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lloydskywalkers · 4 years

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any port in a storm

Pixal and Lloyd and the evolving nature of friendship, as highlighted by the regular burning down of your city.

(desperately trying to break through writer’s block and classes again, this was supposed to be under 2k and it is...very much not hdfjkgh but! i’ve been meaning to write for Pixal and Lloyd for a while so here are a whole bunch of feelings about the two of them and s8)

Pixal meets — truly meets — Lloyd Garmadon shortly after his brother’s been blown to pieces.

She says truly, because if you ask her, Pixal will tell you she met Lloyd Garmadon at exactly 8:48 in the evening outside his father’s monastery, moments before a horde of nindroids led there by Pixal herself descended upon them.

But Lloyd argues that since they said about two words total to each other, it doesn’t really count as meeting, and by the time Pixal’s spending the better part of her day with him running high and low around Ninjago City, she’s learned that it’s easier not to press the point.

Lloyd can be stubborn, like that.

She’d first learned that when she’d met him, just after they’d lost Zane. That loss hadn’t lasted long, especially for Pixal, but the immediate aftermath of it had been devastating. She’d watched with blank eyes as the team had fractured, splitting at the seams as they all fled their separate ways, too heartsore and dizzy with grief to do much otherwise.

All of them had fled, save Lloyd. She hadn’t paid him much attention before that point, the surprisingly small bearer of the Golden Power. Of course, he wasn’t the bearer of that power anymore, but his eyes alone had shown the experience of it. There’d been a brief, lost look that had crossed his face as the others had mentioned leaving, before it had been swept under a mask of stubborn, determined blankness. He wouldn’t be leaving. Someone had to stay behind and watch out for things, he’d claimed, even as the loss had bled through his voice.

Pixal hadn’t quite grasped the concept of empathy at that point, but she’d felt something dangerously close to it.

At any rate, the only interaction they’d had alone was brief. In fact, the only one Pixal can truly remember — and her memory never fails — is the quick exchange they’d had in the hospital lobby directly after the battle. The hospital was for Mr. Borg, and for the ninja’s minor injuries.

There was nothing any hospital on earth could do for Zane.

Pixal had found herself next to Lloyd in the waiting room, trying to distract herself from those thoughts while Lloyd stared at the stark white tiling with dull eyes.

“They never mentioned what your power was,” she’d asked him, almost absently. Collecting data, processing information — anything she could do to distract from the crushing grief.

“Oh.” Lloyd had blinked, startling back into awareness. He’d suddenly looked painfully young. “It’s, ah, I guess it’s just green, now.”

It had been Pixal’s turn to blink. “Green.”

“Yeah.” Lloyd had bit his lip, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, two habits he’ll never quite lose. “I mean — it’s more than that, but it’s like — energy, I guess, is the best way to put it?”

“Interesting,” Pixal had remarked.

“Yeah.”

They’d stared at each other in silence after that, before they’d both been called off to other errands — and then they were having Zane’s funeral and then Pixal was making realizations she never got to tell anyone, and that had been that in her early introductions to Lloyd Garmadon. Quiet, awkward, and possessing an incredible power he hardly even knew the name of.

Looking back, Pixal figures her introduction hadn’t gone much better.

They’d continued as passing acquaintances as time went on, separated by danger and the confines of Zane’s head, and Pixal had figured that’s all they’d ever be. But then their Sensei goes missing and, despite Pixal’s increasing disappearances on Zane as she rebuilds her own body, she’s been given the role of watching out for Ninjago city along with Lloyd.

She quickly learns that quiet is not a term fit for Lloyd Garmadon when you’re trapped alone with him.

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

“How is there not a single station playing actual music?” Lloyd seethes, flicking through the channels almost manically. “It’s two am, who’s gonna be listening to your stupid commercial for toothpaste now, are you kidding me?”

“Statistically speaking, this is the prime time for long-distance driving near Ninjago City,” Pixal supplies, her voice a hint scratchy where it comes through the his car’s radio speakers. “Or, if you factor in the construction in the east district, there could still be traffic from late-night bars.”

Lloyd groans, thunking his head against the steering wheel as another ad screeches through the small space. “Wonderful.”

“Your vocal tones suggest you find it otherwise.”

“Dont trust ‘em, my vocal tones are traitors.” As if to solidify his point, Lloyd’s voice cracks in the middle of his sentence, shooting up an octave higher. Lloyd goes bright red, and thunks his head against the steering wheel again.

Taking pity on him, Pixal aims for reassurance. “It is normal for your voice to break, Lloyd. It shouldn’t last too long.” She pauses, momentarily scanning through another article. “On second thought, this one suggests it could also take two to three years for your voice to stabilize.”

Lloyd gives a strangled moan. “End me.”

“Unfortunately, that would defeat the purpose of why I’m here in the first place.”

Lloyd tilts his head, cracking an eye open as he glances at the camera feed he knows she’s watching him from. “Unfortunately, huh,” he muses. “So you’re saying if Zane hadn’t made you promise to look out for me, you would end me?”

“That — no, that is not — of course I wouldn’t end you,” Pixal backtracks. An odd feeling flickers through her, almost as if she’s lost her place, floundering.

Or embarrassed might be more accurate, she thinks wryly. She briefly considers projecting a a glaring face at Lloyd from the monitor. This is his fault. She rarely stuttered before Lloyd started teasing her at all hours of the morning.

“I mean, you wouldn’t be the first,” Lloyd continues, conversationally. “And if we’re being honest, I’d definitely rather you be the one to off me, instead of like, random bad guy number eighty-five—”

“I know you think you are funny,” Pixal cuts over him. “But casually planning for your death is something Kai listed I was not to let you do. Also, it is not nearly as funny as you think it is.”

“Ouch,” Lloyd mutters, though he looks chastised. “Never mind, you just took me out in one sentence.”

Chastised might be the wrong term.

Pixal studies him through the monitor, then sighs. “I am, however, honored you think highly enough of me to offer the right to murder you,” she gives in.

She’s rewarded as Lloyd breaks into a bright grin.

He still looks painfully young these days, but it’s less obvious. His voice is pitching lower and he wears his hair different, and he’s gained a whip-like tendency to quip at people, as Pixal’s experienced firsthand. Kai calls it sass in grumbling but fond tones, and Nya calls it snark somewhere between the fourth book series she’s sent for Pixal to try.

The ninja have been kind like that, sharing the interests they have in an attempt to make her feel…well, more human, she supposes. Less confined to a voice in a computer. Of course, Pixal isn’t confined to a voice in a computer anymore, but they don’t know that yet. She’ll tell them someday soon, she promises herself. Any day now.

In the meantime, it’s easy enough to keep up with Lloyd by lurking in his car radio, as he spends half his time in there anyways.

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

“You’d think we’d have found their hideout by now,” Lloyd notes, as they wait in a darkened alleyway again. It gives them an excellent view of the major highways, so if the rumored biker gang does show up, they won’t miss it.

If they show up being the key point.

“Whoever their leader is, they certainly know how to keep a low profile,” Pixal answers, closing out another dead end police report in frustration.

“It’s weird,” Lloyd says, propping the notebook he’s sketching in on his knee as he squints at the paper. “Normally the boss types aren’t this quiet. They like to show off, y’know? Make a big scene, dramatic speeches and all.”

“Are you referring to the villains, or yourselves?”

“Touché,” Lloyd snorts. “But still, you gotta admit it’s weird they haven’t even made any demands. What’s their end game here, elaborate advertising for motorcycle design?”

“I would hope not,” Pixal says. “Their color coordination is lacking.”

Lloyd fights back a smile, his pencil scratching as he shifts his notebook again. “I don’t know, I kinda like the punk look.”

“I noticed that, when you tried to redecorate the car.”

“Hey, skulls are cool.”

“They are also conspicuous, especially when they come in acid green colors.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Lloyd sighs, making a face as he scrubs the eraser across the paper. Pixal tries to tilt the camera further, to see what he’s drawing tonight, but the angle he’s holding it at remains just out of sight.

She could probably guess what he’s drawing, if she tried. The notebook is one they’ve been steadily working their way through on these late-night patrols, the pages filled with little hangman games and Lloyd’s sketches of animals and his teammates. He’s drawn her a few times from memory, and she’s been tempted to ask him to draw her in the new Samurai X armor more than once.

Soon, she tells herself.

“What are you drawing?” she finally asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

Lloyd’s cheeks tinge pink, and he quickly plasters the notebook to his chest, hiding it entirely from view. “Nothing.”

Pixal waits, letting the silence fill with her judgement. “Lloyd, I have seen your drawings before.”

He doesn’t reply, and Pixal tries again. “It gets boring, being stuck with the car monitors for eyes.”

“I know you can hack other cameras,” Lloyd mutters, but he sighs, relenting as he turns the notebook over. Pixal’s eyes rake over the detailed sketch — it’s a comical little thing of her and Lloyd, jammed together on a tiny lifeboat in the middle of a darkening ocean. She can spot the smudges where he’s redrawn her head several times, and the numerous attempts he’s made at his own hair. Pixal studies Lloyd’s portrayal of himself, which is noticeably lacking in facial features. While Lloyd draws the others plenty, it’s a rare occasion that he draws himself, and she can’t help but be curious.

“I thought you were drawing the others again,” she admits.

“They’re on the ship,” Lloyd says, absently. “I’ll draw them when they remember to pull us back in.”

There’s nothing bitter in his tone to suggest it has any bearing on their actual lives, but the lost expressions Lloyd ends up giving their tiny caricatures feel familiar nonetheless.

“Zane has assured me they will be back as soon as they can,” Pixal speaks ups quietly.

Lloyd finally looks up fully, and flashes the monitor a smile. “I know,” he says. “So we better have this thing busted by the time they do, or they’ll never let us run a city on our own again.”

“If only we were truly running the city,” Pixal grumbles. “I could do a better job in two days than the current leaders could do in a year.”

“I’d vote for you,” Lloyd says, sincerely.

It’s a sweet gesture, but Pixal is unable to resist. “You don’t know how to vote.”

“Yes I do, it’s not hard!”

“Really? Then why are you not currently registered in the Ninjago voting system?”

Lloyd makes a strangled noise. “That’s a thing?”

She’s unable to keep the smugness from her voice. “I make my point.” Lloyd scowls, and scribbles a mustache on his drawing of her in revenge.

Pixal thinks it looks nice nonetheless.

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

She can’t really hold it against Lloyd for talking as much as he does, considering she does the same. It gets dull, sitting on patrol for hours on end, and there are only so many hours of light reading they can do before the silence begins to drive them both insane.

Pixal finds herself talking about more useless things with Lloyd than she has in her existence, pointless conversations in circles with each other. She also finds she doesn’t entirely mind. She’s become quite good at quipping back and forth with him, at least. It’s different than the kind of talk she has with Zane, lacking in the depth of feeling with the love they share. Her exchanges with Lloyd are lighter, though that’s not to say they’re less sincere.

For example, Zane hasn’t tried to teach her how to redesign a gi in poor lighting in the early hours of the morning because he’s bored out of his mind, that’s for sure.

“I’m teaching you how to sew,” Lloyd corrects, wincing as he accidentally stabs himself with the needle. “And I’m not redesigning the whole thing, I’m just adding some designs to spice it up.”

“I did not know you were allowed to wear colors other than green,” Pixal comments.

Lloyd pauses, squinting at the monitor. “You’re teasing me,” he finally says. “You’re making fun of how much green this gi has in it.”

“I would never,” Pixal replies, her tone flat and even. “The intricacies of your human humor evade me—”

“Human humor, nice—”

“—unlike the unusually bright shade of green you’ve chosen will fail to evade any eyes of your enemies.”

“I knew you were making fun of me!” Lloyd accuses, then flinches as he stabs his finger again trying to point at her. “And bright colors are our thing. Being subtle is, uh…not. Usually.”

Pixal is losing the battle to laugh at his expression by the minute. “I am shocked.”

Lloyd glares at the monitor, shifting his sewing to rest on his knees as he slouches in the car seat. “How’d you even get so good at sarcasm, anyways,” he mutters. “Zane still doesn’t get it half the time.”

“Perhaps it is part of my glowing personality,” Pixal says. Lloyd gives a huff of laughter, relenting.

“Fair enough,” he says, shifting in his seat again. “Fine, you win. The green is probably too bright, but that’s not the point. I’m gonna show you how to do a backstitch."

Pixal falls quiet, letting Lloyd gesture with the needle as he explains. There are a hundred, a thousand tutorials she could pull up online, digitized knowledge instantly learned on all the countless types of stitches she could use, sorted and categorized in neat columns of use and effectiveness. All of them more detailed, more easily understood than Lloyd’s absent rambling and unsteady hands as he struggles with the end of a knot.

Not one of them will care whether or not Pixal learns the odd way Zane likes to loop his stitches, or will quietly add which stitches knit skin back together quickest.

So Pixal ignores her programming, and does her best to follow Lloyd’s rambling instructions, watching as his scarred fingers tug another thread of dull gold through the green mess of fabric, the city quiet around them.

“You never did tell me where you learned how to sew,” Pixal says, as Lloyd starts up a new thread of black on the other side of the gi. “Was that something the others taught you in training?”

“They’d have to know how to be able to teach it,” Lloyd snickers. “And, uh, no. I taught myself to back at Darkley’s.”

“Oh,” Pixal falters. She’s heard about Darkley’s, both from Zane and the legal reports she’s read online. Neither gave a positive impression of the place. Her mind is suddenly filled with images of a younger Lloyd trying to give himself stitches, and her heart twists.

Lloyd starts, seemingly having picked up on her train of thought. “I mean, I did it for fun, mostly. I like sewing,” he explains. “It’s useful. You can pull things back together, and fix ‘em.”

Pixal is quiet, but she hopes Lloyd takes her silence as agreement with his motive. She likes to think he knows her well enough for that, by now.

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

Pixal finds, somewhere during their fourth month alone, that she’s glad the team elected to stick her and Lloyd together. Not because she doesn’t want to be with Zane — there’s never a moment she doesn’t miss him, and with every day that passes her resolve to keep her secret from him grows weaker, as the longing for actual connection grows stronger.

But there are conversations she can have with Lloyd that she can never have with Zane, and the dangerous thing about spending time with Lloyd, Pixal finds, is that they’re more similar than she’s realized.

“Sometimes I think I’m jealous,” Lloyd whispers to her one night. It’s one of the bad ones, the ones where their enemies struck too sudden to stop, and the mission ends in the hospital. “I think I’m jealous of Zane, and I hate myself for it.”

Pixal is quiet, trying to pick apart the tone of his voice in the words he’s just spoken, and factors in the victims they’ve just left behind at the hospital. She finds herself no closer to an answer.

“Is it the metal skin part?” she finally asks, though she knows that’s wrong. “The, what was it, technical immortality?”

“No,” Lloyd shakes his head. “I’m not afraid of dying,” he says emphatically, his fingers fluttering at over the steering wheel, tapping incessantly with unspent energy. “I don’t want to, but that’s — it’s not what I’m scared of. I’m more scared of how I go out.”

He swallows, and his fingers move to dance over the woven bracelet on his wrist instead, twisting at the tiny beads and tracing senseless designs in constant, steady movement. It’s a motion he does often, and it had puzzled Pixal at first. She’d decided to write it off as an odd tick, a way to spend excess energy.

Now, she recognizes the desperate kind of reassurance that movement gives. She understands too well the need to remind yourself that you can move — that your body will obey you and you alone.

Pixal thinks back to the other factors in tonight’s accident, of the way the drugged man’s eyes had cleared when they’d finally turned him over to the police, the way he’d sworn he’d never do such a thing in his right mind. She thinks of the way the first victim had thrown themselves over their companion.

That victim hadn’t made it to the hospital.

“Ah,” Pixal says, quietly.

She’s silent again, and she thinks back to when she’d met him, the very first time. She recalls the way her programming had rebelled against her in favor of the Overlord, corrupting her body and forcing it against her, twisting everything she was and wanted to be into something different.

She thinks back again, to the searing-hot anger, the terror, the despair as she was torn apart, piece by piece like a machine, burning out at the whims of another. Her end purposeless, her demise belonging to someone else, just like every other part of her.

She thinks of the last glimpse she’d caught of Zane, bright and beautiful as a supernova. Burning with the terrible brilliance of his own, determined choice. Terrible, because the death of something always is. Beautiful, because it was his own. Zane died, not a machine, not a weapon, not a tool of anyone or anything, but as himself. Zane died to save the ones he loves. Pixal could’ve died for spare parts.

Never again, she promises herself. If she goes out, she goes out on her own terms. This time, they choose the end of their own destiny themselves.

In hindsight, it’s the kind of promise they’re both too young to make, but neither of them have ever seen themselves as such, and promises like that are easy.

“Love can be terrible, sometimes,” Lloyd murmurs. Pixal watches him scrub at the blood on his uniform, and thinks how ironically well-timed it is that he finished the stitching on his new gi this morning. “Sometimes I forget how ugly it can be.”

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

The end of their nighttime stakeouts begins with a break-in at Mr. Borg’s tower. Lloyd argues that she should get to call it her father’s tower, if she wants, but the ninja aren’t the only ones Pixal’s hiding herself from.

And then Lloyd gets very tense at the thought of fathers very fast, and they never finish the conversation.

They stay at the edge of the bridge long after the parachute, emblazoned with the unmistakable visage of Lloyd’s father, disappears from sight. Pixal wonders if it’s burned into Lloyd’s eyes, like the way she’s read black spots linger in humans’ vision after they’ve looked at something too bright. The way Lloyd stares at the river, his shoulders tense and his teeth worrying at his lip, she thinks she might be right.

They’re waiting on the report from the commissioner —they’re waiting for anything, anyone who can offer them any explanation of what’s going on. Pixal’s reminded of how much she loathes this kind of waiting.

“It could be—” Lloyd begins, then breaks off, his voice wavering. He swallows, and Pixal can see the way his fists clench tightly from the cameras they’ve put in his car. There’s a fierce part of her that longs to reveal herself, to meet his eyes herself and offer some semblance of comfort. But there’s a time and place for things, and Pixal isn’t ready.

“It could be anything,” Lloyd finally continues, his voice small. “It could — it doesn’t mean anything. It could mean nothing, right?”

Pixal is silent, her mind racing. She’s run the calculations over and over in her head already, scouring the internet for anything related to the bikers. She’s been foolish, she realizes — they both have. Letting the gang go unnamed for so long, thinking nothing of it. Now, with the name flashing vibrant across Pixal’s vision, a part of her wants to let them go nameless just a bit longer.

Before she can answer, Lloyds phone goes off with a sharp ping, just as Pixal’s sensors alert her to the message from the commissioner. Lloyd snatches for his phone like it’s on fire, and Pixal’s already scanning the message frantically, as if she can salvage this if she’s fast enough, save Lloyd from this one pain.

Lloyd’s gotten much better at reading quickly though, these days.

She can pinpoint the moment he reaches the last paragraph, because his breath hitches. There’s a long, pressing pause of silence, Lloyd’s hands trembling as they clutch weakly at his phone. Then it’s punctured by a reedy, wheezing gasp, and Pixal’s suddenly wishing she’d revealed herself after all.

Instead, all she has is her voice as Lloyd crumples, crouching over in visible distress. Pixal’s mind races, recalling everything Zane’s ever told her about his team, the way their panic manifests in different shades. Lloyd’s is quiet but desperate, rapid breathes that stutter as his eyes slide more and more into a frightening kind of blankness.

“Lloyd, please, listen to my voice,” she begs, trying to reach him in the only way she can. “Please, you have to breathe—”

“He’s gone,” Lloyd rasps, unhearing of her words. “He’s s’posed to be gone, it’s supposed to be over, I’m supposed to be done—”

Pixal fights back the sense of overwhelming helplessness. She knows loss. She knows how to finish his sentence. He’s supposed to be done grieving, done mourning, done clinging to false scraps of hope that his father isn’t lost forever only to be met with heartbreak.

And now, to be met with the possibility of something so much worse.

“We’ll stop them,” she tells him, unflinching. “We won’t let it happen.”

Lloyd’s eyes are a vivid green where they stare at her through the monitor, almost ghostly in the misting light reflecting from the river.

He’s silent, but Pixal is, too.

Pixal remembers the way her head had spun when she’d first picked up the traces of Zane in the system, how the world had rushed then steadied, flooding with color as she’d realized he might not be lost after all. She remembers the surging, overwhelming flood of joy, that someone she’d thought she lost might live after all. She remembers being so happy, at even the smallest chance to get him back, because the voice was Zane’s, without a doubt.

She watches the color seep from Lloyd’s expression as his shoulders shudder, the words from the commissioner’s message almost echoing through the air. Watches the terror as the both of them fill the silence.

Will we?

The radio scratches, as if echoing Pixal’s anxiety. Love can be terrible, sometimes. She’s underestimated how it also be so cruel.

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

She’s also, apparently, underestimated how the universe on the whole could be so cruel.

She should’ve revealed herself to them from day one. That way, when Harumi’s corrupted programming suddenly ravages through her like an electric shock, she could be reassured they’d at least be familiar with the person they were fighting.

Instead, she doesn’t even get to scream. Pixal’s only able to force out a desperate, broken warning before she’s lost again, drowning in her own body as she’s forced under. Furious panic grips her as she screams without lungs, bashing herself against the overwhelming helplessness that’s taken over her.

Not again, not again, not again—

Her limbs creak and jolt against her will, lashing out at the people she cares most about, and Pixal can’t even rage back in her own voice. She’s sworn, she’s promised herself she’d never let anyone do this to her again — she’s sworn she’d die before she let someone reach into her head and snatch control away, and yet here she is, frozen as her body’s used to target her friends.

If she could cry, she might.

There’s not much more to say than that. She breaks free, her body her own once again, but by then it’s too late.

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

If Pixal had the same gift of foresight that Zane did, maybe she would have seen it coming. Maybe she’d have remembered how similar her and Lloyd are, and that this kind of pained desperation always yields impulsiveness and mistakes.

She doesn’t, though. She barely even manages to do what she’s trying to, which is convincing Lloyd to join the others while they celebrate their victory. Their off-key singing is something he normally wouldn’t hesitate to join in on, she thinks, and she hates Harumi a little more.

Maybe she’ll try his mother next. The expression on Lloyd’s face screams unapproachable, and remains fixedly sullen.

Almost to her surprise, he meets her eyes as she draws near— it’s odd, being able to meet his back — and his own eyes are dark, from despair over Harumi or despair over his father, Pixal isn’t sure. She’s thinking it might be both, when his eyebrows crease, and a flicker of concern cuts through them instead.

“You good?”

It takes her a moment to realize why he’s asking, but the answer is obvious. Her head tilts downward, and she watches as her fingers curl and uncurl. Her movements, her choices. She lets out an even breath.

“As I can be,” she replies. Lloyd nods, and his eyes are understanding. His lips twist in a scowl.

“She shouldn’t have done that to you. That was a low blow.”

Pixal’s mouth curves into a humorless smile. “That it was. She’s rather good at those, isn’t she.”

Lloyd’s eyes shadow again, and he looks away, crossing his arms. “This isn’t supposed to be about me,” he mutters.

“Yes, it is,” Pixal counters. “It is why I came over here, in the first place. She hurt—”

“All of us, and who’s fault is that,” Lloyd snaps, his arms crossing tighter.

“I would hope you know it’s hers,” she says, holding firm.

Lloyd looks away again, biting his lip, and Pixal shifts anxiously, rolling her wrists. The sensation of control sliding away still haunts her, worse than it had the first time. She should be better than this, she tells herself hotly. She’s lived without a body long enough that losing it so briefly shouldn’t effect her this much.

Curse her programming, she thinks, tapping agitatedly at the banister. She knew she should have reinforce it sooner.

“Hey, um.” Lloyd is looking at her again, hesitant. He twists at his bracelet, and his eyes lose a fraction of that darkness. “Kai made this for me, after Morro,” he says. “I kept shredding the sleeves of my uniform, so he told me to mess with this instead, when I needed to remember that…that I was in control.”

He shrugs, hesitant. “We could make you one too, if you wanted. It helps, having something.”

Pixal lets out a steady breath, despite not actually needing to. The action is grounding, she’s found. “I would like that.”

Lloyd gives her a ghost of a smile in return. “Soon as this is over, then.”

There’s a heavy weight to his words, and Pixal’s eyes narrow.

“Lloyd,” she says. He looks at her, his eyes dark. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

He’s quiet, not meeting her eyes, and this is where Pixal should stop him. This is when she should see the end of the road they’ve been on since they started this, and force him to turn before it’s too late.

“I know what I’m doing.”

She doesn’t.

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

Lloyd is battered and bleeding by the time they drag him onto the ship, a gruesome portrait of cruelty. Pixal is frozen as she watches him writhe in Kai’s hold, his screams cracked and wet as he thrashes erratically like a broken thing.

Nya is already barking orders before they’ve even gotten Lloyd fully on the ship, and Zane is running scans with a horrified, wavering focus. Pixal follows Cole as he carries Lloyd to the medbay with a blank numbness, the rush of wind streaming past the Bounty sails thunderously loud in her ears.

This isn’t Lloyd, she thinks, staring at his crumpled form. Lloyd isn’t this battered, broken shell of a person. Lloyd isn’t hazy eyes that fail to recognize them and frantic murmuring through bloody lips. Lloyd is bright-eyed and gentle and would rather die before he screams the way he does when Cole moves him to the table.

Lloyd is her friend, and this is where that promise they made has led them. She knows why Lloyd set out for the prison, hot on the collapse of his own star. She also knows he wouldn’t have chosen to burn out like this.

Cole calls out for Zane, his voice ringing in panic as Lloyd screeches in pain again. Pixal thinks of quiet words in the safety of his car, and she feels sick. This is the ugliness of love, the terrible, hideous side of it.

And Lloyd would hate it, if he could see himself, if he were any semblance of lucid. He’d hate to know just how much better he was at breaking himself than Morro ever was.

Zane is gentle as he pushes past her, but Pixal can feel the tremble in his hands. He’s every bit as rattled as she is, if not more so — Zane’s heart is larger and softer than hers has ever been, and he cares about each and every one of them with a painful intensity. It’s a cruel thing, to have to pull those same people back together with your own hands.

Kai’s eyes are streaming as he clutches at Lloyd’s wrists, pinning him in place. Zane’s hands waver again over one of the jagged wounds near Lloyd’s ribcage, the green of his uniform already dyed dark in blood, soaking over the careful stitches Pixal watched him put in himself.

Pixal finally finds her footing, reminding herself of the solid wood beneath her feet. She recalls the steady, smooth stitch Lloyd’s scarred fingers traced out for her.

“Here.” She takes the needle from Zane’s hands, squeezing his briefly before letting go. “I can do it.”

She sets the needle against Lloyd’s skin and wonders what kind of stitch it’d take to pull your heart back together.

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

Pixal cannot cry. It’s one of the features Mr. Borg spent hours debating, weighing the pros and cons of giving her the ability before he was truly sure how rust-proof she was. He’d never gotten the chance to, as the Overlord had interrupted him, then Pixal had lost any body to give the ability to cry to, which had eliminated the need entirely.

She cannot cry, but she can hurt, and the rain that streams through her hair, dripping down her forehead spotting raindrops on her cheeks, could be tears if she pretended.

She doesn’t, though, because tears are a waste of water and overall useless in the grand scheme of things. She doubts they’d have helped her fare any better in the battle with Colossi, either.

Tears won’t bring anyone back.

Lloyd cries anyways. She can’t see him, but she can hear it in his voice, the way it wavers and breaks over the radio, nasally tones pronounced.

He’s barely able to gasp a few coordinates to her before he cuts the radio off abruptly. Pixal’s spent enough time with him to envision his scarred fingers snapping it off with a particular desperation, green sparking from his hands in distress.

She reminds herself those sparks are gone, now, bled away into nothing like the vivid green of Lloyd’s eyes had. The thought makes her sadder than she’d expected. She had a joke, about his eyes, she had wanted to make. Now that she has a body, and her own set of glowing green eyes, she’d — there was something he would’ve laughed at, she thought —

It doesn’t matter, now. Neither of them are likely to laugh anytime soon.

The coordinates blink brightly in her vision, and she’s almost surprised she managed to key them in. She’s running on autopilot, she supposes. It could be ironic — she’s been so desperate for control, it’s been so important that she’s the one feeling. Now, she’d give anything not to feel at all.

She lets out a shaky breath, dispelling the mist in her vision left from the rain. She leans forward, just over the edge of the building she’s crouched on, and her loose hair falls forward, silvery and synthetic and horribly tangled. Irritated, she reaches for another hair tie, and her hands falter around her wrist.

Lloyd had promised her a bracelet there. But he’d promised Kai would make the bracelet, hadn’t he, and Kai couldn’t make the bracelet if he was dead, could he.

Pixal blinks, her breath hitching. She’s been so numb to the pain of Zane’s loss, it hasn’t yet occurred to her that she’s losing Kai, too. And Jay, and Cole, and—

She sucks in the same shuddery kind of breath she’s seen Lloyd do, and carefully fists her hand in the area of her uniform above her chest. Her fingers dig in tightly, clutching in a hopeless attempt to feel some sort of comfort she knows she’ll never find.

But perhaps, for these few seconds, she can pretend the action is holding her together.

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

“It was inevitable,” Pixal tells Lloyd blankly, as he rasps out his third apology in the dark cover of their small hideout. “That one of us would fall, eventually. It had nothing to do with you.”

Lloyd swallows thickly. “It could’ve — it should’ve been—”

He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. Pixal’s hand shoots out, clamping tightly around his wrist, and there’s a beat of gratitude that she doesn’t need to rely on her voice alone anymore.

“Don’t.” Her voice is strung tighter than the tension in their shoulders. “You cannot change anything. You can’t, Lloyd, and you should not wish to — to change it that way.”

Lloyd jerks his hand free, wiping miserably at his eyes. He sets it back down within her reach, though, and if Pixal were any different, she’d take it.

But Pixal isn’t that different from Lloyd at all in the end, and neither of them reach for the other’s hand, no matter how desperately they crave the contact. Fear is more familiar, and it’s easier to give into it than it is the clawing need for comfort in your chest, after all.

“Still,” Lloyd finally whispers. “Still.”

Pixal swallows. She doesn’t disagree. If one of them had to fall, she knows she gladly would have taken it upon herself. She knows the others care for her, certainly, but she also knows her place in the grand scheme of things. They were six before she came along, and even now she’s kept far too many secrets to be fully counted among them.

She listens to Lloyd’s quiet, cracked voice, and she wonders if he’s thinking that they were five before he came along, younger than Pixal got to know him as.

Now they’re three, hollow and heartbroken. Though counting herself as one whole feels like cheating, right now.

Pixal squeezes her eyes shut, and wonders what it’s like to cry. Perhaps it helps, though Lloyd doesn’t look any less miserable.

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

“I was thinking,” Lloyd tells her, during one of the precious few quiet moments they have while trying to overthrow Garmadon and Harumi. Pixal’s turning the tiny tea flower he’d given her over in her hands, a part of her mind already marking articles about flower-pressing, another part wondering if it’s already too late to save the blossom. “About that promise we made, before all this.”

Pixal finally tucks the flower into the pocket of her uniform, pressed close to her chest. If anything, it can be a reminder of the lives that are safe — the life that’s coming back to her, if she has to drag him back from another realm herself. “And?”

Lloyd’s hands twist together. “Maybe we should focus more on staying alive.”

Pixal coughs out a laugh, breathless and startled. Lloyd wrinkles his nose at her, but his eyes are amused, even with their light lost. “I mean, the emphasis would be on keeping everyone else alive, but it’s kinda hard to do that if we’re dead, so…yeah. Priorities.”

“Staying alive should always be a priority,” Pixal corrects him, but she tugs the edge of his armor out of place with a smile.

“Why didn’t you teach me how to graffiti?” she nods at the designs on the green leather. “Or was this another Darkley’s tradition.”

“This is a refined art, called whatever I had on me that showed up on dark green,” Lloyd grumbles, fixing his armor. “I’ll teach it to you when we get out of this.”

“Another reason why staying alive would be a more productive focus,” Pixal points out. “I’ve heard teaching is easier when you’re alive.”

“And I’ve heard you’re a real riot,” Lloyd mutters. “It’s a promise, okay? I promise to teach you how to do cool armor design if you promise not to disappear into another realm on me.”

Pixal nods, adjusting her own armor tighter as screams ring out from a street nearby. “A promise, then.”

She keeps both the promise and the flower, the tiny blossom dried and faded by the time she’s escaped from the prison, heart racing with leftover adrenaline as Zane sweeps her into his arms. She clutches back every bit as tight, listening to his breathless laughter as cheers rise from the streets behind them, the smoke drifting across the early morning sky above them pale against the lightening blue. Pixal buries her face in his shoulder and breathes, tucking the moment away in her heart where it won’t fade. There’s a future stretching out before her, and she’s got the limbs to walk her path on her own, but all she wants right now is the steady ground beneath her feet and the bright laughter of what she’s managed to keep.

Lloyd meets them shortly after, his own promise kept as he tears his gaze from his father, handing him off to the authorities before sprinting for the others. Pixal barely snags a moment alone with him, and even then no one’s particularly keen on letting him out of their sights.

He meets her eyes as they pick their way through the wrecked streets, the city more alive around them than it’s been in weeks. In the dark of the early morning, Pixal’s eyes glow a bright green, reflecting oddly in the windows they pass. It’s always been her preferred color, in contrast to Zane’s bright blue. Lloyd glances at her, his own eerily green eyes glowing back. He bites his lip, but it’s to hold back real laughter this time.

“My eyes were green first,” she tells him.

“Sue me,” he shoots back, before Kai’s throwing an arm over his shoulders again, tucking Lloyd neatly in between him and Nya. Pixal smothers a laugh at the look on his face, and tightens her own arm further where it’s linked firmly in Zane’s.

It’s going to be an easy promise to keep, she thinks.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #ninjago lloyd #pixal #there was a point to this but it got lost in pix and lloyd do arts and crafts #either way i'd die for both these characters #ninjago where is the pixal love i miss her #my fic

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wthcew · 3 years

Note

JayTim, flirting, falling in love and cuddles and JJ Tim who gor adopted by Harley and Ivy pretty please??

Sweetie, you just jumped on my train of JJ fics, I hope you don't mind that I added a little bit of smut

I'm so sorry it took me that long to write it, I hope you like it!

_____________________________________________

30 days

_____________________________________________

The first time he heard about it he was under the ground. He felt like he was choking, his helmet somewhere unknown and with it his communication with Oracle. He isn't talking to B (not after he chose the fucking Joker over him) but he does help Nightwing sometimes, and oh, did he wished right now that he would have never let Dick in his safehouse.

Nightwing and Red Hood were about to bust a drag ring, but the thing is, it was an ambush, so now they're both under ground, Hood's leg impaled to the ground by an iron pillar from one of the walls that exploded and that they're buried under, his helmet in an unknown place and 'wing trying to call for help.

Jason tried to slow his breath but being under ground is bringing back bad memories (He can't breathe, he's locked, and all he want right now is his dad-) of being six feet under and he's hysterical- because everything is hurting and broken and half his face are burned and he can't breathe so please, please he just want his dad, "please dad come save me"-

He's so gone into his mind, letting his panic control him that he's flinching away when Dick touching his shoulder, but it's pulling him out of his head (and just when did the tears started to spill out of his eyes?), and Dick is looking at him, the whites lenses of his domino mask are gone and instead Jason's getting those blue eyes that are full with concern.

"It's okay Jay" Dick smiled at him, a small smile that somehow made Jason believe that it's okay. "B and baby bat are on their way right now," Dick's hand found Jason's and he squeezed it in reassuring. Jason returned the squeeze. "We will be fine"

...

"Did someone ever told you about the kid who almost killed Joker?" Dick asked after couple minutes of silence, when Jason's breath is under control and he isn't so much as hysterical as he was couple of minutes before.

Jay turned his head to Dick, "No" his voice was hoarse, too hoarse for his own ears but Dick didn't seems to mind, he just nodded his head and smiled softly at him.

"He was thirteen years old back then, Joker took him, when Babs still was Batgirl" And at that moment Dick's comn beeped and after five minutes they were out of the ground, Bruce and Damian next to Dick, checking if he's fine while Jason took his helmet, the hole in his leg isn't that bad and when Dick looking at him the Red Hood already swing away.

_____________________________________________

The second time he heard about it was because he wanted to, he was curious and he wanted to know what happened to the kid, what made a thirteen years old kid almost kill the Joker.

So, he was on his couch, his leg bandaged and a cup of hot tea on the coffe table, his laptop open and working and the reading lamp's orange light made his shadow look like some villain from kids cartoon.

It's hard to find anything about it but he is (A bat) Red Hood, if he wants to he'll find out what happened back then. And he want to.

So Jason cracked his fingers and started to work.

The seconds became to minutes that became to hours of work and clicking on his keyboard, it's hard to find anything because apparently this whole story is shushed and all Jason gathered until now came from a video of the news report and all they said there was that Joker broke out of Arkham and decided he wanted a son, kidnapped some unlucky kid and deleted the boy's personality with electrical shocks until he becamed Joker Junior, and then he kept torturing the kid until the Batman and Batgirl found the kid, broken minded and holding a gun to Joker's head.

It was quite the story, but Jason didn't know what happened later, who the kid was or what happened to him.

But he will, just to know if the kid's okay. Or to ask why he hadn't pulled the trigger..

So he kept digging, looking for anything that may conect to the story. And that's how Jason found himself reading article about Jack and Jent Drake disowning their only child Tim Drake. The kid was only thirteen back then, and all he took before he took off from the face of earth was a stuffed Kola and a camra.

And it may be his curiosity about this because he don't remember the kid and apparently they were neighbors or the JJ thing but he knows that he'll find Tim Drake.

_____________________________________________

Jent Drake died two years after she disowned Tim in a car crash, her husband got depressed and started looking for Tim to reown him but then he met Dana Winters.

There was some love story there that Jason wasn't really that interested in reading but in the end they married and left Gotham, never coming back. And the most annoying thing is, that Tim was never found.

But he did found out that there was some kid that helped Harley and Ivy sometimes, he had a faded red hoodie and faded green jeans.

The hoodie's hat always hiding his face and from the little Jason saw, his skin was more white than normal human skin.

Jason couldn't find a lot of photos of the kid but he did find one of Harley hugging the kid.

Jason looked at the photo, it was fuve years old, when Tim desperate and all the JJ thing happened. The way he held himself was familiar to Jason, something deep in his mind, memories that he couldn't remember, but it was there, and Jason knows that this Tim kid is JJ who is also somehow Harley's kid.

_____________________________________________

"I need your help"

"Oh that's nice, what aby 'hey Babs, how was your day? Did Dick pissed you off and going to sleep on the couch tonight? Can you please help me with this thing?'"

Jason smiled, shifting the phone that was pressed against his ear "What did Dick did?"

"He was a dick"

"How was your day?"

"What did you wanted help with Jay?"

"Clown boy"

"Hmm?"

"Joker Junior"

A sharp breath "What about him?"

"You know who he is?"

"We found him after he took a dip in the acid, and he was dressed like the Joker, too much make up, green hair, purple suit, couldn't recognise him"

"But you know don't you?"

"Batman doesn't know"

"Well you're Oracle not Batman. It's simple question O, you know? Yes or no?"

"I know"

"I think I know too"

"Who do you think it is?"

"Tim Drake"

"..Yes it's him"

"Why didn't you told Bruce?

"He's a good kid"

"He's with Harley now"

"Tim isn't bad"

"Babs, if he's Joker Junior and he's with Harley he can't be that good"

"Jay, Harley and Ivy gave me the tip to find him and Harley took him in after his parents disowned him, he may be stilling sometimes or helping Harley and Ivy but he is good"

"You kept tabs on him?"

"He's smart, he may have lost a lot of his memories because of the Joker and he is crazy but he have support"

"Does Bruce know you're helping hiding him?"

"No, and he wouldn't. Not until Tim decided that it's fine"

"You're in contact?"

"We're just talking, I'm sending him puzels and riddles and it's helping him keep clean mind"

"Can I talk to him?"

"I can't tell you where he is but I also can't stop you from doing this"

"Thank you Babs"

"Not a problem Jaybird"

_____________________________________________

It was a week later that Jason walked into a small unnoticed coffee shop.

The design of the place gave him a feeling of happiness, like it was some kind of home.

He looked through everyone there, couple next to the window, three old ladies sitting in a table for four, chatting and laughing, couple of collage students sitting with something to eat and something warm to drink and typing on their laptops, and on the farthest side of the coffee shop, in a table for two, sat a teen, his hands paler than any human skin, his long hair hiding his face, a coffee cup in front of him and his legs shacking.

"Hello! Can I help you?" A cheerful voice called from the cashier desk, he put on a smile on his face and turned to see a black haired girl, with a big smile on her face.

"Yeah, do you have Eral Gray?"

"We do! Anything else with this?"

"No, thank you"

"Okay, just a minute"

When he got his cup he paid the girl murmuring a "Thank you" and walking to Tim.

When he sat down in front of the teen, icy blue eyes looked at his face, and his breath hitched when he saw the little cuts on at each end of his mouth, creating a smile.

"Hey" Jason said, smiling at Tim.

"Hey.." Tim's voice almost didn't reached his ears and Jason's smile grew wider when Tim smiled at him. A shy little amazing smile.

"I'm Jason"

"T-Tim"

"Nice to meet you"

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted tea"

"You aren't scared?" Tim's eyes looked a bit insane when he said the last word, his smile grew wider and he leaned closer to the table. The cuts on his face and his pale skin made him look like Joker but there was also something else there, something in his eyes that said 'Pleas don't be scared' and Jason swallowed and forced his nerves to calm down.

"No, you actually seems nice"

Tim blinked once.

Twice.

And then his smile became nicer, less dangerous and more shy. He relaxed and took a sip from his coffee.

Jason smiled, sipping from his own cup while making a note in his head to be careful with this one.

They drank a couple more cups together, chatting about nothing in particular and when Tim excused himself and left, Jason found a paper next to the cup.

He opened it because of his dammed curiosity and bis breath hitched.

'Ha ha ha'

_____________________________________________

It was in the middle of the night, the streets lamps flickered on and off every couple of seconds, and the stars were hidden in the sky, behind the clouds.

His parents just left the town. Without telling him. Again. And it's fine, he can't be mad at his parents for leaving him -he is, like his mother says, rotten child- all the time.

But sometimes he wonders if he'll ever be good enough for them to stay. If he'll ever be good enough so his mother wouldn't need to hiss his name through clench teeth and his father to hit him.

Maybe he would never be good enough..

In those nights when he wonders about it, he goes to a walk. It's always makes him calm and shuts his mind down. It's leaving him with the feeling of wholenesses, like some how the wind that hit his body in cold sharp hit is welcoming, or the cold of the night is like his stuffed Kola -the one he got from Bruce Wayne In a gala that his parents hosted when he was four and since then he hides it from his parents and hugging it when he need comfort- or like the silence out here is better than the silence inside the empty house.

And maybe, just maybe hr would see his heros.

And as Tim kept walking he could barely hear this cursed laugh, followed by the soft like song-

Mary had a little lamb

Little lamb, little lamb

Mary had a little lamb...

"Cutie pie?" His mama's voice rang, it was muffled but it was still there. "I'm hearing laughing, it's a good joke?"

A knock on his door "Sweetheart?" His laugh grew and his eyes burned, tears dropping from his eyes.

"Timmy?"

He hugged his legs to his chest, laughing and crying and this song is stuck in his head and he can't stop it and-

"Mary had a little lamb"

Mama's hands are around him, hugging him and petting his hair "Shhh shh shh, everything's fine baby, I'm here"

He can't breathe and the song is on full volume in his head but mama's here and mama is safety, she's safety. He's safe. Safe

_____________________________________________

"What the hell were you thinking?" Oracle's voice rang through the comn in his helmet.

"You need to be more specific than that O"

"Tim blocked me, Selina is mad at Bruce because one of his kids hurt her niece, Harley and Tim are nowhere to be found and Selina and Ivy are planning something"

"I didn't hurt Tim and I don't know why you told ma all the other stuff"

"Hood, Tim's smart, maybe too much smart but his mind is broken, he's crazy and genius"

"Okay and..?"

"He wants to go -and I’m quoting him- Boom he always wanted everyone to know that he's Harley's kid, and I always made him take more time, think about it more the fact that he blocked me means that I can't tell him to sit back anymore"

"You can remove it though"

"I did, and he just throw his phone away"

"So I broke him?"

"No, Joker broke him you just set him off"

"Shit"

"Yes. Shit"

_____________________________________________

"Wohhooo" Was shout out to the sky as Tim set in shopping cart, Harley -in her rollerblades- holding the handles of the cart, and they're both 'driving' down a road, laughing.

The air hit Tim's face in the best way he could have ever imagined and he laughed so hard that his cheedk burned, and maybe he ripped his stiches oncr again today but he dosen't care.

He is happy. So, so happy, like he was with this hot guy in the coffee shop, before his meltdown.

But right now, right now it's all this.

His mama and him, having fun, his mom and aunty kitty somewhere doing her own thing and everything's okay.

He laughed again as they started to speed up, the wind throwing his hair in any direction possible.

After a few minutes they cane to a stop, his mama's smile is so loving and he hopes that his smile is loving as well.

"Come on sweetie, let's do it" Harley smiled as she gave him the lighter, he jumped out of the cart and lit the lighter, his eyes sparking as the fire started spreading.

Tim and Harley walked away because they're crazy not stupid.

There faces lit up as the fireworks blew and flew to the sky.

Harley hugged him from behind and he relaxed into his mama's touch, watching the fireworks becoming to words that are shining over Gotham's sky.

30 days

_____________________________________________

"Hey Hoodie" A cheerful voice called from behind him.

Red Hood turned around, a gun in his hand just to be met with Tim's lovely smile.

"Chill, chill" The teen said, holding his hands up "I'm not going to hurt you"

"What do you want?" Hood asked, lowering his gun.

"We have never met have we?" Tim said, his smile calm

"I don't think so"

"No, but I did met Robin"

"So you met the Demon"

Tim frowned "No. The second one."

"Don't know him"

"Red Hood can't meet Robin II"

"And why's that?"

"Robin II's dead, dad killed him" Tim shock his head "I don't like dad, I liked Robin II and dad did it because it's funny. It's not!"

Tim looked so frustrated, his eyes big and he's looking at Jason like he hope that he would understand that and, something in Jason change, his face are softer under the helmet and-

"Okay Tim, I know you aren't the Joker."

"I didn't met *you* but we did met, I know Robin and I know Jason and now I know Red Hood?"

"You know who I am"

"No, no no no!" Tim looked him straight in the eyes, like he could see his face behind the helmet "You're Red Hood now, you were Robin and you always were Jason but now you Red Hood, I don't know Red Hood!"

"Okay, okay, relax, you don't know Red Hood, that's fine"

"I need to know Red Hood"

"Why?"

"Because I need Red Hood to help me"

"You need help?"

"Yes"

"Okay, but why Red Hood?"

"Because.. Ummm because- Because of Dad! I need Red Hood to help me kill dad"

To kill.. the Joker.

To kill the Joker.

The Joker dead.

'Yes'

"I would help you, Red Hood and Jason, okay?"

Tim nodded "Yeah, okay."

The sky started to glow and they both looked up, looking at fireworks that formed

29 days

_____________________________________________

It was so logical and simple that Jason almost laugh.

He sat next to Tim in some small safehouse, looking at Tim up and down as he was solving Sudoku.

They're waiting for the others to decide exactly who will go in and kill this son of a bitch and aho will make sure that everyone else will be present in that day.

They are waiting for Tim's small family, and Jason smiled at the thought of this family, he once had one and then he died and he was replaced by Stephanie Brown who is now Batgirl so they're fine now. But he doesn't have this family now, all he have are some blurred memories.

Tim let out a little "Yay" with a cute, small giggle that made Jason smile.

"Hey!" Tim suddenly said, looking at Jason with big eyes, Jason looked around him, trying to find something that would make Tim look panoco "What-"

"Are you hurt?" Tim's voice was soft and caring and Jasom heart might have skipped a beat, "No?"

"Than why do you have split lip and bruise on your jaw?"

"I've got into a fight, it's not serious" But Tim was there in seconds, his worry eyes looking at Jason's jaw and just wow- Jason swallowed the lump in his throat when Tim's slender finger touched his lip and-

"I've the best thing to help!" Tim pulled away and his finger caressed Jason's lip in a way that made Jason hold his breath.

And in the next moment Tim putted a chocolate bar in his hand, smiling at him "It help!" He said and Jason huffed a laugh, mentally shacking his head.

"Thanks Timmy" Jason said an smile on his face, opening the chocolate and cutting a line.

It was milk chocolate with pop candy and it was amazing, Jason hummed as he ate it, looking at Tim solving a new sudoku.

After the meeting (if it even can be called that) Jason took the rest of the chocolate bar, just to have something sweet after patrol tonight.

_____________________________________________

Jason stripped from his Red Hood gear, stretching his hands out and poping his back.

He took a quick shower and pulled on a sweat pants and grey hoodie from the deep of his closest 'Maybe it's time to do the laundry'.

Jason smiled as the sky were lit in 25 Days and turned the lamp off.

His lip tickled as some kind of reminder that Tim touched him there, he looked so worried and that just warmed Jason's heart.

And that amazing chocolate- maybe he will have to get hurt more just to have it.

He closed hid eyes, ready to fall asleep and then it hit him-

Oh.

Oh shit.

He- he have a crush.

_____________________________________________

The sun was in the middle of the sky when Jason woke up, blinking into the darkness because the blinds are close.

He groaned as he stretched his body, still in the bed under the warmth of the fluffy blanket. The sleepiness still has her claws clutching on him and made Jason wonder why the hell his bed isn't as comfy whenever he's trying to sleep but is when he tries to wake up.

He almost fell asleep again, but the *Bam! Bam! Bam!* on his door made him jolt up from the bed, the gun that he hides between the mattress and the bed in his hand, walking to the living room without making a sound, looking through the peep hole.

He huffed in relief, opening the door looking at Dick who smiled at him. "You woke me up you asshole"

"Sorry little wing" But Dick didn't sounded sorry at all and that just made him groan.

Jason followed Dick to the kitchen after Dick let himself in, the door closing behind them.

"What are you doing here?"

"I can't visit my little brother?"

"Not your brother" Jason turned around to the pantry to take out a tea bag just when Dick flinched from the words as if they're physically harming him.

"You're my brother, even if you don't see it like that"

"Dick."

"No! You're my brother, I count you as my brother" Dick snap and Jason would lie if he said that that didn't touched his heart, even if it's not true because in the end Dick have his new little brother and also a sister and it's really is fine that Jason isn't part of his family. It is.

So he didn't reply to it, just let Dick think what he wants to. "Do you want to tell me why you actually came or what?" He asked as he started to boil water.

"I wanted to talk to you"

"About?"

"You said you'd this case, how's it going?"

Jason took the teapot off the gas, pouring the hot water to his glass, "I didn't told anyone that I've a case"

"Well no but Babs told me"

"Babs don't know, and she would have asked if she wanted to know" Jason took a sip from his cup and turned around to glare at the older man "What it really is about?"

"Bruce saw you with Harley and Ivy and their kid and he wants to know what you all doing"

Jason saw red for a moment and them took a calming breath, a long sip from his tea and walked his way toward the island, putting his mug down and glaring at his so called brother.

"So you're here on a mission?" His voice was cold and full with venom.

"N-no!"

Jason raised an eyebrow "You just said it"

"I don't care what B wanted, I came for my brother"

"Damian isn't here"

"Jason!"

"What? You want me to say that you didn't came because Bruce said something on me? You don't want to know what I'm doing with Harley, Ivy and their kid? Ah? That's what you're telling me?"

"I-"

"Ha! And you just said we're brothers!"

"We are Jason"

"No! You have your own little family, I'm not part of it, never was!"

"You are! You always were and you always will be!"

And at that moment Jason saw green, throwing his mug down on the island, the shatterd flew everywhere and the hot water started to drip down to the floor.

And as a last resort Dick yelled "TIM DRAKE!"

It made Jason blink, and look at Dick, "What did you just said?"

"Tim Drake, it's this boy Joker kidnapped, Harley and Ivy's kid"

"How do you know this?"

"Well, family of detectives and all"

"What do you want?"

"Is he threating you?"

"What? No!"

"Jay, you can tell me the truth"

"Oh I can?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Okay so fuck off"

"Wh-what?"

"The truth is that I want you to fuck off and don't ever come back. Bye."

"..Jay.."

"I'll throw you out of the window"

"Okay, okay. But.."

"Go!" _____________________________________________

Tim sat on an air conditioner motor that was on the roof of a building, his legs tangling down, one shoe red with zigzag lines on it and the other one yellow with glitters. His pants in a fading green colour and a black-blue t-shirt. And Jason just looked, glad that his helmet hiding his face as a stupid smile crossed his face.

"Hoodie hood!" Tim's cheerful voice made Jason's smile wider, and Tim pushed himself of the air conditioner motor, when his feet touched the roof his yellow shoe started to sparkle with light, like little kids shoes.

"Hey clown kid" Tim smiled, something sweet and beautiful that made butterflies fly in Jason's belly.

"I don't like this helmet today" Tim said, his hands touching lightly at the sides of the red helmet.

"And why's that?"

"I can't see your hair. I love your hair!"

Jason smiled, Tim was just... just.

"Thanks baby clown, I love your hair too"

"Baby clown?"

"Yup"

"I like it"

"Good"

Tim took Jason's hand in his and started walking them to the air conditioner motor.

They both sat down, Tim's hands now in his lap and Jason opened his helmet, setting it next to him.

Tim looked at him, his blue icy eyes glinted and a small smile on his face. Jason looked right back at him, the blue-green eyes looking like some amazing place that kids are being told about in fairy tales.

Jason don't know who moved first, or what exactly happened. All he knows is that Tim is sitting in his lap, Tim's hands in his hair and Jason hugging him close. There mouths pressing against each other's. Tim's mouth have this amazing chocolate taste, a hint of coffee and Tim.

In the dark sky above of them, the fireworks draw the 18 days.

_____________________________________________

Jason is happy. Like really truly happy. He couldn't stop smiling this stupid love sick smile since the kiss.

He met Tim every patrol and those small kiss were the best, 10/10 would definitely do again.

Tim's cute and smart and he seems to really like Jason which is amazing because Jason really like him too.

None of the Bats came to annoy him, and everything is just amazing. For once in his life everything is just good.

His grapple gun shot to the next building and the cold wind never felt better. As Red Hood's boots hit the roof a "Hey there, love bird" greeted him.

"Cat," He called back, doing a small '*hi*' with his hand "'sup?"

"We need to talk"

"About?"

"Tim"

Jason sat next to her, his legs tangling down from the roof, "You here to give me the talk?"

"Not the talk you think about, I'll that to his moms"

"Then what talk?"

"Are you serious with him?"

"For now.. for now yes" he said with a bit hesitation.

Selina nodded "That's good for me"

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome sweetie, anyway you nrrd to be careful with Timmy"

"I know that, I wasn't born yesterday Cat"

She huffed a laugh, "Oh I know that sweetie, but you still need to know about Tim's past"

"Isn't he supposed to tell me about it? In his own time?"

"He will, I'm going to tell you only things that he won't because it's a trigger for him"

"The torture?"

"Yes, the torture, and what lead to his kidnapping, and it'll give you an idea yo what his parents were like"

Jason looked at her in the eyes, seriousness burns in them. "Okay, let's hear the story" _____________________________________________

His parents left again, it has been hours since the screaming stopped, his cheeks were wet from tears and his eyes red.

He was hiding in the closet, his hands holding his stuffed Kola close, his left arm is numb except for the cut on it, but it's a small cut and he deserved it. He isn't supposed to talk back to his father.

The dry blood on his arm itched and he needs to treat the cut, but he don't want to move. The closest is a safe place because mother and father can't get in.

New tears slipping down his face and he hugs the Kola tighter.

_____________________________________________

When Tim woke up his neck hurt and his left arm felt like a million fire ants stung her.

He opened the closest door, stumbling out of there holding the Kola in one hand, dropping it on his bed and walking to the bathroom, pulling the first aid kit from under the sink, treating his wound with a hiss of pain.

A quick glance out of the window and he knows it's in the middle of the night, and his parents were supposed to stay home for more couple of days but once again they just left the town. Without telling him. Again. And it's fine, he can't be mad at his parents for leaving him -he is, like his mother says, rotten child- all the time.

But he doesn't have something to do now, and his arm's fine, he can go out and see Batman, and maybe Robin too. Though Robin isn't around a lot now, maybe something happened... _____________________________________________

The streets lamps flickered on and off every couple of seconds, and the stars were hidden in the sky, behind the clouds.

The cold wind hit him merciless, but it just made him smile, he loves the winter. It always made him feel better with himself.

His camera clutched in his hands, his black stocking cap falling on his eyes every couple of minutes, and yes it may be annoying but it's also letting him something to do, because tonight he can't find Batman...

What the hour anyway? Maybe he's late and Batman's back in the cave...

And then he could hear it, some quiet voice singing.. Maybe a kid.. What if the kid need help?

"Hello?' he called out, moving closer to the voice, he can hear the words now.

"Mary had a little lamb Little lamb, little lamb Mary had a little lamb..." _____________________________________________

He cried out, pain strobes through all hid body, tears on his face and blood run down his chine and neck

This psycho laugh making him shiver and try to run away. This hateful song in the background..

And this voice.. "Come on Little Lamb, be a good son for little old me, and tell me. What's. Your. Name?"

"T-Tim"

He screamed as he got electriced again. _____________________________________________

He is shacking, scared out of his mind, tears rolling down his face. And it doesn't stop.

He can barely breathe, the electrical shock isn't stopping. And Tim is honest to God scared.

He don't know what's next to come, he can't actually believe it's happening and everything- everything hurt.

He can feel himself leaving his body, his heart- _____________________________________________

He woke up, everything is hurting again and the fucking Joker is looking at him, this psychotic smile on his face-

"Welcome back my Little Lamb"

-And this horrible song again

"Mary had a little lamb Little lamb, little lamb Mary had a little lamb..." _____________________________________________

"What's your name?"

"Tim!" _____________________________________________

"What's. Your. Name?"

"Ti-" _____________________________________________

"Your name?"

He don't even* know *anymore, and it's really frustrating... _____________________________________________

He is laughing. A manic good laugh. Happy laugh.

He's happy because he remembers who he is and it's funny- why did he forgot anyway?

"What's your name?"

"JJ!" _____________________________________________

He laughed as his dad cut his face open do he'll always smile. He laughed as dad throw him to the acid. He laughed as dad painted his hair.

He laughed and he laughed, and laughed and laughed-

But it's not funny anymore- dad isn't here and his hair is black... JJ scowled at the mirror, dad don't like his hair black. He like green. Yes, green hair and purple suit, and red- red, red, red blood. And it's funny- everything funny so hr laughs, but the mirror- The shattered glass flew everywhere and it's so funny that he can't stop laughing-

"Timothy!" Mother's standing by the door, she looks horrified.. it's not funny anymore- it's not-

He can't breathe, he stumbles backwards, tears rolling down his face and he. Can't. Stop. Laughing. _____________________________________________

One night he heard his mother and father talking. It's not fine, but what is fine anymore? He's finally Tim but he's also JJ and it's so confusing.

"I can't look at him anymore Jack, he is pathetic!"

"I know Janet, don't worry"

Tim chokes a whimper. _____________________________________________

The next week Ivy and Harley found Tim trying to drown himself and took him in... _____________________________________________

Jason took in a deep breath, his eyes wet and his heart ache for his little clown.

"It's..."

Catwoman gave him a small smile, "A lot? I know. Those are once of the memories Tim still have"

"I'm- I can't even-" Cat smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder.

The words 13 Days shined in the sky above them.

_____________________________________________

"Hood" Oracle's voice filled his helmet.

"O, how many times do I need to ask you not to hack my helmet?"

Oracle completely ignored him "How's Tim been?"

Jason swallow, he forgot that Babs is actually one of those people who really care about Tim (and him. Because Babs amazing).

"He's been good, happy" Just like Jason. It's like they feel the same thing. He can see Babs smile in his mind at that, like something changed in the weather just because of what he said, and it pulled a smile in his face.

"That's good, how are you?"

"Same as Tim"

And now he can hear her smile when she talks "I'm happy to hear that."

"How are you O? Does Dick head annoying you? 'cuz I can beat him if you need"

O snorted, "Two days sleeping on the sofa and he'll be begging for my forgiveness"

Jason laughed. And they kept talking about nothing for two more minutes, before Babe had to go.

And that's when Jason shot his grapple to another roof and went flying in the sky, the feeling of happiness all over his body.

But it all stopped when hr heard it.

It came straight out of his nightmares, something from his deepest fears.

This manic laugh. Joker's laugh.

And no just no. Thete's no way this stupid fucker got out again.

He dropped to the ground with a thud sound, looking for the fucker but instead seeing a group of teenagers, kicking someone on the ground.. someone who couldn't stop laughing like the Joker and his heart stopped beating for a second when he realised who it is.

A shot noise ripped through the air and the teens stopped, looking back at the red hood holding a gun at one of them.

All he needed to do wad to say "Go. Away" and the teens ran away, leaving Tim on the ground, hugging his legs to his chest, blood and tears mixed together on his face, and he couldn't breathe because the laughing wouldn't stop.

Jason hurried to him, helping him to sit up and uncurl himself, unable to look over Tim's face since he wouldn't let him.

"Tim, sweetie, my baby clown," Jason kissed his cheek, hugging him close to him "It's me, remember? Red Hood"

And at that Tim's head moved, looking up at him. Eyes full of tears and his face twitched in this manic smile, blood dripping down from the now open cuts in his chicks to his chin.

"Timmy babe, can you hear me?" He received a small and hesitate nod that he took as yes.

"Can you give me your hands?" He asked, showing Tim his gloved hands. The smaller man put his hands in his, feeling the fabric.

Tim relaxed, his eyes fixed on the red helmet, the tears stopped rolling down his face.

The laughing quiet down a bit, but still were there.

"You remember me, right? We are friends, hell I'm hoping even more than friends"

Tim nodded, but Jason wasn't sure what he was agreeing with so he just kept talking.

"We have this amazing plan, because you are my little smarty boy right?"

Tim could take in a breath and that was good, he wasn't laughing anymore but he also didn't talk exactly, just watched Jason and every couple of seconds squeezed one of his hands (never the both of them together for some reason).

"Hell I even kissed you that night and it was the greatest thing in the whole world baby clown"

"No." Tim's tiny voice waved on the air.

"Hah?" If Tim didn't like Jason like that... It would be ok, he will be heart breaked for a few days but he would be fine at the end... Somehow.

"I kissed you" Tim said, looking at him with this witty little smile that Jason grew to love so much.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah" a small smile tug on Jason's lips, and their lips met. It was amazing just like the first time they kissed, and it sent sparkles down Jason's body.

And after a minute he let go, both of them taking deep breath.

"Come on baby clown, let's go to my home"

Tim took his hand and he pulled him up, hugging the smaller man.

The words 7 Days exploded in the sky exactly when they reached Jason's apartment.

_____________________________________________

Waking up with Tim by his side is amazing.

The smaller man was curled next to him, a hand clutching at the fabric of his shirt. The long black hair messed up but still so beautiful. Tim's face relaxed, a samll smile on his face.

Last night Jason gave him one of his own shirts, and the younger basically swam in the white shirt.

Jason looked at the paler than normal skin that was now available. It was in the same colour of the shirt.

He pulled Tim closer to him, kissing the beautiful man's forehead and closing his eyes.

Immediately going back to the welcoming blackness of sweat dreamless sleep. _____________________________________________

The next time he woke up was because Tim wasn't next to him.

Jason didn't know exactly why he woke up because of that, but the moment Tim's weight left his body his eyes snapped open, meating beautiful blue eyes.

Tim smiled at him, a sleepy smile. His hair a whole lot of mess and Jason's heart beated faster as he smiled back.

The sun was already in the middle of the sky and the clock on the wall said it was already one A.M.

"Mornin' Jay" Tim whispered.

"Morning baby clown" _____________________________________________

They ate together, silence surrounding them in the most comfortable way.

Jason couldn't exactly point it out but something about Tim made him.... just feel whole. Like he didn't felt since he woke up six feet deep.

Both of them were in Jason clothes and Jason found out that for some unknown reason, white looked better at pale skin.

And Tim.. Tim was the most beautiful human he saw. His blue eyes, his black long hair, and this perfect smile. Jason started asking what he fucking did right to get this angel. _____________________________________________

He didn't knew how it happened but Tim's hot wet mouth was on him and he was practically in heaven.

His hands gripped the black hair and pulled slightly, making Tim moan and himself gasping as the moans vibrate on him.

He was definitely in heaven and this angel between his legs was the most perfect thing to ever happen to him.

"Oh God" he said and moaned Tim's name, his legs shacking.

"Tim I'm about to-" and with that he came down Tim's throat, the angel swallowed it and looked him in the eyes, giving him this beautiful smile. And well, Jason might die happy this time around. _____________________________________________

This night he hugged Tim closed to him, the smaller man hugging him back.

Outside the words 6 Days colored the black sky with pink, green and yellow.

_____________________________________________

It was simple. Very simple, and Jason did it already so why the hell is he freaking out?

Harley and Ivy started a riot somewhere in the city while Catwoman helped them in Arkham and said that she's going to take care of the security. So from there they were alone.

And it wasn't like he didn't knew the plane by heart, it's just that it really is happening. He's going to kill the Joker. They're going to kill the Joker.

And it's not a dream. The mother fucking clown is going to laugh for the last time. _____________________________________________

Each floor has a minimum of two guards, thanks to Killer Croc Arkham was down six guards, so floors 1-3 only had one guard each during the day (Because Gotham’s criminals are all geniuses and think that night is the best time for a breakout).

So doubling up only happened at night on these floors until the guards either recovered or replacements were vetted and hired.

Floors 4-5 had double guards at all times and floor 6 was more storage and extra holding cells than anything else right now.

Thanks to Harley and Ivy's riot there weren't a lot of guards where they were, everyone waiting to catch the two. Catwoman didn't lied about helping them from afar as every door opened to them without problems. _____________________________________________

The elevator doors opened at the fourth floor, Jason noted that there weren't any guards around, wondering what Catwoman did as he heard the muffled noise of an alarm from the floor above them.

Jason walked to the guard station and peeked in to see two men slumped over and unconscious. From the looks of it they have been knocked out, 'help from afar ha?' he thought to himself, smiling a little. Looking over at Tim, the little clown being too quite for so long, the teen smiled, his skin somehow more pale than normal, and his gun at hand. Jason nodded to him and Tim did the peace sign.

They followed a hallway around behind the booth and came up on a large metal door. They waited couple of seconds and the door opened, revealing another hallway with another large metal door several yards down. There were three such doors in their's way and each one opened and closed behind them, making them closer and closer to the goal.

Jason paused and took a deep breath before the final door. This is it. This stupid clown is as good as dead. The door opened.

And there was the Joker, laying on a thin metal like bed that was bolted to the wall.

All that stood between them and the Joker was a wall of bulletproof wall with several inches thick with small round air holes cut evenly to allow air to flow into the (if it could even be called that) room.

The Joker slowly rolled off the bed when he saw them, and came to stand in front of the clear wall, a sick smile on his face. “Well, well, well, what have we here? Visitors? Oh, I know you!" He said as he looked at Tim, his grin getting wider "You're my little lamb. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!”

Jason's heart started to beat faster, looking at Tim's hand gripping the gun so tight that his fingers turned whiter than usual.

"I'm not" Tim said, his voice quite.

"What did you said little lamb? Talk louder for papa"

Tim smiled, a small smile that made Jason question if he's going to follow the plan or not.

And of he really think about it, he was never told about this part of the plan... How will they kill the Joker?

"JJ?"

"I'm not a fucking lamb you old fucker" Tim said and shoot.

#jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #damian wayne #the joker #joker junior #Tim Drake #harelyquinn #poison ivy #Selina Kyle #fluff #angst #falling in love #this is so long #JayTim #thanks for reading #it took me so long because i got adiccted to anime

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aphrodites-law · 4 years

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A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (12/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11]

A few minutes before closing time the next day, Clarke was waiting at the end of the counter for surprise customers. Gaia was already wrapping her scarf around her neck and Wells was pulling out ingredients for the next day. He had stayed much later today, going over resumes for their interviews tomorrow, but also reorganizing the kitchen.

After giving Gustus a call to offer him the job, Wells had realized that things would get crowded quite quickly. Gustus was a big man and the kitchen was on the smaller side, but it was workable with a different layout. Clarke thanked her lucky stars for her best friend's ability to adapt to situations, as she herself disliked big changes. Regardless of the possible growing pains ahead, it was an exciting time for the café.

Right after Gaia left with a tired wave, Wells found Clarke absentmindedly drawing the branches of the weeping fig. The last customers had left as well and the sun had already set. The mugs were clean, the plates drying, and the day's crumbs swept from the floor. It hadn't rained at all today; a small mercy given that Clarke couldn't stop thinking about her date with Lexa. She wasn't sure where they were headed, but heavy rain might've halted Lexa's plans and she didn't have the patience to wait another day.

Wells peeked at her drawing pad and sighed. "God, she's a beauty," he said dreamily.

Clarke snorted. His fondness for their Ficus was a running joke between them. "Weirdo."

Wells gave her a tired grin as he buttoned up his wool peacoat. He always looked so sharp in winter wear, whereas Clarke always felt like a bulky bear. She'd dressed up a little today - fitted dark pants and a knitted sweater with a nice scoop neck. Her boots were clean and if her hair's curls had loosened over the day, she had still clearly made an effort to look presentable.

“So, you had your vision," said Wells.

Clarke dropped her pencil. "Wh- I- what?"

"It was a few weeks ago, wasn't it? When you came in looking like you hadn’t slept a wink."

Shame gripped her. "Wells, I-"

“You’re looking more crimson than cranberry juice,” he pointed out with a laugh.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how to bring it up," she said. She'd always felt guilty for keeping it from him, but it wasn't the easiest topic either. "Did Raven tell you?"

"Nah, she even deflected when I wondered aloud. You just started acting weird whenever someone mentioned visions. You hate lying, so I figured you didn't want to be asked if you'd had one."

Clarke closed her notepad. She should have known he'd catch on. "I didn't mean to be secretive. You know I would've told you the minute it happened, it just wasn't… family friendly."

"Yeah, I figured. It's good though? I mean, you're happy, right?"

It was a surprising question, though it shouldn't have been. Clarke hadn't really thought about it. It wasn't something she asked herself or even expected. For so long happiness had just revolved around the café. Finding the right name; the right building; the right theme. She'd judged her days based on their achieved goals and for a while it had been a thrill. And it still was - her work made her proud and it made her happy too - but it wasn't everything. She'd come to face that recently, and though the wake up call had been… unconventional, certainly, she was grateful for it.

"I am. I'm seeing her, actually. The woman from my vision. You'd recognize her - she's a regular."

Wells nodded as if he'd already put two and two together. “At Octavia and Lincoln's party I saw you talking to her. Then it clicked she wrote that article on Finn - I remembered checking her profile on the Gazette when it dropped."

"Yeah, she works there. She's writing a piece on the visions actually."

"So it's getting serious?" He asked hesitantly.

And really, Clarke couldn't fault his curiosity. She'd been so wrapped up in Lexa that she'd neglected their relationship and now he was unsure if he should gently prod or wait.

“It’s new and we’re taking things slow, but yeah, I'm hoping it'll work out. I really like her."

Wells looked over her shoulder toward the entrance and smiled. "Seems like she really likes you too."

Clarke turned around and saw that Lexa had parked her car and was just crossing the street toward the café.

"Are you coming in tomorrow?" He asked her.

Clarke whipped around, her cheeks flushed. "What? Of course I am. Why wouldn't I?"

"Dunno, you tell me." He laughed as he checked for his keys in his pocket. "Gaia and Harper have the early shift, in case you forgot. We just have those three interviews in the afternoon, but you already know that."

"I do know," she replied with a frown. "There's no reason I wouldn't be here earlier. I'm always here. What are you saying?"

He shrugged, entirely too proud of himself, and walked toward the back exit. "No one will fault you if you take a break. Enjoy your date!"

"I will! And I'll see you in the morning!" Clarke replied stubbornly.

"I'm sure you will!" he retorted, still snickering, before closing the door behind him.

A hand touched Clarke's shoulder and she startled.

"Sorry," Lexa said with a gentle smile. She'd put on her black coat today, the top buttons undone to reveal her sweater - a reddish brown this time, perfect for the fall. Her hair was down and her eyeliner perhaps more pronounced than usual. Clarke wondered if she'd applied it in her car. She looked beautiful.

"Hi, baby," she softened, forgetting all about Well's teasing. He didn't know what he was talking about. Tonight was just going to be a nice date. Some food, wine - whatever Lexa had planned. They were still going slow. Clarke didn't have any expectations other than enjoying their time together. She liked their pace. It was… frustrating at times, sure, but it was working. They had both opened up to each other.

"Hi," Lexa whispered before she inched forward so that she could kiss her over the counter. Clarke sighed into it, having imagined such sweetness all day long.

"Am I too early?" Lexa asked. "Do you need help cleaning up?"

Clarke brushed her thumb over Lexa's jaw. "No, I'm done. I just need to grab my coat and close up."

"Was that Wells who went out back?"

"Yes, he was being ridiculous."

"I thought he usually left earlier?"

"He does, but he's been rearranging the kitchen. I think he's worried Gustus will find it too small."

"Gus has an entire farm and acres of land at his disposal, but he sleeps in his shed because it's warm," Lexa said. "He won't mind."

Clarke beamed, delighted to hear it. "I'm going to give you Wells' number and you're going to text him just that. "

While Clarke left to grab her coat, Lexa worried her lip. "Oh but he doesn't really know me…"

"He will."

Clarke came out from the back with her coat and scarf on. She pulled out her set of keys. "He's my best friend and you're my-" she stopped herself. "I think you'd get along great. He loves theater, devours literature, and he already thinks you're amazing for taking Finn down. So don't worry about it."

"Well, that reminds me: Collins went ahead with suing the Gazette."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

They made their way to the front, where Lexa opened the door for Clarke. "No. It'll never stand, but he aims to waste our time and money."

"Waste of time and money - that's been his motto since birth."

Lexa wrinkled her nose. "Let's talk about something else."

"Please. So where's my carriage?"

Lexa laughed.

* * *

Lexa may not have found a pumpkin to turn into a carriage after all, but her car smelled like apples and she drove so smoothly Clarke could've closed her eyes and imagined they weren't moving at all. She had never thought 'great driver' would do it for her, but here she was eyeing Lexa's hands on the steering wheel and feeling hot.

"How's the writing going?" Clarke asked, clearing her throat when her voice started off slightly rough.

Lexa took a left, which would've surprised Clarke if she'd paid any attention to the road. But all she could think about was Lexa's razor-sharp focus and how she yearned to be the reason for it.

"Good, I finished a first draft. My writing partner is looking at it for now. I need it out of my sight for a few days."

"Partner, huh?"

Lexa smiled as she kept her eyes on the road. "Echo. She wrote most of the FC&B article."

"Did you write for other newspapers before?"

Lexa nodded. "Two. I've been lucky, professionally. Smaller papers have always been more interesting to me, so I stayed away from national ones. I was able to climb the ladder a lot faster than some of my old classmates."

"The Gazette must've been a change of pace. New city, new job - I don't think I could handle it."

"When they hired me I was so happy to be working I just threw myself into it," Lexa admitted. "I got the idea on the Mountain Men soon after, just from reading old archives about them. That kept me busy, so I didn't have time to worry about fitting in. It was nice. Exciting. It felt like falling in love with my job again. Then one day Echo invited me to grab drinks with other colleagues and… I realized things had fallen into place already."

"Costial is pretty magical like that," Clarke said with a smile. She loved it when Lexa talked about her time here. Sometimes it was easy to forget she hadn't even been here a year yet. Clarke remembered her first year in the city - how she'd felt like she'd always belonged here. How she couldn't wait to build her life here. And college had been fun, and sometimes she walked by the campus just for the nostalgia of it, but it was the years after that had really shaped her life into what it was today. There had been many tears and failures before the café, but she'd never once thought of leaving. She hoped Lexa felt the same.

One glance outside the window and Clarke finally had an idea where they were headed. They were quite far from the center of the city now, just a few miles away from Busy Moose Park and its lake on the outskirts. Lexa took the road that led to the park, but she didn't make the turn Clarke had expected and instead continued straight.

"Are we going to the factory?" Clarke asked.

The chocolate factory and its surroundings were certainly a sight to behold, and popular with teens because of its smells and aesthetic quality, but there wasn't much to do unless you brought a picnic. Which was unlikely to be comfortable anyway in this cold.

"Not quite," Lexa answered with a secretive smile.

A few minutes later she finally pulled over into a small parking lot, checking for Clarke's reaction as soon as they got out of the car.

“I know I said I’d take you somewhere more upscale, but I thought you might really like this place."

Because the factory was just a ways down the road and it was windy tonight, the bold smell of chocolate permeated the air. They had stopped in front of a rustic restaurant surrounded by a garden. Small lights glowed softly against the brick walls, complimented by the dancing shadows from a few lanterns. There was a patio with beams covered in twining vines, the plants and wisteria also covering the top like a ceiling. Powerful heaters kept the biting cold at bay, no doubt, making the entire place look like a winter fairytale.

It was the kind of romantic setting Clarke would have made fun of in front of friends while secretly hoping to experience it one day.

“How the hell have I never been here before?” She asked in astonishment.

With a hand on her back, Lexa led her toward the entrance.

“Did you know Icicle? Italian restaurant?”

“Yeah, that rings a bell.”

“This is it. The owner retired and her son took over - revamped the whole place from top to bottom and gave it a mountain lodge theme. He figured they should capitalize on the location more, especially the constant sweetness in the air. It just reopened a few weeks ago. Featured in the Gazette and everything.”

“Oh, that might’ve been when I was a bit angry at you," Clarke remembered and gave Lexa a teasing grin. "Deleted the app like it was some kind of statement."

Lexa scrunched up her nose, not too eager to remember that time. The hostess seated them inside at a secluded table for two. The light was dimmed and there was a candle between them; and even two squares of chocolate wrapped in gold foil.

After they took off their coats and sat, Lexa bit her lip. “It's not too much, is it?"

"Are you kidding? It's gorgeous." Clarke reached for her hand. "You're always surprising me."

A waiter gave them a menu and a basket of bread. They looked like mini baguettes and Clarke was temped to steal one for Wells.

“God, I almost forgot about this smell," she said, taking a deep breath. The chocolate from the factory still wafted faintly in the air, and mixed with the smell of food it had Clarke already salivating for dinner. "In college we used to hang out by the lake a lot. If the wind was on our side we’d always get a whiff from the factory. Not even edibles could beat that.”

Lexa arched a brow. “Edibles, huh?”

“Please, I know you’ve dabbled," Clarke scoffed.

“What makes you think that?”

“You have the vibe.”

“The pothead vibe? I thought I was unreadable.”

“Oh you have that vibe too," Clarke laughed. "But then there’s the tattoos, the plants, the way you write about nature. You’re curious, open minded, andyou went to a liberal arts college. You must’ve tried it at least once. I think that’s how you approach most things: don’t knock ‘till you try it. Am I close?”

Lexa looked away, slightly flummoxed. “It sounds like I’m more of an open book then.”

"Maybe that's a good thing…" Clarke offered with a hopeful smile, thumb caressing the back of her hand.

"Maybe it is," Lexa agreed.

They both picked the apricot glazed chicken with roasted potatoes, pairing it with a white wine. Throughout dinner Clarke felt such pleasant warmth, both because of the wine and Lexa's steady gaze on her. She was relaxed and unfairly charming; a great listener by all accounts, but also coming out of her shell when it came to her own past. Clarke knew it wasn't easy for her, which made it all the more special.

"In retrospect I should've figured politics weren’t for me when I started screaming at my television every time the news came on."

Clarke grinned, knowing the sentiment all too well. "Good thing you don't work for a newspaper or anything…"

Swallowing the last of her wine, Lexa gave her a playful smirk. "Local news. I can take the city hall drama. I actually enjoy it with my morning pastry."

"That I can believe. You always look so deep in thought when you read. Harper dropped a cup once and you didn't even flinch."

"Really?" Lexa asked. "Is there anything else I do that I should know about?"

The waiter stopped by with their desserts: molten chocolate cake for Lexa and a slice of pear tart for Clarke.

"It's not like I stare or anything," Clarke clarified as she grabbed her spoon. "Your seat just happens to be in my vicinity."

"Mm." Lexa smirked. "I guess I just pop up sometimes…" she trailed off, her tone heavy with implication.

She did this occasionally, but more boldly recently. Alluding to Clarke's vision seemed to greatly entertain Lexa.

"Ha, you're funny," Clarke deadpanned.

"Did I also crack jokes while I was kissing you - and I quote - everywhere?" Lexa goaded.

Clarke shrugged as she chewed on her tart. "Actually you were a lot more suave than you are now. Pity."

Lexa laughed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Please, you're very proud of yourself. And it's not fair all I have to go on is your distaste for coffee." Clarke remembered how frantic she had been after her vision, her mind firing questions every second. “Did you know I went to a vision reader right after?”

It had been an impulse and she'd regretted it, but she figured Lexa was familiar with them.

"Really?" Lexa asked, surprised.

“Yeah, the one by the market. Becca’s Reading or something. I bailed at the last minute.”

“I actually haven’t spoken to one. I was toying with the idea, but it might be an entirely different article.”

Clarke grimaced. “They’re just opportunistic money grabbers.”

Lexa offered a spoonful of her cake, which Clarke took before plopping a bit of pear on top of it. The warm chocolate melted the pear in her mouth and she sighed at the taste. Lexa smiled.

“It’s a different point of view. Besides, listening to so many stories might’ve given them some valuable insight even if they opened a shop for the wrong reasons. If my job’s taught me anything it’s to not judge a book by its cover.”

"Hmm you're good at it - your job. And I'm not just saying that because you're wining and dining me."

Lexa looked bashful. "You know, I remember when you yelled at me to get over myself."

"Not our finest moment…"

"No," Lexa agreed. "But it was needed. Before that there was so much I wanted to tell you, but… couldn't."

"I know." Clarke remembered that feeling as well. After the vision she'd look at Lexa and be so certain there was so much left unsaid between them, yet neither of them knew where to start, or if it was reciprocated. "I should've let you interview me - just ripped off the Band-Aid. It would've explained a lot."

"I would've never made it past the first question," Lexa said. "Can you share what you saw, Clarke?"

Clarke smiled cheekily around a mouthful of her tart. "Well, I would hope that kind of confession would score me a date at least."

"Oh I would have asked you out on the spot," Lexa replied with a smirk.

Clarke gasped. "How very unprofessional of you."

"If you hadn't noticed, my professionalism hangs by a thread whenever I'm near you."

Clarke let out a small laugh. "Well, that's one thing I'm glad for."

* * *

After their dinner, Lexa suggested they walk in the park before it closed. It was cold but their coats were thick and the wind was minimal. Clarke had no desire to part just yet, and so took Lexa's hand in hers as soon as they left the car by the park's entrance.

They had a little less than thirty minutes before it closed, but enjoyed every second as they strolled by the lake. The half-moon was reflected on the quiet surface, and though there were a few other people, Clarke felt like they had just stepped into a world of their own.

Clarke nudged Lexa toward one of the Beech trees, its autumn leaves still clinging bravely to its thick branches. They settled beneath it, lying down on the soft ground where leaves piled atop the grass. Between the branches they could see some stars, and Clarke wondered if maybe the park could close and leave them be. There was nowhere else she wanted to be.

She heard some rustling and then saw Lexa look down at her, her face framed by her wavy hair and the stars above. She took Clarke's breath away.

"You're so beautiful," Lexa murmured, struck by a similar thought it seemed. "You have the kindest eyes and the warmest smile. It's the first thing I ever noticed about you."

Clarke reached up to kiss her, parting only when she felt Lexa's hand on her stomach. Even atop her coat and thick clothing, she could feel its warmth.

"I think you're drunk on wine and chocolate."

"Then you'll be relived to hear I'm a very sincere drunk."

Clarke giggled, which made Lexa's smile stretch in such a fond way. She pressed closer to her, the tip of her nose brushing against her neck. She kissed the small spot, as if to apologize for her cold nose.

"I wonder so much about you, Clarke."

Clarke hummed. "What do you wonder about?"

“I’ve spoken with a lot of people. Heard the visions about reuniting with loved ones, getting over addictions, graduating. There’s been some romance of course,” Lexa said. “Aden’s first kiss, though he couldn’t see his boyfriend’s face. Echo celebrating a wedding anniversary with her husband. But so few - even online in anonymous circles - so few like yours.”

Now Clarke felt warm again, mostly from the blush on her cheeks. “I don’t believe that.”

Lexa lifted her head from her shoulder. “Have you personally heard of any?”

“Raven saw Wells naked.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Okay, so I'm a pervert, what can I say?”

“No,” Lexa replied, tickled by Clarke's little huff. “You’re a mystery. You intrigue me.”

Clarke cleared her throat. “Well I’ve had a bit of a dry spell. I had flings, but… I didn't allow myself anything more. The café was taking up all my thoughts and for a while it worked for me. Then the days got long again, and lonelier… Raven said it was probably just my body wanting me to snap out of it.”

“And what do you think?”

Clarke did wonder about it then, or at least differently than she had in the past. It wasn't so long ago she'd asked these questions herself. She'd been so frustrated she couldn't discuss them with the person she'd shared it with, and here she was, lying right next to her in a bed of leaves.

She touched Lexa's hand on her stomach, lacing and unlacing their fingers, gently playing with them as she tried to make sense of everything.

“Have you never fantasized about a stranger?" She asked quietly, catching Lexa's eyes. "Someone who knows nothing about you and yet knows exactly how to make your body soar?"

“That’s not what you saw though, is it?” Lexa murmured. “I wasn’t a stranger in your bed. I knew you and you knew me."

Clarke felt her heart beat faster. She wanted so badly to kiss Lexa again; to feel her body against hers like the night on her couch.

"Lex…"

Their lips were just a hair's breadth apart now. To anyone else, they would've looked like they were kissing.

"How was it different, Clarke?"

Clarke swallowed, trying to find the words. “How? The way you handled me - needy and possessive, but tender and attentive too. Like you were in charge of my pleasure and you had to remind me."

She saw Lexa swallow and so continued, eager to share everything this time: "You said my name and it almost sounded like a prayer - like you couldn’t believe we were together. I never heard my name like that before. I never thought I could make someone feel lucky."

"God, Clarke, you have no idea." Lexa exhaled before closing the gap and kissing her. It wasn't like any other kiss they'd shared tonight. It felt like a promise, almost. Lexa tasted so sweet on her tongue and Clarke could only wonder if all of her was just as heavenly.

She cupped the back of her neck and felt herself throb with desire, her mind filled with both the reality of Lexa and the last of her vision.

"I can even remember the smell of us," Clarke sighed between kisses. "How sticky my skin felt, like we'd been in bed for hours."

"Clarke - fuck."

Clarke pushed Lexa on her back and cupped her cheeks, claiming her lips quite quickly again. She licked into her mouth and moaned at the silky feel of Lexa's tongue.

"Sometimes I'd try to picture us again but you'd disappear," Clarke continued, eyes closing when Lexa started kissing down her neck. "I wasn't sure if it was you anymore. But then you'd come back. I'd feel your hands, your mouth on me… lower, and lower…"

Lexa let out a groan and pinched the bridge of her nose before falling back on the ground, the leaves rustling beneath her. Something in the way she set her jaw made Clarke frown.

"Baby…" she said, tracing a finger over her cheekbone.

"Did you call her that?" Lexa asked without thinking.

Clarke retracted her hand and paused. A grin spread on her face. “What? Are you jealous… of yourself?”

Lexa glared petulantly. “No.”

“You are."

Lexa remained quiet, so after a moment Clarke poked her arm. “Well what about yours?”

"Mine?"

"I wasn't even in it - how do you think that makes me feel?"

Lexa shook her head. "You were in it."

"You said you were just standing in a random kitchen making coffee."

"Yes."

"So?"

They heard the echo of a bicycle's bell on the pathway and turned to the sound, but the couple soon rode away. Clarke looked at Lexa again, finding her staring at the sky.

“What are you keeping from me?”

A small smile grew on Lexa's face - but she remained tightlipped.

"How was I there?" Clarke asked again, deeply curious.

"The doodles," Lexa simply replied.

Clarke remembered that she'd found that to be a strange detail before. She didn't put up her doodles on walls and she didn't frame them. These had to be important. Something that made her identity unmistakable in Lexa's eyes. Sure it could be that her style was recognizable, but Lexa made it sound as if it was something else.

“Lex…"

She lifted Lexa's chin to catch her gaze.

“If I tell you, I worry it might not happen," Lexa admitted.

Clarke bit her lip, finally understanding. It was almost like saying a wish out loud - fearing it might not come true if you broke that single rule.

“You want it to happen?” She asked instead.

A breeze passed as Lexa looked at her intently, leaving no room for doubt. “Yes.”

There was no waver in her voice. Not even an ounce of hesitation. The sheer confidence set Clarke alight. She’d forgotten how it felt to feel so wanted. Whatever it was in that frame… Lexa clearly hoped for it in their future. The fact that she wanted it with her, and no one else, made her desire swell.

She leaned down and kissed her right against the grass and by the slumbering tree, forgetting all about the doodles. Lexa believed it was her - that was all that mattered. After weeks of being unsure of where they stood, if her feelings were even shared, she didn't need anything more.

Lexa wound her arm around her waist, her mouth still as hungry against Clarke's. When they pulled away, she pressed their foreheads together.

“I wish I could see us like you did," she murmured wistfully.

"What would it change?"

“Maybe… maybe if I knew I was good enough for you… If I was sure that I wouldn’t- that I wouldn’t hurt you-"

Clarke shook her head. "Don’t fill your head with thoughts like that. Let's just be here, together, and worry about the rest when it comes. I know it's hard for you, but this - us - right now… it's good, isn't it?"

Lexa nodded. "It's the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."

Relieved, Clarke tucked her head beneath Lexa's chin. "Then just be with me. You can be happy, baby. You have a right to it. Don't let anyone or anything tell you otherwise."

Eventually they made their way back to Lexa's car, neither of them interested in picking up their leisurely pace.

"I'm sorry we ended up walking so much," Lexa said.

"You fed me beforehand, so it's forgiven."

Lexa smiled. "Good to know."

Before they reached the parking lot, Clarke decided to ask what had been on her mind: "I know you said Costial feels like home to you; that you found your place here, but… do you see your future here? Because this is it for me. And I'm… I like you, Lex. I like you a lot. I don't want to be an interlude. I don't think I could take it."

"Clarke," Lexa stepped closer to her. "You're not an interlude, you're - God, you've been in every act of my life here. I don't want to go anywhere. I- I want to be with you. That's what I know for certain. Is that alright for now?"

"It is."

Lexa kissed her softly and then smirked. "I may not have had erotic visions of myself entwined with a hot local, but I still want to stay here."

Clarke shoved her playfully. "I don't even like you anymore."

They laughed the whole way to the car.

* * *

It seemed like a tradition already; Lexa walking her to her door while Clarke racked her mind for a way to linger. When they finally arrived she leaned against her door and sighed.

"Tonight was amazing."

Lexa hummed. "I'm glad."

"I'm definitely taking you out this weekend," Clarke said.

"You are?" Lexa asked, tilting her head to kiss her again.

Clarke closed the gap as she wrapped her arms around her neck. The kiss was slow; amatory, but as always it could not go on for too long before hands wandered.

"I hope you have sweet dreams," Lexa said, her eyes hooded and her lips slightly redder.

"Oh I will."

Lexa glanced at her mouth. "If I pay you a visit again maybe you could keep a journal close by. I'd love some notes on my performance."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Remind me why I ever told you?"

"What? That we lasted hours?" Lexa husked.

Right. Clarke narrowed her eyes and let her hands slowly drag down Lexa's arms. Now, Clarke wasn't innocent. She knew fully what made her look good, even when her coat was buttoned up. She had let Lexa tease her and goad her about the vision all night, and she had kept her retort to herself. But no more.

She pressed her body closer to Lexa's, unmistakably provocative with the way their breasts touched.

“Make fun all you want, Lexa, but remember this: I’ve seen all of you while you haven’t seen an inch of me.” She felt Lexa’s hand tighten on her waist. “I’ve felt your body against mine. Your mouth on my thighs. I’ve felt your tongue inside me.” She glanced down at Lexa's lips and then back up, proud of the gobsmacked look on her face. “So you can tease me. You can push my buttons. I can take it. But you? You only have your imagination." She stepped back and gave her sultriest smile, "And trust me, it’s got nothing on reality.”

She turned around and quickly unlocked her door, then looked over her shoulder. "Thanks for the date, baby."

As soon as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, Clarke knew she'd just played a dirty hand. But Lexa had teased her at all night and all was fair in lust.

With a wicked grin, too pleased by the night's events, Clarke took off her coat and slipped out of her shoes and socks. And because she just couldn't resist one last look, she walked to her window and waited. Finally she saw Lexa walk out of the building. She seemed unfocused, going right and then left, forgetting where she'd parked.

But then she stopped and turned around.

Clarke's smile fell. Just watching Lexa like this, seeing the effect she had on her… it changed something. She had closed the door in the spur of the moment - because they were good at testing each other. Because she had thought tonight should end there, on another game of theirs.

But she didn’t want to play anymore.

And maybe Lexa realized it too. She looked up and found her apartment's window.

Their eyes met.

Clarke reached out for the curtain, gripping it so tight her knuckles went white. She couldn't look away from those eyes in the moonlight if she tried. Even if the ground started shaking beneath their feet.

"Lexa-" she started before stopping herself. It had to be Lexa's decision. Clarke had already made hers. She couldn't call out to her. Not for this. Lexa had to choose.

Clarke held her breath, unsure she'd even be able to leave this spot if Lexa did walk away after all. Until-

Lexa bolted back toward the building.

Clarke watched her disappear from view and then heard her intercom. She rushed toward it and pressed the buzzer, her heart in her throat. Still barefoot, she pulled the door open and waited. Footsteps thundered up the flights of stairs, closer and closer.

Tonight had not ended. Not yet.

#clarke x lexa #clexa #clexa fic #f: a bit of clarity #w

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lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

made up fic title: i didn't know i was lonely (til i saw your face)

i wanna get better

Howard Stark is the world’s smartest man. Tony knows this, has read it in so many newspaper articles and interviews and magazines that he could probably cut out every single time a journalist writes it and make a new fucking wallpaper out of it.

It’s permeated every single aspect of Tony’s life. The problem is that Tony looks exactly like his father did. Everyone compares everything. How quickly he builds a weapon, how fast it can take for him to churn out an idea.

His humor is the same, way of dressing is the same, and he should be the same. The world needs another Howard Stark for the next lifetime. They don’t need a Tony Stark.

(And maybe...maybe Tony doesn’t mind that. It’s so much easier, to pretend to be somebody else and have them look at that.)

Tony doesn’t make friends. Ever. Friends are not beneficial, and it’s not like they could hang out anyways. Tony reads in books about friends who go to diners together and attend movies and skateboard, but really? He doesn’t have time for that. He has to build things and study business, and get his life all sorted out.

He is sixteen when he goes to college. He feels far too young, and the kind, warm hand of Jarvis’ smoothing out his hair makes the feeling worse.

“You will be fine, Anthony. Study hard, and who knows how quickly you’ll graduate.”

“Of course,” Tony says stiffly.

“Have fun, Tony,” Ana says, grinning. “College can be a fun time.”

It’s not supposed to be fun for him. Howard told him to focus on his studies only. His whole life would be the engineering and business buildings, and maybe he would sometimes get takeout. Maybe he wouldn’t.

Point is, this is just like everything else in his life: the goal was to be exactly like Howard. Graduate top of his class, blow the world away, and have a glass of scotch after a job well done. (Or gin, or whiskey, or hell...all three.)

Rhodey was not a factor. At all.

Tony had thought that his mother had paid extra to make sure her son had a room all to himself. Not out of a desire, no: out of necessity. Can’t have daddy’s little prodigy revealing anything.

And maybe she meant to, but he’s not going to question it. Not when he’s just been staring.

“Hey man,” the guy in the room says. The name-tag on the door says “Jim.”

“Hey,” Tony says. “Good to...sorry. I just...I wasn’t expecting anyone here.”

“Last minute decision. My room decided to burst a pipe. Technical difficulties. They say they’re gonna get it fixed as soon as possible. That a problem for you?”

There’s more to the eyebrow raise, more to the tone. Jim isn’t going to take shit, and he knows who Tony is. He saw it in how his eyes widened for a moment.

Tony likes him. He doesn’t know how it’s going to go later, but for now: Jim is a likable guy.

“Not at all.”

To get used to sharing is definitely interesting. Tony has to get used to a lot, which isn’t a bad thing, but he wasn’t expecting to have to tiptoe at three a.m. while making ramen because Rhodey has something called a “sleep schedule to maintain.”

Tony doesn’t know what the hell that is, but he doesn’t like it.

Jim plays a lot of records, which is...odd. Tony’s never really been one for records, mainly because he’s future-thinking. But the way that Jim smiles when he hears a song and tells Tony a little anecdote about his father’s dancing in the kitchen? That’s good.

So Tony buys some records, and falls in love with one band in particular: AC/DC. He can’t get enough of it.

Jim, apparently, can.

“Oh my god,” he groans, entering their dorm room. “Are you still playing that band?”

“They’re amazing, Jim-Jam,” Tony says, turning it down a bit. “Besides, I thought your bio lab lasted for another hour.”

“It was supposed to, but one of the sorority girls got too flustered with a fraternity guy and then things caught fire.”

“Boo,” Tony says, frowning. “It’s the worst when a lab catches on fire.”

Tony is not expecting Jim to invite him anywhere, take him anywhere. After all, that’s not what school is for, and Tony’s not exactly the world’s best roommate. Besides, their RA said that they didn’t have to be friends, they just had to be good roommates.

(Tony remembers this whenever he forgets to put away his ramen bowl.)

But Jim invites him to a restaurant with a couple of his buddies from ROTC.

“It’ll be fun,” he says, smiling. “Besides, you never go out.”

There’s a reason for that, although people here aren’t really “fanatical” about Tony, thank god.

The dinner turns out to be terrible, because all of the guys just want to talk about Tony’s dad.

“How did he end up getting the better reaction timing on the new pistol, the Stark 77?” A guy named Terry asks.

And Tony freezes.

That wasn’t Howard’s. That was his.

Jim must’ve seen something on his face.

“I, uh, I guess it must’ve just been something with the screw-in method during assembly,” Tony says weakly. “If you’ll excuse me, I just realized I have something to do at home.”

Howard’s been using his designs. No credit.

He spends about ten minutes on the phone. It amounts to this sentence:

“Without me, boy, you’d be nothing. Who do you think paid for school? Private tutors? Advanced textbooks? Who, yourself? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Tony’s red-faced, and the phone gets hung up, and he stares out at the sky for maybe way too long. He forgot his ID to swipe back in, and has to launch little bits of rock at what he thinks is his and Jim’s window.

Jim brings him up and sits with him on a bed.

“I’m fine, honestly.”

“No, you’re really not. Tony, you’re a terrible liar.”

And he is, really. He can lie about so many things, but family and his state of mind are a bit harder nowadays.

He gets hugged.

That’s...holy shit, that’s new. He’s not sure the last time he got hugged by someone he liked. Jarvis tended to like the shoulder-pat, and Ana...well, she loved to hug him, but it had been a while. (Maria and Howard, he was quite sure, had skipped the ‘human emotional intimacy’ section of life.)

“Your dad sucks,” Jim mutters. “Just so you know.”

“I know. I know.”

From then, they become friends. Tony is wondering if its pity. He asks Jim as such. He snorts.

“Tony, I don’t make friends out of pity. I’m not that kind of guy. If we were friends out of pity, I’d be moving out next semester.”

Tony smiles.

He learns how to do friend things. They have a sleepover complete with the greasiest pizza possible, video games, and at least one debate over Star Wars.

(It’s about whether or not the skeletal structure of Jabba the Hut holds up in truth, and how density of space affects him on different planets.)

Tony, somehow, starts calling him Rhodey. It sticks, and Jim doesn’t complain.

Rhodey’s sweaters slowly become Tony’s, and Rhodey teaches Tony all about casual affection.

Hugs before class, kisses on the forehead, and more than enough teasing to last three lifetimes or more.

Come May, everyone’s abuzz with summer plans. Tony, however, is dreading it. Rhodey lives in Virginia, and Tony lives in New York. His mother wants him to live in their summer home in California.

“Oh come on, I know that you’ll have to visit me,” Rhodey says, grinning. “Tell your mom it’s a business trip or something.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were corrupting me,” Tony says haughtily. Half his wardrobe is packed up, and he’s just waiting on Jarvis with the car.

“Of course I am, gotta train you for when you liaison with the government for army contracts.”

Tony laughs loudly.

“Ah, so true. I’ll mark it down as heir-apparent training with my dear, drastically old father.”

Rhodey nods, grinning.

Tony’s leaving a day earlier than Rhodey is.

He hopes he comes back a day earlier.

After all, you can’t wait until you see your friend again.

#howard stark is a stinky stinky man #absolutely do not vibe with him #and yes i was going to make this romantic rhodeytony but i think friendship is equally important #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #i just like how easily they can fit together and i am slowly falling more in love w this ship #thank u ava!#lovelyirony writes #tony stark #rhodey #iron man #war machine

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herohotline · 4 years

Text

Too Many Questions ; No Answers

Keigo Takami x Reader

A/N: small Drabble for keigo! Tried to just force myself to write something, and I love keigo so here u all go... keigo, as a treat.....

In your spare time, you love to read.

Whether it be fictional or nonfiction, a simple article or long winded life story on a recipe online, you enjoyed reading. It was a nice way to pass the time, and often when you read, you find yourself learning something along the way. But books aren’t the only thing you can read.

People were quite fascinating to read as well, which is why you find the number two hero Hawks so unbelievably interesting.

You won’t brag, but you can read people quite well. After living through multiple experiences, good and bad, through it all you’ve learned how to calculate people’s words and intentions quite well. Things said between the lines, eye gazes, all of that, you could pull it apart, if you paid attention. But for whatever reason, you couldn’t figure out Hawks.

He had swept into your life and found you in a rather mundane place- a library. It’s not surprising that given your hobby, you frequent the library closest to your home. It’s a nice, quaint place that has a small coffee shop attached in the corner. In a funny way, it seems like a perfect little place that must have been written in a book- a romantic comedy, it seems like, since it’s also the very same place you met Hawks and he proceeded to flirt with you for reasons still unknown.

Maybe he thought you were cute, but you doubt it. Once you got over the shock of having such a famous person in your vicinity- talking to you, too, you quickly shot down all his bad punchlines and rolled your eyes at his charming smile. Of course it was flattering, and you indulged him by flirting back (but only a little), but you had work to do in the library and he had invited himself as an interruption.

“You know,” you close your book after putting a mark in it, sighing as you look up at him. “You should tell me why you’re trying to pick up people in a library, of all places. Usually people come in here for solace and quiet.”

“Well, it was really for the pick-me-up,” The hero gestures to the coffee cup in his hand, smiling a little cockily. “But I was mostly interested in the book you were reading, so I thought I would chat your ear off.”

This is when you realized that Hawks was a hard man to read. You looked at your book cover, then back up at him. “This? What about it?”

“Well, I have a copy, too,” he reaches inside his coat, surprisingly bringing out a copy that looks exactly the same as yours. But yours has aged around the ages; his is brand new.

Special Abilities: Liberation Front.

“What about this book makes it a good read, hmm?” Hawks scoots into the seat next to yours, apparently chucking all hope that you might get some personal time alone. His tone is friendly, but his eyes are sharp on you. It confuses you greatly.

“Nothing much, honestly… I just like to read, and this book is kind of dated.” You try to avoid his stare by flipping the book back open, looking at the words inside but not reading them. “The ideas in it are a bit fantastical, but interesting. I doubt a real liberation would actually happen. But, I like to explore with my reading. Society is pretty stable as it is now, but it’s interesting to think… Well, what if it was different?” You shake your head slightly, pursing your lips. “That’s not me saying I want it to change, though. It’s just something I think about. Plus, the book was just laying around my dad’s office, honestly.”

Hawk’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and he whistles lowly. “Oh, so you’re a thief, are you? Should I turn you in?” He laughs as you roll your eyes at him. “But… taking your old man’s stuff. You don’t think he’ll be mad?”

Why was he so interested, anyway? That’s what you really want to know. “I doubt it. He’s a busy guy, and it’s just some book. How important could it be?”

The hero nods silently, his gaze dropping to the book in your hands. Most people would think that the conversation has ended, but you can see how it dwells on him. His shoulders are tense, his eyes a little too focused, and as he casually folds his hands together, the grip on them is tight.

But why?

Abruptly, Hawks stands from his seat. His entire attitude has changed, leaving you confused again as he grins down at you. “Well, thank you for letting me take up so much of your time. It’s been…” He scratches his chin as he debates for the word, smiling as he finds it. “Interesting.”

“...I suppose.” You’d rather classify it as odd, but to each their own. “Goodbye, then.”

“Well, hey now!” Hawks whines. “I don’t even know your name!”

You give him a quizzical look. “Why would you need it?”

“...Because I would like to know.”

“No.”

“Hey! Come on, what do I gotta do? Flirt with you some more?”

“Anything but that, actually.” Being hung up on your name makes you even more curious about his intentions, though. First the book, now your name. You lean back in your seat as you look up at him, debating what to do silently before you decide. “Fine, I’ll tell you. But only if you tell me why you’re reading Liberation Front.”

“Me?” He laughs. “Do I need a reason to read a book?”

“Well, apparently so, since you harped on me for mine.”

“That’s fair.” Hawks hums, his foot tapping. One hand is still holding his coffee, which has probably gone cold by now, and another is stuffed in one of his fuzzy coat pockets. You can see the hand fumbling from behind the jacket. “A friend gave it to me. Apparently he wants to write something similar, and wants my opinion on it. But this kind of stuff is boring to me, so I thought I’d ask someone else.” He winks at you. “And you gave me the perfect opinion to swipe and copy.”

...You’re not sure he’s telling the truth. You’re almost certain he isn’t, but he’s trying really hard to get you to buy it, so you let it slide. Whatever the number 2 hero does in his free time really isn’t your business. “...___.” You frown as you give him your family name.

“___,” he repeats slowly, his lips smiling at the edges. “I’ll remember it. Thank you, ___!”

And then he quickly runs off, getting yelled at by the librarian behind her desk as he clumsily apologizes. From the library windows, you watch as he takes off into the sky… But not before he gives his full cup of coffee to some random passerby.

Why did he come in for coffee at a library of all places- if he wasn’t even going to drink it?

#bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #keigo takami #keigo takami x reader #hawks #hawks x reader #hawks bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x reader #bnha x you #mha x you #boku no hero #keigo x reader #takami x reader

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lilydalexf · 4 years

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Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Marasmus

Marasmus only has a handful of fics left at Gossamer, but you can find more X-Files fics at AO3 (as finisterre). Some of my favorites of her stories I've recced here before, including one of the most clever fics you could read, Cellphone (here at AO3), and the lovely, London-set A Candle for Katherine (here at AO3, bonus commentary at LJ). Big thanks to Marasmus for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Mine, yes, older XF in general, no — some of that stuff is amazing. Though I wonder how well fandom operates now there is not a plethora of rec sites. I know of yours and one more Tumblr blog and that’s it. I find it really difficult to find good stories in any fandom unless someone whose taste maps to mine recommends something.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

I look back on it fondly, but it was one of the first things that really hammered it home to me that every grouping throughout life follows the pattern of school.

A lot of people are really talented and funny and kind. Then there are absolute ego-rampaging nightmares who act like lady bountiful in public but do cruel things in private, or chuck their toys out of the pram at the least provocation.

And like school, fandom brings together a disparate group of people who you’re friendly with, but once you leave, the ones you stay in touch with are your friends.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Thank God.

I watched the show pre-widespread internet and mostly when I had almost no money. I didn’t have regular internet access until the third season, and that was only at my incredibly conservative workplace. I didn’t get home internet access until midway through season six. You couldn’t download episodes easily, you couldn’t stream, you just had to wait until it aired overseas. I decided I didn’t care if I was spoiled and that worked for me. In fact for some particularly annoying episodes, I was glad.

I was a newsgroup and mailing list sort of person. Never really did message boards unless a newsgroup counts, though I had a Haven account.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Mostly, how talented people are. I know some are now professional writers, but so many people who didn’t do it as anything but a hobby were also amazing.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I always liked science fiction, oddness and urban legends, so it was kind of made for me. But it was the relationship between Mulder and Scully that kept me around, and after season six, it was the fandom that kept me around. I loved Scully in particular, cos let’s be honest, Mulder can be kind of a twerp at times.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I hung out on alt.tv.xfiles.analysis (a newsgroup), which was one of the smartest boards I’ve ever been on. The threads were full of well-read, erudite people. That led to a site which collated reviews of XF episodes. They mentioned alt.tv.xfiles.creative, and I got there the summer after Gethsemane, which was pretty optimal timing.

I’d take floppy disks into conservative workplace and quietly download the most gloriously filthy fanfic onto them for reading at home on my ancient second-hand Mac.

After that I joined Scullyfic, a mailing list, which was a lovely place to hang out for a while, and got stories through a couple of other mailing lists.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Like my relationship to ice hockey: glad that activity exists and that some people enjoy it, but not watching and not involved myself.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Reading, yes, and writing the odd bit of feedback, but any other fandom involvement didn’t really take. I’ve never found a bunch of people I liked as well as I liked some of the people in XF.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

I am usually more interested in female characters than male ones (the Doctor, Mulder and Jack O’Neill notwithstanding), which is why I only read a bit of m/m slash. I usually develop a perverse dislike for any woobie the fandom loves.

Some favourites are: Samantha Carter and Jack O’Neill, Granny Weatherwax, Furiosa, everyone from The Good Place, Donna Noble, Sarah Jane Smith, Martha Jones and Yasmin Khan, Maia from The Goblin Emperor, Cordelia Naismith and Miles Vorkosigan, General Leia Organa, Rey and Finn, and lately all of The Old Guard, even Booker...

I like nerds, pining, best friends discovering feelings for each other, second chances, redemption narratives, people being sneaky for good ends and stoics who stay stoic through all kinds of misery, only to crack and start crying when they get a happy ending.

Basically, you know Eleanor at the end of the Emma Thompson Sense and Sensibility? That.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

No. I had about four years there where I made up stories about Mulder and Scully on any commute where I’d forgotten a book, but that’s gone now. I watched two episodes of the revival, but it wasn’t for me.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I occasionally wander in and read a bit on AO3, but nothing that deals with anything past season seven. Not interested in William, not interested in domestic fiction, not even interested in post-col any more, which was 100% my crack during XF fandom days. I did read By the Dim and Flaring Lamps [Lilydale note: by @sunflowerseedsandscience] earlier this year. Love a bit of AU historical.

I read lots of different fandoms, though I am between intense enthusiasms at the moment, which always feels a bit odd.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

Yes, but they’re all about 20 years old. Is there such a thing as fandom classics any more? There used to be a litany of stories that ‘everyone should read’. I wonder how well they hold up now.

I think there are waves of writers who come into a fandom and then leave again: I think I was part of a second wave, with the first wave being Mustang Sally, RivkaT, Karen Rasch, Lydia Bower, Nascent etc.

Then there must’ve been a third wave for the revival (and mini-waves in between). I don’t know that group of writers, so I am probably leaving out people who are really good.

One of my favourite Scully voices is Five Years and One Night [Lilydale note: by Shalimar], because of the contrast between her inner monologue as written and how little she actually says.

I really like quieter, thoughtful authors like Michelle Kiefer, Cecily Sasserbaum, Scullysfan, Cofax, Anjou, Maria Nicole, Kipler. Love everything Kel ever wrote.

At one point there were also about three authors called Rachel who were knockout. I like to think Rachel Howard is writing professionally because it’s a waste of talent if she’s not. Rachel Anton had a crazy gift for pacing and wrote a good Krycek.

I really liked Branwell’s strange AU novels, which riff off The Field Where I Died (a wretched episode but so much good writing came from it.) [Lilydale note: Condemned to Repeat It by Branwell is a really long story involving The Field Where I Died.]

Everyone who is reccing other people’s stuff here is also a good writer. (and their taste in recs is — mostly — excellent): http://www.thebasementoffice.com/museaxfnet/museans/TitlesAF.html

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I like The Flexible Concept of Tomorrow. I loved trying to work out the timelines. I like the one about airships and cross-dressing which only exists on my iPhone and in my imagination right now.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

Only an AU, if ever. I am completely at sea with canon.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

In my head. Mostly AUs. Everyone has daemons! It’s an airship! They’re exploring space! It’s mediaeval Slovenia!

Most of my creativity is sucked away by work. Which is good I suppose, as writing fanfic never paid my Netflix subscription.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Reading long-form journalism and non-fiction books.

What's the story behind your pen name?

Well, I changed mine. The first one was picked out of a magazine article about Branwell Bronte, and I liked the shape of the word. Then I got to feel uncomfortable with it because it was a real illness that made people suffer. The current one comes from the shipping forecast when I was a kid.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

No, and also absolutely not. Over my dead body. Over YOUR dead body.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

I took my stories off Gossamer but I don’t remember why. They’re on AO3 now and there are probably stray copies on some archives out there.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

I have made all of these mistakes. All of ‘em.

— On no account offer unsolicited concrit. In fact, do not provide concrit EVEN IF THE PERSON ASKS FOR IT, unless you know them reasonably well and it’s in private.

— Avoid the wank. If you have the perfect riposte to something awful, write it and file it to drafts for two days. If you still want to send it after that, godspeed.

— Write anything you want, and when you start keep going. You can edit later.

— Never put any story into the public sphere unless you’ve had a second pair of eyes on it, preferably the eyes of someone who is willing to say “are you SURE about that?”

Finally, just have fun. Being in the grip of love of story is a wonderful thing, and you never know how long it will last.

(Posted by Lilydale on September 29, 2020)

#new post #old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #marasmus #finisterre

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buckysmischief · 4 years

Text

wish you were here, part 1

Scott Lang x reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Falling in love with someone who lives one the other side of the country is a bitch, but can you make it work?

Warnings: language, long distance, a little angst, fluff

Prompt: Internet friends to lovers

AN: This is for @flowerymoonlight ‘s challenge 💙 also thank you to @saundrasays & @jillybeaner13 for reading over this part for me, I owe you both 💚

I will not be doing a taglist for this mini series

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“Are you sure Sam won’t mind?” Friday’s were date nights for him and Wanda, so when she called that morning and invited you to dinner, you got suspicious. It had been almost a year since your ex found himself a new girlfriend and as your best friend, Wanda had made it her mission to keep your mind off of him - he was a coward and didn’t deserve anymore of your tears. You came home one day and all his belongings, and the huge flat screen that you paid for, were gone. You thought someone had broken in until you found a note in his hand writing that just read “sorry”.

“Date night got moved, he’s got a “business” call with his friend in an hour. It’s fine, really, ask him yourself.” she gestured to the front door of their apartment, Sam walking in seconds later. “Babe, tell YN that date night is cancelled.”

“Hi honey, my day was amazing, thanks for asking.” he said, following it with a kiss so she knew he was messing with her. “Yeah, a buddy of mine in California works in security and he sent us this new system and I have no idea how to work it. I figured with the time difference and our attention spans it would be better to move date night to tomorrow.” Sam didn’t bring up this friend often, you didn’t even know his name, but you were definitely curious.

While Sam cleaned up, you helped Wanda by setting the table. She insisted on doing all the cooking and you learned to just let her have it. It wasn’t long before the three of you were sitting around the dinner table, laughing over empty plates. Being around Wanda and Sam was always refreshing, the mood was always light and the conversation always flowed from one thing to another so naturally. Before any of you knew it, Sam was getting a FaceTime call, “SCOTT! Your friend's name is Scott! Ha!” Sam laughed at your excitement as he walked into his office to answer the call.

Instead of going home, Wanda poured you a glass of wine and decided you were staying, something about Sam always losing track of time when it came to Scott. You were looking through their collection of DVDs when you found an oldie but goodie, Jawbreaker. By the time it started playing, Wanda was back with snacks and blankets.

The movie wasn’t on for long before you had to go to the bathroom, Courtney was being a bitch again so you didn’t worry about missing the rest of the scene. As you were washing your hands, though, you thought you heard your name. You turned off the water and was about to brush it off when you heard it again… coming from Sam’s office?

After sneaking out of the bathroom and down the hall, you found yourself standing to the side of the half opened door, trying to figure out why your name would be brought up by either of them. You were just about to forget about it until you heard it again, “I just don’t think YN would be up for it..”

“Be up for what?” you bursted through the door, causing Sam to throw his phone across the room, coincidently, at your feet. Sam knew he wouldn’t get to it before you, so you quickly grabbed it up and bolted to the living room. “Oh look,” you smiled at the stranger on the phone, “he has a name and a face to match.”

“Ahh, you must be YN. Sam said you were a fallen angel, now I know why.” He was cute, funny, and definitely just winked at you.

“That’s not - I said she was the devil, and THIS is why! Who just bursts into rooms and takes their friends' phones!?” He was still chasing you through the apartment, meanwhile Wanda was laughing so hard on the couch she was almost in tears.

“Awww Sammy, you talk about me?? That- that’s so sweet!” you laugh, trying to dodge the pillows Sam is hurdling your way. He finally pelts one right at your head, causing you to drop his phone. You tried grabbing it, but Sam was faster, “YN, I love you to death, but I will body slam you into the couch the next time you make me chase you ever again.”

“That’s fine, I got what I wanted.” with a smug look on your face, you walked back to your spot on the couch to finish the movie.

Later that night after Wanda and Sam were asleep, you were still up scrolling through different apps when you got a few interesting Twitter notifications.

It had been a few days since you and Scott “met”. You only had a few conversations after that, but this was the most you’ve put yourself out there in a long time and it felt good. Even if he was just a friend, you sensed he was going to be important.

For some reason though, Sam still wasn’t super excited with how close you were getting. “I mean, I love Sam dearly, but he’s not the friend police.” Wanda only gave a shrug before opening her apartment door to the sound of Sam talking to someone on the phone.

“Hey babe,” she whispers, kissing him on the cheek, “who's that?”

Before he could even answer you heard the laugh and knew it was Scott. “So, how is my first ex husband doing?” You tried getting a good look at his screen, but he kept it far from your reach. “You wish, he won't be your ex anything if I have anything to say about it!”

From Sam’s phone you could hear Scott laugh hard before replying, “Aw, Sam, that’s so sweet. We’re not even dating yet and you’re already fighting for us to make it. That's the best man energy I’m looking for.” Scott’s laugh was cut off by Sam ending the call, refusing to play along with whatever that was.

“How close are you two exactly?” Sam has always treated you like a little sister, but ever since Quill left it’s only gotten worse. He felt responsible since he introduced you, but there was no way he could have known that Quill was the biggest asshole in the galaxy. “Because when he asked about you, he called you his “future wife” so what kind of coincidence is that??”

Wanda rolled her eyes, knowing exactly where this was headed. “Babe, relax. They haven't talked that much. But, just thinking out loud...” she paused, “they do have a lot in common..”

“What are you getting at?”

“Nothing, It- it’s a shame he lives on the other side of the country because I think you two would be the perfect couple, but that doesn’t mean you two shouldn’t be friends.” She’d always been able to know what you were thinking without you even telling her, Scott was funny and cute and she was right, if he lived in NYC he’s definitely the type of guy you’d try to date. But he didn’t, and that’s okay.

As you got to know Scott better though, you learned that he was more than just the “funny” one. He was ridiculously smart and clever, more than he gave himself credit for. When he told you that he spent a few years in prison you didn’t believe him, he ended up just sending a picture of his mugshot and links to articles about the trial. Sam was surprised to find out you knew, it wasn’t information Scott just confessed to everyone.

“How did it even get brought up?”

“We were playing 21 questions and I asked him what the most trouble he ever got in, when he first told me I thought he was kidding but after he sent proof I was shocked.” Scott was worried that you’d look at him differently, but if anything it made you respect him more. It also meant that he trusted you, and you should trust him too.

It wasn’t long before you realized you were catching real feelings for him, and Wanda was right, a long distance relationship just wasn’t something you could do right now. You should have seen it coming, prevented it even. Staying up on the phone all night, texting him before Wanda when something random happens, the good morning/ goodnight texts.. You even told him about Quill, turns out Scott knew who he was, vowing to give Sam hell for introducing you to “that asshole” instead of him.

“Oh, so you think you’d be a better boyfriend?”

“There’s only one way to find out.” He became very flirtatious recently and you secretly loved it. Of course, you’d never let him know it.

“How’s a guy like you single, anyway?”

“It’s a funny story actually..” there was a strain in his voice that made you want to tell him he didn’t have to answer, but his tone told you that this was something he needed so say. “I was engaged to a woman, Hope, for almost two years. One day I saw a text from her boss and in one message I found out all the business trips they were taking were actually for pleasure, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, Scotty..”

“No, don’t feel bad. That was almost a year and a half ago, I’m more than over it. I just don’t trust as easily anymore.” As he changed the topic to something more light, you thought about what Sam had said before, how Scott told you things he doesn’t normally tell other people. For a second, you almost let yourself think that he might have some kind of feelings for you, too.

“So, what’s the plan again?” Wanda had insisted Sam’s birthday party be a surprise this year, even throwing it the weekend before his actual birthday so he wouldn’t suspect.

“If you’d stop texting Scott for two seconds you’d remember.”

“Bucky and Steve are taking him out to do whatever his heart desires, while we’re here getting ready. The food should be here in like, two hours, so we’ve got plenty of time. I told Steve they’re not allowed back before 7pm and that I’d text him when we’re done just to be safe. The slackers will show up whenever they please, I guess.”

By slackers she meant Pietro and Clint, they showed up just in time to help lay out the food. They definitely didn’t sample everything they put their hands on, that would be rude. Well, at least they brought alcohol.

Wanda finally texted Steve that everything was ready and not even 10 minutes later they were walking through the door. Sam was greeted to a loud “surprise” from everyone in the room and was quickly prepared to catch Wanda, who threw herself into his arms. It wasn’t until Bucky and Steve fully entered the apartment that you realized there was someone else with them.

“Scott?” As he made his way to you, time felt as if it were slowing down all around you. As silly as it sounds, you never thought you’d actually meet him, or maybe you just didn’t allow yourself to. It didn’t matter though, did it? Here he was, the man you’ve been falling for for months now, standing right in front of you like he had in so many of your dreams. “Is this real?”

Before he could explain, Wanda beat him to it, “I texted him a few weeks ago to see if he wanted to come out, he agreed on the condition it would be a surprise to everyone. He got in last night.”

“A whole day, Scott Lang. You’ve been in the city a whole day!? You were texting me the whole time!” He scooped you up in his arms for a hug, and when he put you down you immediately wished he didn’t.

“The look on your face was definitely worth it.” You’ve seen his smile a hundred times, but none compared to how contagious it was in person.

After that, he never left your side. At first you felt bad because he was Sam’s friend and he was only here because it was Sam’s birthday, but he told you that they just spent the last eight hours together and you didn’t feel as bad. “Besides, I’ll be here a week,” he quickly scanned the room to make sure no one was watching and began to whisper in your ear - it was soft, and deeper than you’ve heard before, “that’s plenty of time to get to know eachother better.”

Blushing, you playfully slap him on the chest and go to refill your drink. You thought it’d be a good idea to double the amount of alcohol that was already in the glass, but quickly decided against it and went for soda instead. There was no way you were going to turn into a drunk idiot in front of him, no way.

“So, do you like your surprise?” Wanda said. With Scott flirting teasing you, you almost forgot this was all her doing.

“Could have given me a warning, Wands..”

“I did, I told you to wear those shoes with that dress.” She pointed to the simple black heels you were wearing that went perfectly with the black dress that was just hanging in the back of your closet. The top was black lace, while the bottom half was silky and flared out. At first you wondered why you were getting so dressed up when you weren’t even leaving the apartment, but brushed it off when she told you it matched the dress code she gave to everyone.

“He’s leaving in a week, what am I supposed to do, seduce him into staying?”

“No,” she laughed, “but don’t ignore your feelings. Everyone knows he likes you too.”

“You’ll never stop meddling, will you?”

“Never.”

“Glad we cleared that up.”

She then wished you good luck and went off to find Sam, but as the night went on her words never left your mind. It had been a long time since you let the thought of Scott liking you back cross your mind, but now with your best friend telling you that he in fact does…

“Whatcha thinking about?” Green eyes and the smell of mint flooded your senses and every thought was lost.

“Nothing important. So, what are you actually doing while you’re here? I’m sure Sam is excited.” There was no harm in testing the waters, right?

“He is, but I was being serious before, I want to get to know you better.”

“The only person who knows me better than you is Wanda, and she knows me better than I do.” He began laughing, and just like his smile, it was even better in person.

“That’s all true, but I have two options for you: take advantage of the time that I’m here, or come back to San Francisco with me for a few days. Or both, I’d be more than okay with both.”

“I’m sure you would, but let’s take it slow? Lunch tomorrow?”

“It’s a date,” he smirked, “right now though you should come listen to the embarrassing story of Sam I’m about to tell.”

Permanent tags (49/50): @sociallyeneptbarnes @hopesbarnes @saturn-aka-six @stuckonjbbarnes @superavengerpotterstar @estillion14 @sleepingspacedragon @geeksareunique @infj-slytherclaw @imsoft-barnes @piper-koko-barnes-rogers @murdermornings @distractedgemini @screaming-fridge @readeity @whatinthyworld @my-drowning-in-time @valkyriesryde @starbxcks @buggy-blogs @hey-its-grey @pinknerdpanda @brokenthelovely @theannoyingnightmarecollector @death-unbecomes-you @rhymesmenagerie @ptrprkrss @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @mushyjellybeans @https-bucky @also-fangirlinsweden @goalexis123 @missmeganrachel @sunflowersandcherry @miraclesoflove @matsumama @reann-loves-sebstan @thinkoutsidethebex @thefridgeismybestie @niall2017 @maddope @imagine-all-the-imagines @thummbelina @m3ga1nsp1r3d @starspangledseb @thebadassbitchqueen @king-seb @nerdy-bookworm-1998 @bonkyboinkybucky

#celebratinguswriters #scott lang x reader #scott lang imagine #social media au #mcu fanfic #marvel #wish you were here #fluff #angst #pining #internet friends to lovers

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anarchist-soupkitchen · 3 years

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ooop its a really long essay

A brief list of why the Tories is pretty rubbish

Before we start, I have a few things to say. As this is intended for UK audiences it might be a little difficult for people outside of the UK to understand the wording of certain topics, I will include somethings that need more explanation up here but if I do not include it here, please feel free to ask down in the comments.

Tory: someone who is a part of the conservative right

Anglicanism: the English church’s version of Christianity

This essay is a PERSUASIVE ESSAY this means its BIASED I hope you could tell from the title. This essay is from the view of someone who is white I am not trying to speak over people of colour on issue like race and I encourage you to look at non-white creators within the UK to get views on this matter.

I am pretty armature when it comes to my writing so do not expect something ground-breaking. And with that out of the way, let us begin.

1. The tory party we know today was founded in 1834, you would think that would be plenty of time for its members to grow and shape the party into the best organization it can be. But with the tory party still stuck on the same ideas that Anglicanism is the only true religion, and that queer people should not have rights you would think that the party is straight out of the early 20th century, or still stuck on the same ideas the party was founded upon. It does not matter what side you are on and how your choice to view the tory party, people can agree on the prominent figures inside the tory party from old to recent. An example of a prominent tory of old was Winston Churchill a well know racist who also, coincidentally got us through WW2 when he was appointed by Chamberlin. He fostered such views that white people should govern over the “primitive” black and indigenous people of Africa and that Indian people “bred like rabbits”. To anyone who knows their UK history, 1983 was a very eventually year for politics and the UK as a whole. You now have to wear seatbelts in the front seats of cars, the dismembered victims of serial killer Dennis Nielsen are found in his London flat, unemployment was on a record heigh since the 1930’s and a general election found that Margaret Thacher was to be the next prime minister after a landslide win in the polls. Over the course of her 11-year reign of terror she periodised free-market capitalism and privatised public sectors including transport, railways and mines. Then because she did not like the Scottish government, she through a hissy fit and closed all mines in Scotland. Just like that she fucked up the economy, where in the big mining areas of the past are still experiencing the aftershocks today. I remember my granny telling me how she made up food packages for the miners around town and how it was so devastating to the town’s economy. Everyone was unemployed and starving, even my grandad. These examples really show that the Tories will support people who are the worst in British society if they have the parties’ interests at heart. You would think the tory party cannot get any worse but with modern polices such as pledging to get 50,000 nurses for the NHS while only giving them a 1% pay rise, which is only £7.78 for a low band nurse, by 2023. Or being “tough on crime” even though 96.4 crime were recorded by every 1000 people in 2019. You can see how tough they are about carrying out their polices. Let me tell you my favourite of the lot, Boris Johnston, our current PM, wants to limit immigration by 100,000 people. They want to only let in “the brightest and the best,” what a load of shite. Our immigrants are the backbone of our society doing everything people like the Tories would not even dream of doing. Imagen seeing Boris working in a McDonalds or in your local call centre. That fucker probably has not worked a day in his life. According to the migration observatory, migrants make up 50% of the low pay workforce. Either way you look at it, its abysmal. The government should do more for these people that letting them rot in a McDonalds or in a low paying job. If you have taken time to be a model citizen, train and get your qualifications, possibly learn a new langue to mover over to a shitty wet rock I do not see any problem with the government providing necessities to get you started in your new life. We have got the money.

2. Can I ask you, what side do you think Boris Johnson is on? I will let you think for a moment. The Working class makes up more than half of our population according to the BBC’s class calculator. They say that a government is reflective of the people’s views and I think that is bullshit. Out of the working-class eligible to vote, who do vote, only three in ten vote conservatives. Do you want to know why people in the working class do not vote tory? Because under tory leadership since 2010, 6000,000 more children and their families were forced into poverty. The need for foodbanks skyrocketed 12.3% in the last five years and that is no even accounting for the pandemic. It is clear by now; I have given you enough time to think. “we know whose side Boris Johnson is on- the billionaires, the bankers and the big business.”- labour shadow chancellor, John McDonell. We know the conservatives are very busy committing acts of voter suppression and giving money to their friends instead of caring about you. They are buzzy introducing laws that make it mandatory to have voter ID in order to vote. If you do not make it free people will stop coming. The electoral commissions think 3.5 million voters just will not come back. this is all a part of, “takle[ing] every aspect of electoral fraud”- tory manifesto. It is well known that many rich people have been investing in the party for quite a while. Here is just a few: Anthony Bamford head of machinery in JCB, he gave £12.1 million since 2005. Charles Cayzer owns a shipping tycoon, he gave £480,00. Did you also know, Boris is known to be very generous when it comes to giving back. You’ve probably herd in the news about the conservatives handing out £3mil in contracts to tory owned covid PPE companies over the course of the pandemic. Some of that went to a MP, Nadim Zahawi who is a shareholder in SThree. SThree was given £1mil in contracts over the course of the pandemic. With all the evidence I have given above you’d think the government its rolling in it, I suspect they are but I doesn’t look like it from the outside. They have cut funding to courses drastically, as well as benefit schemes. Like cutting access for eighteen- to twenty-year-olds to the housing benefits. Yet with all the money they been cutting away from services and councils who desperately need it they still have enough money to cough up a commission for a royal yacht named after the duke of Edinburgh, costing over £200 million. Seems sweet does it, name a yacht after the ghoul of Edinburgh, right? You probably know the just of it now, your wrong. Not only is the yacht being paid for by taxpayers, but they are also naming it in honour after a racist. Or how the BBC would phrase his words as “memorable one-liners”. Here is a selection I find quite fitting: “The Philippines must be half empty if you’re all here running the NHS”- while meeting with a Filipino nurse. “If you stay here much longer, you’ll be all slitty-eyed”- he said to a group of British students while on a royal visit to China. My favourite must be “It looks like it was put in by an Indian.”- referring to and old-fashioned fuse box in Edinburgh. He is supposed to be the duke of the bloody place! I really like how one article what I read put it “[Prince Philip] screams out loud what other racists like him have learned how to conceal and camouflage in what they think and project as civilised demeanour.”- Hamid Dabashi.

3. What I find absolutely astounding, is the Tories inability to show compassion to the people who have nothing. If you did not know the vagrancy act among other things crimeless the homeless and rough sleepers, which is by far a very bad mixture with the recent homelessness statistics, homelessness has risen 28% since labour was last in office and if the Tories continue down the path they are now, it is only going to keep rising. What you would find is most shocking is that there’s solutions for the homeless crisis right in front of us, what the Tories must to not be able to see. Layla Moran of the liberal democrats thinks they “must take a more compassionate and holistic approach, starting by scrapping the vagrancy act”. I think that would be a step forward and away from the old ways of prosecuting people for not being as fortunate as the rest of us, but there is something even more simple than that. Repossessing the 200,000 buildings that have been vacant in the UK for more than six months. Not only would that put a sizeable dent in the houses we need, but it also saves space. The UK is small collection of islands and I do not think the Tories can see that. We do not have the land available to just start building everywhere while leaving all those homes empty and unfilled. Its not a way to solve the housing crisis and its certainly not a way to save the money we supposedly need. Even the homes the Tories are building are left dormant because they are too expensive for the area, they are located in. With the way things are going the Tories will have to build more houses than they ever built before, because by 2041 homelessness is expected to doble. That is 400,000 more households if things do not change -a study by heriot-wat university. The evidence suggests that whatever the Tories are doing to end homelessness it is not working. Everything is not as bleak as I just told you though, the conservative has ended homelessness before. In the hight of the pandemic the conservatives got 90% of all rough sleepers off the streets and put them in hotels or hostels. This helped people apply for benefits, find jobs and get some more permanent assistance. People was helped during the pandemic, but when the funding ran out last July, homeless and the rough sleepers in the hotels and hostels where back out in the streets again. Alone and forgotten by the government that promised to end the very crisis they are apart of years ago. Theis shows that the Tories have the money to help the unfortune but they would rather sit on their arses chatting about what colour they should paint the walls of their house. More recently the Torie introduced a law what will fine people for sleeping in doorways. It really shows what the Tories care about, getting linings for their pockets. The Tories have the money to stop homelessness and when it was a danger to them, they stopped the issue what has been so recuing in our politics for decades. They helped the people who so desperately needed it only to chuck them back into the cold when covid-19 was no longer a danger to them.

4. The conservatives fail to keep minorities safe in the society that they created. It is not surprise that the Tories are the most incompetent as ever. A study by BBC radio 5 found that hate crimes have doubled since 2013. An optimist would assume that is great, that there must mean that people have been reporting it more, right? Partly so. Although we have seen a rise in reports of hate crimes, the rate of prosecution has dropped down from 20% to just 8%. And that is just the tip of the iceberg, in a survey of faith-based organizations; the home office found that seven in ten of the employees surveyed has never reported a hate crime to the police where one happened. For a country where we are supposed to be the most tolerable it is no surprise that a big portion of the hate crimes committed are ones where the religion the victim followed played a big part. Our population, like many others, is influenced by our politicians. After Boris described Muslim women in burkas as “letterboxes” in an interview; citizen UK found that there where a surge in hate crime directed to Muslim women where the word “letterbox” was used. Again, continuing with the theme of hate crime against religions, Muslims made up half of the statistics in 2018 – 2019. The biggest spike we have seen in the last few years has been to Jewish people, where hate crimes against them have more since doubled. It is not a surprise since people seem to relate being a ‘good’ Jew to being a Zionist. Other minorities like trans youth under sixteen in England and whales now must go through everything that goes with puberty on top of not wanting to have the body you cuntly have all because TERF’s and conservatives do not think puberty blockers should be available to them. At this point I genuinely think they want trans kids dead, how could you not see that the benefits of puberty blockers far out way the potential consequences. If puberty blockers really where the target they would have taken them of the shelfs completely, but they did not do that did they? They just restricted the rights of an already marginalised group more. Its not just trans kids but the fight for a third gender to finally get recognised is still waging on despite it being a battle since 2018. The government petition has been signed 136,000 times demanding non-binary finally be recognised as a valid gender in the eyes of the law. I hope I can get recognised as well as everyone else. It may not seem a big deal to some of you reading this but it is to thousands. Especially the people who want to go on hormones and medically transition. Because right now I and many other people are restricted and not allowed to get that service. If you are in the UK and you are of age, I urge you to signs the government petition. In other news the conservatives are just now getting to outlawing conversion therapy three years after they announced they would do so. It just shows how the party is not on target. On the topic of not on target let us talk about the increasing number of racial minorities becoming homeless because of lack of funding to their communities. Since the conservatives got into power in the 2010 racial minorities now make up 40% of all homeless despite being only 15% of the current population. It really shows how much they care about anyone who is not white. Yet people like my gran will continue to say they are doing enough for these underfunded communities.

the tory party really has nothing going for them, they are certainly not for the working class, they cannot solve homelessness and they do not give two fucks about minorities. To think anyone would vote form them is just amazing. Its fucking stupid to believe that they are anything but a bunch of rich shites dawdling around and thinking up ways to get more money into their pockets. To end this really all over the place essay, if you vote tory you are a massive twat.

Sources in comments:

#essay #uk #uk politics #uk politics essay #persuasive essay #tory government #tory #left wing politics #conservatism #conservtive #if any reads this well done #im sorry #its long #heehee hastags go burrr

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argumentl · 4 years

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The Freedom of Expression Ep 3 - Michelin Star related suicide.

K: Hi, this is Dir en grey's Kaoru, getting started with the third episode of The Freedom of Expression.

J, T: Yep.

K: Joe Yokomizu san and Tasai san are here again. So, how are we doing, after the second time?

Kami:*interrupts*

J: Ah, He's cutting in early today.

Kami: Yes, yes, yes. Im thinking a lot about my timing.

J: You're entering from every possible angle?

Kami: Yes, thats it.

K: What do you think after the first two episodes? We are on our third today, but does it seem interesting?

K: As a god, im kinda out of things to say.

J: Really?

Kami: Yep

J: You would think a god would know about all sorts of things.

Kami: I don't know all that much. *K laughs* Im studying, Im working on it.

T: Last time, the suspicion arose that he was poverty stricken, didnt it?

J: Yes, he pointed out he was a poverty stricken god.

Kami: I told you not to say that! *K laughs*

T: Sorry..

Kami: Its a problem.

K: After we finished last time, we ended up talking a lot about money, didn't we?

J: Yes, we did. *everyone laughing*

Kami: Yep, yep.

J: After the recording, Kami spoke non stop about money, didn't he? He is really attached to it..for a god. You'd think he'd be the one least interested in that, but he turns out to be the one most interested.

Kami: It wasn't that bad until then. It wasn't like that back on the radio show. It really has become a problem recently.

J: Oh now?

T: I see.

Kami: Yes, now.

K: Right, well, our third episode...

J: Yes, the title is 'Suicide resulting from Michelin stars - In the lawsuit of a former 3 star Michelin star chef, the court rules that....'

This is concerning the Michelin guide which was even popularised in a TV drama last year. In its country of origin, France, there is so much pressure, the fear of losing a star can even lead to suicide. A Chef who lost his third star even filed a lawsuit against Michelin. As for the specific story, Marc Veyrat, who runs the famous restaurant 'La Maison des Bois' in the Alps, recieved the long awaited 3 star rating in 2018. Just one year later, this dropped to a 2 star rating. Veyrat responded angrily, 'The quality of my food hasn't changed at all. Its a mistake in the inspection', and brought the case against Michelin. As well as demading the inspector's qualifications and the report to be made public, as his demotion has led to him to falling into a state of depression, he is suing Michelin for the sum of just 1 Euro, or in yen, 120 yen. He has been telling the media of his discontent that the inspectors could not recognize the cheese Reblochon, from the Savoy region, and probably mistook it for the widely produced cheddar cheese. Nanterre courthouse in the suburbs of Paris responded, that as well as the evaluation of the inspector coming down to freedom of expression, the plaintiff did not show good enough reason that his reputation had been marred. The famous chef was defeated, but the agony of chefs over the star rating is becoming a problem in society. By the way, simply put, the standard for the inspection, or the standard for the stars, is the food only. Not the restaurant interior, or the service. The food is assessed on the following five criteria. 1) The quality of the ingrediants. 2) The level of skill and amount of seasoning. 3) Originality. 4) Cost performance. 5) The consistency of the presented dishes on the whole. This is the same all over the world. As for the meaning of the stars, this is as follows. One star = Food that is particularly delicious within its category. Two stars = Spectacular food that is worth making a detour to have it. Three stars = Excellent food that is worth specifically traveling just to have it. The report is produced by a group consisting of the inspectors, the chief editor and all other responsible parties for the Michelin guide book. Every year they recieved around 45,000 emails and letters from thier readers, which they look through, and sometimes even do re-evaluations. ....Food!

K: Food...

J: Yep...I mean, reputation really controls which restaurants we go to. Kaoru, what do you think?

K: Hmm, well, its an inspection isnt it?

J: Yes, its an inspection.

K: I was in Paris last year. There are loads of these aren't there? * the others laugh*

J: Well, yes. So, he didn't change anything about his food, but his rating still dropped, whats that all about?

K: Isn't it precisely because he didn't do anything new?

J: Oh, could it be that? If others are upping thier game, you will naturally drop.

K: There couldn't really be someone who mistook it for mass produced cheddar cheese.

J: You'd think, wouldn't you?

K: And then, maybe people are just different, no matter what it is. Even if its the same person..

J: Maybe they were feeling bad or something..

K: Hmm, an inspection is...Well, if it was sports or combat sport or something..the observers can easily judge the game, like..oh this one definitely won...But with music, or movies....appraisals of 'things', its different depending on the person isnt it.

J: Yes, you're right.

K: This type of guide is for people who want to expand thier knowledge, the Michelin guide ...For movies it would be the Academy Awards, and there are tv shows doing the same thing. Its just to make things easier for people...so, in the end, it seems like it can't be helped really.

J: Well, thats it, yes. I dont know about Michelin, but Im in the position to do album reviews, so im in the place to award stars...and, its true, if its a genre you like, you just naturally like it, and are prone to jacking up the stars, but if its a genre you don't listen to, you feel unfamiliar and it takes a while to figure out whether its good or bad. So certainly, as for awarding stars.. asking people, well, im just repeating what you said Kaoru, its not objective information. You have to try and think about the aim. If the orgainisation drops a star from you it doesn't necessarily mean you are bad..

K: Its like a contest or that type of thing, you can still see who's winning the game..

J: Like 1-1, you can see whos winning in front of you, the circumstances are a little different from this though.

K: Eventually, won't it affect thier sales though?

J: I think so.

T: Don't you think diners also rely too much on this kind of guide?

K: You can check anything on your smartphone, you don't really know whats true.

J: You don't, there are these restaurant review sites where some people are paid to write good reviews, and some people are paid to write bad reviews, you know, to destroy thier rivals they will write bad stuff...So its difficult to know how far to trust that type of thing. By the way, Kaoru, do you refer to reviews in relation to food, or new music or anything like that?

K: Well, I do, yes. Guides and such...Usually, I get information I want to know from all over the place. I ask people, like..'I want to eat this', or 'I wonder if that place is good' or something, I ask people what they think.

T: But when you want to go to see a movie, do you ask someone who likes movies?

K: I'll read what someone has written about it, or I'll read what they've posted on social media.

J: The main thing is listening to people you can trust.

K: Yes, thats it.

J: Someone you are familiar with, or some well-informed person. Also someone you see eye to eye with.

T: Thats right.

J: If you go out for food with someone, and they say 'this is delicious', if you ask them what else they like, it will be the same kind of things that you like.

K: Really, I've never been to a two star or three star Michelin restaurant * the others laugh*.

J: Well, this internet age isn't going to end...

T: Right

J: Just how far will people trust this kind of assesment, or star rating?

T: Joe, have you ever been hassled by anyone because of this? By artists or such?

J: I havn't actually...I write what I didn't personally like, and sign my name with a star rating, then, 'this is what I think, but what do YOU think', to continue the conversation.

K: Our boss in our office, he was in a band a long time ago, and he got angry about something that was written in a magazine, so he stormed over to the magazine headquarters * the others laugh* He might ????*1

J,T: Your boss, wow!

J: What was the magazine?

K: Oh, I don't remember..*laughing*

J: Which of them has the freedon of expression? *laughing*

K: They are both clashing with each other.

J: The moment their freedom clashed *laughs*

T: But, Ive heard that kind of story before...A hip hop artist or something, went to a magazine and tried to restrain or kidnap the editor. He took it that seriously.

J: Well, in a music magazine, if you write an article, its the same with interviews, you dont know whether the other party will see or hear it. For me, after editing, I think its good to show it to the artist once. Im only writing my ideas, and there are times where thats not the reality.

For interviews, you dont necessarily hand over the questions in advance, and if im just asking at random, the artist may feel on the spot and not be able to say what they really feel, so i think its good to show them once, to get the facts right. With reviews too, i think showing them what i intend to write is important. But there are magazines where the boss doesnt get the content checked, 'you said it, so take responsibility', kind of thing. Thats a bit harsh, i think.

T: Well, yes. With interviews, I think its good to show the person. Protecting freedom should be kept independent.

J: Yes, yes, you are free to write what you think, but this is also keeping it real by checking if artists are holding responsibility for what they say. They decide whether they can really say that after checking it first.

K: There are times when you wish you'd used more words..

J: There are! Of course, its limited to the time and place of the interview, for example 1 hour, the time is squeezed. You have to get on with it, with little explanation..sometimes you need to supplement that.

T: Yes, you're right.

K: What do you think, Kami?

J: Kamiii?

Kami: *stifled laugh* Yes, what?

J: I don't know how to address him.

Kami: No no, don't worry about that, we are short on time.

K: Yes, our third installment is ending.

J: It felt quick today..somehow.

K: Originally, one episode was supposed to have two news items.

J: Yeah, i thought that.

K: But it didn't work that way, did it?

J: No, it didnt. What do the viewers think? Is one item enough? Or do they want two items at a faster pace?

K: If its too long, they won't be able to watch it.

J,T: Right.

T: A shorter video is better.

J: As for raising the number of views, right?

K: We talk about quite difficult stuff too, we should try to break into it as much as we can, make it interesting. Oh, and Kami, even his voice is interesting.

J: Its enough.

K: Well, that was the third installment, please tune in next time.

K, J, T: Thank you very much.

*1 I couldn't catch this.

#dir en grey #the freedom of expression #TFOE #kaoru #薫

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emeraldeyes23 · 4 years

Text

Day 2 - Fictober/Fantober 2020

"Tea And Coffee"

„Ouch!"

"Eiji, I know you're new, but can you please pay attention to what you're doing? Many people are waiting for their coffee. So hurry up and stop daydreaming.", Shorter scolded him.

"Sorry!", Eiji apologized immediately and continued preparing people's orders.

He was new in New York. After his pole-vaulting accident, he had gotten a scholarship for college here with Ibe's help. He also worked on some photography projects with him to earn some money on the side. Those projects earned him only money occasionally, though, and money was tight in an expensive city like New York. So, he had taken a part-time job at a café in Manhattan.

Still, he had some difficulties adjusting to the quick pace and the morning rush hour in Manhattan. Manhattan was never standing still; people constantly hurried from one place to another without resting or taking a break. The rush hour with all the people and their complaints, demands and special requests were hard to handle for a country bumpkin like him. It was only his first week, though.

While working, Eiji cast a glance at the only guest who was completely unfazed by all the hectic around him. According to Nadia and Shorter, who owned the café, he was a regular and a good friend. He always sat at the same small table in a corner each day, drinking coffee and reading a newspaper or a book. He never communicated with anyone but Shorter and Nadia, so he just knew he was called Ash. He just sat there reading and seemed to have forgotten the world around him. There was something about him that had caught Eiji's attention. All his co-workers had already made fun of him because he had no poker face, and they had noticed that he was interested in him. They always told him to serve Ash coffee because he knew how flustered he got when approaching him.

Ash looked handsome with his golden, messy hair. Some strands were always falling into his face and hiding his emerald green eyes. Some glasses were resting on the top of his head, and his table was covered in papers, books and newspaper articles. Eiji had never seen anyone who could turn such a small table in utter chaos in under 30 seconds. Despite his young age, he looked like an absent-minded professor.

He had a slim build and was so large and handsome, he could be a supermodel without making an effort. Yet, he had a dangerous aura and an intense gaze that told people to keep their distance. Behind his sarcastic smirk and his green eyes, however, Eiji saw a lonely boy, and sometimes there was such a deep sadness in his eyes that broke Eiji's heart. He desperately wanted to make him laugh or smile, but he didn't know how to do that.

This was his first week, so he didn't know anything about him, except for the rumors circulating about him, which went from a ruthless businessman with ties to the mafia to him being an evil genius. Eiji ignored all of them, knowing perfectly well that rumors were rarely true.

Ash always isolated himself as if there was an invisible wall between him and all the other people. He always kept to himself and flinched at the slightest touch or move in his direction. And the way he always paid careful attention to his surroundings, and of the door, the rear exit and all the customers told Eiji there was more to him than met the eye.

Still, while preparing coffee and tea for the usual business people frequenting this place, he occasionally threw glances Ash's way. This time, however, Ash had caught him, and their gazes met for a fraction of a second. Eiji was so shocked he'd been noticed that he took a step back and nearly spilled the freshly prepared beverage. Luckily, he found his balance again and avoided a disaster at the last second. But when he looked in Ash's direction again, he saw a tiny smile on his face before his poker face returned.

"So, he can smile.", Eiji muttered to himself while preparing the next order, grinning in satisfaction.

_____________

Ash sat at the usual table at the café. He always came here because his best friend Shorter worked here. He was a pain in the ass and always pulled him into his mess with his crazy ideas and stunts, but he always had his back and knew how to cheer him up. The café belonged to his sister Nadia who had more or less raised Shorter on her own and, in part, him as well. If things got bad, he had always escaped here. So, Nadia was like a big sister to him who was strict but had a heart of gold. He liked to chat with them when they had time. But today, it was so crowded that chat would have to wait for later. Ash drank his coffee and then read the newspaper, trying to figure out how to continue his novel. His first novel had surprisingly landed on the bestseller list, and now everyone had high expectations for his next novel. His editor had told him that the writing was excellent, but it was too dark and gloomy. She suggested adding some cheerful scenes to the story to lighten up the mood a little. Really funny, Ash thought, it's more or less an autobiography relating his dark past, only written from someone else's point of view. How was he supposed to add some lighter scenes into that when his life had been literal hell? He rummaged through the paper, and when he was finished, he sighed deeply, opened his notebook, and tried to decipher the handwritten notes his editor had added to his manuscript. Maybe if he observed the other customers, he would get some new ideas for his book. Since he had a pretty dark past, he had never dropped the habit of observing people around him, checking every room for exits, people for weapons, and always watching the entrance. However, if he was perfectly honest, he hadn't been observing the people or the entrance as much as he used to. He had been too busy watching the new guy working behind the counter. At first, he had been annoyed because he kept staring at him and didn't even try to hide it. He had also caught him how he had secretly taken some photos of him with his camera, probably encouraged by Shorter, who had looked at the photos and had grinned wickedly. Still, there was something about the new employee that made him feel better. His name, Eiji, according to his name tag, sounded Asian. Shorter had told him he was Japanese and studi Eiji stood there, speechless for once while the whole room went silent.

Eiji's face immediately went red with embarrassment while he fidgeted with the sleeves of his hoodie.

"I'm so sorry. Somebody bumped into me and I lost my balance. Are you ok?", he asked while handing him a clean towel to dry himself. Ash thanked him and wiped the tea out of his face and his sweater. Eiji was rambling on much too fast, so Ash couldn't keep up with everything he said. But he heard the last two phrases.

"Can I make it up to you? Will you go out with me?"

Ash stared at him in surprise for a moment, then burst out laughing until tears emerged in his eyes. "Thank you, Eiji. You just made my day.", he replied, still laughing.

After a moment, realization of what he had said flashed in his eyes and he looked down at the floor in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I meant to say "Can I invite you to a coffee somewhere else to make up for it?", he explained, obviously feeling uncomfortable.

"It's fine. You don't have to do that. But if it makes you feel better, you can invite me for coffee tomorrow." Eiji beamed at him. "Sure!"

"What about your clothes?", Eiji asked, looking at his damp sweater.

"It's fine. It's just water. What isn't fine is that you served me tea again.", Ash complained while glaring at him. This time, Eiji couldn't hide his smile anymore.

"This isn't funny, Eiji! I hate tea. You should know that by now.", he scolded him. When he saw Eiji's smile, he knew that he hadn't hidden his own smile fast enough.

"I'm sorry. I'll remember it next time.", he apologized. "But I'm so happy I've finally seen it.", Eiji replied honestly, still smiling.

"Seen what?"

"Your smile."

In the background, Shorter grinned mischievously at him. Smug bastard.

#Banana Fish #Ashlynx #Okumuraeiji #Fantober2020 #Fictober2020 #My writing #Fanfiction #My fanfic

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wifeofkimtaehyungofbts · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3

Pairing: Jimin x Y/N

Synopsis: How do you help someone with their emotions if you don’t feel emotions? When your brother’s best friend dies in a tragic car accident and he spirals downwards in depression, you devote yourself to helping him out of his misery. But when his other best friend becomes suicidal following the loss, it isn’t merely about helping them. It’s about saving them.

Word count: 2000+

*****

I leave the office much later than planned. The big clock on the wall opposite to my desk show the time as 11.11pm and I mentally slapped myself for getting carried away with work as I rushed to pack my bags.

I tore down the stairs, almost tumbling while running as fast as my legs would carry me. By the time I exit the building, the navy-blue shirt is shades darker drenched in sweat and annoyingly sticking to my skin. Beads of sweat drip down my back slowly adding to my frustration. Fortunately, as I reach the bus stop, a white bus with blue strips across the sides is already parked and revving its engine signalling it is ready for departure. Just as it begins pulling away, I get onto it and relax against the cold seats of the bus as I make my way back home.

During the short seven-minute walk back home from the bus stop I get off at, I stopped by the fast-food joint just around the corner to my neighbourhood. A big TV hangs on the wall adjacent to the cashier, a good time-passer for customers as they await their order. Standing behind 4 men in line to place my order, I stare at the TV purposelessly. A football documentary was playing loudly, the sound echoing from somewhere across the room. Almost everybody else at the fast-food joint was watching the documentary in tensed silence and awe.

The program suddenly changes to the breaking news. Annoyed sighs break out in the small space and I tune into the news. After staring at my office computer for hours at a stretch my eyes strain and hurt when I blink as I stare at the TV.

Great. So much for wanting to watch a movie during dinner tonight.

The brunette at the news desk seemed quite firm and had an authoritative stance. She has been a host for this channel for as long as I remember. Her first appearance as a news reporter was when I was in eighth grade.

What must it be like to get your dream job?

I have no big complains about my job. I got it with minimum qualifications with no prior work experience because I’ve never been a model student, scoring average at both academics and sports. As a young big dreamer, I wanted to be a news reporter, then a sales woman and even a café owner. Ultimately, I settled with taking up the job at a journalist’s office where I edit and re-write the articles for publishing. The work is stressful, as I need to be culturally sensitive and socially aware of the trends and debates of the current world. But the pay is enough to support myself and help my brother if he needs any extra cash. I’ve never thought about further studies but my brother enrolled me for a psychology program at his university without checking with me. I was furious when I found out, but he had already paid with his own money and he kept insisting I was capable of understanding the minds of people. I had laughed, finding it beyond hilarious given the fact that I am incapable of feeling emotion altogether.

It’s in the art of seeing someone as they don’t wish to and in the act of understanding why they hid their true selves and resorted to other ways of existing, my brother had said to me.

I attentively wait for her to deliver the breaking news. Once she starts talking and the photographs of the subject of interest appear on the big screen in splendid colour, all air leaves my lungs.

A car accident.

Three university students.

The inside of my mouth has gone dry, my tongue hardening and feeling prickly. My fingertips feel eerily cold with sweat. Loud gasps followed by murmurs float in the air.

Why are they still talking about it? It happened last week?

My question is answered shortly after the description of the car accident ends. The woman goes on to explain with confirmed evidence that the man who had crashed into the car with the university students was a journalist who was drunk driving. He drove his vehicle on the wrong lane and had collided into the other car in a head on collision. The impact had thrown the car with the university students off the road, crashing into a nearby tree. The collision killed the student seated at the driver’s seat.

Taehyung.

The other two suffered fatal injuries, but were reported to have survived the car crash.

Jungkook and Jimin.

As I stare at the TV screen, warm tears fill my eyes, threatening to spill down my cheeks. Fortunately, I am the next in line and I rush to make my order. Everything around me sounds like white noise. Up until the cashier hands me my food, I am not aware of anything happening around me. I run out of the fast-food joint, the cold breeze hitting my face drying the tears that were already spilling down my cheeks.

***

I ring the bell three times, but nobody answers the door. Fortunately for me, I already have a set of spare keys in my handbag. I fished them out and open the lock of the door. To my surprise, all the lights in the house have been switched off. Which is understandable at this hour of the night. But Jungkook never turns them off. If I’m not home yet, he always leaves the light in the living room on.

Maybe he’s asleep?

Given the fact that he was home since morning and this being one of his very rare days of work, it’s understandable that he must have slept in early. My brother has always been an active person. He likes sports, working out, trying new activities and so on. On his off days, he tends to catch up on his hobbies and discover new hobbies.

It won’t be a surprise following the latest incident, he may have found it hard to engage in hobbies, therefore slept rather early. I tiptoe along the dark hallway, stretching my hands in front of me to avoid running into any obstacles my brother may have left after playing around. I knock softly on his door and then proceed to knock loudly when I hear no response.

“Jungkook?” I call out his name as I open the door.

There is no response, therefore I reached for the light switch and flipped it on. I gasp loudly as I take in the empty room. It wasn’t just an empty room; it was a messy empty room. It almost looks like Jungkook had been looking for something in his room and had thrown the blankets, the books, his clothes and the pillows all across the floor in the process. As I walked over to his bed, I picked up the fallen pens and books and placed them neatly on his study table. I went on to collect the towel and the blanket off the floor and placed it neatly on top of his bed. His phone was not on his night stand, as he would usually leave it.

So, he’s not home.

He must have left earlier in the afternoon, hence why the lights were not on and he must have not returned home till now. I look at the digital clock ticking away on his night stand.

12:45

Where could he be 45 minutes past midnight?

He does not have many friends to go out drinking with, his only friends being Taehyung and Jimin.

Taehyung was his friend.

I could not think of any place Jungkook maybe right now. I heard Taehung’s parents left town to return to their hometown for a few weeks to get over their son’s death. I do not know Jimin’s where abouts, but I do know that he himself had difficulty getting over Taehyung’s death. Therefore, I don’t think that the two of them went out drinking.

My heart starts racing thinking about where my brother could be. He is very sensitive, especially towards people and things he cares about deeply. Given his current state of mind following the incident and how broken his only other friend is, Jungkook may turn to whatever may ease his pain.

Just thinking about the endless possibilities of what Jungkook could be doing right now and where he could be made my heart ache and head throb. I dial his number on my phone and call him but he does not answer. He continues to not answer the next seven times I call him. Each passing ring worries me some more, until I’m dashing out of the house in a blind hurry.

I tear down the street frantically. I scream his name into the darkness. But I get no response in return. I turn on the flashlight on my phone and turn every corner of our lane back to the main road looking for him. There is no way Jungkook may have got onto the train or the bus and gone off to some specific destination given the fact that he does not have a specific destination in mind. I shiver in the sheer cold of the night and start crying at the side of the street.

I whip my head around so fast when somebody taps me on the shoulder. The old man that lives right next door smiles sadly at me. He hands me a piece of paper with his shaking hands. I take it from him with a confused look on my face. He leaves my side quietly as I continue to open the paper.

It’s a note written in my brother’s handwriting.

Went to Jimin’s. An emergency.

I did not know where Jimin lived, but I knew he had to live close by because my brother would often visit him during his high school and university years. My heart rate started to slow down now that I knew that he was with somebody and not attempting anything crazy. I walked back home, the seven minutes now feeling like seven hours.

***

Having a cold-water bath and curling up in warm sheets in front of the TV watching a movie I’ve been dying to doesn’t help when the loneliness and silence of the empty house engulfs me. I’ve been home alone before, days at a stretch even. But knowing Jungkook is out there in his sensitive state of mind with a friend who is equally mentally in pain does not rest easy with me. I tried calling him again but no one picks up the call.

I sigh as I switch off the TV and turn on the lights. I plop down on the couch and cover myself in the warm sheets again. My eye lids feel heavy but my eyes are curious. They want to see more. My brain needs to work more. My heart wants Jungkook home.

Dragging my feet to the kitchen, my face is greeted with the cold from the refrigerator as I get some fresh mango juice. I gulp down as much as I can before I feel like I might throw up all the liquid filling my stomach. Tucking strands of lose hair behind my ears, I make my way back to the living room.

Minutes pass by and I feel wearier. I shake my head to shake the fog clogging my mind but it doesn’t go away.

Maybe I’ll call him one more time.

The server you are trying to reach is currently switched off or not in a service area.

My heart jumps a beat and then another as I realize I have no way of contacting my brother. I know he is safe, a roof over his head and probably food in his stomach. But I needed to talk to him tonight. Hearing him say he’s fine and he’ll be back whenever would assure me of his mental and physical well-being.

Before I know it, I am rummaging through Jungkook’s books and files and even through his drawers shamelessly searching for Jimin’s number or address. I find it scribbled down in Jungkook’s neat handwriting on the corner of some musical sheets in his second drawer along with several polaroid pictures of what seems like his friends and him.

With shaking hands, I dial the number on my phone.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello?”

***

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#bangtan sonyeondan #bts #BTS jimin #park jimin #bts jimin x reader #bts jimin x y/n #park jimin x reader #park jimin x y/n #jeon jungkook #BTS jungkook #bts taehyung #BTS v #kim taehyung #Steadfast

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thekidultlife · 4 years

Text

The Most Convenient Escape | Jihoon Soulmate!AU (3)

⍟ Pairing: Jihoon x fem!reader

⍟ AU: Fantasy/ Soulmate AU

⍟ Genre: ANGST, SLOW BURN, fluff

⍟ Warnings: mentions of abuse, drinking, and sex

⍟ Word Count: 5.3k

⍟ Synopsis: For all your life, you have a deep disdain towards Soulmate Bonds, so much so that you are able to write opinions about it in a local newspaper. However, as life would have it, you wake up one day bonded to a person you hardly knew. Throwing in an investigation, annoying roommates, and a revolution looming just beneath the surface, you had to seek for the most convenient escape.

ON THE NECESSITY OF GRAND ROYAL BALLS by Alex Fireflower

The Porta Persa Edition, September 6

In one's life, what would be considered basic necessities? Food, shelter, clothing, mayhaps a life partner? Indeed, such factors are important. Yet allow me to tell you, dear readers, that there is something far greater and more magnificent than mere daily needs which regularly perish in less than a common laborer's working hours! An element which elevates the typical human experience to the realms of the ancient gods; giving us a glimpse of the most beautiful, the most majestic blinding auras in this Universe! A necessity which is by far the most crucial of all inventions created by man, known to man!

That, my friends, is the Grand Royal Ball.

To be held a week from now at the Crystal Palace, the Grand Royal Ball only admits through invites, usually reserved for the rich and the powerful. Yet what is most anticipated is the glamorous First Waltz where they can showcase their magnificent beauty and impressive wardrobe for the public to see!

Yet this is simply a mere gathering for the upper class, you say? What, in heaven's name, is the reason why this event is of great importance, you ask?

Look closely, my dear readers! Look at the Grand Royal Ball! Look at it with eyes of impunity! Gaze at its splendor and radiance, and see what these people have robbed from you, from the common people! They who have been brought into this world with silver spoons in their mouths, feed us with scraps from their abundant golden banquets! Banquets such as the Grand Royal Ball, where crimes of extravagance and greed go unpunished in the eyes of god.

Do not forget who mines the diamonds in their earrings, who weaves the silk on their lapels, who farms the fruit in their white marble tables! They who afforded nay a drop of sweat in order to survive, yet admonishes the poor for 'indolence' and 'degradation of moral values'--remember them and do not dare forget in the face of their magnificence!

If these sheer words do not convey a clearer message to you, then allow me to reiterate. The Grand Royal Ball is an important reminder to you common folk who gaze at them in your grease-stained hands, growling stomachs and exhausted eyes. This is a wake up call to you who still believe that you can be like them, wearing your own beautiful gowns and respectable suits to your own grand royal balls. This is a reminder to look past illusions established by this society dictated by such people.

You are being exploited. You are being paid by less than what you are worth. If that does not constitute slavery, then there is no worth in reading this article. If you are yet to be angered by such realities through this piece, then I, as an editor have failed my mission. Realize that your fellow laborer is not your adversary. The true cold-blooded monsters are up there in their hectares-wide plantations, sitting on leather chairs and pretending to be your friend, as they casually strategize how to pay you less and less of your appropriate wage, as they search for loopholes in our civil code to perpetuate their evils in the world.

They may look like gods next week, dancing to a waltz in the Crystal Palace with the innocence of a daisy, yet do not be in awe. Do not be complacent.

Do not forget the true enemy.

◇

"You're going to the ball."

Both Wonwoo and Soonyoung declared, under the purple shade of the wisteria tree in the courtyard, their seriousness catching you off-guard.

"What?!" You shouted, almost choking on a shrimp. "What do you mean I'm going to the ball?! I just slandered it in our newspaper yesterday, if you hadn't forgotten!"

The two boys gazed at you, eyes pitiful.

"Don't look at me like that!"

Wonwoo, the bespectacled one, sighed and sat up straight.

"Look, this isn't a prank. We had to bargain you for um…"

In the middle of his words he gradually lost steam, and began to feel your furious, scrutinizing gaze. For better or worse, he suddenly found the garlic shrimp on his plate quite interesting.

"Alright, let me handle this!" Soonyoung proudly declared, yet nonetheless deflated after you gave him a similar glare. "Wonwoo...you should handle this after all…"

With a face that may seem calm, Wonwoo conveniently concealed his discomfort.

"So, um...alright, allow me to explain. I got a bit of a lead on the investigation we're doing and thus, following that trail led me to the ball," he continued, "Apparently, there will be a gathering of the people involved during the evening, and I needed to get in with Soonyoung. So I asked some help, and in exchange, they wanted you."

After listening to his story, you closed your eyes and sighed heavily. There was no way you could stop him even if you wanted to. The deal was done and he had the invitation.

"So, who's they?"

You asked, a bit annoyed but you understood the need.

"That would be me."

A familiar voice startled you from behind, as you finally caught a glimpse of the devil Wonwoo had to make a pact with.

"Jihoon, didn't know you were there," Wonwoo remarked, as the new arrival bent down and passed a heavy binder to him.

"I just arrived really. Thank you for the reading notes though," he replied, paying you and Soonyoung no heed. "Anyway, Y/N, please return to our room as soon as you finish class. We have to talk about what you're going to wear for the ball."

Jihoon ordered, then stalked away without waiting for a reply, leaving you taken aback.

After a few moments, you turned to Wonwoo wearing a rather frightening expression on your face.

"Jeon Wonwoo! How dare you bargain me to Lee Jihoon!!"

◇

'Do you despise Lee Jihoon that much?'

The voice inside your head asked, completely eclipsing the words of your professor.

'Do you really have to talk to me during class? ' You snarled, spinning your pen around as you watched one of your classmates getting scolded for sleeping.

'You don't even like this class. So I'm actually doing you a favor by entertaining you.’

'Touché.'

A few moments of silence passed before your soulmate replied. You thought he bailed out, yet that was definitely not the case.

'Lee Jihoon is the reason why you seem troubled today, isn't it?'

You sighed. 'How obstinate...'

'As obstinate as you, in fact. Have you forgotten that we're soulmates?'

Clicking your tongue, you knew he was going to bother you if you didn't answer, and well, the words from a month ago rang deep inside your heart: Accept them and learn.

'Fine, he does upset me. I mean, I was not supposed to go to that pretentious ball, now I have to wear those heavy dresses and fake laugh with people I despise a lot! I could be doing something else, you know! Something I enjoy more!'

It took him some time to reply. It's not your fault you had no one to talk about it. Wonwoo and Soonyoung literally sacrificed you.

'Is it not because you dislike him?'

'I am irritated now because of what he did, yet I surely do not harbor stronger hatred towards him. I live with him after all.'

'I see. So you simply have a dislike towards parties in general?'

'Not entirely. I don't mind going to parties, yet this one particular ball does not sit well with me.'

'Why so?'

You propped your chin on your hand as you leafed through the pages of your textbook.

'It goes against everything I believe in. Why do people have to organize such expensive balls? Wearing expensive clothes? Eating expensive food? They could just donate that money. Don't you think so?'

He hummed, thinking of a reply. 'You do have a point. Furthermore, it is not only this country's problem yet of entire humanity. Isn't it human nature to be greedy? Isn't it the nature of material objects to be scarce?'

'Thus, it is an unavoidable, inevitable problem, you mean to say? Well, that would definitely be the case if no effort is afforded to find a solution to this problem. No matter how minute my actions are, I'm sure they would still have a rippling effect.'

The person on the other side scoffed. 'If only that is how simple things are.'

'What do you mean by that? Are you calling me naive?'

He laughed. 'Whatever you think it is shall be its meaning.'

You were about to interject with your own retort yet was unable to catch up.

'Well, looks like I still have things to do. It was a pleasure talking to you today. Until then, my soulmate.'

And with that, the connection halted.

You sighed and slumped on your seat with lips pursed. It was difficult talking to him while keeping your own pride in check. He was definitely talented in wounding it.

They would magnify your insecurities, your fears, your greatest flaws as a person, and force you to face them.

Sighing, you glanced at the bell that had begun to signal the end of class.

◇

Bathed in golden sunlight, you entered your dorm room as instructed by Lee Jihoon.

It has been a month since you began living here yet the days seemed to have gone in a flash. To be honest, other than that time you saw him practicing with his cello, there was little to no interaction between you and Lee Jihoon. He really made sure to avoid me…

Yet right now, so suddenly…what has changed?

Opening the french doors like you did when you first met him, you were greeted by several female attendants and rows of clothes racks, each having a massive collection of gowns.

"Took you long enough to return."

Someone suddenly spoke behind you, making you jump in surprise. Taking a step back, you only bumped into Lee Jihoon's chest.

"I had to go to the library on the way here," you replied, making some distance between the two of you as the black-haired male marched his way to a vacant armchair.

"I see. Well then, shall we begin our business here?" He asked as soon as he was settled on his seat, glancing at the gowns at the side.

"Exactly what I had in mind. Do you wish to explain what these are for?"

With an expression that reeked irritation, Jihoon gave no response to a question he assumed you knew the answer to.

You sighed. "What I mean is, I thought you had already chosen something for me, so I was quite surprised to see all of these."

The both of you simply gazed at one another without uttering a single word. Only the sound of the clock ticking and the afternoon bells outside could be heard as you allowed yourselves to be absorbed in your own little trance. Until Jihoon finally relented and stood up.

"I just thought you would rather choose something akin to your own preference," he told you, scratching his nape, "additionally, these ones here are all about to be thrown out, so maybe you--"

"These ones are about to be thrown out?! But they still look so pretty!" You interrupted, wholly surprised as you inspected the exquisite bead work of the nearest dress to you.

"It's common for people in the upper class to throw away gowns after wearing it once. So I thought you'd appreciate wearing something like this rather than having something new ordered. We could give away the other ones here as well," Jihoon explained, now a bit conscious of your reaction.

Chuckling at how he was slowly becoming bashful, you threw a wide grin at him which Jihoon was sure had definitely caught his breath.

"That was so thoughtful of you! Thank you!" You exclaimed, now more than interested to browse at the racks.

Unable to respond, Jihoon silently allowed you to check out the dresses while he tried to conceal the fact that his ears had turned red.

"What about you though? Have you already chosen something for yourself?" You asked in the midst of trying out one blue sequined gown.

"Since I’m a member of the Parliament, we have to wear a standard ceremonial uniform," he replied, now seated back on the armchair.

"Is that so?" You hummed then continued, "I think I've decided on one so allow me to finish."

After some time, you returned to the common room, showing Jihoon the gown you had picked for the occasion.

In a beige off-shoulder gown filled with lace trims and appliques, peacock feather patterns of sequins and gemstones, and dangling diamonds, you twirled around the room as the late afternoon sunlight created surreal reflections of light as it reflected on your dress.

In Jihoon's eyes, you were dazzling, sparkling. He could feel his heart almost explode by how hard it was beating against his chest. What's missing though was a bouquet of roses and a lace veil. This is vexing...

"So what do you think?" You asked, now incredibly self-conscious because of how he was staring at you.

Again, Jihoon was quiet as he glanced at you, yet allowed a sigh to escape before he stood up from where he was sitting. Approaching the coffee table, he picked up a lacquered box and went back to where you were standing.

As he opened the box, you caught a glimpse of a necklace adorned with diamonds, garnets and rubies, sparkling earnestly. Handing the box to one of the attendants, Jihoon held out the necklace to you and wrapped it around your neck.

The close proximity made your heart race for a bit as you unintentionally took a whiff of his cologne. Aware of your reaction, you averted your gaze elsewhere in embarrassment. You were brought back to the present when Jihoon finally took a step back and you felt the weight of the necklace on your skin.

"Oh...wow, this…" you began yet cannot finish.

"It's a family heirloom so take care of it." Then in a rather unexpected turn, Jihoon smiled at you warmly, making your heart race even further. "It suits you quite well."

Unable to contain it any longer, your lips broke out a wide grin. "I suppose this is a loan then."

In a rather good mood, Jihoon took your hand in his. "How about we practice our dance? Surely, we wouldn't want to embarrass ourselves during the First Waltz."

You scoffed. "Despite how I may appear, I am capable of a simple waltz."

"That's reassuring then," he remarked, twirling you around so suddenly that had you gasping.

Back in his arms, the both of you moved back and forth as your feet danced to an imaginary melody.

You never shied away from his intense gaze, rather, you accepted the challenge and smirked at him.

"So, my dear sir, please answer this burning question I have in my heart," you mocked him playfully.

"Why are you talking to me like that?" He furrowed his brows which you found adorable.

"I thought since we are to attend such a high profile event, utter politeness is necessary, even in speech."

Jihoon frowned, unimpressed. "Please stop teasing me. What was your question, by the way?"

Chuckling, you replied, "What are you planning, Lee Jihoon?"

Even though you were still smiling, the atmosphere suddenly turned tense. Lee Jihoon can flatter you with pretty dresses and beautiful diamond necklaces yet you never cared much for them in the first place. To you, his actions were suspicious and it didn't help that he was a rather mysterious person.

"Planning? Pardon me yet I do not know what you are pertaining to," he replied, as calm as you were.

"What are you planning by choosing me as your partner? You could have made Wonwoo bargain a million other things, yet you chose me."

This time, it was Jihoon's turn to smirk.

"I was simply confirming a few hunches, though that does not mean I will divulge them to you."

This bastard…

You felt a sweatdrop trickle down your cheek as you grit your teeth. "I am not your toy."

"I wouldn't dream of treating you as such," he grinned at you, "More than anything, you are quite important to me."

"I'd rather wish not to be involved in your political ploys," you seethed.

He arched a brow at you. "Why would I? You are a mere alchemist's daughter whose political power is the same as the next person."

You knew where this was going. You spoke no word as you tried to control your expression; not allowing him to see it in your face.

Jihoon smirked, his words hanging on the air.

"Unless, you have more than you let on?"

One week later

The Grand Royal Ball, The Crystal Palace

You kept a tight smile.

The tip of your nose was itching, your skin unused to the makeup covering your face. Superficiality lingered and clung to every corner of the palace from its golden ornaments and marble balustrades to the couples ahead of you, marching their way towards the ballroom for the much awaited First Waltz.Yet you have to smile on.

Welcome to the Grand Royal Ball!

Beside you was Lee Jihoon, dressed in an attire reserved for high-ranking officials and a sash which proudly broadcasts that he was someone you wouldn't want to mess with. You, on the other hand, wore the gown and the necklace you had tried on a week before, with hair coiffed to perfection and silk gloves which hid the markings on your wrist.

Only the most prominent, the highest of the high were invited to dance during the First Waltz. From billionaire philanthropists and award-winning researchers to powerful politicians like Lee Jihoon, they all provide a sense of prestige to the whole event. This is when the ball catches so much attention after all.

Lining up uniformly, everyone participating curtsied before the reigning monarch as was the custom, and the music began playing. Facing Jihoon, you gave him a rather mocking smile as you placed your hand on his shoulder and the other on his hand.

Without a word, everyone began dancing.

As you stepped across the ballroom, you allowed your mind to slip away from reality; the face of Lee Jihoon reminding you why you were putting up with this sort of pompous absurdity in the first place.

A few days ago…

You groaned in frustration.

"I swear, Lee Jihoon is the most irritating man I've ever met in my entire life!"

"Let's wait for him to fall asleep and beat him up, Y/N!" Soonyoung, who was happily lazing on the grass exclaimed.

"Come on, then! He's already asleep at this hour!" You responded, quite eagerly.

Simply sighing at your shenanigans, Wonwoo closed the book he was reading.

"Don't listen to him, Y/N. He's drunk," he remarked.

"But I haven't been drinking!!"

The other man simply looked at him with a jaded look on his face.

"You're always drunk even without drinking anything," Wonwoo quietly retorted. "Anyway, Y/N…"

Sitting back down on the grass, you turned to him. It was already past midnight yet the three of you decided to hold a meeting at a long forgotten grove behind the dormitories, usually used by overly-zealous couples for their own pleasure.

"It's true that Jihoon can be cunning if he wants to, yet it's not like we can't do the same as well," he continued, "There's a reason why I had no reservations in bargaining you."

"That doesn't sound too comforting, you know?"

"As I was saying, Lee Jihoon can be cunning. He can't be trusted to stay at the venue while we are in that meeting. That is precisely why we have to get him out of the venue as soon as possible."

You nodded. It was the same reason why it wasn't you who was leading this investigation.

"So my job is to have him stay away from the palace while you and Soonyoung are in the meeting. Alright, I understand."

Wonwoo sighed. "Y/N, I'm not doing this because I think your skills are inadequate, but because we need to play by the rules. If things fail and our cover is blown, Soonyoung and I already have tainted names that another case wouldn't matter much. I can't have you dirty your own name."

Looking down, you understood where he was coming from. It really wasn't an issue of who's weaker or who's stronger. It was an issue of who's richer and more influential. Wonwoo and Soonyoung, because of their wealth and power, were able to establish their own newspaper company with relative ease. And with that same wealth and power, if anything does happen, the repercussions they have to face and its lasting effects wouldn't be as heavy as an ordinary person would experience. Such is the gift of privilege.

"I know. I understand."

◇

You knew, as soon as the dance ended, people would flock around Lee Jihoon, all wanting a piece of that power and influence.

That is why, when you had the chance, you slipped away from his side and went straight to the buffet tables. If you were going to attend a grand ball, might as well stuff yourself with food.

That veal over there looks scrumptious!!

Filling your plate to the brim, you scoured all over the buffet, finding food you have never dreamed of tasting.

"Y/N! We finally found you, for god's sake! We thought something happened to you!" A familiar voice exclaimed, making you look up from the plate you were feasting on, as you sat on a bench at the side.

"Ah, Soonyoung, Wonwoo! I didn't see you guys at the dance!" You replied, piercing a turkey leg with your fork.

"Well, that's because we weren't invited to the dance. Our parents are though, since they are the VIPs," Wonwoo explained.

You hummed. "I see. Well, so far this ball has delicious food. Other than that, it's quite boring. I don't know half these people, and they've been looking at me since a while ago."

Like he always is, Soonyoung embraced you from behind, wrapping his arms around your neck with a cheeky green.

"Your date is quite popular, you know? It's only natural for people to be curious as to the identity of his chosen date," he remarked, taking a bite of meat from your fork.

"You're making it sound so romantic," you spat with disdain.

Soonyoung grinned. "Come on, don't you feel anything for our resident politician? You two were dancing so nicely earlier, you know."

You clicked your tongue. "He's suspicious of me. I think he has a hunch that I'm Alex Fireflower."

"This is why the Soulmate Bond hasn't visited you yet! You're always so serious! You need to loosen up and have a bit of romance in your life! You can't be young forever!"

"I think Soonyoung has a point here though," Wonwoo suddenly interjected, now with a mischievous smile. "Dating Lee Jihoon could open various opportunities of information gathering. Moreover, you can monitor him more closely than ever before."

"Oh god, not you too. Isn't it enough that we're roommates?" You complained, sighing.

"No, no! That's not going to cut it, Y/N!" Soonyoung exclaimed, "You have to get inside his room!"

Glaring at him, you hissed harshly. "I will not enter his room! And I will never date him!"

"Has no one ever told you to avoid using 'never', especially when there is a chance that you will be eating your own words in the near future?"

A new voice suddenly interrupted your banter as the three of you glanced at the newcomer with a variety of expressions.

In his calm yet intimidating aura, Lee Jihoon stood before you three, waiting for a response. Of course, with a glass of wine in his hands.

"Has no one ever told you that it's not good manners to eavesdrop on other people's conversations?" You retorted back.

With arched brows, Jihoon approached you and glanced at Soonyoung who eventually retreated away from you and back to Wonwoo's side with a nervous look on his face.

"It's hardly eavesdropping when I can hear you three screaming from the other side of the room."

At this comment, the three of you looked away in shame, unable to say anything to refute Jihoon.

"If there is nothing else, may I borrow my date for a while?" He then spoke, reaching for your hand while looking at Wonwoo and Soonyoung.

Grinning, the two easily offered you.

"Please do, Jihoon (before we turn into mincemeat)."

"Oh of course, please enjoy the rest of the night!"

You grit your teeth and glared at them, annoyed that you weren't able to finish your meal, much less bring anything with you back home.

Traitors! I'll come back for you two after this!

As Jihoon swept you away from the buffet tables and towards the deserted balcony, you suddenly began to worry about what he was up to.

While dark and cool, the balcony was a pleasant place to escape to especially from a crowd of prying eyes. The crawling rose vines and the tall hedges concealed the area enough so that it was difficult to discern who was who in the balcony.

"What is it that you want from me?" You finally asked, standing face to face.

For a moment, Jihoon simply gazed at you before shrugging. "I just thought that since we are already here, we might as well enjoy a dance together. I am not one unkind enough to refuse dancing with my own date."

Arching a brow, you blinked several times, totally suspicious of his intentions. You sighed.

"And here I thought the thirty minute waltz from earlier would suffice," tartly, that was how you replied.

Jihoon snorted, the first one you have seen.

"That was simply a mere performance, one that is born out of tradition and formality. This time, I wish to dance with you at our own pace."

Still suspicious, yet nonetheless resigned, you hummed in agreement and took a step forward, towards him.

Without warning, you snatched the wine glass from his grasps and drank everything in one gulp before discarding it on the balustrade's edge, earning a confused look on Jihoon's face.

"Now then, shall we begin?" you replied, reaching for his shoulder and his own hand on yours.

It seemed like for a moment, Jihoon was stunned by how fast your actions were. However, it didn't take him long to come back to his senses and place a hand on your waist.

Gradually, the both of you swung back and forth a millisecond late from the music's beat, simply too absorbed in each other to correct it.

As you gazed into Jihoon's eyes, you knew you needed that swig of alcohol to survive the whole night. He was as intense as ever; his sharp eyes unreadable, his lips curving into a ghost of a smirk. The grip he had on your waist was firm, sending shivers to your spine.

You need to loosen up and have a bit of romance in your life!

Dating Lee Jihoon could open various opportunities...

You mentally shook those thoughts away. This wasn't the right time to think about those things.

"I've changed my mind, you know?" Jihoon finally spoke, his voice pulling you away from your reverie.

"About what?" You asked, your hand warm on his.

"I want to know you better. I know when we first met, I didn't want anything to do with you, but for some reason, my sentiments have changed over time."

Flustered at the sudden confession, you were only able to say one thing, "Why?"

"Why…? Why indeed," he made a soft smile at this, as if he knew something that was totally lost to you. "Maybe if I get to know you more, I might arrive at an answer."

You looked away, unable to face his earnest eyes. There was a feeling in you that knows he was being honest, yet you still couldn't help but feel suspicious. Why is he suddenly springing this up on me? Why does he want to know me? What is he planning? Who exactly is Lee Jihoon?

You also didn't know the answer to those questions. But maybe, just maybe, you would understand if you just let him in.

You need to loosen up and have a bit of romance in your life!

God damn it, Soonyoung!

"If that is the case, then feel free to explore, yet that does not mean, the seas are not treacherous," you finally said, your lips curving into a mischievous smile.

"I wouldn't want anything else."

Grinning back at you, Jihoon leaned forward and placed a small chaste kiss on your forehead, making you look at him with the most stunned expression on your face.

"I-I...I think I might want to have another drink! J-just stay there! I'll be back!"

As you shouted, you stormed away from the balcony and went straight back to the buffet tables, seeking anything that is liquid, alcoholic or cold to ease the burning on your cheeks.

"Yes, it seems like I made the right decision with choosing her as my date," he remarked as he watched your retreating figure, smirking to himself.

By the time you went back, you had already downed a few glasses, and another one on your hand to drink for later. You were tipsy then, as obvious as your flushed cheeks were, and Jihoon had to catch you before you stumbled onto the ground.

"You seemed to have drunk a lot," he remarked as he steadied you on your step.

"...Need it," you muttered, unable to look at him.

"What?"

"Jihoon…" purring, you clung to his lapel with a giggle, your face simply inches away from his. "You...you look quite handsome…have I told you that?"

With a smirk, you inched closer to him; lips almost brushing against each other. That is, until he turned his head and pushed you away.

"It's late...we should head home."

His ears were red though.

◇

The school was silent during the dead hours of the night. Students were either prohibited by their curfews or too busy studying to bother with fooling around. Only the soft rustling of wisteria and cherry blossom flowers and the loud ramblings of a drunkard could be heard across the courtyard.

"Jihoonie~ come on now…don't touch me there," you teased between giggles as he carried you behind his back.

"Please don't be too loud…"

"I'm not loud! In fact, I'm quite soft spoken~"

"What did I get myself into…?"

You were definitely heavy; and with the weight of the whole dress, Jihoon was already wheezing when he opened the door to your shared dormitory and carried you to your own bed.

Gently laying you down, Jihoon spent a few moments gazing at you who was smiling at him carelessly.

"Oh my…" a giggle, "are you going to confess your undying love to me now…?" You asked, making him grin at you.

"Would you believe me if I did?" Jihoon responded, slowly reaching for your wrist wrapped in a silk and lace glove.

"Of course not," you smirked. "You're Lee Jihoon."

Upon your words, he made a small smile, yet it had hinted some sort of deeper sadness. Lifting your hand up, Jihoon kissed the inside of your wrist.

"Of course."

A/N: Hii!! This is Hyeri again!! No new chapters for next week (instead some Jihoon smut, if you like those sksksk) Hopefully, after that week, regular updates on this fic will continue! (maybe punctuated by some Wonwoo smut;;; Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter!!! Thank you so much!!

-Hyeri

#seventeen #svtcreations #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen woozi #lee jihoon #woozi fluff #the most convenient escape #chapter 3

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bethygauw · 4 years

Text

Mahoyaku Interview: Tsushimi Bunta (Main Screenwriter) and Kazuma Kowo (Worldbuilding Supervision) + Coly Scenario Director

Released: 28 February 2020

(!) Warning (!): Some spoilers for Main Story chapter 17 towards the end of this post.

TL note: I feel like going by surname-given name in this article;;; pardon the inconsistency Also support the fab fan translation site if you haven’t already: https://mahoyaku-eng.com/

Blurb: This is a world where mages and humans coexist, and this is a story that depicts the journey to save it—brought to you by screenwriter Tsushimi Bunta, known for their subtle writing style that retains a realistic touch, and Kazuma Kowo, who oversees not only character background but also the worldbuilding of each country, among other things. In this issue, we’ve asked what sort of things they were being mindful of during the game’s creation and if there are any behind-the-scenes that they could share. In addition, we’ve also included a few comments from the scenario director, who’s in charge of bringing together all story elements in this game from the Main Story to Training Location stories. We hope you enjoy everything that Promise of Wizard has to offer as you play through it.

Tsushimi Bunta: Freelance screenwriter. Main scriptwriter of Idolish7 as well as the author of the novel adaptations. In this game, they’re in charge of writing the Main Story, Training Location stories, and Event Stories among others.

Kazuma Kowo: Manga-ka and illustrator. Representative works include Junsui Adolescence (Ichijinsha Inc.), Dear Tear (Hakushensha Inc.), and Hinemosu Futari (Takeshobo Co., Ltd.). In this game, they’re in charge of worldbuilding supervision.

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Part 1: Interview with Tsushimi Bunta (Main Screenwriter) and Kazuma Kowo (Worldbuilding Supervision)

Q: How did you get involved in the development of Promise of Wizard?

I got my first offer around five years ago, but I had to decline because I was already working on something else. They’ve continued to contact me a number of times since then, and then finally the right chance came along. There was the worldbuilding, and then the management and creation of character setting sheets that would shape their sets of values et cetera, which seemed to be a lot for me to handle. That’s why I asked Kazuma-san to help us out. We made games together in the past.

Q: Kazuma Kowo-san is in charge of worldbuilding supervision. Together, the two of you came up with the mages’ world as well as the story. What sort of discussions did you guys have when you were creating the character setting for the wizards as well as the world construct?

We decided on the fantasy genre, but it can range from fairytales to light novel stuff to something as massive as high fantasy. We started from discussing what extent would attract the audience’s attention the most. We talked over and over about it, and in the end, we moved forward with the idea of the countries having their own fantasy taste. We had Kazuma-san sort which wizard into which country first, and then we made adjustments over time. Oz was in the North at first, for example, and then there was Figaro in the Central country. Shino was more reserved, Heath was the flirt, whereas Leno was someone ruthless. Then we figured we should be finalising the characters that would be “the face” of each country first, so that people can remember the characteristics of each country more easily. These are Arthur, Murr, Shino, Rutile, and Mithra. Things that have wizards and witches vibe such as precious stones, stars, plants, fortunetelling, incense, books—a lot of these things are what girls usually like, so we tried to be brave and implement as much as we could.

Q: How did you develop the personality and other characteristics of each wizard from each country? Was there anything you paid attention to in particular when creating these wizards?

The central country has wizards with heroic qualities, so they lean more towards heroes, leaders, and priests. The Western country’s qualities stress on the eccentricity, the bizarre, and entertainment, so they have themes like the Cheshire Cat and Halloween. The Japanese equivalent would be the kitsune foxes and the shapeshifting tanuki racoons. The East has wizards that are gothic, dark and gloomy with melancholic feel to them. The Southern wizards are like the Fairy Godmother from Cinderella. They're good at helping others, honest, and pastoral. The Northern wizards’ image is like a demon lord or great witches who rule over humans—the power type that screams horror.

Q: In this game, wizards have powers that humans don’t have. Because of it, humans rely on them and they adore them. But, there are also occasions where the wizards are feared and detested. You’re depicting not only the “cool wizards”, but also the gap between the wizards and humans. There are also characters who have power but suffer and feel lonely because of it. I think things like that are what makes this game charming, but was there anything you were being mindful of in the process of writing that sort of aspect?

I don’t want to make the loneliness that the wizards feel to be theirs alone. Instead, I want the players to feel something similar, seeing as we all live in a society. I think anyone who lives in a society feels that they “want to be understood” or “want to understand [others]”. But at the same time, they also feel some sort of indignation where they “don’t want to be understood” or want to say “don’t you dare think you’ve understood”. I want the players to take any of these emotions and observe from the wizards’ point of view. I want them to let their imagination expand and enjoy themselves that way.

Q: Many of the wizards’ incantations are phrases that we’re unfamiliar with. I believe a lot of fans have put a lot of thinking into figuring out the meanings and the origin. How did you come up with these incantations?

In regards to incantations, I had Kazuma-san take the wheel. We had it in katakana so that it reads more smoothly in text, but we also adjusted it as we prioritise things like how easy it is to pronounce and for people to catch it. The impression you get from these incantations (sounds powerful, weak, ominous, or it’s still too early for you, et cetera), and how powerful they actually are—we have it all ranked and organised, so it would be nice if it shows one at a time.

Q: Was there anything about the “fantasy parallel universe” genre and the “relationship between wizards and the sage” you find to be the reason why you can deliver particular ideas? Was there anything you found interesting during the writing process?

I actually had to restrain my thinking process because I had to remind myself that I’m writing fantasy, so it’s like I can’t include things that are normal and already exist in the real world. Even if I come up with a good idea, I’ll end up thinking that it’s a little too normal and then it gets scrapped.

Q: The existence of the previous sage who doesn’t put on airs and has an approachable personality becomes one of the attention-grabbing elements in the storyline. In your mind, what sort of character is the previous sage?

A white-collar worker who works at an exploitative company. They can say pretty irresponsible things to the mages and amuse themselves with it. But they also get scared simply from scary things, and they have the boldness to say something selfish.

Q: Please tell us, if there are any, things that seem trivial but it’s something that you were being particular about during the process of writing the Main Story. These can include scenes, specific lines, or portrayal of something.

The same goes for the Main Story and the Sub Stories, but I want people to feel excited and let them imagine all sorts of things. I always have that in mind and that’s why I’ve added lots of details into the setting. “If I were a mage”, “If I were a citizen of this country”, “Which country would my friends come from”, “What does this taste like”, “What are their previous love stories like, and what’s their life been like until now”... I think being able to have so much freedom in imagination is what the real pleasure of the fantasy genre is. I hope it’s become a world that allows the players to indulge themselves in daydreaming.

Q: Lastly, please leave a message to all fans who are out there supporting Promise of Wizard.

Thank you for playing the game! It’s pretty much my first time writing fantasy, so right until it was released, my heart kept pounding thinking if it would really count as fantasy… But I’m so happy that a lot of people are having fun with the story! Please continue your support for Promise of Wizard from now on too!

----- * * * -----

Part 2: Interview with Mahoyaku’s Scenario Director

Q: How did you make this job offer to Tsushimi Bunta-san? What is it about Tsushimi-san’s works and writing style that makes it charming to you?

Right around the early stages of the establishment of our company, Coly, one of their past works touched my heart. Their script writing ability was so mind-blowing that I thought I just had to make this offer. In the end, that also instigated Kazuma-sensei’s involvement, and that’s how we got them to help us out as well. I think one of the things that make Tsushimi-sensei’s work charming is the universally relatable characters, the writing that makes the reader want to cheer the characters on, as well as a whole new world that they bring to the readers. Tsushimi-sensei has the ability to transform unsaid feelings and unwritten motions into breathtaking scenes. Sometimes, trivial dialogues can depict genuine feelings within human hearts, like that of a child’s. You can feel through the writing affection and gentle point of views towards those in a weaker position.

Q: The setting of this game involves the main character who suddenly wandered into another world where mages live. Then, they became the “sage” who gather up the wizards and guide them. How did you decide on what the story was about and which direction it was going?

We had the people in our company come up with several ideas and we went through them to see which ones had and hadn’t already been used in regards to the fantasy parallel universe genre, which was the direction we were going with. From there, we ended up with a story where the sage, someone who wandered into another world, and wizards fight together. We don’t want you to forget reality. Instead, we want you to enjoy it even more. We want to bring a world that gives you courage and positive energy, and we want to deliver the wizards’ world that’s blinding, mysterious, and exciting.

Q: Could you tell us a scene or a line from the main story that’s particularly memorable for you? And why as well, if possible.

Every scene in the main story is memorable for me, so to be honest with you, it’s really hard to pick one. But I was particularly driven in the execution of Chapter 17’s “Rustica’s Request”, so I cherish it a lot. It’s something that Rustica said to Chloe, who was tearing up silently as his feelings were hurt, “That’s because there’s only one of it in this world. This is something that only you can make.” It’s a sweet line, one that will always stay close to you and give you warmth. It may sound cheesy, but no matter how many times you read it, it echoes through in every corner of your heart.

#spoon2di #mahoyaku #staff

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