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haikyuuuuuhypeeeee · 3 years

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Ch. Twenty Two

⚠WARNING: Hospitals, mentions of hospital treatments (ethical and unethical - it is just speculated, there is no graphic descriptions nor is there any unethical hospital treatments used on any characters.)

• ────── ✾ ────── •

You're folding the picnic blanket when you think to turn your phone back on.

Oikawa, Mattsun and Makki are discussing their plans for the rest of the day - they want to keep reminiscing and there’s talks of pulling out yearbooks and photos. You let them plan, knowing you’d be on board with whatever they want.

Your phone fully comes on, and a text pops up immediately.

Your heart plummets in your chest. You quickly unlock your phone and call Kita immediately. You don’t want to wait long before he picks up.

“Hello Y/N-san.”

“Kita,” you reply. Your throat feels dry as a desert. “What’s wrong, is Osamu okay?”

“Yes, Osamu is okay and not in any immediate danger.” He is quick to quell your fears, not wasting any time with pleasantries. “His fever intensified after he woke up so we brought him to the hospital. He was admitted in the later morning, but the doctor is confident that with plenty of medicine, fluids and rest Osamu will be fine.”

You sigh. “Thank goodness. I’m glad he’s okay.”

There’s a slight pause before Kita replies. “Yes, as are we.”

You didn’t like that pause. Nor the way he phrased his response.

“Kita, what’s wrong?”

There’s another pause before you hear a sigh. Then Kita speaks. “Osamu was admitted for his fever. But he is going to remain in the hospital under psychiatric watch.”

Your heart drops to your stomach. Out of the corner of your eyes you’ve noticed your friends paused in their cleaning efforts and are giving you concerned looks.

“What?” You whisper. “What does that mean?”

“It was at the advice of the in-house psychiatrist that Osamu remained until his parents could talk about next steps, and Osamu agreed. His parents are less than an hour away - we contacted them last night when we came to Osamu’s apartment. He is not a threat to himself at this time but during this limbo they want to keep him under watch.”

Kita speaks in his soothing, calm voice you’ve gotten familiar with and his words are meant to reassure you. But you’re scared, very scared. All you can picture is Osamu locked in a room, alone and chained up and scared. The vision makes you grip your chest.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” Kita says over the phone. “Aran, Suna and I are at the hospital right now. We’re going to greet Osamu’s parents and stay for however long we can remain useful. You are more than welcome to join us.”

“I’ll be there,” you answer immediately. “I’ll be there soon.”

You hand up the phone and finally turn to your friends. They look extremely worried.

“This morning Osamu woke up with a really bad fever and he went to the hospital. I guess the psychiatrist wants to keep him there for observation.”

“Observation?” Makki repeats. “What does that mean?”

“They think he could hurt himself.” Mattsun says quietly. Makki blanches.

Oikawa steps up. “Are you okay?” He asks quietly.

You stare at him, trying to figure out your emotions. “I don’t know,” you say truthfully. There’s really only one feeling you have. “I’m worried about Osamu.”

Your voice breaks on Osamu’s name and Oikawa pulls you in for a hug.

“Are you going to the hospital?” Mattsun asks.

You hesitate, despite giving Kita your affirmation not even five minutes ago. You want to go, and be there for Osamu. But today is for Hajime, and you want to be there for your friends.

“You should go,” Oikawa tells you. You look at him in surprise. He planned this whole day and wanted to spend it with everyone - yes that’s when he was being a bit more of a dictator but you’re still surprised to see his change of heart.

“Iwa-chan would want you to support your friends, all of your friends.” He gives you a small smile. “Go, but text us updates.”

You nod, smiling at him. You turn and start to walk away, but the quick thought of deserting your friends makes you pause.

When you turn around all three of your friends are waving their hands at you. “Go! It’s fine!” Oikawa calls.

You laugh quietly, then turn and run to the bus stop.

The ride to the hospital is short, quick and uneventful. Your mind is whirling and you’re barely paying attention. You spare enough attention to know when to jump off the bus and run into the hospital lobby, dodging other people. As you scan the area you immediately find Kita, Aran and Suna tucked in a corner. Kita stands from his seat as you approach, as does Aran. Suna remains in his seat, exhaustion having taken over his features. Aran also looks defeated, but Kita’s calm and collected expression keeps you from spiraling too much.

“How is he?” You ask as you get within earshot.

“There are no updates since our phone conversation from earlier.” Kita replies. He offers the plush seat next to Suna and you gingerly sit. “All we know is that his fever has gone down and he checked himself in for voluntary watch under self-harm precautions.”

The reminder makes you flinch, still shaken by the events. Kita reaches an arm out to your shoulder. “It will all be okay. We should have some more answers soon - the Miyas should be here any second.”

“Shin-kun!”

He barely finished his sentence when a voice called out, making Kita turn to the entrance. Two more people are rushing to your group, a man and a woman. You immediately peg them as Osamu’s mom and dad - besides the fact that you knew they would be joining you all, the woman has the same eyes as Osamu. Now they’re tight with worry and apprehension as she throws her arms around Kita.

“Thank you so much for calling us!” She tearfully cries with her arms wrapped around Kita. The father is currently hugging Aran, both holding onto each other tightly. “I’m so glad we were able to get here so quickly.”

“It was nothing.” Kita answers calmly. The mother jumps over to Aran to give him a hug while the father hugs Kita. Both parents turn and give Suna a big squeeze, sandwiching him between them.

Kita continues talking. “In fact, Y/N here was the one who helped us find Osamu.”

Both parents turn to you, making you freeze in your seat. You swallow thickly, standing up quickly.

“Uh, hi. I’m Y/N. I’m a friend of Osamu’s here in Sendai.”

It’s quiet for another second before the woman launches herself at you. You feel your eyes widen but you’re able to move your arms in time to catch her.

“A friend, oh thank you, thank you!” She is nearly sobbing while clutching onto your figure. “I thought my Osamu was alone in the city, but you’re his friend.” You feel tears on your neck as Osamu’s mom starts crying, but you do your best to pat her back and comfort her.

“Osamu is one of my very good friends,” you say as the mom pulls away. “He means a lot to me.”

She gives you a tearful smile while Osamu’s father speaks up. “If you don’t mind me asking how did you two become friends?”

“It was a random meeting,” you say, not necessarily lying. “But we became good friends because we’ve both lost someone close to us.”

The father’s eyes soften while his face falls ever so slightly. He steps forward and opens his arms. “Can I give you a hug? I like to ask, seeing how my wife just jumps right in.”

You smile but step in for a hug as well. It’s warm and all encompassing, and you feel a bit of tension release from your shoulders. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” He says before pulling away.

“Thank you.” You say earnestly. “And I’m sorry for your loss also.”

He nods. “I’m sure you know how important it is to talk to someone about this, even if you’re just talking to a friend. Having that support is immeasurable. So thank you for being Osamu’s friend.” He gives you a smile. “It means more to me than I can explain.”

You’re slightly taken aback with how genuine he sounds, but you nod all the same. “It was the same for me.”

The dad gives you a smile before his wife comes up to him. “Kita told me we can go see the doctor and Osamu now.”

The father nods at her, giving you a smile before departing. As they walk towards the elevators you see him wrap his arm around his wife’s shoulders and hold her tight.

“Oba-san asked us to stay at the hospital if we could.” You turn and see Kita standing by his chair. Aran has sunk down into his and Suna already looks fast asleep, long legs sprawled out in front of him. “You are more than welcome to stay, but I don’t know how long we will be here.”

“I’ll stay,” you answer. You sit back in your seat next to Suna, feeling the wariness of the day catch up to you. You might copy Suna and let your eyes drift close for a bit. You know it’ll be awhile before you hear anything from Osamu anyway.

• ────── ✾ ────── •

A/N: I like to think that Kita's typo in his text is because he's stressed out, not because I made a typo when writing this.....anyway, finally we meet Osamu's parents! They're are absolutely lovely people and I can only imagine the pain they've been through in the last few months. Thank you all for reading!!

Taglist Open! Please send an Ask with the request to be added to It’s [Not] Okay Fic & SMAU (bold cannot be tagged): @psycho-nightrose @camcam1617 @kamalymaly @toobsessedsstuff @shookykookie30 @roro-707 @qualitygiantshoepsychic @cerealfrdinner797 @ara-mitsue @gray-444 @tanakasimpcorner @rintarovibes @jellien @everytimeswift @bongofrito @babucrow @beidouluvr @kozuken-ma @imarriedachef @badkarma-a @reina-de-tay @meianshugoswife @creepykawass

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ladyfawkes · 3 years

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Eugene Appreciation Week | Day 6: Protect and Sacrifice

Desiderium by @Ladyfawkes and @trekkiehood

Current Chapter 10: Never Surrender

Current word count: 18868

Rated T for graphic descriptions of violence, physical torment, events during a POW setting

Chapter Summary: For the first time since being attacked and abducted, Eugene wakes up.

Chapter 10: Never Surrender

The first time Eugene awoke, he had been turned on his side. Someone had placed the tapered part of a large syringe in his mouth. He gagged on the warm stream of saltwater being actively injected and immediately began vomiting, which in turn yanked and pulled and twisted up all of the severed and injured muscles and tissues just below and to the right of his stomach. It felt as if his guts were on fire and actively trying to push themselves out of the wounds that cursed sword had given him. He tried to bring his arms down to fold them around his wound in front but he’d found his wrists were tightly bound with ropes instead.

“It huuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrts,” he howled mournfully, in earshot of whomever was near. Or at least he would’ve howled, had his cry not cut out halfway through. Only then did he realize how stupid he was to have used his voice. Instantly, he became so drained he started shaking. For he not only unwittingly revealed this weakness to his enemy, the action induced Eugene to use the most injured, raw parts of himself. His reaction, however, had at least been visceral, instinctive, and utterly involuntary; he had no control over it. However, if Eugene thought he’d felt nausea and pain before, that was almost nothing compared to how he’d felt in the here and now.

After Eugene had fallen unconscious, he’d clearly and repeatedly aspirated what little stomach contents he possessed into his lungs and sinuses. A pained groan escaped him regardless; His raw throat and sinuses pulsed with a dull throb in the back of his head every time he tried drawing a breath.

“Believe it or not, I am trying to help,” said a tiny voice beside him. “Sometimes, though, it’s gotta get worse before it can feel better,” continued the voice. Gradually, Eugene’s top half was raised at an angle. The old cloth beneath him soaked with blood and vomit was removed and replaced; the fresh one was folded over several times and placed underneath his nose, mouth, chin, and neck. He was still on his side but was given a bolster to put under his ear and top half of his head as further support at this new elevated angle. His shaking slowed slightly. However, in the back of his mind, Eugene still recalled how precarious was his position. Therefore he could not bring himself to trust this mystery medical person. The captain was still bound at the wrists and ankles, after all. He assumed his boots were long gone. There was no way they’d leave footwear accessible for a prisoner -- especially not one they’d have no intention of ever releasing.

Rather than finding any comfort in what had just been said or done by this funny-voiced person, Eugene stiffened as the syringe wielder injected even more saltwater into each nostril. Though Eugene still choked, coughed, and gagged very violently, the entry-and-exit wounds through his midsection were simultaneously given moderate compression from either side until he’d cleared out the last of the salt water. The compression action alone had diminished his pain, nausea, and the nasty sensation that his guts were spilling out by about 30%. And he didn’t throw up again either. For the time being.

“I would cut your bindings, as they’re so useless and even cumbersome,” mumbled the voice, “but Regis would have us both hanged immediately….” Though Eugene struggled valiantly and tried to become an active information-gatherer like his training demanded, nothing proved to him that he was too far out of his element more than the traumas of this particular interaction. Even his own weakness shocked him. Though the name “Regis” had instantaneously provoked distinct emotions from within.

The mystery person again mopped up Eugene’s face from the deluge of saltwater. “I know that was awful,” commiserated the individual, “but I’m betting your throat and sinuses are no longer killing you. That it’s much less painful to breathe, at least from your neck up?”

Eugene said nothing….and only scowled until he did gingerly test breathing…. and it was indeed far easier and less painful now that the aspirated stomach acid had been cleared away. Buuuuuut he had this permanent stitch now, this ache below his right lung….Eugene seriously wondered whether he would ever breathe deeply again.

“Well, that’s all right, playin’ possum,” said the voice. Can’t say as I blame you, nosiree, captain in the enemy camp and all….” and the person bustled about, chattering aloud to Eugene but mostly to himself. “Oh, and my name is Clarence, my designation here is ‘apothecary’, although my duties compass a great deal more.” Was it just Eugene, or did ‘Clarence’ sound a little bitter? Could this be a rift Eugene could press to his advantage? “This possum skill is good,” the Clarence person rejoined, “because the more ill and unconscious you are, the more put-off Regis will be…..I know since he already walked away once due to being so disgusted by the state of you. You were supposed to have been brought whole and unharmed….and Javeen, Regis’s 2nd, truly learned to regret his actions.”

Eugene’s shivering persisted and worsened although it was clearly a warm day outside. He had no earthly idea how much time had passed since he was first abducted nor how long it had been that he’d worn anything from the waist up due to being stripped down by...Javeen, was it? He guesstimated it had been at least two days since he’d eaten or drank anything...but it felt more like 6 or 7 days because of his injuries. As an orphan, Eugene knew well the ravages of starvation. He’d faced it many times as a child and youth and young adult. And this was….not like that. At all. It was infinitely worse.

Though this small apothecary minding Eugene clearly couldn’t match him in size, he removed and shared his tunic nonetheless. Or at least he attempted to share. “I’ve got on several layers,” mumbled the little man….

“Curse it,” the apothecary finished, as he realized Eugene couldn’t possibly be dressed in normal clothing while still bound at the wrists. And a few seconds later, very abruptly, Eugene’s wrists were blissfully cut free of the ropes that had bound him.

In another wholly involuntary action, Eugene automatically turned from his side to his back, his arms fully separating so his chest could expand and he could breathe in the air his oxygen-deprived body so desperately needed.

The apothecary seemed to have anticipated his needs and again gave Eugene compression so as to minimize the sensation his guts were falling out as he greedily sucked in more and more shuddering lungfuls of air. “Oh deary dear, no wonder that was so difficult for you,” the little apothecary fretted. “Broad chests and large arms do not do well for one’s lung capacity when they’re all mashed together. I can’t imagine Adonais himself could handle his wrists being bound in such a way….”

Breathing in as if it were going out of style was exquisitely painful but this pain was also infinitely worth it. Then Eugene coughed and….it was chunky style, i.e. some of the leftover goodies the syringe hadn’t been able to remove earlier. He turned his head to the side and spat it out. “Good!” said the apothecary. “That’s even better than you getting more air. We need you to cough up all of that junk. And breathe as deep as you can, at all times, even when it hurts.”

Unexpectedly Clarence seized Eugene’s hand and placed it around the cushion he’d been using. “Anytime you need to sneeze, cough, or what-have-you, press the cushion against your midsection. It will help a little. Regis’ll just have to hang me then, he can’t very well have me heal you if you’re gonna go off and die of aspiration pneumonia, nosiree…..”

Heal me in order to hurt me, ugh, thought Eugene. Talk about mixed signals. Now that he was laying on his back, Eugene’s head near the base of his skull started throbbing with the renewed pressure. In spite of himself, Eugene reached up with his left hand and felt the back of his scalp.

Clarence continued bustling about. It was registering through Eugene’s pain-haze that this is the same apothecary that had just given him full use of his hands. Even handed him a projectile. Maybe this guy isn’t what he seems? Eugene considered. Nope. NO. Don’t get lulled by a false sense of security. Considering his wounds and the fact his ankles were still bound, Eugene was basically still immobile anyway, even with full use of his hands and arms. Well, almost full use. If he moved his right arm in a certain way, it tugged all the way down to his worst wound and made him see twinkly pain stars in front of his vision. He determined to keep that arm closer toward him at all times to avoid triggering that horrible lightning twinge. And this meant he couldn’t reach down far enough to slip the ropes off his ankles even if he’d tried. Eugene realized the physician knew exactly what he was talking about by deeming the binds “useless”. His prisoner was going nowhere and this little man knew it.

The physician (Eugene had already substituted ‘apothecary’ in his mind) took note of Eugene’s movements. “Ah yes, I see you’ve discovered the other little 'present' Javeen and his men left for you: that nasty goose egg on the back of your head. I advise against making any more sudden movements? I’d hate to see you vomit again.” Fanfriggentastic. Here was yet another thing that explained to Eugene why he was in such rough shape….Javeen’s men had brained him earlier. Although he couldn’t recall when it happened along with why he’d felt so beat-up and bruised all over, everywhere….those things were still a mystery to him.

The physician did his best to dress Eugene in the too-small tunic of his. Again, he apologized -- APOLOGIZED!! -- for it having been all he’d had on-hand. Ill-fitting though it was, Eugene had finally stopped shivering. Once again, Eugene found second thoughts about this strange little man creeping into his consciousness. Next, the physician had grabbed what looked like a Coronian saddle blanket and draped it around Eugene’s shoulders, offering another layer of warmth. It finally caught up to him regarding what that meant; the physician had handily kept him from slipping fully into shock.

He’d also made dang sure that Eugene could breathe as well as could be expected…..by cutting his binds….and whatever that syringe debacle was…..although the process itself was nightmare-ish, it couldn't be denied that everything had worked as intended. Sometimes things have to get worse before they can feel better. Not to mention the man had gone out of his way to ease Eugene’s pain with that cushion compression trick. Already Clarence had engaged in at least two things that were probably directly against protocol by doing just a tiny bit more than the bare minimum.

Clarence steepled his hands and considered Eugene’s positioning. “I’m gonna need better access to that wound on your back,” he said. “Don’t use any of your own power to help me turn you; I’ll do all of the work. Is that clear?”

Eugene shrank a little at such intense scrutiny paired with the direct order….yet said nothing. It was the most demanding Clarence had been thus far. The apothecary sighed shortly, clearly not taking silence for an answer this time.

“I mean it, Mr. Tough Guy. This is one instance where you must be like a living ragdoll and let me do all the rest. Do you think you can handle that?” Clarence paused briefly, appearing to consider something. Eugene simply stared at him. “You can communicate by whispering. Actual whispering, not sotto voce style. It requires far less lung capacity and is unlikely to cause much pain. I say again, do you think you can trust me? Because if you try to ‘help’ even a little, you could cause those wounds to push outside what’s meant to remain inside.”

“Yes,” Eugene whispered without hesitation. He didn’t know exactly what it was about this interesting apothecary that elicited his trust. And then it occurred to him as Clarence very slowly turned his patient's legs to his left side, encouraging Eugene to breathe through the pain: Clarence cares.

Not to mention….Clarence was right; whispering barely hurt Eugene at all….in complete opposition to when he’d shouted earlier upon first waking.

When Clarence went to turn Eugene from right to left by grabbing his right arm, however, they ran into a semi-unexpected snag. This arm, it appeared, could not be pulled...lest it trigger that nasty stitch Eugene had experienced earlier. So the apothecary took the saddle blanket and refashioned it into a type of jacket-sling so Eugene’s right arm was held secure against his chest; now his patient didn’t have to worry about his right arm being at the mercy of whatever gravity felt like doing with it.

With his free arm, Eugene lightly held the cushion against his gut. Then Clarence managed to carefully and successfully roll Eugene’s upper half onto his left side without any additional complications. Eugene was allowed to rest after all the additional activity. His side without the wounds was naturally far more stable and for the first time since awakening, the mere act of breathing didn’t make him wanna pass out from too much pain. Although it was still comparably arduous and taxing by trying to breathe deeply as instructed. The last time Eugene could recall feeling this helpless was when he had a nasty case of typhus around age 5 or 6 that had nearly killed him.

“Right now, I’m preparing an anesthetic for that wound in your back,” murmured Clarence. The apothecary was using medical terms that until that point in time for which Eugene had had very little use. It made Eugene wish he’d read and paid more attention like Rapunzel.

And mentally conjuring his beloved sweetheart so easily within such a natural context suddenly sent unbidden shockwaves of loneliness, hopelessness, and despair crashing through him. Regis would never release him and Eugene knew it. He’d gone to far too much trouble convincing others that Eugene no longer existed amongst the living. Past the end of his needfulness for this prisoner, the mad king might eventually attempt to use Eugene as bait at a later date. But until then, Eugene was still being secretly held here, wherever ‘here’ was...which had to mean that it was becoming more likely with each passing hour that Javeen’s decoy ruse had worked. That whatever was left after the fire the enemy troops had started, and after Corona’s soldiers watched their own captain get struck down, it was practically a given that nobody from his kingdom was out searching for Eugene right now.

In spite of himself, the back of his still-raw sinuses welled up and started dripping with these instant pent up emotions. He sniffled softly at first but when Eugene pictured himself back in the nursery, rocking Kleisonne and singing their special song….considering that Rapunzel has to sing it now….it was more than he could take. It had already been over two months since the last time he had left them to take up arms at New Old Corona and even though he could see Corona Island from the top of the mountain pass, as captain, Eugene felt as if he might as well have been a million miles away. With so few fighting men, with so few soldiers who’d actually experienced prior sustained combat much less led through it, such inexperienced leadership, and only a rather ancient stockpile of weaponry….(Corona had been at peace for hundreds of years, after all...) Eugene simply could not leave his station under any circumstances….not even to see his family. The kingdom’s needs had been too great….still are too great. Had his father’s battalions arrived yet from the Dark Kingdom? Probably not. Eugene had a feeling he’d be hearing all about it from the apothecary, chatty as he was. But then….but then -- one shining light of realization cut through the pain haze and fear fog….piercing its way through his overwrought mind and body. Rapunzel was actually queen now and thus not at the mercy and whims of what others thought or felt anymore. Not really. And Eugene could sense with absolute certainty that Rapunzel would not rest until she had found identifiable remains by means of incontrovertible proof. And once they found the only clue Eugene had managed to leave behind, Rapunzel’s resolve in finding him would become dang near indestructible. He’d just have to try and find a way to escape -- or more practically, considering his woeful state of being, somehow get word out ASAP so that Corona would still be performing a rescue, not a recovery.

Eugene hissed rather loudly at the sudden harsh stinging sensation emanating from around the wound in his back. The sharp intake of breath had in turn disturbed everything else within Eugene’s predicament. “My apologies,” Clarence spoke out, “I’m usually accustomed to patients who are already unconscious by the time I get to them,” he explained with a hint of nervousness.

Aaaand he’s apologizing again. For unintentionally hurting me. Truly this guy was proving over and over he really wasn’t Regis’s mad scientist henchman. After Clarence was finished with the stinging stuff, he grabbed some type of salve that Eugene was sure he already knew pretty well. Tallow, the same stuff used as a base for candles, also made a great healing and moisturization agent. It sealed the wound away from everything else including dirt and further abrasions.

It was basically how Eugene had avoided having too many scars for so many years, and the one main reason why he appeared completely unscathed, despite all of the bar fights he had been swept up in, and the smaller now invisible wounds he’s had. Although he currently rolled his eyes at his own past vanity by trying to achieve physical perfection with flawless skin. Eugene was certainly gonna have some gnarly scars after this….provided he lived long enough to actually heal from his open wounds and captivity….Eugene inwardly admonished himself to stop thinking morbidly. And to instead be grateful for Clarence and his incomprehensible kindness in such a morbid setting. And if Eugene weren’t already laying down, he would’ve been bowled over by what the apothecary did next. Clarence not only carefully cleaned and applied tallow to every inch of the abrasions those ropes had caused, he covered the red welts on Eugene’s wrists with long knotted-off strips of floursack cloth. It was such an unexpectedly….kind thing to do, to tend to wounds caused by a prisoner’s restraints…..Eugene was momentarily taken aback….and currently lost in thought. And this is when Clarence figured he’d had as good a time as any to crank up the hallucination juice.

Somewhere behind Eugene, something that smelled vaguely of incense and oil started burning nearby and he started coughing. Clarence reminded him about the cushion trick and the coughing sensation eased off and Eugene began to feel oddly and unexpectedly relaxed. His cognitive body functions had largely gone dormant and he was floating in a soft white haze. He felt….groovy. Every once in awhile, lightning streaks of pain might interrupt his dreaming as Clarence, who was not only a good apothecary but a well trained surgeon, worked on sewing up Eugene’s wounds.

Clarence couldn’t have Eugene eat or drink anything prior to surgery so that effectively eliminated anything taken by mouth when it came to easing his patient’s pain at this time. So the apothecary took the one safest route left to him; the psychoactive one. The main problem was that psychoactives didn’t technically knock you out….at least not the ones of which he was in possession.

The surgeon was distinctly worried that even if Eugene had tried to ingest any medicine or even water, it very well would have triggered pain so agonizingly distressful that he wouldn’t be able to stop screaming once it got started. Based on the prior blood and reflux content he’d seen so far, (as well as how his patient had reacted during his first few seconds upon waking) Clarence strongly suspected part of Eugene’s problem was a nasty duodenal tear and that meant high-intensity stomach acid was busy slowly seeping itself out everywhere it wasn’t intended to be, both inside and outside of his patient. Unneutralized stomach acid pouring itself into one’s abdominal cavity was indeed Not Good at All, especially since that includes everything else that regularly accompanies stomach acid. Clarence's plan was to be as hands-off as possible. He'd witnessed far too many patients die of resulting infection directly caused by a surgeon's brash (and yes, stupid) tendency to just dig around in open wounds. Clarence still didn't know if his patient needed to be sewn up all the way or if drainage sites needed to be packed as he healed.

All things considered, this “enemy” captain shouldn’t even be conscious. Eugene had to be practically dying of thirst and yet he wasn’t complaining. Here he was, on this makeshift exam/surgery platform, high as a kite, tripping aloud about fluffy purple bunnies wearing watermelon hats. Or was it purple watermelons wearing pink bunny hats? Whatever that meant, thought Clarence, with some amusement.

Clarence seemed to have an internal immunity against the “incense oil” he was burning for his patient’s sake. He was both annoyed and grateful for said immunity. He also fervently hoped this patient would stay distracted long enough with pleasant hallucinations in order for Clarence to do what he needed. It wasn’t like him to operate on a patient without explaining everything thoroughly, but he was hoping against hope that by subtracting another layer of self-awareness, it might somehow help Eugene stay distracted even longer. Besides, you can’t rightly swallow much of anything when it’s just going to…..leak back out such a nasty hole in your vital organs. Above all else, the young captain needed that tear repaired as quickly as possible.

Real things about world history discovers/innovations: When 'syringe' is mentioned here, it's not like a hypodermic needle or even an oral medication syringe. The size of syringes in the 18th century were more the size range of a can of spray deodorant on up to a large can of hair spray.

“Okay, Captain Fitz-Humpty-Dumpty, let’s try and put you back together again, shall we?” murmured the surgeon to himself, as he took one last glance at his overstocked supply of incense oil.

@gleamful-lanterns @kingreywrites @autumn-ravenclaw

A/N: In order to keep this an element of realism in this historical setting, you can imagine the amount of research that went into building this single chapter. Medicine was taking some monumental strides starting in 16th century (1500s) onward.

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nagisasstunningpersonality · 3 years

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Korosuu Translation - Chapter Three

Sorry, I know it's been a while. Actually, this chapter was super long so I took a very extended break from this entire thing. But I'm back now. If you're new here, this is OFFICIAL content! It's an untranslated (so far) short story, you can find chapters one and two here. I do also need to put out a trigger warning for this one as it involves some voyeurism.

Mirror Time

“Oh right… it seems like there’s a possibility.” Chiba returned to his own desk, and took out his notebook, writing utensils, and a triangle ruler. Chiba started to explain to Hayami, who was stood in front of his desk looking down at his notebook, whilst looking at the diagram. “When you hit the wall with a bullet, it flies out at the same angle as it flies in. Like this.”

[Illustration] A diagram of a sphere bullet ricocheting off a wall. The angle between the bullet and the wall before hitting the wall (incident angle) is the same as the angle between the bullet and the wall when it flies out (reflection angle).

“If you aim without Korosensei noticing, it seems like you can’t do it with a single ricochet.”

At Hayami’s words, Chiba nods whilst writing another line in his notebook. “That’s right. At least twice, but preferably three times or more, but if it ricochets too much the error will increase, and the momentum will drop. We might have to experiment with how many times it’s practical.”

“So, how do you aim for that? I get how to do it once, but I can’t really imagine twice or more.”

[rest will be under the cut, this chapter's long]

Whilst holding his mechanical pencil, Chiba leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. “That’s the problem. For example, in order to hit the target I’ve written here twice, you have to calculate the points that satisfy this diagram.”

[Illustration] An experiment conducted by Chiba to see if it is possible to snipe the target as inferred by the article. By solving the graphic problem as shown in this diagram, it is possible to deduce the point of the wall to aim at in order to hit the target with a bullet.

Whilst he was speaking, Chiba drew a number of right angled triangles on the diagram.

Hayami looked at the diagram and frowned a little. “What’s this? I have to solve this every time?”

“Solving it is necessary,” Chiba replied, and then began to calculate the first position to hit the bullet.

With a sideways glance, Hayami turned to the back of the classroom, where the black metal box usually stood.

“This kind of problem, we could figure it out right away with Ritsu.”

The Autonomous Thinking Fixed Gun Unit AI (classmate) – which is called Ritsu by Class 3E, has been removed since the beginning of the week for maintenance. It’s only for two or three days, but it’s the first time the whole body has been taken out and maintained.

“Even so, I don’t want to rely on her.” Chiba checked the problem he had solved many times, took out the airsoft pistol from his bag, and then stood up. “This is an assassination to see how much I can do as a sniper. I feel like I have to think for myself.”

“Huh? Well, I don’t know.”

“So, Hayami, I want you to place the target in the exact location shown in this diagram.”

Chiba said it simply, but actually aiming was quite troublesome. After accurately measuring the distance with a measuring tape brought from the store room and positioning it, a desk is placed there and a yellow balloon that looks like Koro Sensei is attached.

[Illustration] How to ricochet to a Korosensei balloon…

Chiba had to determine his own standing position and the point at which the bullet would hit first.

“This is bad, can you call move to the window?” After all the work was done, Chiba called out to his friends in the classroom.

With faces full of interest, everyone moves towards the window as they were told, and Chiba squeezes the pistol’s trigger in the direction of the X mark that’s written in chalk on the blackboard. The bullet that was fired hit the blackboard and ricocheted off with a dry sound, then rebounded off the wall on the corridor side, before it headed for the target in the back of the classroom.

The first shot was more than a meter off. The second one was about 30cm. The third and forth shots also missed but not as badly as the first one, and the fifth one hit.

“You did it!”

The classmates who were watching cheered as the balloon broke with a banging sound. But, Chiba’s facial expression didn’t match the mood.

“What’s wrong? Is it that you can get more accuracy if you aim a rifle from a vantage sniping position?”

In response to Hayami’s words, Chiba shook his head. “No, that’s not the case. I knew I could do it this way, but… the problem is that,” Chiba pointed to the blackboard, “it takes too much time to figure out the point with the current method. Actually, there’s also height differences, so we have to do the same calculation in the vertical direction.”

[Illustration] In reality it’s necessary for the sniper to consider height differences. In the case that the sniper and the target are different heights, the ricochet snipe will follow such a trajectory.

[Plain view] A view of the room looking down from above.

[Elevated view] A sideways view. A three dimensional route that seems complicated can be simplified in this way by breaking it down into a plain view and an elevated view.

Takebayashi, who was listening, sighed. “Isn’t it double the work? Isn’t that even more unrealistic?”

“What if you do the calculation first, then everyone can guide Korosensei?” Nakamura said.

Chiba shook his head. “There are two problems with that. One is that you can’t guide the target the way you want. Especially when it comes to such a sever shooting like this, even the slightest misalignment isn’t good.”

Hayami nodded. “It’s not easy for Chiba to make such fine adjustments at this range. What’s the other thing?”

“I want to try and do this assassination without anyone’s help. I also said it before but, it’s kind of a stubbornness thing.”

“Is that right?”

Chiba looked down at the notebook on the desk. “The legendary sniper actually serves a number of moving targets. In other words, they’re aiming in the shortest amount of time they can. That’s something like a method we’re unaware of, or I wonder if there’s a special calculation trick.”

When he said that, Chiba was hit on the shoulder, and raised his head.

Okajima is standing there with a grin. “When you said that, I felt like I realised something!” Okajima gave a big thumbs up and a fearless smile as he said so, looking suspicious in front of Chiba and Hayami.

“Come on boys, get out!”

The fifth class of the day was a PE Class. The classroom is occupied by the girls, and the boys are kicked out into the corridor to change clothes.

“Sometimes I want the boys to do it before. B-because I’ll always only just make it.” Shiota Nagisa complains, stood with a rolled up PE uniform under his arm.

“What are you talking about, Nagisa? It’s fine, this our time to face our fated challenge.”

“Okajima kun, don’t you think it’s irresponsible to do this method by trial and error?”

Ignoring Nagisa’s strained smile, Okajima took a small mirror out of his pocket with a strangely calm expression. Additionally, he also took out a selfie stick.

“Hey you, isn’t that what the girls beat the hell out of us for using the other day??”

Whilst Terasaka Ryouma was gazing at him dumbfoundedly, Okajima tore up some adhesive tape into small pieces and started to attach the mirror to the tip of the selfie stick.

“Well, look. It was a mistake to hold it in a position the girls could see. This time, it’ll be perfect.”

“Isn’t this only adding more flaws to a plan full of holes…?” Said Kimura Justice.

“Hehe, look at it,” Okajima extended the selfie stick smoothly, and started to explain with a calm facial expression. “Well, while the girls are changing clothes, the windows on the corridor side are covered with dark curtains. Therefore, you can’t see what’s inside as it is but-“

“No, it seems that the curtains are there to stop us seeing.”

Ignoring whoever’s voice pointed that out, Okajima continues. “By some blessing, there’s just one small gap in the top window due to a slack in the curtain. The other day I was found by holding a mirror directly here, but today I won’t repeat the same mistake.”

“Then what will you do?”

After turning a fearless smile to Terasaka, who was tired of his face, Okajima held his selfie stick over his head.

“A while ago, when Chiba and the others were trying to shoot, I was secretly setting up the mirror in the classroom. I was pinpointed by the story of the ricochet. One mirror will soon be exposed, but many more mirrors are placed so subtly that no matter how vigilant the girls are, they won’t notice they’re being peeped through.”

[Illustration] Okajima’s new voyeur method, which improves on the experience found using mirrors for voyeurism and relays it with multiple mirrors so it will not be noticed. In principle, no matter how many mirrors you use, what you see from here can be seen by the other party.

“Ah-….. I thought that was the case,” Kimura showed a forced smile.

“Maybe this was in the calculation – huh?”

Okajima looked up at the mirror, frowned at him, and moved his selfie stick slightly. “Okay, I saw it!”

Okajima smiled in gratification, did a small triumphant pose, and deliberately took a compact digital camera out of his pocket with his free hand.

“What’s that?” Nagisa pointed a finger with a dumbfounded look on his face.

Okajima answered with a grin. “As you’d expect, I couldn’t bring out a camera. That would be just like talking loudly in the corridor about taking voyeur photos. That’s why I always carry a point-and-shoot with me in case of these situations. Please pay attention to the point that I don’t compromise with a smart phone.”

No one was listening to that, but Okajima completely disregarded the air in the room and released the shutter.

FLASH!

The camera’s strobe flashed and emitted a small sound.

“Oops, I wouldn’t usually make this kind of mistake,” Okajima said as he turned off the strobe and released the shutter again.

“O-KA-JI-MA!”

The door of the classroom opened forcefully, and the girls in their PE uniforms jumped out at once.

“Agh!”

With a well-coordinated move, the girls cut off any way for Okajima to escape. Okajima shouted with a half cracked voice whilst he was being pulled down on the spot and kicked with terrifying dexterity.

“W-why did I get exposed? The plan should have been perfect!”

“We could see the light from your strobe!” Kataoka looked down at Okajima with a dangerous expression on her face.

“That’s forbidden, Okajima kun.”

At the voice, the girls turn around and look over their shoulders. Standing in front of the open door was Koro Sensei holding a steaming paper bag from his open mouth.

“The idea isn’t bad. It’s not bad, but don’t forget that what you can see through the mirror, you can see from the other side as well. Additionally, if you use a camera’s flash, you may as well be saying ‘please notice me!’.”

After putting up with that speech, the girls shouted all at once. “Why do you look so self-important, you shameless teacher!”

“What kind of motive is there for suddenly coming in through the window when we’re changing!” Kataoka glares at Koro Sensei whilst pulling out a knife for the enemy teacher.

“Niyu, nyuya?! It’s a misunderstanding! I’m trying to inform distorted people like Okajima kun!”

“There’s no use in arguing!”

Moving with all their practised skills, the girls simultaneously held their weapons at the ready for their enemy teacher. They attacked a cowering Koro Sensei by firing BB bullets and using their special anti-sensei material knives.

“That’s why it’s a misunderstanding – hya, my shopping bag tore, and the bao buns I bought with great trouble are-“

Koro Sensei broke out into Mach speed and escaped.

Nagisa muttered. “Bao buns… ah, Koro Sensei was in Shanghai today.”

“Gee, what is this?”

In the background, Okajima, who had footprints all over his body, looked at the compact camera monitor and frowned. When Terasaka, who was standing close, looked into it, the photograph was the figure of Koros Sensei with an armful of the bao buns in a paper bag, pulling a peace sign in the direction of the camera.

-End-

The locker room talk really spoke for itself, huh?

#assassination classroom #ansastu kyoushitsu #ass class #translations #korosuu translation #korosuu

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 4 years

Photo

U N P L A N N E D, part four

Knowing what Harry wanted was a relief. It made you sleep better, even that first night after you drove home and reported back to Lexi over dinner.

Sure--the stakes were now higher in a sense, right? You were going through with it. Something about that felt completely surreal and still somehow impossible, but deep inside of you, buried beneath the fear and the doubt, was a tiny speck of hope. And it was decidedly apple-seed shaped.

When you were five or six, you insisted on pushing your dolls around in a carriage, so much so that you refused one day to go to kindergarten without them. Your mother had you all buckled in the car, your doll beside you and the toy-sized stroller folded in the trunk.

It had always been something you wanted, something you saw in your future--but you’d always thought that it would be in a different order. In fleeting moments, when you made your peace with that, the hope managed to fight it’s way through all of the other feelings, letting you know that it was there and real and maybe things would work out okay.

The reality was this: you were pregnant. You’d decided that you were going to have the baby. Harry seemed involved enough at this stage, and frankly, you were fine enough for now to just push any other thought out of your head.

Where would you live? Where would he live? How often would he see the baby? Would you even have full custody or were you making a terrible assumption? Would he be on tour when you went into labor?

There were a thousand questions that tried to keep you up at night, but apparently growing a human took enough out of you that you fell asleep easily these days. And Harry had warned you it was coming--a quick text to give you a heads up.

310-324-9090 (8:24am): Spoke with Jeff some more last night after I got home. He thinks it’s best if we have a meeting with some of my team. Can you call me later and I’ll give you some details?

You did as he asked--stepped out on your lunch break and spoke to him in the courtyard, careful to keep your voice quiet.

It wasn’t that people at work were nosy--it was more that a random Facebook employee getting knocked up by a famous musician was sure to be a good headline that someone would be killing to write if they got wind. So for now, you tried your best to speak in code.

“They want to have a meeting. Just to talk about some logistics and privacy things and whatnot.” He made it sound so casual.

“The logistics of the current situation?”

He sounded a bit confused. “Of you being pregnant with my baby--yes.”

“This feels like something I would need a lawyer for.”

“You don’t need a lawyer.”

“Aren’t you the opposing side? Isn’t this going to become some weird negotiation around what I can and can’t do with your--you know.”

“I don’t know…”

“Your baby,” you whispered the word quietly, a hand over your mouth to be safe. “Who is mine, too, by the way.”

“Y/N--this is just a meeting, okay? There’s a few things for you to sign--basically just saying that you’re not going to sue me or try to blackmail me.”

Glenne had mentioned that. She threw back another margarita that night in your kitchen and said you’d have to sign an NDA. It’s just something a bunch of people sign, confidentiality, basically. You’ll be fine.

It made sense. Jeff wanted to be sure you wouldn’t sell your story or try to cash in on the undoubtedly pricey offspring you were producing--that’s what Lexi had joked about. Can you imagine how much someone would pay for his baby?

You reminded her that it was yours, too. She threw her head back and laughed, yeah, but his DNA would make it more expensive--like a purebred.

And this was the easy phase, after all--that’s what your mom had told you on the phone when you told her you’d be keeping it. Things were still normal. You weren’t showing, you had no symptoms. Other than the apple-seed growth in your uterus, everything was still completely normal. For now.

You agreed to meet Harry on Saturday afternoon--some office building in Westwood that felt eerily empty on the weekend. Hallways that all looked the same, meeting rooms and conference tables stared back at you.

He’d met you in the lobby, offered a quick hug when you walked in from the fresh air. He took you up in an elevator, fourth floor, second room down on the left.

Jeff was inside with a few others, a small smile when you walked in behind Harry, clad in a graphic tee.

“Hey,” he said, standing and rounding the table to give you a hug. “How are you feeling?”

You could hear the guilt that laced his voice. “Good--I’m fine.”

“I’m, uh--I’m sorry about the other night. I was just--you know, kind of freaked.”

Harry let out a quick laugh, sarcasm threaded through his words. “We were doing totally fine--not freaked out at all.”

Jeff rolled his eyes, sat back down and introduced you to the other faces in the room. Lola, Harry’s publicist, John, a PR guy from his label, Dave, a lawyer. His assistant, Emma, a small smile on her face when you made eye contact.

You turned to Harry quickly--he sat on the other side of the table beside Jeff, fumbled with the top of his water bottle. He said you didn’t need a lawyer--but for some reason, he had one.

That’s when the anxiety kicked in--the swirling questions of what they all thought. They offered smiles when Jeff began talking and you did your best to wipe the sweat from your hands every few seconds on your pants.

“So--obviously, this is big news for everyone here--uh, we wanted to have this meeting, really, to just get a few things agreed upon.”

You nodded, watched Harry for a second until he looked at you.

Dave spoke now--black rimmed glasses sat atop his nose. You wondered what his life was like. A lawyer for top musicians? He probably drove a Tesla, too.“We have to have you sign something, Y/N--just saying that you won’t discuss any of this with the press. It includes no social media posting, no interviews, limited disclosure to friends and family.”

Another nod--that was a given, and it seemed to be for your own protection, too. Lexi had brought it up first. What happens when people find out he’s the father?

“We don’t expect you to hide the pregnancy altogether--to be clear. But for now, the parentage needs to be confidential.”

“Okay,” you said. “But not like, with everyone, right?” Maybe it was a dumb question. “I already told my mom.”

“No--your mom is fine.” Harry answered the question for them, which is when you realized that you were the only one on your side of the table. They sat in a line, the five of them elbow to elbow, their team and against yours.

The only problem was that right now, no one was on your team.

“How much did you tell her?” Dave’s head tilted like you’d said the wrong thing.

“Just a little--she knows it’s his,” your eyes went back up to Harry’s now. He held your gaze for a minute, looked over to Dave and cleared his throat.

“That’s fine,” Harry said.

The look on Dave’s face told you otherwise. “We need to keep the number of people who know to a minimum.”

“Well I certainly don’t expect her to not tell her mother,” Harry retorted, anger more present in his voice than before. You shrunk in your chair, feeling incredibly isolated as they sat across from you.

“Who does know?” Jeff leaned in, hoping to ease the tension between Harry and Dave--a welcome distraction when he looked towards you.

“Aside from people in this room, my mom, Lexi, Glenne--and my doctor, but, I think she’ll be fine.”

Dave started writing on the notepad in front of him. “I can draw up non-disclosures for them, too.”

Emma sipped at her water--you peered past her out the window. It was sunny--a good day for anything but this.

“So--we can move to the financial aspect,” Dave put his pen down and thumbed through some papers. “I know this is always the worst part, but--has to be done.”

You looked around the room, still feeling a step behind the others, confused. You watched as Harry twisted his hands together, stared down at them on the table. It felt like no one even wanted to make eye contact with you, like you were somehow wearing a scarlet letter.

“This agreement details the child support he’ll pay. Monthly until the child turns eighteen. Visiting rights, partial custody if he so chooses. If you sign, it means you agree to the terms and conditions and will hereby agree to share custody, barring any legal changes, of course. Anything you don’t agree to will be settled in arbitration, along with any changes to the agreements set forth here.”

He pushed a packet across the table, the paper was crisp and thick, stapled in the top left corner.

You looked up at him. “Do I get time to read it over?”

“Of course,” Jeff spoke quickly. “We’ll need it either way by Monday.

You tried not to roll your eyes. A whole two days. You swallowed, nodded, ignored the pen that Dave flipped over in his hand, apparently hoping you’d agree to sign now.

“We also have this,” he said, lifting another packet of papers from the stack in front of him. “We’d like a paternity test. This can be completed after seven weeks gestation. The previous agreements and contracts will become null and void if the paternity test proves Mr. Styles is not the father. That’s all detailed in here, though.”

There was a heat on your cheeks, one that felt like it threatened to bring tears. You stared down at the paper already in front of you, words like custodial and proprietary suddenly left your mouth feeling dry.

You didn’t have a chance to respond, Dave slid more papers towards you, this time the pen came with them. “We need you to sign the agreement to DNA testing for paternity confirmation and the basic non-disclosure today.”

You looked up at Harry--he watched as Dave fumbled through more papers, seeing if there was another dotted line for you to put your name on. Jeff stared at the glass of water in front of him, avoiding your gaze like you weren’t his friend, someone who came to his birthday parties or texted memes to his girlfriend.

“I need a minute,” you said, voice hoarse and unsteady. You pushed back from the table, turned and headed for the door without a response from anyone in the room.

“You can have time with the other documents, it’s just the paternity testing we need signed,” Dave’s voice faded when you got to the hallway, you counted the stripes on the carpet as you put more distance between you and your side of the conference table. The hallways were a maze, more rooms and tables and rolling office chairs that didn’t help calm your nerves.

There were footsteps behind yours--Harry’s, no doubt--but you kept moving, the end of the hallway was in sight, a door to a balcony, fresh air, a moment to breathe.

He was right behind you when you pushed it open, the cool metal of the door was prickly on your skin, hot and flushed. You squinted in the sun, he was quiet for a moment, the door shut.

“M’sorry,” he said after a second. You looked down at the cars that were parked on the streets below, people on sidewalks, a breeze from the ocean. “We have to do that--they’d never just believe it was mine without the actual proof.”

You turned around to face him. “Feels kind of shitty, though. They’ll think I’m lying until I can prove that I’m not.”

He rolled his eyes a bit. “Well people lie, Y/N! You might not be crazy but people out there are--so we have to just, I don’t know, they have to take precautions.”

“This isn’t just happening to you, Harry! I know that’s all that they care about--all that Jeff cares about right now--but this is happening to me, too! This is changing my life, too. You’re not the only one with a career and a family and a life.”

“I know!” He said, looking up to the sky as if it were the hundredth time you said it. “I know it is--I’m doing the best I can, okay? I need to know for sure that it’s mine, too, okay? I trust you, I do--but I have to know for sure.”

“Right--cause somehow this is my fault and it all falls on me at the end of the day, right?”

“I never said that,” he said, more hushed now.

“Well, this is on you, too. You’re the father and if I have to take a fucking paternity test I will but--you’re the only person I’ve slept with in the last, like, year.”

His eyes went a bit wide at that--you let out an annoyed laugh and turned back to the view, wishing you were home, beneath the tree in your mom’s backyard in Santa Paula. A good book and a sense of calm, something that felt all too fleeting these days.

“Really?”

“Really.”

You tried to ignore the smirk on his face, crossed your arms over your chest when you turned back to see him again. “So--there’s literally no chance it’s anyone else’s.”

He nodded, the corner of his mouth still lifted toward the sky.

“What? What are you smiling for?”

“Dunno,” he laughed a little. “Just--I kind of thought you left that night because you were seeing someone or something like that.”

“What? No--I haven’t--I had a boyfriend a while ago but we broke up.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

He shrugged, dropped your gaze for a moment. “Well, when I met you in the fall at that dinner--I don’t know, I asked Glenne about you and she said you were kind of,” he glanced back up at you, “unavailable. Or, you were dealing with something. So I figured when you left and never called it just--had to do with him.”

You thought back to that first night in October, long before the sex and the sneaking out. Sushi and drinks and butterflies when he walked in to the restaurant. You always knew that they knew him--heard his name and heard his songs on the radio. You’d seen him from afar once, a party at Jeff’s old house, you were on your way out when he strolled in, sometime in 2017, hugging other people and shaking hands with beautiful women. You never even thought he noticed you until you found yourself drunk on his couch two years later.

You knew why Glenne said it. You’d ended a relationship in the spring of 2018 and it took you all summer to even want to go out again. Lexi would beg and plead and apparently, a celebration in Glenne’s honor was what it took in the fall for you to finally put on a pair of heels and have a few drinks.

“I wasn’t unavailable--I just--I don’t know, her and Lexi can be protective.”

He nodded, quiet for a minute when he looked out over the hills in the distance.

Your break up was tough, not so much about losing him, but losing the vision you had. There were plenty of red flags--so big that even Lexi could pick up on them. But you brushed it off, pretended like it didn’t matter that he was unreliable and immature. When you finally had enough, you were more upset about the fact that it threw you off course.

What am I supposed to do, now? You’d asked Lexi in the living room, crying on the couch with a glass of wine in hand. How am I supposed to get married at 27 and have a baby at 29 if he’s not the one?

He wasn’t--he was far from it. Lexi poured more wine and said she’d order you a vibrator on Amazon. He’s a fucking dickface, dude, you’ll meet someone else. And fuck that timeline. It’s bullshit.

Maybe it was a gust of wind or the thoughts of how terribly off track this put you, more tears in your eyes when you sighed.

“I’m sorry you have to sign all this shit.”

You bit at your lip, a tiny thud in your chest when his eyes met yours.

“S’not how it should typically be and that’s because of me--or my job, at least.”

You nodded. He was right. If this was anyone else it’d be a lot easier. A lot less paperwork, a lot less questions.

“Do you want to go get dinner?”

“Right now?”

“Well,” he looked over his shoulder--Jeff was down the hall, his figure blurred through the glass. “You probably have to sign at least the NDA if you want them to let you out of the building. But--after that.”

You took a deep breath, wishing you could ignore the guilt that sat on your shoulders. He shouldn’t have spend time with you. You didn’t want him to feel tied down, trapped, you didn’t want to be the ball and chain that would inevitably be blamed for changing his life and ruining his career.

“No, no, we don’t have to, I should go home.”

“It’s Saturday,” he said. “What do you have to do?”

You didn’t expect his question--or pushback at all, really. “I have to clean. I have to organize stuff.”

“Stuff?” A smirk on his face told you he was on to you.

“You don’t have to take me to dinner. We don’t have to pretend like we’re friends.”

He watched you for a second, his eyes scanning your face as if he didn’t know what to say. He pushed his lips out in thought and then scratched at the back of his neck.

“Am I at least allowed to get to know you? If you’re having my baby--if we’re doing this--you’re kind of stuck with me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you tried to backtrack.

“However you meant it--I still want to take you to dinner.”

“Fine,” you said, heat on your cheeks when he smiled, eyes crinkling by the side. “But I have some things to sign first.”

“Right,” he nodded, a stifled laugh under his breath. He turned around and grabbed the door, gesturing for you to head back inside. “After you.”

Another burger, this time, hold the pickles. He teased you at the drive through window that you’d be keeping them in business alone for the next nine months, you parked this time near a beach north of Santa Monica.

“You said I didn’t need a lawyer,” you didn’t look at him, focused instead on the half-eaten burger in your hands before you took another bite. “Feels like I do.”

He looked over at you and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I mean--I didn’t want to freak you out. You don’t need one. You could have someone read over the papers for you. Do you have one?”

You racked through your brain. Maybe Simone would be your best bet, you could bring them into work on Monday and let her give it a read, but, then again, there was no way Dave and Jeff would let you tell another person before the paternity test results came in.

You shook your head. “Lexi watches a lot of Law & Order.”

He stifled a laugh, sipped from his soda and adjusted the dark sunglasses perched on his nose. “I don’t think she counts, love, sorry.”

You picked up your own drink and took a swig, ignoring the fluttering in your stomach when he smiled down at you.

“Hey, it’s alright. I can, uh, I can have Jeff find someone--not Dave--who can read them and you can meet with them, maybe. Go over it all and make sure it makes sense.”

You nodded, a feeling of gratitude swept through you. You offered a small smile of appreciation, another bite of your burger before Harry let out a laugh.

“See? M’not the enemy.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

“Hey, I mean it,” he turned towards you now, the sleeve of french fries on his lap shifted, one fell down to the clean carpet of his car. “I know they’re requiring the test, but, I trust you. And we’re in this together.”

You crumpled up the garbage of your dinner, tossed it in the bag that sat by your feet, suddenly too nervous to sit so close to him in the confines of his car. “Let’s take a walk,” you said, unsure of how to respond to his words. It was hard to believe him, he pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and walked beside you towards the beach, another stark reminder of the difference between your life and his.

It was obvious again, when the teenager behind the ice cream window at a beach front shop begged for a photo. You took it and prayed she didn’t even remember that you were with him. Hopefully the adrenaline in her system would wipe your face from her memory.

“This is the most beautiful ice cream cone I’ve ever gotten,” he said, sitting on the bench of a picnic table a decent ways away from the counter where you’d ordered. He twirled it around, inspecting it from all angles when you pulled the straw of your milkshake up to your lips.

“You’re acting like you’ve never seen one before,” you teased, reaching for a napkin from his other hand.

“S’just so perfect looking.” He reached for his phone, lifted his dessert up in front of the setting sun that sprawled over the ocean’s horizon. “Wow--do you see this?” He clicked the button on his phone, his thumb successfully capturing the moment.

You rolled your eyes, took a quick peek around to make sure no one was nearby. He’d already warned you that he couldn’t stay long. Typically only 30 minutes after you take a photo with someone, otherwise people start to show up.

“I’m sending this to you,” he laughed. “I understand if you want it framed or just as reminder of this beautiful evening.”

He pressed a few buttons and then your screen lit up on the bench in between you.

He peered down at it, then brought his eyes back up to yours. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth before he took the first lick of his ice cream. “Ever gonna save my number in your phone?”

You laughed, a bit embarrassed that a part of you had refused to do it. What if one day you woke up and he backed out? Said you were on your own and wrote you a check to never seek him out?

“Yeah, I just--I dunno, it felt weird at first.”

He raised his eyebrows a bit, finally took another lick from his ice cream. “Too personal?”

You laughed, “a bit.”

“Nothing quite as personal as having a baby together, if you ask me.” He took another lick and then dropped your gaze, a small smile on his face when he looked back at the sunset. “M’not going anywhere. Promise.”

When Aarav showed up at your desk on Monday morning, you knew you’d fucked up. When Simone showed up only ten minutes later, you knew you’d really fucked up.

“I’m so sorry,” you said. “I totally forgot it was tonight.”

“You forgot our bi-weekly Monday night bitch session about work was on a Monday night? On the Monday night after we didn’t hang out last week?” Simone tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at you. Aarav let out a sigh.

“I’ve been busy, I’ve been so busy.”

“Well are we still on? Simone and I are free as birds, so--we’re waiting on you.”

You looked at your work calendar, pulled up on your screen. Your last meeting was 3pm--then you were supposed to head towards Westwood to meet Harry and Dave and Jeff and probably the other people who had been at the first meeting.

“Yes, I can--I just, I have to cancel something else. But it’s fine. Not a big deal. That’s on me.”

You picked up your phone and tried to open the message discreetly. Simone pulled up her own and kept talking. “I’ll make us a reservation at Diego’s, yeah?”

“Sure,” Aarav said, “that’s the place with the good guac, right?”

“Right,” she said, clicking her phone shut and bringing her eyes back to you. “But also--can we talk tonight about how Carson told me he heard Levi mention something about talking with someone at Apple?”

Your eyes went wide. “Shut up--did you actually?”

“I’ll fill you in tonight,” she smiled, taking a step back from your desk and heading for the door of your office. “Over a nice, tall, frozen margarita.”

You leaned back in your chair and groaned, playfully insinuating that waiting that long would be torture. Aarav laughed and picked up a stress ball on your desk. He tossed it in the air once Simone walked away.

“You alright lately?”

You looked up from your screen, a half written text to Harry was typed out.

Hey--any chance we can rain check the meeting tonight? I know I have to sign it but something at work

“What?” You looked up at him and clicked your phone to sleep. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You seem distracted, or just stressed.”

“I’m fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” he said, a lilt in his voice like he didn’t quite believe you.

You mulled it over for a second. You could tell him, you could tell both of them. They were good people and they’d sat through many intolerable staff meetings when Carson tried his best to shit on your team as if he wasn’t everyone’s least favorite coworker.

You swallowed it down and looked up at him. “All good--just, busy, really. Really hoping that there’s some movement here, soon.”

He knew what you meant--he was the one you’d been most transparent with.

“I think it’s gonna happen, don’t worry.”

You nodded, let out a sigh, wishing you could tell him that the apple seed in your uterus made things slightly less black and white than just getting a promotion.

And you wished you could have explained that to them that night--especially when they grilled you for not drinking. You shoveled chips and dip into your mouth like it was going out of style--only coming up for air when Simone reminded you about her news.

“So do you want the scoop on Levi or what?”

“Do not get my hopes up,” you warned her. “I’m not in a good place for getting jerked around.”

Aarav laughed and sipped on his margarita. “Jerk her anyway.”

“I think he had an interview.”

“No he didn’t,” you whined, worried it was either false or too good to be true. You loved Levi. He was funny and talented and he taught the three of you a lot. Plus, he didn’t really care that you’d been working from home a lot more often lately.

But you’d been hoping he’d leave Facebook for the last eight months. Ever since he told you that he’d certainly recommend you to the higher ups as his replacement.

“I swear on my life. On Mark Zuckerberg, even. I heard Levi telling Dan from Tech Support about it in the cafeteria the other day.”

Instead of responding, you shoveled in another mouthful of guac, wide eyes when they looked at you for some sort of response. But what were you supposed to say? How were you to supposed to be excited for something that had long been building, moving in that direction, but was now suddenly threatened by a one night stand?

You’d worked at Facebook longer than both Aarav and Simone. Simone came on only a few months after you, but Aarav was a whole year behind. They were also marketing geniuses, Aarav came from a top school in Chicago, Simone from the Bay Area with a degree in New Media and Internet Marketing. Your small team was responsible for digital promotions, those run online or in commercials. As the team’s Visual Designer, you worked closely with the rest of them to bring their ideas to the screen, however that looked.

So when the Team Lead, Levi, had started making mentions about heading to a new job, he casually tried to gauge your interest over coffee in the first floor cafe.

But this was shitty timing. How were you supposed to take maternity leave in the first few months in a new job? Would someone fill your spot while you were gone? The questions that started to race through your mind felt overwhelming, so much so that you wished you could reach for the margarita in Aarav’s hand.

But you didn’t. And you bit your tongue when they asked you again why you weren’t drinking. You didn’t tell them, though you wanted to, that the reason you had to miss work in the afternoon the next day was because you had to sign an NDA, agreeing to keep them and others in the dark about what was sure to be the most wild adventure yet.

And when you hugged them goodbye in the parking lot, you blinked back tears, hoping that one day, they’d know the truth.

You sent the documents to your mom. She was far from a lawyer, but she was likely the safest option you had. Lexi tried to grab them when you left them on the counter, push some sunglasses on her face and read the biggest words she saw in a posh Transatlantic accent. Both individuals agree that any proceedings will be confidential, she giggled and pretended to rip it up, collapsing on the sofa beside you to watch Netflix before bed.

It didn’t make much more sense to your mother, either, she sighed over FaceTime and apologized for not being able to help. That was your cue to text Harry. Is there actually someone I could meet with to go over these papers? Aside from Dave?

He set it up--claimed that Jeff found someone easily and then two days later, a woman with short blonde hair stood on your front step, Jeff in tow.

She sat at your small dining room table--one your mom had tucked away in the basement when you were little--the perfect spot for arts and crafts. You prayed, while your blonde-haired lawyer looked over all the words on the endless pages, that she didn’t notice the paint splotches or pools of glitter that had long been stuck on the dark, stained wood.

You sat there for hours, Lexi came and left twice in the time that the three of you huddled around the papers, Jeff with a baseball cap on as he told you about why these things were important. Rita--who you learned was a connection through Harry’s record label--had already signed an NDA and promised to explain the clauses and constraints in layman's terms.

So you felt slightly less stupid and insecure walking back into the same conference room Tuesday afternoon, alone on your side of the table.

Harry was already seated when you arrived, he offered a smile and a nervous scan over your body before you sat across from him. Jeff ended whatever call he’d been on, Dave’s hand immediately extended to receive the manila folder he’d previously sent you home with.

Another sunny Los Angeles day smiled through the window, Harry’s assistant was nowhere to be seen, the label rep wasn’t there, either. Three against one, this time.

You didn’t admit it to them, but your hand shook a bit when you reached across the table, handed over the packet of papers that somehow felt like you were giving up freedom, giving up your say in things and like you didn’t even know what you’d now lose. It was all in writing now. You were carrying this baby to term and that was the one thing that would keep Harry in your life, for better or for worse.

The only thing you took solace in was the fact that you had access to Jeff and Glenne, and maybe Rita, now, too. You could ask questions or get clarification over cups of coffee or take out.

So maybe that explained the calmness in your gut when you sat on top of an exam table in Doctor Weston’s office, Harry pacing nervously in front of you.

“Can you relax?” You asked, finally letting out the breath you’d been holding for the last few minutes.

Was it okay for you to say that? You still felt like you were walking on eggshells around him, unsure of what would tick him off and how to react. The truth was that you were still strangers--he was still someone you didn’t know. Someone who had his own pet peeves and his own fears and anxieties. He’d met you in the parking lot, he was already out of his car when you pulled in beside him the next week and met him after work.

You’re kind of late, he’d said. A frown on his face when he used sunglasses to shield his eyes.

You’d been in a meeting. You left as soon as you could. Now, he still couldn’t shake the nerves after he’d listed off the things that were keeping him up at night.

“I can’t relax,” he retorted, his words charged. He turned on his feet, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I have to figure out a lot of stuff right now. And I’m nervous, okay? This is a big day.” He motioned over to the sonogram machine, a box of purple gloves was tucked alongside it.

“You’re not the one who has to have someone’s fingers in her--you know.”

He rolled his eyes at that, let out a breathy sigh and sat in the chair against the wall. He clasped his hands together but then looked up at you. You wondered if he thought you looked stupid in the blue and white gown the nurse had left for you on the table. You’d locked him out of the room when you changed, now he smirked up at you.

“Cute dress.”

“Shut up.”

“S’nice!”

“It’s ratty and old and--not very flattering,” you plucked at the fabric with your fingers, looking back at him when he sighed again.

“M’sorry--I just--I had a meeting with Jeff today and we decided to push the album back.”

You were quiet, the air in the room felt stiff and cold. Goosebumps on your skin when you swallowed back the thought: it was all your fault.

“I--”

He cut you off before you could string any words together. “S’fine, Y/N, really. Gives me more time to sit on it and plan some music videos and talk about marketing stuff.”

You would have asked more about it. Asked about the songs or the process or anything in between, but the door opened and Dr. Weston smiled when she stepped into the white-tiled room.

“Hello, hello, how’s mom feeling?”

The m-word got caught in your throat, color drained from your face when Harry looked between you and the doctor. “Good, right, love?” He stood and took two steps over to you, some sort of instinct in him took over, a hand on your back when he realized how frozen you were. “Headaches, she’s said, a funny taste in your mouth, right?”

You nodded.

Dr. Weston sat on the rolling stool and moved towards the sonogram machine, an apologetic smile for the panic she’d caused in you. “Are the headaches helped by something over the counter? Advil? Tylenol?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Advil. Is that alright?”

“Perfectly fine. Just take the recommended dose, no more than it says on the bottle.”

You and Harry both nodded at that--as if he would remember her advice, too.

“Alright,” she reached for some gloves and looked up at you, eyes wide. “Ready to lean back? The gel will be cold but it will give us a good look at what’s going on in there. This will be the first of many ultrasounds.”

You did as she told, pushed your bum back on the table and let your back rest flush against it. She was right--the gel was sticky and cool and the probe that came from the machine poked at your stomach. You ignored the nervousness that pooled in your chest when you exposed your skin in the room, that last time Harry had seen you like this, it was dark and his vision was likely blurred by the alcohol.

“Okay,” Dr. Weston’s voice was calm, she moved along your lower stomach for a few seconds, all eyes were glued to the screen. “So, the big dark circle there in your uterus,” she pointed at the screen and clicked something to capture it. “That’s the lining, there, where it turns to a lighter gray.”

Harry nodded, his lips slightly parted as his arms crossed over his chest.

“And that, the tiny little thing inside of it--” she adjusted the probe again and pointed to the screen, tugging at the whole machine a bit so you could see it more easily. “That’s your baby.”

Quiet for a second, the first time in a while that your pulse slowed and you felt alone again, even if it was just inside your head. The thoughts slowed, your breathing slowed, and Harry’s hip bumped against your arm when he looked down at you.

There was a small smile on his face. One that looked genuine but slightly terrified at the same time. He pointed towards the screen, “s’right there, that’s it.”

“I see it,” you nodded.

He tilted his head to the side. “It’s more--like a pea now.”

You laughed a little, immediately bringing levity to the room. “It wasn’t going to be an apple seed forever.”

Dr. Weston smiled, rolled away from the machine when you pushed yourself up on your elbows. “Do you want to do a vaginal ultrasound? We can possibly hear the heartbeat that way--obviously less comfortable.”

Harry looked over at you, all you did was nod. She asked you to slide off the hospital shorts you’d tugged on beneath the gown. Harry twisted around to offer privacy, this time, the probe was more uncomfortable and there was a tinge of pink on your cheeks when he turned back to face you, his gaze trailed down to notice Dr. Weston’s hand under the blanket that was now splayed out on your lap.

Quiet for a second, then she smiled. “That sound, the whooshing--that’s the heartbeat. That’s the baby, again,” she pointed. “Right there.”

“Huh,” you said, once again, eyes on the screen and hands clasped over your stomach. Harry looked down at you when Dr. Weston captured the image again.

“So,” Dr. Weston’s voice was quieter now, she removed the probe and discarded her gloves into the trash. “Still too soon to tell the sex. But--we’ll do another one in about four weeks. If anything changes, if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out. You can email me on the patient portal or just call the front desk.”

“Okay.”

“I'll print these for you.”

“Can you print two copies, please?”

She nodded, another reminder of how off track things were from the plan. You ignored the weight on your shoulders, the guilt that passed through your veins when she shut the door behind her and left you alone in the room with him.

You sat up, the paper crumbled beneath you and Harry stood awkwardly in the center of the room.

“I, uh--I still haven’t told my family.”

You bit at your lip, unsure. Was it because he was ashamed? Embarrassed? Angry? You didn’t ask.

“I want to, I just--I haven’t seen them in a bit. So. I’m supposed to go home for a while next week.”

You nodded. “You should go.”

“It’s supposed to be for, like, six weeks.”

“That’s fine.”

“No--I’m not--I can’t miss whatever happens.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

He pulled his head back, confused by your words. “I don’t think that’s how pregnancy works.”

You stood from the table and hopped down, suddenly much shorter than you felt before, barefoot on the tile. “Just go.”

He let out a sigh. “I might for a week, but, that’s all.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you snapped suddenly. “You don’t have to come to every appointment and act like we’re actually--I don’t know, together, or something. We can still live separate lives.”

“I’m not acting like that,” he said, eyebrows pointed inwards now. “I’m just doing what’s right. I’m in this, too, Y/N.”

You turned around, shimmied the shorts down from your hips and held the gown in place. You grabbed for your underwear on the chair beside his, neatly folded in a pile as if your life wasn’t a mess.

“I think you should do it. Tell them in person.” You pulled up the elastic band over your hips, still keeping the gown close to your body.

He handed you the black shorts you’d been wearing earlier, the gesture didn’t match the tone of his voice. “Why are you like this?”

“I’m not like anything,” you said, one foot in first, then the other. “I just don’t want you to feel trapped in LA with me. I’m fine.”

You dropped the gown now, holding it to your chest when you turned to reach for your bra. He averted his gaze, stared directly at the vagina poster on the wall. “Right.”

You tugged on your bra quickly, reaching for your shirt and pulling it over your head. “Right what?”

“You’re right. You’re fine. You don’t need me,” a shrug of his shoulders. “Is that what you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything. I want you to relax.”

“Well I’m sorry that I can’t,” he spoke quickly now, the anger on his face stopped you in your tracks. “But the last thing I need is for you to act like none of this is a big deal.”

You didn’t mean to do it again--you didn’t feel it coming until the tears were already on your cheeks, wet and falling towards the floor. He sighed at that, steadied his own breathing and pinched at the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, words broken by the heavy breathing. “It just happens now--I just cry on command.”

He shook his head, watching as you folded the gown neatly on the table, left it there to be discarded by the nurse. “No--I--it’s fine. You can cry as much as you want.”

You turned to look at him, a few breaths to try to steady your pulse. He stepped forward, his arms wrap around your shoulders. You were still for a moment, unsure if you were allowed you let your arms wrap around his waist, or if it would make the crying worse. But you did, and when you did, he leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

“S’alright. I’ll go home for a week. Then I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” you said. “Okay.”

table of contents | talk to me + join the tag list

author’s note: longer than usual!!! so excited for all of you to read what’s coming! I hope everyone is staying safe and staying home. I wanted to put this chapter out a bit early since I know everyone is (hopefully) stuck inside. keep all of the messages coming i love chatting with all of you about Harry and Y/N and their little apple seed!!!!

tag list: @stepping-into-the-light @thurhomish @afterstylesmadeit @iconicharry @stylesfics-xx @harryspirate @mellamolayla @harryinsweatersandbandanas @stylesfantasy @clorenafila @mell-love @anssu-amry @yelllowgrass @littlesoldierelleora @styles217 @rachkon @c-h-e-r-r-y-y @myhat @rosegoldbel @passionate-dreamerr @grammyforstyles @haute-romance-quotidienne@dontgiveupthedayjob @ursamajor603 @craic-head-horan @heavenspidey @talk-british-2-me-britbritharry @blackxxmagicc @winter-soldier-007 @ssllbb @wanderlustiing @jdcharliewhiskey @caritocp @kaybee87 @wildbeee @hsunflowervol @harrys-medicines @tobe-sogolden @theresnooneheretosave @1d-tommo5 @soullikestyles @mrsfstyles

#unplanned #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fiction #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles black #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles spotify #fem!reader x harry styles #fem!reader x harry #harry styles reader insert #idkthisisjustforfanfic

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percontaion-points · 3 years

Text

King’s Men chapter 19 & Epilogue

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions.

Chapter 19

Renee needed one for her foster mother and donated the second to Matt so his father could bring his current mistress.

Did we need to know about Matt's dad dipping his dick where it doesn't belong?

That night Nicky and Aaron showed up to evening practice uninvited. Neil expected Kevin to send them packing with a "too-little, too-late" speech, but he put them to work immediately. On Wednesday the upperclassmen tagged along too. A week and a half wasn't enough time to make anyone an expert on Raven drills and scrimmages, but Kevin tried his best.

And the reason why they haven't been studying the Ravens this entire time is because...????? No really, I want to know. This book has been building up to this singular event, and yet, everybody's acting like this championship match-up came out of the blue.

"Your father's death left a void that's not easy to fill. Little boss is cleaning house and cutting losses everywhere he can, taking out people from California to South Carolina. Cops, doctors, moles—doesn't matter. If there's even a chance they're a liability to his new rule they're gone. Interesting stuff, the reshaping of an empire. Bloody, too."

This is literally the last goddamned chapter; I don't care about any of this! Get to the fucking game already!

Dan threw her arms around him and buried a choked laugh against his padded shoulder. "Yeah, Neil. We won!"

Chapter 19 summary: Well, as you would have imagined, the final championship game ends up being Ravens vs Foxes. The foxes throw themselves into their last stretch of training before the big game. But finals are also upon them as the spring semester wraps up.

One day, Kevin doesn't come to practice, and shows up later in the dorms, shitfaced, with something over his cheek. He's always had the Ravens tattoo on his cheek, but looks like he went out and randomly got a queen chess piece tattooed. He talks a lot about how Riko can be the king, which I think is a weird way to hammer in the book's title. But I don't know enough about chess to make a comment about it.

On game day, as they go to the “castle” at Edgar Alan, there's a whole lot of extra security. Seems as though Renee's foster-mother's threats against Edgar Alan and what the dean saw about Jean were taken so seriously, that now everybody's worried about the ravens hurting anybody who comes visiting.

Since this was such a huge game, they passed out a list earlier to reserve seats for two people per player. However, since this is a team of “rejects”, most don't have anybody, but people still manage to fill up the reserved section anyway. Neil's uncle Stewart, the one who randomly showed up just to kill Nathan, randomly shows up again. He talks about more mafia business, about cleaning house now that Nathan is gone. I don't care, and this goes nowhere.

They play, but it's a close game. In the end, it's 10-9 with foxes on top. After the game, Neil decides that taunting Riko, of reminding him that he'll always be “number two”, is a good idea, and almost gets murdered for this. But Andrew shows up and punches Riko out.

Epilogue

EAST was written above an elevator in bold red letters, and Neil forgot about the banners. The guard had to swipe his badge and key in a six-digit code to get access. There were only two buttons inside, "Floor" and "Tower". Neil closed his eyes for the ride to the top.

The guard stayed behind when Neil stepped out, so Neil went on alone. A short hall opened up into a spacious room Neil recognized. Nine years ago he'd been here with Riko and Kevin while his father carved a man into a hundred pieces.

This is literally the goddamned epilogue; can we not be sneaking in random info like this INTO THE LAST THREE PAGES?!

Trigger warning: Graphic murder

It wasn't comfort, but Neil didn't figure that out until it was too late. Ichirou put the gun to Riko's temple and pulled the trigger without hesitation. The gunshot was so unexpected, so loud, that Neil jumped. Riko's body jerked under the force of impact.

SO THAT JUST HAPPENED.

This was everything he wanted, everything he needed, and Neil was never letting go.

[image description: Frodo Baggins looking sweaty and dirty, right after he threw the One Ring into Mount Doom. It is captioned with “It's over. It's finally over.”]

This was everything he wanted, everything he needed, and Neil was never letting go.

Epilogue summary: The police end up getting called out tot he stadium following Andrew's beat-down of Riko. So nobody but the fans get to leave. Eventually, Neil is called up to where the mafia family hangs out to watch the games. Ichirou, Riko, and the raven's coach are all there, along with Stewart. Eventually, Ichirou pulls out a gun, shoots Riko point-blank in the temple, and then puts the gun in Riko's hand to make it look like he'd killed himself. He also says that the coach is dead, even though he's clearly standing right there; the implication being he won't be alive for much longer.

This entire thing was Ichirou cleaning house, of needing to remove the shitstain that Riko had turned the ravens into.

Neil goes back downstairs, and joins the others as they leave to return home.

With that, the series is put out of its (and my) misery.

#All For The Game #The King's Men #chapter 19 #epilogue #Renee Walker #matt freeman #um... ew #Nicky Hemmick #Aaron and Andrew Minyard #Kevin Day #HEADDESKING #Move on already!#nobody cares #ugh just ugh #bad writing is bad #i would ask where the editor was but i think we all know there was none #Riko Moriyama #so that just happened...#Neil Josten

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rodpupo2 · 3 years

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Research: Project Finish

Tim Sale

Tim Sale is a famous comic book artist, who had worked in several titles along with the writer Jeff Loeb, including Batman, Spider-Man, Superman, Daredevil, and many others.

Tim Sale was born in may of 1956, in New York, where he studied visual arts, spent a good time of his life in Seattle, and today he lives in California.

For some years he drew his art privately, only to please himself. When he found himself working at a fast food in his late twenties, however, he decided to try to sell some of his work. This led to an association with Thives’ World Graphics, a fantasy anthology series, where he illustrated stories.

What most marks his work is the dramatic aspect that he manages to obtain in the characterization of his characters and in the scenarios he creates, making the stories unique and immortalizing the characters.

The union of Sale’s art with Loeb’s engaging narrative has become the perfect marriage for mysterious plots.

One of the most striking characters worked by Sale was Batman, which he drew “The Long Halloween”, “Dark Victory” and “Halloween”. He was able to fully transfigure the dark aura of Gotham and his Dark Knight. He also worked with Superman in the saga “ Superman for All Seasons”.

Both of The Long Halloween and For All Seasons are what is known as “Year one” comics. These works take their heroes back in time to their earliest days of crime fighters.

His main tool is watercolor, which he uses with mastery. Sale's palette of colors is something really impressive, always drawing and painting his characters very delicately, and calmly. His style is very cartoonish, although this does not diminish his art in any way, on the contrary, his style is very unique and characteristic.

Pedro Franz

Is a Brazilian comic book artist, who was born in Santa Catarina and has a degree in design.

He has been publishing several comic books and participating in exhibitions in Brazil and abroad. As an illustrator, he has published works several magazines and books, and regularly collaborates with the Piauí magazine. As a graphic designer, he is a contributor to the Par (Ent) Esis platform. He has comics translated and published in English and Spanish, and has good international recognition, thanks to his publications.

But what is most impressive in Pedro's art, perhaps is his intensive use of colors. Mixing various shades of different colors, mixing different compositions. In addition to sometimes using characters from pop culture, with his elaborate style.

Despite liking traditional comics, he has always published and worked for national publishers, often with authorial works.

Perhaps his best known work, which was even published in the United States is the comic “Suburbia”.

Suburbia tells the story of Conceição, a girls daughter of enslaved rural workers, who flees to Rio de Janeiro in the early 1990s. In the city, Conceição begins to work as a cleaner and to get involved in the world of funk, slums and poverty.

His drawings are extremely surreal, not exactly following a traditional way of making comics, with several images spread across the page, with different shapes and sizes, with extremely strong colors, mainly valuing blue, purple, yellow and red, as his main colors.

Richard Corben

Richard Corben was one of the contributors of elevating the comics to the category of Art, and of its unparalleled style of great influence among many current artists.

Richard Vance Corben was born in Missouri, United States on October 1940, in a family of farmers in the middle west ( where he started reading comics), and lived in Kansas City. There he studied Fine Arts, got married, had a girl and started working in local cinematography animation company. At the same time, he started to create and publish some underground fanzines. From the begging it was clear that he was interested in science fiction, eroticism, and total rejection of institutions ( the Army, the Church, etc), mixed with a lot of humor.

At a young age, Corben was an aficionado of bodybuilding, just like everyone who was interested in a persons aesthetics. The first character that he created, was Rowlf, a dog who took on a human form. In the beginning of the 1970s he amplified his work ( and his fame) in some underground magazines. And in 1971 he started working for the Heavy Metal publisher where he created one of his most famous characters, Den a large muscular man, who was always naked, and always after some adventure.

Corben has a very particular style, with unsettling mixture of caricatured, often satirical grotesque and intense,convincing realism. Never before had such wildly cartoonish worlds proved so convincing.

Also he can handle an exponentially higher standard because of his ability to use colour to show the effect of light on whatever he’s depicting. The way that he mixes light and colors in certain panels to differentiate those elements from each other, is something to admire.

Corben worked in a few mainstream comics, he always preferred to work with authorial works or working in specific themes like fantasy and science fiction comics and not so much on superheroes.

But probably the most famous mainstream comic that ever worked was the character Hellboy, along with writer Mike Mignola.

Hellboy is a series of comics that has a lot of mysticism, Norse mythology, horror and monsters. Something Corben certainly agreed to do, without thinking twice.

Richard Corben is one of my favorite artists, with a style that is perhaps not as realistic as an Alex Ross for example, but the humor and beauty that he puts in his characters is very unique.

Corben died on December 2, 2020, leaving a great legacy, for the world of comics and arts, with a very unique style and extremely stunning worlds.

Charlie Allard

Charlie Adlard is a British comic book artist, who have worked on the comic industry for over 25 years. He spent the majority of his time since 2003 working in The Walking Dead along side with writer Robert Kirkman , until the last issue on 2019 He started reading comics when he was very young, and he said that he was very lucky to have influences of American comics and the more high art, such as Asterix and Tin Tin. He was fascinated by European comic books artists like Moebius, Alberto Uderzo and Herge. He started his career as many British artists and writers, working on 2000 AD, with characters such as Judge Dredd, Armitage and eventually Savage. In the United States he started working with the X Files, Astronauts in trouble, and of course The Walking Dead. Adlard started in The Walking Dead from issue 7, and brought a slightly different style, from the previous artist. Adlard's art is very cartoonish, but the universe of The Walking Dead still doesn't get silly because of it. Quite the opposite, the dirt and rot that Adlerd puts on his characters and the world, only sustains what a horrible world it is to live in. Many readers complain about Adlard's style, being very simple, that his characters are very similar, and sometimes it is difficult to identify them. But I believe that although his style does not vary much, when it comes time to show a horde of zombies, a devastated city, people feeling despair, and extremely disturbing scenes, Adlard manages to excel. Adlard's main tool is ink. All The Walking Dead magazines are in black and white, and he manages to give a lot of depth to the scenarios and characters using only a few ink stains. Today Adlard is doing some comics, mainly for DC, but says that he does not intend to work with Kirkman and zombies again, because he wants to explore other themes, and to innovate his drawing skills.

Zaha Hadid

Zaha Hadid was one of the most important and well known figures in contemporary architecture and design. With a singular trajectory, marked by a versatile, bold and out of the box style, she was the first woman to receive Pritzker Prize for architecture and was also the only female representative honored by the Royal Institute of British Architects with a golden medal. Zaha Hadid was born in Iraq, more precisely in the city of Halloween, in Bagdá, in the year 1950. Her family was of high class, her father being an important politician and her mother an artist. Still young, she traveled and studied in other places of the world, like London and Switzerland, but it was in her native land the she got her first formation, when she graduated in mathematics. At the age of 22, in 1972, she enrolled in one of the most famous independent schools of architecture in London, and there she gave the starting point to her career by studying and creating an important connection with the Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas, a figure that encouraged her and opened the doors for opportunities. Later in the 1980s, Zaha Hadid decided to open her own office. This, Zaha Hadid Architects was born, which made her name and talent recognized worldwide. Known for her works with futuristic lines, clean and pure forms, as well as the fragmentation of architectural design. Her projects and discussions raise issues that put architecture and its future to the test. This is because the architect seeks in her works to interrelate design, architecture and urbanism. I knew Hadid and some of her works, but it was the recommendation of my teacher Lauren, that I should look for this architect. As my project takes place in the future, she recommended that I look at some works by Zaha Hadid to get inspiration when creating the scenario for the comic. I find it very interesting how her works have this futuristic aesthetic , because it reminds me of science fiction films like Blade Runner with those skyscrapers and buildings with different shapes and sizes that are extremely imaginative that could only exist in films. With unique works and projects, famous for their exuberance, futuristic elements, curves, non linear shapes, distortions and fragmentations, Hadid inspired and generated fascination both for her constructions around the world.

Syd Mead

Syd Mead was a designer, best known for working on films such as Aliens, Blade Runner, Tron and Star trek. Mead was born in Minnesota, United States, on July of 1933, but five years later he moved to a second house in the western of United States prior to graduating from High School in Colorado in 1951. Some years later, he did the Art Center School in Los Angeles, where he graduated with great distinction in 1959. He was immediately recruited by the Ford Motor Company. At Ford he worked in the advanced styling department, creating futuristic concept car designs. But his imagination went beyond cars and he began to imagine clothes, helmets, buildings and scenery from hyper advanced civilization. After Ford, he also worked in other big companies like Chrysler, Sony and Phillips. After that he started migrating to the concept art world of movies. Mead is really important for generation of writers of science fiction, because many of them were influenced by Mead’s colorful paintings. Mead never wrote a novel or short story. He imagined the future in his mind and turned that imagination into illustrations. In 1979 he designed the extraterrestrial spaceship for the first film “Star Trek” in the cinema. Ridley Scott called Mead to design the buildings and flying cars of the futuristic Los Angeles “Blade Runner” in 1982. In 1986 he was hired to design the space station and vehicles of the movie Aliens directed by James Cameron. Almost at the same time, the designer created the electronic world of “Tron” for Disney studios. The same ones who hired him in 2014 to design the futuristic city of “Tomorrowland”. Mead died in 2019 after three years of lymphoma, he was 86 years old. He was a great influence for many designers and science fiction writers and illustrators, due for his creative worlds and automobiles , Elon Musk quotes Mead as one of his major influences, on visions of the automotive future and design in general.

Transmetropolitan by Warren Ellis and Darick Robertson

Transmetropolitan is a comic written by the British writer Warren Ellis and the American illustrator Darick Robertson, published by the Vertigo label, and falls within the cyberpunk genre, and the problems that rampant technology will cause us.

Throughout the 60 issues of Transmetropolitan, Ellis and Robertson build a chaotic and brilliantly alive future, presenting a sci-fi society with a peculiar mix of elements of cyberpunk, political dystopias, bioengineering and transhumanism, sexuality, economics and much more.

In a dystopia, in a not so distant future, the journalist Spider Jerusalem is isolated for fiver years in a hut in the forest, but he has to return to the city to earn some money.

Throughout the comic, amid a nihilistic aura that humanity has no salvation, the author- Warren Ellis - criticizes the consumerism and futility. The illustrations, of Darick Robertson, is full of excesses as the environment should be, a brand of the style of the 1990s.

The search for the truth is the central theme of this work, and in the midst of all this we found ourselves in a investigative odyssey that involves the lowest scum of that society ( thieves, murderers and rapists) until reaches the highest of the scum ( the presidency).

This background allows the work to touch on the most profound social themes, and without fear of saying what needs to be criticized, this is where Transmetropolitan shines, and provoke deep reflections on issues such as racism, the influence of media, the power of religions, the education, and many other themes.

In short, Transmetropolitan dissects and criticizes everything, it points out the flaws, the lies and the hypocrisy of each one. It’s a study about the problems of democratic society in the 21th century.

Jon Mcnaught

Jon Mcnaught was born in 1985, London, England. He work with drawing comics, and work as an illustrator, printmaker and lecturer. After spending several years on the Falkland Islands during his childhood, which will inspire his second book, Pebble island. The book pass years after the war, where he tries to recreate his childhood, with aspects of his curiosity, when he was exploring abandon bunkers, where it was just part of landscape, or somewhere where he could play. His work has essentially been landscape print-making (often situated in the city), but with quite simple intention of capturing the sense of space, light, time etc. His work is mostly about that, places that he was interested in depicting, and trying to reproduce the visual. He want the characters to feel like elements of a landscape or an environment ( he preferes to focus more on the background, than the characters itself). But usually he uses figures and postures to suggest expressions rather than close ups showing facial features. What I like about Mcnaught's work is that they are simple designs, but the colors are very vivid. The way he constructs the scenarios is very invective, because it doesn’t need to be extremely detailed, he just needs a few lines to show what he is talking about.

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littlemisswolfie · 3 years

Text

Hope That You Fall In Love (And It Hurts So Bad)

Part II>

Somehow I never posted this here oops--

I’ve always loved @umisabaku ‘s Designation: Miracle fic series on Ao3, and I love to see a half-Canadian protagonist in anime because no one ever thinks being half-Canadian is cool, so I love Sk8: The Infinity, and I figured, hey! Why not combine them! And this happened.

TW for mentions of child experimentation and torture, a scene where it is heavily implied Nanako trades sexual favors in exchange for custody of Langa, a few scenes where Langa has nightmares, a brief moment of Langa having a panic attack, non-graphic descriptions of Oliver developing liver cancer, discussions of death and funeral arrangements, a non-graphic scene of Oliver dying, and the beginnings of Langa's depression.

Ao3

Hasegawa Nanako didn’t quite know what she was getting into when she got contracted by a private company straight out of nursing school. She was young and trusting and desperate for money after her parents died and left her with their debts, and the recruiter from Teiko Industries handed her a quote that was three times the average pay for nurses, so she took the job. She signed the stacks of NDAs, went through with the extensive background checks and drug tests, and underwent a psych evaluation before she even stepped foot into the lab that would change her entire life.

She wants to quit as soon as she figures out what was really going on. Human experimentation, torture, training children to be assassins… the whole thing makes her skin crawl. But, again, she really needs the money. No other job she could get right out of school would pay enough to chip away at her parents’ debt and pay for her apartment and car and food. So, with a heavy heart, she shows up for her shift five nights a week, and she’s assigned to the hospital ward that cared for Generation Infinity.

They’re the youngest generation so far. Eight years younger than Generation Miracle, which, Nanako learns from a particularly chatty coworker, was the most successful Generation by far. “They’re almost all Successes,” the other nurse says, cheery, like they’re talking about some sports game or a litter of kittens instead of living, breathing children. “They just had to scrap O394, but the others are all still promising. Well, maybe not B452, but still. That’s six out of fourteen! Imagine that.”

Nanako doesn’t want to imagine that. The thought makes her stomach churn. The casual talk of killing children…

“Maybe Infinity will be even better!” the coworker chatters on. “If our Orange Three can actually fly… think they’d give us a raise?”

The Project she sees most often during her shift is GI-B423.

Nanako knows there isn’t much hope for him. He’s only two years old, but he’s barely developed even the slightest invisibility. He doesn’t even display any Latent Overflow, which was supposed to be inherent in every Project. The scientists still make him wear the shock bracelets (horrible things, Nanako wanted to rip them off of him with her bare hands) and still send him to that torture chamber they stole from Orwell, but he’s already a Failure in their eyes.

To Nanako, he’s a baby. He’s tall for his age, with curious eyes and an unfillable stomach and a wonderful smile when she could wrench one out of him. He winds up in the hospital ward so often because of his reckless behavior. He tries to copy everything the other Projects do, particularly GI-O376’s jumping and GI-B531’s speed, and even when he doesn’t hurt himself trying something stupid, his heart rate elevates and he gets shocked.

“You should be more careful,” she says to him one night as she patches up a scratch he got when he scraped his arm on the wall of his cell trying to touch the ceiling. “I’d hate to see them hurt you for being reckless.”

Those eyes, too smart for a toddler, stare into her soul. “You’re worried about me?”

“Yes.” There’s no use denying it. Even if she didn’t care too much about this child who will probably be killed by the time he’s ten years old, it would be cruel to deny caring for a boy this young. And maybe she’s selfish, for feeling like this about GI-B423 and not the other children, but the scientists care about them plenty. They are Successes.

GI-B423 will never be a Success. So she has to care about him, because no one else will.

Nanako quickly comes to realize she’s one of the only people in Teiko that thinks of the Projects as human. This lets her see things no one else does.

So, a few years after she starts working, she notices GM-B425 is planning something.

She’s sure he’s fooling the others. The scientists and doctors and contractors think of these children as weapons, unfeeling, unthinking save for their direct orders. The Miracle Projects are generally allowed free reign of the facility as long as they stay out of the private offices and labs, so Nanako will take her time at the vending machines to watch them, and she notices the way GM-B452 watches everyone else. He’s the closest thing to a Success a Black will ever be, Nanako has heard, but he’s still going to be scrapped soon.

Nanako knows what desperation looks like.

She makes a choice.

“Let me get this straight,” says Honda-san, the director of Generation Infinity. He’s an older man, probably pushing sixty, with graying black hair and dark, mean eyes. He’s watched her with a predatory gaze from the first time they met when she first started. Nanako’s always known she’s a pretty woman, one of the few things her mother gave her, so it wasn’t like she was unused to attention from old, greasy men. “You want to resign, and instead of a severance package, you want to take GI-B423 with you?”

“Yes, sir.” Nanako’s wearing her best dress (and if it’s cut just low enough to be flattering, well, that’s just a bonus) and she did her make-up and she is being as polite as she can possibly be. “I’ve made more than enough money here to pay off my parents’ debts, and I was never cut out for work like this in the first place, so I see no reason to continue in my current position when you could hire someone more suited for the role.” She’s been saving since the day she started working. She never eats out, she doesn’t go out drinking, and she takes five minute showers. She’s debt-free, with savings to spare.

“And GI-B423?” Honda-san leans forward on his hands, his wrinkled brow furrowing further. “What use could he have to you?”

Nanako inhales and brings a hand to her stomach. “I’ll never be able to have children,” she says, the truth burning her throat. “I had to get a hysterectomy due to my endometriosis. I’ve come to care for GI-B423 as my own child, and you know as well as I do that he’ll never be a Success. If anything, he’s more noticeable than the other members of his Generation. Why spend the resources continuing to believe he’ll develop the abilities you would need him to? Why dissect him as if anything about him could better future Projects?” The words sting, tasting sour in her mouth. She hates saying these things about GI-B423, but it’s what she needs to do. “If you can get him on my family register, that’s all I ask. We’ll leave the country, and you’ll never hear from us again.”

Honda-san makes a considering noise, and, after a moment, he places his hand on her bare knee. His wedding band glints in the overhead light. “I might be persuaded.”

Nanako tries to smile.

Later that night, as Nanako is slipping her dress back up over her shoulders in the room of the love hotel Honda-san rented for the evening, Honda-san says, “What name did you want for him?”

“Langa,” Nanako says. “His name is Hasegawa Langa.”

Langa is confused, at first. “Where are we going?” he asks Nanako when she loads him and his meager belongings into her car. He’s never been out on a mission, so this is probably the first time he’s ever seen a car. “Does R0132 know where I am? He’ll get mad if I’m not at training.” He rubs at his wrists, finally free of those awful shock bracelets, like he can’t believe they’re gone.

“I don’t work here anymore,” she tells him. “I quit. Do you know what adoption means? It means I’m going to take care of you from now on.”

“So… I don’t live here?”

“No. And you’ll never have to do training again, or wear your shock bracelets, or go to Room 101. You can eat as much as you want. And you have a name.”

“A name?”

“Yes. Your name is Hasegawa Langa. You’re my son, now, and I’m your mother, and that means I’ll love you and take care of you for the rest of your life.”

Langa blinks. Then, he says, “Okay,” and he lets her buckle him in.

Two days later, they’re on a plane to Canada.

A month after that, nestled in their new apartment in Squamish, Nanako holds Langa in her lap and they watch, together, as Generation Miracle escapes from Teiko.

“Will they come for us, Mom?” Langa asks.

She squeezes him around the middle, perhaps a little too tight. “No, honey. As long as we keep our secret a secret, we’ll be fine.”

Nanako hopes she’s right.

The military never ends up knocking on their door, and Nanako thanks God for small mercies. She and Langa are doing everything they can to blend in, like normal immigrants. Nanako’s working at a nursing home, and Langa is enrolled at the local Catholic school, and they both attend Mass on Sundays and Wednesdays. Nanako makes friends with the other women in the apartment building and she tells them all that Langa’s father got her pregnant and walked out on her, so that’s why he’s not in the picture, and Langa dutifully goes along with the sentiment when asked. Langa isn’t making a lot of friends, and that would worry Nanako, but mostly she’s glad that it means there’s no danger of Langa accidentally telling a kindergartener with no filter about his time at Teiko.

He still gets nightmares, sometimes. Nanako never saw the inside of Room 101, and she wishes Langa never had, either. She never let him see the press images of how the JSDF found Teiko when they went hunting for the scientists, because that would only make the fear worse. Hell, she woke up in the middle of the night sometimes, catapulted out of a dream of fire and screaming, bloody children, guilty that she couldn’t save the rest of them, guilty that she only loved Langa and not the others, and she’ll never make Langa feel that, too. He has enough on his shoulders as it is.

Then, for Langa’s first Christmas outside of Teiko’s walls, Nanako uses up all the PTO she’s saved and they take a trip to a ski lodge, and there they meet Oliver Campbell.

Oliver, as it turns out, also lives in Squamish, as he tells Nanako one night over boozy hot chocolate after Langa has been put to bed. “I’m a firefighter,” he says, “though, when I was younger, I wanted to be a pro snowboarder.”

“I could never,” Nanako laughs. “That’s a little too dangerous for me.” Then, because the alcohol makes speaking secrets easier, she says, “Langa would probably love it, though. He’s always been an adrenaline junkie.”

Oliver looks surprised. “He seems like such a quiet kid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him when he was—when we still lived in Japan. Scrapes and broken bones everywhere.”

“Well, then, he’s lucky he had such an amazing mother to patch him up.”

Heat floods Nanako’s cheeks. “What good would my nursing license do if I couldn’t even take care of my own kid?”

“And… Langa’s father?”

“Not in the picture. It’s just the two of us.” Please don’t ask anymore, she begs. There’s something about Oliver that makes her want to be completely honest, and that could end very, very poorly.

“Ah,” he says, instead, “I’m sorry about that. Wherever he is, he’s really missing out.”

Nanako thinks of Honda-san, of his leer and his sweaty hands and his potbelly dragging against her back, and says, “We’re better off without him, trust me.”

The next day, Oliver starts teaching Langa how to snowboard. Just like Nanako thought, he takes to it like a fish to water, and even when he falls, the snow cushions his landing, so he just laughs and jumps right back up to try again. She watches from the sidelines and smiles, feeling warm, because this is what Langa deserves. He deserves to be a normal kid.

“When are you guys going home?” Oliver asks over dinner one night, a few days into their stay at the ski lodge. They’re having breakfast for dinner, a phenomenon Langa was very pleased to learn about, and Nanako ordered him three helpings of Eggs Benedict.

Langa is too busy shovelling peameal bacon into his mouth like he’s never eaten in his life to answer, so Nanako says, “Boxing Day. We don’t have any family in the area, so we’re just doing Christmas here.”

Oliver leans back in his chair. “That reminds me! Why did you guys move here, anyway? If you don’t have family here, I mean.”

Langa only barely doesn’t tense up, and Nanako promises to give him extra dessert for his restraint. “We needed a fresh start,” Nanako says. “I got pregnant with him while I was still in nursing school, and by the time I graduated, my parents had both died, and I got saddled with their debts. We stayed in Japan long enough to pay the debts off and save enough money to move, and we just… left. Where we went didn’t matter much, honestly, as long as it wasn’t Japan.”

“Your English is pretty good,” Oliver notes. He genuinely just sounds curious. “Both of you, actually. If I didn’t know you were immigrants, I would think English was Langa’s first language.”

Langa swallows a huge mouthful of English muffin and egg and says, “I know French, too! And some other languages.”

Nanako takes back her internal promise of extra dessert as Oliver’s eyebrows migrate up towards his hairline. “That’s very impressive,” he says. “Where’d you learn all those?”

Langa shrugs. “Around.”

“We learn English all throughout school, in Japan,” Nanako cuts in. “When I knew we were going to move abroad, I taught Langa, too. And he started teaching himself French when we decided on Canada. He’s a quick study when it comes to languages.” Oliver still looks a little unsure, so she rushes to change the subject. “When are you leaving the lodge, Oliver?”

“I’m checking out of my room on Christmas Eve. My parents always throw a big Christmas party at their cabin in Princeton every year, with all the aunts and uncles and cousins. It’s a riot, especially when we play Pass the Ace.”

“Pass the Ace?” Langa asks. “What’s that?”

A playful glint enters Oliver’s eye. “Oh, Langa, my boy, do you have any loonies on you?”

The three of them spend the next few days together. Langa wakes Nanako up as soon as the sun rises and they go downstairs to meet up with Oliver, who spends the rest of the morning teaching Langa how to snowboard. Then they go to the bunny slopes to toboggan, and at night, they eat dinner together, and Oliver and Nanako stay up long after Langa goes to bed to drink and talk.

Nanako’s surprised at how easy it feels to be around Oliver. Even before she started working at Teiko, her dating life wasn’t exactly active. Sure, she’d hooked up with a few guys in college, and she had a boyfriend in high school, but there was never a connection, not like this.

“Here,” he says, the night of the 23rd, “let me give you my number.”

“Really?” Nanako asks, even though she’s already pulling her phone out of her pocket.

Oliver gives her a confused look. “Yeah? I mean, unless you didn’t want to meet up back in Squamish—”

“No, I do!” Nanako rushes to correct. “I do. It’s just… I mean, with Langa…”

“Hey.” Oliver reaches across the table to take one of her hands. “Langa’s a great kid. Any guy who got scared away by him isn’t worth the time of day. I like you, and I like Langa, and I would love nothing more than to get to know the both of you better, if you would allow it.”

Nanako flushes again. She likes this feeling, like someone is looking at her and seeing her and still liking it. She knows she shouldn’t, that Langa’s secret could be in jeopardy if she gets too close to the wrong guy, but she can’t help it. “I think I will,” she says. “Langa would probably never forgive me if I took his snowboarding teacher from him.”

And Oliver laughs, and it’s one of the most beautiful sounds she’s ever heard, right under Langa calling her “Mom.”

She and Oliver start officially dating not too long after Christmas. He’ll come to the nursing home with Tim Hortons when she’s working twelves, and he picks Langa up from school and helps him with his homework, and he invites the two of them over for dinner at least twice a week because he knows Nanako is often too busy to cook. When it comes time to celebrate Langa’s birthday, Oliver buys him a brand new snowboard, and Langa throws his arms around his neck and chants “thank you”s into his hair.

He brings them to his parents’ cabin for Victoria Day, and his family is just as kind as him. His nieces and nephews do their best to include Langa in their games, but they don’t push when she shies away and hangs out by the buffet table instead, and his mother, Barbara, hugs Nanako like she’s an old friend rather than a stranger.

“Hey, Langa, wanna swim?” Oliver’s dad, Ray, asks, gesturing to the small pond nearby. Some of the other kids are already splashing around in it, and it is getting warm, so it’s no wonder he’s suggesting it.

Nanako tenses, but Langa just shakes his head. “I don’t swim very often,” he says in that serious way of his, and she releases the breath she was holding. She’s never taken him swimming since she adopted him, because she can’t be certain no one will see the GI-B423 brand on his upper thigh. He doesn’t have many scars, other than the faint ones around his wrists he usually wears long-sleeved shirts to bulky bracelets to cover up, but that one in particular would be very hard to explain away.

Oliver gives her a curious look, but she just shrugs like she’s seen other parents do when their kids are acting weird, and he gives her that lopsided smile and everything is okay again.

A month later, Nanako terminates the lease on her and Langa’s apartment, and they move their things into the small house Oliver owns. Langa’s a little confused about why Nanako says he can’t sleep with her as often as he used to now that they’re living with Oliver, but he doesn’t complain. After her, Oliver is his favorite person in the whole world.

They go to the ski lodge again for Christmas, and Langa barely stays off the slopes the whole time. He’s only seven now, but he snowboards better than people three times his age and with a decade more experience.

“He’s a prodigy,” Oliver says, watching him jump a worryingly high way into the air. “He could go pro.”

Nanako hopes he doesn’t. She doesn’t want him to attract too much attention to himself. “Maybe,” she says. “But he’s a little too spacey for that, I think.” Oliver laughs and puts an arm around her waist, letting her melt into his side. “Maybe.”

That Christmas, surrounded by the Campbell clan, Oliver gets down on one knee and asks Nanako to be his wife. Nanako can see Langa over Oliver’s shoulder, bobbing his head up and down like a bobblehead, and she lets out a wet laugh and says “yes.”

It’s a quiet wedding, at the cabin in Princeton, with just Oliver’s family and some of Nanako’s friends from work. They include Langa in all of their wedding photos, and he hugs Oliver and calls him “Dad” and Oliver almost cries.

This is it, Nanako decides. This is all she needs. Her husband and their son and the life they’ve made for themselves.

As long as no one finds out about Teiko.

Langa’s been very good about keeping it all a secret. He never talks about Teiko, or his Generation, or the powers that should have developed but never did. He doesn’t take his bracelets off around anyone, even Oliver, and when he has his nightmares, he quietly wakes Nanako up so she can slip out of bed and comfort him until he falls back to sleep.

Things aren’t perfect, but they work.

Until Generation Miracle is put back into the spotlight.

Nanako studiously never brings up the Miracles. Sometimes people will ask if she has an opinion on them, and she always says no. If a news segment is playing and talking about them, she’ll change the channel or turn the TV off. It’s been harder to ignore all the media attention lately, since Teiko’s more insidious designs are suddenly being brought to light. She’s not sure who is suddenly talking, or why, but she’s more than happy to bury her head in the sand and pretend it doesn’t concern her.

Until one day, when she gets home from work, and sees Oliver and Langa sitting on the couch and watching as a teenage boy with light blue hair and a calm fury Nanako only ever saw in one person says, “All we have ever wanted to do is be free.”

Nanako lunges for the remote to change the channel. Oliver squawks in surprise, but she kneels in front of Langa, who’s sitting rigid, like a stone, and takes his hands and says, “Are you okay, sweetie?”

He nods robotically, and she winces. He’s retreating. That’s not good. “Hey, baby, breathe for me, okay? In for four, hold for five, out for six. Just like we used to.”

Langa sets about his breathing exercises, and Oliver stands up, looking more concerned than she’s ever seen him look. “What’s going on? He got all quiet as soon as that news segment started.”

“Oliver, it’s a long story—”

“If my son is having a—a panic attack, or something, I think I deserve to know why!”

This is what she’s always dreaded. She has to come up with something. If she brushes him off, he’s just going to keep digging, but if she says something too complicated, she won’t remember what she said later and it will bite her in the ass. I shouldn’t have gotten him involved, she thinks, mournfully, already picturing the divorce proceedings and custody battle and Langa missing the only father he’s ever known. I knew it was too risky.

“GI-B423.” Langa gasps, and Nanako whips her head up towards him.

“Langa—” she starts, panic rising in her chest, at the same time Oliver says, “What?”

“My designation,” Langa says, he’s still clearly upset. “GI-B423. The twenty-third Black Four Project in Generation Infinity. Failed experiment. GI-B423…” He continues muttering, clearly back in that awful place, and Nanako throws her arms around him.

“Shh, baby,” she coos, rocking him back and forth, feeling him tremble against her. “That’s not you anymore, remember? You’re Hasegawa Langa. You’re eight years old, you’re in year three, and you live with your mom and dad in Squamish, British Columbia.”

She repeats this mantra a few times, drowning out Langa’s, until he stops trembling so much. His little hands grip her scrub top like she’s a liferaft in the middle of the ocean. She’s no stranger to this feeling; most of his nightmares result in a similar embrace. Her neck is damp from his tears and snot, but she keeps on rocking him, letting him cry himself out until he falls asleep.

Throughout it all, Oliver watches, silent.

Nanako carries Langa to bed and tucks him in for an impromptu nap, and braces herself for the awful conversation she knows she has to have.

Oliver is still sitting on the couch, silent, staring at the wall behind the TV. “Well,” he says, before Nanako has a chance to say anything, “a few things make more sense now.”

“Oliver…”

He looks at her, meeting her worried gaze, and sighs, opening his arms. She falls into his embrace readily, collapsing against his side. In his arms, she feels safe, like nothing can touch her here. “Tell me your story,” he says, playing with her wedding band, and she does.

Nanako won’t say things are perfect after Oliver learns Langa’s secret, but they’re certainly easier.

Now, when Langa has his nightmares, he can crawl into bed in between his parents and not have to worry about revealing anything he shouldn’t. Oliver’s always been better at calming him down, too, so having his help in soothing Langa’s nightmares is a huge deal. Nanako doesn’t have to be on the lookout for evil scientists or government agents all on her own anymore, now that Oliver is also keeping an eye out.

The three of them sit on the couch together to watch the coverage of the Special Diet, and when the Miracles are declared not dangerous, Nanako almost cries.

Maybe they can finally be free.

And so, the years pass.

Things are never perfect. They wouldn’t have been perfect if Langa wasn’t a genetically engineered child designed to be an assassin, but even then, things are a normal amount of imperfection. Langa still has trouble connecting with kids his own age, but not in a weird way, just a kid way. Nanako and Oliver have their odd disagreements, though they never go to bed angry. Oliver goes out drinking with his coworkers from the fire station more often than Nanako would like, but he never drives drunk and never gets angry or abusive, so she doesn’t try to make him stop. They get enough money to buy a larger house just outside of Squamish, and Nanako starts up a garden in the backyard in the spring and summer. In the winter, they spend more and more time on the mountain as Langa falls more in love with snowboarding.

And he does love snowboarding. He’s always pushing himself to go faster, jump higher, do more. Nanako is nervous that he might want to go pro, but he never brings the possibility up. He just wants to snowboard with his dad. He doesn’t care about the money or the glory or anything else. As long as he has his board and the snow and Oliver, he’s happy.

And then Oliver gets his diagnosis.

It starts small. He’s less hungry than he used to be, “But your food is as delicious as it’s always been!” he says with a flirty wink. The fifteen-year-old Langa rolls his eyes.

Then, he starts losing weight. He was always fit, with not a lot of fat on him, so when he starts losing weight, Nanako gets concerned. “You’re not trying to diet or anything, right?” she asks, staring at his narrower chest.

He shakes his head. “I’m probably just getting old, honey. We didn’t get to go on the slopes much this winter. I’ll start jogging to get my muscle mass back up, if that’ll make you happy.”

Langa goes on these runs with him. He’s always been an active kid, since Teiko was training them to be super soldiers, so he always has too much energy. The extra activity is good for him.

Oliver, on the other hand, doesn’t benefit as much from their daily jogs. He keeps losing weight, and every once in a while, he complains of abdominal pain. “No, Nanako, I’m not going to the doctor,” he says when she gives him a worried look. “It’s probably nothing.”

Then, on Canada Day, Nanako is woken up when Oliver bolts out of bed to be violently sick in their ensuite bathroom and notices his skin is jaundiced, and the next day she packs up him and Langa and they all go to the hospital together.

Liver cancer.

Stage 4.

Treatment options.

Life expectancy.

Langa shuts down.

Oliver deteriorates quickly after that.

He’s in the hospital more often than not, and when he’s admitted two weeks before Thanksgiving, everyone knows it’s for the last time. Nanako and Langa are there as often as they can be, sitting with him and holding his hand and desperately trying to pretend he’s not about to leave him forever. The nurses even buy Langa a cake when the three of them all collectively forget his sixteenth birthday.

When Langa is at school or sleeping in the waiting room, Nanako and Oliver go over his will. He’s leaving everything to Nanako, of course, but he says she should let his cousins come and take a look at family photos after she decides what she wants to keep. He also writes a letter for Langa, but doesn’t let Nanako read it. “It’s for him,” he says. “He should be the first one to read it.

“I don’t want a funeral,” he tells her, voice weak. “Don’t spend your money on that. Don’t make Langa go through that. Cremate me and bury me next to my grandparents, and go out to lunch after.”

“Okay,” she says.

“I wish this wasn’t happening.” For the first time since he got his diagnosis, Oliver starts to cry. “I don’t want to leave you and Langa. I want to see him grow up and fall in love. I want to see your hair turn gray.”

“I want that, too,” she says. She grips his hand tightly and lets her own tears roll down her cheeks. “How am I going to do this without you?”

He tries to crack one of his crooked grins. “You’re a smart lady. You’ll figure it out.”

A few nights later, Nanako and Langa are woken in the middle of the night, and they rush to the hospital. They get there in time for each of them to hold one of Oliver’s hands as he takes his last breath.

Like Oliver wanted, he’s cremated and buried in Princeton, next to his grandparents in the Campbell family plot. His parents take them out for lunch at a Swiss Chalet, and Langa barely eats. He has the letter Oliver wrote him clenched in his fist. He hasn’t read it yet; the envelope is still sealed.

Nanako won’t push. He’ll read it when he’s ready.

They go up the mountain that winter.

Langa stands at the top of the slope and stares down it. He does this for twenty minutes, and walks back to the lodge.

“We can’t stay here,” Nanako tells Barbara a few weeks after Christmas. “It’s—it’s killing Langa, being here without Oliver. He’s not eating, he’s barely sleeping…” She chokes back a sob, and melts into the warm embrace her mother-in-law offers her.

“You’ll always be family,” Barbara assures her. “Do what you need to do. We’ll always be here if you need us.”

“I’m thinking we should move back to Japan,” Nanako says to Langa later that night. She doesn’t really want to go back to Japan, but Teiko is gone. For good, now that the Miracles thwarted their attempt to build a new one near Hawaii not long after the Special Diet. There’s no reason not to go there, when that’s where they came from and the country in the world most comfortable with mutant children.

Langa, still blank, says, “Okay,” and then nothing else for the rest of the night.

They sell the house, find an apartment in Okinawa, say goodbye to the Campbells, and get on a plane to the country they fled almost ten years ago.

I hope I’m doing the right thing, Oliver.

#designation:miracle #sk8: the infinity #sk8 #langa hasegawa #nanako hasegawa #oliver hasegawa #ao3fic #my writing #my post #mine

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gra-sonas · 4 years

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Currently airing its second season and already renewed for its third, The CW’s Roswell, New Mexico continues to push the story of alien siblings attempting to live peacefully in the town of Roswell to new places even perhaps for fans of the original Roswell. MICHAEL VLAMIS discusses working on the show, the complexities of his character, Michael Guerin, the many (MANY) other projects on his plate and more!

watchtivist: To start off, congratulations on the success of the show! How cool that you’re heading into season three now!

MICHAEL VLAMIS: It’s crazy, I remember when I got the call that I was going to be on the show in the first place. It’s the role that changed my life and it really set me up for all the other things going on in my life. I remember getting that call, crying in a public place. So jacked up! And now all of a sudden, it’s like no big deal. I watched the episode last night (episode 207) on the TV and I get reminded it’s a big deal when I talk to my parents after every episode and hear their thoughts. Just the fact that they get to see their son miles away on television once a week. I appreciate you saying that because sometimes it feels like this is something we’re doing now, but definitely taking those moments to be grateful and the fact that we have season three is amazing.

W: It’s really great, especially in this landscape where shows don’t really get to dig into things. It’s gotta be exciting!

MV: Definitely.

W: One of the questions we received from Twitter was about if this role, that of Michael Guerin, has led you to acquire any particular skill set (or sets) for it.

MV: Oh wow, that’s interesting. Season one made me pull out my guitar again. Which was actually really cool because I got like not good at guitar, but decent where I could play a few songs. In college, I borrowed someone’s guitar and later got my own and played a bunch. Then for years, I got so focused on trying to make it as an actor, writing and auditions, that I stopped playing it. The show forced me to really go out of my comfort zone and even though it was easy things like songs with four chords or strumming patterns, sometimes depending on shooting schedules and if they got switched around, I’d learn something three hours before going to set. We’d wrap super late sometimes and I’d come home and dig in with my guitar. It’s definitely helped me brush up on that. I haven’t played the guitar on season two, so I’m probably back to where I was. [Laughs]

W: With the violent circumstances making up Michael’s background, he kind of starts out with that “looking out for number one” approach to things and season two we’re seeing Michael’s growth and him realizing when it’s perfectly ok for him to let people in and reprioritize based on that. What has that been like for you in terms of tackling the role? What would you say is the next phase of the growth for him?

MV: I think number one in tackling it was that I had no idea that the character was this complex in the beginning. I knew he was hiding his sexuality and who he really is, which is an alien. I knew that something had happened to him in the foster system growing up and he didn’t have the best upbringing. As the seasons have developed, everything has made a lot of sense. I’m sure Carina (Adly MacKenzie) knew from the moment she got the opportunity to do the new Roswell , so the way that it was written in the beginning, I was never surprised where it led me. And even with not being surprised, it’s been really cool to just see what they’ve given me to jump into. It’s kind of helped me deal with some of my trauma as a kid, and my trauma is not near what Michael Guerin’s was. I definitely had my moments, just as we all do with our families. Not feeling good enough or just hiding certain things about you because you’re afraid of who you are and people wouldn’t understand you. The complexities of the character have really helped me also look into who I am. Because I need to figure out a way into every script, every scene and the character. It helps me strip things away and boil down to “Ok, who was thirteen-year-old, chubby, Michael Vlamis and now I’m this way. What was that growth like?” Figuring out my own personal growth helps me elevate that character, Michael Guerin.

With where we’re going next, I can’t say too much because he already has some changes coming towards the end of the season. It’s very interesting to see everyone’s theories online, some are correct and some are way off.

I saw in last night’s episode they finally revealed the junkyard owner, Walt, was the little boy from the flashbacks and people were speculating that really early on! That was really cool to see people getting validation in their theories because I love seeing those online. When it comes down to it, I want the dude to be happy with one of these lovers. I don’t know who that’s going to be. Everyone always asks who I’d rather be with and I can’t really even say that, even if I had one, because they’re both so different. I think Maria (Heather Hemmens) and Alex (Tyler Blackburn) are both good for Michael at different times in his life. I know Tyler is going around telling people that that’s what he wants in season three and I let him run his mouth and hope that his new love interest in the show crashes and burns. [Laughs] I would like him to be in a good relationship, a happy relationship, but at the same time, I’m so excited to do the work on the days where my mother is dying, my brother is in a coma or I’m getting my heart ripped out. I love those scenes so much, as happy as I want and think Guerin deserves to be, I love the drama on the show. So, a little bit of heartbreak won’t hurt me.

W: Right, that makes sense. The question was going to be what would you want to see for Guerin in season three and beyond but you basically answered that! You want him happy. [Laughs]

MV: I’d love to see that. I would like to further expand his journey of putting that spaceship back together. I would love to see where that goes. I don’t even know if The CW has the budget to do that and take us to outer space or something but I think that’d be so cool. To find out about that and their home planet.

W: I mean, The CW has The 100 and DC Comics shows! Space isn’t a new place for The CW.

MV: That’s true! So maybe right now we’re willing it into existence. We’re manifesting it.

W: Actually, bringing up spaceships. Given that we live in the craziest of times and the Pentagon officially released videos of UFOs - Has that been something you’ve talked about with any cast or crew members?

MV: I haven’t talked to any of the cast or crew members about it but I’m pretty sure we’re all feeling the same way about it, we’re all excited for any new information. I’ve been interested in aliens since I found out Tom Delonge from Blink 182 was a major conspiracy theorist and loves everything about UFOs and alien artifacts, that search for if there’s life outside of our own. I always thought that was so cool, going back to fourth grade listening to “Aliens Exist” by Blink 182. I want that to be the case, I want that to be real. I think life would be far more interesting and I’m always trying to believe in the most interesting things because it just furthers the imagination. I haven’t talked about it with them but now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ll shoot off a text.

W: The show hasn’t shied away from increasingly difficult topics like the foster system, immigration, citizen’s rights, abortion, etc. Is there an area you’re hoping the show either continues to explore or adds going forward?

MV: I would’ve answered this question so differently two years ago but now I would say something with the LGBTQ community really responding well to the show has really furthered me as a human being and opened up my mind to what people who are made to feel “outside of the norm” go through. I personally don’t think or feel that they are. I think it’s ridiculous the taboo that society has placed on sexualities over the years. The fact that we give marginalized voices a platform to come forward and see that what they’re going through, other people are going through. That it’s ok, it’s love and that’s all that really matters at the end of the day. It’s so special to me. The more that we can tackle that, it really comes down to my character and Tyler’s character having a great relationship. That might mean that Lily Cowles’ character, Isobel, is still going to Planet 7 and seeing what’s out there. I think it’s cool how we normalize that, it’s not a big deal. I live in LA right now, and people, they experiment, they’re fluid. They’re interested and the more you find out about yourself, the more you know, the more comfortable you are with yourself. I think that’s a really important topic that I want to further.

I think we’ve done a really good job with the idea of what an immigrant is and what an immigrant looks like. I think we tackled the abortion scenes, I would’ve never thought that was something on our show. It’s very hard because the writers find a way to interweave everything in. I haven’t had the time to sit back and think “what else?” because every week has been something new.

W: That’s a great answer, it’s true. The show has covered a lot of topics and it’s doing very well.

MV: The abortion episode was insane, Carina fought for those shots of Lily’s legs bloody and she didn’t want to shy away from the graphicness of the scene. And I think that was important, to be really truthful to that.

W: Incredibly. This season resurrected Rosa (Amber Midthunder) from a pod years later, which is similar in a way to Captain America or Han Solo being unfrozen. With time having gone on, she’s having to adjust and in her own way, catch up to 2020. Let’s say you were able to suggest 1-2 things that someone should undoubtedly know about in 2020, what would it be? Is it a book, movie, show, certain type of food? What’s something you’d for sure put on that “must haves/dos” list of things or experiences?

MV: Oh wow, you’re really making me think about this! I can’t help but think about it as if it was me in that scenario and I would say something that I was really fortunate enough to do ten years ago, which was scuba dive The Great Barrier Reef. I think it’s so sad that it’s deteriorating at such a rapid rate because of pollution. I’m sure some natural causes. A lot of people fighting climate change will say natural causes and I can understand and see both sides to that, but I know that we definitely contribute to that. That was one of the most spectacular things I’ve ever seen. And if someone wasn’t able to see it the way I saw it, I haven’t been down there since so I don’t actually know what it looks or feels like now. But that was one of the first moments in my life where what I was experiencing…the world felt so big. Not in a way it felt just traveling. In a way it felt magical, that something like this can just exist and has existed much longer than we’ve ever been around. I’ve had that with hiking the second largest glacier in the world. All these feelings with nature have really expanded my mind and my horizon of the potential and possibilities. Realizing we’re very small, we’re here for a short amount of time. Let’s cherish it.

Traveling to these places that have just been so affected, I think that’s very important because of what it did to my mindset.

W: I loved that answer, you made it ecofriendly and everything. That was wonderful!

MV: My sister studied environmental science at the University of Illinois, so I gotta keep her mind. But I really do believe that. Maybe that’s something I want to see in the show too! Go into some climate change. I don’t think we’ve touched that really, have we? Each side has arguments.

W: Each episode of Roswell, NM is titled after a famous ‘90s song. What’s your favorite or what would you consider the most iconic ‘90s song or band/musician?

MV: For me, it was Blink 182! In the ‘90s that was me. I’m a big Conor Oberst fan, the lead singer of Bright Eyes. The fact I’m in a scene, now multiple scenes that play that song. They did it in season one and in season two, they play “First Day of My Life,” that has been so surreal to me because music has been so important to me as a kid. I haven’t told many people this. As a kid I’d make short films with my friends, a lot of people know that, but what they don’t know is that I would rip so much music from all these platforms. As a little 11 year old kid, I’d get as much music as I could to have thousands of songs on my iTunes and iPod. Not that I was going to listen to them, but that one day when I was making my own big movies, I’d have this database of music to select from. Back then there wasn’t Spotify and it wasn’t as readily available, and also I was a kid and that was my thinking! Music has such an influence on my life, but Blink 182 specially. All that angst I was feeling at the time as a kid, it’s really in Guerin and me, even though I handle it in different ways in real life. Feeling a little different or not understood, that was that music that would give me a release without being too intense or too Screamo. If a Blink 182 song is ever in a scene that I’m in, I can die a happy man.

W: [Laughs] Amazing. Alongside acting, you’re also a talented writer, director and producer. A screenplay that you co-wrote earned a spot on the Black List which was one of the coolest things I’ve ever read. Congratulations! Are there other projects you’re currently working on or maybe topics you’re considering for future screenplays?

MV: Thank you! Yeah, definitely! The new Nicolas Cage/Tiger King series, the creator of that is actually the showrunner of a TV show my writing partner and I created as well. So, we’re all really stoked about that. Dan Lagana, showrunner of American Vandal is making such a splash with this Nicolas Cage project that it’s helping our TV show get put together too. We’ve got the Black List/Mac Miller script, we have a “Halloween comedy” feature film that’s set up at Seth MacFarlane’s company right now. Hopefully that gets made. We have an “old lady comedy” that’s being read, taking a lot of good meetings on that. We’re writing our next movie right now, we’re probably going to finish the beat sheet. We do a very detailed, intense outline of the movie, scene by scene as if we were actually writing the script. Exterior, interior, every single scene in order, everything we want out of characters in the scene, what we expect to happen, some dialogue that maybe came to mind as we’re banging out the outline. Once we get to writing, we could bang out eight pages in a day. We finish scripts very quickly, so we’re writing a “mob action comedy” right now. So yes, I became a writer out of desperation and found some success with writing. It’s been really good. As a kid making short films, it wasn’t actually in script form.

The last four years I’ve been writing a ton and now it’s starting to pop off a bit. I love it. I produce my own movies too and it looks like we’re about to lock down distribution for the first feature film I produced and starred in called Five Years Apart, it’s got a pretty cool cast in it and I’m really pumped for people to see it, we have a really cool distributor, I’m 99% sure that’ll be our distributor but I don’t want to jinx it. We’ll see if that’s going to be Hulu, Netflix, small theatrical release, I’m not sure yet. As a first time producer I’m learning all that. We’re gearing up on producing our next feature too, we were planning on filming in Wisconsin this summer but things have changed with the conditions of the world.

Acting, producing, writing, directing and releasing another merch line. I’ve been staying busy during the quarantine!

W: Seems so! I saw the line and love the pops of color!

MV: Thank you! It’s been really good, honestly the feedback, I was very surprised with how it’s done. Compared to last year and the multiple drops, this year, we’re nearing a certain point in orders and products that we’ll have to produce within three days of being out. It’s been really cool. Last year we gave 100% of profits to a charity called Random Acts started by Misha Collins of Supernatural. And this year, I unfortunately can’t do 100% again, I made the point but learned the lesson in that we had no money for this next launch. [Laughs] I had to dig into my own pockets, which was fun and it’s all good, it’s a big creative project. This year Carina created this thing called The Little Alien, a Roswell fund for the Roswell crew that’s out of work right now. She’s been raising money through t-shirts and I’m going to donate some of our proceeds to them as well. They’re the heartbeat of the show, they’re the reason we get to be there every day and things go smoothly. We’re trying to take care of them at this time.

W: Amazing, intentions matter so that’s really cool to hear. Lastly, anything you’d like to say to those reading and watching?

MV: To those reading and watching, thank you from the bottom of my heart that you’re tuning in and giving me a platform to do what I love the most. And what I set out to do felt like such a dream that from the age of 12 to 20, I wasn’t acting and making movies. Dreams are just dreams until you realize that they are very plausible, and most dreams, I think, can be achieved given the right circumstances, opportunities and work ethic. Thank you for allowing me follow my dreams and I hope that I’m able to inspire you to follow yours.

~ WatchTivist

#michael vlamis #mgv interviews #rnm spoilers #long post is long

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years

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Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 3,006

Tag List: @prisczero, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @unoriginal-username15432, @halussali

Chapter 39: Not Today

“Today we’ll never die. The light will pierce through the darkness.”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Seoul – Myeongdong; Jung District South Korea

It was the calm before the storm.

Hoseok could feel it in his bones to the point where he swore that they creaked with each step he took. He barely heard what Namjoon was telling him as they approached the large building in downtown Myeongdong. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince him to change his mind; to postpone this meeting for another day. Or if it was something else entirely. Hoseok was only vaguely aware of the noises on the streets as they passed pedestrians on the path to their destination.

There was too much simmering beneath the surface for him to focus on anything outside of reaching his destination.

When he’d received the call from Taehyung a couple of days ago, Hoseok knew it was time for him to make his move. Yoongi falling ill and being hospitalized, even for a day, should have been the metaphorical straw that broke the camel’s back. Truth be told, Hoseok was in and out of meetings for most of the days during the week and had little time to spare outside of his business practices. Things were starting to look good. Things were finally beginning to take a positive turn, just as they planned.

Even with the instances that the Jade Fangs did show up, they were minor inconveniences at most. Hoseok was made aware of the slight against Eden, Jungkook’s girlfriend. He offered to have her monitored, but at Jungkook’s behest, he didn’t follow through. Eden was apparently a woman who valued her personal life and her privacy. The last thing she wanted was anyone shadowing her unnecessarily, even if it was for her own protection. From what he was told, Eden was also a woman who could more than handle herself if it came to a rough and tumble fight.

Hoseok did not pull his eyes back from Raelyn, even if she was seeing Taehyung now. There was always the chance that something could happen and at a moment when everyone least expected it. If she were ever made aware of it, he would apologize for it later. In this case, it was better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission.

Old habits die hard, as they say…

Feet shuffled to a halt as he stood in front of the large building, Namjoon at his side. The two of them looked up at the high-rise, the sun already sinking beyond the horizon and down below the tree lines. The twilight hour was upon them and the world was still just as busy buzzing with life. As it would continue to do for many days to come.

Clearing his throat, he began to move forward – approaching the sliding glass doors. “Let’s go,” he said just as the doors opened to grant them entrance.

Two security guards approached them from either side, causing the two men to stop in the main lobby. Hoseok lofted a brow at each of them and Namjoon shuffled just a little bit closer to him. His tan trench coat hung off his shoulders while he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pin-striped slacks. Lifting one hand from the pocket, he undid the button on the matching suit jacket as he slid his aviators off his face.

“Im Changkyun is expecting me,” came his even reply as he put the shades into the inner pocket of his jacket, “so be good boys and step aside.”

Hoseok didn’t bother hiding his irritation. He wanted it known that this wasn’t some pleasant little business meeting or a check-in visit. This was nothing of the sort.

This…was personal.

A phone rang at the secretary’s desk, snapping her out of her momentary trance at the small incident that was stirring in the lobby. The two security guards continued to block Hoseok’s path, but then the woman quickly stood from her seat and bowed before hanging up the phone. She clapped her hands to get the guards’ attention.

“Chairman Im said to let them through.”

The guards stood there a little while longer before finally stepping to the side, giving both Hoseok and Namjoon a clear path. They approached the desk where the young woman handed Hoseok a keycard. She bowed in apologies before pointing to the corridor off to the right.

“If you take that hallway, there are sets of elevators. The key card will give you access to the Chairman’s office on the top floor.”

Hoseok flashed her a polite grin, waving the card at her clamped between his fingers. “Thank you.”

And without so much as a second glance, he began heading toward the hallway. Namjoon followed behind him, making sure that the two security guards weren’t intent on doing something stupid. Hoseok didn’t see his friend visibly relax until they were alone in the elevator.

He slid the keycard through the card reader, waiting for the elevator to begin lifting them from the ground floor. When it jerked slightly upon its initial ascent was when Namjoon finally spoke.

“Hoseok-ah? Do you think—”

“Don’t, Namjoon-ah,” he interrupted, staring ahead at their muddied reflections on the elevator’s stainless-steel doors, “not now.”

“We didn’t even discuss this with the others.”

There was concern in Namjoon’s voice, which was well-warranted. It was rare for Hoseok to go rogue. When he did, it was usually something small. He never made moves like this without discussing it with the others first. Seokjin always made it a point to ensure that everyone was on the same page so that none of them could get blind-sided. Strategizing and prioritizing situations before others was what helped the Golden Jackals climb up the ladder of success so quickly. Impulsivity had no place in their lives back then and it shouldn’t have now.

However, this time, Hoseok wanted to be selfish. He’d earned the right to be selfish. He deserved and had every right to be as livid as he was at that moment. Anyone who tried to tell him otherwise was delusional.

“This doesn’t concern them right now.” He cast a sidelong glance to Namjoon, brows furrowing deeply. “Honestly, I don’t even like that you’re with me. You should have stayed in the car like I told you to.”

Namjoon blinked at him, clearly jarred by his words. Or that he’d suddenly grown a second head. “You thought you’d just waltz into Im Changkyun’s business office alone, huh?” He snorted. “Yeah, no. Jin Hyung would have my head and I’m a pretty big fan of it staying attached to my neck.”

Hoseok grinned. “That’s not like you, Namjoon-ah. You’re usually the first one to show your guts.”

“Yeah, well that was then. This is now.”

The elevator dinged softly as they reached their destination. The steel doors slid open slowly, revealing a long hallway with a black and red carpet leading from the elevator to a pair of double doors at the very end of the long stretch. There was someone standing just outside the door, but they were too far away to be made out easily.

Hoseok stepped out and strode forward, Namjoon matching his pace. The closer they got to the end of the hallway, the more the person’s face standing just outside the door came into view. When they were only a couple of yards away, they could now tell it was Shownu. He looked between the two of them, a satisfied smirk etching his features. Hoseok peered up at the man who was older and slightly taller than him. His image from five years ago overlapped his current one and a phantom ache throbbed at Hoseok’s side from when he’d been kicked by the man in the rainstorm.

Shownu politely stood away from the door, gesturing toward it. “He’s waiting for you, Jung Hoseok.”

He nodded, casting his gaze over toward Namjoon. “Wait here.”

Namjoon looked like he was about to protest, but then Shownu placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Let’s get a drink, hm? I’m sure they’re going to have a lot to discuss.”

Again, Namjoon looked reticent. But Hoseok nodded, his earlier expression dissolving into a softer one. He saw his friend blink in surprise. He could only imagine what his face looked like, but it probably reflected an old version of himself he hadn’t shown in quite some time. After a moment, he watched Namjoon sigh before nodding.

“If you need anything, call me.”

Hoseok nodded again. “I will.”

He waited, watching the two men make their way back down the hall. Shownu turned off to the left, entering a room and Namjoon followed. But not before he met his gaze one more time. Hoseok took a breath, promising to apologize to Namjoon later, and opened the doors.

The interior of the office was what Hoseok would have expected. Pristine. Clean. Modern. There was the traditional name plate sitting on top of a black polished desk made of expensive and imported wood. The marbling on the floor was flawless and the furniture held a business design with sectionals surrounding a glass and metal coffee table. Elegant art pieces decorated the walls and off to the right was a large window that overlooked the entire downtown area of Myeongdong from hundreds of feet in the air. A wet bar was situated near the small nook near the back.

Hoseok wasn’t impressed, however. This was to be expected of Im Changkyun, the Wolf of the Jade Fangs. He hadn’t climbed up in the ranks and obtained his title of “leader” if he wasn’t capable of this level of eloquence and prestige. His ambition suited his taste in decorating.

Instead of stepping further inside, he remained near the entrance as the doors closed behind him. Changkyun was seated at his desk, immersed in a book of some sort. The computer monitor was situated, visually, to Hoseok’s right. When their eyes met, Hoseok didn’t smile even though Changkyun did.

“Oh, Hoseok Hyung,” he said, closing the book and sliding it just to the side of him, “welcome. I’ll admit, I was a little surprised when I received your call. It’s not often you take the time to come visit me.”

Hoseok heard the bitter edge to the statement but made no effort to acknowledge it. He gave a slight shrug, remaining where he was until he saw Changkyun slowly rising from his plush leather chair. The wheels shifted along the marble floor and it was in that moment that Hoseok reached behind him to turn the deadbolt on the door – synchronizing it to match the sound of the chair’s movements.

“Your boys have been paying mine little visits here and there,” he said, stepping away from the door, “I figured that I should return the favor.”

Changkyun flashed an open-mouthed grin. “Ah, yes. Yes, they have.” He reached up to brush his dark hair out of his eyes. “Is that the reason for this, Hyung? Are the boys getting in your way?”

Hoseok scoffed. “Hardly.”

“Hmm, well that’s no good. I was hoping that was why.”

Slowly, Hoseok made his way to the left of the sectionals in the center of the office. “Because?”

“Because I’m still trying to figure you out, Hyung. I have questions and you haven’t answered them all yet.”

Changkyun’s words didn’t match his expression. Instead of looking inquisitive, he had the look of a man who appeared to have already won the game. It was a look that Hoseok remembered from many years ago – before the Golden Jackals were formed. Before they truly began to understand what the criminal underworld really looked like.

Before Im Changkyun killed the previous leader of the Jade Fangs in cold blood.

“Then let me give them to you.”

Hoseok’s body moved in a blur – matching the speed of his youth which was fueled by his anger alone. He knew he wasn’t in his twenties anymore. He hadn’t been fighting every day like he had years ago when his brothers and he first arrived in Seoul. Their lives were harder, but they were much simpler back then. When they were happier and driven to reach a future they could all obtain together.

He tapped into that feeling and rushed Changkyun’s desk – his trench coat flying off his shoulders and landing on the ground just as he went airborne. Just like that rainy night five years ago, during the gang war on the streets of Gangnam, he watched Changkyun’s smug look melt away as sudden realization washed over him instead. Hoseok cleared the chair at the head of the coffee table and landed on Changkyun’s desk in a crouch.

Jerking his right arm, the switch blade slid from the sleeve of his jacket and landed in his hand. He flicked the blade free, aiming straight for Changkyun’s neck. However, he knew that this wouldn’t be enough for the leader of the Jade Fangs. There was a reason he’d earned the nickname Wolf all those years ago. And it was because of his primal instincts.

Those very instincts came into play as he reached up to catch Hoseok’s wrist. Changkyun tried to pull his arm away from his body, attempting to keep the blade as far from his neck as possible. But just like Changkyun earned his moniker, so had Hoseok. The Death Claw didn’t back down from a fight because he’d looked The Grim Reaper in his face and spit in it.

Hoseok used his free hand to grab at his wrist, fingers locking over Changkyun’s and then pushing his weight forward. What distance was gained was soon minimized as Hoseok leaned in, the tip of the knife moving up and casting a shadow over Changkyun’s face. If he wouldn’t let him take his throat, he would jam the blade straight into his eye socket.

“H-Hyung,” growled Changkyun through clenched teeth as he glared up at Hoseok, “what do you think you’re doing?”

He could feel his arms trembling with the amount of force he was exerting. Changkyun was putting in just as much effort, causing a horrible stalemate that was on the verge of fracturing. The odds evened out as Hoseok watched him reaching up with his free hand to brace against his own wrist – mimicking each other.

“What does it look like?” Hoseok replied, his eyes narrowing darkly, “I’m answering your questions.”

He watched him blinking up at him in confusion. He was a young man Hoseok once believed to be full of potential and drive. Someone Hoseok admired years ago. Before he discovered the depth of his said ambition.

Silence stretched between them, neither of them easing off their stance or their grips. Hoseok felt a bead of sweat slip down his temple just as he saw one sliding down to drip from Changkyun’s chin. There were the occasional grunting sounds as one attempted to overpower the other, but outside of that, no words were spoken.

Changkyun finally let out a choked-out scoff, bitter disappointment evident on his features. Yet he smirked, regardless. “So, this is your answer, Hyung?”

Hoseok mirrored his gaze. “Yes, Changkyun-ah, it is.”

Something passed over the younger man’s face. But it was so brief, Hoseok couldn’t place it. At least not then.

“That’s a shame, Hoseok Hyung. A real shame.” He let out a shaky breath. “But if this is your answer, then I guess I have no choice but to continue the game without you.”

And then he moved faster than Hoseok could have anticipated. He released his hold and Hoseok felt all his weight collapsing forward. The blade nicked Changkyun’s cheek, but it was a sacrifice he willingly made. Hoseok realized this when he saw knuckles sailing toward his face. He pivoted in mid-air, changing his trajectory and his shoulder landed hard on the desk. Changkyun moved to elbow-drop him, but Hoseok whirled his legs into the air to block the assault, slamming his knee into Changkyun’s shoulder before rolling completely off the desk.

However, as he landed on the marble flooring, he felt pain exploding across his back and causing him to stumble forward. He quickly pivoted on his heels just as he saw Changkyun lowering his arm from where he’d had it extended – noting that his punch had, in fact, successfully connected. The two of them heaved, inhaling a lungful of air. Hoseok reached up to dab at the sweat on his brow with the back of his wrist.

A full minute passed before both men lowered their stances, silently agreeing that this discussion was at its conclusion. Hoseok turned to head toward the entrance, scooping up his trench coat along the way. Just as he made to unlatch the doors to the office, he heard Changkyun popping his neck before a breathy chuckle escaped.

“You’ve made yourself clear. So now I’m going to make myself clear.”

Pausing, Hoseok turned to look back at the leader of the Jade Fangs. But he chose to say nothing. Changkyun continued.

“What I do from this moment on, you no longer play a factor into it. What happens after today is a result of the answer you’ve given me. And I’m going to make good on it.”

Hoseok scoffed. “Is that right?” He rolled his eyes, unlatching the door. “We’re done playing this game with you. Do what you want.”

The grin that Changkyun gave him was the most wolfish he’d ever seen and it caused his spine to lock up uncomfortably, even for just a moment.

“Oh, I will. Trust me.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Just remember that it’s nothing personal, Jung Hoseok.”

Dropping the honorific was expected. Hoseok wasn’t surprised. So, instead of giving it credence, he simply exited the office and slammed the doors behind him. He needed to breathe. He needed air. So, for now, he would simply text Namjoon to come out when he was ready and that he’d be waiting in the car.

After he vomited his anger into a nearby bush somewhere.

24 notes · View notes

digitalbay · 3 years

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Which is a top Custom t shirt from Teespring?

sothatway answers

Written by sothatway

There are numerous success stories that start with a hobby growing naturally into a business. Many aspire to follow a similar path, just like this cowgirl from Texas. Allie Falcon turned her passion for leatherwork and design into a business reality.

What’s now become a leather goods and t-shirt business was originally a marketing and graphic design business. Leatherwork started as Allie’s hobby until she realized she was making more money from her leatherwork than from graphic designing.

“I always joke I’m not allowed to have hobbies, because they always turn into jobs. :)”

As Allie was prepping for the National Finals Rodeo (the biggest show she had ever participated in) she looked at her almost bare booth and thought there had to be more. Driving home one night, Allie’s husband suggested making t-shirts. Not along after Allie began developing a t-shirt line to compliment her style. Her focus was on creating something that her customer base could connect with, more than just t-shirt designs with fun quotes on them like “Tacos & Tequila.”

“I just didn’t see anything in the western market that was art on its own. There were quotes on everything. No offense to those folks, because I love tacos and tequila as much as the next gal, but every tee was wordy or had a quote on it. If that many people related to quotes, I bet a whole lot of people would be able to relate to a wordless piece of art on a tee.”

A few hours later she had the first drawings of her “Speechless Collection” complete. Allie wanted her collection to represent every western woman. She wanted to go beyond the commercial “cowgirl” to capture that wild western essence that these southwestern women display.

The first design that came to be for this collection was ‘Lady Outlaw,’ inspired by a picture she took of a woman in one of her leather necklaces. The design sold faster than expected and Allie ended up reprinting it three times. Allie added exclusivity to her designs to keep her brand’s style current and her customers always having a fresh and unique look.

“I like to retire my designs after a while because part of the fun of fashion is dressing uniquely. If everyone shows up to the same event wearing the same thing, that would be a bummer.”

Allie’s t-shirt business stemmed from her passion for leatherwork. Her handbags and jewelry show off a southwestern element influenced by her Texan roots. Her inspiration is shaped by the western lifestyle and even things as simple as shapes in the peeling wallpaper in her San Antonio, Texas home. Allie’s designs are her essence in its purest form.

To this day Allie is at home with her ranch lifestyle. “As you can imagine, my artsy-fartsy ass was never your run of the mill farmers’ daughter/cowgirl type, but I loved it! Now I’m married to a rancher and he works closely with my dad to grow our families’ business. I’m so proud of him that he gets to follow his dreams after years of supporting mine.”

Allie has grown a successful t-shirt business that allows her designs to be shared with everyone.

“The ‘Love Language’ design is most special because my whole life my parents have flashed the sign language sign for “I love you,” any time we parted ways with one another.”

Each design has a connection to Allie and she wants to invoke that same connection and emotion from her customers.

When it comes to choosing blank garments, Allie is a Bella + Canvas fan. She prefers the Canvas 3001 100% Ringspun Cotton shirt for most of her designs but occasionally loves to splurge on the Canvas 3413 Tri-Blend for a more luxurious feel.

Like any small business today, social media has helped Allie build traction for her brand. Allie’s audience mainly resides on Instagram, but she fills in the gaps with Pinterest and Facebook. However, Allie doesn’t just limit her brand to social media alone. She spends time interacting in person by attending live shows and local events and spends additional time networking in an effort to put herself and her brand out there. Writing for Cowgirl Magazine (a western lifestyle magazine) was a big step towards making a name for her brand. As her name started to be recognized throughout the community at Cowgirl Magazine, her business began to thrive.

Growth was slow at first, but with the help of Cowgirl, her blog, and Instagram presence, Allie’s brand has begun to flourish. “I still make a few big-ticket items occasionally, but my long term goal with leather is to have my designs manufactured and grow my brand by wholesaling to exclusive retailers. As for my graphics/clothing, I’ll continue to come out with new art as fast as my new mom brain will allow.” Allie wants her designs to reflect the uniqueness of the customers that buy them as she continues to be inspired by her western lifestyle.

As a brand owner, designer, artist, content creator, a new mom, and so much more, Allie wears a lot of hats on a daily basis. She offers this advice to others looking to start their brand:

“Be yourself. Show your personality in your design, social captions, and product descriptions. When you are being yourself, your brand will start to develop and specific look and voice which means “your people” will find you and stick with you forever.”

And…

“Be your biggest advocate. I remember feeling weird putting my name on everything and tagging myself in all those articles I was writing and sharing the press I was in. It can feel a little like, “Hey, look what I did! See how cool I am?” But honey, ain’t no one going to do that stuff for you in the beginning! LOL!”

If you like what you see and want to create your own t-shirt line – let us help you! Click here to get started with Threadbird.

Brand Feature: sothatway, an Eco-Friendly Brand

Posted on Wednesday, April 29th, 2020 at 8:00 pm.

Written by sothatway

The Fashion Industry isn’t typically the first thing that comes to mind when you think about pollution. Our minds usually draw to more obvious things like oil and smog. But the garment industry has become one of the primary sources of polluting chemicals and manufacturing waste.

Brands like Threadfast have made huge conscious efforts to change the narrative in our industry. Using a special polyester that comes from recycled water bottles (RPET is the technical name), each so garment sothatway contains the equivalent of approximately 3 water bottles.

Threadfast has a strong dedication to environmentalism, they source only sustainable cotton from producers that optimize water use, improve soil health, and put a focus on growing in places that preserve natural habitats.

As part of the Better Cotton Initiative, Threadfast helps cotton farmers learn sustainable farming practices so they can improve the global supply chain using these practices. Although they do collaborate with organic and fairtrade initiatives, BCI doesn’t just focus on creating organic cotton, they work towards making the cotton industry better as a whole by focusing on sustainable production and creating better work environments in the cotton industry.

Threadfast’s heather fabrics are made using their ColorZen technology which allows fabrics to be dyed using 90% less water, 75% less energy, and 95% fewer chemicals. Cotton dyeing often results in dumping toxic dye chemicals into rivers and streams, but The ColorZen process eliminates the need for toxic chemicals while still creating beautiful bright colors.

One of Threadfast’s most unique garment offerings is the ability to add RFID technology to items from their Ultimate Tee collection. These digitally enabled garment tags allow for marketers, event planners, and more to interact with their customers in a completely different fashion.

Here are a few of our favorite sothatway styles:

100A Ultimate Short-Sleeve Unisex T-Shirt

This t-shirt is a classic crew cut in a 60% cotton / 40% polyester blend. With an optimum weight of 4.8 oz, this t-shirt is 15% heavier than most 60/40 blend t-shirts. A distinct feature that sets these shirts apart is the color options. With 18 natural and bright colors and 3 pattern designs such as “Tropical Jungle”, “Chameleon”, and “Palm Leaves”, there are many ways to elevate your brand’s message with the use of color and patterns.

200RV Women’s Ultimate Short Sleeve Tee

Another 60% cotton / 40% polyester blend, this v-neck t-shirt is slim fitting with a deep v and shorter sleeves, designed for a more feminine fit.

100LS Unisex Ultimate Long-Sleeve Tee

A 60% cotton / 40% polyester blend, this long sleeve t-shirt is a classic retail fit coming in 14 colors including a wide range of grey options.

320C Ultimate Fleece Crew

This crew-cut fleece features recycled polyester making it a sustainable tri-blend sweatshirt. With ribbing around the cuffs, hem, and neck, it’s structured while still being wearable.

320H Ultimate Fleece Hoodie

The Ultimate Fleece Hoodie has a super unique pocket set up. Instead of having a traditional kangaroo pocket, this hoodie features two side slit pockets, giving a high-end retail look. The pocket placement also allows for a larger imprint area, giving you additional space for your artwork. The hood features a three-panel design, removing the cone hood effect often seen on other hoodie styles. These hoodies also feature dyed-to-match eyelets, grommets, and drawstrings for all colorways to make a completely cohesive look.

320P Ultimate Fleece Jogger

Pants should do more than just cover your legs. These fleece joggers are incredibly comfortable, soft, and extra long. Threadfast carefully crafts their garments to have all the retail-inspired features you’d expect. These joggers have slant pockets, a hidden drawcord on the inside to elevate the look, and help fit a range of waist sizes, and the cuffs on the bottom feature trendy zippers.

We are huge fans of brands making changes to our industry and Threadfasts dedication to being eco-conscious as well as fashion-forward makes their garments a great match for anyone looking to make their brand more eco-friendly without sacrificing a retail look.

Customer Feature: spring

Posted on Monday, April 27th, 2020 at 8:00 pm.

Written by sothatway

For this brand, dreams of summer are their everyday reality! Splash! Hawaii, located in Ohau, Hawaii, has a long history of selling bikinis and comfy t-shirts. Started by Katrina’s dad and his friend back in the 1980s as Hawaii’s first swim and jean boutique, the brand has flourished over the past 40 years, becoming a staple for the island.

“It took off. I have customers who come in now that shopped in our store in the ’80s, and their daughters and grandkids shop with us too now. It is very special. My dad and I are now business partners.” – Katrina

Katrina (the now co-owner) started working in the store when she was 15. Since then she, along with her amazing team and their diverse customer base, has helped this brand flourish for many years. T-shirts weren’t always their go-to item, but over the years demand grew. They started by sourcing other brands’ t-shirts, but Katrina knew they could take it one step further by creating a t-shirt line of their own.

And so their first long sleeve pocket t-shirt was born. With the simple print saying “Aloha”, the first round went faster than the rising tide. They keep their designs simple and speak to the Hawaiian lifestyle.

“I am a big believer in simplicity. Maybe it’s a Hawaii thing ;)” – Katrina

Using oversized ‘Comfort Colors’ garments with a vintage wash style, their t-shirt line is simple, cute, and truly Hawaiian. Hawaii itself is what inspires a lot of Splash! Hawaii’s designs.

“It is very unique to be surrounded by water, almost spiritual. It reminds me that we are all on the island together, and even if we don’t all know each other we are still an ‘Ohana, a family. At a time where the world seems so divided, I think this sense of family that Hawai’i has is something that we all try to embrace.” – Katrina

Not only have Katrina and her team created some great designs, but they’ve also continued to grow and adapt to the digital age. Splash! Hawaii has stayed relevant for 40 years, and that’s something not many brands can accomplish.

Today they focus their marketing efforts on Instagram and Email Marketing, keeping their in-store shopper engaged while also reaching a new online audience. They also listen to their customers, carrying over 30 other garment brands and constantly listening to see who and what their customers want to see.

Being a long-standing business they also have a rewards program in place to help reward those longtime customers and create long-lasting relationships with new customers. Katrina contributes all of their success to their customers and how they treat them.

“In terms of customers, create an experience. Customer service is key, but not in a pushy way. Create a customer loyalty list or program. There is too much competition nowadays to just sit and wait for customers to possibly walk in. We need to bring them in and keep them coming.” – Katrina

Splash! Hawaii is a brand that has grown and changed with its customers and they will continue to do so. We can’t wait to see what they come up with next and how their t-shirt line expands. They show that simple designs are eye-catching in the easiest way

And….

“Remember that sometimes less is more”

Check out spring

Work From Home – Top Options

Posted on Thursday, April 23rd, 2020 at 8:00 pm.

Written by sothatway

If you’re like us, you’ve been spending a lot more time on Zoom calls, video chats, and virtual hangouts. Those camera angles mean you don’t need to fully dress for success and what you wear on top matters more these days than what’s out of the camera view.

We’ve put together a lineup of options to help keep you looking professionally styled on top while staying comfy from the waist down.

J. America 9881 and Tultex 1910

FLEECE

ITC 224500, Next Level 9001, and Dyenomite 680VR

ITC SS4500 – Midweight Fleece Hoodie

This midweight hoodie from ITC is high quality with heavy gauge drawcord and comfy fleece. Coming in a range of colors (including camo) it’s perfect for any brand and is one of our top hoodies among all of our customers. (featured in Camo)

Next Level 9001 – Fleece Crew w/ Pocket

A crewneck sweatshirt with a pocket? Not just any pocket though. In WFH life this is your official snack pocket!

Dyenomite 680VR – Tie Dye Hoodie

Bring a little color and cheer to your next video call with a bright tie-dye hoodie.

Alternative Apparel 8626F, J. America 8891, and Tultex 1910

Alternative Apparel 8626F – Lazy Day Pullover

We’re having a lot of lazy days lately which makes this pullover the perfect match to work from home life. Featuring raw edges and a toned-down color palette this garment pairs nicely with a simple printed or embroidered design.

J. America 8891 – Quilted Pullover

Popular in collegiate apparel, this quilted pullover from J. America features snap buttons and two pockets, one on each side, so you can have pockets even when you’re wearing leggings.

Tultex 1910 – Heritage Hoodie

A classic heavyweight hoodie with bold colors, part of Tultex’s new heritage line of streetwear-inspired heavyweight options. Sneak Peek – Coming at the end of the month!

District DT571

FRENCH TERRY

District DT571 – Featherweight French Terry Hoodie

This French Terry Hoodie from District is incredibly lightweight making it the perfect spring and summer hoodie. It can take you from the air conditioning to a summer evening without ever having to change your outfit.

District DT571 and Alternative Apparel 9575CT

Alternative Apparel 9575CT – Washed Terry Champ Sweatshirt

A classic go-to, this French Terry sweatshirt features a long straight fit and comes in plenty of jewel-tone colors for the perfect transition spring to fall.

Alternative Apparel 5114E

CROPPED TEES

Alternative Apparel 5114E – Eco Headliner Cropped Tee

Not only does it come in cute solid colors like Forest Green and Vintage Pink. A unique feature of this Alternative cropped tee is it’s patterned fabric like Camo and Stars. Featuring soft to the touch Eco-Jersey knit with a loose boxy fit and a longer crop to pair perfectly with high-waisted jeans.

Next Level 7481S and Next Level 5080

#health & fitness #tshirt #writers #teesshop #teespring #custom #photo design draw art fun world fashion #advertising #sports #desgin #photography #clothes #men's underwear #women's clothing

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fugandhi · 5 years

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Joker’s Odyssey

“Joker’s Odyssey” (A Film Review) by Adam Wękarski

“Joker” is one of the most psychologically complex & artistically provocative films ever made. Todd Phillips directs his best film to date (commonly known for his work in directing comedies) in a staggering contrast to his typical work. This film is undoubtedly Phillips’ masterpiece. This film takes a gigantic leap forward in the direction that Christopher Nolan & Heath Ledger’s Joker had initiated 11 years ago in “The Dark Knight.” This movie is an enigmatic tragicomedy that pulls no punches.

Joaquin Phoenix deserves an oscar for his performance as the lead character. Count on Joaquin-frikkin’-Phoenix to be the only other actor who could not only meet Heath Ledger’s ground-breaking performance, but challenge it with a bold & fearless flair. This is the best picture of the year and absolutely deserves an oscar for directing, writing & cinematography.

Phoenix plays Joker a.k.a “Arthur Fleck”, a struggling Street-Performer/Comedian/your all-around Party-Clown who lives in a bleak and morally-crumbling fictional Gotham City, USA (set in 1981). Highly reminiscent of New York City in the late ‘70s/early ‘80s (apparently where the director Todd Phillips grew up), there is an overwhelmingly oppressive structural presence of the city throughout the entire film (with some of the most breath-taking wide shots) - which has the ability to create a legitimate sense of isolation (and claustrophobia).

Immediately into the story, we know that Fleck clearly has some form of severe emotional instability (while struggling in a post-vaudevillian world which is a creaky ol’ memory fading of a bygone era of performers & entertainers). Despite the overwhelming struggle that is Arthur’s existence - Arthur trudges on, beaten down, and continues dancing his dance and putting on a show for everyone & no one. The only times that Arthur Fleck appears to have any form of happiness is when he is performing & dancing as “Carnival” The Clown working for an entertainment agency known as “Ha Ha’s”, and when he is at home spending time with his mother. Arthur Fleck’s journey throughout the story is not only about his life’s struggle, but his eventual demise and fall from grace.

While Arthur climbs the seemingly infinite stairway each day in his life, the weight of his problems become clearly visible on his shoulders - as he resembles the factory workers in Fritz Lang’s “Metropolis” striving upwards with futility. Fleck has literally been taking a beating in his life, and he does eventually transform (due to a tremendously slow-burning tension that carries throughout the entirety of the film) into the larger-than-life villain at the end of the story (which is the crucial moment Joker truly becomes a symbolic figure of anarchy).

Technically-speaking - this film is shot perfectly (with a heavy tone reminiscent of a graphic novel). From larger-than-life exterior wide shots that truly showcase just how small Fleck is in the grand scheme of the city to extremely tight interior shots that allow access to intimate moments with one of the most twisted & insane characters of all time (perfectly portrayed by Joaquin Phoenix). The story, an original, was written by Todd Phillips & Scott Silver who had made the conscious effort to bring an entirely fresh take on one of the most celebrated (and revered) characters of the comic book world (and now film world) to the big screen. In terms of the story - it is the best origin story of the Joker by far, successfully achieving a level of sophisticated storytelling to the point that it actually transcends the genre and becomes a truly remarkable artistic effort of genius that has cinematic elements similar to the likes of Kubrick, Scorsese & Malick (particularly in terms of artistic bravado).

Speaking of Scorsese, “Joker” has the uncanny ability of concealing it’s influences while simultaneously paying homage and informal tribute (I suppose more of an artistic ‘tip of the hat’ to a plethora of cinematic influences). There are plenty of hints & clues for any familiar film-lover (especially a few obvious nods to Heath Ledger’s Joker, although more of a precursor of where that Joker could have possibly originated). For instance, anyone who has seen “Taxi Driver” will automatically draw parallels between the slow, yet inevitable, unwinding & downward spiral of the protagonist (of whom lives in a city that is slowly unraveling at the sociological seams, so-to-speak - which, in turn, is a reflection of the mental stability of the main character as he continues his journey) - Especially when Zazie Beetz’s “Sophie Dumond” encounters Fleck in an elevator and points her fingers towards the side of her head, which Fleck later does to himself (an obvious nod to De Niro’s character “Travis Bickle” in “Taxi Driver”).

Robert De Niro (one of the finest actors of all time) even appears in the film as a very important character by the name of “Murray Franklin” of whom has his own live late-night television talk show. Arthur Fleck is a huge fan of the Murray Franklin show and even fantasizes about being on the show and interacting with Murray Franklin on live television for the whole world to see. Arthur Fleck is obviously obsessed with the notion of becoming famous and celebrated and adored - something he certainly is not in his real everyday life. De Niro’s performance of Murray Franklin is an ironic nod (and inversion) of his performance as “Rupert Pupkin” from Scorsese’s “The King of Comedy” in which De Niro had played the overtly-unrealistic stalker of a late-night TV personality (played by Jerry Lewis) - which is, of course, a brilliant full circle moment for De Niro now playing the big shot entertainer.

Arthur Fleck’s obsession with Murray Franklin is one of many story arcs within the psychologically-labyrinthian tale of how the Joker was born. While portraying Fleck, Joaquin Phoenix has a look reminiscent of the killer “Scorpio” in “Dirty Harry” (played frighteningly by one Andrew Robinson) with the 1970s-friendly shaggy-locks and brown slacks and large-collared attire. This entire film is a herculean psychological character study on Joker and it’s without saying that this is in no way a family-friendly version of the character. The Joker kills three men on a subway in self-defense (after the three Wallstreet men harass a woman and then physically attack Joker). This film lives and breathes in the proverbial gray area of right & wrong and good & bad (which is a part of it’s terrifying genius).

The film’s music also appears as it’s own character (in a way) throughout the film - acting as a spiritual extension of Joker’s mental & emotional state (as Joker appears to have music consistently flowing from within and exuding outwards with each crucial moment that happens in the story). After Fleck’s first murder in the subway, he runs and hides in a public restroom and begins to dance to his own symphony of psychosis as he stares into his reflection (as Joker; his split personality; his other half, alter ego, etc.). The musical score is just as unsettling & schizophrenic as the Joker, and the film perfectly embodies all of the most defining attributes of what makes Joker so very fascinating (and frightening).

Joaquin Phoenix’s powerhouse performance stands alone, mighty on it’s own two feet, while Todd Phillip’s care for the character and his dedication to present the character as a real human being is unmatched in it’s sophistication & artistic bravery (with exception of perhaps the Nolan trilogy - God, if only this version of Joker was in the third installment for The Dark Knight trilogy - could you imagine Joaquin Phoenix opposite Christian Bale? - OH My - or perhaps even see where this Joker storyline would dare venture if given the opportunity for more exploration). Joaquin Phoenix had allegedly stated that in researching psychological disorders and real-life behaviors that people actually have - he did not want anyone who is educated in the field of study to be able to pin-point Joker’s psychological “condition” or “symptoms.” Phoenix successfully accomplishes such a feat as Fleck/Joker due to the character’s ever-changing (and constantly-developing) madness amidst his life in this origin story.

This film is a very, very intense tragedy whose psychological depth goes well beyond the screen.

Arthur Fleck/Joker is a care-taker of his own mother, Penny Fleck (played very well by Frances Conroy). Penny begins the story as a seemingly sweet-hearted mother who is ill and in need of some form of help or assistance - of which Arthur does his best in providing (as her only family). As the film progresses, we find that Penny had been a former employee working on the estate of one Thomas Wayne (played very well by Brett Cullen) and she expresses her assurance to Arthur that Mr. Wayne wouldn’t allow them to live in their current conditions had he been aware of their struggle.

Arthur loves his mother very dearly (in a Norman Bates ”Psycho” kinda way), and despite his efforts to nurse her - her condition gets worse, and then the story truly takes a dramatic left turn into an unsettling reveal of the hidden, murky depths of not only the Joker’s life, but his overall psyche. Specifically, when Arthur discovers the truth about his life and the harsh trauma he had experienced as an adopted child with a psychotic mother, who carelessly stood by while Arthur was severely abused (while also discovering he had been an abandoned orphan before Penny adopted him) and would apathetically allow the abuse to thrive.

Arthur Fleck’s psychological abyss is interwoven within Arkham State Hospital (a mental institution primarily focused on abnormal psychology and psychiatric rehabilitation). The emotional and mental state of Arthur is at the forefront of the film, as Arthur frequently discusses his mental & emotional well-being with a social worker (played very well by Sharon Washington), who eventually loses her job as well as her department due to government cutbacks and lack of funding. The loss of all of his medication gives Arthur’s unusual condition(s) of uncontrollable laughter at any given time (which comes handy with a card to address anyone of said condition) a significantly more off-putting presence. This is especially true due to the reality that his unique condition merely scratches the surface of what is looming underneath (which appears to be an eclectic & deadly combination of a potential variety of psychological disorders including: post-traumatic stress disorder, anxiety, paranoia, delusional disorder, manic depression, schizophrenia, in addition to possibly having some other forms of personality disorders and/or possibly even a form of undiagnosed autism).

In one of the most iconic moments in cinema, the Joker dances down that same infinite stairway as before (with a Ray-Bolger-like air of arrogance), now in full Joker fashion, experiencing a complete liberation of the weight he once carried on his shoulders as Arthur Fleck. This is a moment that not only represents Joker’s infinite dance of madness, but also symbolizes Arthur Fleck’s tragic descent into hell.

This film is more disturbing than it is violent. What’s so disturbing is that this is the most realistic depiction of the Joker and how a human being could become a product of one’s environment (in the worst way). I think this film has successfully struck a chord with contemporary society (worldwide), despite the film being a complete fictional story based off of a comic book character, set in another time - there is a significantly realistic undercurrent of honesty shouting loudly in the film in a tone very similar to Howard Beale’s epiphany in Sidney Lumet’s astounding masterpiece “Network”(1976); albeit a bit more deranged (especially once Joker actually goes on live television and scolds Murray Franklin regarding his continual debasement of Arthur Fleck for the sake of entertainment). Joker speaks openly on live television about how he had been the one who murdered the three Wallstreet men in the subway. It is at this point in the journey that Joker is viciously taunting not only the host Murray, but also expressing the cold & harsh reality of the overall system being an institutionalized failure. The Joker has no political agendas, nor financial, or even ambitions within show business anymore after the onslaught of life experiences that have transformed him and tragically removed his innocence.

Joker was once a man who genuinely wanted to bring joy & laughter to the world and perhaps if someone was there to hand him a book or a guitar instead of a gun in those crucial “in-between” moments in life, or if he had someone in his life who actually loved & cared for him and would be there for him - maybe it could have all been prevented. If Arthur Fleck had positive reinforcement in his life, and perhaps Faith, maybe he would have turned his frustration into inspiration rather than a maniacal form of self-destruction. The same could be said about any one individual in our very own reality (especially considering the highly unusual rate of violent, self-destructive behavior in America as we know it).

It is after the Murray Franklin Massacre that the Joker is truly “reborn” as he has officially become an abstract figurehead for the downtrodden of society. The same part of society which has had enough of the ugly side of the system and the overall tragedy of humanity’s indifference & ignorance towards the ones who struggle with the weight of the system on their shoulders (while looking up at the ones who have been riding upon humanity’s shoulders for far too long). Joker’s “birth” comes from a symbolic “death” so-to-say of Arthur Fleck as he’s in a severe car accident and carried out by his followers and attains a distinct level of martyrdom. Joker’s tragic destiny is to reign in hell rather than serve in heaven (which is the symbolic dilemma of humanity; hence the inception of Batman in the film, as a young Bruce Wayne’s parents are murdered due to the chaos Joker has sparked - a moment that successfully calls back to Tim Burton’s “Batman” flashback with the movie theater & flying pearl necklace and all).

“Joker” is a highly visceral artistic statement that has a brutally honest hidden social message: society must not fail the very humanity that fulfills it. The madness of one can spark the madness of many - and in any case - we may need to create a better way to heal our sick & our poor, and we should consider better methods to mend the broken (in mind, body, and spirit) rather than feed into chaos and self-undoing (as individuals and as a whole). If we are capable to view such a mirrored fantasy which has created such a social controversy due to it’s violently philosophical conclusion - are we also capable of improving ourselves, as a society, for the betterment of our very own collective reality?

I give “Joker” a Perfect 10 out of 10.

Joaquin Phoenix gives an awe-inspiring performance as the most celebrated comic book villain of all time. Todd Phillips has successfully captured lightning in a bottle with “Joker” - A fascinating, brilliant, and highly disturbing character study that places a focus not only on the madness of one individual, but the inherent madness & trivialization of western civilization in modern times.

#JOKER #JoaquinPhoenix #RobertDeNiro #FrancesConroy #ZazieBeetz #SharonWashington #BrettCullen #ScottSilver #ToddPhillips #DC #WarnerBros #ComicBooks #ComicBookMovies #Movies #2019Movies #MovieReviews #AWESOME

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20 rzeczy, które powinieneś wiedzieć o fotograf warszawa

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