#i still have some vision problems from POTS that aren’t fixed but like. i can see detail in brick walls now and i’m obsessed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ampleappleamble · 3 years

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—

The next day was a frantic whirlwind of words and swords, the six adventurers rising at dawn to race up and down the docks and streets of Ondra's Gift, solving the problems of the district's desperate. Wherever they went in their attempts to fulfill the pleas of those in need, more work seemed to pop up before them: A trip to the local whorehouse to secure a priceless Engwithan relic and thus restore the honor of the Shattering Spear Clan was interrupted midway through by a negotiation with angry townies who had taken to attacking the Salty Mast's wealthier clientele in an attempt to drive down prices. An Ixamitli deckhand, sole survivor of his destroyed vessel, sought to recover a valuable scepter from the wreckage, and the subsequent search turned up the waterlogged remains of a murdered young boy, spurring an investigation. A mission to rid an abandoned lighthouse of its ghostly tenant lead the party to a fidgety sailor boy who pleaded for help recovering his captain's purloined chest.

By the time they'd gotten around to procuring the construct research Commander Clyver had commissioned– rescuing his hired animancer from a squad of Dozens thugs in the process– the sun was already setting again, and the harried little band of do-gooders was ready for a well-deserved rest. Axa, however, couldn't seem to force herself to relax, and so she paced anxiously as the rest of her crew leaned against a dilapidated building on the northwestern end of the Gift and took a badly needed breather.

"Told ya she's just like that," Edér panted, amicably clapping Pallegina on the back. The look she shot him in response could have given a Glamfellen frostbite.

For Sagani, it was easy enough to recognize a procrastination tactic when she saw one– her own older children were experts at attempting to get out of tending to their more difficult or loathsome chores by "accidentally" taking too long with the easier ones, conveniently running out of time and hoping their father might just forget to make them do it tomorrow. Axa's insistence on running herself ragged aiding every troubled soul they met was almost certainly influenced in no small part by her inclination to avoid seeking out the catacombs, entering the temple, confronting the cult. And it didn't take a genius to see why– she was afraid, obviously, of what might be waiting for her down there in the dark, and understandably so.

Of course, the huntress saw no need to point any of this out to her. Axa wasn't one of Sagani's kids, she was a grown woman– a stubborn, strong-willed one with her own ways of handling herself, and reminding her of the daunting task ahead of her would probably only make her want to tackle it even less than she already did. She may be putting it off a bit longer than was advisable, but sooner rather than later she'd swallow her fear and get to it, provided she felt supported by her comrades rather than pressured.

Now, if only she could think of a way to discreetly impart that nugget of wisdom to the others...

"By the Visions, Aloth, the catacombs aren't going anywhere," Axa snapped, plugging up her waterskin and wiping her mouth as the elf shrunk away from her. "It may shock you to learn this, but they'll still be there tomorrow, after we've had a chance to rest up and recover from today. What's the big rush, anyway? We're helping people here. Or is that not good enough for you?" She couldn't bring herself to look at him, shame burning her face as she huffed and puffed, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at the cobblestones beneath her feet. She was in the wrong, and she was being a bitch, and she knew it.

He tried not to take it personally, frowning down at the anxious and clearly overwhelmed little woman, but it still hurt him to be lashed out at like that, especially by her. "Be that as it may," he hissed, struggling against the urge to spout curses at her in Hylspeak, "might it not be somewhat... unwise to leave it for too long? I'm sure I don't need to remind you that you're not the only one in our group that this 'Leaden Key' has antagonized." He glanced at Kana, who looked just as surprised that Aloth was speaking up for him as Aloth himself was. "And the sooner we can infiltrate their base of operations and find out just what the Hel they think they're doing, the better."

Awrigh' laddie, well said! Mayhap ye've a pair after all–

"Be quiet," he growled into his collar as he turned away, ears and cheeks quickly reddening.

Luckily for him, Axa was too focused on feeling sorry for herself to hear his last comment. "I know," she muttered, trudging away up the wet, dirty street, her companions following dutifully behind her. "I know it's important. And I know I have to find them and... stop them, or question them, or whatever it is I'm meant to do. I just..."

She stopped in her tracks suddenly, sniffed, squinted at the air. "What's that smell?"

Kana stepped closer. "I was wondering that myself just the other day. Rather fishy aroma this side of the sea, wouldn't you say?" He smiled his broad, gleaming smile, jumping at the chance to change the subject and so help to relieve the tension in the group.

"It is not the sea," Pallegina declared grimly, staring ahead at the tightly shut gates to the adjacent district. "What you are smelling is the dead."

As soon as she said it, everyone seemed to recognize the odor all at once. Kana's broad, friendly grin shriveled into a grimace, Edér's eyes went wide as he quickly relit his pipe, Aloth covered his mouth and nose with his hand. Even Itumaak seemed to react to the paladin's words, his hackles rising.

Pallegina herself sneered distastefully, speaking slowly and with gravitas. "It happened shortly before my arrival in the Dyrwood. Some months ago, some sort of... misfortune struck the district of Heritage Hill. There is not much known about the situation for certain, and those who do know anything about it keep their knowledge behind lips tighter than a miser's purse. All I can say for certain is that no one passes through the gates, entering nor exiting, and the stench of death rises steadily from within."

Axa had heard what she'd said, had listened and processed the words. But her attention was fixed firmly on the stone tower in the distance, the top of which was just barely visible over the walls keeping the rest of the city safe from whatever was in Heritage Hill. On the massive, familiar-looking machine perched atop the tower like a vulture, waiting for the city to die so it could swoop in and take its sustenance from the corpse.

–the machine buzzing to life, spinning madly, churning the essence in the air– her soul bubbling up out of her body like a pot of milk boiling over, being yanked violently away in the unnatural wind– Heodan and Calisca, their mouths opened horrifyingly wide in a silent scream– his voice–

–Are you ready, initiate–

"I'm ready." She clenched her tiny fists, pointed nails digging into her palms, and spun around to face her compatriots. "I'm ready now. Let's go find those catacombs. Let's go to the temple of The Queen That Was. To the Leaden Key."

Sagani reached out, gave the orlan's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "We're right behind you, Watcher."

—

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #fic wip #i love giving pallegina the best lines #two more little sections in this chapter!#and they should be easier and more fun to write #because they're about Big Plot Driving scenes!#look forward to it ♡

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undercoverwizardfanfiction · 3 years

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A Winter Night: A ROTTMNT Holiday story

Rating:G

Word Count;2358

for: @snakeeyesdraws

Characters: Donnie, Leo, Kendra

pairings: [takes breath, pulls out sword] LISTEN

update; i accidentally uploaded the draft the first time ^^’ i fixed though this is the finished version

An overtly saturated neon sign of a Santa selling sandals catches him in the corner of his eye. He uses his forearm to protect his aching eyes as he passed the sign. When he passes the blinding neon of Santa, the turtle takes a deep breath, a soft mist escaping his mouth. Honestly, he is grateful the streets aren’t more crowded. But not for his slowly numbing hands. He stuffs his hands into his unlined pockets and moves forward. Grateful more than ever that he had updated Shelldon with a heating unit so he didn’t have to weigh himself down with a heavy coat. It was making the walk to Hueso’s a bit more tolerable. He’d have to remember to update his brothers’ gear to include a heating unit like his. Course knowing them they’d probably use it to heat up marshmallows in their pockets and that was a mess he was NOT going to clean up for-

He is so wrapped up in the nightmarish scenario of having to clean marshmallows out of circuitry when a loud shriek of anger followed by a trash can flying past his line of vision causes him to jump on one foot with a shriek of fear

“Stupid AIDEN!!”

It takes Donnie a moment, and another trash can flying by his vision to realize he is not the source of anger, or in danger. He blinks and peers down the alley before having to duck in time for another trashcan to get stomped in the middle with enough strength to crunch it in half before, in a mixture of amazement he blinks. “Kendra?”

In a feral rage Kendra stomps a trashcan nearly in half before swerving around and glaring at him snarling. Her thick purple hair twisted in half ragged tangles, her beret lay on the ground as though she had thrown it to the ground before deciding that wasn’t enough to help vent her rage. Her half-crazed eyes narrowed at him. “What do YOU want?!” she bites and for a moment Donnie wishes he hadn’t stopped, “Are you here to ruin my day again?! Wreck my plans?!”

“Um,” Don blames his lack of ability to come up with a snappy come back on his even more urgent need to survive the next five seconds, or at least not end up like that trashcan. ”Are you doing something that should be stopped?”

Kendra narrows her eyes at him. “NO.”

“Do you HAVE an evil plan that I should stop? Again?” With a snarl Don worries he might have said the wrong thing.

But then she lets out an angry sigh, “No, not now.”

“Um.” He really didn’t want to end up a Donnie shaped hole in the wall, “Then, no?”

Kendra narrows her eyes at him, Donnie could barely see the little puffs of steam burst out of her nose like a bull trying to figure out if he was a matador worth charging. But then she lets out an angry growl, ”Fine, go away then,” she says, crouching down and yanking the trash can back into a standing position kicking at it a few more times to try and un-dent it. Donnie glances back at the trash cans in the road and sighs. He pulled off his gloves, cursing the fact that he didn’t bring any extra rubber gloves, and pulls one of the trash cans off the street. Kendra glares up at him before eyeing the trashcan in confusion, “What do you want?”

“To not see cars hit trash cans? Is that supposed to be a hard question?” he asks, again berating himself when Kendra narrows her eyes at him, but lets him stand his trash can next to the one she had ‘undented’, she doesn’t thank him when he drags by the other one too. But to be honest he doesn’t really expect it. But he does finally notice that, even though she traded out her leggings for sweatpants, she’s lacking her purple dragons' jacket and is wearing a dark grey sweater and boots. All signs indicated she had not been planning on being outside in December and is using all the anger she had been trying out on the trash cans to not shiver, “Where are you going?”

“What’s it to you?” she demands.

Donnie raises his hands in mock surrender. “Honestly? I was just trying to help but if you’re going to keep acting like a jerk, I’ll-“ he wasn’t sure how he was going to finish that thought. ‘Walk away?’ ‘Blog about it angrily later?’ But it ended with someone shouting ‘heads up’ and something hard slamming into the back of his head, his vision exploding in bright colors and the breaking of a snowball contacting with his head. Off balance he finds his world spinning and himself on his knees, hands holding his head trying to make sense of the pain and his disorientation.

“Hey!” Kendra’s voice was far away, but that could be ‘cause she had stormed over to yell at the kids who had thrown the snow ball. “The hells your problem?! That was basically an ice ball you weebs.” Don could barely make out their mumbled sheepish apology. He pulls off his hat and touched the soaking bandana underneath. Any hope that it had just been snow went out the window when he drew his bloody fingers off his head.

“Holy-“ Sounds like Kendra was back, his vision was spinning so bad that he assumed the spinning purple mass by his side was her. “Hey how many fingers am I holding up?!” she said holding out her hand. He could barely make out her fingers but gave a weak, “Four?” with strength surprising for someone her size, she took his arm and lifted him to his feet, pulling his arm over her neck, “Come on there’s a hospital nearby-“

“NO,” he answers quickly.

“Are you kidding me you’re HEAD is BLEEDING.”

“And I'm a giant talking turtle which do you think will matter more to a hospital staff?!” He often wondered how Yokai managed in the city without access to a hospital. He had been meaning to ask Hueso about-. He blinks, there was no way he could let Kendra take him home. But he was already close to the pizza place “I have a place I can go. But you can’t go with me-“

“Again, your HEAD is BLEEDING,” she snaps. “I’ll take you where you need to go but I won't get any closer got it?” Donnie knew she wouldn’t take no for answer and only answered with a sigh and a nod. She pulls harder on the arm wraps over her neck and took more of his weight. Despite their height difference he barely touches the ground which only added more to the feeling of being disoriented.

“Thanks,” he muttered weakly.

“Don’t thank me til we get there.” Donnie struggles to keep his eyes open but his swirling vision forces him to keep his eyes closed, a hand slaps his face lightly. “Hey stay awake nerd.”

“Pot calling the kettle-“ Donnie bit off the end of his statement as he tried not to dry heave. He could feel Kendras frozen bare arms through his coat and feels even worse for being out in the first place. “H-Hold on,” he says, stiffening his legs up to drag her to a stop. He manages to pry her arm off him long enough to peel his coat off leaving him in his long sleeved dark pink Atomic Lass shirt. “You’re obviously cold.” As callous as he is sometimes, he finds it’s better to be honest than to dance around the subject, “Shelldon has a heating unit that’ll keep me warm.” Though it wouldn’t help his arms, he could handle a few blocks though. Thankfully his vision is returning to some extent, enough that he notices Kendra looking to his pack and for a moment Don struggles not to shift to put the pack out of her sight, “That’s Shelly right? Is he still mad at me for tricking him?”

“Oh definitely. He has a stack of crayon drawings dedicated to his revenge on you.” He feels the shoulders on his back tighten as though Shelldon was reprimanding him for revealing his secret plans.

Kendra lets off a small shrug “Yeah fair enough, I’d probably do the same thing” before smirking directionally at the pack, ”But for the record little buddy, blue prints are a much better way to plot out revenge.”

Don tries to grin before dizziness settles in again. Kendra must have noticed since she ducked under his arm. “Hold on nerd, keep talking to me.”

He manages a nod, mentally keeping track of their location. “Wh-what were you doing out here kicking trash cans?” he asked. “And who’s this Aiden guy who has you so mad? Not that it's any of my business, but I’m kinda hurt there’s someone out there you currently hate more than me,” he says with an added offended tone that makes her glare at him in confusion. ”I mean not to brag, but I sorta consider it a pride and joy to have an enemy worthy of my intelligence.”

Kendra narrows her eyes. “Please, he’s not worthy of my time,” she says through her teeth. “There’s this guy in the robotics club with us, Aiden. A loser who couldn’t tell a snickers from a soldering pen. There was a contest to submit the best blueprints, and who ever won would to be our project for the semester.”

“I’ve seen you build stuff on your own though. “

“That wasn’t the point,” Kendra lets out an angry huff, “I won, like I knew I was going to. But he got second place, I checked the points and he was twelve points away from wining. Twelve! The loser pretty boy who had his private tutor help him.”

“But you still won-“

“-He shouldn’t have gotten that close. I did all my work by myself. Didn’t ask for help, spent nights coding and drafting. I should have left him in the dust a broken swaddled nerd with broken dreams. But no. I made sure he knew how I felt about it, but the creep tattled on me. Freaking snowflake got freaked out because his blue prints ended up on his front porch on fire. Since when is that illegal.”

“I mean,” Don pauses, “I think always.”

“Anyway, I got kicked off the club and that’s why I'm out here.” She shrugs. “If my Dad or step mom saw me getting this mad then they’d make me do the ‘breathing exercises,’” she said with air quotations, “Being all ‘Kendra we’re worried about you’ ‘Kendra we love and support you we just don’t want to see you go down a bad path’ and ‘Kendra where do you keep getting access to all this fire!?’” Her frustrations forced her to kick out at a sign they passed but thankfully not hard enough to knock it over, “So as soon as I’m done helping you, I’m going to see my Mom. She’s the only one who gets me.”

Donnie blames his concussion on being so surprised Kendra had a mom but tried to keep it off his features. But judging by the quiet scoff from Kendra he hadn’t done a very good job, "How about you Greeny? Why did you come out here if you already had a concussion? Don’t pretend like you didn’t have one, I saw the bandages when I was checking your scalp. You already had a head injury before you got hit in the head.”

Figures his hat would blame him, and his own disorientation for forgetting that Kendra had checked his scalp. “It's complicated.”

“More complicated then plotting revenge on a spoiled white boy in a Vanilla Ice t-shirt?” she says in a tone that tells Donnie she’s trying to make a joke. And despite his best efforts not to, he snorts slightly, “No, I'll agree it’s not that complicated.” But it still feels weird to share with a certified enemy who once tried to steal the Spirit of Labour Day (don’t ask can’t explain). Thankfully she doesn’t rush him as he tries to collect his thoughts. “I got into an argument with my brother.” He still doesn’t want to let her in on too much information. “My brothers are all protective of each-other but he's’ protective in a way that makes me nuts. He thought it was too soon for me to go out with this whole situation,” he said gesturing to his head bandage, “And I disagreed. Except I didn’t really do it in the best way.”

“I think I know what that means,” Kendra says. “Did you say something bad?”

For a moment, it takes all of Don’s remaining mental energy to not think about Leo’s face, watching his concerned features fade away to one of hurt. So hurt in fact he hadn’t even called after Donnie when he stormed out. He lets out a sigh. “I did. I wish I had a reasonable excuse for it, but to be honest I don’t like feeling like I'm depending on people. I don’t like feeling like he’s always concerned about me. I especially don’t like him being right about it.”

“Sucks when it feels like you’re under-appreciated huh?”

“Yeah.” He could make out a familiar sandal store that housed Hueso’s alley. “We’re here,” he says.

Kendra looks around, and for a moment Donnie is concerned Kendra is going to insist on taking him ‘inside’ but she ducks from under shoulder. “You sure?” she asks, “I can take you further.”

“I’m good, thanks though.” He tries to give her a confident smile but his lips only twitch in response. She gives a half shrug before she starts pulling off his coat. “Keep it. You have a long way to walk and I still have Shelldon to keep me warm.”

“Thanks,” she says pulling the coat back on. “I’ll catch you later Greeny,” she says. She looks like she's’ about to walk off when she pauses. “But for the record, it still must be nice to have brothers who have your back.”

“It is.” Don nods. “And honestly Aiden sounds like a little bitch.”

For the first time since their strange encounter began Kendra put on a full smile. “Thanks,” she says before walking off.

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

Leo didn’t snore.

So when his phone went off amongst his makeshift ‘pillow floor’ in the living room he did not ‘snort’ awake. He made a strangled noise before sitting up. Patting his sweatpants and hoody pockets before diving into the mass of pillows. Breaching a moment later like a whale with his phone in his teeth. Hueso’s ID is flashing across his screen. With a scoff he answers. “For the last time BONE man I don’t work today-“

“First of all, that is NOT how you politely answer a phone,” Hueso starts with a snap of his teeth. “Second that’s not why I'm calling. Your brother is here with me.”

Leo blinks, he blames his previous hibernated state on why it took him so long to remember which brother had left the lair. “Donnie? Is he ok?” he said already going to his room and looking for his sword under his bed.

“He is alright, but it looks like he got hit on the head pretty hard-“

That’s all it takes for him to charge out of his room, lingering only long enough to grab the toolbox he used for a first aid kit, and grabbing his portal sword from the kitchen (vaguely remembering he had used it to cut some cheese for his peanut butter and cheese grilled sandwich earlier) and slicing the sword down to activate a portal to Hueso’s office. Without saying bye, he hangs his phone up and jumps through.

The aforementioned skeleton, who had been glaring at his phone as though offended Leo had hung up on him, gave a shriek as the turtle appears by his side. “BAH! Leo, I hate it when you-“

Leo immediately tuned him out when he saw Donnie laying on Hueso’s couch with an ice pack over his forehead, he hurried forward and knelt down. “You ok buddy?” he asks.

Donnie looks up at him from under the ice pack with a weak smile. “I don’t know, are you really uglier than the last time I saw you or is that my head talking?”

Leo couldn’t help but grin. “I thought brain injuries were supposed to make people nicer,” he says. He turns to the toolbox and starts going through the first aid supplies inside. “Thanks for letting him rest. In your office,” he tells Hueso as he sets aside a pen light and some new bandages.

“Why wouldn’t I? Out of your brothers he’s most definitely my favorite.”

“Wait you have a favorite?” Leo looks to him. “Then who's your least favorite?”

After a pause, Hueso gives a wide and strained grin. “I will leave you two to it. If you need me just call me,” he says before ducking out quickly.

It’s only then that Leo turns his barely contained worried energy on Donnie “What happened? Who did this? Do you have their address and sleep schedule-“

“Leo,” Don starts in a pained voice, “Please, my head feels like someone tried to split it with an ax. It was an accident. Some kids hit me in the head with a snow ball.“

Leo was about to start on another tirade of questions when he forced himself to take a deep breath, “Yeah, ok, I'm sorry,” he says. Also trying to ignore Donnie’s missing coat. He looks back to his supplies and pulls out a pen light. “I’m going to check your pupil dilation, but only if you're up for it.” He waits for Donnie to give a slight nod before he lifts the pen and carefully pushes the ice pack away from his eyes. Using his thumb to cover Don’s opposite eye without actually touching him, with a flash the pupil constricts and dilates as it should. He does the same process to the other “Well that’s good at least,” Leo says. “How’s your vision?”

“Spinning, but I think that’s from the pain.”

That would make sense. The red slider turtle rose to sit on the edge of the couch, carefully unwrapping Don’s scalp as gently as he can, checking his facial expression for any signs of increased pain before he lets out a sigh of relief. “It's just a surface bleed. It doesn’t look like the actual injury itself reopened.”

“That’s good,” Donnie says with a soft sigh. “You’re doing a good job.”

“I had a good teacher.” Leo made sure to give Donnie a soft smile that the turtle barely returns. “Let me just change the bandages and we’ll head home when you feel up for it. Maybe we can order some pizza; I've had a monster craving for anchovy and chocolate syrup pizza for days-“

“I was wrong.”

Leo blinks, pausing from unwrapping the new bandages with his hands. It takes him longer than he should to realize what Don’s apologizing for and when he does, he only returns to digging through his kit. “You were a little right,” Leo says quietly putting aside a bottle of alcohol, “I mean it's kinda right, right?? You're usually right-“

“No, Leo.” Donnie tries to sit up but fails to get up more than a few seconds before Leo’s grip on his arm forces him back down. “Leo I was wrong. I was angry, my head was killing me I would have said anything to hurt you. You don’t mess everything up-“

“Except I do?” Leo lets out a soft laugh. “I mean I do. Between the minotaur's pizza and Big Mama I'm surprised I get anything right-“

Don’s hand grabs his shoulders and before Leo can stop him, the soft-shell forces himself into a sitting position with pure grit alone (judging by the pain filled grimace on his face, “Would you listen to me?!” Donnie demands shaking him by the shoulders, “I shouldn’t have even said it but I would have said anything. I was angry at feeling so helpless and dependent. I was angry because you were right for trying to stop me from going out. I did need your help and I shouldn’t have been so difficult. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-“ his last sentence is interrupted with a sob that helps him notice the tears running down his face. Donnie lets out an aggravated huff as he presses the heel of his hands against his streaming eyes to help spare his dignity in some way.

He feels the couch shift as Leo shifts closer, wrapping his arms around him. “Ok, ok you were wrong. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing Leo,“ Donnie manages to say from his brother’s shoulder. “I’m the one apologizing not you, idiot.”

“Alright, alright I apologize for apologizing. You were wrong I was right. Is that what you want to hear?” he asks. Don nods into his shoulder. Leo rests his cheek on Dons’ shoulder rubbing his shell for a few moments as Don’s erratic breathing finally starts to calm down.

After a few seconds Don lets out a small sigh, “Damn it, I was doing so good too. I can't even tell anymore if these are meltdowns or panic attacks.”

“As long as you don’t have to deal with them alone when you don’t want to, that’s all I care about.” Leo gives him a final squeeze before reaching up and taking Don’s shoulders, gently guiding him down to lay down again. “Ok buddy. I’m going to rewrap your head, and then I'm going to go order us some food and portal us home. You just relax ok?” He waits for Donnie to nod before Leo starts applying some alcohol to a cotton ball. “I’ll be honest though, I’m sorta surprised you made it here safely.”

Don for the first time since Leo entered Hueso’s office looks him with his tired blood shot eyes. A soft smile forming on his face as he relaxes. “Yeah,” he whispers. ”Me too.”

#rottmnt #rottmnt fanfiction #Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #leo #donnie #kendra #christmas #gift #what a long year

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candied-peach · 4 years

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ao3: “the mirror is a lie” rating: T warnings: food, eating disorders, self harm, self hatred, sympathetic deceit, analoceit genre: hurt/comfort description: Logan has an eating disorder. (for anon prompt: "Okay so: analoceit with V or Lo (you pick which) who struggles with an ed(specifically ana). problem is no one knows because they've never "followed though" with it because they fight it all the time(bonus if fighting it is 'easier' bc they fight s/h / suididal thoughts anyway) so they have to barely keep together everytime someone mentions their weight bc they're 'chubby' (no unsymp anyone please) and they get soft affection and comfort from the boyfs sorry if this doesn't make sense") (song lyrics are from “empty” by boyinaband and jaiden)

Mirror mirror on the wall, yeah Tunnel vision on the flaws In the scale of things it's unimportant So no talking, but it's still an intrusive thought

It isn't logical. He knows that. He knows his routine isn't very logical, either. It's fine when he wakes up and brushes his teeth (for precisely two minutes, and he always uses the same amount of spearmint-flavored toothpaste on the medium-firm bristles). Dressing doesn't take long- it isn't like he's some kind of fashion icon. The most complicated step is fixing his tie, and at this point, he could probably do it in his sleep. The next step the others know about is breakfast and he will get there, but before that step, Logan has a secret one.

And it's one he knows isn't very rational at all.

He stands in front of the mirror in his attached bathroom. It's a full-sized mirror, lingering on all his flaws in painful detail. He lifts up his shirt, exploring the contours of his pudgy stomach with ruthless fingers, squeezing and pinching until he frowns at the sting. He welcomes it, too, though, because if he were better at this, he would have nothing to grab. Don't eat thumps in tune with his heartbeat as he tucks his shirt back in and runs a comb through his hair. That thought's not logical, either. He needs to eat. Well, he doesn't technically need to- none of the sides need to eat, they aren't real that way- but they perform better if they do. It helps Thomas when they eat and how can Logan deny that?

"Chocolate chip waffles!" Patton chirps in response to Roman's inquiry as Logan makes his way downstairs, heading straight for the coffee pot. He has to get there first, or Patton will serve him sugar and cream just the way he likes it and he knows he only deserves it black.

Staring down at a plate filled with three waffles, Logan feels sick. He doesn't want to eat any of it. Even breathing the aromatic air above it feels laden with empty calories. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, pretending he doesn't see Virgil's and Janus's concerned looks, to either side of him. He cuts off a piece of waffle with his fork and raises it to his lips, chewing automatically. It feels like he's eating chocolate-scented couch stuffing.

"Are you all right?" Janus asks him, softly, under the clamor of the others. Logan tightly nods, but he knows that it's not reassuring. He wouldn't believe it either. Today was supposed to be a good day.

Been getting even worse All the days begin to merge, yeah Just a blurry haze and now it's Almost second nature to ignore the urges

It gets worse that night. Dinner is shrimp alfredo pasta, heavy and cloying. Logan feels his throat narrow to a pinhole as he attempts to shovel it down. He wishes he could blame the sensation on a shellfish allergy. He knows it's not.

The others choose a movie to watch. He isn't sure what it is. Some Disney movie, naturally. With Roman around, it's hard to choose anything else, although technically, they all get an opportunity to pick a movie throughout the week. Logan's choices are rarely approved of by more than Janus and Virgil (and occasionally Remus, oddly enough).

"Can I sit by you, Lo?" Patton asks. "You make the best pillow!" He doesn't mean anything by it, Logan tries to convince himself, static roaring in his ears. Don't be irrational. It's a simple question, Logan, it only requires a simple answer.

"Of course, Pat," he croaks out, through dry lips. "I'll be right back." He walks up the stairs- walks, but doesn't run- and he doesn't notice the glance his boyfriends exchange, nor the similar string of excuses made as they trail behind him.

When he reaches his room and the door is safely tucked shut, he collapses by the foot of his bed, doubling in on himself and cursing every inch of his disturbing fat, squishy body. He doesn't have to be this way. He shouldn't be this way. He wouldn't be this way if he wasn't such a coward. He drives his fists into the tops of his thighs as hard as he can, relishing the pain. He doesn't hear the door behind him open, or the twin intakes of breath seeing him disheveled on the floor, muttering self-hatred into his lap.

I can reach out To someone not like me I can help my mind learn to trust my body

"Lo-" and Virgil is there, softly coaxing him back into purple-clad arms, and Janus is facing him, concern bright in mismatched eyes, and then it all blurs in a wash of kaleidoscope colors, and Logan realizes he's crying.

"I just-" He stops, hiccuping and hating himself for it.

"Take your time," Janus quietly encourages. "No one here is judging you, Logan. No one is pressuring you. Take as long as you need."

"I hate myself," Logan blurts out. "I'm sorry, I know it's not logical, but I-" He stops again. Virgil rubs slow, soothing circles on the tops of his hands, steadying him. He can feel Virgil's breath stirring his hair.

"I hate myself," he repeats, starting anew. "I hate my body. It's disgusting. It's too fat. It's wrong. I should look more like Thomas and I don't. I- I like Crofters too much and I hate it and I wish that Thomas had never found that jam brand in the first place because maybe that was the start of my downward spiral and maybe I wouldn't be this way if it wasn't for Crofters." He shakes his head, staring at the floor.

"We love you," Janus says. "No matter what you look like, Lo. We love you. I could stay here a thousand years and never run out of things to say about how much I admire you and your body. But I know that self-hatred and body dysmorphia aren't so easily shaken." He looks down at ungloved hands and Logan can see the spattering of scales there.

"I love you and I love your body," Virgil chimes in. "And whatever we can do to help, we want to."

"You- you do?" Logan stammers in surprise. Janus scoots closer, taking one of Logan's hands.

"Of course we do," Janus says. "You're our boyfriend. We might not have taken wedding vows but I, for one, still apply that whole 'sickness and in health' thing."

"Even if it takes months? Or- or years?" Logan asks.

"Even if it takes eternity," Virgil says. "You're worth it, Logan."

The world goes out of focus again, thanks to another steady wash of tears, but Logan can't bring himself to care.

"Do you want to go back to the movie?" Janus asks, a long while later. Logan nestles himself deeper in Virgil's arms.

"If it's with you two, I'll go anywhere," he says. "Thank you."

tag list: @k9cat @paravigilant-virgil @croftergamer @airiervessel @littlestliu @matthindavick @ambersky0319 @yalltookmyurlideas @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @bexxbeauty @killjoy-3000 @the-sunshine-dims @sneaky-slytherin @reesiereads @rabbitsartcorner @quackerz-creations

#🍬 txt #sanders sides #analoceit #romantic analoceit #sympathetic deceit #logan sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #janus #logan #virgil #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #📚#ok to rb #peach writes #eating disorders tw #self harm tw

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klovenhooves · 4 years

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Johnny Lawrence and the Five Love Languages, Chapter Two: Acts of Service

Johnny felt like he’d been living in Groundhog’s Day. Every day he woke up, and it still wasn’t the weekend yet. He was constantly tapping his foot, jumping his leg up and down under the table, as if willing time to speed up. He wasn’t used to feeling so jittery about something – Miguel commented knowingly that Sensei Lawrence had overdosed on caffeine when he fidgeted too much during training.

He got some extra push ups for that, not that he minded, the little twerp.

And then, suddenly, it was Saturday morning, and he was jogging out to his car, keys jangling like his nerves, trying not to think about how eager he was to get to the beach. This time they would be without Robby, without Anthony, alone in the ocean.

Maybe Diaz had a point with his little love language thingy.

At least, that’s what he thought at ten in the morning. By noon, he was pretty sure the love languages thing was bullshit, because he was still waiting for Daniel to show up, and he was about to admit to himself and his stubborn pride that he wasn’t coming. He scoffed, pushing himself off the hood of his car and into the driver’s seat, trying to stifle the ripple of disappointment that ached a little like embarrassment.

He was a high school kid again, playing games with the pretty girl and hoping she knew the rules. Except this time, he was the one who didn’t know the rules.

He grabbed his phone from the cupholder beneath the radio where he’d left it to keep the sand and salt out of it. He almost didn’t look at it. What would he find there, but another avenue to hurt his feelings? Daniel probably hadn’t called.

He sighed and pressed the top button. There were five missed calls on it, and a text from Robby.

“CALL ME NOW,” it said.

He obeyed the text message, thinking ironically that whatever shit was about to hit the fan would at least distract him from Daniel LaRusso.

“What the hell did you do?” Robby’s voice was hoarse, tired, like he’d been yelling for a while already. Johnny’s hand twitched around his keys, itching to turn them in the ignition, to find his son, find the problem. He stuck his hand under his thigh and forced himself to stay still.

“What did I do?” Johnny repeated. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

He could hear something in the background, deep sounds of wood hitting wood, and running water. “Cobra Kai never dies, right?” Robby sneered. “Isn’t that what you say?”

“Yeah…” Johnny trailed off, trying to put together too few available pieces of the puzzle. “Look, I don’t know what –”

“Cobra Kais trashed Miyagi-do last night,” Robby spat.

Suddenly, Daniel’s absence made sense. “Send me the address,” he said firmly, speaking over Robby when he could hear his son preparing to deliver another painful blow. “Now.”

***

He could see the devastation before he even got out of the car. “Cobra Kai Never Dies” seared into his vision from the side of LaRusso’s favorite yellow vintage car, black and stark and painful to look at. He grimaced, shoving the door of his car open and listening for the approach.

It didn’t take long for Daniel to find him.

“Get the hell out of here, Johnny,” he snapped from the porch, and even from a distance, Johnny could see that he was sunburned, sweaty, exhausted. “Before I call the cops.”

“I didn’t do this,” Johnny answered, holding his hands up in the sign of surrender. “I swear. I would never.”

“I don’t believe you.”

That hurt more than Johnny thought it would. He blinked and looked down at the worn earth beneath his feet, almost sand. They should have been at the beach right now. They could have been having fun.

He steeled himself. As much as he didn’t want to, he was going to have to swallow his pride if he wanted to convince Daniel of his innocence. More than that, he wanted to convince Daniel so completely that he would never again believe him capable of something like this.

Because what man would love someone capable of something like this? Whoever had done this had stomped into Daniel’s sanctuary, his shrine to his dead teacher, and crushed it under their boot without remorse. Even when he was blindingly angry, drunk, miserable, Johnny would have never dared wreak havoc here.

“You don’t have to believe me,” he said. “Just tell me what needs fixing.”

Daniel took a step down from the porch, eyes intent on Johnny, so sharp that Johnny wanted to flinch away from them. “What?”

Daniel was itching for a fight, Johnny could see it in his gaze. He wondered if that would make him happy, and considered giving it to him.

But no, he would be selfish, and deny Daniel their personal brand of intimacy. Let this be a new one. “Let me help,” he said softly. “What do you need me to do?”

Daniel furrowed his brows, eyes roving over Johnny’s face like he would find the truth in the lines around his eyes. Johnny let him look, content to suffer under his gaze, waiting to be sent away.

“You really didn’t do this?” He wanted to believe him, Johnny could see in the sad downturn of his mouth.

“LaRusso, if I wanted to torture you, I wouldn’t resort to vandalism,” Johnny replied, tilting his head, giving Daniel a genuine smile instead of his typical smirk. “This has teenage kid written all over it.” Then, without thinking, he blurted, “We aren’t teenagers anymore.”

Daniel clenched his jaw, the bunched muscles protruding from the pressure. “You’re right, we aren’t.”

***

Taking Johnny through the back gate brought the initial shock back; Daniel could see the wreckage as if through his eyes – the broken pots and tipped over plants, the shredded punching bag, the toilet paper all over the trees, the spray paint. He had been trying to clear it up for three hours, at least, and it still looked like he hadn’t even started. It almost made him turn around and leave – though what he would do when he left, Daniel couldn’t tell. He was stuck between wanting to fix everything, put it all back the way Miyagi had it and going to a bar and getting wretchedly drunk.

“Holy shit,” Johnny breathed beside him. Daniel spared him a glance, enough to see that he was clearly still dressed for the beach, and felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t called to tell Johnny he wasn’t coming – that felt like the closest thing to a courtesy he could give him when he saw the dojo. He had stood there, where Johnny was standing now, trying to reconcile the Johnny he had been thinking about against his will all week with the one who was callous enough to send his students to do something like this.

He didn’t dare hope that Johnny had nothing to do with it, lest he be wrong.

“Where do you need me, boss?” Johnny asked when Daniel didn’t answer.

“Uh,” he stammered, looking around the yard. “We really just need to get the trash picked up first.”

“Cool,” Johnny said, turning away and yanking toilet paper out of the tree beside him. “Go get some water, LaRusso, you look dead on your feet.”

“I don’t need –”

“You do,” Johnny interrupted, and there was that unfathomable softness again, apparent in the wrinkles around his eyes, in the set of his mouth. “Go get some water, and get some for my kid, too.”

Daniel stared at him for a moment, trying to replace the hardened, angry face of Johnny Lawrence in his mind with this almost reasonable one. He sighed, feeling his muscles ache with the breath, and nodded. He returned a few minutes later with cold bottles of water, holding them up for the kids to see. He could feel Johnny watching him as he passed them out, cracking his own open and drinking greedily until the bottle was empty.

When he looked back, Johnny gave him a self-satisfied smirk and kept cleaning.

Daniel felt like he was being constantly barraged by epiphanies about Johnny Lawrence lately. He remembered keenly the understanding he felt when he stood next to him at his childhood apartment.

“A nice house doesn’t mean nice things are going on inside.”

The words made so many unexplained details about Johnny make sense that Daniel kept catching himself thinking about it weeks after. No wonder Johnny had been so angry as a teenager – no wonder he’d adapted so well to Kreese’s teachings. No wonder karate had always been so important, and such a dire skill to learn.

Now, he was seeing new facets, like Johnny surfing, still boyish and energetic in the ocean, familiar and knowledgeable in the way Daniel always wanted to be about anything.

And here he was, slaving away under the hot sun, to prove to Daniel that he hadn’t trashed his dojo.

Daniel wanted to comment that he didn’t think a rich boy from Encino could work so hard, but he found that he was unwilling to break the easy peace they’d found. Instead, he helped Johnny unhook the punching bag from its hook and carried it inside with him.

“I can tape it up,” Johnny said, surveying the cuts critically. “That should hold it for a while, depending on how much you wail on this thing daily.”

Daniel nodded. “I’ll get the tape.”

He ended up kneeling across from Johnny on the wood floor, his hands holding the different gashes together so Johnny could tape them closed, his hands both careful and sure.

“I will find out who did this,” Johnny said after a while, peeling another piece of duct tape free. “I didn’t teach them –”

“I know you didn’t,” Daniel interrupted, and he could see Johnny turn his head to see his face more clearly. “No criminal worth his salt would stay to clean up the mess.”

Johnny chuckled, a genuine laugh under his breath, and Daniel smiled. He didn’t think he’d ever heard that laugh before.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” Daniel muttered, ducking his head lower, closer to the punching bag so Johnny couldn’t see it. “I should have.”

“No,” Johnny muttered, pressing the duct tape into the gash Daniel was holding closed, his fingers brushing over Daniel’s as he secured the tape in place. “I wouldn’t have called me either.”

Daniel looked up at him, accidentally catching his gaze and holding it. There was a sadness in Johnny’s eyes that Daniel could feel, radiating from him like he was trying to warn him away. He wondered why that was. He could feel the edge of Johnny’s hand, pressed onto the punching bag right near his own, warm and soft.

“John –”

“Dad,” Sam blurted, trotting up the stairs and into the house. “We need more hands to pick up the statue.”

Daniel tore his eyes away and found his daughter, face red and hair frazzled. “I’ll be right there,” he said.

“Let’s go,” Johnny said, picking up the punching bag, his voice a forced replica of his usual tone. “I’ll help you.”

Daniel was left to gape after him as he carried the heavy bag by himself back to its hook and replaced it.

***

Johnny couldn’t explain where his strange feeling of hope came from, but once it settled in, he couldn’t shake it. Something about working with Daniel to fix that punching bag, the way they spoke plainly, even if they said it while looking at the punching bag instead of each other, felt important, like Daniel was starting to see him as something other than an immature bully.

He followed Daniel and Sam to the tipped over statue, where tracks in the grass told him that Robby and Sam had already tried to pick up the statue themselves and stumbled. He could tell just by looking at it that it was too heavy for the kids to pick up by themselves, and maybe even too heavy to himself and Daniel to pick up.

“Robby, can you get me those two broken fence planks?” he asked. Robby furrowed his brows at him in confusion but didn’t argue, trotting off to grab the planks.

“What are you thinking?” Daniel asked, stepping closer to him, close enough that Johnny could smell that he was wearing sunscreen. He was reminded, again, of their plans to be at the beach.

“If we can use those rocks and the planks to get the statue just a few inches off the ground, we can probably get it the rest of the way ourselves,” Johnny said. “I had to do this at a landscaping job I did about ten years ago. Some rich Encino broad –” he caught Sam’s close gaze out of the corner of his eye. “Some rich Encino…woman…insisted that she wanted slabs of marble sticking out of her garden in the back yard, and one of them fell over. I was the only one there, so I had to get creative to get it back up.”

“You did a landscaping job?” Daniel asked as Johnny passed him a plank.

“You’re the white-collar guy here, LaRusso,” Johnny remarked, shoving the plank under the statue. “Not me.”

Daniel didn’t answer him, but mirrored his movements, setting his own plank underneath the statue and looking to Johnny for his cue.

The statue was heavier than he expected, but after a few seconds of struggling, it started to lift off the grass. Daniel huffed a surprised scoff, too out of breath to do anything else, and Johnny grinned at him.

Robby and Sam slipped in and took hold of the statue, Johnny and Daniel following, and after some clumsy struggling, the statue was upright again and looking as sturdy against the fence as it had before. The kids cheered, high-fiving first each other, and then their fathers.

“Alright, you two, why don’t you go cool off in the shade and drink some more water?” Daniel said, his eyes landing only momentarily on Johnny. They obliged without argument, trudging off toward the house with heavy feet.

Johnny could feel Daniel’s eyes on him in the wake of the kids’ absence. He turned away from him and surveyed the garden, far more tranquil than it had been when he arrived. He could hear the running water and the deep sound of the wood chimes that he’d heard when Robby called.

He could understand, in quiet moments like this, why Daniel was so protective of this place.

“I want you to try something,” Daniel’s voice broke through his reverie. Johnny turned to see him, a smile just barely quirking his lips upward, his hair tousled and messy from the wind and the work. The sun was starting to sink behind him, leaving gold behind in strands of his hair, his skin supple and dark in the sunlight.

“Is this when you tell me you have weed?” Johnny replied.

Daniel rolled his eyes and led Johnny to the edge of a pond where a round platform floated in the middle.

“Torture device?” Johnny asked.

“Get in the pond, Johnny,” Daniel said, toeing off his own shoes at the edge.

“Are there fish in there?” Johnny asked, peering in.

“There aren’t fish in there,” Daniel laughed.

“Are you sure –?”

Before he could finish, Daniel had grabbed him around the middle and pulled him into the pond with him. The water was ice cold when he went in, so cold he felt the shock ricochet through his body. And then he felt Daniel’s arms around his middle, just barely releasing so they could find the surface safely, and the cold didn’t matter.

He broke the surface, spluttering, and found Daniel grinning at him, trying to hold back his laughter. He launched himself in Daniel’s direction, catching him around the shoulders and shoving him into the water, yanking him back up only a moment later, hand tight around Daniel’s upper arm.

“You don’t want to play that game with me,” Daniel said warningly, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, grinning like a fool. “I’ve been almost drowning my cousins since I lived in Newark.”

“I grew up in the ocean, LaRusso, a body of water intent on drowning you without any help,” Johnny retorted, still holding tight to Daniel’s arm. “I think I can handle you.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows at him, and before Johnny could think of another witty retort, Daniel’s leg was snaking around his and yanking his feet out from under him, sending them both below the surface of the water.

Beneath the surface, Johnny could see the stones on the bottom of the pond, recently scraped clean of algae, if the little green spots in the cracks of the rocks were any indication. Daniel, beside him, was untangling himself from Johnny’s legs, swimming toward the surface again. Deftly, without any struggle, Johnny waited until he broke the surface, gave him time to take a breath, and wrapped his legs around Daniel’s waist, pulling him back down below again.

Daniel glared at him, his eyes almost black under the water, and pushed them both to the surface.

“Okay, okay, time out, we’re actually going to drown each other,” Daniel said, one arm sliding around the small of Johnny’s back to hold him up in the water.

It wasn’t until Daniel’s hand settled on his hip that Johnny realized he still had his legs hooked around Daniel’s waist. He just assumed Daniel would break free of the hold when he made his way to the surface.

His surprise must have shown on his face because he could both hear and feel Daniel chuckle.

“Thank you,” he said, and if Johnny hadn’t been so close, he probably wouldn’t have heard it. “For today.”

Johnny didn’t know what to say. Brushing off Daniel’s thanks would feel like he was cheapening what they had accomplished today, which, based on their track record of working together, was unheard of. But he didn’t really feel like what he did required thanks when really all he wanted was to prove to Daniel he hadn’t trashed the dojo.

And then he remembered one of the love languages that Miguel told him about.

Acts of service.

Perhaps this was the one that would work.

He watched, as if in slow motion, Daniel’s gaze drop to his lips. There was still water running down his face, settling at the point of his chin, dripping in the silence, harmonizing with the chimes at the back door to the house. He could lean in – he moved to unhook his legs from around Daniel’s waist, but Daniel’s arm around him tightened and stilled his movement.

“Tighten your legs,” Daniel said quietly, the same words Johnny said to him last week, and Johnny’s gaze snapped up to his eyes, deep, soulful brown in the shade, eyelashes still wet.

He could lean in – he watched Daniel lick his lips and reached up to grab onto the side of the pond, steadying them both against the side. He leaned in, just a fraction –

“Dad –”

Immediately, Johnny released Daniel’s waist and moved away, far enough that he bumped against the platform floating in the pond.

Daniel’s eyes were still on him, dark and unreadable. “Yes, Sam?”

“Sensei Kreese is here.”

#lawrusso #Johnny Lawrence and the five Love languages

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tinkiisms · 4 years

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THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

My muse is: canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless /

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK (it depends bc generally ppl will definitely sexualize her--esp the 1953 version--but in the DF fanbase itself I feel like mostly ppl fawn over other characters rather than Tink herself)

Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK

Are they underrated? YES / NO

Were they relevant for the main story? YES / NO

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG.

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO

How’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL

How strictly do you follow canon?

I try to keep pretty true to canon when it comes to Tinker Bell’s characterization, though I’m also a big fan of AUs and exploring lots of different plots that might be unlikely for the original character, so I guess I don’t “strictly” follow canon.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals.

Tink is a 5 inch tall fairy who can use pixie dust to make magic happen--including flight! If people don’t believe in her, she’ll die. She’s extremely emotionally volatile, but she’s a very loyal girl so if she likes someone she’ll absolutely sacrifice herself for their sake. (But if she doesn’t, she’ll be the one organizing their death.) Her name is Tinker Bell because she works with metal, repairing pots and pans, but also she just invents a bunch o’ crap like a tiny MacGyver. If there is ever a rule in her way, she will go out of her way to break it like stepping on dead leaves on the sidewalk.

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?).

She’s a basic bitch? IDC how 2D the fanbase thinks she is based on which one of the canon portrayals they’ve seen of her. With all the adaptations I’ve consumed and can combine inspiration from to form a fully fleshed out character, I like my interpretation.

What inspired you to rp your muse?

Well...TBH I started out in this fanbase with an indie blog for Prilla, and then Terence. I first started playing Tink as just one of the possible takers of questions (among the rest of all fairies in the kingdom) on an ask blog for the Disney Fairies, 6 years ago.

I think I might have started writing her there just enough, or got deep enough in my reading/viewing Peter Pan media at some point, to take some interest in having a separate blog just for role-playing her, which I made. The original one I actually deleted after a couple months as far as I remember, but then I ended up remaking and have been on this same account for the past 5 years!

So, for the fact that this is my longest-lasting role-play (and writing in general) experience I’ve had, the strength of my inspiration for this one character and every little detail about her life and every possibility for her in alternate universes and in various situations with random characters...she was really the one who snuck up on me!

She wasn’t my favorite character BEFORE I started writing her, but she grew and grew in my heart until she’s all I think about.

What keeps your inspiration going?

I love Tinker Bell. Even if I become less active when life flares up for periods of time, then I’ll just remember that I love Tinker Bell and I want to come back and write about her. If I loved her any less she’d end up like the rest of my abandoned blogs/characters I’ve once played. But she sticks!

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice? YES / NO

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO (I feel like people aren’t really interested unless it’s something that comes up in a thread)

Do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO (Again, I feel like who cares unless I’m writing for their thread specifically?)

Do you think a lot about your muse during the day? YES / NO

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO

Are you confident in your writing? YES / NO (I would like to be better than I am)

Are you a sensitive person? YES / NO

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?

I don’t think I’ve ever really received criticism about my portrayal, and I don’t mean that like “everybody thinks I’m perfect” but just that I’ve never reblogged a meme asking for anonymous crit, and nobody has ever just given me criticism unprompted either, so I don’t know how well I’d receive it!

I can say how I’d probably feel. Honestly, depending on the criticism, I would try to to understand it from an objective point of view and see whether it’s something I want to change/adapt, but if it’s something I disagree with (because we’re talking about portrayal which I take to mean “my personal interpretation of Tinker Bell’s characterization” which is the one thing I’m content with here) I would point out why I feel like my portrayal is justifiable.

If it’s criticism on my actual writing, I’ll definitely be open to learning and developing more--it’s just portrayal of the muse is so personal and subjective anyway that if someone really has a problem with my Tink....I don’t really care? Just find a different one, then. My Tink is going to be my Tink regardless of whether others appreciate my vision of her or not.

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character?

Sure! I almost never get character-building asks (even when I reblog memes for them) but I definitely welcome them and would love to have more!

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?

Might as well. We can definitely discuss WHY we each have a different interpretation, but in the end I’m going to have my own headcanons and they can have theirs. If I change my mind, then I have a new perspective, but if not then nothing is lost either!

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?

I’m not gonna take it personally. If they prefer a different interpretation, it’s totally fine to not follow mine and look for another one! I’m just here to have fun with a few people I really like writing with, not to be the “best” or most popular version of my character out there.

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it?

Roll my eyes and move on. I understand why some people don’t like the character, so it’s not like I’m gonna waste any effort defending her from hate--it’s their prerogative. I’ll just ignore it and love her extra.

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?

Yeah, if there’s anything I’m consistently doing wrong, please feel free to point it out! Some things are just typos and don’t get caught before being posted, but if there’s something you’ve noticed me doing multiple times so it’s obviously an error of my understanding rather than a mistype, I would love to be able to fix it and become a better writer.

Do you think you are easy going as a mun?

More or less! I don’t bug anybody about replies, you can definitely take your time or drop things with me. I’m pretty chill to talk to OOC as well, if I do say so myself. I’m actually probably the one ppl need to be “easy going” with because I never reply to threads or texts soon enough, I’m horrible at keeping conversations going...But that’s what people have to put up with if they like writing with me, the saints <3

That’s about it, congrats for filling out!

➸ Tagger: @wendyfulmother

➸ Tagging: anybody who wants to, you’re tagged. (if you don’t want to, you are not tagged)

#long post #⊹*⋅✧ | ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵏᵉᵗᵗᶫᵉˢ (ooc)#thank you for tagging me sweet!!

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iohourtime · 5 years

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Hey!Say!JUMP 2019-2020 Calendar 100 Q&A: Yamada Ryosuke

I already posted these on twitter, but posting them here so they are all in one place. Still haven’t proofread the document. Hopefully there aren’t too many errors.

Recent hobby? - To steep myself in games. I've been playing RPG games.

Top 3 favorite foods? - 1: eggplant, 2: yakiniku (grilled meat), 3: yakitori (grilled chicken). For eggplants, my no. 1 favorite is fried eggplant. I make it myself sometimes.

Top 3 favorite animals? - 1: dog, 2: sloth, 3: monkey. There are 2 dogs at my parents’ place. Sloths I've liked for a while. Although I'd like to keep one, it's impossible to have a tropical animal (lol). Maybe I like these types of “relaxed” animals.

Shower guy? Bath guy? - Shower.

Source of energy? - Food!

Describe a moment when your excitement level is high? - During live concerts, the moment when I see the audience from the stage. “It's so great that I'm working in this job” will pop into my head, it's the happiest moment in my life.

Describe a moment when your excitement level is low? - When I'm playing games at home. I'm just quietly playing, and I don't want anyone to see how I look at that time.

What do people say [to / about you] that will make you happy? - “Gakkoi”

Favorite color? - White. I have a lot of white t shirts.

Where do you want to go? - Salar de Uyuni (Salt Flats) in Bolivia.

Frequent dreams? - Dream of teeth being pulled out.

Best number of hours of sleep? - About 7 hours.

Dog guy? Cat guy? - Dogs.

Do you believe in ghosts? - I believe in them. But I do not like them.

Do you believe in fortune telling? - Basically no.

Do you think there are aliens? - There aren't any, right? But I don't think I want to meet them. Because I don't know what they'll do to me, it's scary (lol).

What do you like most about your looks? - Nose. Although I used to have a complex about it, everyone kept telling me “you have a great nose”, so I started thinking “it's a great nose!” and start liking it.

What do you like most about your qualities? - Stubbornness. I think being able to advocate for my beliefs without bending my will is quite useful in this job.

What is one thing you can change about your appearance? - My height. I want an extra 10 cm.

What’s one personality trait you’d like to fix? - My sharp tongue (lol).

What other job would you pick? Nursery school teacher. I love kids.

What is the last meal you want to eat in your life? - My mother’s meat & potato stew. The potatoes are soft and flaky and so delicious.

What kind of attitude do you bring to work? - I’ll be my natural self.

What do you think fans “got it all wrong!”? - How do the fans think of me? Since I don’t know, I can’t answer!

What are the types of people you admire? - Someone who has personal magnetism and is able to have an unyielding heart in whatever situation.

The type of girl you like? - Family minded. It’ll be nice if she can cook and also likes kids.

When you are in a relationship, do you want to spoil her? Or do you want to be spoiled? - I do not want to be spoiled. If we are talking about [my girlfriend] wanting me to spoil her, I don’t like acting all lovey-dovey in front of everybody. [So I guess the implication is that he’ll spoil his girlfriend, but only in private.]

Soba guy? Udon guy? - Soba. I don’t eat a lot of udon.

Favourite drink? - Cola.

Will you believe in love at first sight? - Yes!

Which piece of furniture in your room are you fond of? - Sofa. It’s custom made, so I fussed about the size, material, firmness, and width quite a bit.

What are you like in a relaxed state? - At home lying on the sofa.

Within Johnny’s, who are you friends with outside of the members? - Ninomiya-kun and Yamashita-kun. I always go bother Ninomiya-kun at his home. As for Yamashita-kun, I have gone to Disneyland with him and another guy.

What is your dream / vision for the group’s future? - Thanks to everyone’s support up to now, Hey!Say!JUMP is able to continue on as a group. After this, I want to see each member holding their own solo concert.

What’s your personal dream / vision? - I want to always work steadily as an actor.

What motto do you live by? - “Even if there is just 1% chance, I will never give up.”

What is your schedule like for when you have a day off? - Basically I stay at home, then when night falls, I tend to go out to eat. At home, I’ll play games then sleep (lol).

When you don’t feel like you’re in good spirits, what do you do to encourage yourself? - Take a stroll.

With which member will you go to the themed park together? - Actually, I hate themed parks. I am really bad with rollercoasters, so knowing that I can’t go on any rides, I don’t really want to go with anybody (lol).

With which member will you go to the public bath house together? - Yuya and Inoo-chan. I had gone with other members before, but I have never gone with those two. It should be pretty leisurely to spend time with them.

With which member will you go to karaoke? - Chinen. We go together all the time.

With which member will you go to hanami (flower viewing)? - I am allergic to pollen and there are lots of bugs, so I don’t go to hanami.

With which member will you go to the pool? - I won’t go to the pool. I cannot swim.

With which member do you want to spend Halloween? - Dai-chan. He’ll entertain me.

With which member do you want to go to have nabe (hot pot cuisine)? - Since we’ll eat delicious rice, Inoo-chan. He’ll probably say “yummy, yummy” when he eat, you know.

What place do you feel most relieved / relaxed? - My parents’ place.

What do you do to keep yourself healthy? - I will drink supplements.

Are you someone who arrange your bills in one direction? Or not? - I will arrange the bills with the face at the bottom.

What’s the best trip you had so far? - I was able to go to Paris and Los Angeles for work. I thought that was such a treat (lol). I was able to take in the nature in Los Angeles, and in Paris, I saw the buildings on the streets and had fun eating and getting on stage.

Top 3 favourite movies? - 1: “The Great Gatsby”, 2: “About Time”, 3: “(Leon) The Professional”.

Do you have a favourite book? - Not really. While I read manga, I don’t read a lot of books.

How about [your favourite] home cooked dish (mom’s cooking)? - Meat and potato stew.

When you wake up, what’s the first thing you do? - First I turn on the vacuum, then I go brush my teeth. [Does he have a robot vacuum?]

At night, what do you do before going to bed? - Brush my teeth (lol). I brush my teeth then get in bed, I’ll fiddle with my phone for a bit before going to bed.

What do you wear when you go to sleep? - Basically, I wear a pair of underwear! I definitely don’t wear a t-shirt. Even in winter, I do not wear pants. Instead, I wear a fluffy parka like thing. [So like a fleece sleep dress? :) ]

What do you treasure? - The trophies I get due to my acting jobs. They are displayed at my parents’ place.

How do you de-stress? - I go drinking with my friends.

Favourite scent? - Lemongrass. When I see it on my travels, I’ll definitely buy some.

What is the thing you most want right now? - Items in the game that lets me teleport! I don’t really have any material needs.

What must you have in your bag? - Toothbrush and cologne.

If you can only eat 1 thing for an entire month, what will it be? - Chicken breast strip. Although it is mild tasting, it is not harmful to the body.

Favourite number? - 4. That is my lucky number.

In terms of meat, what is your favourite? - Beef. But I like grilled meat more than steak.

When you enter into a relationship with your lover, what special favours will you do for her? - I’ll clean her room! For girls who are not good at housecleaning, this is a pretty good favour.

What is the 1 thing you’ll bring to a deserted island? - Lighter.

Tell us 1 secret! - Right now, I’m at the heaviest weight in my life. It’s not muscle but fat… (lol). [Em - we saw the calendar. Didn’t you have a 6 pack?]

If you have a chance for a redo in life, what age will you go back to? - 10 years old. The year I joined Johnny’s & Associates. That said, I don’t want a redo.

If you have to give a title to [your life story], what will it be? - “There are peaks and valleys”.

What will you do if you have to spend 1 million yen in 1 day? - I will take all the staff who is working on my project out for dinner.

What you will say to your 100 year old self! - “You don’t have to try so hard already!” (lol).

What will you do if the world will end in 3 days? - Even though it’s impossible, I want to have 1 live concert.

What is a small problem that’s bugging you right now? - I can’t beat the boss in the game. I tried more than 15 times but I couldn’t do it at all.

If you can use magic? - I’ll go see the world heritage sites. I’ll immediately fly to the ones that people said will be destroyed imminently.

If 100 points is the perfect score, how many points are you? - Around 50 points. When I need to get to 100%, I will go at it with all my might, but when I’m unwinding, I will use close to 0% of energy to unwind.

What are you addicted to? - Cleaning. Although I love cleanliness, when people come over for dinner and spilled stuff, I also don’t care. That’s because I love to put away the mess. However, I hate having dirty stuff lying around, so when everyone’s relaxing, I’ll start vacuuming. Perhaps I’m an annoying host (lol).

Do you have a collection of things? - No.

In 2019, what wish do you want to come true? - I want to have a live tour. I think I definitely want to have 1 tour each year. Privately, I want to go overseas for vacation.

What do you think you'll be like in 10 years? - I think I'll have a beard. I’ll probably appear in the “mature male roles” in dramas, won’t I? I can’t keep going on as the present “Yamada Ryosuke” without changing, you know.

What is Hey!Say!JUMP missing (not have enough of) right now? - Composure.

What’s your go to song at karaoke? - JUJU-san’s “Kiseki wo Nozomu Nara…” (If you want a miracle…”

A memory of karaoke-ing with a member? - There was a time when I went to karaoke with Chinen or someone almost every day and we will compete for the most points. I was very happy when I got my highest point of 96.8.

What is your role in the group? - No matter when, I am usually the first one to speak. Since the members also wait for me to speak, and the staff-san will ask me questions first, I ended up with this role.

What advice will you give to yourself at debut? - “Your face is going to change, you know! It’ll become a little thinner.”

What is the most memorable thing during the “Heisei” era? - Being part of a group called Hey!Say!JUMP.

What moment did you feel that you have become an adult? - When I stopped being angry [easily].

Tell me Chinen’s weakness! - Knit.

Tell me Nakajima’s weakness! - Dirty things. (Literal meaning.)

Tell me Arioka’s weakness! - Belly button. He hates it when people touch it.

Tell me Takaki’s weakness! - He can’t handle high calorie foods.

Tell me Inoo’s weakness! - Exercise.

Tell me Yaotome’s weakness! - He can’t remember anything.

Tell me Yabu’s weakness! - Tomato.

Tell me Chinen’s allure! - There are so many. He’s a genius. He face the world as a guy who can do do anything and has a very good understanding of himself, which is very good.

Tell me Nakajima’s allure! - He can do anything. He is high-spec (top notch), but he is also hardworking.

Tell me Arioka’s allure! - He’s a positive, bright person. You’ll feel happy just being together with him.

Tell me Takaki’s allure! - Very gentle. Comparing to before, he has a great love for JUMP, he kept talking about “JUMP, JUMP” wherever he goes.

Tell me Inoo’s allure! - Talk power. He honed those skills through “Mezamashi TV”. It feels very comforting to go on location shoots with him in the variety programs.

Tell me Yaotome’s allure! - His “ojisan-like” personality. He can take a nap wherever he goes. There are moments when that side of him will shine spectacularly as an item (special feature?) of JUMP, so in that sense, he is very reliable.

Tell me Yabu’s allure! - Although he is the oldest, he doesn’t act like “I need to get a hold of myself” a lot. Because of that, the people who are younger than him can feel at ease. Because we have Yabu-chan, we are able to things confidently, he is truly a reliable bigger brother.

Send a message to Okamoto Keito! - Keito, when are you coming back? How is winter in New York? It’s probably very cold, right? I want to tell you about the live tour, and I also want to hear about your New York life!

#yamada ryosuke #hey!say!jump #calendar #2019-2020 #q&a #translations

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that1nkyone · 6 years

Text

Prize for exp0001 : “Real”

Heya! This is @exp0001-goopsart‘s runner-up prize for the Spectrum Fanart Contest! They requested a few different themes, but I decided to go for Angst involving Sans and Frisk. And, well, this happened.

This short wound up being... kind of sad/dark with a hopeful ending. I decided to try something new with the kind of friendship Sans and Frisk have. This setting involves constant resetting and a pretty apathetic Frisk. At least, at first.

I hope you like it, dude. If it’s not quite what you like, let me know and we can sort something out. : )

Thank you so much!

(Rated T - Features character death, fixed by resets and some dark humour courtesy of Sans.)

When you had your first journey through the Underground, you had done it wrong.

You’d defeated Toriel. But only because you thought there was no other way past her.

You’d killed any monster that had killed you, before. Because death was scary, and you didn’t want to have to go through it any more than you had to.

You never killed Papyrus. He never killed you, after all. You knew what to expect from him.

Asgore was the final mistake. Except - well, you weren’t the one who killed him. Someone else had done that, and you hadn’t been able to stop it.

But perhaps you were going about it all wrong.

When you spoke to Sans in the golden hall for the first time, you gained a new meaning behind your kills. And you thought it made sense.

But now, you’ve reached the end.

And the only way forward was out. Back to the surface, back up into the world you’d left.

You bite your lip.

And you start again.

You realize you don’t have to kill Toriel, this time. That wasn’t necessary.

Things are still very similar. And even though it’s your third time through the Underground, you learn a few new things. But you become more familiar with others.

Sans, for instance. You talk to him, more. You didn’t have to. In fact, the first time around, you pointedly ignored him the entire time. He creeped you out.

He even weirder up close. He seems to appear out of nowhere. And he also seems to know about Flowey. You don’t trust him all that much. And his jokes are awful.

When he treats you for dinner at the MTT Resort, you’re given more reason to avoid him. “Dead where you stand?” That wasn’t the tone of someone you could trust.

At the end of it all, you wind up at the exit to the Surface, once more.

You start again.

You try something new, this time.

There’s gotta be something new. Something you’ve missed. You get tired of having to die so easily, so you decide that you’ll be a bit stronger. More Execution Points means more LV. And more LV, as grim as it was, meant less dying on your part.

And that means you need to kill more monsters than necessary.

Sans is even creepier, this time. It bothers you in a way that’s more irritating than actually scary. He gives you another threat. That you’re going to have a ‘bad time,’ or whatever that means.

But you keep hearing a faint whisper at the back of your mind. You heard it in the Ruins, and you hear it now. When your body steps forward outside of your own volition, you freeze up.

You don’t kill Papyrus.

Sans thanks you for it. He’s back to his usual cheerful personality - or whatever the heck kind of personality he has.

You stop at Waterfall.

This isn’t what you want, you decide. You want more control than this.

You start again.

You order fries when you sit with Sans at Grillby’s, this time. You don’t really care about the ketchup that spills out - but you stop eating after five fries.

“a new record.” Sans says. “don’t think i’ve ever seen you eat that many.”

You feel a chill. When you turn to look at the skeleton, he’s facing away from you - watching Lesser Dog munch away at a small pile of bones.

Sans looks back at you, and you relax.

“… notice something new every time, huh?” He says.

You feel nauseated from the ketchup.

Sans doesn’t remember, you figure out. He knows. Oh, he definitely knows. But he doesn’t remember.

He’s the only one that knows, you think. But you eye Papyrus with some suspicion - sometimes he mentions deja vu.

You try not to kill many people this time. You want enough strength to keep you from dying, but not enough for that voice to come back.

You decide to take out the dog guard. You’ve always been afraid of dogs. They chased you a lot, when you were younger. And these ones have swords, and axes.

Sans stacks hot dogs on your head when you pass his sentry station in Hotland, this time around. You get thirty, stacked completely vertically and you’re not sure how he does it.

The moment you move, it all comes crashing down.

“perfectly good waste of ‘dog, if you ask me.” He says.

You start over.

You meet Sans again in the Judgement Hall. You’ve lost count how many times it’s been, but he’s always had something a little different to say.

You’re not sure what’s different this time. But after Sans finishes his spiel, like usual, you ask him to wait, before he can vanish.

You tell Sans that you don’t want to go back up to the Surface.

Sans’ smile doesn’t fade, and he doesn’t budge.

Then, he steps forward. He’s the one that approaches you, now.

“why not?” He asks.

You don’t tell him this time. You don’t tell him the next two times, either. But finally, you again tell Sans that you don’t want to go to the surface, and he approaches you again.

“… you gonna explain yourself?” He asks, this time.

You tell him that nobody needs you, up there.

Sans looks at you. He glances out the window.

“sounds messy.” He says, still grinning.

You feel a pang of frustration. That wasn’t the response you wanted.

You start again.

You try not to kill anyone, this time.

‘Try’ being the key word. A couple of times, the fear of dying outweighed your vow of pacifism. But you find a small comfort in the fact that they’d be back again, next time.

The Snowdin dogs are back. You’re not scared of them, anymore. But your stomach twists, when you meet up with them. You’re not sure why.

When you see Sans’ hot dog stand in Hotland, you march past him without speaking.You glance over your shoulder when you’re about to turn onto a new path - and he’s gone, again.

You look back at the new path. Then back at the stand.

Sans is sitting on the snowy roof of his sentry station, munching on a Hot Cat.

You look away. Then back.

He’s gone again.

You look away. Your face is stubbornly set into a frown.

Then, you look back.

He’s standing in front of the Sentry Station with a small, white dog sitting atop his head and panting happily.

“what’s up, dog?” He asks.

A laugh bursts from your clenched jaws.

He looks at you, and you decide that you’re still upset. You turn and walk away down the path at last.

You start again.

Nobody’s dead, this time. You’ve become too familiar with monsters and their problems to worry about it. The only white powder in Snowdin Woods is just snow.

You take your time. You hide behind the lamp, as usual. You hear Sans’ awful jokes for the umpteenth time.

But when Papyrus goes on his merry way, you stay behind.

You sit down on the path - only a thin layer of snow covering it. Sans glances over at you, blinking.

“no hurry to get goin’?” He looks away. “guess my brother’s gonna be disappointed.”

You tell him that Papyrus won’t have to wait too long.

Sans approaches. He doesn’t sit with you, but he stands at your side.

You tell him again that you don’t want to go to the surface, because nobody needs you there.

You tell him that you’ve never really felt at home. You tell him that at least around here, you knew what was going to happen.

Everything up there changes so fast. You either have a roof over your head, or you don’t. You have food, or you don’t. People are nice, or they aren’t.

Down here, you know what to expect from the same people.

Down here, you feel safer. You know what’s coming, and you’ve tried new things to spice it up a little - but you’ve found comfort here. You know everybody. You know what to do to make things pleasant enough here. You can control how bad it gets.

You don’t want to go to the surface, you tell Sans. You have no idea what’ll happen if you do.

Sans doesn’t say anything for a long time. But he sits down next to you.

“yeah.” He says. “i guess it’d be pretty freaky, not knowin’ what to expect.”

At first, you feel relieved that he gets it. And then, a pang starts to well up in your chest. And you start to feel ill.

You tell him that as long as things are like this, you’ll be fine.

“cool.” He says. “you ready to go? i’ll meet you up ahead, like usual.”

You don’t move.

You feel sick.

“… you hungry or something, kiddo?” The skeleton leans into your field of vision. “… nah, you must’ve eaten some greens back there, ‘cause your face sure looks it.”

You clench your jaw.

And then you’re sick.

You wake up on the couch in Sans and Papyrus’ house. The cushions are firm and littered with spare change. The kitchen is bustling with Papyrus’ efforts to cook up something for his new house guest.

Sans is sitting on the arm of the sofa, flicking endlessly through the four channels of the television.

“that’s a first.” He says, without looking back at you. “i think.”

You’re both quiet for a while, the only noise being the clattering of pots and pans and the buzzing of four different tones of static.

You tell Sans you’re a bad person.

The skeleton shrugs.

Things change a little, this time.

You call Undyne and Papyrus a lot. You try to listen to what they have to say. You try to really understand what kind of people they are.

You call Toriel, too. No responses, of course. But you wonder if she’s thinking of you. And you wonder if she’s baking anything.

You talk to Alphys, even knowing what’s coming. But you think you understand her a little better, now. Or you understand her more than you’d like.

You talk to Sans every time you see him. He doesn’t offer you food, this time. Just a bucket.

You kick it, giggling. Sans shrugs.

“Bit of gallows humour there, kiddo.” He says. He’s grinning, anyway.

It’s when Flowey has them all in his thorny vines that you realize that they’re real to you.

You’re not sure when they stopped. You’re not sure when they started being real, again, either. You just know that they haven’t been for a very long time. And that makes you sad.

“Don’t you get it? This is all just a GAME.”

And you feel ill. You look at Flowey, beaming at you with your friends in his grasp.

You look up at Sans.

His eye sockets are dark.

You wonder if this is new to him. That if over the many, many combined resets, courtesy of you and Flowey, he was ever held captive like this.

All of your friends, you realize, have long stopped being real to Flowey.

You realize that you want them to stay real to you.

You’re standing there at the top of Mt Ebott, next to Toriel. You’re both watching the sunset. You’re shaking a little. You don’t know if it’s because you’re tired or if you’re frightened, but you decide that you’re not feeling that scared.

You quietly tell Toriel that you have places to be. And the forgotten queen of the Underground gives you a smile of understanding (though perhaps you can see some flicker of disappointment).

She follows after the entourage that have hurried down the mountain. But you stand there a few moments longer.

Then, you look to your left.

Sans is standing there. You figured he’d be.

You try to read him a little. But you’ve never really managed to do that so well, in all the time you’ve known him.

But when you tell him that you’re not resetting this time, you can already tell he doesn’t believe you.

He watches the sunset anyway, looking a little more relaxed than usual. You wonder if he ever saw this in a past reset of Flowey’s. Probably not, you realize. Not enough SOULs.

“… she’s gorgeous, huh?” He says, gesturing to the sunset. “really lights up my life.”

You snort.

“hey, thanks for getting us this far.” He says. and he sounds like he means it. “could honestly get used to this.”

He starts walking down the mountain, too. You follow behind him, fiddling with your sweater as you look at the sun, again.

You know that it’s all unknown from here on out. Moreso now that you have a group of monsters to represent.

You’re scared. And you know that perhaps, in a way, you’ve ruined any chance of really being friends with Sans. But you decide that you don’t need to convince him of anything. You don’t have to tell him you’ve changed, so you can feel better.

You just have to try to do the right thing from here on out.

“hey, kid?”

You look down at Sans, who’s looking up at you. His hands are still in his pockets, but the stare he gives you isn’t accusatory.

“you comin’, or what?” He asks, gesturing with his shoulder.

You draw in a breath.

And you decide to keep going.

#Writing #exp0001-goopsart #Undertale

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braindamageforbeginners · 6 years

Text

The apocalypse is here

Pictured above: Either the I5 North or the current political races. I’m no longer sure. So, this will take a bit of time to get to, but I promise it’ll be good. I guarantee that, I’ll be quoting directly from candidate statements/descriptions (we’ll get back to the abyss soon enough, and the time a DIY project almost killed/crippled Dad)(the man attempted an electrical project, I’d like to point I quietly though this was a bad idea). Anyway, I’m certain that decent, kind, honest, noble, and educated and mostly-human Congresscritters must exist - people do vote for them, after all. However, having met one Congressman and, being lied to the staff of another (pro-tip; no matter how pro-military or manly and awesome you like to think you are, it’s not a reassuring thing to your constituents if there’s an explosion on a large photo in your office. So I have rather low regard for them, as a group (I know, that’s baseless stereotyping).

So you can imagine my surprise at coming to rest in Daryl Issa’s old district, a man so loathed even by his own party that they quietly told him to go away. I’ve seen a lot of strange political events, but, believe me when I say I’ve never seen anything like this; a completely vacant Congressional seat that could be inhabited by a Democrat, Republican, Libertarian, Green, or even some type of salamander (the salamander would’ve been an improvement over Jerry Lewis). Anyway, since there are also assorted state assembly judicial races at stake, they’re all included in this pamphlet (and potentially included in this oversized piece). As usual, I will be selecting choice quotes, and, remember, candidates may include an age and/or occupation.

Kistin Gaspar: “[...] A mother, small business owner, and the mayor of encinitas, she has the get-it-done approach we need in Congress.” Fantastic, just as I start to enjoy the peace and quiet of life without Larry the Cable Guy in the public light, there’s this call-back. Or so I thought, until I found out that the “Get It Done” app is used in our area to report “non-emergency problems to the city.” Now, I hate potholes as much as any American (possibly more, since I used to live in a country where drivers used them to help corner while going 80 mph on unpaved roads). Still, “Fixing potholes” seems a little below the pay-grade of a pre-conviction congresswoman.

Diane Harkey: Healthcare: Diane will worke for policies that increase choice, costs, and allow patietns and doctors to decide what care is best. No, no, she isn’t. Diane’s endorsed/puppeted by the American Independent Party, so she has about as much chance of winning as a large rock. But, more importantly, I’m pretty sure the AIP is only concerned with healthcare as a business that sends them money. The big take-away here is less what I say, and more the fact that third party-associated candidates with little-to-no chance of winning feel compelled to tell everyone their healthcare system will be fine, even if it won’t.

David Medway: “I want to protect working families from increasing taxes, healthcare bills, and gun violence (while protecting our right to bear arms). I want to prevent national catastrophes like pandemics (which I wrote a book about) and environmental disasters (such as protecting our coastline from nuclear waste and oil spills that would devastate our shores). I support women’s rights and the melting pot of cultures tha tmake up California. I support lower taxes, less government and the best healthcare and education in the world for all Americans at reasonable prices. Please define “reasonable,” sir, I suspect our answers will differ. Also, you’ll notice he’s making the classic math mistake - better, improved services at a mere fraction of the tax cost! Which is a bullshit political statement/proposal. You might be able to get a great vaccuum cleaner for a fraction of the name-brand because slavery is still totally legal in some parts of the world (meaning the company saves a lot on payroll), and wholesalers/transportation will give bulk purchase discounts. Unless your local police and firefighters are staffed by robots (always a possibility), imagine City Hall telling them that they now have to do the same job, only much better, and with a pay cut. Oh, and we’re firing one-in-three of their employees. Society tried hat in Silicon Valley (with choppy results), I don’t think you want to try it with ambulances.

Crag Nordal: “I am an Evangelical Christian who will defend and protect Israel, protect innocent human life from conception to birth, and to natural death, defend and protect marriage between a man and a woman, restore Christian and Jewish morals and ethics to our public schools, and protect religious freedoms. I vow to enforce and enhance border security, build that wall, protect and defend our 2nd Amendment as an NRA life member, and wok to shrink government daily and drain that swamp. I believe I have a conviction from God, to enter this race. I ask that you consider my moral character and conviction above any other experience or attributes. Nothing is more important in selecting our leaders in in the Congress of the United States of America. Our country is engaged in a spiritual battle between the guiding force of moral law and those that are working to remove God from every aspect of our society. We need Christian moral leaders to stand up and fight for the God given rights that our Founding Fathers based our Declaration of Independence and the United States Constitution. In the creation of this great country God and His laws were relied on to form the greatest founding documents of any country ever formed by men, and thereby the greatest country ever conceived. The United States was formed to be God’s hammer in this world to contain and destroy evil.” Holy shit (almost literally), is there a lot to discuss - I included all of it because every time I thought I’d gotten to the funny/pertinent point, it went on, like a Harry Potter book . First of all, even though you get looney-tune candidates like this and parts of the GOP that always like to nod to the idea of instituting a theocracy, let’s get that out of the way; this is basic civics, First Amendment expressly forbids the idea of instituting a state religion. Speaking of which, even if that were legally possible, whose religion? When he simultaneously restores Jewish and Christian ethics to the schools, will bacon be allowed in those schools? You get a different answer depending on if you go to church on Saturday or Sunday (which is also something different Christian sects have different ideas on). For the purposes of brevity, I’ll have to just say, everyone’s welcome to their own religion, but the institution of a theocracy - while appealing in theory - would be horrific, brutal, and possibly genocidal (I’ll admit I like the idea of communism, in theory, but I’ve seen enough of the results in the real world to know it’s not a good idea). Also, I appreciate his desire to look after Israel, which is always a positive attribute when you’re voting for someone to look after your own country’s interests (I know there’s a tenuous Biblical connection, but, come on, guys, Isarel’s gotta start fending for itself)(the flip side of hat sentiment would be, “We can talk about Israel when every American has a job, home, and healthcare”). And there’s “I believe I have a conviction from God.” We all have convictions, maybe some of them come from God, but most are personal. Unless he means “I believe I have a mission from God.” Which is more grammatically correct, and, compared to the rest, no crazier or dumber. BTW, I feel like I have to put out a disclaimer about religion and say that I don’t really care if you’re religious, or, as long as it’s not hurting anyone to what extent your religion informs policy proposals (and I wouldn’t expect anyone to be able to determine exactly where one ends and the other begins; our minds just aren’t built that way) - there’s a massive difference between that and standing up in the middle of church (let alone Congress) and shouting, “GOD COMMANDS ME TO CAST OUT THE UNWORTHY.” I do like his demand that we judge him exclusively on his faith and not on what he says, does, or anything else that might involve objective reality. Oh, and that bit about “God’s hammer in this world” really upset me when I first read it, and I couldn’t figure why, until I remembered this quote, “ "I am the Flail of God. If you had not committed great sins, God would not have sent a punishment like me upon you. “ which is attributed to Genghis Khan (even if you think the temporary stability and increased trade in Asia as a result of the Mongol Empire is awesome, remember that 40-60 million people died due to his campaigns and policies)(the Mongols tended to obliterate cropland, so whoever they didn’t kill usually starved).

Robert Pendleton MD, PhD - Surgeon/Biochemist/Small Businessman/Visual Artist: “ My name is Robert Pendelton Md PhD and I feel a calling to awaken the apathetic and unite disenfranchised moderates. I am an eye-surgeon, biochemist, small businessman, and visual artist, and the K9USA Party is my vision for a better world. K9 is a political party and philosophy of decision-making based upon the attributes of dogs that make “man’s best-friend” so special: Unconditional Love, Simple Needs, and Readiness to Defend. Adapted to national politics, international politics, and our personal lives, these attributes become the nine K9 principles: Socially Progressive, Fiscally Conservative, and militarily prepared (national, Altruistic, Sovereign, and United (international), and Loving, Lean and Strong (personal).2020 Application of K9 Principles yields the “six results” of Tolerance, Security, Health, Happiness, Peace and Freedom. My “2020 Vision” is for the K9USA Party to elect a majority of representatives (50% women) to the United States Congress and Presidency by the year 2020... Donkeys and elephants have failed. It’s time for dogs to lead.” I have only just heard of this man and I love him.

#quie

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terraclae · 6 years

Text

Morning light

Lore pings: @yuushanoah-fr @cityofinoue

It's been a rough night for the crew of Paramo city. A few POV shifts happen in this one, it rounds out back to Arodan though.

Carmen tended not to give much thought to Dreams she had. If she did she was never going to get up in the morning and she didn’t have time for that. She stayed in bed for five minutes more and that would be it. Through the small windows early pale morning light fell, dust dancing in the light. Carmen’s room on the ship was cluttered with all manner of objects she had taken from the ship’s hold. Books, clothing, furniture, trinkets, things she liked and things she knew Epoch would have liked.

‘Okay.’ She said through a strained breath. Slowly she got up and crept out of bed. She wore easier clothing now and if she didn’t think too much of things she was up and going within another five minutes. She met her face in the mirror, paused, and stopped to fluff her hair. ‘Let’s do this.’

Balam hadn’t slept a lot that night. He knew he had drifted off a few times but truly sleeping wouldn’t happen. Slow and heavy, he rose and listened to the ship’s creaking around him. In the hall he could hear someone pass and he wondered who it was. Balam rubbed his face and groaned quietly. He had yet to figure out what was next, beyond the problems that had already manifested on the boat. Where would they go now that they didn’t have home to come back to?

‘Balam?’

Carmen stuck her head through the door. When he last her stare she smiled. ‘Sorry, I’m late, am I not?’

‘Nah. I think we all need some extra sleep.’ She remained by the door. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah. Little tired.’ He shook his head and his eye fell on his hands. He’d have to apologize to Sachairi later, or at least the person that he truly was. ‘I’ll come up when I’m ready.’

Carmen paused, her eyes drifting elsewhere. Without looking up she stepped in and closed the door behind her. ‘Hey. I’ll wait.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘It’s not as if I have anything better to do.’ She sat down at the end of Balam’s bed where his feet weren’t. He was just a little too big for the frame. ‘Maybe I will take over sailing the ship for a while. Caer fell asleep against the wheel this morning and there’s only so much the coffee supply can do.’

‘Do you know how to steer a ship?’ Balam slid out of bed around Carmen and paced to an overloaded closet in the corner. It was bolted to the floor like most furniture. ‘I can do that too.’

‘The sea’s been easy. Maybe it’ll get worse once we reach the coast but for now it’s calm.’ She kept her gaze on a plant in the corner which looked dried out. ‘Epoch taught me once, so I might be able to take over for a bit.’ She knew Epoch’s name made Balam worry over all sorts of things again but if they danced around to that would remain. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Balam?’

‘Yes?’

‘Help me out with something.’ She hopped up and towards the plant where she knelt down. Balam finished pulling a shirt over his head and came to bend down besides her. ‘Hold out your hand and make a block of ice.’

‘I… I see.’ Balam did as asked. In his hand ice started to form and shape. He focused and his eyes glowed a fierce blue as he extended his magic until he held a block of ice the size of his palm. ‘So what now?’

Carmen pulled his frigid hand closer by one of his fingers. She moved it to be above the pot and placed her hand on the block of ice. Her own magic flared and melted the block slowly. Water dripped into the pot and hydrated cracked soil. ‘That will be a welcome change. Maybe it’s too dry to be saved but we tried.’

‘Is this a metaphor of sorts you’re trying to show me?’

Carmen grinned. 'The point I am trying to make is that we work better as a group. Look at us.' She tilted Balam's hand down. 'We were at each other's throats over something as minor as Sachairi not being trustworthy. We should not fight each other despite our weariness.'

'I know that.' Balam quietly responded and he didn't dare to look at her, instead fixing his focus on the plant. 'I don't want us to fall apart as a group.'

'I know… I know we lost Paramo. And it will be a long time before we all will learn to deal with the effects of that.' Carmen added. She briefly squeezed Balam's hand to draw his attention back to her. 'But at least we still have each other. We can do this together.'

'I want to get it back. Not today, but once we figure out the way to do so.' He said this with a mild, simmering resolve. All the ice melted in his hands and he waved it over the pot so the remainder of the water dripped off his hand. 'But you are right. I will not do that alone.'

'We'll get back our home my liege.' Carmen said quietly. 'For Epoch, and for the city of Paramo.'

'... For Epoch.' Balam hummed in agreement.

'You know, you do have big enough hands to play drums perhaps.'

'I'd smash right through them Raz.' Sachairi said with a long, drawn out sigh. He drew Raz closer to him who murmured something nondescript. 'I don't think I'm made for making music.'

'People aren't made for specific purposes, Sachi.' Raz said and giggled. He looked out over the field wistfully and Sachairi loved that kind of look. The landscape before them was beautiful yes, snow coated and pristine. The sky was a vibrant blue and the sun illuminated countless snow hardy flowers that popped up from out of the snow. None of that compared to Raz. 'We're just people. I play the harp because I want to.'

'Well, you're good at it.' Sachairi hummed. He rested his chin on Raz's head and the skydancer responded by creeping deeper into the larger man's coat. 'That's your thing. My thing is brute force.'

'Okay, listen.' Raz held up a finger and tilted his head back. 'What if you made me a harp? Maybe subtle isn't your forte, but rough is. You can try carving something.'

'I don't think I can do that.'

'I think you can.'

'Yeah, but you can think I can do anything if I just set my mind to it.' Sachairi said, unhelpfully grinning. Raz turned and proceeded to knock him over. 'Look, Raz, I-'

'Look, Sachi-' Raz grabbed Sachairi's face and shook him a little, a narrowed stare meeting Sachairi's wide, confused gaze. 'There, you always say that. What I want to say, is that I understand what bothers you, but that upkeeping the attitude you have now isn't going to make you happier.' He smiled warily and pressed his forehead to Sachairi's. 'Try being more positive. Try it for me if you don't want to do it for you.'

'I know, I know.' He held up his hands and Raz gently took them. 'It's just… Difficult. This is new for me.' He glanced up and wordlessly questioned further before finding that wouldn't help. 'You know, having a home.'

'It's new for me too.' Raz whispered. He lay down and settled back into part of Sachairi's coat. 'It's new to be safe, it's new to be free.' He nuzzled Sachairi's neck lovingly. 'That is why we have to be the best versions of ourselves or try to be.' He grinned against the skin of Sachairi's neck. 'Whether you want it or not.'

'Ooh, stubborn, are we?' Sachairi grunted in response, his lips still curled into a firm smile. He heard Raz giggle and it was music to his ears and sugar to all of his other senses.

He was definitely dreaming.

As soon as he became aware of it and turned his head he could see him in the distance. Dmitri stood in the haze of snow and Sachairi remembered his time already was up. 'Raz, I… I have to tell you something.'

'What is it?' Raz raised his head and looked curious as to what had so suddenly soured Sachairi's mood. He couldn't tell him. He woke up, and realized there were too many things he wouldn't be able to tell Raz once he found him.

'Sachi.'

He blinked the sleep from his eyes and stretched the incoming soreness out of his back. Two, no three figures stood by the door to his cell. The open door, that was. His sight cleared and he first saw Balam, then Carmen, then Kassa. Kassa held the key. 'What-'

'No Sachi, I'm not going to push you around. Got my gloves on, you see.' Kassa said. They looked far more vulnerable without their glasses, but what Sachairi was more interested in were the black gloves they wore with wristbands clipped to them. 'Point is, I won't hurt you. I know it will be hard seeing me as a friend or even an ally after that, but at least see me as a fairly well behaved stranger.'

'You are right, I do not see you as a friend.' Sachi grunted. For once he successfully wrestled his anger into submission and held out his restraints. 'You're letting me out?'

'Under the condition you don't try to hurt anyone on this ship.' Balam sternly responded, stopping Kassa from stepping forward. 'Kassa agreed to precautions, for you I will not hesitate to use force.'

'Sheesh, sir, really?' Sachairi backed away cautiously. 'I promise I won't. I haven't even had the time to figure out myself, so I'd rather not waste my time figuring out right now what I think of others.'

'Very well. But I'm warning you nonetheless.' Balam let go of Kassa and they were quick to unlock Sachairi's restraints. Balam turned away and started to walk off. '... Welcome back, Sachairi.'

Sachairi didn't respond beyond the same sort of grunt he always used, but he was glad to be back.

Arodan woke up with a headache that felt like an axe to the head. Not a well swung one at that too. His vision still flitted in and out and he worried he was going to be fully blind due to the mistake he made. It wouldn't be a first. When his vision did finally return, he didn't recognise the room he was in as his own. It was far less messy and things were stored in crates labeled their particular category. The bed he was in felt decidedly more worn than his own. Everything clicked into place once his gaze drifted to the floor and he saw Atlas lying there, on a bedroll, burrowed in a thick blanket. 'Oh, Atlas.'

He sat upright and his head swam once more. He was not about to throw up on Atlas' sheet, that kind of person was not who he was going to be today. He stifled his nausea and slid out from under the covers, instead taking to sitting on the floor besides Atlas. He didn't know what to say to him and wanted to ask him why he brought him to his room. Words left him however and he felt more at ease than he had ever felt just sitting there. Despite the headache, despite the nausea, and despite the soreness, he felt calm.

'I can hear you, Dan.'

Then he wasn't. Arodan shook out of his calm state of mind and immediately crept back to the bed. 'I um...'

'Did you have a nightmare? You sound out of breath.' Atlas sleepily asked, hauling himself up. He sat there with his eyes closed and his teeth grinding together lightly. 'Watchu doing up already?'

'Atlas, I'm pretty certain it's noon already.'

'Ah, fuck.' Atlas groaned, and pressed his head into his hands. 'Fudge, I mean, or… Ugh, whatever.'

'Are you… Are you alright, Atlas?' Arodan carefully crept closer again and leant around Atlas in an attempt to see if he was hurt. 'Did you sleep at all?'

'Yeah. I you know, wanted to keep watch but I fell asleep without me noticing.' Atlas dragged his hands down his face and rounded them around to smooth his hair back. 'Keeping watch in the night was never my strong suit.'

'I see.' Arodan bit his lip pensively and looked away. 'Atlas?' The other man looked at him with one half closed eye, the other hidden by his hand. 'I'm sorry if I kept you up because you were worried.'

'Yeah, I shouldn't have done that, that wasn't worth it.' Atlas grunted. He looked uneasy and exhausted, which wasn't a good expression on him. 'But I'm not angry with you anymore.' He looked over Arodan worried, ready to fuss over him. 'Just please… Never do that again. I don't like seeing the people I love in pain, Dan.'

'I will, I just… Forget to think of that sometimes.' Arodan scratched the back of his head, not knowing what else to do with his hands. 'I knew I was going to be difficult but I'm sorry I'm acting this way this early on.'

Atlas needed a moment to figure out what Arodan meant and then nodded along once he did. 'Look, it isn't that I mind you being difficult. I mind that trait being constant.' He reached out and dragged Arodan into a very awkwardly angled hug. 'I love you, but we need to be better, okay? I don't want to be someone you will think of badly once all is said and done.'

'I promise.' Arodan murmured this into Atlas' shoulder. 'I love you too, and I want to be around you. So I will try.'

'Can you keep that promise?'

'I don't usually make promises lightly.' Arodan retorted. 'Make of that what you will.' He drew back and took Atlas' hands. 'I want to learn more magic by your side, I'd like to see the world, I want to make something of myself. That is why I'm promising this to you.'

'Okay. Once more then.' Atlas whispered. His hands left Arodan's and cupped his jaw to draw him in for a kiss that lingered. He drew back and remained nose to nose. He smiled, basking in the moment, and then his brow furrowed which made his expression look a lot more mischievous. 'You really need to shave, this is getting out of control.'

'That makes me want to do it less.' Arodan bluntly responded without too much thought. Atlas responded by pulling a knife out from under the drawer by his bed. He looked deadpan and held it up and Arodan got the message. 'Oh my gods, we're not doing that with a knife!'

'What, that's how I used to do it.' Atlas said and shrugged. 'It never really hurt me too bad.'

Arodan understood more clearly now why Carmen had helped him to shave concerning Atlas apparently didn't possess foresight. Gently he took the knife from Atlas' hand. 'Fine, I'll use this. Do you have a mirror?' Somehow Arodan had started to love him more that morning and made sure to be as careful as possible in removing the beard he had grown. He left his hair as it was besides tying it into a braid. He liked having long hair as opposed to the short hair he once had in the past.

When both men had finished getting ready to head upstairs they did quietly so. Atlas tailed Arodan closely and whenever he met his eye he would smile knowingly. Arodan didn't have anything else to tell Atlas, so he didn't mind. He opened the hatch and stepped out into the morning sun that illuminated Atlas as soon as he got to bask in it too. It was a beautiful sight still. Atlas went ahead of him and disappeared in the direction of the bow of the ship.

'Hey librarian.'

Arodan turned and saw Caer behind him at the wheel. A half full container of coffee sat besides her and she looked as if she was about to fall asleep. 'Caer? Are you alright?'

'Peachy. Like lack of sleep will get to me.' She picked up the coffee and took a pensive sip. 'Carmen is gonna take over the wheel for me though, so I can pass out for a bit. Isn't she sweet?'

'Yeah… You look um-'

'I know.' She smiled, a little distant in her emotions. 'But you don't look too well either Dan. Take care of yourself, will you?'

'Of-Of course.' He stepped towards her and she took to putting away the coffee entirely. 'But please go sleep, you look like you're on death's door.'

'When you're at the point I'm at you'll never feel more alive.' Caer said, an attempt to joke around. 'Don't worry about me. I'm going to sleep, we're near land anyway.' She pointed towards the horizon and as she said, a coast could be seen, lined with rocky cliffs and swaths of pale grey clouds drifting over it. Arodan swore he could see more ashen lands to the west of it, where the skies grew darker. 'We're going to see an old ally of Waldemar's.' She got up and stretched. 'Hopefully he'll be courteous to Balam.'

'Who exactly is this person? Can we trust them?' Arodan narrowed his eyes in an odd misplaced attempt to see more. 'How do we know they're going to help us?'

'Well, we never know for sure. But it is president Odin of the Stratus Corporation.' She spat her words, looking appropriately disdainful. 'Some aid would be nice.' She shook her head. 'By the way, the others are on the bow. I'm sure your boyfriend already ran over there.'

'Right. I'll go over there then.' Arodan slowly backed away from Caer and decided he probably shouldn't ask her about her further thoughts on Stratus Corp. He made his way over to the bow slowly and saw five people. He wondered who the other's were before he saw them and instinctively backed away again. Kassa stood by Balam's side, looking over the taffrail. They seemed to be quietly discussing something and Kassa didn't notice Arodan. Sachairi stood more separate from the group and leant against a mast. He sidled over to Sachairi first. 'Hey.'

'Hey.' Sachairi glanced at Arodan. 'Seems like they let me out.' He took in a deep breath of ocean air and seemed to be enjoying himself. 'I'm sorry about last night. I didn't mean to uh...'

'Choke me? That isn't new.' Arodan rubbed his throat and felt a sting of pain in his head again. 'Can't say I forgive you yet but I'm not mad.'

'That's weird.'

'Yeah, it is.' Arodan nodded and gently reached out to pat Sachairi's shoulder before stopping himself. 'How are you handling it by the way?'

'It's weird. It makes sense, but it won't stick.' Sachairi said, closing his eyes. 'Like it can't be real.'

'Take your time thinking on it okay?' Arodan responded, moving over to where Balam and Kassa were. 'I know it can be a lot.'

'Well… I don't have anything better to do.' Sachairi said. He turned away from Arodan to focus on the ocean. 'So I might try to make something out of this.'

Arodan nodded and left him by the mast. Without another word he settled at Balam's other side. Kassa shared a sidelong glance with him and he could sense the magic from the wristbands they wore. He was safe then, and at this point he was okay with it all. As they stood now, he felt a comfortable familiarity. He hadn't seen Carmen join, but the next moment she was among them, having crept in between Balam and Arodan. Atlas joined Arodan's free side snugly. This time, their shared moment was far more uncertain.

#my lore #fr #flight rising #ch: Arodan #ch: carmen #ch: Balam #ch: Kassa #ch: Sachairi #ch: Atlas

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bluetapes · 6 years

Audio

New interview with Trupa Trupa on at The Quietus!

It’s been something of a long slog for me this week – a new job, packing up and moving out of the one-bed rising-damp-and-arsehole-neighbours flat I lived in in South London for four years and moving into a new place in the dark heart of Nottinghamshire, all with a mewling three month old girl in tow. This isn’t me complaining – it’s all context. Because when I finally get hold of Grzegorz Kwiatkowski, member of Polish post-punk-no-wave-psych-rock malcontents Trupa Trupa, I am heavily laid down with mucus and medication, rundown and broken. We have been trying to get our planets to align for a couple weeks. I expect frustration, anger, disdain, contempt. Instead, I get gracious civility. “This is the most important year of your life, no? So you need to take your time to make sure your baby grows up to be the best she can be.”

A tenuous analogy here (and one I’m sure my daughter won’t especially enjoy when she gets older) but Kwiatkowski and the other members of Trupa Trupa - Tomek Pawluczuk (drums), Wojtek Juchniewicz (voc, guitar) and Rafał Wojczal (keys, guitar) - must feel the same. The four-piece have spent five years crafting an aesthetic that spans genres and eras, from Sonic Nurse-era Sonic Youth to an electrified and frothing Pere Ubu, an esoteric Slint or a Lynchian take on Siouxsie & The Banshees, which culminated in the critically acclaimed second album Headache in 2015.

That album, pushed out into the world by the normally avant garde/ electronic/ noise/ ambient trail-blazers Blue Tapes, was an immediate slice of melted influence and frayed synapses, traipsing manically from 60s rock deconstructions to post-punk pealings and no-wave wrecking balls, all tied together with intelligence and brio. It was a truly breathtaking album as notable for its breaths as for its blusters, and the world (well, the chosen few) held its collective breath to see what would be borne forth next.

Yet as any creative tends to look at their work as something of a birth and Jolly New Songs (also through Blue Tapes) has been gestating for quite some time, almost two years, the excitement and anxiety and relief that comes with such labours of love lie heavy on Kwiatkowski as its birthday looms – October 27.

Grzegorz Kwiatkowski: We liked Headache and we still like Headache, so we are not so arrogant or self-assured enough to believe that anything that came afterwards would live up to it. There was so much positive feedback for Headache, so it was a joyful time for us. That said we were very tired because there was so much that came along surrounding that nice feedback, a lot more than we ever expected, and it was great but it really took it out of us. We started to write new songs, then one year exactly after the premiere of Headache we said to each other, “Are we ready for another baby? Another Headache?” We respect the Headache baby but we felt it was too exploited in a way. So this time we tested this new album on many people first, on our friends and journalists, people at festivals, as because it is part of us it is difficult to see if we were making Headache part two. We see us as evolutionary, not revolutionary. We didn’t want to change outright – but we wanted to step forward, evolve.

Jolly New Songs could take on many different meanings as a title. The phrase itself could be seen as jocular, even pantomime-esque, certainly here in the UK anyway, and yet it’s something of a misnomer as many of the tracks on here aren’t joyful at all. How then do you think that phrase encapsulates what’s happening on the album?

GK: In the past we have always had problems giving names to our albums, mainly because we find that things could mean different things to each of us. So we refused to name them – our first EP is called EP, our first album is just called LP. Our second album was called ++ or Cross Crossbecause it was the (image on the) cover. When Headache arrived we couldn’t see how we couldn’t give it a name, so came up with a new challenge – whatever we all thought was the best track would become the name of the album. So with Jolly New Songs it wasn’t anything intentional. On the other hand we often have done things unconsciously without considering the step, so it has transformed into something else. Not only is it paradoxical – it isn’t jolly at all, but sad – but it is somewhat lighter an album that Headache is, as those songs carried a lot of darkness.

Can you elaborate on the darkness of the songs? Is it in the composition, the rhythm…

GK: Some of the songs we see as march songs. ‘Never Forget’ obviously. ‘Jolly New Song’ also. There is this movement we really like, Franz Schubert’s Lieder Winterreise (Winter Journey), very short German songs, and I thought aspects of the songs on the album have this aspect of fighting, yet in the same way full of energy and full of joy.

There is a clear disparity between the albums on the first listen; with Headache there was this restless sense of urgency, something that has somewhat been laid aside on Jolly New Songs. Yet nothing is truly joyous or indeed clear-cut on the new album, which undercuts any sense of immediacy. Headache really hits you sonically, a kinetic blast, while this one is far more insidious that gets under the skin. Was that part of that evolutionary process, to take what was successful with Headache and juxtapose it with more subtle, dissimilar methods? It is imbued with unease, therefore making it difficult to describe the journey it takes you on.

GK: While we were testing this new material on everyone – friends, family, musicians, journalists, owners of labels – it isn’t common that 95% of the feedback is the same, yet with Jolly New Songseveryone says that there wasn’t the aggression that was in the last one, that you needed to listen two, three times, maybe even four times, to truly get it. But not because it was hard to understand but because there is an atmosphere built into the songs that is hard to describe, and it lingers. Conclusions change about the album the more it is listened to. But strangely we as members faced the same problem. In the past making a track listing has been really easy, it falls into place. With this, every member envisioned the track listing in a different way. The songs lend themselves to interpretation far more than Headache does or even could. There is this book by Julio Cortazar, an Argentinean writer who lived in France, where you could read it in any order you want (Hopscotch) . So to settle it for the album, we chose the track listing in alphabetical order. So the listener can see that. But really our producer (Michał Kupicz) sent us the masters in alphabetical order and that spoke to us in another way, to choose the order as accident. A very strange compromise but we were satisfied. This shows that it is a strange album, and we respect it, but of course are really open to other voices (to interpret it).

Some of the songs feel quite nebulous; not that they are half-formed, more like a spectre or ghost, haunting the listener. Songs seem to be getting going, building, exploding, and then they are gone again. Yet the next song starts and the whisper of the last doesn’t leave you, your mind is still processing what has happened beforehand.

GK: I think that most things that happen in the band come through accidents. We promise ourselves never to be bored at rehearsals and to be satisfied with that. I think we are testing many things all of the time, so nothing becomes fixed in place, we are always shifting. There are four members of Trupa Trupa but it is really rare in the band that there is a fully democratic idea from the band. For us we see ourselves something like Fugazi, where every member is a composer, every member has a distinct voice, every member is author and owner of their lyrics. Every member has particular tastes and listens to different kinds of music. For me, the most important music is the classical style of music you know, Glenn Gould, as well as the Beatles and the Velvet Underground. For Wotjek who also is singing it is the Swans, Fugazi, Sonic Youth, more the New York avant garde scene. Rafal (guitar) is more a fan of Elliott Smith… So when we meet each other, we never have time to make one proper vision, so we are carrying these backgrounds with us. Maybe that is why what we are catching is very strange. We can come together with a song but it is just the body, like architecture, like sketches. We build from the musical blocks that we have.

It is such a diverse melting pot musically, but you are also well steeped in things literary seeing as you are a recognised and published poet. In the press notes it’s stated that Walt Whitman was an influence on the last song on the album, ‘To Me’. Were there other literary or political influences that helped with the building of these songs from architectural sketches to Jolly New Songs?

GK: There are many paths taken, and can be taken, through the lyrics of this record. They come often from very dark and very pessimistic situations, and the people of Gdansk where we are from. It is in the north of Poland by the sea and is best known because the Second World War started here. On the other hand the solidarity that came about for the people of Gdansk informs it as well. On the other hand one of the world’s greatest pessimists in Arthur Schopenhauer was born here. These are all influences without even thinking about them. And for many years, centuries, Gdansk was not part of Poland but more of a free city, a port, with these shipyards, a gateway to the world, something like Hamburg or Liverpool. So Gdansk has always had a history of spreading new ideas. But there are many other influences on this album, most of which take things at a dark angle. ‘Never Forget’ – there are not many songs about the Holocaust and Shoah. My grandfather was a prisoner in a concentration camp not far from Gdansk, and many Polish people were in or have direct relationships with people who were in concentration camps. Poland is the site of the world’s biggest genocide. On the other hand my grandfather was also a German soldier in Wehrmacht, so there are very complicated histories here and they leave impressions on us, they mark us. But again, these are just songs. I would like people just as much to treat the songs just as songs. I don’t like to talk at length about famous artists or events in history because it may inform me and what I do but it may make a song into a situation that can only come at in a particular way or with a particular idea in mind.

Even if you divorce the songs from these totemic influences, the sonic palette you have created is not so discerning that anyone will be led down the same aural path. The genre staples – post punk, psych rock, noise rock, the avant-garde, the influences you have mentioned already – can lead to very different interpretations. Christian Eede, from tQ, reviewed ‘To Me’ and described it as “triumphant”, and the presser from Blue Tapes & X-Ray Records describes elements as “anthemic” – and outside the slipstream of the album perhaps it is. But for me the album subverts those mainstream signifiers to the point where ‘To Me’ comes across more as a sly counterpoint to what we would expect crossover songs to be…

GK: See, it is what you want it to be (laughs). The word anthemic – what does it mean? To me I don’t – is it religious? A national anthem? ‘To Me’ could be powerful, and I don’t want to say it isn’t, but to me it isn’t. Others have compared us to psychedelic music and no-wave, or mentioned bands like Swans, Shellac, Slint, Beak>… Nothing we do is conventional, like a rock song structure, which is what I think of as anthemic. But then what do I know?

You write the songs!

GK: It’s not what I think, I think we are a deconstructive rock situation. But people hear what they hear.

Very pragmatic of you! Well let me tell you how I listened to this album. You sent me a couple different versions of Jolly New Songs quite a few months ago now, so I have listened to it often. So the final listing has been somewhat disorienting to me, because after the dark journey that you take me on, ending with ‘To Me’ – I can’t work out if it’s a tip of the hat to hope, or if it’s more of a brainwashed downer denouement, something Orwell or Bradbury or Levin would concoct, like Rosemary’s Baby (which incidentally I watched on mute while listening to this album a couple months ago), where such a landscape of murkiness and uncertainty breaks you down in a sort of “if you can’t beat them, join them” kinda way. I can’t shake the unnerving feeling that, in the context of the album, having these moments of pop lightness only serves to subvert notions of hope, a sucker punch ending to a dystopian story where the protagonist hasn’t broken free at all but is very much a cog in the machine. Now I may be in a totally unique position in how the album makes me feel, but that unsettling nature makes me return the needle to the beginning. That sort of grotesque emotion and the Self, it’s unnerving yet utterly transfixing.

GK: Yes! To be truthful I have been pushing for such a hypothetical outlook (in the music) because ‘To Me’ becomes a sly wink, a slap to the audience to wake up, you’re wrong, there is something else going on here. Michael Haneke, a great Austrian film director, for me the album is positioned in this downward position so that the ending comes out like a Haneke film. It could be seen as one thing, but hopefully it can be seen as a perverse version of something more conventional. You mention Rosemary’s Baby and to me this is very much a movie album. ‘Love Supreme’ for example is very much similar to Roman Polanski, offering sound for a creepy horror movie. It’s cinematic in a very graphic sort of way.

I have been really floored by this album, but it is one that has crept up on me, like the best paranoid slowburn horrors of Haneke, Polanski and even Ti West of recent times, a subliminal listen. It feels like a slanted way to appreciate an album…

GK: As band members we had really similar reactions to how the music was coming about. We were coming up with ‘Only Good Weather’ and we looked at each other and said, “What the fuck? What are we singing, what are we playing? It’s stupid!” But we felt there was something to it, so we kept it. And then we came up to the second part of the song, the disaster part, and we were even surer that there was something to this, even if we didn’t know what ‘this’ was. Which made us happy because it isn’t easy to make not obvious guitar based psychedelic music anymore. What we have ended up with on Jolly New Songs are songs that are kinda traditional, but on the other hand are soundtrack songs, on the other hand they are like ‘Never Forget’ with this strong story about a death camp, on the other hand they are ghost songs for a kitschy horror film. I know I shouldn’t be so positive about the songs because I cannot be objective, but I can say we liked it but we were really interested in what everyone else’s reactions would be, in the way the songs kinda freaked us out also.

#trupa trupa

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alanfromrochester · 7 years

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Puns masterpost

-Mine- I like Cheddar, but I'm neutral on Swiss. I was up reading atheist literature at an ungodly hour. I don't want to go to the agricultural supply store in the seedy part of town. I was reading a book on anti-gravity and couldn't put it down. A man was arrested for theft when he was caught rifling through a pile of guns with grooved barrels. It's hard to save money on postage stamps, because you have to pay sticker price. Fixing flats is tiring. The high pH of lye is basically what drain cleaner is. Marriage is the decision of a wife time. A violent wine snob is a terroirist. I wanted to write a book about bad excuses, but I figured no one would buy it. A man used a handgun to extort money from people going to the bathroom - it was a piss toll. A sergeant being demoted is corporal punishment. Fashionistas are clothes-minded. Mysterious ticking noises are da bomb. Terrorism is da bomb. Avoiding panhandlers is hobophobic. Gifts that come out of nowhere are from the aether bunny. Tom joined the Army and ended up working on the powerplants of large armored vehicles. He's Thomas the tank engine man. An anticapitalist Japanese spirit is a commie kami. A gay person living on the streets is hobosexual. Gay friends are homiesexuals. Don't smoke weed in a dwelling with transparent walls - people who live in glass houses shouldn't get stoned. People objecting to a particular war are caught between Iraq and a hard place. The military can cost an arm and a leg. A banana bought with British welfare money is Dole on the dole. The staff at a Chinese restaurant are cowokers. This movie is rated Arr for violence at sea.

-Inspired By- Communism is a sickle answer to a complex problem. [Pig With The Face Of A Boy, Complete History Of The Soviet Union, Arranged To The Melody Of Tetris] Using ape disguises for a hit and run raid is gorilla warfare. [K.A. Applegate, Animorphs] Someone crashed into a tree, but he was oaky. [Lynyrd Skynyrd, That Smell]

-From others- I relish these food jokes... Every time you make a typo, the errorists win. It's hard to be cheesy when everyone around you is laughtose intolerant. I bought some shoes from a drug dealer. I don't know what he laced them with, but I've been tripping all day. Dangerous mining work induces digger mortis. RIP, pot of boiling water - you will be mist. Tectonic plates are perfect for serving a continental breakfast. Thinking otherwise seems faulty. Atheism is not-for-prophet. Dropping a handgun into avocado dip makes glockamole. A cigar shaped like a dinosaur is a bluntosaurus. Leather armor is good for sneaking around because it's made of hide. Obama and Biden going out to dinner is a government mandate. A flooded convent is nunderwater. If you stand in pouring grain, you're going to get wheat. I broke up with my gym. We were just not working out. If I give a penny for your thoughts, and you put your two cents in, I make interest on my interest. The Illuminatea want to bring about a brew world order. 'beefstew' is not a stroganoff password. People with pictures in lockets are independant. If a Norwegian robot analyzes a bird, it Scandinavian. Last night on Dancing With The Tsars, Peter and Catherine were great, but Ivan was terrible. My friend really changed since she became a vegetarian. It's like I've never seen herbivore. A pregnancy scare is a near life experience. There's a special place in the heart for deoxygenated blood. Someone staying in the closet is keeping a straight face. A frog's car broke down and it got toad away. If you pour root beer into a square cup, you'll get beer. If you know what you're doing in 5 years, you have 2020 vision. Gathering animals and inflating the count is rounding up. Tears are glumdrops. A good hot liquid meal is souper. People sometimes get divorced because of a stalemate. Lab accidents are sometimes caused by tripping on acid. A guacamole is equal to 6.0221415×10^23 guacas - that's Avocado's number. Spilling spices means you have too much thyme on your hands. Being welcomed by spices is season's greetings. Being unable to get manure means you can't buy shit. Indiana Jones is fedora the explorer. Minions are a despicable meme. Ingredients should be called recipieces. Why was the accountant a pessimist? Because he knew it was an accrual world. Some aquatic mammals escaped the zoo. It was otter chaos. I contemplated my navel and invented fuzzy logic. I bought a lot of tubers at a discount supermarket - what am I going to do with Aldi's potatoes? LEGO Nexo Knights includes the characters Clay Moorington, Macy, Axl and Lavaria, wizard's assistant A. Prentiss, and some names that are even more obvious. If a Tesla gets stolen, it becomes an Edison. For awhile, Houdini used trap doors in every act - it was a stage he was going through. Jokes about communism aren't funny [unless you share them, because they're classless, in practice] Have a souper birthday - you're one in a bouillon! Vietnam vets are not fonda Jane. Crime dramas are arresting television. Wearing cowboy clothes is ranch dressing. Removing an angel from a fountain creates a sans seraph font. Seven ate nine because you're supposed to have three squared meals a day. Scientists have almost completed building a sex robot but they’re still working out its kinks. Balance between friends and women is homie-hoe-stasis. The tenth Fast and Furious movie should be called Fast 10: Your Seatbelts. Fed Sex, for when you absolutely need it overnight. [I still remember that novelty T-shirt I saw in high school]

-Songs- Weird Al's Party at the Leper Colony is so full of puns they're falling off. The Kip Addotta song Wet Dream is a wave of fishy puns.

"I had a ball when I conquered France and Belgium, though it took a lot of Gaul." "You say the peasants are revolting? Well hey I knew that." - MC Lars, It's A Latin Thing [the song concept is a pun on Latin meaning Hispanic or the Roman language]

-Collaboration- Never apollogize for your bad puns about greek gods. - http://raganiazumi.tumblr.com/post/113977297966/ Even if people get in your hera about it. - me

Why are glue sticks not called stick sticks? - http://warriorsdebt.tumblr.com/post/120794813885/why-are-glue-sticks-not-called-stick-sticks Carol: Hard to say. Me: That's rather dry humor.

If Trump becomes president, there will be hell toupee. (Carol: I'll wig out.)

(seen online) I wish Medusa would stop objectifying people. (Carol: I don't take that for granite.)

-Sexual- A woman tried to get a divorce because of her husband's impotence, but that didn't stand up in court. A man was caught masturbating and called it a stroke of bad luck. People who obsess about sex are thinking inside the box. A gay king is a royal pain in the ass. A man had a fight with his erection and beat it single-handedly. Someone new to giving blowjobs is in over someone else's head. Being happy about anal sex is celebrating a weak end.

-Sexual from others- Election and erection both mean a dick rising to power. I'm pro-bush, but not the George W kind. Over the past year, my sexual fetishes have been slowly getting more perverse, but it wasn't until I spanked a statue that I realized I'd hit rock bottom. A Wednesday when it's not raining is dry hump day.

#puns

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thatishogwash · 7 years

Text

An Ordinary Day

Daisuga Week 2017

July 11th, Day 2: Magic

AO3

Suga hummed softly to himself as he carefully added two drops of rain from a thunderstorm to the vial hovering in the air above a flame. The liquid in the vial turned a soft pink but it wasn’t quite the white-pink Suga needed for the potion to work at full potential. He needed it to be the color of a fresh cherry blossom, not the pastel pink it was currently. His fingers danced in the air, vials and bottles floating around him as he sorted mentally through his stock.

Suga watched out of the corner of his eye his long-time coworker and friend, Ryuu, open a grimoire that Suga specifically told him to stay away from. Long black tentacles whipped out of the book, wrapping around the bald mage and pulling him towards the black abyss that centered in the ancient book.

The feather of a baby crow floated throat Suga vision and he quickly grabbed it to put in the vial. The potion let out a soft puff of air as the feather dissolved in the liquid, turning it a soft almost white pink. Suga smiled triumphantly as he put a cork in the vial and carefully put it into a black velvet box to await pickup by the new owner.

Suga turned to Ryuu just in time to see the mage slam the book shut and lean against it casually. Or as casually as Ryuu got, which wasn’t very casual at all. He was also smoking a bit, which wasn’t uncommon given that he was a fire mage.

Fire mages were oftentimes destructive in nature and therefore used by the military. Ryuu went the military route, taken from his family when he was only 8 years old. Ten years of training and battles before the man had slipped out of the capital and showed up on Suga’s doorstep. Ryuu was strong, quick, and often times destroyed things accidentally but he also had one of the biggest hearts Suga had ever seen. The military was not a good fit for him, so Suga hid the fire mage away in his tiny shop in a tiny town located on a tiny island.

“Hungry?” Suga asked, as if he truly had no idea what had conspired behind him. Of course he knew, part of him had been hoping Ryuu would open the book whether driven by curiosity or accident didn’t matter much to Suga. The family of the grimoire had asked Suga to remove the curse put upon it and fire mages were excellent at removing curses. Suga would have stepped in if it had gotten truly dangerous, but over the past five years he had gotten to know how capable Ryuu really was.

“Going over to Daichi’s?” Ryuu grinned widely, leaning against the counter to leer over at Suga, who ignored him to put the newly made potion behind the counter.

“Does that mean you aren’t hungry?” Suga questioned, letting a hard note enter his tone though Ryuu knew Suga well enough to know when he truly was angry.

“No!” Ryuu listed off his choice of food, which was a rather long list but elemental magic tended to use up a lot of energy. Suga nodded and left the store in Ryuu’s capable hands before making his way out onto the busy street.

Right next door to Suga’s little shop was Asahi’s flower shoppe. Nature magic was rare, rarer still to see it in such a small town but Asahi would probably wilt like a flower denied sunlight if he were to go into any city. It came as a surprise when Suga met the gentle nature lovers husband, a rambunctious weather nymph who had more in common with Ryuu than Asahi. Suga could see right through the large front window inside, where the two men were bent over the counter and staring down at a small pot with a small purple flower that looked like it was waving gently in the wind, though Suga was sure there was no wind in the shop. Noya looked up at his husband, grinning widely before kissing the bigger man all over his blushing face.

Suga ducked his head, feeling like he was looking in on a private moment before he made his way across the street. Despite Ryuu’s grins and pointed remarks, Suga really did go to Daichi’s cafe because of it’s location. Plus the food was always good and yes, the owner was admittedly handsome and charming and-

Okay, okay Suga might have developed a small, very insignificant crush on the cafe owner. At least he wasn’t the only one. Half the town was more than a little in love with Sawamura Daichi. Suga wasn’t sure where the other man came from, he just appeared one day and built a cafe in the abandoned, and very haunted, building across the street.

“Oh.” Suga said after he walked into the cafe and saw the chaos that was hidden behind the friendly-looking red door.

“Suga!” Hinata chirped happily from his spot, which was standing on the counter to try and get all the cups off of the ceiling. “I was trying to help.” Hinata explained as he looked up at the ceiling, hands on his hips as if he couldn’t understand where he went wrong.

“That’s nice,” Suga said as he thanked all the stars in the sky for Daichi hiring the young sorcerer before Suga could. As soon as Hinata learned control he would be quite powerful, but he had a long way to go.

“Suga.” Daichi greeted him warmly as he stepped out of the back room before his eyes quickly went to Hinata then up to the ceiling. “Hinata.” Daichi said in a much less welcoming tone than the one he had used on Suga.

“I’m fixing it!” Hinata yelled. Daichi quickly grabbed Suga’s arm, pulling him to the side as all the cups fell to the ground and shattered. “I’ll clean it up!” Hinata sped off as Daichi took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. Suga stared at the broken pieces so he wouldn’t have to look at the warm hand curled around his bicep.

“Having a good day Daichi?” Suga asked, couldn’t help but tease the other man who cracked one eye open to give him the stink eye. It would be effective, most people were afraid of angering Daichi, but Suga seemed to have carved out a soft spot in the other man.

“And here I was going to offer you some of the cakes I just pulled out of the oven.” Daichi released Suga’s arm and he tried not to mourn at the loss of contact before following the other man into the kitchen. “Ennoshita, can you go help Hinata and make sure he doesn’t break anything else? I think there are more cups in the storeroom.” Ennoshita gave them a sleepy smile before walking out of the kitchen, the door swinging close behind him leaving only Suga and Daichi in the warm room.

“You said something about cakes?” Suga asked with a grin as he sat on one of the stools at the island counter. Daichi gave him a look before placing a small cake in front of him.

“You have a sweets addiction.” Daichi said as he wiped his hands on his black apron before pulling out ingredients at seemingly random. Suga could tell just by the few items Daichi was making Suga and Ryuu’s usual.

“And you’re enabling it.” Suga hummed appreciatively as he took the first bite of the cake. It was light and airy, and incredibly moist. “Are you sure you’re not putting anything in your food?” They lived in an era that it wasn’t uncommon for those who owned restaurant or sold food or drinks of any kind to spike the items with spells or potions.

“If I did that and someone found out I would lose all the trust I have from the people.” Daichi stated simply. Suga watched the muscles move beneath the navy blue henley. Daichi was an oddity, even in their small town most people had some sort of magic but Daichi claimed to have none. He hardly ever answered anything personal about himself, managing to skirt around the question and bringing the conversation to a new topic with a skill that would be admirable if it weren’t so frustrating.

Daichi didn’t command attention or demand respect, he earned it through sheer force of will and hard work. Whether it was magical related or not, people tended to come to Daichi to sort out their problems and more often than not he helped. Suga had noted that many people didn’t find Daichi as mysterious as he did, they thought he was rather ordinary.

Daichi’s hair was short and brown, with a strong jaw and broad shoulders. He was of average height and while his smile was warm and inviting, and he was more on the handsome side than anything he was ordinary. An ordinary cafe owner who appeared out of nowhere, hired an untrained sorcerer, and tamed the ghosts haunting the building.

“Where did you say you learned the cook?” Suga asked innocently, placing his fork over the now empty plate. Daichi shot him a grin, a look that made Suga lean forward involuntarily.

“I didn’t say,” Daichi turned back to boxing up Suga and Ryuu’s lunches. “But I didn’t learn from any one place, this is the culmination of many places.”

“Oh so you’ve travelled around?” Suga asked, resting his chin on his palm as he smiled at Daichi’s broad back. Daichi shifted and the collar of his henley bunched up, showing off the very tip of a black tattoo. Suga would give anything to see the rest of that tattoo.

“A little.” Daichi placed the boxes in front of Suga, pulling the dirtied plate away before leaning against the counter, pushing just slightly into Suga’s space. He gave Suga plenty of time to pull away before leaning forward the smallest bit. “Suga would you-”

“Sorry to interrupt.” Yamaguchi, the poor stuck soul in the building, stuck half his body through the wall. He looked rather nervous, which wasn’t unusual for this particular ghost. “But I think Hinata knocked out Ennoshita and you know how his magic gets when he’s nervous.” Daichi leaned away, sighing softly.

“Thank you Yamaguchi.” Daichi said to the ghost, who nodded and disappeared from sight. “You should probably use the back door.”

“Thank you for the food.” Suga stood up and felt a sudden wave of courage overtake him. “Maybe I can treat you next time? For dinner one day?” Daichi was half way towards the door leading into the main part of the cafe and he turned, looking surprised. That surprise quickly melted away as a big, warm smile overtook his face.

“I could use some good company after I sort out this mess, pick me up at 8?” Suga nodded, returning Daichi’s smile before the other man turned a little red as he quickly walked out of the kitchen.

Suga took the boxes of food, humming happily to himself as he walked out of the back door.

#daisugaweek2017 #daisugaweek #my writing #fanfiction #hq #haikyuu #daisuga

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allthebeautifulthings9828 · 7 years

Text

Mary’s Kitchen - Chapter 22

(Note: This story is the sequel to Cas, You Had A Baby? which can be read on Tumblr or on Ao3. And you can keep up with Mary’s Kitchen on Tumblr or on Ao3 too.)

Tension thrummed through the new building's walls no matter where Castiel went. He eyed the human occupants, wondering if they felt it too. While they remained fixated on their children laid out in individual toddler beds evenly spaced through the ground floor, he pushed himself to focus on the bigger picture. The fledgling nest was in good hands under the care of Arturial and Sholitziel. It was his duty to find a solution, to find a cure, which he knew only came from getting The Order of the Fiery Sword off their backs.

Arturial and Sholitziel had moved quickly, he reflected, once Dean agreed to moving the nest away from Bobby's place. The two angel medics located an abandoned building in the wilderness ten miles west of Sioux Falls and converted it to a temporary quarantine facility for the sick. Upon entering the refurbished building, accomplished with the power of angelic grace, a person was prompted to put their coats on wall hooks and thoroughly wash up to their elbows in a pair of stainless steel sinks. People passed into the next room, much larger, featuring three toddler beds against one wall and three more against the opposite wall. An enormous rectangular table in the middle of the room provided people and angels alike with a place to consult books or maps while watching over six little patients. Taking the back stairs led a visitor to an identical room on the floor above where human patients were housed - so far only Molly and a few people who lived in her building. They were without a doubt much sicker than the fledglings without the benefit of internal grace.

"Find anything yet?" Sam asked, leaning over the work table.

"Nothing but an exemplary service record," replied Castiel with a dejected sigh. "There is no sign of why or how my sister got involved with The Order."

"Maybe the how or why doesn't matter."

Castiel glanced at Sam in the shadows brought on by nighttime. "I suppose that could be true."

"I only mean maybe it doesn't matter in the long run, you know, trying to stop The Order from spreading this influenza. I know it matters to you personally. It'd eat away at me."

"The key can't be with Limaneal. It has to be the leader, Claudiel." As he spoke, Castiel snapped shut the blue leather record book passed along from Gabriel days before. He wished Sam or Dean could read Enochian and help him review everything, not that anyone could pry Dean away from James' bedside. "I believe it'll soon be time to take a trip to Chicago. The truth is we aren't going to accomplish anything until we face the enemy head on."

"Are we ready for The Order to be so aware of what we know yet?" asked Sam. He pulled out a chair and flopped into it, limbs splayed in exhaustion.

"I don't know."

Dean's rough voice spoke up from the back corner by James' bed. "I'm ready to kick some ass."

It was difficult to ignore the red blazing condition of Dean's soul but Castiel avoided getting sucked into his blind rage. One of them had to maintain some semblance of an equilibrium instead of running into the night with their guns drawn and no real clue of what they faced. He felt Demiel's eyes on him from the front of the room as well. She, at least, had the sort of combat training that kept her boiling temper from spilling over the pot out of control. All of them craved the release that came with allowing grace rage to control them. Castiel included. Every time he watched Arturial or Sholitziel clean ruptured pustuals on James' arm and the new ones on his little chest, he fantasized about smiting The Order on his own. He'd take it slow and enjoy the sensation of their graces draining away.

"If we kill them too soon, we won't know what to do about this influenza," said Castiel as if all of them had been listening to his thoughts.

"The only way they'll give us the cure or whatever is if we agree to give our kids back to the winged dicks upstairs. I'm not giving my boy to a bunch of harp players ready to brainwash him five seconds after they get up there. No son of mine is gonna be raised to see people as animals beneath his dignity. I'd rather let him--."

Each of them knew what Dean was ready to say. The hum of voices and footsteps upstairs even paused as if the rest of the nest wondered if he'd actually say it out loud. Dean would rather let his boy die than see him in the hands of the old regime who still clung to the vision of God's obedient Heaven before Gabriel became king. And although he didn't voice it, Castiel found himself debating whether he too would rather see James dead than raised in blind obedience the way he had been raised. He couldn't entirely reject the most awful scenario. That was dangerous in itself.

Pushing himself up from the table, Castiel made his way to Dean and laid hands over his shoulders. He rubbed their breadth as both of them peered down at their fledgling lying in the little bed. A guinea pig wheel squeaked on the wall shelf behind them, breaking the tense silence. That was Dean's idea. He thought bringing the guinea pigs from home would give the nest a sense of familiarity.

"Sorry. I didn't mean that," whispered Dean hoarsely. He reached up to caress Castiel's hand on his shoulder. The rocking chair he occupied began to move in faint nervous bursts.

"No one believes you did," Castiel replied.

"I want their hearts on silver platters," Dean snarled after a moment.

In his gentlest manner, Castiel bent down and looped his arms around Dean's shoulders to speak in soft, private tones. "As do I," he admitted, "but we can't kill Claudiel only to make him a martyr to those in rebellion. He's holding an innocent soul hostage."

"Jeremy Batt."

"Yes," said Castiel, "and we're under orders not to kill. At least not yet. Gabriel doesn't want his reign marred by executing angels the way the old regime did."

With a scoff, Dean shook his head. "He's not my king."

"But he is mine. Your son's too."

Dean's jaw clenched. His profile turned severe as the dim light deepened the hollow appearance around his eyes. Since the sick couldn't tolerate the brightness provided by sunlight or electricity, Arturial and Sholitziel fitted the temporary quarantine building with wall-mounted oil lamps. It gave the building a chilling isolated sensation at night the way Castiel imagined it must have been like during the Spanish Flu pandemic during the first World War.

"I want you to call Gabriel here," said Dean.

At first, Castiel couldn't think of a way to answer him.

"I'm serious, Cas," he went on. "If he's the King of Heaven now, he'll know what to do about this influenza crap. You call him here and you make him fix our boy. Make him fix Molly before her body loses the kid we haven't even met yet."

"Dean, I--."

Bursting upright, Dean shook off Castiel's arms and stalked around James' bed with an accusing arm pointed at the little child. "Cas, you won't make me a father and then stand there with your thumb up your ass while my kids die right in front of me!"

"They're my kids too!" Castiel shouted with an unexpected wave of ferocity.

That was Sam's cue, it seemed. He emerged from the shadows across the room and placed himself at the end of James' bed exactly between his two parents. "Guys, not here," he said in a low voice.

Demiel, carrying the sleeping form of Evelyn in her arms, slid into the battle beside Sam but she lacked his compassion. She stared Castiel down through exhausted dark eyes, and then shifted her focus to Dean. "We're all at risk here. It's not just about you two," she spat. "I don't think there's a body in this building right now who expected to be part of a nest and raising fledgling angels but we're here and this is the problem at hand."

"We're sitting here wasting time when he's got a direct line to the throne!" Dean barked.

"Enough!" Demiel hissed. "Pointing fingers and sniping at each other isn't going to help our young. Most of them might be in deep feverish sleep but don't think for a second that they can't feel it when we start turning on each other. Grow up and stop acting like you're the only ones in anguish here."

Maybe it was the hard tone Demiel used or maybe it was the way she made her point but Castiel swallowed back his own accusatory tone. When he saw Dean's pointed hand drop to his side a few moments later, he knew she'd succeeded at dismantling the bomb. At least for the moment. Dean had a habit of picking fights with Castiel or Sam to let off steam in high-pressure situations.

It was the last thing he wanted to do but Castiel knew Dean was right. He had to go call for Gabriel now that the stakes were so much higher. Perhaps Gabriel knew of a cure for the mutated influenza and they wouldn't have to try and negotiate with The Order of the Fiery Sword after all. A gnawing sensation in the pit of his vessel's stomach suggested that wasn't the case. Still, he had to try before Molly or one of the other humans upstairs died. And down there on the ground floor, it was only a matter of time before the influenza completely drained away the immature graces in the fledglings' little bodies. Once that happened, according to Arturial and Sholitziel, the little ones would be mortal and the disease would eat away at their flesh and blood bodies in a matter of days.

"All right," he whispered. Being plagued by indecision had to stop.

Castiel bent over the bed and slid his ring finger into James' limp hand. "Daddy's going to get help," he told the sleeping child as he smoothed back damp hair from his feverish brow. There he noticed the glimmer of purple infection just beneath the skin, ready to burst. "DD's going to be here with you. We won't leave you alone. Hold onto my voice, James. Hold onto DD's voice. We love you very much and we're going to get the medicine to make you feel better. I promise."

On the other side of the bed, Dean leaned over with him. "I'm right here, buddy."

Castiel lifted the hair from James' forehead again and gave Dean a pointed look. He didn't want to announce the approaching rupture of another pustule in case the fledgling could indeed hear their voices while he slept.

"I'll watch it," answered Dean grimly with a sharp nod.

"I'll be back as soon as I know something," Castiel said in a tone that left no room for discussion.

Looking back would have been too hard. Seeing the scope of six beds all dependent on him for survival would have brought back the paralysis of indecision. Castiel squeezed Dean's hand in passing, unable to even trust his courage for a kiss or a simple embrace no matter how much he needed it. He considered calling for Hetanel but didn't do it in the end. Facing Gabriel when the anger still flared in his gut put him in uncharted territory. He wanted no witnesses to the possibility of having to set aside his pride to beg the King of Heaven to help his nest. It didn't matter that Gabriel never told Castiel there was a sister out there, nor did it matter that such a sister probably played a role in reprogramming him at some point. James mattered. His unborn child mattered. The nest mattered. Innocent human lives mattered. Leaving the quarantine building felt like walking to his own execution. As much as he hated himself for being that dramatic, he realized it amounted to the developing human emotions within - pride, jealousy, anger, sorrow. Castiel the angel achieved the darkest parts of humanity.

He walked for an hour. He pushed aside branches drooping low from trees dripping with recent rainfall. Not much of South Dakota was wooded but Arturial and Sholitziel managed to find an area shrouded by trees, which made it difficult for angels in flight to spot life on the ground. When Castiel's boots sloshed through a shallow creek, he gave it no mind. The balmy air of summer swept up from the south, making nighttime warm enough to hike without jackets in spite of being close to Canada. Moonlight dappled the narrow deer path ahead, although Castiel's angel vision didn't need extra light. He forced his vessel's pupils open wide the way a cat drew in light to move seamlessly in the dark.

The woods opened into a narrow meadow bordered by another branch of the creek he'd just crossed. It was as good a place as any, he decided. The risk of being overheard by The Order occurred to him as he stepped into the center of the meadow but he was armed and so were the angels left in the quarantine building. Under Demiel's leadership, they wouldn't breach the warding defenses she'd put in place. Chances were higher that they had no idea where Castiel had hidden the nest anyway.

A deep breath fortified Castiel's vessel but it didn't silence the prideful voice inside from going bitter toward asking Gabriel for help. His nest needed him though. As long as he kept the image of his feverish fledgling close to the surface of his thoughts, he could do it.

Castiel sank to his knees in the wet grass. Rain soaked through his jeans but that was the most common way he'd seen humans pray before he lived among them. Suddenly he wished Molly was well enough to be there with him since she was the most religious human he knew. She would know how to do it, how to make that connection with the celestial unknown. With his hands pressed together, he considered what to say.

"Gabriel....." he began with a halting sound at the back of his throat. "Um... Gabriel. I'm praying to the archangel Gabriel for help with my sick child. Please come to me and ... uh ... give me your divine guidance in our time of need." The prayer sounded ridiculous and he didn't feel like he was making any kind of connection to the divine. He began to understand what Dean saw in Molly's faith - emptiness and lack of reward. Human faith was never something he thought about in depth and he couldn't understand how their prayers ever reached his ears. But then he thought about all the times Dean prayed to him. He'd felt the hunter's faith, hadn't he? And there was nothing special in what Dean said - no magic words or antiquated biblical language. Castiel started again. "Gabriel it's me. It's ... Bean. I'm down here lost with a lot of sickness on my hands and I don't know what to do. It's going to get worse if I don't stop it. I need help. I need you." He swallowed hard as if blocking the words from creeping back down his throat. "Amen, I guess. Amen."

After a moment of silence and his sharp hearing trained on the smallest wilderness sounds, Castiel opened one eye and then the other. He didn't see anything different about the meadow. It didn't seem to work, he thought, arms dropping at his sides. Dejection began to fill his thoughts as he pulled himself off the ground again. Of course he could do a summoning spell on Gabriel but any kind of magic would have attracted The Order's attention. Prayer was the most clandestine way to go about it. But a summoning might be necessary in any event. He sighed, thinking of how much time he'd waste going back to his home where The Order thought he was so he could do the summoning there without leading them to the nest's hiding place. They were depending on him.

He swept the wet grass from his legs and turned, ready to retrace his steps and not at all ready to tell Dean the attempt failed. In the distance, just inside the tree line, a column of white skin glowed in a shaft of moonlight. Castiel stopped, startled at first, but then his heart beat faster when he made out the shapes of enormous wings arching high over the man's head. Familiar wings. Gabriel's wings.

Once he was sure it wasn't an illusion created to trap him, Castiel approached. He still had no idea what to say and the lack of a smile or an easy joke from Gabriel had him somewhat unnerved. Humor was such an intrinsic part of Gabriel's being that seeing him there looking back at him through such still features jolted Castiel into unfamiliar territory. He was used to being overly practical. It always fell on him to make up for Gabriel's inability to be serious when he was a young angel under the archangel's care. He'd been obedient and pleasing where Gabriel had been jovial and ridiculous. Now facing a celestial monarch in the dark of night who bore the weight of unexpected responsibility left Castiel second-guessing the father figure he thought he knew so well. Perhaps Gabriel absorbed more than he let on during Castiel's youth. Perhaps his flippant attitude was always a mask covering something much deeper.

"I think this is a first for us," said Gabriel when Castiel got close enough for them to speak without raising their voices too much.

"How do you mean?"

"You've never prayed to me before, Bean."

"I've never prayed to anyone before," Castiel admitted. He glanced around the woods. "Did you come here without your guard?"

"Yep."

Castiel slid his eyes back to Gabriel and studied the strain in his features. "The crown is getting heavy, isn't it?"

"They won't be happy I left without telling anybody." Gabriel shrugged. "My kid needs me. Whattya gonna do?"

A noncommittal hum rolled around Castiel's throat as he took measure of the archangel who raised him. Every cell in his being wanted to hate and spit and cry out at the injustice of the secrets between them piling up like bricks forming a wall. An abandoned fledgling was no laughing matter, just as it was among human children. He'd had a sister. There was another the entire time - someone he could have bonded with after Gabriel disappeared. But the trickster had robbed him of that too. The facts cycled through his mind over and over again until he clenched his fists at his sides and fed off the anger. Resenting Gabriel meant he wouldn't have to be abandoned again.

"Focus, Bean. Right here." Gabriel snapped his fingers. "You need my help. What's happening?"

Castiel took a breath and shifted his focus from resentment to his child's face. "The Order has brought disease to my nest."

"Disease?" Gabriel's eyebrow arched.

"Well, you ought to know about it. Limaneal stole samples of the mutated influenza from Heaven. Don't you remember?"

The skeptical eyebrow fell and Gabriel's eyes clouded. "I didn't know it was her. I didn't think the theft was related to this rebellion. The influenza was stolen almost a year ago."

"They've been biding their time, it seems."

"Your whole nest is sick?"

Castiel nodded. "Every last fledgling. Several humans have been infected as well. One or more of them specifically targeted Molly. We have her with the other infected ones in a quarantined building to keep the thing contained. It's an hour's walk from here."

Some time passed as Gabriel turned it over in his mind. He said nothing for a drawn out period until the silence nearly drove Castiel insane.

"What should I do?" Gabriel finally asked.

"You're asking me?" Castiel blasted back. "You're the King of Heaven! You're supposed to be my father! I prayed to you and brought you here even though I'd rather punch you in the throat because my nest is in deeper trouble than I can understand, and you ask me what you should do? Be a father! Be a grandfather! Be a king! Assert your power and say no more! Fix my family before I lose them!"

"I don't know how!" shouted Gabriel, cutting him off. "I can heal a sick human but I don't know how to heal an infected angel! No one does! The ones who knew are long dead thanks to dear old Dad and big brother Lucifer!"

The ground seemed to drop out from under Castiel as he stood there looking into the mystery of raw fear in an archangel. He never counted on Gabriel being utterly uneducated in the mutated influenza or any other problem Castiel might have laid at his feet. It was at that moment that he realized he did in fact look up to Gabriel the whole time, even in the centuries of silence. He truly thought if something dire occurred, Gabriel would know what to do. Every father was supposed to have all the answers. But Castiel was a father now too and he didn't know what to do either.

Scrubbing a hand over his face revived him enough to say, "You know how to heal a sick human. I tried but I'm not powerful enough. Let's start there. You can try to help Molly and the baby. There are other humans too. People who were living in her building. The Order released the disease into the water pipes."

"I--."

"--Gabriel, I'm begging you. Please come. Try. Just don't run away this time. You owe me that much. You owe James and my unborn child that much."

*****

Oil lamplight flickered on whitewashed walls as Sam cradled Noah in his arms. They all said Noah hadn't developed as fast as the other fledglings - whatever that meant - but now Sam was worried being behind schedule might spell out the little guy's demise. His weary eyelids felt like sandpaper every time he blinked but he didn't want to fall asleep until an angel came to relieve him. Noah had been crying every time they put him in bed. He wanted the warmth of a body in spite of his high fever.

"I was a little guy too," Sam whispered to the fledgling asleep against his chest. "Kids at school used to pick on me and beat me up sometimes but my brother always took care of it. I grew up to be bigger than him. Maybe you'll grow up to be bigger than all of your cousins too."

A breeze carried the scent of rain into the quarantine building, making the flames flicker against their wall sconces. Sam pulled his attention away from Noah and narrowed his eyes at the room and trained his ears on the smallest disturbances. They were well hidden. Castiel had assured him of that when the medic angels refurbished the building with just the power of their graces. Still, he was worried. Hadn't Castiel drilled it into their heads before that using grace left traces on the atmosphere that other angels could detect? He adjusted the quilt around the little bundle in his arms as if it would shield him from danger. The open windows allowed fresh air into their little makeshift hospital but they left Sam feeling insecure and unprotected. But when Demiel and Hetanel didn't stir from their rocking chairs, he began to relax a little. Across the room, Dean had fallen asleep while holding James' hand. He didn't dare make a sound. Dean hadn't slept since the influenza struck.

Sam needed to stretch his legs or he'd soon be asleep too. He slid Noah back into his little bed as carefully as he could without causing him enough pain to wake him. When Demiel met his eyes, he pointed to the floor above and she nodded.

The back stairs had been there since the building was constructed. Absent thoughts about its history flitted through his mind, pointing to its scattered and distracted state. Carrying sick people up to the second floor over such a steep nineteenth century stairwell had been rather difficult but the angel medics had insisted on keeping the angels and humans separated. Arturial and Sholitziel seemed to have taken charge of the entire nest since they had arrived the night before but no one had questioned it. If Castiel trustee them, Sam supposed he should trust them too, but his nerves were wrung out with so much sickness around him. He needed to get his hands on the rebellious angels responsible for infecting their children. He needed to break some necks. How dare they think they could do something so horrendous to innocent children?

Upstairs, much the same scene greeted Sam as below. The faint odor of feverish sweat seemed stronger from the grown humans than the little ones downstairs. He spotted Arturial and Sholitziel each leaning over Molly's bed.

"What's happening?" Sam asked quietly as he approached.

"We're trying to keep the fever down since she's pregnant," said Arturial as he draped a wet rag over her chest. She. Castiel had said something about that angel preferring to be a female. She spoke again. "The fetus is safe so far. It's simply a chore keeping the fever under control since a gestating human cannot take most medications. We're doing it the old way with cold rags to draw it down slowly as to avoid shocking her system."

"You can't heal any of these people with your angel powers?" asked Sam dubiously.

Sholitziel picked up the questions. "No. It's the same mutated virus as the fledglings have downstairs. It was designed to resist healing by grace. We believe the part that attacks angelic grace actually attacks the central nervous system in humans. I'm conducting tests. But do tell Castiel and his human that the gestating woman is safe for now. She appears quite ill, of course, but we are preventing her condition from worsening."

"Dean. Cas' husband is named Dean. And this is Molly. She's carrying a child so they could have a family," said Sam in a darkened tone. He hated the way angels reduced humans to mere animals even when they were trying to be helpful.

"Yes, of course."

As they spoke, Molly began tossing her head from side to side on her sweat-soaked pillow. Dark hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks in matted clumps. In spite of the pregnant swell of her belly, she looked wasted in the face with hollow cheeks and eyes rimmed in dark shadows. A weak arm reached out to Sam. He grasped her hand and leaned down so she could see him in the dim room.

"Dean?"

"No, darlin. It's Sam. I'm his brother, remember?"

Molly nodded faintly. "The baby...."

"The baby's all right," Sam assured. "You will be too. We've got good doctors looking after you and you're in a safe place."

"There were people," she said as if she hadn't heard him. "I saw strangers in the basement when I took my laundry to the machines. I couldn't make sense of why they were wearing hooded capes. Black hoods." Molly paused to work the muscles in her throat into a swallowing motion. "Castiel - he told me. Told me what he is. Told me to be careful. I was afraid of the hoods."

Sam held her hand. "Did they say anything?"

"No. Not to me. They spoke a different language. I tried to leave. Turned around and hurried. Door slammed shut without people touching it." Molly's forehead creased as her fear resurfaced. She began to wheeze as her breathing grew rapid. "Told me .... they told me to get away. Angels in town are evil. They spread pestilence among people. God isn't here anymore, they said. Couldn't imagine Cas being evil. I said so. One of them got angry and struck my face. That was a woman. The other one got antsy like her hitting me wasn't supposed to happen. Then they disappeared. Just like that. Gone. By nighttime I was sick. Why would they try to convince me angels are evil?"

"Well, there's a rebellion going on in Heaven right now and Cas is trying to stop it," replied Sam, measuring his words carefully.

"Like when Lucifer fell?"

"Something like that."

"Dear God," Molly whispered. Her eyes rolled back and she shut her eyes, overcome by fatigue.

"Don't worry. You're safe here." As Sam spoke in soft tones, he smoothed back her hair. She was carrying his niece or nephew. That made her family in his eyes. "We won't let anything happen to you. Just rest now. I gotta tell Dean what you saw but I'm only going downstairs. These guys here are doctors. They're taking good care of you. I'm sure Dean will be up to see you after you've slept some more."

With a quick nod to Arturial and Sholitziel, he retreated to the back stairs again. There wasn't much valuable information in Molly's story but it pointed to direct anger at Castiel for some imagined slight. If Molly could describe what the angels looked like, that would help a lot.

"Dean?" he said as he came down the stairs. "Dean, I just talked to Molly. She was awake for a minute."

The older Winchester brother blinked away the sleepiness from his brain and sat upright in the rocking chair. "What?" He directed the question at Sam but his eyes darted to the fledgling lying bandaged in the bed at his side.

"She saw a couple of the angels who did this," Sam said.

Before Sam had a chance to explain himself, the door at the front of the building flew open and shut. Two sets of footsteps and low murmurings drew Sam's attention from his brother. Both of them charged toward the front room ready to fight whoever entered their hiding place. There stood Castiel and Gabriel each washing their hands at the stainless steel sinks. Stunned, Sam felt his jaw hang open while Dean reached for Castiel and embraced him from the side. They weren't much for affection in front of other people but Castiel nuzzles him back, of course, without touching him with newly washed hands.

"I convinced him to try and help," Castiel said.

Both Winchester brothers peered at Gabriel as he dried his hands on a paper towel.

"Try being the word of the day," the King of Heaven said. "Show me where the pregnant lady is. I'll start there."

#destiel #deancas #supernatural #castiel #sam winchester

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brokegirlrich · 4 years

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Calling All Those With White Privilege | brokeGIRLrich

Hi. That includes me.

I haven’t said a lot on what’s been happening in the world, but I have been thinking a lot.

And reading.

And donating.

Many, many things have stuck with me, but the one that spurred me to finally write down some of my thoughts was this post by J.D. Roth, who I actually respect quite a lot, on the FinCon group – which has pretty much self-imploded over the last few days in way quite reflective of society right now.

It’s pretty long. Feel free to skip over it, if you want. I’ll sum it up underneath.

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Essentially, it’s what are the white folks to do? How can we help?

And a lot of my black friends seem to be saying, stop freaking asking us, it’s not our job to explain.

Which feels about right and probably incredibly tiresome to have to tell people how to fix a problem they didn’t create.

I don’t fully understand the point of social media. I often think it does more harm than good and I don’t use mine for much other than promoting these posts on Twitter and the occasional weird theater meme on Facebook.

I don’t know if a bunch of black squares on everything for Blackout Tuesday was effective or not.

I do know I can spend way too much time thinking over whether or not something is effective and before I know it, the moment has passed and I’ve done nothing.

I don’t think this moment is going to pass quickly though. I don’t think it came on quickly either. It’s been a ready to boil over pot the entire time this nation has existed.

But I am a do-er. That’s why J.D.’s post spurred me into action.

That and I do believe the old quote “the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing” (Edmund Burke).

Not only am I do-er, but I also write about freaking personal finance, and let’s be real, massive parts of the racial divide here revolve around finance and poverty. I don’t know much about poverty.

But I am financially stable.

I can give money to people who do know about poverty.

I can give money to the legal groups and bail fund groups for the protesters.

I can give money to education groups that serve underfunded schools < – – which is massive, friends, because education is fundamental to the whole bootstrap idea we cling so desperately to as Americans and especially as privileged folks who may have done some bootstrapping of our own.

It seems like everyone can get ahead if they just work hard enough. America tells us we can get ahead if we just work hard enough – it is literally the American dream.

But that assumes you are educated enough to comprehend the opportunities available to you. That you know where to look. That you have examples in your life of ways you can make things better. That super basic opportunities are as available to you as they are to everyone else.

And a lot of that inequality starts on day one of school where a massive quantity of colored kids start getting a substandard education and substandard teachers and substandard living conditions.

Money is a tangible thing you can do to start help even the playing field. It might feel like shoveling sand against the tide, but it can make a difference.

I also think this can feel wildly, wildly overwhelming. Where to even start?

Well. I am a stage manager. And a lot of theater companies talk about trying to diversify, but statistically, we’re not getting far – stage management is still a hugely white field.

Statistic courtesy of the SM2030 Survey – the new survey by David J. McGraw following recent graduates for the first 10 years of their career. In this sampling, 80% of new stage managers are white.

So back to the money. If minorities are more likely to struggle financially, how can they ever be expected to join a playing field skewed so heavily towards early career stage managers who have family who can help pay their bills while they take underpaying jobs/free internships in incredibly expensive cities?

It seems like a step in the right direction here, if the goal is to encourage minorities into the stage management field, would be grants that pay rent and living expenses for a year or two post-grad, reflective of the same way so many parents/spouses/family seem to for white early career stage managers from middle and upper class backgrounds.

That financial barrier into professional stage management is no joke.

And if you think I’m making up this idea of outside help, let’s go back to the survey again which shows recent graduates on that top line and the results from the main stage manager survey of all career stage managers on the second line.

I would even offer white stage managers this very specific financial challenge – did you have help starting out?

I have no doubt that some of you managed to make it work on your own against some impressive odds – and kudos to you – but I also personally know plenty of stage manager’s where mom and dad footed the rent (and sometimes more) bills for the first year or two in a big city.

Do the math.

How much did this help you received save you?

Now you know your number.

Make it your career goal to contribute that much to funds for people in the arts who don’t have the same privilege.

I’m not saying pay back $15,000 tomorrow – more power to you if that’s even an option now – but $15,000 over the course of your career. Call it your own personal private privilege tax.

Nobody needs to know your number but you. And now you have a very tangible goal and way to help.

And until there’s a fund specifically for POC stage managers to give back to, check out NEW Black Mutual Aid, which gives to black theater artists in need right now.

I’m sure there are thousands of other ideas people have, and maybe rather than overthinking them or trying to find all the ways they’ll fail or critique how they aren’t optimal (though do use good, common sense and take a hot second to evaluate the ideas), just start moving and see what works.

I have to hope that if we try our best with the best of intentions, it’s the right direction.

Which is a really ugly way to say what Maya Angelou said much more elegantly:

Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.

Things You Can Do:

Read everything you can find about racism. I have absolutely sucked at this, so it’s time to get better.

Listen better.

Anti-racism Resources

Antiracist Research and Policy Center

Scaffolded Anti-Racism Resources

DONATE (here are a list of organizations that support black causes):

Official George Floyd Memorial Fund

I Run With Maud

Justice for Kenneth Walker

The Bail Project

The Minnesota Freedom Fund

NAACP Legal Defense Fund

Communities United Against Police Brutality

The American Civil Liberties Union

Albany Bail Fund for Black Lives

The Audre Lorde Project

Bail Out Funds by City

Black Excellent Community

BlackLine

Black Visions Collective

Campaign Zero

Color of Change

The Okra Project

Rise Up Kingston

Black Stories Matter

Equal Justice Initiative

What are you doing to make a change?

Calling All Those With White Privilege Hi. That includes me. I haven’t said a lot on what’s been happening in the world, but I have been thinking a lot.

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businessliveme · 5 years

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Porsche’s New $133,000 911 Is Worth Ladling On All the Upgrades

(Bloomberg) — More than a mere model-year update, there are enough changes on the 2020 Porsche 911 Cabriolet to cause an Instagram comment war. The Porsche 992 (as the brand calls it internally) is the most significant redo of the iconic sportscar since 2011. It may also be the last non-hybrid 911 ever built.

While test-driving it through sunny countryside near Athens, some of my fellow travelers described the enlarged rear end, widened by two inches and with larger rear tires, as “ample” and “fulsome”—about how they’d describe Kim Kardashian. Others, however, called the new stance too big, a case of butt implants gone bad. If you can imagine them saying this right after sucking a lemon slice, you get the picture.

By the same token, as I dodged lazy dogs and Grecian pot holes the size of kiddie pools down the rural roads of Attica, I loved the smooth screens of the interior and the quick shifter that replaced the conventional joystick setup of the previous generation. They felt fresh and modern, easy to read and use. But after reviewing photos from the drive, several friends (and when I say friends, I mean Instagram acquaintances) said those dual 7-inch screens erase the car’s “classic” spirit. They hated the shifter’s tiny “tic-tac” shape.

To which I say: Haters gonna hate. Better a car that causes a polarized reaction than no reaction at all.

The goal here, as with any new iteration of a well-known model, is to get the most out of the car, and on that front, Stuttgart’s designers and engineers have more than succeeded. If you are yourself considering a new Porsche convertible—and aren’t we all, at least in our dreams?—here’s how to further maximize that investment.

Buy the all-wheel-drive version.

This is an easy one. If you’re at all worth your salt as a driver and sporting enthusiast, I imagine that (1) you want to drive your fun car year-round, not just in summer, and (2) many of the roads you wish to transverse are not 100 percent serene and smooth—what you’d really need to push a rear-wheel-drive sports car.

The roads in Greece were narrow, with lanes tangled like a sidewinder, no roadside signage indicating upcoming curves, and only halfway paved, half the time—in other words, the opposite of a pristine German highway.

Drop the additional $7,300 on an AWD Porsche 911 Carrera 4S Cabriolet (starting at $133,400), and you’ll be able to drive confidently in dirt and snow and ice, with more contact and control on the road at every turn, whatever the season. The increased practicality will help you more fully embrace this driver-oriented car.

Get the paddle shifters.

I realize this is a controversial suggestion. I realize it’s scary to let go of the idea that a manual Porsche is the only way to go. I can hear you now: “What will the other guys say when they see it at my Sunday cars ’n’ coffee? They won’t respect my driving abilities as much, or they’ll think I can’t handle a stick shift!”

I agree with you: For any classic Porsche—and racing Porsches and Porsches you’ll want to drive like a demon, in general—go for the manual. It’s more fun and makes you feel more engaged as a driver. You’ll be touching history as the star of your own movie, like Steve McQueen for 2019.

But this is a convertible. It is made to be comfortable and accommodating and suitable for enjoying swooping vistas overlooking sapphire oceans while you (me) listen to The Kinks—and to maintain that attitude, even if you get stuck in the sort of inclement conditions that daily driving provides, such as pockmarked side streets, hilly neighborhoods, and stop-and-go traffic. (Yes, those were all me, too, on this recent Athenian drive.) As anyone who has done it once, let alone daily, will tell you: Working a manual under these conditions is among the most annoying ways to spend your time.

Let the PDK paddle shifters be your saving grace. The new eight-speed configuration has better fuel efficiency and enhanced performance in the lower gears, compared to previous seven-speed models—and it’s faster to drive than the manual stick, too. The 433-horsepower 911 Carrera 4S hits 62mph in 3.4 seconds; the rear-wheel-drive 911 Carrera S version gets there 0.1 second later. Top speed for the AWD 4S is 188mph, and it’s 190 mph for the S.

From behind the wheel in Greece, I felt the car wrapping the road like a boa constrictor, hugging it so closely I never felt it falter or hesitate, even when I tried to push it past the Sunday Drive range.

Disengage the Start/Stop.

I’m all for fuel efficiency, but oh, how I loathe the automatic start/stop function of most modern cars. Shutting off the engine the moment you roll up to a stoplight or are standing in traffic makes for slower starts off the line, and it’s especially jarring when you’re driving a manual. Half the time, I think the car has died outright.

In Greece, I spent an entire 12-hour test drive looking for the button to disengage it and never found it. Usually, it’s set in the center console, in the steering wheel, or in the roof of the car, near the rearview mirror. Here, it’s buried in the infotainment system. Or if you have the Sport Chrono Package, it can be deactivated via the programmable Individual mode or by switching the car into Sport or Sport Plus mode when you start it. This multi-step approach is annoying, but it’s the unfortunate reality we’re dealing with here. (Fix this, Porsche engineers.)

Put a premium on safety.

The 992 model line has a new night vision system ($2,540), dynamic chassis control ($3,170), park assist ($1,430), and side mirrors that fold in automatically when the car is parked (the latter’s $370 cost is a pittance, given how often they saved me problems on narrow streets during innumerable breaks for strong, dark espresso on this test drive).

The lift kit that raises the front nose ($2,770) also saved my bacon several times negotiating odd inclines on driveways and park paths. When you consider that these all can help avoid some serious collisions, it more than pays for itself.

And for your own good, consider the $2,720 Sport Chrono Package, which adds two driving modes—Sport Plus and Individual, which lets the driver create a personal vehicle setting configuration—to the standard Normal, Sport, and Wet options. The latter is special, too, a new standard feature on all 2020 911 models. It monitors the level of water on the road and automatically adjusts the throttle, rear differential, rear spoiler, and ABS of the car, and warns the driver of potential hydroplaning. It’s worth getting even if you, like most, will never put this car on a track.

Choose the options that matter.

A big part of the fun in getting a new car—any new car—is making it your own. And the new 911 Carrera 4S Cabriolet is a fantastic canvas. Here’s what I’d do: Get the cool Carrera Exclusive Design wheels ($2,630) painted in Jet Black Metallic ($1,290); the ceramic composite brakes painted in high gloss black ($9,860); a bespoke paint job to match my cocaine-white personality ($11,430); a bright red tachometer dial ($420); and black leather ($1,260) and carbon-fiber trim ($2,100) with personalized illuminated door-sill guards in carbon fiber as well ($1,640).

Extras such as the $400 ionizer (just put down the roof!), the $1,060 lane-change system (just open your eyes!), and especially a $690 leather pouch for your key fob (for the first time ever, the car doesn’t even use a key to start the engine; you turn a nubbin on the left side of the steering wheel), seem a waste of money to me.

Skip the sport exhaust.

Do us all a favor, speed racer, and leave the $2,950 sport exhaust in the shop window. You want your neighbors to stay friendly, right?

And keep the top down.

Have you ever seen a car that looks better with its rag top up? Neither have I.

The top of this Carrera has new magnesium layers to make it stronger and quieter in the cabin when the roof is in use; sure, it comes in four color options (please avoid the brown one) and is probably more durable than your average canvas flap. But it still looks pretty bad when it’s up. Soft tops inevitably ruin what often is an otherwise-beautiful body line. They look cheap when the rest of the car looks well-made; even after all these years, many leak wind and rain, flutter in the wind, and generally disintegrate over time while the rest of the car remains stoic.

(To really see my point on what soft tops lack, look no further than the new McLaren 720S Spider—at twice the price of this Porsche, it’s not in the same league, but its glass roof is incredible.)

If you have the cash to buy a convertible, you might as well slap on some sunscreen and drive it like one.

Embrace the infotainment.

Porsche’s redesign of its infotainment system to be quicker and more intuitive spoke to my inner, impatient New Yorker with no proclivity toward nor interest in technology. If you’re smarter than the average bear, you’ll be able to connect to Bluetooth in less than a minute. (Finally!) Of its new comfort and convenience functions, I appreciated the 911’s “100 percent connectivity,” in which you can ask the car to find gas prices, parking garages, even hotel and restaurant ratings, or plot your destination via “Voice Pilot” without having to manually type an actual address.

One note: The placement of the steering wheel—even when adjusted—blocks the two new seven-inch screens that form the dashboard gauges behind the wheel. This is unfortunate; I found myself ducking a bit in my seat to see the indictors behind the wheel as I drove.

Make delivery an experience.

Ensure that the first minutes behind the wheel are as memorable as possible. You can pick up your car at the Porsche Experience Centers in Atlanta or Los Angeles for $525 or $550, respectively. Each has a track, lounges, a restaurant, and a historical component where you can learn more about the brand that produced the car. Or pick up your new car for free (minus flights and accommodations, of course) at factory headquarters in Leipzig, Germany, and Zuffenhausen, Germany.

Most of all, get out and drive.

It’s tempting to keep mileage low on new cars, like keeping a new pair of shoes in the closet to ensure they’re pristine. But no one likes a garage queen! Cars are meant to be driven.

With the Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriolet, Porsche has updated an icon, making it appealing enough to those who want a shiny new sports car while maintaining enough of its original body and soul. The 992 combines the best attributes of a sports car, a daily driver, and a grand tourer. You might as well enjoy every inch of its voluptuous glory.

The post Porsche’s New $133,000 911 Is Worth Ladling On All the Upgrades appeared first on Businessliveme.com.

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