#its basically a main street and a scattering of houses | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ruvviks · 9 months

Text

Chapter >> 19 [x] Characters >> ??? Total >> 7.7k words Warnings >> Alcohol mention, death mention, family / parents, injury mention, smoking

‘More information has been released on the explosions in Charter Hill from a few days ago. The office building in question was supposedly in use as a hideout by the infamous fixer known as “the Broker” on the streets. The explosion itself did minimal damage, but most of the building has been consumed by the fire that broke out on the lower levels.

The NCPD has yet to confirm the number of casualties though emphasizes that no innocent civilians have been caught in the crossfire. The Broker has presumably died on the premises. Their mercenaries have scattered across town and thus far, no further incidents have been reported.

It appears that peace has finally returned to the streets of Night City. And with that, the weather.’

It was the end of August.

The streets were dark. A pitch black sky hung over Night City, heavy rainfall threatening to pour down and a hint of static in the air though not quite enough yet for a full storm to break loose. Nearing the evening hours- the sweet spot right before rush hour where the whole city seemed to be holding its breath, roads left eerily abandoned as restaurants and bars began opening their doors and people packed up their things to leave work and go home.

The run-down apartment building cast a dark shadow on the streets of the Glen, curtains of windows behind bars and grids closed and apartments left unilluminated and cold. The graffiti-covered entrance hall was abandoned- the sound of heels clacking softly on the faded and cracked tiles leading up to the concrete staircase, a single bright fluorescent ceiling light flickering and swaying from a strong breeze blowing in from the hall.

It was one of the older buildings in town. Its initial purpose had been to become a beautiful and bright home to working class families- affordable housing close to work, with stable electricity and HVAC and everything else needed to be able to live comfortably and safely raise a kid or two.

An idea, a dream; exactly how many projects in Night City often started, a vision easy enough to make reality yet halted halfway through because of financial reasons, corporate interference, gang territory expansion, a cyberpsycho incident, economic or political interests or a cocktail of several- or all- of those reasons.

Which is how the building had instead ended up as a derelict ruin with barely working electricity and apartments in the possession of shady owners- some going for triple the rent it was worth and others cheap but in such poor condition one might as well be sleeping on the streets.

Home, sweet home.

The seventh floor stood entirely abandoned, its apartments burnt down after a fire a few years back. All except one; in the far back, safely tucked away from the main street and overlooking the outskirts of Vista Del Rey, though the windows had not been cleaned in who knows how long leaving not much outside to see.

It was small, cozy. A single room apartment with a tiny bathroom in the corner, the door only half in its hinges and never repaired. It held barely any furniture, an old couch with coffee table that missed a leg marking the living room with a mattress on the floor behind it as bed, and a small kitchen on the left next to the front door made out of mismatched cabinets and an old oven and stove that looked like it was as old as time itself.

Despite the clear absence of a resident, the place was not as dirty as it could have been. Recently dusted and the kitchen counter was clean, fridge in working order running on an external generator and stocked with basic foods and some liquors. A safehouse, presumably; or at least a temporary refuge for someone who needed desperately to hide, or simply needed the solitude from time to time.

Cold, grayish blue eyes slowly trailed the dark room, the silence inside nearly deafening. Who had known Night City could be so quiet? Everything else was so far away, an aura of loneliness weighing down on the stuffy interior air making it harder to breathe. Searching hand found a light switch- flicked it on, and a string of colored lights along the top of the window on the other side of the room turned on, bathing the apartment in a soft, reddish pink glow.

Home, sweet home.

It did not feel like it.

He slowly took off his coat, holding it under his arm as he carefully walked further into the room. Ran his free hand through his short, slicked back hair- it was a little damp, still, caused by the humidity outside as well as inside, and he exhaled a little sharper than he had meant for as he quickly dried his hand on his pants.

The place made him uncomfortable, despite the warm and inviting atmosphere the colored lights created. It was too heavy with history- too much hardship had happened between those four decrepit walls and too much of it lingered still and it left him with so many questions; questions he clearly already knew the answers for, but questions that would not leave him alone either way.

Matvey had lived in an apartment like that himself, too.

Many, many years ago; when he had been in his early twenties, only recently escaped his parents’ home, struggling to find balance in the multitude of aspects of his life and struggling to get by.

His eyes trailed the walls, over pictures that had been left there, faded by the decade that had passed but showing people, friends, at parties and roaming the Night City streets after dark, smiling brightly at the camera with closed eyes and scrunched up noses.

And his gaze lingered on one boy in particular, present in nearly all of them- bleached blond hair that reached his waist, some freckles covering his forehead and cheekbones, pale grayish blue eyes above a wide smile, and a small gap between his front teeth.

Oh, Vitali.

Matvey carefully took one of the pictures from the wall, only barely able to contain his irregular breathing and heartbeat as he slowly scanned the faces of both his son and someone unfamiliar next to him; a boy with light brown hair and golden eyes, face full of piercings and a tattoo peeking out of his shirt on his neck.

They were kissing in the picture. Matvey had never even gotten the chance to meet him.

The howling of the wind outside made him shiver while he quickly put the picture back, hairs on his arms standing up straight as the cool breeze blew through cracks and holes in the outer wall of the apartment.

It did not feel right to stand there. It did not feel right to exist in the space Vitali had once existed in, struggling to get by, struggling to survive in a city that was so desperately trying to swallow him whole. And if Matvey could go back in time to change it- any of it-

But it was far too late for that now.

‘Vitali?’

Matvey stood motionless as he watched his son enter the house- flashlight of his phone illuminating the dark hallway- coming home from one of his classmates’ infamous parties while Matvey himself was already getting ready to go to work.

‘Party lasted a little longer than I had thought,’ Vitali instantly blurted out, and Matvey glanced at his watch; nearly five in the morning, and Vitali would have school in only a few hours- but most importantly, Nadya had not even given him permission to go in the first place.

Matvey lowered himself on the couch and exhaled sharply, the memories washing over him like a tidal wave slamming itself into the coastline. Memories of an easier time; but now he was not so sure anymore, wondering if it had truly been as simple as he had always thought, wondering if perhaps his own judgment was clouded, unreliable.

Matvey slowly walked closer to Vitali, trying to think of anything to say; scold him, perhaps, punish him for his recklessness and misbehavior-

But something stopped him from doing so.

Something on Vitali’s face- the way his eyes widened the second his father began moving closer, the way he clearly tried to find the right words to say- the way he swayed on his legs and could barely keep his phone in his hand and the way his eyes almost glossed over when Matvey got close enough-

He simply reached out and plucked a half smoked cigarette out of his son’s hair.

Nadya had not needed to know.

The lights along the wall and ceiling lightly flickered as another strong wind caused the glass of the window to rattle in its frame. A late afternoon dust storm blowing in from the Badlands, leaving the city streets in a thin layer of sand once it would settle down again; the one time anyone would be glad to have a roof above their head, no matter how run-down.

Matvey clasped his hands together, frown decorating the upper half of his face, the howling of the wind the only thing breaking through the silence surrounding him alongside the ringing in his ears the explosions from a few days earlier had left him with-

His eyes fluttered shut and a shaky exhale left his chest.

Oh, Vitali.

It had not been worth it.

Months of planning, months of fighting- months of losing sight of what was right and what was wrong and everything in between and most of all losing sight of what it had all been for in the first place. Revenge? Trying to prove a point? Trying to be good enough for a woman who had lost interest somewhere down the line, to the point she had started to become more of a stranger to him than his own wife?

And where had it led him?

Where had it all led any of them?

‘Perimeter is clear. You should be safe here.’

The familiar voice was comforting, in a way.

It sounded different now; the years had not been kind to him, but still Vitali had grown up to become a fine looking young man radiating more confidence than he had ever done at any point in his childhood, and Matvey would be lying if he said he was not proud of his son for getting to the point in his life he was at now.

He opened his eyes again and watched as Vitali entered the apartment, cane lightly clacking on the old wooden floorboards with every step he took. His eyes trailed the room- though too fast for anyone to be able to fully take in any of the smaller details, and the white-knuckled balled fist along his body told Matvey he would rather be anywhere else.

‘Thank you, for this,’ Matvey quietly said in Russian, but Vitali cut him off with a single shake of his head. He couldn’t even look him in the eyes- gaze fixed on the photos on the wall as he took a step back, wincing lightly and putting his hand over the patched up wound in his side.

‘I don’t want your gratitude,’ he coldly replied. ‘Words mean nothing. Not anymore.’

Matvey understood.

Nothing he could say would set things right. Nothing he could say would change what had happened, would make it all go away- and as far as Vitali was concerned this could easily be part of his plan, still, trying to get closer to him in a vastly different way; try to gain his trust and strike when everyone would least expect it to come out victorious at the end of it all either way.

It would have been a genius plan, Matvey had to admit- well within his capabilities too, he could have pulled it off.

But that was not who he was.

Not anymore.

‘You have- a long way to go,’ Vitali quietly continued, taking out his cigarette case, flicking one out and carefully lighting it, the flame of his lighter softly illuminating the space around him.

‘Make things right. Somehow. Prove to me that you are better without Nadya. And I can’t help you with any of that, so- good luck figuring it out for yourself. I have nothing to win or lose in any of this anymore, so do whatever you feel like doing.’

A nonchalance to his voice, but the words he spoke were heavy. As if all of it was a burden to him- and Matvey knew exactly why, having had enough interactions with Vitali’s friends thus far to know that they did not fully support his son’s decision.

His actions would speak louder than words.

Of course Vitali did not know that Matvey had come with him to that tiny ripperdoc shop- Viktor, I believe his name is- and had stayed with him all that time, refusing to sleep, agreeing to let himself be handcuffed as humiliating as it was just to ease others’ minds.

Of course he didn’t know that Matvey had helped that fixer, Rogue, put together a fake profile for the Broker to get that poor excuse of a Council’s attention away from the both of them entirely and to make sure the NCPD had a name to settle on to put the case to rest in their archives, never to be seen ever again.

And of course he didn’t know that Matvey had willingly allowed some netrunner he could not remember the name of wipe his own entire existence from Arasaka’s database, to make sure they would never find out the truth but at the same time rendering him incapable of ever returning to the corporation, even if he for whichever reason so desperately wanted to.

But what difference would it make if he knew?

‘I won’t let you down,’ Matvey finally answered, lowering his gaze to the ground. Not out of shame, or dishonesty- but if anything out of fear, fear of what he would see on his son’s face, fear of his words being taken with a grain of salt despite how heavy they weighed on his tongue, despite how sincerely he meant them, and he clenched his fists on his lap as a sharp exhale left his body.

A long way to go.

But at least Matvey knew where to start.

‘Hey, Vito.’

The interior of Misty’s shop was comfortably warm, gently illuminated by a few lit candles scattered around. A welcoming sight as always- the interior colorfully decorated but not too clashing or too bright on the eyes, and Vitali would be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel at home.

She hadn’t closed yet; though no one else was inside at that time of day, most of Little China’s residents seeking shelter from the dust storm passing over elsewhere in either the Megabuilding or one of its many diners or restaurants. Misty herself was stood behind the counter, leaning on top with her elbows and softly humming a song.

Vitali wiped his feet on the doormat and quickly took off his mask and glasses, stuffing them in the pocket of his long coat before giving Misty a wave and a smile as he walked closer. She smiled back at him in return; and reached out to ruffle his hair the second he got within her reach, sand and dust falling out of it like snowflakes and sticking to his clothes on the way down.

‘Is Vitya still here?’ he asked, setting his cane down beside him and leaning on the counter as well, eyes fixed on the deck of tarot cards in Misty’s hands she was shuffling.

‘Of course,’ was the response, as usual. ‘City never sleeps.’

‘Neither does he, it seems.’

‘And neither do you.’

Vitali scoffed, a smile lingering on his face as he lowered his gaze to the floor beneath his feet. He couldn’t even argue with her; had not slept at all last night despite recovering from a shot that could have killed him- that should have killed him- only a few days ago.

‘Got time for a reading?’ Misty asked, reaching out to place her hand on Vitali’s before he could pull back to make his way outside, to get to Viktor’s shop. ‘Startin’ to become kind of a tradition at this point, I think.’

‘Hm- with V, maybe.’

Vitali paused, reaching out to the tarot deck in his friend’s hands- she fanned them out near automatically for him, a slightly questioning look in her eyes- and he picked one out, turning it between his fingers and clicking his tongue upon seeing the result.

‘Your cards do not like me very much,’ he finished his sentence with a wink and a smile, and he grabbed his cane again while dropping the tarot card labeled “death” face up on the counter as he made his way around it through the back door of the esoterica.

He had walked down those stairs many, many times before; knew the route to Viktor’s ripperdoc clinic as intimately as the route between his office and his home. Perhaps even more so- visits albeit sparingly going back years in time to long before his time as a fixer, long before he had moved into the penthouse he lived in now.

The familiar smell of sharp disinfectant entered his nose halfway down the steps. The familiar struggle to open the gate to get inside- the familiar sight of Viktor mid drying his hands on a hand towel on the other side of the room, giving him a warm smile as he slowly walked over.

‘Was wondering when you’d show your face again. How’re you feeling?’

‘Tired,’ Vitali bluntly answered, closing the gate behind him. ‘My whole body wants to lay down in bed and never get out, my skull feels cracked and I have not had an appetite since I woke up, but- what can you do.’

Viktor reached out- a gesture that nearly caused Vitali to flinch, a rush of adrenaline locking up the muscles in his neck- and gently cupped his cheek, slightly tilting his head around as he checked his eyes; then placed his hand on Vitali’s forehead, a soft hum that could have both been of approval as well as disapproval leaving his throat.

‘It’ll settle soon enough,’ he finally spoke. ‘You were-’ A pause. ‘You were close to-’

‘I know, Vik,’ Vitali quickly interrupted the old ripperdoc. ‘I know.’

Vitali could not remember much of any of it anymore.

He remembered feeling the cool night air on his skin, the very same slight breeze that had later caused the fire inside the building to spread rapidly from floor to floor. He remembered being lifted into a car- being held by several people at once, staring up through the half opened car window to the dark sky and heavy clouds and the blinding city lights flashing by.

They had brought him there. To Viktor’s shop. He had no longer been conscious by then, and it had taken him a while to wake up after being stabilized; and even then he could still not remember when and how exactly he had gotten home, and the previous day was by that hour also mostly a blur to him.

Vitali’s gaze met Viktor’s again and he instantly took notice of the expectant look in his eyes; no words leaving his lips, but the question was crystal clear to him either way. And in hindsight, Vitali was not entirely sure anymore why he had gone to Vik’s in the first place, when there was really not much else to say.

‘I brought him to the safehouse today,’ Vitali sheepishly said, fumbling with the handle of his cane and lowering his gaze to the floor. ‘He will be staying there for- well, I don’t know. Until he has figured out what to do next, I suppose.’

‘Good.’ Short response. Vitali nearly wished he had just gone home instead. ‘Did it ease your mind?’

He absently nodded, Viktor’s words taking a moment to settle in his brain and as they did the light bobbing faltered and faded into a sigh, shoulders slumping forward as he reached out to grab a chair from beside him and he slowly sat down.

‘I thought it would, but… I don’t know anymore,’ he answered honestly, barely able to look Viktor in the eye as the man sat down on his own stool nearby and wheeled closer. A comforting move- and Vitali’s heartbeat settled down a little as it happened, glad he did not have to cut the conversation short.

‘Did I-?’ he started, frowning as he reconsidered his words and momentarily searched for something else to say. ‘Shouldn’t I have-’

‘Hey- no. Don’t start doubtin’ yourself now, kid.’

The soothing tone of Viktor’s voice seemed everlasting with his patience, and Vitali closed his eyes and dropped his head as the ripperdoc put a reassuring hand on his wrist.

‘Not after everything you’ve been through,’ he added to the statement, and fuck, how Vitali wished he hadn’t- if he had just made a couple of different decisions somewhere along the way then he wouldn’t have had to-

‘But what if I was wrong?’ Vitali blurted out, the words lingering inside his head for much longer than necessary and rendering him unable to keep his mouth shut, like many times before. ‘What if-’

‘You’ve made plenty of mistakes in your life, V,’ Viktor immediately interrupted him. ‘Just like all of us. Just like me.’

Well, that was unexpected.

Vitali frowned and looked back up, Viktor slightly averting his gaze to a point right behind Vitali to not have to look him in the eyes.

‘One of my biggest mistakes?’ he continued, a sudden instability to his voice that had not been there before and he gave Vitali’s wrist a soft squeeze. ‘Not listenin’ to you. Trying to tell you to not join Arasaka after you’d already let me know there was no changing your mind. Pushing you away like that.’

Vitali could not help but wonder how long the other man had been sitting on that one.

Wind blew in from up the stairs, rattling the gate behind them and causing the orange cat curled up in a little makeshift bed next to it to jump up, hiss, and skitter across the floor to sit between Vitali’s legs instead. He absently reached down to give him a few scratches on the head- Jack, he believed Viktor had named him- and used the moment to let the words settle in his head again.

Fuck, he was tired.

‘You were right,’ he finally replied, vividly remembering how desperately Viktor had tried to convince him to not sell his soul to the corporation so many years ago.

‘Doesn’t matter if I was right or wrong,’ Viktor cut him off again with a single shake of his head. ‘I wasn’t there for you the way you needed me.’

‘You’re not my dad, Vik.’

‘But he wasn’t there either, was he now?’

Silence washed over the room and a pang of anger tightened Vitali’s chest; though he managed to shrug it off with ease, knowing the frustration was unnecessary since Viktor was merely stating facts. He lowered his gaze again, staring at Jack who was slapping his ankles and attempting to bite through one of his shoes- and for some reason it caused a small smile to take shape on his face, despite the rest of the circumstances he’d found himself in.

‘Look, kid,’ Viktor quietly said, ‘I can’t tell you whether you made the right call or not. Truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know what I would’ve done. But I trust your judgment. And I’m not gonna let history repeat itself.’

‘What if I am wrong?’

‘Then we’ll find out soon enough. What else are you gonna do about it now?’

He was right.

Of course he was- what else was there for Vitali to do? He could lock Matvey up, and then what? Accidentally turn him into a second Ravager because of it? He was not leaving the man to his own devices. Was not trapping him but would keep an eye on him either way, make sure the things that had happened would never ever happen again-

‘Every decision you’ve made along the way has led us here. You did the best you could.’ Viktor stood up again, giving Vitali a gentle pat on his shoulder before turning around to tend to the mess on his desk, grabbing a stack of papers and shoving it into one of the drawers.

‘You’re just one man, Vito,’ he continued, ‘and you know what? Him too. What’s wrong with this city is that too many folks have this- this “kill who you can kill” mindset. Let’s be honest here, what real difference would it have made to take this one man’s life?’

‘Others have died along the way,’ Vitali bluntly fired back, reaching down and barely reacting when Jack instantly attacked his fingers, pupils dilating upon spotting Vitali’s rings and trying to pull one off his hand. ‘It would’ve been better to save them.’

‘And you tried, didn’t you? Had you killed him, would things have been different? Who else would have lived? Who else would have died?’

It was impossible to say.

Too many external factors at play- Ravager and Dupoint as rogue variables, as well as each and every single one of his father’s mercs. Nadya’s influence had changed so much; what would she have done if Vitali had successfully killed Matvey at any point in time? Would she still have wanted to remain on the sidelines?

‘Sometimes, living is a punishment,’ Viktor suddenly quietly said and Vitali looked back up at him, needing a second to realize he himself had stood up as well and had followed Viktor further into the room.

‘The human mind punishes itself more than enough- and death just… puts an end to that. It’s what makes it so appealing to some when life gets very difficult for them.’

His words were carefully chosen and Vitali could feel his chest tighten again, a lump in his throat making it harder to swallow. He knew Viktor was just putting out general statements, but he couldn’t help but take notice of the slightly targeted remarks dripping down from between the lines, the backside of a coin presented to him visible through a reflective surface behind it.

‘I don’t think the others understand,’ Vitali absently mumbled, a poor attempt at changing the subject.

‘And I don’t think that matters all that much,’ was the ripperdoc’s straightforward response. ‘Nothing’s been forgiven. Nothing’s been forgotten. You simply spared his life and gave him a temporary place to stay, an opportunity to better himself. What he does with that is out of your control.’

He made it sound so easy.

Vitali rarely worried about his reputation among others, knowing very well he could not satisfy everyone and attempting to do that would be as useless as trying to rid Night City of all crime. Sure, he tried his best to stay on the good side of at least the Council- even during all of this he had done nothing to anger them on purpose- but he did not let his worries about it stop him from doing what he felt was best for the situation, or for the parties involved.

But accusations were starting to stack up rather rapidly now. The belief some had he had joined Arasaka again for a while- unaware of the brainwashing, or simply refusing to believe it had happened- the belief some had he was the Broker himself, and now the doubts people had in him because of the outright refusal to kill his father despite the man being just one person in the bigger picture of things.

‘Do you think it will work out?’ Vitali carefully asked, watching as Viktor began setting some tools back on a shelf- and for a split second he was twenty years old again, swaying on his feet with his head completely elsewhere begging Viktor to tell him it would all be okay, to tell him it would be worth it, only to be met with deafening silence and an averted gaze.

‘Of course it will, kid,’ Viktor quietly said and an involuntarily, relieved sigh left Vitali’s chest.

‘It always does.’

Everything would fall in place in time. Viktor was right- of course he was. Vitali had no idea how long it would take, what it would take, but he wasn’t one to give up so easily and neither were any of his friends and for any of them to walk away now after everything they had been through together would be the most unrealistic scenario he could think of.

Of course it would be fine, in the end.

‘Can’t say I’ll ever like him, though,’ Viktor suddenly jokingly added to his statement. ‘But- s’pose we can coexist in peace.’

Vitali huffed in response, taking a step back to lean against the wall. ‘Can you imagine.’

‘Not in a million years.’

They were quiet for a moment, Vitali’s mind wandering off a little as he considered the possibility.

‘I mean,’ he quickly added- not entirely sure why he felt the need to, but it was already too late to stop the words from leaving his lips- ‘he’s a boxer. Like me. Like you.’

Viktor stopped what he was doing to turn to Vitali, and in his eyes where Vitali had expected to find judgment he instead found a softness that gave him just enough courage to keep talking.

‘Makes the worst jokes I’ve ever heard,’ he softly continued, ‘worse than Mikhail, if you can believe it. We used to… We used to watch those horrible hospital tv shows together every Sunday night when Nadya wasn’t home. We would rank all the male doctors from most to least attractive… We never settled on a winner.’

His voice finally trailed off and so did his gaze, glossy eyes trailing over the concrete floor and settling on a small stain near Viktor’s feet.

‘I’m sorry, this is- this is probably too soon, I didn’t mean-’

‘No such thing as too soon.’ Soothing, still, despite it all, like the strong hand he reached out and rested reassuringly on Vitali’s shoulder.. ‘You’ve had to carry that with you for years. Through all of this.’

He had.

Not at any point in time had Vitali stopped seeing Matvey as his father.

‘It feels like a lifetime ago,’ he mumbled, and his eyes fluttered shut when Viktor stepped forward and pulled him in for a hug, a sense of comfort washing over him and taking away any worries he’d had when he had entered the shop.

‘You think things will go back to how they used to be?’

‘No,’ Viktor replied without hesitation, but his voice lacked any hostility.

‘Absolutely not. And that’s for the best.’

The penthouse was not yet dark when Vitali came home, a couple of lights from the living room dimly illuminating the hallway leading up to the front door. A welcoming sight; his years in solitude had not done him well and Vitali would be forever glad to no longer have to live alone.

Mikhail and Vincent were curled up on the couch together under a blanket, quietly laughing about a joke one of them had made. The TV was still on, and Vitali’s eyes trailed over the coffee table- drinks and the remnants of snacks scattered across the marble tabletop.

Movie night. He had missed it a lot in the past few months.

‘Hey baby,’ Vincent said as Vitali walked closer and he reached out to gently grab both of Vitali's hands to drag him on the couch next to him. ‘How’d it go?’

‘Good,’ Vitali answered, leaning in to press a soft, slightly hesitant kiss on the corner of Vincent’s mouth. ‘Good, I think. He’s at the safehouse, everything is settled. For now.’

A short pause, as he sucked in a shallow breath and took a moment to scan both their faces. Vincent had not stopped smiling since he had entered, still looking up at him with a sleepy look in his eyes; but Mikhail refused to make eye contact, visibly biting the inside of his cheek as he instead played with Vincent’s hair. He was notably holding back all of his tics.

‘And here?’ Vitali quietly asked, gaze lingering on Mikhail a little longer until he finally looked up to answer.

‘Rogue called,’ he said. ‘Council has…mostly calmed down by now. The fake profile and “evidence” was enough to convince them and- well, streets are mostly back to normal. Which is really all they ever wanted in the first place.’

‘No ties to me? Or my-’ He stopped to swallow his words. ‘Or to Matvey?’

‘None at all,’ Vincent replied, and carefully brushed some of Vitali’s hair out of his face. ‘Don’t expect an apology from them, but- it’s over now.’

Vitali huffed. ‘All I ever wanted.’

It would do him good to finally no longer have to deal with them. The feeling of their eyes on his back had been a constant annoyance throughout the whole ordeal and all of that could have so easily been prevented if they had simply listened to him from the start.

But Vitali found it was best not to dwell on the Council’s behavior and decisions for too long. As Vincent rightfully said- expecting an apology would be as stupid as expecting to get any financial compensation or support from them for the resources and supplies lost along the way.

At least it would secure his spot out of their direct line of fire during the next Council meeting, whenever that would be. The thought alone already made him shudder- he’d never been all too fond of the gatherings in the first place, but they had gotten significantly worse since, well, recent developments.

‘What about Rogue?’ he finally asked, pushing his own thoughts aside.

‘Mostly just sounded very relieved that it is all over now,’ Mikhail said, shrugging as he grabbed the TV remote to turn off the still rolling credits from whatever movie they’d watched. ‘Will you- Will you go see her?’

‘Did she say anything?’

‘No.’

‘Then I should probably just stay out of her way for a while. Best for all of us.’

That finally got a smile out of Mikhail, glancing over to look at Vincent who had kept his mouth shut but was furiously nodding and Vitali gave him a playful poke in his side, causing his boyfriend to snort and accidentally headbutt Mikhail in the arm in his delayed attempt at dodging.

‘You know what we should do?’ Mikhail asked, playful sparkle in his eyes as he jokingly pulled Vincent closer to hold him in a headlock. ‘Go on vacation. Get out of town for a little bit.’

‘Hmm- Sounds lovely,’ Vitali said with a smile, kicking off his shoes and pulling his legs up on the couch as he moved closer to the both of them and allowed Vincent to drag him in for a hug. ‘Where to?’

‘Panam and Judes are going back to Arizona for a while, meet up with Saul and the others there,’ Vincent said, holding on to Mikhail’s arm with one hand and placing the other on Vitali’s waist. ‘Could go with ‘em- or the east coast.’ He glanced up to look at Mikhail. ‘You still got family there?’

‘I do.’ His eyes briefly lingered on Vincent before moving back to Vitali, and a few soft clicks of his tongue left his lips before he continued. ‘They still want to meet you, by the way.’

Vitali softly smiled back and lowered his gaze, chest tightening a little as Mikhail spoke. He had often mentioned his extended family in their childhood; had often asked Vitali to come with him one day, and how Vitali had wanted to but had never been allowed to travel outside of town because of Nadya and her general dislike of his friend.

Things are different now. She’s not here.

He couldn’t help but wonder where she was, though. If she was doing well.

‘I’m going to bed, important day tomorrow at office.’

Mikhail finally let go of Vincent and kissed him on the head, then reached out to ruffle Vitali’s hair- receiving a fake groan in return as response- and he leaned in to give him a hug, hands on the back of Vitali’s head and running in circles on his back as Vitali dropped his head in the crook of Mikhail’s neck and briefly closed his eyes.

Everything is fine. You’ve not ruined anything.

Mikhail gave him a kiss on his temple and then finally got up from the couch, stretching and yawning before making his way toward the hallway on their left.

‘Good night, you two.’

‘Night,’ Vitali replied in unison with Vincent, who immediately mumbled ‘jinx’ after it and instantly received another poke between his ribs from Vitali. He giggled and shuffled closer, pressing his face against Vitali’s shoulder as he carefully wrapped his arms around his waist.

‘Took you long to get home,’ he murmured against Vitali’s neck, softly pressing his lips against his skin.

‘Had some things to do,’ Vitali absently replied and hooked his arm under Vincent’s leg to pull him on his lap, quickly glancing into the hallway to check if Mikhail was out of sight.

‘Nothin’ I wouldn’t do, I hope?’

Not a surprising question- and Vitali could not blame him. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered it; stopping by a bar on the way there, or on the way home, couple shots wouldn’t hurt him- on a surface level, at least- and at least it would cause his anxiety to settle down for the time being.

But he couldn’t do that to Vincent. Not again.

‘I went to see Vitya,’ he quietly explained himself, gently cupping Vincent’s cheek to make him look up at him, and gave him another soft smile. ‘That’s all.’

Vincent blinked a few times and then leaned in to Vitali’s touch, cheek pressing against his palm- slightly turned his head to kiss it, before turning back and gently fixing the collar of Vitali’s shirt for him. Keeping his hands busy; he was nervous.

‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, one of his fingers hooking into Vitali’s shirt a little bit and brushing past his collarbone. ‘Shouldn't've doubted you.’

‘Hey,’ Vitali gently interrupted him and placed his hands over Vincent’s, waiting until his attention was back on him. ‘It’s okay. I get it.’

‘No, no- it’s- I just-’

‘All of it.’

He almost startled himself with it; but it was the truth.

No amount of attempting to justify himself and his actions would take away the fact it made sense people had started to doubt him somewhere along the way. If anything, Vitali’s stubbornness had made everything ten times more complicated than had been necessary and he was surprised it hadn’t caused any bigger arguments to break out in all the time that had passed.

‘My family has always been complicated,’ he quietly continued, lowering his gaze and softly running his thumbs over Vincent’s hands. ‘I- I don’t expect you to ever understand and I know what it looks like from the outside. I do. And I can’t blame you at all.’

‘Vito-’

‘I don’t know if I’m making a mistake with this.’ A brief pause, a shaky inhale. ‘I don’t know what is going to happen next, what he will do. What I will do. But I just- I couldn’t kill him.’

‘I know, baby.’

Vincent carefully cupped Vitali’s face in both his hands and leaned in- a brief moment of hesitation, as if they’d been sent back in time and suddenly had only been together for maybe a month or two- and kissed him as sweetly as he always did, the familiar taste of his peach chapstick spilling into Vitali’s mouth as he pulled him closer.

Vitali would be lying if he said he hadn’t been scared he would never get to experience that ever again.

‘Suppose it was complicated for him too,’ Vincent quietly continued, slightly pulling back and brushing his nose past Vitali’s, ‘considering- well, you know. And… I won’t fully understand it, but I understand that. Can’t fuckin’ stand my piece of shit oldest brother but if I’d find him bleeding out I- I also- you know. A little different, of course, but- I get it. I do.’

‘I never meant for any of you to get dragged into all of this,’ Vitali mumbled, keeping his eyes closed as he softly pressed his lips against Vincent’s again. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You keep apologizing, but none of this is your fault. He started hunting you down- that’s on him.’

‘I should have dealt with things differently-’

‘How?’

Vincent pulled back a little further and Vitali finally opened his eyes, barely able to see his boyfriend through the blur of his own tears.

‘What would you have done differently if you could go back in time?’ Vincent asked, running his thumbs over Vitali’s cheeks. ‘What would you change?’

‘I would… I would’ve…’

He couldn’t finish his sentence.

‘Bit late, don’t you think? Or should I say early?’

Vitali’s eyes fluttered shut and he exhaled deeply, slowly dropping his head against the front door as he closed it with a soft click and reluctantly turned around to face his father- once again already dressed to leave for work, arms crossed in front of his chest.

‘They really wanted me to be there,’ he quietly mumbled in response, wincing slightly when Matvey reached out to grab his jaw and gently run his thumb past a large bruise on his cheek.

‘I can tell,’ he replied. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing for you to worry about.’

‘Are you alright, at least?’

Vitali clenched his jaw and could not force an answer out of himself.

He wouldn’t have done anything different. And he knew. And he knew that Vincent knew.

Perhaps foolish, or naive- but it had paid off in the end, as messy as it had been. Death happened each and every day in Night City and even fixers weren’t safe from that; a somewhat morbid reminder of that to mercenaries and the Council alike, and if anything it had finally woken them up after who knows how long of being so certain of their own untouchability.

Who knows how it all would have ended, had Vitali done something different? Who would have lived? Who would have died? He was no longer sure what had caused the dominos to fall in the first place- and there had been no way to prevent it from happening, years of events setting it in motion out of itself- and no one had been able to predict where the chain reaction would lead them in the end.

‘Family’s fuckin’ complicated,’ Vincent said, kissing Vitali on the forehead before getting up and walking over into the kitchen to pour the both of them a drink. ‘I’m just glad that it’s over now. And that you’re still with me.’

Vitali absently nodded, gaze wandering off to the large windows along the wall behind him, looking out over the balcony and the pier of Wellsprings, the vast ocean blending in with the dark horizon far outside the city.

And for a brief second, he could feel his entire body freeze, eyes locked onto the darkness ahead and breath caught in his throat; it felt familiar, too familiar, swallowed whole by the endless void with the feeling of eyes staring right back at him, waiting, expectantly.

‘Hey.’

Vincent had walked back to him, concerned frown decorating his brow as he sat back down next to him and gently cupped his cheek to force his gaze away from the ocean and back on him, the warmth of the light above the coffee table causing the uncomfortable feeling in his chest to settle down- but it did not vanish entirely.

‘I love you,’ Vitali quietly said, the words heavy in his mouth as he spoke and he could only barely stop a tear from escaping the corner of his eye when Vincent smiled at him and pulled him closer to his chest, the warmth of his arms finally making Vitali feel at peace again, and at home.

‘And I love you, baby. Not ever gonna change.’

Life in Night City moves fast.

Its endless crowds are an overwhelming presence during every hour of the day, under the sweltering west coast sun as well as under the blinding city lights long after dark. An ever-growing playground for corporations, fixers and fortune seekers alike- the city of dreams that swallows everyone who does not know what they’re getting themselves into whole; without remorse, and without hesitation.

A city where tragedy strikes too often for people to concern themselves with it anymore- most have grown numb after years and years of hearing the same news on the radio, and most know it’s a waste of energy to even try to care. Cut off one head and two take its place; and one seed planted can infect many at once, leaving the source of the problem nearly irrelevant in comparison to what has grown in the meantime.

Impossible to predict and impossible to control. Many have tried- many have failed- from corporations attempting to get inside people’s heads and control their every move from within to a single man taking matters into his own hands to try and rid the streets of its corruption, starting with its intricate network of fixers and mercenaries as a whole.

But in all of that, there are still people who do care. Who choose each other over and over again- who choose life, over and over again- who refuse to be stripped from their humanity and hold on to it as tightly as they hold on to each other through it all.

The city itself might never change. But people can.

That’s what makes us human after all, isn’t it?

#nuclearwriting #rbs much appreciated :) <3 #well. there it is. final chapter. cries #literally nauseous as i'm making this post and also as i'm posting this post i'm so. ough! it's over now huh!! god #i won't ramble about it too much in the tags because i don't want to spoil the experience so i'll make another post about it all later #but for now: thank you all so much for your support through this whole thang i'm very thankful for it <33 #hope you enjoyed the ride as much as i did :)#ch:the broker

15 notes · View notes

yundk · 10 months

Text

(Click on the date to read full story). The quintessential image of Cuba is its classic cars, bright pastel colored American Ford Chevrolets from the 1950s that line its streets. Many say it’s as if Cuba is stuck in the past, that walking down the cobblestone streets takes you back in time. Time here is a paradox. Cuba feels incomplete, as if it’s waiting for something to happen. And there is a lot of waiting. Hours long wait to get your monthly food rations, lines to fill gasoline rounding the block, huddling around the scarce public wifi spots for abysmally slow internet. Life is slow, and while all the Cubans I’ve met take pride in this leisure approach to life, they are wickedly quick in jumping at any opportunity to make a living. Like the rubble that scatter the dilapidated buildings of the city, they are just waiting for a chance to be of service, to lend a helping hand to a neighbor, or to show the next tourist around their glorious city for a few dollars. The people of Cuba epitomize the complexity of the country. Trapped in limbo, yet ready to spark at any moment.

The hustle is real. The scarcity is real. I’ve never been to a place that’s as hard to find basic goods, even food, as here. Supermarkets are virtually nonexistent. Corner bodegas empty out as soon as they are stocked. Cubans receive a monthly ration, a scant package consisting of a few pounds of meat, several pounds of rice and beans, a liter of cooking oil, and some bars of soap and basic necessities. Any extra needs to be purchased at the government owned stores that only take foreign currency and charge exorbitant prices. $4.50 for a can of tuna when the average monthly stipend is roughly $20! This is why everywhere I go, people are asking, change money? Cubans hoard foreign currency, because simply put, their survival depends on it. As does the country. Cuban pesos can’t be used even in their own grocery stores, and no country does business with Cuban pesos. I witness first hand the impact of the US embargo on the Cuban people. The situation is dire. The shelves are empty, no food, no medicine, no toilet paper (we kind of know what that’s like). All import and distribution is tightly controlled by the government, and this has created the black market, which all Cubans have a hand in.

To any outsider, the black market doesn't look so different to any regular transaction that occurs in everyday life. It’s not trading goods in dark alleys. It’s not quick hand offs that only those looking for it would notice. Rather, it’s half open doorways of people’s homes selling beer and cigarettes. It’s a WhatsApp group for chicken legs, shoes, medicine, house appliances, pencils, clothes, cloves of garlic, internet access, whatever you can think of. It’s a complex system of bribes and separate record keeping that employees of both state- and private-run businesses partner in. Restaurants, the most common of private businesses, are only recently becoming more legalized under the country’s reluctant permitting to increased free enterprise. They have to compete in both the government market, with its heavy restrictions, and in the black market, where higher bids seal the deal. Although they are granted special authorization to stock a certain more amount of food, they frequently will have available only a limited portion of their menu, because they can’t gather all the ingredients. They are also essentially all for tourists, meaning that the food is supposed to be reserved for us visitors. Tourism has become the lifeline of country, as the country’s main exports, sugar, rum, tobacco, coffee, are confined by sanctions and have consequently undergone severe disinvestment. Tourists are catered to, as people’s livelihood depends on us, more so here than anywhere else I’ve been. It gives me perspective on why so many are extra pushy when they see us in the streets. It’s the price of a tourist, but an incomparably small one compared to that of Cubans’.

Guanabacoa. The book I read before this trip, The Cubans: Ordinary Lives in Extraordinary Times, is based here. This is the cradle of AfroCuban culture, and where I had the blessing of being welcomed into the home of a babalao and partaking in a ritual to receive the protection of the Gods and the warriors of Santeria. Santeria is strikingly Cuban: Catholicism, imposed by Spanish conquest, molded by the resistance of African slaves, who understood God and saw His image through their African tradition. Cuban identity is inextricably intertwined with African identity, and Santeria is a proud testament to this history. It is a surreal feeling to walk the grounds of a place I only read about in books, that until just today was limited to my imagination. I came to Cuba to see, if only to catch a glimpse, of what life is like under a different political system in a specific time period. I am getting that, and more. No book could have prepared me for this.

After a few days, I needed respite from the chaos of Havana. I found solace in Trinidad, with its quaint, pebbled streets nestled in the hills of the Cuban countryside. In the road to the town, cows and horses frolick the grassy, unpaved sidewalks, and every several miles, a person all by their lonesome is standing with an outstretched hand hoping to sell a bag of mangos or a stalk of garlic. I always wonder how long they wait there, toasting in the sun with nothing to look at but miles of green fields and the occasional car that speeds by. From Havana, I took a colectivo with a fellow traveler from Finland, Maiju. We had been staying at the same hostel but had not crossed paths until today. She was joining in Trinidad some other friends she had met at the hostel, and I was soon integrated into their group. I love meeting other solo backpackers. They are some of the most open, free spirited people I know, with a passion for life that is wonderfully contagious. One night, we were all walking from dinner to our next compulsory destination, a salsa club, and I was talking to another traveler from Holland, Lief. She shared with me how she had dreamt of this exact moment: strolling down the streets, dimly lit by orange hued lights hanging from the doors of colonial style houses, people gathered around the main square singing and dancing, the rhythm of salsa buzzing in the air. I vividly remember one particular day, I was thirteen, and I told myself that one day I will go travel to another land, somewhere far enough that I would have to take a plane. I will see another place, live a life larger than what I had experienced so far. Today, like Lief, I am living my dream.

Here in Cuba, rum flows freely and the city comes alive with music when the sun goes down. The night, with the help of alcohol of course, liberates the spirit, and the difficulties of the day are put to rest. The expression music heals rings true here like nothing else. Dancing is catharsis from the struggles of everyday life, and people stay up hours past midnight like there’s no tomorrow. It is one of the purest expressions of living in the moment that I have witnessed. This is probably the most significant lesson I have learned throughout my years of traveling. I never know when I will have the opportunity to come back to this place, if ever. Maybe this is the last time I will get to walk these streets, see the sweat drops forming on my arms from this humid air, dance way past my bedtime. Right now is the only time I am this age, at this particular chapter of my life. Each moment is to savor, because there may not be another. In Cuba, in the States, wherever I am, be present and exist in every experience without expectation that there will be a next time. Enjoy it as if it were my last.

What was supposed to be a couple days in Trinidad became a week. The friends I made here convinced me more than once to extend my stay. We all became enamored with this place, with its surrounding nature, slow living during the day, and riveting energy at night. We chased waterfalls, rode horses through remote villages, took hours long lunches, dipped in beaches that were uncomfortably warm, and danced from one venue to another. We shared conversations about life and about how traveling has changed our lives, how it has opened our minds and our hearts to embracing all that this world has to offer, to accepting its ups and downs, to appreciating all people’s stories. Zoe from Australia described the one word she would use to describe her experience in Cuba: surrender. Things rarely go according to plan. You scramble to get dollars and Euros from departing travelers because cards don’t work and many websites can’t be accessed without a VPN. Your bike gets a flat tire on a remote dirt road, and you need to find a hitchhike. Taxis fall through at the last minute, or you sit on the side of the road blasting house music with your taxi driver, waiting for the storm to pass because the windshield wipers don’t work. You decide to stay another day then another day when you had planned only a few days here. Once you surrender and lean into the faith that at the end, things will all work out, you can truly appreciate the Cuban experience.

The best about traveling is the people you meet along the way. The worst part of traveling is not food poisoning, losing your money or passport, or getting stranded in the middle of nowhere hoping for a kind pickup truck to give you a hitchhike. It’s the inevitable goodbye that comes with finding each other in a different land, bonding over this experience that is uniquely ours to share, and at the end of it all, each of us returning back to our own, different countries. We wish we could prolong this moment, have a little more time to create more memories, but time doesn’t stop. So we enjoy our time together as much as we can, because we don’t know when we’ll next see each other, if ever.

Cuba is a place of wonder. I’ve seen a mechanic use the aluminum of a Sprite can to conduct heat for vulcanizing rubber. Motorcycles turned into mini pick ups, guitar strings pulled from spare electric wires, a tuner adjusted by a bar and screws. Rice bags refashioned into handbags or advertising signs, beer cans as sieves for making jam, canons reused as road blockers. In Cuba, “hay que inventar,” and the ingenuity of making something out of nothing exemplifies the vitality of the Cuban spirit. No matter the situation, Cubans will always find a way. It may take some waiting, but what emerges is nothing short of miraculous.

0 notes

queenshelby · 3 years

Text

A NEW WORLD - PART FIVE

A QUIET PLACE 2 FANFIC

Pairing: Emmett x Fem!Reader

Warning: Angst, Gore, Death, Aliens, Violence, Movie Spoilers, etc…

***

Day 2

The entire night, you searched for your brother. You looked everywhere around the baseball field and in the main street. He was nowhere to be found and, at around 2am, you decided to slowly make your way home in the hope that he would be there.

The journey home took you two hours on foot and, when you finally arrived, most of the house was destroyed.

You walked inside only to find your mother’s lifeless body on the floor, torn apart by the creatures. You wanted to scream but covered your mouth, trying not to make a sound.

You dropped to the floor, tears streaming down your face as you tried to collect your thoughts which is when you heard the floorboards crack upstairs.

You quickly stood up before making your way upstairs. From the distance, you could hear one of the creatures roar and you knew you had to be quick.

The first room you went into quietly was Lucas’s room and, sure enough, he was there, hiding behind his bed, shaking in fear.

‘It’s alright’ you indicated with your lips as you hugged him.

In the same moment, you heard a loud bang downstairs and you knew what this meant. One of the creatures was in the house.

Quickly, you indicated to Lucas to hide beneath the study desk with you by his side but, as you scooped beneath it, Lucas accidently hit is head, causing a pencil case to drop onto the floor.

The creature came roaring upstairs and barged through the wall, tearing down the door as you and Lucas closed your eyes, holding each other close.

Lucas moved in front of you instinctively and there was no room for you to move. You knew it didn’t matter as the creature would kill you both and, at least, you would die together you thought.

To your surprise, as the creature approached and tore away the study desk, Lucas pushed you against the back wall and faced the monster.

It was close and it was clear to you that it knew that you were there. But it didn’t attack. Its head moved from one side to the other until it nudged Lucas, making a strange sound before turning around and disappear.

Your eyes widened and your breathing slowed back down. You were unsure what just happened. Why didn’t the creature kill you and Lucas?

You looked at Lucas full of questions and he lifted up his shirt, revealing a large scratch on his abdomen. It wasn’t deep, but it was visible and it clearly was from one of the creatures.

You indicated to Lucas that you would need to leave and he nodded in agreement.

Reaching for one of the pens and some paper scattered on the floor, you decided to communicate with your brother in writing.

‘Joe Spencer’s House. Do you know where it is? you wrote on the paper, knowing that Joe Spencer’s wife was a teacher at Lucas’s school and has provided free tutoring lessons to Lucas in the past when he fell behind.

Lucas nodded and you indicated to him that you would need to pack your bags with anything that could be useful.

After filling your bags with food, water, Lucas’s medication, a map and two torches you walked downstairs to the shed to grab your late stepfather’s hunting rifle and some ammunition before making your way to Joe Spencer’s house.

Joe Spencer had told you several years ago that he was preparing for Dooms Day and everyone laughed at him at the time when he spent $40,000 American Dollars to build a bunker. He believed that it was just a matter of time until the apocalypse would happen and it appears that he was right.

You knew he completed it and stocked it up with food, water and an entire Amory and this was where you would be heading. According to him, the bunker contained enough stock for a family of four to survive for an entire year and was safe from mild radioactivity which meant that it would also likely be sound proof.

***

When you arrived at Joe Spencer’s house following a six-hour journey, you tried to locate the bunker.

It wasn’t easy as it wasn’t clearly visible. He owned several acres and it could be hidden anywhere on his land.

You decided to look through the cabinets in his large office inside the house and, eventually, you found plans from when the bunker was built, allowing you to locate it on the acreage.

How you would get inside the bunker, you did not know but you knew that you had to try.

Just as you were looking through the plans, you could hear the trigger of a gun close to your head.

You turned around to see Maria, Joe Spencer’s wife and, when she realised who you were, she lowered the gun and indicated to you that she was sorry.

You nodded and pointed to the plan and she simply nodded back before handing you a large stack of books one of which was entitled ‘Basic Sign Language’.

Carefully, you carried the books downstairs while Lucas carried your backpacks.

It took you less than thirty minutes to arrive at the bunker and Maria had the passcode to get inside.

There were two doors. One hidden beneath a large tree forcing you to climb down on a ladder and the other was a steel door leading to the facility itself.

When you walked inside, you immediately noticed another young woman sitting on one of the beds. You didn’t recognise her but she greeted you by your first name.

‘Thank you so much’ you whispered to Marie after saying hello to the young woman.

Marie simply nodded before asking you whether you had seen her husband Joe.

‘I am sorry Marie’ you said after you nodded and she immediately broke out in tears.

‘He saved my life, I am so so sorry about what happened to him’ you said, taking her into your arms which is when you learned that the young woman in the bunker was their niece Leanne, Emmett’s youngest sister.

Whilst you knew that Emmett was related to the Spencers, as was everyone in town in one way or another, you couldn’t remember the last time you’ve seen Leanne.

‘I taught all three of you school at some point’ Marie said, trying hard to think about something enjoyable for once before boiling the kettle.

Over the next few hours, you discussed what was happening and how to approach the current situation.

Marie and Leanne were reasonably forthcoming and immediately started to take inventory in order to determine how long you would be able to survive together at the bunker. They both were hopeful that this situation would be resolved soon by the US Army.

You, however, were less forthcoming with them and decided to keep the fact that you were pregnant a secret for now. In addition, you didn’t consider it to be wise to tell them about Lucas’s gift. The creatures weren’t interested in him and you didn’t know why but what you did know was that, if anyone else knew, it might put him into danger.

After debating for hours, it was decided by all of you to remain at the bunker so long as necessary and until, hopefully, you receive a signal from the US Army with further instructions.

NEXT PART: DAY 756

Tag List (Cillian):

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall @elenavampire21 @hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang @0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy @littlewierdalien

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph @fookingshelby

123 notes · View notes

otp-holic · 3 years

Text

The one place (where something happened) (A03)

“In your life there are a few places, or maybe only the one place, where something happened, and then there are all the other places.” Alice Munro. (or the one where they receive a letter from a familiar name and we go into 4Ks of fluff around a lost afternoon in France)

4K. Lamely explicit at one point. Fanfic + Pictures Inside. Trigger for FLUFF as the main plot. Part of the Never let us lose what we have gained series (AO3)

This was supposed to be a manip with 200 words of bantering and it's now 4Ks of fluff with a few pictures. I've decided to leave them inside the cut because I feel they work better with its context there. I'm sorry for the hassle, but I really hope you give this a chance... unless you have cavities, only like fics with amazing plots or are allergic to shameless fluff.

Please do not repost the pictures, I know this is futile, but… I try :)

DAGUERROTYPE, France 1944 Private Collection.

Steve is cooling down from his very early run, enjoying the feeling of the pink sunrise looming over the awakening Brooklyn streets as he walks the last couple of blocks on the way home, when his phone beeps.

“Check your actual mailbox, we dropped something for you there. I think you should appreciate us making it old-fashioned just for you, grandpas!”

Steve smiles at Sam’s text and as soon as he arrives at their building he snaps a picture of the very common and flat envelope with “Barnes&Rogers” scribbled on top of a Stark Logo, to send along his response.

“Nice try, but this is inaccurate. A letter would have never made its way to us without an address or stamp. We’ll send you a proper thank you card to show you how it’s done.”

He can’t help but chuckle at his own joke rereading the text while he opens the door, and when he looks up from his phone and into the kitchen, he is received by a sleepy Bucky looking at the coffee machine like he looks at Steve during their most soft and embarrassingly cheesy moments.

“You love that thing more than you love me, confess it.”

“In the mornings? Yes. I don’t even like you in the mornings most of the time,” he answers matter of factly. “Want some?”

Steve playfully wiggles an eyebrow.

“No way. Your sweaty self is tempting, but coffee smells better. I might join you in the shower later.” Bucky offers him one of the two cups he has poured and he notices the envelope Steve is holding. “What is that?”

“We’ve got mail!” He hands it to Bucky. “I have no idea what's on it, but Sam texted me to say they had something delivered to our mailbox and there it was. Open it.”

Bucky leaves the cup on the counter, face sparked with a curiosity that makes him look twenty-one (and Steve weak on the knees), and goes for it.

The content is a bit underwhelming at first glance: Another envelope, white, no Stark logo, but topped with a bright green post-it with a note on Pepper’s script.

“This got to me via PR. We analyzed it and checked with the source (no peeking, I swear) and it seems legit. With that return address, it’s likely to arouse your interest. Love, P.”

Bucky tears off the post-it and the letter is revealed to be addressed to Steve Rogers at the Stark Tower, but it is when they turn it around when everything goes still for a second.

The return address is some street in Marseille, but what has Steve’s mouth dry and Bucky’s hand trembling just a bit is the combination of the place and the name written on top: Emmanuelle Jaques Dernier.

“Boom?”, Bucky says, trying to cut through their heavy hearts and taking Steve’s hand. It’s a terrible terrible joke, but Dernier would have loved it and he grins.

“That’s a terrible terrible joke,” Steve verbalizes, “but I think at least we’ve reached the same conclusion.”

“Elementary, my dear Steve,” Bucky answers as he opens the second envelope, only to reveal a folded letter and yet another envelope. “It’s a fucking vault of paper!”

Steve takes the letter from him, unfolds it, and quickly scans it (normal office paper, printed, hand-signed) before he starts reading it out loud to Bucky’s undivided attention.

“Dear Mr. Rogers,

My name is Emmanuelle Dernier and I am the great-grandson of Jaques Dernier of the Howling Commandos.

First, let me tell you that we all in our family grew up with amazing stories and praise for you, Sergeant Barnes, and the rest of the team. I never got to meet my great-grandfather or any of them (you), but I’ve always felt like I did.

In fact, that’s the ultimate reason behind this letter: I ached to honor him and I’ve been putting in order all his remaining letters, pictures, and memories so they don’t get lost forever, and there are many things I’m discovering through this journey. So many pictures and tiny details… and amongst them, you and the rest of the Commandos appear at the most random and memorable moments. Nothing that’s going to make it into history books, more like the stories my grandpa used to share with us over and over again, those important tidbits that make him more human.

Anyway, I was going through the pictures he kept when I came across some war photos that didn’t seem to match the 40s timeframe. Typical daguerreotypes from the 20s in a very bad state, probably taken with a camera from the era in 1944 and developed on a later date by somebody who clearly didn’t master the technique.

They were in a very bad state and hidden inside an envelope that said “Terribly drunk soldiers in France making idiots of ourselves in unique and creative ways. Fun evening, horrible hangover. About 20 miles west of the Maginot Line. Autumn ‘44”. I’m attaching a photocopy of that, I hope you can understand my decision to keep the original.

After restoring the daguerreotypes with some experts, all I got were five very bad pictures with silhouettes of people apparently having fun…. but there was one that got a lot better in the cleaning process that feels important somehow. I’m sending the original, as well as the restored version I got.

I, of course, don’t have the whole context, but I hope it brings back a good memory. My great-grandpa might be in the picture, but I don’t think this one belongs to my family or to a museum.

Thank you for your service, I really hope this letter finds its way to you.

E.Dernier.”

“I can’t believe… Steve, most days I’m convinced that day and that place are a figment of my imagination,” Bucky smiles, remembering. “When I think of a moment of pure joy during the war, I think about that afternoon in France, and it always feels unreal. A bubble of air and laughter while we were so surrounded by death.”

Steve nods, reminiscing about that warm and humid September morning when they arrived at yet another abandoned and destroyed little village, this one about twenty miles west of the Maginot Line. They had orders to lie low and wait for twenty-four hours before they started the maneuver to wipe another Hydra base off the map, and that little town was perfect for that.

Among bomb debris and fallen walls, they found one small building miraculously standing next to the remains of the church, so they decided to set camp under a roof for a change since the weather was being a little flickery with the rain, and they had the rare luxury of time.

The inside of the tiny house was as unusual as the outside: nothing was destroyed beyond being dusty and worn by time, and everything they found (furniture, kitchenware, and even fabrics) belonged more to Steve and Bucky’s early childhoods than to 1944, a living museum frozen in time.

Only it was not a museum, but the parish house left untouched and non-raided: old-fashioned clothes, outdated church books, yellowing clergy collars, and, of course, the wine cellar. Oh, that wine cellar… the havoc it unleashed.

“I remember the absolute excitement when Falsworth found all those bottles of old unscathed mass wine from the parish,” Steve brings his memory to words, looking at Bucky, “I’m still a little convinced that we are going to hell for drinking them.”

“Not for that, probably, but it was a wonder nobody died on the spot of wine poisoning, it tasted like sweet vinegar, ugh.”

“But it did his part, right? Took our minds off things; got us drunk, bold and silly.” Steve answers.

“Apparently not all of us,” Bucky says very seriously, looking at Steve.

“Technicalities… I got drunk by proxy. Seeing you all so happy made me giddy and tipsy, too.”

“I came and went… I remember being a little surprised at the clarity of my thoughts at some moments there when some of the guys were basically drooling on the floor. Now I understand, of course.”

Steve squeezes his hand, not much to be said there.

They were already way too drunk by the early afternoon, drinking to the sound of a sudden rainstorm pouring outside. All of them scattered across the small dusty living room and its adjoining kitchen while they went through all the bottles of wine they had been able to find. Cheering for the foregone priest every time somebody raised a glass, and laughing as if there were no ruins or war on the other side; just silly men (boys, really) laughing their hearts out.

“Earth to Steve… I don’t know about you, but I’m dying to see what the hell that envelope is hiding. Especially now that we know about its time stamp.”

“I’m sorry, me too! Gabe drunkenly handling that old camera and those glass plaques the way he did? I’m honestly impressed that he was able to take any pictures at all,” he muses. “Shit, is it weird that I’m nervous?”

“I’m gonna save us the bantering because I’m nervous, too,” Bucky answers in all sincerity. “Truth is, Steve, I remember everything about that day.”

It’s a new admission, a newly opened door for them because for some reason, they have never talked about that peaceful surreal afternoon, and Steve nods in recognition as he silently goes for the envelope one-handed, not wanting to let go of Bucky’s hand because his surface is way cooler than his wrenching insides. Maybe the picture is an overexposed french wall but maybe…

The photo he extracts from the envelope is clearly the original and damaged one Emmanuelle specified in his letter. Anybody else looking at it would see nothing beyond Dernier’s blurry profile, but since Steve and Bucky were there when this was taken, they know exactly what moment Steve is holding in his hand.

“Buck,…” is all Steve can say, struck by the blurry keepsake.

Later in the afternoon when they had already consumed most of the wine and there was not a single coherent thought left in the room, one of the guys took the parish books and besottedly announced that there was a wedding set for today… thirty years ago. Alcohol fueled a goofy idea that escalated at the speed of light, with Morita saying they were going to a wedding because they deserved a celebration, Dernier confessing that he had once considered becoming a priest, and Dum-dum bringing out all the old fashioned clothes from the wardrobe and deciding they were getting nice and clean for the festivities.

“That’s clearly Dernier in the picture killing it in his priest role, right?” Bucky says, half smiling and interrupting Steve’s thoughts. “You know, I went all-in with that fake wedding party. I was laughing to tears when I saw you put on that ridiculously long and ill-fitting jacket from the 10s, feeling weightless and silly for the first time since sailing off, and God knows we all deserved that. And it was all safe and light-hearted until fucking Morita decided you had to be the groom, and...”

“Were you jealous because I won the dashing groom competition?”

Steve’s attempt at a joke is weak, but there’s truth behind it: Morita chose Steve as the groom (“Cap, you are the most dashing and the least drunk”) to a chorus of excited voices cheering for him. Somebody else, most likely Dum-Dum, chose the rest of the roles (Sarge, best man duty; Jones, camera; Morita, keep the wine flowing; the rest of you, misbehave!) and in the blink of an eye, they were all going outside laughing under a light rain, and about to celebrate Steve’s fictional wedding to nobody.

“How could I be jealous?” Bucky cuts in. “Do you remember all you said to me that afternoon? During World War II and in front of a battalion of men?”

“I was drunk.”

“Fuck you!” Bucky disentangles his hand from Steve’s to use both of them to hold Steve’s face and kiss him with violence. “Tell me. Do you remember what you said?”

As if he could ever forget. He can recall every step he took from the house to the makeshift wedding spot amidst the trees where his best man (looking dapper even in that ludicrous jacket) was laughing along Dernier. He can still smell the petrichor, can still sense the blush coloring his cheeks while hoping nobody noticed and can still hear the beating of his heart when Bucky handed him a battered umbrella (“You don’t deserve to get rained on your wedding day, punk”) and a fucking ring made out his shoelaces (“You’ll have to buy something a little more permanent.”). And then…

“Dernier started the ceremony and he wanted to know if I had somebody in mind and I said ‘of course’.” He replays, his voice barely a whisper. “I said I’d had my eyes on a brown-haired Brooklynite since before I could remember. I said that I was pretty sure those blue eyes were set on mine too and that hopefully those eyes would be set enough to want to marry me even if I had never dared to ask.”

He’s been holding Bucky’s gaze the whole time, and he’s far from over yet, but he needs to fucking breathe before he goes on. Neither of them has moved a muscle for the past minute.

“Then he asked me to repeat the wedding vows after him and…”

“And you said Buck, right?”, Bucky interrupts, voice winded. “You fucking whispered I take you, Buck, as my lawful wedded husband till the end of the line. I heard, Steve. Even if the rest of the world didn’t, I did. But you never said anything, so I always deemed it impossible, a product of the corniest nook of my mind trying to outweigh all those bad things, because not even you could be as bold, reckless, and mushy as to do that,…it’s my fucking fault, I should have known better!”

“Not completely reckless, pal. I was scared shitless as I said those words, but what else could I do? You were right by my side about to put a ring on my finger as my “best man”, everyone, including you, supposedly drunk past recollection, and everybody else too far away to hear my whispers. It was such an easy choice in the end because truth should always win over fear. And those vows were. The truth.”

“You have always been too honest for your own good, Rogers,” Bucky is breathless and exasperated and goes for his mouth again, bringing in all he (they) couldn’t in 1944. “You destroyed me, Steve. My knees were as weak as a teenager’s in front of his first crush. I wanted to kiss you so badly when I heard you say all that there in the open… and I couldn’t even acknowledge it.”

“I know. And for what it's worth, I really thought you didn’t remember.”

It is too much. Is it normal to feel this much? Steve would blame it on the serum enhancements, but he was already overwhelmed at 16, so that’s clearly not the answer.

He craves, no, he needs touching, grounding, closer. Bucky. There’s too much space between them even if they are back to kissing like they would have that day in 44, and at any other time if their own lives wouldn’t have stolen those moments from them.

“It happened.” Bucky whimpers, biting on Steve’s lip who abandons his own stool to straddle him, both of them gasping in sync at the feeling of their cocks, hard against each other’s through their soft pants.

Bucky soon ups the stakes by carding his metal hand through Steve’s hair pulling his head backwards to help himself into that spot on his neck.

“Same two moles as when you were tiny, as when we were at that war... Your cute vampire bite. Favorite spot.” He licks on them with the tip of his tongue. Steve growls on cue and Bucky giggles. “Favorite chain reaction.”

“Buck, you cheater, you know what that does to me!” Steve cries out followed by Bucky’s evil chuckle.”Bed, couch, countertop,…I don’t care, but naked. Now. Stained pants due to heavy petting are too much of a trip down memory lane for me. Let me keep a bit of my dignity.”

Steve stands up liberating Bucky from his grip but aching at the loss of contact.

They are naked and making out in the middle of the kitchen in no time; Bucky steadily pushing him against the refrigerator while fiercely grinding against his crotch.

“Hey, ‘teve,” Bucky pants. “The way this is going, it’s my dignity now that's at risk. I don’t think I can make it further than the floor before I come.”

Steve groans into his mouth just at the thought and they start sliding to the floor the best they can until he’s a human blanket moving over Bucky. With no lube at hand, and no time, that’s their best option.

They kiss and kiss and kiss, his hands not leaving Bucky’s sweaty hair. Bucky’s hands on his ass, forcing their groins closer with one while he (almost absently) plays around his hole with the other, driving Steve crazy in the process. Dicks left to do their own thing through pressure and friction. Everything is working. And fast.

“Oh, fuck!” Bucky exclaims “Can you promise me all this stuff with the letter was real and not a long-con plan to assure your fragile masculinity that I love you more than I love that espresso machine?”

That. That silly unfunny excuse of a joke that screams Bucky all over is what pushes Steve all the way over the edge. He fucking laughs as he comes making absolutely embarrassing sounds, pressing their foreheads and noses together until it hurts, and shaking from head to toe without stoping his pressure on the stupid and smug man under him. His lover. His partner. His unofficial husband. His best friend.

His Buck.

“There’s still too much blood in your brain if you can play that dirty,” Steve states, placing one hand between them grabbing Bucky’s hard cock. “Let’s see if I can do anything about it.”

“Your hand, usually so helpful, but I was already following you after that sound you make when you come and laugh at the same time, shit, it always goes straight to my dick, I’m,…” he keeps talking with difficulty between breaths and moans until he leaves his speech unfinished coming all over Steve’s fist.

They kiss on the lips breathing into each other before Steve rolls over. They are sticky and panting in silence, spread on their kitchen’s floor, Steve’s shoulders crushed between Bucky’s and the dishwasher. Domestic bliss at its most literal.

One lavish fuck and two showers later they reemerge into the kitchen in search of something to eat: Bucky is in charge of the food today, while Steve cleans the mess they left a couple of hours ago.

He’s decluttering the counter when their damaged picture laying there puts a smile on his face but also reminds him of the restored version presumably still waiting inside the disregarded letter, so he grabs the envelope to retrieve its contents: one photocopy (from Dernier’s original writing), and the promised photo.

And it is restored. Everything is clear where it was blurry before: Dernier (so deep into his priest impersonation that he’s not even looking at them), the trees, the battered umbrella, the ridiculous jackets… and them.

“You had the nerve to call me reckless and mushy, Buck?” Steve laughs as he stares at the picture where a very young Bucky is about to put a ring on his finger with the least subtle lovestruck expression he’s ever seen (“and it’s for you”, his brain proudly reminds him) “Wow, you might as well be kissing me there, anything would be more subtle than this!”

“Don’t shame me, you punk, especially not when you were the one responsible for breaking my brain back then!” Bucky answers coming from behind and stealing the picture from his hands to scrutinize it. Goofy grin and raging blush quickly taking over his face. “But you’re one to talk, Cap. You are gazing at that shoelace’s ring as if I were handing you a diamond tiara!”

Steve laughs softly at that and moves his right hand to his pocket, feeling the weight of the little compass he had retrieved earlier from one of his drawers. He used to carry it with him everywhere for comfort, but he has a better option now.

“Didn't you know that shoelaces are forever?” He asks, taking the compass out of his pocket and holding it in both hands as he opens it, nudging Bucky with his elbow to get his attention.

Bucky is confused for an instant while he looks at his young face staring at them from inside the little box. Of course he knew that (he made fun of Steve for days and days) but Steve detects the change in his expression when he notices the other thing.

“Wow, you gigantic sap,” Bucky says, taking the compass out of his hands to double-check he is seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. “You saved my shoelace.”

He had. While they were all celebrating his wedding under the rain dancing to no music, he quietly slipped the little string off his finger and tied it to the most secure place he had back then.

“It’s not a shoelace, you jerk, it’s a symbol. A declaration.” He laughs, stealing the compass back to safely pocket it again.

“You are delusional,” Bucky snorts, kissing the top of his head. But he’s widely smiling and lost in thought as he goes back to their sandwiches.

Steve stays on the spot enjoying the peace in their silent companionship, his focus on the latest news showing up on his phone, the text he’s writing to Sam and the comforting sounds of Bucky moving around the kitchen.

“You might have married me, but I never actually married you.” Bucky blurts out of the blue a bit later, sitting by his side as he hands him a plate with a sandwich and some grilled greens on it. “Do you want mayo with that?”

“Uh?” Steve forgets all about the news and the text and looks at Bucky in confusion.

“Mayo, do you want some?” Bucky repeats nonchalantly.

“No mayo, thank you; but I was actually more interested in the other part, you know, that thing about marriage?”

Bucky looks him in the eye: earnest, blushing and with the same look of smug adoration he had on the picture.

“Oh, that part.” He jokes. “You apparently married me in 1944, but I never married you back. And I would like to.”

“Marry me?” Steve asks and Bucky visibly nods.

“I’m sorry for throwing the idea at you like this, books tell me I'm supposed to have candles, music, and a ring, but you showed me that restored picture and I couldn't stop thinking about it, about proof,” Bucky speaks uncharacteristically slow and very softly, voice trembling here and there while he claps his hand with Steve’s finger by finger for reassurance and as a distraction. “A single photo had the power to transform a moment that existed just as a made-up happy place inside my mind into something tangible and real. Something that would be tangible and real for anybody getting a hold on it and looking at our stupid faces.”

“So stealthy,” Steve says, and they both laugh together.

“Proof, Steve. I was slicing tomatoes and thinking how there’s so much evidence, thousands of files! out there proving that all the stuff that fuels my nightmares were real, but nothing solid about this. Us.” Bucky stops for a moment collecting his thoughts, still smiling even with the heavy subject he just dropped into the mix. “Sorry, I believe I put more time into these sandwiches than into thinking this all the way through so I’m…”

“Take your time, we’ve gone from mayo to marriage to nightmares in five minutes so don’t worry, you have me hooked here.”

Steve makes Bucky laugh again as he intended, and he feels their calloused laced fingers immediately squeezing closer.

“It’s stupid because it doesn’t change anything for us but,.. I don’t fucking know, Steve, I think that picture has messed up with my mind! I instantly found comfort in the idea of people finding facts beyond the nightmares now or in the future. An easy to understand, universal and oversimplified proof of how much I loved you and how much I was loved in return.” Bucky takes a breath and stares at him sporting a million-watt smile. “Marrying you,… I would really love that. And for real this time.”

“Ok, Buck.” Steve instantly replies, eagerness winning over thoughtful and heartfelt declarations. He tightens the grip on their joined hands to drive them to his lips and seals the easiest answer he’s ever had to give.

And it's done!Sorry for the cavities, for going on with the fic when it should have ended and for ending it where it might have had to keep going. It was painful and fun. I'm free!

50 notes · View notes

quazartranslates · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH121

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

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

-----

Chapter 121: The Dream of the Holy Nun (XI)

{cw: brief transmisogyny}

On this night, Qi Leren still dreamed, but it was a rare dream that wasn’t a nightmare. No, in a sense, it was a nightmare. The dream was like a movie that was played automatically. It began where he and Dr. Lu had entered the Novice Village, and then Su He appeared. They finished their mission and came to the Village of Dusk, then there was the Witchcraft Sacrifice, and then it jumped to the Castle. In his dream, he experienced the battle where he had defeated the crazy lady in the basement. When he tried to open the drawer with the laptop computer again, his dream came to an abrupt end.

Qi Leren, who had woken up in the middle of the night, was still in a daze. He turned over and went back to sleep. Then he dreamed of Ning Zhou in the Witchcraft Sacrifice. At that time, he still had a woman's appearance. They had intimate contact in the deserted underground cave and explored each other's bodies unscrupulously until…

In his dream, he felt something that shouldn't appear on a woman.

Qi Leren rolled up and sat on the bed in cold sweat. It was already bright out, and his biological clock rarely went on strike. Just as he groped for the watch on the pillow, he saw Ning Zhou sitting on the sofa by the window polishing his double knives.

Qi Leren got a kick and immediately woke up: "Morning... Morning."

Ning Zhou's line of sight paused for a second on his open T-shirt collar, then paused for a second on his sleepy face, nodded lightly, and moved away.

Qi Leren had encountered a little trouble. A normal male would encounter morning trouble beginning in puberty. Now he had two choices: just sit on the bed and wait until it goes away, or go to the bathroom to solve it by himself.

Considering that less than five meters away, there was his (incorrectly gendered) sex dream object, and the other party was wiping the blade with a cold face while his talking eagle stood on the back of the sofa watching him, his brain felt like it was overheating. Qi Leren felt that no matter which one he chose, he was a little ashamed. Now he could only pray that he hadn't made any wrong sounds when he’d been dreaming just now.

Because he was too nervous, he even thought about it. How would Ning Zhou solve this kind of trouble? He vaguely remembered that some religious doctrines not only prohibited premarital sex but even prohibited self-comfort, which was inhumane in multiple ways.

Just as his thoughts were spinning out of control, Ning Zhou suddenly put away his double knives and inserted them back into the sheaths on the outside of his thighs: "I'll get breakfast."

"Oh, good, good." Qi Leren breathed a sigh of relief and watched Ning Zhou leave the room with his black bird.

The trouble was solved. After breakfast, the four people got together again, studied the map of the Holy City Qi Leren had bought from Chen Baiqi, and discussed their actions for the next few days. Finally, they decided to take a general walk around the city now, and then go to investigate the old site of the Holy See.

The Holy City was still the Holy City. It still looked lively after being closed for more than 20 years. However, in some corners signs of the city’s decline could already be seen. Many houses had been abandoned except for those along main roads. It was said that after the demon invasion and the disaster of the new moon, the existing population of the Holy City was less than 10,000.

The streets were full of middle-aged men and women and some white-haired old people, but young men and women were rarely seen, especially children. The four people wandered around to inquire about the Holy City, and then set off to the former site of the Vatican.

"What did the Lord say yesterday? The vicinity of the Vatican was closed by a mysterious force and cannot be entered?" Dr. Lu asked, recalling the information he’d found in the castle yesterday.

Qi Leren responded, "That's what the passer-by said just now. They wanted to seek asylum from the Holy See, but they couldn't get in at all. The Lord's wife is a very devout believer and often prays near the Vatican, but she can't walk into it."

"Let’s go there and see," Su He said.

The former site of Holy City's Vatican was located on a hill on the north side of the city. The white stone buildings built around the mountain were still holy, but felt as if they were in a pool of stagnant water.

"This is a bit like a saint’s sanctuary," Dr. Lu sighed when he stood at the foot of the mountain and looked up.

By what he said, Qi Leren also felt a little similar.

Looking up, the verdant mountain forest was covered with a long ladder composed of white stone steps, extending upwards along the winding mountain road. There were many religious buildings along the way. Green and white constituted the most basic colours of this sanctuary, which shone under the blue sky and white clouds. The church at the top of the mountain seemed to have experienced a war. Half of the buildings had collapsed, but even if only the broken wall remained, it still looked holy and magnificent and fascinating.

In the past, was this the holy land in the eyes of believers?

"Sure enough, it’s closed." Su He stood on the steps and held out his hand, and his palm seemed to touch some strange barrier, ripples spreading from the position of his palm, filled with ominous black.

"The power of the Devil," Ning Zhou said with certainty as he also stepped forward.

"It is the power of the Devil. It seems that they closed the Vatican..." Su He thought for a moment and continued, "The Devil who led the demons to invade the human world for the first time in historical legends should be sealed here."

Dr. Lu's expression was distorted and he asked painfully, "We won't let it out by accident, will we?"

Su He smiled: "It shouldn’t be, because it’s said that the Devils’ inheritance is different from that of human beings. If the old Devil does not die, the new Devil will not be crowned and recognized by the Devils. By now the new Devil has been born. I’m afraid that the old Devil is really dead."

"You mean the three Devils of Power, Slaughter, and Fraud?" Qi Leren remembered that Su He once gave them a basic rundown. "But can three Devil Kings be produced at the same time?"

"This... I don't know." Su He smiled helplessly.

Unable to enter the Vatican, the four people searched near the foot of the mountain and found a cemetery surrounded by flowers and green trees beside a stone stairway.

"The Garden of the Holy Tomb," Qi Leren stood at the entrance of the cemetery and read the inscription.

It was said to be a cemetery, but the Garden of the Holy Tomb was full of flowers, and these beautiful flowers bloomed luxuriantly even now when no one cared for them. If it wasn’t for the few scattered tombstones interspersed among the flowers, people who come here would hardly feel that it was a cemetery.

"I'm starving. Let’s take a rest and investigate the clues in the afternoon." Dr. Lu's stomach had been growling.

"Yes, I'm hungry, too." Qi Leren hadn’t eaten much for breakfast and now he was hungry after running around all morning. Although this was a cemetery, the scenery was good, and four people decided to have a rest here.

Lunch had been prepared by the maid in the Lord's castle. The maid in her forties carefully packed bread and wine in a big basket with jam and bacon, which tasted much better than their own dry food. Spreading out the tablecloth like a basket, the four people sat on the lawn and enjoyed lunch in the sunshine.

After coming to the Nightmare World, Qi Leren hadn't been so relaxed in a long time. He’d left the depressing mechanical city of the Village of Dusk with its sun that never fell. The sunshine and air here and now made him relaxed and happy. Ning Zhou's eagle also liked this environment very much. It got out of its pet bag, grabbed a large piece of bacon, and flew off on its wings. Even its shadow had left.

After being satiated with food and drink, Qi Leren circled the Garden of the Holy Tomb. In the corner of the garden there was a huge tree stump, which should be the remains of a huge tree that had been struck down in a thunderstorm after its interior had decayed. The trunk laying more than a meter away on the ground had fallen down and become a piece of lifeless deadwood on the grass. Even so, the broken trunk with a diameter of two meters was higher than Qi Leren standing in front of it.

The stump left by it had been hollowed out, but it was interesting that green grass had grown out of the hollowed-out wooden stump, making the space in the stump look like a natural open bed.

In this season, the flowers were in full bloom and the surrounding treetops were full of flowers, mostly blue and white. When a gust of wind blew the petals fell down in a swirl, and fell into the hollow stump, covering the grass inside the stump, which looked soft and comfortable.

Qi Leren, who was a little sleepy after eating and drinking, simply stepped on the roots above the ground and climbed into the stump. He was covered with fresh grass and fallen flowers that distributed their fragrance, and sighed contentedly.

The stump of this huge wooden tree that had been broken off became a small bed for his nap, with just enough room for a person to sleep. Lying in it, Qi Leren closed his eyes and let the sun fall on him, making him blush, and his whole body was filled with sunshine and warmth.

In the quiet Garden of the Holy Tomb, Qi Leren could still vaguely hear the voices of Dr. Lu and Su He, but their voices were pushed farther and farther by sleepiness, and he fell asleep.

"Why are there roses carved on this tombstone?" Dr. Lu asked, pointing to a tombstone.

After carefully studying the tombstone, Su He said: "The key should not be roses, but the number. There are just seven roses, which means 'I love you' here. This should be a tombstone for someone’s lover."

Dr. Lu hit his right hand with his left hand: "Yes, I remember you told me and Leren in the Castle task."

The conversation between the two attracted Ning Zhou's attention. He also saw the tombstone with the name and life of a Holy See believer. Her name was Susan, a devout believer who had disappeared on the night of the new moon. Her husband held a funeral for her, praying that her soul could be saved by God. The lifelike rose relief on the tombstone was painted white.

"White roses are pure love," Ning Zhou said. Maria had loved white roses, so he remembered.

He still remembered that Maria told him about the Garden of the Holy Tomb outside the Holy City’s Vatican. When she was a girl, she had planted many roses here which were colorful, but she loved white best. There was a towering tree in the corner of the Garden of the Holy Tomb where she had hung a swing and played alone in the evening wind. It was an innocent and carefree time.

More than 20 years had passed and the roses planted by Maria had survived tenaciously, growing in the corners of the Garden of the Holy Tomb, and the tree that she had hung from the swing on…

"Hey, where’s Qi Leren?" Dr. Lu asked curiously.

"He seems to have wandered over there." Su He pointed to the corner of the garden.

Ning Zhou strode past and he found Qi Leren in the corner of the garden. He was lying in the hollow stump, sleeping amongst grass and petals, and taking a nap in the warm afternoon sun. A naughty petal rolled down his hair along the wind and ran to his face, getting stuck in his eyelashes. He seemed to feel itchy, and his wrinkled nose scrunched. The breeze saved the petal from his eyelashes. It bounced and landed between his lips. The blue and white petal looked more bright outlined by his red lips. Ning Zhou stared at it for a long time…

"Qi Leren - where did you go?"

Dr. Lu's cry came from a distance and Qi Leren, who was sleeping soundly, woke up with a start, suddenly opened his eyes, and it seemed that something was blocking the sunshine... He lied in the petals and looked up and his eyes fell on a piece of blue, which was bluer than the sky. It was clear and pure, hitting his heart. For a moment he didn't realize it wasn’t the sky, but Ning Zhou standing by the tree. He looked at him quietly, still so cold, as if the gentle blue he saw just now was the illusion that he had not yet woken up from.

"I fell asleep?" Qi Leren opened his mouth, and the petal falling between his lips was eaten by him. He quickly sat up and looked in all directions to find the source of the sound just now.

Dr. Lu trotted to him and exclaimed in amazement: "This bed looks so comfortable, it’s still all natural and pure, you really know where to find a place."

Qi Leren jumped out of the stump and patted the petals and grass clippings on his clothes. "Do you want to lie down for a while?"

Dr. Lu looked at the stump for a while and gave up: "Forget it, let's eat small cakes. I brought them from the Village of Dusk. They’re delicious."

Qi Leren took a reluctant look at the comfortable tree bed and finally followed Dr. Lu to the picnic place. Su He sat on the grass casually, smiled, and raised the goblet filled with wine to greet them. As they walked along, Qi Leren looked back. Ning Zhou stood by the stump and looked at him silently.

He hadn’t thought he'd look back. A little surprise appeared in his blue eyes, and there was some hidden emotion that was too late to be restrained. He restrained it implicitly, almost to self-abuse, quiet and always too easy to miss. There were too many details in a single moment, so people who couldn’t understand ignore them completely. In the warm sunshine in the afternoon, Qi Leren smiled,raised his hand, and waved to Ning Zhou: "Come with us!"

So he hesitated for just a moment, then walked straight and firmly towards him.

-----

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

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

40 notes · View notes

dweemeister · 3 years

Photo

Batman: Mask of the Phantasm (1993)

In American animation outside of Disney, no other studio inspires as much reverence as Warner Bros. The Merrie Melodies and Looney Tunes shorts precipitated into worldwide recognition for those series’ stock characters. Despite this success, Warner Bros. did not release an animated feature until the musical Gay Purr-ee (1962), in association with United Productions of America (UPA). Animators at Warner Bros. from the 1930-1960s knew they were not making high art, nor were they pretending to. Warners, since the 1930s arguably the most financially stable of the major Hollywood studios, has historically seen little need to bankroll animated features. With that in mind, it might come as less of a shock that Warner Bros.’ first in-house animated feature is Eric Radomski and Bruce Timm’s Batman: Mask of the Phantasm. Originally intended as a direct-to-home media release, Mask of the Phantasm – based on and made by the production team behind Batman: The Animated Series (1992-1995) – transcends those modest intentions. It is among of the best superhero films ever made.

In the wake of Tim Burton’s Batman (1989) and Batman Returns (1992), Batman: The Animated Series, unlike Burton’s efforts, affords time to characterize Bruce Wayne rather than surrendering ample screentime to thinly-written but scene-stealing villains. For that and many other reasons including the looming, vertical art deco-inspired production design of Gotham City; the distinctive and moodiness of its black paper backgrounds; and its balance of dark and lighter tones, BTAS remains a high-water mark among Batman fans – perhaps the best adaptation of the character there is. Mask of the Phantasm builds upon that foundation, in addition to crafting its own unique contribution within the DC Animated Universe (DCAU). As tired as origin stories are, Mask of the Phantasm is part-origin story for the Dark Knight – something largely avoided in BTAS – and somehow integrated here without distracting from the present-day scenes. Rarely is any Batman media a character study of Bruce Wayne, but Mask of the Phantasm proves itself a wonderful exception.

One evening, Batman/Bruce Wayne (Kevin Conroy) attempts to stop a gaggle of gangsters led by Chuckie Sol (Dick Miller) from laundering counterfeit money from a casino. Amid the scrum, Sol escapes from Batman, but immediately confronts a shadowy figure later known as the “Phantasm” in the parking garage – Sol dies in the confrontation. Batman receives the blame for the killing and the concurrent property destruction from Gotham City Councilman Arthur Reeves (Hart Bochner), who just so happened to be profiting from Sol’s racket. Across the film, Bruce reminisces about his courtship with Andrea Beaumont (Dana Delany), their breakup, and the lead-up to the creation of his Batman alter-ego. Juxtaposing Bruce’s past and present, we see how he channels his regrets and profound loss into being Batman. The past haunts him still, overhanging the high roofs of Wayne Manor and the ledges of Gotham’s skyscrapers. Back in the present day, the Phantasm has murdered another crime boss; a third murder involves the Joker (Mark Hamill), initiating an emotional dénouement that, because of the intricacies of motivation that the film develops, elevates the film beyond what might otherwise be sloppy storytelling.

The dramatis personae also includes crime boss Salvatore “The Wheezer” Valestra (Abe Vigoda); Andrea’s father, Carl Beaumont (Stacy Keach); the Wayne family butler, Alfred Pennyworth (Efrem Zimbalist Jr.); GCPD Commissioner James Gordon (Bob Hastings); and GCPD Det. Harvey Bullock (Robert Costanzo).

The screenplay by Alan Burnett (producer and writer on various DC Comics films and Hanna-Barbera productions), Paul Dini (head writer on BTAS and Superman: The Animated Series), Martin Pasko (a longtime DC Comics writer), and Michael Reaves (head writer on BTAS and 1994-1996’s Gargoyles) keep the film’s attention on Batman/Bruce Wayne, despite the introduction of various subplots and Joker – whose somewhat-questionable presence might seem to indicate a project going off the rails. Shadow of the Phantasm’s placement of flashbacks stems the awkwardness that Joker’s inclusion brings, assuring that the film stays grounded into Batman’s psychology. In past Bruce we see a charming young man with time, money, and looks to spare. His romantic side with Andrea is an element of his life, one that connects – inevitably, tangentially – to the trauma his parents’ murder. His most personal motivations – that which a younger Andrea could never see, and privy to only Alfred – are stuck in the past, circulating around that childhood loss.

The occasional reflections from Bruce Wayne on what his life has become make Mask of the Phantasm the most introspective piece within the BTAS continuity, freed from the constraints and expectations inherent of episodic television. No BTAS episode forces its eponymous character to confront himself to such extents. What Bruce Wayne and Batman have become in the present-day treads perilously close not to his style of vigilante corrective justice, but vengeance. The tragic paradox that lies at the heart of this tension is the soul of the Batman mythos. Anyone with the most basic understanding of who Bruce Wayne/Batman and the Joker are will at least have a glimmer of understanding of that paradox. This portrait of what Batman stands for is more maturely handled than any of the twentieth century live-action Batman films, and with less sensational filmmaking than Christopher Nolan and Zack Snyder could produce. But with the film’s screenplay and Kevin Conroy’s iconic voice acting as the Caped Crusader, it becomes an inquest into Bruce Wayne’s tortured soul.

If Mask of the Phantasm ran longer than its seventy-eight-minute runtime, Andrea Beaumont, too, might also have received similar character development as Bruce Wayne here. Even within those seventy-eight minutes, Andrea – with a great assist from Dana Delany’s voice acting (Delany so impressed Bruce Timm here that she was given the role of Lois Lane in Superman: The Animated Series) – is a nevertheless fascinating character. In a cruel irony, her ultimate role in Mask of the Phantasm is to be an incidental mirror to the violence that occurs in this film. Her decision is not an imposition, whether conscious or unconscious, from someone else, but hers and hers alone.

In this drama fit for opera, this Batman occupies a world of operatic proportions. The background and character animation are not as pristine as the best examples of BTAS due to some scattered bits of animation outsourcing. The animation of BTAS might seem stiff and janky to modern viewers expecting Flash hand-drawn animation or hand-drawn/CGI hybrids. However, Mask of the Phantasm retains the gravity-defying art deco of the animated series that somehow does not clash with the ‘90s-influenced and futuristic elements it integrates. Its primary inspirations are of film noir and the Metropolis seen in the Fleischer Studios’ Superman series of short films (1941-1943). The black paper backgrounds provide Gotham’s street corners and rooftops a nocturnal menace, immersing the viewer into the city’s seediness.

Composer Shirley Walker (orchestrator on 1979’s The Black Stallion, conductor and orchestrator on 1989’s Batman) was one of the few women composers in Hollywood at the turn of the twentieth into the twenty-first century. A pianist (she played with the San Francisco Symphony as a soloist while still in high school) who studied music composition at San Francisco State University, Walker would later become one of the first female film score composers to receive a solo credit for composing the music in John Carpenter’s Memoirs of an Invisible Man (1992). But it is her work in the DCAU that distinguishes her – of particular note is her arrangement of Danny Elfman’s theme to 1989’s Batman for BTAS and a wholly original main theme for Superman: The Animated Series. Though Walker could adjust her style to suit a more synthetic sound, she specialized in composing grand orchestral cues. That style was apparent in BTAS and is adapted here from the opening titles (the lyrics here are actually gibberish and are the names of Walker’s music department sung backwards). The foreboding brass and string unison lines seem to reverberate off the animation’s skyscraper-filled backgrounds. Numerous passages in Walker’s score, as if taking hints from Richard Wagner, elect not to resolve to the tonic – setting up scenes where tension escalates alongside the music, forestalling the dramatic and musical release.

youtube

One stunning exception to Walker’s ominous, atmospheric score is the gentle cue “First Love”, an interplay between solo oboe and synthesizer. Bruce’s flashbacks are not only a balm to the grimness of his present situation, but a musical reprieve from the intensity of the action scoring. That Walker can navigate between such differing moods exemplifies her compositional dexterity and overall musical excellence. Walker, who cited Mask of the Phantasm as her personal favorite composition for any film or television production, was one of the DCAU’s greatest under-heralded contributors. And how I wish she was given more chances to score different sorts of films.

Warner Bros.’ last-minute reversal on Mask of the Phantasm’s release strategy – abandoning the direct-to-home media debut for a theatrical release – meant minimal marketing for a low-budget film that made barely a dent at the box office. The film’s home media release would more than make up for the film’s theatrical release failure. Upon the success of BTAS and the critical acclaim lavished on Mask of the Phantasm, Warner Bros. kept the DCAU on television for another thirteen years, with infrequent direct-to-home media movie releases as recent as 2019.

For numerous DC Comics fans, the DCAU is an aesthetic and narrative touchstone. The limited animation is sublime for this period in animation history. In addition, one will overhear fans remaking that a certain superhero’s definitive portrayal might be thanks to the DCAU. The superhero benefitting the most from the DCAU’s characterization and storytelling is unquestionably Batman. And justifiably so, as Mask of the Phantasm shows due respect for Batman and Bruce Wayne – what molded them and how each persona intertwines with the other. The mythos behind any superhero is found not in fight scenes. Instead, it resides in the psychology and rationalizations that forces a person to directly confront another’s wickedness. Mask of the Phantasm realizes that such confrontations test Batman/Bruce Wayne’s remaining vestiges of humanity, and braves to ask moral questions that too many figures of superhero media would rather not think about.

My rating: 8.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#Batman #Batman: Mask of the Phantasm #Bruce Timm #Eric Radomski #DCAU #Kevin Conroy #Dana Delany #Hart Bochner #Stacy Keach #Abe Vigoda #Dick Miller #Efrem Zimbalist Jr.#Bob Hastings #Robert Costanzo #Mark Hamill #Shirley Walker #Glen Murakami #My Movie Odyssey

16 notes · View notes

gayenerd · 3 years

Text

This interview was the cover story for the 17th issue of Jaded In Chicago. It was conducted in September of 2004, several weeks prior to the release of American Idiot. It was a fitting end to the fanzine that was named after the band, as “Jaded In Chicago” references Green Day’s 1994 MTV concert special. To come full circle by interviewing the band that inspired the zine’s moniker was somewhat surreal.

With the release of American Idiot, Green Day has transcended punk rock. By crafting the first punk rock opera and fashioning what is likely the first tasteful concept album of the new millennium, they’ve provided pop punk bands everywhere with a blueprint for how to mature gracefully. Additionally, as much as American Idiot is about innovation, it’s also a return to the fundamentals of punk rock. The album sears with dissent, takes aim between the eyes of the Bush administration and contains a dangerous sense of unpredictability. It’s been ten years since Green Day was the most popular band in the world and with any luck American Idiot will allow them to recapture that title in no time. (Interview with drummer Tré Cool).

Bill – Before we talk about American Idiot, I wanted to discuss the infamous “lost” album first. About a year and a half ago, you guys recorded what was to be the follow-up to Warning, but reportedly the master tapes were stolen. What can you tell me about what happened?

Tré – We just knew that if it ever came out, we couldn’t do any of those same songs on the actual record. If somebody puts it out, like crappier versions of the songs, it’s going to totally ruin it. Plus, it happened right around the same time that Billie wrote the song “American Idiot” and most of “Holiday.” We were in the middle of working on those songs, so we just decided not to look back and we kept going forward.

Bill – I’ve read that you feel American Idiot is “maximum Green Day.” Why exactly do you feel this way?

Tré – Well, because we’re firing on all cylinders, ya know? Everything about even just being in the band now feels so right. Everything from the recording process to the live shows to our ambitions. This might sound kind of dumb, but even the clothes we’re wearing during photo shoots. It’s more together like a band.

Bill – People are certainly expecting this record to be political, but I think they’re going to be surprised when they hear how you really go for the throat with some of the lyrics. Examples of this would of course be the title track and also the breakdown section of “Holiday.” What are some of the main reasons why you’re so pissed off with this country?

Tré – It’s more like confused and jaded, if you will, (laughs). The bombardment of bullshit, fake news, like Fox News and CNN. All the reality-based shit that’s on television, stuff like Fear Factor that the government is using to keep everybody like good little sheep and not asking too many questions. It’s like how if a cop hears you use the word “terror” it basically means he can take any normal American citizen’s rights away from them. A cop can do that at his or her discretion if they think you might be a terrorist or whatnot. The whole Patriot Act. It’s like do we actually have any rights after all? We don’t have the right to a proper election, we already found that out. The fabric of our government right now is basically just made out of one hundred dollar bills that are drenched in oil. As far as this upcoming election goes, I know that John Kerry is extremely conservative and he’s nowhere near the liberal we need in the White House to clean up the mess. However, he’s not George Bush. Kerry’s money is in ketchup. Bush’s money is in oil and blood. I’d choose ketchup over that, (laughs).

Bill – How do you hope people react to these songs?

Tré – I hope they can look past the strong language and go into the meaning of it. I hope they realize there’s a bit of sarcasm. I hope they don’t feel that we’re telling them what to do. We’re just sort of pointing the fingers at ourselves, saying like “I don’t want to be an American idiot or I don’t want to be a part of this bullshit.”

Bill – Talk about the character called “Jesus of Suburbia.” What sort of journey does he embark on throughout these songs and what made you choose this type of format for your songwriting?

Tré – The album is sort of like a timeline of his life. Depending on where you’re at with your life, you probably fit somewhere on that timeline yourself. Whether it’s the “Holiday” party stage, or the “Give Me Novacaine” drug stage or the “Extraordinary Girl” being in love stage; all these different stages in life show that what paths you choose will inevitably lead you somewhere. It’s not necessarily the happiest ending in the world, but it’s pretty realistic.

Bill – Are you at all worried about some of your fans possibly being alienated by the two nine-minute rock operas found on the album?

Tré – I don’t think they’ll even notice they’re nine-minute songs. They’ll think they’re a bunch of short songs put together. It’s definitely short attention span theater. It’s not like Wilco, where they have a ten-minute song with the same drumbeat and the same chord progression. Not saying anything bad about Wilco, they’re a fine band. They’re great to relax to and drink iced tea to, (laughs). I think we’d get bored doing that. We just sort of get to the point, say what we want to say and move on to the next part of the song. The way the energy flows in the songs is sort of like the way America is now too, just so scattered. There’s a big misrepresentation of how we feel in this bullshit climate right now.

Bill – One of the most important topics you address on this record is the American media. Specifically, how it perpetuates fear amongst the public and does little to question the President’s follow-through on his promises. Do you think the average American is aware of how the wool is being pulled over their eyes?

Tré – No, not at all. Say you see some guy driving down the street with a Bush/Cheney sticker on his Chevy S-10, beat-up truck with a pair of flip-flops hanging off the back. I want to ask him, “Why the fuck are you a Republican? What’s in it for you, dude?” Bush isn’t doing a thing for those people. He’s not helping them get a better truck or put food on the table. He’s not going to give them a tax break. Republicans don’t care about you. They’re not going to try and help you in any way. They just want to use you and get your dead peasants insurance once you’re gone.

Bill – Tell me about the upcoming club dates that you have scheduled where you plan to perform American Idiot in its entirety. Who came up with the idea and what are you looking forward to most about it?

Tré – I’d credit Pete Townshend with the idea. We’ve always admired The Who and their lack of inhibition as far as going for whatever crazy idea they had. As crazy as something like Tommy was when it was just a small idea, compared to what it’s become now, it’s pretty insane. They did A Quick One, where they played that live. That was a quick one, but ours is an hour. Basically, we just want to kick The Who’s ass. I listened to Who’s Next yesterday, which a lot of people are comparing American Idiot to. We totally got them beat. I’ve always aspired to be as good of a drummer as Keith Moon and I think I’ve fuckin’ passed by him on this record.

Bill – Roughly ten years ago, Dookie was released and went on to sell over ten million copies and become one of the most notable albums of the ‘90s. A decade later, I think you’ve constructed in American Idiot what is arguably your strongest record yet. Is there anything specific that you hope American Idiot accomplishes?

Tré – Yeah, I think it’s about time that people think of Green Day in a different light. We’re not snot-nosed kids anymore, we’re men now. I want people to think of us more as one of the mainstay supergroups of today. I’m not asking for too much, (laughs). We’re superheroes in our own minds. We think we’re really cool, why doesn’t everybody else?

Bill – What was the weirdest thing about being the biggest band in America in 1994?

Tré – I don’t think we really had time to enjoy it when it was happening. We were just trying to pay our rent and be able to make records for the rest of our lives. We didn’t know anything like that was ever going to happen. It sort of freaked us out a bit, but at the same time I was kind of busy just moving and doing it. We didn’t have time to look back since we were doing so much. By the time we had taken a break to make Insomniac it was like, “Do you guys know what you just did?” We were like, “Oh…shit.”

Bill – Earlier this year, Thick Records released the Out of Focus DVD, which featured live Green Day footage circa 1992. What are some of your favorite memories from playing at McGregor’s in Elmhurst, Illinois?

Tré – Demetri. Demetri was this male stripper that came onstage for some girl’s birthday at McGregor’s one night. They had her sit in this chair and the stripper did his thing for her. It was fuckin’ hilarious. In the middle of our show too. We took a timeout and let her get her strip on. I think that was the last time we played McGregor’s actually. I remember seeing State Street and I remember taking acid in Chicago. I remember going to the lake and wondering why all the fish were dead. I was inside Buckingham Fountain too. It was real hot out and I got in there during the Blues Fest. There were like a million people down there, but just one in the fountain. Of course this cop was like, “Get the fuck out of there! What are you thinking?” I was like, “I don’t know. I’m fried, dude.”

Bill – Do you have any comments regarding the rumors connecting members of Green Day to the mysterious band known as The Network?

Tré – The only connection is that their record was on Adeline, which is a label run by Billie Joe’s wife. That’s a few degrees of separation if you ask me. I think they’re getting a lot of mileage out of telling people they’re Green Day or pretending to be Green Day. The Network is not Green Day. Bastards.

Bill – Growing up I know that bands like the Ramones and The Who were very influential for you. What’s it like to now be one of the biggest influences on an entire generation of punk bands?

Tré – It’s kind of wild. Especially when younger bands meet you and they’re all nervous and stuff. You sort of get a little paternal with it, like “Ah…my children.” I feel like Michael Landon from Little House on the Prairie.

Bill – What has been the hardest part about achieving all the success you’ve attained?

Tré – I think you can pretty much choose what you want to deal with. You can choose for it to be difficult or you can enjoy it. It’s kind of up to the person.

Bill – After seven albums, what aspects of punk rock are still fresh and exciting to you?

Tré – I like seeing new bands. Bands that aren’t carbon-copied pop punk bands. Bands like Dillinger Four fuckin’ excite me. I think the Rock Against Bush compilation is a pretty damn good CD. There are some older bands on there that are still going strong and some younger bands that are real fresh and exciting too.

Bill – What does the future hold for Green Day?

Tré – I think whatever we put out next has got to be really fuckin’ good. After American Idiot we set the bar so high. It’s kind of like, “Now what are we going to do?”

#i've never heard of this zine before but i guess it ended in 2004 #article #articles #interview #tre cool

6 notes · View notes

doctolka · 3 years

Text

The War of the Shadows

This is a piece that I wrote for my WIP, where a character needs to tell a story. This is the rough version (it covers basically the plot of another WIP that I've just started writing) that will be greatly (greatly) consolidated before adding it... but I'm pretty proud of it, and it seems to have worked better than outlining for me (and it'll put me over 90K words, so I feel like I should post it as a milestone)

Anyway, tell me what you think of it! I'm always open to feedback about style and diction and such.

Here's a link to my Guide on my world, Adoana, if folks are interested. Thanks a ton!

Current taglist: @starlitesymphony

Anyone else who wants to be on the taglist for my main WIP (or my other one, that's based off of the story below) feel free to let me know!

“It was the year 877 C.M. and the Shadow was the strongest it had ever been. All around Adoana, Cultists of the Shadow held high offices, and covens and gatherings in the wilderness were sacrificing the innocent, wary and unwary alike, to their dark god.

“There were few that fought against this Shadow, a flickering, guttering candle against the darkness of the night. They rescued some through skill, and some through luck, but most died, their souls consumed by the Shadow, whose hunger is never sated.

“It was with one of these that the War of the Shadows started in earnest, though it had been going on for centuries beforehand. And it was in this very kingdom that this band began their prosecution of the vile cultists. For years they fought, and they rescued no small few in their crusade, including the one now know as Finobrai, which is Evil’s Bane,99 before their swift destruction at the hands of their own prey.

“They were scattered to the winds then, each fleeing from their doom. Many did not make it, and their souls were sold for pittance to the dark lord of the Shadow. But this was not the end of the hunters. No. If anything, it only reinforced their will.

“It was the dead of the night, some years later, and the survivors from that night of destruction were gathered, and they had been quite successful as of late, bringing in bounty on many a witch. This night, they were charged by the king of Marasol to put an end to a coven that had holed up in a fort, abandoned for long years following the wars of the Firstborn.

“They gathered there most stealthily, all their information gathered, an ambush well set. But the cultists heard of their coming through lies and trickery, and laid in wait for the hunters. Again, it seemed a grievous defeat for the forces of light, and it was, but it was not a few that fled those corridors to safety, for the trap was ill-set.

“The one known as Finobrai escaped with his closest friends, alone unscathed of them all. But the king of Marasol worried only after the safety of his kingdom and wished the man to go back; it was after much promising and scraping and begging of him that he relented, and returned unto his very death willingly.

“None know truly what happened within those halls on that night, when Finobrai returned to the fort. Some say he sold his own soul, and that he was a friend of the Shadow from the first—what else could explain his repeated survival? Others say he was captured by the cultists, and transformed into a cursed Shadowspawn by them.

“The latter, I fear, is closer to the truth, though Finobrai was too wily to be caught by mere men. He crept about those halls, with his bow and his sword, and silently did he send them all to their master. But he was not the only hunter, that night.

“In the depths of the crypt, the foul cultists had summoned their lord, hearing that this lone hunter was coming for them. What, they asked themselves with mock bravery, could a single man do that a veritable army could not? And yet they were afraid, deathly so, and rightly so, and they gave their lord the body of a rat.

“Even the slightest of children knows what the Shadow does to its hosts. It twists them, and mutilates them, and makes them wholly different from how they began. And this was no different.

“The rat grew, it is said, to thrice its height, then to ten times, and it grew to stand a full head over the tallest of men. Its claws grew to wicked scalpels, its rear ceased to be that of a rat, and became that of a man with the head and shoulders and arms of some abominable rodent, and in the dark, it waited.

“Now did Finobrai finish all the cultists, and put an end to their vile pets, and he roamed the hallways, ever on the watch for more. He came then into a dark room in the bowels of the earth, unlit and dark, and he entered into it silently, ears ever listening for more of his prey.

“Many now might call him foolish, but his life had shaped him up to this point. He had grown on the darkest of streets, where the difference between life and death was seeing where others said sight was impossible. He had the best tutors in following years, to teach him the sword, and the best trackers later to teach him archery. Some hand guided him, that night, and every other night of his life, some say, a hand that was not that of the Shadow.

“As he stepped full into that room, he heard the beast behind him, whether by its breathing or some movement it made, and he spun about, making to strike at it, though the dark betrayed him, and blinded him, and the monster leaned forward casually, and made an incision over Finobrai’s heart, and removed the house of the soul, replacing it instead with the most vile of voidglass, into which the Shadow had seeped its own will, and Finobrai was lost….

“The Shadow controlled Finobrai, much as a puppetmaster dictates the movements of his puppets, and he ran then through the night, and through the next day, until he reached the borders of Kingdom Corval, for the fury of the Shadow at what had been done to its people knew no reason, nor any bounds.

“Here Finobrai earned another name, and that was Aminlo, the Never-Sated Hunger, for he butchered many an innocent man, woman and child, and the power of his passing was greater than that of any king, then or since. And when he was done in Kingdom Corval, few lingered, and fewer returned; their livestock butchered, and many a family and friend ended during the expanse of a year of utter terror.

“But the Shadow did not let slack here, but drove Aminlo on further afield, into the kingdom where he had first made the name Finobrai for himself, which was Kingdom Mirdta, and the waste dealt there was even greater than that dealt in Kingdom Corval. He left behind him a wasteland, full of smoke and bones, and rats and crows feasted on the carcasses even of the royal family.

“But here fate took a turn for the better, for Aminlo had killed all that could provide his heart sustenance, for the voidglass heart fed itself on the souls of the slain, and his inhuman strength left him as he came upon a patrol form Marasol, and he fell to them, and was imprisoned.

“For nigh on a year, Aminlo wasted in the prisons beneath Marasol, until it was decided that he should be executed for his crimes, in spite of his past services. But luck would have it that one of Finobrai’s men was not so easily persuaded of the evil in his friend, and strove back to the fort, seeking some answer for the darkness weighing on his heart.

“Here he hunted the long-abandoned halls—for none would now return to that haunted place—and at long last found a clay jar, sealed by some rune or other, and from within came the steady beating as that of a heart.

“He brought it back, mixed with joy and sorrow, to the famed Magistry of Marasol, and they took it and examined it while he implored the king to stay his hand but for another cycle. And the king relented, for he was a consciences sort, and felt to blame in part for the fate of poor Finobrai.

“At long last, and after many a sleepless night, the magisters performed their miracle. With their magics and their knowledge, they plucked the voidglass heart from Aminlo, and placed in its stead the beating heart of Finobrai.

“Thus Finobrai’s soul was returned to him, though much tortured through the long years of watching himself perform unnumbered murders, and it was long before he was well again. In this time, his soul turned to darker things; to revenge, to hate, and to burning desire to see the Shadow cast out, for now and forever.

“And after two years of his wallowing, he left Marasol once more, seeking his old friends and allies. But many had grown old over the years, or too comfortable in their common lives to risk going hunting with the man who murdered a kingdom.

“So Finobrai set off alone for a time, though he knew the dangers in doing so more than anyone, and for five years he hunted across the world for lore of the Shadow, reading from libraries by day and infiltrating and exterminating cultists and Shadowspawn by night, Finobrai strove for his answers. Across the highest mountains he tread, and across the deepest seas he sailed, and slowly but surely he found his answers.

“Now after these five years, Finobrai began again to gather hunters by virtue of his reputation, and ten years after that, his network stretched across every corner of Adoana, each man and woman striving to find anything tying the Shadow to the Mortal Plane—for Finobrai knew the Shadow better than any, and he said it must exist.

“Finobrai was an old man when finally they were ready to strike into the heart of their foe. And he brought with him to the place known as Casosindo the voidglass heart, and all his hunters, and they fell upon the enthralled armies of the Shadow.

“Many died in the plains outside of Casosindo, whose location has been lost to time, and many spells were wrought which heaved the earth, and burned the trees, but Finobrai and his most trusted hunters slipped by the host of their enemy, and came to audience with the Shadow itself.

“Here, in the depths of the dark fortress of Casosindo, Finobrai strove against the Shadow while his magister coiled his magics, spreading a trap that would bind the whole of the Shadow to the voidglass heart, though he knew not entirely the making of the coil.

“And when it was done, he released it, and the jaws of the trap sprung just so, snaring the being of the Shadow within the voidglass heart, and the survivors of the battle outside leaped with joy as their enemies crumbled before them. But there was no joy within.

“For Finobrai, in all his research and plotting, had known the cost of the coil wound by his friend. His soul was forever tainted by the Shadow; his soul, forever a gateway the Shadow could use to return to the world. And so he gave himself in also to the snare, and passed from this world to strive forever against the might of the Shadow, that Adoana would know peace.”

#wip #writeblr #writersociety #my writing #doctolka #storytime!

5 notes · View notes

squeeneyart · 4 years

Text

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter Fourteen

AO3

Beta read as always is @thesnadger

Martin returns a lost item.

It's cleaning day.

She was still in bed.

Martin breathed out his nose. This was normal, what with the early hours he kept. Still, as he shut the door, the smallest amount of tension left his shoulders. His mother would wake up in a few hours and go about her day as usual with what energy she had. Things were normal.

He pressed his forehead to the wood.

She hadn’t been holding her skin.

Stowed it away, perhaps, to keep it close and secure instead of sitting in the corner of a stuffy attic. Tucked out of sight, as if it had never been there. If this was what she wanted, fine. He would leave it. He stepped away and continued with his morning, leaving the silence undisturbed.

His routine dragged on, and yet before he knew it he’d sped through the whole thing. Teeth, shower, some small nothing of a breakfast that he barely managed to get down. Pill box set on the counter, the previous day’s dose empty. Some dishes left in the sink that he hadn’t gotten to the night before quickly rinsed and set aside. Then, before he felt any time truly pass, he was slipping on his shoes.

His bag felt heavy as he lifted it from the table, though the sketchbook inside was no physical burden. This would be over soon, he told himself. It made no difference to his nervous insides.

He should’ve gotten more sleep.

It had been a mistake to stumble out of the house the night before. He could’ve complied with his mother’s demand for solitude by simply leaving the room and going upstairs to his own bed. Instead, he’d had to be walked home late at night like a drunk after last call. And above all, he was up earlier than usual, the final nail in his sleepless coffin.

Martin rubbed away some of the exhaustion from his eyes and hefted the bag more securely onto his shoulder. Upon exiting his home he was met with a dreary, drizzling morning that sprayed his glasses with tiny droplets. Before long he would have to wipe them, but he kept his umbrella stored away.

“No reason to look up,” he muttered to himself, turning his back on the sea. It churned and scattered itself over the rocks. “Nothing but water in your eyes.”

It was easy enough to focus on the path as it sloped upward, and when he reached town he turned to walk on a street perpendicular to his normal route, that towering thing clawing at this periphery. He had another destination to avoid eye contact with first.

On the way he passed the storage house, doing his best to look like an uninterested pedestrian. It was hard not to stare. So quiet in the early morning, the building could’ve been unused for years if Martin hadn’t known better.

He shook his head. There was no more business to be had there, at least for the moment. If none of them had been tracked down by the police (or worse), it wasn’t worth worrying about. No, the only person who knew about their little investigation was ahead of him, and like a fool Martin had to trust that he would keep this whole thing quiet.

The house was probably the same as it had been. Martin couldn’t tell, as he kept his eyes away from its large frame and numerous windows. The front gate was open and inviting, the mouth of a whale waiting for the tiniest specks of sea life to float inside.

A woman in a neat suit stood at the front door, apparently waiting for him. “Martin. Simon told me to expect you. No problems, I assume?”

“No.” Martin sifted through his bag and handed her the sketchbook.

“Wonderful. I’ll deliver this to him for you.” She lightly brushed at the cover, lips parting in a smile. “Also, Simon wished for me to tell you that the view from up high later today won’t be one to miss.”

Her face said to be excited, as if she were telling him discreetly of a meteor shower or a fireworks display. A fun, secret end to his family vacation that wasn’t mentioned in the brochure. She tucked the sketchbook under her arm, never letting the friendly grin drop.

“Have a nice day,” she said, through her sparkling teeth. The door was promptly shut in his face.

Backing away, Martin almost looked up at the windows overlooking the front of the house, then snapped his head back down. There was nothing for him up there but dark glass and rainwater.

“That’s…hm.” Jon grimaced in his chair. “It’s certainly ominous.”

Martin sat at his small desk making a modest attempt at getting his work done. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be looking out the windows later.”

Jon nodded. “Yes, that would be for the best. I am concerned, though. The possibility of that book being something more significant hadn’t crossed my mind with everything else going on. If I’d had more time to think, I would’ve asked to take a look at it.”

Across from Jon, Tim was flipping through Martin’s work contract with some intensity. Without looking up, he said, “Well, there’s no helping it now. It probably would’ve just given you a headache, or worse. Martin, is there a list of- oh, wait, I found them.”

Sasha leaned over to look at the pages in Tim’s hand, chewing on the inside of her cheek. When Martin had come in for the day, the three had already settled into their workplaces with a strange energy about them. Sasha in particular had been on edge, seemingly unable to sit for too long.

When he’d asked about this, her only response had been, “Elias hasn’t contacted us yet.”

Jon had argued that it was early, that he had sent out an email the night before and Elias might not have seen it, but there were lines of worry etched in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes.

Or perhaps he was also in need of a better night’s sleep. If Martin had to guess, none of them were running at full capacity. If combing through his incredibly boring work contract helped Tim and Sasha them feel productive, so be it.

“Well, whatever the book was,” Jon continued, “when you go upstairs later, make sure to take Sasha or myself with you. We’ve been largely unaffected by this place, so if anyone is to follow up on Fairchild’s… tip, it should be one of us.”

“He’s the type to rile people up for fun. Maybe it’s nothing.” Martin couldn’t even convince himself.

“Not worth the risk, what with the symptoms you and Tim have exhibited.” Jon glanced at the other two, who did not look away from their reading. He cleared his throat. “Better to be safe in this circumstance, I think.”

The group fell back into silent work, Martin at his desk, Jon on his laptop, and the other two scanning line after line of employment agreements and mind-numbing blocks of text Martin probably hadn’t read before signing. When he’d gone over it days before, there had been no secret clauses or double meanings. Maybe they would have more luck.

Tim eventually spoke up. “Huh. Martin, have you done any of the cleaning bit since we’ve arrived?”

Martin raised his eyebrows. “What? Sorry, did I leave a mess in the sink or-”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Tim tapped the back of his hand onto the page in front of him. “Says here you’re basically the janitorial staff. Something about having to go through the place and clean everything.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, it’s part of my job since no one else works here.” Heat crept up his neck. He’d completely forgotten in the week’s excitement. He muttered to himself, “Shit. I’d better get that done today. If Peter comes in tomorrow and sees it’s a mess-”

“Don’t worry, we won’t interrupt. Just tell us if we need to move anything.”

Martin nodded and pushed himself out of his chair. “Thanks for reminding me. It’s not a priority most of the time since it’s just me, but at the very least he’ll notice if the floors are bad.” And with all the weather and the people, they absolutely were. Goodness.

Tim clicked his tongue. “Can’t have him thinking of us as an intrusion, not if we want to keep the work going.”

“God, I hadn’t even thought about that.” Martin walked over to the closet and began to pull out cleaning supplies. It would have to be the kitchen first, then the floors…

Before long, he’d settled into his cleaning routine. All of the dishes were properly washed instead of just rinsed out, not that the tea stains would be coming off anytime soon. He did his best to mop the main area without disturbing the researchers. Besides some lifting of feet, there were no interruptions on his part.

He would have to go over some spots later, but there was no helping it with all these people about. With so many shoes on the tile and all the rotten weather, the place had gotten dirty and slick. He really would need to get a better mat for the front door if people were to come in more often, especially once it started snowing.

Pushing that thought gently aside, Martin walked toward the stairs with his mop and bucket full of sudsy water.

“Wait, you really have to lug that all the way up?” Sasha asked.

“Yeah…” Martin sighed and started climbing. “There’s nowhere to fill a bucket up there, but people go up just enough that it gets dirty.”

From behind him, there was the sliding of chairs on tile. He looked back. Sasha led the other two toward him and said, “With what Fairchild said, it’s best not to risk anyone going up there alone. Besides, I want another look at the windows before it goes weird.”

“Okay… Just don’t look too far down when you do.” He glanced behind her. “Tim, are you sure you don’t want to-”

“Oh, I’ll be staying nice and safe in the center of the room where I can keep an eye on everyone.” Tim smiled with at least some humor. “Besides, you were right. The contract was a terrible read.”

Martin shrugged and continued his ascent with everyone trailing behind. He wouldn’t bother with the stairs until he was on his way down, in part due to safety but also because it was the biggest pain to keep the bucket balanced.

Halfway up the stairs the shoulder pain kicked in as it usually did, near his neck and right between the shoulder blades. He knew it must’ve been from holding things wrong in some way. Maybe the shifting weight of the water messed with his muscles, but no matter how he held himself he had always managed to get at least a crick in his neck.

“Martin?” Jon said, sounding distant at the back of the line. “Is everything okay?”

Martin hummed in response, stretching his neck. He didn’t work with proper posture, so that was almost definitely a factor. Setting a timer could be helpful. How often were people supposed to stand and move when sitting for a long time? Every thirty minutes? That seemed a bit too often, but he was no expert in muscles or spines.

He wasn’t an expert in anything, really, but in this case he could at least google it. How often had he told himself he would google ‘when should you get up sedentary job?’ without doing so? Was thirty years when things started going wrong with your back? Martin was a tall man, and his back had never been great, not with his lifestyle or all the lifting he sometimes had to do at home, but he knew being tall could really mess up the spine. Herniated discs were apparently-

“Martin!” Sasha’s voice snapped, echoing up into the stairwell.

The sound of steps behind him had stopped. Martin paused and looked over his shoulder to find Sasha’s hand on it, giving it a shockingly forceful shake. The three of them seemed to sag in relief. Tim was gripping the handrail and leaned his head against the wall, while Jon just looked at him with his hands raised as if to prod Martin’s arm.

With a nervous laugh, Martin flicked his eyes between them. “W-what’s going on? You look like you’ve seen-”

“Martin, what just happened?” Sasha asked. Her fingers continued to dig into his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“We… walked up the stairs? I carried a bucket?” He lifted the bucket up as evidence, then stared at it. “Sorry, did some of the water splash out and make the stairs slippery? I tend to overfill it, but-”

Jon cut him off. “Let’s just- we’ll talk when we get upstairs.” He glanced behind himself with some alarm and hurried to the front of the group.

Martin was about to argue, to say that no, if something happened he deserved to know- but one look at their faces was enough to shut him up as they resumed the trek upward. He gripped tight the bucket and mop.

It became clear on the quiet walk that the others were waiting for something. Sasha kept lightly squeezing Martin’s shoulder as if to push him forward. Only once did they stop for Tim to get his bearings, after several instances of Tim waving off his own stumbles as nothing.

From the front Jon regularly looked over his shoulder, usually at Martin but occasionally past him down the winding steps. Martin attempted to catch his eye more than once to raise an eyebrow at him, but the man was distracted by whatever it was that had everyone all in a tizzy.

Besides those tiny moments of confusion, it was easy enough to settle into the now familiar headspace of focusing on Jon’s back and not thinking too hard about it all.

Finally, thankfully, they reached the upper floor. Bright morning light filtered through the panes of glass, a startlingly intense change from the stairwell. Despite this, Martin shivered. If he dared go near the windows, he thought, would they be at all warm?

Sasha’s hand guided him to a small, faded couch in the corner. He set the cleaning supplies onto the floor, sat with his hands together in his lap, and waited.

Sasha began, “So, I’m sure that was… strange for you.”

“I mean, yeah?” Martin replied. He started rubbing a thumb into the back of his hand. “Clearly something happened that I don’t know about.”

Sasha looked around at the other two before fishing her phone out of her pocket. “Well. Before we get into that, there’s something you should hear. Late last night, I received an interesting voicemail.”

Martin’s eyes grew wide. “Wait, she actually-”

“She didn’t actually claim to be anyone. Understandably suspicious.” Sasha looked at her phone and pulled something up on it. “Nevertheless, she had some… advice.”

She tapped the phone, then held it out.

A tired, irritated voice came through, muffled with static. “I’m not interested in talking, not if you’re involved with those people, that family. They’ve harassed me, stalked me, who knows what else.”

There was a quick sigh. “But you found my number and just... called me. No one would blow all that work on such a weak lie unless they were being sincere. I guess. Or it’s just easier to hope that someone else sees that something is wrong.”

“So, before I realize this is a bad idea, tell this to whoever they got to replace him: Don’t assume incompetence. They know how to get away with things. It’s all making you ignore what’s right in front of you because, no, of course it must be a mistake or a typo. It’s about getting away with a lie without actually lying.” Another sigh.

“That’s where he went, or where they took him, I know it. When he came out from- from wherever the first time, he found me losing it on the stairs after he-.” The person laughed, just barely. “Almost dropped the stupid water bucket when he saw me there. He was always- no. No. If you’re really trying to figure things out, then best of luck to you. You’re probably fucked, but either way, don’t… don’t go in alone. You’ll just get lost. Don’t bother calling this number again.” Click.

For a moment Martin stared at the phone. Her voice had been cracking near the end, and he pushed down the bile that rose in his throat. “This is, um… So, she saw something, and that something was…”

Tim nodded, fishing a folded page of the contract out of his pocket and giving it over to Martin. “She was right. It’s the smallest detail. No one would think it’s anything other than a mistake.”

Slowly, Martin unfolded the page listing his general duties. It took him a moment, but after scanning a few lines he found it. His stomach twisted. “‘Upper floors’. There’s only the main floor and the top floor, nothing else.”

“Apparently not,” Jon said, sitting on the arm of the couch. “Because about halfway up the stairs you disappeared straight into a wall.”

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #fanfic #au fanfic #selkie au #jonmartin

31 notes · View notes

omg-imagine · 4 years

Text

⊱ Forget Me Not (1/15) ⊰

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary: After you wake up from a coma and realize that your memories from the last five years have been erased, Keanu works to bring back what you have lost.

Words: 2k

Warnings: Mention of car accident, injuries

A/N: This is my first attempt in doing a series and I’m super excited/nervous. Everything’s mostly outlined already and I’m hoping to post a new chapter every Sunday. If you’d like to be tagged in this, let me know!

As always, I hope you enjoy!

The heavy rain poured down from the dark skies, battering against the roof of Keanu’s Porsche like a hail of bullets. Loud roars of thunder filled the gaps of silence every few minutes, followed by bright flashes of lightning that illuminated the world outside. The wipers moved impressively fast as they tried to sweep the droplets of water away from the windshield. Still, they could barely keep up with the torrent of rain hammering the city of Los Angeles.

Turning down a corner, Keanu cursed under his breath when he realized that the road was flooded. He quickly made a U-Turn back onto the main street, his tires skidding across the wet pavement. He searched for an alternative way that he could take, but the chaotic storm only made it more difficult for him to do so. He could hardly see what was ahead of him, and he was beginning to lose his patience.

Fortunately, Keanu was able to find an access road leading to the freeway. He knew it wasn’t safe going twenty miles above the posted speed limit, but he had already lost too much time trying to navigate through the storm. All he cared about at that moment was that the faster he drove, the quicker he got to you.

He could still remember every word of that phone call from nearly an hour ago. It was from an unknown number, and initially, he didn’t want to answer it just in case you decided to call him back. But something in his gut told Keanu to answer, and he did. It had been a nurse on the other line saying that you were in an accident, and you were rushed to the emergency room in critical condition. As soon as he heard that you were hurt, he was already running out of the door.

His eyes glistened as he thought back to the moment before you had left your shared home in such a haste. Keanu blamed himself for giving you a reason to leave the house while a storm raged outside. He should have held back his tongue, took your car keys, and convinced you harder enough to stay. If only he had done just that, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now.

The rest of the drive to the hospital was a blur. After driving for fifteen minutes when it should have taken Keanu at least thirty, he finally arrived in front of Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. He parked his vehicle in a nearby lot before rushing towards the entrance, the pitiless rain soaking his hair and clothes in an instant. Reaching the glass doors, they parted for Keanu to step inside, and he immediately headed to the main desk ahead.

“Hi, I-I’m here for my partner, Y/N Y/LN,” he managed to say as he caught his breath.

The nurse nodded, checking her system for your information. “Yes, I was the one who called. Your name was listed as Y/N’s emergency contact. According to the last update on here, it says that she was wheeled into surgery about thirty minutes ago, Mr. Reeves.”

“Is she going to be alright?” Keanu asked wearily, hoping that her answer was what he wanted to hear.

It wasn’t.

“We don’t know yet, sir,” she replied sadly before placing a clipboard on top of the counter. “You can sit in the waiting room until the procedure is over. In the meantime, we need you to fill out these papers on her behalf.”

With a nod of his head, Keanu walked down the hall with the paperwork and a pen in hand. The waiting area was stark and quiet. The television mounted on the wall was playing a movie, not that there was anyone paying attention to it. There were a couple of other people scattered in the room, though most were asleep due to the late hour of the night.

Keanu took a lone seat in one corner of the room, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation of his drenched clothing sticking to his skin. He then pushed his long hair back, letting out a deep sigh. The adrenaline had finally subsided, and he had the opportunity to just breathe. He already knew that this was going to be a long wait, and he didn’t want to spend the whole time mulling about the things that he could have done to prevent this. As a start, he decided to concentrate on filling up the paper with your information first.

Most of the questions it asked were basic, nothing that Keanu couldn’t answer. After being together for nearly five years, he knew everything there was to know about you. He knew all of your favorite songs, the foods you liked and disliked, the names of your closest friends, and more.

You had been nothing but kind and understanding to Keanu from the moment you two met. It wasn’t an easy life living under the public eye because of his job as an actor, but you’ve always handled it so well. No other person he has ever dated had made him feel so happy and complete. To him, you were the most precious thing in the entire world, and he has never loved someone so deeply until you came along.

God, why did he have to screw up so badly?

Keanu set aside the clipboard and buried his face in his hands. He needed to call your parents and tell them what had happened. With a sharp exhale, he fished out his phone from his pocket and called your father. As the phone rang in his ear, he planned inside his head how he was going to break the news.

“Hi, Keanu,” your father greeted. He sounded as if he had just woken up, which he probably did. It was only five in the morning where they lived on the east coast. “Is everything okay, son?”

Son. Keanu was very close to your parents since the day you introduced him to them. They had quickly taken a liking on him, seeing that he was the first man you’ve dated that treated you right. Your parents loved Keanu as if he were one of their own, and it broke his heart knowing that this was all his fault.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, but...” Keanu began, his voice starting to break as he tried to find the right words. “It’s Y/N.”

“What? What happened?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Keanu told your father about your current condition. As expected, your parents would be taking the first flight out of New York to be with you. After an exchange of reassuring words, the call ended, and Keanu couldn’t hold back any longer, letting his tears finally fall.

An hour went by, then another and another. The clock on display made time felt as though it was moving much slower, making the wait much more unbearable. Keanu would glance up, and in every instance, he swore that the second hand would linger an extra minute at every passing second.

The padded chairs didn’t bring much comfort throughout the night. Every so often, he would walk around the room, stretching his legs for a bit before returning to his seat. Despite exhaustion threatening to take over, Keanu pushed it aside for as long as he could. He was afraid that if he dared to shut his eyes, he would see the nightmare that was already haunting him even while awake.

Keanu did whatever he could to pass the time. He texted his mother and sisters about where you were, not expecting an answer right away because he was sure they were still asleep. He then attempted to read some of the outdated magazines available and watched whatever was on the television. He even resorted to simply staring at the window and watching the rain as it pelted against the glass.

But none of them were enough to distract Keanu. All he could think about was your well-being, and how you didn’t deserve to go through this. He didn’t want to lose you, and the mere thought of it was scaring him. You had so much life left to live, and it wouldn’t be fair for the universe to suddenly take it away.

Eventually, the storm relented, and the skies that were black shifted to blue, signaling a new day of life. The sun rose slowly yet surely, its natural light bringing a sense of calm to Keanu. For a brief moment, he basked in the peacefulness, only wishing that you were there with him to enjoy it.

“Mr. Reeves?”

Keanu turned around, his eyes catching sight of a doctor standing before him. He instantly pushed himself up from his seat, extending his hand for a shake.

“Keanu, and you must be Y/N’s doctor.”

“Yes, my name is Dr. Henderson,” the older gentleman introduced. “How are you doing?��

“I’m doing alright, I guess,” he replied with a slight shrug. “How’s Y/N?”

“Well, when Y/N first arrived, she was in bad shape, but we managed to stabilize her. The car accident caused a lot of internal bleeding that we were able to stop during the surgery,” Henderson explained as Keanu took in every word that was said. “Unfortunately, she’s not out of the woods yet. She did sustain severe head trauma, and as a result, she’s currently in a coma. We won’t know the extent of her injuries until after she wakes up.”

Keanu lowered his head, releasing the breath he was holding. “And when will she wake up?”

The doctor sighed, and that’s when Keanu looked up, seeing the uncertainty painted on the other man’s face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Reeves. We don’t know how long it’ll take. It could be days, weeks, maybe even months.”

“Okay,” was all that Keanu could say after a while. “Can I see her?”

Dr. Henderson gave him a sympathetic smile and a nod. “Of course.”

Henderson led the way as Keanu trailed closely behind. The walk to your room seemed endless. Every hallway they turned down to looked the same as the last. The blank white walls of the hospital felt cold, constricting and unwelcoming, it was becoming a place where a person like you shouldn’t belong.

Soon, they reached the foot of your door, your last name printed on a placard just below the room number. All Keanu had to do now was push down on the handle and open the door. His mind prepared him for what he was about to see. But as soon as he entered inside, it was worse than what he could imagine.

He crossed the room with cautious steps, afraid that if he were loud enough, it might disturb you. Your body was hooked on many machines, none of which he could possibly know what for other than they helped keep you alive. Once he reached your bedside, Keanu saw your delicate skin littered with the reds of your scratches and the blues of your bruises. Seeing you this way made his chest tightened, and if he could, he would trade places with you so that you no longer had to suffer.

Your body laid very still, and it was unnerving for Keanu to witness. Bringing a chair closer, he then sat down beside your bed, reaching out to hold your uninjured hand. He asked himself how you could look so peaceful after experiencing so much pain. If you had been awake, you would have surely given him a smart answer, and the two of you would then laugh about it.

Keanu felt the tears pricking his eyes as he continued to grasp your hand in his. He would do anything in the world just to hear the sweet sound of your laughter again. Though he was unsure of what tomorrow and the following days would bring, he knew that he would be right there by your side, waiting for you to wake up from your deep sleep.

Because despite everything that has happened, Keanu loved you, and he made a vow that he would never give up on you no matter what.

Part 2

Tagged: @penwieldingdreamer

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves x you #reader insert #my fics #rpf

129 notes · View notes

ragnarokascendant · 3 years

Photo

While this little town of Expressway started life as another Minutemen outpost like all the other Red Rocket locations scattered across the Commonwealth, I quickly realized it had potential. Given that it controls one of the few roads in the southern area, I decided to set it up as a trading post. It’s just across the river from Egret Tours Marina and it’s north of Somerville Place. Though there’s a repeated problem with the salvage yard just a bit south, you know how Super Mutants are, at the very least the place is secure, and provisioner bots handle the rest easily enough.

The rough design here was basically martial plots near the road on each end, commercial ones lining the street with gravel terraformer foundations to make them blend in, then moving housing, a mixture of brick houses and the usual shack-type plots, to the farther back. A mixture of SSEX and CVCDW walls sorted out security needs pretty well.

The last photo is actually not Expressway, but the aforementioned Egret Tours, which is much more typical of the ‘heavily fortified industrial base’ style settlements. It has quite a few internal commercial plots in the main buildings and has a nice fish farm, but its main contribution is scavenging and being a big old fort.

#fallout 4 #i blame prismatic bell for this

1 note · View note

trashbinbackyard · 4 years

Note

basics and environment for gilly and ipes

gals... one wholesome, one not so much

Basics:

1. What is their gender?

Female

2. What is their sexuality?

Panromantic demisexual

Bisexual demiromantic

3. What is the meaning behind their name? Do they have any nicknames?

Gesiye Ikande, goes by Gilly a lot. Gesiye means genuine in Ijaw (ethnic group in Nigeria)

Her real name is Nayla Hahn Nayla being Arabic origin and Hahn Korean (her moms’ backgrounds) Though at this point no one knows her real name as she goes by Ipes which is a different spelling for a demon Ipos

4. Do they have any siblings? How many? Are they older or younger? Which sibling are they the closest with?

She has two younger sisters. She’s pretty close with both of them, but they live on earth so she sees them rarely

No siblings

5. What’s their relationship with their parents like? What about other relatives?

She loves them but being the oldest sister she also kinda fell into that third parent role. She has a pretty big family as her parents also have multiple siblings, they spend holidays all together

She got emancipated at the age of 15 due to her parents not being able to care for her and she refused to enter any kind of foster system. She hasn’t talked to them since, assumes they’re dead

6. What would they give their life for?

Her family for sure

Honestly, nothing. No one comes even near being worth dying for. Neither is her business. If it ever came to it, she’d rather rot in prison than die for it

7. Are they in a romantic relationship? With who? How did they meet?

Mallory, met her at work. She wanted to wait to become more than just an investigator intern before starting anything but she’s smart and now she’s a fully fledged investigator

No, she has a strict no dating or banging your employees policy and since all the people she has respect for so far are her employees, there’s no one available. Also, she thinks pretty highly of herself so it’s gonna take work for someone be on the level she sees appropriate. (i myself am kinda curious where tf she and kenjiro are gonna end up)

8. What do they believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?

She’s not religious, but does believe in some sort of good/bad place, she doesn’t really let it control her life and she tries to be good for the sake of being good (also, being mean is not nice)

No. And since she doesn’t fear life after death she feels free to do whatever the hell she likes

9. What is their favorite color? Favorite animal?

Purple. Any type of antelope, she thinks they’re neat

Black, surprise, but also really likes neon lights (you can guess what type of lights there are in her club). She likes snakes, especially black mambas

10. What are some of their talents/skills?

She’s very resourceful, quick thinking and good writer (of reports at least)

She knows how to read and push people, very conniving, and a great actor

11. If they could make a mark on history, what would they like it to be?

Idk, she’s just happy to be here

Woman has a drug empire right under law enforcement’s noses

12. How old are they? When is their birthday?

24-29 depending if time is pre-mallory vs relationship

35 (and both for them i really hate coming up with specific dates)

13. What do they do for fun?

Read, swim, enjoy coffee, cuddle with Mallory, watch animal videos

Gamble (she’s cheating), drink, have long ass baths, patrolling her club is work but she enjoys that part of her work a lot

14. What is their favorite food? How often do they get to eat it?

Something very spicy, veggies, she’s not a huge meat-eater

Due to her past drug abuse, most foods make her nauseous, so her fave is something light like fish

15. What was something their parents taught them?

Be kind and respectful, know your worth and do the dishes

Everyone is own their own

16. Are they religious?

No, spiritual, kinda

17. Where were they born?

Nigeria

Outer rim

18. What languages can they speak? Where did they learn these languages?

English and trade

Trade, whatever is the second biggest language on outer rim

19. What is their occupation?

Private investigator

Night club owner (that’s the side hustle to her drug business)

20. Do they have any titles? How did they earn them?

P.I, lots of school and getting a good internship

Word on the street is that she runs the biggest drug ring this side of rim, not officially though. Hard work and lots of blackmailing

Environment:

61. Which season is their favorite season?

Spring, lots of green, but not yet unbearably hot

Whenever her money comes in

62. Have they ever been betrayed? How did it affect their ability to trust others?

No, doubt she ever will, the bounty hunter (at least the citadel ones) are good people

Since birth honestly, whatever trust she had for her parents wilted away and now she won’t trust anyone unless they’ve proven themselves time and time again

63. What is always guaranteed to make them smile?

Animals, friends, the outdoors, she’s simple, just living the good life

Money, getting what she wants

64. Do they get cold easily? Do they get overheated easily?

She get cold more easily than too hot

Thanks to her metal leg all drastic changes in temperature are felt almost immediately

65. What’s their immune system like? Do they get sick often? How do they react to getting sick?

She’s got a pretty strong immune system. Doesn’t get sick that much

It’s pretty weak. She often gets flu when it’s the season

66. Where do they live? Do they like it there?

She lives in the citadel, has nice apartment there, she likes it lot

She has carved herself a place on the outer rim, it wasn’t exactly her dream but at this point there’s no place she’d rather be, has multiple apartments scattered around but her main one is on the top floor of her nightclub

67. Is their bedroom messy? What about their bathroom? Kitchen? Living room?

It’s somewhat messy, coffee cups and plates here and there, papers and journals scattered about, the whole house is like that

It’s super neat, she looks after herself. Her suite doesn’t even have a kitchen because she gets her food from the club kitchen

68. How did their environment growing up affect their personality?

Her parents influenced her a lot, she turned out good

Coming from two addicts, becoming one herself and generally being distrustful...

69. How did the people in their environment growing up affect their personality?

Wait i thought the previous one was the same question abbgöreghaeh

70. How do they feel about animals? Do they have any pets?

Love them! No time for one tho, if she had it’s be a cat

On that note.. I think she has a pet snake in her suite, its got a huge terrarium for it

71. How are they with children? Do they have any? Do they want any?

Love them, she’s good with them, she’s definitely the fun big cousin for her small relatives. Doesn’t have any but might want one? She feels she’s too young still

She doesn’t hate them but would rather no kids see her, ever. Doesn’t have any, doesn’t want any

72. Would they rather have stability or comfort?

i mean.... with stability comes comfort. But she’d choose comfort

Stability, life is already one big uncomfort for her to begin with

73. Do they prefer the indoors or outdoors?

Outdoors

Indoors

74. What weather is their favorite? Do they like storms?

Sunny for sure, storms are nice when you’re inside and in a secure place

Loves rain and storms, they also make ppl gather inside more

75. If given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

She’d doodle, they’re not great but i’m Mallory would love whatever she’d draw

If something, she’d draw a middle finger for investigators to find

76. How organized are they?

She keeps her work very neat and packed, everything else, not so much

Very much so, everything is neat and organized and hidden away, that’s key to getting away with doing what she does

77. What is their most prized possession?

Her badge, or a stuffed animal from her home

A single memory card contains mountains of excel sheets, it’s either always on the move and hidden or locked away, never in the same place for longer than a week

78. Who do they consider to be their best friend?

Mallory, she’s sappy like that

Juicebox comes the closest

79. What is their economic situation?

She’s comfortable, not super rich but not going from paycheck to paycheck either

Oh she’s loaded

80. Are they a morning person or a night owl?

Night owl

All the best stuff happens at night in her opinion

#my mom called in the middle of writing this and that took extra 20 mins safohghaeuhb #ipes has a pet snake and it's only slightly disturbing when she feeds it live mice #though from what i know snakes dont need to eat that much they can go for long without a big meal #it's a spoiled little noodle for sure

6 notes · View notes

witchyaqua · 4 years

Text

planets in the 3rd house

DOMAIN OF THE 3RD HOUSE

Learning (reading, listening, studying, researching, analyzing) and communication of your first language (writing, speaking, signing, singing)

Motor skills, such as running, walking, crawling, and dancing (anything involving dexterity and coordination, really)

“Short-distance travel”, meaning travel around familiar environments or close to home

Logical challenges: taking things apart and putting them back together, puzzles, and games that require mental skill

Children your age; siblings, cousins, and neighbourhood, daycare, or elementary school companions

Early childhood environment from birth to the toddler years, and your earliest memories

SUN IN THE 3H:You found your self-worth lied in being smart and well-spoken, and in doing so found power in being intelligent. Speaking, reading, writing, teaching, learning, and listening all become you, as the exchange of information is a large part of who you are as a person. Your mind is active and very easily bored, and so is always looking for something mentally stimulating to latch onto.Aside from communication, you also do well in fields where you work with your hands. You don’t just talk the talk – you have plenty of practical skills to back it up too. Stereo-typically, women with this placement tend to be more communication-oriented, while men tend to be more trade-oriented. But that has more to do with how our culture teaches each sex to behave more than it does inherent qualities of Sun in the 3rd House. Both men and women alike can enjoy writing stories, poetry, song lyrics, essays, speeches, jokes. And both men and women can make a living for themselves in mechanics, computers, video games, electrical, carpentry, cooking, crafts, and other trades.

MOON IN THE 3H: Having your moon placed in the third house indicates that you saw your mother more like a big-sister than as a parent herself. Often this placement is given to the most responsible child which is closest to the parents. Taking on a parental role yourself (such as the oldest sibling looking after their younger ones, or the only child who sees their parents more like roommates than actual authorities) you sit on equal terms with your mother, seldom looking to her for emotional comfort or security. But this aloof detachment from your nurturing caregiver can lead to problems in your intimate relationships later on in life. Being rational, logical, and intellectual is not a bad thing, certainly!

MERCURY IN THE 3H:Your brain is very good at absorbing a multitude of things at once, allowing you to change from one thing to the next without missing a beat. You are a collector of facts and figures, the type of person that likes to know a little bit about everything. Nothing escapes the grasp of your curiosity. Your attention span may not be very long, but it is long enough to get the basic idea before continuing on. You pick up on things quickly, after all, and you do not waste time studying once you understand. In turn you may become fickle and finicky with boredom when forced into patience. It is not your fault for wanting to keep moving forward in search of more exciting activities! And it isn’t your fault that you have a lot of interesting things to say and you want to say all of it right now! But, you could still stand to settle, meditate for a moment, and focus on one task at a time. After all, how can you apply your mind constructively if you refuse to listen and build your skills?The best route for you is to exploit your mind’s capacity for taking in and expelling information. There are several different ways you can do this, beginning with communication. You love to talk. You always want to chat about the things you know and have others tell you their thoughts in exchange. An element of performance can make it all the better, especially when combined with some speaking role. This can make for exciting work as a writer, journalist, speaker, host, educator, or even different kinds of customer service. Of course, spending all day every day around people may or may not be your favourite thing. So you may instead look for work where you are doing something, uniting your brain with your body and producing some set of manual skills. Singing, acting, dancing, and playing music are all examples where breath meets self. Sports and crafts are two examples of coordinated movement. There is a recurring correlation between the people who need lots of mental stimulation and the playing of games, particularly video games and puzzles. You can be any of these, or all of them. The basic fact that unites all of these activities is this: You need to connect with other people by communicating with them, and you need to figure things out.

VENUS IN THE 3H:Conversation keeps you alive – deep, thought-provoking conversation, light-hearted discussions, hearty debates, casual small-talk. Sometimes you prefer to just stick close to your partner or your best friend. Other times you may gather around a group of friends and family and mingle from one person to another. If you thoroughly enjoy people, you can be found chatting up strangers in crowded streets, clubs, pubs, or big social events. Your relationships take you travelling on trips both long and short, and love seems to find you when you leave home and venture out into the world. And both love and friendship find you often when you travel away from home. You tend to be attracted to other Gemini-types of people who love to talk, learn new things, and who think intellectually about the world. You find yourself drawn to mentally alert, logical, rational people with enough wit and charm to get away with saying anything.Venus in the 3rd is also highly centred around learning and communication, as these are the basic tenets of this house. When gentle, beautiful, beauty-loving Venus dances here, she gifts you with eloquent speech. You can be a bit of a flirt, of course. You take pleasure in reading, writing, and speaking to people. Nothing pleases you more than time by yourself with a book, writing down a story that has been stuck in your head, crafting poems or songs, or visiting with loved ones.

MARS IN THE 3H: As a younger child, there was conflict between yourself and your siblings, cousins, neighbours, and other school children your own age. Sometimes it was competitive, sometimes it was defiance, sometimes it may even have been violence. Other times it was you being valiantly protective of them. This was your first testing ground for flexing your Mars inhibitions, strength, and aggression. Later, Mars comes out in others ways. You drive too fast and too recklessly, too impatient when you want to get somewhere. Your thoughts are consumed by sex and anger alike. You take many trips to new cities and back, likely making these short travels a part of your life. Disagreements with teachers, debates, rebelling against the rules, and challenging conventional thought have always been your ways of expressing your own thoughts and ideas about the world. You have always had a strong, wilful mind and your own way of thinking, and for those who sought to mould you into a certain type of thinker you proved challenging. Perhaps this is why you have always been attracted to Gemini-types of people. They talk a lot, have just as short of an attention span, are mentally and physically always on the move. You can verbally spar with one another and then suddenly move onto a conversation about something else. They make excellent lovers and companions for you.

JUPITER IN THE 3H:As a young child you likely travelled or moved often and changed schools frequently, which further spurred your tendency to flirt with several disciplines at once but quickly move onto the next thing soon after. You also have good relationships with your siblings and your cousins. But the main point of Jupiter in this house is for you to use the power of words to communicate Jupiter to the rest of the word. It is not easy, as you will read here, but it is your higher purpose.Jupiter and its 3rd House home are uncomfortable with one another, each one hindering the other. For example, you tend to exaggerate when you communicate. Important facts and details are glossed over so you can bend the rules to fit with your expanding mind, giving rise to impractical ideas and reckless reasoning. You are also cursed with a mind that is all over the place trying to contain an abundance of thoughts, both big picture and small. Always busy with several intellectual interests at once, your energies are left scattered and restless. Your thirst for learning is never quenched, and since you are forever learning and seldom doing, your efforts are basically unproductive. You may even feel as though you are the perpetual student. When will you finally know enough? How do you marry abstract ideas to logical reasoning? How do you communicate with flair while still sticking to the facts? These are questions you must harmonize with in your lifetime. What remains true is your incredibly optimistic outlook and your openness to understanding. These two items are what will carry you through on your journey to personal enlightenment, wherever that journey may go.

SATURN IN THE 3H:Saturn here is a weight placed upon your young shoulders, signalling difficulties in school and conflict with other children. Those younger than you were a burden, a responsibility you did not want, a chore you had to look after and play with. Those older than you were cold, strict, and unloving. If you had brothers and sisters your relationship with your siblings was “limited” or “restricted” in some way, either due to divorce, death, physical separation, or emotional barriers erected between you. If you were an only child growing up you likewise felt lonely being in your family all by yourself. Regardless of whichever category you fall under, you felt isolated, lonesome, and burdened by your solitude. Likewise in school you had problems learning and studying at pace with the other students in class. You may have been mislabelled as stupid or accuse of having a learning difficulty when things took you longer to do. But while getting yourself an education was difficult, it was not because you were unintelligent. In fact, as time would tell, you were actually quite the opposite.Saturn, wherever it is placed, forces you to slow down, set a goal, and work towards it gradually. It is a planet of security and safety, of work ethic and achievement, of being grounded and taking things seriously. Your mind mirrors the way Saturn works. You think very deeply about a limited number of subjects, becoming an expert on a handful of things. On those things you achieve practical intelligence, accumulating a wealth of knowledge that can be put to good use. Contemplative, thoughtful, conscientiousness, and observational – these are the qualities that help you to think deeply and seriously about the world around you. It is true that put off decision making as much as you can, procrastinating to make sure you pick the right one, as if you don’t trust yourself and need to make sure. Insecurity in your own intelligence has forced you to become a hard-lined intellectual (or else, alternatively, to reject intellectualism altogether). And at times, it has cost you. In trying to be realistic, you have become pessimistic. The cold hard facts, so unforgiving and dispassionate, colour your vision in shades of grey. The heart of Saturn in the 3rd House is that when you are exploring, relating to, and engaging with your surrounding environment, you are apprehensive at every moment. Fear is what keeps you quiet with your nose in your studies, ever doubting your own intelligence.

URANUS IN THE 3H:Unlike other people who may use only logic or only emotion to decide what it right and what is true, you are able to blend your thoughts and feelings together. This is the stem from which your insight sprouts its leaves and your creativity blossoms. You emerge with a very different way of processing the world, and end up with a very original personal style at the end of it. You are constantly reorienting your view of the information in front of you, looking at items from every possible angle and dissecting every little thought to its core. You come up with new and enlightened ways of understanding every time you learn something. Every new fact you uncover, every new opinion you discover, every new point of view leads to you drastically change the way you see the world.But your intelligence does come with its own kind of moody eccentricity, as it often does. In early education you sat, slumped in your desk, bored and unable to concentrate. Dry academics left you no room to be creative, no room to add your own unique twist. And purely creative subjects gave you no structure to tear down and change. Uninspired, restless, and wanting more from life, you got distracted easily and struggled to focus in your studies. Having a strong, independent mind and rebellious attitude towards your learning also do not help your relationship with teachers. You got into trouble with authority for what you said and what you thought, especially when you demanded equality, spoke out during class, and tried to shake up your learning environment to make it more interesting. You are always on the lookout for fresh and exciting experiences; your inability to be bored means that you always leap from one interesting discussion to the next. All your life you keep encountering similar struggles when pitted against a person that tells you how to think. But as you get older the tension that exists between you and other people is more to do with your unconventional ideas, “weird” personal tastes, and your failure to focus on one thing at a time.

NEPTUNE IN THE 3H:If you had brothers and sisters growing up it may have been that one of them was a “difficult” child (having some behavioural problem or a disability of some kind). In this case, you had to sacrifice some degree of your own happiness to adjust to them. If you had a sibling which died, you may carry some sort of guilt or responsibility for what happened and how it affected your parents. Alternatively, you may have been separated from your siblings through divorce, physical distance, or emotional severance, forcing you to give up your relationship with them. If you did not have siblings you still shared the loneliness in regards to your peers. Neptune in the 3rd inevitably concludes with personal distance between you and others, as if you are contained within your own personal bubble of fog.In response to this early distance from others your own age, you retreated inward, into the comforting chaos of your own mind. On the outside it seemed as though you were shy when you in class; teachers may have even though you suffered from learning disabilities from the confusing way your mind seemed to work. Others see you as delusional, confused, gullible, easily impressed upon, and unrealistic in your expectations. Some may even accuse you of being mentally unwell or unstable. They see you as far too emotional and not logical enough. Being so empathetic, their words come to you as truth, and you begin to believe them. For much of your life you are pressured to favour hard science, logic, rationality, and dry intellect, and forced to learn and speak the way people think you should. You may even come to worship knowledge and science as if it were an unquestionable religion. But at some point in your life curiosity is bound to overtake to, and you will fall deep into your fascination with spirituality, magic, fantasy, the occult, and other ancient practices. The intellectuals of the world will tell you believe in these things is foolish. But to you and the way you drink in the world, they are as real as anything, and they explain so much.

PLUTO IN THE 3H:You were made for penetrative research and investigation into the unknown, for your mind sneaks into the darkness of a person’s emotional mind and pulls out truths one at a time. You have a knack for sniffing out secrets. Everybody has a sore spot – abuse, trauma, loss, sex, death, births, relationships gone bad. You have a hungry need for knowing the underlying psychology of every person you meet, and you will not rest until you’ve “figured them out”. Often you fall into the trap of thinking people are more deadly, more secretive, and more complex than they actually are. You come at them with invasive questions like a prosecutor examining a criminal, hoping to get everything out of them over the course of your relationship. Your intentions of exposing a person’s worst qualities and darkest secrets right off the bat is a testament not only to your paranoia, but to the negative way in which you view the world.Your mind can turn against you in the way it works sometimes. You may be one of many who suffer from some sort of mental illness or instability, which you know about but try to hide from other people. Intrusive thoughts which are obsessive, anxious, angry, destructive, or sexual turn over in your mind incessantly. Resentment which should have cooled long ago still burns inside of your heart, and you dwell in violent fantasies whenever your darker emotions are stirred. None of these patterns of thought are healthy, nor are they constructive uses for the mind. A surprising way you can turn your outlook around? Travelling. Each trip you take marks a specific turning point in your life. By forcing you out of your comfort zone and surrounding you with new cultures, new foods, new people, and new experiences, your mind can renew itself in a new place. Perhaps you get out of a slump by moving away to a new city and leaving behind an old environment that was detrimental to your mental health. Maybe you revitalize a tired mind by picking up a book or a new area of study, going back to school, or taking a short trip to clear your head.

-all the information i found is from canaryquillastrology.com

#astrology #the3rdhouse #sun #moon

18 notes · View notes