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mementoboni · 10 months

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[part 3/4] DIR EN GREY WOWOW Interview & Document (2020)

"But looking at these, seeing Diru's behind-the-scenes production process, I still feel it's not easy, DIR EN GREY is really amazing." — Shinya

Notes before reading:

The whole interview is divided into 8 topics, and the translation is divided into 4 parts. This is the third part, including the 5th topic. The details of all topics and time markers are 👉 here.

I have added Chinese subtitles for this video in 2021. The whole interview was very meaningful, and I hope that with the English translation, more people can understand what they're talking about.

The five members were interviewed separately and then edited into a video, so the words spoken by each of them are not necessarily coherent.

Repost and share are welcome.🙌 I translated it all by my ears, so please feel free to correct me if you spot any mistake or any confusing parts.☺️

— — —

05. Member Feature

[ 薫 Kaoru ]

►Memories of the Band Formation

Kaoru: Even ONE MAN LIVE, we still didn't have the budget to decorate the stage. But we still wanted it, so we went to TOKYU HANDS* and bought Styrofoam, flower decorations, and wire or something like that. It's fun that we all made stage decorations in the house together. (*Note: "TOKYU HANDS" is a Japanese chain of home-based department stores specializing in selling DIY products.)

►Something of Recent Interest

Kaoru: I am often asked, but I can't think of anything. I don't want to do anything when I get home. This month, in June, "Neon Genesis Evangelion" (the movie) will be released, and I really like it. Kaoru: It's almost over, of course I also want to see it earlier, but after watching it is really over. I'm a little happy that it's going to be postponed, that it won't be released this year (2020), and that I won't be able to watch it. (Staff: Emotionally, you still can't accept it.) Kaoru: Yeah, yeah, it will feel like it's not the end yet.

►Opportunity for Solo Exhibition

(*Screen caption: Kaoru held a solo exhibition”ノウテイカラノ”in 2019.) Kaoru: The reason for the exhibition is that a few years ago my hands started to become a bit uncomfortable and I couldn't hold the pick properly to play the guitar, so I had to put the pick on my fingers with tape*. As a kind of rehabilitation, I started to draw and try to show some random things, but the story is not yet that rich. (*Note: Around 2014, Kaoru's hands began to show signs of abnormalities, which were diagnosed to be the occupational disease, caused by relaxation of the ligaments of the muscles or joints.)

►The Origin of「ノウテイカラノ」("nouteikarano”)

Kaoru: When I was a child, I often had a dream. I don't know if it was the sky or the ground, but there was a pure white place, and from far away, I could see a lot of dots, as if there was a large group of things coming closer and closer, and in an instant, they all swarmed towards me. Kaoru: Every night I would dream about it, and then I woke up with a start. I wake up every time I dream about it, and what happens after that? I imagine what happens after that, try to draw a picture like this, go back to my mind at that time and imagine it. (*Note: According to Kaoru’s scend book “Dokugen ni” (published in 2018) P.85, "ノウテイカラノ" means "脳底からの" (born from inside the head), just written in katakana.

►Influence on the Band

Kaoru: At first, I wanted to draw with a different feeling, and I felt that my creative power was stimulated, so I thought I could compose with a different feeling. But, rather, it seems to be more difficult to make a song. (laughs)

...

[ Shinya ]

►The Person You Admire

Shinya: I've been in a band since my first year of middle school. X was very popular in the class, and YOSHIKI-san's presence was very strong. At that time I decided to become a drummer like him, and I've always looked up to YOSHIKI-san since then.

►Memories of the Band Formation

Shinya: We used to compose in a studio in Osaka. There was a container-like studio, and I remember we stayed there for 3 or 4 days, composing the song together. The studio was rented, and we slept there under the blankets. Shinya: I never understood why we had to share a room*. The studio was in Osaka and we could just go home, so why did we have to spend the night there? I guess other members might have felt the same way. (*Shinya used the word "gashuku, 合宿")

►Reason for Not Changing the Style

Shinya: There are people who have liked me for a long time. Also, I can feel the beauty by keeping my old look, and that's why (I don't change my look).

►Opportunity to Start Solo Project

(*Screen caption: Shinya established the music group "SERAPH" in 2017.) Shinya: The concept was already there many years ago, but I felt that it was a bit taboo to have other band activities, so I didn't do anything. But around 2012 or 2013, I started to think that it was okay, so I went into it with the intention of trying it out.

►The Concept of "SERAPH"

Shinya: The theme is the various things that I see from heaven, about human beings, and that's what I'm expressing.

►Influence on the Band

Shinya: The drum part is the same as DIR EN GREY. After all, it's an expression of my own creation. In this respect, when I think of the drums of DIR EN GREY, there may still be some influence.

►Things learned from "SERAPH"

Shinya: I have to do a lot of things by myself in SERAPH, booking all kinds of things and so on. I'm quite happy to do it myself, or maybe I'm doing it because I like it. But looking at these, seeing Diru's behind-the-scenes production process, I still feel it's not easy, DIR EN GREY is really amazing.

...

[ Die ]

►Opportunity to Go into the Band

Die: I wasn't that interested in music itself before. I like listening to music, but I don't know anything about the bands. After entering high school, I saw the performance of senpais' copy band at the cultural festival. I was dragged there by my friends, and it was a shock to me. The first time I saw a live performance, I realized that it's the band. Die: Although I had no interest in it, I wanted to do something while watching it, and I formed a band with my friend immediately after the show was over. There was no one else (in the band). I was a drummer at first. (laughs) But it's boring to play rhythm all the time at home. After all, guitar is a melodic instrument, and there is an amplifier. I guess the guitar is more attractive to me.

►Memories of the Band Formation

Die: When we first debuted, we spent the whole day in the conference room of the record company, signing posters, changing signatures, and so on. Filming also started at 6 a.m., and it took about 3 hours for a person to put on makeup, it's usually over time at the end. I remember these things very well.

►Something of Recent Interest

Die: In my daily life, I naturally see and hear things like the Japanese music industry, and it feels really peaceful.

►Opportunity to Start Solo Project

(*Screen caption: Die founded the rock band "DECAYS" in 2015.) Die: As far as music is concerned, it's something I can't do at DIR EN GREY. I wanted to try and see how far I could go without the DIR EN GREY label. There is a part of me that wants to do it myself, or to challenge it.

►Things learned from "DECAYS"

Die: At first I felt like I had to make some changes, but instead, I felt like I was losing myself. In the end, I found that it is best to be myself, in the next process.

...

[ Toshiya ]

►Opportunity to Start Playing Bass

Toshiya: Originally, I just wanted to be a guitarist, but I didn't think I could play very well. At that time, I was thinking about what to do, and then I was attracted to the bass. I felt like I could see my future. Toshiya: There are many people who are called "Guitar Heroes", but few people remember "Bass Heroes". That means there is still room for me to develop, so I thought I would play bass.

►Memories of the Band Formation

Toshiya: When our band first formed, four members came to my hometown. It was winter and there was still snow on the ground. They all came from Kansai and rarely saw snow*. I was very impressed by how excited they were to see snow. (*Toshiya's hometown is Nagano. It is said that Toshiya's mother took the picture at the time and still keeps it at home in Nagano :D → TOSHIYA AT JOE YOKOMIZO CHANNEL 4th FEB TRANSLATION/NOTES 2/4)

►Favorite Artists

Toshiya: I like painting. Vincent van Gogh and Francis Bacon, I like both of them very much. The world of painting is usually a mixture of truth and fiction.

►Opportunity to Start the Apparel Brand

(*Screen caption: Fashion brand with Toshiya as creative director - DIRT) Toshiya: I think music and fashion are inseparable and both are very attractive. Music should be free to express itself, and in the same way, fashion should be free, too. Toshiya: When it comes to expressing oneself, everyone chooses what is acceptable to most people*. I don't like that, I think we should listen to our own thoughts more. (*Toshiya used the word "migimuke migi, 右向け右")

►Influence on the Band

Toshiya: Even if I'm designing clothes, I end up having something to do with music. Although this is a completely different field, it will eventually return to music and bands.

...

[ 京 Kyo ]

►The Person You Admire

Kyo: There are a lot of them. Now I'm not just targeting one person. When I was young, there were a lot of senpais that I wanted to become like them. But it's been more than 20 years, so now I don't take them as a target, just be myself.

►Interested Artists

Kyo: Haven't there "Kimetsu no Yaiba (鬼滅の刃)" recently? I haven't read it yet, it's super popular, isn't it? Generally speaking, if the sales are so good, it is difficult to end the series, right? There will be a variety of entanglements, such as the life afterwards, there are many to consider. Kyo: I think it's great to end the series like this, to end it at this time, with a sense of strength and determination. So if there is a follow-up manga in the future, I would like to read it.

►Opportunity to Start Solo Project

(*Screen caption: Kyo founded the rock band "sukekiyo" in 2013.) Kyo: The things I want to do often keep popping up. I think it's a shame not to do it, and I don't want to regret it.

►Influence on the Band

Kyo: I don't think so, but I feel less stressed (after the solo project). People who like DIR EN GREY say to me, "Don't bring sukekiyo to DIR EN GREY!" Sometimes people say that, and I'm not going to do that. Kyo: I was asked why (I want to form a sukekiyo), "Diru can do it, right?" It's because I can't do it (in Diru) that I want to do it! I don't know what criteria they used to say that Diru can do it, but I didn't do what I could do (in Diru). If you finish what you want to do one by one, you will be less stressed out.

(To be continued…)

--- --- ---

part 1. & part 2. & part4.

topics & time marks

中文翻譯 (My Blogger) part 1. & part 2. & part 3.

#dir en grey #kaoru #薰 #kyo #京 #die #toshiya #shinya #interview #interview 2020 #translations #video translation #diru translation #translation by yinfu #diru wowow 2020 #WOWOW interview #long post

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siofra-river · 4 months

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Ive been trying to play morrowind. But unfortunetly I grew up with Skyrim and I can tell it's effecting my gameplay descisions. (Just picking something up, but I couldnt see any indication that I was stealing) Any begginer tips?

I almost deleted this ask by accident gave myself a heart attack 😭 but um ok I’ve got a few tips.

So #1 would honestly be. Get openmw. It’s not hard to figure out how to download but it’s basically a new engine for the game and it’s super easy to mod for things like bug fixes(which you really want), new textures, better texture mapping etc. really useful stuff. You also need morrowind on steam to run it iirc so maybe snag it when it’s on sale. It might be on sale rn I think the winter sale on steam just started …

2. Find some kind of character making guide. Unlike Skyrim and a lesser extent oblivion. How you make your character like really really actually matters. You choose your race, your class, and a star to be born under. All of these have different stats that mesh w eachother differently . Like each race has stats they’re better in and so you want to choose a starting class that can actually mesh with those skills. Skills are separated into major,minor, and misc skills which determines your proficiency in them. The game is very very reliant on your skills and like th other games the more you do it the better you are but if your short or long blade skill is like 5, you’re not going to hit someone very often. ALSO, there’s a lot more skills than Skyrim, armor is divided into 3 class skills, heavy medium and light, swords are separated by long sword and short sword. There’s skills like armorer which will determine how much you can fix your own armor, and some skills will level up just as you run around like acrobatics. Also, just bcuz your skill levels up does not mean you leveled up, you have to level up a bunch of skills before you get a whole level up.

Which also gets me into 3. Which is like. Combat and dying. Combat is weird and a little clunky, you’re not guaranteed a hit every swing but neither is your enemy (again, dependent on skills) ,stamina really matters, and if you choose magic (which iirc is like one of the more first time player friendly paths) than you regain magic by resting, not passively overtime . Which is smth I wish I knew first time I got into a fight I was so confused 😭. And uh, you’re going to die a lot at first? It’s frustrating but like it’s part of the growing pains imo. If you can stick with it you’ll get a lot a lot better.

4. Would be , get used to a different way of questing. In morrowind you don’t have a quest marker, you don’t have a quest list, and you can’t fast travel outside a few select ways but even then not to everywhere. If you join the mages guild they can teleport you to a few other mages guilds, for a small fee, or you can ride a silt strider for a much bigger fee, but again they don’t take you everywhere. You may also run into a spell or scroll that can teleport you. It may sound intimidating but I swear it gets better, it’s not as bad after running around for a couple hours. You do get a map, but like it only fills out where you go, which I honestly really like, gives a good sense of your progression. But most importantly, you store all your quest info in a little booklet, which will automatically update as you progress thru a quest, so it’s important to remember and check it when you need directions .

5. A little cheesy but . Have fun? It’s a different style of game and can get a lot of getting used to, if it’s really frustrating, not fun at all. Don’t be afraid to step back and look at what might be frustrating you. If you don’t like one style of combat don’t be afraid to start another character and try another kind.

I know I have a few friends who know a lot more abt morrowind so if they wanna add on to this I don’t mind. But yeah, morrowind is a good game! With good(and crazy) writing!

#lychbeast #asks #I hope this helps :-)

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bouncinghedgehog · 3 months

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From Ori Hanan Weinberg:

This is a post I've needed to write for a while. I've started it a few times. But it's exceedingly difficult. Both because of my own conflicts and the divisiveness of the topic. If all you have to say about IDF soldiers is that they are war criminals and state terrorists, then this post isn't for you. If you believe in the heroism of the IDF uncritically, then this post isn't for you. In either case, stating your well-known positions will only add heat, but no light. And either way, you will likely judge me quite harshly.

Despite F. Scott Fitzgerald's famous statement that "the test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function," I have no pretentions of qualifying as such. I'm blessed to know quite a few who do, so I have ample context. It's not some false humility, which is also a kind of pretentiousness. You may judge it cognitive dissonance. I think it more a kind of moral dissonance. But in this week of James Joyce's birthday (look at me going full modernist with both those first-rate modernist intellects!!!), I will eschew the principle of non-contradiction, as Joyce so often did, and not shy away from such conundra, as he refused to. It's time for me to speak. Or write, if you will. Or if I will. Though this is in many senses against my will. In the space between two conflicting wills. Regardless of what laying this out will do to my already vexed sleep cycle.

These days, I abdicate my attempts at rest each morning when it's yet dark and immediately grab my phone to check the news. Not in general. That comes a bit later. But with a single purpose. I feel a deep emotional compulsion and moral obligation, which aren't really separable, to check for the fallen as my first act of the new day. This morning, there was only one. Only? Shimon Yehoshua Asulin (pictured), 24, from Beit Shemesh.

Few have been the days when I do not begin my day with images of faces tagged with names and ages and hometowns as such days are scarce. The appearance of names and faces is all too dependable. And no, I do not ignore the fact that exponentially more Gazan non-combatants have been torn from the world and their faces and names are beyond my access to witness. Sometimes, more than a hundred in a single day. It's unspeakable. History is watching. Mothers are grieving. And the future will not reward anyone for this carnage and irrecoverable loss.

I check the hometowns of the fallen soldiers and note that a disproportionate number of the dead have been from Jerusalem. Most aren't less strangers than people from Haifa or Be'er Sheva or Eilat or some kibbutz or moshav or smaller town or settlement. But the more geographically proximate their homes, the more proximate the loss feels. Of course, I'm also checking to see if they are from my community or related to friends and acquaintances. Most importantly, I check if they are connected in some degree to my own kids.

My daughter is currently serving in the Education Corps. My younger children are before conscription. Yes, before conscription. It's one of those dividers that organizes life here. Before conscription and after conscription. Like before Bar/Bat Mitzvah and after. Before high school graduation and after. A marker on one's path of individual and social life. But I need to know in case they need me. In case their trauma is more immediate today than on others. My two elder children have attended funerals. Their first. Not of an octogenarian grandparent, but people they have known through their youth movements and social circles. Siblings of friends. People separated from them by one or two degrees of acquaintance. And I desperately want to undo these experiences. Offer them just a few more years of innocence, ignorance of mortality, or at least less proximate knowledge of it, and of the savagery of politics. And I know there is more coming.

I first came to Israel at 16 in the middle of the first Lebanon War, the first of Israel's wars to spark a debate about its necessity. Yet the aura of the IDF was still absolutely unquestioned here. I remember being packed into Jerusalem buses at rush hour. Back then, people would squeeze in and hand money to the person in front of them to be passed up to the driver. Within moments, a little gray paper ticket would be passed back, along with change. I marveled at the compact that ensured this. We were all in this together. It was emblematic of a social bond that I had yearned for. Then, at the top of the hour, the driver would turn up the radio and a succession of beeps would introduce the news and the hubbub would fall silent as we listened for the names, the ages, the hometowns. And after a solemn moment, chatter and babble would bubble up again. This, too, knit us together. Even more strongly. The social compact I reveled in was never stronger than in the regularized, but never normalized shared grief.

Already then, I was a fan of Casablanca. Who isn't? Okay, I know some who aren't. There are many people I don't understand. I'd seen it two or three times at the art deco arthouse theater in my midwestern hometown that screened classics and cult films and documentaries. I've since watched it more times than I can count. Though likely over 50. I rewatched it just a few weeks ago. And I remembered one of Rick's most cynical lines and understood its bitter bite. When asked if he'd heard of the two German couriers who had been murdered, he declares "lucky guys." When asked how they were lucky, he mutters with unmitigated fatalism that and not a little sarcasm that "yesterday they were just two German couriers. Today they're the honored dead."

At 16, seeking manhood and meaning, I was primed for the allure of self-sacrifice. And I made a decision I've often wanted to go back and unmake. Two years later, I was in basic training in an IDF infantry unit. Everyone was predicting with confidence an imminent war with Syria in which we'd be expected to lay down our lives.

Of course, the survivors would be endowed with a permanent patina of heroism. Like the kibbutz gardener I knew whom someone else told me had participated in the famous hostage rescue at Entebbe. And I looked at him with awe as he pushed his wheelbarrow along the paths and tended to flowers and shrubbery and hedges. Or the father of a girlfriend, a jovial Yemenite family man who greeted me with warmth, not suspicion, despite my very much less than chaste intentions, and cured his own olives, and worked as a custodian of the same building where my current office is located. He'd been a paratrooper who fought at Ammunition Hill in 1967 in Jerusalem and been with the brigade that entered the Old City and danced and wept in front of the Western Wall. Simple men. Extraordinary heroes.

Then the First Intifada broke out. And it tore me in two. My simple desires and ardent imagination was rent by a reality that revealed a deep contradiction in my ideological commitments. I've written about this in a novel manuscript and other posts.

The problem was that I was a Labor Zionist. A socialist committed to human equality as well as the project of securing a Jewish home from a history that had too often threatened to erase my people. My education had omitted the scope and callous intentionality of our mass dispossessions. Or obscured them with various apologetics. And certainly didn't share the genealogy of "transfer" woven through the history of Zionist ideologies. I had thought of the conflict between us and the Arabs as the product of a historical and moral imperative that resulted in a clash between nations. As a socialist, I considered Israel and Zionism at that moment a temporary trial, and looked forward to a resolution that would see a fully democratic republic.

Then, as I faced a popular revolt in Gaza, and then also in the West Bank, I looked at the protestors, rioters, resistors, and I realized a class dimension. Who were the workers and who were the bosses? And for whom was I bearing arms? Was it to defend Jewish children in our ancient homeland and revived political autonomy, or to suppress a working class? Who was I? To what was I dedicating myself? How could I be both? Living on a kibbutz and serving in a combat unit had seemed clear and coherent and somehow purer than the bourgeois American life I was born into. Richer and fuller. Definitely more dramatic. I had made myself an instrument and agent of history. And I wanted to be on the right side. But where was it?

It took several years until that brutal tear in my identity came fully into focus. The pain was there. But only later did its full depth and scope and source reveal itself. And I'm still trying to live with it. Come to terms with it. The people I loved most have paid a great price for this process.

Among those who have paid a price for my trauma and intermittent and fallible attempts at recovery is my son. I've written about him before. He's a very special person. He was born a "mensch," a Yiddish term from German for "man" that connotes someone who is upright and kind and gracious, not macho and aggressive. Nothing necessarily alpha about a mensch. In fact, it's a challenge to be both. Some succeed. He might be one. Very popular. He has a natural charisma and good looks. Phenomenal dimples from his mother. An athlete's body.

He's a serious basketball player and a student at a boarding school an hour from here that houses a special basketball academy for gifted players with high ambitions. I see him on weekends and I drive every Monday to watch his games. Last game, his team lost by 30 points. But for half the game, he guarded a player at least five inches taller and with a bigger body who also plays for the elite national youth team. And he shut him down. Didn't get past him once. Not sure he scored a single basket while my son was guarding him. Yes, a man whose life from very early on has been about music and literature and philosophy and politics is now a committed sports dad. I love it. My son's grace on the court is gorgeous. Artistic. His grit and passion and discipline amaze me.

He has wide concentric circles of wonderful friends and has been an admired leader in his scout troupe. Younger kids are mesmerized by him. And plenty of girls crush on him. He knows it. Plenty are friends of his. Yet he somehow remains humble. Nothing angers him more than cruelty. And he stands up to it. Already in elementary school, he would face down kids who were bullying those younger than them.

I know no one with a bigger heart.

Have no fear, I don't fail to recognize his flaws and challenges. He can be a real brat to his sisters. He doesn't always apply himself to his studies the way I'd like him to. He can be surly and monosyllabic with me as a 17-year-old can be with his father. And he's not as curious about some things as I'd like him to be. But I'm enormously proud of him, of who he is, and I tell him that regularly. Which often results in the kind of extended embraces one doesn't usually expect from a teenage boy. Yet I enumerate his qualities for the following reason.

Just two months ago, he had his first pre-conscription interview with the IDF. He told them that his first choice is to be an athlete. Top athletes do minimal service that allows them to develop in their sport, or there would be no athletics in the country. But if he doesn't make that rarefied cut, he wants to begin the tryout process for the top commando units.

We've talked about the army many times. When he was little, he would ask to see my memorabilia. Old insignia and such. And pictures. I always frustrated him by demurring. I didn't want to feed the fantasies. As he got older, I explained my very complicated relationship to IDF service.

A year ago or so, I told him that if he refused, I would support him. I knew there was no chance. His education would make that very uncommon. His scout troupe produces a high percentage of people who go to elite units and become officers. Herzi Halevy, the current Chief of General Staff, was a member of his troupe. Same thing with his school. But his answer was one I couldn't even argue with. Much as I wanted to. He's not looking to do this out of social pressure or to chase a kind of aggressive masculinity that's quite foreign to him. It isn't an ego building desire.

This is more or less how he answered:

"Abba [father/dad], look, without those units, we wouldn't survive here for five minutes. I'm an athlete. A scout leader. I am capable of discipline and teamwork. I'm very social. And I'll have the opportunity because we know there's profiling involved. My school. My troupe. My address. I'm Ashkenazi and Anglo. We need people to do this. Not many can. I can do it. So I have to."

What am I supposed to say? Don't be such a good citizen? Forget this ethic of service to others, to your community and society? Leave it to people who don't object to racism and savagery and cruelty?

I can't argue, as many of my readers certainly would, that this just contributes to the problem. Of course, in many senses I agree. But this is a problem of immediate necessities contributing necessarily to the entire context of awfulness, not just sustaining but driving it.

The thing is, I agree that if people don't do this, we are in immediate existential danger. Decommission the IDF tomorrow. What happens? My family will be in mortal danger. My community will be in mortal danger. My society, vexed as it is, so needing change, will be on the precipice.

Justify October 7th as resistance as you might (I emphatically do not), I will not facilitate a million more murders of my people. I don't know how to break the cycle. But I'm not willing to simply commit suicide. Yes, we need another way. But the process of getting there is not clear. And this isn't abstract. Real lives are at stake. This doesn't mean I support this war. I protested it before it began, in the wake of October 7th. I knew it was coming. I spelled out my arguments and voiced my proleptic rage and grief. But baring the throats and hearts of my children is not an option for me.

There's a parable in the Talmud of two men stuck in the desert. One has a waterskin that contains enough water for one of them to reach the nearest city. If they share, they will both die. What should they do? Should the one with the water sacrifice himself and demonstrate selflessness so his friend will survive? This is a moral question. It seeks to articulate a clear 'ought', an imperative, a morally correct solution. Rabbi Aqiva, one of our greatest sages, explains that the one with the water must keep it, drink it and reach the city. He is not at liberty to commit suicide and sacrifice himself for his friend. Why? He cites the end of the biblical verse from Leviticus 25:36 that famously prohibits the charging of interest, the rationale given there being "so that your brother shall live with you." Your obligation to your brother is that he be with you, not without you. Self-preservation takes precedence. Only then can your brother live with you.

We have too long constructed our relationship as a zero sum game. I envision a future in which there's indeed enough water in that waterskin and we will both have something beneficial to offer one another and skills to support one another and we will exist in a context of mutual benefit as guarantors of one another's rights and security. Jews in the Land of Israel have been aggressors, though this doesn't preclude also being victims. We have engaged in acquisitive violence and continue to do so, and oppression and vicious inequalities. How do we break that cycle? I have a vision, but I don't know how to accomplish it. I know at that what is happening, what we are doing, is making things less possible not more possible. And I believe that there is no moral justification for the hell we are unleashing.

And yet, I cannot see our troops, though some are committing war crimes, and perhaps the entire endeavor is criminal (I've already stated clearly that I think it morally unjustifiable), as jackbooted stormtroopers. Many are genuinely putting their lives on the line to defend millions of children and an entire society. Some disagree with what we are doing but accept the authority of our democratically elected government (I have no illusions about Israeli democracy, such as it…isn't, but this is how they see it). Some intervene to stop abuses. I've witnessed this myself. One of the reasons I decided in the end not to refuse to continue my service was because I thought I could be a "balam musari" a moral brake. And sometimes, in some frightening situations, I was. But I was never confident that this was the best course of action. I think I would likely choose differently if I could choose again.

I do admire those who refuse. But I admire many who serve as well. And I grieve for our "honored dead," just as I resist their glorification. I remember at the end of my service having a conversation with a comrade and deciding we would never mention the names of those we knew who were killed in the line of duty without saying something unflattering we remembered about them. We didn't want them to become perfect angels. Become less human. Become less real. Nonetheless, I honor them.

And every morning, I will continue to check my phone. First thing. And I will read names and ages and hometowns. And I will look at their pictures. Learn their faces for a moment.

And the grief will be barely tolerable.

If at all.

#israel #palestine #idf

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crackinwise · 3 years

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My pet AU is Kiyotaka and Mondo somehow out in the post-Tragedy Japan, surviving and saving people. Like either they didn't agree to stay locked in Hope's Peak for safety, or they survived the game and left with the others but didn't join Future Foundation. Major points up front, details divided into sections under the cut:

Mondo's objective would be to find his gang, and Taka's goal, besides finding his dad, would be repairing society while punishing those responsible for its destruction. But their direct task is keeping each other safe & helping victims along the way.

Mondo even stresses calling Taka "Ishimaru" instead of "bro" or his given name in front of others, so they might KNOW who's saving them. Taka caught on quick & is very grateful.

Taka would have kind of a breakdown reconciling who he is with what he has to do in a lawless world where every public moral is ignored. He keeps a small ledger of places they loot from, to compensate in the future.

At the start, Taka can only sleep burrowed against Mondo's chest or back, blocking out their damaged surroundings & pretending everything is as it was.

He cries in Mondo's arms one night after he couldn't avoid killing someone to save Mondo's life, and that's the tipping point. He thinks if he was better, stronger like his bro, he'd have noticed sooner & found a better option. Mondo is being so brave; he's Taka's rock and Taka wants to be as steady for him too. Their souls are already connected so obviously he just has to borrow more of Mondo's spirit, right?

That's how Ishida is created.

(In reality, Mondo just compartmentalizes and shoves down unhelpful feelings. You thought he needed therapy BEFORE all this, oh man-)

Ishida:

Taka ends up slipping into the Ishida facade for fight and flight; any time adrenaline kicks in and he feels he needs that boost. Sadly, that's most of their waking time. He guards Mondo and anyone they're saving like a fierce watchdog, and won't hesitate to bite.

He'll only come out of the role when he personally verifies it's safe and if Mondo can confirm it. Survivors are confused by the dual-sided Ishimaru switching right in front of them, but they're so grateful (and so much weird crap has happened) that it never phases them long.

Too many times, Ishida will go all day without a break. This means when their hideout for the night is absolutely safe, that it's okay to let go, Taka just collapses in exhaustion. But Mondo is there to catch him.

Mondo feels conflicted over the Ishida role because Taka is just a beast in it--it's very flattering and a little hot--but it also makes him worry more than before about Taka's health. He comforts Taka with a lot of praise and reassurances, and Taka sleeps lightly but otherwise fine.

Relationship: (slight mature warning)

When they touch, Taka swears he can feel the link between them flare to fuel them. Twin fires ignited. Mondo doesn't know about all that, but when their eyes meet it definitely makes him feel invincible, so, he can believe.

If they weren't already new boyfriends when The Tragedy hit, all this closeness makes sure of that soon after. Being together is their happiness and, for a while, their only link to pre-Tragedy lives. Vows not unlike marriage were exchanged one night. Where one goes, the other will follow. Anywhere. Always.

When they kiss, safe and alone, Mondo will ask what Taka wants; what he can handle that night. Sometimes it's just the kisses before passing out, sometimes it's more intimate touches to please them both after another hellish day.

Sometimes Taka will ask to be made love to, for obvious couple reasons, but also because Mondo inside him makes their tether feel stronger, more complete. Like going over the invisible line in bold marker. Taka believes any marks they can create with their mouths, any traces of themselves they can leave on or in each other, the easier they can find their bond and tap into it. (He had started a nervous habit of pressing in on lovebites to keep Ishida going when tired.)

Mondo tells him he doesn't need to find a poetic excuse for fetishes and Taka lovingly answers with a stomach punch.

Crazy Diamonds:

Mondo's gang members, the ones not dead or overcome with Despair, are slowly found and joined back up.

Any smaller and sturdier motorcycles are kept when found. If Mondo was able to keep his own in this version, it's a bit heavier than would be good for any off-roading--and much too loud for any stealth--but he refuses to part with it.

Every gang member respected Taka/Ishida the second they saw him fight beside their leader. Before Mondo says a word about him. They readily take orders from him in either form. The change in appearance was a surprise, but they're already used to some members wildly changing demeanor in or away from the gang, so it's easily accepted.

With the gang as backup to keep watch during downtime--after Ishida sized each one up and watched them for loyalty--the pair can feel a lot more relaxed. They joke about having a date in a blown-out restaurant they find, and they can finally enjoy a deep sleep.

When the group finds safehouses with more than one room, Mondo & Taka are given their privacy. Taka tries to insist everyone deserves a chance at privacy and they should rotate, but changing a gang's long-established hierarchy is a losing battle. And Mondo's not on his side because when they're alone he can be as sappy or touchy as he likes.

Legends:

Taka and Mondo save a lot of people over their journey and kinda become a legend that gets spread around and gives people Hope.

This area still needs work from me. Probably some research into Japanese myths and supernatural symbolism. A placeholder right now is something corny like "Two Men with burning eyes and thunderous voices will answer your cries for help. But if you're evil, the two will appear to you as One Demon and drag you down to the land of the dead."

There's also probably a need for costume changes since their color scheme is the same black & white of the Despair Remnants and monokumas killing people. Legend or not, it'd be easy for traumatized survivors to not know they're good guys at first.

Darker Moments: (blood, violence and vague attempted sexual assault)

After he killed a man to save Mondo, Taka luckily (he wouldn't use that word) doesn't have to again. Hurt? Yes. Beat unconscious? Yes. Maim? Yes, but some of the vile dregs of humanity are caught doing things that deserve worse--

--That deserve Mondo. Once when they were still traveling alone, a group of Remnants jumped them, managing to separate the two, and one knocked Taka out with a bad blow to the head. Mondo dispatched the others attacking him and got to Taka right as the Remnant was about to do something unforgivable.

Mondo snapped. He still doesn't remember what he did, he just remembers coming to in all the blood and dazedly picking Taka up to take him to a place he knew was safe.

Taka never finds out. He woke up a day later with a bandaged head and Mondo crying and kissing his hands. Mondo just told him he beat some and scared away the others.

Minor Details:

They try to always fight back-to-back and, to observers, seem to read each other's mind for where to move.

Taka/Ishida would use a sword or hand-to-hand. The pickaxe might just be a random pickaxe they find, if he uses it at all. Kinda hard to carry both a sword and a railroad pickaxe on your back, and I can't imagine it balances very well. (The size in official pics would be a 5lb head w/2-3lb handle.)

Mondo seems like he would use anything lying in debris to fight. Poles, pipes, chains. Aaaand maybe the knives he mentions in School Mode.

For any costume changes, Mondo would keep his jacket at least. A beacon for the Diamonds. Maybe a purple tank top, and different pants better for knife holsters. Unless the holster should wrap around his waist or hip instead?

Any changes to Taka's outfit would keep his armband. It's a reminder of his Talent and his goal to make Japan even better than before. Also wanna keep his boots or change to more rugged ones.

End Goal:

Obviously they'd end up in Towa, after the events of Ultra Despair Girls. They're reunited with Takaaki and Takemichi. Maybe they help set things right there a bit, or Makoto would get word to them about his plans vs Future Foundation's. Look at me, do I look like someone that knows how to end things?

There is no way you read all that. (I love you if you did.) But feel free to use all or any bits of it in your own works. Almost positive I'll never get to compose all this into a coherent fic format. I might update in short scenario posts under a 'Tragedy-survivor au' tag if I think of anything.

If you have a question or want something expanded upon, ask away.

#ishimondo #kiyotaka ishimaru #kiyondo ishida #mondo oowada #danganronpa #Tragedy-survivor au #i've only read like 2 fics that had this concept but it was ensemble so the boys weren't the focus which hurt me

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bold-writing · 3 years

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The One Withg Whiskey Eyes || 11 || Chained and Free

Warnings: Descriptions of Abuse, violence, Panic Attacks.

Words: 3600+

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~11~

Her cheeks hurt. Never in her life had Iris smiled for so long that her cheek muscles actually ached and prompted her to rub them to alleviate the soreness. But sitting across from BT as he regaled stories of some of the things he’d gotten into over the years had her nearly hyperventilating. He seemed to have one goal in mind, and that was to make her laugh as much as he could before they needed to part ways. “Barry wasn’t happy, I nearly broke my nose that time,” he went on, explaining when he was trying to do something called parkour and had misjudged a distance between two stone pillars.

“I can’t even imagine how much that must have hurt,” Iris stuttered out with a hand over her mouth to hide the fact that she hadn’t been able to swallow her bite of pizza because of her laughing.

“Exactly why I never tried it again,” he agreed with her off-hand as he lifted his glass of coke in a mock-cheer. Iris, still smiling, did the same before taking a careful sip to finally swallow the bite of pizza that had been caught in her cheek while laughing. “Didn’t stop me from working out, though.”

“I at least hope you’re more careful now,” she added on, lifting her slice up to bite into the crust, the last of the slice that remained.

BT leaned back in his seat and clapped his hand over his heart. “I am. Scouts honour.”

Iris discretely raised an eyebrow as she swallowed her bite. “Were any of you actually in the scouts?” she pondered, to which BT just offered a crooked grin and a wink as he dropped his hand and picked up another slice of their pizza. Iris knew that she wasn’t going to be able to eat anymore after this slice, having only the appetite for two, but BT was already half-way through his forth as she wiped the grease from her fingers.

“No wonder you’re so skinny, you don’t eat anything!” BT pointed out once he’d polished off his piece, wiping of his hands as well.

Iris just shrugged her boney shoulders. She’d never really eaten a lot, even before she ran away from home. It was just how she was built; a small amount of food kept her well-fed and energized for enough time to go by before she ate again. Kevin’s body was large enough and the alters kept it in good shape, so they probably needed to eat a lot more to keep their physique.

“Just the way I am,” she answered. “It makes it much easier when I need to get groceries, since a small amount last me for about two weeks when I’m careful. If you all buy groceries the same way Luke does, it’s a wonder you can afford it.”

BT snorted at the mention of the other man. “Luke’s got no clue what he’s doing when it’s his turn to do the shopping. This guy will just remember things that everyone’s had in the past and buy whatever comes to mind; usually means he’s just getting a bunch of junk. I’m pretty sure he spent over a hundred dollars in the snack aisle alone, and forgot to get things like bread, or fruit.”

Iris grinned as she thought back to the amount of junkfood that was in his cart; however, she had also spotted a couple of healthier foods, like a bag of apples and some bananas. “Well, you guys are the ones who make him go.”

BT let out a groan of complaint as his head dropped back to land on the wall behind his seat—he was too tall for it to hit the cushioned back to their seats. “Don’t remind me. And we never learn, either. We always think he’ll remember better from the last time, but we’re wrong.”

Shaking her head, Iris couldn’t believe the normalcy that came about when bringing up another one of the personalities in Kevin’s body. It was easy to forget that they all shared a body; the way they acted and spoke about one another made it truly seem like they were all individual people, living their everyday lives separately yet in the same home. She never would have been able to guess that this was what it would be like to meet someone with D.I.D, let alone for it to be her soulmates.

Before they could continue the conversation, one of the younger guys that worked there came up to their table, noticing that they had stopped eating the pizza from where he had taken over behind the counter. “Hey, you guys want a to-go box for the rest of that?” he asked with a nod to the remaining half of their pizza.

“Yea, could you divide it into two for us?” BT asked before Iris had a chance to speak, causing her to straighten in surprise. She didn’t even get a chance to protest before BT pointed at her in silent warning, mirth colouring his features. “No, you’re taking half.”

Pursing her lips and holding his stare, she only lasted for two seconds before huffing and leaning back in surrender. The worker chuckled before he collected the pan from the table and took it behind the counter to box up for them. “You eat more than me; I didn’t need half of it.”

“What kind of gentleman would I be?” he retorted with a smirk.

“Well, you did pay for the entire thing,” Iris pointed out, but BT just waved his hand as though to push the comment aside. So far, she hadn’t won a single thing when it came to their mini-arguments. She had a strong feeling that the score wasn’t to change any time soon. “Thank you, BT. Dinner was amazing; I hadn’t had pizza in a while and this was perfect.”

BT’s expression softened as he gazed into the gentleness of her eyes, knowing how dangerous it could be to get lost in them. “Any time, doll. And I mean that.”

Their food was brought back in take-away containers, like mini-pizza boxes, and the two stood up to leave. Iris pulled her coat back on, preparing to head back out into the chill of the day, especially now that it had gotten later and most likely cooler. “You got work again tomorrow?” BT asked as he took the two boxes while she pulled on her gloves.

“Yea, another morning shift,” she answered, some of the fatigue entering her tone. “Hopefully a dull day, after this morning,” she added on a moment later, smiling to him as they made their way in the direction of the exit. BT made sure to wave at the man behind the counter, shouting a farewell and receiving one in return. “What about you? Work tomorrow?”

“Yea, Barry’s got a meeting or something so all the luck to him,” he answered easily, having no problem referring to the other alter like it was an everyday occurrence. Although, she supposed that for them it would be.

Iris stuck close to BT as they made their way back in the direction of her apartment, passing her work and all of the other people making their way home for the evening. The conversation between them was light, keeping away from any topics that may dampen the mood from the evening. She deliberately kept away from mentioning work as often as possible, since she noticed it caused him to tense and glare briefly ahead every time he thought about what had happened at her work. He, in turn, avoided bringing up topics pertaining to family and growing up with soulmarks. She didn’t outwardly react when such things came up, but he could see it in her eyes that it was drawing dark memories to the surface.

Neither wanted the other to have anything but pleasant thoughts, enjoying the remainder of their time together.

“Thank you for dinner,” Iris began with a smile as they approached her building. “And for…everything else.”

BT’s expression softened as he stopped just shy of her building’s front entrance. He wanted so badly for the evening to continue, but they both had responsibilities that they couldn’t just forget or put aside. “You’ve made my life worth it, doll. Especially when I get to see that smile.” His admission brought a luminous flush to her cheeks, prompting her to duct her head in embarrassment. “Now, now, none of that.”

Shaking her head and trying to relieve the heat in her face, Iris inhaled deeply and stepped forward with whatever courage was left in her. Wrapping her arms tightly around BT’s middle, the man was frozen in surprise as she gave him a tight hug, the first touch that she had initiated since they’d met. “Goodnight, BT.”

Finally moving, BT returned her embrace and pulled her in even closer as one of his hands stroked along the back of her head. Her hair was soft to the touch, like silk beneath his hand. “’Night, Doll. Sleep well.”

Drawing back from one another, Iris peeked up at him through her eyelashes, the ghost of a smile still on her lips, before she turned to head inside with her half of their leftovers. BT remained where he was standing, watching her through the glass window of the door as she turned to the stairwell. Casting one more glance in his direction, he immediately lifted his hand to wave. Her smile bloomed full again as she waved in answer before ducking quickly into the stairwell and out of sight.

BT smiled to himself while turning back the way they’d come, heading toward the zoo. “Oh, we’re in trouble now,” he muttered to himself, thinking of their little soulmate.

Iris was smiling her entire trip up the stairs, her mood having improved drastically since that morning. BT did an amazing job of taking the edge off of her fear, leaving her feeling safe even after an altercation that was advancing into the physical. Cheeks aching from smiling so long, the taste of pizza still on her tongue and the memory of BT’s warmth as she hugged him goodnight were all too good to forget or dampen her mood.

Until she arrived at her apartment.

Stopping short at her door, Iris’s face paled at a piece of paper taped to her door. Keep them covered.

She knew that writing. It was her father’s writing; messy and thick, in permanent marker with significant pressure behind the writing utensil. Glancing quickly down the hall in fright, there was no one else out of their homes. Even though she knew she was alone, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and Iris quickly ripped the paper from the door, leaving behind the tape and a tiny tear from the page. Darting into her apartment through the minimal space she allowed it to open, the frightened woman immediately turned and began sliding locks into place.

It took significantly longer than usual, her hands shaking terribly and causing her fingers to fumble with the thin locks.

She could hear the shake of her breath through the pounding of her heart; any other outside sound was blocked out. Stepping away after the last lock slid into place, Iris turned to examine her apartment. The rush of blood made it difficult, however, as the edge of her vision blackened and blurred.

Her legs gave out as she approached her bed, leaving her knees to hit the floor with a slam that ricocheted up her bones. She barely felt the pain, however, as her hands slammed against the bed in a desperate attempt to catch herself. Throat tight and lungs burning like they were filled with acid, Iris could feel the terrifying chill beginning to spread up to her cheeks as she struggled against her own body’s reaction.

Breathe. I can’t breathe.

From her knees to her hip, Iris’s fisted hands tugged her comforter from the bed as she fell, trying desperately to keep herself up in some way. It was useless. Her overactive breathing was taking control, the panic from years and years of memories and fear, all coming back, became too much. Too much. The crinkle of paper from the note still clutched in her hand penetrated her senses, barely audible through the rush of blood and air, but just enough.

Keep them covered.

Her marks. She’d been careless. At ease with her soulmates, she’d become careless and let herself relax enough to not worry. To not fear. It was the fear that had gotten her this far; fears had kept her safe all these years.

Her back hit the floor as her heavy, hyperactive breaths became distraught wheezes. One hand gripping the paper tight enough to rip and tear it, the other gripping the blanket for some kind of desperate leverage, then Iris’s vision faded out completely.

BT stopped in the middle of the street, an odd discomfort starting in his chest. He didn’t see the man with angry, whiskey eyes as he marched passed from the direction of his soulmate’s apartment.

Iris whimpered as her father tightened her scarf around her neck to a dangerous degree; she could feel the uncomfortable press against her trachea that caused her breaths to wheeze suddenly. “How many times have I told you? Huh? Keep this damn thing on, or wear the turtlenecks we gave you!”

“I…I’m sorry. I was hot,” Iris tried to explain, her voice small and pained as she looked down at the floor beneath her father’s leather shoes.

“Shut up,” he snapped, preventing her from going any further. “You think I care? I don’t. If those damn words hadn’t appeared, you wouldn’t have to do this now would you?”

She knew not to speak against her father, it would end badly, but the words left before her young mind thought the action through, “I don’t control them, I didn’t make it happen.”

It didn’t take more than a split second for her to regret ever opening her mouth—she should have stayed silent; she’d known to stay silent but for some stupid reason she’d spoken anyway. In the next instant, her father’s hand flew across her cheek with such force that she was turned and thrown backward, colliding with the doorframe to the dining room. Her eyebrow split upon impact with the corner of the wood as blood welled to the surface instantly. It was hot against her skin, like someone was pouring hot syrup down her face.

The feeling was frighteningly familiar by that point.

“Howard!” her mother shrieked, spotting the blood as Iris dazedly sat on the floor with tears burning in her eyes. A smear of blood on the pristine white of the doorframe marked where her head had struck. “You idiot. How are we going to explain that!” her mother demanded, marching over to Iris and grabbing her upper arm roughly to pull her up from the floor. She didn’t care if she caused bruises. Her arms could be covered, those bruises could be hidden.

Her cheek and eyebrow could not.

“Fucking brat was talking back. You know I won’t stand for any of her bullshit!”

Iris was manhandled less than pleasantly in the direction of the bathroom, her mother still shouting at her father. She had school the next day, and she had already been called in sick too many times for people not to begin to suspect. The physical pain was terrible; her head was throbbing and her eye burned where some blood had gotten into it from the split in her brow—she could feel it beginning to swell around the cut. She could already feel her cheek swelling and it was obvious to her that a bruise was soon to form as well.

The internal pain, the emotion pain, was worse. Her parents did not care one bit that their daughter was bruised and bleeding; they were worried about getting caught as the cause for her injuries. She was a hated freak in her family, meant to be barely seen, never heard, and surely never remembered.

She had no friends to go to, no family that cared, and no soulmates to match the many marks littering her body.

The pounding in her head was one of the first things that she noticed. Her mouth was uncomfortably dry, with her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her world spun like she’d been drinking for hours. The second thing she noticed was the shriek of her phone’s ring, distant and muffled against her spinning senses. The phone remained where she had left it in her bag, which was sitting just next to her front door.

Opening her eyes slowly, and painfully, Iris winced at the seemingly booming volume of her phone. Having been lying on the floor, her back ached and she knew that her knees were going to be bruised from the earlier impact. Even though her breathing and blood-pressure seemed to have evened out once she’d fallen unconscious, Iris could feel her heart beginning to speed in her chest once more. The fear was coming back, gripping her like a monster determined to drag her into the darkness.

Rolling slowly onto her side, Iris flinched at the crumple of paper still in her palm. Chucking the ruined note away from her as though it was aflame, she turned her attention to her discarded bag. Digging into the pockets, she produced her phone only a moment too late as the ringing finally ceased. The caller’s identification was still across the screen, however, and Iris swallowed thickly at the ‘unknown name, unknown number’ that glared back at her.

She didn’t receive random calls from those who weren’t on her contacts. It wasn’t something that she did. And even though she’d given her number to Barry, she’d only kept in contact with him and the other alters via email. Curling onto her side and tiredly drawing her knees up into her chest, Iris released a shuddering breath while attempting to keep herself from having a repeat attack.

Her father had been in her building.

Somehow, without her noticing, he’d been lurking around her like a shadow and had seen her expose her marks. Most likely, he now knew she’d met her soulmates—or in his mind, one of her soulmates. It wasn’t likely that he’d realized her soulmate was a sufferer of D.I.D, and therefore combined all twenty-three into one physical body.

A buzz from her phone had her looking down at the device in her hand. The icon for a voicemail was at the top of the screen, setting her heart into immediate overdrive. She did not want to press it. She did not want to know who was calling. Yet, in the same instant, she desperately wished that if she listened to the message it might prove that it was just a wrong number, or a marketer trying to get her money.

Drawing herself slowly into a sitting position while she pulled her comforter around herself—even still wearing her coat and gloves—for warmth and childish reassurance, Iris tapped the icon to open her voicemail.

Entering her passcode and listening to the faint tone that came before a robotic female voice, declaring one new message, Iris tapped on the screen again to listen.

“Keep them covered. Don’t make me tell you again.”

Gasping in near pain as the phone fell from her hand, Iris leaned back against her heavily as her eyes immediately burned with tears of fear and pain. “I can’t do this again,” she sobbed to herself, hands immediately clawing into her hair. The scars her body bore had made her strong, that was the truth, but there was nothing else in this world that she feared more than her parents.

Especially her father.

Near the end of living with them, she’d been getting big enough that she could push back against her mother. She could slap her hands away, run before she caught up. Her father, on the other hand, would always be too big for her. He could grab her by one arm and lift her clear off her feet. He’d done it before, throwing her around like she was nothing more than a ragdoll.

“I can’t,” she sobbed, curling in on herself more tightly. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

I can’t, I’m so sorry but I can’t.

Her words to Barry were a haunting memory now, and she hated remembering that she had said that to him. However, it was a dark, glaring window into her mind most of the time.

To think she could be happy. Finding her first soulmate, with two more to follow, she’d thought that the pain of her life was in the past. It had been a serious error on her part to think that she’d be able to just be happy, to finally have the life she used to dream about as a child. Those dreams were what inspired her to run away in the first place. And the torment of living on the streets, her parents nowhere in sight, had given her enough time to think that she was free.

She didn’t know how long they’d been aware of her, how long they’d known exactly where she was, but it terrified Iris to think that all along, while she’d been under the assumption that her parents were one of the few frights she didn’t need to worry about, they’d been right there.

Her nightmares were coming back. Her monsters were emerging from the shadows right when she’d begun to let her guards down.

She didn’t notice the email icon the popped up on her phones screen, taking over where the voicemail notification had been.

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#Split #Split Movie #Split 2016 #James McAvoy #Barry #Barry Split #Dennis #Dennis Split #Patricia Split #Hedwig Split #Split Imagine #Split Fanfiction #Fanfiction #Soulmate #Soulmate Imagine #Soulmate AU #BT Split

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romantic-barnes · 4 years

Text

cheap wine & a paper due at 9

Pairings: professor!steve x student!reader

Summary: After your boyfriend breaks up with you out of the blue, you get swept up by Steve. The Adonis of a man, the measure of beauty, a perfect man from head to toe. But there’s a teeny, tiny problem neither of you know of just yet. Nothing is more exciting than a new challenge. For you it’s college, for Steve it’s to keep his dick in his pants.

Warnings: none really other than some swear words

A/N: this is just an idea, it depends on whether or not people want me to turn this into a series. if there’s any interest in me doing so then let me know and I will continue this as soon as I finish my series unintended. a thank you to @nsfwsebbie for the title help, love you lots!

dividers by @whimsicalrogers

Your first year at college, the first year marking another milestone in your life you hoped to go without bumps all across the road. A journey your parents pushed you to take, begging you to focus in school to be able to get into college. They begged, you obeyed.

There wasn’t much joy in your eyes when you moved into your apartment outside of campus. If you had the choice you would be off to a different state, but your parents thought it better you stayed in Boston. You knew why.

A turn of a corner and you were close to your first lecture of the year. You know the professor. An old soul and and even older person. Professor Klein is one of your parents family friends, at least that’s what they claim. The only time they see him or any of their oh so important friends is at the country club.

With a gentle push the door opened and you stepped into the hall. The majority of the seats already taken, leaving you to take one of the seats at the front. That way you won’t need to squint to look at the writing. You justified the unfortunate choice of seat pushed upon you, you’d rather not be so obvious to the professor.

A few minutes pass and you laid your equipment out in front of you, notebook, laptop and a pen. Your parents pushed you to chose an ipad, but you scrunched your nose at the thought of writing on glass with a plastic pen. Not that you’re technologically inept, you just prefer typing.

A look to your watch and the door swung open.. “Welcome everyone!” A cheery voice echoed through the room, the students chatter dying down. Your head shot up looking at the man that walked into the hall and instead of old, wrinkly professor Klein, Steve walked in.

You stood waiting on your boyfriend Joe in front of the bar. Ten minutes past eight. Joe still wasn’t there. You huffed, shifting your weight on your right foot as the other started to go numb. If you had known that he would be this late, you would’ve worn flats.

After twenty minutes, he finally stepped out of a cab, giving you a chased kiss and a half assed apology.

Inside, both of you sat down at one of the tables ordering a bottle of wine for two. This was both a goodbye drink and also your birthday gift from Joe.

“How excited are you, finally going to college?” Joe picked up his glass, smiling.

“Well, I am excited, but I’m trying not to think about it too much y’know? Wanna enjoy the rest of my summer.”

“Got it.” Joe leaned back into his seat and you tilted your head.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“Look, babe.” Joe took your hands in his. “This is difficult for me, believe me, but I feel like with me going to LA and you staying here in Boston there’s just no way that this could work out.”

You stared at him and laughed slightly. He can’t be serious, can he? “What are you saying, Joe?”

“What I’m saying is, that I think it’s best we go our separate ways, do our own thing, figure ourselves out. We got so much ahead of us, darling. So many opportunity’s-”

“Wait-” you cut him off, sliding your hands from his grasp, “you’re breaking up with me not only because you think we can’t have a long distance relationship, but on top of that on my birthday?” You laughed sarcastically, in disbelieve of what your boyfriend - or ex-boyfriend - just said.

“It’s not you it’s-”

“You, I know.”

“I’m sorry, I really am.” Joe stood up and you furrowed your brows. He placed some money on the table, patting your shoulder before he left. You sat there in disbelieve, staring at his unfinished glass of wine. This is the end of your five year relationship. A cheap wine and the most terrible time to do so.

“Excuse me, sorry. I don’t mean to impose, but I kinda just heard what happened.”

You looked up at the guy speaking. Your jaw slacked at the sight of the man. Broad shoulders, tight muscles underneath his shirt, an ungodly good-looking man. He gestured to the seat that Joe sat in just minutes ago and you nodded. Surprise overtook your face, confused by the possibility of a man like him to want to sit with you.

“Can I offer you a drink other than this?” He motioned to the bottle and you smiled. “Ok, just a sec.” He raised his hand calling for the attention of the bartender, pointing to his drink. His attention turned back to you with a warm smile lighting up his blue eyes. “I’m Steve by the way.” He chuckled, holding his hand out.

“Y/n.” You were truly speechless. You’ve never been speechless before, not even with Joe and you thought he was the perfect man. The one you would marry one day, but seeing him - yeah no - Joe can go to LA, you had this specimen of a man giving you attention.

“A real dick move to break up with you on your birthday, not gonna lie.”

“I know, but if he didn’t you wouldn’t sit here now would you?” You had no idea where the confidence came from, but it was worth it seeing Steve all flustered and giggling.

The bartender came and set a glass in front of you. “Thank’s Buck.” Steve said, before Bucky - the bartender - left to take his place behind the bar again.

You took a sip from the drink and looked questionably at Steve.

“It’s a Brookly Baby.” Steve raised his glass and so did you. “To you!”

Throughout the night Steve showed that despite his looks, the fact that he looks like the jock you and your girls giggle about in Highschool, he has a heart like no one else you’ve met before.

You were practically begging for him to take you home, leaning forward putting what you could right in front of his eyes, giving him the look and batting your eyelashes at him. But Steve didn’t show that kind of affection - no - he walked you home. But it wouldn’t be the truth if you didn’t make out with him against your door. You had him right where you wanted him - needy.

His dick practically pushed itself out of his pants and you were sure that if Steve didn’t pull back, panting and - there’s that damn giggle again - he would’ve ejaculated right in his pants. It felt good to be the one to have someone in a hold like that. To be the reason they cannot think straight. You exchanged numbers, a promise to see each other again.

That was the night you met Steve and now here you are.

You sunk down on your seat, trying to make yourself as small as possible, but the fact that you’re sitting front row makes things a little more difficult. Steve’s eyes roam through the room, but his eyes don’t cross yours.

Throughout the lecture you’re more so focused on keeping your head down, pretending on taking the most intricate notes of your life. Schwirles, different coloured markers, all just to not look directly at him.

A look to your watch and you wanted to curse your way to hell. Still ten minutes left until you could drop out of college.

Despite your vigorous note taking, you didn’t catch a word. Nothing you wrote down made any type of sense. Not at all. You focused on your breathing, sitting as still as possible to go unnoticed.

“You, what’s your name?”

That you did understand. Blood rushed to your cheeks. You knew he was calling on you but you hoped he didn’t. A moment of silence confirmed your nightmare. He was waiting for you, the whole room was.

Slowly you raised your head, pearls of sweat rolling down your back. The moment your eyes locked with Steve’s the world stood still. The man you were flirting with, showing off your cleavage and drunkenly made out was in fact your professor.

Steve’s eyes widened. “Oh, fuck.”

[ part one ]

[ taglist open ]

#professor!steve #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve x reader #steve x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers smut #teacher!steve #clair writes

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pixelatedrose · 4 years

Note

Can you do 39 with prinxiety? Sorry if I'm being a burden - 🌯

Prompt 39 Prinxiety

“Listen it’s not really my fault i fell in love with him!! HE WAS SHIRTLESS!!”

Word Count: 3,799 (I got a bit carried away with this one)

Warnings: uncensored swearing, mention of a dead animal (Skip from “It wasn’t that he had never wanted to go before,” to “The memory left a pretty solidly foul taste in his mouth and made him shudder.”)

Camping

It was early August and Roman’s friends had finally convinced him to tag along with them to go camping.

“But there are bugs!!” Roman complained.

“So? Bugs are cool.” Virgil said, looking up briefly from his phone.

“Oh yeah?” Roman continued to whine. “Well I hardly took you as one who enjoyed camping in the middle of nowhere with zero cell service, Dr. Gloom!” Roman antagonized the emo boy.

Virgil stuck out his tongue at the sassy drama queen. “You’re just pouty cause we never asked you to come before because we thought you hated the outdoors.”

“I do not hate the outdoors!!” Roman scoffed. “I just don’t really find the idea of bugs and sap and burnt food and bugs very appealing.”

“Aw, Roman! Is this your first time camping?” Patton asked, calling from where he was placing an overfilled bag into the bed of Logan’s truck.

Roman flushed and turned away haughtily. “Well it’s not my fault my moms never wanted to go and sleep on the ground!!”

Patton clapped his tall friend on the back, smiling from ear to ear. “Oh, you’re going to have so much FUN!!”

Soon the truck was packed, with Logan helping Roman make sure that he had everything necessary. (“No, Roman, you won’t be needing your fantasy elf cloak.” “BUT WHAT IF THE DWARVES COME FOR ME?!”)

The car ride was long, Roman and Virgil sitting in the back with Patton sitting up front and Logan driving. Roman ended up falling asleep, his head resting against a drowsy Virgil’s shoulder. Patton, thinking this was the cutest thing ever, snapped a picture with the camera he brought along.

“Logan, look!!”

“Patton, dear, I am incapable of looking at whatever you wish to show me if I am to drive safely on this road.”

“Oh, right, sorry! Virgil and Roman fell asleep on top of each other, that’s all!”

“Oh. How lovely.”

“Logan why are you pulling over?”

“Revenge.”

Roman and Virgil woke up in different positions, Roman’s face pressed up against the window and Virgil having adjusted to leaning against his seatbelt. They also awoke to marker coating their faces.

“That’s for the cookies you two baked me last week.” Logan said when they had started freaking out.

“But it was funny!!” Virgil protested, rubbing at the marker hearts doodled on his cheeks.

“Cookies should not contain any- especially that much- pepper in it!! Consider us even, Ruiners of Sweets.” Logan seethed dramatically.

The ride from then on was filled with karaoke, Disney, and laughter.

When they arrived at the campsite, they tried to divide the work up. However, it became very clear that Roman had no idea what he was doing when he mistakenly snapped one of the tent poles clean in half.

“Whoops…”

Virgil sighed. “Great! At least I know how to fix it once I get home. I guess I’m sleeping under the stars tonight…”

Patton shook his head. “Nonsense!! There’s plenty of room in Roman’s tent for you to sleep in there!”

Roman nearly choked. “What?!”

Virgil just shrugged. “'Ight. But I’m setting up tents from now on. Roman can make the fire.”

“I do not trust that Roman will know an adequate way of starting a fire. Perhaps he can prepare food instead? It is probably something he should have been doing from the start seeing as I am not the best in the culinary arts.” Logan offered.

Roman nodded, trying to keep his head up. It was just his first time camping after all. He was a little upset by the fact that he was going to be sharing a tent with Virgil. Why? He wasn’t 100% sure. But it made his chest flare up and his face burn. The fact of the matter was that he was incredibly nervous about sleeping in very tight quarters with his very attractive friend of whom he’d subconsciously had a crush on since they’d met in high school. But he would never admit such a thing. Especially when it was still so subtle.

Dinner was finished, Roman figuring out how to cook over the fire after a few attempts, and with that, Patton took out his guitar and played songs that Roman hadn’t heard before, but the others seemed to know by heart. Stories were told and laughs were exchanged as well as shrieks in terror followed by evil giggles of delight. The sun was long put to rest by the time the fire simmered out.

The friends parted to their separate tents and the lanterns were put out.

Virgil unzipped the tent’s door, holding it open as if he were any semblance of a gentleman. “Just don’t you go falling for me because of this, Princey.” Virgil smirked, pushing Roman into the tent face first.

Roman fell and from the ground mumbled sarcastically. “Trust me, not a problem.”

Roman pulled a loose tank top over his head and turned to Virgil, expecting something similar. Except he found the pale boy, completely bare chested, reading a book in a position that had no right looking as attractive as it did.

“Finally done getting ready, Princey?” He asked, sparing a glance up at the now red faced boy.

Roman prayed that his colored face was hidden by the god-awful lighting in the now much too small tent. “Y-yep!!” Roman faked a nonchalant tone, trying not to stare so openly.

“Great.” Virgil said, his casual tone was only what Roman dreamed he had sounded like. “I’m going to finish this chapter and then I’ll turn lights out. Don’t wait for me.”

Roman tucked himself into his sleeping bag and turned away from Virgil, trying desperately to get the image of his friend’s surprisingly toned chest out of his mind. Did Virgil work out? He always looked so thin and stringy under his hoodie…

“Night, Vee.” Roman wrestled the words from his throat, his voice cracking, making him want to die a little bit more.

Virgil didn’t say anything and Roman, for the next twenty minutes, listened to the sound of quietly turning pages, all the while panicking at their closeness and, for the millionth time, trying not to think about Virgil’s lack of a shirt.

Finally, Vrigil put his book down and stretched. He panicked even more when Virgil seemed to lean over to Roman and he shut his eyes, years of practice in pretending to be asleep finally paying off.

Virgil leaned back and if Roman had his eyes open and had been facing the pale boy, he would have seen Virgil smile ever so fondly and sweetly, a light pink adorning his pale cheeks. “…Cute…” Virgil whispered quietly, not aware that Roman could hear him quite clearly in the silence of the night. Virgil flicked off the lights and, in a single line, probably made Roman fall irreversibly deep into the boiling pool of love. “Goodnight, my prince. I’ll love you tomorrow…”

In the dead of the night, Roman heard Virgil’s breath even out next to him.

Roman, red faced, turned to try and look at his sleeping friend, just to make sure, only to be met with a cute face not six inches away from his own. Even in the dark, Roman began to take notice of things he’d seemingly never seen before. Like how his dark hair faded perfectly into purple at the tips, making it look like purple flames. It made Roman want to reach out and fluff it about. Or the way his pale cheeks were impossibly cute and round, devoid of their usual makeup and beautiful. It made Roman want to hold his perfect face in his own imperfect hands. Or the way his lips curved so exquisitely, a soft beautiful thing. It made Roman want to lean forward and capture such flawless lips with his own.

“We have a big fucking problem.” Roman whispered to himself.

~~•~~

The next morning Roman woke up to the sound of pots banging.

“WAKE UP SLEEPING BEAUTY, WE’RE GOING TO THE LAKE TODAY!!!” Virgil’s voice had momentarily made Roman forget everything last night as it was, at the moment, the most annoying thing on the goddamn planet.

Virgil threw the tent door open, somehow letting more light into the small area. Roman tossed the edge of his sleeping bag up over his face in dismay. “Nooo….What time is it even…?”

Virgil stopped banging his pots for a half second. “About 8:45. When you’re camping, the sun’s your alarm, Princey!!” He trilled out in a sing-song voice.

“Why,” Roman complained, poking his head out of his cocoon. “Is the one time you’re cheery the one time I wish you weren’t?”

Roman opened his eyes and was met face to face with a sinisterly smirking Virgil, his figure framed in splashing golden light as he leaned in to get a view of Roman. “Because I live to be the bane of your existence, Princey!” He smiled all too brightly, and Roman was reminded of his ever growing problem as he felt his face heat up.

Patton poked his head in through the doorway, ruining the picture perfect scene Roman had before him. It wasn’t that he minded, though. No of course not. He wasn’t upset at all that the picture of Virgil with perfect golden light shining around him in a perfect, sunny corona was thrown off by a smiling Patton. He would never be upset.

“C’mon, Ro! It’s time to wake up!! Logan and me made campfire pancakes!!” Patton smiled. Virgil’s eyes lit up like Roman had never seen them light up before. A childish sparkle, like when a kid gets told they’re allowed to have two cookies instead of one.

Logan’s voice called from outside the tent. “It’s ’Logan and I’ Patton.”

”Yeah, yeah, whatever, Honey. I’m just excited for campfire pancakes!!”

”We all are, Pat! Campfire pancakes are the only thing Logan can make edible, and of all the things I’ve eaten, it would be the one that should be considered fucking gourmet!!”

Roman listened to his friends chatter as he got ready, suddenly upset he’d declined Patton’s offers for so long. It wasn’t that he had never wanted to go before, but he’d never been in the woods alone since his brother had forced him into the woods near their old house as children to show him a dead and rotting fox corpse. The memory left a pretty solidly foul taste in his mouth and made him shudder.

He’d complain about bugs and charred food for as long as he needed to. He wasn’t about to let slip that he’d been scared to go back into a place that reminded him so vividly of something so distasteful.

”And he rises!!” Virgil said theatrically when Roman emerged from the tent. Now that he could see better, Roman looked Virgil over. His hair was slightly tousled from sleep and he was wearing a plain, dark t-shirt. His pale face bore practically no makeup, save for the remnants of his eyeshadow that seemed to never go away. His smile was bright and happy, excited in a way Roman had never seen before now. It was at this time that Roman realized this was one of a very select few times that he’d seen Virgil without a hoodie or jacket on. He was pretty. Honestly, Roman thought he should have noticed how charming the tall man was before now.

Roman smiled coolly. ”Now where are those campfire pancakes I keep hear you guys yapping about?”

~~•~~

The pancakes were amazing. And after hiking to a lake, Roman was starting to think camping really wasn’t all too bad. The trail had ended, coming out to the view of a crisp lake with a sandy bank, driftwood strewn about the shore. A wooden dock with a rope swing attached to the end adorned the right side of the picture and a picnic bench decorated a small grassy patch a short distance away from the shore, save from potentially splashing children.

However the picturesque lake was absent of any and all people, leaving the entire lake to themselves.

”Wow…” Roman breathed out as the lake came into view.

Virgil smiled fondly at the starry-eyed man next to him, not that Roman had noticed. ”Yeah. It’s pretty sweet, isn’t it?” Virgil said, walking with Roman to towards the shore as Patton gleefully ran ahead to the dock and Logan crossed over to the picnic table to place the bag containing their lunches. ”This place was actually pretty abandoned when me and Lo first found it.”

Roman glanced at Virgil, who was smiling wistfully out at the clear water. ”Really?”

Virgil nodded, sitting down on a large piece of driftwood. ”Yeah. Our families would go camping together all the time when we were kids. One day we came to this old, near abandoned campsite and found this lake after hiking an all but completely overgrown trail. It was my mom that convinced my dad to buy up the site. It was fairly cheap, but my parents made it their passion project. I was about 15 years old when they finally finished it all.” Virgil looked over to Roman, his eyes filled with a gentle excitement. “It’s been our own little retreat ever since then! I can’t count how many times me and Logan came here to help work or even after it was done. This place means a lot to me.” He clapped Roman on the back, smiling delightfully. “I’m glad you came, Princey!” Virgil then pushed him over into the warm sand. “That’s enough cheese for today I think!! Race ya to the rope swing, theater dork!!” Virgil took off toward the dock and Roman, for once, was glad he had pushed him over and ran away.

Roman’s face and chest was ablaze. The way that Virgil seemed to treasure this place, wanting to share it with Roman, it made him unbelievably happy. The way the pale boy’s eyes sparkled and the way his usually lazy smile was bright and bold, it sent his heart aflutter.

“You fiend!!” Roman accused, scrambling up to his feet. “That’s not fair!!” He charged after Virgil’s dark hair, hoping to leave his dangerously growing adoration behind in the sand.

They took turns swinging off the rope swing and shoving one another into the water, splashing about in it’s cool waves a welcome sensation against the heat of the sun. Lunch finally came and they chatted and joked and told swapped stories until Logan declared that it was time they all headed back.

“Actually, Logan? Can I talk to you for a bit?” Virgil asked as they were packing up.

Logan raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “Of course. Patton, Roman, you two can go on ahead of us. We will catch up to you later.”

“Sure thing, honey!!” Patton said cheerily, wrapping his arm around Roman’s shoulders, though because of the height difference, mistakenly pulled Roman down a bit in the process.

They chatted a bit until the subject of Virgil managed to come up.

“Virgil?” Roman asked, the thought of the green eyed man making him flush. When had that started happening? “I mean he’s great of course…I mean more than great honestly. Have you ever noticed how perfect his hair always looks, Pat? Or like how pretty he is just…everywhere? It’s infuriating!!” Roman looked over to his short friend. “Right, Pat….? Uhh…”

Patton wore a shiteating grin on his face as he smirked smugly at Roman. “I knew it!” Patton declared. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!!”

Roman’s face flared and his heart started to beat. “Knew w-what?! What did you know?!”

Patton jabbed a finger at Roman’s chest. “You’re in love with Virgil!!” He announced, his grin growing more and more excited and mischievous by the second, his golden eyes sparkling more and more from under his wide, round frames. “Aren’t you?!”

Had Roman been a balloon, he would have burst. His face was undoubtedly the color of a rose and his heart was beating far too loud for Patton not to hear it, he thought. Roman finally caved, giving a sigh. “Listen, it’s not really my fault I fell in love with him!! HE WAS SHIRTLESS!!”

Patton danced around the path way, spinning and chanting, “YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH VIRGIL!! YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH VIRGIL!!”

“Okay okay!! I’m in love with Virgil!! Now will you quiet down! What if they’re about to catch up?!” Roman said, mild panic pricking his heart.

“So what if they hear us?!” Patton stopped his dancing, facing Roman. “I mean Virgil’s already been in love with you for years now!!” Patton said excitedly, waving his hand as if it was common knowledge.

Roman’s life could have ended then and there. “He what-?”

Patton’s smiling face didn’t falter as extreme panic set his eyes ablaze. “Shit!!” He said in the most cheery tone a person has ever used to say shit. In fact, Roman could only count on two other times he’d even heard Patton curse. “You were not supposed to know that!!” Patton continued with his cheery voice.

Roman grabbed Patton by the shoulders, emotions swirling violently within him. “Virgil’s been in love with me for years?!” He asked, ecstatic panic dripping from his voice and flooding his eyes.

Patton’s smile did falter this time as he looked away, bashful at what he’d let slip. “Well, yeah…He never-”

Roman picked up the small boy and spun him around, laughing splendidly. “Patton!! You’re an angel from heaven!!” He bubbled. He set Patton down and hugged him tightly. A thought struck him and he separated from the small boy, not even having heard the blonde’s shouts announcing he couldn’t breath. “Oh god! I have to tell Virgil! I have to go find him!!”

Roman started to run away, but Patton grabbed his sleeve. “But what should I do?! We were supposed to get the fire going and dinner started! It’s beginning to get dark!”

Roman looked at Patton with desperate eyes. “I just realized how I feel about Virgil. I don’t want this to turn into a pining competition! I have to find him right now!”

Something in Roman’s voice must have convinced Patton because he let go. “Alright.” He lightly tapped his fist against his taller friend’s shoulder. “Go sweep him off his feet, Ro!”

And with that, Roman was off sprinting back down the trail.

He caught sight of Virgil and Logan walking down the path as the trail was beginning to darken with purple under the canopy of trees in the soon to be dying sunlight. Roman smiled and waved to them down the trail.

“Roman?” Virgil asked, a concerned and mildly frightened look glazing his eyes over. “Is everything okay? Did something happen? Where’s Patton? Is he alright? Is-”

Roman swooped Virgil into a spinning hug, not letting the boy finish his anxious rambling. “Oh, everything is more than just alright, my dark and stormy knight!” Roam laughed, holding on to his heart from around his waist, grasping him close.

Virgil’s face lit up with splashes of red and pink. “Uhm…?”

Logan looked between the two and smiled. “I’ll go on ahead and make sure Patton has some company.” He said, picking up Virgil’s discarded bag and turning to walk down the darkening trail.

Roman stopped spinning Virgil and let the green eyed man down, only just loosening his hold on him.

But to Roman’s utter dismay, as soon as Logan was out of sight, Virgil pushed out from Roman’s grasp. “What the hell, Ro? What was that?” He snapped, turning away from the taller boy.

Roman’s hopes sunk. Had Patton lied to him? No…Patton said he wasn’t even supposed to tell. It had to be true.

But Roman had to be sure. “Virgil, do you love me?” Fireflies were starting to swirl around them, lighting up like stray stars.

“What…?” Virgil stopped, looking back at Roman.

Roman stepped closer, beginning to realize how desperately he wanted Virgil to love him. “Are you in love with me, Virgil?”

Virgil looked away, crossing his arms over themselves.

The sounds of the forest settled between them.

Finally Virgil spoke, his voice shaky and choked. “S-so what if I am? I mean- I didn’t mean to- I don’t-” Virgil turned back to face Roman, his hands embedded in his head of thick, messy hair, his eyes shimmering with tears. “I assume Patton spilled…And I just didn’t want to tell you cause I didn’t want to lose you as a friend! I know you don’t feel the same way, so I was trying to be a good friend…I’m sorry if-”

“Goodnight my prince. I’ll love you tomorrow.” Roman quoted.

“W-what?”

“Last night. That’s what you said before you went to sleep. Can I ask why?” Roman stepped closer, the sun beginning to descend beyond view.

Virgil was caught between paling and flushing harder. He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s the stupidest thing ever…” He started, though smiling. “Anytime we ever had a sleepover, or you fell asleep studying at my place or during a movie night, I’d say that. It was supposed to be this stupid ‘I can’t love you now, so I’ll love you tomorrow’ thing…Hella cheesy, I know…”

Roman stepped closer again and brushed Virgil’s hand, though the pale boy flinched it back. “Well remember when you said not to fall for you and I said it wouldn’t be a problem?” he stepped closer still, bringing his hand up to Virgil’s chin.

“Yeah…?” Virgil didn’t pull away this time, though his eyes remained glued to Roman’s chest.

Roman tilted his chin upward, looking into the gorgeous green eyes Roman never knew he’d fallen for. “Well I think I have a problem…” He leaned in even closer, and he swear he could almost hear Virgil’s heart.

Before Roman could try and capture his lips with his own, Virgil leaned forward and closed the distance himself.

Roman melted into the kiss and could have sworn he tasted raspberries on Virgil’s breath. Virgil’s arms found themselves draped over Roman’s shoulders and his fingers played in his hair as Roman drew Virgil closer still, never wanting to let go of the person he’d loved so dearly for years, blind to it as denial had taken hold of him.

And it was all over much too quickly as Virgil pulled apart just enough to speak. “I think it’s finally tomorrow…” He said, breathlessly, his eyes traveling from Roman’s chest up to his golden brown eyes.

Roman smiled and rested his forehead against Virgil’s. “I think I like tomorrow…!” He caught Virgil up in another kiss and the two blissfully fell into one another.

And Roman decided he quite liked camping, after all.

To my anon, you are never ever ever a burden!! I love writing! And as you can see, got a little carried away with this one! I really hope it’s something you like!!

#prinxiety #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #ts sides #ts sides fic #Roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #anon ask #🌯 anon #dialogue prompt ask #ask game #sanders sides ask game

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unsettledink · 3 years

Text

Instead of thirty asks:

So @the-faultofdaedalus had a bunch of posts about ABO and genetics and how things might be able to function and ending up with some really interesting stuff about types beyond alpha/beta/omega (which I will totally end up playing with in a fic at some point because COOL).

And that sparked off a bunch of ABO related thoughts in my head. A... bunch. So I'm putting them all in one hopefully easy to ignore post if you are not into ABO at all. It's probably a little disjointed – none of this is stuff I've thought at length about, just sort of gone BUT WHAT IF??? I tend to veer more into the societal stuff because I know nothing about genetics and if I spend too long thinking about world details I never get anything written, BUT I STILL THINK THEM.

Interestingly enough I used to not be into it much? And I think I'm still not into the older classic stuff – I will literally run from anything that had mpreg in it 99% of the time. I also get really annoyed at the tendency to always make characters of certain builds/ages/attitudes one type.

But I really, really like ABO because of all the opportunities. So many! It's one of those things where you can go as much or as little into the worldbuilding as you want, in pretty much any direction. I think that's just so cool. Pretty much every single one of my ABO's has been a different 'type' of ABO (oh shit how many are there anyway? 10?? Well fuck.).

So!

A lot of this may make even less sense if you haven't read their posts because it's in re: to things they bring up. Also how much do I miss LJ and threaded comments right now? An obscene amount.

Thoughts more along the 'shit genetics can do' side and as you go down they slide more into the cultural/social/mind fuckery stuff:

(Also I know very very little about anything re: genetics.)

what if there's some sort of pattern/color type thing, like color morphs in reptiles, or heat sensitive color points like in cats and such?

uhhh I don't remember if it's like, lizards or fish or something, but the ones that change sex if there isn't enough of the type needed? What if that's a thing certain subtypes could do? Would it be controllable to any degree, or makes things wild in terms of types associating with each other? On the horror end, what if it's something that can be forced?

Hair? Facial hair things?? Body hair things??? Pattern baldness and the like????

ok yes so classic ABO = canine traits. And I've totally seen some different takes but I always want more. What about feline based? Or reptile? Or bird?? Some kind of insect hive/colony type thing????

WHAT IF SOME TYPES FLOURESCE?? and only certain other types can see it and I just find the idea of distinct type markers that only a percentage of the population can see really fascinating. Underground clubs with lights so everyone can see, testing people by shining a light on them, people faking it...

P H O T O S Y N T H E S I Z I N G??? Look I don't know there wasn't much thought associated with that. But like, we already have huge problems when we don't get enough sun, what if it was something even more dramatic and literal? Anyone seen Farscape?

Re: terrible cooks – what if some subtypes straight up can't taste a whole 'taste'? Like – don't have sweet receptors and have all kinds of issues with 'normal' food and wf is up with the other subtypes and their love of desserts??

they also touched on it briefly but seriously, all the even crazier food intolerances and allergies and things that would just be utterly toxic to one group?

re: two nips=1 bb, what if there are large litters but there's something more like an insect hive structure? Or 'pack' communal type thing, a good family has an omega + alpha + other, omega has the litter and the non alpha is able to nurse as well??

POUCHES. Marsupial style or seahorse. Just. Pouches.

multiple sperm donors in one litter and the possibility of not even knowing it, some sort of shenanigans with what types can get who pregnant and carryover from who they had sex with before the person pregnant and people doing this intentionally as a sort of surrogacy thing even?

Literal eggs?? EGGS?? soft shell eggs???

why are omegas so frequently the tiiiiiny ones? (I mean I know why and I don't like it.) But aren't most young bearing larger than males? If omega is for babies, then shouldn't they be built for it? And how might that affect subtypes?

advantages/disadvantages physically due to genetics and 'hidden' beta typing in regard to sports or fine motor skills or art (seeing/hearing more/less than other types?)

maybe the 'alpha voice' stuff could be attributed to some types able to hear different frequencies or tones/sub harmonics or/and alphas/maybe a type betas being able to produce different sounds and why? Vocal cord stuff????

seeing further into either end of the spectrum for certain types? Something creepy advantage heat and fertility/pregnancy related, being able to look and *know* and how that's changed in more modern times – could it be a career? Considered super rude? Hipaa violation?

re: leftover traits – things like third eyelids or shiny at night eye thing for certain types and various cosmetic alterations as those things go in and out of vogue

re: medical variation like blood typing – organs not being compatible or even in different places due to wtf omegas have going on in there

re: dogs are horror to wolves – what if even the nulls are NOT HUMAN. There actually are just like true standard humans and like, aside from genetically there's next to no difference between them and nulls though it's more visible differences with standard vs a/o? Something about the purpose behind omegas because they are the only link that can properly/safely interbreed and/or produce non sterile offspring? Or maybe standard and a/b can mate but they only produce nulls or standards or sterile like mules??

what if a/o ISN'T rare? If that's the norm and betas are the rare ones and sort of seen as residual hanger ons since they don't have whatever advantages omegas/alphas have? After all, what advantage does a beta have over an omega? The societal aspect of risk if all can interbreed and like, does an a risk mating with a b and risk having a null? Or knowing they can only have a b?

Trickier and could come off really poorly, but how might being trans function with so many types and the additional divide of sex/gender/secondary sex? What the hell might hormone therapy or surgery or transition in a scent based society be like??

and intersex? Like especially if you've got limited grasp on genetics and then you have these typed betas who aren't recognized that way, what about the people who don't fit even on that spectrum?

and sexual identities! The possibility of like, some groups being much more likely to lean in one direction or another and some of it due to not understood sub beta types and that complexity. Just the complexity of interest at all with a whole third factor added in!

horror aspect if m/f can be determined before birth but not a/b/o status, if there are actual environmental factors like TSD that could change that and people trying to ensure they have x type? All omegas are allergic to peppermint so if you eat peppermint your whole pregnancy you won't have an omega or some shit. Does an of it work or is it all old wives tales? D: D: D: D: (as much as I really prefer to write ABO's where things are more equal because of it, I read a lot more of the uglier verses where everything is worse)

Bonding???? how could it be an actual physical genetic thing and the differences across types and who can bond with who and why and are only certain types able to initiate/accept it and the whole fascinating culture stuff from THAT

and then the bonds that are of the mental type, either some sort of emotion/pain/thought sensing that's limited or full on sharing, how each type could differ and maybe only certain types could be broken or certain types are able to have them with multiple people/types??

formation of bonds and what environmental factors exist and what genetic and things like forcibly separating before x amount of time is tantamount to torture or ruining a bond that can't be fully stable/broken and fixed?

the scent stuff – beyond the whole 'smell like strawberries/whatever' the stuff about smelling emotional states and types that are able to smell that or not, hormonal based scent changes are super common but also one of the slightly more plausible things? Are certain types with sensitivities to different types of smells prone to go into certain fields because of it?

More scent stuff – things about your scents that are influenced by origin/area growing up in. that you can acquire a 'type' or base of scent that is hard to get rid of or change for a lot of people and is often obvious but indistinct. Like accents? And then the people who are REALLY GOOD at changing it.

i fucking love the typed jewelry trope (lol hit me up for a whole other post JUST about that) and even more when it's not just 'pretty showing off socially' but actually has some sort of biological effect but then why? Weird metal imbalance lol? Typed betas more vulnerable to that as well as full types and cultural stuff about that?

wtf family groups I mean. Possibilities of more than two genetic donors and paternity and custody and filling out demographic info on forms ahahahaha oh god

the whole more sensitive to smells – the hilarity of like, sending strongly scented flowers to an omega as an insult. To one type, that floral delivery is romantic, to another it's a giant 'fuck you' from an ex.

Yes I might have a problem ok.

#yes that is 1700 words of slightly incoherent abo ??????'s #abo #writing about writing

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obscure-sentimentalist · 4 years

Note

flommy (or felicity + tommy), “It’s okay, you don’t need to talk now.”

[Well, I’m not entirely sure what this one is, other than the fact that I had a ridiculous image in mind and just kind of rolled from there, but I hope it’s fun.]

From the Comforting Cuddles Starters list

Follow-up to this

“It’s okay, you don’t need to talk now,” Felicity says gently, doing her level best to keep her voice from giving way to the rising giggles. The effort is helped along when she clears her throat and steps closer. “Well, not that you… I mean… hang on.”

Carefully dropping to her knees on the rug, she reaches for Tommy’s face, grazing a thumb lightly over his right cheekbone before her hand settles just past the corner of his mouth. Readying herself, Felicity raises her eyebrows and gives Tommy a questioning glance, awaiting his acknowledgement.

The forceful exhale through his nose and subsequent screwing shut of his eyes are the closest things Felicity will get to a go-ahead. Without further ado, she slips one pink nail under the edge of the purple butterfly-printed duct tape and pries it up as fast and hard as she can.

She can’t help but wince at the tearing sound of separating adhesive from flesh and Tommy’s inadvertent whimper of pain, but soon enough the tape is completely loose and easily crumpled into a ball.

“Guess it’s a good thing I shaved this morning,” Tommy quips weakly, contorting his lips in an assortment of odd expressions to ease the pain. “If I hadn’t, I’m pretty sure that would have ended any chance I had of future facial hair growth.”

Felicity runs a finger softly over the reddening skin lower on Tommy’s cheek. “You could still use some moisturizer,” she notes, tapping twice before withdrawing her hand to rest in her lap. With that urgent matter settled, she takes a moment to fully process the scene before her, amusement bubbling in her chest until it threatens to overflow. “Did… did you have a nice chat with Thea?”

Tommy’s lips twist into a playful pout as he heaves a deep sigh, the expansion of his chest one of the few movements his current predicament will allow. “Would you believe that this is one of the better-case scenarios I could have expected?”

“Considering you’re trussed up by jump ropes on your living room floor instead of helping her out with target practice? If you didn’t already come from a place of wealth, I’d call that winning the lottery.”

Tommy wriggles in his bonds to free his right hand enough to raise his index finger. “Hey, don’t joke about that second option. Oliver has been taking this a little too well, and it also hasn’t escaped my notice that he’s acquired some new trick arrows. Just wait, I’m going to get too comfortable and let my guard down, then bang! Boomerang arrow clocks me on the back of the head.”

Felicity wrinkles her nose at that. “He’s come up with some weird ones, that’s for sure, but I don’t see what would be the point…”

“Boomerang. Arrow.” Tommy just stares wide-eyed back at her, solemn in the face of his fear.

Figuring it best to leave things at that, Felicity changes direction. “I’m guessing there’s a story behind this?” she prompts, running a hand over the long, rainbow-colored woven cloth jump rope wound around Tommy’s torso and arms. A smaller plastic one binds his feet together at the ankles for good measure, which Felicity immediately begins to work at undoing. “Not that I’m doubting Thea’s ingenuity in combat, but this seems more like inside joke-material than a new move Speedy plans to rain on the Starling City criminal underground.”

“Oh, yes, this is classic vengeful seven-year-old Thea Queen, a tactic employed in many a game of ‘extreme’ hide-and-go-seek,” Tommy confirms. Feet freed, he shuffles them over the rug to try to push himself upright, Felicity’s hand guiding his back to prop up against the couch. “I don’t know how she got it in her head, but one of the rules of the game was that, when found, the seeker gets to wrap up the hider like a birthday gift left in the hands of a toddler with a ball of ribbon, to gloat about their superior finding skills. And seeing as Thea liked running around and doing the seeking…”

Felicity gives that a small wince, before settling in next to Tommy in front of the couch. “Well, you were a very good big brother even then for playing along,” she says, bumping shoulders with him.

“Ollie and I both were,” he adds hurriedly, as if afraid to take that credit solely for himself. His brow furrows as he thinks back, though, and he continues slowly, “Although, most of the time he went for the most outrageous hiding spots so that Thea’d come across me first, and by the time she found him—or he waited her out—she’d have had her fun and want to move on to something else.”

Felicity can’t help but let out a short, unsurprised hum of laughter at that—it figured that the Arrow’s ability to keep perfectly out-of-sight when needed was something Oliver cultivated even before the island. That’s the only acknowledgment she gives the idea, though; anything else, and Tommy could so easily take that as an invitation to spiral into more bits from the Adolescent-Ollie-and-Tommy Comedy Hour. Still such an inherent reaction for him, even on the verge of realizing something meaningful.

“I… I guess this really was more of a thing between just Thea and me,” he finally says, body going lax as the truth of the words settles in. His head dips slightly in a weak attempt to hide the bright, goofy smile cracking at the edges of his lips, as if he thinks it isn’t allowed.

Sometimes, Felicity almost forgets that, up until the last few years, Tommy was also an only child. “Almost” is the key term—the two of them resonate in all the same lonely places that it’s nigh impossible not to be aware, even without directly thinking about it. But seeing Tommy with Thea and hearing old stories always had a way of dialing back, or even muting altogether, that recognizable echo for a time.

Even before having blood-relation confirmation, Tommy was Thea’s older brother in every way he could be, stopping just short of whatever big, waving banner declared her as Oliver’s little sister. Learning the truth just meant Tommy’s name got slapped up right next to Oliver’s, and he now had permission to venture across the territory that lay beyond that marker.

Felicity’s long had the impression that Tommy still quietly divides his relationship with Thea into a “before” and “after” because of that, but she can hardly see any change beyond the two of them openly calling each other sibling. Their rapport is too familiar and comfortable to be written off as a fairly recent evolution, and Thea would surely object (and call Tommy an even bigger dumbass than Oliver) if she knew about his classification system.

With the way this conversation has turned, though, Felicity can start to see his rationale, flawed as it may be.

“Just because you didn’t know it back then doesn’t mean you weren’t her brother,” Felicity points out. She flicks a finger under Tommy’s chin until he tilts his head back up and glances over at her, surprise cutting into that adorable grin. “You’re not retroactively taking anything away from Oliver for having an inside joke with just you and Thea. You can have this.”

Tommy’s expression freezes as shock flashes across it, but a few moments later it melts into something soft and thankful.

“And,” Felicity continues, ever so slowly leaning in, “I think Thea wants you to have it as well, seeing as this was a very specific reaction to finding out that we’ve been dating and hiding it from everyone.” She tugs on a piece of the jump rope still wrapped around Tommy’s upper body for emphasis, fighting a grin.

Tommy almost knocks himself back over with the laughter that bursts out at that.

“I didn’t even question it!” he gasps in between bouts. “She came over with lunch, we had a nice chat like adults, she took my explanation of us wanting to take things slow and quietly before telling anyone with ease, and then…” He breaks off there, voice pitching high in a giggle, “Then she just nodded, said, ‘Okay then,’ and flying-tackled me. And I didn’t do a thing about it, because I just saw that rainbow jump rope and instinctively thought, ‘Ah, darn, Speedy’s found me again!’ like she was still that cute little brat.”

“I’m sure some part of Thea always will be, between both you and Oliver.”

“Oh, no question there,” Tommy agrees. “The duct tape alone earns her that status back—that was a new development. I think it was her version of giving me a shovel talk over you? You know, even though I’m her brother, if I hurt you…”

“Well, I appreciate the sentiment,” Felicity admits, “but I think I had to hurt you first, in order to rip it off.”

Tommy shrugs, conceding that point. A beat, and then a mischievous glint comes to his eyes. “It still aches a bit, you know, around my mouth.”

Felicity raises her eyebrows at that, giving him a particular look even as she drops an arm over his shoulder. “Is this your way of asking me to kiss it better?”

“Figure it couldn’t hurt,” he returns with a sly smile, leaning forward until their noses graze.

Only when the two of them fall backwards and sideways a few seconds later do they remember the loose end yet to be tied.

(Rather, untied.)

#obscure-sentimentalist writes sometimes #flommy #flommy fic

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rudjedet · 4 years

Note

According to Wikipedia, the Egyptian language had a word for a third gender or sex, often translated as "eunuch" but perhaps referring more often to nonbinary or intersex people. Do you know more about gender variance in pharaonic Egypt?

Full disclosure before I answer this: gender studies with regards to ancient Egypt are not my specialty, and I’m unlikely to do all the nuances proper justice.

First, about the word sxt.y (plural: sxt.yw), which is the word you’re referring to that allegedly refers to a third gender or sex but which is translated as “eunuch”. It is not conclusive, per the knowledge we have now, that this is a separate gender/sex category. It’s mostly translated as “eunuch” because it comes close to a word for castrate, sxt. But that translation in itself is debatable.

@thatlittleegyptologist said the following about the word sx.ty in this ask:

Sekhti is the word that has a possible translation of ‘eunuch’ but it’s absolutely far from certain. We only say ‘eunuch(?)’ because it has a similar writing to ‘sxt’ ‘castrated’, of which there is only one attestation meaning it’s a hapax legomenon (only existence of the word). There are several other verbs written as sxt including: to run, to turn back, to destroy, to grasp, to weave, and a bird trap.

There are only 4 attestations of the word in the Egyptian corpus. Three refer to it as ‘sage’ or ‘sorcerer’ and one refers to it as ‘castration(?)’ meaning it has an uncertain translation. The text that does this is the hapax legomenon one I mentioned previously.

It has no depictions in art, and doesn’t exist as a term until the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, as Eunuchs themselves were not a thing in Ancient Egypt until this period. Therefore we cannot say that this is a separate ‘gender’ in Ancient Egypt, because before the Ptolemies this concept of sxti doesn’t exist. The Ancient Egyptians themselves did not have them so we cannot place them within their gender roles.

However, if you want to read more about eunuchs in Ptolemaic and Roman times I would suggest looking at Greek and Roman Eunuchs and their function in society, as they will tell you far more about how they were seen in gender terms than looking at anything from Ancient Egypt.

As far as gender variance goes, this is tricky because the ancient Egyptian gender division is different from ours, and also subject to change throughout the millennia that span Egyptian dynastic history. Not only that, it’s nigh impossible to transpose Western modern gender terms (such as nonbinary) onto an ancient non-Western culture because there is a disconnect between how they saw the world and the way we do.

But it wasn’t as simple as “Egyptians only knew the male and female sex/gender” either. At least in the realm of the divine, something akin to intersexuality may’ve been known. Sometimes Nut, a goddess, is portrayed with a phallus to indicate power; or Neith is said to be part man, part woman. But at the moment we do not have conclusive evidence (i.e. textual or pictorial) to show that there were mortal people who considered themselves outside the known Egyptian gender binary.

This might be because the Egyptian societal ideals were very strict (and we do know that not everyone held as rigidly to the ideals of society and religion), and they were therefore never mentioned in text or on reliefs because it was simply not done. But it might also be because there weren’t any people who (had the tools to) consider themselves outside of that gender binary. Without unequivocal evidence, it will always be some degree of inconclusive.

I will probably regret bringing up Hatshepsut again, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t use her example to explain why exactly it is so difficult to transpose our modern definition of what constitutes evidence of “this individual is transgender/nonbinary” onto the Egyptian record.In our modern society, the use of pronouns is a fair indication of whether someone is cis or trans. In ancient Egypt, since the Egyptian languages itself are gendered and thus sometimes, the use of masculine or feminine markers specifically was a matter of grammar, not so much.

The people who know only (the bare essentials) about Hatshepsut will say that she was transgender, or at least nonbinary, because she used “male pronouns” to refer to herself. However, she did also use female pronouns and markers, and almost all other female kings that we know about did the exact same thing. Sobekneferu and Taweret also referred to themselves with a mix of male and female markers and epithets. And because we know that certain Egyptian words (such as “king”) only take male markers no matter the sex of the person using it, it’s far more likely that we’re dealing with a grammar issue rather than three genderqueer queens.

However, that doesn’t mean none of the three could have been genderqueer, we just don’t have the tools to definitively say they were. The best indication of gender we have, in modern and ancient times alike, is the individual’s own words. In case of Hatshepsut, Sobekneferu, and Taweret, we know that they referred to themselves with feminine markers wherever and whenever they could. That’s something you absolutely can’t ignore when you try to argue the gender-identification of any of these women (and I use “women” here as the term to refer to the ancient Egyptian gender identity. I have never used nor will I ever use the term “cis” to describe any of them. They were women. Not cisgendered women, since cis, too, is a modern gender identity and thus equally difficult to use when describing an Egyptian individual).

I wouldn’t argue that the Egyptians didn’t have gender variance beyond the man/woman binary that we see in e.g. art and literature, but it is hard to pinpoint the exact nature of the variance, if any, considering they didn’t think about these things the way we do now, as well as their long history.

Deborah Sweeney, who we’ve cited many times before, wrote a really excellent paper on sex and gender in ancient Egypt. She talks about these matters with more nuance than I can, so I absolutely recommend reading the paper, which is only 16 pages long. And if you’re interested in certain topics she covers, check out her references/bibliography. But for most laypeople, Sweeney’s article will cover the majority of Egyptian sex & gender in enough detail.

Here are some highlights from the article in case people want a quick laydown:

The Egyptians considered the world a place of dualities. The two halves of any given concept weren’t divided eternally however; instead, they reconciled them. The best example is the king incorporating both aspects of Horus and Seth into his rule, even if Seth was chaotic and too raucous to be of any use on his own. This seems to apply to their views of gender as well.

In Egyptian art, representation of gender is very strict, e.g. men are portrayed with darker skin than women and women only take half a step forward or even stand with both feet together, and the art almost never deviates from these conventions. In real life, this division didn’t always seem to be as strict. Take for example New Kingdom female entrepeneurs; women who either made a name for themselves or took over their husband’s trade after his incapacitation or death.

“Masculinity” as a concept in ancient Egypt differed even between social groups. A scribe would have had to meet other standards of masculinity than a soldier or a farmer would. There also seems to be a divide between elite masculinity and masculinity for the lower social classes. Still masculinity mightn’t have been expressed the same way by everyone, even within the same social grouping.

Women were in the text corpus often juxtaposed against men, i.e. it was their relation with the men in their lives that was highlighted, and very little is known about interpersonal relationships between women. We obviously know more about royal women, but their experiences aren’t at all indicative of general female experience in ancient Egypt.

The Egyptians didn’t categorize people based on sexual preference (i.e. “this is a homosexual scribe”, “that market lady is bisexual”). While same-sex relationships weren’t the social norm and were usually depicted as an abberation and/or an insult, there’s strong evidence in favour of same-sex couples/relationships in real life.

For any further in-depth questions, I’d refer to @thewanderingarchaeologist, whose PHD research is on this very topic.

Please consider donating to my ko-fi if you enjoyed this rather incomplete explanation!

#Egyptology #gender identity #ancient egypt #anon asks

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mementoboni · 11 months

Text

[part 1/4] DIR EN GREY WOWOW Interview & Document (2020)

“Of course, I have to face the other four members. I'm carrying their lives and my life is being carried by them as well. I did it with that determination.” — Kaoru

Notes before reading:

The whole interview is divided into 8 topics, and the translation is divided into 4 parts. This is the first part, which includes the previous 2 topics. The details of all topics and time markers are 👉 here.

I have added Chinese subtitles for this video in 2021. The whole interview was very meaningful, and I hope that with the English translation, more people can understand what they're talking about.

The five members were interviewed separately and then edited into a video, so the words spoken by each of them are not necessarily coherent.

Repost and share are welcome.🙌 I translated it all by my ears, so please feel free to correct me if you spot any mistake or any confusing parts.☺️

--- --- ---

01. Band Formation ~ Debut

►The Formation of DIR EN GREY

Shinya: All four of us were in the same band except for Toshiya on bass. Then the band broke up and we had to find a new member again. Kyo: Each of us all wanted to be in a band. So after discussion, we decided to get rid of one person and get the four of us together. (*Note: After La:Sadie's disbanded, the four of them decided to form a new band in addition to KISAKI.) Die: We were friends with Toshiya at that time, so we thought about finding all the members and forming a band with him. Toshiya: At that time, their band was gaining momentum. I would like to play with the four of them if it's possible and I happened to be invited. That's what happened.

►Origin of the Band Name

Kaoru: At that time, there was a band that communicated with us very closely. The band had a song called DIR EN GREY*, and that's where our band got its name. I always thought it was a good name, so I suggested it as the name of our band. (*Note: It refers to a song called "Dir en Gray" by the band "LAREINE" (with Kamijo as vocalist), which was formed in 1994.) Kyo: There were two alternative names at that time, the other one was proposed by me, but the final vote was 3:2 so I lost. (laughs) After I lost, the band name became DIR EN GREY. (*Note: Another name is "如月" (きさらぎ, kisaragi ) → Dir en grey turns 25 today! )

►Looking Back at the time of Debut

Shinya: The three debut singles were produced by YOSHIKI-san. He also played the piano for our song after debut, I had no regrets at that time even if I died, that's how I felt. Kaoru: At that time, we had only recorded once or twice in a decent studio, and we had also recorded in places like homes. YOSHIKI-san took us straight to a professional recording studio and said, "Let's make the debut single!" without giving us time to think.

. . .

02. Expression

►Awareness in the Creative Process

Die: After all, the band has been around for more than 20 years, therefore, we have to create something more exciting. It's not that I have to do anything, but I try to experiment with all kinds of things. So there are times when we can't be categorized as anything but DIR EN GREY. Shinya: While it is changing over time, now I just want to make songs that I feel good about. Toshiya: Every recording has to add the sound that you think is good, and you must like the songs you create, or you must love them. Kaoru: The overall sense of balance and the feeling that the listener will have, and of course there are many other things. I would listen to the song several times to feel it, and repeat it over and over again. I can remember it by listening to it over and over again. After listening to it a few times, I will pay attention to interesting pieces, new discoveries, and so on, while I'm composing. Kyo: Most people have a fixed style after 20 years, like "This is the way this person is," but I'm not like that. Of course it's cool to stick to your own unique style, although I can do that and feel like I can keep myself. Kyo: I don't like to make people think that "This is how I am in the end" or something like that, it's not my style. I want to show the changes in each moment directly. When I can't express the music naturally, I may stop, and when I can't create freely, I will stop.

►Things want to Convey through Music

Toshiya: What I/we want to convey is simply "pain (痛み)". Living is a hard thing, and being able to create that power of anger, I think that's our music. Kyo: I am very bad at expressing beautiful things, or is that not for me? It's... it's irritating. Maybe it's because I often feel that there is nothing good in the world, and I don't like things that look like fabrications. Shinya: Those are supposed to be in the lyrics, and I don't particularly want to express the pain with the drums. 🤣🤣 Kaoru: I think that varies from person to person, and there is no right answer. For me, I also have a part of myself that I want to convey, so maybe I'm thinking about that while I'm creating. If I were to say that we all share the same idea, it would be that we can express what we think without hiding it. Die: Being able to feel pain means you are alive, and hope is born from that. The first thing I/we want to convey is "to be alive". (*Screen caption: Feeling pain = Being alive)

►The Motivation for Expression

Kyo: If there is something that I want to convey which will be the motivation, I am not. I'm just living. Toshiya: It should be the anger and sadness in life, just the two. If I can express both, I feel I can be saved. Shinya: There will be people who come to see the LIVE, and those fans are my motivation. Kaoru: I think it's because I don't want to admit defeat. I don't want to admit defeat, it should be more like I don't like to admit defeat. I am a weak person, I will want to run away when things happen, and will want to give up when I can't do it. But on this point I still do not want to give in to defeat, I want to do it well. Kaoru: Of course, I have to face the other four members. I'm carrying their lives and my life is being carried by them as well. I did it with that determination. (*Oh, leader sama😳) Die: I think it's LIVE. LIVE is the most direct place to convey ideas and resonate with people. I am moving forward with LIVE as my goal.

(To be continued...)

--- --- ---

part 2. & part 3. & part4.

topics & time marks

中文翻譯 (My Blogger) part 1. & part 2. & part 3.

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siliquasquama · 4 years

Text

Step back from the beach a moment

I don't celebrate on Memorial Day.

Remember, yes -- that is the point.

Commemorate, if you prefer, though that implies some manner of ritual, or some form of public ceremony, held at a slight remove from emotion, as the crowd along a parade route is both at a remove from the parade and part of it.

But to celebrate, to call it a day of relaxation or take it as a day of revelry --

I stopped doing that after I heard a particular song, in a particular movie. The movie itself is The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. Wherein the effort to find a Union soldier's grave, supposedly full of gold, is shown to be rather petty in comparison to the war itself -- which is presented primarily as a tragedy. A useless battle over a little bridge in a bleak corner of the West; a field of shallow graves marked by crude crosses; a stockade for prisoners of war, where weeping men are made to kneel in the dirt and sing a pretty song to drown out the cries from men being tortured --

You would think that the officer who chose the song would pick something less critical of the war, but who knows what he was thinking? As for the director, one might say he chose the song to distill the movie's message. As the final verse goes:

Count all the crosses, and count all the tears -- These are the losses, and sad souvenirs. This devestation once was a nation -- So fall the dice. How high is the price we pay?

After I heard that song my Memorial Days became rather grim.

I am always a little conflicted about the song. I know the political tendency of Americans -- especially white Americans -- is to elide the cause of our civil war, and elude the full implications. The decades after the war would not be the last time that reconciling white Americans meant leaving black Americans out in the cold, open and vulnerable to the people who would never stop trying to subjugate them.

Tempting to say both sides were right, and both sides were wrong, so as to bury the hatchet --

And yet: those who would subjugate black Americans dig the hatchet up whenever they think any government is trying to stop them. Be it in the decades after our civil war, or the decades after the second World War, or the decades after the country chose a black man to lead us towards a gentler peace and greater justice -- they do not forgive any movement towards the true power and freedom of black Americans, except by the acquiscence of the country to their predation, for any move towards freedom is a move away from what they have built, and threatens their coffers. As their coffers were filled by slavery, so they seek to maintain it, in one form or another.

Thus the old song from slaves long ago remains relevant, and its hope is ever present:

Oh Mary, don't you weep, don't you mourn, Oh Mary, don't you weep, don't you mourn. Pharaoh's army got drownded. Oh, Mary, don't you weep.

Did they? 

I do not know.

So, when I hear the soldier's lament, I wonder if it was made to elude that question. Perhaps it is that the director, being Italian, at a far remove from this continent and its ways, only saw the war as it was described to him, and thus saw it as the hatchet-burying narrative would have it, and so in his movie made no judgment nor mention of why the war began, nor what cause stood at its center by the end.

Or it could be that the lyricist, being not Ennio Morricone but a white American man, may have written the lyrics to paper over that question, and the compoaser and director alike looked at it without considering it too thoroughly.

Which would assume signores Leone and Morricone would ever dare do sloppy work.

Most likely it is that, if the movie is presented as tragedy, Leone couldn't introduce any of the concepts that have led Americans to call the American Civil War a glorious struggle of freedom. No John Brown's Body nor grapes of wrath for him. In the battle for the bridge, Captain Clinton sees his job as pointless, and that's the story the movie tells. No sense muddling the message by talking about glory. Even if the southwest did have its own battles for freedom, separate from the question of slavery, which could have been shown in the background.

For, if I speak of freedom only in terms of black Americans, I forget the peoples who were also targeted for predation by white Americans, whose resistance to them began long before slavery was planted here, whose story always complicates the simple narrative of White versus Black --

And as I speak of many peoples to think of them as a whole is complicated, if not impossible, for one tribe does not speak for another nor decide the same as the other. Over the centuries of struggle each tribe had interests separate from and sometimes against their neighbors, such as the people of pale faces could exploit to divide and conquer them.

In the case of the Civil War there were more such tribes who allied with the Confederate forces than with the Union. As it was in the rebellion that established the United States, as it was in the War of 1812, which was, in North America, sought by paleface warhawks as a battle against Indians -- in each such war that threatens the existence of the Federal Government of the United States, the victory and continued survival of that government has been the loss of many tribes and the deaths of their people.

I wish they had not sided with the British Empire, nor with the Confederate slave-holders, yet I understand why they did, for so many of the people we call American heroes were also villainous towards native tribes -- George Washington and Abraham Lincoln alike. The hope of those tribes was the scattering of the forces set against them and in the Revolutionary War, at least, it was not a hopeless effort, nor would it have looked hopeless to them in 1812 nor 1860. For the sake of those people I will not sing patriotic songs, nor wave the flag, nor call the American Revolution nor the American Civil War an untarnished good.

Nor any war. Hard to see blood spilled out on the ground, be it for the best of causes. Blood spilled and bone scattered. Young rascals and old coots alike left as shells, empty as the casings spilled about them, and these days we send mostly the bright young ones to that end. Lao Tzu said a general must mourn their victories.

And there are many of us come from overseas who have seen their loved ones die before them, seen bodies scattered amid the rubble of what they thought would stand, as so many wars these days are civil wars fought in and over civil settings, thereby to flatten those settings -- how could I celebrate any war, in the face of such people? How could I say any war was for a good cause?

And yet -- Pharaoh's army got drownded. Hard to ignore that point.

And for the folks who fought for the life of their people against the federal government, and lost, I wonder if I would dare tell them that war could have no noble cause.

So if I consider Memorial Day as anything, it is a day to mourn victory. Never to forget its price nor what it purchased. Never to speak of that purchase as if it were for the petty game of nations. It is not for for them. It is for the living and the dead. One life given for another, or for many. Perhaps given freely. Perhaps a trade made by someone else far away. Therein lies the tragedy.

For his part, Sergio Leone did not let his movie side with the Union's political cause. If he sided with anyone, it was with the soldiers. The song is called "Story of a Soldier" and it shows the battles through a soldier's eyes. Smoke, cannons, flags in the distance too ruined to read, crosses and tears counted one by one.

The movie's main battle is, as I said, useless. Not from the perspective of whoever gave the orders, but certainly from the perspective of Captain Clinton. His men have to take the Branstone Bridge. If the Confederate forces also want it, then might as well blow the damn thing and leave, and he's desperate to try. But orders are to take the bridge. Maybe as a political favor, maybe to achieve a larger strategic goal. Either way thousands of people will die. That's why Captain Clinton reeks of alcohol. He couldn't handle the job any other way. So when two scruffy and disobedient recruits go and destroy the bridge after all, though it be for a selfish and petty goal, Captain Clinton's dying words are in gratitude. Thousands of people will live. That's what he cares about.

You would think the larger scale of taking that bridge would be more important! Politically, strategically, maybe. But for the life of each man involved -- not so much. They can't see that far. To them the small scale is what they know. And maybe it's more important anyway. The song is called "The Story of a Soldier." Maybe that's what the movie is actually about. And the two bandits are just a way of bringing us to the place where we see what became of him. Which one he is among thousands, that's harder to say. There's an Arch Stanton on one grave marker and 'unknown' on the other. We don't know anything about either man. The lives of both men were on the small scale, not big enough for anyone outside their little worlds to care.

But someone living on the big scale got a lot of people into a big mess, and war means spending a lot of the small scale for the sake of the big scale. Basically shovelling your world into the furnace bit by bit to keep the engine running. Sometimes it means you lose your peach orchard; sometimes it means the army needs your 500-year-old church bell for scrap metal. Hard to tell if it's worth it at the time. Or when you're laying flowers on a grave later.

But when you lay flowers on a grave, are you saying the war was worth it? Or is it an apology for letting a bad situation get out of hand? If you're going to lay your flower on the grave and say the war was worth it you had better include an apology because that's a hell of a lot smaller price to pay than what you're looking at.

Now as for why I post this today and not the 25th -- as I said, I don't celebrate on Memorial Day, and I don't much like the fact that it was moved from the 30th of May to the last monday in May to give people a 3-day weekend. That all feels a bit crass. Seems like it made it easy to forget why this holiday exists. Everyone takes a trip to funtown for the day.

Well, fine. I can't blame people for doing that if they don't remember why the holiday exists. We don't much emphasize the Civil War part of it anyway. Easy enough to forget when you turn a day of memory into a day for parades.

I'm not trying to spoil the day for you when you were looking for a rare chance to relax. Go and have fun.

Just let me stay here with the graves.

#memorial day #civil war #indian wars #sergio leone #the good the bad and the ugly #text

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kn1feinthec0ffee · 4 years

Text

in too deep (part 2) - jules

jules x reader

warnings: drug use, very very slight violence, that’s pretty much it

notes: this is LOOOONNNGG probably the longest thing i’ve written,, ever and i apologize!! there was nowhere satisfying to stop in between the markers i’ve set in my mind for these chapters without creating two unsatisfyingly short chapters instead of one satisfying long one

***********

“fuckin’ score!” you squealed as jules let you down from the garage window. “now we just gotta get in there.”

you walked along the path towards the front door, rolling your eyes at the stereotypical garden gnomes with their happy painted faces.

jules held the crowbar towards you. “need this?”

“babe, please. we’re not barbarians,” you pulled out a paper clip from your jacket pocket, unfolding it and maneuvering it into the lock. you heard a familiar metallic tapping noise, prompting you to scold your girlfriend. “jules, please stop fucking with that, it’s gonna wreck your enamel.”

she mumbled an apology and you heard the lock click successfully. “yes! yes, i fucking got it!”

“you did it baby! you’re so fucking good!” jules kisses all over your cheek and jaw, pulling you in for a smooch on the lips. you wanted to lose yourself in her touch, but you remembered time was of the essence if you wanted to get the fuck out of here.

you yanked on the handle, but to your surprise, the door remained shut. “what the- it’s fucking dead bolted. who the fuck deadbolts their door? this is a great neighborhood!”

“take this,” jules thrusted the crowbar into your hands, watching as you pried the thing open, the wood splintering to the ground.

the both of you entered the home cautiously, peeking around corners as you held the gun up in self defense. jules headed into the kitchen, searching for a likely spot for some car keys. you surveyed the dining room, finding that nothing particularly stuck out to you during your search.

“find anything?” you asked your girlfriend. she shook her head no, eyeing around suspiciously before casting her gaze on the bowl of fruit perched perfectly on the countertop.

“it’s fake.” she stated seriously. you fought the urge to smile at her goofiness, choosing to nod affirmingly before heading upstairs. you rifled through countless dresser drawers, hoping to come across a set of goddamn keys. you came across an old video camera that appeared to be from 2004, but upon further inspection, the battery seemed to be dead. you tossed it over your shoulder, hearing the equipment land with a thud on the carpeting behind you.

you unceremoniously plopped down on the couch next to jules, leaning back with a heavy sigh. “nothing?”

“yo tengo nada.” she mumbled before stuffing a heaping spoonful of cereal into her mouth. you glanced down at her sour expression.

“stale?” you queried. “stale.” she affirmed, spitting the sugary wheat back into the bowl and tossing it over her shoulder.

“okay, time to think. no keys, so we gotta come up with something else.” you suggested, slinging an arm over her shoulders.

“it might help if we have a creative boost, you know?” she smirked, placing the bag onto your lap. a devilish grin made its way onto your face as you kissed the corner of her mouth.

“mmm, i like the way you think, babygirl,” you took out a vial of coke and a credit card, dividing the substance up into lines on the back of some travel guide on the coffee table that looked like it was from the 70s. jules ripped a page out of another magazine and rolled it up into a tube. she went first and you followed, snorting a line as an idea popped into your head.

“gas! we’ll siphon the gas!” you shouted, turning towards your girlfriend to see what she thought.

“what? oh, that’s great, baby!” she leaned in for another kiss, but you were already up and pacing the living room floor.

“yeah, yeah, that’ll work. we just need, like, a gas can or something to put it in, and then we can put it back in the car!” you grinned, looking to jules for some input.

“yes! we don’t even need that much, we can just- fuck, you’re so fuckin’ smart, baby!” she slammed you into the wall, furiously smashing her lips to yours as she reached into your back pocket to grope your ass.

“mmmph! wait, baby- wai- we c-can’t do this now,” you managed between moans.

“what, you don’t want it?” she pouted, pulling away from you.

“no! fuck no! you know i want it, you know i fuckin’ wanna fuck all over this place, but we have to get back to the car before it gets towed or something.” you reasoned, pulling her hands back into yours.

“you’re right, i’m so sorry, baby.” she averted her gaze towards the ground, picking at her nails nervously.

“don’t ever apologize for that shit. that’s love.” you smiled, cheeks turning pink when she smiled back at you. you pressed your lips to hers, savoring her taste as you kissed her slowly.

you decided to head into the basement to find a hose and, after a debate over who should go down first, jules bravely headed down into the darkness. the two of you split up, figuring you could cover more ground separately. she crept up behind you, groaning when you jolted and shifted the beam of your flashlight into her eyes.

“there’s nothing down here. come on, babe,” she moved from your field of vision, the flashlight suddenly casting on a little girl chained to a pipe, her sudden presence making you scream.

“what?” jules turned around, practically jumping out of her skin when she saw the child.

“w-what the fuck?” you exclaimed. “what the fuck?” you asked her if she was alright, but she stayed silent, looking at the two of you as if she’d just seen you flush her pet fish down the toilet.

“y/n, we have to get her out of here,” jules stated firmly. “look at the lock, can you pick it?”

“can i pick it? baby, that fucker’s industrial. not gonna happen.” you crossed your arms. “and besides, we don’t know where her parents are, or why she’s chained up in the fucking basement! that’s a huge fucking red flag, julie! i mean, this- this is practically a red flag factory!”

“baby, i love you, but there’s no fucking way i’m leaving if that little girl isn’t coming with us. can you figure out some way to get the chain off her? pretty please?” she begged.

you tapped your foot anxiously, eyes darting around the open space in the basement. you sighed, looking back at her pleading expression. “fuck you, and fuck those goddamn puppy eyes of yours.”

her face brightened, clinging to your side and pressing kisses to your cheeks lovingly.

“okay, the chain is connected to the pipe, so we don’t have to pick the lock, we can just cut the pipe. we just need a saw of some kind.” you looked over to her.

“that’s my girl,” she grinned widely. “it doesn’t really look like there’s any tools down here. maybe a knife would work?”

you headed up to the kitchen, rifling through drawers and drawers of utensils. you quickly grew frustrated with the lack of anything sharp in this seemingly childproof home. “butter knives! just fucking butter knives! what, do these people not eat steak?” you growled in irritation. you looked over to jules who had a shocked expression on her face as she stared at something behind you. you spun around to see a couple standing there, a baby in the woman’s arms.

you grabbed the nearest object, which turned out to be a meat tenderizer and held it threateningly towards the intruders. the man took a step forwards, triggering your protective instinct as you aimed the gun at him.

he held his hands up in defense, backing away from you. “alright, easy now. we don’t want any trouble. take what you want; money, jewelry, whatever you’re looking for just take and go on your way.”

“we don’t want your money.” you stepped towards them, standing in front of jules and trying to assert your dominance.

“you can have the mallet if you’re keen on it.” the man assured. you shook your head, tossing it to the floor with a metallic clang. “is this your house?” the man nodded. “you live here full time? this isn’t a rental situation?”

“no it is not. what exactly is going on here?” he asked curiously. against her better judgement, jules stepped out from behind me, her brows furrowed.

“okay then. we wanna know why the fuck you have a little girl chained up in your basement, that’s what we wanna know.” she shouted, crossing her arms aggressively. “tell em’, babe.”

“y-yeah, what the fuck?” you gestured towards them with the gun in confusion. you wanted to look over to your girlfriend, but you didn’t want to take your eyes off the suspicious couple.

“oh lord, and here i thought you were gonna rob us,” the man laughed in relief. “that’s just sweetiepie. she’s been acting out at school, that’s just what we do to discipline he-”

“chaining a child to the floor is no way of disciplining her! we’re getting her the fuck out of here and taking her somewhere safe!” jules cut in, fiery with passion.

the man’s wife joined the conversation, shouting something about coming in uninvited and kidnapping her daughter before her husband calmed her down. “no! don’t you dare take her away from us! i won’t have that poor girl subjected to your sinful lifestyle!”

“watch your fuckin’ mouth, lady!” jules pointed at her angrily.

you and george pulled your partners away from each other, calming them down before continuing to speak. “listen, we have a second car in the garage. and if for one reason or another, that second car were to go missing, we might not report that incident for some time. but if you were to take my daughter with you, you’d be forcing my hand to call the police in a much more timely manner.”

your shoulders sagged, looking over to jules as she stood strong. you admired her for her ability to never take shit from anyone.

“you can’t stand here and tell me you don’t wish you never went down those stairs.” he was right and he knew it. you were stuck between a rock and a hard place, so you decided to do what you did best: break the tension.

“i just realized nobody knows each other’s names here. i’ll start. i’m y/n, and this beautiful thing is my girl jules.” you exhaled through your nose. you turned to see jules looking pissed off, whether at you for opening your mouth or the situation.

“i’m sorry, i can’t believe we haven’t introduced ourselves! i’m george, and this here’s my wife, gloria.” george proudly announced, tossing an arm over gloria’s shoulder.

“nice to meet you, george and gloria. now that we all know each other, let me tell you something.” your face fell serious. “we’re taking that girl and you’re not saying shit to the police. you wanna know why you won’t say shit? because you’re fucking psychopaths with a little girl chained up in your basement! and there’s no way you can call the police without risking them finding out about the fact that you’re fucking psychopaths with a little girl chained up in their basement!”

you watched as they shifted uncomfortably, feeling pride in your words against them. you spared a glance towards jules, grinning inside when you saw the proud look on her face.

“get the fucking keys, george.”

you found yourselves in the basement, watching george’s every move as he unlocked the girl. jules stood a few feet behind you, pinning gloria’s arms to her back.

“you’re free, come here!” she didn’t move. “chains are off dude, let’s get the fuck outta here!”

the girl clung to george’s leg in fear, causing a prideful grin to appear on the man’s face.

“you can come with us now! we’ll have fun, we can find you a great family. hey, we could even get burgers and ice cream, how does that sound? have you ever even had a burger?” you joked.

you placed a hand on her shoulder but she turned and bit it, making you squeal and jump back from her. george took this opportunity to slam his head into yours with such brute force that you blacked out on impact as you fell to the ground, the gun clattering out of your grasp.

jules’ muffled voice frantically screaming your name was the last thing you heard before you fell completely unconscious.

**************

i had to make a few changes, some for creative purposes, some just bc i felt like it

and yES i CUT OUT THE SCENE WHERE THEY READ EACH OTHER IM SORRY IT WAS GETTING LONGER AND LONGER AND STRESSING ME TF OUT

also i don’t like how long this is writing things this long stresses me out and as i’m typing this at 7:24 i realize this was supposed to be out 8 hours ago

also also for my taglist, i’m adding people who either liked or reblogged, but feel free to message me if you do/don’t want to be tagged!!

tags: @emmyrosee @bill-skarsgard-owns-my-ass @flowers-in-your-hayr @willyourecognisemee

#jules #jules x reader #jules imagine #jules oneshot #jules fic #jules fanfic #jules fanfiction #jules villains #villains 2019 #maika monroe #maika monroe character #my writing

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weeping-petals · 4 years

Text

Some Time to Be

Word Count - 2,063

Garnet is busy but Spinel is lonely and bored. Takes place before the Falling Out

Deep within the Crystal Temple, dozens upon dozens of bubbles hovered among the winding tubes branching throughout and curving within the rock walls of the inner chamber. Below, lava sizzled in a cast within the floor, the molten matter illuminated everything and projected light against the bubbled gems. Patrolling this and that way, Garnet roved redirecting and guiding multicolored spheres.

An expansion of human metropolitan stirred corrupted gems into a sudden migration, and such activity pushed the feral gems into more frequent confrontations with humans. While a lull came underway of gem-human encounters, it was best to undertake the task of organizing new occupants. Take stock of the growing numbers, certify that bubbles were not overcrowding and coming under risk of popping. That would be all that they needed now.

The task of bubble wrangler was best left to Garnet, who made the accurate and nice predictions of where it was best to leave which bubbles. Though it didn’t really matter, the bubbles would go nowhere, and absolutely no event would incur to disturb the slumbering denizens within the Burning Room. As such, no other gem was permitted access, unless for a prespecified reason.

A thin line oozed from the ceiling and dropped, forming a zigzagging shape on the ground. The flattened figure reformed into a three-dimensional silhouette, and crept up on Garnet, rising taller and gaining more distinction the closer it neared the stoic gem. Meanwhile, the aforementioned gem examined two bubbles set very close together.

Sensing a presence, Garnet rotated. Nothing and no one was there. Quickly, she performed a tight rotation, scanning the area, scrutinizing nooks and crannies, and shadows adjoining her vicinity. Aside from her and the bubbled gems, nothing stood out. She spun back—

“Surprise!” Spinel bounced onto her hands, boots clapping. “Admit it! You were surprised. C’mon, say it!”

Garnet was unmoved. “No.” She stepped by Spinel and resumed the task, shapeshifting her arm to claim another sphere up high.

“Objection. You can’t deny, I caught you fair and square.” Spinel righted herself. And, sprang up among the cords curving through the ceiling.

“I don’t deny my feelings,” Garnet responded. “I merely conceal them very well. Nonetheless, you did not surprise me. It’s become an expectation.”

“Had to think on your own, didja? ‘Who could possibly intrude while I’m very busy? Who would dare.’” Spinel hung from her legs, boots wrapped about the tube she descended from. “I still got it in me.” She used her knuckles to polish the surface of her gem, like the way she saw done in the movies.

“I am very busy,” Garnet replied. “And I need concentration. I thought you and Rose were going to explore the east coast of the green continent.”

Spinel lounged across a bent tube. “Shirked duties for Greg. Probably doing more of that … eugh, kissy thing.” She puckered her lips and did smooching sounds.

“And taking the Gem Sleuth to the inverted whirlpools with Amethyst?”

Spinel lay on her stomach, arms uncoiled. “Off with Vidalia and the Sour One.”

“Pearl?” Garnet set a Rose Quartz bubble aloft, among other similarly shaped stones.

“Still hasn’t reformed.” Spinel slipped off a large tube and landed beside the fire pit. Arms outstretched, she balanced and walked around the edge. “Also, couldn’t get the permanent marker off.”

“Spinel….”

“It’s her own fault for taking so long!”

“It takes you time to reform, as well.” Garnet examined the contents of a bubble, not looking the way the other gem paced.

“Yeh… but that’s a condition.” She gestured her hands. “She’s indecisive, ‘should I do this dress. Or a new ribbon? Does this lace make me look know-it-all enough?’” She snickered.

“Have you asked a human what works best to remove permanent marker?”

“I think it’s an improvement.”

The Saphire in her was curious to how long it would take before Pearl noticed. That is, if everyone could keep a straight face.

“Oh-oh! Almost forgot.” Spinel bounced over to Garnet. “I have the best joke. You wanna hear it?”

“Not now.” Garnet didn’t try to hide the sigh in her voice. She worked to tenderly pry bubbles down from among the ceiling’s winding cords, and make sense of the different colors through the tinted surface. “Some other time.”

“It’s not long. Promise.” Spinel bounced in place, swinging her fists. “I start with rock-rock, and you go ‘who’s there’. Ready? Rock-rock.”

Garnet redirected her cool focus to Spinel, disregarding the task at hand for the barest spell. Spinel made a shooing motion with her hands.

“C’mon, rock-rock! Now say who…?”

“Who is there?”

“Garnet!”

This does not compute. “I’m Garnet.”

Spinel facepalmed. “Yeh. But when you say ‘who’s there?’ and I say ‘Garnet,’ you have to say ‘Garnet who?’ That’s the way the joke works. Lemme start again.” She cleared her throat. “Rock-rock.”

“Who is there?”

“Garnet!”

Still not getting it, she inquired anyway, “Garnet… who?”

Spinel posed, arms outstretched in her show gal stance. “G’Arenet you glad to see me?”

The Garnet is unmoved. “…No.”

Spinel unraveled. “Lika ya said, good at hiding the feels. That was hilarious.”

“So share it with Amethyst. I’m very busy, as you’ve made a point.” Garnet resumed sifting through the suspended bubbles, dispersing the clusters and preparing to relocate the accumulated spheres brought low. For a while it was tranquil, and Spinel was placid in watching her work.

Until the spindly gem sprang up among the pipes and snared one of the bubbles. She perched, holding the lilac sphere between her palms and turned it, concentration palpable.

“Spinel,” Garnet warned, in her no-nonsense tone. “I have those organized already.”

“You think they dream?”

“I don’t think she or any of them are aware of anything. It’s stasis. For them, time stands still.” She continued sifting through the bubbles, disregarding Spinel’s interest.

“But maybe they dream,” Spinel insisted. “About Home. About their friends. About… not ever coming here. Maybe they dream, life has resumed where they wanted it. They’re someplace they want to be, and nothing is broken. They’re not broken.”

“The gems are whole and undamaged,” she reminded. “Perhaps someday, they will be recovered. And they will have that true life, wherever it may take them. If that means serving Home World, or, the freedom to go and be who they wish to be.” Garnet extended a hand, and set a gem among a collection of similar stones. “You’ve been sent off before.”

“Yeah. But never bubbled this long. Some have been here.” She rolled backwards, flopping to recline on the curve of the pipe. The sphere she kept above, while she continued to turn it over. “Ages. Sometimes, I wonder how long they’ll have to stay.”

“Not all the gems corrupted must be contained. You know this. There are gems that exist out there, that need no care or attention. But for those that become hostile and roam, endanger the humans or other passive gems, this is the safest solution. We don’t want others to pay for our failings.”

“Yeh,” Spinel mumbled. “Keep everyone separate and protected. Heh. S’nice not being able to tell friend from enemy. Frenemy.” The term amused her into giggles.

“As the way it should be,” Garnet supplied. “We didn’t want the war. We simply wanted to exist as we are, and to be left alone. We did everything we could.” She let a bubble alit among a collection of similar stones. A family, all together.

“Do you ever dream?” Spinel left the bubble suspended and bounded among the bent piping across the ceiling.

“Gems don’t sleep.” Came the matter-o-fact response.

“When you’re unfused.” Spinel hung by her arms, legs crossed in front of her middle. “Do you dream, when Ruby and Saphire separate?”

Garnet did halt her work and inclined her head enough to peer at the Spinel, eyes fixed with curiosity, but likewise concerned. “When Ruby and Saphire do separate,” though nonexistent in these days, “I cease to be.” She plucked a bubble from above and relocated it to the far side of the room. Spinel followed, loping through the winding architect above. “I know of nothing in that time, during that time. It can be defined as a form of stasis, I suppose, though I am neither here nor anywhere. I am not the one or the other, and I can’t describe it as being divided.’

“But,” Garnet went on. She accepted a bubble, which Spinel handed down. “When they reunite, I have the collected experiences that Ruby and Saphire undertook, and share in that knowledge. It’s not the same as sharing in the events, I guess, it is like learning a story from someone you trust. I was not there to take from the proceedings, yet I am aware that these events took place.”

“Oh,” was all Spinel said. Garnet directed a finger, and Spinel scaled up a few feet to collect bubbles – two or three at a time – and delivered them down. It was evident by Spinel’s eyes – not so much the silence that followed – that she gave this direction a great deal of thought. Such topics made Spinel contemplative, if not wary, and Garnet could always measure the cagey strategist that gave guidance during the war.

After some work, Garnet broke the meditative hush, “The offer is still open. But, don’t feel forced to try something you’re not ready for.” Spinel tugged a bubble close to her chest and crouched, staring down on her. “I understand your sentiments, and respect your reluctance. But I am always open to sharing insight with you. Never forget that.”

“No. Uh… thank you. I remember.” She descended and handed off the bubble, much to Garnet’s relief. For a moment, the fusion thought she might accidentally pop it.

“Sometimes, I miss them,” Spinel admitted. She plopped to the floor, and assisted in collecting a few of the spheres hovering low. “But when they splint, I find myself missing Garnet too. When you exist, they cease to be. It’s hard to be without someone you appreciate, y’know? Pfft, I know they’re not really gone, but you are not them. And they, them, she and she, are not you. If that makes sense.” She rocked back on her heels, balanced perfectly.

Garnet nodded. She led the way, to the exact point where she wanted these bubbles. Spinel handed a few to her, and she placed them securely among the coiled cords above, safe and shielded. “This paradox of not existing. This fixation has bothered you, since the song.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“Not at all.” Garnet moved to the other side of the wall. “I trust each of you to come forward at your own pace, when you’re ready to talk. Your privacy is important to me, as it is to you. That said, I would appreciate if you knocked first.”

Spinel let her arms hang and rolled her eyes. “But then you’d be expecting. And the whole surprise would get ruined.”

Garnet set a hand on Spinel’s head and ruffled her pigtails. “I would still act surprised. More so, than when you invade this room. Try it some time.”

“Kay.” Spinel sauntered aside, arms coiling over into springs. “I guess I’ll… catch ya later. I might head up North, or somethin’. If anyone asks….”

“When I’m done here,” Garnet began, halting the gem. “I was going to check on the Winding Glacial Plains. Would you mind accompanying me?”

“Would I?” Spinel gushed. “No. Yes. I’ll go with. Er, no gem monsters? Right?”

“Pure scouting,” Garnet assured. She already resumed adjusting spheres, diffusing a few rowdy clusters. “A bit dull, but the auroras are stunning.”

“Then it’s a date,” Spinel hummed, through a crooked grin. “Come by my place, where you’re up to it.” She bounded out of the chamber, leaving Garnet to conclude the finer details of her work.

She was never alone, and lacked the understanding for that nature which the other gems held. In that sense, Garnet was unlike the others, though no less a Crystal Gem, or gem herself. The Ruby in her knew that, and was experienced as a fusion. To Garnet, Spinel seemed to long for something she couldn’t grasp, or something she couldn’t directly inquire about, or risk invading that tentative line of privacy. It was up to her friends to come forward in their own time, to initiate conversation.

#steven universe #spinel fanfic #steven universe fanfiction #su #su fanfic #garnet fanfic #fanfiction #su fanfiction #spinel fanfiction #garnet fanfiction #steven universe fanfic #steven #this is fucking cute

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anneapocalypse · 5 years

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A Chorus World Map

Note: This is not a definitive map! With the exception of two locations, this is not canon. This is just a working model I came up with based on environmental and contextual clues, to have a reference for writing fic.

If you're curious how I came up with this, keep reading!

Map description: A world map of Chorus built on the blue map base shown at the Temple of Arms. The Purge Temple is located on an island left of center, set between the three main continents but closes to the top left continent. Radio Jammer 1C is on a smaller island north and slightly east of the Purge. The rest of the locations are place on the planet's largest continent, taking up most of the right half of the map. Federal Army Outpost 37 is placed at the tip of a long peninsula extending from the northern side of the continent. Crash Site Alpha is on the coast at the northwest corner of the continent, with Crash Site Bravo to the southwest. The Temple of Trials is on the west coast about midway down. The Temple of Arms and Charon Research Complex C-2 are at the southern tip of the continent. Armonia is inland, north and a little east of the Temple of Arms. New Republic Headquarters is just west of the center of the continent, with the Abandoned Fueling station immediately to the northeast. Federal Army Outpost 22 is a ways north and east of New Republic HQ, a little east of the base of the peninsula. The Temple of the Key is inland on the eastern side of the continent. The Temple of Communications is to the south of the Temple of the Key.

Adventures in Cartography

I began by overlaying the two temple maps we're given in season 13. The first (blue) shows the coordinates Tucker is given at the Temple of Arms. These coordinates are where the True Warrior test takes place. I call it the Temple of Trials. (That's not canon, it's just easier to say and it sounds cool.)

The second (red) shows the coordinates given by Santa at the Temple of Trials. Based on his dialogue, it is slightly confusing whether he's talking about the location of the Purge or the Key:

Santa: (to Tucker) As its bearer, the Great Key will remain bonded to you and you alone, until the time of your death. If you believe the inhabitants of this planet are not ready for my creators' gifts, activating the Purge will cleanse them.

Carolina: And by "cleanse" you mean...?

Santa: All sentient life on Chorus will be exterminated.

Tucker: Dude. Buzzkill.

Epsilon: And... where exactly is this thing?

Santa: Here. (a red holographic map lights up with a dot pointing at the Purge's location, east of the Jungle Temple) I will also update all previously sent maps with temple locations.

I believe that map marker is the Key, because that is where everyone goes next. In particular, it's the map marker the mercs see at one of the other temples, right before they head for the Temple of the Key. It fits Carolina's description of "the mountains east of our location."

So these are our touchstones: the Temple of Trials and the Temple of the Key.

Biomes

The next thing I did was attempt to sort the Chorus locations into climate groups based on their environments.

Jungle/yellow sky

Crash Site Alpha

Crash Site Bravo (canyon)

Temple of Trials (on the water)

Temple of Gravity (near Crash Site Alpha and the Purge)

Remote Research Facility (established to study wildlife)

Tropical?

Radio Jammer Station 1C (island off the coast, sky half blue half stormy)

Desert

Abandoned Fueling Station

New Republic HQ (right on the edge of the jungle)

Temple of Communication (debatable, but rocky and not a lot of foliage)

Snowy/Mountainous

Federal Army Outpost 22 (on the edge of the mountains, not snowy)

Federal Army Outpost 37 (on the water, amid mountains but at sea level)

Temple of the Key (high in the mountains)

Grassy/Deciduous

Temple of Arms & Charon Excavation site (on the water, visible from Complex C-2)

Charon Research Complex C-2 (near the Temple of Arms, within visibility)

Unsettled Territory

Who Fucking Knows

Armonia (but it seems warm)

The Purge (red crystal hell)

Directionality

Armonia -> unsettled territory -> Temple of Trials

Armonia -> Fueling Station -> Crash Site Alpha

The Temple of Trials is a shorter trip from Armonia than Crash Site Alpha, thought probably not by more than an hour or so.

New Republic HQ -> Fueling Station -> Federal Army Outpost 37

Crash Site Alpha is relatively close to the Temple of the Purge.

The Communication Temple is to the east of Crash Site Bravo. It seem to be night at the Comm Temple while it is still daylight at Crash Site Alpha.

Why I put almost everything on one continent

The two canon locations are both on that continent, and while characters sometimes have access to air vehicles and teleportation grenades, in both seasons 12 and 13 there is a lot of ground travel happening. (Also, all the grenades detonate early in season 13 and all travel from there on has to be done the long way.) In particular:

Felix leads the Reds and Blues from Crash Site Bravo to New Republic Headquarters by ground, via caves.

Tucker, Grif, Simmons, and Caboose travel from New Republic Headquarters to Federal Army Outpost 37 by Warthog, stopping at the gas station in between.

Carolina and her away team travel from Armonia to the Temple of Trials by ground, passing through unsettled territory.

Kimball leads the troops from Armonia to Crash Site Alpha by ground, also through unsettled territory.

While many of the locations are located by water, we don't have any instances of characters crossing a large body of water.

We're already kind of handwaving how quickly characters can move across the continent in land vehicles, without adding intercontinental travel to the mix.

Doyle claims in season 12 that the rebels were given opportunity to move to a different part of the planet and build their own society. This suggests that a fair amount of Chorus still remains unsettled.

While we don't know the population of Chorus at the time of canon events, if we take a bit of Sarge's dialogue, he refers to "thousands." Even if we estimate generously and say this could be hundreds of thousands, we're still looking a severely contracted population. For comparison, 100,000 to 300,000 people is considered a medium-sized city in the US. With the population so depleted and the war still raging, it makes sense that the populated area of Chorus would have shrunk considerably even if it was once larger.

Keep in mind that this doesn't mean there is nothing of interest on the other continents. There might be more alien towers, settlements, other cities. For this map I’m only working with locations relevant to the Chorus Trilogy storyline, not the entire world.

Other Considerations

As this is a flattened map of a globe, it is not to scale and landmasses distort more the further they are toward the corners. It is probably best, therefore, not to get too hung up on distances. For visibility's sake the map markers are misleadingly large, and appear a lot closer to one another than they actually would be on the ground.

For my purposes I consider any Chorus canon post-season 13 to be entirely optional, but for what it's worth, the brief view we get of Chorus from space during the blockade lines up pretty well with this map, with that main continent being the one most clearly in view—and also the one at which the fleet have pointed their cannons. It is also worth nothing from this image that the bifurcated continent in the upper left corner of the map actually appears to come quite close to the central continent where it wraps around the globe. For that reason, while I'm thinking of this central continent in terms of north and south, it's probably a bit misleading to look at the whole map that way.

We can see where the sun strikes the planet in that image, but without knowing the planet's axial tilt or where the poles are, it's impossible to determine exactly where the equator is, so again, not getting hung up on it. I'm also taking the appearance of the land itself as a very general suggestion, as the area where the Temple of the Key would be doesn't show any snow. Nevertheless, we can see that central continent divided into three distinct regions: green, tan, and a darker brown. Or: jungle (with some grassy and deciduous area to the south), desert, and mountains.

It makes sense to me that the Temple of the Purge would be located somewhere remote and difficult to access, so I played it off the mainland, on an island.

It's hard to tell in the show, but the Halo map representing the radio jammer is an island, and I thought that made sense as somewhere Charon would place one. They wouldn't put the jammers too close to populated areas, in case the Chorusans got the bright idea to try to shoot them down.

Federal Outpost 37 (the outpost where Wash, Sarge, Donut, and Lopez are taken and where they meet Doyle) is snowy and cold, but it's also right on the water, at sea level, so the cold can't be due to elevation. It made sense to put it further north. According to the Fan Guide, this outpost became the Feds' primary base of ops after they pulled out of Armonia, and while highly defensible due to an "enormous frozen wall," it's also a difficult position from which to mount an offensive. For all these reasons it made sense to me to put it at the end of the northern peninsula.

I probably debated the most where to place Armonia, as it could go pretty much anywhere warm. The scene where Carolina goes out to the city limits is probably the most indicative of Armonia's climate, and I think it would most likely sit right on the edge between desert and the deciduous area south of the jungle, and that's where I've placed it. (I entertained the idea of putting it on that big south central island, but the channel separating it from the mainland would be a lot bigger than it looks on the map, and in the end it just didn't really fit.)

Though I didn't include it on this map, I like to think Chorus might have rebuilt their new capital near the Temple of Communication, in the bones of a city that survived the war abandoned but mostly intact.

I hope you enjoy this map, and perhaps find it useful! Please credit if using, as there is a whole lot of my own headcanon and analysis going into this.

As with all meta, nothing is set in stone. I will almost certainly find something I don’t like about it five minutes after I hit “post.” :P But it’s a working model! which is more than we had before.

#chorus trilogy #red vs blue #rvb #avian dentistry #chorus world map #chorus worldbuilding #rvb reference

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