enough to handle herself against any corpo bullshit, she decides. Sorry Jackie. She presses the contact and rings Meredith Stout. In a short moment, the corpo woman’s image is in the video call panel. She looks just as she did in the shard, black formal clothes, slicked blonde hair; though the video panel has a layer of smoke as she puffs away on a cigarette.

“Stout here. Start by telling me how you got this number,” she says, a cold sharp tone and it sounds like there's a man groaning, struggling somewhere out of view.

“Little birdy told me you lost a convoy,” V teases, and can see Stout’s expression draw tight, brows furrowed. Then theres another groan, louder and sharper.

“You! Shut him up!” a smack rings out, “Spill what you know. Don't make me wait.”

“Not over the phone, meet me in person and we’ll cut a deal.”

“A deal… Fine. First exit off Skyline driving towards the NID. Storm channel under the overpass - meet you there.”

It’s still not that far away, roughly a five minute drive through China Town and up to Northside. Balls deep in Maelstrom territory; meaning Militech must already have an idea of who’s stole their shit. Not that they truly need the tech back, the militarized corp could lose a few hundred tanks and not see a dent in their bottom line. But pride or something.

She calls her car from her holophone when she reaches the road, her car pulling next to her in just a few moments. V climbs into her car and cringes when the radio turns on as soon as she starts the engine, Jackie’s station of choice coming on. She flips it off and drives, watching as Night City somehow manages to get worse as she gets closer to the meeting spot. Northside, use to be a hub of jobs and opportunity, now its just abandoned buildings covered in Maelstrom graffiti. V would call it the bad part of Night City, if not for every other part of Night City. But it is the biggest eyesore. Hell, Pacifica is a crime infested mess, but at least your mugging will have an ocean view.

V doesn’t go all the way down below the overpass, choosing not to meet them directly and immediately by going through the tunnel. Instead, she takes a left near Charter Street, going up towards the top of the overpass. She stops as the road is cut off by rickety metal gating, a homeless man passing through. V parks and walks through, there’s a bridge that crosses over the storm channel and she drops to a crouch as she walks over it. Getting a look at what waits for her below.

A Chevillion Ragnar Militech van; painted sleek black and armored beyond comprehension. Three people; two muscular guards and Meredith. The guards are chipped to hell and back; intensive cyberware. Something to be expected of any Militech employees, especially ones hired for muscle. There’s a small, childish, urge to hop down and surprise them. But that very well could end with her being shot. Instead, she behaves, makes sure her gun is loaded, and takes the stairs down; ill maintained metal steps with chipping yellow paint.

“Look lively!” Meredith calls out to her men as she catches sight of V, her expression nearly wrinkled with disgust at the sight of the masked merc, but extends her hand, “Meredith Stout. Take it you were the one to call.”

“That’s me,” V starts to sign with one hand and goes to shake the corpos hand with her other.

Then a fist collides the side of her head, quick, heavy it shoots pain through her skull. She’s knocked to the side, falling to the ground, stars dance in her vision. She fumbles to get her knife and stand up, but the guard is quicker, grabbing her wrists and yanking her up to her feet, just to wrench her hands behind her back. He’s easily over a foot taller, able to pull the small merc around and hold both wrists in one hand. Holding V back as Meredith draws closer, gloved hands reaching out and ripping the merc’s mask off, revealing the glowering blonde behind it.

“Thought you could blackmail me, bitch!” Meredith pushes her fingers into V’s hair, then yanking and tugging the merc’s head to the side as the guard shoves a jack into her neural port, “Set conditions?! Got any more for me?!”

V spits in Meredith’s face, her skull is white hot with pain between the yank of her hair and the punch. She can’t help but grin, watching her spit stick to to the corpo’s skin. Meredith lets go of V’s hair; reeling her hand back then smacking her across the face, sharp and strong enough to make the merc’s head move. Meanwhile the guard does god knows what, without her mask or contacts, V has no optic interface to tell her what’s being done; what the Militech goon could be doing.

The van doors open for a second behind Meredith, the other guard yanking a man out of it at gunpoint. A small, weasley guy in a suit with a face bruised black and blue.

“Christ Meredith!” He yells out.

“Shut your trap!” she looks at the guard holding V, “That fucking thing ready?

“All set.”

Leather clad fingers dig into V’s chin, Meredith forcing her head up, no doubt leaving bruises across the merc’s face, “Now answer my questions. Honestly. Forthrightly. Are you here alone?”

“I use ASL,” V forces herself to growl out, blood boiling. Who the fuck does this cunt think she is? Not only has V’s comfort of anonymity been ripped away, but her preferred form of communication is too.

“Sounds like you speak English just fine to me, now answer my fucking question, are you here alone!?”

“Yes. You crazy fuckin’ cunt, I’m here alone!”

“Its the truth,” the guard says, a fucking lie detector, of course.

“Do a sweep, now,” Meredith commands and a silver drone leaves the back of the van.

“Now listen close. This piece of shit,” she looks at her other captive, “Anthony Gilchrist is he your contact? Is he the one who leaked intel on the convoy?”

“Get your fucking hands off of me!”

“You answer to me bitch, Anthony Gilchrist!”

“Got no fuckin’ clue who he is or why I’m suppose to give a shit!”

“Checks out,” the guard tells Meredith.

“Came here cause I know who jacked the convoy, where the tech is.”

“Hmmm,” Meredith hums.

“I told you, I fucking told you, I’m not the mole!” Anthony screams out.

“Shut him up!”

“Unhand me now before I-- ungh!” Without another word Anthony is shoved back into the van.

“Her, you can let go. I wanna hear what she has to say.”

The guard rips the jack out from her neuroport and lets go of her wrists. The skin is bruises she notices as she grabs her mask off the ground, the snaps thankfully not broken as she slides it back on, tension in her shoulders easily only slightly with her face covered and arms free.

“We’re a little beyond that now, don’t you think,” Meredith remarks snidely, rolling her eyes.

“Fuck you,” V signs first thing.

“Stop wasting my god damn time, what do you want?”

“Gang has your tech, given where we are, I assume you know which one. All I want is one combat bot from it, thought we could help each out, but I’m not so sure.”

“Hmm, you have a plan of how to deal with them?”

“They’re expecting payment, but I don’t have the eddies laying around.”

“Course you don’t,” Meredith quips and V rolls her eyes.

“So, without cash, the option is to take it by force.”

“You’ll pay, but with our money.”

Meredith holds out a credchip shard, little chips that hold a certain amount of cash on them. V chews the inside of her cheek, looking at the green shard held in a gloved hand, it seems too good to be true. Because it certainly is. But, she takes the credchip.

“You pay with that chip, and that's all you gotta worry about. Try to fuck me in any way, and I'll be seeing you real soon,” Meredith delivers a final threat before climbing into the van, her last guard clambering into the drivers seat.

“You're making a mistake,” Anthony screams from inside the van as it takes off “This cunt's already good as dead! And she'll take you down with her!”

And then they’re gone; V left with a bruised face, a tender scalp, and a credchip in her hands. Jackie was right, she’s sure, god knows aligning with corps isn’t her way of doing things. There’s no way in hell, a Militech rep is just going to hand off ten grand without a plan.

V takes quick and steady steps back up the stairs and she sees it as she gets above the storm channel. The Militech drone, still hovering. Following her, tracking her. Her hands on her pistol in the next second, promptly shooting the drone down in sputtering sparks. Meredith can fuck off if she thinks V is just going to lead them to the Maelstrom hideout.

The assault and interaction bit up a chunk of time, so she climbs back into her car, time to meet the client. Anxiety pitted tight in her gut as she drives back down the Night City roads.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #jackie welles #meredith stout #johnny silverhand #silverv #eventually #aidan becker #aidan v becker #female v #can you feel the sun?

11 notes · View notes

lesbianrobin · 3 years

Note

if you’re still taking character asks....hopper👀

favorite thing about them

ok there’s a lot i could say but my Absolute favorite thing about hopper is how much he cares about kids... like hopper is not in a place to be taking in el but he does it anyway because he Needs to help her yknow he just can’t sit by knowing this little girl is out there alone he has to leave food for her and make a home for her and he goes to extreme lengths to do whatever he thinks will keep her safe... he risks his life breaking into the lab and walking straight into the upside down to rescue will, he goes out of his way to comfort jonathan in s1, and GOD the way he held mike in s2 while mike was cussing him out and hitting him...

what gets me about hopper is that like. he could have been this guy completely driven by his past trauma yknow he Could just care about keeping these kids safe as a way of making up for not being able to do anything to help his kid like it could be a personal ego sort of thing. but it’s not. he doesn’t Just care about keeping them physically safe, he wants them to be happy, too, even if he’s not as good at that part of parenting. he still tries! he knows el’s favorite foods and he compliments her little punk makeover and he tries to let her see her boyfriend all she wants even though he hates it (though he eventually cracks and fucks up the whole situation lmao) and he lets el have her little sleepovers with max freely. it’s just like... so often parenthood in real life and in fiction is just an exercise in egotism and the fact that hopper KNOWS he’s not the best dad but he keeps trying every day because he wants to give el and the other kids the kind of father and protector they deserve... god. i just love him.

least favorite thing about them

it would be easy to say my least favorite thing about hopper is how he can be pretty selfish or short-tempered or jealous but like. it’s honestly those flaws that make him more real and loveable to me ksjdnckdmn so this is hard.

i guess my least favorite thing about hopper is his stubbornness? like it’s one thing to be short-sighted or insecure but it’s another to be unwilling to listen to other people and question yourself and talk things out. he got called out for it in s3 though and i get the feeling his arc in s4 is Really gonna challenge his worst traits, so i’m not too mad about it.

favorite line

god there are So many and the black hole scene is... a revelation. but it’s hard to pick a single line from that instead of just the whole conversation sdkcnm so i’m gonna have to go with his line from s3, when he and el are talking in the mall and el says “i can fight,” and hopper says “Better than any of us. But I need you safe.”

it’s just. god it’s simple but it just shows how much he knows his daughter yknow? he knows that el doesn’t like feeling incapable and he DOES know that she’s strong and she can fight, and he makes that clear. he tells her explicitly, yeah, i know you can fight, i believe in you and i trust your assessment of your own abilities, but i’m your father and i need you safe. it’s “i love you” and “i believe in you” and “you’re an incredible kid” and “you’re the most important thing in the world to me” all in one and it fucks me up.

brOTP

if bob was still alive i’d say him and bob skjdnckn but as it is... idk about brotp but i really like the dynamic between hopper and owens i think their sort of like. half hostile half friendly exchange of favors is just super fun.

OTP

nOTP

honestly as far as i know there’s no hopper ships really floating around in the fandom besides jopper dkjncmnc i don’t even know what to put here... my man is a one woman kind of guy

random headcanon

whenever el asks him a remotely hard question about like politics or religion or sex or economics he’s always like hm good question i don’t have time to answer that one right now i uh i just remembered i promised joyce i’d help her with something but i’ll tell you as soon as i get back :) and then he goes to melvald’s and he’s like heyyy joyce got a question for ya :)

he never actually ends up saying what joyce tells him to say but just talking to her makes him feel better about it <3

unpopular opinion

i think i’ve said this a dozen times but i don’t think hopper was that bad in s3 like. yeah he was a dick but the narrative clearly wasn’t on his side and he was the butt of the joke yknow plus his s4 arc is definitely gonna make him change in a big way. so i don’t have that much of a problem with it besides like just thinking he should have been more worried about the kids once he and joyce found out that some shit was going on in hawkins again.

song i associate with them

literally i have too many there are like three i want to say right now... i’ve talked about hopper and you never even called me by my name by david allan coe before (“i’ll hang around as long as you will let me/and i never minded standing in the rain” ...s2 jopper) and i’ve also talked about him and one bourbon, one scotch, one beer by john lee hooker (blues) OR one bourbon, one scotch, one beer by george thorogood and the destroyers (rock n roll medley between hooker’s version and another hooker song, house rent boogie). the thorogood’s my personal favorite version, but they’re so different they’re both worth listening to and they might as well be totally different songs.

anyway i’ve said that all before so i’ll give u all a NEW one and say jim dandy by black oak arkansas!! just to like preface it IS a cover and the original’s by lavern baker but i picked the black oak arkansas version because it’s a lot more wild and i feel like it matches hopper’s Vibe better. it’s a really goofy kinda nonsense song but the lyric “i’m dandy the kind of guy/who can’t stand to see a little girl cry” just makes it impossible for me to listen to it without thinking of hop <3

favorite picture of them

idk if this counts but it’s this screenshot of a tiktok where stranger things is playing on the big screen at a club and hopper’s watching his daughter die while everyone in the club is partying

but if that doesn’t satisfy u i’ll give a bonus

whore <3

#asks #jim hopper #em talks #long post #diogxnes

16 notes · View notes

huhwhatyak · 3 years

Audio

A3! MANKAI STAGE

Brand New World (Four Seasons Medley) [ ENG translation ]

The OP song for Spring 2019, Summer 2019, Autumn 2020 and Winter 2020 stage plays. Sung by the stage actors for Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter troupe + Sakoda :>

All If we were to give the new season a name now, it would be “you” Come, it’s starting Brand new world

Spring Troupe SPRING!! It’s showtime!!

Sakuya Just as buds bloom into flowers, a new spring has come

Masumi I’ve matured a little bit Look only at me…

Itaru You can’t be shaken, huh

Tsuzuru I want to write more about all sorts of people!

Itaru We’ve got characters rarer than an SSR, so it’s fun.

Citron Oh! Itaru! I want to meet a rare character too!

Tsuzuru No, aren’t you the rarest one!?

Citron Oh~

Sakuya, Itaru This time

Masumi, Citron That’s like a dream

Spring Troupe Is going to let us bloom

Sakuya Let’s go, just how Spring Troupe should!

Masumi, Tsuzuru, Itaru, Citron Yeah!

Spring Troupe Spring, summer, autumn, winter, and you

Masumi, Tsuzuru The story goes around the seasons

Sakuya, Itaru, Citron The cherry blossom petals dance,

Spring Troupe as if saying “Welcome home” The shining start is blooming in this treasured place Now, thanks to the miracle that lets us meet new smiling faces Come, it’s starting Brand new world [1]

Summer Troupe SUMMER!! It’s showtime!!

Tenma I have a sense better than anyone else Let’s make this the best summer!

Yuki Passionate and noisy as ever

Tenma What was that?!

Yuki Well, at least I won’t get tired of this

Muku I want to have self-confidence and to shine

Misumi My treasured triangles– Ah? Triangle? I’m having fun~

Kazunari Director-chan! Say cheese! And click! This is the best summer!! Gonna post it on Inste~

Tenma Oi, stop messing around!

Muku, Misumi Our passionate bonds

Yuki, Kazunari soar high

Summer Troupe like a parade that colours the night sky

Tenma Hey, look!

Yuki, Muku, Misumi, Kazunari Wahh!

Summer Troupe Spring, summer, autumn, winter, and you

Tenma, Kazunari The story goes around the seasons

Yuki, Muku, Misumi Let’s make lighting fireworks

Summer Troupe our meeting place. We support each other’s weaknesses; Blooming with these treasured friends [2] Just the words of a promise are the keywords for a smile Come, it’s starting Brand new world

Autumn Troupe AUTUMN!! It’s showtime!!

Banri I won’t lose to anyone I’ll beat you up without holding back

Juza I won’t lose to anyone

Banri Oi, that’s my line!

Juza Shut up, get out of the way

Taichi I believe in my friends and cherish the place where I belong!

Omi I’ve found the smile I wanted to place in the frame

Sakyo The time that stopped in me is starting to move little by little

Taichi, Omi Bring it on

Banri, Juza and win

Sakyo Good grief, you guys should really look back at your fundamentals…

Sakoda B-o-s-s!

Sakyo Tch, it’s Sakoda huh.

Autumn Troupe Spring, summer, autumn, winter, and you

Banri, Omi The story goes around the seasons

Juza, Taichi, Sakyo Roadside trees that change colour

Autumn Troupe and bloom into emotional flowers. We support each other’s weaknesses; Blooming with these treasured comrades [2] The approach of exchanging blows with fists to establish bonds Come, we’ll beat you up Brand new world

Winter Troupe WINTER!! It’s showtime!!

Tsumugi I really love acting Let’s talk on stage together

Tasuku We can still aim higher Tsumugi! Let’s do this together once more!

Tsumugi Okay!

Azuma Determined, aren’t they.

Hisoka My memory is still foggy…

Tsumugi Are you okay?

Hisoka Sleepy…

Tasuku You’re gonna sleep again?!

Homare The coming season, bittersweet raisin Break into dance; Blooming!

Azuma Solitude and loneliness; Everyone helped me forget those feelings

Tsumugi, Tasuku Distorted distance between

Hisoka, Homare fellow adults

Tasuku, Azuma Let’s talk while drinking

Tsumugi To the best stage with everyone!

Tasuku, Hisoka, Homare, Azuma Yeah!

Winter Troupe Spring, summer, autumn, winter, and you

Tsumugi, Hisoka, Homare The story goes around the seasons

Tasuku, Azuma A warm curtain call

Winter Troupe that melts snow Opening our hearts to each other; Blooming with these precious people [2] The practice of lifting each other up is a scene essential for the stage Come, it’s starting Brand new world

TL notes:

Spring troupe’s verse has been translated by magokoroloupe which can be found here

Summer, autumn and winter troupe all mention ‘treasured/ precious people’ but I took the liberty and changed it to 'friends’ and 'comrades’ for summer and autumn respectively heheh

#a3! act! addict! actors!#mankai stage #a3! game #a3! translation #if there are any mistakes feel free to message meee #*

13 notes · View notes

thefanficdude · 3 years

Text

The Winter Months: OCTOBER, Part 1

The wind blew through the barren trees, the only petals left from the previous season struggling to stay on their branches. The ground was no longer grass, but rather a medley of yellow, orange, and red leaves that fell from the looming forest above. The soft yet violent breeze was cold with a familiar change, yet it usually didn’t come this early. He knew this was all but good.

Wilbur walked back to the village, navigating through the masses of bark and stumps that were all too familiar to him. After all, this had been his home for his whole life. While on his way, the wind picked up and he adjusted his coat and hat to conserve heat. Leaves from the ground flew up into the air and created a swirl that could be described as a tornado of fall colours. The leaves wisped past Wilbur with the effortless force of the breeze. He watched them pass, admiring the beauty of the changing seasons while also knowing the winter would not be kind to him and his people. He continued to walk.

Eventually, he got to the town he called home. There were 8 buildings made of sticks, stones and mud, all designed to withstand the four seasons. 7 of the buildings were the houses of the 7 people that occupied this area, but the last building was the Community House, a place where they held meetings, discussed local issues, and planned their strategies for war (They were all generally peaceful people, but when threatened they were some of the best fighters in the land). Wilbur was making his way to the last, which was the biggest of the 8 and located right in the middle of the town. A voice stopped him before he could step through the door.

“Wilbur!” A young boy about 17 years old with golden hair ran towards him with a smile on his face.

“Tommy, right on time!” Wilbur said as Tommy slowed his pace and stopped in front of him. “I was just about to call a meeting. Round everyone up for me and tell them to meet here.” Tommy’s smile was replaced with a more serious tone.

“Is it about winter?” He asked. “We still have quite a while until snow comes. At least 8 weeks if I’ve been counting right.”

“You’ve been counting right,” Wilbur said. “But the leaves have fallen much quicker than normal and the air is getting colder every day, much more than it should.” Wilbur sighed, thinking about his next words. “Just get everybody to come as soon as possible, alright?”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll get everyone here in less than 5 minutes” Tommy said dismissively.

“Thank you,” Wilbur stepped inside the Community House as he heard Tommy’s footsteps run through the village.

There wasn’t a single soul Wilbur knew that was more stubborn and determined than Tommy. Sure, these traits often lead Tommy to most, if not all of his problems, but they were also his greatest strengths. When something needed to be done, Tommy was always the first one on the case, despite being the youngest out of everyone. Wilbur admired that about him. He wished he was like that when he was Tommy’s age.

Wilbur looked around the Community House, taking in everything about it; the nostalgic smell of the wood and charcoal, the mural painting that went all the way around the four walls, the chilled air inside, the-

Wilbur suddenly realized how cold it was inside. He looked at the fire pit in the center of it all with frustration. It would have to be lit sooner this year, maybe even tonight. Of all the seasons, winter was the one Wilbur hated the most because of how impossible living conditions were, let alone the sheer vulnerability and complete inability to fight. Being the leader of these people, he had to reassure everyone that everything was going to be ok, but in reality he was always on edge during the snowy months.

Wilbur looked up from the fire pit to the door, where the first resident silently stood in the frame.

“Will,” The resident stepped through the door, struggling to get his giant wings through the average-sized frame. “Tommy knocked on my door saying you were calling a meeting. If this is another prank of his, it’ll be the third time this month.” Wilbur chuckled.

“Keeping track, eh Phil?” Wilbur sat at the head of the Community House, right before the fire pit and directly across from the door. He gestured for Phil to sit. He did, tightly yet effortlessly folding his black wings behind him.

“Oh yeah, been keeping track since he was 10.” Phil said. “He’s always been a trickster, but at some point I decided to start keeping count. It’s been keeping me busy.” Wilbur nodded with a smile. It was true.

Philza was the wisest person Wilbur knew, and that wasn’t just bias because Phil was his father. Out of everyone Wilbur had ever met (and he met a lot of people), Phil was the one that taught him the most, from how to hunt and skin a deer, to how to flirt with the ladies. Regrettably, he was teaching all this wisdom and advice to Tommy since Wilbur had heard everything he had to say.

“What’s the meeting for this time?” Phil asked after a moment of silence. Wilbur snapped back to reality and realized he had been zoning out. He looked at Phil.

“I want to give all the details once everyone is here,” Wilbur said. “But it’s about the coming winter.” Phil nodded in understanding.

“Ah,” He said. And that was all. Phil was probably the only one who understood the stress Wilbur was under, for he was the leader of this town before Wilbur was. Usually a position of power is given to someone else when the current leader passes away, but Phil didn’t want to wait until his deathbed to teach Wilbur how to properly and successfully lead an army and protect his people. Instead, he retired from his position to teach Wilbur everything he knew. Many people, including himself and Wilbur, would agree that he did a good job raising a pretty awesome kid and leader.

“Tommy said there was a town meeting,” A young woman with pink hair came through the door and sat herself down on one of the benches.

“Yes, I told him to round everyone up for me,” Wilbur said. “I’m glad you could join us, Niki. I hope I didn’t disturb your baking.”

“No, you didn’t disturb me at all,” Niki said. “I actually just pulled a batch of muffins out of the oven. I put them by the window to cool right as Tommy knocked on my door.”

“Ah, perfect! Make sure to ration some of those for winter.” Wilbur said.

“Winter?” Niki asked. “Isn’t that still two months away?”

“...Well-”

“What flavour are the muffins?” Phil asked. Wilbur silently sighed and looked at Phil in thanks. He always somehow knew the right time to insert himself into the conversation.

“Blueberry. They were the last I had of what we picked this year. Any longer and they would’ve gone bad.”

“Good,” Phil said. “With winter coming into our sights soon, it's good to conserve food as much as possible. Those blueberries will last a little longer in those muffins.” Niki nodded.

“You’ll have to split one with me after the meeting.” Wilbur said, smiling at Niki.

“Of course!” Niki replied. “I’ll make sure to set aside the best one for you.”

Niki was the sweetest and kindest person Wilbur knew. You’ll never meet a more caring soul. She spent most of her time baking and making food for the whole village. It was mostly her work to make rations for winter. If it wasn’t for Niki, everyone would’ve died of hunger during the first snow.

“And you remembered to put out the fire in the oven this time, right?” Phil leaned his elbows on his knees and adjusted his wings. Niki gave a nervous laugh.

“Yes, yes!” Niki buried her face into her hands in embarrassment. “How could I forget after nearly burning down the whole village?”

“Hey, I already said don’t worry about that,” Wilbur said. “It was an honest mistake. And as the saying goes, ‘we learn from our mistakes’.”

“Yes, I recall you saying the exact same thing on that day.” Niki moved her hands down and rested her chin on them. The three of them laughed as they looked back on that day, which then was nearly a disaster, but now was just a funny story.

“Hey guys!” Another man entered the building. His hair was brown and curly, and he wore a navy blue dress that went all the way down to his ankles. Over the dress was a grey, light-weight jacket.

“Eret!” Wilbur greeted.

Eret was the plant-keeper. She didn’t want the title of a farmer because it sounded like he did more work than he actually did. So, his title was made the plant-keeper. During summer, he grew plants that grew various kinds of food, and that was when the plants most flourished. But during winter however, Eret had to do everything he could to make sure they were at the very least still alive for the next summer. It was a miracle if one or two of the plants could make a single serving of food during the snow.

“Welcome to the group! Stylish as always I see.” Niki said. Eret looked down at the dress he was wearing and gave a quick spin. The dress's thick fabric flew into the air effortlessly.

“Ah, ya know. I gotta present myself nicely to the plants.” Eret said, taking a seat beside Niki.

“Speaking of the plants, how’s the greenhouse going?” Wilbur asked. Eret copied Phil and rested his elbows on his knees.

“Very well, actually! Just a few more weeks with fall temperatures and we’ll be all set for winter.” Wilburs expression dropped. He cleared his throat.

“Has Tubbo been helping you?” He asked.

“Yes,” Eret replied. “He’s been a great help, especially with his ability. It’s made things move along much faster.”

“Good.” Wilbur said, folding his hands on his lap. “Once Tubbo gets here, I’ll discuss it further. He’s the only one left besides-”

Tommy burst through the door arguing with a boy who looked about the same age as him.

“What the fuck were you doing Tubbo!?” Tommy yelled.

“I was trying to get into his house! Meanwhile you were trying to burn his house down!” Tubbo yelled back.

“Yes because all he does is sleep all day and Wilbur told me to get everyone!”

“You were going to kill him Tommy!”

“Hey!” Wilbur stood up and everybody looked up at him. Tommy and Tubbo stopped fighting and stood still. “First of all, stop arguing with each other! Especially in the Community House! This is not a place to be joking around, do I make myself clear?” Tommy and Tubbo nodded, but Tommy was more hesitant. “Good. Second of all, Tubbo, explain what happened.”

“I was trying to-” Tommy began, but Wilbur put a hand up to stop him.

“I didn’t ask you.” Wilbur said calmly. “I asked Tubbo.” Tommy looked at the ground with the same energy as a 2 year old about to have a temper tantrum. Wilbur looked at Tubbo.

“Well,” Tubbo started. “Tommy knocked on my door saying a meeting was happening and that he was put in charge to tell everyone about it. I asked if there was anyone else he needed to visit and he said George. So I offered to come with him, just because.” Wilbur nodded. “We got to George's house, Tommy knocked, but nobody answered the door. A few more knocks, still no response, and Tommy started getting... impatient.”

“I was not-!” Tommy tried defending himself but Wilbur gave him a stern look that made him stop talking again. He looked back at Tubbo.

“So I proposed we could calmly go inside to see if he was ok, but Tommy interpreted that as ‘use my ability to cause the most amount of damage I can get away with’. I stopped him before he could do anything.” Of course he did, Wilbur thought with a sigh.

“Thank you for controlling him, Tubbo,” Wilbur said, sitting himself down again. “You two can have a seat.” Tubbo sat beside Phil, and Tommy sat beside Tubbo. Tommy was angrily mumbling to himself. “And Tommy, could you do me another favour,” Wilbur said. Tommy looked up, still pissed. “Would you mind lighting up the fire pit?” Tommy looked confused.

“What do you mean? It’s still October. We don’t light the pit until late November.”

“I said what I said. Light it, and I’ll explain.” Tommy rolled his eyes but did as he was told. With a flick of his wrist, sparks and flame emerged from his hand and engulfed the few pieces of wood and charcoal that remained from last year's winter. It wasn’t much, but there was enough fire there to heat up the building to a good room temperature. Wilbur cleared his throat.

“As you all know, it usually doesn’t snow until December. Late November at the earliest…” Wilbur looked around the room and could already see people's faces change as they realized what was happening. It wasn’t as hard as telling someone the news that someone they know has passed away, but it was still hard because it meant telling your loved ones that just simply surviving will be a lot harder this year. Wilbur continued speaking.

“And, as always, I’ve been taking weekly trips into the deep forest to examine the natural changes of the environment. This time around however…” Wilbur looked to Phil for support. Phil simply took a deep breath and gestured Wilbur to keep talking. Wilbur did exactly that. After a deep breath, he continued.

“It seems like the snow will be coming a lot sooner than other years.” Everyone had different reactions, but they all had one thing in common: worry. Everyone started either talking to themselves or the person beside them. And, as per the duty of any good leader, he needed to reassure them that everything was going to be ok, despite all the odds.

“But, I’ve already created some plans of what we can do to make sure this winter is just as good as the ones before.” Everyone looked up with intrigued and hopeful expressions. “However, it requires everybody's effort and ability.” Everyone nodded in agreement, and Wilbur was now hopeful himself.

“Firstly, Tubbo and Eret, the people on greenhouse duty.” Tubbo and Eret straightened and paid close attention. “Eret, you said with a few more weeks, the plants will be strong enough to withstand winter. However, I don’t think we have weeks. I predict we’ll have snow in the next 5 days.” Eret and Tubbo looked at each other with a common thought. How are we gonna pull this off?

“Tubbo, your ability is Earth, meaning you are especially knowledgeable about different types of dirt, fertilizers, and more. With the little time we have left, I’m requesting you find something that will make the plants grow faster to be prepared by next week.”

“Yes sir.” Tubbo replied.

“Eret, with your ability of light manipulation, I need you to store as much light as possible, more than what you normally prepare. With winter starting earlier, we should expect it to last longer too.”

“Of course.” Eret replied.

“Phil, if it starts snowing before the plants are ready, it’s your job to use your air ability for as long as you can to keep snow away from the greenhouse. And if it’s also possible, see if you can keep a piece of the sky cloud free so we don’t have to use up the stored light source right away.”

“Can do.” Phil replied, stretching his wings back.

“Niki and Tommy, I need you to scavenge for as much scrap food as possible. If you can find more ingredients for your baking Niki, even better. As I said before, we should expect this winter to last longer, so we need to prepare more.”

“Got it.” Niki replied.

“I have a question,” Tommy said. “By food scraps, do you mean like… dead rats and birds?” Wilbur sighed.

“Unfortunately, yes. But it will only be a last resort if we run out of our main rations.”

“Ugh, alright.” Tommy groaned. “Niki and I will be on the lookout for dead shit.”

“Fantastic.” Wilbur clapped his hands together and looked around the room. “Does everybody have a job?” Everybody collectively nodded, but Niki raised her hand.

“What about George?” She asked. “He isn’t here, so what’s his job?”

“Don’t worry about George.” Wilbur said. “Once dismissed, Phil and I will stop by his house.” Wilbur looked at Phil and he nodded. “Any other questions?” The room fell silent. “Alright, that’s that! Meeting dismissed.” Everyone stood up from their seats and started making their way to the door. Tubbo and Eret went to each other to discuss their job, as did Niki and Tommy. Wilbur and Phil were left alone in the Community House together.

“What do you have in mind for George?” Phil asked. Wilbur sighed as he got up from the bench.

“Well, because George doesn’t have an ability like the rest of us, his job will be a little easier, but just as important. He’ll be in charge of making sure the pathways and trails in the town and forest are clean before the snow comes. And when the snow does come, I’ll have him help shovel the snow off the roads.” Wilbur made his way to the door and turned to wait for Phil, who was only getting up now.

“Makes sense,” Phil said. “But why do you need me?” Wilbur and Phil started walking through the town.

“You’re aware of what my ability is, right?” Wilbur asked.

“Of course, mind reading. It was a big problem when you were younger, you know. I could never keep a secret.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Wilbur laughed. “But I’ve been noticing George has been missing more and more meetings due to his ‘sleep schedule’.”

“And you think it's not just that?”

“Yes.”

“But what else could he possibly be doing?”

“I never like to assume. I need more proof first.” Wilbur and Phil stopped in front of a house with red accents. One could say it looked like a mushroom house, a little home for fairies.

Wilbur knocked on the door with enough force that if anybody was sleeping, they definitely would have woken up.

“George!” Wilbur yelled. “Wake up! I got a job for you!” No response. Phil came up to the door.

“George!” Phil knocked harder than Wilbur did. Still no response.

“We need to go in.” Wilbur said. He turned the door handle, but it stopped with a sudden halt. “It’s locked.”

“Here, let me try.” Phil stepped in front of the door and took a deep breath. In the blink of an eye, his foot was floating in an open doorway. Phil calmly walked in. Wilbur stood outside in confusion for a moment, but stepped in soon after.

“George!” Wilbur called again. The main area of the house, which was the kitchen and living area, was empty. The only other place in the house was his bedroom. Wilbur slowly opened the door.

George’s bedroom was actually quite nice. A small, quaint room with shelves filled with antiques and found treasures and a bed with a red and white dotted blanket. The blanket was not flat though. There was something under it.

“George!” Wilbur went into the room and came beside the bed. Phil came through the door and watched. “George! How heavy of a sleeper are you, man?” Wilbur stripped the blankets off the bed. It wasn’t George under the sheets. It was a pile of pillows made to look like a human.

Wilbur looked at Phil.

They both knew.

~~~

George’s cloak caught on the barren branches as he ran blindly through the thick forest. He was used to having a trail to guide him, or a map at the very least, but not this time. The place he wanted to go was only marked as no-man's-land on all the maps he’d seen. He was headed in the general direction, but he didn’t have a specific route to follow. So blindly he ran, his cloak being wrecked and snagged by the trees around him.

Unlike the others, George didn’t have a power, or an ability as they called it. He was just a normal guy, and all he wanted was a life of luxury and peace. George always felt he was belittled and not taken seriously enough when living in Wilburs town. He was seen as the weak one. The useless one. The burden that others were forced to carry on their shoulders. So he went to the only other place he knew. To the people Wilbur constantly worried about. Wilbur was going to worry about George now, but not in the way of pity. For the first time in his life, George understood what power felt like.

It didn’t last long.

George stopped in his tracks when he heard a rustle in the bush beside him.

“Hello?” George said, creeping towards the bush. “Who’s there?” An arrow burst through the leaves, stopping only mere inches away from George’s throat. The person holding the bow emerged from the shrubbery, not taking his eyes off George.

“State your business.” The man with the bow said. George was still in shock from the life-or-death situation he found himself in, he was unable to speak. “Now!” He said. “Before I shoot this right into your throat!”

“Ok, ok!” George put his hands up for the man to see. “I’ve come to visit your leader. I have no weapons or ill intentions. I just want to talk.” The man slightly lowered his bow and looked at George’s face more carefully.

“...George?” Unfortunately, George was pretty oblivious most of the time.

“...yes?” He responded. A smile came across the man's face and he dropped his bow to give George a hug.

“George!” The man pulled away. “It’s me! Fundy!”

“Fundy?” George hadn’t seen Fundy since he was a small child. Wilbur would put George in charge of babysitting him when everyone else was busy. But now that he heard the name, George saw it: the fox-obsessed boy that could talk to animals. “Fundy! Oh my god! How are you?”

“Ah, well, surviving like everyone else.” Fundy said, picking up his bow again. “How about you?”

“About the same, I guess.” George said. “But I’m trying to look for a better place where I can live my life.” Fundy became skeptical.

“Did Wilbur send you? Is this some sort of way for him to get information on us?”

“No,” George replied. “Nobody knows I’m here, but nobody would care if I was gone either. That’s why I want to talk to your leader.” Fundy thought about it for a moment.

“You would have to be checked for weapons.” Fundy said.

“That’s fine.”

“You would have to be escorted by as many guards as they see fit.”

“That’s fine.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Fundy walked George through the forest until they got to a town, but it was nothing like Wilbur’s. There were many more buildings, all of them bigger than the ones back home. They were made of concrete bricks instead of sticks and stones. It was better than George could’ve ever imagined.

A resident saw George and Fundy and ran towards them.

“Fundy,” He said. “What’s going on?”

“He’s requested to see the leader.” Fundy gestured to George. “I already checked for weapons.”

“And?”

“None, Technoblade. George said he just wanted to talk with him and nothing more.” Technoblade thought for a moment and then called for some more people. He looked back at George and Fundy.

“You may take… George, you said?” Fundy nodded. “You may take George to see him with two other guards. If anything goes wrong, it’ll go on your record.” Two other men came up beside George while Fundy took the front.

“Yes sir.” Fundy said, leading George to what looked like their version of the Community House.

It was a large building, possibly bigger than all of Wilbur’s buildings combined. It looked old and tested by nature, but it still held strong. Fundy, George, and the two other guards went in.

Large fire-lit torches hung on the walls inside the giant building, and in the center was a table that took up most of the building. Strewn on it were maps, weapons, and small bottles of god-knows-what. George didn’t dare ask what it was.

At the head of this table was the man George was looking for. He stood hunched over a piece of paper on the table with a quill in hand. Even without doing anything, his presence was the scariest thing George had ever witnessed.

“Sir,” Fundy stepped forward. “There’s someone here who wishes to speak with you.” The man at the table looked up and straightened to get a better look. Suddenly what looked like a 4 foot tall dwarf was a 6 foot tall warrior. George’s throat tightened.

“Is that so?” With the quill still in his hand, he walked over to George. “What’s your name?”

“G-George.” He stammered out. The man with the quill raised a brow as he stopped in front of George, just inches away from him.

“You’re from the other side of the forest, right?” He stroked the underside of George’s chin with the soft feather which made George instinctively look up at him. “That’s a long way, especially for a one-man army.”

“No, you’ve got it all wrong. I haven’t come to fight. I have no weapons, I…” George swallowed as the man leaned in closer. “I’d like to offer my services to you.” George said.

“I want to join you, Dream.”

#dreamsmp #dsmp #dreamsmpfanfic #dream smp fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fantasy #action

2 notes · View notes

marvella15 · 4 years

Text

Astaire & Rogers Rewatch Part 6: Swing Time

• Swing Time aka the Astaire/Rogers film that I think is actually the best, especially from the dance perspective. Every duet is fabulous. You could watch just the duets and understand the entire plot of the film. That’s how well crafted and executed they are.

• Our characters/actors: John “Lucky” Garnett (Fred Astaire), Penny Carroll (Ginger Rogers), Pop (Victor Moore), Mabel (Helen Broderick), Ricardo Romero (Georges Metaxa)

• Is this the first Astaire/Rogers film where he’s the one engaged (or married) to someone else? It’s usually her.

• Lucky is already ridiculously late for his wedding, even before he’s rushing to get dressed. But I love his little snap-and-a-heel-click.

• How does Fred Astaire manage to look so dapper in shoes, a top hat, no pants, and a robe?

• It’s interesting that Lucky’s bride-to-be calls him John, rather than his nickname, which is tied to his gambling talents and therefore doesn’t fit in with her or her upper class family. But Penny only calls him Lucky. The two women even have a little exchange about it later in the film.

• As usual, Rogers’ character is uninterested in Astaire’s upon first meeting and also as usual, she has a very good reason. She thinks he’s using any lame excuse to hit on her. Wow, look how much men have not changed at all.

By the way, 25 cents in 1936 is almost $5 today. Not saying it’s a reason to call the police but it’s at least not as outrageous as calling the police over a quarter.

• Remember I said her cries for a porter in Gay Divorcee would come back? Here it’s reprised in her calls for an officer, which Lucky will also gently mock later just as Guy did to Mimi in the previous film.

And wow, the officer is condescending and patronizing to her in deference to a man whom he thinks is an affluent gentleman. Look how much the police have not changed.

• It’s odd that Lucky describes Penny as having red hair when Rogers was definitely a blonde (originally a brunette). Maybe she had strawberry blonde hair at this time?

• The tense exchange between Penny and Lucky as she teaches him to walk at the start of his dancing lesson is some of Astaire and Rogers at their acting finest. It’s a short, rather simple scene but they make it charming, funny, and entertaining.

• Penny’s line, “If you’re trying to annoy me you certainly are succeeding,” is such a mood sometimes.

• Lucky, already starting to flirt: “All the world loves a dancer. Don’t you?”

• Astaire does a good job of acting like he’s a terrible dancer. Takes a lot of talent to pretend to suck at something you’re actually incredible at.

• Pay attention to the three-step maneuver Penny teaches Lucky. He uses it as the building block for all of their dances in this film, beginning very soon with “Pick Yourself Up.”

• I love the “Pick Yourself Up” duet so so much. As much as the romantic duets for Astaire and Rogers get a lot of attention, I really love tap dancing and this is one of their best tap routines. Plus, you can see Penny (thanks to Rogers’ intuitive acting) go from surprise to delight to pure enjoyment and maybe a little bit of well-deserved smugness. Also notice that Lucky and Penny are much closer together in this duet than they had been during the dancing lesson. They’ve already become familiar with each other in that short span of time.

• Because of the nature of the scene, Astaire looks frequently at Penny’s boss but Rogers is watching Astaire almost the entire time. Her expression conveys the feeling that Penny has finally found the right partner.

• There’s a lovely moment where she glides back with her arms up as she waits for him and Rogers’ face is so full of joy and affection.

• Astaire typically avoided naming a “favorite” partner out of consideration for the many other actresses he danced with. But he did comment that because of how well Rogers danced with him, “She got so that after a while everyone else who danced with me looked wrong.” And he’s kind of right about that. Swing Time as a whole is probably the best example. No other actress would look right in any of the dances they share in this film.

• The moment of wordless conversation between Penny and Lucky after their dance feels very much like the actors themselves. In addition to having known each other prior to making films, they’ve also now spent the last 5 years working very closely together. No doubt they had some silent shorthand.

• One of the reasons I enjoy Swing Time is because unlike other Astaire/Rogers films, the misunderstandings between them don’t emerge until later on, rather than appearing at the start to constantly obstruct their relationship. Here, Lucky and Penny begin their relationship almost right away. Just look at their cute conversation in front of the elevator where he hastily decides to get a room in the same building as her.

• For the second time in this film, Astaire looks incredibly dapper while also being pantless.

• At first it seems ridiculous that Lucky is picketing outside Penny’s room claiming she’s been unfair to him since he made them miss their try-out. However, he’s done everything to make it up to her, including arranging a new try-out for them, building up a sizable bankroll for him/them and Mabel, and, obviously, getting some new clothes.

• Although they tried many things in Rogers’ hair to make it look like shampoo, I believe they landed on whipped cream at her suggestion. And they use it as a very convenient excuse to prevent yet another kiss.

• Unlike other romantic songs in their films, “The Way You Look Tonight” is framed as a popular song of the time within the film itself. And we know this because Ricardo Romero is singing it in the next scene as part of his “romantic medley hour.”

• Love the way Astaire looks at her during this social dance. So warm and loving. And when they leave the dance floor, he gets her attention at one point by hooking his index finger to the point of her elbow. Just little moments of familiarity between them.

• More little moments: When Penny gets up from the roulette table, Lucky stops her until after the ball has landed, indicating he feels she’s good luck. Rogers is holding Astaire’s elbow as she goes to leave so he grabs her hand under his arm without looking.

• I’ve always loved the look on Lucky’s face when he watches Romero approach Penny. It’s not jealousy or concern, necessarily. Just soft, like he’s wondering if his heart is about to be broken. And the music playing? “A Fine Romance”

• Lucky does everything possible to get Penny and himself the promised try-out including winning nearly $25k at the casino tables, then winning Romero’s contract, and eventually publicly goading Romero to play for them. But Mabel was right before when she told Penny that everything Lucky did was solely for her. He doesn’t need a new dancing gig, and had in fact come to New York to earn money as a gambler, rather than a dancer. That all changed when he met Penny.

• Remember a time when you were newly in love? The sheer elation of that feeling is what the “Waltz in Swing Time” is. It’s a celebration that builds on what was established in “Pick Yourself Up” and adds sweeping moments of romance. The three steps to the left and right move is expanded on first with outstretched legs and arms and later with exuberant movements around the floor.

• Right at the start, Astaire has a twinkle in his eyes when he looks at Rogers and she responds in kind. They smile at each other easily as they move through a fast-paced and breathtakingly beautiful routine.

Usually in their films, a romantic and celebratory duet comes near the end when all of the misunderstandings have been resolved. But in Swing Time, it’s right in the middle.

• There’s one moment where Astaire affectionately touches Rogers’ wrist. It almost looks as though he’s going to spin her towards him but instead they keep dancing separately, next to one another.

• When the music kicks up, Rogers smiles broadly and she looks radiantly in love. As they spin together, tapping in a circle around the dance floor, both of them keep looking up in wonder and rapture.

• They’re cuddling during the snowy scenes is very sweet but some of the romance is sucked out when you see the behind the scenes pictures.

(photo credit)

• Cuuuuute:

Penny: “I like being off alone like this.”

Lucky: “You’re not alone. You’re with me.”

Penny: “Then I like being off alone with you.”

• Lucky’s face when he accidentally finds himself in an embrace with Penny is purely Astaire and you can fight me on that. There’s so much longing and want in that look. He’s able to get away with it because of the long moment before he has to say anything but even when he does speak, his voice cracks a bit. His gloved hand keeps stroking her forearm.

• Not hard to see some true-to-life parallels in this dialogue and I’ve always felt that the way Astaire said his last line here was as himself, not just him acting.

Penny: “It’s funny how we met, and all that’s happened to us since.”

Lucky: “The way we’ve been sort of thrown together and everything.”

Penny: “As if it were all meant to happen.”

Lucky: “It’s quite an experience.”

• Like I’ve said before, no way the actors and creative team didn’t know exactly how much they were trolling audiences by having lyrics like “a fine romance with no kisses” in Astaire and Rogers’ SIXTH. FILM. together where they still haven’t kissed romantically on screen.

And in fact there will be at least two thwarted kisses in this sequence alone.

• “A Fine Romance” is quite scandalous when you pay attention to the lyrics too. Penny says Lucky won’t “nestle” or “wrestle” and she’s “never mussed the crease in [his] blue serge pants.”

Rogers does a really wonderful job throughout. She’s frustrated and disappointed when singing at him and then stewing with hurt feelings when he sings to her.

I’ve always loved how Astaire flatly says “cactus plants” in the lyric “you never give the orchids I send a glance, no you like cactus plants.”

• I always chuckle at the way Penny loudly and awkwardly asks, “HOW DO YA LIKE MY DRESS?” Who hasn’t suddenly gone awkward af in front of their crush?

• In the movie Grease, there’s a part where Rizzo has a hickey from Kenickie. According to Stockard Channing, actor Jeff Conaway insisted on giving her the hickey himself. But just in case you thought maybe Ginger Rogers insisted on leaving her own lipstick imprint on Fred Astaire’s lips, sorry to disappoint. A makeup artist came in and applied it.

• And I adore how they’re both giggling and giddy after the supposed kiss. So much of this movie is about young love or your first real love, those butterflies mixed with terror and anticipation.

• I always thought the club owner said, “Lucky, you’re a mess” after finding Penny and Lucky immediately after their first kiss. But he actually says, “Lucky, you’re on next.” Either way, Lucky’s dazed response of “Am I?” is cute.

• Ok, the “Bojangles of Harlem” number. It’s the only time Astaire did blackface. It’s uncomfortable to watch even though he intended it as a tribute to African-American dancers Bill Robinson and John W. Bubbles. There’s also some very innovative use of 1936 special effects to make it look like Astaire is dancing with three of his shadows. Largely because of this, choreographer Hermes Pan was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Dance Direction.

He lost but won an Oscar in the same category the next year, the final time that category was awarded, for a routine in Astaire’s only 1930s film without Ginger Rogers, A Damsel in Distress.

• If Lucky had just let Margaret say her piece, he would’ve known that he’s actually not beholden to her anymore. But then we wouldn’t have one of the greatest dances ever put to film.

• In all fairness on the kissing front, Lucky’s well timed entrance does prevent Romero and Penny’s kiss from appearing on screen.

• A heartbreaking exchange where they never break eye contact:

Penny: “Does she dance very beautifully?”

Lucky: “Who?”

Penny: “The girl you’re in love with.”

Lucky, meaningfully: “Yes. Very.”

Penny, after a beat: “The girl you’re engaged to. The girl you’re going to marry.”

Lucky: “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve danced with you. I’m never going to dance again.”

• “Never Gonna Dance” is distinguished from the other songs in this film’s world because it’s not something that is also used in the dance studio or played by Romero’s band. Instead, it includes elements specific to these characters. The line “the la belle, la perfectly swell romance” recalls Penny’s line earlier in the gazebo. The reference to “dinner clothes” harkens back to Penny and Lucky’s first day together. The repeated use of the word “penny,” transforms in its final iteration to being her name when Lucky sings, “Though I’m left without my Penny.” The whole song is Lucky’s elaboration on his line above. Nothing matters now, not his clothes or money or dancing. All he’s going to do is love her.

• The music of the dance and many of the moves are pulled from previous songs and dance numbers. A fittingly mournful version of “The Way You Look Tonight” plays as they walk together, which is also how Lucky began his dance lesson with Penny. Later, “Waltz in Swing Time” trumpets in to propel them into that same three steps move again but as euphoric as they were in that previous dance, now he is almost desperate and she is slowly letting him go. “Never Gonna Dance” is a compilation of their entire romance from start to heartbreaking finish and it’s a truly stunning duet. I know “Cheek to Cheek” gets a lot of hype, and it’s deserved, but “Never Gonna Dance” is something extra special and is certainly tied with “Waltz in Swing Time” as the best Astaire and Rogers duet in my book.

In keeping with how much Swing Time breaks the tradition of Astaire/Rogers films, “Never Gonna Dance” is the duet where Astaire is trying to woo Rogers’ character, something we typically see earlier in the film but was never needed here. It’s also very tragic, something we almost never see in Astaire/Rogers films. Even “Let’s Face the Music and Dance” had a hopeful tone.

• Their expressions in this number are especially poignant. He is imploring her to stay while she is gazing at him as though drinking him all in because she knows this will be the last time they’re together. While he is concentrating on pouring everything into the dance, she is memorizing every detail of this last dance with him, even watching him when he can’t see her. I know I talk a lot about Rogers’ acting ability during these dances but it never stops being worth mentioning. No other partner of Astaire’s got it the way Ginger Rogers did.

• Thank god they cut this dance into two pieces so that they only had to perform this last bit again and again by itself, rather than having to start from the very beginning each time.

After two films that included “issues” with her dresses, Rogers this time has an issue with her shoes. Or rather, they did so many freaking takes (47ish) that she bled into them. And supposedly she didn’t complain at all because she was just as committed to getting the dance right.

She does the majority of the tough work in this final piece too. Not only is she spinning quickly and frequently, in the final spin she has to move towards where he waits, rather than him coming to meet her.

Some credit to the level of trust they’d built though, Astaire’s arm is always ready well in advance of when she will spin into him.

• Even as the duet is ending, Astaire keeps his face longing and hopeful. Lucky has done everything to win her back and as they move towards the door he thinks he may still have a chance. But in their last embrace where he holds her tightly to him, she tellingly doesn’t return the gesture and leaves both of her arms raised. When she exits, he grimaces as though his heart has truly been broken.

• The ridiculous overacting when they’re all laughing is 🙄🙄🙄. Did the Joker unleash some laughing gas?? The silliness of this ending takes away from the rest of a truly excellent film.

It also reminds me of the silliness of the beginning. If I had to guess, the writers probably had a great middle and no clue to how start or end things. At least, it feels that way.

• I do like how she sings a reprise of “The Way You Look Tonight” about him while he sings a reprise of “A Fine Romance.” And they go in for another kiss, pause, then embrace with his back to the camera because GOD FORBID we see a single dang kiss between these two!

Though I am left wondering just what Astaire and Rogers were doing in the final embrace because their faces do seem awfully close together...

• Swing Time is probably the last exceptional Astaire/Rogers film. Everything after this doesn’t quite measure up except in a few specific instances. That said, I do enjoy many parts of Shall We Dance, which is next.

#fred astaire #ginger rogers #swing time #classic hollywood #old hollywood #fred and ginger #astaire and rogers rewatch #all astaire/rogers gifs without credit are mine

37 notes · View notes

goutheswimqueen · 3 years

Note

thoughts on free! s3? what do you think went wrong/right/what you wish it would’ve went etc

I could quite literally go on FOREVER about season 3 and y’know what you asked for it so I’m just gonna ramble until I feel good about it lmao.

Now first I have to say that I wholeheartedly love season 3 with the deepest passion in my bones. I genuinely didn’t think that we were ever going to GET a season 3 in the first place, so the fact that it exists is just... so meaningful to me as someone whose favorite franchise is Free! and someone whose life was saved by these dumbass swimmers.

I will say that season 3 isn’t what I wanted from it. I wanted it to be centered on Nagisa, Rei, Gou, Sousuke, Ai, and Momo. I love Haru with my entire being but I really really REALLY wanted to see a series centered on the Iwatobi trio. They’re so underrated and I felt like they were lowkey sidelined in Eternal Summer so I wanted to see them shine and grow together in their third year. But of course Kyoani has just been setting them aside more and more as time has gone on so I feel like that was nothing but a hopeless dream lmao. I have a lot of headcanons and AUs about what went on with everyone who was still in Iwatobi while the rest of the gang was in Tokyo. The little bits that Kyoani gave us of them were beautiful, I will admit. Episode 11 is my FAVORITE episode of season 3. The fact that Rei WON A NATIONAL RACE??? Like, come on. I wish we could’ve seen the work that he put in to even be able to do that in the first place. That moment where he ponders what he’ll be doing after high school really gets to me too because I would love to know what the fuck he and the others are gonna do. I wish we could’ve seen the moments in their third year that led to whatever decisions they will make. I wanted to see the Iwatobi trio go through the absolute wringer together lmao. I wanted angst I wanted to see their journey that led them to where they are now. I wanted to see more of them growing with the new trio too. I wanted to learn more about Gou and Sousuke’s past through their interactions in her third year. If the season was longer I feel like they could’ve had it be half the Iwatobi arc and half the Tokyo arc, y’know what I mean?

Nonetheless, I love season 3 for what it was. I’m so beyond happy that they brought in Asahi, Ikuya, Natsuya, and Nao, you have no idea. The High Speed! characters hold such a special place in my heart. I wish Asahi would’ve had more of an arc/character development though, and I wish Nao was more included. I think Natsuya’s character arc was my favorite of the whole season. Seeing the trash traveling man that he had become and his interactions with Rin and Sousuke really stuck with me for some reason. And that line that he had when he was talking to Ikuya and fucking crying like, “a dream to fight for my strength and pride, plain and simple.” That shit fucked me up bro. We all meme about Natsuya a lot but I feel like there’s a lot of deeper shit there that’s yet to be explored. When we met Ryuuji I was genuinely convinced that he was Ikuya and Natsuya’s father because it would explain a lot about Natsuya’s behavior. A trash dad who wasn’t really there for his family and just kinda fucked off to travel the world training swimmers until he found one that met his expectations? That would’ve added so much to Natsuya and Ikuya’s background stories and their character arcs. Like can you imagine? Natsuya not initially going into professional swimming because the fact that his father LEFT to find a swimmer to train instead of training his own damn son because he didn’t see that potential in him??? Natsuya being inspired by Ikuya to work hard to prove their father wrong??????? Nao punching Ryuuji square in the nose the moment he sees him???????????? A fucking gold mine that Kyoani could’ve dove into, but no he’s related to Shizuru lmao.

I could go on forever about Natsuya in season 3 cuz I just really, really loved his arc but I’m gonna keep rolling haha. Hiyori was probably the most unexpected thing from season 3 and I just... love him so much. Like his absolute snakey behavior gave me the same chills that that scene of Sousuke pushing Haru against a vending machine in episode 2 of Eternal Summer gave me. I LOVE that shit. The Free! antagonists just keep getting bitchier and bitchier lmao. I also relate to Hiyori on a deeper level. I too have been selfishly protective of my best friends in a way that... really just wasn’t the way to go. Like jeez Hiyori I understand how you feel but maybe let them talk to Ikuya at least once??? Chill with the possessiveness? Idk I know Hiyori is the source of a lot of discourse lol, but that’s just how I feel because of my own similar experiences with myself and others who’ve acted in a similar way. I do wish his beef at the other boys wasn’t solved by just fuckin... swimming with Haru lmfaoooooo. Like I wish they just would’ve added more to his conversation with Ikuya when he asked him to join the relay with him.

I was quite satisfied with Rin’s arc in season 3. It just like, made perfect sense to me I guess lmao. I know he wasn’t there much but I don’t know what else they could or should have done with him, if that makes sense. The fact that his coach is Ai’s uncle is just the best thing ever too lmao.

I was also very happy with Haru’s arc actually!! Seeing how much he has grown makes me feel like a proud mom. Ya boi is tired of the bullshit and the miscommunication haha. Of course I’ll always wish he didn’t go into pro swimming but alas, gotta deal with it I guess. I love his dynamic with Ryuuji and the way that he has dealt with pro swimming though. And his decision to go into the individual medley absolutely made me lose my mind. I didn’t know I needed to see him swim the other strokes until it happened and I just, I loved that so muchhh.

I alsooooo enjoyed Ikuya’s arc. Seeing someone from your past again like that can 100% have that effect on you. I just kinda wish we understood more about like, why he just randomly faints while swimming sometimes? I feel like they didn’t solidly explain it? Cuz I don’t think it was always from overworking himself. Idk maybe I’m just a dumbass and remembering incorrectly.

Kisumi deserved better. YOU CAN’T TELL ME THIS BOY DOESN’T HAVE UNDERLYING ANGST THAT KYOANI HASN’T DELVED INTO. He gave us that line of “We’ll never make friends like the ones we had back then” and then him worrying about whether or not there was anything he could do to help with the Ikuya situation. This boy feels left out and you can’t tell me otherwise and it is 100% because of the fact that he’s not a swimmer. Someone give this boy a basketball team that he can experience that kind of bond with PLEASE. I AM BEGGING ON MY KNEES!!!

Makoto also deserved better. Like, okay, don’t get me wrong, I absolutely loved his arc with the kids and Nao and all that. I love his new dream. BUT!!! Kyoani has yet to go into depth with his insecurities with Haru. I’m still not over that damn dream he had on that bus. All we got in season 3 was Makoto’s aNGSTY looks when it came to his relationship with Haru lmao. GIVE MAKOTO A BIGGER ROLE AND A BIGGER ARC DAMMIT. He’s one of the most popular characters I’m surprised his angst hasn’t been touched on more. This dumbass just needs to stop holding things in i SWEAR TO GAWD.

I thought the inclusion of Albert was kinda weird, dunno what the point of him is aside from making Haru shake in his bones. Kinjou is definitely interesting. He scares me lmao, but I am here for that. Give us an antagonist who is just absolutely unhinged at this point LMAO. I have some headcanons about him too but I feel like the new movie coming up is going to crush my dreams soooo yeah.

Isuzu is a goddess. I’m so happy she’s finally here and she has a name and a FACE. We learned that the Mikoshiba bros had a sister before we even knew that Momo existed lmao (Sei mentioned her in a drama cd from season 1). I almost thought they were never going to give her to us but she’s here and she’s beautiful and she’s everything that I wanted her to be. I’m so happy she thinks Gou is cute and that GOU LIKES HER and I just ugh yes thank you so much Kyoani I never expected that we’d actually get this but I’m so happy we have it. I hope she goes to Hidaka Uni and gets to race Haru like she wanted haha. And I’m so happy we got to see her swim! Our first in-anime female swimmer with a name. I love her.

Speaking of FEMALE SWIMMERS. Sighhhhhh.... My biggest disappointment. Aki Yazaki. Where is she? We deserve her!! I promise we do!! She was SUCH an important character in the High Speed! novels and kyoani decided that she just doesn’t exist anymore lmao (biggest reason why I’m not the biggest fan of the Starting Days movie). At this point I’ve lost hope that she’ll ever be included in the anime, and it makes me so sad. I love her so much and there’s so much potential for an amazing beautiful story arc with her if she reunited with the boys. I don’t think we’re going to get a season 4, (the new movie is scaring me making me think it’s the end of the series with the way it’s been advertised...) but if we DID get one I imagine it beginning with Haru walking through a snowy day, huddling close to himself to shelter from the cold, when he passes by a tall figure and catches a glimpse of familiar caramel hair with a loose little braid peeking out from behind one ear and a large scarf that has gotten quite messed up over years of wear and tear, a memory clicks in his mind like a light switch and he stops in his tracks to turn around and let a long forgotten name slip from his lips: “Yazaki Aki?” ... cue opening sequence. LIKE WOULDN’T THAT BE SO AMAZING???????? I WOULD FUCKING SHIT MYSELF OKAY YOU DON’T UNDERSTANDDDD. Aki is one of my favorite characters I’m so mad she wasn’t in season 3. I’m also mad that Satomi Nii wasn’t there either like!!! She would make a great trio with Ikuya and Hiyori that’s all I’m sayinggggg. I would probably start crying if either of them showed up at some point like genuinely I would just be a mess sobbing on the floor. ALSO I FEEL LIKE GOU AND ISUZU WOULD ABSOLUTELY LOVE THEM LIKE PLS GIVE ME THE GIRLS THAT WE DESERVE!!!

The art style of season 3 was pretty good. The only thing that bothered me about it was how fucking WIDE the characters’ shoulders were sometimes. Especially with the big bois like Makoto and Sousuke. Like please god no stop that. I’m always gonna miss the art style from season 1 tho, the crazy expressions n shit that were there were just too GOOD lmao. I feel like in season 3 they kind of attempted to bring that back but it just wasn’t executed the same and done to the same extent. R.I.P. the comedy from season 1, it will be forever missed.

I love the opening and ending themes, always. So fucking good. I’m so happy all the characters were included in the end theme animation sequence. I’ll never get over Gou and her BEAUTY.

ANYWAYS. Those are my thoughts in the general sense. Idk if I forgot anything because I have so many thoughts that’re all unorganized haha. If anyone wants me to talk in more detail about anything specific I am soooooo down! Thank you for sending in this ask, talking about this show makes me happy hehe.

#asks #haowls #dttf #dive to the future #season 3

11 notes · View notes

abbeyroadie · 4 years

Text

I know others have gotten that stupid question when someone finds out that you like The Beatles they ask, “Oh yeah? Name five Beatles songs that weren’t big hits.” The other day I told someone that my favorite Beatle is Paul McCartney and they said, “Ok, name five songs from McCartney’s solo career.” Laaaaaawd I have nothing to prove to anyone, but it always grinds my gears when people assume I’m only wearing a Beatles t-shirt for aesthetics, or I only love Paul for his looks. Bitch please.

So I compiled this list of songs that I first tried to narrow down to ten and quickly realized I couldn’t even narrow it down to twenty, lol. My favorite Paul McCartney songs post Beatles era are listed below with links to YouTube to hear each song. I left out anything he did as a collaboration just because this list is hella long already. Please feel free to add your favs as well!

36. Calico Skies

- I love the simplicity of this song. Paul’s finger picking on the guitar vaguely reminds me of the style of Blackbird.

35. Put It There

- This song has a soft, sweet melody that always gets stuck in my head.

34. The World Tonight

- “I go back so far, I’m in front of me.” Sometimes Paul’s lyrics are awesomesauce, lol.

33. Call Me Back Again

- I love how this song kinda goes back to his roots. Very oldies, very bluesy. Lots of wailing Paul and great guitar licks.

32. This One

- Might be a song for John if you squint sideways and upside down. Another one that’s a definite earworm.

30./31. Venus and Mars/Rock Show

- I’m sort of cheating but these two songs def go together. Venus and Mars is very melodic and draws you in, jumping right into the rocker that is aptly named Rock Show. A great way to kick off the V&M album.

29. C Moon

- This tune is very sentimental to my sister and me. As kids we’d run around the house singing it at the top of our lungs. Also, the beginning when Paul misses the intro and just keeps the gaff in the song makes it that much better, lol.

28. Somedays

- A quiet song, Paul’s more thoughtful, reflective side. The dueling acoustic guitars and harp are especially lovely.

27. Big Barn Bed

- I used to skip over this song because I thought it made no sense. Then one day it hit me how much fun it is. And now I wanna keep on sleeping in a big barn bed too, haha.

26. With a Little Luck

- One of those uplifting, positive tracks that Paul is so freaking good at creating.

25. Young Boy

- Just the way Paul sings “looooooong” and “strooooong” at the end of a couple of the lyrics. And the guitar solo kicks ass too.

24. Goodnight Tonight

- Ooh boy, where to start with this song? First and foremost, that BASSLINE. Perhaps it’s a disco-ish dance number that meets electronica? I don’t even know. John said he didn’t like this song but he loved Paul’s bass playing on it, so there you go, lol.

23. Nineteen-Hundred and Eighty-Five

- This one is very upbeat, but the slowed down intermission with the “ooohs” is what makes it interesting to me. It also includes some amazing piano playing.

22. Hi, Hi, Hi

- I prefer the live version of this song, but it’s tons of fun no matter what.

21. Junk

- A very soft tune that would have fit perfectly on The White Album. Very stripped back and almost sad.

20. Off the Ground

- Paul at his very best at creating melodies that are catchy and fun and don’t delve too deep. “I need lovin’, you need lovin’ too.” And you can’t forget the hand claps and la la las! Good luck getting this song out of your head.

19. Live and Let Die

- I’d be surprised if you haven’t heard this song sometime in your life. It’s one of those songs where you hear it and go, “Wait, I know this song. This is Paul McCartney?!” He be James Bond like that, heehee.

18. Dear Boy

- I’ve heard this song is about Linda’s ex. Some think it’s about John. Either way, it’s a catchy little tune.

17. Take It Away

- This is a great song even before you realize how amazeballs Paul’s bass playing is on it.

16. Monkberry Moon Delight

- Y’all, WHAT EVEN IS THIS SONG?! I don’t know, but it’s so freaking FUN! Paul’s poor voice though. I feel like he probably couldn’t talk for a week after laying down the vocal track, lol.

15. Too Much Rain

- Ugh, this song is so beautiful and so sad at the same time. Paul trying to be optimistic as always.

14. Dear Friend

- Is this a song about John too? Maybe. Probably. A haunting melody with a solitary piano for most of it, with a heavy feeling of regret, at least imo.

13. Band on the Run

- Here you get three songs in one, not unlike the Abbey Road medley but completely different as well. Paul knows how to kick off an album, that’s for sure!

12. Maybe I’m Amazed

- I prefer the live version of this song too, but it kicks you in the gut no matter what. Paul loved Linda so much, and he lets everyone know it.

11. Tug of War

- Ok, I don’t know if this song is about John. It could be. It sounds like Paul’s talking about something…more. “In another world we could stand on top of the mountain with our flag unfurled.” “We will be dancing to the beat played on a different drum.” What is Paul trying to say exactly? Many have debated the lyrics to no end. You decide.

10. Too Many People

- This is FOR SURE about John, and the breakup of the Beatles. And it started a song war between John and Paul that would go on for years. But it’s also a bop, lol.

9. Here Today

- This is Paul speaking to John after John’s death. And it’s completely heartbreaking. I have to be in a certain mindset to listen to this one.

8. Hope of Deliverance

- If this song doesn’t get your foot tapping and your head bopping, idk you might want to check your pulse.

7. Silly Love Songs

- DAT BASS THO. For real, this song is built around Paul’s bassline and it’s amazing! Also, this was Paul basically giving John the finger for making fun of his “granny shit” and “silly love songs.”

6. Jet

- This is one that I crank up in my car and it may or may not make me drive a little faster, lol. I love it so much.

5. Little Lamb Dragonfly

- A two for one! Both songs are lovely, but I particularly love the dragonfly lyrics and melody. (Yes, this song is possibly about John as well (“how did two rights make a wrong?”), but it’s debatable.) Listening to it once usually isn’t enough for me.

4. Little Willow

- Whew, this one makes me emotional. The guitar, the lyrics, the piano, Paul’s voice – all so soothing and unbelievably soft and achy. It breaks my heart in the sweetest way.

3. Mull Of Kintyre

- Arguably the biggest hit of Paul’s solo career, it’s like the Hey Jude of its own time. And it has freaking BAGPIPES, lol. This is one of those songs that you’ve heard before, but you don’t know where and you don’t know how, you just have. It will stick with you for a long time.

2. Let Me Roll It

- This song. THIS SONG. Ughhhhhhhh. So sexy I can’t even begin to explain. You just have to listen and let it take you there. Another one where the bassline makes you want to weep. Tingles. Tingles everywhere.

1. Wanderlust

- This will forever be my favorite solo Paul McCartney song. Completely underrated and simply magical. George Martin has said that this is Paul’s greatest vocal performance and I wholly agree. His voice is so pure and melodic, I sometimes get emotional listening to it. The song as a whole just checks all the boxes of what I most love about a Paul McCartney song – beautiful, melodious and timeless. There’s that old jokey saying, “If this ain’t played at my funeral, I ain’t going.” Yeah, this is that song for me.

#the beatles #paul mccartney #mclennon #i spy mclennon #long post #this was harder to do than i thought #i love a whoooole bunch of paul songs lol

65 notes · View notes

these-eyebrows-are-not-even · 4 years

Text

Christmas Gift Ideas 2020

All of the gifts below that I thought of can be altered/customized to your budget, personal style and resources.

Face Mask’s

If you are handy with a sewing machine then this is a great one for you, using fabric scraps you already own or thrift bedsheets/t-shirts etc you could make your loved ones some custom face masks. Bonus points if you find a silk shirt and flip that into some face masks as silk, is hypo-allergenic, breathable and causes less friction on the skin so is perfect for anyone suffering from maskne (mask-acne). However, if sewing isn’t for you then places like Etsy have a wide range of masks for everyone and purchasing from sellers on their also supports small business.

Candle and match sticks

Candles are all the rage with thousands of reels and tik tok’s on how to twist candles. If you are brave enough then go for it! You can gift your hand-twisted candles to your friend along with a box of nice matches. Writing empowering messages or mantra’s on the matches (maybe get extra-long ones if you have large handwriting!) will mean that every time your loved one goes to light a candle there is a message from you to brighten their day. There is no need to twist candles, you could support a small business and buy theirs or just get a standard candle. You don’t have to support every trend! Bonus points for matching your loved one’s colour palette to the candles or vice versa. For example, my favourite colour right now is green so a set of candles ranging from emerald to sage would be much appreciated.

Seasonal Drink

It may be the British in me but Christmas is a time where having something to drink on these long winter nights is the norm. I am speaking of something alcoholic but non-alcoholic also works. I love vintage/second-hand glasses and they can be pretty cheap €1 a glass. You could get a second-hand glass of your choosing and send it to your friend along with a bottle of their favourite drink. If you want to amp it up, you could also include a cocktail/mocktail recipe book and some drink rocks. Drink rocks are reusable and do not dilute your drink. If they aren’t a spirit/liquor drinker then a stainless steel ice cube tray is also an eco-friendly and plastic-free option. I could go on with more items to include in this bundle but metal straws, coasters, fabric napkins and more are all ways you could expand this gift idea.

Seasonings

If you know a good amateur chef or home cook then getting them some fancy salt, oil and or vinegar may be an interesting idea. You could buy; one, two or all three and either make sure they coordinate e.g. Rosemary salt, garlic oil and lemon vinegar or they could be contrasting e.g. Truffle salt, chilli oil and amaretto vinegar. The endless combinations make this a fun gift and allow for some fun experimentation when cooking. If you’re a big diy’er you could infuse the oil and make custom labels for everything. You could also add in crackers, olives and risotto to turn it into a Mediterranean hamper or harissa, dried apricots and Ras-el-hanout to make it more North-African.

In the Bag.

A thrifted bag from a second hand/vintage shop (if open where you are) or one bought of Depop/eBay may make a great gift for a fashion-conscious person you know. Then you could add in a lip balm and/or a lip-gloss, a packet of their favourite sweets, a cute bottle of hand-sanitiser and a travel-size bottle of hand cream. These are all optional, the bag would be more than enough but they are just extras for you to think about. You could also make any of these extras vegan, cruelty-free, plastic fee etc

Cosy Toe’s

I don’t know about you but I get really cold feet in the winter. So thick socks are a must! A great idea could be to give someone a pair of fluffy socks. They could be practical or whimsical. I have been gifted thick, grey woollen pairs and a fun foxed themed pair (I love foxes). You could embroider a message or design on them if that’s your thing or pack them with some foot cream and a pedicure kit. As salons haven’t really been open this year pamper time is even more important.

Dried flowers

I do not mean the trendy ones, all over insta interior posts, I mean the Victorian past time. Pressed dried flowers, you could use flowers or leaves you have, buy some and then press them or that sounds too long then you could even buy pre-pressed and dried online. I saw a cute DIY on YouTube where they had been glued on to a small bowl or plate in a pretty pattern. This could be used to display jewellery, makeup etc. Furthermore, you could also arrange pressed flowers and plants into a pattern and place them on a canvas or in a frame to make a minimalistic art piece for someone.

Body care kit

I often joke, I am secretly an old lady as I have dry skin and so am always re-applying lotion. Now, its wintertime that is an absolute necessity but it’s also an act of self-care and 2020 has been a long year so extra self-care is needed. So gifting someone a kit of body scrub, body wash and lotion is a little bit of luxury we all need right now. You could expand on this and include a dry brush to get that circulation and lymphatic drainage going as well somebody oil or a bath bomb to increase the level of pampering. Making body scrub is quite easy but I recommend sugar and not coffee grounds if you do go the DIY route and you can turn regular liquid soap into fun shapes with jelly moulds and gelatine.

Homemade bookmark

Before you laugh, I am not suggesting the ones you made when you were seven unless you were an expert crafter. I am suggesting more sophisticated ones but the end product is up to you so I take no responsibility, I am just the provider of ideas! Those pressed flowers we had earlier? Extra ones could be attached in a pattern and glued onto card. You could go full out an paint one using all your creativity. Or make one out of photos of you and the booklover you’re giving this too. Lastly, it could just be an inspirational quote like: you deserve another glass of wine

Or you could do one of each and give them a medley of bookmarks for all their mood and needs.

Last but not least a Playlist

I know this may seem a little 2012 Tumblr but bear with me. You curate a playlist for them on their preferred app; if you don’t have access or its different to your one then give them detailed instructions for how they should assemble it). The playlist could be based upon a memory you have together or something you’re planning to do with them in the future, or anything you want! Then write out an explanation behind why you chose each song, what it reminds you of and why you thought that person would get it. You could burn the playlist onto a CD if you have the tech for that. For all the artsy types you could illustrate the written out reasoning with drawings, attach photos, collage – whatever you like to get the emotion across.

To everyone reading, I hope you have a wonderful Christmas and for those who don’t celebrate then this list may come in handy for another gift-giving occasion. I don’t know about you but I cannot wait to be stuffed full of food on Christmas day, opening presents and sharing laughs.

Happy Christmas!

Elsa x

2 notes · View notes

warmau · 5 years

Note

Hello!!! I’m actually going to the NCT concert in Chicago as well!!! That being said, I love your work!!! You do such a great job capturing their personalities to the AUs you write! Since we’re all in the NCT hype, I would like to request enemies to lovers au with Jaehyun!! Thank you!! I love your work!! ♥️♥️♥️

jung jaehyun is everything anyone ever wants to be

he’s the star swimmer on his college’s team

he’s the most sought after single on his college’s campus

and he’s the only student in history whose gotten away with missing homework simply by smiling at the professor (at least you think)

and although he’s the apple of everyone’s eye

the angel of everyone’s hearts

the he-could-never-do-anything-bad-in-his-life perfect man

he’s your sworn rival

from now,,,,,,,,,,until eternity

see you’re not all that impressed by jaehyun

your uni beat his last year in the country-wide medley relay competition

where you and jaehyun had swam the same 50 yard stroke

backstroke

you had out swam him by a whole 6 seconds

and yet when your team was awarded the gold medal, you could see that no one was really paying attention

after all that was jung jaehyun

with over fifty thousand instagram followers and a rumored dating history that included idols apparently

you were put off about how he was popular due to looks

and not you know

sportsmanship

and since you and him were in charge of backstroke for your respective teams

you had called him out as your rival

and jaehyun, who you thought would fake sweetness and say something like ‘i don’t take things that seriously’

had instead agreed

you’d shaken on it,,,,,and you think you saw something in his eyes that no one else saw

a flash of real, true, competitiveness

since then, every competition has been personal

jaehyun was still a sweetheart to his fans in the stands and his teammates

even

but when you’d passed each other in the hall outside the locker rooms

you’d both told each other to

“watch out”

people on your own team didn’t believe you for having a problem with jaehyun outside of like,,,,,,,,,just the actual swimming

they liked him

they thought he was super adorable and kind

but you were not convinced

and finally, after you’d tied up on how many competitions his school had won and how many yours had won

the real competition came around

the same one you’d beat him in last year

the country wide finals

with a medley relay

and guess what it had? 50 yard backstroke

you see jaehyun before you get inside the building, he’s wearing the uniform for his team and texting on his phone

you want to just walk past him, but this is your rival you HAVE to say something

so you waltz over, adjusting the gym bag on your shoulder

“so - you ready to lose again?”

jaehyun flicks his gaze up from his phone and lets a smug look cross his face when he realizes its you

“already taking a big game and we’re not even inside yet huh”

“you know me, ill bite when it hurts the most.”

jaehyun chuckles and slips his phone into his pocket, taking a step closer to you

you’ve never been this close to him before now that you think about it

you’ve taunted each other in hallways, but passing by only

stood apart on diving boards and all

but right now you’re merely inches from him

and he’s your rival - to hell and back

but gosh he has really nice skin and you kind of understand the hype about his looks

handsome doesn’t mean he can’t be petty! plus,,,,,,he’s not my type,,,,,,,

you reprimand yourself as jaehyun stares

“what?”

you ask when he doesn’t say anything further

“just wanted to remember the look on your face when i watch it turn into shock when you lose”

he explains

but for some reason you don’t think that’s true

instead of coming up with a clever quick back

you step away and say you’ll see him in the pool - you’re not going to let some little intimidation tactic like that work

and you leave before he can answer

you mentally ready yourself for the competition and as the minutes tick by you tell yourself that

one) you want to make your team proud

two) you want to make yourself proud

three) making yourself proud? leaving jung jaehyun in the dust,,,,,,,sorta,,,,,,,pool dust?

anyway finally it’s relay time

and at first it’s all neck-a-neck

but then your teammate ends up a couple of seconds behind jaehyun’s and you panic

no no - calm down, we’ll make up the time and beat jaehyun when it’s our turn!

you cheer yourself on, getting ready on the dive board as you see your teammate coming closer and closer

you hear jaehyun hit the water first, his teammate clocking in earlier than you but seconds later you’re in the water too

flashes of his face inches from yours egg you to go faster, to kick harder, to stretch your arms further

and you know that you can do it - you can beat him again

when you do your turn and race back toward your teammate, you don’t know where jaehyun is or anything

but when you glance over - you see your time on the board

it’s faster than jaehyuns by only a second!

the rest of it is up to your team and you and jaehyun lose yourselves waiting for them to finish up the race

and finally

it’s down to the last person

and

you university wins

again

you all jump around, hugging and high fiving as the announcer lists your names off one by one

but once again, you feel that same thing you did last year

the crowd, which has some of your fellow students is pretty unfocused on your win

some people are just waiting for jaehyun to show up on the leaderboard, to take photos of him when he walks by to the lockers

but you try to ignore that and instead think about how it’s going to feel to walk out of here with gold around your neck

you don’t notice jaehyun with his team

they’re all grumbling about whose fault it is - whose time was shorter and whatever

when suddenly one of the teammates mutters your name

jaehyun catches him saying it and asks what’s wrong

“they’re just too good - im sure if i walk past them and ‘accidentally’ send them slipping over the edge of the pool they’ll be out of commission for a while huh?”

the sinister ploy makes jaehyun wince

“you wouldn’t do that dude - right?”

but the teammate only answers with a shrug

the coaches voice calling everyone back into the lockers when jaehyun notices the said teammate strays off a bit

he’s going right toward you - whose distracted by your own team

and when he puts out a hand, jaehyun runs toward him - tackling him down and suddenly

you hear a large splash

you turn and see jaehyun with a fellow teammate in the water

“hey? what the fuck are you doing?”

his teammate shouts

and jaehyun clenches his jaw, answering that he was making sure he wouldn’t push you into the pool

you blink

“was he going to push me in?”

you ask, but before anyone can answer - the coaches are intervening and you’re all being pushed to the side

you can’t stop thinking about the incident as you change

you pack your bag and let everyone know you’ll be waiting outside but in reality you head back out to the pool

where it’s empty now except for jaehyun

whose sitting on the edge with his head in his hands

“hey-”

you call out and he tense, but then looks over his shoulder to see you

“what are you doing here alone?”

you follow up and he shakes his head, hair still wet

“he was going to push you and i wanted to stop him, even if we lost that doesn’t mean he can take it out on you.”

you feel something unusual in your chest, something you don’t feel when you look or talk to jaehyun

grateful

“thanks for stopping him,,,,,,,”

you say, slowly because you never thought you’d be thanking jaehyun in your life

he gives a small smile

then looks back into the pool

“i did get suspended from the next three competitions for it too. so i won’t be your rival then, but unti-”

you drop your back

“they suspended you?!?!”

“for ‘physical altercation’ but it’s fine bec-”

you shake your head

“what’s your coaches name, ill talk to them! this isn’t fair you helped me-”

you start blabbering, but stop once you hear jaehyun laugh

what’s so funny?

you think and jaehyun gets up - walking over to you

his well built frame and googles around his neck all kind of make you a little flustered - way more than ever before

and he suddenly touches your cheek, palm a little cold from the water

“never thought my rival would want to fight on my behalf.”

you puff out your cheeks a little

“im you’re rival, but i don’t despise you - plus everyone knows athletes don’t get to train as much on suspensions-”

“you don’t despise me?”

he perks up and you can’t help but suddenly get a little red on top of everything

“i mean why would i despise you - just because i want to beat you in a sport doesn’t-”

“you might despise me for this though”

he mutters and you’re confused for a second before jaehyun leans down

grazing his lips over yours in a soft, short kiss

that makes you freeze in place as all the nerves in your body start jumping around in a mess of surprise

“w-w-w-why did you do that?”

jaehyun’s small smile goes a little big, as if he’s trying to stop himself but he can’t

“you know all those times you got in my face, got all competitive and what not it was pretty cute. and now you’re here saying you don’t hate me so i thought,,,,,”

he shrugs as he trails off and you try to regain yourself a little bit

“so you thought ‘let’s kiss them!’?”

“yeah - are you going to push me in the pool or something?”

“i might,,,,,,,,but -”

it’s jaehyun’s turn to be a little confused

“but?”

i know i said he wasn’t my type, but c’mon he’s everyones type!

your brain argues and you hate to say it but you agree

you look up at jaehyun and it’s been a day of big surprise but this might be the biggest one

“but if you kiss me again, and better than that little peck, ill reconsider.”

“reconsider pushing me into the pools or us being rivals?”

“sorry did i say talk more or kiss more?”

jaehyun knows not to take his chances with you so he leans in again

and thankfully you do kiss him back

and he doesnt fall into the pool again LOL

#nct scenarios #nct au #nct imagines #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun au #jaehyun imagines #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 au #nct 127 imagines #nct #nct 127 #jung jaehyun #member: jaehyun #sfw #this is indulgent because me and miki spent most of our vacation being like: pool

1K notes · View notes

7deadlycinderellas · 4 years

Text

The Starks at War, 1941 part 2

AO3 link

(who knew all I needed was something called the “Abandoned WIP challenge to finish another chapter of this?)

Arya doesn’t stop shaking the whole way home, through to the next day. Asha accompanies her, sympathetic, but distant. The bus ride is hell.

When Arya walks through the front door, Jojen and Bran are playing cards, but stop immediately to look at her.

“Arya-” Bran starts, stuttering, “Mother?”

Arya feels a sob choke out, then get stuck halfway.

“How did you know?” Asha asks.

“Radio,” Bran says, pointing at the wireless set by the front window, “It said that the Germans hit a military hospital- the one we knew you were going to.” His voice suddenly becomes thick, and Arya realizes he sounds double his newly fifteen years.

“We were scared, we thought it might be both of you.”

Arya slumps down in her chair.

“It was stupid, really,” Jojen comments, “painting crosses on the roofs of all the hospitals. Just gave them something to aim at.”

“If half the stories out of France are true, it is our error to expect any kind of fair play from Nazis.”

Arya feels like she can barely move.

After a time, Asha stands to leave.

“I’ll spend the night at the inn and leave in the morning.”

She leans down to clap Arya on the shoulder.”

“You know where to reach me.”

Once Asha leaves, Arya slumps and clutches her face in her hands.

“I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it,” is all she can whisper to herself.

Autumn begins to turn over the coming weeks. Arya sleepwalks into it. Gilly ends up being the one who goes to the church to report. There are no remains to bury.

Sansa calls multiple times a week.

She keeps asking if they need her to come home. They all push her off. Winterfell isn’t home as it was, and they won’t bring her back if she is needed elsewhere.

She’s begun to settle in in London. The flat she shares with Margaery is tiny, just a bedroom and kitchen. The two beds they’ve managed to drag in barely have enough room between them to walk.The walls are papered, but it’s fading and peeling. The heating doesn’t always work, what with the coal shortages. Often at night, the two of them simply pull on all of their clothes before crawling into bed.

The tenement building’s shelter is outside. When the air raid sirens bellow, they have to shove on their slippers, grab their masks and barrel down the stairs among the other flat-dwellers. Praying that all they will hear is the sirens and not the whine of an incendiary or the gait shattering boom of an explosion before they manage to cram themselves inside.

Sansa’s begun adjusting to the work as well. She spends all day in the tiny gray office, editing and retyping papers, sometimes helping Margaery do translations. Sometimes, even work is interrupted by air raids.

She can’t stop thinking of what Catelyn would have said to see her now. With her short cut hair and simple office clothes, she looks nothing like the debutante she dreamed of being. This was not a world her or her mother would have even thought to be part of.

She’s good with idioms, her supervisor notes, so at least she can take pride in that. She was always good at French in school, longing one day to go there, to see the sights and the glamor for herself.

One night when they’re at home, eating some cobbled together vegetable medley, cooked in a pan, Margaery comments,

“I think I’m going to cut my hair. I’m sick of having to set the whole mess at night.”

Sansa nods. She had been surprised when watching Margaery do her hair the first time, to see how hard she worked to make it perfect. Without the curlers at night, one side would curl up perfectly, and the other would hang straight pin straight, stretched out by its length.

“They do say long hair is terribly old-fashioned.”

Margaery sighs when it’s finished, touching the ends as though she can’t believe it’s gone. But now the sides curl properly, and she won’t have to do anything but wash it and wrap it all up before bed.

“My mother used to put it up for me when I was little, the way she did when she went out,” she comments idly.

“You never told me what happened to your mother,” Sansa tells her, suddenly keenly feeling her own loss that she’s spent so much time shoving down deep inside.

“She died of the flu- not the big one, just the usual one- when I was ten. My father was never the same after that. I’m not sure any of us were.”

Sansa is quiet. She understands really. She’s almost appreciative that she hadn’t been at home most of this entire past year. She can’t imagine how her mother must have taken her father’s death. While the pair had never been the most demonstrative of their affections, their children were very secure in the fact that the two had loved each other, and that not all married couples were as lucky.

Margaery glances down at herself.

“She always wanted the best for me. Nothing specific, just that I would be happy and the best person I could be. She was the only one I think. Everyone else has their own ideas about who I am and exactly what I should aim for.”

“What do you want to do? What would make you happy?”

Margaery’s expression is pensieve.

“I wish I’d applied to go to university. I’d like to study political science. I’d like a proper little flat, near a park, one that’s not been bombed. Maybe I’ll marry, but only if I meet someone I want to. Maybe I will when the war is over.“

It has been strange, Sansa thinks, leaving school behind and seeing Margaery for who she really was. She had always thought they were friends, but here she’s stripped bare. She’s not a prefect, or head of the French club, or the beautiful polished girl Sansa had idolized. Here she chips her nails and ladders her stockings and forgets her hat just like everyone else.

That doesn’t mean Sansa doesn’t still look up to her though. She fits right in at the office, even with most of the others being London born girls who left school at fourteen and knew they would end up working if they didn’t marry. Many of them were pleased to work in an office, rather than in a factory, or worse, in service. Sansa sometimes feels tongue tied around them, and not just because the Starks have always had a few people employed in service.

Before October, both of them get letters inviting them for an interview with the same Baelish that Margaery had said recognized Sansa’s name. The instructions have them both come to a tiny, bare bones hotel room during lunch hour. Sansa’s stomach grumbles while she’s outside waiting for Margaery to finish her turn. Her stomach is not eased by her own interview.

Petyr Baelish isn’t a tall man. Sansa’s used to looking most grown men in the eye, and finds that when he stands, she’s actually looking more at his hairline. He has dark hair, going somewhat gray, a neat mustache and an overall aura of having everything under his control.

He asks her dozens of questions, some of which she doesn’t even understand. But by the time it’s done, she has a job offer.

And a new, horrifying, realization, about the nature of the office where she’s been working.

Her and Margaery both, are, on paper, enlisted in the FANY, the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry. In practice, they were brought aboard the organization that became known as SOE for secret operations, and being sent to Scotland for their training.

Sansa cringes at the slightest thought of what her mother would say. But her mother is dead now, and this gives her the slightest hope for vengeance. Vengeance. That was one of those words so beloved in those awful twopenny comics Arya and Bran devoured.

It doesn’t take long before she wonders what on earth she was thinking by accepting.

Even reaching the training school is rough. The terrain in Scotland is difficult. By the time they reach the facility, they are all exhausted, hungry, soaked through with rain and covered in scratches. And when they reach it, the real fun begins.

Sansa never once in her life thought she would someday learn to shoot a gun, or disarm a man, or be required to carry a suicide pill. These skills are not second nature to her, so she has to work at it. When her eyes threaten to prick full of tears and her throat threatens to close up, she thinks of her mother’s face, dead now for no reason, and no one coming to save her, or Sansa or anyone. No one is coming to save them.

She learns to parrot back the goal they are told. To resist the enemy by any means necessary. There aren’t a great many women in training with them, but there are far more than Sansa would have expected. Too many in England have lost loved ones in this war. Too many have seen their homes destroyed.

Learning telegraphy and morse code are much easier, even if they are still totally foreign skills for her. She goes back through Arya’s letters, remembering her speaking of learning these things for Girl Guides. These at least, don’t make the bile rise in the back of Sansa’s throat at even the thought of using them.

One night, she sits on the end of her bed and puts her head in her hands. Margaery has the bunk above her. There are bunks here, it’s like being back at school again.

“What’s wrong?”

Sansa’s shoulders slump as she responds.

“All I can think is how much my younger sister would prefer learning all of this than me. She always loved science fiction and pulp magazines and those awful two-penny adventure comics. And when I called home last, she sounded so angry...she needs to feel like she’s contributing as much as us, but she can’t. She’s sixteen, she’s tiny and she’s stuck at home still.”

Margaery frowns, deep in thought.

“Your sister Arya...you said she’s only sixteen?”

Sansa nods.

“She’ll be seventeen at the beginning of next year.”

“Then let her be a child if she can still, we don’t know how long this war will last. Besides, from your stories, she always sounded like such an impulsive and ill-refined girl.”

Sansa sniffs. Her stories had always been terribly unfair to Arya. She might still prefer running about outside, but she hadn’t thrown a tantrum in ages, and the shouting and even the insults were a thing of the long past. They might never have been as close as sisters in Jane Austen novels, but they hadn’t fought each other in so long.

Except when they did.

“She is.”

Margaery smiles, and plays with one of her gloves.

“Know why Baelish had been head-hunting us?”

Sansa shakes her head.

“Because aristocratic women are good at a great deal more than picking out dresses and fixing their hair. We know manners, and pick up rules of etiquette with ease. We are good at talking to people and getting them to tell us things. And we are excellent at keeping up appearances under pressure.”

Sansa nods, and tries to put on her face.

And it is very easy to see why Margaery was selected. Her French is perfect and she has a great deal of knowledge of French geography, culture and fashion. Information that it turns out, Sansa has picked up quite easily having hung on Margaery’s words when she was just the glamorous school prefect.

And it’s so much easier to keep her face on in the dorms than out in the training field with a weapon in her hands.

One of the instructor’s compliments Sansa on her accent.

“A bit breathy, true, but the disguise of an excited young girl can be very handy. Very few would doubt the intentions of one.”

When the both of them get near to finishing training, Baelish’s assessment claims they would both make excellent radio operators. Even Sansa’s not naive enough to believe that’s a safe occupation, like Baelish insists. Mum had seemed fond enough of him, but Sansa doesn’t trust something in his gaze.

This is what sticks in Sansa’s mind as Margaery and her are sent off to parachute school. The first day of training, she stares out the window and wishes she were more like Arya.

That same day, Arya gets the telegram.

The months since Mother had died were hell. Arya has kept up with the girl guides when she could. She helps out with the WVS, who seems nearly as lost without Catelyn as she does. She helps Bran stumble through the paperwork needed to keep the family affairs in order. She tries to help Gilly with little Sam and Weasel.

She writes Gendry whenever she can. His letters are always so sweet, so understanding, but he can’t write often. And she doesn’t know if her own letters actually capture even half of what she feels.

He writes that he wishes he could come see her, but the Navy is stingy with leave, and when he gets a day, he’s stationed too far away to make the train ride south in the time given. Sometimes, selfishly, Arya wishes she could ask him to come anyway, but she can’t. She won’t get him in trouble because of her.

The day the telegram comes, she’s about to burst as it is. It’s only a few days after America has entered the war, wrapping her mind around that was hard enough.

She’s in the kitchen, staring at the paper when the others trickle in for lunch.

Bran notices first, Arya’s stony white face.

“What now?” he asks.

Arya’s hands are holding the card still, but her fingers are shaking.

“It’s Robb,” her voice says, low, dead. “His plane was shot down over France. They have no idea what’s become of him.”

Without meeting his eye, she hands the telegram to Bran, puts her hands on the table. Then she lays her face down on top of them and cries.

None of them could have known what was going down in France at the moment.

Robb was a competent pilot. He wasn’t a natural like Jon was, but he was good enough. This was very little comfort when his plane was currently on fire and quickly losing altitude.

He tried to radio out assistance, but the controls are dead. Robb’s head is throbbing from where it slammed against the inside of the cockpit and he can hardly think. It’s only through sheer luck that he manages to get his parachute on and leap from the rapidly descending plane and pray as he bails out for the ground.

The air rushes around him for only a split second it seems before he collides with the ground so hard that it feels like he’s being manhandled. He thinks he hears something crack, but he can’t stop to think. All he sees is blurs, all he hears is ringing and all he smells is blood and smoke. He tries to stand and run, but his body isn’t listening.

Eventually, one of those blurs comes closer, and grabs him, by the arm, pulling roughly. His legs screech in protest, his lungs wail, but it keeps pulling, and eventually the world begins to return to him.

The figure pulling him, he eventually sees is a woman. Young, perhaps in her twenties, with dark hair. She wears a heavy, dark green coat and her footsteps are heavy.

Eventually, the image of a barn comes into sight. The woman pulling him stops, moves something, and the next that Robbs knows, he’s being shoved into what seems like a hole in the ground.

“Stay quiet. Don’t make a sound until I come back for you. Not a single word, or you’re dead.”

Robb tries to stop himself from blacking out, but he doesn’t succeed.

When he comes to, he takes inventory of his surroundings. Dirt, a lot of dirt. A couple of what look like potatoes in one corner. A root cellar, most likely. The inhales and all he can smell is dirt too. His leg is on fire, and much of his skin is too. He fears when he wakes up fully, the pain will be so bad it makes him pass out again.

He can hear people outside, somewhere, faintly. He follows the woman’s advice and pretends he’s dead. He hears planes overhead, and gunfire too. He hopes his squadmates are alright.

Robb’s not sure how long it is before the cellar door cracks open and he jumps, squawking in pain, but the woman from before pulls him out again and leads him to the farmhouse.

“I told them where I saw your plane go down. I told them I saw it on fire and was worried about the trees in the wood. I didn’t say anything about your chute, I burned it in the hearth.”

After she leads him in and lays him upon a wooden chair, she retrieves a glass and tells him to drink the liquid inside. It’s bitter, and he sputters, but she pushes it to his lips again, and after that, he fades in and out.

When he finally wakes, there’s the sound of a kettle whistling.

“Not real tea, I’m afraid, but dried mint is good enough to pretend.”

She sits across from him. Even still in pain, Robb can’t help but notice that she’s lovely. He sips the mint tea and tries not to choke.

When he finally gathers the mindfulness to speak, he picks his first question carefully.

“What’s your name?”

The woman sighs, before taking her own cup and sitting in the other chair.

“Talisa.”

“Talisa,” he says, feeling the name on his tongue, “I’m Robb.”

“I suppose we should use each other’s Christian names, given we’re going to be stuck here together for at least six weeks” she admits. Then she gestures at Robb’s leg, which she has immobilized with splints and thick rolls of bandage cloth. “Don’t try and move. I couldn’t set a proper cast, but I did my best. Don’t ruin all my hard work.” Dimly, Robb realizes he is covered in cuts that are also bandaged.

Robb is flush with gratitude.

“Thank you,” he says. He examines her bandaging. “Are you a nurse?”

Talisa nods.

“I was going to be, before-” she waves her arm out, “All of this.”

Robb glances around the farmhouse, and realizes the place is empty, but has the signs of other people having lived here before. Four chairs around the table, more cups than one person would need.

“Do you live here by yourself?”

Talisa nods, sadly.

“My father died when I was young, of a fever. I was born in Guernica. When Franco bombed it, me, my mother and my brother escaped and fled here. My father was French, so getting asylum was easier.”

“Guernica,” Robb muses, rolling the word around in his mouth, wondering where he’s heard it. “That’s in Spain right?”

Talisa purses her lips before answering.

“I guess it was too much to expect England to have reported too much on our own little war. But yes, Guernica is in Spain. The three of us came here and worked this farm. Then the Germans came. It had barely been three years. Seems like such a little time of peace.”

She turns away, and Robb chooses not to press her.

“Once your leg heals enough, I’ll pass you off to the resistance, and they can see about getting you home.”

“The German’s won’t get suspicious of you?” Robb asks. He doesn’t want to bring any trouble to her.

“That’s no matter,” she insists, “It’s not like you can go anywhere on your own, and anything I can do to be a thorn in the side of the Third Reich, the better.”

Talisa drains her cup at this point, pushing it back down against the table, and briefly shuts her eyes.

“It’s probably not good to admit, but I am happy that at least I’ll have someone here to talk to this Christmas.”

Christmas, Robb thinks. He hadn’t even realized.

Christmas 1941 is hellish for his own family.

Jon can barely eat any of the Christmas dinner the servicemen are given. It feels like ashes in his gut.

Sansa is given a break over Christmas, but the next day is when they’re supposed to be given their first parachute lessons. She cries herself to sleep, in fear. Fear for herself, fear for her brother. In her more fanciful moments, she imagines parachuting into France and one day bumping into him on the street. Perhaps he’d lost his memory, she wonders, her mind a Hollywood fantasy.

Arya and Bran are still at Winterfell.

Bran is overwhelmed. The work that has been left in his lap threatens to consume him, even as he had wished so hard to be useful.

Arya feels nearly dead inside.

The past two Christmases without Robb and Jon had been bad enough, but at least there were his letters. Now she can’t read them without wondering if they’re the last she will ever receive.

On Christmas Eve, no tree, no lights, no Christmas dinner, Arya stares out her bedroom window. Father, Mother, Robb gone. Jon, Sansa and Gendry far too far away. Bran overwhelmed, even Gilly, Sam and Weasel ash-faced.

They see Rickon so little it’s as though he’s slipped away.

It hardly feels like Christmas at all.

Maybe it would be better if she weren’t here too. One less mouth to poorly feed.

She leaves her bicycle, and her books. She takes Gendry’s letters, and she wonders if she’ll be able to receive any more of them.

The day Arya turns seventeen, she calls Asha Greyjoy, asking if her offer still stands.

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #fic #ww2 au

4 notes · View notes