#i feel like ii is the ghosts' favorite. while they might mess with the others they are actively helpful to him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonbeamwritings · 3 years

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the three times you kiss jotaro’s forehead + the one time he returns the favor

Summary: Jotaro didn’t find himself to be an overly affectionate man, accepting it reluctantly and dishing it out rarely. With you, though, he might as well be putty in your hands.

Author’s Note: This fic is dedicated to the lovely @jostepherjoestar who listened to me babble on about this idea. I’m also still working to chip away at requests, so keep an eye out! I hope y’all enjoy !!

!! slight tw for descriptions of nightmares/blood/mental health issues and spoiler warning for part 3 !!

Jotaro was certainly no stranger to affection. His mother’s goodbye smooches, pressed to his cheek while he ducked to meet her halfway; The way his grandfather would ruffle his hair the moment his hat was off his head; The girls from high school, desperately clinging to his arms and coat, making him squirm in discomfort under their hungry gazes.

And yours.

Your affection, so minimal and subtle in its delivery, never failed to make his heart race, to make his face heat up in slight embarrassment. You kept your public displays minimal, straying away from kisses and hugs in favor of wrapping your hand around his or keeping close to his side, arms brushing against one another.

At home, though, you held back less, never shying away from kissing his cheek or wrapping your arms around his waist, nuzzling against his back.

He never thought he’d be one for affection. Hell, he barely knew how to return the favor, but here you were, showing him you cared through such small, intimate acts.

His computer monitor burned his eyes as his fingers danced along the keyboard in front of him, clock ticking away to punctuate the silence of his home office. The files spread out across his desk acted as a constant reminder of the deadline for his research paper. Jotaro sighed.

You, on the other hand, were out in the living room to give Jotaro the time and space he needed to get his work done. Your heart tugged as you looked at the time.

12:43 AM

The movie credits rolled on the television in front of you and you decided to take your leave, finally ready to wrap yourself in your comforter and drift off to sleep for the night.

On your way to bed, you saw the light from his office drift out into the hallway, casting oblong shadows onto the walls. Stopping to stand in the doorway, you admired your boyfriend’s form, quietly tapping away at his computer.

Without sparing you a glance he asked, “Heading to bed?”

You smiled as you stepped into the room, coming around his desk to hug him from behind. “Mhm, you?”

Jotaro quickly shook his head, pulling a hand away from his work to hold one of your forearms in his grasp, “Not yet. Sorry.”

You hummed, rolling your eyes. “You work far too hard, ocean man.”

He nearly groaned at the little nickname.

“But I’m tired.” You continued. “G’night, love you.”

“Love you.”

Hearing his reply, you hunched farther over his shoulder to plant warm, chaste kisses to his temple. Once, twice.

“Don’t stay up too late.”

You knew that telling him that would ultimately fall on deaf ears, but hey, you could dream couldn’t you?

He listened to your footsteps pad down towards the bedroom as his face warmed, reinvigorated by the soft kisses you pressed to his forehead.

ii.

Jotaro appreciated you, so much so that sometimes it made his heart burst. He was bad at expressing it to you, either verbally or physically, but god did he love you.

Jotaro’s day at work had been… less than stellar, to say the very least. The data his lab had been collecting hadn’t been saved correctly, thus setting the lab back by a whole week, another researcher had practically berated his methodology in front of their colleagues, and to top the whole thing off, someone had spilled coffee all over the front of his favorite white coat.

In short, everything sucked.

His head hung low, hat having already been flung off when he began to drive home. His coat was at the cleaners, leaving him in his simple, black turtleneck.

Kicking off his shoes and dropping his bag in its usual place, Jotaro was quick to rest back against the couch, stretching his limbs out as he placed his head against the armrest.

“Baby? That you?”

Baby. The pet name made a ghost of a smile appear on Jotaro’s lips.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He called back, slinging an arm up to cover his eyes.

When you saw the state Jotaro was in, splayed out on the couch like a dead man, you frowned.

“Bad day, big guy?”

“Really bad.” His response was short, a grumbled mess hidden behind the sleeve of his sweater. As you made your way over, leaning down to hover above his tired form, all you wanted to do was wrap him up in your arms, shielding him from whatever weight was on his shoulders.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No, not right now.”

Jotaro was a man of few words, but it especially made your heart ache when you could so plainly see how upset he was. You watched as he shifted his arm away from his eyes, gazing up at you, “Sorry.”

Closing the distance, you hunched lower to leave one, gentle smooch right in the center of his forehead, cradling his cheeks in your hands. The feeling of your soft lips against his forehead eased the tension between his brows, lifting the weight from his shoulders. It was as if your mere presence made his heart that much lighter. He was beyond grateful.

“It’s okay. I’m sure I’ll get it out of you one of these days. You hungry?”

Jotaro’s stomach growled in lieu of a verbal response.

You laughed. “Come on, handsome, I tried making one of your mom’s recipes.”

Maybe this day could be salvaged, Jotaro thought as your fingers came to twine with his.

iii.

He saw Kakyoin, Avdol, and Iggy often, but no, not in the way that you’d think.

They haunted him. Dreams, nightmares filled with nothing but blood, gore, and the whirring roar of sirens. Their voices were often warped, both far away and so, so close that Jotaro felt as though he would go deaf. Accusatory fingers pointing in his direction as they leered, hurling insults his way. Your fault, selfish, fuck up. You could’ve saved us.

On this particular night, Jotaro was visited by DIO himself, descending his grand staircase with bodies littered behind him as blood raced down the steps.

DIO sneered as he hovered near Jotaro’s ear, whispering pure toxicity into it and trying as he might, Jotaro couldn’t land a single punch.

He was rocked off his feet as DIO kicked him away, knocking the wind from Jotaro’s chest as he toppled to the floor. DIO crouched before him, smirk more and more evident as his voice rose to a thunder.

“It’s your fault, you know? How truly pathetic.”

Just as DIO reached out to grip Jotaro’s chin in his hand, Jotaro shot awake.

His breathing was labored as he moved to sit up, chest heaving as hot, wet tears began falling down his cheeks. Without realizing it, Jotaro had jostled the bed under his weight, waking you up as well.

“Jotaro? Baby, what’s wrong?”

You sat up next to him as you placed a warm hand against his back, rubbing it in soothing circles. He leaned over, curling against your side to rest his head on your shoulder.

“A nightmare, that’s all.” He replied once he found his voice, keeping his eyes closed as he willed his heart to slow.

“What can I do?”

“Don’t leave.”

The solution was simple enough, given you had no intention of doing anything of the sort. You didn’t think you’d ever heard his voice sound quite so small. Smiling despite the situation, you responded, “I think I can do that.”

This time, the kisses you planted against his forehead conveyed everything you wanted to say. I love you. You’re important. I’m not going anywhere.

The messages blossomed in his head, overgrowing and covering the images of DIO and blood, obscuring the anxiety and dread that found a home there. He allowed himself to be lulled back to sleep, comforted by your lips and your warmth against his skin.

Jotaro could tell you’d had a bad day the moment you stepped into his office. As he watched you frown while lingering in the doorway, his mind raced through all the ways you’d comforted him in the past.

Kind words. Soft touches. Forehead kisses.

“Bad day?” He asked, trying to emulate the tone of voice you typically used with him, hoping to convey even a fraction of the gentle, calming lilt you often gifted him with.

All you could do was nod.

“What are you waiting for then? Come here.”

He waved you over, pushing his desk chair out so you could slide into his lap, legs resting on either side of his hips as you tucked your face into the crook of his neck. Jotaro let a quiet moment pass as he relished in the warmth of your body and the sweet smell of your shampoo.

His movements were awkward as he began moving a hand against your back, smoothing circles into the fabric of your shirt. He was out of his element, you both knew it, but it was exactly what you needed.

“Wanna talk?”

He felt you shake your head against his neck. Letting out a quiet hum, he pulled away from you slightly. As you looked up at him, eyebrows creased in confusion, Jotaro left a warm, loving kiss against your forehead.

Your head returned to his neck moments later and he was quick to rest his hand against the back of your head.

He may not always know what to do, but if nothing else, Jotaro loved you. Plain and simple.

#jotaro kujo imagine #jotaro kujo x reader #jotaro imagine #jotaro x reader #jjba imagine #jjba x reader #jotaro is a big baby pass it on

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thora-jane · 3 years

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Twin-Way Mirror Pt. ii

Series Summary: You've been friends with the Weasley twins since your first train to Hogwarts, but as the three of you start your 6th year, you start to question if your feelings go beyond friendship.

Summary for Pt 1: After recalling how you first met Fred and George, you finally arrive at the burrow and reunite with your favorite twins.

Warnings: none!

Word count: 2,196

female!reader, 2nd person POV

You can remember the first time you met Fred and George clearer than any memory from your muggle life. You had sat down in an empty train car after getting a talk from your parents about how “this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for your poor grades in the past,” and all of the anxiety of having your world blown open was starting to get to you. The train was about to pull out of the station when two boys with brilliantly red hair swung open that door to your coach.

They shoved their way inside and introduced each other without a second thought before making themselves comfortable. One of them made a joke about how quiet you were.

“Blimey, Freddie, you’d think she’d seen a ghost!”

“Nah Georgie, I think she’s seeing double!”

“How could she be seeing double, you’re the only ugly one here!”

That got you to chuckle, and the two of them got the biggest smiles on their faces. After you introduced yourself, and explained that you didn’t know much about what was happening, the two of them sat beside you and explained everything they knew about their world.

Not long after their world became your world, and Fred and George were with you to explore every step of the way. You were overjoyed when you got into the same house as them, and they were overjoyed that you were one of the only people to tell them apart (George had a few freckles a little ways behind his ear, Fred didn’t).

Much to people’s surprise, for as close as you were to them, your record was far more spotless, having barely served any detentions in all your six years at Hogwarts. You were also one of the few people in their lives they hadn’t tried to pull a prank on.

You however, also noticed that you were one of the only girls in your year they hadn’t flirted with. Which, you didn’t think should bother you, but something about the way they would try to charm nearly every other girl they shared classes with left some sort of sour feeling in your heart that you couldn’t quite place.

Actually you could place it. You knew exactly how you felt about them, but were too bothered by the implications to think about it. They were your friends. They’re twins. And the very thought of liking both of them at the same time made you feel a tad uneasy. Of course, you didn’t think of them as the same person, yes they both looked the same (and Merlin, was that look special), but Fred was more open, he was the one to initiate the trouble. George however, was a little softer, but that didn’t stop him from tying up all the pranks with the most Weasley-Twin bow to insure utter destruction. And (as much as you hated to know this) the way they flirted was a bit different. When Fred flirted with a girl he wanted the whole room to know, he was loud, he would charmingly tease them from the other side of the room, he’d make a girl freeze up and blush, smiling behind her hands. When George flirted, he would make sure he had the girl’s attention, leaning in close, not breaking eye contact, talking in a quiet voice he knew she would listen to. God, it infuriated you to have to sit and watch either one of them flirt.

You paused, sighing as you realized you messed up a stitch on your current project; a crocheted Lion hat. You promised the boys you would make one and wear it to each of their quidditch matches, you even told them you’d enchant it to roar when Gryffindor scored a point.

Pulling out the past few stitches, you put your hook through the loop and started over again. You couldn’t stay mad at the twins. It wasn’t like they cared for you like that, anyways. And besides, what good was it fussing over two handsome young men not liking you when they were already your friends?

***

You could feel a yawn work its way up your throat and out of your mouth as you looked out the window. Mrs. Weasely had enchanted the car to drive on its own now and she had dozed off behind the wheel a while back. The stars were starting to come out and fields whizzed past your window. Off in the distance you saw a faint light from what you assumed was the burrow. You and the Weasleys had been friends for years, but you had never actually gone to the burrow. You’d been offered to come and visit in the past, but your parents had always insisted you come home for the winter and summer holidays.

The lights approached faster, and soon enough the car began to slow to a stop in the drive by a house that looked like it could topple at any second. Actually, it looked a bit like two or three houses stacked on top of eachother. Undoubtedly held together by strong magic, you assumed.

Mrs. Weasely awoke with a jolt, “Good heavens, I must have fallen asleep,” She smoothed out her hair, turning around with an embarrassed smile as she surveyed the back seats, “(y/n), could you wake up Ron and Harry?” You nodded, and her smile warmed “That’s a good girl, I’ll go inside and put the kettle on, dinner shouldn’t take too long,” She left the car, and Hermione twisted her way around the front passenger seat to whack Ron on the head with a copy of the paper she was reading.

“Oi!” He awoke with a snort, waving her hand away, “bugger off, would ya? I’m up already!” The two of you girls laughed as you nudged Harry’s side and he lazily blinked his eyes open with a confused whine.

“C’mon, would you mind helping me get my stuff inside?” you asked, getting out of the car and lugging your trunk out of the back and carefully lifting up Eros’s cage. Stroking his beak through the bars and letting out a chuckle, he looked up at you with his large, yellow eyes. “That ride wasn’t too difficult for you, was it?” You asked, not expecting an answer as you opened his cage, “Go on then, all this open sky should be good for us, right?” You smiled as you watched him flutter out of his cage and off into the night. He was a smaller owl (Northern Saw Whet, according to the lady that sold him to you) so his cage wasn’t too much of a tight fit, but the suburbs didn’t provide the best place for him to really get out and stretch his wings.

You turned around to place the empty cage on top of the trunk, half expecting either Ron or Harry to be there and help you. But the two of them were still tiredly stretching out by the car door. What you did notice though, were two tall figures running out from the house, waving their arms excitedly and shouting your name as they got closer.

You dropped your yarn bag and ran towards them, smiling as you collided into a hug with one of them. It was dark, so you couldn’t quite tell which twin you were hugging, but you smiled nonetheless, “I missed you,” You laughed as they messed up your hair.

“I missed you too, we wanted to come pick you up but-”

“-Mum thought we’d burn down your house or something,” The other twin finished solemnly, a few steps behind the first, “We promised to only keep it to any shrubbery in the front yard, but apparently that didn’t cut it,” he sighed, mouth twisting into a smile through the dark, “now where’s my hug, (y/l/n)?”

You chuckled and held out your arms, but didn’t expect him to take a running start before picking you up off the ground and spinning you around, not really putting you down. You let out a little yelp between laughs as he swung you over his shoulder and started walking back to the house.

“You’re not going to put me down, are you?” You asked as casually as you could, trying to play this off as if it were a normal occurrence. There wasn’t a time when either of them picked you up like a large sack of flour, so you attempted to maintain composure as you were jostled around from your place over his shoulder.

“Not a chance,” He replied with the same nonchalant tone, or at least as nonchalant as one could be with a sixteen year-old slung over their shoulders.

“Fair enough,” you sighed, “I don’t suppose we could go back for my bag?” You asked, craning your neck to look back at the car as Ron and Harry watched you and seemed to visibly groan before Hermione picked up your bag and Eros’s cage, turning to them and saying something before walking behind the tree of you from a ways away, “Oh nevermind they’ve got it. So, how have you two been faring?”

“Splendidly, although it has been rather dull over here with no one to show their support in our financial and entrepreneurial endeavours,” the one walking beside you sighed.

The one carrying you added on, “And we were quite curious about that muggle candy you promised us, I don’t suppose you have any for your favorite twin?”

“Oh of course, which one of you is George?” you asked, hoping they couldn’t see the smirk on your face.

The one holding you up gave an exaggerated gasp and stopped in his tracks, “You foul woman! Not only can you not tell us apart but you have no favoritism for the one who holds you? I have a good mind to drop you right now!” He declared, letting his arm drop from holding your legs as he lurched forward, causing you to slide from your spot on his shoulder and making you scream.

You thought you were going to fall, but he caught you again, this time he was holding you in front of him with both arms. For a second, your face was squashed into his shoulder, but once you were able to catch your breath and recover your nerves, he looked down at you in his arms with a devious smirk.

“Only joking, I am George. And as your favorite twin I would never drop you like that,” He gave a joking wink before Fred smacked him on the back of the head. You looked up at him for a moment unsure of if you were blushing, and if the darkness would hide it if you were.

After a moment’s pause you suspected might have been too long, you stated as calmly as you could, “Oh I never said you were my favorite,” you smiled innocently, “I was just wondering which was which.”

At this, Fred cackled, and George let out a fake roar of rage before he took off running, you still in his arms, “I’ll show you. You creature, I thought you were my friend! Betray me for Freddie?! How could you! After all I’ve done for you!” Fred picked up his own pace, going further and making it into the house much faster than the two of you.

You had to wrap your arms around his neck to keep from falling as he ran past Ron, Harry, and Hermione, who had since gotten nearly to the house. George ran through the doorway sideways, not putting you down despite your protests until he ran to the livingroom and dropped you unceremoniously onto the couch and into Fred’s lap, “There, now you can give all the muggle sweets to your favorite twin, you despicable wench!” He cried, trying to hold back laughter.

“George, I never said Fred was my favorite twin, either,” you corrected, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling.

Now it was George’s turn to cackle as Fred shoved you out of his lap and onto the floor, “Wicked demon! Keep your stupid muggle candy and quit playing with our hearts!” It was then that Mr. Weasely put down his book (not that he had been reading it since the three of you barged in), and leaned forward to ask as politely as he could.

“Pardon me but did you say muggle candy?”

“Do none of you have manners?” Mrs. Weasely scolded from the kitchen doorway, “The poor girl had to pack in a mad dash and sit in a car all afternoon, then you drag her in like barbarians and start poking and prodding about muggle life! Let (y/n) have a moment to get herself settled, my goodness!” She sighed, wiping her hands on her apron before smoothing her hair and smiling at you, “(y/n), dearie, you’d better wash up for dinner,” she turned to the twins and let out an exasperated sigh, “As for you two howler monkeys, you’d better show the lovely lady up to her room. And please,” she added “let her walk on her own two feet?”

#fred wealsey fic #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley #george wealsey imagine #george wealsey x reader #george weasley

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quazartranslates · 3 years

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Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH7

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 7: Resurrection Overture (VII)

You couldn't see the difference between day and night in the Village of Dusk. Qi Leren walked in the street and walked towards Dr. Lu's clinic.

After the task in the Holy City, Dr. Lu should have survived—he was still unconscious after being detoxed from ingesting the Nightmare Witch’s poison-medicine, so he was sent back to the Lord’s castle by Qi Leren, perfectly avoiding the chaos in the late hours of the night and once again winning the dangerous task. Qi Leren was convinced that his luck level was off the charts. He couldn't even envy him.

When he came to the door of Dr. Lu's clinic, Qi Leren was vaguely excited. He didn't know how Dr. Lu would react when he saw that he was still alive.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door, and there came Dr. Lu’s faint voice: "I’m going to the grave today, you can’t see the doctor."

Qi Leren kept quiet and knocked on the door.

After knocking for a while, Dr. Lu on the other side became angry and opened the door to denounce the guest who was harassing the doctor. He suddenly saw the smiling Qi Leren standing outside the door looking at him. His face went white with a scream: "Ghost!!!!”

Seeing that the door was about to be thrown closed, Qi Leren flashed sideways into the house and angrily grabbed Dr. Lu, who was about to run. "What happened to your face? Who hit you?"

Dr. Lu, who was black and blue, covered his face and refused to let him see it. Qi Leren pulled him up like a carrot and angrily demanded, "Look, I'm still alive! Come on, who bullied you?!”

Because Dr. Lu looked young, Qi Leren never regarded him as his senior. He usually took special care of him when doing tasks together. Now, he had been bullied like this in the few days that he couldn’t see him, which made him angry.

Dr. Lu completely ignored the second half of his sentence, stared at him for a moment, and then rushed to touch his neck.

It was warm and had a pulse. Dr. Lu cried with a "wow", hugging Qi Leren to death with a strength that he didn’t know he had. Qi Leren was scared by him and wanted to throw him off, but when he heard him cry he became heartbroken and softened, standing patiently as he waited for him to calm down.

When Dr. Lu finished crying, Qi Leren's shirt was soaked, and he wondered where he’d gotten so many tears.

"I saw your body with my own eyes," Dr. Lu said with a stuffed up voice, his nose and eyes still red.

On the contrary, Qi Leren poured water on him like a master: "I was dead, but I had a resurrection item that allowed me to come back after seven days. I didn't say anything about this, and I made a mess."

Dr. Lu complained bitterly: "Do you know how long I cried?! I cry when I think of it. I'm so sad. I also wanted to clean up your things for you, but there was no key to your house and the door couldn't be opened. I had to cry and go home, I was so ashamed."

Although he has known Qi Leren for a short time, it was a friendship established in a dangerous and terrifying world. Seeing his best friend die, Dr. Lu, who was already full of feelings, was very sad. After the completion of the task in the Holy City, he had followed Ning Zhou to evacuate the residents, and the Holy See’s staff took the living residents away from their hometown. He and Ning Zhou had returned to the Village of Dusk. Ning Zhou was in a bad state along the way. Dr. Lu didn’t dare to cry. When he got home, he had seen the training menu Qi Leren had before, and then got into bed and cried for a long time.

He didn't really feel the deaths he had experienced before. He only felt as if he was playing a game that was too realistic. It wasn't until he saw Qi Leren no longer breathing as he was buried in the tree tomb that Dr. Lu had realized the cruelty of the world.

"Well, don't be sad. You haven't said what happened to your face?" Qi Leren looked at Dr. Lu's face carefully. Dr. Lu's forehead was swollen and covered with an ointment, and his mouth and chin were cracked. It looked miserable.

"I... I fell..." Dr. Lu whispered.

Where would Qi Leren believe this: "You fell all over your face?"

"Really." Dr. Lu showed him his sleeves and bruises on his elbows. "I was born with an uncoordinated cerebellum, poor balance, easy to fall when running, and failed in all sports."

Qi Leren remembered that Dr. Lu mentioned it to him before. At that time, he didn't care. He thought it was an excuse to be lazy.

"Can this be cured?" Qi Leren asked seriously.

"Ah, I’ve been treated? I can just use [Doctor’s Orders], it doesn't hurt anymore, that is, the bruises haven’t returned," Dr. Lu said after a pause.

Qi Leren was distressed yet amused: "I mean, can you cure your coordination problem?"

"No, but more exercise will still improve it some... I’ve also been exercising recently, that is, the training regimen you gave me before... I just always fall, but now I’ve thought of a solution of wearing more clothes when I go running, so when I fall it doesn’t hurt. It's just too tiring, I’ve never been so active in my life," Dr. Lu complained, and secretly glanced at Qi Leren. "Anyway, I’ll work hard and won't hold you back. Oh, my [Doctor’s Orders] have also been upgraded. Now the treatment effect is better. I’ll still milk you in the future. Tanks like you who die particularly easily need a reliable healer like me."

Knowing the cause and effect, Qi Leren was really angry and amused, and lastly he was a little touched. For a long time, he had positioned Dr. Lu's role as a healer who could find 100% of the task items and counterbalance his own luck value, so he didn't expect him to help in battle. Now it seemed that his death had had such a big impact on Dr. Lu. In fact, Dr. Lu had grown a lot more than before.

The two chatted for a long time, and Dr. Lu also carefully told Qi Leren what happened after his death, especially about Ning Zhou. Dr. Lu was very happy to learn that Ning Zhou could come back in a month at most. He accepted the fact that his best friend was gay and he was eager to teach him prostate massage skills that could make even straight men fly up. After being shot down by Qi Leren, Dr. Lu gave him a look of "peerless martial arts will be lost".

Qi Leren was hungry, too. He pilfered the delicious cupcakes Dr. Lu hoarded and ate his meal under Dr. Lu's resentful gaze.

"Those are my favorite ones... I waited in line for three hours to buy them." Dr. Lu wanted to cry.

"I just died and you were in the mood to line up to buy cupcakes, confiscated!" Qi Leren ate two of them and thought they tasted really good. No wonder they were so popular.

Dr. Lu looked at the cakes with a flat mouth amid his grief: "I was going to take them to your grave to offer them to you."

"Oh, I'll take them." Qi Leren smiled and smashed half a cupcake, stuffing it into Dr. Lu's mouth. "Well, you eat it too. It tastes really good."

Dr. Lu, who is good at buying, said happily, "As long as you don't die, I’ll buy it for you every day."

"Bah, don’t say something so unlucky! I don't want to die again," Qi Leren said.

"But you always die when you use S/L Data," Dr. Lu poked a knife in his sore spot.

“……”

The two men hurt each other for a while, and Qi Leren became tired. Because Dr. Lu had no extra bed at home, he ruthlessly robbed Dr. Lu of his bed. Heedless of the fact that Dr. Lu, who had been robbed of the bed, was whining off to the side, he fell asleep rolled up in the blanket.

He had another nightmare.

In his dream, he returned to the church at the top of the old site of the Vatican and stopped in front of the huge stone door.

He held out his hand to push the door open, and his remaining reason screamed at the top of its lungs telling him to stop, but in his dream he was ignorant and fearless and bravely pushed open the door.

The deceiver is watching him with a charming smile.

Blinded by shock at that moment, Qi Leren had no time to take in the smile on Su He's face. He actually laughed with no malice, only a hint of ponder and ridicule, just like a human watching crickets fighting to the death in a jar, watching quietly, wondering which one would win.

Once upon a time, Qi Leren didn't quite understand why Su He always had a calm and casual attitude, as was the case when he first met him. While he and Dr. Lu were extremely nervous, Su He remained composed. Because for him, this was just a cricket game. How could a chess player who could overturn the chessboard at any time be afraid because of the thrills on the chessboard?

Qi Leren dreamed of his death again.

His throat’s trachea was cut, and the pain of suffocation and the weakness from blood loss brought back to him with the dream. He crawled desperately on the cold ground, every inch of distance exhausting him, and his will constantly collapsed as he was tortured by death. He couldn't persist and gave up...

"Qi Leren, Qi Leren wake up!"

Qi Leren suddenly sat up, short of breath and in a cold sweat. Dr. Lu sat by the bed and looked at him anxiously: "You asked me to wake you up at this time... You seemed to be having a nightmare."

"...I'm fine." Qi Leren wiped the cold sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. "Is there any water?"

Dr. Lu poured him a glass of water.

Qi Leren gulped, slow to come over from the nightmare. This dream reminded him that Su He might already know about his resurrection, and he might make another action. He had to be careful that Du Yue wouldn’t leak the Nightmare Game. At the end of the day, this was actually his fault. If he was making the arrangements now, his first choice would be to ask Chen Baiqi that if anything happened to him, she should give his letter to the Courthouse’s Prophet.

It was a pity that when he wrote the letter, it was during the time when he accepted the role of "Red". At that time, he and Chen Baiqi weren’t very familiar with each other, and he didn't like the Court, and he didn't even know about the Prophet. Naturally, he couldn't be as thoughtful as he was now.

He could only mend things by getting a contract from Chen Baiqi for Du Yue to sign, swearing that he would keep this secret.

His appointed time with Chen Baiqi was coming. Qi Leren got up, put himself together, and walked towards Chen Baiqi's home.

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Editor’s Notes: I love Dr. Lu so much 😭😭😭 He’s like an awkward parent who texts you about a cute cashier that he thinks is gay after you come out to him because he’s trying too hard to show that he’s supportive

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[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei

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justallamaimaginingthings · 4 years

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Running In Circles {Klaus Hargreeves x Reader}

Request: "I'd like to request an angsty smut of Klaus x reader. 71, 1 from the angst/fluff prompt list. Also the way I got excited when I saw your requests are open, the T H I R S T do be real lol Anyway, I REALLY love your writings and thanks for doing this ❤️✨" by @pythonstarlet

Prompts: 1:"I love you, please don’t go", 71:"You've been drinking tonight, haven't you?"

Words: 3.500ish II TUA Masterlist

A/n: Okay, Klaus is the switch of the century, Y’all fight me on this. Thanks for requesting and I really hope this lives up to your expectaions!!Don’t hesitate to leave a comment and/or request anything else that’s on your mind ❤️

“We're always running in circles

Forever chasing a dream

As if everything that we long for

Is not as far as it seems”

-Asking Alexandria

The night had been as peaceful as it could get and Y/n could not be happier to finally have a chance to rest after an exhausting day at work. Having been too preoccupied by your favorite TV series playing, you hadn’t even realized it was near 3 am until a persistent knock on the door snapped you back to reality. You got up, slowly making your way towards the door as a nagging feeling of worry settled on you.

If you wanted to be honest, you'd admit that you were half expecting to face a badly injured Diego, asking you to patch him up after one of his vigilante jobs gone wrong. However, the sight you came face to face with the moment the door opened was completely different. Klaus was leaning on the wall, barely able to hold himself up as he held onto the doorframe in a failed attempt to keep his balance. It took him a moment, but when he finally looked up, you could see his eyes were bloodshot red and there was a bleeding cut on his cheek.

"Can I crash here for the night?" He slurred, leaning forward as the smell of alcohol hit you. There were countless thoughts running through your mind, countless questions that needed to be asked. However it was evident that Klaus was in no state to answer any of them.

Without a word, you helped him to the couch as he put a hand on your shoulder in order to stabilize himself. Only then did you realize his whole body was trembling. Placing a hand on his forehead, you felt him burning up as if he had a fever and a worried sigh left your lips. He sank on the couch and you sat down next to him, trying to get him to look at you. Pushing aside the immerse panic caused by the thought he might have OD'ed again, you tried to check his pulse when his hand came to your wrist, halting your movement.

"I'm fine" He said, trying to brush off the concerned look you gave him.

"Clearly you're not. You've been drinking tonight, haven't you?" You asked in what you hoped to be a steady tone. To say that seeing him in that state pained you would be an understatement. It might have been far from the first time something similar had happened but that only seemed to make it worse.

"Just a little. Or a lot" He answered and burst out laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. The laugh was short lived, fading away the moment his eyes met yours. No matter how hard you tried, there was no way you could hide your emotions, fear and disappointment evident in your expression.

"I thought you were actually going to try this time, you promised you were going to try this time. What happened?" You asked. It had only been two days since you had picked him up from the rehabilitation center, two days since he had looked at you and promised that time was going to be different.

"What always happens" He replied simply. The past weeks spent in rehab had been filled by nothing but crushing self doubt and horrifying visions and there was only so much he could handle. Knowing how those conversations usually went, he wanted nothing more than to leave things as they were and fall sleep, but he couldn't. If anything he owned you some explanation. "I thought I could do this, but I can't. I needed to get them out of my head"

"And why didn't you call? You were supposed to call when it got bad and I was supposed to help" You reminded him softly, allowing the familiar blue glimmer of your powers to shine in your palms. A year after you had moved in the Academy, your powers had significantly grown and you had found out that you were actually able to relieve others of any physical pain, or more accurately absorb it, even if it came with the cost.

"We both know what that thing does to you, and I'm done hurting you" He replied, turning to look at you with intensity you had never seen in his eyes before.

"And what the fuck do you think standing by and watching you slowly killing yourself does to me?" You snapped at him, voice more harsh than you intended as you stood up from the couch. Feeling frustration threatening to consume you, you paced around trying to calm down as much as possible. Lashing out at him was only going to make things harder than they already were.

"Oh don't be so dramatic. Besides, sobriety is so overrated, it's not even worth it" I'm not worth it. He tried to sound careless, but it came out strained and he cringed at the cracking of his voice. Turning around, you crouched in front of him so that your eyes were on the same level. You let out a deep breath before taking his hands in yours and squeezing gently in an effort to make him focus on what you were going to say.

"For the first time in your life I need you to actually listen to me. I know you, Klaus Hargreeves. I know that despite the selfish act you play, deep down you're kind and caring. I know you're a stubborn prick that can achieve anything you put your mind on. And I know you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. So don’t doubt for a second that I'd do anything to help you. All I need is for you to let me do this, okay?" By the time you were done talking, tears had gathered on the corners of his eyes, and all he could do was nod, not trusting his voice. There were so many things he wanted to say, but even the thought of them terrified him. You shot him a sad smile before the bruise on his face caught your attention one more.

Watching you getting up, he buried his head in the pillows, regretting the moment he decided to ask for your help. If it was one thing he despised more than the ghosts in his head that was seeing you disappointed and even worse hurt, especially when he knew he was the one that had caused it. Still, after being let down time after time, you hadn't turn your back at him. You were still there after all the pain he had caused you and he hated himself for that. He knew he should either get his shit together and become the person you believed him to be or let you go and spare you the misery his life was, but he was too weak.

The truth Klaus had come to realize was that he couldn’t live without you. The only moments of happiness he could remember had been spent with you. From the beginning you had been his anchor, helping him through the hell his powers had put him through. You were the only person who could push the voices away, and he could never forget the nights he had fallen asleep next to you. As if that wasn't enough he was in love with you, had been for as long as he could remember knowing you, and the thought that he wasn't good enough for you was killing him.

When you came back, you sat back down on the couch and started gently pressing the towel on his cut, getting the blood away. Without noticing, you placed a hand on his other cheek to keep him steady, sending an electrifying chill to course through him. Your touch always had the same effect on him, sending him on a high unlike any other he had witnessed.

"This may sting a little" You warned, pouring some disinfectant on the towel.

"Right now you could punch me and I wouldn't feel a damn thing" He replied. And I'd deserve it.

While you worked on the cut your eyes wondered to his, remembering how they used to spark with mischief and joy when the two of you playfully messed around. You could spend hours drowning in his emerald eyes, feeling almost hypnotized by the variety of emotions hidden in them. No matter how much he had changed, hiding his true self behind pills and booze, his eyes remained the same reminding you of the Klaus you used to know, the Klaus you had fallen in love with years ago and never had the guts to say it.

When you were done cleaning the wound, you let your fingers dance up to his face while blue sparks erupted from them. Your thumb traced his cheekbone and he leaned into your touch as he felt the familiar tingle of your powers above his cheek, until there was nothing left from the once bleeding cut. For a moment the veins on your arm turned black, a clear sign that the wound had successfully healed. You were about to pull your hand away when he wrapped his fingers around your wrist. He left a couple soft kisses against your palm, surprising the both of you.

"Klaus…" His name falls from your lips in a small whisper that's both a warning and a plea. You're warning him to stop this before it's too late and at the same time begging him to keep going because you know that whatever is going on between the two of you is real and you've never felt that way before in your life. The two of you have danced around the lines of friendship so many times, whether it was drunken one night stands or falling asleep curled into each other, that you simply can’t go back to being friends but at the same time can't find the strength to surrender to your feelings.

He doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or the shock from your words that still linger on his mind, but something inside him is begging him to kiss you and he gives in. He leans in, capturing your lips as his hand makes its way to the back of your neck, guiding you closer to him. The blissful feeling of finally being able to touch him sends a shiver down your spine. Using his grip on your wrist, he pulls you closer and following his lead you straddle his waist ending up sitting on his lap. Your hands roam around his chest, marveling at the way his lean muscles tense under your touch and you couldn’t be more thankful for the v-neck of the shirt he's wearing.

The need for oxygen becomes too much and you break apart, panting, foreheads pressed together and eyes still fluttered close. A meaningful silence befalls the two of you his hands refuse to loosen their grip on your waist, even when you slightly leans back to look at him. This is all you've ever wanted but still there's something wrong about it. His warm breath is hitting your face and you can smell the alcohol there. That's when it hits you. The realization feels like the bittersweet sense of déjà vu that crushes you when you visit a placed you used to call home. You've been through this too many times before and you know how this ends. You will spend the night in the heat of passion and for a while you'll believe there's a chance that this means more to him than just sex, only for you to wake up alone again.

"What are we doing?" You ask, cursing your traitorous body for the breathlessness of your tone. He tilts his head slightly, shooting you a confused look. "Klaus, we're just running in circles. It's the same story, repeating itself and it only ends up hurting both of us" It's the hardest thing you'll ever have to do, but you force yourself to follow through, as you slowly untangle yourself from him.

"No, not this time" He rushes to explain causing a humorless chuckle from you.

"How is tonight any different?" You ask, but the question is met with nothing but silence. The way he's looking at you is practically begging you to stay. He knows it's a hopeless attempt, he's screwed this up so many times he doubts there's any way it can be fixed, but he has to try, he owns it to the both of you. There is only one way to make it right and it scares him to death, but his choices are running out. He takes a deep breath, trying to remain collected as he prepares for what is to follow. You have gotten up and halfway to your bedroom when you hear him talk.

"Because tonight I'm telling the truth. Look, Y/n I-" He struggles to find the right words and the way you're watching him, taking in his every movement makes it even harder. His mind is still a little fuzzy from the alcohol, and even though the high is wearing off, the fact that just moments ago he was kissing you makes it almost impossible to think straight. "The nights I've spend with you have been great, but so is every moment by your side. I don't know how you put up with me even after I fucked up again and again, but that's just another proof of how beautiful a person you are. I'm a mess, but you make me want to be better. For this and for so much more, I love you. I've loved you for longer than I can remember and I-I need you here. Please don't go…"

You can barely precede the words that come out of his mouth, having wished for them so many times you can't believe it is actually happening. There's a hint of desperation lacing his voice and it's enough to make you realize he's telling the truth.

"And why did you run?" It's nothing more than a whisper, but he hears it. He pushes himself off the couch and walks up to you.

"Because I'm a fucking coward. The way you make me feel, it scared me more than I can explain. I was afraid I would end up hurting you or losing you. I know I don’t deserve you, but I'm ready to try, if you'll have me"

You cup the side of his face with your hand, softly caressing his cheek and he almost stops breathing when you leave a tender kiss on the corner of his lips. He's looking at you so lovingly it causes your heart to skip a bit. "I love you. I've always loved you and always will"

And then he's kissing you and it feels like heaven. It's different from any other kiss you've had, slower and more sensual, but just as hungry. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest and the gasp you make is all the invitation he needs to deepen the kiss. While your tongues fight for dominance you tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging slightly which elicits a throaty groan from his lips. The grip on your waist becomes even tighter, sure to leave a bruise, but the only thing that matters to you is the way his lips move against yours in a fervent way that makes your whole body tingle.

The two of you stumble backwards to the bedroom, not once breaking contact, as clothes start flying off. You've already managed to unbutton the rest of his shirt and he shrugs it off, throwing it on the floor. Kicking the bedroom door open, he backs you up until your knees hit the bed. Only then does the kiss break and he makes a quick work of disposing your tank top and pants, leaving you on nothing but a flimsy set of black underwear. Your hand fumbles with the buckle of his belt until it finally gives out with a small click.

Next thing you know, you're being pushed back into the bed and his lips return to your neck, kissing and sucking his way down your chest and you can't hold back a moan of pleasure when he gently bites on your sweet spot. Your hips involuntary lift from the mattress to grind against his, granting the both of you some much desired friction and delighting in the sharp gasp that escapes him. Taking the chance, you use his distraction to flip him on his back as you straddle his waist.

You lean in for another kiss full of urgency and burning passion, and you allow yourself to get lost in his touch. Klaus lets his hand get tangled in your hair, guiding the movement of your lips and he can feel his erection straining against the unforgiving leather of his pants. Finally the two of you break apart and he chases your lips as you slowly inch away so that you can have a better look at him. The way he's splayed out on the bed, hair already a mess and lips swollen, makes him look positively ravishing and you can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine when you notice his lust fueled gaze flick to your lips.

By that time, your heart is beating like crazy and your skin feels like it was on fire. You want him then and there, but the desperation in his eyes prompts you to put on a show you'll both enjoy. Grabbing his wrist, you place both of his hand above his head, holding them there as you give him a mischievous smirk.

"Daring, aren't we?" He muses breathlessly but the next words are caught on his throat as you start leaving open mouthed kisses down the column of his neck. Reaching his collarbone, you focus your attention there, sucking and biting on the sensitive skin, sure to leave a mark, but judging from the sinful sounds that fall from his lips this is the last thing on his mind. You continue your journey down his chest, making sure not to leave an inch of skin unattended to, feeling the way his muscles tense under your touch.

Your feather light touch reaches slide over his stomach, only to ghost over the tent in his pants causing him to let out a pleading whimper. Finally giving in, you get rid of his leather pants and underwear as he eagerly lifts his hips to help. You waste no time, before your tongue swirls around his tip, tasting the salty precum that's gathered there. His eyes shut close and he throws his head back in pleasure as you wrap your lips around his throbbing dick.

The moan that he lets out sends waves of desire through your body and he grips the headboard so tight his knuckles turn white. You bobble your head up and down his shaft, careful to keep your movements tantalizingly slow, sending a shudder to run through his entire body. He thrusts deeper into your mouth, getting increasingly desperate and you use a hand to hold his hips down before leaning back to look at him.

"We have all night, why the rush?" You whisper smirking, even though you can't deny the fact that you're also growing impatient.

"Don't tease me, love" He says huskily right before flipping you over so that he's straddling you. He crashes his lips on yours and by the intensity of the kiss you know the teasing is done.

The night that follows is filled by nothing but sinful pleasure and burning passion and by the time the two of you fall back into the mattress, you're completely spent. You snuggle up against his chest, allowing the rhythmic beating of his heart to lull you to sleep. Klaus stays awake for a while longer, arms wrapped around you tightly as he softly traces patterns on your back. He leaves a small kiss on your forehead and in a half asleep response your move closer to him, making his heart flood with warmth. He still finds it unbelievable that you reciprocate his feelings and neither of you know how this is going to end up, but for the first time in his life the thought of something steady doesn't scare him. That's the last thing that goes through his mind before he finally dozes off, holding you close and determined never to let you go again.

BONUS: THE GIF THAT STARTED IT ALL AND WILL PROBABLY GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK (you won’t see me complaining tho, if that’s how I go, that’s how I go)

#tua klaus #tua #tua imagine #tua x reader #tua x you #klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves imagine #klaus hargreeves x you #klaus hargreeves smut #tua smut

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alinaastarkov · 4 years

Note

Funniest moments in the books ? Most disturbing moments ? Touching scenes?

Funniest moments:

Alliser Thorne overheard him. "Lord Snow wants to take my place now." He sneered. "I'd have an easier time teaching a wolf to juggle than you will training this aurochs." "I'll take that wager, Ser Alliser," Jon said. "I'd love to see Ghost juggle." - Jon III, AGOT

Tyrion grinned. "Then I shall scour the Seven Kingdoms for dwarfs and ship them all to you, Lord Mormont." As they laughed, he sucked the meat from a crab leg and reached for another. The crabs had arrived from Eastwatch only this morning, packed in a barrel of snow, and they were succulent. Ser Alliser Thorne was the only man at table who did not so much as crack a smile. "Lannister mocks us." "Only you, Ser Alliser," Tyrion said. This time the laughter round the table had a nervous, uncertain quality to it. Thorne's black eyes fixed on Tyrion with loathing. "You have a bold tongue for someone who is less than half a man. Perhaps you and I should visit the yard together." "Why?" asked Tyrion. "The crabs are here." The remark brought more guffaws from the others. Ser Alliser stood up, his mouth a tight line. "Come and make your japes with steel in your hand." Tyrion looked pointedly at his right hand. "Why, I have steel in my hand, Ser Alliser, although it appears to be a crab fork. Shall we duel?" He hopped up on his chair and began poking at Thorne's chest with the tiny fork. Roars of laughter filled the tower room. Bits of crab flew from the Lord Commander's mouth as he began to gasp and choke. Even his raven joined in, cawing loudly from above the window. "Duel! Duel! Duel!" Ser Alliser Thorne walked from the room so stiffly it looked as though he had a dagger up his butt. Mormont was still gasping for breath. Tyrion pounded him on the back. "To the victor goes the spoils," he called out. "I claim Thorne's share of the crabs." - Tyrion III, AGOT

She never saw how the skinny man got over the wall, but when he did she fell on him with Gendry and Hot Pie. Gendry's sword shattered on the man's helm, tearing it off his head. Underneath he was bald and scared-looking, with missing teeth and a speckly grey beard, but even as she was feeling sorry for him she was killing him, shouting, "Winterfell! Winterfell!" while Hot Pie screamed "Hot Pie!" beside her as he hacked at the man's scrawny neck. - Arya IV, ACOK

Ser Boros Blount harrumphed. "No man threatens His Grace in the presence of the Kingsguard." Tyrion Lannister raised an eyebrow. "I am not threatening the king, ser, I am educating my nephew. Bronn, Timett, the next time Ser Boros opens his mouth, kill him." The dwarf smiled. "Now that was a threat, ser. See the difference?" - Sansa III, ACOK

"I never said that," Jon insisted. Slynt slammed a fist on the table. "I heard you! Ser Alliser had your measure true enough, it seems. You lie through your bastard's teeth. Well, I will not suffer it. I will not! You might have fooled this crippled blacksmith, but not Janos Slynt! Oh, no. Janos Slynt does not swallow lies so easily. Did you think my skull was stuffed with cabbage?" "I don't know what your skull is stuffed with. My lord." - Jon IX, ASOS

Thorne was much the more clever of the two, Jon realized; this had his stink all over it. He was trapped. "I'll go," he said in a clipped, curt voice. "M'lord," Janos Slynt reminded him. "You'll address me—" "I'll go, my lord. But you are making a mistake, my lord. You are sending the wrong man, my lord. Just the sight of me is going to anger Mance. My lord would have a better chance of reaching terms if he sent—" - Jon X, ACOK

These probably aren’t the funniest, just the ones I can think of now. I’m a simple woman and I love sassy Jon. Sue me.

Most disturbing moments:

Just the whole of the Red Wedding chapter from Catelyn’s POV. It’s so sad and disturbing at once cause you can feel her go a bit crazy. From “The Rains of Castemere” playing to... A man in dark armor and a pale pink cloak spotted with blood stepped up to Robb. "Jaime Lannister sends his regards." He thrust his longsword through her son's heart, and twisted. Robb had broken his word, but Catelyn kept hers. She tugged hard on Aegon's hair and sawed at his neck until the blade grated on bone. Blood ran hot over her fingers. His little bells were ringing, ringing, ringing, and the drum went boom doom boom. Finally someone took the knife away from her. The tears burned like vinegar as they ran down her cheeks. Ten fierce ravens were raking her face with sharp talons and tearing off strips of flesh, leaving deep furrows that ran red with blood. She could taste it on her lips. It hurts so much, she thought. Our children, Ned, all our sweet babes. Rickon, Bran, Arya, Sansa, Robb . . . Robb . . . please, Ned, please, make it stop, make it stop hurting . . . The white tears and the red ones ran together until her face was torn and tattered, the face that Ned had loved. Catelyn Stark raised her hands and watched the blood run down her long fingers, over her wrists, beneath the sleeves of her gown. Slow red worms crawled along her arms and under her clothes. It tickles. That made her laugh until she screamed. "Mad," someone said, "she's lost her wits," and someone else said, "Make an end," and a hand grabbed her scalp just as she'd done with Jinglebell, and she thought, No, don't, don't cut my hair, Ned loves my hair. Then the steel was at her throat, and its bite was red and cold. - Catelyn VII, ASOS

Brienne's chest was burning, and the storm was behind her eyes, blinding her. Bones ground against each other inside of her. Biter's mouth gaped open, impossibly wide. She saw his teeth, yellow and crooked, filed into points. When they closed on the soft meat of her cheek, she hardly felt it. She could feel herself spiralling down into the dark. I cannot die yet, she told herself, there is something I still need to do. Biter's mouth tore free, full of blood and flesh. He spat, grinned, and sank his pointed teeth into her flesh again. This time he chewed and swallowed. He is eating me, she realized, but she had no strength left to fight him any longer. She felt as if she were floating above herself, watching the horror as if it were happening to some other woman, to some stupid girl who thought she was a knight. It will be finished soon, she told herself. Then it will not matter if he eats me. Biter threw back his head and opened his mouth again, howling, and stuck his tongue out at her. It was sharply pointed, dripping blood, longer than any tongue should be. Sliding from his mouth, out and out and out, red and wet and glistening, it made a hideous sight, obscene. His tongue is a foot long, Brienne thought, just before the darkness took her. Why, it looks almost like a sword. - Brienne VII, AFFC

The whole bit with Theon, Ramsay and Jeyne it’s so gross I’m not gonna post quotes. Any of Ramsay’s actions really but that really got to me.

Most touching moment:

Arya's eyes went wide. Dark eyes, like his. "A sword," she said in a small, hushed breath. The scabbard was soft grey leather, supple as sin. Jon drew out the blade slowly, so she could see the deep blue sheen of the steel. "This is no toy," he told her. "Be careful you don't cut yourself. The edges are sharp enough to shave with." "Girls don't shave," Arya said. "Maybe they should. Have you ever seen the septa's legs?" She giggled at him. "It's so skinny." "So are you," Jon told her. "I had Mikken make this special. The bravos use swords like this in Pentos and Myr and the other Free Cities. It won't hack a man's head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you're fast enough." "I can be fast," Arya said."You'll have to work at it every day." He put the sword in her hands, showed her how to hold it, and stepped back. "How does it feel? Do you like the balance?" "I think so," Arya said. "First lesson," Jon said. "Stick them with the pointy end." Arya gave him a whap on the arm with the flat of her blade. The blow stung, but Jon found himself grinning like an idiot. "I know which end to use," Arya said. [...] “King's Landing is a true city, a thousand times the size of Winterfell. Until you find a partner, watch how they fight in the yard. Run, and ride, make yourself strong. And whatever you do …" Arya knew what was coming next. They said it together. "… don't … tell … Sansa!" [...] Jon messed up her hair. "I will miss you, little sister." Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. "I wish you were coming with us." "Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows?" He was feeling better now. He was not going to let himself be sad. "I better go. I'll spend my first year on the Wall emptying chamber pots if I keep Uncle Ben waiting any longer." Arya ran to him for a last hug. "Put down the sword first," Jon warned her, laughing. She set it aside almost shyly and showered him with kisses. When he turned back at the door, she was holding it again, trying it for balance. "I almost forgot," he told her. "All the best swords have names." "Like Ice," she said. She looked at the blade in her hand. "Does this have a name? Oh, tell me." "Can't you guess?" Jon teased. "Your very favorite thing." Arya seemed puzzled at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick. They said it together: "Needle!" The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north. - Jon II, AGOT

The. Most. Touching. Moment. Period. I don’t make the rules.

Thanks for the ask!

#asoiaf #jon snow #arya stark #tyrion lannister #brienne of tarth #theon greyjoy #jeyne poole #ramsay bolton #catelyn stark #Anonymous #neve has mail

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shawnsassymendes · 5 years

Text

Best Friend’s Brother ii

a/n: ik i said i wouldnt make a second part but a few people said they wanted one and i got to thinking and then this came about lol hope you like it

synopsis: you spend the day with the Mendes family after your date with Shawn.

wc: 1.7k

{Masterlist in Bio}

part 1

____________________

The bell above the door rang as you and Aaliyah entered the little restaurant. You took a quick glance around at the tables to find Karen and Manny sitting in the corner booth already. They were looking at the menus as if they weren’t memorized by all of you by now. You nudged Aaliyah and motioned to where her parents were.

“What are you getting this time?” She asked as you both walked towards the booth.

“Probably the blueberry pancakes. I got the eggs last time.” You mused out loud. “Or should I get the mixed berry waffles? They both come with a good bit of berries on the side. No never mind, I’m getting the pancakes.”

“Glad I could help you make that decision.” Aaliyah chuckled as you scooted into the couch against the wall. “Hey mum, hey dad.”

“Hey girls, how was your morning?” Manny asked, eyes still on the menu.

"Pretty good, you know Saturday mornings are my favorite.” You grinned.

Aaliyah scoffed and rolled her eyes playfully. “Ugh, such a sweet talker.”

Every Saturday morning, you had a breakfast date with Aaliyah and her parents. Sometimes Shawn was included, and other times, like today, he wasn’t. And every Saturday morning, without fail, Karen would guess exactly what you and Aaliyah were going to order.

“Alright Auntie Karen, hit me.”

“Hmm, let’s see. Aaliyah’s going to get the... she’s going to get the turkey sandwich with extra hash browns.” You turned to Aaliyah who nodded, not fazed that her mom knew what she was going to order. “And the cup of strawberries for desert.”

“That doesn’t count, she gets it every time. Now me.”

“You... I think you’re going to get the mixed berry waffles.” You opened your mouth to correct her, but she cut you off. “No no, don’t tell me! You’re going to get the umm the blueberry pancakes! I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Every time! How do you do it?” You exclaimed.

Karen laughed and waved you off. “Magic, darling”

The waitress came and took the orders from Manny with a look on her face that said ‘I know these people, but I’m not sure where from’. Something you were quite used to when going out with the Mendes family. After she left, Aaliyah chatted with her mom while you chatted with Manny, recounting the events of the past week the others didn’t know about.

There was a lull in the conversation when Manny received an important email he had to check and Aaliyah took out her phone to text her boyfriend. Karen cleared her throat and looked over at you. “So we uh, we thought Shawn might be joining us this morning for breakfast. Considering your date went well last night?”

Suddenly, Manny’s email wasn’t important anymore and Aaliyah’s conversation with Jordan was put on hold and all eyes were on you.

“Uh yeah, it went really well actually.” You smiled, ears heating up at the memory of last night. “He said he wanted to head to his apartment today, wanted to write something in the studio thing he’s got there.”

Karen and Manny made eye contact and smiled. “Mm, not surprising.” Karen mumbled.

“No, not at all.” Manny replied, picking up his phone and returning to his email.

You raised your eyebrows in question and turned to Aaliyah. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged in response, “If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.”

You groaned and ran your hands through your hair. “I hate you guys and your secrets.”

____________________

The drive back to the house was mostly uneventful. Manny insisted he play his music, which you found hilarious and Aaliyah found embarrassing.

Karen was dropped off at her office on the way to take her car back home. Aaliyah called shotgun as soon as her mom got out of the car, leaving you alone in the backseat. You decided to take advantaged of the situation and take up the whole back seat.

You took out your phone and saw that Shawn had replied to your good morning text while you were at breakfast.

shawnie boy: morning

shawnie boy: are you guys done with breakfast?

you: yea, heading home rn

you: you still at your apartment?

shawnie boy: why? do you miss me already?

you: maybe..

You definitely missed him already.

shawnie boy: ur cute

shawnie boy: i came home, brian stopped by to raid my fridge so i brought him with me

shawnie boy: hes staying for lunch

you: see u guys in a bit

As soon as you sent your reply, you received a text from someone else. You were going to swipe it away when you realized it was from Brian.

brian craigen (shawn’s friend): hey y/n

You quickly changed his redundant contact name before replying.

you: hey brian, whats up?

Brian never really texted you, not to say that you didn’t talk. He was Shawn’s best friend and you were Aaliyah’s. All four of you were almost always at their house. You were all very much a part of each other’s childhoods growing up. But he just never texted you. If he ever had something to say to you, he would just wait until he saw you next. There was never anything urgent in your conversations.

So you had no clue why he was texting you right now.

brian criagen: are you texting shawn rn?

brian criagen: like currently

you: yea?

brian craigen: dude hes smiling at his phone mad hard rn

you: does everyone know this is going on?

brian craigen: everyone’s known since forever y/n dont kid yourself

you: oof was i that obvious?

brian craigen: you both were

“Hey, is the air on back there?” Manny called to you in the back, looking at you through the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, it’s good.” You reassured him.

He raised an eyebrow at you and turned it up a little more, regardless of your reply. “Are you sure? You’re face is really red, kid.”

“It’s because she’s texting Shawn.” Aaliyah teased in a sing-song voice.

“Am not!” Not fully a lie on your part.

“So she’s texting about Shawn. Same thing.”

Manny chuckled and shook his head at you and his daughter’s antics.

When you got home, you saw Shawn’s car in the driveway. No one missed the way you perked up in your seat.

“Don’t get too excited.” Aaliyah smirked, fishing out her keys to the front door.

“Shut up.” You groaned and walked away from her and into the kitchen. You saw Brian on the couch and called out a ‘Hey, Brian’ in passing.

Shawn turned around as soon as he heard your voice. “Hey.” He smiled, cheeks the most adorable shade of pink and a steaming mug of what you knew was green mint tea in his hand.

You hip checked him when you reached the counter and grabbed yourself a mug. Seeing his mug of tea made you want to make some of your favorite too.

“Hey.” You smiled. Shawn came to stand closer to you while you added some water to the kettle and pulled out a tea bag.

You hopped up on the counter as you waited for your water to boil. Shawn came to stand right in front of you and put his forearms on your shoulders.

This wasn’t necessarily new, all the touching and close quarters, both of you always had a lack of needing personal space. At least around each other. But it felt new. He wasn’t your best friend’s brother who you secretly had a crush on anymore. But he wasn’t anything else at this point really. It was too early to tell.

Shawn leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You hummed, a ghost of a smile on your lips.

Shawn raised his eyebrows, clearly enjoying the banter. “Oh, so we’re keeping secrets this early in our relationship?”

“Yup, I’m a tough cookie to crack. Can’t get me that easy.”

“I think I already know what’s got your mind working overtime.”

“Pray tell.”

“I think you wanna know what we are.” Shawn’s tongue darted out to lick his lips. He really didn’t want to have gotten that wrong.

You bit your lips at his words, shocked at how easily he could read you. “Am I that easy to read?”

“A little bit.” Shawn shrugged. “But maybe it’s also because I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

“Then what are we? It’s only been one date. Or two.”

“But it’s also been a decade. I know you like the back of my hand. Not something most people can say after one or two dates.”

“You are incredibly right Mr. Mendes. Whatever shall we do? Simply be pliant in the hands of a higher power?”

“It seems we have but no choice.” Shawn giggled, bumping his nose against yours.

“Mm, good. I don’t like making choices. Too much thinking is required.”

“Then let me do the thinking for you.” Shawn leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. It wasn’t a needy kiss or an experimental kiss. It was just a kiss. Granted, it wasn’t a short one. It was like both of you were taking a crash course on what it’s like to feel loved by the other. Every kiss he gave you felt like it was waiting to happen since you first met.

You didn’t know how long you were sat there on the counter, Shawn standing between your legs. You water had long finished boiling. The table that was clear when you first arrived was now fully set, courtesy of Aaliyah you presumed.

Considering the fact that she was sitting right there.

“Uh, hi Liyah?” Shawn said, breaking the tension.

“Is this what I’m gonna have to deal with from now on?”

“Come on Aaliyah, we all knew this was gonna happen at one point.” Brian came up from behind her and patted her on the head, messing up her hair in the process. “I, for one, am glad the pining is over.”

“Oh, I’m definitely glad the pining is over.” Shawn smirked. “Cause now I can do this whenever I want.” He pulled you in for another kiss, completely disregarding his best friend and his sister being audience to the intimate moment.

Aaliyah balled up a napkin and threw at you and her brother. “I don’t really care, y’all know that. Just please, please, for the love of God, lock the door when you’re going at it!” Aaliyah laughed as she got up to set the food on the table.

____________________

hello my lovelies! thankyou for reading and im so incredibly sorry for how long this took. if you could send me your favorite line from this fic it would make my day. feedback is greatly appreciated. this is a non au fic but i tried to make shawn’s fame as insignificant as possible cuz i just wanted it to be more natural you know. anyways. love you guys.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes writing #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes x y/n #shawn mendes x you #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes one shot #aaliyah mendes #karen mendes #karen rayment #manny mendes

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mantra4ia · 4 years

Text

The Rise of Skywalker: Expanded Reaction Episode I (spoilers ahead)

Approaching a Saga that I love and a film that I hate with equal parts passion and compassion.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, I must preface my opinions with the one central point of view that has never wavered: You can be a Star Wars fan and a film critic simultaneously. I think the POV where the critics like a Star Wars film and the fans don’t, and people counter with “Critics, you don’t know what you’re talking about especially with Star Wars movies. You don’t know anything. Go away” is absolute garbage. I also think the opposite point of view, Diode if you will, is trash where fans like a film, critics don’t, and “fans don’t know what there talking about.” Those, I believe, are the only trash POVs as it relates to Star Wars. Everything else is fandom.

Likes (from the very big to the very detailed)

John Williams score. John Williams guided us through the film with subtly and passion. Even when things were happening on screen that I didn't like, I felt my feelings soften and shift because of the score. He composed a lot of what would have otherwise been chaos.

C-P3O: comedy comes from character, and Disney SW utilized 3PO in the best light I've ever seen him for that purpose. “Babo Frick, one of my oldest friends” was such a triumphant example. Also, in general, the humor in this film from all ensemble characters landed really well, such as “they fly now” and “what were you going to tell Rey...or is now not a good time.” I also liked the humor in The Last Jedi, but a lot of people didn't. I think that came down to TLJ execution where some of the humor felt too earthly “of the moment” and somehow the conversation turned humor into a taboo, where as RoS kept the humor classic and classy.

The banter between Rey, Poe, and Finn. Finally, I felt invested in the bond of these characters, which gave me stakes to win or lose. It took three films to set up unfortunately, but I the aforementioned Finn and Poe digging at each other and the opening between Rey and Poe – What did you do to my droid? What did you do to my ship? - really sold me on the fact that this movie might have, if not plot continuity, then emotional continuity.

Han Solo. What can I say guys, I'm a sucker for full circle, volta bracket (forgive me if my music theory analogy is wrong) story devices. It didn't necessarily make sense, but poetic beauty won and hit me in the feels. When Ben said “dad” and launched that Red Lightsaber into the stratosphere, it provided such a huge sense of catharsis I was brimming with tears. FULL POST HERE.

The “Dyad” in the Force: Kylo and Rey’s relationship. If the Force was sentient it would have said all along: I've created my own balance in the form of two people, why are you trying to mess it up? That's as close to a direct message as I have ever gotten from the Force, expressed in themes from TFA and TLJ which culminated Luke's lightsaber blowing up in the tug of war thrown room scene. For all the people saying “another hookie, new lore, unfounded concept brought to you by Disney,” no, I feel like that's been fairly consistent. In my opinion, this is just another iteration of a recurring element in all over Star Wars: both Light and Dark side, Jedi Master/ Sith Lord and Apprentice. This is just a first time that its been a light side-dark side pair where neither are masters and all the Rise of Skywalker did was gave it a name and called it a dyad and part of what the force has needed for balance. I felt really invested in the “Reylo” dynamic. and while I was never entrenched in one specific outcome for Ben and Rey, all the possibilities were intriguing. This is perhaps the element in the sequel trilogy that was most consistently addressed in all the episodes, and it paid off for me.

The visual imagery. Say what you will about Force FedEx #that’snothowtheForceworks, but it makes for some beautiful action sequences and incredibly framed, colored, and illuminated still shots, that fired up a lot on interest in the spectacle of Star Wars even prior to IX's release.

Kylo Ren's arc. Full appreciation post HERE. Kylo / Ben Solo is undoubtedly my favorite character of the Disney trilogy, in part due the that fact that his story has tracked the most consistently throughout three films, and also because I've always been a fan of complex antagonists. His arc's been psychologically interesting, to the point where I would have been perfectly fine with Kylo, as Supreme leader, being the main antagonist of RoS instead of Palpatine. Also, Adam Driver acts the h*** out of Ben Solo too, even though after he “turns” he has no dialogue. It's all carried on acting, and its stone cold believable.

The Leia training flashback with Luke. It added a new take on the classic trilogy that was the one big element where this movie swung for the fences on risk-taking and it paid off for me.

The *idea* of Leia being Rey’s training master. Fragmented speech aside, JJ's team did the best they could with what they had of Carrie Fisher to execute a wonderful pairing in the Force. Whether or not the best way to honor Carrie was to use the Last Jedi footage or to pass the baton in order to finish the character that she made an icon, is a healthy debate, but the best intentions were glowing.

Expanding the intricacies of Force visitation. Colloquially, the “Force Skype” from The Last Jedi, has evolved into “Force FedEx.” Even though the stage was set for this in TLJ, when Kylo touches water from the Ahch-to ocean, some people won't like this, and I totally get that. It makes many plot expediting elements easy. But admittedly, I will deal with that because it makes for some amazing iconic fight visuals. The throne room scene is still top of the trilogy, but I have to admit that when you Force FedEx a lightsaber – it makes for a fantastic mic drop.

The lightsaber fight on the Death Star wreckage. This was my favorite confrontation in RoS, ironically no Force FedEx required. The contrast of fighting style is never more apparent, Rey jumping over waves, Kylo walking through them with brute force of will. Then somewhere along the way the styles flip, Kylo's becomes more artful and Rey's more brutal (not unlike Palpatine's aggressive form) when she knows she's about to be beaten.

Kylo Ren's death blow simultaneously with Leia's death, book-ended by the fact that Leia did not become one with the Force until Ben did too. It's creative liberty to be sure, no other Force ghost transition has been like that, but it worked for me.

Best acted movie of the new trilogy overall by all the cast, parts large and small. You can tell that everyone involved made it with love.

The payoff of Finn's force-sensitivity that we got in Force Awakens mostly makes up for the pain of poor, half-retconned broom kid. We get backstory of other storm trooper deserters that we spirited from their home worlds which become broom kid substitutes. I'm also glad at the payoff of Finn joining the resistance culminated in becoming a co-leader with Poe.

Remember that one throwaway in The Last Jedi that a very vocal group (myself excluded) hated because Luke did it in exile and despair? Rise of Skywalker has an appropriate answer. When Ben throws away his cross-guard lightsaber into the waves of Death Star debris, as a mirror image to Luke but with hope, we get a very iconic moment.

Initial Reaction *** Episode II *** Episode III

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sea-side-scribbles · 4 years

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Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/55580260

Chapter 9:

The next morning Nick woke up to the soft tune of cheery music that came from the radio that used to wake everyone up every day. He instead hadn’t heard it for a long time now, because he had usually overslept it or he had been to high to notice it. Still tired, Nick looked out of the window into the twilight of the morning and asked himself how anyone could stand up at such an unearthly hour. But some Wellies were already walking outside, so he guessed they got used to it. And also, they didn’t experience any wild chases yesterday.

The music followed him when he walked down the stairs and entered the kitchen, where he met Morrie. He could only rasp „Morning,“ and had to clear his throat because for some reason his voice left him.

„Morning, Nick“, Morrie returned casually. „Fancy a coffee?“

Nick affirmed immediately.

„There you go,“ the other man said and placed an already filled cup on the counter. „With milk, just the way you like it.“

Nick stared at the cup, still dealing with his own thoughts. He was unable to decide how he should feel. He couldn’t handle that he was in one room with Morrie just like that, without getting attacked, drinking a coffee with him like old friends and that Morrie even cared enough to serve it the way he liked. Nick felt numb, as if it was a dream, as if he would still lie at the couch in Sally’s place and yet it was like he held back feelings that could break out any second. Above all, he didn’t know how to act, especially not after what they had done last night. Had Morrie been serious or did he only want some amusement?

„There must be something terribly interesting in that coffee if you keep staring at it like that,“ Morrie ripped him out of his thoughts. „As if you wanted to summon a ghost.“

At Nick’s puzzled look he added „You tried that before.“

„Really?“, Nick blurted out. „I can’t remember.“

He took a sip from the hot drink, thinking about it and he suddenly felt a sharp sting in his chest. Why did Morrie have to bring old memories back? Who knew how long that had been.

„Nevermind.“ Morrie shrugged. „Uncle Jack’s News Hour is about to start, I don’t wanna miss that.“

Nick followed him into the living room, asking himself what was the last time he actually watched a broadcast of Uncle Jack. That was certainly a long time ago too.

„Wakey, wakey, everyone! It’s another fabulous day in Wellington Wells…“ declared the charismatic and ever so jolly uncle from the telly and minutes later, Nick was sure that everything was quite alright after all, that there were no serious problems in town, that everything could be solved with just a bit more confidence, and joy, of course, and that everyone in town had a lot of fun every day. His mood was getting better and better until it came to the news of an incident in the Avalon Hotel.

„Some of you might’ve heard rumors about a downer attack at the Birdie Callagher Concert in the Avalon Hotel last evening. What a ridiculous story“, Jack shook his head, sounding all amused.

„The truth is, it was a way too well played out theater act to add some spice to the program. No one was really hurt and our lovely singer Birdie Callagher lets you know that it was indeed a very pleasant event and she’s exited to return to the Avalon whenever she can.“ Jack smiled at the camera and put the papers away.

„And don’t worry,“ he added and playfully held up a finger, „if there’ll ever be a downer attack somewhere, you’ll hear it fist from Jack Worthing. That’s me.“ He winked at the camera in an irresistible way. „And for now, let’s listen to the brand new song of our favorite new singer.“ With that, the broadcast ended and was followed by a cheerful song that must’ve been one of Birdie’s.

„Anytime you smile, baby, you know you drive me wild, crazy! That's why you got me screamin'. I think I might be dreamin’…“

Nick’s stomach turned at the thought of having to listen to this until the end. Then thankfully Morrie turned off the tv.

„I heard she’s Virgil’s creation, just like you,“ he stated.

„I’m not his ‚creation‘“, Nick disapproved. „I’m just his favorite.“

„You were,“ Morrie corrected him. „Weren’t you in the Avalon too? And didn’t the bobbies chase you yesterday?“

Nick sank into the couch, clinging to the now empty mug and remaining silent, so Morrie went on.

„I was wondering if you only made it up to make me come around. I guess I have my answer.“

„I’m not proud of it,“ Nick simply said, still looking away.

Morrie silenced too and Nick now wondered how he would judge him now.

„Since when have you been a downer?“, he suddenly asked and Nick almost let the mug fall.

„I’m not a downer,“ he bursted out. „Murderer, downer, what’s gonna be next?“

Morrie stayed calm and took a sip of his coffee before he went on.

„Are you on Joy right now?“

Nick sank back down in defeat.

„No…,“ he confessed. „I forgot it in my jacket.“

Morrie wiped his forehead.

„Why am I not surprised?“

He took a bowl from the couch table and offered it to Nick.

„Here, take one of mine.“

„Only one,“ he repeated when he saw Nick greedily reaching out for the bowl.

„I know, I know, only one per hour. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.“ Nick took one pill and eyed it.

„You’re still taking Vanilla?“

Morrie shrugged. „It’s still the best mixture. Makes me happy but not dizzy.“

Nick popped it and hoped it would come along with the Blackberry.

„About yesterday…“, Morrie came back to the topic and gave Nick a serious look. „Do you still mean it?“

Nick was glad he only needed seconds to get what Morrie was referring to.

„Yes, I absolutely mean it,“ he answered with emphasis and returned the look.

„It’s gonna be hard work,“ Morrie said. „Do you still remember how a band works?“

„Sure, it’s nothing but a bunch of egomaniacs that try to get their own way. Actually it can’t work but somehow it still does. Right?“

Morrie sighted.

„You couldn’t do all you want anymore.“

„I know.“

Nick tried to remember what it felt like, but the Vanilla cloud in his head spread out and made him unable to believe that there could be a problem.

„One more question,“ Morrie went on. „Do you think Virgil knows what you did yesterday?“

The question caused Nick to wriggle about on the couch, feeling very uncomfortable.

„I hope he doesn’t,“ he said meekly.

„Okay…II talk to the lads today and you make amends for Virgil,“ Morrie decided and pointed at Nick. „Do your best! Kiss his feet if you must!“

„I’ll make it“, Nick waved him off. „He always came around at the end.“

„Or you did…“, Morrie muttered to himself.

„What did you say?“

„Ah…nevermind…“, Morrie shook his head and Nick chose to forget about it.

„Well…I guess I’m out then…“, he said unsurely and left the couch.

„Wait,“ Morrie followed him. „Not in these rags. You can’t risk that someone recognizes you again. I’ll borrow you some of mine.“

„You borrow me clothes?“, Nick asked in surprise.

„Yes, that’s what I said. Follow me..“. Morrie made a gesture and Nick obeyed nervously. He had never worn one of Morrie’s clothes - why would he? But he was surprised that he got to that point now after so many years. While he leaned at the doorframe he tried not to look at Morrie’s stuff while the other man was searching in his dresser.

„It’s gonna be one size too large for you but the color should suit you,“ he said pulling out a dark blue suit that made Nick weak in the knees. He couldn’t help but imagine Morrie wearing it.

„I’m waiting downstairs,“ Morrie said and left the room.

Nick didn’t want to have such strong feelings about such simple things as a suit but putting on a layer that had Morrie’s scent on it was something he couldn’t take calmly. He skimmed over the cloth and felt sorry that he couldn’t keep it. Going back to Morrie, he tried not to show how much it affected him.

However, Morrie was confused today too. If someone had told him yesterday that he was going to let Nick Lightbearer back into his life he would’ve thought that someone was suffering from too much Joy. He had been so sure he had learned his lesson once and for all, until he found him on his doorstep again, being afraid and helpless, with his clothes dirty and shredded, giving him this pleading look that he could barely withstand, especially when he looked like Norbert Pickles, with this cute messed up hair…

Morrie had locked him up in the guestroom because he couldn’t handle the sight, because he had been afraid to soften again, to let Nick use him for his selfish plans and then throw him away again. But of course he couldn’t forget who he had let into his house and he couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Morrie was glad that he didn’t hurt Nick but he still couldn’t trust him. Even if he wanted to. He wanted to believe that Nick changed, that the monster the music industry had turned him into was gone and that he had turned back into Norbert Pickles again. Morrie had no greater wish than to get him back and at the same time he was afraid to lose him once more, to find out that all of this was just a short moment in the eccentric life of the Lightbearer and he would walk out of the door and never come back again.

Perhaps his fears had been the reason why he had lost all is good grace and taken the opportunity yesterday. What he had really wanted, he didn’t know. As if he could get Norbert back with this, showing him what he lost, but trying to be not too nice, to protect himself. It was like begging or punishing him or both. Or he had only comforted himself and used Nick just like he had used him.

Whatever the reason was, he knew that he shouldn’t have done it.

„Nick, before you go…I have to tell you something…about last night…“ Morrie said when Nick came back, dressed in his clothes. Morrie’s voice was quiet and he bowed his head as if he couldn’t handle looking Nick in the eyes. Nick however couldn’t get his eyes off him and waited eagerly for what he was about to say.

„I shouldn’t have done this…“, he said meekly.

Nick was upset. It was not at all what he had hoped for.

„You think it was a mistake?“

Morrie still looked down to the floor.„I should’ve contained myself,“ he almost whispered. Then he took courage to look up again and their eyes met.

„Can you forgive me?“

Nick was melting away at the sight, and still, his decision was fixed.

„No,“ he answered and shook his head, causing Morrie to give him a shocked look.

„I can’t forgive you that you think it was mistake. And I’ll change your mind. Just you wait.“

With that, he turned around and stormed out of the front door.

„Norbert!“, Morrie shouted after him but Nick was already out of reach. All he could do was watching him go and fighting down his worries.

Nick reached the Avalon without making any new enemies for once and used the secret entrance to his suite that Virgil had installed for him. First, he carefully looked around the room to see if any fan had sneaked past the staff and was lying around somewhere. When he didn’t find anyone, he crawled out from under the bar and started changing into his fancy rags with regret.

However, he also noticed how much he had missed them and how he slowly turned into his full self again. In the bathroom he adjusted his wig - finally some hair he could tame! He felt much more comfortable in his skin when he returned to his bed where he had left Morrie’s suit. He carefully folded it, something he never did, but he knew how accurate Morrie was with his things and he didn’t want to anger him at any cost.

Still, he shortly cuddled into the jacket to take in the scent before he folded it back on the bed.

After that he hoped to find Virgil in the hotel. He assumed he was in the breakfast lounge because the buffet was still open. He left the suite, now being Nick Lightbearer again and strode along the corridor where he met a boy who’s face fell at the sight of him.

„Lovely day for it,“ Nick greeted him in an overenthusiastic way.

„Right as rain,“ the boy said half-heartedly.

„I can’t hear you,“ Nick insisted, smiling widely.

At that the boy put on a silky mile.

„Right as rain, Mr. Lightbearer, Sir!“, he greeted him with fake excitement.

„There we go!“, Nick said and laughed as he made his way down the stays, not noticing the rude gesture the boy threw after him. It wouldn’t have changed his mood anyway. No one would take him for the rotten downer he had been yesterday.

With an expansive gesture he pushed open the wooden double doors leading to the breakfast lounge and strode in, looking around for Virgil.

Then he walked around the room, searching the tables, all aware that the guests were staring at him, either in disgust or with awe. It was likely that Virgil had already seen him if he was in this room.

Nick stopped when his gaze fell on a thick blonde mane in a corner of the lounge. The man in the purple suit who sat next to her could only be Virgil. Of course, Nick thought to himself. He should’ve known that Virgil wouldn’t give up on Birdie just because someone gave him a black eye. Nick had to act like nothing happened.

He approached them while they talked silently to each other and didn’t take note of Nick. They jumped when he loudly knocked on the table right between them.

„May I join?“, he asked with amusement, ignoring Virgil’s annoyed look.

„Did I interrupt you?“, he added and gave Virgil a suggestive look.

„Nick,“ Virgil almost blurted that out but he caught himself halfway. „…

allow me to introduce Miss Birdie Callagher. Miss Callagher…“ he made a gesture towards Nick, „…Nick Lightbearer.“

„Birdie Callagher, really? I’ve heard so much about you…“, Nick said and tried not to stare too much.

„I hope only happy things,“ she answered and offered him her hand which he gently kissed. „It’s a pleasure to meet you.“

When he looked up to her he saw that she was giving him her ravishing smile with a mixture of surprise. Content with himself, he turned back to Virgil to say: „When you’re finished I’d like to talk to you in private.“

The look Virgil gave him was unreadable, but he answered: „Alright, wait for me in your suite. I’ll come along.“

With that, Nick was dismissed and doomed to wait. He hated waiting but he had to please Virgil, so he shortly said goodbye to Birdie and went back to his suite and stretched himself out on the big couch.

After what had felt like an eternity his manager finally granted him a visit and slumped down on the couch next to him.

„I’m glad you’re back to your senses“, he said with an emphasis that told Nick he could stop acting.

„You know it…“, he only said and tensed.

„Of course,“ Virgil shouted. „Wasn’t hard to guess. I’ve known you for years! I have to give it to you though, you surprised me. I thought you stay in the tunnel and let me make a good deal without mistaking it all. I should’ve known you would come to steal the show.“

„So..you..didn’t ditch me?“, Nick asked meekly.

„Hell no, do you think I can only have one star at a time? You still had a chance. And what were you doing with it?“ Virgil pointed a finger at Nick’s face. „How long has it been since you promised me to get your shit together? Two days? And then you showed up as a downer.“

„I*m sorry I hurt you, Virgil. Are you alright?“

„I’m fine,“ he waved him off. „But did you think about Birdie for one second? She almost had a breakdown, didn’t see a downer before and the doctors were busy all night to cheer her up again. You could’ve ruined her, made her a downer. Perhaps that was your plan.“

„No, believe me, I had…no plan. None at all…“ Nick didn’t dare to look Virgil in the eyes anymore. He just curled up and hoped he could make it up to him.

„Well, that’s not a surprise. Thank god you didn’t freak her out again. I wonder how you got back in such a good shape today.“

„Yeah…actually…I’ve managed to do something right yesterday. That’s what I wanted to tell you.“

„Yeah, what? Surprise me again.“

„I think I can get my old band back.“

„You…think?“, Virgil squinted his eyes.

„Well…I convinced Morrie to join me again and he’s gonna talk to the band today and likely he’ll have them gathered back together by morning.“

„That’s indeed a surprise… Morrie Memento, ey? He’s sensible, he could do you well…“ Virgil thought about it, already back to business. „But…Nick?“

„Yes?“

Virgil gave him an urgent look.

„Don’t let him talk you into anything you don’t want. You better tell me first before you do it.“

Nick was puzzled.

„….okay?“

Virgil got up from the couch without further explanation.

„Well, then, I’ll go prepare a happy reunion I guess. And you…“, he looked at him sternly and pointed a finger at him. „You keep your head clear.“

„Yes, Virgil,“ Nick was eager to obey. „And…Virgil?“, he carefully held his manager back and locked gazes again.

„I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.“

Virgil didn’t look angry anymore.

„You trust me now?“

„Yes.“

#wehappyfew #whf #we happy few #nick lightbearer

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purplesurveys · 4 years

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686

1. What previews did you see at the last movie you saw in theaters? I don’t even remember dude. I do remember the last movie I saw in the cinema was Knives Out, but we were too late to see the previews and arrived exactly when the movie started. The movie I saw before that wasssssss Portrait of a Lady on Fire, but that was so long ago I definitely don’t remember the previews that showed beforehand – or if there were any, at all. 2. Have you ever washed your hair with mayonnaise? Ok I love mayonnaise, but that shit goes in my mouth and not anywhere else in my body lmao. 3. How many things are you a fan of on Facebook? I stupidly liked so many pages when I was 14 and new to Facebook...it must be in the hundreds. I think I still like most of them, but I’m just too lazy to unlike each of them. 4. Do you have more friends on Myspace or Facebook? Facebook is a sure winner here because I don’t even have a Myspace.

5. What generation iPod do you have? I don’t know...it’s an iPod from 2008, though. The really thin one that comes with games, and the screen is already colored.

6. What celebrities share your birthday? James McAvoy and Queen Elizabeth II are the biggest names I think. I Googled to confirm anyway and it turns out I share a birthday with Iggy Pop too. Pretty diverse group lmao. 7. What's your first and last name spelled backwards? Nybor, and that’s all you’re getting now. 8. What song is playing at the moment? No song, just two electric fans whirring loudly here in the first floor, and my sister watching a playthrough of some game she’s into on YouTube. 9. Do you clench your teeth when you're angry? Ugh no. I hate the feeling/texture/sound of grinding my teeth. I find it a little disturbing and I wince when I hear someone doing it in their sleep :/ 10. Have you ever been to a movie that sold out? Yeah, Killing of A Sacred Deer was surprisingly sold out when we watched it. Then again we were in the part of the city where people are more likely to watch films like that, so maybe it’s not that surprising after all. Other movies I remember being sold out was the entire Twilight Saga HAHAHA. I went to 4/5 midnight screenings and the cinema was packed every time.

11. Have you ever been to a midnight movie? ^ Just mentioned it. 12. It's 2010; are you gonna say oh-ten, twenty ten, or two thousand ten? I always say twenty-ten. 13. How many of your classes change next quarter? Next semester? I graduate next semester...hopefully. This virus is really ruining my life plans for 2020, especially as a graduating student who was expecting to graduate by June and get a job by like, September. 14. Do you believe in the paranormal? Only ghosts. 15. How old are the shoes you're wearing? I’m barefoot at the moment. I haven’t been outside in a WHILE, so I haven’t had to wear shoes in a while as well. 16. What's your state's weather usually like this time of year? The Philippines is a relatively tiny country so our weather from the northernmost to southernmost tips are uniform. That being said, March to June is our summer season so the *country’s weather is very humid and excruciatingly hot for now. Temperature usually plays around 34-37C, but the heat index can reach 42C. 17. Do you get those leg cramps in the middle of the night? I used to get them quite often as a kid - it would wake me up at 4 AM and I’d usually be crying by the end; I couldn’t scream because I never wanted to wake everyone up, so I’d just cry until it was over. 18. What movie last made you too scared to go to sleep? Midsommar didn’t make me too scared to sleep, but for a short time it made me terrified of flowers and the color white. 19. Do you have a Twitter account? Sure. 20. Did Obama deserve the Nobel Peace Prize he was awarded? Oh he won it? That’s pretty cool. I dunno enough about his presidency other than he seems to be ~hipper than all the other US presidents and is generally more well-loved, but I don’t want to make a stand so hastily. 21. Is your cell phone a qwerty (full keyboard) or no? Yeah, touchscreen qwerty. 22. What was the last website you logged onto (besides the one you're on)? WWE Network!!! Just today they announced that they were gonna give free access to the Network, which means thousands of hours’ worth of pay-per-views, shows, and documentaries. I made a WWE account just for it and I’ve already downed two documentaries this morning. 23. What's your home page? It’s a Google Chrome extension called Momentum. I’m too lazy to describe the features so I’ll just show you what it looks like when I open Chrome/a new tab.

24. Put a line from the song you're listening to right now: I’m not listening to a song rn but I do have everything i wanted by Billie Eilish stuck in my head for a few minutes now. A lyric goes: I had a dream / I got everything I wanted / Not what you’d think / And if I’m being honest, it might’ve been a nightmare / To anyone who might care.

25. Music artists you listen to: Are they a little or a lot older than you? They’re typically close to my age, like maybe 4-10 years older than me. The oldest artist I listen to is probably Beyoncé? 26. What always has to be in the refrigerator? For us, eggs. 27. What was your favorite movie of 2009? The Proposal. 28. What do you want for Christmas? That’s sort of a long way from now, dude. By that time I’d have grown a bit and will probably ask for a vacuum cleaner lmaaaaao. 29. If you could go to three places in the world right now: UPTC, Feliz, and a Starbucks. I just want to be out of my actual village – I don’t even want to go anywhere far after this. 30. How many days until your birthday? I was too lazy to do math but Google says it’s 28 days away. 31. Who are you crushing on right now? (Famous or not, it's your call.) Gabie, Kristen Stewart, and Lee Joo Youngggggg. 32. Do you squish bugs or put them in a glass and let them outside? I squish them especially if they’re being annoying, soz. 33. Do you have split ends? I recently got my hair done, so no.

34. Isn't it ridiculous that movie theaters sell hot dogs and nachos? It is pretty stupid considering they’re messy food and you’ll have to eat them in a really dark room. Where I’m from they allow any kind of food in the theatres, so we aren’t restricted to hotdogs and nachos. My go-to food is Potato Corner french fries, since they’re easy to pick up and would never have a strong smell, or make a noise or a mess. 35. What school subject do you absolutely fail at? I don’t think I ever got past an 85 in chemistry in high school. 36. When you're on a laptop, do you hook up a mouse or use the touchpad? I have a touchpad. I’ve never owned a mouse. 37. When's the next day(s) off you'll get at school? Literally right now until April 14th. It’s a lockdown, dude. 38. If you're learning a language, what year are you in? I’m not. My curriculum doesn’t require me to take language electives. I did take Spanish and Korean in Duolingo in the past out of boredom/curiosity, though. I lasted a few levels into Spanish because of its similarities with Filipino, but they have like a million verb tenses and that’s when it got too much for me. Korean was pretty difficult right from the start. 39. Do you think you're done growing or will you grow a couple more inches? Nah, this is it I think. 40. What's your mom's mom's name? Agnes. 41. Do you replace "and" with an ampersand (&)? No, it looks so informal to me. 42. What do you usually get at school for lunch? I don’t have a usual lunch; it depends on what we have at home, because I typically just bring food from home to school. 43. Have you ever encountered a creepy neighbor? I don’t think so. If I did, my brain probably blocked the memory already. 44. How many texts can your phone's inbox hold before it's too full? As far as I know it doesn’t have a limit and just depends on my phone’s overall capacity. 45. Do you like the foam soap or the liquidy soap? I use a liquidy one, so I’ll go with that. 46. Do you like the automatic sinks or the ones with hot and cold handles? Lmao, first of all our country’s not even rich enough for this question. We just have a basic sink. We get whatever temperature is available and we need to turn a knob to have the water running. 47. What day did/does your birthday fall on this year? It’ll fall on a Tuesday, which suckssss because it’s a weekday and I have weekly Tuesday meetings for this semester. It’s also the first week out of the coronavirus lockdown, and I doubt people will even be paying attention to birthdays by then. 48. Do you tend to lean towards bright colors or more subtle colors? Subtle ones. 49. Do you use British spelling even though you're not British? No. 50. Name the farthest/weirdest/most unique place you've ever been: Farthest: Bali, Indonesia Weirdest: There was this park in Palawan that just didn’t fit with the city’s atmosphere at all lmao. Let me look it up... Baker’s Hill. It had tons of vibrantly-colored figurines, decorations peppered with cheesy pick-up lines, and Valentine’s decor (hearts, streamers, etc) spread all over the place. I couldn’t understand what it was supposed to be and it was a surreal experience overall lol. Most unique: Sagada. It didn’t feel like I was in the Philippines for the 3 days I was there.

#survey #surveys

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adjure · 5 years

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Previous chapter

Rating: Teen/PG13+ (Rating might change)

Words: 3247

II. First Moon

Who is Tony?

The Tony you know, the one you named, sits beside you while your question’s tossed up in the air. You’re back where you first saw him; in front of your family’s bakery, by the large display window, except this time the sun has barely risen and the people haven’t yet awoken from their slumber.

Mornings in Red Grave are quaint and calm in this side of the city, contrasting the nights where the air is thick and heavy with something you can’t pinpoint. People call it miasma; you’re not sure what that means. Dew and the crisp, cool air feels clean, unlike the dread that looms in chilly evenings. But your mother doesn’t let you out once the sun fully sets anyway, and you don’t think you’ll ever know what it feels like to stare at the moon and the stars. If it’s not hidden by the city smog, and the bright lights of houses and buildings.

After all, the demons roam, guided under the moon and stars, and you’re nothing but a small child. Easy picking for monsters.

“So who’s Tony?” he asks again, freshly baked breads and two tall glasses of milk— the breakfast menu you share— settles in between. Tony has his on his lap.

Difference being, you have a book on yours.

Distracted by the warm bread, and the scent of butter wafting through the vicinity, you raise a finger to tell him wait as you take a bite of your food. The taste is as you know so well; savory, a hint of sweetness, and the soft texture still fresh from the oven. They’re the best kind of bread, you think, and best eaten this way too. It’s a life philosophy.

“Eat before it gets cold,” you tell him, taking a sip of your milk.

Like always, he does as you say, stuffing the bread into his mouth. Tony pauses, blinks, and his eyes widen.

“This is good,” his voice is muffled, but it doesn’t stop his amazement from bleeding out. You can’t help the splitting grin.

“I know.”

Behind the smugness of your tone, there’s genuine cheer to be sharing something that means a lot to you with your new friend. Something you like, and have him like it too. You believe he deserves this much; clean clothes, patched up wounds, a hearty meal and some company. Because you think he looks a little lonely, and very, very lost. Looked, you suppose. He seems much better now.

“So you were gonna tell me about Tony in the book? Your favorite character?” he says, finishing up his bread and sipping from the glass of milk, eyeing your book.

“Yup,” you say, taking another bite, sifting through the pages. “Just give me a moment to find it… Hey, how’s Mrs. Goldstein treating you?”

“The old lady?” Tony hums, both hands now on either sides of his glass, chugging down the milk. There’s a white mustache above his lips that he licks clean. “She’s nice. I told her you told me to go here, and then I told her what happened. Told me to call her Nell though.”

“Really?” You hadn’t known of her full name before this. Nell Goldstein. “Oh, here it is. Tony.”

Finger on the paragraph, you turn the novel his way, and it makes him squint at the letters. He leans closer, reading it slowly under his breath.

“...he whips two pistols from the holsters, twirling them in his hands: Obsidian and Ivory? Hey, that sounds cool. Can you really twirl guns like that?”

“I’ve seen Mrs. Goldstein do it,” you shrug. “So I’m guessing with practice, you can do it too. Maybe you can ask her to teach you.”

“You know, that sounds like a pretty good idea.”

Pride swells in your chest, and you puff up just a bit. Tony looks at you, somewhat amused, but you give him a toothy grin and he can’t help shoot one back.

“Thanks,” you say. “You need to protect yourself from the demons anyway.”

“I do,” he agrees and finishes the last of his milk. Sometimes he still hears them roaming at night, or maybe they’re roaming in his nightmares as he recalls the day his mother and brother disappeared. But you don’t need to know that, and he doesn’t want to think about it either. “Okay, I’m gonna go and ask Nell if she can teach me!”

You watch as Tony jump from where he’s been sitting, and you close your novel to offer it to him. “Do you want to read it?”

Blue eyes find their way to look into yours, then flicker towards the novel. Tony gives a contemplative hum, finger tapping his chin, staring up at the brightening sky then back down below. It’s not too thick, he thinks, never been much of a reader but…

“Okay,” he finally nods, taking it. “I’ll read it. I wanna see what this Tony guy does. Since you named me after him.”

“Okay! Tell me what you think of it once you’re done,” you chirp, giddy that he’s interested in reading your favorite book, favorite story with your favorite character. He even thinks Tony is cool.

“I will,” he hands you the empty glass, “and thanks again for the bread and milk.”

“No problem. I’ll meet you at the park later afternoon?”

“Mhm,” Tony’s head bobs in affirmation. “Like usual.”

“Gotcha.”

That becomes the routine the two of you fall into: breakfast in front of your bakery in the morning, or sometimes you��d go visit Mrs. Goldstein with a basket of assorted, freshly baked breads. Afternoon is to play in the park with Tony, in the sandbox and slides, the swings and the see-saw. Other times, you’d find yourself chatting, talking about your family, and him?

Eerily, he never speaks of them. You wonder if he has any.

But nowadays, he talks more and more about Mrs. Goldstein. Or as he calls her, Nell, and her son Rock that visits from time to time. Maybe they’re his family, you guess. What about you? Are you part of his new, little family? After finding him ragged in front of your bakery, you’d like to think he is a part of yours.

You should ask that the next time you meet him. Tomorrow, at the park, because he can’t have breakfast with you since he's got an errand to run: “Am I your family?”

(So far, Tony's only failed to tell you when he's busy and got to go twice. And both times, he comes back when he can to tell you he's sorry. You always forgive him. He always smiles.)

Except that day, you don’t find Tony at the playground. Or at least, there’s someone who looks like Tony. Same height, same snow white hair; slicked back, for some reason. All unlike the style Tony sports, with his bangs covering part of his sky eyes that tends to annoy you. And they always fall back down when you try to swipe them to the side. This Tony look alike has got a sword strapped to his back, and blankly stares at the playground.

It makes you halt and frown. You know how Tony looks; and he looks exactly like him, save for the hairstyle. But that’s not Tony. As gloomy as your friend can be sometimes, his eyes has never been narrowed so much. He’s never frowned that deep.

That boy, his stare looks mean.

“Tony?” you call out anyway, walking towards him and catches his attention. He stares, wordless, and it feels like forever before he answers.

“You have the wrong person.”

“...Okay…” You figured that much, but the sheer coldness in his tone makes you hesitate. Stop in your steps. “Then who are you?”

The mystery boy— he falls silent one more time. You shift in place, a couple feet away from where he stands.

“Gilver.”

“Gilver?”

He nods. So you scrutinize him, and the awkward quietness is like a prelude to a disaster. Not that you notice the atmosphere, too busy trying to figure out why he looks so much like Tony and why he’s standing in the middle of the park.

It should be Tony there. He’s not playing a prank on you, is he?

But then you realize, he seems a little lost. Not as much as Tony was when he was slumped in front of your bakery. Maybe aimless would be a better word to use; it’s a word you read in your favorite book.

If aimless can be personified, then you think it would look like this Gilver boy.

“Are you waiting for something?” you try to continue the conversation, and Gilver’s responses are never immediate. He waits, and sits on it, and then he’ll reply after you’ve almost given up. After you’ve almost decided to sigh, call it a day, and leave him be.

“No,” he says, turning away. “Just visiting. I’ll be going now.”

“...Oh, okay.” You never get the chance to tell him that he looks similar to a friend of yours. You don’t get the chance to ask him to stay, and ask if he knows of the nameless boy you dubbed Tony. Because the way his back looks as Gilver walks away is alien and estranged; seems so far and out of your reach. Closed in, shelled, leaving so many things up in the air. And so many more probably buried under Gilver’s tongue.

You try to tell him wait, but your voice doesn’t come out the way you want it to and you watch him disappear around the corner of the street up ahead.

Then again, it dawns on you, there’s not a lot of white-haired, blue-eyed children around. If any at all, aside from your friend and the boy who just left moments ago. You wonder if Gilver’s figured it out himself; there’s a Tony, and the Tony you called out to looks like him.

The question is, does he know?

Except you won’t have a chance to ask, or figure it out. Not any time soon. You wait on the swing for an hour, maybe two hours, messing around with the sand and playing tag with a group of other kids who visit the park around the same time you do. They ask you the same thing you ask yourself:

“Hey, where’s Tony?”

Dismayed and without an answer, you shrug and tell them, “I don’t know.”

That day, you trudge home earlier than usual, passing by Mrs. Goldstein’s townhouse and finds that the lights are out, doors locked, curtains drawn. Is no one home? It’s not a wonder if they’ve gone off somewhere, maybe a vacation out of town.

What’s weird is, if they did go, Tony would’ve told you like he always does.

So you wait, the next day, and the next, till you lose track of the weeks and he’s nowhere to be found. Neither is Gilver; disappearing like a ghost, never seeing him around the neighborhood since that day at the park. It really tickles your nose, raises your suspicion about it being Tony playing tricks on you.

Still, you’re unable to fool yourself. Tony’s not a good actor, and you know that because he couldn’t even hide his distaste for the olives in a slice of leftover pizza you two ate once for breakfast. Written all over his face, twisting his nose. The prankster theory seems pretty implausible when you recall that memory. A doppelgänger, then? Or better yet, a twin?

In the end, three months pass, Mrs. Goldstein’s house remain empty and Tony doesn’t swing by like he has been for the past six.

Until he shows up at your bakery door, one evening, as the sky’s turning into a hue of indigo where the sun’s barely peeking on the horizon. Three times knocking on the wood; your mother thinks it’s a bad omen. You squint through the peephole, against your mother’s advice as she yells from the kitchen; “Don’t open the door!”

But what affronts you is a familiar face, and a pair of clear blue eyes that are cast in the shadows from the ill lighting. Despite that, they strike you so your eyes widen, and Tony stands there under the flickering streetlights.

Warnings forgotten, you open the door as silent as you can, slipping out with a whisper: “Tony?”

‘Hey,” he greets, voice hoarse. Tony clears his throat and runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back. You’re instantly reminded of someone, but it’s not the time to say it.

There’s a more pressing matter at hand.

“Where have you been?”

“...Sorry.”

That’s not the answer you’re looking for. “Are you injured anywhere?”

Tony shakes his head.

“Where have you been?” you repeat.

“We had to go,” he explains, inhaling, turning away, “run away for a bit. There were things following me.”

“Are they still following you?”

“No,” his head shakes again, “Nell took care of them. She got injured so we… so…”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is,” says Tony.

“You don’t get to decide that. If it’s your fault, then the jury will decide you’re at fault. There has to be facts presented, and there are laws,” you insist. “I learned that from Mrs. Orwell from across the street. She’s a lawyer.”

Tony’s lips turn twisty; as if he wants to smile, maybe laugh, but can’t bring himself to fully enjoy the humor. But he relents, and gives in. As always. But he’s still not looking at you. “Okay. If you say so.”

“Do you want to come in?”

“I couldn’t come in last time.” He finally gives you a puzzled stare. “Why now?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him, shrugging. “It’s been three months, Tony. Besides, my mom knows you now.”

“I think Nell will be looking for me, though. After what happened.”

After a short moment of pondering the point he brings up, you nod your head, agreeing. “Yeah, you’re right. You’ll be around tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah,” he lifts a pinky up, “I will.”

You hook yours over his. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

“You’ll have to swallow a thousand needles if you break it.”

“That doesn’t sound very nice.” Tony’s expression scrunches up.

“It doesn’t,” you shake your entwined hands up and down for a moment before letting go. “That’s why you’ve gotta keep your promise.”

“Mmkay. I’ll definitely keep it.”

However, the next morning; you find no sign of Tony, who’d usually knock at your door, or sit by the window and wait for you. Heart, pounding in your chest, you pace quickly with a basket of bakery goods your mother’s given to gift to Mrs. Goldstein, who she heard is sick. But you know the truth; she isn’t sick. She got injured. And there’s a big difference there. Of course, you consider the possibility that Tony’s overslept. After all, he looked rather harrowed last night. And just as you ring the doorbell, the door swings open, revealing Tony whose hair is still a mess atop his head.

Laughter slips out of you like water, though it’s a bit quiet, and laced with relief. And in turn, he stares at you with surprise, looking as if he’s seen a rabbit jump out of a rustling bush.

“You look ridiculous,” you comment.

“Shut up.”

“I brought some bread for Mrs. Goldstein. Is she doing better?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “she is. She was yelling at me to get her some water. I, uh,” Tony clears his throat, “overslept.”

At the same time, your voice overlaps with his and asks, “Overslept?”

He simply gives you a sheepish look. “Yep.”

“Well, that’s fine. I’m here anyway. Can I come in?”

“Sure!” There’s a bit of excitement in the way he says the word. A bit of a bounce. And you can’t help the happiness stretching your cheeks into a toothy grin. “We’ll go up to Nell’s bedroom together, and you can give her the bread basket.”

“Okay!”

The door shuts behind you then, and your days continue on as normal for the next three nights. Until, in the middle of your sleep, when twilight’s fallen and the clouds are thick, you’re awoken with a startle and your mother’s panicked voice. It vaguely smells of smoke, and crimson reflects off the window where the curtains are oddly drawn open. And you take a hold of your mother’s hand immediately, jumping out of the bed, running down the stairs barefoot and into the car as she drove the two of you out of town.

To your uncle’s, she says, until this dies down.

Firefighters on their trucks are wheeling down the road, their distant shouts muffled, spiking as your mother drives past them. Police cars, cops, civilians clamor the streets; hands over their mouths, tears down their faces. The scent of burning wood and flesh is so prominent in the air that you swear you smell it from the inside of the car, although all the windows are rolled up, and you’re tucked behind the seat belt, gripping it with tight knuckles, nails digging into your palms.

You haven’t said goodbye to Tony yet, you think. Or the other kids. You remember the question you’d wanted to ask and forgotten. Will he look for you? Worry, the way you did for him? Probably. He did go to your house first thing he returned that night after three months of disappearance, even though the sun had gone down. He also never leaves you hanging for too long, when he can. You hope you can do the same for him, after the fire's gone. Then, everything should return to normal. And your mind’s in so much of a jumble that you don’t bother thinking about all the things you’ll lose to the angry, greedy flames, only hoping that you'd return soon enough to tell the others you're alright. To tell Tony you're alright.

Now, you've got your head’s craned to stare at the smoke billowing into the heavens, gaze crested atop the sky where you can see not even a hint of a star. The moon hangs there, all lonesome. And just like the color of dying leaves, it reflects the hues of red against what would’ve otherwise been a glow of white. (But you don’t know that; no, not when this is the First Moon you’ve laid your eyes on in the dark blanket of midnight. It's too bad that you don't get to dance under the galaxy in your first dusk out, or on the swing at the park, flying as far from the ground and as close as you can to the twinkling in the sky.) You sink back into your seat, the grip on your seat belt not loosening, as exhaustion begins to wash over you.

One last time, you glance out the window, consciousness slipping. From behind your lashes as they draw closer and closer to darkness, you see the a terrible figure of a great shadow looming between brick walls of burning buildings. Closing in the curtains at sunset, locking the doors at nightfall, and heading to bed before nine while you ignore the wailing coyotes that has yowled louder than ever before tonight couldn't stop the blaze in its path. Clockwork begins to tick in you. Tick, tock, tick tock. You think nothing could've helped it. In fact, you think none of those things your mother has told you to do all your life possess the ability to prevent anything at all.

#dante x reader #devil may cry fanfic #dmc reader insert #devil may cry imagines #devil's atelier #my fics

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aleapoffaithfiction · 5 years

Text

II.

Sarai Nazaire

“You know what I forgot to get while in the city? A pizza. I kept telling myself over and over again that I needed to order a pizza to the hotel and never did. Don’t get me wrong, we have good pizza spots in Atlanta, but there’s nothing like a New York slice. Being that Jesse’s from Chicago, you know they have their own style out there and we debate all the time about which region has the better pizza, but New York takes it by a landslide. Just don’t tell him that I said that.” I stuck the applicator back into the tube of my MAC “Spite” lipglass while she plopped back against the seat in disappointment for having failed to fulfill her craving. I wish she had of said something last night when she decided to travel over from the city to spend her final night on the East Coast at my house. We ordered a couple of dishes from this local Mexican restaurant that left my stomach in shambles throughout the night. I still feel slightly uneasy. Had we gone with a pizza, I probably wouldn’t have had to skip breakfast this morning.

“You’ll be back. We can grab pizza then.”

“I will be. The question is, when are you coming to Atlanta? Come down so we can have some fun in the city. We’re not New York, but the southern hospitality is damn good.”

“As soon as I find the time, I’m on the first flight out there. Contrary to what you believe, I actually enjoy Atlanta. I wouldn’t mind living down there. It’s a great city.” My eyes caught her own as she glanced at me from a side angle and a snide snicker followed to match her mood.

“That’s bullshit and we both know it. You’re an east coast girl to the core. I remember when we were in Toronto at All Star. You looked like a fish out of water. I don’t think I can ever see you moving anywhere else for an extended period of time until you’re saggy and old.”

“First of all, just because I’ll be old doesn’t mean that I’ll be saggy. Have you seen Angela Bassett? That’s the goal right there. Second, I do love it up here but I’m not opposed to living elsewhere at some point in my life. It just depends on the circumstances and opportunities. Right now, aside from it being home, it makes perfect sense to be on the east coast. So, until something comes up, this is where I’ll be.” I was the third hire for The Sports Haven and it was a time clenching phone call that came just before I was due to take another opportunity ESPN presented me with out in Los Angeles. I contacted a realtor in hunt for an apartment and intended to return to settle where I’d be residing, but my destiny ended up being in Connecticut. Though I wasn’t mentally prepared to make such a move, I prayed on it, and was ready. I’m sure it may have been my mother’s prayers of desperation to God that kept me here. She dreaded the reality that I wouldn’t be within close proximity to her though I’m not sure why. We’re not in one each other faces much regardless.

“With the position that you have up there at ESPN, I don’t blame you.”

“And once you’re up there with me, we’re going to turn it up. I need a bit more estrogen on that panel from time to time, even though I hold my own against all three of them.”

“That you do sister. That you do.” Our hands met for a high five and I pulled my small mirror out of my traveling case to check and see if I put on enough concealer. I’ve been dealing with sleep deprivation for the past two weeks or so and it’s certainly starting to show in my under-eye area. The seemingly endless hours at work aside, whenever I do have time to myself it’s either invaded by wanted or unwanted plans with the very view people in my life or I’m trying to tie up loose ends that I am not able to do during the week. I’ve considered hiring a personal assistant but I don’t think I’m at a point where I have the potential to become disorganized or worn down just yet. I intend to give it a bit more time.

“Your face looks good. You don’t need to double check anymore.”

“I’m just making sure everything is in place. I refuse to have Linda touching my face today or ever again. I avoid it at all costs.” I’m not one to discriminate against anyone or much of anything for as long as it’s not arming people, but I absolutely do have a bias when it comes to who does my hair and make-up. I need black hands and talent involved in the process at all times. Sure, there’s talent in every ethnic group, but when it comes to those of your own, there’s a certain level of respect and dedication you’re not going to get elsewhere. I know my foundation shade is going to be on point and that the concealer shade won’t have me in front of the camera looking like Casper The Friendly Ghost. My baby hairs are going to be slicked down just right when I’m rocking some braids and the frontal on my wigs will blend into my hairline seamlessly. If it’s one thing that I don’t play around with, it’s my personal presentation and it’s because I know that I’m going to be critiqued the harshest for two specific discrimination types; my blackness and womanhood. During my contract negotiation, EPSN agreed to hire hairstylist Annagjid Taylor, a mutual friend of my sister and myself. I’ve yet to find a make-up artist but until I do, I’ll handle it on my own. Linda can stay out of my dressing room.

“That woman slightly messed up your make up once and you’ve been holding a grudge against her ever since.” I couldn’t join her in the laughter that filled the SUV. My ears, overall face, and neck were three different colors that day and it was beyond obvious. My mother was the first one to call me and ask what the hell was going on and she doesn’t even watch ESPN. Social media had a field day with it.

“And I’m keeping that grudge.”

“I forgot to mention that I saw you speaking with Odell at the party. That’s one of my favorite guys. He has such a humble spirit and he’s super nice.”

“Hm.”

During the time frame when I was researching his career and background, I viewed plenty of interviews where I can easily admit that he exuded a calmness that I did not expect. After having heard so many opposing and confusing opinions about his character, I presumed that he’d be the “push back” style of athlete who deliberately gave reporters a difficult time in drawing information and responses out of him simply because he could. I’ve dealt with many of those types and it takes the patience of God to be able to sit or stand before them without reacting to such brutal attitudes. Marshawn Lynch is a prime example of one, but I’ve gotten used to it and we’ve built up a mutual respect for one another. Beckham Jr., on the other hand, isn’t likely to behave that way. He’ll give you short answers if he’s flustered or dealing with the disappointment of a game loss. You might receive a deliberate straight-faced expression if he’s being asked the same probing question repeatedly, but he’s never disrespected a reporter. I have never come across any bad commentary about an interview with him.

“He’s been wanting to meet you, actually. He spends a lot of time out in L.A. during the off season. While in town last month, I ran into him at an event out there and in the midst of our conversation he asked about you. He thought you were there too. He mentioned something about you two having failed chance encounters. What is that about?

“I don’t know.” Friend or not, I refuse to get into the details about why I had no desire to meet him or the particulars of what he said last night. With Taylor, I know I’ll never hear the end of it.

“So, what did he say last night?”

“He thanked me for what I said and that was it.” Technically, that is it.

“And what did you say?”

“Uh…you’re welcome.” I couldn’t refrain from laughing at that. “What else was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know. I just thought you two would have ended up speaking more. He’s been eager for that moment. He’s a really big fan. One of the things that I respect about him is how much respect he has for women. There’s no discrimination on his end. The man hosts a football clinic for women every year and the camp that he does for kids is also extended to girls. Whenever we talk, he always gives me props for my career path and then he fangirls over you. He goes on and on about the way you read off career stats and how much you care about the talent over everything else. He’s confident that you’re the best analyst on the network.”

“I’m not the best.” Surely, I’m working to get there, but as of right now, I’m still learning the ropes.

“It’s his opinion, not yours. Stop selling yourself short either way.”

“Well, I appreciate his kind words.”

“He’s a nice guy.” Our eyes met and mine instantly narrowed at her emphasis on his niceness. Initially, I didn’t understand the point of it until that all too familiar smile appeared on her face. “I’m just saying.”

“Okay.”

“Why are you so short about him?”

“Why are you so long winded about him? I thought Jesse’s your guy.”

“I don’t want Odell. I’ve never viewed him in that manner, but I’m not Stevie Wonder and neither are you. The man is fine as hell.”

“Okay.” I’ve encountered more athletes than I can count over the last four years. Initially, I found myself paying attention to the exterior of a few of them because all of that muscle is right there in front of you, but eventually, it became so normalized in my life that it began to roll right off of me. When you’re so focused on getting the job done, who gives a damn what they look like?

“You’re such a hermit crab.”

John slowly came to a stop in front of Terminal B at Newark Liberty International Airport. We’d made it in just enough time for her to comfortably get through TSA and to her gate without having to put her black Converses to the test.

“Text me when you land so that I can know you’ve made it back safely.” We tightly embraced one another as we always do whenever we greet and leave one another. “And don’t forget because you always do and then I have to call and curse you out.”

“I won’t forget. It’s been a fun week with you, even though I’m sure you’re drained because we’ve hung out just about every day after you left work. Finish up strong today and get some rest. I know you need it.” That’s a fact.

“I will. I’ll be in the bed with some sort of take out as soon as I get home tonight.”

“Fair enough. I’ll see you soon.”

“You will. Enjoy Jesse, because I overheard that he’s heading your way in two days and it’s not for work.” It was my turn to imply what actually is the truth. Despite her playful denial about what they feel for one another and how they navigate it, I know what she feels is sincere. Her face instantly lights up at the mere mention of his name.

“You bitch. Shut up. You enjoy your day because I have a feeling that it’s going to be a pleasant one.”

“It’s always pleasant for the most part.” There are days when it isn’t, but anyone with a job can attest to that no matter what position held or how much money is being made.

“Love you. I’ll text you.”

“Love you.”

With two years in, I’m still considered to be a rookie around the studio and yet I can’t recall too many moments when I’ve ever felt like one. The executives, producers, and all of my colleagues have been pleasant. One of the surprising perks has been my dressing room. Like all spaces in the beginning, it started off as nothing more than a desk and a chair in the corner of the room. Since then, it has transitioned from looking like a prison cell to being filled with the warmth of nude shades and the comforting scent of eucalyptus and spearmint. There are a few finishing touches that I’m going to work on, but even without them, it’s nearly as comfortable as my den area at home.

“Good morning Sarai.” Amy poked her head into a small opening at the door in the same manner that she always does, as if it makes her presence any less invasive since she doesn’t knock.

“Morning.”

“So, I just want to make you aware of a slight change on the docket today. We’re going to pull about twenty minutes of the show’s typical running time for a one on one with you and OBJ. It’s just preseason talk. Of course, you two can get into your commentary about him. It’ll be a full circle moment to put a close to that.”

“Excuse me? Is Chad not available for it? I thought we’re having Chris Broussard and Terrell Owens on today?” On Monday we went over everything for the entire week and although we do briefings every morning, nothing has changed until now. I haven’t heard a single comment of possibility that he would be joining us here at the network today.

“As a content creator yourself, you know that it doesn’t make sense for Chad to do it. This is a last-minute call by Chip. I didn’t even know about it.”

“I don’t have any questions prepared for this. This is bullshit.” For the first time ever, I blurted out profanity in the workplace and despite not being proud of it, I couldn’t help myself. I hate being put on the spot with a passion. I am not spontaneous. I’m no daredevil. No, I don’t do everything by the book, but I damn sure try my best to do so, because I can’t stand fucked up results.

“I’d say just pull from priors and maybe draw up a few over the next thirty.”

“Priors? I’ve never interviewed him. Amy, you know this.”

“And I also know of your capabilities, so this will go smoothly. It’s not an in-depth sit down. It’s preseason talk. There’s nothing to stress about. You got it Sarai. You always have it.” Before I could respond, she slipped out of the door.

And that’s the problem. You let people pull some crap on you once and they’ll continue doing it if you don’t put your foot down. They’ve had me go into a random one on one with Serena Williams that wasn’t expected and then there was another with Kobe, prior to his retirement and him being my colleague. Granted, it’s what made him respect me, but I still would have preferred to be ready.

“Girl, you get to sit across from that fine ass man today. Can I meet him? You know I never ask you to meet anyone, but him? I just want to stand in front of him and see if he’s just as fine as he is in magazines and on television. I don’t even care about sports, but I’d make a sport out of slurping him.” I nearly choked on air. Annagjid salaciously ran her tongue over her lips as I glared at her though the mirror and had the audacity to follow up her lewd behavior with a pelvic thrust.

“Just for that, I’ll make sure he keeps his distance. I’d hate for him to refuse to ever come here again.”

“Did you say cum?”

“Anna!”

“I’m just saying. The man looks like a Greek God. That’s Zeus and I’m trying to be Hera.”

“You do know that Hera was most famous for being extremely jealous and vengeful against all of Zeus’ lovers and the illegitimate children he had with them, right?”

“And that’s exactly what I would do if that was my man. Let a bitch try to come after what’s mine and I’m whooping ass on sight.” Her antics never fail to make me laugh and I needed something to lighten the mood after Amy’s curveball in my day.

“You’re nuts. I swear.”

“And your ponytail is looking bomb too. I made sure those edges are slicked to perfection. This dress is hitting every curve and got the ass looking right. You’re ready.” I’d chosen an ash blue sleeveless Roland Mouret pencil dress for today. The only other option I had in mind was this exact dress in black, but it’s Friday and I’d rather not look like I’m heading to mourn someone’s death. It’s classy and there’s something about the golden zipper in the back that makes it sexy. My mother would be pleased. I doubt she’d deem me to be her son in a skirt today.

“I’m ready for what?”

“You have to look your best while in front of him. Every woman should.”

“For what? If I could, I’d interview him in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s not President Obama.”

“Obama and those Dumbo ears wishes he looked like that.”

“You know what? I’m not about to allow you to disrespect my forever President over a New York Giants wide receiver, so I’m going to act like you didn’t say that.”

“Oh, I said it. Know and remember that.”

Owens and Broussard were our first visitors which gave me more than enough time to figure out some type of format and direction to what I’d ask Beckham Jr. during every commercial break. I’d describe today’s show as rather lax because we spent far more time laughing at Chad and Terrell’s antics than we did speaking about the up and coming football season and the tension between Kyrie Irving and Lebron James that has lead to him wanting to be traded. You put a set of best friends who happen to be former NFL players together and what do you get? Endless jokes.

“Aye, don’t go too hard on Odell either. You nice as hell but you mean as hell too.” Chad squeezed my shoulders playfully as his warning went into one ear and right out of the other.

“I am not mean.”

“Shit. You boss my bald ass around all the time, but that’s okay, because I like it. You beat by the way. Face is snatched. Edges laid. The ratio between the front of that sandal and your big toe is on point. Apply pressure on they asses.” Chad’s my second favorite, after Fred. I don’t think he takes much of anything seriously and I appreciate it so much because it brightens my day around here.

“You are such a clown yo. Move.” Our laughter filled the set as he wrapped me into a bear hug from behind.

“Don’t laugh too hard because your foundation is going to crack and then you’re going to have smile lines.”

“Never that!” I learned a trick a long time ago to make sure that never happens.

The space where I’d be interviewing Beckham was just another set a few feet away. Though a bit too intimate in setting for what I planned on asking him, I’d take it. It’s less cameras and lights involved. There’s also much less man power around directing which way to sit, which camera to look into, and the timeframe in which you have to get your thought out before moving on to the next topic. When I think back to my days of strictly writing for ESPN Magazine and Sports Illustrated, I can admit that I miss it from time to time. There’s nothing quite like being able to sit down somewhere, with your laptop or even a pen and paper, and just pour your everything into whatever your focus is. I don’t want to say that broadcasting is microwavable journalism because that would be insulting, but it’s extremely fast paced and often time, stories are left behind as quickly as they’re told. I still have clippings of some of my favorite sports articles from my childhood. I have bookmarks online of articles that I’ve enjoyed over the years, some written by people I’ve met in school or elsewhere, and others from those I simply admire from afar. I still grab magazines from the newsstands in the city. Though I do watch all of the other shows on this network, I certainly do make sure to visit the website to check out what our online journalists are writing. There’s something special about studying a subject and descriptively writing about who they are in a manner that exudes the perfect imagery and it moves me unlike anything else. Though I don’t write as much as I used to, I still try to convey that art when I’m sitting down with someone. My aim is to humanize before anything else.

“Sarai Nazaire.”

His low-pitched and yet calming voice commanded my attention and I granted it by turning to where he stood. Much like a week ago, his piercing eyes pervaded my own, as his blonde curls poked out beyond the hood covering his head. He chose to be lax, in a warm green sweat suit and Nike sneakers.

“Hello.” I extended my hand for his own and our skin met in an instant. “How are you?”

“I’m well. How are you?”

“I’m well.”

“This is my mom, Heather.” It was easy to tell. He resembles the tall beauty quite a bit and they have identical smiles. Whenever he speaks of her, he hails her as his reason for not only being but also for the athleticism. She’d been a tremendous track star in her earlier days and even gave birth to him before she could head to the Olympic trials. It makes perfect sense for her to have believed in him when he assured her that he was going to be an NFL player when he was about eight years old.

“Mrs. Van Norman. It’s nice to meet you.” I released his hand and immediately reached for hers.

“Please call me Heather and it’s so nice to meet you. We’re huge fans. We all love you in our house.” If I were their complexion, I’m sure my cheeks would be the color of apples right now.

“Thank you so much.”

“Oh no, I have to thank you. You know, he’s a grown man but he’s also my baby and whenever he is or feels attacked, it feels like it’s coming down on me too. I have never heard anyone outside of friends and family speak as highly of him as you did and it caused such a shift in the way that he is reported on nowadays. He can be a knucklehead and all is fair when he’s having one of those moments, but it really does feel like he’s being given a fair chance to be himself without hell to pay for it.” I’m not a mother, but I can imagine what it feels like to turn on your television or surf the web and see such negativity about your child all over the place. It’s even worse when the negativity stems from situations that aren’t crimes. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing when I sounded off about him, but to hear the manner in which it comforted his mother means quite a bit to me.

“There’s no need to thank me for that, really. The one thing that the naysayers cannot negate is his talent. When he’s on the field, he performs. Everything else is just noise. I believe you birthed a once in a lifetime talent.”

“Thank you.” He voiced the answer for the both of them. She’d been too wrapped up in a huge smile to do so before him.

“So, I’m sure you’ve done a million of these. I’m only going to ask you a couple of questions. It’s a short segment. Anything off limits?” Usually, a manager or an agent would approach me prior to any interview and run down a list of details that are off limits. It’s a power move to make sure whoever they’re representing doesn’t have to face the music when asked a difficult question. If you’re smart, you’ll figure out a way to work around it or rework questions to the point of them telling on themselves.

“Nothing is barred. I’m cool with whatever you want to ask.”

“Oh yeah? So, I can ask about your girlfriends?” A light joke for what is sure to be a lighthearted dialogue between the two of us.

“I don’t have any, but you can ask. I don’t mind.” His broadly built shoulders shrugged while a smirk tugged on his lips.

“Is he telling the truth Heather?”

“I suppose so. I haven’t met anyone just yet. I’m waiting on it though. There’s going to have to be a point in time when someone comes to take over and take care of him.”

“You trying to get rid of me?” He glanced over his shoulder at his mom. I hope to muster up enough courage to ask her about her skincare routine because she has a glow that’s stunning.

“Of course not, but it’s the circle of life my child.”

As the room began to clear, I offered him the seat directly across from my own. I looked on, in observation of his body language. That’s the first marker of whether you’re going to have a smooth or difficult time. He chose to sit upright, with credence, and yet his back rested against the chair in an eased manner. Interestingly, he chose to mirror my actions by glancing over my frame to read me. The odd prickling in the nape of my neck that slowly spread all over was a sign that he’s doing a better job than I am.

“All set.”

It’s go time. This is my field and I’m the quarterback here.

“Welcome back to the Sports Haven. I’m Sarai Nazaire and we’re here with All Pro New York Giants wide receiver, Odell Beckham Jr. Odell, welcome to the show.” Much like our greeting earlier, we shook hands for the sake of the camera.

“Thank you for having me.”

“Now, you’re entering your fourth season with the Giants organization. You guys are coming off of a season where it all seemed to be gelling together towards the second half and that led to a playoff run which ended up being cut short by the Greenbay Packers. What are you most looking forward to going into this season?”

“Winning. I know it sounds cliché because that’s what everyone wants to do, but it really is what I’m looking forward to. It was disappointing to lose in the way that we did. It was a blowout but it just served as fuel for me in the off season. I went harder in everything, honestly. I took some for myself but even in the midst of that, I just worked.”

“Did that loss also cause you to have a hatred of boats?” I had to ask and thankfully, he took it in jest. The infamous photograph of a number of the Giants ballers and Trey Songz hanging out on a yacht in Miami just days before that Greenbay game instantly became a media sensation once they lost. The memes and blame game were non-stop for days. If I were them, I don’t know if I’d want to see another boat again let alone be on one.

“No, I still like boats. I spent time on a boat or two during this summer.”

“But given that you’re on this superstar level, you know that it comes with you living your life under a microscope more than most people do including many of your teammates. So how are you handling that now? For most people, it digs under their skin and it’s understandably so. I know you’ve had your moments of frustration. Unfortunately, it’s not something that’s not going to change. All good comes with bits of ugliness, right?”

“Right. One of the things I’m doing is trying to stay out of the microscope. I’ve found myself spending a lot more time at home and away from anything that draws too much attention to me. It’s been different but in a good way. It feels good to be able to comfortably strip away the guard that you have to keep up because of that microscope. Also, I’ve really taught myself not to take things so personally. I play a position in a sport and it comes with all of that, so I had to realize that it’s not so much of an attack on me and even if it is, it all really stems from that position. I can’t allow that to dictate how I live my life or have my happiness.”

“And you had that awakening during this off season?”

“Yeah. I spent a lot of time reflecting and dealing with a lot of emotions that I’ve never felt before and even some pain that I’ve never felt before. Some of it involved football and there were things that didn’t. I had to sort that out and it did a lot of good for me.” I’m always impressed when I hear athletes speak on their mental health. The world views them as figures who play a sport for a living and earns far more money than they deserve to have simply for being entertainers. The majority of them make more money than the doctors who repair them after injury, which can be quite mind boggling when you think about it. Because of that, spectators believe they’re entitled to dictate the manner in which these people live their lives, the way in which they speak, and the level that they believe each and every one of them should be performing at on the field day after day. People wave the entitlement flag at them when they’re not being puppets on a string and never once take the time out to think about the emotional strain the pressure of impressing an entire public of people can put on a person. I’ve had many conversations, off the record, with athletes who have admitted they’ve fell out of love with the sport they play and represent because of the unnecessarily harsh scrutiny and relentless pressure.

“Do you feel like there are people who want you to fail?

“That comes with the territory. There are a lot of people who do, but it’s fuel for me. It serves as motivation for me to continuing grinding and moving forward for those who do support and believe in me. They’re the most important to me. I meet so many people who tell me that I inspire them to be great. On Instagram I see and sometimes I meet kids who go to their barbers and get the dye and haircut done. I can’t let down everyone who buys a jersey to represent me. After what you said about me, I can’t let you down either.” I held my breath as a faint fluttering filled my core and my body’s response was to reposition itself in the seat. My follow up question instantly became stuck in my throat.

“How does this new found inner peace contribute to the up and coming season and to the Giants locker room? How has Odell improved?”

“I’ve become a better route runner and catcher, but I think the most important part that I needed and have become is a better teammate and listener. I’m giving more and putting more into everything. I can feel it in my conditioning, I put it to the test at training camp, and I’m assured in what I intend to bring to the field this season. I’m excited.”

“I’ve been looking into the offense. There’s Brandon Marshall and your young tight end. Sterling Shepard is looking good. I think you guys have a good season ahead of you.”

“Yeah, the defense has always been there, so it’s up to us to get the job done and I think we’re in a pretty good position. We learned from that disappointment at the top of the year.”

“I’m looking forward to it Beckham.”

“You have to come to a game then. Not as an analyst though, just as a normal citizen coming out to enjoy some Sunday night football.” My laughter infectiously sparked his own fit of giggles and the smile that remained on his face warmed my soul like a ray of sunshine. Does this happen with everyone who sits across from him? How the hell does anyone stay angry with this guy?

“That sounds like a plan. I’m about twenty minutes from the stadium.

“And you have to wear this.” I hadn’t even noticed there was a jersey hanging behind his chair. What made me roar in laughter wasn’t the jersey, but the fact that the numbers were in snakeskin. I’ve been gifted many jerseys but I’ve never seen one customized like that. It’s interesting looking in a good way. I’d wear that as a cute top for a chill outing with friends if the circumstances were different.

“I’ve seen a lot of football jerseys but with snakeskin? Never. Thank you.” I held it up for the camera to see for the sake of good TV and placed it across my lap.

“You’re welcome.”

“Odell, it’s always a pleasure to have you up here. You have to come back soon. I wish you all the best on this up and coming season.”

“Thank you, Sarai.” Yet again, we shook hands and I held up the jersey once more before we officially wrapped.

I’m usually a bit more courteous in the way I send guests off before disappearing into my dressing room, but my goodbye was brief and my heel clad feet couldn’t move fast enough to escape the odd tension in the room. I’ve never wanted him to feel like he owes it to me to be nicer than necessary because I said a couple of decent words about him. While I don’t believe that he has any ulterior motives, I do wonder if there’s this sense of sympathy for the manner in which it worked for and against me. I don’t want to be Odell Beckham Jr.’s charity case because he isn’t mine and he certainly wasn’t that day either. I did my job as an analyst; nothing more or less.

Though she insisted on meeting him, Annagjid left for a weekend at home in Philadelphia but made sure to send me a text message ogling over the way Beckham’s sweatpants hugged his thighs throughout the interview. I’m thankful she’s gone, because if given the opportunity, she would have audaciously told him what I read in that message and it would have been the reason I combusted into a pillar of dust out of sheer embarrassment. With that segment done and no Podcast episodes needing to be recorded today, I can get started on my weekend. I’m not only going to grab a bottle of red wine on my way home, but I’m leaving my favorite spirit shop with two. Once I have my take out ordered, I’ll curl up on the floor in front of my living room table a la Olivia Pope and skim through whatever the premium networks are offering OnDemand. I’m behind on Homeland. Then again, I’m way behind on House of Cards, so a lonesome Netflix and chill sounds much better.

“Come in!” My heels were idly lying next to my chair. I walking out of here in Converses. The bougie can go for the week. Street chic is where it’s at.

“Sarai?”

I’m convinced I’m suffering a karma for something that I don’t quite remember doing or the universe is trolling the shit out of me. Whichever way you put it, over the course of these last seven days, all of the silent and yet minimal requests I’ve had for God and my subconscious have not only been the opposite, but have also been a ferocious time frame of mental gymnastics.

“Beckham. What’s up?” With no hesitation, he stepped inside and closed the door behind himself. The oxygen supply is diminishing as we speak.

“About those tickets. Look.” There were two of them in his hand.

“You never said anything about tickets.” He didn’t. He only encouraged me to come out and support the team. I figured it was in jest.

“How could I invite you to a game and not have tickets for you? These are for the Philly game. We play the Cowboys during week one and the Lions during week two, but I feel like our Philly games are super competitive and fun to watch. It’s the better choice.”

“At home or in Philly? You really didn’t have to do this.” And he shouldn’t have. It’ll only worsen the claim that I baby him and deliberately overlook his transgressions because I have a soft spot for the young players. I never want to be differentiated based upon gender but it’s the way of life and I get the short end of the stick depending upon what I say and who it’s in reference to. It goes beyond people questioning my job and instead, they question my character. My credentials are online for all to see and yet I still am accused of fucking my way to the top. Gossip blogs have connected my pussy to every athlete that has stood within five feet of me and I don’t personally know any of them beyond the former ones I work alongside five days a week. My dating life is endlessly analyzed though the only thing I’m in a relationship with has batteries and sits inside of my bedside drawer. I don’t know what narrative will be painted if a camera catches me at one of this man’s games and I don’t want to know. I’m looking forward to the day when I’m no longer identified by his story. I’d like to think he’s just as sick of seeing my name synonymous with his in the headlines.

“In Philly. I can get you a ride out there if you need one.

“I’m sure that I can manage. I don’t have a car, but I’m looking into a couple of Mercedes Benz dealerships in New Jersey so that I can finally get the car that I’ve been eyeing.”

“What kind? My guy Phil Campbell manages the inventory in both Manhattan and Paramus. I can reach out to him for you. He’s a cars guy, believe me when I tell you. He’ll get you right for sure.

“Nothing too special. Just an A-Class sedan for now. My pockets aren’t as deep as yours.”

“I’m still on my rookie contract. I wouldn’t say they’re that deep.” Rookie contract or not, with his Nike deal and all of the other endorsements he has, he’s a millionaire many times over already.

“Well I’ll tell you this much, my ESPN contract certainly isn’t worth ten point four million dollars.”

“It should be.” This guy. What a paradox.

“So, this Phil guy can help out?” I don’t care about cars enough to research specs and special features. “All I want is a sunroof, seat warmers for the winter, and an amazing sound system. Everything else is whatever, honesty.”

“He knows his shit. I can send him your information. Knowing him, he’ll get back in touch with you within the next hour or so.” Help is help and my pride can shrink enough to get out of the way when it comes to something that I don’t know. I’ve had my fair share of being loud and wrong and it’s not fun being the idiot in the room once it’s all said and done.

“Okay, hold on.” On my desk, I have my ESPN cards to purposelessly give out in exchange for the management or agent cards of our guests. In my wallet, I keep a few business cards where my personal phone number and e-mail are for the sake of obeying my father’s rule about a business card being “far more professional” than stating your phone number out loud while they plug it into their phone. I don’t give much of those out either. “This is my business card. My e-mail and number is there. You can give him the information whenever. I’m not in that much of a rush.”

“I’ll send it to him in a few minutes, that way you’ll be able to go over the specifics about whatever you want.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. So, about that Philly game. You’ll be there?”

“I’ll try to make it out.” I’m not going. I wish he had of gifted these to a super fan who would have loved to be in attendance.

“Okay then. I’m looking forward to seeing you there. I already helped with one part of your outfit; you just have to figure out the rest.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to be in Giants gear? What makes you so sure that I’m not an Eagles fan? It’s looking like they’re going to have a damn good season this year.”

“If you are, I intend to change your mind.”

“Hm.” The universe can kiss my black ass and it’s quite black by the way.

“I’ll see you soon Sarai Nazaire.” What’s his fascination with saying my first and last name? I’ve never met anyone who has done that and admittedly, it doesn’t roll off of anyone’s tongue in the manner that it does his. Maybe it’s the French connection in Louisiana that aids in him pronouncing it so well.

“Goodbye Beckham.”

Last Friday I had no desire to hear anything playing on the radio and yet the end of this week has John and I bopping to my best of the 90s Hip-Hop playlist on Apple Music. Who the hell wouldn’t start an eighty-seven-degree Friday off with Craig Mack’s “Flava In Ya Ear” remix and an Oreo Cookie Blizzard from the Dairy Queen? The next stop is for the wine and then I’m free to lounge in my living room in nothing more than an old t-shirt and the lace black thong covering my lower half. I may even turn my phone on “Do Not Disturb” until sometime tomorrow. Hell, is Monday morning a stretch?

The buzzing of my phone in my lap paused my backseat party and the foreign number along the screen riddled me into confusion.

You’re not an A-Class sedan type of woman. That’s not for you. An E-Class Coupe fits your mold; sophisticated, sleek, and breathtaking. If I had a say so, that’s what you’d leave the dealership with, but I don’t. Maybe you’ll take my advice? Have a great weekend Sarai Nazaire.

My eyes panned down to observe the minor trembling of my hand and the appetizing blizzard that was now turning into a milkshake.

Or maybe I’ll throw my phone into the Hudson River.

#fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #fan fic

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recentanimenews · 5 years

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Crunchyroll Features' Most-Anticipated Anime of Summer 2019!

2018 is almost over so it's time to forget the past and look forward to the new year (once we're all finished with Anime Awards). Many of Winters biggest shows are doubtless to be the huge continuing titles from Fall, but there are plenty of new anime to be excited about. Our editors have looked forward to the fresh new titles and each picked the 3 they're most looking forward to.

Peter Fobian

Most of the biggest shows from Fall are continuing in Winter, and the ones that are finishing up are being replaced by even BIGGER titles, so 2019 is starting off pretty crazy. Winter in particular looks great since one of my favorite manga and favorite anime are seeing new releases!

The Promised Neverland

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I’d read up to volume 3 of the manga before Shonen Jump made their entire back catalog available then caught up with the ~100 remaining chapters in a single sitting. The Promised Neverland is one of the best manga currently running in Weekly Shonen Jump that’s extremely hard to describe to people without spoilers. Smash Death Note and Coraline together and you start to get an idea of what this series is about. I’m really looking forward to seeing some of the most chilling moments from this series in motion.

Mob Psycho 100 II

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Mob Psycho 100 was one of my favorite 2016 anime on multiple levels. One’s storytelling and characters are excellent, but BONES really elevated the source material by making the surreal psychic combat of the series an animators playground of sophisticated and obscure animation techniques. The anime is so fun to watch, and I really get the sense that’s because it was fun for the animators to make. Match that with maybe the BEST anime PV I’ve seen in my entire life

Boogiepop Doesn’t Laugh

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I’ve been meaning to watch Boogiepop Phantom for as long as I can remember, and this series is finally going to make me do it. Supernatural mystery is totally my jam and Boogiepop has maybe one of the biggest reps in the genre, possibly even surpassing Hell Girl. The preview shows off some amazing visuals and has a seriously sinister aura I’m just in love with so… mess me up, Boogiepop.

Ricky Soberano

After such a whirlwind of a fall season, I’m ready to become a blanket burrito and kick off my New Year’s resolution: Watch anime that will make me feel 100% happy to think about looking forward to it and step outside of my usual shonen safety zone.

Mob Psycho 100 II

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I am super psyched for this new season! Yes to see how Mob’s powers have progressed and how they can look even more aesthetically mind bending but I actually just really want to see his progression as a loveable awkward human. I want to see him challenged on both the psychic and behavioral fronts.

The Rising of the Shield Hero

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It appears we have a dark horse. Having seen so many isekai’s in which the hero is essentially awesome all of the time almost from the beginning gets boring pretty quickly for me. However Shield Hero has the odds and the world against him from the very beginning and I’m sadistically here for it. I’m ready to see how the ‘Get shit done by any means necessary’ survivor attitude comes out, how he grows through the underdog struggle, and what this journey will do to his moral compass. Catch me on the flipside watching the anti-hero isekai unfold.

Saint Seiya: Saintia Sho

Truthfully, I haven’t watched any previous Saint Seiya anime so I’m coming in with the cleanest slate possible and I am hella hyped. This legendary piece of work is gloriously luminous with a gem color palette, follows the goddess, Athena’s personal maidens known as Saintia, and has a fight against one’s predetermined fate.

Nate Ming

One of my Fall favorites (Hinomaru Sumo) is still running this season, but what will fill the Honda-san and Sugimoto-shaped holes in my heart? Ahh, yes… horror never fails me--horror involving children, horror involving ghosts, and just plain ol' body horror. Winter 2019 ain't messin' around!

The Promised Neverland

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One of my favorite new manga is finally getting the anime treatment--I can't wait to see newcomers' reactions to the suspense, twists, and horror that The Promised Neverland never fails to deliver.

Boogiepop Doesn't Laugh

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Boogiepop Phantom was probably one of the best blind buys I made back during the VHS days, so I'm super hyped for more. The original was clever, thoughtful, and creepy--here's hoping for more of the same in the new series.

Dororo

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One of Tezuka's most violent and most badass stories is coming back in 2019, with the ronin Hyakkimaru hunting down 48 demons who stole his body parts (which he's replaced in the meantime with lots and lots of swords). Anybody ever play the PS2 game, Blood Will Tell?

Nicole Mejias

After this last season, I’m somewhat glad that for my tastes Winter seems a bit slim, but there are also so many shows continuing that I’m going to still need to find some time to catch up! That said, there are a few that are just must watch shows for me, including the return of my beloved Mob Psycho!

Mob Psycho 100 II

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This is my biggest anime for the upcoming season. I’m so excited to see more of Mob, Reigen, and the rest of the characters. While others might be looking forward to One Punch Man’s new season, I always preferred One’s more personable and down to earth writing for Mob and the gang. I can’t wait to see what they get up to in this season, and you bet I’m going to check out that special premiere in theaters next week!

The Promised Neverland

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I’ve been wanting to read the manga for this for some time now as I keep hearing from friends about how interesting and creepy it is. I love horror stories, but I just hadn’t had a chance to pick up the manga and see what all the fuss was about, so now I’m glad I can check it out this season! I don’t really know much about it, other than it supposedly gets very tense and creepy, so I’m on board for some good scary drama!

Dimension High School

I’m a big fan of Japanese live action comedy, animated comedy, and frankly just Japanese comedy, so this weird blend of live-action and CG anime featuring some huge voice talents, like Junichi Suwabe (Viktor Nikiforov, Abacchio), Shouta Aoi (Ai Mikaze, Himself in Pop Team Epic), and more, is right up my alley. The series follows 4 boys transported to an animated realm to… solve puzzles at the bidding of a giant Sphinx? The trailer won me over with a very self-aware “Where are my hands?!” joke, so I’m interested to see more of this one.

That's all for this list. Unsurprisingly, the latest Shonen Jump adaptation in The Promised Neverland and the continuation of anime's most beloved child, Mob, in Mob Psycho 100 are topping out everyone's lists! As always, we're looking forward to seeing our predictions pan out and getting pleasantly surprised by some of the new shows we weren't expecting to like.

What's your most anticipated anime of Winter 2019? Sticking with your continuing series or think a dark horse will surprise us all? Let us known in the comments below!

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Peter Fobian is an Associate Features Editor for Crunchyroll, author of Monthly Mangaka Spotlight, writer for Anime Academy, and contributor at Anime Feminist. You can follow him on Twitter @PeterFobian.

By: [email protected]

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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m39 · 3 years

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Doom WADs’ Roulette (1996): Icarus: Alien Vanguard

Well folks, looks like TeamTNT decided to return and redeem themselves from their decision on commercializing TNT: Evilution with their second MegaWAD.

…

Am I repeating myself again?

#6: Icarus: Alien Vanguard

Main author(s): TeamTNT

Release date: March 21st, 1996

Version(s) played: ???

Levels: 32 (standard 30 + 2)

The story is pretty complicated so I’ll try to put it simply:

Icarus happens 12 years after the events of Doom II (even though it should technically be two years later, but let’s not change the subject), and focuses on the titular ship. It has been overrun by demons (or whatever the fucking shit was nearby) and you are tasked to sterilize the ship, the nearby planet, and some simulations from demons (and blow the ship up just in case).

Now, the design of Icarus is separated into three types of levels: The ship ones,

the planet ones,

and the simulation ones.

These styles are uneven. They are all, at least, good, but still uneven. The levels that happen on Icarus itself tend to be kind of bland due to being overloaded with grey tiles and plates but they tend to have interesting locations here and there.

I have a hard time deciding if the planet-themed levels or the simulation-themed ones look the best since the authors went somewhat all out with the simulation-themed levels but sometimes, the planet-themed levels show some of the best aesthetics, like Blessed are the Quick.

The new custom textures are good. I really liked the force field one.

The soundtrack is pretty damn good. Even though it was only two members of the original music team coming back (Jonathan El-Bizri, and Tom Mustaine), some of the tracks kept the level of quality of TNT: Evilution’s soundtrack. In terms of the favorites, I like Recapture(its last part uses a cover of The Demon’s Dead), Stomp, Heart of the Hive, MAP19’s track, and Face of Evil.

Now, here is something interesting about Icarus’ music… it has a leitmotif:

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Yeah, this WAD has a recurring music bit that plays in different parts of other tracks. I don’t think I stumbled onto something like this in the other WADs I’ve played, at least, from what I can remember. Doesn’t matter! I fucking love it.

The only thing I didn’t like about the soundtrack is that how some tracks just stopped after they ended, and started again after a small beat. Like the music wasn’t programmed to loop smoothly. I don’t know if this is the fault of GZDoom, or the WAD itself, but it was annoying for me.

All I can say about the level structure is that is, at least, better than TNT: Evilution. Compared to that WAD, the maps feel less sluggish to go through and have less of annoying quirks (although it still has those 30 seconds locked doors -_-).

In terms of stuff I really like:

In Shuttlecraft, you blast off to space, and then in Shuttle Bay, you can see your ship docked in.

In The Haunting some of the enemies are ghosts (it happens when an Arch-Vile resurrects the crushed carcass of another enemy) that can only be harmed either by melee damage from the other enemies, or the splash damage from the Rocket Launcher. This level even shows at the beginning how to deal with them.

WarTemple probably took some inspiration from Wormhole, since the areas that have the blue and yellow key are basically the same. It’s just one of them is upside down. A simple concept that somehow makes this level amazing.

These are just some of the examples. Unfortunately, like in every WAD (probably), there are things that are annoying.

For instance, there are two cases in Donnybrook where you have to run like a madman through the temporarily open door to go further without any mistakes. Once with the switches in hallways connected with the yellow key room, the other time with the room behind the Plasma Gun (the latter one is much worse). And these doors are quite far away from the place that opens them.

Back in WarTemple, while it might be my favorite level, for some reason, in an upside-down location, the elevator that leads to the teleporter that leads back to the main building has this stupid red pillar that makes you just barely fit on it and constantly fall down trying to run to the teleporter. Also, the elevator is too tall to stay upwards.

In order to get the yellow key in The Haunting, you have to finish the shooting gallery by shooting all of the targets dead center, otherwise, you will have to start all over again.

The worst cases are in maps from 11 to 15. Would you like to have the blue key hidden behind one of the obligatory secrets in Feeding Frenzy? How about Waste Disposal, where you have to go through the teleporter behind the unmarked wall to get the red key? Twice?!

Asylum is just a confusing mess of a map. Fortress of Evil is the best of the bunch but it still has its shit moments.

But the worst of the worst award goes to Hydroponics. It’s overall fine level, but it has this bullshit at the beginning:

This is the case of a trap that likes to scream Oi! Fuck you!, where you end up in a situation where it is little to no chance to not get hurt from the sudden trap. And this case is one of the worst. Stay in place? Dead. Move in any direction? Still dead! It’s bad enough with these barrels alone but there also other enemies peppering you! With shotgunner nearby!! I died like over dozens of times trying to go past this bullshit, intentional way or not, and I only managed to do it (somehow) once, by blowing the frontal barrels and just run before the chain reaction gets me.

I’m against cheating, but my only, reasonable advice for this part of the level is to turn on god mode before going through the teleporter and turn it off after you deal with it. Let’s hope that it will be the only time it happens.

Changing the subject, the final map is standard Icon of Sin type of level but for some reason, it feels really dumb. You think that your target is that engine in middle, this whole nucleus thing.

Except not. What you have to do is to drop into the room, circle through the elevator, shoot the skull switch that appeared on the previous platform, and then pump your rockets through the target shield that moves up and down.

…

Why? Why it has to be so overly complicated?

Okay, enough of that. Let’s change the subject and ask: Is Icarus challenging?

Uhm… Not really. Most of the time it was easy. I don’t know if it was like that because of the WAD itself, or that I’m unconsciously getting better with Doom games/WADs.

The hardest parts were basically at the very beginning and ending, where the first map was hard only because I had to kill hitscanners with the Pistol for like the first half (fun incarnate -_-), and in the last map, I was scratched from the distance by Mancubus while trying to hit the target. There were of course occasional bullshit moments here and there but I believe nothing can top the very beginning of Hydroponics.

Some parts of me want to tell you about some bugs, even though there isn’t that much to talk about. I’ve encountered like some visual glitches and at least once there was a case of monsters not going through a certain line of terrain (the latter case happened somewhat in previous WADs; I just didn’t feel any need to talk about it). You might notice it only if you take a closer look at those things.

I can definitely say, without any doubt, that this WAD should replace TNT: Evilution as one of the two WADs in Final Doom. Icarus: Alien Vanguard, in spite of its problems, takes everything from the previous work of TeamTNT and makes it all better.

There is no doubt now that this WAD’s creators redeemed themselves. Unlike the last time, when they flew too close to John Romero’s flaming head, this time, they pulled through with little to no major problems. And for that, TeamTNT earns my respect.

This is the last megaWAD on the ’96 list, so from now on, it’s just the smaller stuff for the lack of better words.

See you next time.

Bye!

#doom #review #Doom WAD #Doom 2 #doom mod #doom 1996 #doom icarus #Icarus: Alien Vanguard #Doom WADs’ Roulette

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bucksnatalia · 7 years

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a not-so-brief history of buckynat (post-widow hunt)

So a lot has happened with our favorite spy couple in the last few years, so I thought it might be helpful for some shippers who haven’t completely kept up to make a list of everything they’ve been through in that time. So without further ado, here’s a quick guide that no one asked for, starting with:

Black Widow Hunt

This was the unfortunate end of their relationship, not by choice. A fellow ex-Soviet spy, Leo Novokov, grew jealous of Bucky’s success and angry that he never looked for the other agents, so he set out to ruin his life by stealing his girl... pretty literally. He kidnapped and brainwashed Natasha into thinking she was a double agent, sending Bucky and co. on a wild goose chase trying to get her back. They eventually do -- but Natasha’s lost all her memories of Bucky, and he makes the difficult decision not to force her to undergo experimental methods to have her memories regained. (This decision sometimes draws criticism because on the one hand, that isn’t his choice to make -- however, he did not want the doctors to mess with her head on his account, and so here we are.)

The Electric Ghost

After their separation, Bucky kind of goes off the deep end. Really, he basically quit working for SHIELD and he’s going into bars and beating the crap out of everyone. He’s trying to make peace with his past when Nick Fury comes to him with a mission and pretty much tricks him into helping SHIELD again. From there he ends up fighting Tesla Tarasova, the Electric Ghost, who is using a type of Cosmic Cube she calls the Tarasova Tesseract to try and change her past. She ends up taking Bucky with her, and even tempts him with the ability to stop Leo Novokov, but he convinces her she’s wrong (”You can’t fix the past, Tesla. You can only search for the strength to change the future.”), and he takes just one moment with the Cube for himself -- and goes back to kiss Natasha one last time.

The Tightly Tangled Web & Last Days

This is quite the reunion. Bucky’s mission is a gang -- Natasha’s mission is a case. They end up on the same train, at the same time, fighting the same bad guys, but Natasha only knows Bucky as the Winter Soldier (Black Widow #8). After this, Bucky keeps an eye on her from afar, and ends up getting her out of a couple sticky situations. Their final interaction in this run involves Bucky promising that he will always be there for her. It’s probably around this time she begins to suspect that he isn’t just the Winter Soldier to her -- although nothing is certain. (It’s worth noting that by this point, Bucky has become the Man on the Wall -- an agent whose purpose is to protect the planet from threats -- a job which he inherited from Nick Fury.)

No More Secrets

Another Black Widow story, this time Bucky is the one who gets kidnapped -- after he’s caught by Natasha’s childhood rival, Recluse, watching out for her. He spends the entire run acting as a guardian angel, but inevitably Natasha has to save his ass from Recluse who enjoys taunting him by telling Natasha about his feelings for her and beating him over the head with a rifle. It turns out that Nick Fury sent him to collect Natasha, however, and after their trip gets a little rocky (a guy’s head explodes and a tiny murder child tries to hijack their spaceship), Bucky and Nat save each other -- first, Natasha empties her oxygen tank into Bucky’s so he’ll have enough air to get to the ship, and then Bucky revives her with CPR. They share a kiss, and it’s implied that Natasha now at least knows about their past together. She has a job to finish, however, so they part ways on their return to Earth.

Civil War II & Thunderbolts

Here’s where timelines get a little weird. Somewhere in here, Bucky hears the prophecy that Steve Rogers is going to be killed by Miles Morales, so being the rational person he is he attempts to capture Miles so that this can’t happen. Except at this time, he’s a fugitive from SHIELD for hiding Kobik. He ends up captured and in a jail cell, where he is confronted by Steve Rogers himself, who tries to get him to give Kobik’s location. The Thunderbolts rescue him, and it’s made clear he doesn’t trust Steve with this information. This is when Steve -- who is actually the Hydra version (who will be referred to as Stevil from now on) -- decides he has to kill Bucky. (EDIT: At some point after the rescue, Bucky and Nat’s adventure on the Moon occurs. This can be confusing due to the inconsistent symbol on his arm.) Zemo, who is Stevil’s best buddy, and his Masters of Evil attack the Thunderbolts’ hideout and nearly beat Bucky to death. Kobik saves him by sending him back in time and trying to get him to join HYDRA -- this is when he learns the truth about Stevil, though he refuses to believe it (this is apparently a trend with him -- stay tuned). Upon refusing to join HYDRA, Kobik has massively destructive temper tantrum and is shattered and Bucky is carried away to be strapped to yet another rocket and, supposedly, blown to smithereens. In Thunderbolts #5 features a flashback to Bucky and Natasha’s Red Room days (seen above), and there’s another reference to Nat later on as well -- but I promise that’s not the only reason all of this is relevant, because right around the time Bucky is believed dead, Stevil makes his allegiances public, and thus begins....

Secret Empire

The part we all hate and no one wants to talk about but an unfortunate amount of SHIT occurred in. Let’s start from the beginning -- Bucky is, to the world, a dead man. Super dead. Murdered good. This has seriously fucked Nat up. At some point, she enters a casual relationship with Clint Barton -- who... quite obviously takes it more seriously than she does. But they both acknowledge the fact that Natasha has not been the same since Bucky died.

So you can read that however you want (although, I personally don’t think very highly of Clint for getting involved with her while she’s grieving another man). Basically, Natasha wants to kill Stevil, Clint thinks she’s wrong, so she decks him and goes on the run. From there, she starts the new Red Room (which is all kinds of ridiculous since her previous run was all about ending the new Dark Room, but I digress) with a team that includes Miles Morales. Remember that prophecy? Well, he’s pretty convinced its true, but Natasha tries to save him from the fate of becoming a murderer -- and takes Stevil’s shield to the neck/jaw. It seemingly kills her and the rest of us spend the next several issues wondering whether or not she’s going to come back. But in the meantime, someone else comes back --

Bucky, back from the dead he never was because his old pal Namor fished him out of the ocean because apparently Zemo is really bad at tying people to rockets. Bucky has been hiding out this whole time -- surprise! -- and he’s hatched a plan for stopping Stevil that involves, and I truly cannot make this shit up folks, 1) giving Stevil the last missing piece of the Cosmic Cube, 2) shrinking to ant-size and shooting into the Cube which is embedded in Stevil’s Hydra armor, 3) becoming a Mufasa-like entity inside the Cube and pulling the real Steve and Kobik out, and 4) watching the two Steve’s go at it. Once Stevil is defeated, Kobik fixes pretty much nothing. Everyone, including Natasha, is still dead.

Rather than attending her funeral, Bucky goes on a mission to Madripoor -- where he watches the funeral live on TV before following a lead in a super mysterious case. He then watches the assassination of a general who had come to power in the US along with HYDRA, looks up to the window the shot came from, and immediately monologues:

Which leads us right into --

Tales of Suspense

Bucky teams up with Clint in an effort to discover who this mystery assassin is. In the time between Secret Empire's epilogue and the beginning of this story, Bucky has switched his point of view. He now believes Natasha is dead and someone is impersonating her. Clint thinks she is still alive. While chasing her down, they run into each other, and an uneasy alliance is formed.

The two work together following clues and leads. There are a couple pretty close calls, including a battle which leaves Yelena Belova dead in a subway and someone who looks an awful lot like Natasha speeding away on the back of a truck. Their clues lead them to the home of a Red Room operative, whose murder Bucky has been framed for. Finally, while following the lead of the Red Room, they run into Natasha herself, apparently alive.

Natasha traps them in a bunker where she takes Bucky's arm and Clint's bow and seemingly blows them up. It turns out that she wanted those things as proof she had killed them to gain the Red Room's trust -- but how did she survive Secret Empire? She didn't. This Natasha is a clone, engineered by the Red Room and given her consciousness by a psychic agent. The bear mutant Ursa Major, who you may remember from the Gulag, convinces the psychic to give Natasha all of her memories so that she may take the Red Room down from within.

Bucky and Clint escape from the bunker and track her down. A battle ensues. Clint is distraught by Natasha's violence. He and Bucky help her win the battle, but as they leave the building she goes back in just in time for it to explode. An officer finds a note for each of them on a tree nearby. Natasha tells Clint that though she cares deeply for him, he can't follow her where she is going and urges him to learn not to care for people who only ever hurt him. Bucky suggests that his note is the same, when in reality Natasha has asked for his help in a secret mission.

Clint and Bucky go their separate ways. Meanwhile, Logan has left Natasha a present in Madripoor: the Space Stone.

Natasha will return in Infinity Countdown: Black Widow in June 2018. She is also expected to appear with Bucky in Ta-Nehisi Coates's upcoming Captain America series beginning in July 2018.

#buckynat #this is really more for myself than anything but it might be useful for other people too #so there you go #reference

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dustedmagazine · 7 years

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Dusted Mid-Year 2017, Part 1

Jaimie Branch is this year’s Heron Oblivion

It feels like it’s been 2017 for roughly a decade now, given the constant barrage of news and events, but actually we’re only about halfway though. So again, for the fourth time in a row, we have created a mid-year feature in which Dusted writers review each other’s favorite records, specialized expertise be damned. That’s right, veteran free-jazz expert Bill Meyer reviews Actress, outside-punk rock fan Ben Donnelly gets Tift Merritt, trad jazz authority Derek Taylor takes on Julie Byrne, etc. We are drawing outside the lines. We are making a mess. We are discovering things to like about records that would probably never have hit our turntables otherwise. We hope you will do likewise, reading about albums that you might not ordinarily consider, listening to the audio and maybe finding one or two things that make your own year-end list. We’ll run the first half of our picks today, covering Actress through Sarah Davachi. The second will be posted tomorrow and a collection of this-year-so-far lists on the final day of our feature.

Actress — AZD (Ninja Tune)

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Who recommended it? Joseph Burnett

Did we review it? Yes. Joseph said, “(H)is tracks trace the boundaries between the dancefloor and the art gallery in ways that have rarely been achieved so successfully.”

Bill Meyer’s take:

In the video for “X22RME,” Darren Cunningham (aka Actress) conceals his face behind a welder’s mask and gesticulates in front of a crumbling concrete sound catcher that was built to amplify the sounds of advancing German bombers during WW II. The sight of these shielding devices resonates on the morning after a truck drove down the sidewalk of London Bridge, running over pedestrians, then disgorged its occupants into a restaurant district where they stabbed passersby with long knives. Cultural action vibrates within a milieu, and we live in a time where we are constantly reminded that the old fights come around again, new ones multiply, and our modes of protection will not keep us safe. Actress’s beats won’t solve that, but their adherence to dance floor functionality points to one option for working out the stress. Likewise the women’s voices that rise in multi-lingual layers above the electronic burble at the track’s end articulate connections and possibilities; people construct their lives in whatever circumstances they find themselves..

Blanck Mass — World Eater (Sacred Bones)

youtube

Who recommended it? Ian Mathers

Did we review it? Yes, Ian’s review went up earlier today, saying it’s a record that “somehow [manages] to be both more relentlessly overwhelming and more immediately accessible” than his previous work.

Ben Donnelly’s take:

World Eater seizes the challenge of making everything loud at once, with rhythm sequences that fill up the 16th notes and every frequency. It's the same dare taken by black metal, and I daresay metal has something to do with the aesthetic, though the results of Benjamin John Power's production are brighter. When his synthetic valkyries are charging, it’s epic for sure. It's a victory gallop, not impending doom. And victorious he is. Looped waves of noise have the force of machines, and they all ring with the intent of a human somewhere behind the scenes, giddy with the godlike storm-bringing power he's discovered. So yes, "The Rat" has an industrial meat grinder beat, but it sounds like he's dropping pinball machines into the auger, not enemies. This is a dense record shot through the ribbons of darkness, but those bared fangs on the cover are smiling.

Bottle Tree — Bottle Tree (International Anthem)

Bottle Tree by Bottle Tree

Who recommended it: Eric McDowell

Did we review it? Yes, Eric covered it in a mid-May Dust, saying, “Over the cassette’s 30 minutes, the trio gets significant mileage out of contrasted layers, deft structural pivots and sudden harmonic cadences.”

Ian Mathers’ take:

Most records this year won’t pack quite as much into their running lengths as Chicago trio Bottle Tree does in a mere 32 minutes, and with fairly minimal means, too; just A.M. Frison’s smoked honey voice, Tommaso Moretti’s protean, quicksilver drum fills and the sometimes anchoring, sometimes intangible arrangements and guiding hand of Ben Lamar Gay. The trio can and does stop and go on a dime, takes switchbacks without pause, and somehow does all this in a form that’s never anything less than sublimely mellow. Whether it’s the gently clattering percussion and bass burbles behind Frison’s chanted and then crooned lyrics on “Open Secret” or the sunrise synths and steady, subway train drumming leading into the stirring chorus of “Permanent Change” (where, of course, the drumming changes up), Bottle Tree somehow twists classic song craft and the avant garde, pop and jazz, Motown and improv, into an effortless, instantly ingratiating Mobius strip. Whatever else that tree is growing, there’s lightning in some of those bottles.

Nathaniel Braddock — Quadrille and Collapse (Invertabrata)

Quadrille & Collapse by Nathaniel Braddock

Who recommended it: Eric McDowell

Did we review it: Yes, Bill Meyer covered it in Dust, writing that, “’Doesn’t Remember,’ … interrupts Philip Glass-like repetition with intricate bridging phrases, while ‘Silvering Ghosts’ sounds like Steve Reich adapted to West African and Caribbean picking techniques.”

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

Braddock is known for interspersing American Primitive-style picking with West African blues, but this pristine and radiant disc seems to lean more heavily on Fahey than Ali Farka Touré. You may intuit the dry heat of African trance blues in “The Desert Within” but elsewhere shimmering flurries of picking evoke the Appalachia-crossed-with-raga musings of Jack Rose. The title track, balancing 18th century square dancing with post-modern notions of entropy, is a glistening intricacy of notes, grounded by low plunks like a kick drum but spinning off from there in dizzying circles. Closer “Tiger Bucket” swaggers. Strong rhythm cuts through the light-and-shadow eddies of rapid notes; it’s a spring-swelled stream that looks placid on top, but spits off bubbles and froth from its tumultuous undercurrents.

Jaimie Branch — Fly or Die (International Anthem)

Fly or Die by jaimie branch

Who recommended it? Derek Taylor, but the Dusted hive was in firm agreement

Did we review it? Yes. Eric said, “The Chicagoan-turned-Brooklynite’s overdue debut is bursting with the pent-up energy of years spent cultivating an impishly bold voice and collaborating widely without the deserved reward of a reputation outside the local scene.”

Patrick Masterson’s take:

This time last year, I was giving a close listen to Babyfather in the wake of Brexit and wondering what we’d be listening to in the aftermath of a Trump election (not to say I told you so). For me, as it turns out, the answer was: Not much. I never got internet service for my new apartment and I’ve been reading a lot of books lately. I’ve enjoyed Migos, Pile, Colin Stetson, and Big Thief records, sure. I’ve indulged in long moments of peaceful repose to Young Thug’s “Safe.” The latest Overmono EP is solid. But that’s about it for 2017; my listening has been liberated from the ever-peaking insanity of the “news” cycle. It feels good, man.

And that’s how liberation should feel, shouldn’t it? You should come away empowered, relieved, unburdened. I wonder if that’s how Jaimie Branch was feeling as she wrapped up post-production last July for Fly or Die, her full-length debut. At a lean 35 minutes and two fistfuls of tracks, this record packs it in and lets it out: The swell of white noise before the count-off into “Theme 001,” a power groove of a song, shows right away that this is no free-jazz genre purist’s haven. It shouldn’t be a surprise that the album flows so well between songs like the “Themes” or “Waltzer” and the interstices of the title-track or end note “…Back at the Ranch” given Branch’s familiarity with band mates Jason Ajemian, Tomeka Reid and Chad Taylor. But despite a handle on divergent mile markers that would have lesser composers looking foolish, the deft touch she’s provided frees it only as far her leash will allow; as Eric rightly points out in his review, the glue is her voice, and she’s got a taut one here.

Nevertheless, calling Jaimie Branch a trumpeter or even bandleader feels preposterously limiting; this woman is living the art we need right now to survive. Does that seem over the top? Well, far be it for me to insist you listen. Or the overwhelming majority of us at Dusted. Or Branch’s bandmates. Or Rob Mazurek. Or Ryley Walker. Or Sarah Neufeld. Everyone hears the liberation at their own pace, after all.

The Bug vs. Earth — Concrete Desert (Ninja Tune)

&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://thebugmusic.bandcamp.com/album/concrete-desert"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Concrete Desert by The Bug vs Earth&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

Who recommended it? Mason Jones

Did we review it: Yes, Mason wrote, “As the guitars and piano are successively overwhelmed by sonic waves only to resurface with glints of beauty, it feels like an oddly peaceful, welcome drowning.”

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

Two artists that seem, on the surface, to be radically different, find austere common ground in this disc. Dylan Carlson of Earth carves out epic meditative spaces with long, widely separated chimes of guitar, while Kevin Martin, The Bug, builds masses of shivering, shimmering hum. “Gasoline” and “Snakes vs. Rats” power forward on machine-drilled, industrial beats, the brooding heaviness set to foreboding motion. The long ones, “American Dream” and “Concrete Desert” wax elegiac, the ebb and tide of static eroding melody, like the crackle of clock radio cutting through the fading images of a dream.

Julie Byrne — Not Even Happiness (BaDaBing/Grapefruit)

&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://juliembyrne.bandcamp.com/album/not-even-happiness"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Not Even Happiness by Julie Byrne&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

Who recommended it: Jennifer Kelly

Did we review it? Yes, Jennifer said, “Not Even Happiness is a work of intimate loveliness, surely one of the most flat-out beautiful songwriter albums of a year that is just getting going.”

Derek Taylor’s take:

True to the unspoken, but venerable troubadour credo, particulars of Julie Byrne’s biography bubble up in the mutable, artifice-averse economies of her songs. A life lived with openness to extempore itinerancy and an abiding adoration for the natural world are points on the artistic compass, as are the bonds of family and interpersonal consanguinity even when at odds. Acoustic finger-style guitar lies at the core of Byrne’s performance tool box along with an ethereal voice that glides from a lilting, speakers-sating croon to candid spoken-sung salience. “Morning Dove” and “All the Land Glimmered” contain convincing evocations of the former, her starkly audible fretting on each folded directly into the gentle fractals of the tunes. Electronics and other instruments/effects enhance the equation on songs like “Natural Blue” and the interstitial “Interlude”, but Byrne’s fulcrum is usually the sturdy lattice work spun simply from words and strings. Lyrics and music coexist with equal and reciprocal weight and in their mingling revert to a pleasing and restorative weightlessness. Hers is not my usual wheelhouse, but one I will agreeably spend time in, soothing libation at the ready to augment those Byrne brings forth of an aural sort.

Evan Caminiti — Toxic City Music (Dust Editions)

&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://dust-editions.bandcamp.com/album/toxic-city-music"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Toxic City Music by Evan Caminiti&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

Who recommended it? Bill Meyer

Did we review it? Yes, Brett Marion said, “Its slippery patterns [serve] as auditory snapshots of dank irradiated zones and heat realm communities quarantined in an airless isolation.”

Jennifer Kelly’s take

Guitars have receded under an ominous fug since Caminiti’s days in Barn Owl. Where slow bright arcs of tone soared over cuts from Ancestral Star and melancholic picked figures reverberated through Lost in the Glare, here the six-string sounds — sometimes Caminiti himself, sometimes augmented by Jefre Cantu-Ledesma — are ghostly wrecks, barely glimpsed through the haze. Caminiti incorporated field recordings from New York City into this apocalyptic mix, so some of the roar and hiss and rumble is just the sounds of midtown. Yet in “Joaquin,” the disc’s best, music slips under a pall of poisonous smoke, submerges in waves of material-destroying acid, goes down amid the distant hiss and clangor of machinery. Toxic City Music sets up an uneasy conflict between sound and entropy, and it seems that unmaking, rather than making, is winning.

Sarah Davachi — All My Circles Run (Students of Decay)

&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://sarahdavachi.bandcamp.com/album/all-my-circles-run"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;All My Circles Run by Sarah Davachi&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

Who recommended it? Tobias Carroll

Did we review it? Yes, Eric McDowell said: “Davachi remains a composer of gently immersive and just-stable ambient textures — the kind best enjoyed in total darkness, relieved of as much extraneous sensory input as possible.”

Joseph Burnett’s take:

Even if I hadn't learned it beforehand, I would be certain that the influence of LaMonte Young hung heavy over All My Circles Run from the first note. Sarah Davachi's compositions share Young’s dutiful dedication to patience and stillness more than most, as the extended, shimmering and unwavering tones on "For Strings" make abundantly clear. But dwelling on the core tones of strings, piano, voice and organ so unflinchingly, she allows their strengths to be magnified even as her subtle sonic manipulations upset the listener's expectations. "For Voice" is the clear triumph on All My Circles Run: resisting the temptation to overplay the layers of wordless litanies, she allows each voice to glisten and shine even as it crosses paths with others. Combined, these haunting refrains form a mournful choir that hangs translucently in the air, so fragile one fears it could break apart at any second. So much "drone" music is sterile and intellectual, but Davachi's dedication to focusing solely on the essence of each sound source means All My Circles Run is as affecting an experience as it is interesting.

#dusted magazine #midyear 2017 #actress #bill meyer #blanck mass #ben donnelly #bottle tree #ian mathers #nathaniel braddock #jennifer kelly #jaimie branch #patrick masterson #the bug #earth #julie byrne #derek taylor #evan caminiti #sarah davachi #midyear

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