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dreamer213 · 3 years

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Broken Machines: Lights The Dark

Chapter 3: Evening in Atlas Part 1

A week has passed since Weiss’s escape and Jacques’s meltdown, everything has been clean up both in and outside of the manor and Jacques is hosting another evening party as an “apology” for Weiss’s behavior and to announce Whitley as her replacement. The party is set to start at 8 pm, only a few hours away, and the manor staff are hard at work finishing up preparations for the night’s event. But they weren’t the only ones getting ready for the evening. Deep within the manor the youngest Schnee is making preparations of his own.

After finishing his daily assignments, both academic and business related, Whitley tidies up his work space, gets up from his desk and walks over to his mirror.

Whitley: I only have an hour and a half until I need to get changed and two hours before the final walkthrough. I have still have some time to make sure I have it down. A few more goes and I should be ready.

Whitley takes a long look in the mirror, closes his eyes, and then preforms several breathing techniques. Once he’s finished the exercises, Whitley put his heels together, puts his arms out in front of himself with his hands together, puts on slight frown, and lowers his gazes. Where once stood a calm young man now stands a sorrowfully and disappointed boy. He looks into the mirror and signs.

Whitley: I’m so sorry about what happened with Weiss at the charity gala, it was truly a shameful sight.

Yes, I know her behavior was horrible but you must understand she was on ground when it all happened, I’m sure just hearing the word “Vytal” so soon after was far too for much for her to bare.

The fact Weiss made it home alive is a miracle in and of itself, so how could we expect her to come back completely unscathed from the horrors she must’ve witnessed.

Yes, it is terrible how things had to end but all we can do now is hope and pray that she’ll be able make her own way now that she’s on her own.

Thank you for your concern, I to hope that she’ll make peace with her decisions one day.

He continues on speaking several more scripted statements. After he’s spoken his last line he takes a deep inhale and return to his normal stance on the exhale. Soon he repeats the process, this time leaning more into the disappointment aspect, only to start over again this time using a more indifferent attitude as he speaks. It takes a hour for the boy finally stop, satisfied with his work he gives himself an approving nod.

Whitley: That should do for now.

Suddenly there’s a knock at his door, it’s the maids. He opens the door and they bring in his attire for tonight’s party. A thunder grey suit top, cobalt blue vest with silver buttons, white dress shirt, black pants, tie, pocket square, and dress socks, and a pair of navy blue dress shoes. The perfect ensemble for the disinheritance of one heir and the announcement of a new one.

After the maids set the pieces on his bed Whitley nods towards the door, they take the hint and leave the room. Once they’re gone Whitley gets dressed, styles his hair, and heads out towards the ballroom. When he arrives things are going as well as the normally do. The staff is rushing to get everything ready, food venders are setting the buffet, the musicians are tuning their instruments, and Jacques is shouting and hassling everyone over the tiniest of detail. Whitley walks up to him as he’s screaming at servant trying to hang some drapes.

Jacques: No, now that’s too low, put it up higher! No higher! HIGHER! I said higher you worthless insec-

Whitley: Father.

Jacques: Ah there you are Whitley, I was hoping you’d come down soon. Have you finished your work for the day?

Whitley: Yes, I finished my studies a few hours ago. All my assignments are in an orderly pile on my desk as always.

Jacques: And the reports and approval forms?

Whitley: All the forms have been reviewed, filled out, signed, and should be delivered to your office before the party begins.

Jacques: and the speech for tonight?

Whitley: I have both yours and mine completely memorized down to the margins.

Jacques: And if people ask about your sister?

Whitley: “ It’s such a shame that things turned out this way but I suppose it is for the best. Both for the company and her sanity.”

Jacques: Excellent. Since you have nothing to do you can oversee the rest of the preparations. I have to go change into my good suit.

Jacques begins to walk out of the ballroom, he gets a few feet away before he remembers something and turns back. Once he’s back in front of Whitley he pulls a pack of something out of his breast pocket and hands it to Whitley. They were professionally made business cards, white base with a navy blue outline and black font. Inscribed on them is Whitley’s contact information with his name written in large cursive letters with the title of Heir to the Schnee Dust Company underneath. This was his new title and another step closer to his goal. However there’s something very wrong with this situation. Having business cards made for Whitley was one thing but delivering them himself? Not possible. Jacques had too much pride and money to ever do such a menial task. No, something’s off here.

Whitley: Thank you Father but why are you handing them to me? Isn’t delivering things likes this one of Klein’s responsibilities?

Jacques: Oh did I forget to tell you, I kicked that disloyal mutt to the curb this morning, there’s no need to keep such traitorous trash in my manor.

Whitley: I see.

Jacques: Now if you’ll excuse me I have to get changed. Have everything ready before I get back alright?

Whitley: Yes Father.

Once Jacques has left the area the reality of what he just said sets in. Klein, the only person who had cared for Whitley and his sisters in the last ten years, had been thrown to the streets for helping Weiss. The closest thing to a shoulder to cry on he had was taken away because of his sister’s actions. If Whitley had been a normal child he would’ve broke down and cried. He would have shouted and screamed about the unfairness of it all and how his father was being needlessly cruel. But Whitley wasn’t a normal child, he didn’t have the luxury of throwing a fit to get his way. In fact if he ever showed any sign of discontent he’d be punished for acting ungrateful and selfish. No all he could do was stay calm and keep moving forward. He could get someone to check up on Klein later but for now he has to play his part.

Once the preparations are done, the staff is in position, and the door are about to open Whitley heads towards the ballroom entrance where Jacques is waiting. He takes his place at his father’s side and puts on his best “smile” as the doors finally open and Atlas elites begin to pour into to the ballroom. CEO’s, Politicians, Celebrities, and the like were gathered at the manor to attend to tonight’s evening party. Many of them had been present when Weiss made her scene and were anxiously awaiting the outcome of the drama she caused. This was a rare treat for the elites after all, to have the head of the world’s largest dust company the proverbial king of high society bow his head and apologize for his teenage daughter’s outrageous behavior. Oh what a show that would be, the perfect theatre for Atlas’s most wealthy and heartless.

Whitley: The audience is here and the curtains are drawn. Its showtime.

This week had been a hard one for Penny. A small riot, several bar fights that made it onto the streets, three robberies, two large Grimm attacks, and a car accident over the course of five days. It’s been really, really tiring but luckily today had been surprisingly normal compared to the other rest of the week. So much so that Penny was able to wrap up her duties on time for once. After her last report is filled out Penny grabs her things, turns in her usb, and is out the door before the front desk assistant can even say good night. Finally the work day was over and Penny actually had enough time to both unwind a bit and get lots of sleep before her next shift. Oh what she could do with that time maybe read a few chapters of “The Tome of Fables” book her dad had gotten her months ago, or try out that stitch pattern Mrs. Peri showed her last week or maybe just watch some tv.

Penny skips off towards home, happy as any girl could be when given some free time. Once she’s made it home she can already hear her dad in the kitchen, hard to work making dinner. It had been a hard week for him to as he’d been call in a number of times for consultations on improving the robot soldiers and some of the mech suits. But no matter how much he had to do Pietro would always find time for his little girl. Penny smiles at the sight and tiptoes over to him. She sneaks up behind him, gets down to his level, and gives him a big hug. Pietro responds in kind, turning his chair around and squeezing her back.

Pietro: Welcome back sweetie, you’re home early.

Penny: No, I’m just on time. Things were relatively peaceful today so I didn’t have to stay overtime again.

Pietro: That wonderful sweet pea. But I was expected you to be home later so it’s gonna be an hour or so before the food done.

Penny: That’s okay in fact I was hoping spend some of tonight on doing a leisure activity.

Pietro: Really, well then why don’t you go up your room and relax then? I’ll call you when it’s ready.

Penny: That’s a great idea thanks Dad!

Pietro: Just don’t forget to wash your hands before you come back down.

Penny: I won’t.

She gives her dad a quick little cheek kiss before hop upstairs to her room. Once she’s inside she kicks off her boots, grabs her book, and plops down on her bed for a nice read. After half an hour or so someone starts knocking on their front door. Who could that be at this hour? If it was an emergency Penny would get a call or message on her scroll from the security office. And the neighbors would usually calling her dad before coming by for anything. Penny, now curious about the situation, sat up from and puts her book down.

Pietro: Penny!

Penny: I’ve got it!

She puts on a pair of slippers and heads downstairs to answer the door. Penny opens the door only to be greeted by the sight of General James Ironwood in his army best with a shopping bag in hand and a limousine behind him. Definitely not what Penny was expecting at to see at 9:35 at night. As soon as the shock wears off Penny stands at attention and salutes her superior.

Penny: Good Evening General Ironwood.

Ironwood: Evening Penny.

Penny: Sir, What brings to my home at this hour? Is there an emergency I need to attend to? Or is there something you need my assistance with?

Ironwood: There aren’t any emergencies in Mantle at the moment but there is a mission I need your help with.

Penny: What do you need me to do?

Ironwood: I’ll explain everything in the car. But first, I need you to get changed.

Ironwood hands her the shopping bag. Penny peeks inside to see a dress wrapped in plastic and a shoe box. Penny takes the bag and heads back to her room to change. She puts the contents of the bag on her bed and opens them. The dress is a simple green evening gown and the shoes are a pair of 4 inch silver heels. Penny remove her normal attire and puts on the gown and shoes. This was strange, wearing such different clothes from her normal look. Even before her restoration Penny had only ever wore one outfit, all the clothes she had were just multiples of the same outfit, and although her new outfit was very different to her old one it still shared many of the same elements the old one did, barring the fact that she now wore shoes every now and then. The dress itself was a bit long and a little too wide around the waist but still very pretty. The shoes, while cute and her size, were hard to walk in. Penny had never wore heels before, she takes a slow walk around her room to try and figure out how to walk straight. After circling her room a few times she gets a rhythm going. It a little slow but it would do. She checks herself in the mirror and is pleasantly surprised at how different she looks in different clothes. She’s looking herself over when she realizes she had left her bow on. She only ever took it off when she was going to sleep so she’d completely forgotten it was still on her head. Realizing it didn’t quite match the rest of her outfit Penny pulls it off and fixes her hair to catch the fly aways. After one more look and a little twirl Penny heads back down stairs to her dad and Ironwood. When Pietro sees her he almost cries. She looks so beautiful, so happy, and is just beaming with pride, it’s almost too much for him. He’s little girl had become a beautiful young lady.

Pietro: Oh my god. You look so beautiful.

Penny: Thanks Dad.

Ironwood: You look nice Penny, now let’s go.

Penny: Yes Sir. Eat with me okay, I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can.

Pietro: Just be safe out there.

Penny: I will be. See you soon.

With a wave and shutting of a car door Penny and Ironwood depart into Mantle’s night. After a minute or so Penny speaks up and finally asks the questions that’s been running through her mind since she answered the door.

Penny: Sir, why did you come to my house in such an oddly noticeable vehicle and in such formal clothing? And why did you have me change into on an outfit that is equally as formal?

Ironwood: Because outfits like this are necessary where we’re going for this mission.

Penny: And where exactly are we going?

Ironwood: Simple, we’re going to a evening party.

There’s a pause as Penny processes this information. Her eyes grow wide and her mouth slowly falls agape as she finds herself confused by the sheer absurdity of the situation she found herself in.

Penny: ………….What? WHAT!

#broken machines #penny polendina #whitley schnee #jacques schnee #pietro polendina #rwby #rwby fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #the fated meeting is close at hand

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zims-left-shoe · 4 years

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Can you do a Dib x Reader that’s into tarot cards and horoscopes? Also can make this AU a college AU? I know you said you write the characters up to high school but I was just wondering if you would. It’s fine you do them in high school.

Yeah! Just a warning, I’m not super experienced with tarot cards and everything, so apologies if a lot of it is inaccurate. I hope it’s still okay!!

The air was warm, and the sweet scents of pastries mingled with the sharp smell of coffee. The surrounding chatter of voices and calm music served as decent white noise. You lifted your drink to your lips, eyes drifting to the window next to you. Shades of grey painted the sky, muted tones growing ever darker as time ticked by. Outside, the air had a nasty nip to it, and you were not looking forward to stepping outside again. Plus, you were enjoying yourself in the moment. Your gaze was drawn back to the man across from you, his large glasses fogging slightly from the heat of his own drink.

You were more than delighted that he had asked you to come study with him at the coffee shop. Sure, you had wished he had the courage to bite the bullet and ask you on an actual date, but on a chilly winter afternoon a relaxing coffee hangout and study session was still enjoyable. Admittedly, you had developed feelings for the reserved cryptid fanatic who sat next to you in your cell biology class. That being said, you were ecstatic when he had quietly asked that morning if you would like to grab a coffee and study with him. Although you wished for a bit more, the current situation was completely fine by you.

"Have you been doing anything interesting lately?" Both of you had finished your work quite some time ago, spending the rest of the time talking to each other, a silence only settling for a brief minute or two before you continued the conversation. Sure, it was small talk, but the kind of talk that occurs between friends when they can sense their time together is drawing to a close, and that the hangout will end soon. The kind of talk when you aren't ready to leave each other's company, so you attempt to draw out the conversation with simple things.

"Oh, you know, only what every normal college kid does. Party hard, baby." The straight face he was attempting to hold fell apart almost immediately as he broke into a chuckle. "Nah. Just the usual, studying the paranormal. Aliens, ghosts, all that stuff." A smile spread on your face. Of course he was. You found his unique obsession with spooks and cryptids cute, and you were glad he had a passion in life. Even if that passion was restricted while he was away at school, he would still find ways to express himself. He was always scribbling supernatural doodles in the margins of his notes, monitoring the local cryptid stories constantly. "Sorry. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I'm just not that interesting."

"Please. Liking the paranormal is much more interesting than being a party animal whose only hobby is getting wasted." You paused, setting your cup down on the table. "I wouldn't be here otherwise. I'm only attrac-I mean, drawn, to people who are intriguing."

Nice save, stupid... You thought to yourself. At this point, you were unsure if you should just tell him how you felt. You were reasonably confident that he felt the same way, but he was just too damn nervous to ruin your friendship.

"Okay then, any secrets, or maybe embarrassing stories? Everyone has some. If you tell me one of yours, I'll tell you a story of mine." You bumped your bag that was resting underneath the table with your foot as you stared out at him, trying to pressure him into telling you something good. He always had the best stories. Especially when they were about aliens.

"My whole life is one embarrassing story after the other." He set his cup down as well, finding your eyes once more. "But, I guess one time I had my DNA fused with baloney." You laughed, believing him to be joking. You believed him a majority of the time, but that one was just so outlandish it couldn't possibly be true. "I'm not lying! Remember my stupid alien classmate? Well, he decided to get me back for throwing lunch meat in his face by making me sit on a tack that fused baloney DNA with my own." He was completely serious, so that left only two options: he was either completely insane or it was the truth. For the time you've known and befriended him, he seemed to have a good head on his shoulders, so what the hell. Why not believe him?

"I'm honestly not sure which part to ask for a follow up on, the alien classmate having baloney genetic makeup on the ready or being fused with sandwich meat." Brushing stray strands of hair from your face, you sighed, knowing that your story was in no way going to top that. "Mine isn't that exciting or embarrassing, but in high school, I charged for tarot readings in the bathrooms as a way to make some money. Well, I did until a teacher reported me for 'Satan worshipping'. Which, for starters is complete bullshit, but she was just jealous I made more money a week than she did." You smirked, remembering the look on her face when she confiscated your receipt book that you used to keep track of your profits.

"Wait, you used to read tarot cards?" Dib offered you his full attention, eyes filled with wonder. "I've always thought it was cool, but I just never really had gotten into it. Too busy saving the Earth from aliens and all that."

"I still do. You have your cryptids and space creatures, I have my tarot cards and horoscopes." To your amazement, Dib appeared to be enchanted by the subject. Then again, you supposed it was more or less something you could see him getting into.

"How did I not know that about you?" You shrugged in response to his words. It had just never came up in conversation. "Maybe we could hang out again soon and you could walk me through it?" He looked to be a bit apprehensive, almost as if you had already rejected the idea in his mind. You didn't even have to consider the idea. Not only did you harbor feelings for him, you would jump at the chance to show off your skills and interests.

"I would love to. My roommate has to work Friday night, maybe you could come to my dorm then?" A dorky grin spread across his face as he reached for his cup to drink the remaining coffee.

"It's a date, then." His face flushed as he realized his wording. "Not like that! As friends! You know what I mean." His fingers drummed on the tabletop, and you were sure he was sweating.

"I mean, unless...?" You made an overexaggerated thinking face, and after a moment, you both busted up laughing. However, you were of course only half joking.

(more under the cut)

Pushing open the door, you stepped into the room you had made your own. Kicking aside some shoes your roommate had left piled by the door, you let the man behind you inside.

"Sorry for the mess, I asked my roommate to clean up. They didn't."

"It's fine. You should see my dorm, it's definitely worse." Chuckling, you led him to your side of the room, which was a stark contrast from the other. Everything, for the most part anyway, was organized within bins, your desk nice and tidy despite having many trinkets and various things resting on the desktop. You had made a nice personal space under your bed, it was where you would often sit when you got tired of your desk or bed. Gesturing for him to take a seat on the floor under your bed, you went over to your desk, shuffling through one of your drawers until you felt your fingers close around your tarot deck.

"You have any questions before we start?" You hummed as you closed the drawer.

Dib's eyes were intently focused on you as he sat cross-legged underneath your bed. Finally, he spoke, albeit tentatively. "Just one, but it's kind of stupid."

"There are no stupid questions."

"Okay, in that case...does reading tarot cards like, open up your third eye and let you see ghosts and stuff?" Staring into his face revealed that he wasn't kidding. He was legitimately asking if you could see ghosts when you learned to read tarot cards.

"I changed my mind. There are stupid questions." Laughter slipped out as you sunk down the the floor across from him, tipping the box in your hands until the cards slid out. "Of course it does."

"Woah, really?" His cinnamon eyes sparkled with excitement, and yet again, a flurry of giggles escaped you.

"No, of course not. It doesn't make you see ghosts. It develops greater intuition and understanding." Dib let out a long breath, gaze falling to the floor as he picked at the chipping black polish on his nails, regretting he ever asked that question.

"Can we just forget I ever said that? Please?" You nodded as you separated the deck in your hands, shuffling them together. You did this many times over, the sharp sounds of cards coming together cutting through the stillness that had settled over the room. Dib stared at the cards in your hand, watching as you shuffled them with skill. He had lost track of how many times you had done so by the time you had stacked them together for the final time.

"So, is there anything specific you want to learn? I can't exactly teach you to read, since it takes a lot of practice and a deck you're comfortable with." As you looked to him expectantly, he appeared to be at a total loss for what to even ask for. "I could give you a simple reading just for fun."

"Sure! But, uh, how do they work?" A smile crept onto your face. You felt a warm glow of happiness at being able to share your interests with someone who was genuinely interested in learning about them.

"Well, if I were to do it by myself, I would shuffle them as I did now. It helps bring your energy to the cards, and therefore you will be more drawn to certain ones. Plus, you can better interpret them." You passed the deck to Dib. "If you can shuffle, shuffle them. Do it several times."

"Okay...what exactly are you reading for?" He began shuffling, although not as cleanly as you. A few times the cards had slipped from his grip, flying out in all directions. Every time that would happen, he gathered the cards and began to shuffle again as he listened to you.

"Well, we're just going to do a simple spread of three, but it can be for almost anything. Your past, present, and future, advice for obstacles, relationships, all of that stuff."

"Relationships?" Dib stacked the cards for a final time, handing them back to you. You took them, spreading them out in front of you, face down.

"Yeah, there's all different types of readings for relationships. Is that the simple spread you want?" He thought for a moment, a hint of a smile playing at his lips as he looked to you.

"I think so. You said there's different types of relationship readings, so just make an executive decision for me."

"That's not how this works." Your sigh was broken by a chuckle. "But fine. I'll do a spread where a card represents you, the other person, and the relationship." You found yourself wishing for a good outcome, thinking that he was most likely asking about the relationship he could possibly have with you, or at least that's what you were hoping for. "Pick three cards that you're drawn to and line them up across from you."

"Alright..." He stared at the arc of cards that was laid out in the space between you, deliberating, eyes carefully calculating. He brushed a finger across the glossy backs of the cards, finally deciding on two close to the middle, and one on the leftmost edge. He laid them out as you had asked, looking back to you expectantly. "Now what?"

"Now I give you your reading. I'll try my best to interpret the cards in the context of your life, but don't hold it against me if I'm not one hundred percent accurate." You flipped over the spread, the three cards facing up.

"Did I do good...?"

"It's not about making the right choices, it's about being drawn to the cards." You chided, looking at his spread. The cards that had been turned over were an upright Nine of Wands, a reversed Hanged Man, and an upright World. "Let's start with you." You pushed the card a little closer to him. It depicted a bandaged man leaning heavily on a wooden wand, surrounded by the other eight. "This is the Nine of Wands."

"Is it bad?" He looked curious, but there were concerned undertones in his expression.

"No, not necessarily. As a card, it represents courage, determination, and resilience. In the context of your part in the relationship, there may be or have been setbacks for you personally, but you have the strength to overcome those things. You might get hurt, or things may be tough and uncertain for you right now, but you will persist and get through it." A light blush dusted his cheeks as he nodded.

"Yeah, that sounds about right...does getting in your own way count as a setback?" Dib chuckled, running a hand through his dark hair.

"Sure. If I had to offer advice...no risk, no reward, right?" You both locked eyes for a moment, a hush falling over the room yet again. Again, this same, infuriating dance. You both were aware of how you felt. Yet neither would make a move.

"I suppose..." Dib actually seemed to be taking all of this into deep consideration. You couldn't help the hope that you felt rising in your chest.

"Alright, next...the other individual. This is the Hanged Man, but it's reversed." Again, you pushed the card forward. It depicted a man who was supposed to be hanging by the ankle from a tree, but from the direction it was turned, it appeared he was more standing upright.

"Are reversed cards bad?"

"They can be. The reversed Hanged Man for example generally means that the person is ready to go but is being held back. In context of the other person in your case, maybe they're ready to jump into a relationship but you might be holding them back by not taking a chance." Okay, so maybe that wasn't really a reading. You may have been guilty of inserting your own personal feelings into the reading, since you assumed the relationship in question was between yourself and Dib. You recognized the hint of irritation that was edging your words, so you drew in a deep breath, continuing on in a softer tone. "You know, like you said. You said your setback could be getting in your own way. You might be overthinking everything, which is restricting the other person from taking the next step."

"You think so?" Again, that damned knowing tone. When you looked into his eyes, you knew that he was aware of how you felt. And yet he still stopped himself every time from taking that leap. Was he waiting for you to make the first move? You hoped not. Sure, it may have been hypocritical, but you wanted no part in asking for a more romantic end to your friendship.

Clearing your throat, you decided to move to the last card of the spread. "The relationship itself. This card is the World." You held it up this time to show him, wishing to hold onto it. The card illustrated a naked woman in the middle of a wreath, surrounded by various animal heads. "Generally, it represents being in the right place, pausing before the next stage." Admittedly, that was not the reading you had desired. You didn't want to stay as only friends. "In context of the relationship, it could be interpreted as staying put, and just appreciating where the two of you are. There will be lots of options and pathways ahead and all that." You waved your hand dismissively, unable to fight off the exhaustion that was settling in. "So, anyway, that was your very basic reading." You stacked the cards together again, lazily patting the ground around you for the box.

"Is this stuff, like, certain advice?"

"You mean, do you have to take it? No, I suppose not. It's just suggestions and life advice based on interpretations."

Dib crawled his way over to sit by your side as you put your cards safely back in their box. You quirked an eyebrow, yet said nothing. "Okay, because I'm not too into that last one." Without tearing his eyes away from yours, his fingers brushed your own. He kept eyeing your face to confirm that what he was doing was alright. Always cautious, that one.

"I probably shouldn't give my input, since it's your life advice, but me either." A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as his fingers finally laced themselves with yours, his free hand drifting up to your face. His touch was light, so much so that you weren't even sure if it was there. In that moment, Dib was a walking contradiction, unsure of himself yet completely secure at the same time.

"But if you're reading the cards, aren't I asking for your input?" Slowly he leaned his face closer to yours, hand still resting on your cheek. Fitting, wasn't it? Everything the both of you had ever done was drug out to the maximum. Whether it was that you both enjoyed the frustration or you wanted to extend every moment you had together, you would never know. Nor did it matter. Especially not then.

"I suppose you are." You reached out a hand to run it through his hair, intertwining your fingers with the dark strands. "You're sure, then?" Each word that was spoken became progressively fainter. The entire time you spoke, his lips were barely a breath away from your own.

As if your words were the cue he needed to commit, he murmured a quick, "I think so." before finally closing the distance and pressing his lips softly against yours. He didn't need to speak for you to know that was all he had been dreaming of doing for a long while. It was obvious in the magical way he was moving his lips in time with your own, in the way delighted hums and mumbles would rise from his throat. In your opinion, there was something to be said about mouth-to-mouth communication. This was possibly the happiest you had ever seen him, you didn't need to be a master of intuition to interpret that. You felt him smile into the kiss, and you couldn't resist smiling along with him.

Dib finally pulled away after what felt like both an eternity and hardly any time at all. "You said it yourself. No risk, no reward." His grin was wide, and his eyes shone with joy behind his large glasses.

"Correct." Your hand fell from his hair to his coat, fingers playing with the fabric of the collar. "I usually charge for tarot readings, but for you, another kiss and consider your tab paid."

"Sounds fair enough to me." Leaning in once more, Dib planted yet another kiss on your lips. It was much quicker than the previous one, but after pulling back he proceeded to pepper several little kisses all over your face. Each was very light and brief, leaving your skin feeling tingly. His lips found your own once more, both hands tangling themselves in your hair. A simple tarot reading had somehow morphed into a very physical expression of feelings that had been pushed down for months. You wouldn't complain, though.

"Thank you for your payment." Your words were broke by giggles after you had parted.

"Of course." Dib's gaze drifted to the box of cards that was sitting off to the side, his smile never wavering. "You know, you should teach me how to read those."

"Only if you take me cryptid hunting."

"Deal." He laughed at the determined smirk on your face, wrapping his arms around you. You let him pull you into a hug, your arms snaking around him as if that was where they were always meant to be.

"So, can we safely consider ourselves ex-friends now? Because personally, I feel that we're much better off as lovers."

"Like I said before, I trust your input, it's what I asked for."

"So, lovers it is?"

"Lovers it is." Dib's voice was pleasant as you snickered into his chest, more than pleased with how the day had went. You sensed that he would agree with that notion.

#invader zim #invader zim fanfiction #dib x reader #invader zim x reader #invader zim fic #invader zim one shot #invader zim oneshot #dib membrane #fanfiction #fanfic #request

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allthingsmustfall · 4 years

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Charthur Love HCs

It’s blisteringly hot and humid, and I’m feeling kind of melancholy, and was thinking about Arthur and Charles and the way they love each other. I saw a post a while back (this has been living in a gdoc for a while), that accurately pointed out that in so many fics, Arthur puts Charles on a pedestal as some perfect unflawed human, and that that isn’t the best way to treat a character - it makes them one-dimensional if all they are is the Good which you use to measure another character’s Bad. I fell into that a bit in ‘like thieves in the night’ and so it’s been sticking in my side….Anyway, it got me thinking about WHY they love each other, because if I could define that, then it might make it easier to write their relationship more realistically - so have some completely unrequested head canons from ‘like thieves in the night':

Arthur loves Charles

Arthur doesn’t think much of himself, not with all the things he’s done - if he’s remarkable in any way, it could only be because he’s put so much bad out into the world. So with that lingering self-loathing, he’s always gonna consider his actions to be worse than similar things done by similar people. So while he knows that Charles lived most of his life by thieving and killing folk, he doesn’t think of it as ‘bad’ in the same way Arthur regrets some of his own behavior. Charles is Kind, and the things he’s done that weren’t kind - well, that’s only because there weren’t any other options afforded him; it doesn’t change the fact that Charles is, at the heart of him, good. Arthur is so much more willing to give others the benefit of a doubt. While he can’t forgive himself for some of the things he’s done, he’s far more likely to forgive others. Charles in particular.

Outlaws aren’t all chivalrous men who are competent and effective, Arthur knows that all too well. So when they bring on new blood into the gang, Arthur never expects much. Far more people fall into outlawing because they’re stupid and lazy than because they’re fighting a war on civilization in general and Washington, DC in particular. And yet, immediately, Charles is Capable. He comes into the gang and does more than his fair share of the hunting, the guarding, the chores. Arthur has made the gang his family; taking care of them is how he shows his love. Seeing Charles take that on without question or complaint is unusual enough to be startling. It’s probably what first made Arthur look at Charles with real consideration. For a long time, he waited for the other shoe to drop, for Charles to reveal himself as untrustworthy, to have some fatal flaw like most men they take on. But it never comes.

So many of the folks in the gang are bloviators who can’t shut up about how amazing they are. But Charles doesn’t slam his ego around like a fucking weapon like the rest of them; it’s not that he’s uncertain about himself or his place in the gang. He knows without question that he’s good at what he does and lets his actions/results speak for themselves. Many times Arthur has watched Charles smile privately after a job well done, either chopping wood or getting through a robbery without having to kill anybody. He's proud of his work, and rightly so. It’s...admirable (cue confused soft emotions)

Arthur gets shit from some of the gang about how much time/energy he spends helping out the lost lambs of the world, but Charles does the same sort of thing. In my fic, I gave Charles the Charlotte mission, but I like to think he picked up some of the other things that would have fallen to Arthur in-game. So, back to Arthur’s low self-esteem, when Arthur offers that selflessness, makes himself vulnerable for no reason other than it was the right thing to do - whatever, nbd. But when done with Charles’ hands, Arthur recognizes it as the sort of kindness that changes the world in small and loving ways.

Charles has a sense of humor that Arthur just gets. It’s not loud or performative like Sean. It’s quiet and sarcastic and deadpan. It took him a while to really notice it, but Charles just cocking an eyebrow at the perfect time is enough to make Arthur crack. Charles has amazing eye roll game. He can’t imagine that anyone thinks of Charles as silent and menacing, not when Arthur has personally heard Charles repeat filthy limericks until Arthur gave up trying to sleep, swung his leg over Charles’ hips, and kissed him quiet.

I think that Arthur would have spent his whole life holding Charles in High Regard, not examining too closely the tremor in his chest when he makes Charles smile, or how...nice it is to just watch Charles chop wood. I think the love he feels for him is physical, not in a sexual way, but in a tactile, grounded way that's totally different than anything he's felt for a woman. With Mary, that love was ethereal, hard to grasp, but with Charles, Arthur could point to the point on his chest where that love lives. It's as real and alive as his heartbeat.

Charles loves Arthur

I think something bad happened prior to Charles joining the gang; not necessarily terrible or uniquely awful, but something that made him weary of being on his own. Maybe he had to deal with some local racist troublemakers, got away clean, and was making camp for himself out in the rough only to be happened upon by more racists/bandits/troublemakers, and was forced into yet another fight for his life. So he’s exhausted, and he wants a place to rest and he hears about Dutch’s gang. Dutch seems honorable, doesn’t mention his race, and almost...shows off the other POC in the gang (look at all the POC I have so generously taken in! Praise me for my open mindedness). It’s condescending, but it’s better than the overt hatred he gets out on his own. So he joins up. He’s not expecting much out of a gang of outlaws, and some of them live up (down?) to expectations, but there’s a good chunk of people who are far more like a family than he was expecting. They’ve even got a kid with them, who’s protected as fiercely as any child deserves. And Arthur, for all that he’s introduced as Dutch’s menacing lieutenant, spends most of his energy protecting and caring for that core little family. Yes, Arthur spends a lot of his time with his hands dirty, but at the end of the day, he wipes them clean and sits quietly at the fire, clear affection in his eyes as everyone talks over one another and laughs and dances. It’s far more human than he was expecting from a man whose face is plastered from here to New Hanover and back again, drawn hastily above a litany of sins.

Arthur has been on the wrong side of the law his entire life, has probably killed more men than he’s had hot dinners, which makes it all the more amazing that he has any moral compass at all, let alone one which so unerringly brings out that fierce stubbornness when marginalized people are threatened. Being kind matters all the more when the option to be cruel is so much easier, when it has been nurtured more than kindness ever has. It’s...amazing, so much so that Charles is appalled that so few others seem to notice.

Charlie's is startled by Arthur’s tenderness; he had worried that Arthur would mistake him for a woman, at first, that this thing of theirs would make Arthur think of him as something delicate in need of protection. But Arthur still relies on Charles in a fight, he doesn’t try to wade in and fight Charles’ battles for him - well, for the most part. Arthur is protective of the things he loves - so when he picks fights on Charles’ behalf it’s less because he doesn’t think that Charles can fend for himself, and more because he is impatient to kick in the teeth of every bigot in the world (it’s a thin line to walk, and Arthur doesn’t always nail it - it’s been the subject of more than one fight). But still, Arthur is...soft in a way that surprises Charles. Even before they admitted to themselves and each other that this was more than an occasional hand beneath a blanket, that love was creeping up around them like a slow tide, Arthur’s hands were gentle on him, reverential. There was more than one time Charles had feigned sleep just to enjoy the soft way Arthur carded his fingers through his hair, the way the pads of his fingers traced, unasking, over his collection of scars. The types of trysts Charles had had in his past didn’t involve anything like that - that quiet, naked intimacy that only comes after the sex is done and heart rates are drifting back to normal. It makes Charles’ throat tight, even as the rest of him goes soft and liquid under Arthur’s hands.

Because Arthur is white, is a man, and now has enough money that he and the rest of the gang are set for life, there are things that he will never experience, and in never experiencing them, will never really understand. Occasionally, Arthur forgets there are places that won’t serve Charles dinner and he’s enraged when he runs across them, wants to burn down every racist, bigoted piece of shit he runs across. But he doesn’t expect Charles to comfort or educate him about these inequities. Arthur doesn’t see himself as some sort of uniquely qualified savior who can liberate the oppressed just because he’s white and he cares. He’s learned that the best person to solve those problems isn’t a white man riding in with a gun and a temper; that the desire to help is most effective when directed by someone who has lived under that oppression. And so he listens when Charles speaks, and he learns.

Arthur has been with women, has been in love before Charles. That doesn’t bother Charles - not exactly. But Arthur has a road map to love that Charles has never seen; Arthur already contains the spaces within himself in which love can be built and tended to - the sort of thing that only comes from experience. Charles never had the chance for that, had never expected the opportunity, not when the world was already ready to hang him for so many other things. He’d never anticipated love, not like this, not the sort of thing which was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. And so Arthur more easily vocalizes his adoration. He has told Charles he loves him plainly, many times, unthinkingly calls him ‘darlin’ when he’s distracted or preoccupied. He doesn’t even seem bothered that Charles’ own admissions are quieter, hidden within other words and deeds. There’s no doubt in Charles, now, about how they are together, how deeply this connection runs, but that gentle, unthinking intimacy still steals his breath away, even twenty years down the road when Arthur is walking around the cabin hollering “Darlin’ you seen my new leather hat? I swear I had it just - ah, never mind, there it is-”

They just - are in awe of each other, each the other’s wonder which holds the stars apart.

#Headcanon #charthur #charles smith #arthur morgan #like thieves in the night #my fic #feeling anxious in my skin and thinking happy thoughts #canon what canon gtfo of here w that shit #rdr2

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supernova-variations · 4 years

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10th Doctor, Coffee stains and paradoxes

(not my gif!)

10th Doctor x reader

warnings: none! word count: 1300 A/N: there was no request for this but it popped into my head as i was taking some creative writing classess on skillshare! hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

“Coffee stains and paradoxes”

Can one moment change the course of a person’s life? Make them see things that were once black as white, completely shifting their perspective? Y/N was about to find out that a fraction of eternity was all it took to alter the game of lights and shadows, also known as life. But as for now, she was just another stranger, an element not yet entangled in the complicated curves of space and time.

Y/N had no agenda for the day. Mindless wandering on the streets of her town was good enough. She knew every corner, recognized each face hidden from the restless summer sunlight with a pair of sunglasses. She could pinpoint the smell of the nearby bakery and knew which steps of the city-hall, leading up the tower, were crocked and in need of repairing.

She was nothing to the people around her – an unnoticed companion to their everyday life, a safe-keeper of secrets told underneath the sculpture of Nicholas Copernicus, the guard of lost crowds that tried to find their way. But they were her everything – stories she could experience on her own skin, another pages of the journal to be filled.

She sat in the nearby café, sipping on a black coffee that left a bitter-sweet taste on the tip of her tongue, eyes focused on the yellowish and ragged pages of a book, a pencil tucked behind her ear. Y/N could devour words and paragraphs while also noticing a couple quarrelling on the street, their backs turned to the window that gave her the view onto the city’s square. They wouldn’t disturb her, they became the part of the book themselves, the experience meant to be tied with the story. The unknown girl’s red dress trembled along with the soft summer breeze as Y/N turned the next page of the worn-out book. They run off after a couple of minutes, screaming at each other and laughing. What a peculiar place her town seemed at times.

Y/N saw everything and knew everyone. But she didn’t see him coming.

The time passed, making each minute blur into the next one, slowly turning into a lazy afternoon.

A sudden knock on the glass surface, cleaned with great precision, made the girl jump in her seat and drop the empty coffee cup on the table with a loud clatter, gathering an unpleasant gaze of the stressed-out waiter. His shoulders were even more knotted than before when she was placing her order. She sent him an apologetic smile and tucked the loose strand of hair behind her ear before she turned her face towards the reason for all the disturbance.

A man dressed too warm for the weather outside, the brown coat hanging just below his ankles, waved at her with an impatient manner, giving her the purest, boyish grin she has ever laid her eyes upon. The hot air ruffled man’s light brown hair, making it even messier than it was before. As she froze in astonishment, he pressed his knuckles onto the window’s surface again and rolled his eyes.

“Me?” Y/N pointed the tip of her finger to her chest, cocking her head slightly to the side. She was sure that he has mistaken her with someone else. After all, she knew everyone in this town and tourist were a rarity, even if the weather was nice enough to bring them to this god-forgotten town.

“Yes, you!” Y/N could easily read his lips. He jumped vigorously on his converse-covered feet, gesticulating for her to come out. “Y/N, come on!” How the hell did he know her name? She felt a shiver rock her body and hugged her shoulders as if it was the fault of the AC humming softly in the background, not the strange encounter’s.

Y/N buried her nose in the book once again, unable to focus. Maybe if she ignored him long enough he would just give up and go away.

“I’m sorry… Y/N right?” the waiter knew her well enough as she was a constant guest in the café, “do you know this person?” He loomed over her hurled figure, hands resting on his hips, wet cloth in one hand. Not only him, but the guests enjoying their Saturday afternoon began to get annoyed with the non-stop knocking and wild gesticulation that the man outside the window was presenting. The stranger gave them quite a show, pulling weird faces and wielding something that looked like a pen in his hand.

“Y/N COME OUT KNOW, THE PARADOX CAN DESTROY THIS REALITY ANY MOMENT NOW!”

“I’m sorry, no, I will try to take care of him.” She mumbled, embarrassed. Y/N preferred to remain unnoticed but now every person in the coffee shop was staring at her as if she was to blame for all the fuss outside.

The girl left a couple of crumpled bills and shiny coins on the coffee-stained table and quickly showed the book into her bag, aiming towards the door. The warm air outside hit her face, palms already getting sweaty, red dress sticking to her thighs.

“What is your problem?” Well, that came out rather aggressive.

“What is my problem?” The man’s eyebrows rose in a surprised and almost hurt manner. He reached inside her bag, taking the book she has been previously reading into his hands and flipped a couple of pages. “You told me to meet you here and to take the book with me, remember?” The brown eyes carefully studied her face, almost as if he was taking a peek into her mind.

“Excuse me?!” Y/N shrieked, grabbing onto her copy of “ The Cather in the Rye”, while his hands still held it firmly. She couldn’t explain the electric sensation that snapped from the tips of her fingers as she unexpectedly brushed his warm skin. A blush crawled up her cheeks. “I’m sure we can explain this, amicably.”

“Oh…” Realization washed over his face. “We haven’t met yet, right? Of course we haven’t.”

“What are you…” The girl pulled on the book, trying to retrieve it, but he easily slid it into the large pocket of his coat. The sudden lack of force made her bump her forehead against his chest.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You’ll understand soon, at least I hope so because I don’t understand it myself.” He smiled cheekily. “Exciting isn’t it? The wibbly-wobbly… Anyway,” he trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m the Doctor and I’m kind of in the middle of something. Well, we are in the middle of something. But not right now. I mean, not with the right-now-you. See you later though!” With the last words, he jumped onto his feet and sprinted towards the end of the street.

“Doctor?! But what does that mean?!” She screamed at the figure of the peculiar man, becoming smaller and smaller with each passing second.

“I’ll come back, I promise! But stay where you are for the moment, I cannot handle another paradox right now!” The Doctor looked over his shoulder, smiling at her.

She swore under her nose. Some maniac has just stolen her favourite book with margins full of her personal thoughts and feelings.

Y/N didn’t know this, but this moment would change everything: how she saw the passing of time or the sky above her head. The darkness would become light and vice versa. Furthermore, her current self would become her future self, quarrelling outside the coffee shop’s window, instructing the Doctor to snap the ragged book out of her bag. Summing it up: it would all become a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey…stuff.

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anarcho-smarmyism · 4 years

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Long post heads up

so im assuming this will be controversial but i’ve been thinking about this for a while, so please hear me out on this: pagans, even white American ones, literally are marginalized. now, i realize that by making this post i’m opening myself up to a lot of ridicule and accusations, so i ask that yall please do me the courtesy of actually considering what i have to say before you write this post off completely.

a few things to get out of the way first: to act like it’s equivalent to widespread racialized religious discrimination against well-known established religions such as Judaism or Islam is obviously wrong. to act like modern pagans aren’t mostly white and that our communities don’t have huge issues with racism is obviously wrong. i laugh at most posts criticizing pagans, because i genuinely think most of them are funny; it often comes across to me mostly as bemused roasting more than anything actually hateful. i feel like pagans often just need to learn to take a joke and take ourselves a little less seriously, as many religious people need to remind themselves. also, as someone who’s been hanging out in these groups for about 6 years now, i’ll outright tell yall that most pagan groups have ongoing issues with racism, transphobia, ableism, and other social prejudices, as well as the aforementioned predators and cults. many many pagans really do just go “lols The Spirits Don’t Care About Race silly sjws” and then appropriate the hell out closed traditions and act disrespectful as hell to the people who say it’s wrong; if you’re criticizing us for shit like this, GOOD. That’s legitimate criticism that we choose to ignore far too often.

however, more and more of the “criticism” i see on here toward pagans is just saying we’re crazy, stupid, gullible, or other shitty nu-atheist talking points that have just been repurposed to target a growing fringe subculture that has been widely declared an acceptable target by culturally christian progressives AS WELL AS the religious right.

the justification for this is that no white pagans are discriminated against for being pagan, and i know for a fact that isn’t true. all the pagans i talk to report having to keep it a secret from family, friends, or coworkers -but for this post, i’ll keep it limited to my own experiences. i was abused by my parents as a minor for converting from christianity to a pagan faith, and having to keep my religion and experiences a complete secret from most of my friends and family really did take a toll on me. now, as an adult, i’ve learned to keep my religious beliefs a secret from most strangers and especially anyone who might know me at work, because people will start treating you differently -either like you’re evil, or gullible and stupid in a way they (mostly) don’t accuse mainstream religions of. when i was in the psych ward, i was refused my paperback holy text which i had brought with me for the same reason a christian would bring a bible into a scary and traumatic situation, but because the mainly-christian patients were bullying me for being pagan and the nurses didn’t want to deal with it, so the staff withheld it from me for 3 days until i could talk to a social worker. when my aunt took me in so i could move away from my parents, she coaxed me into sharing about my religion, which i naively did because it was rare for people to take an interest in it, and then the next day she told me if i didn’t get rid of all my “occult” stuff (mostly books and tarot cards), she would kick me out. i can’t get holy days off and in some states i can’t run for a lot of public offices unless I’m Christian. (yeah, i realize the post is talking about atheists, but people use those same laws against pagans as well, because as far as they’re concerned, we don’t believe in God, either.)

if any of this happened because i converted to buddhism or another well-known established open religion, people would call it religious discrimination. non-pagans who talk about this almost always say “yeah well you CHOSE to convert that religion, it isn’t a culture or religion you were raised in”, as though that means we’re under some obligation to quietly absorb any insults or abuse related to something so universally personal as one’s faith -like why does it matter to yall if i was raised in this faith, or converted? why is a faith only “real” if you were raised in it, or are adopting it literally from your direct ancestors?

i realize to people who aren’t religious that this may sound like nonsense, but my experience as a kid wasn’t that it looked cool and trendy and i wanted to feel special. i’m sure that some people are like that, but on the by and large, that’s just a strawman. Personally, whether my experiences that led me to convert were real or not is irrelevant: I was a kid who needed to be able to confide in adults about what i was going through, but the fact that I had started to perceive the world vastly differently than Christians did, and no longer believe in Christian theology, meant it was unsafe for me to do so. not being able to talk to anyone about it without getting either literally accused of being crazy, demonically possessed (happened many times) or like i was just stupid caused real, lasting damage. instead of being the source of stability, comfort, and fellowship that faith can be during difficult times, it’s often been something i feel i need to either hide from others, or defend my right to care deeply about.

as a result of people taking this attitude toward pagans, i and many other young pagans have to rely on online spaces to find any kind of fellowship with people who believe the way that we do. this is isolating and uncomfortable for most, and legitimately dangerous for some. see, if you confine a whole subculture to be either a joke or Satanic depending on your political leaning, the subculture generally develops an Us Against Them in-group/out-group mindset, which makes it much easier for predators and some actual cults to prey on vulnerable people.

keep in mind: pagans are not a monolith; it’s an umbrella term for a lot of different religions. (i don’t claim any kind of ancestral tie to my particular pagan faith, but since it was always an open culture and religion, it doesn’t matter if i have a “hereditary right” to it.) there are a lot of pagans of color, even including Heathenism which has a literal Nazi problem. (i’m referring to people i’ve met irl as well as online here.) lots of young queer people who feel rejected by mainstream religions find a lot of comfort in worshipping queer icons like Loki, Dionysus, Artemis, Set, etc. When you write off pagans as a whole for being just dumb racist white people, you throw them under the bus by erasing them. you isolate them the same way you do me, and they are even more likely to experience the kind of discrimination and abuse i have. is it really worth it to make them feel even more alienated in their religious choices, because they go against the mean-spirited stereotype that secular and non-pagan progressive people have crafted for pagans?

Also, antifascist and progressive pagans are already swimming against the tide to make social prejudices persona not grata within our spaces, and it makes pagan reactionaries’ recruitment tactics WAY more effective when the world around new, insecure pagans tells them they’re automatically racist privileged white people for being interested in paganism. you don’t need to have any sympathy for bigots, but you should at least acknowledge the end result of this kind of rhetoric. i don’t like it either, but most people aren’t going to stop being pagan, or stop talking about it publicly altogether (as that seems to be the only thing that will make yall happy lol) when people make fun of them constantly; they’re gonna dig their heels in and do the in-group out-group thing people always fuckin’ do in these situations. that mindset makes otherwise-normal people, who may have been willing to learn and grow out of their background prejudices under other circumstances, easier for the truly racist monsters in our community to begin grooming.

paganism is a swiftly growing counterculture, and it’s more than likely that at some point it’s going to be part of a larger conversation on religious freedom. i don’t think people on tumblr or twitter roasting pagans is discriminatory necessarily, but life isn’t split up into “discrimination” and “okay things to do”. yall are pretty obviously just petty and excited to make fun of people who you think are weird, because yall can easily insist that every pagan is a privileged racist cis white lady, therefore it’s totally okay to be rude, dismissive, or just outright mean-spirited to pagans as a group because you’re pretending your bullying is enlightened or required by social justice laws. this is what we in pagan culture call “a dick move”.

besides, it’s ten thousand times more accurate and funnier to roast us for being too self important and arguing over whether emoji spells are Serious Magic or not lmao.

#pagan #smarmyanarchist #this ended up really long because im trying to cover all my bases before ppl start twisting my words lmao #ableism

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miss-moon-guardian · 4 years

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Bones Characters x High School aesthetics + Descriptions

She is like a classic film. Timeless and beautiful. Perhaps An old black and white movie, silent, but magnificent if you know how to read it.

She is the kind of person to eat lunch alone and not be bothered by the way it might look because it's gives her more time to read. A book has always been a better companion. They're silent, yet they tell her everything and more.

Her books are organized alphabetically. They are all nonfiction, and are all as new as the day they were bought. She knows how to hold them so the spine doesn't crack. She would never dream of folding the pages, or setting them down near any drink.

Her writing is much the same. Neat, organized letters, appealing to the eye. It is a calculated effort, never faltering across pages and pages of notes. because she takes many notes.

He is an action film, explosive. He is strong and determined, a solider in the making. Fitting, as that's the only career path he's ever considered.

He is the kind of person who plays football and hockey because he enjoys them, not for any of the social credit. He's the kind of person who doesn't even care about social credit. What will it get him anyway?

He doesn't own any books. Stories are better told verbally, the best ones anyway. He likes the way his mom tells them. He likes her voice.

His writing is large. It often turns out bold and thick. He finds his teachers appreciate it. It's legible easily, and sometimes his papers take up more space, but if the space is there, he wonders why one shouldnt use it. If you've got the space, what's one sheet of paper anyway?

She is like a film with no ending, and the plot deeply confuses you, but you keep watching because the cinematography is too beautiful to look away

She's the kind to give tarot card readings at the lunch tables, crystals hung around her neck, paint having just dried on her fingers

Her books are annotated and highlighted. She finds beauty In words. Her bookmarks are pressed flowers, almost like the dried roses that hang from her ceiling. Almost.

Her writing is poetry, swirling cursive. It is beautiful to look at, but messy. Her notes often turn out illegible. Not that she minds, as she's too busy doodling in the margins. It's not like she'll look back at the notes anyway.

He is a romantic film. The hopeless kind. Perhaps even the kind that is a bit cheesy and over the top, but some how all the more authentic. He's not perfect, but sometimes he tries to be.

He's the kind of person who always asks the chemistry teacher permission to do extra experiments. He doesn't have to ask if they're safe, he already knows. He's the kind who keeps spiders in jars rather than throwing them out. He likes them.

His books are about conspiracy theories. They are organized by height, not by author. He likes reading about the world from everyone's different perspectives. He does not always accept the truth as fact. He's stubborn, and yet all the more intelligent.

His writing starts out neat, but winds up slanted and messy. But he doesn't mind. Anyone who would pay attention to the neatness of his notes Is looking at him too hard. And yet, it still bothers him when they don't.

She is a crime documentary, one on the more suspenseful side. She is brutally honest, and presents the truth how it should be. She sees scenarios from all sides. The good and the bad, and brings equal light to them all.

She's the kind of person to wake up at six AM every day. She's the kind to color code her notes and plan her day hour by hour. She is nothing if not determined

Her books are well loved. Their spines are cracked, covers folded, from how much her hands have held them. She owns books of every genre, willing to give anything a chance. An open mind is key.

Her writing wavers between cursive and print. It is neat, formal even, despite the curls at the end of her G's and the beginning of her H's. She likes to walk the fine line between opposites. She finds that makes her stand out.

He is a film of self growth. One that leaves you sobbing and inspired, alight with possibilities. that's what he is, possibility. He sees all the possibility before him, both good and bad, and thrives in it.

He is the kind of person to take a new class just to see how the people in it interact. People fascinate him. Their movements, gestures, the things they do when they presume no one Is looking. He wants to help people.

His books are of human behavior. He wants to read those around him as though they are a book, and he wants to read his friends the best. The tilt of a head, the flutter of eyelashes, the clench of a hand. It means something. They all mean something. A code more complex than binary, but he will decode it.

His writing is smaller. Sometimes, you have to focus harder to read it. He likes to study how people squint, how they furrow their eyebrows. How they react and process. He finds it a good practice. Besides, it makes spelling mistakes less noticeable.

Sorry for such a long post! Bones might have ended a while ago, but I'd still love to see their high school selves.

#bones #angela montenegro #temperance brennan #seeley booth #camille saroyan #lance sweets #jack hodgins #aesthetic

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undertale-rho · 3 years

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Multiverse Saga: Taken!Altertale - Chapter 6

Rhosaith stared up at the bright blue sky above her, a cool breeze passing over her pressurized EVA suit and into the street beyond. Looking back down at the cup of tea in her hand, she raised the cup to a straw that connected to her rebreather, allowing the liquid from the outside world to pass through to her beckoning mouth. Finishing the mug, she placed it on the table beside her, placed a few golden coins beside it, and stood up, placing her wide-brimmed hat back onto her head. She then looked back up at the sky.

She knew, of course, that the sky wasn't real. It was just the projection of a screen to give everybody a warmer comfort of home. If one looked carefully, they could even see the upward curve of the land further ahead on the tube.

The Nexus is what they called it. A giant space station roaming the great void of the inter-universal expanse, serving as the capital to the multi-universe initiative known as the Multiverse Alliance.

Rhosaith sighed. No matter what wilderness existed, whether it be the forests of Earth, the vacuum of space, the void between stars, galaxies, or even universes, or even across dimensional boundaries, there was always going to be somebody who got the bright idea to bring civilization along with.

"Rhosaith." a digital voice sounded in her ear.

"What is it, Hamlet?" she asked.

"There's a reclamation party being formed near the Spires to retake a pre-rift universe."

"So?" she said lethargically.

"It may be a good source of information regarding this multiverse at large."

"That's nice."

As Rhosaith walked along, her long coat billowing in the sudden gust, she completely disappeared, re-appearing just outside a door.

Realizing what just happened, Rhosaith, let out an exhausted sigh.

"You should at least try and do what you have been tasked. If nothing else, then to simply make it look like you're doing something." Hamlet said.

Rhosaith looked contemplatively at the door.

"Fine." she said after a minute, taking a firm hold of the door and sliding it to the side.

The room within was made of a dark metal. Within, sitting in a few chairs that were scattered throughout the room, were a number of people. Five Rho recognized to be Sanses. One was a Papyrus, and another was a Chara. The last two in the room were skeletons, though of no base Rho recognized right off.

Closing the door behind her, she walked further into the room, towards the nearest chair.

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE, HUMAN!!!" one of the Sanses shouted.

Rhosaith stopped moving and looked over at one of the groups of Sanses, where three of them were gathered together. One of them, the shortest of the three, was pointing right at Rhosaith. Everyone in the room, in fact, looked at the Sans.

"Er... yes?" Rhosaith asked. "Was there something you needed?"

"I have no idea who you are!" the Sans declared. "This is an awful thing that I simply cannot stand have continue!" the Sans walked over to Rhosaith and outstretched his hand. "I'm Sans. Obviously. Most people call me Blueberry to avoid confusion, though. What's your name?"

"I'm, er, Rhosaith." Rhosaith said, taking Blueberry's hand. "Nice to meet you, uh, Blueberry."

"The pleasure is all mine! Mweh heh heh!!!"

Rhosaith looked over the Sans. He reminded her of Papyrus in a way. A confident step permeated each of his strides as he returned to the other two Sanses that he was with.

Reaching the other two, he immediately started chatting heartily with them, stars practically forming in his eyes from the excitement.

The other two Sanses Blueberry was with looked just about as excitable as he was. One of them wore a turquoise tunic with a great big yellow cloak resting on his shoulders; the pin holding the cloak on being a large red orb with a big white star on it. The other Sans featured a mostly brown outfit, the most dominant features being the large brown scarf around his neck, the light blue jacket tied around his waist, and the giant paintbrush strapped to his back. A dark blue sash filled with vials of paint, like an ammo sash, decorated his chest. Blueberry himself featured a mostly blue outfit, a shorter cobalt scarf around his neck, with a more grey-blue shirt and pants, returning to cobalt for his gloves and boots; the rims of which were lined with yellow.

Looking to the other three-member team situated nearby, Rhosaith spotted a Sans, who looked pretty basic—wearing a blue jacket over a white shirt, and black shorts, with blue sneakers finishing off his outfit. Beside the Sans sat a Papyrus, who wore much the same, but orange rather than blue; with the jacket being a hoodie instead. Next to them also sat a Chara, whose outfit was in the same vein as Sans's and Papyrus's—a green jacket rather than a blue or orange, dark brown pants, and red boots and gloves.

The next group, a pair of skeletons, stood against the door-side wall. One of the skeletons wore nothing other than a blue backpack and a dark-grey cloak so tattered, it was practically a few ribbons. Looking carefully, Rhosaith thought she spotted something that resembled a finger-bone hanging off the front of the pelvis. The other skeleton wore a striped, white button-up shirt, black slacks, and brown shoes. Holding up the pants were black suspenders that looped over the skeleton's shoulders. They seemed deep in conversation and didn't seem to pay any mind to Rho.

On the other side of the room, standing with his back in the corner, was another Sans. This one featured a white sweatshirt and sweatpants, ending in black socks and white slippers. Over it all was a great blue long-coat with a hood over the Sans's head. The ends of the sleeves and the hood were covered in white fluff. Though she couldn't get a clear look from where she was, Rhosaith thought she also saw black lines streaking from the bottom of the Sans's eyes down to the base of his mandible.

Finally resting down into the seat she'd chosen when Blueberry approached her, the door at the front of the room opened, and another skeleton-Monster walked in. Bundled in her arms was a bunch of papers and binders and the like.

"If I could have your attention." the skeleton said, placing the papers on a desk at the front of the room. She looked over the ten people situated around, all of which were now staring at her.

"Is this everyone?" she asked.

"I haven't seen anyone else come in." the classic-Sans said. "So I guess so."

"Don't worry about the numbers!" Chara chimed in. "You've got the Bad Time Trio and the Star Sanses on the case."

The skeleton looked thoughtfully at the two groups.

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose you're right." she said, readjusting her glasses. "In that case, let us begin."

The light in the room dimmed to nothing as a large hologram appeared in the room.

"Six months ago, a pre-rift universe, universe AlT-113CO was attacked by a Destroyer—the identity of which remains unknown. Since the attack, Alliance scouts have surveyed the universe without drawing attention from the Destroyer. Their findings have shown that the universe, which was coded before the attack, is now physical."

"Whoa, whoa, hold it. Time out for a second here." the naked skeleton said, his accent sounding Brooklyn in origin. "Universes don't just turn from coded to physical. You sure your scouts got the right place?"

"While you are right in one regard," the brown Sans with Blueberry interrupted, "there have been reports of universes changing behavior before this, like UnT-214, which also turned from coded to physical. Before being coded, though, it was a game. This is one of the reasons why the standardized universal classification system doesn't commonly include the suffix in archive."

"Er, thank you, Ink." the presenter skeleton said. "If I may return to the briefing."

Ink!Sans waved his hand for her to continue.

"The objections, uh..." she looked down at a paper in her hand. "S.T brought up are valid, however. Despite this phenomenon being well-known, it is still unclear what, or who, causes a universe to switch behavior. As of right now, the scouts believe the Destroyer to be responsible for this."

Almost immediately, murmuring erupted within the groups, all of which quelled when the white Sans in the back boomed his voice.

"What information do the scouts have on the Destroyer?" he asked.

"Not much at all, I'm afraid." she answered, looking down at her paper. "I'm afraid I'm also at something of a disadvantage. I don't have your name documented."

"Just call me 4."

"Alright, 4." she wrote a 4 in the margins of the paper she was holding. "Er, like I said, not much is known of this Destroyer. What information the scouts managed to get on him just shows him to be a Sans; one from a UnF universe, by the looks of things."

A picture of the Destroyer flashed into the hologram. It was a Sans, though with a large hole in the upper part of his skull. Other than that, the only other notable difference was the bright white right eye he possessed.

4 huffed upon seeing the picture, his eyes sharpening into a deadly focus. 4 turned to leave.

"Wh-where are you going, 4?" the skeleton asked.

"I have what I need. I'm gonna go 'liberate' that universe. I'll meet you all there."

With 4 leaving, the others got up and moved to leave as well.

"W-w-wait!" the skeleton pleaded. "I haven't finished yet."

"It's fine, lady." Chara said. "Like 4 said, we got what we need. We'll be fine."

One by one, against the frantic requests of the presenter, everyone in the room left. Everyone, that is, other than Rhosaith, who was still sitting in her chair.

"Excuse me, miss?" Rhosaith said as the last of the other mercenaries left.

The presenter looked over at Rhosaith.

"Do you have a digital copy of your presentation? I'd like to have one."

The presenterâ€™s face brightened up at Rhosaith's request, quickly pulling a data chit from her pocket.

"Thank you." Rho said, taking the chit and stuffing it in her own pocket. She then stood up. "Thank you for compiling all this data for us, I'm sure it may come in handy." She, too, then left the room.

"You see?" Hamlet chided. "I told you going to that meeting would be useful."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up. Just take me to my ship, already."

"As you wish, Madam."

Rhosaith then vanished completely from the Nexus.

The doors to the elevator door finally slid open, and Rhosaith stepped out into her personal cabin. Despite having unbelievable technology, more advanced than anything she'd ever seen elsewhere, Rhosaith preferred to hold to what she called "simpler tech". Not wanting to force her own decisions on those that served her, teleportation pads and personal teleporters were strewn all across the grand space leviathan that was her flagship. Despite this, she still rode the elevator to her cabin.

Upon arriving, she took off her black wide-brimmed hat and long black coat, hanging them on a nearby coatrack. Stepping towards her bed, the black EVA suit she wore dematerialized from her form, so that all she wore when she hit the mattress was a plain white shirt and white pants. The very clothes she wore when she was taken.

Her own personal cabin was devoid of color. The walls, door, floor, ceiling, and even all the furniture within—with minor exceptions—were white; making the coat and hat hanging on the coatrack stand out far more than they should have.

Turning her head to the nightstand beside her bed, she looked at a picture that stood on its surface. This picture served as one of the only sources of color within the room. Picking it up, she brought it over and hugged it tightly to her chest.

"Oh Frisk..." she muttered quietly. "Were it that these cursed machines had not taken me from thee, I would be there by thine side even now. Alas, for it be not so. Here am I, far from thine side. Far from thy warm embrace. Thy bronze skin. Thy pleasant bodily aroma that never ceased to calm me."

Rhosaith pulled the picture from her chest and stared at its contents. It was a picture of two Humans. Herself, and a man beside her.

"If fickle fate had it be that we meet again, oh the speed to which I'd press my lips to thine." Rho leaned forward and kissed the part of the picture where the man was. "But alas, it cannot be. I am here, and thou art there. Far away, out of reach."

Tears slowly leaked from Rhosaith's eyes. Try as she might to stop their flow, she soon gave in and held the picture firmly to her chest once again.

"I miss you so much, Frisk..." she wept upon the bed sheets until her eyes ran red, and she finally fell asleep.

"Rhosaith." a digital voice echoed in the room. "Rhosaith."

"Mmm..." Rhosaith mumbled.

"We're nearing the universe known as 'AlT-113'. It's time for you to wake up."

Rhosaith sat up, the picture frame still in hand.

"How far out are we?" she asked through a yawn.

"Only a few minutes. You may teleport in at any time."

"Great." Rhosaith stepped over the side of the bed, replacing the picture back onto the stand.

"I heard you weeping again." the digital voice said after a minute.

"I thought I told you to not spy on me when I'm in here." Rhosaith scolded.

"Apologies, Madam."

"Geez, Hamlet. It's the one place I've closed off to everyone but me. At the very least, I should feel like I'm not being watched or listened to in this one single room."

"Again, apologies. It won't happen again."

"Yeah, until it does."

Rhosaith stood up from the bed. Stepping away, a cleansing wave flew over Rho's body in an instant, cleaning it of excess debris. A second later, Rho's EVA suit rematerialized around her, and she stepped towards her coat and hat, putting them on as well. When she finished doing up the coat, blades materialized around the leg-half, enclosing the half somewhat like a skirt. Beneath the covers of her coat, a holster also materialized, attached to her leg—within, a handle was held firm.

"Alright." Rhosaith said. "Let's go."

In an instant, Rhosaith was teleported from the ship down to the universe, AlT-113.

Taken!Altertale : Tactical Briefing

Previous Underearth Prologue First of this book Next

#undertale #undertale au #undertale rho #UTRStory #multiverse saga #taken!altertale

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incarnateirony · 5 years

Text

15.07 Thoughts

1. Y’all know I’ve been very opinionated about certain things, but my inbox has been such a perpetual onslaught that I haven’t had time to really *sit and genuinely write*

2. This is premised 100% off of an expansion on a beautiful post by @heliodean (x) -- or more, I would say that heliodean already wrote most of what I would begin to say, and very elegantly about the text, subtext, representation, visibility, canonicity, but that all as a simple underline to the growth evidenced by Dean. 2b. That is to say, that while the queer text is itself indivisible from the original text, I would like to expand on a few points that are also character-specific, and I didn’t want to kidnap a representation-leaning post to discuss only phantasmally attached affairs.

So again, @heliodean‘s post is an absolute must-read, but building aside on the discussion of Dean’s growth as expressed in the episode, I wanted to focus on some personal John-facing issues.

While helio mentioned Lee’s last advent of Dean being when he idolized John Winchester, which is very true, but I think several of their engagements -- including, yes, the queer narrative but not dependent on it -- are hugely reflecting.

Even if we take, in example, Dean, ass slaps, waitresses and Lee -- a common discussion point is for example that despite open flirtation, Dean dismisses her like she brought his burger over too well done, implicitly. She was there, literally while they talked about double dogging someone down, and despite ass slaps and flirts and posturing, she just kind of vanished into the aether, a thought to neither of them.

How this attaches to the John related issues actually requires dropping a level deeper, when you realize that while the implication is itself surface level text, the words hang instead in old canons, just reflecting at the surface; the sense of history being tangible between them is there for a reason. Even if you took the most heteronormative read on how to double-dick down an ungendered individual, that we hetly decide was female, and that the balls never touched or whatever because *big gay panic* the choice to literally bring that to center discussion after Dean implicitly seemed to forget it ever existed, or act like he didn’t want to talk about it until being charmed by the memory in particular.

Or perhaps, more realistically in the subtext to the *actual text* as expository line everybody is spinning circles on -- quite simply, there were triplets and there was a woman shared between them, but she wasn’t what he remembered. As far as Dean was concerned, there was one woman and, very quite-down-to-point, one man has was sharing. The fact that he happened to have trimmings of a spare woman as a commentary didn’t even plink his memory. *Holy shit*

-- (and let’s be real, MOST OF THIS WAS IN DIRECT TEXT TOO. The only “subtext” is the most liminal understanding that words connect to each other and sentences are usually related to the discussion at hand, but that’s about what people call subtext these days. Dean literally forgot and had to be reminded. I guess “subtext” is applying the working adult brain to figure out how the FUCK you forget who you were putting your dick in. The tryst itself, the bizarre things Dean forgot, these are all... well, text. And the rest is so narrowly subtext that someone missing it out of genuine ignorance and not petty malice and active choice/reconfiguration is pretty much contingent on someone literally not thinking at all)

I’m not gonna heavily debate textuality in this post because at this point, fandom dialogue is a helium inflated parody of itself on most of that, but like I really? Don’t give a shit? How someone tries to move the goalposts around? Seriously grab that whole scene at the table front to back, and then the stage, and show that to some random straight guy you know that doesn’t even watch the show. I’m going to tell you 99.9999% right now the first thing to come out of their mouth is “That’s fuckin gay” or some variation of it into various fields of PC-facing culture. The hilarity of trying to run defense lines for them at this point is somewhere out in orbit in Alpha Centauri, bitching about a whole other solar system of shit.

But taking back to that -- that waitress, that woman that just evaporated. That was a different time. That’s when Dean wanted fodder between him and anyone else he had a deep connection with. That’s when Dean *did* womanize. Did bury himself in skin.

And frankly that’s a Dean that hasn’t existed for a long time while fandom has sat in general denial about it, or the canonicity or *sets off carousel music*

(My mood every time a young bright eyed LGBT warrior thinks they’re doing a service by dismissing, deleting or denying low-visibility LGBT text)

Mutual ass slaps and vigorous bisexual reactions be damned, Lee’s adoration OF John was even brought into text, be it the solemn vigil he held up in his service, or his textual “I’m you” to Dean, and everything old Dean might have become if things hadn’t dramatically shifted gears in his life; but something the *here* and *now* is trying to make him become.

Reaching into the alchemical stuff again, be it Silver And Gold, or Nothing Gold Can Stay, or Golden Time, or now, the monster that spits out fake gold as long as you feed it, and stop caring. The thing Chuck is trying to make them. The things -- the people -- the building treasures in their life of Eileen, and Castiel, and yes, lost several episodes but not forgotten, Jack and Mary; Eileen treasure found anew, Cas a treasure lost that took the last light of his family, and Jack and Mary’s shadows, with him.

The force that broke their chain, the force that was first ready to face authority, because this was not a new battle to him; it had just been given new meaning, many years ago, when he first faced Dean. Dean echoes the broken despair Cas once saw life as from angelic roost, and Cas stands instead for every lesson Humanity taught him, and continues the fight, and walks away from a toxic vortex of destruction drilled and doubled down on by Chuck’s purposeful machinations -- machinations Dean convinced him to break from long ago, but the man that the angel fell for is not who he is now; the fire he gained from Mary went out in her death into the dark and obsessive and introverted blackened side of John Winchester, not the one that, taking his wife’s hand, disappeared into gold.

(Don’t even get me started on the recurrence of this exact shot in Dabb’s SPN, we’ll end up in a whole other aside.)

“Nothing Gold Can Stay.” This is the lesson Chuck has been trying to force down their throats alongside murder suicide. It is our target subversion, but--

This episode fundamentally *exists* to just *put Dean Winchester’s growth into perspective*. Be that textually affirmative bisexuality (regardless of if it’s visible enough for everyone’s taste, which I hold in bizarre levels of wtf question/suspicion), or about the boy of vices and basically casual misogyny and grim habit that has grown into a man that -- while he may remember it fondly with crinkles in the corner of his eyes, he doesn’t flit it to whatever filler is in the seats between them, but to that old “friend” that, you know. *jazz hands*

About his fight with resignation that has griefed him since his first demon deal, and of self worth, and of what he has learned, and of what he will deep down never let anyone take away, even if he’s made to question it.

(Dabb on 14.13 Lebanon and the lessons imbued)

This episode??? Like??? Jeremy Adams didn’t blow me out of the water. I jettisoned somewhere into another galaxy or some shit. Here I am holding tentative resignation about how bad the new (presumed) straight white male author on crew is gonna do while looking at history, but giving benefit of the doubt, making a few jokes??? And then it’s like HELLO YES ALL OF THIS SHIT RIGHT HERE. WHAT KIND OF FIRST EPISODE BLACK MAGIC? THAT WAS A BOBO LEVEL FIRST EPISODE.

Oh my god.

I mean, I’m sure we all saw it coming, like deadass you all know I’m not a genius for saying and expecting -- Dean, lessons learned and remorseful from these last few misadventures, coming in to want to talk to Cas, who has had no such giving and keeps his focus on the target, outside of his perceivably crumbled relationship. Like, expecting this is about as simple as expecting them to fight monsters, or Sam and Dean disagreeing over a method/plan.

But as unsurprising as it is, it held weight and value, after the episode -- as given in my addition to the original referenced link -- spent its entire time framing loss of best friends, empty space, the ramifications of turning one’s back, and knowing gold when you have it and what’s worth fighting for.

Now, to fall back to touching on the textuality topic: I thank 15.07 for the display of performative absurdity. It’s not the first episode to rip open and expose fandom’s dirty underbelly and intersectional marginalization forces wearing an LGBT Activism Suit -- 14.03 also did so loudly by Bobo (eg read: “The Problem with Dreamhunter” [A post that points out what people will accept for canonization when there isn't a rival ship or excessive projection of antis specific to a ship which is *SPOILER ALERT* nowhere near what everyone pretends is needed when they want to argue just to argue and some intersectional WLW vs MLM issues]) -- but it was the first to approach it directly with Dean, much less so textually.

The ridiculous redefinition of words, of “what *I* think canon means” whipped completely out of fandom generated buzz and no dictionary on the face of the planet -- the demands, and the active erasure of existing LGBT text because it wasn’t *visible enough* -- really does show a seedy side of fandom that wears a nice Representation Warrior dress sometimes, but betrays a series of issues:

Most points boil down to “I won’t acknowledge any text unless it is loud enough to argue down any idiot I ever meet”, putting the focus not on representative resonance and value of quality of text, but on personal vindication for raw argumentation. A world where trolls and their personal agendas have actually taken *greater importance* to people than the representative text, and is an absolutely abysmal motivation or bottom line for any discussion and yes, if you recoiled and feel ashamed or called out about that, rather than patching over your pride and doubling down, maybe skim the reblog tags bisexual people have left on my several dozen posts about the damages of them being actively deleted is doing.

If you care about representation, you’ll think about that. Even if it’s not the loudly visible version of representation you *want*, it is what it is, and well--it is. Pretty simply. There is no perfect fantasy world where everybody understands and wants the thing you do. And I’m not just talking about LGBT rep. I’m talking about the people you pretend to need to argue gay canon with still being absolutely flummoxed by canon itself, like them saying “family don’t end with blood” and “found family” are “fanon concepts”. People that are confused where demons go when they die. People that rebuke literally many-times textualized non-gay things just to suit their personal agenda. And shockingly, they have a personal agenda about the gay content too.

I’m talking about straight pairings like mulder and scully that got no romo’ed around even after they kissed and got pregnant and the whole nine, because bawww that’s not what the show is about so *allow me to build elaborate theories that make no sense and pretend they have standing in canon equal to the straightforward read*.

Cuz that’s where we’re at right now. Our fandom is just particularly bonky, and has been allowed to go so far off the edge of the map and away from center GA-resonant discussion that the bog standard antis have literally come up with body-mutilating necrophilia as an answer to avoid the gay, and somehow... *shruuuuug?* people act like these people not only are of equal worth but like... deserve... any consideration long term? Which is when we lean into the next point on MOTIVATION.

So ask at what point arguing with tinhats beat out your actual interest in representation and LGBT rights and media issues. Ask at what point you surrendered your focus on feeling resonant with a character that has been textually acknowledged, and traded that for implying you suddenly can’t relate to the character until he performs [X] exact function, exactly how you want, and when you want. Hell, I have even gotten an anon that literally said they would have acknowledged it if SPN had given them what they want when they wanted-- so basically, too late, not enough.

That’s not how text works. Whether the text came ten years ago or now, the text is the text. Your personal fulfillment aside, text is text. And I highly urge people to stop demanding tokenism above demographic-targeted representative types (eg bisexual, raised in the 80s in a patriarchal/power/grit based society and its own associated dogmas, fairly masculine identity, and so on) or demanding characters perform as if they were from another demographic (be it age or gender) because that’s your demographic.

Once you start removing elements of the represented demographics (LGBT, male, age, origin, etc) and wanting it to perform by way of *your* demographic’s behaviors or base line needs/wants, that’s when we’ve left representation. That’s when we’re demanding tokenization. And when you’re demanding tokenization to win internet fights with people who don’t even believe what they say, you have long left the representation wheelhouse. That’s what we call troll wars.

Do not let LGBT media representation be kidnapped into troll wars. Do not let content be degraded or removed just to engage in troll wars. And if you want to engage in troll wars, and you value the arguments more than the discussion *of* representation intersectional issues, and methods, and all around it -- then just... stop. Stop saying you want representation. Don’t.

I’m tired.

#supernatural #spn #meta #my meta #pagan life #gold #alchemy #hermeticism #jeremy adams #15.07 #dean winchester #mine

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honeylikewords · 4 years

Note

This is working! Yay! So the ask I wanted to send you was, what do you think about the writer of the punisher trying to claim it for blm, since so many of the Nazis try to use him as a hero? I know that you've unfortunately have had some trouble with people using your fanfics for things like that, which sucks, as I like your castle fics and wish they weren't used by ugly people. Thank you for changing your theme!

I’m so glad it’s working, too! It’s good to know my theme is functional and accessible, now!

As for the ask, whoof, there’s a lot to unpack. And a lot to say.

I want to answer this as delicately, thoughtfully, and honestly as I can, so I’ll speak from the heart and from my own personal, political perspective; obviously, I’m not a Black person myself and don’t want to speak over Black voices with regards to BLM and the global experience of systemic racialized violence, so my opinion is only my own, based off my own experiences, and what I’ve discussed with Black people and other people of color.

I also ask that no one reblog this; I don’t really feel like getting into internet arguments about this topic or having this post spread around; it’s just my personal opinion, and people should be critical and form their own in their own ways vis-a-vis their own experiences and understanding.

That being said...

It’s complicated.

I think that there’s an inherent problem with The Punisher as an extant story. As a character. Regardless of creative intent nowadays, he is very much a product of male violence fetishization; he has been from his very inception. He has lasted as long as he has as such a major comic figure because people are drawn to his brand of lawlessness, his violence, his darkness, and that’s... really, really bad.

That isn’t to say we can’t have antiheroes, or violent stories-- we can and should explore many different kinds of stories, even dark ones-- but that the way we hold them up in culture, especially here, in America, can become toxic very, very quickly.

The Punisher has been a symbol of white, male violence for a very long time. The Punisher skull being coopted by actual US troops and police officers has been going on long before the Netflix show, long before The Punisher was ever on my radar. It’s been going on since he first stepped into comics, because he represents the ultimate power fantasy for these kinds of people.

He represents a distinctly male, distinctly American fantasy; if someone pisses me, off, I get to kill them. Cop or not, legal or not, fair or not, I get to make the rules about how the world works, and if I don’t like something, I get to kill it. That’s the ultimate power fantasy for so many of these people, and especially for white supremacists, violent cops and soldiers, who get into these jobs not to serve, protect, or allow peace to prosper, but to assert themselves as the dominant force and make others submit to their will by threat of force, or, worse yet, to fulfill their desire to hurt and harm, to kill, and to oppress.

No amount of reclaiming can ever really take what The Punisher stands for out of the hands of N*zis, cops, or the military, because he represents what many of these people aspire to be: a violent force above and outside the law, irreproachable.

His skull being a dogwhistle between cops that they accept and encourage a level of targeted violence towards “the enemy” isn’t an accident. It’s a product of what The Punisher narrative always has been.

So, to that extent, I think it’s, frankly, kind of impossible to really “reclaim” The Punisher when he, himself, is the idealized form of these hate groups. He is the unimpeachable killer. He is his own lawmaker. And these cops, these N*zis, they use him for a reason.

The closest I saw a narrative ever come to being able to reclaim Frank was Season Two of Daredevil. It really recalibrated the concept of the Punisher and put him in a finite cage, a space of operation; his war wouldn’t be endless or indiscriminate. It was targeted at a specific group of criminals, who were not chosen by race or creed or anything else, only by their specific actions in correlation to Frank. It framed him as a failure of society to protect the vulnerable, and as the frightening extreme of vigilantism; he was not a hero or a villain, but a man in the middle, as equally inclined to protection as he was to savagery.

But they threw all that shit away the moment they allowed him to befriend an actual fucking N*zi in Season Two of Punisher. Any growth he had, any constraints, any hope for change, any understanding that nowadays, in an America ripped apart by white supremacy, gun violence, and extralegal violence, the Punisher was no longer a welcome narrative, was all flushed down the toilet.

Season Two ends with him shooting up a locked room of brown teenage-looking criminals.

It speaks for itself.

He has such a long-standing history of violence that trying to coopt him to represent peace, to represent protection? I dunno.

I believe it’s done in good faith, I do; I believe the artist has the best intentions and can, and should, try to wrest his creation from the hands of monsters. He can and should say “my creation is not for you, my art is not for you, and my character despises you”. That’s a right move. That’s good.

Donating to BLM charities is absolutely good, as well! And seeing that he wants his character to represent equal justice and a protection for the oppressed is good.

But this shit is coded into the very DNA of Punisher, at this point. It’s in the genetic makeup of his stories, his canon, his past. While it may not have been intended by the creator, this character has been in the hands of so many writers and artists who have molded Frank into the ultimate symbol of violent supremacy, of lone wolf shoot-’em-up vigilantism, that original intent seems... moot.

I don’t know if you can take the evil out of The Punisher when it was intentionally written in there in the first place.

We don’t need any more “antiheroes”, in my opinion, at this cultural moment. We are suffering enough. We do not need any more white men with guns taking the law into their own hands. We do not need any more “questionably moral” men. We do not need any more shooters. We do not need any more violence.

We need to glorify and uplift the voices of the marginalized. We need to romanticize protection, kindness, empathy, strength, and courage. And I don’t think The Punisher can be a frontline voice of that.

At the very least, the utter bottom line, I’ll say this; it is very good to see them saying “Frank is not for you, you monsters”. That’s good. Take away everything N*zis like. Rip it away from them. Remind them they aren’t wanted, aren’t accepted, and don’t get to pretend their participation is normalized. They are to be cast out, called out, and rejected from every single thing they like. Shove it down their throats that they aren’t liked by anyone.

It is very good to see this artist using his position to support an important movement and to donate to it using an incredibly recognizable symbol and one of the most popular media characters of all time.

I wholeheartedly support that.

But there will always be a stain in Punisher. There will always be a cloud hanging over it. His story is a story that brings with it the baggage of male violence, white violence, gun violence, vigilante violence. The violence of people who believe they get to decide who lives and who dies. The people who believe they get to decide whose life matters.

And I don’t think that’s going to change.

There’s obviously a lot to say about, like, fanon interpretation, personal reclamation, personal enjoyment, etc., but this is where I stand on the issue of The Punisher as a large media presence, and with regards to my personal politics.

I also want to add that this is not a personal indictment of anyone who enjoys the Punisher shows or comics or Frank as a character. I totally am aware that people can be politically active, thoughtful, and aware of the media they ingest and its political implications and still like characters like Frank for a variety of personal reasons.

Still, I think it’s important to discuss these topics and to ask people to be mindful of what they engage with, how they engage with it, and what they support; everything has meaning. Every work of media, every character. And it’s our jobs to look at those works and characters and assess what’s going on with them, what our support of those things mean, and to what degree we engage with them. It means something.

Whew! That was a long one. But I hope it answered your question!

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honestlyhufflepuff · 4 years

Text

A Different Kind of Fight

Fic request from @im-just-like-other-girls. I got a little emotional writing it, as the premise to the request was pretty intense, but I like where it ended up. Warning for suicidal thoughts and some swearing.

***

Steven’s knuckles were bone white as he gripped the steering wheel, so tight that Connie thought the wheel might break in half. He turned off the music when a song by Sadie and Shep came up, and now the only sound was his uneven breathing, and the accelerating roar of the old engine.

“It’s a nice night,” Connie muttered, glancing up at the full moon hanging in the sky. The forest and the ocean blurred by either side of them up the curving mountain road.

Steven gave a curt nod, gaze fixed straight ahead.

“Thanks for letting me come with you. I know you wanted to be alone, but you’ve been alone so much lately.”

Another nod.

She wanted to press more. She wanted to demand that he tell her everything, but she knew to tread carefully. If she pushed too hard, he would shut down, like he’d done many times over the past few months.

“So, where are we going?”

He shrugged. The motion was stiff.

“Ok, then why are we going?”

“Why?” he glanced over at her for the first time since she’d gotten in the car, “I needed to get away from them. I’m no good for them anymore.”

“Steven, they’re your family! They love you and-“

“I hurt him, Connie. I hurt my dad.”

Steven’s voice and his hands shook now.

“And then you healed him,” Connie said, offering a weak smile.

“The van wasn’t so lucky. That was his home.”

“That van was older than you. It didn’t have many miles left, anyway. And he can afford a-“

“Argh! You don’t get it!” Steven’s skin flared pink, casting an otherworldly hue on his dashboard. The car lunged forward as the gas pedal hit the floor and they swerved as he overcorrected for the curve in the road.

“Steven, be careful!” Connie gasped, bracing herself by placing her hands on the ceiling of the car.

Her breath caught in her throat as his breaks screeched, whipping into a gravel margin at a scenic overlook.

“Get out,” he said in a low, shaking voice. His pink skin faded in and out, struggling to return to its normal color.

“What? Here?”

“You were scared of me just now, right? That’s probably smart.”

“I’m scared of reckless driving, yeah! Why don’t you let me drive? We can go anywhere you want.”

Steven shook his head violently, tears spilling over his eyes. He was shouting now, “I shouldn’t have brought you. Get out of the car!”

“Like hell you shouldn’t have brought me! You’re gonna kill yourself driving like this.”

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and?’” Connie demanded, and when Steven said nothing added, “What are you planning on doing when I get out of the car?”

“You know I’m stronger than you, Connie,” he stared straight ahead, refusing to look at her, “I’m asking you to get out of my car. If you don’t do it on your own, then I’ll carry you out.”

“And then what if I do get out?” she demanded, “What are you gonna do, crash the car off the mountain?”

“I,” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, “I need to do this before I change my mind. It will be better for everyone. I wish you could see that.”

Connie felt her throat swelling, and her tears came so quickly that everything looked like she was underwater, sinking into the ocean.

Steven’s blurry form reached for her hesitantly and stopped just before touching her.

“I shouldn’t have brought you with me,” he repeated. His voice was softer now, in a way that was more broken than gentle, “I thought maybe with you here I wouldn’t want to- I thought that- Connie, all I do is hurt people. Even now I’m hurting you.”

“That’s not true, Steven! You saved my life the first time you met me! I said you were incredible, remember? I still think that.”

“That was then. That was before I was so messed up! I’m no good at helping people anymore. I’m not incredible, I’m not anything good. That’s why you have other friends at school that you see more than me. That’s why you’re going to be leaving for college. Because it’s better for you that way to get away from me!”

“Shut up!” cried Connie, flinging her arms around him and curling up in his lap, soaking the shoulder of his jacket with tears and snot. Steven’s hands froze in the air until they gradually lowered down to touch her back. Instead of embracing her, he plucked her off of him and placed her back in the passenger seat.

“I’m sorry I made you cry. I’m sorry for everything.”

“You’re my best friend, Steven,” she whispered, “You don’t have to be saving an entire species or galaxy or person to be worthwhile to me! I just want to keep growing up with you. Time may change how often we see each other, but it won’t change how much I love you.”

Steven did not act shocked at her love confession. It was said between them countless times over many years, albeit mostly from him since he was the sappier of the two. The word “love” had grown a few more layers of meaning than it had from their childhood, although neither of them knew the moment the transition took place. Maybe it was in the days locked inside Pink’s tower, not knowing if they would make it out before starving to death. Maybe it was after he had his gem pulled out by White. Maybe it was when he returned from space- a broad, strong teenager in place of the cuddly child.

“I love you, too,” he croaked, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing!”

“Ok, I’m sorry for apologi-“

“Steven!”

“R-right,” he choked out a weak laugh and stared at his lap, “It’s hard not to when I’ve felt like I’ve had to apologize for my existence my whole life.”

“Some parents bring kids into the world without thinking about the consequences,” she thought of Rose Quartz with her saintly image now eradicated from Steven’s house, “That wasn’t a choice you made.”

“I know.”

“And some parents,” she paused, choosing her words slowly, “don’t really know how to parent, even if they love their kids more than anything. Especially if these parents are traumatized aliens from space all dealing with their own shit.”

He nodded.

“I think they’ve taught you- unintentionally- that you had to put everything you felt on the back burner in order to be a Crystal Gem. You had to be useful in order to spend time with them. It was like you were filling a bucket for years, and now it’s overflowing.”

Steven started crying then and continued for several minutes. When Connie’s delicate hands wiped away the tears, he didn’t stop her.

“You’re not going to get out of the car, are you?”

“Not without you.”

“I figured as much. Stubborn.”

“Like my mother,” she said proudly.

“Does it bother you,” he asked in a small voice, “that I still want to do it? That I think about it every day now? About how nice it would be to not worry about the future? To not have to deal with all this change?”

“It does bother me,” she took his hand, “But you know, everything changes. And this will change, too. You won’t always feel like this. So please, just don’t give up. You are still my first and my best friend. And I would never be the same in a world without you in it.”

Steven sank his face into his hands, and all Connie could do was hold him. She didn’t know how long he sobbed for, but it was long enough that her arm he was leaning on fell asleep. She couldn’t stop marveling at how this boy who was stronger than any human on the planet could seem so small.

Once Steven’s breathing was steadied again, she said “I’m sworn to be your knight and fight by your side. That includes this kind of fight, too.”

He nodded, burrowing into her soaked shirt. His arms entwined around her tightly, pulling her closer, and he let out a shaky exhale she hadn’t realized he was holding in.

Connie pulled Steven’s chin up to meet her eyes, giving him a little smirk, “And if you shut me out again, I’ll fight you.”

This earned a little laugh out of Steven, and it was like music to her. There was a time when they were even sparring partners, but with Steven evolved into his full powers, Connie couldn’t hope to catch up to him with any amount of training due to her 105-pound wiry human frame. Luckily she had learned other ways to contend with him when needed, and she felt she’d won their match that night.

Steven straightened in his seat, grabbed a bottle from the cup holder, and splashed some water in his face. He wiped himself off with the sleeve of his jacket. His eyes were still red and puffy, but there was a life back in them that Connie hadn’t seen in sometime. Then he got out of the car.

“Steven,” Connie rushed after him, “where are you going?”

“It’s ok, I’m just getting some stuff.”

He walked to the back of the Dondai and creaked the trunk open, “I can’t go back there tonight. I need some time. I’ve kept all this camping stuff in my trunk for a while now, just in case I needed to get away. It’s really kept me sane a few times.”

Connie looked into the large pack stashed in the car. There was a sleeping bag, a lantern, freeze dried food, a large jug of water, a knife, some extra clothes, and a filter to get more water from the river.

“I can go ahead and take you home. I’m sorry I was telling you to just get out earlier with no ride. I wasn’t thinking straight. I promise you that I won’t do anything rash tonight, ok? I’m just going to camp. And I will call you first thing in the morning to let you know I’m still here.”

Connie crossed her arms, “No way in hell am I leaving you alone tonight.”

“B-but I promised I would-“

“Nope, not doing it,” she struggled to sling the pack over her shoulders before Steven easily lifted it from her, “I’m camping with you.”

“Well, the only problem with that is that I just have one sleeping bag.”

“And? We’ve literally shared a body before. You think I draw the line at sleeping bags?”

Steven’s cheeks flushed a deep red, and it sent a thrill through her to see him get so flustered, “That was when we were kids.”

“Well, if sharing a sleeping bag sounds crowded we could fuse.”

His eyes snapped up to hers, wide and hopeful, before they fell again, “I don’t think I’m ready to fuse right now. With anyone. I’ll just let you have the sleeping bag. I’m ok without it.”

Connie rolled her eyes, and they began their hike into the forest.

Steven lightened up little by little as they walked, pointing out his favorite spots to her, and wild plants he’d learned to forage from. His mind became clearer as the air did, rising above the pollution of the city and its inhabitants.

He shrugged his jacket onto her shoulders as she shivered. The mountain got a lot colder than the beach did at night.

“We’re almost there, Connie. There’s the perfect spot right up ahead.”

She could hear babbling water as they approached a clearing right by the bank of a mountain stream filled with wildflowers. The water glittered in the moonlight, and a herd of deer stared at them cautiously from the trees.

“So, this is home for the night,” he said.

She watched him as they set up camp, conversation not coming as easily as it used to. There was a tension in the air that didn’t used to exist between them, and Connie felt like she was studying him to see how much of his calmed mood was genuine.

They gathered wood, built their fire, and ate re-hydrated mac and cheese with canned vegetarian chili for dinner. Only the occasional phrases passed between them to relay needed information for the tasks at hand. Connie got the impression that he did appreciate the company, but that he was also relieved they weren’t talking too much. She figured it was fine to go at his own pace in opening up, as long as he was safe, and eventually the silence became serene and welcome.

“It’s so quiet,” she said as their food settled.

“It’s not,” he said, eyes staring at the dying embers of the fire, “Listen.”

When she stopped focusing on their lack of words, the sounds of the forest filled her awareness. Crickets sang, water ran, leaves rustled, fire crackled, and wind whistled. She closed her eyes, taking it all in.

“You like listening to everything out here?” she said, smiling.

He nodded.

“Do you come out here as a kind of grounding technique? I was reading about those in my psychology textbook.”

“I guess you could call it that. Talking is hard for me right now. But the sounds out here talk to me, and they don’t expect me to talk back. They’re not disappointed if I don’t say anything at all.”

“I’m not disappointed, Steven.”

He blinked and stared at her with wide eyes, “I’m glad.”

Connie was trying to put together something else to say when Steven stood up suddenly and furled out the sleeping bag.

“I’m going to go to sleep. Goodnight, Connie.”

“Oh, goodnight…” she wiggled herself into the sleeping bag and watched Steven lay on the grass.

“You sure you don’t want to come sleep by me?”

“N-no, that’s ok. It’s a nice night,” he said, despite that he was visibly shivering.

Connie was glad he could not hear how hard she rolled her eyes.

“It’s kind of cold tonight,” she said.

“You’re cold?”

“Yep, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

She gave a fake little sneeze and grinned as she heard Steven sigh and get up. She rolled over and looked at him standing above her, clutching one arm and averting his eyes.

“I have a feeling you’re manipulating me,” he said.

“Don’t worry, Universe, I won’t take advantage of you.”

“I guess it would make sense. To keep warm,” he said slowly.

“Sure would. Now shut up and get in.”

She unzipped the bag and let him sidle in beside her before closing them both in like a toasty cocoon. She twined one arm around his waist and the other tangled in his soft pillow of hair, stroking his scalp to make his body soften and relax like her mother use to do for her when she had a nightmare.

She stopped when a sharp point pricked her hand, and looked down to see a small horn barely protruding out from his curls.

‘Great,’ she thought, ‘yet another new and mysterious thing about my half-alien best friend.’

She considered telling him about it only for a second before deciding whatever the horn meant could wait until morning. They had both been through enough, and Steven looked so peaceful.

She laid awake for much longer than he did, repeating in her mind what Steven wanted to do to himself just a few hours before. Her entire chest ached even considering a world lacking Steven. Laying in the forest with him, she knew the night had ended in a small victory, but they were not out of the woods yet. She had a feeling the new pointed growth on Steven’s skull represented that.

“Connie?” he said in a bleary voice, thick with sleep.

She startled, “Yeah, Steven?”

“I was a little cold, too. Thanks.”

Connie smiled and kissed his forehead as he drifted back off. A small victory was a lot to be thankful for.

#tw: suicide #suicidal ideation #fic request #angst #hurt/comfort #fluff #connverse #lizzywrites #suf fic #su fic #steven universe future #su leak

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that-skateboard-chicks · 4 years

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10 Best Longboards Of 2020

Longboards are becoming one of the ways to go around town for several reasons. Getting a little bit of clean air is nice, but the exhilarating sensation of cruising around at a fast pace is what draws many people to the action. Locating the best longboards can be a challenging undertaking, but don't worry, we've got you covered. For more on these, visit Geekwake.

The first part of purchasing a new longboard begins with you figuring out the design, material, and dimension tastes. You can pick whatever you like, once you understand these three factors!

Through hours and hours of study across all sorts of buyer's guides, inspection blogs , movie lists, along with different platforms, we've produced the best total longboards that money can buy.

Rather than requesting you to search the web for yourself, we've done it. Check out the list below and let us know which of the options you decided to add to your longboard collection!

View The Best Longboards Below

1. Retrospec Zed Bamboo Longboard Skateboard

The Retrospec Zed Bamboo Longboard Skateboard is definitely the classic beach-style longboard that you have been on the lookout for. The simplistic look adds to the speedy although casual appeal. It's much narrower than your normal longboard, making it a bit easier to take corners head-on.

Everyone knows that fashion is a part of boarding, which explains why this big longboard brand model comes with so many choices. Green Flora, Golden Sunset, Marine Layer, black Pipeline, and a huge array of designs are available at your disposal. Pick whichever setup best suits your preference and head out on the town. Electric scooters are also a good choice for trilling ride, click here.

Bamboo and 8-ply Canadian Maple timber are utilized to produce this lasting, lightweight longboard. Maple is a timeless material when it comes to skateboards, so viewing it in this board should come as no surprise. It's not very easy to break, but it is possible to continue without feeling like it weighs a million pounds. If it is not broke, why fix it?

Pros: + Several different layout and colour options to See + Made out of lasting Bamboo and Maple forests + comes with 7-inch aluminum trucks

We Like It We like these bamboo and maple longboard products because they're designed and crafted in Los Angeles to show off the shore town vibes. Make it your own with trust and a unique layout in the construction! It's worth it, although it is not a longboard that is cheap. For more visit Geekwake.

2. VOLADOR 42inch Freeride Longboard

Next up on the list is your VOLADOR 42-Inch Freeride Longboard that is versatile. Having an open-end above all of the longboard wheels, then you won't have to think about them clipping the board.

Sometimes when you loosen the longboard trucks somewhat and take a sharp turn, it can wear down both the longboard and the wheels. Fortunately, you won't have this difficulty.

The longboard is composed of 8-ply Maple timber, which makes it about as durable as they come. Epoxy paste is used across the very best to hold strong onto the sandpaper traction, which means you don't need to worry about scuffing it up from tear and wear.

Seven-inch aluminum trucks attached to the front and rear of the board are extremely lightweight, but they're perfectly flexible and strong as could be, Geekwake.

Banana Tree, Fuji Sakura, Solar, Ice Cream, and some other design choices are up for you to choose from. Some of the choices come with close-toed ends to pay for both the longboard wheels, while others are open. Bear this in mind when you come to a conclusion, since you don't wish to get too mixed up between them both!

Pros: + Durable, trust-worthy 8-ply Maple wood throughout the longboard + Comes with more than enough fashion options + Designed to flex and absorb the shock of drops

We Like It These boards are fun to have a look at due to the layout, durability, and also option of closed or open ends. It is truly one of the most customizable longboards on the market.

3. Atom Drop Through Longboard

The Atom Drop During Longboard is an extra-wide alternative for all those of you who are looking to have a tiny bit more manage on long straightaways. The entire dimensions come out to 40 x 10 x 5.1 inches, making it quite a bit roomier than the majority of the other whole longboards among the. If you are a beginner or you just want more space, this could be your best bet.

An 80 grit grip along the top of this Atom Drop Through requires a unique twist on the typical choice while maintaining a similar level of hold. The sole distinction is the fact that it doesn't get as weather-beaten, which may be a massive advantage to people living in colder regions. A thick heart in the board further averts weather damage as well. To buy electric scooter or hoverboards, visit Geekwake.

Now for the color options: Bamboo, Owl, Blue Geo, and Purple Veneer all come with an artistic belief unique to the company. Each design even has a corresponding colour to the longboard trucks and wheels, and it is a measure or even more than we had initially anticipated. Pre-oiled ABEC 9's keep you cruising as you would like, which is always wonderful.

Pros: + Ultra-wide and compact longboard for easy handling + Includes equipped with smooth ride ABEC 9 longboard bearings, a few of the best around + Decide on a Exceptional style and roll with it in the four options available

Why We Like It It is not every day we encounter a novice longboard for cruising that strays too far outside of the typically expected dimensions. This one gives us something that we've been searching for for quite a while with the broad setup. Atom is a brand, so we advise that you take a look! Try the Atom Pintail longboard to get an alternative to beginner longboards such as the Atom Drop Deck Longboard. For more, visit here.

4. Playshion 39 Inch Drop Throughout Freestyle Longboard

If you like the sound of the open-toed longboard mentioned previously in the list, you may enjoy the Playshion 39 Inch Drop Through Freestyle Longboard. The finish actually sticks out which prevents any clipping at all. Coming in at 39 inches long and 9.1 inches wide, it matches the ordinary longboard dimensions fairly well.

The 3 color selections that are easy are Ladder Black Orange, and Mango. Each choice has marginally different wheel colors and the design in the sandpaper is unique also. All graphics are applied to prevent peeling, ripping, and so on. This attribute usually increases a longboard's cost quite a bit, but it doesn't in this case!

Seven-inch aluminum trucks are only made better by the ABEC 9 longboard bearings to keep this longboard's gear elite. Even the wheels are made to resist the normal from concrete and asphalt. If you are fed up with constantly replacing arbitrary bits on your longboard, think about the Playshion Drop During Freestyle for $500.

Pros: + Pick from three basic yet stylish colors + Comes with ABEC 9 bearing and aluminum trucks + Cozy open-ended design to prevent wheel clipping

We Like It Longboards with open edges are gradually increasing in popularity. Paired with high quality substances throughout, this item is a good thing.

5. White Wave Bamboo Longboards

The White Wave Bamboo Longboards are incredibly minimalist in appearance, but don't let that take away from the overall quality packaged in it. If you're looking for a new wave of total longboards, or you just don't care for all the flashy additions on a number of these days, then keep reading!

Even though it might be easy, you will still have quite a selection available to buy from this longboard brandnew. Drifter, Rocket, Warrior, and many other options range from glossy to matte finishes. Pick out your plank from the wheels to the longboard trucks and call it your own! You may even choose between longboard decks that are close-ended and open-ended.

Much like the longboards the White Wave Bamboo board, on the listing utilizes urethane wheels with ABEC 9 longboard bearings to keep it moving. Clear grip tape coats on the very best, so don't be concerned about the lack of sandpaper. Grip tape is really on the rise with professionals who favor it to get the natural wood appearance.

Pros: + Comes with ABEC 9 bearings and urethane wheels for a smooth ride + Tons of minimalist design choices + Uses clear grip tape to save the wood appearance

We Like It It's always nice to find a simple board which doesn't have to include anything fancy to work effectively. You'll love the simple rotation body, and durability of this! For more visit here.

6. Quest QT-NSC44C The Super Cruiser Longboard Skateboard

If you've been on the hunt for a longer board, then try out the Quest Super Cruiser Longboard Skateboard. In 44" long, it's one of the greatest options you'll find almost anywhere. It is perfect for those that are still trying to get the hang of riding a longboard or those who are a little taller than your skater.

Flexible Bamboo and hardened Maple Wood make up the majority as they come of the Quest Super Cruiser deck longboard, both of which are lightweight and durable. They are weather-treated to make certain that no cracking, peeling, or other damage comes to them from natural wear and tear. 7-ply drops or is sufficient to protect against breaking upon normal drops.

The wheels hang out from the board's borders, reducing the chance of it biting down and stopping you. It keeps your Quest Super Cruiser Longboard Skateboard deck out of wearing down if they grind away over time. The deck design takes on the look and feel of a complete skateboard, bringing a comfortable activity to people who haven't tried longboards too much.

Pros: + Built out of sturdy, reliable bamboo and walnut + Sounds and feels very like a complete skateboard + ABEC 7 position to get high performance and rate

Why We Like It -- We like this bamboo and maple Quest longboard for cruising since it's the ideal transition from skateboarding to longboarding, bringing two sports into one!

7. Magneto Longboards Bamboo

Magneto Bamboo Longboards are a bit of a more option, only a tad bit shorter than #6 in 42 inches long. It's 9 inches wide, which appears to fit most rider's preferences. While also much breadth could result to shoot turns if you need to too narrow could be tough to balance.

Given that the name, bamboo is the material used in combination. The usage of those two is the best possible match for flexibility and very low weight. Fiberglass prevents shards of wood from sticking out if it cracks from a heavy strike. The curvature of the board allows you go for a downhill ride a lot simpler.

A design looks neat together with all four options, so choose whichever feels right. These choices include the Bamboo Carving Longboard, the Bamboo Drop Down Longboard & Fiberglass During Longboard, a Carbon Fiber Longboard, and The Tesla. Each option uses substances that correspond with their name. This model is excellent for longboarding.

Pros: + Much longer than the average longboard + Comes in an Assortment of designs and materials + Software a flexible, crack-proof structure + Curved plank for downhill ride capacities

Why We Like It Being able to select what materials you want your brand new board to be made from is the best way to select only the precise stuff that you need. After all, it's about what makes you feel the most comfortable.

8. MBS All-Terrain Drop Deck Longboard

It's not every day that we come across a longboard or whole skateboard that can be employed on terrains like dirt and grass. The MBS All-Terrain Drop Deck Longboard is rather the exception wherever you need it to with every single detail aimed to function. The wheels take the lead in this progress, but there are lots more features to check out.

Bend and All these wheels are made to bounce as you want them to, particularly if you're heading off of ramps or drops that were low. Together with the rubber coat around the bearings, you don't need to concern yourself with whether or not they'll randomly pop out of place. These wheels are bigger at x 65mm for cushion.

The drop deck longboard retains you lower if you are attempting to maintain a lower centre of gravity than ordinary, which is fine. Tough terrain requires you to have control, and that is allowed by the fall deck. Regardless of where it's being used it is made to allow for an high weight limit.

Pros: + Perfect for Just about Any terrain You Could want it for + Uses extra bouncy bearings and wheels + The shed deck for a lower center of gravity + Maple deck

Why We Like It We like the MBS All-Terrain Longboard because it's extremely rare to find a longboard which works on grass or dirt with no motor.

9. JUCKER HAWAII Original Longboard Skateboards

The JUCKER HAWAII Original Total Longboards infuse the spirit of Hawaii . They come from the state from start to finish. Each longboard has a pattern chosen by you from the four choices that are available. While others are simple black on wood, A number of them use plenty of colors.

You can also choose whether you desire an open end over the tires. While it's always nice to protect against the longboard wheels from clipping while you are riding around or wearing down , open edges aren't everyone appearance. With the JUCKER HAWAII decks, now it's 100% up to you to determine exactly what you want.

Bamboo is your wood. Craftsmanship produces a flexible, lightweight, durable product that any skateboarder would fall in love with. It appears refreshing and holds onto the bamboo appearance for the duration of its use, contrary to other forests that dull out as time passes.

Pros: + Produced in Maui for an authentic Hawaiian experience + Uses Hawaiian patterns directly employed to bamboo wood + 42 inches with 7-inch aluminum trucks

Why We Like It locating a durable, stylish board designed and produced right in the beautiful state of Hawaii is a gem that we just couldn't pass up.

10. RIMABLE Drop-Through Longboard

For skaters who are constantly on the move, looking for the best way to get around town in a quick manner, the RIMABLE Drop-Through Longboard is a fantastic alternative. It's designed to be lightweight and ready to go whenever you are. You will have the lightest deck on the list since it.

Bearings on all four longboard wheels ensure you will be able to hit speeds with this longboard that is lightweight. Much like every other board on the list, it comes with rebound bushings with aluminum trucks. While it may not be the best for influences, it is certainly a contender for the quickest longboard in the world!

The see-through grip tape on the cover of the deck keeps you stuck to it as long as you require it. You scuffing up the tape or will not be losing grip. Though it, the dreamcatcher design on the floor is the only option available! It is patterned with a graphic from top to bottom.

Pros: + Lightweight but incredibly durable 4-ply bamboo + Has a trendy, exceptional dreamcatcher pattern + Software translucent grip tape instead of sandpaper

Why We Like It The layout on the bottom of the deck was the first attraction for us, but the grip and 4-ply bamboo definitely kept us interested. For more visit here.

#skateboards #longboards #eride #electricskateboards

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kamino-ink · 6 years

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Wounds | Lee Minho

✧ Genre: Soulmate!au, floof, lowkey suggestive, uhh lemme get some anGst

✧ Summary: You’ve always been aware that Lee Minho was your soulmate, ever since you were kids - but you were too naïve about the world and figured waiting to tell him would be a better idea. Everything starts to go downhill when he says he thinks the system is utter bullshit.

✧ Word Count: 3.7k

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✧

The whole entire soulmate system was complete and utter bullshit. What kind of world were people to live in where you couldn’t choose who to love, rather the universe meticulously wrote it down in fine ink since the way you were born - nobody got a real choice. Obnoxious soulmate bonds tended to become true nuisances to most in their day to day lives, leaving little room for them to think about anything else, really. Why wait for that one person who could literally be anywhere on the fucking planet when you could find someone who you choose to fall in love with and cherish till the end of your days?

Those were the exact words that poured out between Lee Minho’s pink lips, effectively sucking the life out of you the second he started to curse the very existence of soulmates yet again.

“Dude, who put a stick up your ass this morning?” Changbin snorted from across the living room, bringing his glass of coke up to his lips and taking a long, drawn out sip with a quirked eyebrow.

You felt your world - no, your entire universe start to crumble around your very being, sat upon the couch just inches away from brushing against the resilient man’s arms that he’d sourly crossed over his chest.

“Come on Changbin, not everyone is as lucky as the rest of you fucks. For all I know my soulmate could be halfway across the world in another country. The possibility of us actually running into each other is zero to none.”

“That makes it all the more exhilarating. Imagine finally meeting the person you are literally destined to be with on like, a vacation in Paris or some shit. Now that is some quality young adult romance material.”

“Vacationing in Paris - yeah, with what fucking money?” Minho retorts sharply, dramatically waving his arms around to gesture all around his small studio apartment.

“You’re so pessimistic, Lee. Any man or woman would be attracted to a nurse-”

“Oh sure, because my paycheck is so good that I have to live in a fuckass apartment at my age - how dreamy.”

Sure, Minho liked to talk shit about his studio apartment, and you couldn’t really blame him half of the time since his home was super small compared to his friends’ places; not to mention he lived right beside an apartment housing a couple that never stopped going at it. Whatever noise complaints he had were dismissed with a lazy shrug, meaning the poor guy had to stuff his ears in the dead of night just to get some decent sleep.

But then again, he had turned the small living space into something quite nice and, obviously, livable. The walls were painted a plain white, but Minho has spiced up the place by sticking some brick wallpaper onto a couple of the walls, as well as hanging up cute little houseplants here and there, scattered about the apartment. He also had two cats who got their fur everywhere.

Not that you were complaining.

“Y/N agrees with me, right?” Minho snaps at Changbin, quickly turning all of his attention just onto you within seconds. “I mean you don’t even know what your connection to your soulmate is.”

“N-nope, still don’t know for sure. Could be anything for all I know.” You replied, your voice shaking slightly out of sheer nervousness and hurt. Minho hadn’t meant to intentionally hurt your feelings, and especially not in such a crude manner, but you couldn’t help the tugging at your heartstrings with his blunt statements.

“See? That’s my girl, always got my back.” The man coos playfully as he leans into your side, slinging an arm loosely over your shoulders from behind to pull your closer to him. “We don’t need that stupid soulmate shit, yeah? I’ll find a great man or woman to marry and you’ll do the same. We can do some cheesy stuff and go on double dates!”

You find yourself falling into a daze while weakly nodding in fake agreement with your friend, shifting your gaze so you wouldn’t have to feel the pain of making eye contact with him. While Changbin quickly snaps back at the brunette, initiating yet another argument between them with you quite literally stuck in the middle of it all, you take a moment to look down at the sleeve of your hoodie on your left arm. The material has ridden up just enough for someone to possibly spot the gauze lining your skin, but you discretely slide the sleeve down your arm again before either of the two arguing men can notice.

Minho, on the other hand, lets his bandaged wound be seen by the whole world, still donning his short-sleeved pajamas from the night before. It is in the exact same spot your wound was, decorating the skin of your left arm just under your marginally scraped elbow.

The other day you’d been mindlessly wandering around the heart of the city after meeting up with Minho for a diner date - well it technically wasn’t labeled as a date, but it still felt like one; and that was real enough for you to accept, at least. In the midst of your otherwise peaceful walk back home, two younger girls had skated by on the already narrow sidewalk, one of them accidently shoving you to the ground in an attempt to catch up to her friend who’d managed to speed ahead of her. The worst of the impact had been on your elbow and left arm, since you’d immediately tried to lessen the pain of the fall by landing on that spot - course you underestimated the roughness of the cement, leaving you with an ugly spot of missing skin and a bloodied elbow.

And of course Minho had to go through the same exact pain as you, since that was essentially your connection - or, lack for a better term, your soulmate bond. Whenever one of you injured yourself, whether it be a teensy papercut or a scrape on your leg, the other person got the same exact injury on their body in the very same place.

“- but you still know what your soulmate connection is, dumbass! Your other half is out there somewhere, fuck they’re probably wondering where the hell you are by now!”

“Well fuck them, alright!” The man beside you boomed loudly, having clearly lost any and all patience with your other friend across the room. “I get to choose who I fall in love with, and they’ll just have to suck it up and deal with it. In fact, I have a date on Thursday with a person who is not my soulmate, and she is a fantastic girl who also thinks this whole system is a bunch of horse-shit!”

That was the last straw.

You abruptly stand up from the plush gray couch, tossing Minho’s arm off of your shoulders and onto the comfy material in a rush of mixed emotions. Their voices that had been so relentless in their harsh jabs at one another suddenly converged into one stunning harmony, calling out to you in worry; one more so with confusion, the other oddly knowing. Bearing no other utterance of a goodbye, you slip on your shoes sat by the front door and hurry out of the cozy home, quietly shutting the door behind your still retreating figure.

“W-why did Y/N run out like that? Did... did I say something?”

Changbin sighed softly to himself, staring sympathetically at the empty spot on the couch next to the concerned nurse.

“She really has faith in this stuff, Minho, you should know that by now. Out of all of us, I’m pretty sure she’s the one most looking forward to being with her soulmate one day.”

“Jisung for the last time, I do not want to go to the fucking party.”

“Aww come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun, I promise!”

“No.”

“... fine, but that means you’re letting me spend the night and picking out movies to watch.”

See, that was why you liked Han Jisung so much; while the kid liked to go out and party until the sun rose above the hillside, he never tried to force you into attending one with him - he respected how you preferred to stay home on Saturdays, taking the day off to simply relax in the mindless comfort of your own home.

“Tell you what, we’ll go to the damn party-”

“Yes!”

“- but afterwards you’re paying for pizza and friend chicken. Deal?”

You also knew how much Jisung liked for you two to actually be together and hang out like the best friends you were. He often abandoned his plans just for you, so you figured doing the same for him couldn’t hurt too much.

“Deal!”

Needless to say, you had been incredibly wrong, straying so far from the truth that when it finally hit you like a ton of bricks, you quite nearly puked on the spot.

The party Jisung had managed to drag you to was a simple high school one, which meant there were underaged teenagers drinking their night away and making out with upperclassmen that would graduate in just a few months time, promptly leaving the hopeful boys and girls in their trail of dust. You weren’t at all similar to them when you were their age, instead choosing to pine after one of your male best friends that just so happened to be your soulmate - the person fate destined you to be with for the rest of your life.

Said soulmate was in the middle of shoving his sinful tongue down another woman’s throat, husky noises bubbling from between his plump, slightly bruised lips when you and the blonde senior had stumbled into a vacant bedroom to, you know, raid the shelves of video games and duke it out while the other teens fucked around downstairs.

“Minho?” His name slips past your parted lips, though it doesn’t even come close to catching his attention, nor the woman’s. Only moments ago you’d been a giggling mess, stumbling up the wooden stairs with a bubbly Jisung in excitement since he had overheard that the host let one of the guest rooms upstairs be open for anyone who felt uncomfortable or wanted to just hang out during the mess that was most certainly a stereotypical high school bash.

But now... now you can feel your already frail heart starting to shatter like glass inside your chest. Because you fucking blew it. You chose not to tell the man that you were his soulmate, and that he was yours - that you were in love with him.

Because he always spewed nonsense about disliking the entire system since you were kids, you were inclined not to speak of your bond with him at the tender ages you were at back then - besides, you were still mere children that screamed cooties when someone of the opposite gender was even affectionate towards another. Surely his opinions would diverge in the future.

Except, they never did; in anything he became even more upfront with his thoughts on the ideals of fate as time flew by, cursing and challenging the universe with every other breath he took. While his blunt words had always left a lingering sense of regret in the back of your mind, nothing could have possibly prepared you for the condemning feeling of heartbreak that rolled over your frozen figure in the doorway of the guest room.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

You can just barely make out Jisung’s snort of disapproval and disgust at the sight before the both of you, and for a fleeting moment you watch as the two moaning adults hurriedly pull back from one another’s bodies as if the other was burning like a candlestick.

“A-ah shit - um, guys, this is Ginny. She’s the girl I went out with on Thursday.” The breathless man explains, offering an awkward smile that compliments his even more embarrassed, flushing cheeks while his brown gaze darts between his two friends and his date. There’s a bit of a tent in his pants and there’s crimson lipstick smeared across his lips and neck. If you two hadn’t accidently walked in, then they would’ve taken another step further.

The mere thought of Minho, the man you had so helplessly fallen in love with, having sex with another person crushed your soul. He was his own person, yes, but you felt the selfish urge to claim him as your own because fate wrote it so. Fate destined you two to join in a loving union, and you had fallen into its deadly trap - perhaps that was why it hurt so much more than it would have, had you not fallen in love with your best friend.

So like any logical person who happened to be foolishly in love with their best friend and also happened to coincidently walk in on said best friend having a rather heated make out session with another wonderful human being, you turned tail and shot down the stairs of the house, ignoring Jisung’s call of confusion and Minho’s stunned shout for you to come back.

Yeah, as if any logical person would walk right back into the very room their best friend was so about to have sex in - what was he thinking?

“Y-Y/N, wait up!”

What was he thinking?

“Come on baby, slow down!”

What were you thinking?

“What do you want, Minho?”

Why had you chosen to fall in love with the one man that didn’t believe in soulmates?

“I - fuck, I’m sorry you had to see... that.” He goes to apologize breathlessly, as if he hadn’t just tore your heart out of your chest and stomped on it repeatedly.

“So am I.” Is all you can say in response, too afraid that any other words you might utter would seal your fate and his own; one of likely rejection or awkward silences between two people - one of which was in love with the other, the second friend only seeing the other as just that, a friend.

His bruised lips part to speak again, but you decide that you really need to split before he can unknowingly cause a mental breakdown in your head. With a swift turn on the heels of your feet, you face the other direction and begin to walk through the semi-crowded kitchen, the tips of your fingers gliding across the countertops to help steer you away from the center of the drunk crowd of teenagers.

Without warning a sharp, searing pain runs up your veins all the way to the nerves of your hand grazing the gray countertops - it takes all of your self control not to let out a yelp of pain, although a weak, befuddled whimper does escape your lips in the heat of the moment.

“Ow - what the fuck?” Minho hissed in unison with your whimper of utter pain, having started to follow close behind you in the sea of teens hovering in the already cramped kitchen area. “The fuck just cut my fingers-? Wait, are you bleeding?”

You’d been in the middle of raising your bloodied fingers to your eyes to investigate the new wounds, little cuts from a stray knife carelessly splayed on the countertop stretching across three of your five fingers when Minho directed his attention towards you downcast gaze and red fingertips.

He glanced to your wounds, and then his own.

He hadn’t been using the countertop as a guide like you had been, as his arms had been pressed firmly against his sides to prevent himself from brushing against the other partygoers.

“Is - is this your connection, Y/N?”

“Do you mean our connection, Minho? Or should I go ask the pretty redhead in the bedroom if her bond is where she can suddenly have injuries appear on her body because her clumsy soulmate never stops getting hurt?” You’re not quite sure why you’re so furious with the man, and you know that by tomorrow morning you’ll be sending him various messages of apologizes for your rash, hurtful jabs. You knew it wasn’t right, blaming him of all people - but it hurt.

“Our... connection?” He fumbles on his words, his eyes now searching yours for undying consolation - and he finds it, flashing across your now teary eyes as you stare at him.

You can recall when and where you figured out Lee Minho was your soulmate. The both of you lived in a rural town not too far from the heart of the bustling city, growing up around cattle and barrels of yellow hay rather than flashing lights and nights of blaring music in the clubs across the streets. Naturally the two of you had grown close, labelling each other as the other’s “super-duper-bestest-friend” by the ripe age of six.

Neither of you knew too much about soulmates and all that mumbo-jumbo the older kids and adults talked about pretty much 24/7, choosing to block their sweet confessions of love and endearment to one another by running around the park closest to your houses or going for a dip in the pond behind your fence.

That particular day, though, Minho had dragged you to the quaint pond filled with cute orange fish the size of your pinkies and green frogs that croaked well into the late hours of the night. He wanted to try out “fishing” by catching the orange fish with his bare hands, that of course being the first mistake that day.

You chose to simply watch the adorable black haired boy splashing away in the chilly water of the lone pond, your bottom sat upon a rounded stone a couple feet away; perhaps half an hour had passed when suddenly you felt an odd stinging sensation on the palm of your right hand, and at the same exact time you recalled hearing Minho let out a shriek of pain as he slipped his right hand out of the pond to cradle it into his chest.

But even after finding out that it was your special bond with Minho, your soulmate, you kept your connection secret all the way until now by simply stating that you weren’t sure what your bond was. You wanted to see if you could convince Minho to see that fate was written for a reason, though you never forced your ideals upon him no matter how much it stung to hear him scrutinize the deep bond between the two of you - not that he had known, obviously.

“Baby - I didn’t know, I’m so sorry.”

You cut off his apologies with a shake of your head, backing away while you now cradle your bloodied hand into your chest. “Nothing would have changed, Minho. I should have realized that so much sooner.”

And then you walk away, leaving behind your soulmate to collect his thoughts.

Sunday mornings were usually a state of calm serenity for you, since you didn’t have any classes or shifts at work. They were days that resembled healing in your eyes, especially since you really needed some good time alone after the events of the night before.

You wanted to scream and cry into a pillow all day long, in all honesty.

You’re still lying alone in bed, tucked underneath the warm layer of a fuzzy brown blanket you’d been gifted last Christmas wrapped around your body like a sushi roll when you hear the unmistakable sound of your doorbell ringing. You know damn well who it is and why they’re at your doorstep - but you didn't feel ready to face them and own up to your mistakes and critical words.

Somehow you get yourself to roll out of bed, not bothering to look all too presentable as you slowly saunter all the way to the front door where he is certain to be waiting anxiously.

I can do this, I can do this, I can-

“-Before you shut the door on me, please hear me out,” Minho pleads out to you in a rush of breath, his hands behind his back as he takes your silence into consideration, “okay I think that’s the go-ahead... Y/N, I still think people should be given the chance to fall in love with whoever they choose to,”

Did he really need to remind you?

“but I also think I like you - scratch that, I know I like you more than as a friend. I never tried to make a move on you because our views differed so greatly, and I know it was wrong of me to try and make you see my point of view in the middle of an argument. You always seemed so excited about the prospect of being with your soulmate, which I guess is technically me from what I understand, so I backed off.” He admits, occasionally having to force himself to slow down and say each word carefully so he wouldn’t be too overbearing.

“Minho - you don’t need to apologize, I do. I should have told you sooner that I knew.” You breathe out softly, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion when he vehemently shakes his head in disagreement.

“Lets just stop right there, because we could keep apologizing to each other for days and I don’t think these poor things will live that long without fresh water.”

“What-?”

“Ta-da! Flowers for the lovely light of my life,” he hums cheerfully, bringing out a small but beautiful bouquet of flowers from behind his back to told them out in front of his face, peeking out form behind them with red cheeks and a nervous smile, “I um, I hope this isn’t too cheesy. I’m kinda hoping that you might give me a chance and go on a date with me-”

“Of course I will, cheesehead - here, let me put these in a vase and we can discuss where we’ll be going on our date.”

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#skzwriters #stray kids #stray kids au #stray kids soulmate au #stray kids drabbles #stray kids imagine #stray kids scenario #lee minho #Minho soulmate au #Minho imagine #Minho scenario #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst

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weerd1 · 5 years

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Star Trek DS9 Rewatch Log, Stardate 1909.22, Supplemental: Missions Reviewed, “Treachery, Faith, and the Great River,” “Once More Unto the Breach,” “The Siege of AR-558,” “Covenant,” and “It’s Only Paper Moon.” (For Aron.)

“Treachery, Faith, and the Great River” begins with Odo receiving word from a Cardassian informant he thought was executed that they need to meet. He informs Kira (while massaging out her sore muscles after spingball, godamighty) that he’s going alone, and take a Runabout to see if he can find the man. Meanwhile repairs are behind on the station and the Defiant, and Sisko demands O’Brien have them all completed when he gets back from a conference on Bajor. O’Brien is stymied, not having the parts he needs, when Nog offers to get them.

He just needs Chief’s access codes to make the right trades to make it happen. Odo arrives at the rendezvous to find Weyoun, who wants to defect. While they are heading back to DS9, they are hailed from Cardassia by…Weyoun and Damar. Turns out the Weyoun of the last couple of years died in an transporter accident. The Weyoun 6 clone is the defector, and Weyoun 7 wants him hunted down. Damar says they must destroy the ship, but Weyoung 7 knows the Jem’Hadar will never fire on Odo. Damar mentions they don’t have to know he’s on board. Kira calls on O’Brien to explain why the Captain’s desk is missing, and Worf and Martok want to know why their bloodwine is gone. Confronting Nog, the Ferengi explains that the universe is governed by the Great Material Continuum, running like a river from places with too much of a thing to places with not enough of a thing. He is counting on the river to get them their parts, with a little help from Ferengi trade practices. After one Jem’Hadar ship is defeated with Weyoun 6’s command, the Female Changeling confronts Weyoun 7 and Damar about what’s going on. Damar notices that the Changeling doesn’t look right, she looks dried out. As soon as he mentions it, she changes and demands they get Weyoun 6. Six meanwhile, with Odo and cornered by Jem’Hadar reveals that the Founders are sick, all of them. He defected to make sure Odo was ok, and tell him that HE will be the last Founder, and de facto leader of the Dominion if the other die; and opportunity to reconstruct the Dominion as an organization of cooperation and peace. To Weyoun 7 to call off the attack, Six activates a built in suicide pill, and Seven is true to his word. Six asks Odo for his blessing as he dies, and indeed the clone dies in the arms of his God, his faith rewarded.

On DS9, O’Brien expects to be derided when called to Sisko’s office, but Nog is there, as is the captain’s desk, and the repair parts are in the hanger. As they leave ops Worf and Martok appear. Somehow Nog as replaced their bloodwine with vintage 2309, far better quality than what they had before. O’Brien is amazed, but Nog cites the Great Material River, HIS faith rewarded.

The A and B stories here almost get equal time, but there are a lot of great reveals here. The fact the Founders basically uplifted a group of timid tree apes to create the Vorta; the Vorta’s cloning practices; the fact the Founders are ill (there will be some more dire revelations about this later). All those heavy moments balance well with the Nog/O’Brien storyline. Now, I have to tell you. This episode as a toy and nerd collector affected me deeply, and to this day, it is my policy that if someone really takes a shine to something in my collection, I pass it on to them. I like to call it, “casting it into the great material river.” Whenever there is a hole on my shelf, something show up to take its place. I have faith my toys end up in the hands they should.

Kor comes to DS9 to ask Worf to help him go “Once More Unto the Breach.” Kor has been marginalized in the war, and has not been able to seek glorious combat. Worf asks Martok if there is place for Kor, but Martok is incensed. Years before, Martok’s career was almost derailed before it could begin by Kor because the House of Kor was a great one, noble, and Martok was little more than a farm boy. Worf convinces him to allow Kor on as Third Officer in a mission to raid a Cardassian base.

When Martok describes the plan, Kor states it was the same one he and Kang (last seen with Kor in “Blood Oath” way back in season 2, and before that on TOS) against the Federation in the previous century. The crew is overly respectful of Kor, D’Har Master, much to Martok’s chagrin. When the actual fight happens though, Martok and Worf are incapacitated, and Kor takes over, losing himself and thinking he is back in battle against the Federation and Kang is on his way to help. When Worf and Martok retake control, Kor is shamed and abashed, but their small fleet is also being pursued by ten Jem’Hadar ships. Worf devises a plan to stop them, but it will cost a ship. If that ship can stop even a few of the enemy ships, the others might escape. Worf plans to take command, but Kor knocks him out with a hypo, beaming to the bird of prey that will face the Jem’Hadar. Martok monitors the battle, amazed at Worf’s bravery, but Worf appears on the bridge, informing him it is Kor in battle.

They watch amazed, waiting for whatever ships Kor cannot stop to pursue them. None do. Though it cost his life, Kor destroys all ten Jem’Hadar vessels, leaving Martok’s crew—and Martok himself—to drink and sing songs of Kor’s victory, knowing they will see him in Sto-Vo-Kor.

Another great Klingon episode, and a great end for the always entertaining, and slightly mad, Kor. This it turns out was also John Colicos’ final acting role, and what a note to go out on. The heroic battle is pure Klingon here too. The tension between noble houses and minor houses on Qo’noS is interesting, as it will also factor heavily into “Discovery” in its first season, specifically with the House of Kor dealing with Voq, son of none. There are also a few nice moments between Kor and Ezri, who seems to immediately accept Dax as Dax. Perhaps he adapted better having already dealt with the change from Curzon to Jadzia, however even then he was rather quick to accept her. An interesting quirk for someone so adherent to Klingon noble traditions.

“The Siege of AR-558” has the Defiant bringing supplies to a Starfleet outpost in the Chin’Toka system, which has not been easily held. The outpost has captured a Dominion communications array, and hope to crack it, but have been too busy defending it against repeated attacks. On the mission is Quark at the behest of the Nagus who wants a report on the state of the war. It isn’t good. These people have been defending this outpost for five months; two months longer than a tour is supposed to be. They were 150 people, they are now down to about 40. They are constantly falling victim to “Houdini mines,” small floating explosives that hang in subspace and randomly appear and explode, perhaps somewhere you’ve walked a hundred times.

Nog is impressed by the battle hardened humans here, but Quark warns him these are not the cuddly Earthers he knows. “…take away their creature comforts… deprive them of food, sleep, sonic showers… put their lives in jeopardy over an extended period of time… and those same friendly, intelligent, wonderful people will become as nasty and violent as the most bloodthirsty Klingon. You don't believe me? Look at those faces, look at their eyes…" When the Dominion attacks the Defiant, Worf pulls back, leaving Sisko, Bashir, Nog, Dax, and Quark on the surface to help defend the base. Ezri befriends Kellin (played by Lost in Space and Babylon Five’s Bill Mumy) who is trying to crack the mine problem, and they start to work. Sisko sends Nog out on a scouting mission with two of the Soldiers here, and though they get a good look at the Jem’Hadar base, one is killed and Nog loses his leg. Bashir plays Vic Fontaine music as they await the attack, but when Ezri and Kellin get control of the mines, Sisko uses them on the Jem’Hadar, thinning their numbers before the attack. One of the Jem’Hadar makes it to where Nog lies wounded, Quark himself shoots him down.

When all is said and done, Kellin is dead, but reinforcements and engineers arrive, allowing the one survivor of the original group to leave with the Defiant.

A grim and powerful episode that aims to look war right in the face. Quark’s speech I quote here is really fantastic, but comes back to haunt him when he too, put in the corner, is willing to shoot to kill, to protect. Ezri questioning Sisko’s decision to turn the mines they were just condemning on the enemy calls into question what is fair in war, but also leaves you as a viewer to decide if it was the right decision or not. The Starfleet trooper with Jem’Hadar Ketracel White bottles, ripped from his enemies’ bodies, brings to mind the Klingon was saw in “Soldiers of the Empire” with Cardassian neck bones as a necklace. At least it isn’t body parts, but DS9 does not flinch here, and it is a better story for it. Nog losing his leg will come into play again very soon as well. Back on TOS, Kirk would occasionally refer to himself and other Starfleet members as “Soldiers.” Here we see that’s true; makes you wonder if they plan to bring back the Marines we saw in STVI: The Undiscovered Country (the Colonel of course was played by Rene Auberjonois!).

Kira is visited by an old friend, Vedek Fala, in “Convenant.” He gives her a gift which turns out to be a transponder that allows her transport across the sector to the previously abandoned sister station to DS9, Empok Nor. There she finds her Vedek is actually part if the cult of the Pah-Wraits, who feel the Prophets turned their back on Bajor. In charge of the cult, she finds Dukat, who feels since he once housed Kost Amojan that he now has been touched by the Pah-Wraiths, and chosen to lead their people.

Fala shows her the Bajorans here are completely under Dukat’s sway. Indeed there is one pregnant woman, who with her husband have only been allowed to have kids because Dukat has allowed it. Kira is less than convinced, but Fala persists telling her the Prophets have lied about the Pah-Wraits and they are peaceful. Dukat meanwhile tells Kira he has changed, and he loves his people. She points out he has set up some weird simulation of what he lost, commanding a station like Terok Nor, with a horde of Bajorans who love him. This proves startlingly true when the pregnant mother gives birth to a half-Cardassian baby. Dukat claims it is a miracle and a sign, but there are some doubters. He meets with the woman, apologizing for the “weakness” that allowed him to father her child, but when she says no one else knows, he tries to flush her out an airlock.

Kira and Fala come along and save her, but now Dukat must act. He locks Kira in her room and is going to take poison with all of his followers so they can “shed their bodies” to help the Pah-Wraiths enter the Celestial Temple. Kira breaks out and tackles Dukat just as he was going to take the first pill, knocking his from his hand. When Fala hands him just another one out of the box, Dukat won’t take it, and they all realize he was going to let them die and go on. He tells them it was what the Pah-Wraiths wanted, but they aren’t having it, and he has to beam away. Fala meanwhile takes his pill and dies in Kira’s arms, telling her it was because of “faith.”

Dukat going full blown cult-leader is right in line with his arrogance and his ego. It’s just another example to me though that one of the bets DS9 misses is having Kira kill Dukat at the end of the series. Yes, this sets him to as a vessel of the Pah-Wraiths, an Anti-Emissary, but I thing all the personal grudges with Kira deserve a better resolution. And for those who freak out over Scotty building an interplanetary transporter in the Kelvin Timeline, here’s one at work with Dominion tech in 2374, 13 years BEFORE Spock will go back in time and teach KY Scotty how to finish his. For that matter, before the Voyager will show up in just a couple of years with Borg Transwarp tech too. The Kelvin Timeline works if you just look at the details.

Finally, fandom tonight watched “It’s Only a Paper Moon” as a tribute to Aron Eisenberg’s passing, so I made sure I got this far. Nog returns to the station with his new bio-synthetic leg, but it hurts him and he must walk with a cane. All his medical checks show fine though, and he is interested in doing nothing but lying in bed and listening to Vic Fontaine sing “I’ll Be Seeing You,” the song Bashir played in “The Siege of AR-558.” When Jake can’t take more than three days of that song on repeat he confronts Nog, who leaves and goes to the Holosuite to hear Vic sing it. Nog decides to stay and live in the holosuite for a while. Ezri is skeptical, but Vic mentions he will take care of the kid. Indeed, Vic helps wean him off his cane, and gives him something to do by letting him do the casino’s “books.” Nog though seems so comfortable he won’t come out. Ezri asks Vic when he’s going to be done with him, and Vic seems to realize he too has become dependent on Nog; usually, he’s only on for a few hours at a time, but with Nog there 26 hours a day, he is now constant.

Realizing he’s putting his own needs first, Vic shuts down the program himself. Nog tries to get it running again, but can’t, but Vic appears to ask him about it. Nog says he doesn’t want to go back to the real world because he’s afraid, as anything could happen. Vic tells him that’s life, and why you have to seize it when you can, and indeed why he was happy to have Nog there. It’s time though, time for Nog to seize it for real. Nog leaves without his cane, and reunites with his family. Later, back in uniform Nog visits and tells Vic he has a present for him. Nog has made a deal with Quark, and this holosuite will continue to run full time, allowing Vic a life. Nog knows it’s the least he can do since Vic helped him get his own life back.

Bittersweet to watch tonight, but a great episode that takes a long look at the trauma of war and the mental scars that can be far worse than the physical ones. The continued development of Vic Fontaine as a sentient lifeform is interesting, able to control who does and does not use his program. Still self aware though that there are times he is “off.” Aron Eisenberg is of course terrific and this is an important episode for Nog, demonstrating why this was the episode his friends, fans, and family chose to commemorate him.

NEXT VOYAGE: The Orion Syndicate has come back for O’Brien, and somehow the Tigan family is involved. The Tigans are Ezri’s family before she was joined; she comes home in “Prodigal Daughter.”

#Star Trek #Star Trek: Deep Space Nine #DS9 Rewatch #aron eisenberg

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gail-hq-archive · 5 years

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◖◖ headcanon. bring it all down so you can finally start over tw: alcohol abuse with special mention of @nataliechanghq @dianaxsmythe @therealstevee @spencer-hq @casey-hq and a minor mention of @connorhq◗◗

► word count: 3881

Summary: Being the headstrong petulant brat that Gail Weston is, she didn’t let anyone tell her what to do; not even her own subconsciousness. So she did what she does best: hurting people.

It’s been two hours since Gail cracked her phone screen in a fit of rage and raided her own alcohol stash. Her mind had long been hazy, but still it wasn’t enough to get the incessant nagging thought of her mother out of her head. When she first broke out her bottles of vodka and various other liqueur, she had bothered with cups and tumblers, but after downing two bottles of whatever fancy stuff she had stowed away, she didn’t care much for propriety or whatever. It was peaceful and loud all at the same time. Gail sat on the floor next to her bed, staring distantly at her own white walls. How did everything get to this point? Does it matter? Does anything?

The sudden vibration from her phone sitting by her side shook Gail out of her spaced out moment. She squinted her eyes and checked the caller ID: Natalie. Panic and dread fills Gail, did she forget about some standing thing they might’ve had? Unable to think clearly, Gail picked up the call and tried her best to sound sober.

“Hey Nat.” Yes, keeping it short and sweet. The less she talked the less chance Natalie will know she’s drunk.

“M’not feeling ‘kay.” Atta girl, she was so proud of herself for her enunciation. She was after all, first place for moot when she was still in law school. She’s practically nailing this phone call.

“Wha-at?” Red Alert, Red Alert! Natalie sounded entirely too suspicious, did she blew her cover? Shit- shit. How did she know?! Gail cast a suspicious gaze around her, not trusting that there weren’t some ninja around her that’s reporting back to Natalie.

“M’not slurring!” Denial of the charges, that’s right. She needed to establish a position first, and that’s she was not drunk.

The opposition thought otherwise, but she wouldn’t give up without a fight. So while Natalie started to berate her about drinking in the broad daylight, she wracked her brain for a good defense, but all she could come up was:

“Fuck you, Nat!” Which followed by a swift thumbing of the red phone icon. Well, it wasn’t as swift as she’d like, Gail only fumbled with the phone for a second or two, but nobody’s keeping count.

Gail sat quietly for a moment, looking confusedly at her phone. Had she really just hung up on Natalie? Well, she started questioning her sobriety first, so really, she deserved it. But then in the middle of Gail’s alcohol driven mind, she realized that Natalie would most definitely come looking for her. And she’s basically a sitting duck in her apartment right now.

She tried to stand up quickly, only to regret it as a wave of nausea attacked her sense of balance. Once she’s regain more or less most of her faculties, she grabbed her phone and the bottle of Jack that she’s been drinking and ran out of her condo, albeit unstably due to her heels.

---

Gail wandered around the streets for a little while, she barely had the wits to pick up a straying paper bag to cover up her booze a few blocks ago. Where could she possibly go? She’s got no friends, Natalie doesn’t count because right now she’s being a giant pain in the butt butt. She’s got no real home, never had. All she had was her slowly draining Jack and a phone that’s been turned to silent when Natalie couldn’t take a fucking hint. A crack in the sidewalk made Gail tripped and stumbled in her step. Holding her hands out, her savior managed to keep her upright. Uninhibited, Gail gave a grimace that shouldn’t pass as a smile. “T’anks.” She mumbled, her breath reeking of alcohol. She tried to place her newly minted savior, Gail was sure she’s seen her before. From law school? From high school? No, no. Maybe from work? Yikes.

Clearing her throat, Gail tried to stand on her own, only to stumble once again. This time she gave up and hang onto Diana. She seemed nice enough of a person, maybe she won’t be like Natalie ‘Snitching Mom’ Chang and start lecturing her on all the disadvantages of drinking.

“I know you,” Gail brought her index finger up and booped Diana’s nose, giggling the entire time. It was so funny! Her nose is meant for booping.

“Did you know cats sleep 16 to 18 hours a day?” She said, interrupting whatever spiel Diana was going off on. Something about wanting to talk? Pffftt, does it look like Gail’s a talking type? Like sure, she argues for a living but otherwise, talking is like a big no no. Nuh uh. Non merci.

Gail let Diana droned on and on about her own little past history and honestly, Gail was getting really bored of this conversation. There was a really pretty blue bird that just flew by and she wondered where it went... Maybe it got killed by a car, her thoughts drift to the dark side as easy as ABC. All pretty things tend to end up poorly.

Finally, when Diana tried to reach for her bottle, Gail has had enough. “You’re killing my mellow, man.” With that said, Gail gave Diana a quick shove off to the side, not as effective as she hoped, but the fact that she hopped into a cab immediately after seemed to do the trick to get herself away from Diana. From the window, she could see the distressed face of the blonde and Gail sneezed at how positively face-contorting it looked.

---

Gail had just shouted at the cabbie to drive when she first got in, but the longer she sat in the back of this dubiously smelling cab, the less she wants to remain there. Pulling out her phone, she squinted and with some effort, she managed to call Kronk. She quickly barked out the name of her usual bar and then ordered him to meet her there in 5 minutes before hanging up just as abruptly. As the cab driver wasn’t made of brains, Gail had to repeat herself and their destination to him once more.

It took Stevie an extra five minutes before he got to the bar and Gail had been sitting in the cab waiting for him all this time. When Stevie came running through the streets, Gail stepped out, not as gracefully as she normally would, but it can only be considered as such given the state she’s in; she stopped him with a hand on his arm and told him to pay the cab man. She didn’t stick around to look at Stevie’s baffled face and his reluctance in fishing out his wallet and paying the hefty bill, instead she walked purposefully into the establishment and took a seat by the bar.

“Finally, that took you fooooorever.” Gail rolled her eyes when Stevie finally joined her. She poured them a few shots of vodka and glared at Stevie until he acquiesced. They sat together for a while, it was mainly Stevie talking. Which was a nice change of pace since normally it’s Gail telling him what to do and him delivering marginally acceptable results. She actually didn’t mind listening to Stevie talk, his voice wasn’t grating... yet.

-- She spoke too soon. Not a minute after Gail thought she might finally be able to get some peace and drunkenness out of the night, Steven Kronk Evans opened his mouth and started nervously rambling about how Gail doesn’t look ‘alright’. What the hell does it even mean to be ‘alright’?

“Shut your whore mouth, Kronk, nobody asked you to have an opinion.” Gail threw back harshly at Stevie’s concern. She’s not here for concern, she’s here for the alcohol, she’s here to drown herself as deep and as far as she can humanly tolerate. But if she was capable of being honest at that point, she knew she was beyond the point of no return. If she kept drinking the way she’s been drinking, either her liver will give out or she’ll need to be hospitalized for alcohol poisoning -- which the latter doesn’t seem so far fetched a possibility.

Stevie, not cluing into the the fact that Gail might not be in the mood to talk about anything, or maybe his balls finally dropped and he wanted to grow a spine for once, kept on. Gail didn’t want this, she didn’t ask for any of this, she didn’t want any of this. She just want everyone to shut up and for everything to be quiet. A small voice at the back of her head shouted This is what you want, you want someone to care. He cares. Let him.

Being the headstrong petulant brat that Gail Weston is, she didn’t let anyone tell her what to do; not even her own subconsciousness. So she did what she does best: hurting people.

“Oh fuck off, Steven. I only asked you here because though you can’t do anything right, you at least knew how to listen. Now it’s like you don’t even know how to do that. Is there anything you can do?” And since the knife isn’t embedded deep enough, Gail forged on.

“I should’ve just called your sister or brother, at least they look competent. Hell, a garbage man can do a better job than you right now.”

Turning her head away from Stevie, Gail ordered another glass of gin and told the bartender to leave the bottle.

“Just get out of my sight, I don’t want to breathe around useless garbage.”

Gail didn’t pay any further attention to Stevie. She didn’t even know if he left right away or he lingered and looked at her with those sad beady little eyes that sometimes creep her out. All she knew was she finally had some silence to go with the gin.

---

It must be closer to midnight at this point, and that would’ve meant Gail have been drinking on and off for about half a day. When Stevie left, she had the forethought to order something to eat, something chicken and greasy. It was a bad decision given how it almost immediately sobered her up. She washed the dinner down with gin. As time passed by, Gail had slowed down in her drinking. She only sipped at her drinks instead of knocking them back like a champ.

She was so lost in the haze of nothingness that she didn’t even realized someone was calling her name until she felt someone shaking her. Unfocused, she lolled her head over to the figure next to her and hummed.

“Wha..” She slurred off. There was a pretty cute guy looking at her, except he’s sporting one of those ugly worried expressions. She reached up with her hand and tried to smooth away the frown. It worked for a moment when he smiled, she smiled right back because who wouldn’t when a cute guy is smiling at you and holding you like that.

She didn’t know what was going on but he said something to her, and she nodded. She nodded and her eyes fell closed on their own. She have been having trouble keeping her eyes open wide, and she was finally in a good spot. Her head was spinning so much, but at the same time she was floating... she felt like she was in the clouds -- or at least if she knew how it felt to the in the clouds, this would be it. She was weightless, as though nothing was tethering her to anything. She was free.

Opening her eyes, Gail saw the cute guy pay off her tab. Pretty and rich. She hummed happily, she would gladly sleep with this guy, she decided. Through the haze of the alcohol, she managed to catch his name: Spencer. It sounded familiar, but nothing popped out at Gail. So it must be fine. Spencer, the cutie, helped her up and out of the stool and walked her to his car -- or so she presumes. It’s too shiny and smelled too nice for it to be a cab. The whole car ride took too long and also not long enough for Gail. But the moment they got out of the car, Gail was all over him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulder as she leaned up to kiss him. She had the alcohol, and now she wants the regrettable sex.

Gail’s attempt to jump Spencer’s bones in the hallway was only half successful as she was repeatedly pushed away in favor of walking, of all things, by Spencer. It took yet another forever and a day before they were behind what Gail supposed to be Spencer’s apartment. In her haste, she didn’t gave her surrounding a clear look, for if she did, she would realize that she was back to the IHQ campus or at least recognize the layout of the apartment. Now that they were in an enclosed space, Gail tried once again to fuck Spencer. Try being the operative word. He kept pushing her and stopping her at every other kiss, won’t let her take off his clothes, and certainly won’t let her take off her own clothes.

Straddling his lap, Gail looked beautifully angry. With arms resting on his shoulder, she huffed.

“Are you gay? Is that it?” She flipped her hair away off and over her shoulder. His denial of her statement caused her to be even more frustrated.

“So what’s wrong? Isn’t this why you brought me back here?”

Yet another stuttering denial.

At that point Gail was tired, tired of playing these stupid games with stupid boys. She pushed herself off of Spencer and plopped down onto the couch. She then asked him if he had more alcohol. When the response she got was a worried look and pursed lips, Gail grumbled and crossed her arms in defiance. Spencer tried to pry her with a warm hand on her thigh and soft spoken words, but none of that would ever work. Finally, Gail look stock of where she is and realized that if she stayed here any longer, she might end up committing homicide and suicide. Gail gauged the distance between her and the front door, thanks to the fact that they were stumbling and making out the whole time coming in, it wasn’t locked, and she was still close enough to make a run for it. So Gail switched tactics, she sighed deeply before turning to smile sweetly at Spencer, asking if he could actually bring her some water - just so she can start the process of sobering up.

Gail waited like a cheetah readying to strike, the moment Spencer’s silhouette disappears behind the kitchen wall, she made a run for it. Without her heels, Gail managed to escape the would-be prison with big success. She heard a distant yelling of her name but by that time, Gail had already slammed the door behind her and ran down the stairs. Adrenaline can do wonders, especially for someone who is entirely inept at anything sportive like Gail.

---

Still, Gail had her limits -- especially physical ones. She only managed to go as far as the front door where she promptly fell onto her ass panting like a dying zebra. Glaring at the blond doorman and barking at him to mind his own damn business, Gail fished out her phone from her bra. She scrolled all the way down to ‘C’ and selected Connor’s name. At least he wouldn’t rat her out to Natalie or do anything untoward... or maybe she could even convince him to have sex with her again. That certainly seemed like a good idea at the time.

‘im diwnstsirs cm ppixk mr up’

So maybe her texting abilities weren’t topnotch right now, but she thought she did pretty well, all things considered. Firing it off, she hid off to the side of the entrance where she kept her glare on the ugly doorman, not trusting him to not do anything fishy. It only took minutes, but it felt like hours to Gail, for someone to come bouncing down and opening the door behind her. Gail was about to berate Connor for his tardiness when she looked up and found that it was decidedly not Connor who’s standing there.

“You’re not ugly Connor.” She deadpanned.

Nope, it was Casey bloody Rose.

Gail was tired, her feet are sore, her back hurts, her head is spinning and she’s suddenly lost sight of what she wanted anymore. So when Casey took Gail’s hands into hers and invited her up, Gail did nothing but allowed herself to be led like a child.

The trek up to Casey’s place was slow, but it was... nice. She stared confusingly at their joined hands and wondered why it felt so nice to hold hands with someone. Once they were behind Casey’s apartment door, she settled Gail at the couch before going off somewhere. Gail opted to sit on the floor and leaned back against the foot of the couch. She cooed over Nala, who came sniffling at her the moment she sat down. While she still felt like she was floaty and all around unstable, the dog helped make Gail feel a little less spun out of control. Or wasn’t that what she wanted? To be out of control? To feel nothing? To not be tethered? Gail frowned and tried to make sense of her head.

Movement at the corner of her eye took a while to register, but when it did, Gail looked up from Nala’s resting form on her thighs to meet Casey’s eyes. The blonde looked at her so gently, like any sudden movement and Gail would be flying off and out of the apartment. There’s still worry, but it wasn’t as suffocating as when everyone else looked at her.

Gail beckoned for Casey to approach. She was so pretty... Gail had thought that when she saw Marley in that bar, and again when she saw Casey when she was a ball of anger rushing towards her. The Rose sisters were undeniably beautiful, but Casey was a conundrum. She’s so happy and silly all the time that it’s hard to imagine her ever being anything but -- but Gail does. Gail knows exactly how her face contorts prettily with rage, and how all that disappears into regret and worry. Casey’s face was extremely expressive... and Gail has the biggest crush on it.

When Casey was close enough, Gail reached out and tugged at her arm. She leaned up and captured Casey’s lips into hers. Her lips were soft but unmoved. And almost instantly, Gail felt hands on her shoulders gently pushing her off. She looked up, scared and crushed at the same time, fearing that Casey would yell at her, shouting for her to leave. No, she needed to leave. She needed to leave before history repeated itself and left Gail with the broken pieces again. Gail scrambled to get up and the whole time she mumbled her apologies and other incoherent things.

She could barely step past Casey before she was stopped. Gail looked at Casey’s hand on her arm but didn’t lift her gaze to meet the blonde’s. Casey said in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want Gail to leave. Gail stood there for a moment before muttering that she needed to use the washroom.

Shut behind her little temporary safe haven, Gail padded over to the sink and stood in front of the mirror. She hated what she saw in the mirror, she hated everything about it. All she could see is everything that’s gone wrong, that’s gone bad. She was rotten. Flipping open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, she found a small pair of scissors and a razor. For a split second, her hand hovered over the razor as thoughts ran through her mind. It was too dark, even for her, so instead she reached for the scissors.

Closing the cabinet, she was faced with the abomination that is Gail Weston again. Everything about her is in order. Everything about her was planned. She was just her mother’s glorified barbie doll. She didn’t own a single part of her body, not her looks, not her life, not anything. Gail grabbed her hair into a ponytail and in a few chops, she cut off a good 7 inches off of her hair, leaving them fall shortly below her shoulders. She didn’t really comprehend what she had done until she was staring at a fistful of hair. She suddenly found herself sinking to the floor, her knees were too weak to support her weight any further. Gail let the pair of scissors fall clattering off to the side as she continued to stare at her handful of hair.

The clattering of the scissors was probably what drew Casey to check up on her, or maybe it was the sheet amount of time Gail was in the washroom and the distinct lack of water running that clued her in. But either way, Gail only noticed Casey had came into the bathroom when she was kneeling in front of her, with a hand over hers.

Gail looked up from her fistful of hair to Casey. She opened her mouth and closed it multiple times before she knew what to say.

“I cut it all off.”

“All the bad things,”

“It’s all gone now.”

“It’s all gone.” Gail’s voice hitched at words. One tear, then two, then it was as though the floodgate had opened. The sobs started to pour out of Gail the moment Casey wrapped her arms around Gail and pulled her into her embrace. On one hand, Gail held tightly onto the chopped up hair and the other clung onto the front of Casey’s shirt like a lifeline. Gail sobbed and cried and screamed. It was as though she was finally letting herself cry after years of suppression. Gail cried without abandon and she did it all while Casey held onto her.

After a long while, after Gail’s cries dwindled down to sniffles, Casey took care of the mess and led Gail to bed where she was told with certainty that she wasn’t going to move an inch until Gail had fallen asleep. It took some time, but soon the exhaustion from crying and the enormous amount of alcohol she had consumed finally took over her.

---

The next morning, Gail woke up with the headache of the century as the memories from the day before washes over her like a tidal wave. Gail, with great force and effort, managed to tear herself out of the bed where Casey was now sleeping soundly, and made her way out of the apartment. She couldn’t possibly stay there and face Casey, not when she practically violated her autonomy and forced herself on her. That was before she made a huge mess of herself crying like a baby in front of her. No, this won’t do at all.

She’ll need time away from all of this, from everything and everyone -- and the best place to do that is to retire back to the gigantic emptiness that is her condo, where all this shit began.

#ihq:self #ihq:plot #ihq:headcanon #*about #tw:alcohol abuse #// fuck this took a day #// thank u if u have managed to sit thru all this shitty prose

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