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bookqueenrules · 8 months

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18, 18, 18…..Symbolism and the number 18 in the DD spin-off.

In episodes 2 and 3 the number 18 is specifically mentioned.

In episode 3 the “walker experiment” lasted 18 seconds.

To have TWO prominent mentions of the same number can not be a coincidence. So, I went back to the first 18 in TWDU. When interpreting symbols there is the rule of "first mention" meaning that you should go back to the first time something is mentioned in a work in order to determine its symbolic meaning.

Season 2 episode 10 was titled “18 Miles Out”. First, the episode starts out of chronological order(like WHWGO) with a scene of Shane and Rick trying to get away from a herd of walkers that were set loose when Shane throws a red hatchet into a glass because he was aiming at Rick but misses. Shane seeks cover in a school bus. We get our first shot of a bus AND a fire truck. LOTS of symbolism and foreshadowing in just the sequence.

Then, it flashes back to Rick and Shane on the road before the opening. Shane and Rick are supposed to take Randall 18 miles out and drop him off. They blindfold him, tie him up, and put him in the trunk of the car.

The episode focuses on conflicts between Shane and Rick and Maggie and Beth. I won’t do a scene by scene breakdown, but there are two themes running through the episode. The first takes center stage in Rick and Shane’s story. It’s the theme of “being too far out” meaning you have lost your humanity in order to survive. Rick wants to let Randall live and Shane not only wants to kill Randall, but will make his first attempt to kill Rick. He argues with Rick telling Rick that he won’t do what it takes to keep Lori, Carl, and the baby safe.

This crossroad is about 18 miles out. It is at the crossroads that Shane explains how he had to leave Rick in the hospital in order to save Lori and Carl. He had no choice. He explains that there were military personnel at the hospital killing the living and the dead. The best he could do for Rick was to block the entrance to his door and leave. I believe this was a direct foreshadow of what TF had to do with Beth’s body at Grady. Then, Shane says that after leaving Rick, “I didn’t keep Lori and Carl alive. They kept me alive.” This parallels Daryl’s experience after leaving Beth’s body. Daryl was needed to help keep TF alive, but it was really them that kept him from “going too far” into his grief for Beth.

Then, they both get in the car and have the STRANGEST conversation. Rick starts talking about winter and how it might slow the walkers down if it is as cold as last winter. He tells the story of his cousin being stuck on 85 for 24 hours and having to eat the birthday cake he was taking to his girlfriend in Virginia. I believe this was a coded story. 85 was code for 5X8 aka Coda. I believe the 24 hours might have been how long Beth was “stuck in the car” before they could come back to her. It also foreshadows TF going to Virginia after Beth being “stuck in the car”.

In this episode, Rick and Shane pass the crossroads symbolizing going “too far”. Shane shows this by the end of the episode.

This connects with the walker experiments in DD episode 3. Experimenting on walkers is Genet’s going “too far”.

The second conflict is Maggie trying to convince Beth not to “lose hope” and kill herself. So, the second theme of 18 miles out is that each individual must find their own reason to live despite facing grief and loss. Beth says that is “pointless” to keep going. Maggie says that even though they lost their mother, Beth still has her, Daddy, Jimmy, and Patricia. Beth says something like “I’ve been dating Jimmy for three months and now I’m married to him?” Then, Andrea and Lori have an interesting argument in the kitchen. Andrea tells Lori something to the effect that maybe she should tell that girl(Beth) that she will have a husband, a son, and a baby one day just like Lori. This foreshaow’s Beth’s “happy ending” at the end of her arc. Sound familiar?

Next, Beth tells Maggies that their farm will be overrun with walkers and, “We’ll lose each other anyway, and I couldn’t stand that.” Beth doesn’t want to be gutted by walkers. She wants Maggie to commit suicide with her so that they can end things on their own terms. SO MUCH foreshadowing in this conversation. Pretty much everything Beth feared happened(except the gutted part, but that must haunt Maggie). Yet, when Beth does cut herself, she instantly regrets it and decides to live, showing that you can decide to cross a line, but come back as long as you aren’t “too far gone”. You can lose your hope but find it again.

The 18 reference in DD episode 2 was a call back to Beth and her arc. Lou symbolized Beth even down to her hair. Her taking care of the kids was much like Beth for the kids at the prison. It was a call back to Beth and the theme of not losing hope despite loss. It is interesting that the marriage theme was also brought through Daryl and the kids watching that Mork and Mindy episode. I believe this reference shows that Beth and her arc are still alive.

In episode 3, there are 64 people in Fallou’s community. Another specific number call out. This calls back to 6x4. This is a standalone episode about Morgan being taken in and brought back from being “too far gone” by Eastman. I believe it may be referencing in DD to show that Beth was taken in by someone who helped her keep going after the loss of TF. Interestingly 4X6 is a standalone about the Governor and what happens to him after he is “separated” from his people. He too finds another group with which to connect, but in the end he is “too far gone” to change.

I would love to know if anyone else made any connections with these numbers.

#team delusional #bethyl #twd daryl and beth #beth greene #beth greene lives #team defiance #twd daryl

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jengajives · 3 years

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Alright so Finrod tho

Finrod squinted beyond his line to the mass of dark, tarnished metal boiling on the horizon.

There were so many. Too many.

They couldn’t hold. They were going to lose the pass.

He raised his spear, the silver banner flapping loudly from its haft, and roared a rallying cry. It was answered by the guard around him, and the rest of the army behind.

They could not lose the pass.

On the other side of the river, Orodreth’s infantry were holding, but Finrod’s own forces were taking the brunt of the assault and being crushed beneath it. A wedge of orcs was starting to plunge between the ranks, forcing himself and his company against the river and the others to the hills. Soon the goblins would have the two forces separated and come down on them like a hammer against an anvil.

Finrod didn’t fancy the idea of drowning in all this armor, nor of being cut down and hewn in the shallows of Sirion, so he shouted for horns to blow, for the company to push back toward the hills with all their might.

He took the forefront of the assault with his guard around him. The soldiers needed someone to follow.

He wasn’t nearly as fearsome in battle as some of his cousins, but he was no terrified youth, either. He was a foe the orcs knew to fear. And he would lead his people to triumph or fall in the attempt.

There was so little left. They couldn’t lose the pass.

Rising to meet them was a shield-wall of steel and wood, bristling with spear tips, weeping arrows. The Elves fell on it like waves against a cliff.

Finrod batted shields aside, shattered wooden hafts of spears against his mithril-coated arms, and plunged his own ringing weapon in wherever armor looked soft. Black blood spattered the banner his spear bore until it hung heavy and dripping. His fingers struggled to grip a handle so slick with gore. On every side, his people fell.

The orcs crushed them back. No matter how many they killed, more would swarm forth and rally, clashing against the Elves with more ferocity each time, like the sight of their fallen brothers heightened the natural goblin bloodlust and drove them mad. Soon Finrod’s host was losing land. Slowing being pushed back to the edge of the water until even the King’s heels were damp and they were fighting in the shallowest flow of the river.

Screams faded into the sound of a heartbeat. A shield crashed into Finrod’s chest so hard his breastplate buckled, and he went wheeling to the ground in a breathless flash of red and white. When he landed on all fours, before he could scramble back or reach for his fallen spear or even think about catching his breath, a jagged blade took him in the side and screeched against his armor until it caught the weak part beneath the arm and pushed right through.

White-hot pain erupted in Finrod’s side. He screamed, twisted to grab the blade and yank it free, shooting sparks from the metal-clad palm of his hand when the sword jerked back on its own, slicing him even through the protection.

He managed to turn and look into the yellow eyes of the goblin that was going to kill him before the stroke fell, just so he’d know what was own death had looked like.

The orc grinned with metal teeth, and a hatchet took it suddenly in the throat.

With a scream that turned rapidly to a gurgle, the creature feel, and from the midst of shrieking orcs came a new shape in a spray of black blood.

The newcomer had no heavy armor, just a leather breastplate with thick layers of chainmail beneath, and wore no helm on his head. Instead, his dark auburn hair flowed free about his shoulders, and his dark eyes gleamed as he held aloft a dripping sword in one hand and another small throwing axe in the other. The orcs fled him like he was a specter, and soon others emerged from the ranks like him, hardy and wielding stout weapons of iron and steel. Men, come to fight alongside their immortal brothers. Finrod felt lightheaded.

The first Man offered a large hand that was certainly plenty calloused beneath leather gloves.

“Your Highness. Can you stand?”

Finrod could only stare, entranced, as this new company of Men hacked a perimeter around them. His throat felt dry.

“Who are you?”

“Barahir, my Lord. Son of Bregor of Bëor’s house. My people are here to help in whatever way we can, sir.”

From somewhere in the direction of the mountains, horns sounded, but they weren’t Finrod’s. He recognized the orcs’ screams of terror.

Barahir moved his outstretched hand closer to remind Finrod it was there.

“Your Majesty, can you stand?”

It was then Finrod realized he was bleeding, heavily enough to see it drip from his silver armor. He spoke unsteadily with this new knowledge very, very close to the forefront of his mind, but tried to smile.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Good. We must move quickly to get you and your people to safety.”

When Finrod accepted the hand, he was shocked by how warm and firm its grip was. Immediately his trust was given to this Man in its entirety.

“I can manage,” Finrod said when Barahir offered him an arm to lean on, despite how much he wanted to take it. He could walk on his own and it was best not to further hinder a soldier so obviously capable as Barahir. Finrod watched him draw back and fling his second hatchet into a break in his line with exceptional speed and accuracy. Men closed in to fill the gap as soon as the hatchet passed them by.

“We can cut a path back to your main force,” Barahir said with alarming calmness. “Stay close to me. I’ll protect you.”

If Finrod had been any prouder, he would have insisted he did not need protection, but he was a practical creature and an honest one, and he knew he was too weak to stand his own now against even the smallest orc. And Barahir to him seemed mighty and sure; deep in his heart Finrod knew he would come to no harm in this Man’s care.

“Lead on,” he said with a solemn nod.

Remarkably, Barahir grinned at him. There was a gap between his front teeth. Somehow Finrod’s knees grew weaker.

Barahir raised his sword. “Protect the King!”

Around him, the lightly-clad soldiers gave an answering shout. Like a fluid machine they closed ranks, putting shields on the outside of the ring with pikemen behind them, keeping Finrod and the last remnant of his guard in the middle. Barahir stayed close, too. Every once in a while he’d venture to the edge of the guarded circle to shout orders and provide support for the wounded, but as the ring around them tightened and the soldiers providing protection thinned, he began to spend more time in the center at Finrod’s side.

When Felagund stumbled and his mouth began to taste of iron, Barahir was there to catch him.

“Nearly there now,” he said in a low, steady voice. “Hold on, your Highness. I’ve got you.”

Finrod wanted to say something back but his head was spinning, so he let himself lean on Barahir as the sounds of battle dimmed around him and each shuffling step brought an ache to his head.

“Take it easy,” Barahir said. There was an edge of nervousness to his voice; blades hacking to get in on every side.

The few remaining Men formed up tight, a thin line around Finrod and Barahir. The Elvish guards with any strength left to bear weapon joined them and together they cut at the incoming enemy with horrible ferocity.

Just as the ring began to be battered apart, the main part of Finrod’s host fell on them like a silver tide, and Elvish swordsman washed around them with blades white and fell.

Several glittering soldiers rushed to retrieve Finrod from Barahir’s arms, though he wasn’t happy to go. He spit a mouthful of blood and stood unsteadily, forearm braced against a soldier, to face the Man.

“You must retreat south down the river.” Barahir pointed as if he worried Finrod had forgotten where the river actually was. “We can cover your retreat.”

“I won’t stand by while others give their lives fighting our battles,” Finrod said weakly. His attempt to stand up straight didn’t work out all too well; soon he was nearly staggering into the other guards, though he did manage to keep his footing. “We’ll stand with you, Barahir.”

“No.” The remainder of the Men gathered around, the horns of their host blew loud just to the east. “Many of your soldiers have fallen. You don’t have the strength to hold the pass.”

“I won’t-“

“King Felagund,” Barahir said almost pleadingly, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You need medicine. Your people need respite. Leave this to us, and return to safety while you still can.”

The look in his muddy eyes was so steadfast that Finrod cracked almost immediately. His voice warbled.

“When will I see you again?”

“If I have been blessed with any luck,” Barahir said fervently, “then it will be soon.”

He smiled again, but this time it was remarkably sad.

Finrod looked on him and loved what he saw, and at once he was stricken by the need to do something to thank this Man, this valiant hero who had paid much to save his life. He fumbled to unbuckle his gauntlet.

“Here-“ Beneath the silver armor upon his slim finger he wore the ring crafted for him back in Valinor- the one set with green emeralds that sparkled like the deepest pools. He pressed it firmly to Barahir’s hand, and folded his fingers around it.

“If ever you find yourself in need,” Finrod said, “Nargothrond is open to you. I owe you a life debt, Barahir son of Bregor, and I will not quickly forget it.”

Barahir looked at the ring with the astonishment of one who had never beheld great riches. After a moment, he managed to shake his head, slack-jawed.

“I cannot take this!”

“It is a gift.” Finrod nodded to himself. “A poor symbol of my gratitude, but all that I have to give.”

He hesitated.

“Save one thing...”

Then with shocking nervousness, he leaned down and placed a light kiss on the lips of Barahir the captain of Men, before the two of them went their separate ways.

#jenga makes junk #fanfic #fic #writers #finrod felagund #finrod #barahir #orodreth #silmarillion #finrod x barahir

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the-wanted-man · 3 years

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The Ex-Con | ‘Lawrence’ ⌐ LFRP

THE BASICS –––

Name: Roman “Lawrence” Wyld In-Game: The Outlaw

Age: 25

Nameday: Uncelebrated or unremembered. (29th Sun/4th Umbral Moon.)

Born: The New World (Raised in Garlemald)

Race: Hyur - Whalaqee & Garlean

Gender: Male.

Alignment: Chaotic Good w/occasional deviation towards what feels good.

Marital Status: Easy come, easy go.

Orientation: Poly. Mostly straight.

Server: Balmung

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE –––

Hair: Short to Mid length and unkempt. Dark brown w/ white highlights.

Eyes: Silver. A swirling mix of mercury and ash.

Height: 6′3

Weight: 238 lbs

Distinguishing Marks: A long scar over his left eye reaching brow to cheek. Various other mappings of scars across his body. Particularly stabbings, bullet wounds, and burns.

Build: He’s tall, almost lanky for a normal hyur with strong shoulders that slope downward over a broad chest. His waist is tapered, his legs are long. His hands calloused. Both his weight and musculature are practically built, and his lifestyle keeps him lean like a coyote with a noticeable lack of fat to spare. If he missed a meal he’d surely feel it. He seems the type for dexterous tasks, but carries deceptive strength.

Common Accessories: Two loaded six shooters, a cutlass or his Gunblade. A bowie knife/ hatchet, some lock picking & whittling tools. Paracord or rope. Extra revolver cartridges (regular and aether loaded). A deck of cards numbering 51, or magitek dice for recreation. Magitek gizmos. Peanuts, Cigarettes, a flask of whiskey. A single tarot card (The Star), kept in his left breast pocket. A red bandana. Compass / Pocket Watch. An eagle totem necklace. (2) multitools: one with eating utensils, bottle/wine opener, and knife. The other with Magitek specialty tools. A big, gold belt buckle. A cowboy hat, usually dark. Wolf fang earrings. (1) perfectly weighted coin.

PERSONAL –––-

Profession: Handyman. Gun-for-hire. Gardening & Gravedigging. Naturalist & Survivalist.

Hobbies: Finger dexterity puzzles. Card games. Gambling. Sketching, whittling.

Languages: Common. Garlean. Whalaqee. Some Ishgardian.

Residence(s): Nomadic, favors Wellwick Woods and the Burning Wall. Any wild will do though. Has an unknown location of interest in the deep Shroud.

Religion: His religion has no name.

Patron Diety / Spiritual Guide: The Wanderer | The Eagle

Fears: Cleithrophobia. He’ll get really freaked out if he thinks he’s stuck somewhere.

Distinguishing Traits: A rural drawl that lilts and flows.

Relationships ––– -

Spouse: Never.

Parents: Augustus cen Ferox & Valentina wir Maximian

Siblings: An older half-brother, Leviticus wir Maximian

Other Relatives: Cousins he’s not close to.

Pets: No pets, just all manners of beasts both companionable and not. • A paint mustang named Trigger • A multi-colored dog w/ no name yet.

Traits ––– -

*doing something a bit different

5 Positive Traits (Generally beneficial)

Truthful • Hardworking • Easy going • Agreeable • Optimistic

5 Neutral Traits (Can be good or bad)

Lustful • Restless • Pensive • Observant • Trusting

5 Problematic Traits (Generally never good)

Mercurial • Irritable • Reckless • Trigger Happy • Indulgent

RP Hooks ––– –

Past History: Lawrence has had a variety of names and sobriquets he’s gone by. He’s wandered wide and far. Significant history points can be from his growing up in Garlemald, or his crash landing in Eorzea. He’s been imprisoned in several Eorzean Gaols, and has had cellmates. He’s saved and helped commoners and utilizes allies to do that as well. He robs the rich and gives to the poor.

Present Hooks: He can meet people just about anywhere and will generally be found getting up to trouble, or working his way there. Known to be an ex-convict of some caliber. Can more commonly be found out in the wilds, but on occasion hits cities and residential zones. He’s been known to pick fights with bullies, and be fairly helpful. Clever minds and observant eyes can likely piece his bounties together to determine his identity, or recognize him from some old wanted board.

Hiring Hooks: As an ex-convict, he’s in constant need of employment and is more than willing to work. He’s got a wide set of skills that are largely based in that of a naturalist and outdoorsman. He’s also a fine craftsman, and has been known to tend estate gardens and gravedig for local churches. He can be consulted for knowledge on the flora and fauna of the land, as well as knowledge on native beast tribes and their relations with other spoken.

Ally Hooks : He’s in constant need of healing and safe spaces, given his ongoing fugitive status. ‘I need healing’ would be a common phrase from him if he was an NPC. He can always use teachers or mentors to help him learn more - particularly when it comes to magic, aetherology, and demonology/voidsent. Posse members, and people who do crime for good reasons can become fast allies. Closer relationships can be talked down like family, or ex loves, etc.

Friction Hooks: I always welcome friction. Not every interaction is a great one and I like to embrace these ideas on an IC level. He could certainly use some rivals, or people with conflicting mentalities to him such as bounty hunters, corrupt officials (or lawful ones), bullies, villains. People that can challenge him, his morals, his limits, etc. As long as the dynamic isn’t one sided. The goal here isn’t ultimate capture or ultimate defeat to me but rather the growth developed through antagonistic engagements.

Contact Information ––– –

Discord: Message me here first and I’ll pass it.

Additional OOC:

Shipping: I prefer slow burn ships for anything specifically serious and won’t jump into ERP with anyone unless it makes sense story wise. Even then, FTB is a high possibility with strangers. Sorry. Additionally, Roman is poly and will be unlikely to solo-ship.

Will Nots: I don’t engage in explicit self-harm/suicide/extreme depression storylines or scenes of sexual violence/abuse. Vague references or allusions I’ll deal with, but prefer any explicit detail 1000 miles awaaaaaaaaay.

Boundaries: I like making friends and highly value platonic relationships IC and OOC. That said, I am skittish and will cut engagements if I feel discomforted by something. This includes the pushing of character boundaries I’ve established as not possible without my consent. Please, if I have discussed something as a lacking possibility, do not keep suggesting it.

Communication. This is big for me. I will speak up if uncomfortable, and encourage the same! This is a definite requirement if we’re doing deeper plotlines. I don’t need to be talked to every day, just let me know if something’s up so I can adjust. We’re all here to have fun!

Health & Scheduling: I have a pretty shit schedule being an essential worker and all, on top of being PST. 44 hours a week without a phone, no less. Mon-Thur I’m basically non-existent until the weekends and these will be the days I am not as talkative/active. Coupling that with chronic pain and mental health that is also affected by my job, some days I am just not capable of being around. I try to be up front about this. I don’t always have the energy. If I’ve dropped off, there’s a high chance my health took a serious dive and I just can’t bring myself to be about. All I ask is patience. Move on if you need to, but don’t be a jerk!

#LFRP #The Outlaw #Balmung Server #Crystal Data Center #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV

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wrizzgotmotian · 3 years

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Meeting them

Then you saw...You saw a girl with a white kimono and black (i think) hair on top of the boy with red hair and a green and black square kimono. As you were walking close you saw that the girl was a demon and she was....crying.Her brother kept him safe by the hatchet he held to keep his sister from biting him. Just as you were walking closer, you saw a man in the air about to kill the man's sister, so you ran and pushed them out of the way and they hit a tree while you got your ponytail (or whatever you want) cut off a bit.

"Ow," said the red-haired man.

Then the man with the different color kimono looked at you and then he said

"Why did you save a demon". You were just shocked and then you said

"I saved him and his sister because demons were once humans to and they do have a soul".

The two boys just looked at you in shock but then the red-haired man said.

"W-Wait, you ar my cousin, and s-sh is right though, they once were humans and my sister was once too". He then looked at tanjiro and said,

"your sister is a demon so I have to kill her".

"W-What! No, you can't do that. I know nezuko and she would never eat a human. T-There was a-a different s-sent at my house! That m-must have been the o-one who killed my f-family!" Then tanjiro saw he was just holding air and then looked back up and saw the man with his sister with his sword raised.

"H-Hey!" Tanjiro then was bowing on his knees saying things like how nezuko would never eat a human and how he would turn her back somehow.

"STOP BEING A FOOL AND GET UP! DON'T YOU DARE EVER LET YOUR GUARD DOWN OR YOU WON'T MAKE IT OUT ALIVE OUT HERE! WHAT IF SOMEONE WAS GOING TO KILL YOU! YOU CAN"T JUST BEG YOU NEED TO FIGHT BACK!" Giyu yelled

He then stabbed the girl in the shoulder and tanjiro got up and grabbed his hatchet and he then throws a rock at the man but the man dogged it with his sword.

You were just sitting there in disbelief, then tanjiro threw another rock at him but you saw he threw his hatchet in the air. Tanjiro then ran to the man pretending to have his Hachette in his hand but then the man knocked him out with the handle of his sword.

"Wheres the Hachette?" He then heard a sound and looked up to see the Hachette in the air headed for him and he moved his head to his left and was just shocked.

(Time skip to where tanjiro was awake and the man told him where to go because I'm lazy)

"oh and don't let her be exposed to the sunlight, ok?"

"Yes and again thank you."

"(y/n), you can come to if you ant," taniro said

"uh huh," you said

------------------------------------------------------------

Hi! So if you are wondering why tanjiro is traveling with a random stranger is because in this upper moon with 6 eyes is your father and that was before he came a demon ad tanjiro recognized you. I hope you enjoyed it because this one took a lot of time so I hope you guys like it and please follow me and have a nice day/afternoon/mid-day/night/morning!

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yikeswtfmate · 4 years

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Meet me in the Hallway

Summary: Y/N and Bucky have hated each other since they were children and now they’re forced to live together, whether they like it or not.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: swearing; sexual themes

A/N: ...and they were roommates! I’m not going to pass up a chance of putting my spin on this trope, come on, I’m weak! Full disclosure: I was so excited about this idea that I’ve just spent the last 4 hours writing it without pause

masterlist

Bucky sometimes wants to punch Steve in the face. Either that, or maybe punch himself in the face just to save himself from having to live with the two Rogers cousins one more day. He doesn’t mind Steve. After years of living together through college he’s used to all of his habits, including those that are borderline neurotic – like how all the plates have to be stacked according to colour, and not just dump them one over the other. He does mind Y/N, however, although he’s known her for just as much time he’s known his best friend. The only problem is that, where he can forgive any of Steve’s misgivings, Y/N just simply pisses him off. So when Steve came home one day and announced without any kind of heads up that Y/N will be moving in the spare bedroom that they’ve been using as an office of sorts until now, his first thought was to bang his head against the wall until he’d lose consciousness.

Steve was suspiciously silent when Bucky tried to get something more out of him, like ‘why’ or ‘I thought she was living with her boyfriend’ and ‘buy why, Steve’ and even ‘can’t you just send her to stay with Sam and let me live in peace.’

“Just for this year, until she’s done with her residency.” Is all that Steve offers as an explanation.

It was many months later, when Steve was staying over at Peggy’s, when Bucky found Y/N home crying her eyes out when he got all the answers. Apparently, her boyfriend of 4 years was cheating on her (“Didn’t I tell you from the start that he’s a fucking idiot?” which earned him a scowl) so she had to move out from their shared apartment (“I’ve left all my books there, Bucky, I’ve been collecting those books for ever and the asshole just threw them out the next day!” which earned her a shake of his head). She knew from the start that she won’t be able to afford living by herself (“Do you know how much rent is in New York? God fucking dammit, some days I just wanted to stab my eyes with the scalpels” which earned her a nod of agreement) and going back to her parents was definitely not on the table (“I’d actually stab myself to death with those scalpels than having to live with my parents ever again” which earned her a smack over her head), so she had to ask Steve, “the only functioning human being I actually know who’s our age” if he’ll take her in “like a fucking baby.”

They ended up finishing an entire bottle of whiskey that night and the next morning Y/N was sleeping in his bed, her naked skin barely covered by his blanket. Bucky’s first reaction was to let out an incredulous groan, unable to process his reasoning for sleeping with her. As great as the sex had been, they were never a fan of each other, ever since Bucky used to pull her hair and push her in the sand when they were 8. Growing older, that dislike slowly shifted to pure hatred, and those months that they’ve been living under the same roof were proof that they would most likely murder each other before seeing eye to eye on literally anything.

So Bucky hauled his ass out of the apartment as soon as possible, hoping to all that’s mighty she would just take the hint and get the hell out of his bed by the time he’d come back home. Thankfully she did, and they didn’t speak a word of that night until it happened again a month later when Y/N nearly knocked his door down one night because his music wouldn’t let her sleep. The next time it happened, Bucky crawled into her bed at midnight after a particularly bad date, without giving it much thought. After that, it just became routine that they’d find themselves in the other’s bed whenever there would be a bad day at work, lack of sleep, a heated fight that neither wanted to lose, once even just because Bucky came back from the gym all sweaty and annoyed, and two times because she would insist on walking around the apartment in the tiniest shorts that he’d ever seen in his entire goddamn life. Neither of them wanted to think too much about it, justifying it as a means to an end, and as much as they would be attracted to each other, Bucky once famously said that he’d rather marry Sam than bury the hatchet with Y/N, just because “she’s so fucking annoying!”

“Where is that dunce anyway?” Y/N asks. “I thought he said he wanted to see this movie as well.”

She hands Steve a bottle of beer and takes her seat on the sofa. Peggy raises an eyebrow in a silent question that Y/N chooses to ignore, and Steve shrugs before popping some popcorn in his mouth.

“Said he had a date.”

Y/N can’t help gritting her teeth in annoyance. She absolutely refuses to think of Bucky as more than an easy lay, but she is human after all, and she’d rather him have a love life as miserable as hers. It’s not fair he gets to try his luck at finding the love of his life, while he’s getting his fix with her whenever he pleases in the meantime.

Steve nudges her shin with his foot from over his armchair, startling her out of her thoughts. Looking up at him, she notices the worry on his face. This boy knows her too well for her to have a semblance of privacy, goddammit. It’s a miracle he hasn’t figured out what’s been going on behind his back, although she has a feeling that’s just because Peggy is too much of an angel to shed some light on the situation.

“What’s wrong?” He demands.

“Nothing. Let’s just watch the stupid movie.” Y/N mutters.

“Nuh-uh.” Steve insists. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Y/N sighs and although Peggy tries to divert his attention, she knows there’s no way in hell she’ll get out of it now. He watches her determinedly, waiting for an honest answer. He’s not stupid and he’s noticed something’s been different with the dynamic between his cousin and his best friend lately. He’s seen how tense Y/N gets whenever Bucky touches her waist when he passes her, which is weird in and of itself considering they would flat out refuse to be in the same room together at first. He can also distinctly remember Y/N wearing one of Bucky’s sweaters when he found her asleep in front of the tv one night. Then it suddenly clicks.

“You’ve been sleeping together!” He shouts accusingly.

Y/N’s eyes widen in shock and she is suddenly feeling very warm. Peggy sighs and mutters something that sounds oddly like “no shit, Sherlock” under her breath. Steve crosses his arms, but his expression turns from incredulous to worried again.

“Oh shit, you’ve been sleeping together.” Then onwards to furious: “And the asshole is on a date right now?” And then wary: “Are you ok with this?” And finally confused: “Why are you ok with this?”

“Look, Stevie.” Y/N starts with a sigh. “It’s not like I have a choice. We’ve never talked about us being more than…fuck buddies, I guess you’d call it.” She says irritated. “We’re fine like this, we both get what we want out of it without any kind of responsibility. It’s neither here nor there if I’m ok with it in the end because Bucky hates me.”

“Y/N, we’ve talked about this.” Peggy tries but she’s cut off with a shake of the head.

“No, Peg. I know he does. Steve can tell you. He’s hated me ever since we were children. To be fair, I couldn’t stand him either, but now I just…” There’s a split second of silence before Y/N’s eyes seem to bulge out of her skull. She plants her hands on either side of her face and shakes her head as if trying to pry the thought out of her head. “Fuck.”

Peggy scoots closer and puts her arm over Y/N’s shoulders. “Oh, Y/N.” She says with a sympathetic smile.

“This is a mess. I’m going to call him and tell him to come home.” Steve announces, his phone already in his hand.

“Don’t, Steve. He doesn’t owe me anything. I’ve never asked anything more of him and he never offered. Just leave it at that. I’ll get over it. Don’t worry about me.” She gets up and hands Peggy the bowl of popcorn she was holding. “I’m tired. I’m just going to call it a night if you don’t mind. I’ll see you tomorrow at work, Peg.” She makes her way to her room in silence, but they both notice the tears that start to form in her eyes.

Steve turns to his girlfriend, his face still trying to decide between worry and anger. “I’m going to kill Bucky.”

“No, you won’t, sweetheart. They’re adults and this is their problem. They have to sort it out themselves.”

The next morning Bucky is woken up by what must be the entire population of velociraptors brought back to life in the living room. He looks at his phone, which mockingly informs him that it’s only 3:57 am. He tries going back to sleep, but he finds it nearly impossible now that mammoths apparently joined the dinosaurs.

He groans and gets out of the bed, ready to unleash hell on whoever decided it’s a great idea to wake him up at fuck o’clock on a Saturday. He can barely distinguish Y/N’s form in the shadows of the hallways, throwing a big lump of…something over her shoulder as she rummages through the shoe rack.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He demands.

“Looking for my running shoes.” She replies deadpan. “I left them here yesterday but someone thought they should just bury them with their own shit.”

“Why the fuck are you going for a run now?”

“I always go for a run in the morning.” She seems to have found one of the shoes and proceeds to throw a boot over her head, barely missing Bucky’s arm in the process.

“It’s 4 o’clock. You usually go for a run at 6. Why are you running at 4?! It’s still dark outside! You can’t go running now, who knows who the fuck is out there.”

“Well, I couldn’t sleep so might as well be productive.” She shrugs.

“Y/N, come back to bed. You don’t have to be up for another 2 hours. Come on.” Bucky slides a hand around her waist, making her stand straight, her back to his chest. “I can make you go to sleep, baby.” He whispers in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

“No, Bucky.” She disentangles from his embrace and tries to push him away with a shove that is too weak to be believable. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Can’t do what? Sleep?” Bucky laughs and has another try at grabbing her, but she just backs up from him until she hits the sofa, sitting down with a sigh.

“No, Bucky. I can’t do this.” Y/N shakes her hand in the space between them, and Bucky is suddenly wide awake, although refusing to understand what she’s trying to say.

“What do you mean you can’t do this anymore? Did you find someone else? Do I not make you feel good anymore?” He demands.

“It doesn’t matter.” She mutters.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Of course, it matters!” A small voice in his head draws his attention to the fact that he’s now shouting, but he can’t really bring himself to give a shit if he wakes up Steve or their neighbours at this point. “Did you find someone else? Is that it?”

“No, Bucky, I didn’t find anyone else, you fucking asshole.” Y/N spits, already fed up with having to justify herself for the past few days. “I can’t do this anymore because I can’t find someone else. And you wanna know why? Because there’s always someone in the back of my head who I keep coming back to, whatever the fuck I’m doing. The whole cheating shit with my ex? It was because I couldn’t give him what he needed, I couldn’t love him the way I should’ve because there was always this fucking idiot in the back of my head pulling my fucking hair and I’ve now just realised it. And you know what the best part is?” There are tears streaming down Y/N’s face and Bucky can’t do anything more than watch her, confused and suddenly jealous of this guy she’s going on about.

“The best part is that I thought I hated you. I thought you were the bane of my fucking existence, just to have it turn out I didn’t hate you at all. I’ve been in love with you my whole entire fucking life. It’s you, Bucky. It has always been you.”

Y/N can’t move, all she can do is watch how the sunrise light starts pooling in the living room. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears, blood draining from her face, as Bucky just stands there, as catatonic as she is. There’s a grunt and suddenly Bucky is kneeling between her legs, his arms circling her body. He presses a kiss to the side of her left knee and then one to the inside of her wrist. He’s never been this delicate, fingers dancing on the small of her back, his hair falling in his eyes as he looks up at her.

“I’ve never loved anyone more than I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long to realise it.” He whispers.

Y/N leans down to place a soft kiss to his lips, as his hands come up to hold her wet cheeks. So this is what this all meant, he thinks, pressing his forehead to hers.

In the other room, Steve closes the door silently and climbs back to bed with a huff.

“Fucking idiots.” He mutters in Peggy’s hair.

“Told you they’ll come around.”

***

Taglist:

@myboyfriendgiriboy

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes #reader insert #bucky barnes reader insert

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thenixart · 4 years

Text

Unedited dorohedoro fic- Chapter 1 part 2

A/N: Characters will get names when I come up with names. I am open to suggestions.

When Ton wakes he’s warm and comfortable and kinda hungry. The horror of the last day felt almost like a bad dream. He turns over ready to go back to sleep and maybe have a better dream when he sees it and the dam bursts. On his bed stand is a photo of people he’d half forgotten and a calendar date that he still very clearly remembered.

Today was the day that his father died. Today is the day his family was shattered.

What a cruel place to dump him.

Forcing himself to leave the lovely warmth of his covers he grabbed the framed photo. It was his family… his first one that is. He’s at the center of the picture sitting in his father’s lap and his father is in turn sitting on the ground and leaning on his pet hog. His mother behind them looking proud. On their left was Ushishimada being picked up by his mom and mighty devils was it weird to see him with hair again. And flanking them their many aunties and uncles and the other kids. Not blood but family all the same.

His eyes burned and tears fell onto the glass of the picture frame. After some hesitation Ton takes the photo and gently folds it before putting it into his pajama pocket. Real or not he wanted to keep it with him this time.

He doesn’t want to get out of bed. His inner child offers up the suggestion that maybe nothing bad will happen if he’s not there to witness it. But Ton knows better than that.

Ton slinks out of bed and is immediately thrown by how different his body is. So small and soft and unmarred by the stresses of homlessness and starvation that are waiting in his future. He really is just seven years old again.

He sees his childhood home on the day of the end with the eyes of a battle hardened warrior and not an already grieving child. The entire farm is tense with the quiet before a battle. A siege is what it looks like as he sees from the window uncle [Animal transformation magic] setting traps on the perimeter. His auntie [temperature control magic]’s forge putting out tons of Smoke as she pushed herself much harder than usual while Ushishimada raced back and forth from the forge to the field carrying pieces of armor to auntie [animal control magic] fitted the bigger animals with it.

As Ton passes rooms that would normally be crammed with the sounds of people he notices the emptiness. People’s things are packed up and there’s barely any humans or magicless mages left on the premises. Humans… What was his family’s dealings with humans? The answer didn’t come readily to his mind, only that there’d been humans and others without magic who came and went for reasons he was never really told. Ushishimada had been older, maybe he knew?

He left the children’s house to cross the yard to the main house. Ton noted the absence of the chickens which would normally be crowing at this time or running around begging for treats. The sows and cows were gone too. One of the hunting dogs clad in pointy, scribbled on armor greeted him enthusiastically before being called back over to auntie [animal control magic]’s side. Her door, there was no mistaking the elegantly carved wood with the hand painted looking singing animals covering it, was steadily dissolving by the door. Unbidden a chuckle came to him at the mental image of a bunch of farm animals getting dumped in the Hole for their safety. Hmm well, certainly whoever the enemy was they probably wouldn’t be able tell the difference between their humans and sorcerers who couldn’t do magic amongst so many like them.

The main house (damn his family really had some money and he never noticed before) was a house in mourning. Ushishimada’s mom was on the couch in the sitting room with his cousin [tiger mask human cousin] and her human friend, Akane. [Ushi’s mom] was putting the finishing touches on some masks for them, a black tiger and red hen respectively. It was as equally clear that she’d been crying recently as it was that the older kids were very much pretending that nothing was wrong. And from the hatchets strapped to the woman’s armor it was also clear that she expected fighting to start soon.

They greeted him warmly if concerningly affectionate. Like they may never see him again… and well... he never did see them again did he?

He heads towards his parents’ room slowly. Something about the hush making him want to tread quietly. And he wants to put this off as much as possible.

At the almost closed door he overhears a private conversation.

“At least I’ll see the bastard in Hell,” A voice like a walking mountain rumbles. Quietly Ton brushes away the tears that started falling fresh. From the richness of the baritone and the subtle clacking of tusks on tusks there was no mistaking his father’s voice for anyone else. The man’s breathing sounds labored even from a distance.

A woman’s voice… his mother’s voice responded. Low and thick and sharp like molasses. “That may be what happens, but that’s not remotely fair. And damn the devils for it.”

“You know, you can go to jail for saying such things,” His father half chuckled and half wheezed. “And Hell’s no place for a sweet thing like you.”

She snorted incredulously and playfully swatted his arm, “Really? Flirting at a time like this? What a pig.”

“Wild boar, thank you very much.” He retorted. It was a routine clearly familiar to them. Ton saw through the crack in the door their fingers intertwining. His father’s pale chubby ones slotted into his mother’s dark work roughened ones looking almost like a piano.

His mother leaned in conspiratorially and asked in a tone he strained to hear, “Your magic… could you…?”

His father’s magic? To be honest Ton couldn’t remember what kind of magic his father had at all. Nor his mother’s for that matter.

“Hmmm no,” his father answered after some thought. “That mushroom bastard killed Kokuo. Without a proper anchor… I wouldn’t be able to stay myself. I’d only end up causing more harm than good.” He sighed wistfully, “Besides, with this kind of magic… it’s best to go when your time’s up.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Tell me again… what happens to humans when you die?”

You? Was his mother…?

“Well, now, unlike you sorcerers none of us has the power to revive the dead.So no one really knows for certain. Lots of folks think that if you are an evil person you go to a hell for a while and if you are a good you get to be reborn as something or someone else. There’s also the heavens, where good people go for like, eternal rewards of some boring shit like that. Some of the monks think that if you’re like, holy enough you stop being reborn and simply cease to be? Spiritually? Or something?”

“Oh?”

“I don’t really get the appeal. Of just ceasing. Why not just live different lives for all of eternity?”

“That does sound nice. Far more lenient than our fate.”

“Course there’s always stuff like ghosts and limbo and all that.”

“Limbo?”

“It's a kinda state the dead enter sometimes before they move on. A nowhere place where ghosts are born. Angry souls that refuse to rest or simply folks that have some business to finish before they do. No one ever really makes happy stories about it. ...I wish I could meet you again in my next life.”

His father hummed, “That would be lovely.”

Before he could catch himself Ton sniffled.

“Hey pigglet! Come give yer daddy a hug!” His father boomed like his lungs weren’t failing him. Ton pushed open the door to see his mother helping to prop up his father so that the big man’s back was against the headboard. Right, somehow his mind impressed the date of his father’s death but the method had slipped into the sands of time. There was something extremely unnerving seeing a good portion of the man’s chest just… crumbling. Large portions of it were bendaged as best as possible but the web of cracks extended past the edges, the affected skin dry irritated and flakey. Bits fell off when his father breathed just a bit too deeply, creating what Ton could imagine was just the worst bed experience of crumbs in your sheets but grosser. In the places where the magic had completely eaten through the skin he could see shiny white pockets of fat crisscrossed with fungal hyphae. There is no shortage to the horror that settles into Ton’s gut that his father would have likely died days ago if he were a leaner man.

It also doesn’t escape him that his mother is dressed for war. Combat boots and sections of scale armor over her hunting clothes. The vital bits of course, the major organs of the torso and places with large arteries like the neck, upper arms and thighs. Her crossbow, and a full quiver of arrows, her hunting knife (a beautiful knife he needed to commission someone to make him a copy at some point it was fucking watered steel!), and a pair of pistols… emergency weapons.

Ton had nothing against guns, he was a damn good shot himself but he’d hunted with his mother. Guns were noisy and dulled your ability to hear after using them. And the smell of gunsmoke dulls the nose (not that you could actually smell anything but the boss when fighting at his side). His mother was fond of saying that any of your senses could provide you with life saving information so it was best to avoid impairing them unless you had no other choice.

And it looked like his mother was expecting the worst.

At her hip was her mask that looked like she’d given the black leather a fresh shine. The snarling panther maw was a thing of beauty, something his father thought as well as his tattoo of it still shone proudly on his father’s remaining properly intact shoulder. Mask...human. Huh. Actually if his mother was human then so was his cousin [tiger mask] and her friend Akane too. Ton supposed having masks in this world were useful to humans, they’d be mistaken for mages and less likely to be attacked or sold. But why wear it to a fight? It wasn’t a helmet like Tetsujo’s mask, it didn’t offer up much protection.

His mother kissed him softly on the forehead and the gleam of her necklace caught his eye. Speaking of things that weren’t very helpful on the battlefield… the necklace was more like thick twine dyed black with colorful beads, fine enough. But then there was the claw hanging from it that had to be about as long as a uni-bear claw and curved like a cat’s. Ton didn’t know if it was real, it kinda looked like it was made of stone of some kind, but it certainly looked sharp. Sometimes Ton’s brain liked to throw the image of her accidentally getting stabbed or cut by that claw because sometimes brains are assholes like that. It never did as far as he could recall, according to her it was a good luck charm. She’d once told him that it saved her life.

A frown crosses his face. Ton had no idea if his mother survived this day or not.

His father gave him an affectionate side hug that looked like it clearly caused him pain but the man was grinning through it.

“Dad… you’re dying aren’t you?” Ton hates how the voice that comes out of his mouth sounds like a child. He hates that he feels like a child. Hates that he’s in the body of a child who can’t join the coming fight or steal some healing smoke to save anyone. He hates that they look at him like he’s a child even if he technically is at the moment.

He hates what’s coming next.

One thing he is thankful for is that his parents never lied to him. That he’d forgotten that his mother was human or what they’d done for a living was on him not asking that many questions. His parents didn’t sugarcoat it when they confirmed that yes his father was dying. That everyone dies eventually. That his mother may die fighting the bastards who hexed his father. That some of his aunts and uncles may face the same fate.

Of course Ton knows that death isn’t anything to fear so long as you’ve got a cause worth dying for.

“Do you want to die?” Asked Death as she stood on the other side of his parent’s bed waiting for his father to kick the bucket. Instead of the terrifying gas masked firefighter skeleton soldier was a black-skinned woman, not Black as in brown like his mother but black as in a crisp winter night during a blackout. Her clothing was also black but more like the black of black jeans washed at the wrong temperature and looked rather cozy.

Natsuki was not with her.

“Your Partner is safe.” Death said like she heard his thoughts. “This is not a place for her. I ask again, do you want to die?”

Did he? He looked at his parents and his younger self frozen in time. Ton hadn’t died gloriously in an ultimately futile battle against powerful sorcerers trying to change the world or even protect something important to him. (And suddenly he feels like he failed his parents at that thought.) He’d been killed like an annoyance by someone he admired. Betrayed. And gotten his comrades killed by the grief that his death caused.

...and Tetsujo was still alive the last he’d seen. It was still up in the air if Dokuga was still kicking or if the bo--if Kai’d eaten him as well. If Tetsujo was still alive he’d certainly try to save Ushishimada and Saji’s heads to revive them. Ton knew for a fact that his own corpse was unsalvageable, the massive chunk taken out of his temple certainly contained his devil tumor and without it… he didn’t really know how one would go about reviving without it. And…

So long as some of his loved ones were still alive… isn’t that something worth staying around for?

“I don’t want to die,”Ton said and knew for certain. As sure as the worry slithering in his gut. “If I can help my comrades in any way that’s what I want to do.”

“So that is your choice?”

“Yes.”

Reality blacked out again.

#thenixkat #dorohedoro #fanfiction #crosseyes #ton drhdr

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imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years

Text

Hope in Change - Epilogue

Murtagh stumbles across a couple arguing in the street and quickly realizes the young woman is Brianna.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

Murtagh, Jamie, and Ian were at work building a cabin for Fergus and Marsali and Claire had taken Lizzie to help deliver a baby at one of the settler’s cabins several miles away, so Brianna volunteered to run back and forth fetching spare or replacement tools, bringing food and water, leading Clarence back to his pen when they’d finished moving the heavier logs into place for stripping and cutting.

The mule was stubborn and reluctant to return to captivity after having a chance to stretch his legs and do more than pull a cart. Each time Brianna disappeared around the house to grab him some more food or check to see how the laundry was drying on the line, he made a ruckus when she came back into sight and stamped his foot to get her attention.

“You’re like a toddler throwing a tantrum,” she muttered before rolling her eyes and heading to check on the goats and horses for their midday meal.

This time he started making noises before she’d even reached an area where he could see her. But when she rounded the corner he wasn’t alone.

“Roger?” she gasped, dropping an empty pail to the ground and running to him as he tried to dismount before his horse had stopped walking. She threw herself in his arms and buried her face in his neck. He held her tightly, sighing with relief.

“You need a bath,” she told him, her words muffled by his coat.

“Nice to see you too,” he chuckled, pulling back to look at her. She smiled then stood on her toes to kiss him.

“Did Bonnet or his men give you any more trouble? They didn’t hurt you, did they? Is that why it took you so long to find your way here?” she rambled, her eyes roving over him taking in the details of his appearance to be sure he was really there and truly in one piece.

He laughed again taking a step back to spread his arms so she could better see him. “I’m no injured. They gave me a hard time but it wasna anything I couldna handle—no after spending all that time wi’ them at sea. And it took me so long to get here because it’s a long bloody way from Philadelphia to Fraser’s Ridge when ye’ve naught but yer own two feet for much of the way—it has to be close to a thousand miles… or at least, it feels that far. I didna manage to find a horse I could afford till I’d nearly reached Virginia.”

Convinced by his cheerful indignation, Brianna grinned and moved to lead his horse to the barn while she filled him in on what she’d been up to in his absence.

“Mama probably won’t be back until tomorrow but Da and the others will be home a little before dark. Come in and help me make supper and maybe I’ll let you have some too,” she teased.

There wasn’t much left to be done as she’d accomplished the more difficult preparation earlier—dough for a pie crust, the meat (venison) cleaned and cut as finely as she could manage, kept that separate from the potatoes and carrots she’d diced. She rolled out the dough and began piecing the elements together while Roger built up the fire in the hearth.

“How are ye doin’ wi’ everything?” Roger asked, taking a seat on the bench opposite and watching her closely.

“It’s… been interesting. I’ve been hunting with Jamie and we’ve talked a lot. It’s strange, but not in a bad way… just… disorienting,” she told him, her attention entirely on the food in her hands as she stacked and arranged the pie’s filling, careful to make sure all the ingredients were distributed in equal measure. “It’s hard to explain. Every time I feel like I’ve got a handle on the past—on my childhood—I see something or hear a story and it shifts all over again. Like when I see him come up behind my mother and rub her neck… and she leaned into it and… I remember all the times I saw Daddy try to do that and she shrugged him off… until he just stopped touching her that way. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being surprised by him—by them. You’ll hardly recognize Mama when you see her.”

“Bein’ in this time… it changes ye,” he agreed. “Makes sense now, how different yer mam could be after she returned—and no just because of Jamie. I ken I’ve a newfound appreciation for many a convenience I took for granted back home. Indoor plumbing and modern transportation bein’ verra high on that list. I’ll say a prayer of thanks each and every time I so much as look at a proper toilet.”

Brianna gave him a weak smile as she crimped the crust on the pie and turned to set it into the brick oven at the side of the hearth. The rebuilt fire was beginning to warm the space but it would take a while for the pie to be thoroughly cooked.

“I’ll get you some water you can use to clean up,” Brianna said, puttering around the cabin to locate a bucket and fill it with warm water from the enormous cauldron near the hearth. She led him out the door and in the direction of a small hut. “Since Lizzie went with Mama and they shouldn’t be back till tomorrow, you can borrow her bed tonight. We can figure out something else in the morning. You’ll want to rest and brace yourself for meeting my father and cousin. Murtagh shouldn’t be too intimidating for you at this point. Blankets,” she exclaimed after setting the bucket down. “I’ll go find some.”

By the time she returned, Roger had managed to clear most of the sweat and dust from his face, neck, and arms. He’d pulled his shirt off as well and was splashing water over his chest and dribbling it down his back, not caring that it was soaking into his breeks and continuing on its way down the rest of his body. He had a single change of clothes in his pack but those weren’t in much better shape than what he was wearing.

“Here,” Brianna said, showing him the quilt and furs she’d brought. She set them down on the bed along one side of the hut’s walls. She stepped closer to him, taking the ragged stock he was using as a washcloth and wringing it out thoroughly before wetting it again and helping him reach the difficult spots on his back. “Hmm. Much better. I’ll show you the creek we use for bathing in the morning. It’s a bit chilly but easier than trying to heat the water for a hot bath.”

“If that’s Lizzie’s bed,” Roger nodded to the one she’d put the blankets on, “then the other would be yers, I’m guessin’?”

“You would be guessing right,” Brianna confirmed. “And… you don’t have to sleep in Lizzie’s bed if you don’t want to. It’s small but it’ll be warmer and cozier in mine.”

“Bree… I’ve missed ye—Lord knows I have—but… have ye changed yer mind? About marryin’ me?” he asked quietly.

“I can’t,” she told him, tears in her eyes. “I just… it wouldn’t be fair to you. Not when things are so different now.”

“Different?” he asked, taking a step closer to her. “Different how? Ye still want to take me to yer bed. Tha’s no different, or am I misunderstandin’ yer invitation?”

Her cheeks went pink with embarrassment.

“No, I still love you and want you to be the first man I… take to my bed, as you put it. But… spending these last weeks with Mama and Da… I told them about the fire. They’re not sure there’s anything that can be done to keep it from happening either. And we don’t know when exactly it’s going to happen. It could be this year or the next or five years from now… But just in case we can’t stop it and the worst does happen… I don’t want to regret that I didn’t spend more time with them when I had a chance to.”

Roger took a step back, his expression going slack as what she meant sank in. “Ye’re stayin’ here. Ye mean to stay no just for a few weeks or months… but years.”

“Yes. I remember what it was like to lose Daddy and how much I wished I’d agreed to go with him when he had to run errands or that I’d stayed at the office with him while he worked and I’d gone off with my friends instead. I want to know that I’ve done everything I can to save my parents and that I spent every second with them that I could.”

“And ye dinna think I’d stay with ye?”

“It wouldn’t be fair for me to ask you to,” Brianna pressed, her face getting redder as she forced herself to confess, “and I don’t want to lose you without knowing what it’s like to be with you, to show you how much I do love you.”

Roger laughed and the redness in Brianna’s face switched from the self-conscious shades toward those darker shades born of rising fury. But he rested his hands on her shoulders and smiled at her narrowed eyes and furrowed brow.

“Ye’re not askin’ and ye dinna need to. Ever. If ye’re goin’ to stay then so am I. Ye love me enough to let me go? I love you enough not to care where—or when—we are, so long as it’s together.”

Her face softened and tears pooled in her eyes as she beamed at him a second before throwing her arms around him and kissing him silly.

They laughed and held each other tight, Roger lifting her off her feet and spinning her around in the cramped quarters of the hut. Setting her down again, Roger kissed her softly, then again longer. She clung to the damp, bare muscles of his back, pressed herself against the length of him. They pulled back to look at each other, the simple joy replaced with the deeper yearning both felt. Neither said a word as Brianna pulled him toward her bed.

“The spare head should be right inside the barn door,” Jamie told Lizzie while Claire fussed with the dressing around his hand. “Be quick about it. Murtagh will be lookin’ for it. We wanted to be done wi’ preppin’ the beams ‘fore givin’ up for the day and he’s stubborn enough to try workin’ in the dark… And Ian’s foolish enough to go along wi’ it.”

“Oh, give them more credit than that,” Claire suggested, frowning at the cut on the back of Jamie’s hand from when the head of the hatchet came loose mid swing and flown off the handle. His reflexes were fast or he might have been in danger of losing the hand altogether. Instead it was superficial and shallow, a scrape across the back with deeper gouges at the knuckles. “Or give yourself fewer airs. If it weren’t for your mishap here, you’d be just as determined to work whatever the light conditions might be. Let’s get inside so I can clean and bandage this properly.”

“I need to tend yer horse,” he objected, moving to take the reins even as she reached to release the straps that held her medical box in place.

“I can tend the horse while you go in and rest a few minutes,” she insisted. “See what we have for supper and—”

“Bree came back to make supper some time ago,” Jamie reminded her. “We hadna thought ye’d be back tonight.”

“Well, that’s what happens when the baby arrives before the midwife. All it took was a quick check on mother and child, a small glass of whisky to wet the baby’s head, and we were headed back the way we came.”

“Mistress Claire, Mister Jamie,” Lizzie exclaimed, running toward them with the spare hatchet head in her hand. “There’s a strange horse in the barn,” she informed them, her eyes wide and frightened.

“Never mind about that,” Jamie told her calmly. “Get that back to Murtagh and Ian and stay wi’ them until they come home. Perhaps wi’ you waitin’ there for ‘em they’ll decide to just be done for the day.”

Lizzie nodded and headed off down the path.

When she was out of sight Claire began calling for Brianna and Jamie went to check the house when she failed to appear.

“There’s a pie cookin’ in the oven,” he told Claire, “so she’s no likely to have gone far.”

“And the ‘strange horse’ is in the barn so whoever it belongs to must be nearby as well. Perhaps they only went to fetch wood or to get more water,” Claire suggested hopefully.

A moment later, Brianna emerged from the hut she shared with Lizzie. She brushed some loose curls out of her flushed face and smoothed her hands down the front of her bodice.

“Mama… What’re you doing home? You weren’t supposed to be back till tomorrow,” Brianna remarked.

“The baby came quick,” Claire explained, her eyes narrowing at her daughter.

“D’ye ken who the horse in the barn belongs to, a nighean?” Jamie asked.

“Actually… yes. Roger arrived a little while ago. I was making up Lizzie’s bed for him since she was supposed to be with you all night, Mama. But I can put it back the way it was and he can sleep somewhere else. He’s cleaning up a bit from being on the road so long,” she told them, glancing back over her shoulder.

Roger poked his head out. “Good to see ye, Claire. I’ll right there. Dinna want to be sayin’ ‘hello’ still smellin’ of horse.”

“Mmmhmm,” Claire murmured, trying to keep a straight face as she turned to look at Jamie. He looked torn between laughter and shock. “We’ll be in the cabin when you’re ready,” Claire called to them, nudging Jamie in the other direction. “Your father hurt his hand and I need to clean it.”

#so in this version (if I kept going) roger and bree would be handfast (in front of her family) within a fortnight #and they'd realize she's pregnant with Jem a few weeks after that #;mod lenny #Hope in Change AU #show!verse #featuring: bree #featuring: roger #featuring: lizzie

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fandomtrashwriting · 5 years

Text

New Beginnings Part 2

It felt like he was falling through syrup, slow-moving but still falling. Opening his eyes proved futile, the area around him was a drab grey with a white outline of his soul right outside of his chest. Was it suppose to be clear and see through? There was color there before, right? What was it? Slowly it filled up, like a glass of orange juice and just as orange.

It didn’t make sense, but he wasn’t scared. It filled him with a smile, bravery surged and a slow understanding. Falling through syrup wasn’t scary, it was comforting. His name, he was Kenneth, and he was nine years old. The young Canadian scrambled, he didn’t want to fall any more, he felt like he was rapidly approaching the ground and he didn’t want to hit the bottom.

The place suddenly blacks out and he comes to, wrapped up and in a dark place. He didn’t know where it was, but he struggled out of the wrappings, ripping them and shoving what felt like a stone cover off of this cage.

When it hit the ground, he pops up, gasping in greedily for air. Was he in a coffin? Where was he? He felt weak as he tries to struggle out of the coffin, needing to get out, needing to fight that king.

But as he made slow progress out of the basement, full of coffins. Rage filled him, how many died? He remembered dying, over and over, till he eventually gave up. But now he was here and was finally in the throne room, which was oddly empty minus the heavily trampled flowers, showing that many had left, either in a hurry or as a mass amount of people.

Was the way open now, he had to wonder as he slowly walked out, things seemed a little different as he stepped out of the cave, but he was happy to be out. Now to make sure that no one was dying. He didn’t really wonder why he was back, only thankful that he was as he walked towards the town that he could spot.

~Scene swap brought to you by America’s constant eating~

He was happy here, with mother and his cousin. Safe from harm and sadness, he got to hear her humming some nameless song she never told him.

Slowly her humming stopped “Honey?” she said, voice filled with sadness he didn’t want to think on “it’s time for you to go...you too Giselle” she said to the girl curled up and resting on her hip.

“Don’t make me go” I had begged, voice soft from sleep. She only smiled “Sweet Ronan, it’s time to get up, you’ll find that it’s safe right now, and you’ll make some friends” she promised.

I had wanted to argue, but she had started to sing again, drawing us both to sleep. Our world filled with greens and blues and a sad song. We didn’t want to get up, mother told us who we were everyday when we couldn’t even remember her name.

Slowly I came to, laid on the floor as Giselle waited at my side, playing with her hair in a daze, far away look. Smiling when she noticed me staring at her “I guess it’s time to get up” she sounded as sad as I had felt, lending me a hand to help me up. I didn’t spare a glance to the room as we had walked out, praying that I'd never see him again.

~Scene Change brought to you by tomato’s~

The perfect yard, square and trimmed. But, just beyond the fence was conflict, yelling, screaming and fighting. Nothing filled his heart with rage than the fact that no one was doing anything. I gripped the fence, ready to jump over.

“You have such a big heart, but, are you sure you want to give it to those who may want to break it?” His grandma said from her little cushioned swing. He had turned to her, wondering why she was here, didn’t she die a while ago? “Of course, why shouldn’t i want to help them? If I do nothing, i’m selfish and mean” Her smile only grew as she laughs her dorky laugh that never failed to make me grin.

“Then go ahead, but remember, I love you Lo” She said, I grinned even more “love you too gram!” I said before hopping over the fence, I can, and I will help, but as my feet touch the other side, everything went black.

I come to suddenly, light falling into what seemed like a coffin as memories flood me. I had died, I had given up my soul. But it looked like others had died. Why was I awake? It didn’t matter much to me as I stood up, the loosened wrappings falling off as I stepped out of the coffin. Someone had opened them all, others looking like they were sleeping peacefully. Everything seemed alright here, maybe I should wait for them and help each together? Yeah, that sounded grand!

Helping others came at no price that I wasn’t unwilling to pay.

~Scene switch is brought to you by magic butterfly~

The cold was something she was used to, it blew and chilled, but it was something she could weather well. But she couldn’t see anything past this blizzard and this slowly growing purple light at her chest. The light illuminating the road she was on. Where was she going? There was light at the end it seemed, fluttering and dashing away.

She felt like she had to catch it, but why? Who knows, but she’ll catch it. As she runs after it, the light seemed to have split into three, but they were together. I sprung and tried to catch one, only narrowly missing, only for what to be metal gates closing behind me and being jostled. As I was in a metal cart, it screeched as it moved forward, being pushed forward by the two lights that had dissolved into burning reds. I remember their faces, didn’t I help them once? They needed help then.

“I will save everyone” one of them said, voice with a will that had me faltering as the other speaks up “I will make up for everything that I have done” and together they had pushed the cart, and I, off of the platform I was on, falling fast in the metal trap. And the moment I had hit the freezing water, everything had broken into darkness.

I jump up with a gasp and half formed scream, almost blinded by the lights. I suck in a breath and whip my head around in a frenzy, seeing only one person leaning against the wall. He had said something, but I didn’t understand. I cleared my throat “Sorry, I don’t understand?” But it seemed like he didn’t understand Russian, so I didn't try again.

Instead, my attention was taken by the small form next to me, squirming.

~Scene swap brought to you by personal space~

The picnic was perfect! Even as I waited, and waited, and waited. They will come, I know they will. We had picked out the perfect spot, they had to be here.

A soft hand touched my shoulder and I looked up into the smiling faces of my parents, my own face splitting into a smile as happy tears flowed “You’re here!” I say happily, hugging them as tightly as I could.

They hugged me tightly “Yes, we’re here now. We got lost along the way, but now it’s our turn to wait love” Mother said. I look at them both, so very confused “Why? We’re here now! So we can have this picnic and enjoy the view” I felt, panicked as they hugged me again.

“Oui chéri, you have been given a second chance, take all of the time you need, we will wait” he said as they gently took a hand each and lead me down the winding path, and at the end of the path was a door.

It looked just like the one to our home, and I cried, I didn't want to leave, i wanted to stay here with them. But they didn’t listen as they gently push me through the door “Live long for us, bring back stories and friends, please Mireille?” and with that, the door closed behind me, sealing me into darkness.

I came to, fingers combing through my hair and a language I didn’t know whispering something gently, pressing her sweater to my face to dry my tears.

I looked up into a smiling face that was unfamiliar, but, she held a worried and understanding look, even as she stood up and followed someone else out of the place, I just buried my face into her shoulder and cried.

~Scene switch brought to you by loving parents~

The nightmare had played, over and over, even when I had found a safe spot to hide. But something about this time was different, the sun rose and a girl had found me. She carried a knife, but had led me out.

She didn’t say anything to me, she looked like was covered in dirt and held her knife like she wanted mister nightmare to come out and find them.

Mister nightmare never did, he stayed away, or so I thought. He had lunged out from a bush, hatchet in hand, ready and swinging already.

I stopped and closed my eyes, fear coursing through my veins, if i stay still, he’d go away or it will hurt less, right?

But the hit never came, instead i heard what sounded like a thud and crunch. Opening up my eyes, I see a grinning girl, laughing as she held her dented wooden bat, swinging it again as she aimed lower, hitting mister nightmare in the groin, cracking the world.

When the world broke, we all fell but the dirty knife girl. She stayed in place, walking off as the world was eaten by shadows and I cried on the way down.

When I finally come to, I was curled up in a girls lap. When I looked up, it was the girl with the bat from my dreams! But where was her bat?

She smiled at me brightly “Morning there champ! What’s your name?” she had asked warmly “Bram….” i said, blinking at her, confused but happy that nightmare killer lady was real. She only grinned wider “Cool! My name is Mae” she says, leaning against a really big tree.

I nod before shyly asking “um...didn't you have a bat? Where is it?” I asked, she only grinned wider “Growing up” she said, and i was very confused “growing up?” i repeated.

She nods “It’s protected me for all of these years, you too I guess, and I’m so proud of it” she says, a far away but sad look as she stares up at the leaves on the tree she was resting against.

“I guess, we should be leaving soon” she says, glancing at the town in the distance “would you like to come with?” she asks me, and I nodded, cause i trusted miss nightmare killer.

And so we had stood up and started walking towards it.

~Scene switch brought to you by grown up bat~

He remembered his name, Kyran. But, that was about it, he wasn’t sure where he was or why. He prayed often, like mommy told him to do. But nothing changed.

Until he decided to not to pray. Then a little fluttering light had passed by, it looked like one of those fairies that mommy had told him about, and sometimes they were mean and sometimes they were nice, but, if he is nice and polite, then they’d be nice and hopefully show him the way out?

He jumps up and chases it, trying to remember how one is nice to a fairy before ending up tripping over someone, She was crying. But he had forgotten all about the fairy and had tried to hug her, to help her not cry anymore.

It worked somewhat, she stopped crying, but she didn’t really look happy. Neither one of us notice the third person to enter the area.

But she noticed us and made a beeline for us, helping in stopping the tears and bringing smiles to our faces. She takes out hands and starts to lead us out, speaking about fun things we all can do together as the world around us starts to fade and break apart, bit by bit into darkness.

I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep, but when i come to, i’m being carried by the smiling girl as the other one walks besides her, heading towards town. It looked a little different, but how, I’m not sure.

~Scene switch brought to you by Gaster Blasters~

Leon has been aware the whole time, but now here he is arguing with two small children. They flexed their will over him, shoving and pushing. They were going to try and help him, but he struggled and fought even was the ground swallowed him.

One of the children had started to fade out, looking tired as they mumbled “oh dang….” before puffing into smoke.

Leon struggles even harder as the last child turns from him and whispers something to the little fairy like light.

It drew in magic from around it patiently as the child gently removed her own soul, slowly plucking out the little monster soul that she had tried to keep safe for all of these years.

Like rain, the fairy poured magic over the oddly small soul, watching as it grew in size before fading away “Goodbye little brother, live long” she mumbled, a soft sniffle before clearing her throat “alright, the last one then”

The fairy flew in a circle, tearing a hole into some dark place, a foulness reaching him “Wait! Little one! Don’t do that! Whatever it is, it’s bad!” He tried to warn her, but instead, she jumped in, right as the ground had finished swallowing him up.

And he came to, at the base of the mountain, unwilling to get up and move forward, he had stayed laying there. Until his stomach growled at him, forcing him to get up and head off in a random direction, unaware of where he was headed as he was following the scent of freshly made bread.

~Scene switch brought to you by Void~

The drop felt too long, even as she reached out with the aid of her little butterfly helper. Slowly, almost too slowly, they reeled him in.

The royal scientist, her Uncle almost, father to two boneheads. She remembered him and wanted to help, drawing in the pieces of him.

He was asleep, even as she had her small friend take him out of this place, she was ready to accept staying here and for everyone forgetting about her.

But that’s not what had happened. It came back, the little butterfly.

“Why are you here? Everyone has been saved” I scoffed at it, but it didn’t budge from me ‘Not everyone’ it had said.

“Who else needs saving? Everyone who matters, or didn’t do anything horrible has been saved” I ignored the feeling of hurt inside me.

‘And what about you?’ It had asked. “I don’t need saving, I started this mess, look at how many had died! My brother died, and he even...doesn't want me around” The feeling grew, sure, maybe I misunderstood, but it still hurt, he rather Frisk have been there than me, and that I understood. Humans were horrible and I was a human.

I did all of this for them, and I’d still do it again if it meant I'd save them, but it didn’t get it and flew closer ‘You still need to be saved’

I scoffed “me? No, you’re wrong” but, it said, with almost as much will as Frisk ‘No, I will save you’

It touched me, feeling almost like a hug, and I grumbled, but I said “Thank you” to it before the world had faded out.

I didn’t wake even as Gaster carried me out of the cave, heading to where he could feel the magic of the monsters.

It’s nice to be Home.

#New Beginnings #Part 2 #hetalia #undertale

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unconventional-hero · 5 years

Text

Chapter 8-- Under False Colors.

Written by “The Countess”

(In which our Jacks are invited to dinner.)

* * * * *

He found his way back to the hotel. How, he could never tell, but he had never been lost in all his life.

After a sleepless night he came down to breakfast looking pale and haggard. He wondered how he could enjoy fried eggs, fresh fish and muffins when his heart was so heavy, but a man’s appetite is a wonderful and fearful thing, stronger than sorrow or love and rarely absent from its owner.

Certain it was that after the daintily served meal he felt much better and, upon regaining his room and lighting a cigar, he argued the matter, which so disturbed him, pro and con with his conscience.

“Henry Ashton!” he said, watching the smoke form a shadowy likeness of Clyde. “He called me ‘Henry’ when he saw me first. He couldn’t be confused! Blast the man! He’s more than half devil now!”

He kicks an unoffending ottoman viciously.

“He has the clearest brain in all the world and the blackest heart. I hate him!” The ottoman receives a kick this time which sends it flying across the floor. Then comes a pause. A mist suffuses his eyes and is hastily brushed away.

“He was my best friend,” he murmurs under his breath. “And to show him up in his true light would ruin him and do me no good. No, Clyde is too young to marry,-- her folks won’t let her fall in love till she been off to school and then-- ten to one she won’t care for either of us! But any way she’s a little lady and my raising a fuss would only maker her sorry and angry and she would never want to see me again. Yes, Jim’s head is clearest. I’ll forgive and--” with a great gulp-- “forget. And now--” rising and gazing into the depths of the pier-glass opposite-- “take a look at yourself, Henry Ashton!”

He smiles, sarcastically. “And Jim is me! Pshaw, I’ll be sure to call him Jim!”

A knock at the door. A porter with a letter-- no, a card elegantly engraved, “Mr. Jack Morningstar.”

“Somebody making me a present of a set?” he asks genially. “Awfully clever of him! Here’s a quarter.”

The surprised porter eagerly catches the “tip” thrown to him and so misses the dark look of remembrance that comes to Jack’s face. On the reverse side of the card he reads:

“You’re invited, as my friend from Montana to dine at McClure’s to-night with me. Remember, Henry, that Western men are all the go here and don’t polish up. Will call for you at 5:30. --Jack.”

He closes the door after very politely asking the now almost hysterical porter if he won’t “come in and set awhile,” and having the invitation promptly rejected.

“Dinner at McClures’!” he repeats, dazed. “That’s New York for stay to dinner. But ‘at 5:30!’ There must be some mistake! S’pose Jim meant ‘sup.’ Well, well! It’s all one! But at McClure’s! With my little Clyde! And Jim talking of saving her life out West and acting like me! Oh, I can’t do it!”

He throws away his cigar and looks from his window into the street below. What he is thinking of we can but guess. After a while he says it would be rude to refuse, even if he must take a heart of lead with him, and begins to lay out his best attire, polishing his boots until they rival patent leathers, and wondering if “the dudes here put bear-grease on their hair when they go out to dine!”

* * * * *

At 5:30, Jim arrives, picturesque, debonair and handsome. He knocks at Jack’s door, then enters without waiting for an invitation.

“Seems like the West, Jackie, old boy!” he cries gayly. “There, don’t start. Honestly, I’m horribly sorry for what I’ve done. But I’ll make it all right yet. See if I don’t! And I haven’t won the heart of the fair McClure either. The way is open to you. Come, shall we bury the hatchet?”

Jack makes no answer,-- only looks keenly at his companion’s face.

“Hurry, old fellow!” Jim says. “Dine at six, you know. Shall we be friends again?”

Jack starts forward impulsively.

“God knows you’ve hurt me, Jim! I’ve suffered-- there, your paw! Blast me! I love you better than life!”

“And to partly atone for my unaccountable treachery, old boy, I’ll talk to old Miss Dorothy all evening while you’re doing the agreeable to the pretty heiress. Could human friendship further go?”

Jack thinks not. He is as happy as a boy again. At peace with all the world and going to call on Clyde!

They descend the stairs and find a hansom cab waiting for them.

“It is handsome!” Jack says, after Jim has told him what the vehicle is called.

And then they are whirled away to the McClure mansion.

“You’re Henry Ashton, recollect,” Jim whispers eagerly, as they alight. “And I’m Jack Morningstar. Don’t give the game away!”

* * * * *

Miss Jennings greets them most politely and presents Clyde, radiant in rose-colored faille, to “Jack’s” friend, Henry Ashton.

“Really,” she says, calmly surveying them through her single eye-glass, “you are remarkably alike! Are you cousins?”

“Only friends,” responds the pretended Jack, glibly, with an anxious glance toward the real Jack, who is still standing feasting his eyes on the budding beauty of Clyde. “Here, Harry, my boy, take a seat!”

This is a breezy dash of Westernism on “Jack’s” part which is overlooked, though with a short pang, by Miss Dorothy.

She, however, seconds the invitation.

“Mr. Ashton, be seated, pray!” she says in her most genteel tones.

“I forgot where I was!” Mr. Ashton apologizes. “Thanks, I will.”

He takes a stiff, medieval chair at the other end of the room. Clyde’s pretty eyes dance with merriment.

Miss Jennings resolves to treat this new Western acquaintance with great coolness. She makes no effort to have him come into the circle and, turning to the elegant man near her says something about the weather and asks if he is still pleased with New York.

He replies gracefully, exulting secretly over his friend’s solecism and hoping that to the ladies he may appear doubly refined when compared to this “raw specimen,” as he mentally styles him.

After a while Mr. McClure, cordial and breezy as usual, arrives and dinner is announced.

“Dinner?” Mr. Ashton ejaculates, as he rises to his feet and walks rapidly across the room. I do hope that you haven’t kept the victuals waiting six hours for us, Miss McClure!”

Which he considers a graceful stroke, worthy of Jim, but which is greeted with a surprised but merry look from Clyde and utter silence from Miss Jennings.

They are ushered into a long and handsome dining room finished with oak. The table is covered with damask and buttercup satin and an enormous silver epergne, filled with fruits and flowers, graced the center. A dainty, antique water-carafe and the napkins and individual silver complete its furnishings.

Miss Dorothy asks quietly if Mr. Morningstar will ask a blessing.

Honest Jack, quite forgetting the part he is playing, begins, “For what we are about to receive--” when he hears Jim’s voice joining in. In a moment he has remembered all and stops. Jim has honored him, he thinks, by assuming his name. He cannot imagine himself as repeating such choice clauses and pious phrases as he now wonderingly listens to. He is scarcely conscious that he, to all outward appearances at least, has committed another blunder for beginning the grace and save for Miss Jennings’ haughty glance in his direction at the close, no attention is paid to it.

A well-trained butler brings in a bowl of bouillon and a thin square of bread for each of the diners.

“Mr. Ashton, what is the matter?” coos Clyde at his right. “Don’t you like bouillon?”

“Oh, yes, yes!” he answers, his heart leaping into his mouth at the sound of her voice. “I was only looking for the butter for my bread!”

Clyde hides a dimpling smile in her handkerchief. “They never use butter for the bread served with bouillon,” she explains, secretly glad that “Aunt Dorothy” is congratulating “Mr. Morningstar” on his early religious training at the time of this last ridiculous remark.

“Is that so? Funny now, isn’t it?” and Mr. Ashton cooly changes the subject to his great admiration for flowers such as those in the epergne. “And the vase is so odd,” he adds.

Clyde finds him to be great fun and allows him, through successive courses, to monopolize the conversation. Miss Dorothy almost ignores him.

When the lobster salad, fresh from the skillful hands of a chef, is brought in, “Mr. Ashton” sotto voce, tells Clyde that he believes “salading the fish is better than biling them,” only he is afraid the olive oil used in its manufacture may prove “too rich for his blood.”

“And tell me,” he says, at the end of the fourth course. “Did you actually cook all these things yourself? Why! you’d take the premium at the Gallatin county fair for those hot rolls! But maybe you keep a hired girl!”

Clyde laughs aloud, so merrily that “Mr. Ashton” congratulates himself on his fascinating powers, and so unrestrainedly that she meets a look of reproof from each end of the table and a quizzical glance from “Mr. Morningstar” opposite.

Covered with blushes, her face rivals her gown in color. She is sure of a lecture at the close of the dinner.

“Mr. Ashton,” elated by her laugh, says he knows some good conundrums and asks the time-honored “chestnut,” “Why was Eve sent into the garden of Eden?” which is more than Clyde can endure and she laughs again and shakes silently for several moments afterward.

After dessert coffee is served in tiny after-dinner coffee-cups without cream. Jack, the real Jack, does not comment on this fact however, secretly feeling worried at Miss Jennings’ hauteur.

Then come the finger-bowls, a yellow bit of lemon gleaming in each.

“Mr. Ashton” takes his eagerly.

“If there is one thing I’m fond of, it’s lemonade!” he says, and swallows a liberal mouthful of the water, while the dignified butler loses all dignity and rushes to the kitchen.

#Victorian era #period drama #romantic drama #1800s #late 1800s #An Unconventional Hero #volume 2 #the Countess

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like-rain-or-confetti · 6 years

Text

Lauren (Ticci-Toby x Reader)

Toby had been walking for fifty minutes before heading down the desolate street. He swung his hatchet, his eyes catching the now dried blood stains on it. Tonight had been slow. It had been like the world had just stopped around him when he was used to the world going a million miles per hour around him, people turning to blurs. All except a few.

“You can’t ignore me forever, Toby…but i’ll let you try.” Your voice rang out. He turned to look behind him and there you were, illuminated by street lights. Toby quickly grew agitated by the sight of you. “Stop following me!” He snapped. “I’d love to, believe me I would- won’t be much longer now… I hope."

"What the hell do you want!?"

“No…” You said taking a few steps closer. “No, no, you don’t get to know anything. You're going to have to wait, just like I did.”

"Do you a-actually want something?"

"From you?" You shook your head. "No, but I can't leave. That isn't how this works, that isn't how the game ends. There are no happy endings here." You looked at him for a moment, you couldn't be sure what he was looking at because of his goggles but you assumed you had locked eyes with him. You shrugged a little with a shake of the head before turning away. "Toby!" Toby's head snapped to see Masky. "Come on, let's go." He looked back at you but you were gone. He shook his head and continued with Masky.

Weeks later Kate and Toby were roaming the fields. "We should see if a farm is near by, or any kind of car for that matter. Then we can go back to mine to hide out for the night."

"Sounds like a plan." Toby nodded.

"Have Masky and Hoodie moved locations?"

"No."

"Good, we can meet them, take them back too. Gotta love winter." Kate finished sarcastically and Toby nodded once more. They found a farm up ahead as well as a wooden post directing them to various parts of the farm. "You stay here, I'll take a look."

"Sure, I'll contact Masky." Toby said leaning on the post and sliding down to sit, placing his hatchets on either side of him. Kate took over through the tall grass to inspect the farm. Toby flicked through his burner phone searching through his contacts. He twisted slightly when a gust of wind brushed against him.

"Cold?"

Toby looked up to see you sitting in front of him, propping your weight up with your hands. Toby sighed before continuing to flick through the phone. "You again."

"you don't seem suprised."

"As someone who had dealt with many hallucinations before, you aren't going to scare me in the slightest."

You hummed. "Hmmm, and here I thought it was your choice in friends."

"I g-guess you could say that."

"So fill me in, why are you sitting here? You may have a high tolerance for a lot of things but it's cold and the middle of winter."

"Looking for a car, a friend is down there." He pointed in the direction of the car.

You smiled in amusement. "What, in that dingey farm that's been around for decades?"

"and I suppose you have something better?"

You dug into your jacket pulling out a small blue card, a bank card specifically. "Not like I have much use for it now." You held it out and Toby reached out to take it before you pulled it away sharply. "Oh yeah, I forgot. You lot already took my card and maxed it out months ago."

Toby let out a laugh under his breath lowering his hand. "Ha, ha. Never knew you were funny. Hallucinations are rarely funny."

"You seem so determined I'm a hallucination." You smiled.

"I blink and your gone. Only hallucinations do that."

"but wouldn't it make more sense if you actually knew who I was if I came from your head?"

"No. It doesn't a-always w-work like that." You hummed again.

"Are you-" Toby was about to tell you to get lost but when he looked up you were gone. Toby shook his head.

The drive to Kate's house was rather quiet. "You seemed to find the car pretty easily Kate." Hoodie said.

"I'm holding my tongue." Masky's smirk could be heard behind his mask but he went ignored. "Yeah, turns out the farm was very familiar, went there when I was a kid with a friend."

"A friend? W-w-were you close?" Toby asked

"Very, her name was Lauren. We basically grew up together. We visited that farm a lot. Besides Charlie knew of the place before we ever did."

"Charlie can barely count to ten." Masky sneered. "How could he know anything of a farm!?"

"His parents lived there, Masky."

"Thought that place was burned to a crisp..."

"That was the family home, moron. They moved after he disappeared." Kate said coldly.

"Asshole." Hoodie rolled his eyes, the insult hurled at Masky.

"How about we continue to talk about Lauren and not a kid who cant defend himself because of you know what." Toby chewed out of his clenched jaw.

"There isn't much to say, Toby. I let him in, went off the radar and so CR, another friend, hoped to save me which ended in him dying and then a while later Lauren arrived to check on me. Except, she hadn't a clue was had happened and so she had to do her own little investigation and I killed her. Plain and simple."

"Awww how cute!" Masky gushed snarkily.

"Do you n-need to have a c-c-comment for everything?" Toby asked exasperated.

"I don't need to answer that, Ticci." Masky sneered.

"...Did you take her stuff?" Toby ignored Masky and turned to Kate.

Kate wore a grin behind her mask. "Of course. How do you think we got tinned food in the middle of the woods as well as a portable heater for than damned hut."

"And the extension cord!" Masky sang and Kate nodded. "She wasn't loaded but we got quick a good deal of what she had."

"Where is Charlie nowadays anyways?" Hoodie asked.

"I don't know, when I see him, the slender man isn't far behind. I'm guessing he is looked after by him. It would explain why he's feral." Kate thought aloud.

"That kid freaks me out." Masky grumbled. "He could be the cousin of the Rake." He shivered.

"The Rake is by far the worst." Kate disagreed. "Charlie is a bit much too look at but he's pretty harmless around the people he knows...CR learned that one the hard way." Masky rubbed his hands. "Does your house still have heating 'n' all that?"

"The water should still be working. I'm not sure about the power but I imagine it all still works fine. The place is quite isolated- I doubt anyone will have noticed it."

"God I miss beds and couches." Masky flopped onto the couch, taking up the whole seat.

"Well, we've got three beds and two couches. Quite frankly, my bed has my name written all over it."

"I could go a bed tonight, barely slept last night." Toby rubbed he back of his kneck.

"Sorry, my man but I'm taking the last bed." Masky rolled his shoulders and Hoodie shrugged. "Do what you want."

"I've got extra toothbrushes in the cupboard down the hall as well as toothpaste." Kate nodded to the door down the hall.

"Say no more, catch you later bitches!" Masky jumped up making a beeline for the cupboard. "Hm..." Toby smirked behind his mask. "The little things they don't tell you about working for him."

Kate smiled behind her mask. "You're suggesting that someone gives you a job description, Toby." Toby pointed to Kate with a wink. "You've got a p-point." Kate rose to a stand "I'm going to check the heating and all that still works." Kate turns to Hoodie. "Give us a hand, would ya?" Hoodie nods getting up as Toby moved to the seat by the window, gazing into the forest. He noticed a radiator directly beneath the window.

"It's a nice house isn't it?" Toby's head whipped round to see you sitting beside him of the three seater couch. You propped your heeled boots onto the table.

"Yeah, it's okay. It's bigger than mine was."

You nodded. "Yeah... Kate's parents wanted a place in the country side, weren't too keen in the city life."

Toby frowned. "I don't remember Kate telling me that." You looked at Toby before brushing some hair from your face. "What's with the change of clothes?" Toby changed the subject. You looked down at your self. "when you feel like crap, you do the little things to make yourself feel better." Toby snorted. "S-sure.

"You're strange." You said suddenly looking at him intently.

Toby sighed. "If you're trying to break me down you're going to have to do a lot better."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Y-you're not the first voice in my head to say shitty things and q-quite frankly if you want to make progress then you're going to h-have to do better."

"I meant how you haven't asked who I am."

"I don't care who you are." Toby slouched further into the couch. "You're just in my head." You hummed. "Can't argue with that... it just leaves one question then doesn't it?" Toby turned to look at you. "Where on earth have you seen someone like me before?" Toby was about to respond when a new voice cut him off. "Everything's working!" Kate announced but you seemed to had disappeared as she entered the room. "Luckily we can keep the back up portable heater in storage for now. Thanks Lauren." Kate waved a blue card in her hand before tossing it on the table. "Remind me to get rid of that." Toby's eyes were focused on the small blue card now on the table. It looked familiar, like the one you had waved in Toby's face earlier. He shrugged it off as a coincidence. "You know, I found that card by the portable heater in storage but I could have sworn I kept it upstairs in my desk drawer."

"Yeah but you have a tendancy of misplacing shit." Masky returned flopping down into the couch that Toby sat, leaving the seat in the middle where you had sat empty. "Is that maxed out?" Masky gestured to the card and Kate nodded. "Has been for months but then again, I haven't been home for months, that's probably why I still have it."

Masky leaned forward sliding the card from the table and began to bend it profusely. "Or you could use scissors..." Kate suggested. "let me have my fun and then I'll break it " Masky responded.

That night Toby settled into the double bed, the bathroom was directly across the hall and Kate's room was the last door. He sighed feeling the comforts of the duvet and mattress- a much better combination than leaves and dirt. "How long are you staying here?" Toby sat immediately to see you at the foot of the bed, the moonlight illuminating half of your face. "Ugh, you again. You're the most persistent one, I'll give you that."

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment, now go away. I want to sleep."

"Answer me first."

"Right now? Just the night. Now get l-lost!"

Toby tossed and turned. Somehow, he couldn't sleep. After a while he gave up heading down stairs to find Kate in the kitchen with a few photos laid out in front of her. "Can't sleep?" She asked quietly and Toby nodded. "Me neither, Hoodie's asleep so we need to be quiet." Toby made his way around to Kate's side looking down at the photos. In one, there was a picture of you with Kate and he staggered back slightly in alarm. "Who's that?"

"That's Lauren." Kate ran a finger down the edge of the photo. "The one we've been talking about."

"Have you ever shown me Lauren before?" Toby asked staring at the picture. Kate shook her head. "No...I tossed just about everything with Lauren apparently I missed this though."

"And her card." Toby swallowed, his mind spinning as be tried to not let it get the best of him.

"She wouldn't be needing it anymore." Kate justified. Toby's head was reeling. "You know what? I t-think I'm just going to head to bed again.I think the lack of sleep has finally hit m-me." Toby pushed away from the counter and headed back upstairs. He couldn't help but piece together the little encounters you had as well as the little things you've said.

"Oh yeah, I forgot." You pulled back sharply before Toby could grab it. "you already took it and maxed it out."

"Never knew you were funny."

Toby's thoughts jumped to Kate. "You know, I found this by the portable heater in storage but I could have sworn I kept it in my desk drawer."

Toby felt a cold shill run down his spine. He flopped onto the bed releasing a breath allowing the link to settle. He was never one to believe in ghosts and he didn't doubt that Lauren was very dead which only really left one option that he was ready chew. You could be like him, like Jeff and Ben, perhaps given another chance at living but from who? If anyone at all?

You moved out of the shadows, catching Toby's eye who sat up immediately feeling much more threatened than before. You didn't seem to be phased as you continued to casually move forward to sit on the end of the bed with a smile.

"You d-didnt say a damn thing." Toby's eyes narrowed on you. "I haven't the slightest idea what you mean, Toby." You smiled deviously, propping your weight onto your arms. "Yes, you do. You've never been in my head have you? You were really there."

"It depends." You mused. "To some I'm dead and to others I'm very much alive and of course there is a few who are certain I'm a figment of their imagination."

"Cut the bullshit, Lauren." Toby clenched his jaw.

"That isn't my name, maybe once I went my that name...but not anymore. You'd all know about that wouldn't you, Ticci Toby?" Toby lashed out which you quickly moved out of the way, rising to a stand with a mischievous smile. "Alright, w-who are you?"

"I'm (Y/N)." You said sweetly.

"What d-do you want?"

"From you? Nothing. I just borrowed you for the time being." You seemed annoyed as your head snapped to the side looking at your shoulder with a scowl before looking back at him. "To be honest, I'm just checking up on things. Catch a glimpse of the game before I actually play."

"what g-game?" Toby's eyes narrowed. You looked annoyed again once again by something on your right shoulder that was illuminated by the moonlight beaming through the window. You rose to a stand. "Sorry, some friends are calling for me." You moved to the door closing the door behind you but Toby caught it before it could close all the way pulling it wide open to find you completely gone.

"Hey you!" You scowled marching toward the group of 'creepypastas'. "You promised I could do my own thing tonight!" Zalgo turned to look at you along with Ben in an old fashioned TV, Jason the Toymaker who stood taller than them all and Eyeless Jack. Judging by Zalgo's face, you were in trouble. "You were to remain hidden! That was your only requirement. If the tall man and his slaves find out you're alive, you are immediately on the radar."

"He figured it out, I kept my side of the promise!" You frowned. "I didn't even get to confront Kate!" You said sourly.

"You will one day." Zalgo seemed uninterested. "But for now, you're young and remain under our wing."

#imagine #slenderverse #creepypasta #slender the arrival #slender the arrival lauren #kate the chaser #ticci toby #masky #hoodie #reader #original version was too long :(

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junker-town · 4 years

Text

Why I became a fair-weather sports fan after years of being diehard

When fandom becomes badge of suffering, we all lose.

Over the past five years, I have turned into a fair-weather fan of a sports team I used to be obsessed with. And I have to tell you: it’s wonderful.

I grew up addicted to watching basketball, reading about basketball, playing basketball (poorly), playing basketball video games (less poorly), talking about basketball. And my team was the Sacramento Kings. And the Kings were horrid most of my childhood. All of my childhood? Pretty close.

I remember the 1996 playoffs series against the Sonics like it was yesterday. I was a teenager but felt like a 5-year-old on Christmas morning watching that series. Pure catharsis, even in defeat.

I worshipped Mitch Richmond and booed when the Kings passed on John Wallace for somebody named Predrag Stojakovic. (An astute analyst even then, it’s true.) I cried for Bobby Hurley and believed in Corliss Williamson more than anyone. As someone who enjoyed the Fab Five immensely, I was over the moon when Chris Webber showed up. I relished the era he heralded. So much so that as sports blogs were becoming a thing I started up a site that eventually became Sactown Royalty, the second NBA blog on SB Nation.

For nine years, I led and grew a community of like-minded fanatics. I wrote in depth about Bonzi Wells, Mike Bibby, Shelden Williams, Desmond Mason, Jason Hart, John Salmon, Francisco Garcia, Mikki Moore, Brad Miller, Spencer Hawes, Jason Thompson, Tyreke Evans, Jimmer Fredette, Hassan Whiteside, DeMarcus Cousins, Isaiah Thomas, Thomas Robinson, Omri Casspi, Donte Greene, Greivis Vasquez, Tyler Honeycutt (RIP), Sylven Landesburg, Orien Greene — Orien Greene started at point guard on an opening night for the Sacramento Kings! There was Justin Williams, Bobby Brown, Chuck Hayes, Kenny Thomas, Shareef Abdur-Rahim, Marcus Thornton, Rashad McCants, Bobby Jackson, Travis Outlaw, Andres Nocioni, Ronnie Price, Quincy Douby and exactly one game of Drew Gooden. I feuded with the play-by-play guy, two local columnists, several national reporters, the general manager, the press relations head, the owners, two head coaches and one head coach’s wife. (I think I have since buried the hatchet with all of them save for one of the head coaches, the play-by-play guy and one of the national reporters. I think. It’s hard to keep track of all of my professional squabbles.)

I was the model hardcore fan. I hated the Lakers with disturbing fervor. I would watch every game of a 17-win season and write about that horrid team 10 times a week. When I wasn’t watching or writing about them, I was thinking about them. I was hoping that someday I’d get to write about and root for and watch a good team.

And if I had kept on like that, I’d still be waiting.

In early 2014, I handed the reins of Sactown Royalty over to the team that is now at The Kings Herald. I continued to watch every Kings game that season, even having excised the professional obligation. I was still a hardcore Kings fan. But over the course of the next couple of years, I stopped the obsession. I stopped watching every single game. I stopped thinking about free agency, the coaching carousel and the NBA Draft first through the prism of what they meant for the Kings. I stopped being upset by the foibles of the doomed franchise, and started appreciating how hilariously inept the team was.

I stopped caring so much when the team gave me so little to care about. I became a fair-weather fan.

Before the coronavirus shutdown, I was to the point where I watched the Kings as much as I watched, say, the Pelicans or Grizzlies (two teams quite fun to watch, but for whom I have no real rooting interest). If the Kings were on and the game wasn’t entertaining, I’d change it. If they went on a mystifying three-game losing streak, I’d roll my eyes and watch some Lakers highlights. If they won a couple of games, if Harry Giles had a nice stint, if De’Aaron Fox looked healthy for the first time in months, I’d be excited. I allowed myself to enjoy the Kings as a fan without wrapping myself in the trappings of suffering when things went south.

I had deprogrammed myself from an obsessive fandom into something that certainly seems more healthy.

Now and then, someone will tweet about how I must never have been a true Kings fan since I gave it up now, as a decade of doom mounts. What a nightmarish view of fandom, that unless you’re willing to absorb infinite, eternal despair you are faking it! The world is suffering enough without fake-ass purity tests around hobbies. And that’s the key here: do you view your fandom as an identity or as a hobby? That’s the transition I’ve made. That’s where so many fans who can’t rattle off the 2007 opening night starting lineup but wear the ballcap or the T-shirt live. Having it as your identity is totally fine provided that doesn’t lead you to police the fandom, to determine who is good enough to be granted admission to the happy times when misery lifts for the team.

As someone who wore his fandom like a second skin before and wears it like a hat now, I can tell you that being a fair-weather fan is a totally valid way to experience sports. In fact, if your team is as punishing to your psyche as the Kings have been to their fans, I recommend it!

In fact, if you’re interested in conversion, let the coronavirus shutdown ween you off of obsessive fandom. Allow this break to detach your fandom identity from your corpus and make that team earn your loyalty not through mere continued existence but through success or good works or the creation of happiness. You don’t owe anything to the Knicks, the Browns, the Mariners, the Liberty, Arsenal, Georgia football, the Mets, the Kings, the Hornets, the Jaguars, UCLA basketball, the Sharks or the senior United States Men’s Soccer Team. You can make them try to earn your fandom and spare yourself little miseries when they continue to fail to do so.

The pull of nostalgia and identity and, in many cases, herd fandom and geography are strong. I completely understand and respect those who can’t shed the skin. For those of you who remain all-weather fans, godspeed.

0 notes

sagastar-blog · 6 years

Text

MemoToTheMetaverse 2.4 “Gaia Says to Jeff, Let’s Take the Black Keys Car Service!”

Gaia, our hero, the story’s 16-year-old tomboyish female protagonist, walks around in a magnificent green, blue, and white bathrobe. Her long darkreddishbrown hair is dripping wet. Gaia is the planet Earth in human form, and has always been entirely awake, or aware of this fact. She’s recently emerged from the family “scuttlebutt,” a solar-powered steam room of sorts off the side of the family’s entirely ordinary first-floor Highland Park, NJ, apartment. She speaks into a hairbrush:

Gaia: So glad to be here with Dan and Patrick of the Black Keys. Guys! Good morning! What brought you to The Orchard on this leg of the current intergalactic tour?

[Dan Auerbach--the lily-white reformed stoner father / lead singer of the indie blues rock duo from Akron known throughout the universe and beyond as The Black Keys--is a large Bert from Sesame Street doll.]

Dan: Ummmmm. Gee. Let’s see. Well, I guess we figured we were in the neighborhood, you know, New York is kind of a thing...Hey, um, Do you guys have any coffee here? I could also really use a bagel. Like, with cream cheese, yeah? Thanks. Okay, yeah.

Patrick, a narwhal hand puppet and the drummer in the band, wears hipster glasses and grunts somewhat rhythmically: Me too. Please. Thanks. Whatever.

Gaia (turns towards the kitchen and yells): Daddy! Do we have any bagels left?

[Jeff is Gaia’s 39-year-old father, who has sole custody but, as any parent must no, very little immediate control over his daughter. He’s actually a young Bengal tiger in disguise as a human and also the Master Creator/Destroyer of All.

Jeff: Yeah, hold on. Do they want everything like usual?

Patrick the narwhal begins gnawing on the top of Bert’s head while gently spanking it from below with its tail, and grunts: “Sure thing, boss.”

Dan is distracted by Gaia’s proverbial “décolletage.” It must be said that Gaia is a beautiful, buxom, and rather rambunctious young woman, and has been for a few years now something of a man-eater. More problematically, she’s been neglected by her boyfriend/cousin-in-law, Amateratsu, the local mediocre neighborhood son, thanks to the way she’s been done dirty and wrong by life--HER LIFE, yes, but still--in recent times.

Dan: Thanks so much Jeff, that’s great. Gaia’s taking good care of us in here.

Jeff: She’s a fantastic hostess. You should check out her bedroom! It’s kind of a mess...Gaia, do you think you could maybe try sweeping some day?

Gaia (returning to her interview): Dan, Patrick, do you ever wish a great wind would come along and wash away all the beer cans and bottles? I mean, like, take Akron....maybe all the rubber tires and factories and stuff should be...

Dan: Burned?

Patrick the narwhal has heard this story so many times already. He continues drumming on his lap, staring rather obtusely at Gaia’s round ass as she busily picks up last night’s detritus. He doesn’t mind getting interviewed today because he owes his ex-wife so much in arrears for child support that he’s willing to put up with Bert’s narcissism for yet another day.

Gaia: I was thinking, wouldn’t it be nice if Brian Wilson and the rest of the Beach Boys could just bury the hatchet and do, like, a benefit for the environment or something? Like, what is it going to take for some big shot celebrity musicians to actually get involved in American public life?

Dan: What we need, clearly, is the American version of Bono. Otherwise, Africa will become China and then we’re all fucked.

Gaia: Precisely. (prepares her hookah for the day’s first toke....Jeff doesn’t mind that Gaia is going through a phase in which she smokes as much cannabis as she wants when she’s at his house. She’s not always home from school, so he figures it’s a balanced approach to Creation/Destruction.)

Patrick: Do you think we could hit that?

Gaia (eyes smoldering): Butt of course, Monsieur Patrick. Et toi, Dan? Qu’en volez vous?

Dan: Did you just ask me where I’m flying next?

Gaia: EH bien. Si vous voulez faire le countertransference avec moi, ca va couterez...(she lights up)

Jeff (buttering and cream-cheesing the bagels): Gaia, I’m serious! Your room!

Gaia (tucking her Bert and narwhal weiweis into her bed): I suggest we take the Black Keys Car Service to the eco preserve.

Jeff: Gaia, can you please explain to our guests what that will entail?

[Pollux and Castor emerge from the basement, all sparkly. They’re stars from an intergalactic talent competition known as Copernamici. As the head stars in the constellation Gemini, they are Amateratsu’s siblings, relatives of Jeff and Lucius. Pollux is slightly brighter and cheerier in general, whereas Castor has a beautiful, rich baritone voice.]

Castor: I was hoping we’d get to go to the preserve. There’s so little nature here in The Orchard, which is kind of ironic, don’t you think?

Pollux: Yeah, I was just thinking that it’s weird that there are signs all around this town, what is it called here Highland Park, that say things like “Tree City U.S.A.” and “No Hate Here.” They can’t even see us when they look up at night! Where exactly is the eco preserve, Gaia?

Gaia: Sore subject. Which is why I suggest taking the Black Keys Car Service! Daddy, you explain in a longwinded monologue which is not exactly a siloloquy but who cares because Shakespeare was SUCH a bitch...

Jeff (sets down the coffee at the C2 Center for Educational Brainwashing, where he is paid 27 dollars an hour to help privileged children improve their SAT scores): THE BLACK KEYS CAR SERVICE is one of the greatest ideas ever. It is the solution to the problem we face today aboard Spaceship Earth. (speaking into the ship’s PA system microphone) Humans! You have, since the dawn of the industrial revolution, been shitting in your own scuttlebutt! You have been, like cyborgswine, befouling your own trough. Your pollution--Ohio, we’re looking right at you...OH GEEZ, Cuyahoga was a great R.E.M. song about you burning rivers...where are you Michael Stipe when the galaxy needs you?--will no longer be tolerated. I have come here, people of Earth, to save Gaia. Only, the way it works is that Gaia doesn’t need salvation. Gaia, your planet Earth, will outlive all of you. Life will persist on this planet whether you want it to or not...at least for a little longer. The point here is that I am here to protect Gaia from all of you who have been either neglecting and violating her. (Hugs his daughter tightly.) The latter is worse than the former, but there are no innocent people in this world of ours, right Gaia?

Gaia (not a victim..a survivor): Correct.

Jeff (continues): Now. You, humans, will end this farce of an existence. You have serious environmental problems which you are not capable of fixing by yourselves. The first step in solving a problem is admitting that you have a problem. The Black Keys Car Service is the best way for you to admit you have a problem.

Jeff and Gaia step out to their electric car.

We’re not suggesting that you need to trash your entire civilization. No. That’d be impractical. You need to recycle it. You need to throw away a lot of stuff that’s bad.

Amateratsu (offstage): I SUGGEST FEEDING ME!

Jeff: Let’s shoot a bunch of shit into the sun, like old junk that’s bad for Gaia. Let’s figure out a way to use nuclear and other technologies sustainably and responsibly. There are no such thing as “bad nukes,” just as there are no such things as “bad phones.” You have technology and you need to learn how to use it wisely. I say I’m wisdom unemployed. I don’t need to spend my time pretending to teach here at the C2 Center for Educational Polyamorous Cockblocking and Blueballing. It’s not very fun, rewarding, or productive for me. (Imagine that, John Lenin!)

It’s not easy for you to accept that you’re a computer virus and that your existence is a threat to lots (not ALL) other life here on Earth. I get that! We have a suggestion...

Gaia (grabs the mic and screams as loudly as possible): Just send an ordinary unmarked car to Jeff’s house at 35 S. Fifth Avenue in Highland Park, NJ, 08904, U.S.A, Earth, Dimension 1(?)=1 / infinity. (Everyone knows my real address is one over infinity!) But make sure it’s like really smooth and cool...you know, like it should be the kind of car service that Dan and Patrick would use and then try to cash in on by selling out...like El Camino.

But it can’t be an El Camino. It should be like a 2002 Ford or something. Not eco-friendly! It needs to be authentic and real, like Akron but WORSE. If I’m being violated, at least let Jeff on the Lester GangBangBus. You know what I mean? SO the one thing about The Black Keys Car Service is that it’s got to be both legitimate and correct. There will be no “Black Keys” cds or music or anything directly related to the Black Keys in the car, obviously. The music should be a delightful mixture of T. Bone Burnett classics, which is to say stuff that would sell at Starbucks and not offend Jeff. This is how Jeff learns! By doing human anthropology. We don’t hate your culture. We just have taste and need a little bit of respect, so like, no music referencing “niggers,” “bitches,” and other unsavory aspects of your filthy human world. I’m sorry, but there’s a difference between you listening to what you like in public and you exposing me and my Daddy and my friends to your pollution. We need to be protected, like in an eco preserve!

Jeff: What Gaia is trying to say is that I don’t ask for much. You’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. That’s fine by me. I’m used to it. But now that you’ve been caught, you have to admit it. You have to admit what you’ve done and you have to do it soon by sending The Black Keys Car Service, which is recognizing me as someone valuable and worthy of dignity and respect, as well as adoration, of course.

Send me a private car with a driver--let him be exactly like the dude who plays bass and also keyboards for the Shins, if not that guy himself!--who recognizes me as JustJeff and takes me where I want to go. For free (i.e. without charging me money or making me feel awkward). You know who I am, so stop pretending! Allow the driver to speak to me like a normal person. It will be great! And please let there be bagels with cream cheese and coffee in the car. Other than that, there’s nothing else for me to request. If you do that, i’ll know that we’re going somewhere together.

If I’m going to save you, Gaia, it’s going to be on my terms, not theirs. We have a lot of work to do and must take practical steps. The Black Keys Car Service is the best way to get moving in the right direction.

Gaia (fidgeting with her phone): OMJ, I hate this phone! (throws it out the window and turns up the music, which I believe is some Dusty Springfield song, but we can’t be sure...)

#black keys #justjeff #memotothemetaverse #michael stipe #cult gaia #gaiaonline #gaia #astronomy #astrology #amateratsu #sci-fi & fantasy #fan fiction #comicon #comic books #theology #rolling stone magazine

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settingtrends · 5 years

Note

yes hello i would love some sterek fic recs please? 👀 what have you been reading lately 👀

*screams* i've been reading so much!!!!!!!!!!! my brain feels like it’s been through a sterek crash course!!!!!!!!! and i hate doing fic recs because i always find more fics i wanna read!!!!!!!!! *screams louder* here are some fics for you!!!! sorry for answering so late!!!! love you A Lot!!!!!!!

you’ve got notes by the_gramophone

Stiles Stilinski has wanted star basketball player Derek Hale forever, but what are the odds of that ever happening? A love story of letters, prom, and the healing power of milkshakes.

14,817 words

can i get your (call) number, baby? by lielabell

Thing is, for the most part, Stiles's loves his job. He loves the quiet hush of the library, the way it smells like must and old books. He likes walking through the stacks, collecting books to be shelved. Likes sitting at the reference desk, hell, he even likes the fact that they still have a card catalog, even though no one ever uses it. Everything about the job is amazing.

Except...

Except for the music majors.

4,946 words

territorial by anxiety_baker02

Stiles managed to get himself in the middle of his pack’s turf war.He gets injured, and Derek turns him in order to save him.

Or:

In Which Derek ignores Stiles because he thinks Stiles is mad at him, Stiles thinks Derek is ignoring him because he’s pissed that Stiles is now a werewolf, and they’re both oblivious idiots.

4,652 words

stiles, 5+1 things by anxiety_baker02

Five times Stiles wanted to know what was wrong with Derek, and the one time he figured it out.

4,208 words

blood is (not) thicker than water by anxiety_baker02

Stiles hasn’t seen his extended family in years- mostly because they’re assholes. His cousins bully him relentlessly, and his aunts and uncles aren’t much better. So when he hears that they’re coming out for a family reunion, he’s understandably upset. He knows the next week is going to be hell, and it’s made worse when a new pack shows up, vowing revenge on their pack.

75,113 words (wip)(it’s on the epilogue so it’s almost done)

kidnapped! (again, stiles?) by anxiety_baker02

When you fall in love with your soulmate, a soulmark appears on your arm. Stiles’ soulmark has been appearing for over six months, which just means he’s falling in love slowly. But there’s one problem- he doesn’t know who it is!

Or:

Everyone except Stiles (and who he’s in love with) knows who it is.

Also, Stiles gets kidnapped once or twice, but whatever.

24,753 words

worlds apart by siny (*screams about this fic in multiple octaves bc LOVE her*)

Derek Hale, Heir Prince of Betonia and Italy, meets Stiles Stilinski, college boy.

92,506 words

we should just kiss (like real people do) by i_am_girlfriday

Stiles is the social zero of the sophomore class. Derek is the much cooler junior who befriends Stiles anyway.

9,483 words

where others fade away by pr1nc3ssp34ch (dallisons)

When the name Grzegorz tattoos itself across Derek's wrist in neat, thin strokes, his mother pats him on the head in sympathy and Laura laughs so hard she has to go to her room, the sound echoing down the hall as she goes. When it stays there for six years and no such Grzegorz appears, Derek seriously considers moving to Poland.

Meanwhile, on Stiles' eighteenth birthday when Derek crawls onto his skin, untidy and volatile, Lydia shrieks in sudden realization, and Jackson looks so entirely offended that even Danny can't kiss him back to normal.

9,054 words

then you’ll get along by scepticallyopenminded

“Stiles, stop hitting on my deputies and bring me dinner, would you?” The Sheriff sticks his head out of his office then, and Stiles blushes as amusement settle on Derek’s face. He watches as Stiles glares at him with a “shut it”, but Derek just gives him a wink. Stiles trips a little as he starts walking away, but looks back at Derek with wide eyes before smirking again.

650 words

love, physics and post-it notes by inessa_caliburn

A Lit student's awkward attempts at wooing an Astrophysics student with cheesy pick-up lines with a (vaguely) scientific tone.

3,533 words

baking my way into your heart by thesilence (the love I have for this fic wow)

Derek is an uptight college student, all work and no play. His carefully scheduled life is thrown kilter when his regular barista is replaced with someone new.

178,360 words

let’s not fake this by foxerica (ericismeg)

Two idiots in love who think having a fake relationship and a fake breakup is the way to handle clearing the air when some people assume they’re dating... because that’s what they told them.

5,650 words

diamond by ericaismeg

Allison and Lydia own an wedding planning company called, Allydia Diamond Events. Stiles has been working for them for four years as their caterer. Their latest client? Erica Reyes from high school. She brings in Derek Hale with her.

Derek used to hate Stiles in high school, and he clearly still does. That doesn't stop Stiles from crushing on his client - knowing he's getting married doesn't stop him.

Only Derek's not getting married to Erica. He's just lost his ability to speak around Stiles. Again.

8,926 words

haze by ericaismeg

BASED ON THIS TUMBLR POST: i really want an “i accidentally broke into your house/apartment because my friend lives next door to you and i was in the area, drunk, and i thought i was climbing into the right window and falling asleep on the right couch (and i did wonder when my friend got two cats but i didn’t question it) so now i’m hungover and shirtless in your living room so um hi howya doin” au

* * *

In Stiles' drunken haze, he breaks into the wrong dorm room. But then Derek's making him breakfast, and he thinks he should do this more often.

4,817 words

simple by ericaismeg

Stiles' ex-boyfriend, Jackson, is at the same bar. With Stiles' longtime crush, Lydia Martin. Stiles needs a fake boyfriend yesterday. Who better than Mr. Grumpy Pants who he'd almost spilled his drink on earlier?

Not to mention, damn, Mr. Grumpy Pants is hot. And that's why Jackson's not buying the fact that they're dating.

4,460 words

knowledge by ericaismeg

Stiles crashes in Lydia's bedroom during one of her parties, and Derek comes in to hide there.

He learns some stuff about the popular jock - like the fact that he's fun to flirt with.

3,383 words

pretty words by ericaismeg

“Anything for my favourite wolf.”“I beat Scott?” Derek's surprised.Stiles snorts. “Dude, no one beats Scott. That's like a given.”Derek rolls his eyes. “And for a second there, I thought that you might be a romantic.”“You want romance? Oh, hell yes, I can romance the fuck out of you, wolfie. Just wait.”“I'm dying in anticipation,” Derek deadpans.

OR: The one where Stiles and Derek try to out-romance each other, and Derek realizes that he has feelings for none other than Stiles Stilinski.

8,321 words

denial by ericaismeg

Scott thinks they're flirting. Isaac's betting on Derek sniffing him. The Sheriff thinks they're dating. Erica and Boyd are rooting for them. Derek's waiting for him to figure it out.

Stiles is the only one in denial.

4,924 words

outside by ericaismeg

Stiles just kind of barges into Derek's life, and falls down more than one should. That's okay though, because Derek invests in a great First Aid kit, and patches Stiles up.

4,593 words

114% hotter than usual by ericaismeg

Stiles has a crush on the local weatherman, and then they meet at a party.

3,081 words

i have a fiancé by lemnerd

“I can’t wait to marry you.” the man says.

“Okay, but I already have a fiancé. His name is Derek.” Stiles hears himself saying.

Wherein Stiles is extremely drunk and makes out with his fiancé, without knowing that his fiancé is his fiancé. It’s all very confusing.

1,999 words

are you bored yet? by lemnerd

Derek's date isn't going to show up anytime soon, so he figures he might as well just get going. He wants to go home and curl up on the couch and read Hemmingway. It's Friday, anyway. He doesn't want to spend his valuable Friday in a restaurant being stood up.He's just going to go home, and have a nice, quiet evening.

Then someone sits down across from him. It's definitely not his date, it's a boy who looks fearful.

"Hey! Thanks for waiting for me," he says. Except Derek's sure he's never met the kid in his life.

"Uh." Derek responds, eloquently.

The boy holds his phone up in Derek's face. The screen doesn't have a picture of a puppy, though. It has the following words:

PLEASE HELP ME, I'M BEING FOLLOWED BY SOME CREEPY GUY.

or the one where Derek gets stood up by his actual date, and a stranger needs him to be his pretend date.

1,564 words

until i stayed away too long by melofttroll

NY Times bestseller Derek Hale hates a lot of things about being a modern author. Like being recognized, like needing a social media presence, like not being able to buy his own boxed spaghetti noodles without being asked for a selfie. Facing writer's block, he escapes to his old hometown of Beacon Hills, at his sister's insistence, for some reprieve and hopefully motivation. It's there his attention is captured by a gangly, socially awkward teacher, and the tiny little toddler at his side who know him only as that one basketball player who fled town at fifteen after his girlfriend burnt his house down.

14,847 words

awful, wonderful you by stilinkskisparkles

Truth be told, Derek was suffering from the mild delusion he lived in all summer wherein he actually thought this year might be different, and he might, perhaps, be able to bury the hatchet with Stiles and start over.

The superglue that’s destroyed a ninety dollar pair of pants, however, says otherwise. Derek knows how this play goes down; eventually, he’s going to have to climb out of the pants and trudge back to his dorm half naked. Stiles will gloat for a damn week; Derek will have to put up with constant remarks about Stiles getting him out of his pants... Dammit, he’s actually going to get Derek out of his pants, and it’s not even close to the way he pictured it happening.

16,925 words

celebrity crush by rarepairenabler

Stiles wasn’t expecting to meet his favourite actor when Scott helped him land an internship on the set of Jackson’s new film, and he certainly wasn’t expecting Derek to fall in love with him. Not that Stiles was complaining.

30,307 words

a nice ring to it by jomouse (ziam/sterek crossover brooooooo!!!!!!)

Stiles and Derek are in England to visit Jackson and the Windsor Pack. While there, they meet a powerful magic-user and his protector.

11,011 words

like a flower bending in the breeze (you have a way with me)

by awaitthemorrow

The thing is that Stiles and Derek are kind of pretty good friends now. They watch baseball together, talk about their lives (and their friends) over take-out, they exchange texts all the time about stupid, non-supernatural stuff. Just last week they saw some arty-farty indie film that they both hated.

So what if Stiles has a tiny, minuscule crush on the guy? It's not worth rocking the boat over.

5,640 words

driving mr. stilinski by literaryoblivion

Out of breath and a little sweaty, Stiles says, “That was close.”

His driver looks at him through the rearview mirror, an eyebrow raised. “Where to, Mr. Stilinski?” he asks.

Stiles runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Derek, how many times do I have to tell you, please call me Stiles. Every time you say Mr. Stilinski, I think of my dad and just no.”

Derek shrugs and looks in the mirror, expectant. Stiles stares back at him in the mirror, just as expectant, lifting his brow a little until Derek huffs and rolls his eyes. “Stiles, where would you like me to drive you?”

2,428 words

starstruck (or not) by literaryoblivion

Derek takes his daughter Lia to a convention of her favorite TV show because he's a good dad (and can't seem to tell his daughter no) and ends up meeting a special someone.

4,158 words

a lifetime (with you) by charlesdk

If you ask him, Derek will tell you he's doing fine. He's raising his five year old daughter, Erica, on his own, he has his family and a book series published that's pretty popular and sold well. Under a pseudonym, sure, but it counts.

He'll tell you he's doing pretty alright – right up until Stiles Stilinski stumbles into his and Erica's lives and never really leaves again.

Derek's world gets shaken up, but things get better. Slowly, for all of them.

30,793 words

i’ll stop the world and dance with you by im2old4thisotp

Stiles Stilinski is a widow and a single father, navigating the world the best he can with his 8-year-old daughter Emilie.

Parent's Night at her ballet school is the problem.

A rainbow tutu is the solution.

10,300 words

parent volunteering by charwright5

Derek is battling a crush on his young daughter's third grade teacher, so naturally, he's stuck as the parent volunteer during the school's Polar Express event the last half-day of school before Christmas break.

10,217 words

last lovesong of a dying lemon by wldnst

Stiles' Jeep keeps breaking down. Derek is a mechanic.

10,424 words

the best men by grimmypuff

Planning a wedding? Not really something Stiles ever wanted to do, thanks. But when best bro duty calls, you answer. Luckily, another best bro has been called up as well. Enter Derek Hale.

12,939 words

for goodness cakes by yodasyoyo

Derek owns a bakery and Stiles comes in wanting something for a broken heart (very over-dramatic about it) but he gets so distracted by the cake (muscles) that he totally forgets alllll about it.

OR: Stiles eats a lot of cake. Derek's communication skills are lacking. And they bitch and snark their way to a happy ending.

3,462 words

good intentions by yodasyoyo

In which Stiles thought he fake wolf-married Derek twenty-six years previously. Turns out it wasn't as fake as he thought.

4,023 words

#I have...……..so many new fics to read now...……….I will be providing y'all with #an updated list within the next week - whether you want it or not thank you good byE #ADLFJADLFJD #love you ems love love love you thANKS BYE

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renatedagmarmilada · 7 years

Text

actual art work sent to USA Human Research New York

quote from lab st barths Hum Res- make up another bundle of stolen Fekete works to send to the USA for them to copy as their own work.. stolen-- 1,500 paintings A4, A3, A2 many of them ART COLLEGE AND ART SCHOOL works. 1000 + drawings..as above 2900 poems...

Isobel, daughter of Manager ALLAN Finchley, all his children and wife used Fekete work to further themselves, degree work, art work and poetry etc traced round Fekete paintings and embroidered them for lab, was paid £350 for it.m/s ''It is not one of these, but you would know it if you saw it.'' Mrs Ann Meyer made £3000+ sending drawings traced from your work to design centres for her husband.. and the rest...

New York Human Research lab has been told to do as the lab st barths Human Research has done in England, to get all its cheats and liars Jewish,mainly former lovers and women friends of boss George-former Russian /Jewish plea/to skim all Fekete/my work. it came from above, the Ministries?/ No, it was ANNA jun sec Min of Health and the lab cheats and thieves idea.. However, ANNA gave former lovers families Fekete work to use for themselves- Arthur Civil Servant, wife and daug...

Put enough pressure on Fekete and she will go-- Jean Carsted Beaumond.. and ...//st barths human research/

Human Research has many new nasties it's staffs illegitimate children being groomed at the lab as future managers across the nation /ie M&S etc/ have everyone of them to try out on me, ANNA and the Ministry of Health decided to use my little not too strong body after a life time as refugee etc for practice- you know, exactly like CAMP 5 AUSCHWITZ..//quote- ANNA : all her life has been so bad, she will barely notice what we are doing to her.. but this one even surprised me - ...

Welsh- the rabble got Fekete. No the lab- a little known group, used the rabble to get Fekete for them. ...quote- we were trying to get her to leave, once she goes we are clear-- our licence and jail hover..

390 of your paintings were sent to New York Human Research last week from st barths Human Research for them to copy -by friends of the lab staff and chief.More than forty were already there.

seems like if you committed murder anywhere in the world you come to UK to live -no law - Ghanian stole for Lab st barths Hum Res which is tied to Ministry of Health so all the civil servants know, with friend, also here, killed a man with their machete.. they ''had '' to Abdul, Upperthorpe flats, Addis str-- murdered a farm boy, no he didn't have to.. all three Syrians and egyptians have long criminal records?????????? been given brand new 3 bedr houses..shall we make lists... YES, the country HAS gone to the dogs.. we fought to come to this place.. what a shit hole it has become.. I would say nothing if we hadn't had to go through massive security clearancing when we came after WW2

quote --several white kids in Sheffield ECCLESFIELD SCHOOL are now using your degree work for their school work..

quote--fag ash woman Upperthorpe springvale flats 2, heavy into drugs, up the snicket, had about 80 of your smaller paintings, top ones, - she has given them to one of her ''lovers'' to sell, and share the profits..Simon Beaumond, operative at st barths Hum Res fixed that one up, he has also written my work and as for his second wife and kids.. well.....Jean Carsted and Clare.....words fail me.

Dexit jetzt! Deutschland raus aus der EU!

ha ha ha!!

illustration from one of my books /9 books ready for print, stolen in box with all back up CD's by James Briggs.from my loft/

Anna jun sec Min of Health, put every dirty thought she ever had onto the file, st baths Human Research, program paid for by Kissinger, for one hundred years, the majority of which Fekete doesn't have a clue about or even know about..

from the street black guys= Upperthorpe Sheffield.. we have 98 of your paintings which we stole from your home, left here.. not sold yet, we sell a few at a time. Others, Syrians etc have also stolen your drawings..

how the tables are turning...

Lester Piggott rode his last Derby winer in 1983. What was the horse's name... and why was he savaged (some know) and yet there is a killer, whom we all know, say the lab St Barths here in Sheff. no one is doing anything about- I see him almost everyday..

quote--there must have been something to start this off-- a Scunthorpe GP made a rather unsavory remark to Fekete and then asked St Barths Human Research to watch her incase she reported him. So they used her- and her family. They had been roving the country secretly for 50 years and interfering in private citizens lives, so this was the culmination..

quote-James Briggs is in trouble again- he keeps getting off. Is it the lab because he robbed Fekete dry for them? yes, using him for experiments to change the course of the law..as they did for Fekete's son. Feed the answers remote

at first I used just a few of Fekete's lines, then I began using it wholesale, no one says anything.. work robbed by our young men from her home. Black woman... You have it on the strength of this work //robbed from my home//

Who is your grandmama, fantastic... the west indians liars are saying they got my work from their grandmother-- began in 2012 when the Briggs brothers stole wood carving of nun my ex husband brought me from working in South Africa, I treasured, all left from him.. he told the woman he sold it to that he was given it by an old black woman.. God the west indians are such liars..they are ofcourse all on the scanner..

Must admit I could kick myself now, I had so many offers to sell my pictures, from abroad too- but was saving till I could have one or two exhibition here- before selling .. You just do not expect that the west indian young men of a whole city, of all the people to attack in the world, tol rob you of literally thousands of paintings and all your writings, including several degrees, many years and years of work, leaving nothing behind, nothing besides all the goods they robbed, down to felt tips and water colour paint boxes /some costing for me, a lot of money, a whole week's pension/-the work of 35 years, and that breaking into someone's home is not a crime, week in week out.. I can only say what some said about Hitler Germany--- I thought Enlgand was a democratic country..

quote -Anna has her hatchet men in the lab now.Does she really need this on one small elderly teacher?.this morning: if only we could tie FEKETE to some crime, or sexual act, but it is impossible. Now let's start on her daughter..Keep the family members separate from each other and block contacts.

ANDY so called,singer UPPERTHORPE Sheffield. I made £3,000 on on Fekete's work, on a CD stole her paintings and her scripts. Six of us WEST INDIANS did -- Earl up Crooksmoor road Sheffield. and we all broke into the old teacher's home and robbed her..so much for the black young men of sheffield, robbing a 72 year old every item. and our Ministries, THEFT EVEN WHEN IT IS TOTAL IS NOT A CRIME IN THE UK.. The Briggs James and Edward brothers, west indians began stealing my degree work back in 2012 and have been sending off songs from it since. their cousin William uses it for his work. the west indian list is endless...

quote-I am not a painter, but a copyist--London painter, 40ish bald, long hair to shoulders at back- The lab st barths Human Research gave me some two dozen of your paintings with order to copy exactly in oils. I have copied half a dozen now, they buy them..

ANNA jun sec Min of Health and Op Alyson have sent 500 of Fekete's paintings all over the place, many to America to be copied or used by cheats Human Research lab used there..

The Prince should ask for FEKETE'S work to be returned, we can find anything now with the lab machine. HE can't because that would imply he had permitted its robbing from Fekete's home.The Royals are keeping a low profile in the matter. It seems nothing, but it is the biggest thing around at the moment. He did, in a round about way..

m/s MURMANSK Human Research still has to come to St barth hum res to try out tortures etc-- NO, WE ARE NOT COMING, YOU PEOPLE ARE SICK..

quote this morning- on tram- there is hardly an Arab in your area who hasn't got some of your clothes, work, goods etc - stolen goods is meaningless to them. The three thieves, two Syrians and one Egyptian have made a pact of sorts..

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raisingsupergirl · 7 years

Text

In Defense of Video Games

I feel like I'm always writing about time, which is ironic because I'm most inclined to spend time writing about time when I have the least amount of time, which is … most of the time. I know, I know. I sound so "American," right? But it's weird. I hear a lot of people who get all bent out of shape because they have to do so much. Me, on the other hand? I get to do so much. Like, I'm not spending my weekends pulling poison ivy and asbestos from my truck's broken radiator. I'm writing stories, playing in the yard with my daughter, and cooking dinner with my wife. And throughout the week? I'm helping people in all kinds of ways alongside some of the coolest guys and girls I know. So why, oh why, would I ever complain about not having enough time, especially to do something as silly as playing video games?

First, if I have to tell you, you probably won't ever understand. But let me try. Think back to when you were a little kid (that may be harder for some of you than others). What are your favorite memories? Hunting Easter eggs with your cousins? Unwrapping that new bike on Christmas morning? Sunday dinners at Grandma's? Sandcastles on the beach? Well, though mine do include all of the above, the ALSO consist of things like finding the Master Sword in the Lost Woods and convincing Magus to join Crono's party. If I want a can of soda, I still call it a Soda Popinski, for cryin' out loud! Obviously, it's not an overstatement to say that these games defined my childhood and molded my future, but before you write me off completely for ascribing too much importance to a bunch of button-mashing, mind-numbing toys (Okay, maybe that's true for Mike Tyson's Punch-out!!), let me explain why video games can be one of the most important aspects of any healthy person’s childhood.

The noblest past-times tend to revolve around the arts. Creating—and consuming—art is generally seen as an obvious sign that an individual has a firm grasp on the importance of life. Writing, reading, drawing, listening to music (excluding that noise the kids listen to these days …)—all of these things explore the depths of humanity and the world in which we live. But what if I told you that there are some video games out there that successfully roll all these art forms (and more) into one immersive experience that can leave a child starry-eyed and hungry for beauty and creation in all its forms?

That's what role-playing games (RPGs) were for me. You see, I didn't grow up in a two-story Victorian home with a piano, a library, and a sitting room full of art. Until I was eight-years-old, I lived in a doublewide trailer with a single fuzzy TV, wood-panel walls, and a stack of WWF magazines. As such, we spent a good amount of time outside (which, thankfully, also shaped who I am, but that's a story for another day), but Missouri summers can get pretty unbearable, and there were some days my brothers and I huddled in front of the Nintendo and fought over who would get the controller next (I was never next).

And by the time we moved into an actual house (with more bedrooms than people!), my brothers were in high school, which meant they were too busy/cool to hog the Nintendo (now a SUPER Nintendo … and soon a Nintendo 64). Thus, the era of my RPG adventures began. And oh, gosh, was it ever glorious! Chrono Trigger, Zelda (ALL the Zeldas!), Breath of Fire, Secret of Mana, Final Fantasy(s) … I could go on, but I devoured each and every one with passion I'd never known. You see, I read a little—Goosebumps, Whitefang, Hatchet—the essentials for a boy in the 90s. And my musical depth included a combination of Alan Jackson and Third Eye Blind. My family didn't go to musicals, museums, or art galleries. We went camping. And occasionally to Florida. Again, I'm infinitely grateful for my childhood. It taught me the importance of family, God, nature, and hard work. But it didn't open a lot of doors when it came to my creativity. That is, until I hit power on the SNES. That's when the universe unlocked its secrets, when I explored hidden cultures, when I defeated evil in a thousand forms in order to save princesses, cities, and entire worlds. Each room was a puzzle, challenging my mind in new and exciting ways. Each battle taught me the heartbreak of defeat and the elation of a hard-won victory. I could have given up. I could have dropped the controller and turned the TV on Roseanne. But I pressed on, making space in my brain for problem solving, mystery, excitement, and wonder.

As I write this, I'm listening to the two-hour Chrono Trigger soundtrack and I'm getting misty-eyed. Seriously. Each new song reminds me of a different adventure. A new chapter that left me not only wanting to forge ahead, but also to create stories myself. You see, art—in every form—begets art. I get that some games are created purely for, as I said before, button-mashing, mind-numbing entertainment. In fact, the horrible truth is that now that I don't have forty straight hours to devote to a beautifully crafted RPG, I waste an ungodly amount of time with stupid little apps that amount to nothing. But that doesn't mean there's not an entire multi-verse of underappreciate art out there, combining some of the most brilliant musical scores, storytelling, and artwork into multimedia experiences that can reach untapped potential in children who would otherwise grow up thinking books are dumb and Mozart is a waste of time.

You do what you want. Condemn video games in your household. Look down on them as frivolous distractions that promote lethargy and obesity. But me? I've lived adventures you can't ever imagine. And even though I spend my free hours these days reading and writing, that doesn't mean I've forgotten the magic planted in me from an early age—a magic that grew into a deep appreciation for these "nobler" artistic pursuits. And I'm counting down the days until I can buy a video game consul for my daughters. Yeah, that's it. It'll be for them. Definitely not for me …

#video games #art #entertainment #reading #amreading #amwriting #momblr #dadblr #mumblr #Chrono trigger #legend of zelda #final fantasy #childhood #Easter

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