#To the confidence I once had. To the singing voice I used to nurture. To the body I’ve forgotten to take care of. to myself. To myself. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

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Artistic Instinct Chapter Eight

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 5,600

Warnings: Language as always, mentions of drinking, alcohol and drunkenness, mentions of sex OH AND HEARTBREAK

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

The right person, the wrong time.

The right script, the wrong line.

The right poem, the wrong rhyme.

And a piece of you

That was never mine

K Towne Jr.

Chapter 8

The black topped streets of Lewisham radiate the day’s spring sunshine as if intent upon sending the heaven sent warmth back up through Marcus’ soles. The evening’s golden light creates a love song in his heart - one that morphs from the irritation and melancholy of the morning to a happier more uplifting tune.

When did that mood change? Oh yes, that embrace.

Nush.

Marcus hadn’t realised just how low his battery was for touch until you threw your arms around him. How much much he’d needed your body close to his again. Feeling your softness against him, inhaling your intoxicating scent. How he’d longed to kiss your forehead and stroke your hair in that cuddle. Remembering the pain of breaking that contact, plastering on a smile and kicking himself for it.

Constantly having to watch his need for your touch and tempering it within the normal parameters for a working relationship, Marcus has found himself reaching out for you- making excuses to touch you as you passed him, finding imaginary eyelashes on your face. Being around you felt like a breath that he was unable to release, continuously having to dampen down his natural instincts to hold and stroke you.

Kiss you.

Taste you.

Had he been back in the States, he would have said fuck it and asked you out, but that didn’t exactly go well last time. The pain of knowing exactly what he wants and it just being beyond the reach of his fingertips plagues Marcus daily with the dream of coming home to be loved, nurtured and protected and offer it in return. How do you ever allow yourself to become vulnerable to that risk of failure again? One thing he is certain of, is your current ignorance of the true level of his feelings. The kindness you show others - so much care for everyone around you, albeit through a thinly veiled layer of sarcasm and swearing- and the love your friends show for you, demonstrate that you would be nothing but clear if he was to reveal his true feelings.

Squeezing politely through the crowds, between the narrow shack-like stalls of the fairy-light illuminated market, Marcus heads towards the Highline where Andy had told each of you to meet him. Before he could start climbing the staircase up, a large hand grasps his upper arm, another patting the space between his shoulder blades. Marcus spins, slightly surprised by the touch, to be greeted by Andy’s grinning face.

“Looking good, Sir. Bit sharper than at lunch today,” Andy observes, giving Marcus’ leather jacket, Henley and indigo jeans a once over, “and before you complain, I am going to get you a beer because of the day you’ve had. You can do your management thing of buying the first round in a bit, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

With Andy’s face explicitly telling Marcus not to disagree with him, he nods, definitely needing that drink. As they head together towards the bar, they are both absorbed into the throng of a hundred voices holding loud conversations as they compete with the soundtrack from the decks. The crowd is a mixed bag of teenagers, students and families - the children chasing or trying to catch the sparkling spotlights as their parents reminisce over large gin and tonics about lie-ins and late nights not hunched over a crib.

Winding their way through the laughing and dancing bodies, they head in the direction of the alcohol to order some locally brewed ales, bumping into an already buzzing Kiritopa at almost the front of the queue. After a round of handshakes, back slaps and hearty laughs, they edge ever closer to their goal of amber nectar. Before their drinks are poured, Marcus’ eyes scan the market for the rest of the team when they are caught by a flash of colour. Bright turquoise stockings, a mustard corduroy pinafore, red and white striped T-shirt - oh, it isn’t you. Your wildly coloured legs bring so much colour to his day and they are the first thing he checks as he enters the office. Elbow nudges and a pint glass from Andy brings his attention back to the men in front of him for a quick cheers-ing of glasses before heading out of the melée.

The table on the Highline that Andy had reserved was utterly perfect. It afforded a bird’s eye view of the market - a true dream come true for any avid people watchers, whilst also allowing everyone to talk and be heard by each other with its one storey elevation from the thronging crowds. Andy and Kiritopa are animatedly talking with each other lounging amongst the piles of cushions and blankets on the pallet seating, while Marcus leans against the walkway, clutching his beer, staring off into the urban sprawl of concrete car parks and fried chicken restaurants but only looking for one face.

“Hey, what time do you call this...Whoa - Nush, is that makeup? On your face?” Andy’s eyes are utterly saucer-like in this discovery.

“Hush your mouth - she did it to me,” you jab your finger in Dian’s direction, pouting your lips at the indignation and as Andy goes to make another quip, you add- shoving some chips in his mouth, “Dirty masala fries- thought we’d need something to line our tummies this evening. Although equally, they’ll do a wonderful job of keeping some people’s mouths shut!”

“I think I did a great job- she looks stunning!” having put three portions on the table, Dian steps back to admire her handiwork as you pull a duck face pout at her.

She always looks beautiful.

“So, what’s on these fries?” Marcus asks as he desperately tries to avoid the other thoughts running through his head of how that pencil skirt runs along the curve that falls and rises from your waist to your hips beautifully or the horizontal stripes of your t-shirt - an outfit winning in its quest to distract.

As for that goddamn red lipstick…

It would leave a mark all around my-

“Ok, so they’re skinny French fries with spices shaken over them and a dollop of channa masala on top. Oh and that white shit is garlic mayo to dip them in,” you grin broadly as you pass him a portion - the picant vibrancy of the food telling stories of the fresh, bold flavours to come. Always being a believer in food being one of the ways that you can love a person, the mouthful of potatoes, spices and chickpeas envelops Marcus in an all encompassing hug. His belly sings with happiness with each mouthful he consumes, his tongue delightfully tingling from the chilli powder.

“Y’know Nush. Not had one of your curries for a while,” Andy not-so gently hints.

Marcus can’t help but raise his eyebrows, “Nush, you make curries? How many other hidden talents?”

“She also plays the piano and did ballet until she was fifteen,” Andy adds, ducking as you lob a cushion at him - your face reddened with a mixture of embarrassment and rage.

“Badly according to my mother,” you say, rolling your eyes as you shove another mouthful in, “Mine aren’t particularly elegant but they are edible. Well they are now anyway - there was one, a keema matar, that I made as a kid where I didn’t realise that chili develops over time. Put in roughly five tablespoons by the end. Could have been used for chemical warfare. Never lived it down but it got me out of cooking for a while.”

The table explodes in uproarious laughter, earning several odd looks from the patrons nearby.

“Well, I’m considering this an invitation to try one of your edible curries as you so eloquently call them,” Kiritopa rubs his belly in anticipation, chuckling at your modesty, “When can we get a date in the book?”

“I love a good curry, so count me in,” Dian chimes in as she pops the chickpeas like sweets into her mouth.

Marcus watches you shift uncomfortably in the spotlight of demands from your co-workers, “If I do this, I need a bigger space to work in as I can’t fit you all in my flat. I’ll need to borrow somewhere that can fit more bums.”

“Could use my apartment to cook and host, if you like?” Marcus proffers, secretly hopeful at trying some of your dishes and perhaps more than a little excited at the thought of spending some one on one time with you.

“Shall we do Sunday evening, if nothing turns up from work?” Kiritopa asks hopefully.

Marcus shrugs by way of confirmation, catching your gaze, drinking in the swirl of colours in your iris, to give you a nod.

With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, you exclaim, “Andy- what the fuck have you started? You’ve all grossly overestimated my skills, and now I am going in search of alcohol to dull my senses and make poor decisions,” you dramatically announce with a theatrical bow, “What can I get everyone?”

Seeing an opportunity open up, Marcus touches your arm as you go to leave, “It’s my round. Help me carry them?”

“Deal,” Marcus feels his heart grow as he sees your smile reach every corner of your face.

Before reaching the top of the stairs, Marcus moves himself around to walk in front of you. His body on an autopilot of manners. On reaching the bottom step, he reaches back - unthinkingly - to grab your hand so as not to lose you amongst the multitude drinking, eating and dancing the night away. The momentary panic that spread at the thought of you rejecting him recedes as your fingers thread between his.

Sending a warm smile at you over his shoulder, you follow in the wake of him quietly.

The people near the bar are flowing like rivers, never stopping for obstacles but twirling, swirling around them nevertheless Marcus guides you through, never letting go. The noise of the chatter and throb of the music surrounds you, not allowing for much verbal communication so he settles for small movements and gestures with the hand that is holding yours. When you finally arrive at the queue by the bar, that is when you can speak a bit more freely albeit in theatrical whispers in each other’s ears.

Marcus watches how the evening breeze kisses you, blowing the strands of your growing-out fringe into your face. How you gaze around and observe people whilst also managing to make him feel like he’s the only person there. The way your eyes crease into crescents when you laugh or smile and how much he wishes he could thank all those people jostling you into him. But like all moments with you, it ends too quickly as soon you’re both heading upriver against the current with your trays of drinks.

“Nush, I’ve always thought it was some kind of miracle that you never spill alcohol,” Andy teases you as you bring the drinks to their owners.

“Hah! I don’t waste the good stuff,” you mutter indignantly, “Although perhaps if we want to protect the office carpets, I should…”

“No,” Marcus mock-sternly interjects at the thought of you being drunk and the chaos that would bring, “No day drinking at work, Nush. I’d prefer the coffee stains.”

Your pout and subsequent upward glance through your eyelashes, makes Marcus turn towards the railings, hiding his thoughts in his beer.

Fuck, Nush.

If you only knew what you do to me.

“Hey Kiri, isn’t it? You playing in the tourney tomorrow?” a deep, cut glass accent calls out, cutting through the crowds surrounding them. Marcus turns towards where the sound is coming from and as he does, he catches a strange look cross your face.

“What the fuck are you doing here and how the fuck do you know Kiritopa?” The tone of your voice, narrowed eyes and furrowed brow makes Marcus turn back towards the group inquisitively.

“Nush! Haven’t seen you in a long time but you are looking amazing,” the voice is attached to a face, the kind that would stop anyone in their tracks, “can barely recognise you with makeup on- you should wear it more often.”

You breathlessly mutter, “Fuck off, that’s never going to happen.”

Good girl. Don’t put up with that BS. You’re better than that.

“I know Seb through rugby training,” then tilting his head quizzically, Kiritopa asks, “How do you know him?”

“Since school isn’t it, so what? Roughly twenty years? Through her brother, Adam as we played rugger together. Although, despite such a long time friendship, you wouldn’t let me in your knickers until more recently,” Seb shoots you a wink from over his beer.

The words burn through Marcus as he considers your connection with this man - his eyes narrowing, lips thinning. Loneliness echoing through his racing heart. He hadn’t considered you seeing anyone else- even for the briefest of dalliances but then not everyone is a serial long term monogamist.

Of course you’d have needs, you are an adult woman.

I just wish you’d explore them with me.

“Every now and then it’s nice to have an orgasm attached to a pulse that isn’t delivered by a battery,” you deliver, utterly deadpan.

Seb pretends to be mortally wounded by your words, playing dead into the chair next to yours, languidly flopping his limbs around. Oh, how Marcus would like to wipe that stupid smug smirk off his face!

For fuck’s sake, Pike. Why didn’t you sit next to her when you had the chance?

White knuckles wrapped around his nearly empty pint glass, Marcus silently watches as Seb desperately works to get your attention whilst you chat animatedly with Dian and Andy while Kiri downs the rest of his beer. He hasn’t noticed the pretty young woman with bouncing corkscrew curls observing him from amongst her friends on the next table along.

“Hey. You look like you could do with a drink, can I get you one?”

Abruptly removed from his poorly concealed glowering, Marcus raises his eyebrows in surprise at this question, pausing for some time before realising that it was aimed at him.

“Oh, look don’t worry. It was just a silly thought...” the beautifully tight curls go to withdraw from view and return to their friends.

“No, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought,” Marcus offers apologetically, “It’s been a day from hell. Let me get you a drink.”

“Wanted to talk to you as I was a bit concerned that you were about to break that glass with how tightly you were gripping it. Glass is an arse to get out of wounds so thought it better to save your hands before you come visit me in A&E,” she gently proposes, “There are better places to spend Friday nights!”

Welcoming the pretty distraction from his destructive thoughts, Marcus’ cheeks dimple as he nods, “I can imagine. Are you a doctor?”

“Yeah, for my sins,” she amusedly huffs, “And on a rare night out, so shall we go get that drink? I’m Kemi, by the way.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Oh, how you long to rip the makeup from your face! As a child, it had been a form of let’s pretend that turned into a mask to hide behind as a young adult as you experimented with finding your true self. Now, that you are established in your womanhood, you feel no need to add layers to your face other than when you are convinced it would be fun by a fast-becoming firm friend.

When Sebastian made a remark about how pretty you looked with the makeup, it made you want to run to the loo right then and there to claw it from your skin.

And what the ever loving fuck is he doing here? Fucking Sebastian of all fucking people, who you accidentally keep finding yourself fucking. You’d just come around to the idea that it might be ok to occasionally go out with people from work but when they meet people from your everyday life - your home life - that isn’t ok. Especially when that person is just a hate fuck. Great in bed but an odious human being as you can’t be that handsome and a decent person, it seems.

Unless you’re Marcus Fucking Pike.

Who is now grabbing a drink with an absolute goddess of a woman.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint why it had hurt so much when he’d walked off with her but there was such an ache deep in your tummy that could not be ignored. Between that and the appearance of fucking Sebastian, you just want to jump on the 178 home and throw on your jammies, curling up under the shit crocheted throw that you’d made during your leave - more holes than stitches. If it wasn’t for Dian, you would already be on your way there, demolishing something unhealthy from UberEats, glugging a wine or two.

Dian seems to pick up on your drop in mood and decides that it’s time for a trip to the tequila bar. With Andy’s husband now joining your rag-tag gang, you agree to chase some bitter hits of alcohol. As you wind your way among the dancers and drinkers, you see him standing by one of the upturned kegs, laughing at something she has said. You catch his eye, plaster on a smile and send him a wink in the hope that your wish for him to have fun seems genuine.

You sign to him whether he wants a drink but a small shake of his head tells you all you need to know before Dian tugs your hand back in the direction of the bar. Standing in front of the bartender, a moment of sadness washes over you until Kiri passes the salt, Seb licks your hand and the rest of the evening finally takes a softer tone after one, two, three.

The tequila in your tummy makes it hard to concentrate on what Dian and Kiri are chatting about while the three of you curl tipsily upon the comfy cushions as a large fluorescent pink, plastic sign declaring TREAT YO’SELF looms large over your heads. Excusing yourself to the loo, you walk past Marcus - steadfastly refusing any eye contact but ensuring he sees you. As you go to repeat the action on the return journey - not entirely sure as to why you feel the need to seek your boss’s attention - a hand goes to balance you as you walk down the final step.

“Whoa - steady, Nush,” you look up to see Marcus’ concerned face looking down at you.

“Hah! I’m ok. You having a good night?” You ask, your eyes searching his, “She’s truly stunning.”

“Yeah, um, were you guys doing shots?” he enquires, brow still furrowed.

“Yup. It's a really good tequila bar upstairs - should have joined us,” you jab him in the chest with an index finger, “So good that the world just looks like an impressionist painting. All swooshy and a little bit blurry.”

You watch Marcus scratching his neck, “Anyway, what on Earth are you doing here with me? Go get her, idiot.”

“Ah, here you are Bad Idea Puppy- thought you’d fallen asleep on the loo. Although that wouldn’t be the first time would it?” Sebastian brays, stepping between you and Marcus as he grabs your hand to lead you onto the dancefloor. Allowing yourself to be led away, you look back over your shoulder at him, mouthing go get her with a wink as if that would soften the pain that had appeared with her.

The music flows through you - the clearest way to communicate you have ever known- your body rolling and swaying with the sensuality of the music. Sebastian moves effortlessly around you thanks to his mother, who having had only sons, deciding that her youngest would get the dance lessons that she’d hoped the daughter she never had, would take. The two of you vent in movements all of what you could never be said between you or to anyone else aloud. As you twist together under the orange stained hazy night sky, you notice the goddess’ hand on Marcus’ face, stroking his cheek. The poisonous ache returns to your tummy and however your face contorts, causes Seb to pull you closer, cradling your head into his neck. You know how the night will end and the loneliness stings.

✪✪✪✪✪

His mouth bone dry, Marcus awakes fully dressed, on top of the comforter, with a cool bed surrounding him. Reaching for his phone, pulling the charging cable from it, he flicks through messages and emails trying to work out what had happened from when Kemi had left him in the bar to rejoin her friends. Her words still ring in his ears - you didn’t come alone tonight - when she had watched his eyes trace your path out of the market. How he’d initially thought about taking her up on her offer to help him forget, wanting to obliterate last night from his memory and lose himself in her eyes and lips. Her final words to him, cutting him to the core- she must be really special and if she is as special as you think she is, you fight for her.

Bloodshot eyes and deep creases stare back at him from the mirror. More grey. They say that age exchanges beauty for wisdom but they are the same mistakes he keeps repeating. A strangled gasp escapes him as he tries to regulate his breathing, lifting his chin trying to fill his lungs with more oxygen. His shoulders are racked by gut-wrenching sobs and like an overwhelmed dam, the tears spill in hot torrents down his cheeks. Marcus slides onto the floor, allowing the grief to pour forth.

His first marriage was too much, too soon, too young. An art historian and an artist in love with creating and observing beauty until the former decided to change tack after being recruited by the FBI. The long hours of training at Quantico, the subsequent hard days and irregular nights as he worked his way through the ranks of the Art Crime department, wrung the patience from his wife. Gradually growing further and further apart until all that was left were two strangers constantly at odds, her cutting comment about how she felt that he gave her only apathy - never coming to her when she needed help or affection. She hated him for the choices he made - feeling that his work was merely interacting with the meaningless. The law enforcer spent more time at work to hide from the inevitable ending until the artist found someone who appreciated her and the beauty she created.

As for Lisbon. Was she really ever his? Wasn’t he really just a footnote in the Patrick Jane story? The whirlwind romance that progressed and extinguished again at such a heart attack inducing pace, emphasised by that stupid-ass move to DC. Although, if it wasn’t for that move, he wouldn’t be here in London now. Oh yeah. That was out of the skillet and into the fire, Pike. Another excellent career move.

So much love to give and nowhere, no one to give it to. The lessons he has learnt and is still learning but oh, just to find that person with whom you can drop that mask and enjoy togetherness, warmth and serenity.

The side of the bath offers a solid cool support to Marcus as he sits there on the herringbone tiled floor, sobbing into his arms. There is only one voice he needs to hear right now. Grabbing a tissue from the side to noisily blow his nose into, he rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes before putting his glasses on. Phone in hand, he dials the number he knows better than his own name.

The familiar dial tone is like a lullaby in his ear, “Mamá?... Hey! How are you doing?... I’m sorry Mamá - I forgot about the time zone difference... I’m ok, just missing you… It’s just been a long week and... Yeah, London is awesome and I managed a trip to France this week which was incredible to be back there. So weird having so many different countries within such easy reach…Come visit me soon?... Thank you... I miss you… Te quiero mucho Mamá… I’ll ring you in a couple of days. Hasta luego.”

Hanging up, everything feels a bit more manageable and less painful- I wish I could bottle my Mamá’s voice. Hauling himself off the bathroom floor, he turns on the faucet to splash icy water on his face. Sniffing his t-shirt, realising the shower could wait - perhaps a good run to get the endorphins pumping would be his best move. Or perhaps a text to Nush to check what ingredients he’d need to have in for the curry tomorrow?

Stop it, Pike. You’re just fucking torturing yourself.

Opening a drawer, he pulls out basketball shorts, a clean t-shirt and a pair of sneaker socks to throw on, discarding last night’s clothes in a heap by the washing machine.

AirPods in and classic nineties dance anthems to pace himself to, he gives his quads and hamstrings a quick warm up by the front door before it is time to convert the emotional pain into miles.

One of the many things that Marcus loves about London is the constant greenery with every second corner a park or stretching heathland. Texas is so proud of its big sky country status and yet, there are parts of central London where you could lie down and not see anything but skies around you. It is truly hard not to fall in love with such a beautiful, historical and spacious city.

Pounding the pavements towards the park, his feet hit the concrete slabs softly, sending small shockwaves to his brain. Whilst Marcus knows that the power in his thighs could have him across the park in seconds, he savours each step. The precision in his movements is perfect as he takes lungful after lungful of the sunshine filled air. It feels like part of a meditation - a mindful prayer. Dodging around errant dogs and small, clumsy yet terrifyingly aggressive children on scooters, he winds his way through the avenues of trees until he comes across a small lake.

He pauses the thrumming music in his ears to just soak up the tranquility of the moment as he stretches out his limbs. The lake is the kindest of nature’s mirrors, never truly showing exactly what is above, but converting it to an image so beautifully smudgy. The weeping willow stroking its branches elegantly across the skin of the water, the clouds gliding silently above as a host of waterfowl paddle effortlessly through the cool, clear pool, all become a priceless Monet hanging in The National Gallery – all free for the looking. Sure, it is transient, changing by the day - unlike the fixed in a moment of time pieces by the grumpy old Frenchman - but that's what makes it all the more precious.

There’s a family by the water’s edge. Marcus can’t help but be amused by the toddler’s antics as they threaten to jump in and become irritated that they can’t, especially when they have their wellies on. Can’t fault that logic! The older child is gathering sticks to make a “campfire” with their dad - discarding most of their parent’s choices with withering looks and expressive rolls of the eyes. The dark-haired mom, whilst trying to reason with the toddler, is swaying with some sort of baby carrier tied around her - a tiny one clutched tightly to her chest. The infant is virtually invisible from the passes of material, only two tiny socks and its little woolly hat peeking free. A collie is also darting between and around them, rounding up his flock of sheep, taking his role as protector very seriously.

The scene makes Marcus smile as he stretches out his muscles. Whilst he can’t help but watch and yearn for something similar in his life, the mom looks up and over in his direction,

“Are you going to come over and say hi or just be a park weirdo that lurks in bushes pretending to stretch?” a familiar voice curtly teases.

Nush - what the fuck?

“Your face is a fucking picture! Take a breath - these are three of my five niblings - big one is Sophia, middle one that keeps threatening to swim in the pond is Alexa and this little dot is Oscar. As for that blundering idiot, this is Adam, my oldest brother- their dad,” gesturing towards your brother you giggle, creasing up in laughter at the sheer shock then relief on Marcus’ face, “Ads, this is Marcus, my new boss that I told you about.”

The male version of Nush outstretched his palm, offering a sympathetic look, “Hi Marcus, pleasure to put a face to a name. I’m so sorry that you have to put up with my cowbag-of-a-sister at work.”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at the friendly sniping between brother and sister, reminding him of his own teasing relationship with his sisters back home, “Hey! Your kids are beautiful. Oh, you must be Sebastian’s friend - who we saw at Model Market in Lewisham yesterday, Nush?” he questions.

“As much as Sebastian can have friends… Oh Nush, you didn’t, did you?” Adam’s face scrunches in disgust and judging in the way that only a sibling can do.

“No! Not this time,” Marcus loves the speed and vehemence to which you respond to your brother- and enjoys the sheer relief that is now guiltily coursing through his veins, “To give the man his dues, he won’t ever sleep with me when I’ve had too much to drink. Not that I was going to and not that it is any of your fucking business in the first place.” You add jabbing your brother in the softness of his tummy with every word you say.

“Nush, I was gonna text you this morning about tomorrow, if you’re still on to make the curries?” Marcus gently questions, willing you to agree.

“Hah! You’re trusting her to cook?” Adam laughs heartily at the suggestion, “I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Our mum still won’t let her near the chilli powder now.”

You growl at your brother, “I was a fucking kid at the time! And yes, I am more than happy to come and cook curries- what time suits you for me to come over? They do take a bit of time to make.”

Marcus struggles to hold back a snort of laughter, “Any time is good - and perhaps while they’re simmering, we can have some classic films on in the background?”

“Ah that sounds perfect,” your smile warming every inch of his skin.

“You sound perfect for her,” Marcus catches Adam muttering under his breath, his eyes widening at your brother’s comment.

“Shut your damn cakehole, twatface,” you slap your brother’s arm hard as you grind the words between your teeth, the two of you glaring with a mirror image of your eyebrows raised at each other.

“Um, I’d better continue my run before I cool down too much,” Marcus manages to spit out between the flushes of heat through his skin, “Great to meet you and your family, Adam. Nush, it’s lovely to see you and I’ll catch you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Marcus,” you smile at him before turning back towards your niblings, who are working together to create a den using an old fallen branch.

“I saw you running earlier,” Adam adds, “You’ve got a really good gait - as a physio, it’s great to see someone not destroying their joints. Do you do anything to support your running through cross training?”

“Uh no, but that’s a good idea as I don’t want any injuries. What would you recommend?” Marcus asks, genuinely intrigued and flattered by your brother’s compliment of his running style.

“Speak to Nush - yoga is perfect for stretching your IT bands, which as a man they’re generally always tight and only get tighter with repetitive movements like running or cycling. She’s the yoga queen and will know of a local teacher who can help you,” Adam grins, nodding towards his sister.

“There’s so much I have yet to learn about her,” Marcus shakes his head as he sorts out his headphones.

“Yeah, good luck with that!” Adam laughs as he pats Marcus on the back, “Anyway, enjoy the rest of your run and hopefully see you again soon.”

As Marcus gradually picks up his pace away from you and your family, his heart that had felt so dark and lonely, now feels light and airy. The release valve in his chest is finally loosened and there is a little bubble of excitement in his belly that he allows to build at the thought of tomorrow. The thought of your presence in his apartment, doing something as domestic as cooking, is truly a salve for his soul.

Perhaps he can just make believe until it becomes a reality.

Tag list of glory: @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @lunaserenade @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

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pparkerpoetry · 4 years

Text

Hold the Pieces of a Shattered Heart

Summary: “What happens to him?” Tommy asked.

“He dies.” Death said. “He comes into my realm, broken. No one knows he has died, and no one bothers to learn.”

-or-

Tommy was killed by Dream. When Dream tries to resurrect him, he doesn't want to go back- but Death shows him what happens to all of his friends should he refuse.

Ironic, isn't it. Death herself trying to convince Tommy why he needs to live.

_________

Tommy opened his eyes.

The fact that he could open them was a miracle by itself, because last he remembered he was in the prison cell with Dream, on the ground, being hit over and over and over-

Tommy didn’t want to think about it.

He wasn’t there anymore, it was pretty clear since instead of the dark walls that had seemed to close in on him whenever he looked away, there was a comforting landscape of rolling hills and twittering birds. Where was he?

From down the hill he was sitting on, he heard voices, and though some part of him knew who they were, he still hoped it was Tubbo. That Sam had let him out and he’d just taken a nap, that he was real, and there, and alive.

His feet didn’t make any noise on the grass, however real the place looked. It was unsettling, it was, but he still walked towards the voices. His search led him to a quaint little cottage, out of the way and nicely built, the opposite of everything that Tommy had ever made. He liked it, though. Or maybe the laughter from inside seemed better than the silence that he was forced to listen to. When had the birds stopped singing? Had he been imagining it?

He couldn’t be sure of anything. He didn’t even know where he was.

Tommy stepped up to the door and knocked. The laughter stopped abruptly, and from inside a rumbling voice groaned, “I swear if it’s that green bastard again-”

Another voice made itself known, this time so heart-achingly familiar. “Mex doesn’t knock.” The voice was filled with sadness, and it made Tommy sad. That voice wasn’t made to speak in soft tones and sorrowed lilts, it was meant to soar and to sing and to lead.

The door opened.

Wilbur stood there, real Wilbur, not some half-assed ghost of his brother. His eyes were filled with shock, and Tommy knew his heart had dropped from the expression on his face and the way that Wilbur raised a hand to search its way through his curls. “...Tommy? What are you doing here?”

If Tommy tried to speak, no noise left his throat the first time. He tried again, this time over the shock of seeing his brother again. His voice was also flooded with emotion and hurt, something that he’d kept hidden from everyone else for so long so that they wouldn’t treat him any less. “What do you think? The bitch killed me.”

“Dream? Dream killed you?” Wilbur lifted a hand to cup Tommy’s cheek, but the teen flinched away. Hands near his face brought too many bad memories.

“Yeah.”

Wilbur’s eyes were glassy with tears that he’d never let himself shed. “Oh, Tommy. You never deserved this. Not when you’re so young.”

“And you did?” Tommy asked, the pools in his eyes reflecting the pain that he’d buried deep inside of himself. “You deserved to die, all while we were forced to make a world for ourselves with no one to guide us?”

“You had Phil-”

“Phil?” Tommy laughed, but the giggle died in his throat before it could worm its way out. “Phil killed you and dipped. He doesn’t know me. I’m just some teenager that got in the way.”

Wilbur’s eyes furrowed. “That’s not right- I wrote to him,”

“And he never read the letters.” Tommy ground out. “It was just Tubbo and me. And Dream. Where have you been, if you don’t even know that?”

“Ghostbur was supposed to tell me what was going on,” Wilbur said quietly. “He came back a bit ago with the last message, and now, it’s just me.”

“And me!” Called a voice from inside the cottage, slurred with the memory of liquor. “I’m the best part.”

Tommy laughed, a real laugh, not some half-assed exhale like when he couldn’t bear to force one out. And then Wilbur laughed, and it suddenly hit Tommy that he was here, he was with Wilbur- and suddenly he launched himself at his brother and they were both crying, wrapped in the first real hug that Tommy’d had since before his second exile.

“I missed you, Wil.”

Wilbur held Tommy closer. “I missed you too. I just wish we hadn’t met like this. God, Tommy. You’re so young.”

“So are you.” Tommy reminded, turning to look up at Wilbur. “So is everyone on the server.”

“Not Phil.” Came a voice from behind the two. A feminine voice. A new one. “Phil is much older than you can fathom.”

Tommy brought himself away from Wilbur’s arms and looked at the woman who stood a ways away. “And who are you?”

“I’m Death.” She said simply, and Tommy knew it was true.

He wasn’t sure which part of her exuded the confidence of the only being who was at the beginning of creation and would be there at the end of it all, inevitable- was it her dress, long and soft, the folds of it whispering of the victims who’d dared to challenge her? Was it her hair, pulled back in a facade of relaxation, but intricately braided and ready for battle? Was it her scabbard, encrusted with jewels and riches that only one of immense power could have, holding a sword of flames and fire? Or maybe, was it the wings? Was it the dark wings that grew from her back and stretched past what she should be able to hold up, a menacing wingspan that could nurture and protect as well as smite down, that let Tommy know that she was nothing other than Death?

“I’m Death,” she repeated softly, walking towards Tommy, reaching out a hand that he trusted for once, “and Life hasn’t been kind to you, I see.”

“Phil hasn’t helped, either,” Wilbur grumbled, and Tommy’s face twisted in confusion.

The woman sighed. “Don’t speak ill of my Angel. He may have his flaws but that was why he was cast down in the first place. I have claimed him, and you would do well to remember the power I hold over this realm. I may be kind to you for your connection to him, but softness has no place where I am from.”

Tommy knew her words were true, but still, he trusted her.

“Tommy,” She clucked her tongue and met his gaze. “I need to bring you home.”

“What if I don’t want to go back?” He asked, voice breaking. “What if I want to stay here?”

“I can’t let that happen.” She frowned. “What has happened that Life turned on you so harshly?” Her hand touched his forehead, and for a second, her eyes closed. When they opened, no tears filled them, just anger. Not at him, but at all that had broken him.

“I don’t want to go back,” Tommy whispered, tears streaking down his face. “He can’t hurt me here.”

“You were never meant to stay here.” Death’s wings circled him slightly. “This was never permanent. Just a play of power by the man who has delusions of godhood.”

“Then why let him win?” Tommy’s voice grew a little louder. “Why let him control me?”

“Though he isn’t a god, he’s got one on his side. As I have chosen my Angel, Life has chosen his Runner, capable of outrunning even Death. He has forced my hand- I cannot interfere or he will learn of my existence. He has yet to know of the power he could hold, and should he, your existence would be much worse.”

“Please don’t make me go back.” Tommy tried again. “Please, don’t make me go back.”

Death held out her hand for him to take. “Then let me show you what will come to pass should you stay here. Let me show you how they suffer.”

A bright flash of light made Tommy close his eyes, but he opened them once he could tell it had faded. Instead of endless, rolling hills, the landscape of L’manburg was there instead. Jack was there, and Quackity, speaking of a business deal.

“What do you mean, Tommy’s dead? When did this happen?” Quackity asked, voice vulnerable and open.

“Today,” Jack said, looking down. “In the prison. Dream killed him.”

Tommy turned to Death. “This is just now, right? This is normal. Grief, n’ shit. They’ll be fine.”

Death sent him a look, before flicking her hand. They were now in a land Tommy hadn’t seen before, in a house that he’d never had the pleasure of visiting. “They’ll be fine?” She asked, gesturing towards a chair in the corner of the room.

Quackity was there, with Sapnap and Karl. They all looked broken. George was there, a little bit away.

“He’s dead,” Quackity said, letting a few tears fall. “Dream killed him.”

“Say it again,” George demanded.

“Dream killed him, George,” Sapnap yelled. “Don’t you get it? I told you before, and I’ll tell you again- he doesn’t care about us. He’s not the same Dream we knew, and you need to face it! You keep defending him, but at some point, he’ll come after me, too. I threatened him. What’ll you do, then? You’ll go to my funeral and try to convince yourself that Dream still cares? What’ll you do when Dream goes after you? Are you going to die trying to convince yourself that he won’t kill you?”

Karl spoke up. “Let it be, Sap.”

George stared at the crackling fireplace. “Yeah.” He whispered. “Yeah, I’ll die trying to convince him that he’s still in there. I’m not giving up on him. He deserves a second chance.”

“He just murdered a teenager!” Sapnap exploded, barely contained flames spreading across his skin. “He stopped deserving a second chance when he made it clear that he’d want a third. And a fourth. And as many as it would take for us to realize that he’s taking advantage of us,”

George shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you aren’t seeing reason!” Sapnap broke, tears sizzling as the flames made way for them.

“Sap,” Quackity said softly. “Let it go.”

George left the house as the three lovers broke into tears over the one that had held the server together. He didn’t return.

“What happens to him?” Tommy asked, watching the blue shirt fade into the distance.

“He dies.” Death said. “He comes into my realm, broken. No one knows he has died, and no one bothers to learn.”

She pulls Tommy along by the arm to another scene.

Tommy saw Fundy, sitting on the docks that had been through so much and seen more. His ears were down, his fur not quite as pristine as he always kept it. The fox was swinging his legs and splashing the water with his feet occasionally, but overall, looked okay.

When Tommy went to speak, Death silenced him. They watched.

Fundy stayed there until night had fallen. Then, he let the tears fall. They flowed in abundance, for he’d lost not only his father, not only his grandfather, but his uncle and friend. He’d lost everyone, truly everyone, for the others were strangers to him now. He was all alone, and as he sobbed and screamed into the cool night air, no one answered. No one lived near enough to the docks to hear him, anymore. They’d all moved, leaving him stranded by himself.

“Tell me he’s okay,” Tommy begged, turning to Death.

“He searches for his mother,” Death said, and Tommy thought he caught a hint of softness in her voice, “He searches for his mother, for she is the only one he hasn’t given up on. He gets in a boat and though he must search all of the vast oceans, he does not give up.”

“And does he find her?” Tommy asked, hoping for good news.

Death almost couldn’t bear to continue. “He doesn’t. He can’t, for though he does not know it, she is gone. He thinks that he gets close, though, until…” She thought about how to phrase it. “I am one of the more forgiving gods.” She said instead, “the god of the ocean didn’t take kindly to Fundy intruding.”

As Tommy is pulled from the view, his mind echoes with thunder and crashing waves, the light showing a silhouette of a small boat, with no one in it. Tommy doesn’t want to think about how Fundy dies alone.

Death beckoned him further, this time to watch Niki.

“I’m glad he’s dead.” She said to herself, sitting on the edge of a giant crater. There are no buildings nearby, so Tommy knew it was the nuke crater. “I failed, and someone else did it. I got the ending I wanted. I am glad that he’s dead.”

Tommy doesn’t like how this was the first time he confirmed Niki was trying to kill him. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but now, he had no choice.

Niki began to cry. “I just want Wilbur back. I never wanted L’manburg, or Pogtopia, or wars, I just wanted my friendships to survive longer than a betrayal. I wanted to live in peace, and I wanted Puffy to love me.”

The hole echoed with her cries, not mourning for the death of Tommy, but for the loss of Wilbur that still controlled her heart. Tommy understood her hurt, but he still hoped that Niki would have regretted his death at least a little.

Death altered the vision again, but it was still Niki. She appeared to be fine, but Tommy knew that it couldn’t be true. He used to think of Niki as his older sister, surely she missed him, as time went on.

“Tommy was the source of all our problems,” Niki explained calmly. To who, he wasn’t sure. “He had it coming. I miss him a little, but it was for the best.”

And damn, if that didn’t hurt.

Niki had been talking to Jack, who spoke next. “But don’t you see? Revenge wouldn’t have helped us. We’d have been hunted down by everyone else anyway, but revenge wasn’t the answer.”

“Not for us,” Niki shrugged, “But for Dream, it was.”

Jack was silent for a while. “You’ve changed, Niki.”

“And is that a bad thing? I spare myself the hurt of relationships this way.”

“It’s not a good thing,” Jack mutters. “I don’t even know you anymore.”

“Did you ever?” Niki asked, walking away.

Death looked like she was mourning something.

“What?” Tommy asked bitterly. “What’s so sad about Niki’s ending?”

“She lives in isolation,” Death said, “And dies that way. There was no one to warn her of the red vines, and there was no one to mourn her passing.”

Tommy couldn’t help but feel a deep pang in his chest when he thought about Niki dying.

Death waved her hands again, and this time, he saw Ranboo.

He was walking slowly, posture curved more than usual.

“He’s got worse posture than I do,” Tommy smiled, pointing.

Death did not laugh, instead just staring. Tommy turned, too.

He watched as Ranboo planted flowers on his stupid dirt house, crying. The hybrid made no movement in acknowledgement of the burns that the tears caused, sniffling as the soil got caked under his claws. His warbles and sobs grew louder, but no one was there to hear them. No one but the two ghosts, invisible to his eyes.

They watched as Ranboo stood up and walked away.

“Just a bit of acceptance,” Tommy tried lamely.

Death sighs, and suddenly he sees Ranboo in the arctic. It’s snowing, but the hybrid is standing in the open, whimpering each time a snowflake melts on his skin. There is a chest in front of him, open, and when Tommy moves, he sees a note attached to it with a single smile. In the chest is one piece of TNT.

“Oh, god-” Ranboo cried. “I caused that. I- I made the lockdown happen-” Ranboo stands up and stumbles back, in shock. Tommy could do nothing but watch as he grew taller and his eyes changed to purple. He’d entered the enderwalk, and Tommy could do nothing.

“What happens to him?” Tommy asked softly, and Death smiles with a hint of sadness.

“He loses himself,” She says, “to the side that he hated.”

Tommy had the feeling that the ending wasn’t finished. “Is there more?”

“He always was one of Life’s most selfless creations,” Death pondered. “He stops himself from harming others, forever.”

Tommy was going to ask how, but his mind flashed with the image of Ranboo, alone in his house, bleeding out on the floor with a blade in his hand. Tommy has the sick feeling that he knows how he died.

Death sends him a knowing look before the scene changes again.

This time, Tommy saw Tubbo.

“Tommy isn’t dead,” Tubbo said as if it’s a fact. “There’s no way that Sam would let that happen- no, there’s no way. Tommy isn’t dead. This is some sick prank.” But, there was no one there to listen. Only the snow as it fell, cutting off the boy from the rest of the world.

“Tubbo’ll be fine,” Tommy said weakly. “He’s always been the stronger of us.”

“But was that simply because you were there to make him feel strong?” Death asked, pointing to the house that Tubbo had been in.

It was older now, much older. Cobwebs grew in the corners as the roof fell into shambles and dust settled. They moved inside and still, Tubbo was there.

“Has he moved?” Tommy asked, horrified.

“Sometimes.” Death said quietly, watching Tubbo as he sat, curled up against the cold. “If someone makes him.”

“And what happens to Tubbo?”

Death looked at Tommy, and he saw his reflection in her eyes. “Well, what would happen if you lost Tubbo?” When Tommy made no move to answer, she did, instead. “He sits, waiting for me or you. When he hears of the death of his husband, he has nothing left to live for, and does not try to keep me at bay.”

Tommy’s soul ached.

Death kept speaking. “He enters my realm, shattered, and it’s too late for you to put together the pieces.”

“Stop showing me these,” Tommy said, tears welling up.

“You need to learn what happens.” She said firmly, and suddenly all Tommy sees is flashes, flashes of Karl Jacobs, the protector of time, though he does not know it.

Karl tries, hundreds of times, to prevent Tommy’s death. It still happens, regardless, no matter what he does, in worse and worse ways. Karl dies in some of them, but it never sticks. Karl tries so hard to fix it, at the expense of himself, and Tommy swears that once, their eyes meet.

Nothing good lasts forever.

Eventually, Karl gave up and succumbed to the fact that there was nothing he could do.

“What happens to him?” Tommy asked, broken.

Death spares Karl a pitying glance. “Without someone to monitor the server, it falls apart. This might be the largest tragedy of all of them- without the warrior of time, the vines fill the server, and everyone dies.”

“Everyone?” Tommy asked, voice quiet.

Death looked him in the eye. There is no escaping that look. “Everyone. They all enter my realm, including Life’s Runner, and the story happens over again. The same show, a different stage. And this time, no one can escape him. Not even my Angel.” She put an arm around Tommy, but he shrugged it off.

“I don’t want to see any more,” Tommy said firmly, but he had no choice in the matter.

He saw Puffy. Puffy was angry, more than he had ever seen before. She’s staring down Dream, and Tommy can sense her fury.

“You killed him, Dream!” She yelled. “How could you?”

“He called me a liar.” Dream shrugged. “He’ll be back.”

Puffy glared at him. “You don’t get it, do you? You are a liar. Every time you’d come home from school and come up to me, all excited, and claim that you loved me, you were lying. Every time you promised that you’d remember all that I’d raised you to hold dear, you were lying. Every time that I looked my little duckling in the eye as you told me that you wouldn’t forget me, you were lying.”

“I do love you, though.”

“No,” Puffy snarled. “You loved me. The only thing you love now is power and chaos- and I know that I didn’t teach you that. I never taught you how to be selfish or how to kill just for the fun of it- I never taught you any of the things that landed you in this cell.”

Dream looked up at her. “You did your best. It’s not your fault that your best wasn’t enough.”

Tommy tried to not let the voice get under his skin. “Just get it over with. What happens to Puffy?”

Death looked almost regretful. “I sympathize with this one. Her ending is the one of a mother, but there is no glory in it, and there is no point. She tried her hardest before the end, but her love was a weakness. She was one of the only adults who had recognized the proper severity of your passing, and though she was rewarded accordingly after her’s...”

Tommy could only watch as the red vines crept as the time passed. Death beckoned Tommy closer to a different scene, and Tommy could see two people. Purpled was one of them, and the other was Puffy.

The vines had grown until there was almost no space.

Puffy shielded Purpled from them. “Run, Purp. You’ll have time to escape if I stay behind.”

“But then you’re going to-”

Puffy interrupted. “It doesn’t matter. Go, or neither of us will make it out alive.”

Death stopped the scene. “It gets rather ugly. I don’t think you should see it.”

Tommy objected. “But what happens?”

“You know.” Death sighed. “The vines encompass the server. Everyone dies. It doesn’t matter that she bought the boy a few more days, the ending is inevitable.”

Tommy hurt all over, but Death still led. “I don’t want to see any more, please,” Tommy begged, but Death has never been the certain type of kind that he calls for. Death does what is necessary, and right now, the visions were.

The next one was Eret, all alone in his castle, as the walls crumbled around them. They sat on their throne, with no one to follow them and no one to care. Tommy knew what Eret was thinking of- how they’d failed everyone and how Tommy had been so young, and maybe, if they hadn’t betrayed L’manburg in the beginning, they’d still all be a family.

Defeated, Tommy asked what Eret’s end was like.

“They died to a creeper that found its way into the castle while they were asleep.” Death said. “No one expected it, but then again, no one expected your’s, either. They are mourned, but not as much as they should have been.”

Death paused, and Tommy swore he saw a tear in her eye before she wiped it away.

The next scene plays, and Tommy sees Phil.

Phil and Techno were sitting at a table, quiet. There’s a paper lying on the table, a letter about Tommy’s passing, but they don’t speak about it. They just sit.

Death spoke softly. “My poor angel, with his clipped wings. His ending is bittersweet, Tommy. He’s lost his wings, his title, his status, but he gets to be reunited with his son. With me.” Death stopped, reconsidered, and fell silent.

“Are we going to watch it? This isn’t really-”

Death turned sharply. “We won’t be watching his. The warrior’s, however? You may want to see.”

Techno stood on a stage, cornered. Vines were creeping and mobs were everywhere. The world was lonely, and he was alone. They shared that. Technoblade, Tommy realized, was broken.

No longer was the fiery fighter with a catchphrase, all that remained was a shell.

Death spoke up. “Technoblade lingers when all others have passed. He never dies, at least, not at first.”

“What do you mean?” Tommy asked, but he was hesitant to.

“There is a reason that the enderman and Technoblade are so similar, I suppose.” Death mused, and she ushered Tommy along.

“How many are left?” He asked, and Death nodded.

“Just one. The worst of all.”

Tommy stared in horror as he watched Dream stand over him- his corpse- and laugh. He stared as the lava parted to show Sam and Puffy, armed and angry, only to stop in shock at what they had been too late to prevent.

“What did you do?” Puffy demanded, but Sam had already crouched down by the body.

His body.

Sam gathered his body in his arms. The blood-stained the green of his fur, but Sam didn’t care. He felt numb, and he looked it.

“I’ll come back for you, Dream.” He said coldly, as he carried the body of his son out of the cell that he’d begged to be let out of not even twenty minutes before.

“It’s fine,” Dream laughed. “I’ll bring him back and all will be fine and dandy. You worry too much, Sam.”

Tommy looked at Death. “I think I know what happens. Don’t make me watch.”

But Death did not care.

So, Tommy stood as Sam waited for the resurrection to work, waited by his grave, waited by the door of the prison. He blamed himself, he lost himself to grief and to shame, and he fell deeper and deeper into a hole that he’d never escape.

Tommy was forced to watch as Sam Nook tore down the entire Big Innit Hotel and stood, waiting for him, until his battery ran out and he died on the side of the Prime Path, a memory of laughter and learning. He watched as Sam couldn’t handle it anymore and let go, exploding landscapes and builds that he’d once cherished, leaving a lingering smell of gunpowder wherever he went. Someone he’d considered a father figure lost himself as Tommy could do nothing but bear witness, until finally, he turned to Death.

“Just tell me how it ends. It’ll be easier than being forced to watch this.”

And, as Death looked at the child that she was so familiar with, she took pity. “Sam never forgave himself. He waited for you, but once it was clear you wouldn’t return, he turned away. He resorted to destruction, and eventually, it destroyed him. Your cries to be let out of the cell never left him. They played on repeat until it drove him mad, and he had to be dealt with.”

“Dealt with?”

“He threatened the safety of the server to such a degree that outside help was brought in.”

Tommy turned away, but not before he saw a flash of pink hair and the glinting of a sword.

Death stood before him. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Are you going to go back, now that you know what happens should you not?”

Tommy sighed. “I haven’t got much of a choice, do I?”

Death offered him a smile as she brought them back to the landscape of rolling hills. Wilbur stood, waiting, but squinted into the distance.

When Tommy turned, he saw another being, hovering over the ground. It was wearing flowing robes of light blue, and had no head. Instead, a globe of white floated above where a neck should have been, and on it was written ‘XD’.

“Who are you?” Tommy shouted at it, as it got closer.

When the being spoke, it sounded like Dream. “I am Life. I made you and everything around you, so you would do well to show some respect. I have come to take you back.”

Death stepped forward. “You may take him, but know that he no longer bears your seal. He is one of mine, now, since you have turned from him. He is under my protection.”

Life scoffed. “As if that matters. His story is written, and he will live it.”

“His story is a script,” Death shrugged, “and scripts can be improvised. I will be watching from the shadows, should your Runner step out of bounds.”

“Then keep your Angel in line,” Life snarled. “I had to keep him from the portal.”

“I saw,” Death smiled calmly. “But that’s what happens when you mess with their coding. Memories still linger.”

Tommy sighed loudly. “Just take me back already. I’m getting bored.”

Life turned to look at Tommy, dead in the eyes, and suddenly, Wilbur’s singing that had been in the background was fading, as were the fields around him. He closed his eyes as a bright light started shining, and then, he opened them.

People surrounded him, and he made it his first priority to fall into Sam’s arms, partially to assure himself that this was real, and partially to assure Sam that he was okay. Everyone got some form of affection, except for Dream. Except for those that hadn’t bothered to show. He’d make amends with the others later, once Dream was back in prison to stay until the ends of time.

He was home, and that was what mattered.

He was home.

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inkformyblood · 4 years

Text

Voyage Closed And Done

Jangobi Week 2021 Prompt #2 Time Travel

Jango died when the purple blade sliced through his neck, the desperate scream of his son echoing in his ears.

Waking up on Kamino—on the painfully familiar synthetic fabric that was nearly as hard as the tiles that lined the building—with his dying scream caught in his throat, was a surprise.

“Buir?” Boba’s voice was sleep-roughed and tight, wary of some unknown threat as he slipped into the room.

“I’m fine, Boba,” Jango rasped reflexively, his trembling hands pressed to his throat as if that would be enough to wipe away the pain of its severing. Had he been dreaming?

He could still taste the acrid tang of blood and bile in the back of his throat, smell the burning plasma of the Jetii and their kad’au, feel the heat burning him inside his armor as he attacked.

Boba was a dark shape at the edge of the room, hesitation clear in his quiet footsteps as he drew closer to the bed. Jango reached for him, settling the boy between Jango and the wall, Boba’s feet skimming across the blankets as he was lifted over.

“Is it because of the Jetii? Is he making you sick?”

“No, ad’ika. It’s not him.” Jango drew Boba closer, humming a half forgotten tune his father used to sing in the quiet moments of the day.

Obi-Wan was complicated. Far more complicated than he wanted to admit to his young son, or even to his older echoes. His feelings towards the clones were messy, a desperate attachment that he couldn’t nurture, tangled with his love for his son that he thought he would never get to have. But Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan was something else.

Two sets of memories crowded in Jango’s mind—a diverging path that unfurled in front of his feet—but he could remember Obi-Wan. They had shared countless kisses—the heat of his mouth against Jango’s, the gentle pressure of his forehead against the other man’s in a Keldabe kiss—and one blissful night when Obi-Wan had curled into his arms, exhausted but content, and they had slept, nothing more.

“C’mon.” Jango lay back, feeling his heart settle at the familiar ache in his back, the soreness of his arms and legs making itself known as his panic receded. He couldn’t get attached to his echoes, but he had trained them as best he could, forced himself to be cruel so they had the best chance of survival. Boba moved with him, promptly drawing most of the blanket over himself, curling up in the warmed fabric.

Jango stared up at the dappled shadows reflected on the ceiling from the ocean far below them. He deliberately allowed his breathing to slow and deepen, feeling Boba respond in minute fragments, the tension leaving his son’s shoulders as sleep overtook him once more. Jango envied him in a way. A dreamless sleep had been lost to him for years, except for that one night.

He bit back a slew of curses, letting them rattle round his mind like dried seed pods. It was as if he was trapped in a gravity well of his own creation, his thoughts inevitably turning towards Kenobi whenever he loosened his iron-clad control. He could still recall the pattern of freckles on the Jedi’s shoulder, had traced the constellation they formed with a blaster calloused fingertip and decorated it with a bruise—his attempt at claiming the unobtainable, a mark that would fade except for the memory of it.

He had to focus.

Jango hadn’t been— wasn’t a stupid man. It was a particular benefit in his line of work as his beskar’gam provided him two forms of protection. He knew people saw his armour and his guns, and thought they knew everything about him. It loosened their tongues, made them complacent. Even Dooku—in another life—has slipped up with a murmur of ‘inhibitor chips’ caught on the tail end of a comm call to his mysterious master.

There was something wrong with his echoes. There could be something wrong with Boba.

Boba mumbled something in his sleep, curling closer into Jango’s side. Jango glanced down, the shadows creating crevices and mountains, and ran a gentle hand over Boba’s curls, carefully tugging at the stray twists of hair.

The floor was icy beneath his feet when Jango finally managed to extract himself from the bed. It was a small set of rooms the Kaminoans had put them in, the furniture bolted to the walls and floor and almost clinical in the curved angles and plain colours. They loomed like twisted shipwrecks in the gloom, gleaming opalescent where the wave-distorted light danced across their surface.

Jango traced a hand across his armor, gritty flecks of dark green paint sticking to his skin as he moved to open the door. The manual lock stuck for a moment, and Jango froze, goosebumps prickling over his skin as he glanced back at the sleeping form of his son. The boy didn’t wake, curling further into the tangled mess of blankets.

The corridor was much the same, but Jango barely gave it a moments more thought. The memories—because what else could they be?—were crowding into his mind, demanding to be known even though they were impossible. He couldn’t say how he made his way to Obi-Wan’s door, only knowing that his feet were numb and his head ached with every blink sending fresh pain lancing through his skull. Jango stared at the featureless metal, trying desperately to come up with a plan through the looming lightning shocks of pain. He was used to this, had trained for this, and yet Obi-Wan had always had a way of ruining any plan he had like it was a compulsion.

The door slid open just as Jango started to back away, and Obi-Wan took hold of his lowering hand with his own. The Jetti’s skin artificially warmed by the tea Jango knew he was drinking, the scent clinging to his clothes and lingering in the air—a spiced smokiness that Jango recognised like a half forgotten memory.

“What happened?” Obi-Wan’s frown deepened as he leant forwards, staring into Jango’s eyes as if he was trying to read the answers of the universe in them. “The Force is coiled so tightly around you.”

“I died,” Jango whispered, his voice hoarse, stepping closer to Obi-Wan, cupping his face. Obi-Wan leant into the touch, his free hand reaching out helplessly to Jango’s hip. “And now I’m here. Again.”

“Darling,” Obi-Wan breathed, leaning forwards even as he stepped backwards, drawing Jango with him to press their foreheads together. The pain in Jango’s head lessened slightly at the gesture and he found himself relaxing slightly. If the Force was involved, then Obi-Wan would know, swaddled in the ridiculous and dangerous relic like a favourite grandchild.

“Will your son be joining us?”

Jango froze, leaning backwards—mourning Obi-Wan’s closeness the moment he did so—and caught Boba’s eye as the boy stood at the end of the corridor, having snuck after him when he slipped from the room.

Boba’s face was set in the same look of undeserved confidence Jango had seen on a hundred iterations of his own face, before it wilted in the face of his flat stare.

“No. My ad’ika is going back to bed, or he’ll be running more laps than the troopers tomorrow.”

“But buir—“

Obi-Wan’s laugh was a beautiful thing, warm as sunlight, and he looked surprised by its existence. “I have one just like that. He will sneak back the moment the door closes.”

Boba didn’t even attempt to deny it, his grin widening.

“He can take my bed, while we talk.” Obi-Wan stepped backwards, gesturing for Jango—and by extension, Boba—to enter. Jango did so, unable to stop himself from reaching out to take Obi-Wan’s hand once more, squeezing it softly.

#jangobiweek #jangobiweek2021 #jangobi #my writing #jango fett #obi wan kenobi #boba fett

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dennou-translations · 4 years

Text

Tokushima Shinbun Interview with Yano Shougo

Interviewing Yano Shougo-san, who has starred for the first time in the topical anime “Given” and is originally from Tokushima. “I wanted to be an actor that would make people go, ‘I’m glad I entrusted the role to him’.”

Yano Shougo-san (30), who is from Tokushima and belongs to the troupe Super Eccentric Theater (SET), played a starring role for the first time as a voice actor in the anime “Given”, which aired from July to September on Fuji TV. “Given” is a heartrending story that centers itself around a romance between men from the same rock band. Having received high evaluations for his acting and singing voice, which portrayed with excellence the delicate emotions of the protagonist, Satou Mafuyu, Yano-san has told us about the feelings he put into the role and about his future goals.

Raw || Index || Ko-fi/PayPal ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

——Good job on your first starring. Please tell us again about your impressions from when you were entrusted with the leading role.

Thank you very much. Playing a leading role in an anime series was my goal for 2019, so when my manager contacted me saying that I had passed the audition, I was happy to the point of shedding tears, but at the same time, I was also relieved. I could not sleep a wink the day before the recording of episode one, and at any rate, I was nervous. On the recording day, I was thinking as I headed to the studio, “It’d be great if the recording were tomorrow”, but I got over it a little by the moment that I thought, “If this anxiety would continue until tomorrow, then it’s actually better for it to be today!” and I remember relaxing straight away at it

——Yano-san, your fragile voice was a perfect fit for Mafuyu. What did you keep in mind when performing him? Were there any points that differed greatly in comparison to the roles you have been playing until now?

Mafuyu has an extremely painful past, unable to move a single step from where he was, as he bore a huge wound. Still, he has proper thoughts and feelings of his own, as well as a stubborn side, and though he has a mild and introverted personality, I figured that he was someone who had a strong core.

Other than that, when I saw him playing basketball with his friends, smiling and earnestly absorbing himself completely in music, I had the impression that he was a “high school boy that you can find anywhere”. This was something I always cherished when performing.

I have played uke roles before, but this was the first one where so many of my lines were “...” (laughs).

——What parts of Mafuyu do you think you have in common, Yano-san, and what parts are the total opposite of you?

I think we are just a little bit alike in that we are greedy about the things we like, and we are unable to concentrate on anything else when there is something that we need to do our best in order to achieve. What I feel to be the opposite is that Mafuyu gives off the impression that he is a big shot in some way, even without speaking much, while I am talkative and shy (laughs).

——You were also in charge of singing the insert song and ending theme song.

I knew ever since the audition phase just how essential Mafuyu’s song was for the series, so rather than my being happy about singing, the pressure was much more prominent. As a matter of course, the frequency of my voice training soon increased, and learned the basics and techniques of singing as much as time allowed me to. When I was first told about the composition, I thought, “This song was made for Mafuyu’s sake”. That is exactly why, rather than the technique, I reflected about why and how Mafuyu would be singing those lyrics, as well as the emotions that would be overflowing from him, and I thought I should sing it with care, without sugarcoating it.

——What did you keep in mind when singing as Mafuyu?

The song that Mafuyu sings bears his definite resolve to face his past and live in the present, thus I believed that I had to make it into something like a love confession, so to say - a song that could be sung because Mafuyu was the one doing it. For this, of course, technique was important, but I kept in mind that it would be okay even if it was rough-hewn or even if my voice faltered, as long as I sang in a way that would spit out everything Mafuyu had been shouldering.

——Although Noitamina has produced countless master piece animes, this has been their first Boys Love (BL), a series that depicts romance between males, so was there anything you were particularly conscious of when performing?

There was not. Just as I do when performing roles from other series, I performed while keeping in mind that I was going to live in the world of “Given” as Mafuyu with all my might.

——I believe there was such a huge response to “Given” due to its painful content, but did it get to your ears?

There are many fans of the original work not only in Japan but also overseas, so I became aware once again of the popularity of “Given”. That is just how high the expectations were for the anime adaptation, and I wanted people to like it even more when watching the anime, so I was truly happy when I actually did get evaluations like that on Twitter, etc.

——The airing of the anime “Given” is over, but a movie adaptation was green-lit. Please leave a message for the fans.

The story of “Given” will continue from now on too. I hope everyone can watch over what kind of sounds will come from Mafuyu’s song, Given’s (as in the band that Mafuyu and the others formed in the show) music and their romance from now onward.

——From here on out, Yano-san, I want to ask you about yourself. It seems you wanted to be an announcer at first.

I had the vague desire to move into the television business, and from yet another vague motive of wanting to become an announcer and engage with my favorite variety show, I started thinking in my third year of high school that I wanted to be an announcer.

——Why did you aim for voice actor from there?

After graduating from high school, I took a gap year in order to attend university, and during that time, I watched “Neon Genesis Evangelion” as per a friend’s recommendation, so with this as the trigger, I became interested in anime. I had almost never watched anime until then and was unfamiliar with voice actors, so I was shocked when I read in the end roll that Ogata Megumi-san was the one who played the role of Ikari Shinji, a boy, thus I became interested in them.

——Was there anything you put effort into in order to become a voice actor?

During my gap year, I watched many animes, looked up the voice actors that piqued my curiosity and imitated their acting, and performed lines from anime and manga with as much emotion as I could. I also bought a training book for becoming a voice actor and practiced enunciation while keeping it a secret from my family.

——What are the details of your joining SET?

I was was part of a the theater research association in university, but when I was in my fourth year, I once gave up the way of an actor and went job hunting. Even so, I wanted to have a job that was related to acting, so I took the recruitment test of a major production company hoping to become a manager, but during the individual interview, the person in charge told me, “Are you really all right with giving up on becoming an actor? If you want to be a voice actor, then go study theatre”.

And so, I began wanting to challenge myself one more time, so I stopped job hunting and after looking into audition magazines, I took an audition to become a research student of SET, where I could learn the essentials for musical, action and comedic theatre. I became a research student at 23, and after about a year of lessons and a graduation performance, I became an official member at the age of 24.

——Please tell us about the works and roles you did before your voice actor debut.

During my first year in becoming a troupe member, I played the role of Saburou, the protagonist of the TV anime “Nobunaga Kyousoukyoku”, as a motion actor - the kind of actor who does the gestures that are used as base for the characters’ movements.

I also participated in the troupe’s own public performance. It was a role where I had to drink coffee and say only one phrase, “It’s sweet”. It was a sentence that connected with a funny punchline, so I had been thinking all along about how I should act it out in order to induce laughter, and even during the performance, I did many attempts.

——After that, you debuted as a voice actor in the anime “Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V”.

When I was selected, I was really happy to be able to take the voice acting job that I had once given up on. I was brimming with confidence for some reason, even though I had no experience points. But when I went to the studio, I was no good at all; I would get nervous every week and had to stay overtime a lot, so I honestly hated going to the studio (laughs). Even so, thanks to the director and all the co-stars not throwing away someone like me, who did not know left and right, and instead nurturing me during the three years of “Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V”, I changed my thinking and posture in regards of acting.

——Afterward, you became capable of being entrusted with important roles, such as in “iDOLM@STER SideM” and “Tsurune —Kazemai Koukou Kyuudoubu—“, but were there any parts of them where you could feel your own growth?

In that I started thinking it was fun to perform. Even now, I still get nervous when going on-site, but as I would read the script, think about the role and create a foundation for my acting, I feel like I have become able to perform in front of the mic by responding to the acting of the person playing the other role, without thinking about unnecessary things, little by little. The moment I feel that the air has set to motion and it has turned into a drama is, if nothing else, enjoyable. I started having challenges, aspirations and goals for myself, such as, “I want to perform like this more” or, “I could bring this role into life more if I performed like that”.

——What are the fun and difficult parts of voice acting? Please tell us about your future goals too.

I believe the fun in being a voice actor is that we can perform roles that would be difficult in filming or on a stage.

There are many things that you can only learn in a recording site. When I go to them, I find a whole lot of people who are better at acting than I am, so I have to earn a role for myself. I fail most of my auditions and get depressed each time. Even so, I want to keep showing up in those series and play a role that moves the story. I always strongly think that I want to become an actor who can make people go, “I want to use Yano for this” and, “I’m glad I entrusted this role to Yano”.

——From now on, between actor and voice actor, which one to you plan to put more strength into?

Voice actor. That being said, in order to broaden my ranges as an actor too, I think I have to take on all kinds of jobs that require technique for different facial expressions on-stage. For us voice actors, charming people are mostly those who are also charismatic on the stage, so I think I also want to become a charming actor.

——Are you able to return to Tokushima regularly even now?

I make sure to go back as often as I can during summer vacation and New Years.

——Are there any parts of your life in Tokushima that have been put to good use in your acting jobs?

I seldom have any chance to come in contact with anything related to acting in Tokushima. Even if I had interest in voice actors and acting, wanted to attend a training school or thought about going to watch a play, they were all things that could not come true if I stayed in Tokushima. That is why I created many opportunities to come in contact with acting after moving to Tokyo, such as joining my university’s theatre research association and attending a school where I could study voice acting. I think I could cultivate something like a hungry spirit exactly because I used to live in Tokushima.

——If there is anything or any place in Tokushima that you like, please tell us.

Awa Dance, I guess. I did not like it that much when I was little, but after I became an adult, the group dance I watched from a box seat was stunning, and it made me so emotional that I started crying.

Also, the park that my grandfather often took me to when I was a child, though I don’t know if it still exists. I would put rice balls and pickled horseradish in a big plastic container and go there. I have memories of eating them with cold tea from a polyethylene teapot with my grandfather, after playing badminton. I want to do the same with my children and grandchildren when I become a parent and a grandpa.

——Yano-san, since you have made your dream come true, please leave a message to the young people who are chasing their dreams in Tokushima.

Time passes in a flash. For now, please do what you can with all your might. It can be anything, like classes, club activities, cultural festivals, sports festivals or romance.

If there is anything you can work your hardest in over there, please try facing it with all you have. It will certainly become a sustenance for your life from this point onward. I believe that it is better to do something and regret it than to regret not having done it.

Should there be anyone aiming to become an actor, please take action while constantly thinking about how you can get closer to the future that you have as your goal. I think there are surely many things you can do even if you are in Tokushima.

If you do not know what you should do after doing a research and reflecting on it, have courage and go consult someone who can give advice. Nothing is in vain, but rather than spending time not thinking about anything, I believe that spending time thinking about whatever is more worthwhile.

Please do your best. I will do my best too.

——Please leave a message for the fans who are cheering for you from Tokushima.

Thank you so very much for supporting me. The other day, when I took part in a recital play being held in Tokushima, I was able to show my acting to my family for the first time. They were very pleased.

Most events are held in the Tokyo Metropolitan Area, so I believe that people cannot go watch them even if they want to. My wish for more and more people to experience an event in Tokushima and see me working has become even stronger.

I will be doing my best from now on too in order to be able to take part in more series, play all kinds of roles, get to do an event in Tokushima again someday and have people come talk to me. I will be counting with your continued support from this point onward too.

#fyeahgiven #satou mafuyu #dailygiven #givendaily #given #yano shougo #my translation #seiyuu #interview

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muddyhippy · 4 years

Photo

Amazing artwork of Ivy and Lily done by @smolghostings who is entirely awesome and melted my heart with all her Lily and the Mechs fanart!

Night Terrors, Chapter 6 : Pageturner

Chapter on AO3 Here

New chapter! Sorry it’s taken a while everyone but the new chapter featuring Ivy is now up!

Pageturner

Lily made her way carefully towards the Library. It was very late but she knew Ivy would still be up. Ivy was always up. Except when they had all slept together on her first night. That had been really nice. Lily hoped they’d have another big sleepy cuddle soon, it was where she felt safest. Even safer than when she was in Jonny’s arms, tucked up against his chest, listening to him tick. Which was very, very safe in her opinion.

She didn’t want to bother Jonny. Not tonight. This was something she needed to do herself. She was a big girl after all. She was eight whole years old and she had to know the ending of the story. She’d dreamt about it and it had ended very badly so now she needed to know the truth of it.

She knocked carefully on the side of the open door, “Ivy? Ivy are you there?”

Lily waited a few moments before trying again, “Ivy?” She called, a little louder.

“Yes?” A familiar voice answered from somewhere out of sight.

Relief flooded Lily, “Can I come in please?”

“Yes.”

Lily stepped in very carefully looking around for the archivist. “Ivy?”

The archivist appeared from the depths of one of the stacks, assessing the nervous-looking little girl in one glance, “Given the current ship’s time and the fact that you are here unaccompanied you have had a nightmare and you cannot find Jonny?” Ivy tried to keep the mild annoyance from her voice, nightmare duty was very much Jonny’s territory and she had been in the midst of some long overdue re-stacking.

Lily sniffed, rubbing her sleeve across her face making her look even younger, her other hand clutching something grey and fuzzy Ivy couldn’t quite make out.

“Had a nightmare, didn’t look for Jonny, wanted you.”

That made Ivy pause, brusque response dying on her lips, there was a 74% likelihood that Ivy would be the 8th choice for comfort, only ahead of Ashes given the quartermaster’s well documented dislike of physical contact.

“Why?”

“Had a nightmare about the story I’m reading, dreamt it had a very bad ending. Wanted to make sure it wasn’t true.”

Ivy considered, Lily’s bright liquid eyes were full of unshed tears and felt herself soften in sympathy. She knew that concern, usually the concern of whether the book was going to have a satisfying ending or not rather than the obvious ‘happy’ one Lily was clearly hoping for but it was the same principle. And it was deeply pleasing to see the child so invested in a book Ivy had provided.

Ivy found she enjoyed offering choices to the child, the archivist had quickly read all the English language books (Ivy was determined to get her confident in English before fully embarking on a new language since that was what Lily currently spoke and understood and she didn’t want to overwhelm her which too much information. Ivy had had several information overloads over the centuries and it had taken several of her crewmates to help calm her down and console her) deemed suitable for a young audience by the authors in her vast collection and had begun a list that detailed all the books that seemed in keeping with the child’s interests, both the emergant ones and the ones she was now getting comfortable enough to voice. Ivy had pulled out as many English language books she had on geology, with a specificity on minerals and gemstones, Lily’s eyes had lit up at the sight of so many crystals, apparently she didn’t know that they could be so many different colours.

The interests she was discovering with the crew was a pleasure to source and support, she was one of the few members of the crew who actively sought knowledge and stories out from the library, with a few notable exceptions in recent months. The other’s reading habits not-withstanding, the archivist had added more and more books to Lily’s shelves (that had needed extra levels installing) covering a range of topics, from tea party traditions, recipes from several worlds, horse riding and non-lethal junior science to guns, galaxies and gobstoppers. Ivy liked being able to use her collection for the benefit of the crew and did so to inform them on upcoming planetary visits if she had something that covered them or hunted down more star charts and galaxy guides for the terminally curious but this was something else.

Ivy had never had the opportunity to nurture a young mind before, one with no prejudice or preconceptions other than her general sense of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ and that if it was a fictional story she wanted there to be a happy ending. Which honestly was reasonable given how painfully aware Lily was that happy-ever-afters were not a common thing.

As it was, Ivy knew the ending of the story Lily was reading, she could just tell her and send her back to bed but it seemed hardly fair to rob her of the experience of discovering it herself. These things, reading a story for the first time was a journey, something to be experienced, sometimes endured but always enjoyed in the end if the writing was compelling enough and made you care enough about the outcome.

Lily certainly cared enough.

Lily cared.

It was her default setting.

It was something Ivy appreciated even if she wasn’t entirely sure how to engage with it. She and Lily often sat together for at least an hour a day reading, Ivy helping her with new words she didn’t understand and having her say them aloud until she got the hang of how the word felt in her mouth, saying it clearly and in context.

Ivy was rather proud how much Lily’s vocabulary had increased over the past three and a half months, the archivist hadn’t thought much to teaching, leaving the others to come and go in their reading habits without comment or judgement so long as the books were put back exactly where they belonged and in the same condition when they were done. And if she placed a few specific books on specific easy-to-reach shelves where certain adults would know where to look when they came into the library in the middle of the night looking shaken and sleep-ruffled, well that was neither here or there.

Ivy enjoyed watching Lily enjoy reading her stories, the child had made her way through an impressive chunk of Ivy’s collection so far and the archivist had been actively seeking more child-appropriate content for Lily on each new planet they visited in order to ensure she never ran out of books for Lily to absorb, it was an excellent new strand to her acquisition quest, after all, she’d never made as diligent an effort to collect children’s stories before, there had been no real point. And if she had developed the practice of reading each book before putting it on to Lily’s shelves well, she was just being a responsible librarian.

Ivy nodded to the little girl, “Alright then, you know where it is, go and get it and find your answer, I’ll be here if you need me.”

Lily took a step forward towards Ivy then stopped herself, “Thank you Ivy.”

Lily scurried to fetch her book and settle on her usual cushion.

That was odd, Lily was often keen for physical affection, she’d developed a specific sign of affection for Ivy which the archivist appreciated since she struggled to acquiesce easily to the exuberant affection Lily asked for and got from the others but Lily’d never paused like that before.

The archivist considered, allowing a raft of calculations to wash over her, hmm… there was an 83% chance Lily felt uncomfortable about coming to library past her bedtime since that was something that had seemed pretty sacred to her and the ensuing ritual she and Jonny had developed of Lily saying goodnight to everyone she could see, taking his hand and having him tell her a story until she fell asleep, that, for Lily was the end of one day. Ivy had wondered if the distinction between night and day for Lily was important in accepting when she was ‘safe’ and when she had to be on guard from her nightmares. It was also possible with a 61% likelihood that Lily felt that she should not seek comfort when she was clearly trying to manage her reaction to this particular nightmare on her own especially given the lack of Jonny in tow. It was also highly likely (87%) Lily was keen to show her maturity in the face of a nightmare when faced with someone whom she did not interact with often when in this particularly vulnerable state.

That seemed like a foolish endeavour since the whole crew knew just how tactile Lily was after a nightmare, most of them had seen her being comforted by Jonny as he sang to her whilst he carried her around the corridors at least once, the child clinging to him like an especially sticky octokitten. More often Ivy knew Lily sought out the first mate in his room and climbed into his bunk to settle back down to sleep but there were a few nights she screeched Hell Fire or even more rarely, she was too miserable to settle which had Jonny crooning gently to her instead as he walked the corridors, the motion of his movement coupled with the sounds of his heart reassuring her that she was not alone.

It was so deeply incongruent to see this gentle side of Jonny appear seemingly out of nowhere though it was becoming a common sight which was possibly even stranger.

Even more incongruently, for some reason the child very much liked the ‘Alice’ sequence.

The others including herself challenged him on it one night after bedtime since it was hardly one of their friendlier stories, but then again, they didn’t really go in for that sort of thing full stop and he argued it was the first thing he thought to sing when she didn’t want the Rose and Cinders story again that night, he didn’t know the Cadence tale well enough and Hereward was Tim’s song.

And, he argued, he couldn’t very well sing their stories to her since they’d not actually talked to her about their Mechanisms yet. He had grudgingly admitted he’d panicked when he remembered the ending of Alice halfway through the last section and impulsively added a ‘and they all lived happily ever after’ in desperation. Thankfully, she’d just accepted it, possibly because she was just exhausted but for whatever reason, she liked it, especially Hatter and Hare.

Tim and Brian had been rather pleased about that, both thoroughly enjoying surprising her with that one dinner time as she started to set the table, breaking out into the song, dancing with each other and then with Lily waltzing around the mess table as the Toy Soldier poured tea for everyone utterly thrilled that everyone present wanted a cup. All three of them danced with it in turn as well making its smile somehow even wider.

Aurora had recorded it all and shown the others after Lily had fizzed with excitement telling the rest of the crew when they came to sit down for dinner. It had been one of the honestly most wholesome things Ivy thought she’d ever witnessed. And she’d seen a lot. Both physically and within the myriad of stories she read.

Ivy considered, she wondered if she was supposed to go and check on the child since she’d shown up obviously upset after a very specific nightmare but Ivy had no idea what she was supposed to do in comforting Lily. Ivy was not a singer, not like most of her crewmates, her music was enough to share but maybe Lily needed more? It was highly likely (68% in fact) that her statement about not wanting Jonny but in fact Ivy, was actually a cover. Not enough of a cover to mask the fact that despite Lily wanting to be seen as an adult that could solve her own problems she was very much a child still, a child who was vulnerable and upset and needed comforting post-nightmare. Something Ivy felt woefully unprepared to tackle.

She was already reaching for her communicator when a wobbly voice called out,

“Ivy?”

“Yes?”

Little feet pattered through the stacks and appeared looking even blotchier-faced.

“Are you alright?” enquired a very unsure Archivist.

Ivy knew the ending, the ending that was most assuredly happy. It was happy and good and satisfying for young readers and adults if they liked satisfying, comfortable endings. If Lily had read the ending already it should not have provoked this response. Also it was highly unlikely Lily could have reached the ending in the time that had elapsed. There were still seven chapters to go and Lily had an average reading speed of a page every 52 seconds (Something Ivy was very proud of, Lily’s reading speed had increased by 14 seconds since joining them and her confidence in reading aloud had doubled).

With rising panic her fingers inched back for the communicator

Lily held up her right hand, fingers splayed.

Ivy responded immediately, stepping forwards carefully, gently pressing each fingertip to Lily’s.

Ivy was honestly surprised the child had remembered in her upset.

It was something she did with Ivy and only Ivy when she came to read but that was always when the little girl was happy and excited.

Lily had asked her if she could give Ivy a ‘finger hug’ the second time she ever came to visit the library, three days after she joined the crew.

That had taken the archivist by surprise.

“A finger hug?” Questioned Ivy. She quickly wracked her memory files to pull up some form of record or reference to such a thing and came up empty.

“Yes.” Lily held up her little hand fingers and thumb splayed wide, “we touch our fingers together and it means we’re hugging.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t really like hugs and I want to hug you because I think you’re really nice and kind to let me come into the library and read real books even though they’re very special but I don’t want to make you feel bad by hugging you because that’s not nice or kind to do so if you like this instead then I can hug you without making you feel, um, icky.” Lily trailed off in the face of Ivy’s intense gaze.

Lily’s words, if phrased a little childishly, were deeply heart-felt.

Ivy felt herself bluescreen.

She hadn’t said a word to Lily about not being overly comfortably or confident with physical affection, Jonny had prompted Lily to ask for permission to hold her hand but that was it. She filed that away for future reference on how perceptive Lily was. The others should be made aware of this since they liked to think they were subtle.

Then again, it could be entertaining to watch them get caught out by a tiny observer.

Thing was, it was an observation that was made and then used to inform a kind action.

That was not a very common activity on board the Aurora. Or at least, not an activity anyone would ever own up to.

Ivy felt herself melt a little, it was such a simple consideration but a very welcome one. Even in the three days Lily had been on board, Lily had shown an emotional maturity that was far beyond her years, the child listened and watched the crew carefully, obviously trying to pick up on what was acceptable behaviour and responses.

Partly this seemed to be a survival instinct, Lily could, after all, be classed as prey amongst a den of predators.

Ivy had shuddered internally at that comparison, it felt wrong, even though her crewmates were epitome of dangerous they’d all made a concerted effort to be gentle with Lily, maybe more like a cub in a den of predators? That felt oddly more appropriate despite the notion of any of the Mechanisms actually having children of their own was not only a statistical impossibility from a physical perspective but one so far-removed from the general outlooks of them all to be deemed laughable.

And yet.

The behaviours exhibited so far by Jonny, Marius, Brian and more surprisingly Raphaella and Ashes (albeit from a distance) seemed to hint if not possessing buried parental instincts at least a sense of affinity and empathy. The others had yet to be truly tested however there was at least a 79% chance Tim would also begin to display elder sibling behaviours if not a full paternal instinct. It was fascinating to see.

The Toy Soldier was very pleased to have a new friend. Lily had already been seen happily playing with it in the three days she’d been on board, they’d raced past the library door the previous, day, a piping little voice shouting ‘Tig!’ triumphantly, also given how much TS loved the crew it was likely that affection would carry over to Lily as well gifting the child with a friendship that would be unbreakable. Nastya had not been around enough to observe but Ivy suspected the engineer was also harbouring an affinity with the child as well, both of them having survived (relatively speaking in Nastya’s case) the murder of her family and the destruction of all she knew.

And then there was herself.

Ivy could and was in the process of reading any and all child-rearing health books she had in her library to help out Raphaella’s research. Ivy had no memories of her own childhood, be they wants, needs or behaviours. She was 89% sure she had her passion for reading and acquiring knowledge from an extremely early age but she had not real framework to apply from her own experiences.

Ivy tried not to think about all the lost memory data of hers, and normally she could and did avoid it but there had been so much chatter surrounding the subject of reminiscence, almost all of them, even Nastya, had offered tidbits of their own long-unthought of childhood. She and Brian had taken silent solace in one another, both listening politely for a while before quietly leaving for the bridge together to enjoy one another’s companionable peace.

She focused on learning the facts as she always did. It helped to ground her in the here and now and real knowledge of the universe. She knew the vitamins and minerals required for a human child to grow well, the quantities and the various sources they could be obtained from. Ivy knew to the minute the amount of sleep needed for a child Lily’s age and that routine was apparently good for them. It especially seemed it was important to avoid Lily being allowed to become something called ‘overtired’ when small children apparently turn into some sort of armed grenade and the explosions had a myriad of options of being tearful, rage-filled or both.

Ivy wasn’t sure how the others would handle a small child that detonated like that. Then again, the first night she was with them was enough of a shock when she burst into hysterical tears over Tim and Marius being shot. That, that had been unexpected in how the others had reacted. There was a 47% chance one of them would shoot her on instinct on sheer noise alone since her cries had sounded like some sort of terrible warning siren, however, when she had appeared wailing on Jonny’s hip that chance had dropped to 7%.

Ivy had actually been surprised at the fury on the first mate’s face, she hadn’t seen him that angry since Tim had been mechanised and Carmilla had had her ‘accident’ shortly thereafter.

She had been more surprised initially at the child’s distress at Tim and Marius’ deaths, then had to remind herself that the likelihood of the child having significant trauma responses to witnessing violence were 99.9% coupled with the fact that seeing people die in her experience was a decidedly permanent event. Her ship had certainly been an event.

Ivy was not anywhere near as happy in conflict and gunfire as her crewmates but she was no shrinking violet, more like a knowing foxglove. She’d seen and perpetrated her share of horrible murder and destruction but there was something about Lily’s ship, something raw, the murder in her ship was gleeful even beyond Jonny’s most manic rampages. And Lily had been surviving in the aftermath for three full weeks.

It didn’t sit right with Ivy, it was something she was researching into since Jonny had spoken to them all about Lily’s desire for revenge when she was of age. She would find those who had wreaked havoc through Lily’s people.

So yes, Lily’s upset was more than a little understandable in hindsight. What had caught Ivy completely off guard had been that the child had sought comfort from all of them, she had assumed Jonny would remain the primary form of comfort eschewing all others with Raphaella taking a distant second place due the science officer wrangling the child into the shower. That too had been unexpected, Ivy would have thought that she was purely motivated by opportunity to make closer observations for her research which was 83% correct but the look on her face when she returned with Lily and Jonny to the mess there had been a softness on her face that had repeated after the incident with Tim and Marius.

Lily had wanted comfort from them all and everyone, everyone had complied. She had calculated the chances being 3% at the most. But everyone, even Nastya, even herself had, at the very least, held the distraught child.

Raphaella had handed her the child and she hadn’t known what to do with her but it seemed to be enough, Lily did most of the work. It had been strange having a living, breathing creature in her arms that wasn’t an octokitten, not unpleasant per se but something she was not terribly confident or comfortable with.

And Lily had realised within three days.

And presented the ‘fingertip hug’ option.

An option that Ivy took every time the child came to visit.

Ivy had begun to enjoy the child’s company over the course of the three and half months she had been with them. She came every day without fail, knocking politely and waiting to be invited inside before offering her usual greeting, finding her book and settling down on what rapidly became ‘her’ cushion. She’d beamed when Ivy gave her a bookmark after the archivist ascertained the child tried to remember the page she’d finished on and didn’t always succeed.

Every so often she would approach Ivy to ask for help with a word and its meaning. Initially Ivy had resented the interruptions to her own reading but she always answered, the child wanted knowledge after all. After a while she began to appreciate the child’s joy at each explanation, thrilled to be learning something new. Ivy realised Lily wasn’t asking to be a bother unlike the rest of her crewmates most of the time, she was asking because she genuinely wanted to learn and appreciated Ivy taking the time to tell her.

After three weeks of observed behaviour there was an 84% chance Lily had not had overtly positive experiences with adults outside of her own parents. Nothing particularly negative but the way she responded to anyone taking time to tell her anything or answering a question she asked it was clear this did not happen often nor did she expect them to engage with her as often (read: every time she asked) as they did.

Ivy resolved to be as encouraging as she could be on Lily’s search for stories and knowledge. She found her books, began to listen to the child read aloud and always helped with new or difficult words.

Lily never cuddled up to her the way she did Jonny, Brian, Marius, TS or Raphaella or the way she started to after the whole hair brushing incident with Tim. But still. She would bring her pillow near to where Ivy was reading to practice her own literacy skills.

Right now though she was faced with a very distraught looking Lily doing the fingertip hug clearly about to disintegrate.

“What’s the matter?”

“I, I want to read the story but I’m scared I’ll get tears on it by accident, because, because they, they keep escaping and I don’t want to ruin your book but I want to know the answer!”

At this point Lily did dissolve in tears.

Ivy realised that there was a 37% chance she’d never been quite as consciously terrified as she was presented with a sobbing little girl.

“Er, would you like a hug?”

Lily sobbed and tried to swallow, rubbing a sleeve across her streaming eyes, “Are, are you sure?” she wept out.

“No, but you’re clearly deeply unhappy and there is an 87% chance a hug will make you feel better and I would like to help make you feel better.”

Lily gave her the wobbliest smile Ivy had ever seen then carefully approached the archivist, waiting for Ivy’s arms to wrap around her before sinking into the safety of warm, living adult.

Ivy felt the child melt into her.

There was an unexpected warmth that bloomed in her chest. There was an 92% likelihood she was experiencing a sense of familial bonding, she quickly compared it to how she felt when working in collaboration with Raphaella on an experiment or sitting with Brian in companionable quiet on the bridge or even taking part in a satisfactory music practice with the whole crew. The feeling was remarkably similar.

That was, surprising but encouraging all the same.

She felt like she might not end up being too poor a substitute for the first mate.

She still wasn’t sure how Jonny managed this so easily though.

It was a common enough if still strange sight to see Lily limpeted to Jonny, clinging on tightly but he held her as if he’d always been doing that, as if his arms were made to hold her, like Lily was made to fit perfectly into his side. There were many, many, many things Ivy could and did criticise Jonny for but he’d taken to this with an aplomb none of them had anticipated. Even within those first few minutes Ivy could not have predicted Jonny taking hold of the child when she ran at him. Ivy had braced to witness a child die due to long-hone instincts wherein, with a chance of less than 1% Jonny hadn’t shot her, too shocked initially it seemed then some sort of buried sense of paternity reared its head from the depths. It has been fascinating to watch from a distance.

Now Ivy was experiencing something like that without the presence and dare she admit it, safety of her crewmates to take point on the interaction.

Ivy had never felt overtly comfortable around anyone since she woke up on Aurora head full of facts yet empty of memories. She found she worried often of not having the ‘right’ reactions due to her positronic brain and so limited the factors that would expose her to those situations. Books were safer, she knew what they expected from and in return there was a comforting predictability in learning.

There was very little predictable about Lily.

Well that wasn’t entirely fair. The child was kind and loving and concerned with making sure everyone felt included in whatever was happening (that spoke volumes about the child’s existing experiences with her own shipmates but that was hardly the point at present). She wanted positive attention and was thrilled to get it, she liked to hug and be physically reassured by the others after a scare or when she was being praised.

Lily, if you broke her down to her fundamentals, was not too hard to comprehend.

She wanted to be loved.

The hard part came in that the Mechanisms did not deal readily in love. None would claim to have any real solid experience, maybe Nastya and Tim but it wasn’t the same sort of familial love. Jonny was not-so-secretly a romantic at heart (though he’d shoot you if you pointed it out) but again it wasn’t the same. They were trying their best but none of them really came from loving families, those that could remember at least.

They were running of half-forgotten instincts that all adults of a species apparently carried coded into their beings from the earliest dawn of sentience.

‘Protect the young.’

Ivy, now with a sobbing Lily attached to her, felt what must be that same drive begin to stir.

A hesitant hand raised to rub carefully up and down Lily’s back.

Lily cuddled closer.

Well that must be the right approach.

Ivy continued to run her hand up and down Lily’s small back as the child cried into the archivist’s neck. After a while the tears began to slow.

“M’sorry.”

“What for?”

“For making you hug me and getting your collar all soggy.”

Well that wouldn’t do at all. Ivy might not be a fan of overt physical contact but no one made her do anything she didn’t want to.

She pulled Lily off her enough to face her, the child’s huge blue eyes looking like glowing lagoons, swimming with spilling tears.

“Now listen to me Lily, no one makes me do anything I don’t want to do, not when it comes to something like this. I am comforting you because I want to and you want me to. No one can make you hug or even touch someone if you don’t want to. The other person has to want it too. I am hugging you because you want me to and I want to help you. Understand me?”

“Y”-she hiccupped-“es.”

“Good.” Ivy paused, not sure where to go from there. She sent out a desperate burst of data requests trying to grasp any suggestions that might help.

The image of Lily sitting on Jonny’s lap at the mess table when she first joined them. Lily sat on Brian’s lap on the bridge asking him hundreds of questions about music and stars. Lily perched on Raphaella’s lap frowning in concentration as she practices plaiting her long golden waves. Lily tucked up on Marius’ lap between his violin and bow arm, humming along with the tunes he played. Lily settled on Tim’s lap smiling as the gunner carefully brushed her wild mop of tangles smooth.

Each time Lily was settled and safe and happy.

“Would, would you like to sit on my lap and I’ll read the rest of the story to you? That way we won’t risk you getting the book damp.”

Lily’s face lit up in a blinding smile.

Clearly that was the right thing to offer.

“Alright then, let’s go get the book.”

Ivy took Lily’s hand because that was also clearly the thing to do in this situation, she’d seen Lily hold hands with the others when heading somewhere together and the child had asked to hold her hand the first time she came to the library. That was bound to help comfort her.

Lily clung to her hand like a lifeline.

Ivy took in the sight of the neat spot Lily usually occupied, cushions in a tidy pile and her book in its proper place on the shelf.

Even upset she’d respected the books.

Ivy felt her chest flood with warmth.

“Alright then,” she picked up the title in question, settled comfortably in the nest of pillows that had accumulated then gestured to Lily, “come on Liliput, get comfortable.”

Lily stared at her.

Ivy stared right back, shocked at the name that had slipped from her so easily.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s the name of a town where people live whom Gulliver visits during his travels, they’re very small but kind to him.”

“Who’s Gulliver?”

“Lemuel Gulliver is the protagonist of Jonathan Swift’s adventure story ‘Gulliver’s Travels’ he’s an explorer who sails across the Oceans of Earth—”

“That’s Tim’s home planet isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Did Tim meet him?”

Ivy smiled at the question. “No, Gulliver wasn’t a real person, his story is also set roughly 500 years before Tim’s time.”

Lily considered, Ivy could see the numbers totting up in the child’s mind.

“That’s a lot.” she offered finally.

“Yes it is.”

“So he was a made up adventurer?”

“And explorer. He sailed to different islands to meet different civilisations.”

“Ooh. Did he not have a spaceship?”

“No this story was set before spaceships had been invented.”

“Oh. A VERY long, long ago then?”

“Yes.”

“Can I read it next?”

“Yes, I can find you a copy.”

Lily sniffed. “Thank you, you’re the best.” Declared Lily earnestly.

Ivy smiled again, honestly touched by the sincerity.

“Thank you. Now do you want to sit down and finish this story?”

“Yes please!”

Lily needed no more encouragement, she settled into Ivy’s lap as though she’d always been there, leaning against Ivy’s chest letting out a satisfied sigh. Ivy smelled of paper, of warm leather and the comfort of stories to be told. It was rare she got this close to Ivy, Lily savoured it as much as she could, it was very different to the rest of them, to Jonny or Marius or Raphaella but it was just as nice, just as a part of her sense of safety as every other scent of them was.

Paper, wood, resin, wild flowers, leather, cordite, oil, wool, resin, tea, smoke, spice and whiskey

It was home.

Ivy’s breath caught, she wasn’t sure how she expected it to feel having Lily in her lap, uncomfortable? Awkward? Something that she’d have to endure?

What she wasn’t expecting was a strange sense of satisfaction. There was a warmth that took root in her, the impression that what she was doing was good and right and helping.

Ivy decided to calculate the average improvements Lily had made to the crew’s individual well beings later when she could consider all the data she’d observed and listened to. Right now though, she had a story to read.

Ivy read out the voices of the characters as she heard them in her own head when she’d read the story the first time herself much to Lily’s apparent delight. Encouraged she continued adding the dramatic emphasis drawing thrilled but ever-sleepier responses from Lily until the child fell asleep three chapters from the end.

Ivy smiled with the contentment of a job well done. She had done it. Lily had come to her wanting help and she’d been able to provide that well enough that the child had gone back to sleep, happy and obviously feeling secure.

Children tended to only sleep on people they trusted. She’d read it in one of the few human child rearing books she’d found.

The archivist was deeply proud of herself.

And now Lily was asleep she could take a closer look at the fluffy thing that the little girl was clutching as she listened.

An emerald or copper oxidised geode of some kind rendered in a fluffy fabric with embroidered eyes.

Ivy felt another smile slowly bloom across her face as she realised what it was.

Jonny.

So that was what he’d been up to.

She’d caught him trying to sneak out of the library a few times two months, three weeks and five, four and two days ago, only refraining from blowing his head off because of the likelihood if she did it would be a night Lily needed comforting and she did not want to have to deal with the emotional fallout that mess would wrought.

She’d let him go once he proved he wasn’t trying to smuggle books out with him and upon investigation of her shelves the books he’d been looking at (not quite put back exactly where they belonged but he’d apparently tried) focused minerals and geology, she’d wondered want on earth he’d been up to since seeking knowledge, or reading in general was not his go-to activity.

This was apparently it.

Making an accurate depiction of a geode to render in fluff as a comfort toy for an orphaned little girl. Ivy knew Lily was interested in stones, she’d brought back half the lakeshore from their first planet visit. Several of them kept appearing around Aurora with googly or painted on eyes and smiley faces. One of the smaller, lighter, flatter ones had found their way into Brian’s hat band for a while.

But this? Taking an active interest and trying to make something accordingly? Jonny was apparently full of surprises. It was a side of him Ivy had suspected existed based on her centuries of observation but it was something he guarded fiercely as though having a soft side was some sort of shameful secret. Same went for the rest of the crew. Though, yet again, the rest of the crew also made a point not to be known for their abundance of gentleness or thoughtfulness. Except Brian and TS, (and Marius but 50% of the time he was trying to get a rise of people as well).

Until recently.

Until Lily.

Whose presence apparently was tacit permission to be kinder, not just with her because that was expected, she was a child, an innocent child they’d ended up responsible for and whilst they didn’t really know what they were doing they weren’t actual monsters in this regard, they had at a passing acquaintance with decency sometimes so they were trying to look after her as ‘properly’ as they could.

And they all did look out for each other too, always undercover of insult or secrecy-no one would ever admit to doing something nice after all but now? Well, their behaviour around Lily was clearly affecting their day-to-day interactions. Murder had been reduced to a minimum especially during ‘daylight’ hours and they’d found other, more constructive ways to harness their energies, non-lethal pranks were happening far more regularly and were being met with amused annoyance rather than murderous rage. Not to mention they’d managed to put the Verdant Hood story cycle together in record time, she was rather looking forward to performing that one. It was amazing how much more practice you could manage when you didn’t have to wait for your lead singer to regrow his bullet-punctured lungs or your string/percussion/piano players to re-grow shot-off fingers.

Ivy reflected on the status of the crew; there was a contentment that was slowly becoming apparent that had been lacking for several centuries, it was unexpected but pleasant all the same. She was going to enjoy analysing her calculations and collecting more data from the regular interactions she’d been taking part in. Breakfast and Dinner especially as sit down meals weren’t uncommon before Lily but they were now a daily occurrence, Ivy tried to remember to attend at least one meal per day, her crewmates could be intolerably loud a lot of the time but it was pleasant to talk to them sometimes.

And she enjoyed the growing sense of camaraderie rather than simple tolerance.

Thinking of.

She should probably contact Jonny.

Lily, whilst the weight of her on Ivy’s lap was comforting in a way the archivist had not been expecting it was not fair to allow the child to sleep in this position all night. The books on child growth encouraged lots of sleep but she doubted they meant in laps of immortal space pirates.

That hadn’t stopped Lily in the slightest but it still wasn’t good for her.

Ivy typed a message on her communicator, not wanting to risk waking the child.

‘Jonny, Lily is in the library with me. Please come and collect.-Ivy’

There wasn’t much else she could do but wait, idly glancing back through her data files to check her inventory of books suitable for Lily and adding the note that she wanted to read Gulliver’s Travellers next. She wondered if Tim had read the book as a boy since he��d started availing himself of her collection several months ago upon learning she had some of his childhood favourites.

Twenty-nine minutes later a sleep-drunk, bleary-eyed Jonny came stumbling into the library.

Ivy had to force herself not to startle.

She’d never seen him look so thoroughly, relaxedly, rumpled.

She’d seen him drunk to incoherence and passing out mid-sentence. She’d seen him sleep-deprived, strung-out furious and exhausted to the point he just shut down and dropped where he stood (usually because he’d been refusing to sleep due to the nightmares he definitely didn’t experience) whenever that happened, rare as it was, Brian usually picked him up and carried him off to dump the first mate into bed.

(Although, knowing Brian it was more like he tucked him in carefully but neither of them would ever admit it)

She’d seen him nursing the sire of all hangovers across the multiverse, losing the ability to speak any recognised language of which he, like the rest of them, actually knew several.

But, she realised with a start, she’d never seen him just honestly sleepy, ‘Woken-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-working-on-about-20%-operating-capacity-I-need-to-do-something-but-I-am-on-autopilot’ sleepy.

He wasn’t dressed for any kind of engagement either. No gun, nor holster, not even a belt. Make up cleaned off his face wearing just a plain dark t-shirt, fabric greyed and worn with age and black drawstring trousers.

Pyjamas.

Jonny D’Ville was wearing honest-to-goodness to pyjamas.

He made his way over to Lily’s corner apparently instinctively, nodded at Ivy with a grateful half-smile, his face, already unguarded softened even more when he took in the sight of Lily, curled up against Ivy, one hand holding on to her waistcoat the other clinging to Gemini who was smushed up against her own chest.

Ivy found herself not daring to breathe whilst she watched to retrieval take place.

He scooped up the sleeping child with a practiced ease, Lily immediately settling against him like she lived there, barely even stirring.

Jonny’s hand lingered on Ivy’s a moment, squeezing it gently, “’anks f’lookin’after her.” before wrapping his arms more securely around Lily, taking his leave back towards his bunk.

Ivy’s stare followed the two of them long after they’d left her Library.

Well.

That. That was one of the most unexpected sights she had witnessed on board.

She’d never witnessed Jonny appear so utterly vulnerable, without his usual brashness, his loud swaggering and even louder gunshots Jonny was- Jonny was young realised Ivy, probably younger than her when he was mechanised. She did some swift calculations and didn’t like her conclusions.

Well that made an uncomfortable amount of sense. Trying to seem bigger and badder than everyone else was probably a learned trait now she thought about it, forever twenty? That’s quite difficult to make people listen to you off the bat, even if you’ve got centuries or millennia under your many belts.

That Jonny was actually comfortable enough to appear like that offered two explanations, one he was starting to actually relax enough around people to allow his softer side more public outings and two, he was just so exhausted by all the nightmare duty he’d been pulling along with having to process actual emotions he was simply spent beyond all care or consideration.

It was probably a mix of both.

Ivy allowed herself a pleased smile, partially because she was glad the first mate was clearly getting something positive out of this caretaker role he’d accidentally stepped into three and a half months ago and partially because she had excellent blackmail material to use to get first editions from the next twenty planets they visited.

She sighed, she was enjoying this mellowing of her crewmates interactions, though not enough to be entirely alienating but just enough to take some of the edges off, it was nice knowing that a request for people to please shut the fuck up for five minutes was less likely to earn you a bullet to the head. There was a rare peace that was becoming a little more common and helped draw her out of the library a little more regularly and that was something she felt she could live with.

The chances of a child being a uniting factor for group cohesion and to reduce the levels of ship-destructive violence would have been at a 0.001% if you’ve asked Ivy four months ago but now? Whilst she absolutely could not have predicted it she was very glad Jonny had been too shocked to react with violence back on Lily’s ship, the archivist found she quite liked having another bibliophile on board, it might be what it would have been like to have had a younger sibling. Ivy paused, considering. That fit. Having a younger person to encourage and help shape, not a parent, certainly not, but possibly another familial bond?

Quite possibly.

92% in fact.

#The Mechanisms #the mechanisms fanfic #Lily Of-Many-Names #ivy alexandria #jonny d'ville #the mechanisms fanart #Night Terrors Chapter 6

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secretlyatargaryen · 4 years

Text

I’ve read a lot of analysis of Zuko’s fever dream and the blue dragon/red dragon dichotomy, mostly focusing on how these represent Zuko’s internal conflict with his own morality, but I think there’s another interesting interpretation.

This dream is, in part, a “what could be” scenario for Zuko, with him on the throne, torn between good and bad, represented by Iroh and Azula, respectively, because those are the two people who most prominently represent these things in his life. It’s not entirely that, and the fact that Zuko is without his scar in the dream shows us that this is a future that can never be. In that case it’s a “what could have been” and a symbol of Zuko’s own desperate desire to fix what he thinks his problems are, and a hint that what Zuko is trying to regain, his place by his father’s side as the beloved crown prince, never really existed in the first place. This also shows us that this is a future that Zuko cannot quite believe in himself. I’ve written before about Zuko’s seemingly contradictory feelings towards his birthright and how I don’t think he ever really saw himself on the throne, and I think this is another hint that this is the case. In this dream, Zuko is sitting on the throne, but the reality we see is one that isn’t quite real.

The fact that he imagines Azula, and not Ozai, as the blue dragon shows the audience what a powerful influence Azula has over him (and also foreshadows Azula’s influence in leading him to betray Iroh underneath Ba Sing Se). It’s interesting because we might think the blue dragon would be Ozai, especially when contrasted with Iroh, as the two father figures in Zuko’s life, but it’s Azula who is contrasted with Iroh here. This does not mean Azula is a more powerful influence than Ozai, but rather it shows that Azula’s influence is different, more direct and tangible in Zuko’s mind. I do think that this is evidence that Zuko sees Azula as both someone who has power over him and someone he is afraid of. This is, after all, a nightmare, and the blue dragon’s appearance here is very dark and threatening. But his fear of her is very different from his fear of Ozai. Whereas Zuko views Azula as an antagonist, represented here as a negative and threatening presence vs Iroh’s positive and nurturing presence, Zuko doesn’t view his father as an antagonist. And interestingly, once Zuko does realize his father’s abuse towards him, he views Ozai as Aang’s antagonist. His standing up to Ozai is focusing on how he believes that it is Aang’s destiny to defeat his father. I actually think that Zuko is so afraid of Ozai that he can’t perceive of him as an enemy that he can face alone, even on the Day of Black Sun. Zuko is perfectly capable of facing Azula in battle (even though Azula is also abusive to Zuko) but the one time he faced Ozai in battle, he was so terrified that he couldn’t fight back. He does redirect lightning at his father when he finally stands up to him, and the fact that he brought his swords with him, and carefully planned to confront Ozai on a day when he knew Ozai would not be able to use his bending, shows that Zuko was prepared to fight back if he had to, but I think this was something he wanted to avoid and something he wasn’t confident that he could win. At the end of book 2, Zuko is certainly not capable of confronting his father even in a psychic fever dream.

In Zuko’s dream, both Azula and Iroh seem to represent what Zuko could become if he were on the throne. Azula is the abused child who never got free of her father’s toxic influence and become totally indoctrinated in the Fire Nation’s imperialistic worldview, while Iroh represents the freedom to choose good. But the threat that Azula poses in this dream is more than just an existential one. I also think that Azula here could represent a possible future for Zuko, were he to inherit his father’s throne.

Blue dragon: [In Azula's voice.] It's getting late. Are you planning to retire soon, my lord?

Zuko: I'm not tired.

Blue dragon: [Into Zuko's ear.] Relax, Fire Lord Zuko. Just let go. Give in to it. Shut your eyes for a while.

Zuko slowly starts to shut his eyes but widely opens them upon hearing the other dragon.

Red dragon: [In Iroh's voice.] No, Fire Lord Zuko! Do not listen to the blue dragon. You should get out of here right now. Go! Before it's too late! [Both dragons are poised to either side of Zuko.]

Blue dragon: Sleep now, Fire Lord Zuko.

The dragons disappear, and the room they're in, as well as the guards watching Zuko, crumble to nothing. The blue dragon reappears in front of him. Two golden eyes appear, followed by the face of the blue dragon, which closes rapidly.

Blue dragon: Sleep. [Voice grows louder and more hostile as it continues talking.] Just like mother!

The blue dragon in the dream behaves similarly to the way Azula does. She is manipulative, offering temptation with an implicit threat behind it which becomes more explicit by the end of the dream, while the red dragon with Iroh’s voice urges Zuko not to listen, just as Iroh urges Zuko not to listen to Azula when Zuko is awake.

I’ve read analysis of this scene that suggest that it show’s Zuko’s fears about what might have happened to his mother and that he believes on some level that she is dead, which I agree with, but I also think it represents a fear of what he thinks might happen to him if he were to take the throne. This also answers the question of why neither Ozai or Azula seem particularly bothered by the fact that Zuko is the heir to the throne, despite their obvious disdain for him, and why neither of them are bothered by him being reinstated as heir in book 3. There are two possibilities here.

1) Zuko takes the throne but is weak and easily manipulated by Azula, who becomes the true influence on the throne, represented by the blue dragon whispering in his ear and telling him not to worry and just “give in,” which Zuko does not want to do.

2) Zuko takes the throne but is killed by Azula, who takes the throne for herself, or Azula kills him before he can inherit the throne, or Azula usurps him in a similar way to what Ozai did with Iroh. This also goes with the idea that Zuko believes that his mother is dead, especially since his mother disappeared at the same time that Ozai took control of the throne, and the fact that at the end of the dream, the blue dragon tells him to “sleep, like mother” seems to imply that Zuko believes that what happened to his mother will also happen to him.

This is an interesting interpretation because it shows that the threat here is not just one against Zuko’s soul (although there is that, too) but that he believes on some level that his future as the crown prince is literally a threat to his life.

I also think it’s interesting that although the red dragon is portrayed as a positive and protective influence, telling him to go before it’s too late, it also appears vaguely threatening. This is because believing Iroh, and embracing the destiny that Iroh wants him to embrace, is a threat to the carefully constructed psyche that Zuko has built in order to cope with his situation. If it were easy, then it wouldn’t be a crossroads of destiny. This is also why it is ultimately important for Zuko to choose good for himself, and not because Iroh is pushing him to, which also is related to Zuko’s fears of being controlled even from a seeming position of power.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #zuko #azula #iroh #atla meta

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hedonisthierophant · 4 years

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The Dead Man in the Mirror

Hi everyone, (it feels funny saying that when I imagine that the amount of people who will read this is probably in single digits.)

Here is my first fic for The Devil All The Time. It’s an introspective piece, exploring Arvin’s psyche. I’d love feedback, bonus points if you can guess what I’ve been watching lately that was somewhat of an inspiration for this. I owe the courage to both write and post this to @ill-skillsgard. I dedicate this piece to her and to @sophie-writes-for-arvin-russel who inspired it, I hope you both like this. Enjoy!

Warnings: disassociative identity disorder, blood, violence, mentions of suicide.

Length: 2K

The Dead Man In The Mirror

His father seemed to fight the devil all the time. Growing up, his father Willard had always been Arvin’s hero. His father was big, strong, incredibly handsome, a fearsome protector, his love existed but it was distant and could be cold. His mother…well his mother’s very nature seemed defined by her ephemerality. She had been kind, gentle, quietly beautiful, wonderfully nurturing…and gone too soon. If his mother had been the life-giving spring with its gentle time to grow, his father was the harsh winter that demanded that Arvin mold himself into something different if he was to survive. When he went out with his father he could perfectly go through the motions of the lessons he was being taught but Willard somehow knew that Arvin wasn’t really learning them for himself, merely copying, the same was true of his mother, when given an example he could put on an impeccable performance of the polite and humble young man she was attempting to raise, but she too realized that she was only taking in a show. Without either of their examples to follow Arvin was simply still, empty like a mirror left alone in the dark with nothing to reflect. Arvin supposed that made him the autumn, a product of two stronger forces with the redeeming qualities of neither. People like autumn because it’s not too much of this, or that. To him, being autumn was simply the absence of being. In the stillness of autumn as the world prepares to slumber people often use the ensuing quiet and peace as a reprieve to find themselves. For Arvin though, there was nothing to find. He was empty. In the in-between where his mother’s lessons intersected with his father’s they agreed on only a single point. That Arvin must find himself and discover who he was or other people would take advantage of his emptiness and use him as a vessel waiting to be filled. He wouldn’t find out how correct they had been until much later.

In the end the cancer itself may have only struck down his mother, but it defeated both his parents. Charlotte only knew how to deal with problems that were like weeds, insects, or disease in her beautiful garden, they could be plucked and pruned, treated with this remedy or that, Arvin remembers that she used to sing to her plants. In the absence of treatment all his mother’s ways were useless against the sickness devouring her. His father was a warrior through and through, once pointed in the direction of a solution there was no stopping him. It is how he had solved the problems of the battlefield and Arvin would learn much later that he had solved their housing situation the same way. The thankless unforgiving work of the slaughterhouse was simply another battle to be fought. In the absence of an enemy combatant, Willard was powerless. Cancer was an intangible, intransigent enemy. Charlotte lost ground to it every day, and there was nothing her devoted soldier could do to help. That desperation birthed the prayer log, a place where in Willard’s mind, he would focus all of his devotion and manifest a miracle for his beloved. Arvin, ever the mirror, was expected to reflect Willard’s zeal in order to amplify their call to heaven. In a detached sort of way his father’s suicide made sense to Arvin. The great soldier had finally lost a battle, and doctrine dictated that under no circumstances was he to allow himself to be taken alive in event of defeat. Slitting his throat from ear to ear in an inadvertent grotesque parody of the smile Arvin had been longing to see grace his lips had simply been only available recourse.

Arvin used to stare into the mirror for hours on end when he was young, he could see his mother’s fine features and soft caring eyes easily enough but from the moment he was old enough to compare he felt he was lacking because he didn’t see any of his father’s face in him, let alone his strength or determination. When Charlotte fell ill Arvin didn’t look in the mirror anymore, this was not by choice for he dearly would’ve liked to continue his nightly ritual of self-analysis, if only to take his mind away from his mother for a while and even more so as an escape from the burdensome log. His mother had insisted that they cover the mirrors as she grew weaker. His father ever the dutiful soldier, glad to be given a mission to accomplish, saw to it as nearly as soon as the words left her pale, trembling lips. Her faint wish was executed zealously as though it were an order from an empress, or an angel’s command ringing down from on high. Willard flew to the general store as fast as their battered truck carry him and returned with the heaviest sheets young Arvin had ever seen. Not one for any half measures ever, Willard affixed sheets to every mirror in the house tying the edges with impenetrable serpentine knots he learned in the war. On the inside Arvin wailed at the loss, as though he were being deprived of the priceless treasure as opposed to a simple chance to look himself, but without a physical mirror to ground him, he became lost in a spiral of self-doubt and could think of himself as only a pale reflection of his parents. Outwardly however he said nothing, his face betrayed none of his turmoil, for that was one of the mandates of winter. All these years later Arvin still asks himself why reflections were banished from their home, he thinks perhaps that not even his mother could stand the sight of her radiance fading away, day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment.

Young Arvin tried to defy this edict once when he was starving for a reminder that he himself was alive. He snuck the smallest mirror in the house, a relic of a bygone age when his mother had wistfully mentioned that she wished to have a mirror to do her makeup in. His father had driven six hours next day and returned with a luxuriously polished and impossibly bright mirror from a department store in Cleveland and placed it on his mother’s dresser before she even awoke. Armed with a dull butter knife that had long since lost its luster for there was no one around to cook anymore, Arvin’s clumsy child’s hands sawed ineffectually at the Gordian knot separating him from just the smallest reassurance that he was a person. The punishments of winter were cruel, but purposeful…this would be of rather cold comfort to Arvin. His father opened the door to his room and saw what he was attempting to do, coldness came over his face as though his exquisite mien had been frozen into a perfect ice sculpture of emptiness. He approached with the inevitability and weight of a blizzard, that would bear down upon Arvin’s small, desperate, perpetually inadequate frame. There was a cold precision to the pain inflicted upon Arvin. The worst punishment, assigned to his hands, for they had been the instruments of his sin, was dealt first. He was force to immerse them in ice water for an hour, Arvin begged and pleaded, his tears melting with the instrument of the sanction placed upon him. Through piteous groans and screams and cries, and apologies and promises made all the more earnest by suffering the ice in his father’s face did not crack, but the moment the timer rang his father lifted his hands from the ice and began to dry them showing a tenderness that was rare for him. After enduring the loss of feeling in his hands Arvin was stripped and made to go outside and select a willow switch, Arvin had thought he might never feel warm again but the heat of shame proved him wrong. He was beaten with an almost… tender precision, in all things his father was in absolute control of himself and the application of justice is no different. The lashings never broke the skin never left too serious a bruise and his face and what lay between his legs were spared. The morphine held his mother under its powerful spell and his screams never reached her. Afterward Willard helped Arvin dress and gently held him in his arms before carrying him away to bed and tucking him in. The moment the door shut quietly behind him and there was enough distance between him and his son’s sniffling breaths the ice that held Willard melted his body shook with silent sobs as tears sprang from his eyes and mixed with the vermilion blood on his hands as he knelt to pick up shards of glass from the petite mirror he had shattered for daring to remind him of happier times.

The day those boys had cornered Lenora, forced her to her knees and thrown a bag over her head Arvin tried to say a prayer in his mind as he was surrounded and kicked, but it wasn’t the Lord who answered, something inside Arvin had. For the first time in his insecure, anxious, people pleasing existence, Arvin was filled with a sense of confidence. Something had finally risen and filled the emptiness inside of him. In his current situation there was nothing even this mysterious force that had brought certainty to him at last could do, but it knew all it would have to do was wait for the right time. The presence became a constant companion in Arvin’s life, he saw a tire iron at work and the voice whispered to him tales of vengeance for him and his sister. The day he ambushed the boy on the bus and beat him with a tire iron the voice roared in approval, Arvin as he was before wouldn’t even have had the strength to lift the iron deal such vicious blows but he was possessed of someone or someone else’s strength. Later when he attacked the boys in the garage bringing the hood of a car down on one of their heads and beating the others the voice whispered that it was proud of him and a shiver ran up his spine.

The day he came home and found Lenora hanging in the shed the voice let out an unholy scream and Arvin was overcome with the sense that he’d come home to something like this once already and couldn’t bear another, even though that was impossible. What happened to his father had felt…different. When he confronted preacher Teagardin the presence took over his lips and made him whisper of dark, sexual things, urges that were not of the Lord to lure the predator into a false sense of security. When he shot the hypocritical holy man who had dared to abuse Lenora, whom he’d failed to protect the voice was elated whispering all sorts of praise that echoed in Arvin’s ears. As he struggled to catch his breath and come back to himself afterward in his car something about the situation struck him is familiar, more than déjà vu it was as though he had lived this already. The voice had snarled at the couple that had picked him up as he hitchhiked to Knockemstiff, the cold certainty that these people meant him harm came over him though the source of this feeling was not Arvin. After he had slain them the voice whispered that it had been vindicated and the photograph he’d come into possession of was proof that they were not righteous. When he confronted Lee Bodecker he was out of his depth, crouched behind a rock as bullets flew around him, the voice urged him to surrender to it promising that it had the strength and knowledge to help him face this challenge, but that he had to surrender control. Desperate and afraid Arvin agreed. He rose with the stance of someone who had seen battle, dodging from cover to cover as though he’d done it a hundred times, his fear had evaporated as though he dealt with this sort of situation regularly, the forest around him started to blur and the trees became something akin to those he’d seen in pictures of the South Pacific instead of familiar West Virginia Pines. He wielded the gun expertly and struck down the sheriff, the voice was quiet.

Before Arvin left, Earskell had said “I ain’t seen a look in anybody’s eye like that since your Daddy died.” He’d attempted to say goodbye to his grandmother before his courage had deserted him. He knew in his heart that her mind was beginning to go but she’d clutched his face close to hers, her venerable hands trembling. Her last words to him had been “Oh my dear Willard, you look so handsome.” There had never been any mirrors in the house in Knockemstiff, his grandmother held that they were objects of vanity and portals to sin, so Willard left not knowing what she’d seen in his face that had confused her.

As Arvin settled into the back seat of the hitchhiker’s car, he asked him where he was going. He glanced up and gazed into the rearview mirror. His father’s impossibly alluring face, arctic as ever, stared back at him. His voice is not his own when he answered: “well there’s a lot of no good sons of bitches out there, and I aim to get right with ‘em.”

#the devil all the time #arvin russell #willard russell #fic #writing #tom holland #bill skarsgård

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sillyguyhotline · 4 years

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what are your voice hcs for the yttd cast?

hope these work!! i ended up adding in a few unrelated headcanons, and it’s like 1 am so i only got to the main cast. if you want me to do any of the dolls lmk :)

Sara: I’ve heard a lot of people say she’d sound like Mahiru Koizumi, and I honestly agree with that, but I think her voice would be deeper. I hc that she was one of those girls with an unusually deep voice when she was younger and got teased for it a lot. Now, though, she takes advantage of it and uses it to be more intimidating during debates and arguments.

Joe: Okay so once I saw a post where someone hc’ed his voice as sounding like Shaggy and another one where someone proposed it would sound like Kazuichi so honestly I’m gonna go with something between that. His voice would be sort of deep but I could also see it as having a dopey quality to it. He probably just talks in a joking or exaggerated tone so frequently that it’s become normal for him, and only a few people (such as Sara and Ryoko) have heard his voice when he’s not intentionally making himself sound ridiculous.

Keiji: He just has a really deep, calm voice- think Rantaro or Ryoma. Johneawesome’s voice for him works really well, too. He can count on two hands the amount of people who have told him he should start an ASMR channel because of how soothing his voice is. Usually I’d say that Keiji is probably detached enough from the internet that he wouldn’t know what ASMR is, but I think he’d stumble across it while looking for techniques to combat insomnia and quickly develop a liking for it. Now he listens to it every night because it helps to keep intrusive thoughts and guilt away, to some extent. He’ll laugh whenever people tell him he should start a channel of his own, but he’s secretly considering it.

Kanna: Her voice is super sweet and gentle, leaning towards the quiet side. Sort of like Chiaki’s, but not quite as high pitched. I think she’d really enjoy singing quiet songs and lullabies; her family members tell her she has the voice of an angel, and they’re right! She’s probably sung to baby cousins to calm them down before, and when it actually worked she got super proud of herself.

Q-taro: I’m boring, so he has a Southern accent, but in more of a smooth country singer way than a yeehaw way. He has very mixed feelings on songs about trucks.

Shin: Okay, so... once a friend and I were having a conversation about him and we proposed that he had the stereotypical “I’m Bri ish” accent. HOWEVER, it only comes out when he’s panicking or is otherwise overemotional. Nobody really seems to know where he developed it, but they just kind of accept it. (this is a joke but i’m going with this hc because i find it funny). Otherwise he just kinda sounds like a normal dude, though his voice is a little bit higher than most.

Reko: I can’t really think of anyone to compare her to, but her voice is pretty rough, a little deeper than Sara’s. She has a lot of range, though; when she’s singing, she’ll typically go a lot higher, to the point where she’s screaming, but when talking will usually stick to lower tones. In fact, when she’s angry, she’ll go really deep and nearly snarl at people.

Nao: I don’t really know how to describe it, but I think that in normal times Nao has a really steady voice. It’s not exactly quiet, but it’s very gentle and has a certain degree of confidence to it. When she’s anxious, though, it skyrockets in pitch and becomes a lot more trembly. I’d imagine her not really liking how she sounds when she’s anxious, but her frustration only ends up making it worse. (reko, on the contrary, thinks she sounds very sweet and intentionally makes her flustered so she can hear the anxious voice).

Kai: He has a very quiet, musing voice, reminiscent of Korekiyo’s but a bit more muted. I can see him enjoying poetry, and he’ll often read poems either to himself or others because the words flow off his tongue in such a satisfying way. Perhaps he used to read bedtime stories to Sara when she was younger and it nurtured a love for reading because of how fantastic the stories sounded in his voice! (this is sort of unrealistic but let me have this headcanon, maybe she was young enough that she wouldn’t remember him hfbdfhbdf). He’ll rarely ever raise his voice; rather, when he’s angry, it drops its lilting quality and becomes a lot harsher.

Gin: I think he’d sound sort of like Masaru Daimon; he’s just a very energetic and enthusiastic little kid. I also think his voice would go a lot higher for the “meows” and a lot lower for the “woofs.” He’s been practicing and perfecting his animal sounds for a long time and he’s very proud of how they currently sound; it’s somewhere between enunciating the word and imitating the actual sound.

Alice: God, every time I imagine his voice, I can’t help but think of Gundham Tanaka if his voice wasn’t quite as deep. Just… a very overdramatic, theatrical voice that he often puts on to intimidate people. His voice will go to a very high-pitched “EEEE” type scream if he’s ever startled, though.

Mishima: I just hear his voice as the typical “evil scientist” voice. Perhaps his, like Joe’s, was developed over time because his students joked about his appearance and he, being the good-natured teacher that he is, went along with their jokes. It’s rubbed off on his normal speaking voice quite a bit, but when he’s tired he drops the act.

#ahhh i was tired when i wrote these so i hope they’re alright #projecting onto keiji with the asmr one lmao #yttd #your turn to die #kimi ga shine #yttd headcanons #depressobean’s asks #depressobean answers #anon

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konietzko-sylvoran · 4 years

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A New Routine

The sound of light strumming was becoming more and more of a frequent yet a random sound around the Howling Owl. While he only met with Bella once a week for his lessons, he practiced daily. A new daily practice he kept from most everyone, even Talthorn and he had his reasons. In the first week he’d practiced till his fingers locked up on him time and time again. Luckily they were already calloused from years working in his craft and shooting a bow and arrow. Yet he never guessed how much his fingers would ache from something as simple as strumming a few chords as he diligently practiced day in and day out. He was adamant to learn, and like any good craft or performer one only got good via practice. But Kon had proven both a quick learner and a determined one at that. In the next week of lessons that came he had been given his first real lesson on singing. On the art of learning his voice and how to use it. He already knew how to dance and how to sing, but he’d never been taught how to truly... sing. By the that weeks end he was experimenting and practicing more and more frequently with a combination of both his voice and learning the chords. Humming and fine tuning his already deep rich voice to the sound of them as he tucked himself away in a corner of the Night Owl studio with his warm bitter tea he favored so much to sooth his throat as time passed. That had become his new daily morning ritual to sing, to practice, to greet the day with a combination of both. That was only the first step in what he’d intended to become a part of his daily life. The property of the owl had become intimately familiar to the Kaldorei for several weeks now, as each morning he made it a habit to find random corners or places of solitude to tuck himself away in as he started himself back into the habit of a rigorous training regimen. Some days it was merely a jog around the property. Other days it was a combination of jogging and bodyweight workouts. The only thing he did on a daily basis without fail was a form of stretching meant to help limber him up as he’d gone too long and been too lax about conditioning himself for the last few years. But now... he had a reason, a purpose. He had a dream, a vision he wished to make a reality and day by day, step by step he was starting to realize that more was waiting there within his grasp. In just a few days now, a week will have passed since he met with Caythaes and he eagerly awaited the engineer’s call to meet again. He wanted to be ready to test what he’d asked them to help him create. Something, that was going to greatly change his life as he knew it and yet a challenge that he would see through no matter how long it took him to learn it. He had told the Tarts and the Owls both that he intended to be more than just hired muscle, more than just a pretty face serving a drink or two. He had a dream, a vision and it was time to plant that seed and start letting it grow by feeding and nurturing it instead of just speaking of the idea of it. While much rested on the engineer to finish his prototype for him, even more rested in Kon’s ability to use it. It had been years since he last tried, but back then he had never thought to actually become a performer of any nature at least not professionally. Sure he had always dreamt of it but his own bad choices kept him far from that dream being realized. Those days were past and now it was time for him to rise instead of hiding behind his fears. Thanks to the tour of the Tart property that Caythaes had also given him, he was now spending his mornings practicing at the Owl and his afternoons training at the Tart’s gym. This was a far better opportunity for him to practice, to train and thus far it seemed he’d picked times when noone else was present. He liked that though, as he wasn’t yet ready to be seen by others. Not that he’d hide if someone happened to come in while he was hard at it but in the beginning it was far less nerve wrecking. The start was always hard to watch, painful even and he had a long way to go to recondition his body as he’d need. But that would not stop him, and his eagerness to prove he was still more than capable of reaching for this dream would be tested soon so he had little time left to sit around and wait. And so his afternoons and sometimes well into the late evenings were spent here day after day to keep himself busy

Yet as eager as he was to see all this through, to make these steps and changes a part of his new daily regimen, he knew he couldn’t forget what else he’d committed too already. He’d jumped into this new life of his headfirst these last few months without fear and with his usual confidence that he knew he’d see this through. But he had no direction and he became easily distracted by old habits of the former life he was trying to let go of yet never truly had. He did everything in his life with such passion and he treated those most dear to him with that same passion, but that too had proven too much for some and yet endearing to others. Kon still fell prey to letting events of the past get in his way, a fear of trusting others again. A fear that he wasn’t good enough and that they’d lose interest in him drove him to take action faster than most could accept. A lack of patience to find or even be found by what he wanted and instead grasping and clinging too hard when he found a lick of something good in his life. He was trying to obtain it all too fast. And already it was starting to effect more than just himself. Kon knew he needed to focus more on his direction and where he was going. To focus less on what he possessed and more on what he could offer. As Caythaes had told him the sun always rises just as it always shines even if he couldn’t see it nor anyone else for that matter. If he was a sun, then he would always rise. While Kon had been burning too hot in his pride with what he’d gained already... he was not too proud to admit it was time to take a step back and focus on himself. Because in that swell of pride he was falling back into those learned habits he despised most about himself and it was affecting those he’d cared for most. Potential friends were turning their backs at him, some were shutting him out entirely. But there were a few who stood bold and defiant, who helped him focus and see what was truly going on because they weren’t afraid to spare him his own feelings. Talthorn was his guiding light in all this, his comfort and his home. Leon had shown him tough love as a friend and called him out, refusing to let Kon punish himself by pushing him away. Both Talthorn and Leon had helped him talk through his hang-ups which were rather significant. They listened and both redirected him in their own way to keep him from hiding behind his own hubris. Even Caythaes made him all too aware that he was overly sensitive to being pushed away, another habit he had to break. Sharpen and Jiroki had started asking for more double dates again, it seemed at last she was forgiving him too so perhaps, this was progress? But even Jiro was not unaware that Kon had much on his mind keeping him from enjoying their time together. With all that had occurred this week alone in his personal life, with all that he was being offered professionally, personally and as a friend; he had finally made a choice no, a commitment not to squander it. Now was a time of action, actions that would prove much over time but yet none of it was something he could rush no matter how much he wanted too. He had a dream, he had a focus... and it was time to put more energy into that and to let his personal affairs filter through time, patience and rest. If he wanted to rise as the sun he once was, he had to find a way to balance himself out so he wasn’t so careless with those he’d like to become close too. And so began his new daily routine, something to focus on with all his effort and energy as if he needed this to prove to himself he was able to shine again.

((Written with mentions to @talthorn-sylvoran, @mekandawn, @mremaknu @sharpen-jadescythe, @bread-elf, @belillinafireseeker and a subtle mention to @saeil-moonblade . Thank you all for taking the time to write with Kon here lately and help him develop his story more during this rather significant and transitional time in his life as a character. It seems he goes through them every so many years so he was due. I truly appreciate the opportunity to include more people and to write this out via rp interaction instead of just handwaving it. You are all appreciated, and you’ve my thanks. ♥ ))

#konietzko #training #practice #routine #Life Changes #Sun #To be a sun #Leon #Talthorn #Jiroki #Sharpen #Caythaes #Bella

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lisabrown-mjfan · 4 years

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#StoryOfTheDay...Todd Gray, photographer and author of "Before He Was King," a tabletop book which documents the years he spent touring with The Jacksons from 1979 to 1983.

"In 1979, after graduating high school I headed to art school. At 17,

I had already been published in Life magazine and was on tour with The Rolling Stones. By that time I had a really good portfolio of music concert images and CBS records...I received a call to photograph the group The Jacksons for their performances on "American Band Stand" and "Soul Train." When I showed up and went to their dressing room there were all of these people buzzing around Michael Jackson. I'll admit that I felt a little intimidated and immediately thought, I need to stay away from that situation. One thing I've learned is that you never want to get to close to the power because you might get burned, so I stepped back and kept my distance from Michael, but his brothers and I both went to Fairfax High School and that opened up conversation with Tito and Jackie and I was about the same age as them so we begin shooting the breeze. Later on, I started hanging out with Marlon and Jackie, but still decided to leave Michael alone.

It was obvious that Michael had the juice and everybody was attracted to it, including record executives, radio, just everybody, they weren't just following him, they were anchored to Michael. Again, I made a conscious decision not to socialize in that circle because I knew I was out of my league. That was a constant scenario, but Michael was dutiful and always had his management team and publicist by his side because Michael was genuinely shy introvert who was in the most public of professions, so he always kept a safeguard of record execs that would deflect for him and if anyone needed to get through to him they had to go through the label made filter. Mike had a game face and would speak few words in a soft voice and if someone from the media or elsewhere was making a request of him, he would whisper in one of his handlers ears who would then relay whatever message needed to be shared with that person. Michael did this because he didn't like confrontation and didn't want to offend or hurt anyone's feelings. Still his voice was not as soft as the one he often used in public, so I think Michael was also a little guarded. When I was on the road with them documenting, Michael was really critical of their performances and would talk about how they could improve their performances and he always did it in this soft voice. But make no mistake, when Michael spoke the buck stopped.

Once Michael was just surrounded by his family and friends he became the playful, trickster and jokester. Sometimes he'd call me up, disguise his voice, make up a name and ask me to do something foolish. He could mimic a variety of voices and played many pranks on me. One time I took pictures of him while he was in bed because he was late for a meeting I'd set up and wouldn't get up. He was like, "Todd, I'm gonna get you for that!" And he did. I'd forgotten all about what happened while he was performing one night and he'd told me to stand in a specific spot to take photos of him when he began singing that song. I did as I was instructed. So right before I go to take my position, Michael drops to his back and starts saying, "Help me, help me! I need some woman to touch me!" and every woman in that place collapsed on me. I was between them and Michael and I couldn't even get one shot in and he gave me this look like, I got you. Afterwards, I said you think you're so cute, and he says, "What do you mean, Todd?" I'm like, Mike that hurt; those people were crushing me and all he said: "Todd, the spirit just takes me sometimes and the spirit just took me." That's when I knew that was payback and that was the last time I stepped out of line with him (Laughs.)

This man was such an enigma. I have never met anyone who is both exhibiting the quality of mature adult wisdom because he was wise in many ways and ye exhibit qualities of child. Michael was authentically a child. Try as I might, I could not resolve those two polar opposites in the same body. We went to Disney land a couple of times and sitting next to him in a rollercoaster Michael's screaming and I'm just as giddy and screaming and letting my child out without reigning it back in. I have to thank him for that. He made it okay to be a child around him and that was everyone in his camp, we all became childlike. Michael would create that air and space and you'd simply enter into it before you even realized it. Initially, I was resistant and had a professional attitude, but I realized he was more comfortable when I was playful and he could relate to me on that level. What was great about hanging with Michael is that I was allowed to escape by removing my own mask of adulthood and nurture my inner child.

When I first met him I brushed him off mentally, thinking he's a lightweight, a kid, but I realized he's a sharp cookie and had to give him his intellectual due. Some experts believe that you stimulate your creative intellect by connecting with your inner child and let go of cultural constraints. You become a clear conduit of creativity because you are relaxed and the ideas will eventually come. Michael wouldn't restrict himself and would go back and have this generative process and gain new and fresh insight. I remember I was doing a cover assignment for Time magazine and Michael was sitting in his home theater and had his legs propped up on the chair and I noticed that he had on two color socks and I said, "Mike, you have on two different color socks." Now, this was when Thriller was taking off and Mike's confidence was at its highest. He said, "I know, take the picture." And I said, "But, Mike, they're going to talk about you." And he replied with a raised brow: "I know, Todd. Take the picture." I knew then that I had been put back in employee mode and was no longer his friend. In that moment, it hit me that Michael had already begun to create his larger-than-life persona. And he was right, everyone talked about it." #MichaelJackson #kingofkings #kingofpop #kingofdance #kingofmusic #kingofhearts #kingofworld #kingoflove #kingofpeace #mjforever #mjisthelightforever #mjisthebestoftheworldforever #mjismagical #mjismagic #mjisourangelforever #mjisourloveforever #mjisourkingforever #mjiskingforever #mjisangelforever #mjisloveforever #mjfansforever #mjfamforever #mjinourheartsforever #wewilllovemjforever #mjinnocent #factsdontliepeopledo #mjisthekingforever #mjisoneForever #justiceformj #fighttosavemichael 👑✨🤍

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straykidsupdate · 5 years

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Stray Kids & Their Fans Are Growing Up Together

Adulthood has its side effects.

Strobe lights flash like firing synapses; Synths wobble and throb like a pounding headache. “머리 아프다!” — my head hurts — yell the members in Korean, pounding their fists erratically in different directions in the air. Stray Kids dance over the EDM-trance beat as a stern voice recites a string of aliments: “Common side effects include: nervousness, insomnia, nausea, agitation, anxiety, sweating, vision problems, numbness, psychosis, dizziness, headaches, weight loss.”

From the crowd of nearly 5,600 in New York’s Hulu Theater, the refrain to “Side Effects” rang out passionately from the K-pop group’s diverse fanbase, called Stay, caught somewhere between a battle cry and a cry for help. Stray Kids know that this feeling they’re communicating with “Side Effects” — one of disorientation, fear, and confusion that goes hand-in-hand with growing up — is one they share with Stay. After all, that’s what makes Stray Kids (who range in age from 19 to 22) so beloved by their passionate fans — they write and compose straight from their own experiences, painting a vivid picture of the feelings that young people share all over the world. And now, for everyone gathered in this dark theater, singing together is a catharsis.

Since their debut with JYP Entertainment nearly two years ago, Stray Kids’ discography has weaved a narrative that serves as an allegory for the joys and pains of coming of age. They begin as prisoners in the fictional dystopia of “District 9,” but even after making their escape, they must enter a labyrinth to face internal battles as they question their identities and their goals throughout each three-part I Am… and Clé EP series.

“In Clé 1: Miroh, we went into the maze really confidently,” Stray Kids’ animated Austrailian-Korean leader Bang Chan tells Refinery29 in our office ahead of their New York City tour stop. Even in more serious moments, the 22-year-old rapper and one-third of Stray Kids’ producing unit, 3RACHA, holds a warmth and playfulness in his eyes. “And then after that, in Clé: Yellow Wood, we asked ourselves, ‘Was this the right decision? Do we have regrets? Did we choose the right way?’ ‘Double Knot’ [off of Clé: Levanter] was where we said, ‘We're going to keep on doing what we're doing. We'll just keep going.’ But then with [our most recent single] ‘Levanter,’ we stress how you can't always just really focus too much on one goal. Maybe you might need to take a break to see the other options.”

There’s a certain rebelliousness that seems to run through Stray Kids’ music — if they’re not fighting against a higher power, then they’re warring with themselves. But rapper Changbin, another 3RACHA member along with rapper and vocalist Han, is clear that their mentality isn’t “us against the world.”

“There's not this big, crazy thing that we’re fighting against, right?” says Changbin, the chains on his shirt clinking together as he gesticulates. Changbin’s duality on and offstage is one of the most pronounced in the group — though he’s not the youngest, he’s known affectionately as the “baby” by his members. Catch him performing, however, and he turns into a growling menace as he spits bars.

“But just like in daily life, there are things that you're facing — issues, or roadblocks when you're on your way to a dream and things that you want to do in life. The theme of our music is that we want to overcome that together.”

Hyunjin, a striking rapper and dancer beloved by fans for his emotional intelligence, lays out what he feels people his age today feel they are most often up against: “There are two types of people. One is somebody who doesn't really know exactly what they want to do with their life. They don't really have a dream, so they're trying to find themselves and decide what they want to do. And then there are people who do have a particular goal or dream, and they're trying to wrestle with how exactly they’re going to achieve it.”

It’s not simply that Hyunjin and the seven other members of Stray Kids (a ninth, Woojin, left the company suddenly late last year for unknown reasons) are guessing what’s on Stay’s mind — they know firsthand, thanks to their uniquely close relationship that they’ve taken care to nurture over the past two years in a few ways. The first, and in many ways the most important, is by connecting through their music, which they’ve self-produced even before they officially debuted as a group. This creative license allows them to speak directly to their fans and reveal themselves in a truly authentic way. It is also the reason why Stray Kids’ music — often a creative mix of EDM, rap, and rock — sounds so distinctive in the K-pop landscape, and even beyond Korea’s borders. “All eight of us have different preferences and tastes in music, so we can each bring a different color to the music we make,” says Changbin. “It lets our music be more diverse and it allows us to try new things.”

They acknowledge that there’s a tension between wanting to take risks in your music and needing to make a chart-smashing hit, which is something that despite their overall success, the group has yet to achieve. But the goal is to always try to push boundaries, and not sacrifice their integrity.

You don’t usually see this kind of adventurous spirit in a newer group: usually, musicians start by imitating what they know and love. In Stray Kids’ case, that could’ve meant reflecting artists who Stay likely also share passion for: A bit of Ed Sheeran (courtesy of Bang Chan), Ariana Grande (Changbin), or maybe even Day6 (Seungmin). But they resisted the urge to copy, and instead created their own signature style. “Even if it might be a bit weird, I think we all really enjoy that, because it really excites us to try new things,” says Bang Chan, dimples punctuating his broad grin.

"I feel like our fans are really just close friends, to the point where they’re like family" - Stray Kids’ Bang Chan

Beyond music, they also communicate with Stay directly. The members share their thoughts in short video series such as Two Kids Room and One Kid’s Room, behind-the-scenes vlogs about their travels on tour, and often take time to talk to fans on VLive, a live-streaming app popular with K-pop idols. But they take it a step further: Bang Chan goes live once a month (it used to be once a week) in a segment he calls “Chan’s Room,” where he shares updates about his life, what’s been on his mind, and music recommendations. Hyunjin started a series called “Hyunjin’s Counseling Center,” where he addresses both his and Stay’s various inner thoughts and feelings, as well as give advice.

“I feel like our fans are really just close friends, to the point where they’re like family,” says Bang Chan. “I love spending quality time and just being like, ‘I'm doing this. I'm thinking about this these days. I want to show you guys this. I got my ukulele and am going to play something for you guys.’ I think the whole live system is really great because it makes us feel so close. It just tightens the relationship.”

“I think the best way for Stay to take care of themselves is to stay healthy and eat a lot of delicious food and listen to our music,” adds the affable and dynamic vocalist Seungmin, “so this is a way we check in and help them with that.”

It’s a beautiful symbiotic relationship. While fans certainly benefit from Stray Kids’ care, the artists readily admit that they’ve learned a lot about themselves since becoming idols and gaining fans.

“People think that it’s weird to be a celebrity if you’re an introvert,” says blonde Han, who opted for a seat in the center of the half circle, though a bit behind his bandmates. On stage and with his members, his charisma and sense of humor know no bounds, but the sole MBTI-certified introvert of the group usually takes a while to get comfortable in new environments. “I usually keep to myself, but when I’m on stage with the other Stray Kids members, I find this courage and strength that I didn’t even know I had,” he says, a smile widening on his face as he compliments the others in the room. “I get strength from my fellow members and the enthusiasm and energy of the fans, so that I can be confident and not come off as too introverted.”

“The feedback from fans has helped us grow so much,” says Australia-born dancer Felix, whose deep voice and shock of red hair counterbalance his lithe stature. His deep sincerity and good nature ratidate as he speaks. “We're always trying to show better work. So using all this direct feedback, I do try to improve as an artist and as... I guess it helps me try to be a better person in general.”

I.N., the youngest, self-proclaimed fox-faced vocalist of the group, as well as passionate dancer and cat-lover Lee Know, have both been more motivated to stick to their goals thanks to fans. I.N. explains his lack of willpower using cool slang (“작심삼일”) that stumps even the interpreter. “Basically I give up on things within three days,” he says. “I’ve been trying to overcome that.” For Lee Know, it’s a bit more simple: “I want to bulk up. So, consistency is so important. Stay are good at keeping us accountable.”

Hyunjin, ever-contemplative, sees the growth he’s gained from being an idol with fans as more introspective. “I’ve experienced a lot of feelings and emotions I didn’t have when I was a trainee,” says Hyunjin. “Being a celebrity or an idol, you're in the public eye and you're one person who is constantly interacting with and meeting many, many people. While talking to so many fans, I started realizing how much impact the words of a few people can have on a large number of people. It made me more thoughtful of what I say and I feel more responsibility for our music and performances. I want to do my best because of my fans. I feel that it’s made me grow into a more mature person.”

And while that seems like a lot of pressure to put on a 19-year-old, he maintains that he sees it as a responsibility he’s more than happy to take on. “I don’t really see it as a burden because the way I see it, you could say just one little thing, but that could really make a person's day or really change their mind for the better.”

#stray kids #200214 #era: clé levanter #t: article #refinery29

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s-krisna · 3 years

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She's Crazy. But Crazy Good For Me (Most Times)!

She was the only person I thought of that evening.

Locked in a three-star hotel room, I was left alone to whimper and wallow. I was deathlike for quiet some time on the queen-sized bed. Emotionless. Yet all so suddenly, like fresh blood gushing off a wound, tears rushed down my face. My body shook uncontrollably at the misery that seemed to have only kicked in then and there. My hands and legs flailed in the air as if they were animated by some otherworldly force.

I swear I cried so much that if my tears were blood, room 327 would have been a crime scene.

In that moment, all I wanted to do was to nestle in the warm embrace of someone whose unconditional love and acceptance for my wacky, weirdo self radiate intensely, and endlessly.

For some, such warmth is reserved for their mothers, having blossomed through the years of unequivocal emotional intimacy. It was thus subpar, in that moment, that I didn’t have that same level of depth with my mother; I love her to death, but things have always been formal, rigid, and on the surface between us. (Good news: it’s getting better and sweeter!) Alas, the closest thing I have to a sliver of that movie-like motherhood is one from my oldest sister, Fitri.

That night, she was probably with her husband, in bed—it was a little over 10 p.m.—but I did not care. I just wanted to share about the pain brewing inside me. I gathered whatever life I had in me and called her. I felt OK, like, “I got this.”

The second she picked up though, the instant I heard her voice, I unravelled like a tightly-tied, picture-perfect, crazy-complicated bow that had been waiting for its release for years on end. It felt so good, even if it was fleeting.

I’m not sure whether it was that way because it was with her, but I couldn’t imagine a better response:

Without judgment, without saying “I hate to say I told you so,” without fear or force, without convincing me of a better tomorrow, she listened.

In her steady breathing, she was quiet. It was as if she was soaking herself in my tears, sensing my sorrow, and understanding my suffering.

It didn’t seem to matter to her how nonsensical I was over the phone, or how undecipherable my speech was.

She was just there, and in her being fully present, she validated all the turbulence happening inside me, and she empathized.

It was magical.

It also made me realize that she has been the most persistent validator in my life.

OK. Not sure if “validator” is the right word here, but she has been the strongest force in helping me nurture my—apparently—more promising traits, even if they seemed…eccentric.

Like, expressing myself through music.

In grade school, drives to school were boring, so I’d like to keep myself entertained by singing at the top of my lungs. Alas in this instance Fitri and I drove to school together, at the ripe ages of 25 and 11, respectively, she saw how emboldened I was by songs—I think The Pussycat Dolls was on at that time—and she told me, “You love music.”

There’s this transcendental relationship I have with songs and music, unlike anything else. It’s incredible how Fitri noticed that, and how over the years—due in large part to that ostensibly evanescent interaction 14 years ago—music became an integral part of my identity.

She was also the one who has always had confidence in my writing. At the chaotic yet innocent age of 14, I posted a piece on my blog about death. I forgot exactly how or what she said, but she commended it and praised my vulnerability for doing so.

I mean, your 14 years-old sister wrote about morbidity and not an ounce of anger? Crazy! But, crazy good for me!

It was also Fitri who encouraged me to take on journalism, and helped convince my parents that I wasn’t gonna become a nobody because of it. During the days my mother’s friends dissuaded her from supporting my academic/career choice, it was Fitri who told my mom that I would be OK. It was also Fitri who told my dad that my storytelling skills would be worth something.

Very recently, it was also Fitri who pointed out that I’m a creative at heart. “I’ve always seen you as someone who would create something for herself.” I heard of this from her about three years ago, at the rebellious age of 22.

I was like, “Right. Maybe. Not really.”

And yet now, at this confusing age of 25, accepting that I am a creative has helped me learn countless new truths about myself that make me feel more at peace.

And there were countless more lost in memory.

It hasn’t always been a breezy relationship. There were phases where we drifted apart. There were also times where being beside her or being inquired by her or doing just about anything with her was the last thing I wanted.

But whatever distance was created in the past and however many unsavory situations we found ourselves in, they all led Fitri and I to that fateful night, where despite her being ready for a good night sleep, she answered my call for help and welcomed my vulnerabilities.

It subsequently felt like we were coming into a new chapter or even type of sisterhood, one where I knew deep in the core of my being, that we were only going to get stronger.

That night, despite having officially lost the relationship I thought would last me beyond “till death do us part,” in that hourlong phone call with my sister, I instead had the honor and opportunity to fortify the prized, unbreakable bond of a sister

in arms,

in love,

in strife

—in life.

Happy birthday to my other mother, my sister, Fitri. Thank you for everything.

You told me once that I was, in fact, a quirky child. But you never once allowed me to feel resentful towards my oddity.

That has been, and will always be, one of the most incredible things about my life and character, and that is possible because of you.

This is an homage to you! Love for you is a crass understatement.

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missdutch21md · 4 years

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Music of the Night|4

A/N: Dear Readers, here is the next installment in the Phantom of the Opera AU! I hope you enjoy it!!! I also want to wish you all a Happy New Year! 💖 💖

Soul 💖

Summary:The time is 1856. Location: Paris, France at the Opera Populaire. Taehyung is living his life when who should stumble into his life than the most beautiful singer he has ever heard? She was the missing instrument to his orchestra. She would complete the score for his… Music of the Night.

Pairing: Opera Ghost! Taehyung x Singer! Ballet Dancer! MCUniverse: Phantom of the Opera AU

Word Count: 971

Genre: Fluff 🥰, Mature 🔞

Characters: rich! Seokjin, rich! Yoongi, dance instructor! hoseok, officer! Jimin, stagehand! Jungkook, chorus girl! BlackPink

⚠️Warnings⚠️: mentions of religion (reader prays), stalking, slight yandere themes

Please keep in mind this is a work of FICTION this in no way reflects on any BTS members or Taehyung as a person. This is simply a story for the imagination.

Go B a c k | Turn P a g e | M. L i s t

Chatter was heard around the orchestra when ___ made her way onto the stage behind the other chorus girls. It had been a few days since she had seen her teacher, every night she still dutifully went to wait for him to arrive.

Jisoo eyed the other girl warily when she saw how quiet she was. Suddenly, Francesca the main soprano came onto the stage.

“The patron must be coming,” Rose whispered.

As though on cue, Jimin came into the great hall and was announced. The cast was put to work blocking and Francesca was brought to the front to practice with Maestro Namjoon while we rehearsed. While I worked through the day, I contemplated even going down into the chapel again, fearing yet more rejection from my teacher.

The day passed mostly in a blur, the only thing of import that happened through the day was Jungkook finding a letter from the Opera Ghost yet again. He didn’t alert the entire staff this time and simply passed the letter along to Monsieur Yoongi. The stern man read the letter carefully and didn’t have anything to report it seemed.

Against my better judgement, I went down to the chapel, I swore to myself that this would be the last time. As I prayed and practically begged God to please make him come, I finally heard his sweet, soft calls.

The joy that filled me overflowed. Tears were shed in relief as I called back to him. After a night of catching up and promising that I wouldn’t let the other girls sway me to do anything he deemed inappropriate, we resumed my studies and everything was as it used to be. (Though I insisted that My Angel of Music needed to make it up to me for leaving me for so long).

The following six months were full of hard work and many lessons from Maestro Namjoon I enjoyed working with everyone. But my favorite part of the day was going down to the chapel to sing with my mysterious tutor.

I had learned quickly that he was a shy person who preferred to not reveal himself to me. I respected his wishes to remain this way. It wasn’t my place to question him anyways. He was clearly my superior in the art of singing. And in composing. And everything. He taught me so many things that I couldn’t have dreamed to learn from my limited knowledge.

My Angel, my tutor, was even continuing in teaching me how to read and write. I couldn’t thank God enough for sending me someone to confide in and to share my worries with who listened and didn’t belittle my thoughts. Someone who wanted to nurture me and to help me blossom into a stronger, better version of myself.

I was so happy every night as I made my way down into the chapel and waited to hear the soft calls from the mysterious angel that watched over me. I asked him questions about the world, asking what he knew about and learned. Tonight, was no different.

“Master,” I called out into the darkness around me.

“Yes, My Angel?” I heard his deep voice echo out softly.

“Do you think I will make a good lead soprano?” I postulated as I played with the hem of my tulle skirt as I sat taking my brief break to rest per his instruction.

I heard a soft chuckle, “of course you will be, My Pupil,” his warm voice encouraged me. I perked up, happy that he had such faith in me. “That is why I am training you,” he added. “you will be absolutely perfect as the lead soprano.”

I hummed happily and blushed with pride at his words. “I am so grateful to you, Master,” I hedged unsure of how to continue.

“What is it?” his soft voice encouraged me with a light chuckle.

“Will I ever get to see you, Master?” I asked.

There was another chuckle, louder this time, he sounded so close that my nerves shot up and I took in a sharp breath with anticipation. “One day, My Pet,” he consoled me and chuckled more at my pout as I crossed my arms over my chest. “I think we’ve allowed your mind to wander enough,” he chided. “On your feet, Little Miss.”

I complied immediately and dusted off my skirt to stand up tall and began my exercises again with him. After another half hour, the hidden genius told me to return to the rooms with the rest of the chorus girls. I sighed wistfully.

“What is on your mind, Angel?” I heard his soft voice as though he was standing behind me.

“I want to see you,” I huffed. “It’s been months since we first heard each other,” I trailed off and started up again when he said nothing. “I would like to be able to thank you properly for teaching me all that you do.”

There was another stretch of silence, “when the time is right, you will be able to see me,” he answered.

“Is that a promise?” I questioned clasping my hands tightly against my heart.

“I promise,” he answered after another brief stretch of silence. “Now, off to bed, please don’t make me ask you again.”

“Yes, Master!” I called jumping up and running up to the back of the opera house. Once I made it to the main landing, I gasped; I hadn’t said my evening prayers yet! I ran back down and apologized to God for my momentary lapse in sanity. I asked him to forgive me though because I was going to finally be able to meet my teacher. He promised! My angel promised me! After my rushed prayers to The Lord, I scampered up the stairwell again and back up to the room.

#kim taehyung #kimtaehyungxreader #min yoongi #park jimin #jeon jungkook #blackpink #kim namjoon #jung hoseok #taehyungxreader #taehyung x reader #bts x reader #btsxreader #reader insert #incorrect kpop quotes #bts #vxreader #v x reader #v #taehyunggie

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egle0702 · 4 years

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[TRANS] GQ June ‘20 - Wooyoung Interview

2PM Jang Wooyoung: “I lived hard like crazy”

2020.05.21 INTERVIEW

Wooyoung has blazed through life, but he also knows how to be quiet. That’s why he’s smart and strong. Like steel that has been repeatedly heated and cooled down.

You’re attentively monitoring during the shooting, has anything changed since you’ve been discharged from the military? My face hasn’t changed or anything like that. Rather than that, I’m just amazed. I had no idea I would be shooting a pictorial so soon after the discharge.

I suppose there must’ve been so many things you wanted to do. Every time I had some time off in the army, my head felt overwhelming. What should I do next? How should I live? All sorts of thoughts flooded in. In order to not have that time wasted, I transferred those thoughts and worries into written words. At first, there was a lot of embarrassing content, even for me. But it got better after a while. Aside from my future plans, I also looked back on my interpersonal relationships and my way of life. I thought whether I have lived well, whether I haven’t made mistakes when dealing with others.

I can feel your determination. In the army, there are a lot of kids who are younger than me. If I ask them about their worries, they would usually say: “You’ve already achieved everything, you don’t know how we feel.” We might come from a different starting point, but the fear of a beginning is the same. I’m more afraid compared to when I was 17 or 20 and just honestly ran towards my dreams.

You’re 32 now. In your opinion, what privilege does this age give you? Disregarding how you’ve spent your 10s and 20s, I think it gives you the chance to be kinder. You could say that you become mature. You become a better and stronger person when you look back at your past mistakes and experiences. If you add a drop of that 20s spirit into the mix, it’d be even better.

What was Jang Wooyoung like in his 20s? I was busy filling myself up, and then pouring everything out the moment I was full.

You’ve lived hard; after all, your work requires you to keep on showing something to the public. Generally speaking, I could divide my 20s into “before” and “after” by placing the mark on when I was 25. Right after the debut, I really lived and worked hard. Back then, there was a saying “killer schedule,” and the saying wasn’t a lie. I worked hard and was extremely busy, but I’m thankful for it. When else you’d be able to live like that. Compared to my efforts, the popularity achieved was great, I also made money. But once I turned 25; shall I call it adolescence? It was a mess. I wasn’t present in my life. I considered dropping everything and going back to my hometown in Busan.

But that didn’t happen. There’s only one thing that proves my existence; and that was the reason I pulled myself together. “I’m a member of 2PM, I cannot betray 2PM.” From that moment on, the meaning of “let’s live hard” changed. Making sure that I wouldn’t cause harm to others, I had fun, met a lot of people, and decided to learn a lot of things including drawing. Through feeling and experiencing as much as possible, I wanted to awaken the senses within me. I lived hard like crazy.

You expressed those feelings in the song “I like” that’s included in your 2nd solo album, right? 2PM, drawing, piano; you talk about the things you like, and then you say “I’m curious about everything in this world, I want to know, I scoot off.” True. I feel strongly about that song, but every time I listen to it, I can’t help but snort. I wonder whether I really should’ve been that honest with my lyrics. On the other hand, I wonder how hard it must’ve been. I feel sorry for Jang Wooyoung from that time.

What are you curious about these days? Laundry know-how. Haha.

I heard you say you’re into laundry in the video interview just now, too. I’m nurturing my daily life skills. I want to try and deal with things like laundry and cooking on my own, without any help.

Aren’t you curious why 2PM’s “My House” that was released 5 years ago is suddenly riding a new wave of popularity? It’s definitely something we’re thankful for. I think about it this way. 2PM as group never did anything by force. At first, we showed high level performances that could be practically carried out by young men in their early 20s. We danced, sang, and did acrobatic performances. Brimming with energy, we sang straightforward love songs. After that, we toned down on that power a bit. We began telling sad love stories with our eyes in love, and then we arrived at “My House.” Like a natural process of a brat growing into a mature and charismatic lover. I saw a comment that said “I’m sorry, I’ve become your fan just now,” but I’m actually thankful because it feels like these people have recognized the things 2PM have done in our natural flow.

It’s your 13th year since your debut. How does it feel when you hear that someone has just found out about 2PM? It’s only natural that someone doesn’t know us. The general flow of the trend changes really fast. The competition is also fierce, so you need put a lot of effort if you want to appeal to the masses. But then suddenly, we’re back into the spotlight through “My House.” In the middle of a hiatus no less. I think it’s a miracle.

Aside from “My House,” what other song comes to mind if you had to perform it again? I want to try and pour my entire soul into performing “Without U” that was released 10 years ago. I was responsible for the part where I had to make my singing feel like crying out loud, but back in the days I was the only one to lip sync because the situation with my voice go so bad, I even had vocal cord nodules. I’m still very disappointed I couldn’t perform it live.

2PM has reached the top, your skills were also acknowledged. How do you see yourself in the context of Korean music scene? Hmm, I can’t think of anything else than “Korean idols.” Our activities haven’t always been smooth, but I’m proud of it.

I heard that the meaning of your group’s name is the “hottest time of the day.” When was Jang Wooyoung the hottest? There was a concert in Germany in 2013, commemorating the 130th anniversary of the establishment of diplomatic relations between Korea and Germany. We performed together with senior Lee Mija. I was shocked when I saw her rehearsal. It’s already amazing that she’s still actively performing, but I could feel that she’s constantly striving to sing well. At that, I couldn’t help but freeze and promise myself “Jang Wooyoung, pull yourself together, and work hard.”

You’re the type who learns everything first-hand by experiencing it, right? I heard that you sought out senior Choi Baekho after watching his documentary to share your worries about music, even though you’ve never met him before. That was when I was going through that “adolescence” in my 20s. I felt consoled after watching senior Choi Baeho’s documentary, but there were still things I was frustrated about. So, I contacted him because I wanted to know how he managed to endure everything through his long years in the music scene. Here’s what he said during our first meeting: “My songs will keep on getting better with age. Just like the songs I sang in my 40s were more beautiful than the ones I did in my 30s, I’m heading towards being complete.” When I heard that, I felt like someone slapped me.

I think you can already give advice to someone who’s having similar worries. Have you ever experienced that? I have younger friends in Busan. We danced and dreamed of debuting together. It might sound selfish, but ever since my debut, I’ve never told them anything positive or hopeful about this line of work. When I passed the JYP audition, there was one young friend who cried together with me. Even to that friend, I said: “Can’t you please give up? I wish you didn’t suffer as much as me.” Back then it was really hard mentally and physically. Now my thoughts have changed. If you’re desperate and you’re confident that you will enjoy this constant fight with yourself, I would tell them to go for it. But I would like to tell them to come up with a wise approach to this because it’s easy to get tired and give up along the way.

You’re famous for having focused only JYP auditions. Do you still remember when you placed 1st at the 1st open audition? That must’ve been my 6th attempt to audition. Had I failed back then, I would’ve tried again. I sometimes watch the videos from that time, and I both like it and feel regret. Because the me on the screen looks somewhat tired. If I had allowed myself a little bit more freedom, stepped back and looked at the reality, I would’ve been a lot stronger kid.

What do you think you’ve done really well in life? That I’ve never calculated or analysed anything rationally in my relationships. I liked the other person without knowing anything about the world, and I suffered a lot when the relationship ended. I have my regrets, and I’ve also heard that it’s not a good way to approach a relationship, but someone like me just couldn’t help it. That experience made me into what I am today. I don’t regret it.

How important is love in life? If a person is of no. 1 importance, then love is no. 0. It’s a vague concept, I don’t even know if I can express love properly, but I can feel love through people.

It’s your birthday in 3 days, what would you imagine as a perfect gift? When I was serving, our company moved to a new building. The building is big, and the facilities got better. The practice rooms are also great. I wish I had my own personal space there, could be small too, where I could practice dancing all day long without bothering about others. For real.

So, shall we make an appeal? In your opinion, how much did 2PM contribute to JYP’s new company building? A lot, I think. It’s a 9-storey building, so I’d say around 4.5 floors?

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CREDITS

· Feature editor: Kim Youngjae

· Photographer: Go Wontae

· Hair: Yang Hyungshim at Yangyangsalon

· Makeup: Kim Doyeon at Yangyangsalon

· Editor: Heoram

Source: GQ WEBSITE

Kor-Eng: Egle0702

#GQ #GQ Korea #Wooyoung #2PM #Wooyoung GQ #Wooyoung interview #translation

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