#and everything i talk about can be traced back to clips and quotes. BECAUSE IT CAN!

[codecicle-archive]

i love being mutuals with u cuz i rlly dont even care for rpf but its so funny when u do it

-clancy

that's the thing i don't even like rpf. i don't know what happened man i just started Noticing things when watching chuckle sandwich and joking about it and now I think im more qualified to write rpf about these losers than people that Actually Write And Consume Rpf

[littlegrrl7]

A Devil’s Heaven

Smutty excerpt Chapter 26

Ikemen Sengoku - Oda Nobunaga/OC

Spanking

---

“I see you are finally awake. I thought you’d sleep all day,” She sipped from a small brass cup and, with a smile, handed him one. He swallowed it and made a face at the thick bitterness.

“It’s an acquired taste.” She turned again as a wooden pole swung free on one of the lower decks. Her Chinese sounded harsh and barking compared to the lilting Portuguese or her pleasantly accented Japanese. Two men saluted her and got the pole under control, raising a smaller sail.

“Chiara—”

“Captain,” she corrected him gently but without a glance, her eyes still on the rogue pole on the lower deck of her ship. Nobunaga gritted his teeth.

“Captain, where precisely are you taking me?”

“To see the world with me, as you desired.” Her full lips curled upward, and he felt that tug in his groin. Dear spirits, what exactly happened last night? His gut rolled. It must have been that dark brandy. He put a hand to his forehead shading his sensitive eyes from the sun.

“Chiara, I don’t—”

“Captain,” she sounded vaguely annoyed.

“I have a country to run and citizens to care for. I can’t be flitting off with you to see the world.”

At this, she stopped, turning to give him her full attention. “Nobunaga, that is not what you said last night.”

He frowned, still trying to piece together the evening. “I—”

“You said someone named Mitsuhide and your man Hideyoshi could handle things for a while. I sent them a letter this morning before we cast off.”

“I said that?”

Now she definitely looked annoyed. Her eyes left his, scanning the boat.

“Matisse!”

The redhead looked up from where he was tying off some large ropes. “Aye, Captain?”

“You have command,” she barked, then brushed past Nobunaga, stating in a low voice, “my cabin, now.”

A few of the men looked from the first mate to their captain, then eyed Nobunaga speculatively. Low murmurs started.

“If you hens have time to gossip, then I guess we can send you over the deck for barnacle duty,” Matisse commented loudly as he moved to the upper decks. The men immediately clammed up and got back to work. He eyed Nobunaga curiously.

“Did you overstay the party, Lord Oda?” He smirked.

Nobunaga turned to follow Chiara to her cabin at the rear of the ship.

She motioned him through the door, her lips pressed tight, then closed it firmly behind him.

“Speak.” Her eyes were flinty, his narrowed.

“Chiara, last night. I can’t recall all of it. I remember we came back to your ship, we had sex. Then we drank and talked and—”

Spirits, he had lapped brandy out of her navel. And then she poured it over his cock—

“And?” She eyed him in annoyance.

“And I honestly don’t recall saying I could leave with you. I expected to disembark the ship this morning before you left the harbor.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that now. We’ve been underway for hours.”

“Hours?” his voice rose, alarmed.

“You said, and I quote, ‘let those layabouts take care of the country for a while, I need to conquer the world with my beautiful Captain.’”

“Layabouts? Chiara, I have never in my life used such a word.”

“You were quite drunk.”

“So, perhaps, you shouldn’t have taken my oaths as truth while I was intoxicated.”

“You were quite adamant.” She smirked.

“You need to turn this boat around and take me back! I have responsibilities. I have a summit to be at in less than a month!”

“Tides out, we are already underway,” she clipped as if that explained everything.

He sighed, holding his head. “Chiara, do you recall when we first met, you were concerned that I would simply take you as my own, giving you no choice? You are doing precisely that.”

She frowned at this, then gestured for him to sit in her chair.

“Is it so terrible?” She asked, straddling his lap, her breasts brushed seductively against his chest through the thin cloth. She still smelled heavily of rich brandy and the tobacco they had smoked. Was she still drunk?

He had been smoking?

“Chiara…”

“Is it?” Her lips were so soft, caressing his neck, then covering his mouth. His mind drifted in the pleasure of it. Nobunaga brought his hands to her shoulders.

“How are you even sober after last night?”

She shrugged, lacing her fingers through his hair. “Come sail with me Nobunaga, I’ll show you the world.”

He let his hands slowly slide down her back to cup her hips.

“Chiara, there is nothing I would love more, but I have to make arrangements first. I have nothing packed with me. I’ve left no direction for my men. You can’t just steal me away.”

“It appears that I can because I have,” she countered playfully. Her hips shifted enticingly on Nobunaga's lap, making promises of encasing him in a tight, seductive heat.

He growled.

“You need to take me back.”

“I don’t need to do shit. You are on my ship. I make the rules here.”

“Oh, do you?”

Suddenly she was lifted into the air. He took three steps and tossed her unceremoniously onto the bed.

“The crew is loyal to me. What are you going to do about it, Nobunaga? Tell me I’m a bad girl? Scold me?” Her eyes lit dark with glee as she turned to him. Chiara’s hands were already at the buttons of her blouse. That gap fell lower, exposing her breasts.

“That is exactly what I am going to do. You seem to have forgotten your manners,  Captain .” His eyes roved over her, and then his hand shot forward, flipping her face down, a mass of golden hair in his fist. He pinned her, the weight of his palm to her shoulder blades. “If you want to act like a naughty girl taking what she wants instead of asking nicely, then that is how you will be treated.” His other hand came forward, yanking her pants down to her knees, exposing the ample round curve of her ass. He noticed a perfect ring of purple teeth marks on her left cheek.

His teeth marks, Nobunaga groaned and his cock gave a hard, lurching throb.

He gave her a few light slaps watching the flesh of cheek roll enticingly with it. His hand went to his buckle, katana sheaths hit the wooden floor as they slid off his belt.

“Wait, Nobunaga!” Chiara squirmed. She tried to twist to see what he was doing when the first crack of leather hit her skin. She squealed.

The second strike hit, and she screamed. Then the searing heat of his tongue soothed the abused flesh. His hand squeezed, palming her right cheek rolling it gently.

“I’m waiting for your apology,” his voice wavered somewhere between pissed off and aroused.

A string of Portuguese came out so virulent he was certain she was swearing. He raised his belt again.

Crack.

She panted angrily. “You bastard. I—”

His tongue soothed over the abused skin again, and Chiara slumped into the mussed bedding with a moan.

“You?” His large hand rubbed a warm circle on her reddened skin.

“I am not sorry for stealing you from a life you could no longer stand to be mired in!”

“Mouthy girl.” The leather cracked against her flesh again, sending it into a tantalizing jiggle. He followed it up with rhythmic light slaps that had her moaning and writhing despite him still having a firm grip on her hair. Chiara clenched her hands in the bed sheets.

“Stop,” she gritted out, not even trying to look back at him. Nobunaga paused, then raised the belt again. The silence spun out brittle between them, with only her panting breath filling it.

“You know what word to use if you desire for me to stop.” He dragged the leather slowly over her abused flesh. Waiting.

Chiara went quiet.

He adjusted the grip on her hair, softening it just slightly. She turned her head just enough to look back at him. His eyes locked with hers. Those dark blonde lashes fluttered as they stared each other down, neither budging. Nobunaga traced his belt over the soft skin just below her cheeks. Chiara licked her lips, leaning back into it.

“Harder.”

His dick throbbed confined by his hakama. Dear spirits, this woman would be the death of him.

He cracked the belt three times across her ass, relishing the high-pitched cries, the way her back arched as she leaned into it. He glanced down and saw her arousal trickling down her thigh. With a groan, he released her hair to spread those cheeks and taste her. She bucked and twisted on his tongue, and he kneeled on the bed, putting a hand under her to lift her hips higher. His fingers brushed up her back once again to grip that mane of hair.

“More?” he growled the question into her skin.

“God, Yes!” It was more of a high pleading whine coming out of her throat than anything commanding. He raised the belt.

The door opened.

“Captain, is everything alright in here?” Matisse stepped into the room, and his mouth gaped in shock.

Read more on A03 https://archiveofourown.org/works/28048281/chapters/68713227

[lokisgame]

A Generous Donation [14]

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11] [part 12] [part 13]

Even if Will was a hair taller than him, he looked small and fragile, curled up in his hospital bed, surrounded by lights that never faded and mechanical sentinels, keeping watch over him 24/7. Does that bring comfort to him? Knowledge that a little piece of plastic stuck to his chest will know that something's wrong and call for help. Does he fear something bad might happen when he sleeps? Probably not, he was always surrounded by love. Maybe that's something for parents to feel. Maybe that's what being a parent fells like. The beanie on Will's head was grey, with huge, black, almond shaped eyes embroidered over his forehead. Aliens' face, Mulder thought and the boy stirred.

"Hey kid," Mulder said when the boy looked up. "They made you ware the hat," he mumbled sleepily. "I'm man enough for it." "Yeah, you make it look real good." "How are you doing?" "Less like dying than this time last week." Mulder grinned, even if the boy couldn't see it behind the mask. "That's good." "Yeah, I feel so too." "Your mom says your results are improving." "Thanks to you." Will smiled faintly trying to sit and took Mulder's offered hand, pulling himself up a little higher on the pillows. "Thank you." "No problem." Mulder said casually. "No, I mean, for the thing," Will said, looking down, worrying his cuticles, then up again stopping himself and meeting Mulder's gaze, "thank you." "Don't," Mulder said, covering the boy's hands with one of his, "don't thank me, just get well, okay?" "I'll do my best." "I'm sure you will." "So," Will cleared his throat, "about you and mom." "Will," Mulder rolled his eyes. "No, c'mon, don't give me that," he laughed, "I just want you to know, that now, with me staying around for a while." "A long while." "Yes, that," he chuckled, "I'm still okay with that, you two, together." "Why do you keep saying that?" "Because I know my mom!" He laughed harder. "You better watch out, she might try to wriggle out of this, using me as an excuse. She's done it before so don't let her." "What? How?""My family comes first, my son needs stability, I need to focus on work." "She said that?" "Okay, I eavesdropped when I was younger, I'm not proud," Mulder laughed, "though, I didn't like those guys much, so yeah, I kinda agree with her, but I like you, so, you know, man to man, take my advice." "What do you wanna do, when you get out of here?" Mulder asked, wiping his eyes. "Major in psychology, obviously." Will grinned and pulled his knees up. "Now, tell me about working for the FBI."

"Kiss me again," she said, turning beneath him, soft and sleep warm, hair a mess and eyes still closed. Leaning in, he framed her lip gently and this time she gave back the kiss, a faint pressure, soft acknowledgement, like hands reaching, touching fingertips. Her lips curled, arms closed around him. "Good morning." "You just made my Monday." "I can make your week," she grinned, hand traveling down his back and under the waistband of his PJ's. "And what will we do tomorrow?" "So much for seduction." "You don't have to seduce me," he chuckled and flipped them over, pulling her on top and making her laugh. "You had me at hello." "Movie quotes?" "Are we doing this or not?"   She caught the last word, pushing it back into his mouth, wiping it out with a bold sweep of her tongue. Fingernails scraped over his scalp waking his whole body up, sensation rippling through nerve endings, all the way to his toes. He grabbed her ass and searched for skin. "We need to talk about these," he mumbled when she let go. "I like being warm," she said, tracing kisses down his neck. When she slipped past his collarbone and he felt her tongue on his nipple, he asked, "Where are you going?" "I'll be right back," she teased and vanished under the sheet. She made his year.

It was almost lunch time and Mulder was walking down the hall to his office, returning greetings from passing students and looking through mail that stacked up over the week. "Professor Mulder," said a cheerful voice, making him pause. He turned and smiled, taking the man's hand. "Dean Harris." "Professor Mulder, this is Mrs. Margaret Scully, one of our most generous donors." "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Scully," Mulder smiled, shaking the woman's hand and when their eyes met, he knew that she knew. An assistant caught up to them and said something to the Dean, under her breath. "Yes, thank you Clair," he said then turned to Mrs. Scully. "I'm so sorry, a small emergency is calling, can I leave you with my colleague for a minute?" "Of course, I don't want to pull you away from your duties, thank you for the tour." "Oh no, Mrs Scully, it is us who's thankful for your contribution," he said, shaking her hand, then nodded to Mulder. "Professor." "Dean Harris," Mulder nodded back then looked at the small, elegant, dark haired woman. Her eyes were soft and kind, set in a small face marked with as many worry lines as laugh lines. "Can we find someplace quiet to talk, mr. Mulder?" "Of course," Mulder said, and showed her to his office.

"The school is very grateful for your donation, Mrs. Scully," Mulder said, taking her coat and hanging it by the door. "As am I for yours," she replied, warm, but straight to the point. “I’m sorry for coming to you like this, but I had to thank you in person, for everything you’ve done for my family.” He guided her to the chair in front of his desk, feeling his ears burn. "You don't have to thank me," he said, taking his own chair to her side. "Be proud of them." "I am, Dana was always the strongest one, strong and stubborn." "But also kind," he finished for her gently. Though there was no reproach in her tone, he sensed old tension between mother and daughter. "Yes, of course." She smiled and took his hands in hers. "I know you've been a friend to her these past few weeks and I'm grateful for that too." "Mrs. Scully, this really isn't necessary." "But it is," she said, looking up, her eyes tearing up, "I wish she met you sooner, I wish you were there for her always. I'm proud of my daughter, the work she'd done, the way she raised William on her own, but what mother wants to see her child alone. When she called me and told me you agreed to be the donor, I felt as if a miracle had happened. As if God had put you in their path, exactly when they needed your help." "Mrs. Scully, please." Tears spilled over, rolling down her cheeks and he handed her his handkerchief. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't put this on you." She sighed, wiping her eyes, careful not to smear the light makeup. Another breath and she sounded almost calm. "What I'm trying to say is that, I don't know what your plans are, but if you ever need help, our family will be there for you." "Thank you." Mulder said simply, patting her hands. "Would you a glass of water?" That made her laugh. "Yes please, thank you." "I'll be right back." He took the pitcher he kept in the office, made sure his phone was in his pocket and the minute he was out the door, called Scully. "Hi," she said, her voice sounding a little muffled. "Hey, it's me," he said under his breath, "your mother is here." "My Mom? Why?" "I don't know, I bumped into her and Dean Harris and he said something about donations and she just cried in my office." "I'm so sorry, I'll call her right away." "No, don't, it's okay, I just wanted to give you a heads up," he said, amused by her embarrassment. "Should I expect anyone else?" "I don't think so," Scully sighed, "Missy and Bill left town, and he's the only one I'd be worried about." Mulder laughed, "Okay." "Will says hi," she added. "Hi Will," he said, and suddenly the sound cracked and popped. "Just nod and agree to whatever grandma wants," said Will, laughing, "or you'll never get rid of her." "What?" Mulder chuckled, and the sound cracked again. "Sorry," Scully said, laughing now, "a little hostile takeover took place." "He's better?" "Much better." "That's good," he said and glanced at his watch, "okay, this starts to look conspicuous, I have to get back." "Let me know and I'll send the cavalry." "Thanks, love you." The words rolled off his tongue before he realised, what he'd done and with heart in his throat, he waited for her to speak. "Love you, too," she said, very, very softly.

"Hi mom." "Hello Dana, how is Will." "Better, listen, I heard you went to see Mulder." "I didn't, I went to talk to Dean Harris. Meeting Fox was completely coincidental." "Then why does this coincidence feels so contrived?" "Dana, honey, I did what I felt was right." "Putting him on the spot like that?" "When were you planning to let us meet him?" Scully froze for a second, which Maggie noticed immediately. "I thought so." "Mom, this was probably the craziest week of my life." "I know sweetheart." "And I think it's still too early to celebrate." "Have some faith." Maggie said, completely unconcerned and Scully began to lose her temper. "Will you listen to me?!" "I am listening and I have the same worries as you, but I'm happy that things are finally working out for the both of you and felt like I had to express my gratitude." Scully sat in her office stunned into silence, which her mother took for victory. Will was right, it was useless to resist. "I don't know why you keep him a secret," she said finally, "he's a very nice man."

Having let herself in, Scully found the living room and kitchen empty. "Mulder?" "Downstairs!" His voice came from the direction of doors, that usually stayed closed. She left her coat on the rack and followed the sound down a couple of steep steps. The basement was filled with warmth and light, almost half the size of the room above, with hardwood floors and high set windows. Bookshelves took up three of the walls, while the fourth was turned into one, huge message board, wallpapered with newspaper clippings and blurry photos. There was a couch against the wall and a large, beat up desk in the middle of the room. "So this is your den?" Scully said, rounding the desk and stepping into his open arms. "Office," he said, pulling her into his lap. "And the tour didn't involve this place because?" She teased, leaning for her kiss. "It's only for the inner-most crowd." "In that case, I'm honoured," she sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. "Tired?" "I feel like I could shower and sleep for a week." "And it's only Monday." "That's what worries me." She said and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. "I'm sorry about my mom." "Don't be," Mulder chuckled, "it wasn't that bad." "I didn't think she'd go looking for you, at work." "You had other plans?" Mulder asked, swivelling the chair, amused. "I don't know, it's not exactly like introducing a new boyfriend to the family." "Isn't that what I am?" He nudged her lightly. "You know what I mean." "No, I don't think I do." Scully sighed and sat up, taking the warmth with her. "I'm too tired for bantering, I'm going to bed." "Hey, wait," Mulder said, holding on to her hand, "I'm sorry, don't be mad." "I'm not mad, I'm exhausted," she replied, kissing his forehead before getting up. "You coming?" "I have to finish this first." "Okay, you know where to find me." “Scully?” Mulder tugged on her fingers gently, making her turn and look at him before she slipped away. “I love you.” He said, holding her gaze until question on her face turned into a smile. “Love you too,” she said, leaning in and brushing his lips one more time. “Goodnight.” “Night.” Twenty minutes later Mulder climbed in behind her, careful not to jostle the bed, convinced she was already asleep. But when he gently put his arm around her, she leaned into his embrace. “I didn’t plan anything,” she sighed, taking his hand. “There just wasn’t enough time to think.” “I know.” “I wanted you to meet my family, but it doesn't feel right without Will." "Scully, there's no reason for you to worry about this," he breathed, gathering her closer into his arms. "I met your mom, your brother, even your niece, the rest can wait, it's done, try to sleep." "So you don't mind my pushy family?" "Not at all." "Okay." She murmured, feeling tension leaving her body as silence stretched and her eyelids grew heavy. "By the way," Mulder mumbled half asleep, after a long minute, "your mom invited us to dinner on Friday." "I knew it," Scully laughed and accepted the kiss he pressed to her neck. "'Night Scully." He murmured. "'Night Mulder."

[endangered-liaison]

Balance Upended

The augury was in your scars.  The remedy is in your stars.  And yours, Miss Eyhafrynwyn, is Balance Upended.  This is not an imbalance, but a lack of unity.  Equal forces opposed, separate rather than as one.  Whatever 'darkness' is in your soul let it be reminded of its purpose. - Xanadu Mol

Small, rarely-lived-in apartments are common in Limsa Lominsa.

Pirates, privateers and merchants all need a place to go when they make port back in the city they call home. And, to be sure, many of them find shelter in the taverns and pubs and hotels across the land. The Drowned Wench, the Jackal's Bark - even the Missing Member boasts a handful of private rooms, though...whether those are for sleeping or not is something easily-debated.

But some have longer downtime between journeys. Some don't desire to stay in unwelcome tavern rooms. And some just want a place to store possessions and valuables that isn't aboard their ship. And so, the flats and apartments litter the city-state, and the landlords are not one to question a tenant who appears only once every moon or three - provided the rent is always paid.

Wyda sighs and tosses the key between her hands, checking over her shoulder once more before she pushes it into the lock. The door clicks open, and she slips quietly into the darkness.

It's dark, within the room. When she looks down at her hand, all she sees is the faint blue glow of her ring.

Don't forget about the--

She stumbles into the table she left near the front door, and a book clatters from the pile on to the floor.

"Ow." Wyda rubs her leg. That'll leave a bruise.

I tried to warn you.

"Aye, you did." She concentrates for a moment, then a faint blue glow begins to be emitted from her hand, aether swirling around her fingers. It lets her see enough to jumble for the closest floor lamp. She lifts the glass from it, and allows the sparks and swirling aether to touch the wick. A faint flame alights, and she replaces the glass carefully. Let there be light.

Casting out the dark. Should I be offended? Hyrt asks, dryly.

"You've seen my fashion sense." Wyda gestures down to her black dress. "Needless to say, I don't think you need to worry about that."

Good point.

Wyda wanders the room, lighting the other lamps and checking to make sure the curtain is closed. Satisfied with the lighting and the security, she pulls out a bottle of wine and pours herself a glass.

...I'll bite. Why are we here right now?

Wyda hesitates, wine an ilm from her lips. "You don't know?" She sounds surprised. "I thought you were supposed to be smarter than me."

Hyrt groans. I'm not smarter than you, Wyda, cut yourself a little slack. As requested, Wyda cuts herself the bare minimum of slack. I am you. I just...have a different angle and a different perspective. We each notice things the other doesn't.

Wyda takes a long drink from her glass. "And you think that I've noticed something you haven't about all of this?"

She turns to face the wall, gesturing toward it.

Gesturing towards...a mess. The entire wall is covered in papers, stuck and pinned there. There aren't any strings connecting any of them, but they're there in spirit. It's as if someone heard the word 'wallpaper' and approached it from the least practical angle. The whole thing seems to be more paperwork than it is wall.

Well, I'd assume so. Max hasn't been back to give us an update, so we've got nothing to add to our little paranoia room right now...unless I'm missing something.

Wyda makes a displeased noise. "Paranoia room? The man is literally out to get us."

Yes, and you're literally talking to yourself.

Wyda clenches her teeth, stepping toward the wall and yanking down one of the pieces of paperwork. An Alliance report of a firefight that had taken place in Ala Mhigo.

...I'm sorry. Hyrt says, softly. That was rude of me.

"Aye, it was." Her response is short. Clipped.

And...you're right. Octavian is out to get us. He's a threat, a dangerous one. So...please tell me what I'm missing? So I can help? Hyrt seems close to pleading.

"Max came back into town a week ago. And she didn't give us any new information." Wyda leans back against one of the pillars of her bed. Drops the Alliance report. Swirls the wine in her glass, and takes another sip. "Now, maybe she didn't find anything. Maybe. But now, suddenly, she's unavailable, and Brave's trying to get into contact with Kail."

Hyrt hums. You think she found something and didn't tell you?

"Aye, that's what I'm thinking." She pauses. "I just don't know what she'd have pieced together, or why she'd keep it from me."

Maybe she doesn't want to stress you? We have had quite a lot going on, lately.

"Maybe. Or maybe it's about whatever Vicky's so nervous to talk about." Wyda sighs, rubbing her eye.

Hey. I'm sure, whatever it is, that everything's going to be okay.

When she smiles, it's anxious and pained. "That makes one of us."

We're the same person. If I'm optimistic about it, you have to be too. That's the law. Hyrt's grin is clear from her voice. You wouldn't want to be a criminal, would you?

Wyda can't help but bark a laugh at that. "Oh, gods forbid."

So, you two will be fine. Trust me.

"Aye." She sighs and takes another sip of wine, letting the flavour linger on her tongue. "Aye." She reaches up to her eyepatch, tugging it off and letting her eyes slip closed.

Or, rather, she would've closed her eyes, if not for the sight of a folded card dropping to the floor.

Huh.

She'd almost forgotten about that.

She crouches, placing the wine glass down and unfolding the card in question.

The Balance.

Balance, Upended, Xan had said.

"This is not an imbalance, but a lack of unity." Wyda finds herself speaking the quote without really thinking about it. Her fingers trace over the card, smoothing out the folds of it.

Equal forces opposed, separate rather than as one. Hyrt finishes it for her.

"That woman never fails to surprise with her insight," Wyda smiles, picking the card up and climbing back to her feet. "So, what is your purpose, oh darkness in my soul?"

I... Hyrt hesitates. That's a difficult question, Wyda. What's your purpose?

"Help people." Wyda shrugs, giving the answer as if it comes easily to her.

Hyrt grumbles. Ugh, damn it, I should've expected that. Fine. My purpose is...to help you.

"And we're not united in that?" She asks the question, but...she already knows the answer. No. They're not aligned in that. She isn't sure if they ever will be.

Not even a little.

Wyda sighs. "Aye. Aye, I saw that coming."

Are you sure Xanadu's the one who can see the future? Hyrt asks, warmly. Trying to distract Wyda, no doubt.

She snorts. Leans back, resting her head against the pillar of the bed. "Okay."

Okay?

"Okay. We're opposed. Disorganised. Not united. Our balance is upended. However else you want to describe it." Wyda waves a hand vaguely, eyes closed.

I'm...not sure where you're going with this. Hyrt's confused. Clearly. Mainly because Wyda is a confusing woman. Is this a declaration of war with yourself?

Wyda pauses. Her brows furrow. "No. It's not a declaration of war. Come on, give me a little credit here."

As requested, I offer up the bare minimum of credit.

Wyda giggles at that, and, after a moment, Hyrt joins in. "D-damn it, Hyrt, I'm trying to be serious here!"

I couldn't resist! Would you have resisted?

"Nay! Nay, I wouldn't have." Wyda grins. She lifts the wine glass from the floor and downs the last of it. "We need to understand each other. I'd say we need to unite or become one, but firstly I don't know how we'd even go about that or if I'd be able to survive such a rejoining, and secondly--"

I'd make a sex joke about it?

"Yes, that."

Wyda places the glass down carefully, twisting and rotating the astrologian's card between her fingertips as she starts to pace back and forth.

Her next words are important. She can't just rush into them. She can't just say them on a whim. They are, in a word, terrifying.

As soon as she says them, they're out there in the world.

They're real. And that...she needs to be sure she's ready for that.

"I want you to take control."

There's no response.

Just silence.

Long, lingering silence.

Wyda starts to think she might've imagined saying it out loud, or might have somehow spoken some total gibberish or said something offensive. "Hyrt?"

Are you sure? Hyrt asks, soft as can be.

"Brave wants us to do that some time anyway, and personally I'd rather have a little experience with it before she asks, to make sure we don't get performance anxiety or anything like--"

Wyda.

"I'm sure."

Then close your eyes.

She closes her eyes.

Breathe deep through your nose.

She breathes, slow and deep.

Let the air fill your lungs, then let it pass through your lips. Slower. Slower.

Her breathing slows.

Listen to my voice.

Listen to our heartbeat.

With every breath you grow lighter, and slip further...

Hyrt's eyes open.

[accio-ambition]

WORLDS COLLIDING FOR SOME CAPTAIN COBRA SWAN GOODNESS. Ugh, yes. I hope you guys enjoy it. I know I do.

As always, a humongous thank you to @sotheylived, @shipsxahoy​, @queen-icicle-fandom, and @captainswanbigbang for supporting and getting this project through at some point in time in the past...god, seven months? Is that right? Math is not my strong suit.

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset

Chapter Nine

Emma’s got her laptop out on the table, a plate of Granny’s finest onion rings at her side. Over the past couple of weeks, she’s accumulated approximately 67 hours of B roll, every minute of which she has to go through, edit, and send off to Jefferson, who has to approve it before filing it with HQ. So far, she’s made it through about an hour and a half.

(Thank god Ruby knows to keep the onion rings coming.)

She’s just cutting up a scene consisting of the boys playing cards down in the galley while waiting for Jones and Liam to figure out their plan of attack for the day when someone slides into the booth bench opposite her.

“So, tell me, Swan,” Jones startles her. “What is it that makes you tick?”

Exporting the clip and jotting its name down on the growing list of file names, Emma sighs. Of all the people she wanted to see right now, Jones was not one of them, especially on one of her rare days working away from the Jolly Roger. She sets her pen down and glares across the table in frustration. “My charming personality and sense of humbleness,” she says, her face unmoving and her voice monotone. She’s not in the mood for his shit.

“But of course,” he chuckles, nabbing a ring from her plate. Too late, she smacks his grabby fingers away. “I would’ve thought it was those sky high walls you’ve got me climbing, but the personality.” He munches on the onion ring thoughtfully. “No, that makes sense now.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “In case you can’t tell, Jones, I’m a little busy here.”

“Oh, no, I can see quite well.” Setting his clasped hands atop the table, Jones leans toward her, closing her laptop fractionally. “I can tell that you’re using whatever is around you to protect you from something.” He cocks his head to the side like a curious puppy, almost like he’s trying to read her. “Guard you from falling a little bit in love with this town. Or at all.”

“Really now?” Emma says, unbelieving.

(That is what she’s doing, technically speaking. Force of habit - distraction to keep herself safe. It’s worked so far, that’s for sure.)

“Indeed.” Jones nods and steals another onion ring. “Your work, your lad, your impending order of – what was it, pancakes?”

“Waffles,” she corrects himself. Emma pulls her plate closer to her, even though he has the arm length to reach across the table and take her food as he pleases. “If you had been up as late I was dealing with a sick 10-year-old, you would’ve been as grumpy as I was.”

“I’m sure that’s true.” He raises a brow and points at her. “But you did have a cup of coffee in front of you, so I assumed you’d be slightly more pleasant.”

Emma shrugs. “Assumed wrong.” And in her mind, that’s the end of the conversation. If she were in his shoes, she would bid him farewell and leave, get out of his face.

But when had Jones ever done a thing she would do? Instead, he continues to sit opposite her and appraises her. For a moment, Emma tries to return to editing her B roll, but she feels his gaze on her and it makes her nervous.

With a grunt, she slams her laptop down and glares at him. “What do you want, Jones?”

“I just want to get to know you, Swan,” he says quietly. “You’re the first civilian I’ve let on my ship, love, and from what I can tell, you’re going to be making yourself a frequent member of my crew.” Jones begins to trace his fingertip all over the tabletop, appearing to draw little nothings while he thinks over his next words. “I need to know who I’m working with. I need to know who is going to jump in the sea after a crewmate if they fall in and who’s going to stand back and watch.”

“Well, I can already tell you that I’ll be standing back and filming. That’s literally my job,” Emma quips back. Then she raises an accusatory brow of her own. “So, is that enough information?”

He sighs in frustration. “Something small,” he pleads. “That’s all I ask.” He searches their surroundings as if for inspiration. “Perhaps where you and Henry were before you came here.”

It seems like such irrelevant information. It’s something that he can find out by asking Jefferson or David or even Ruby. It’s safe. Still, she thinks about it, then decides to respond. “Phoenix,” she says. “Henry and I were in Phoenix before we came up here.”

“Quite a different landscape, isn’t it?” he asks, to which she makes some nonverbal sound of agreement. “How long were you there?”

“Less than a year.” Emma shakes her head and opens her laptop once more. “Look, Killian, I really do have to work on this stuff.”

Across the table, she sees his eyes light up despite her obvious dismissal and, idly, she wonders why he suddenly seems really happy to be rejected by her. “Perhaps we can talk later then,” he suggests.

“Sure, if you really want to,” she says with a shrug. It’s inevitable: they’re going to have to talk to each other in the future because they work together on a boat - ship - that she knows very little about. She doesn’t exactly want to die out at sea.

“Trust me, love, I really want to,” Jones murmurs eagerly. Finally, he slides from the bench and stands next to the booth. Emma watches him cautiously for his next move.

What he says next surprises her.

“When do you pick the lad up from camp?” he asks.

Emma’s thrown by the weird question, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Quarter after three. Why?”

“How about I meet you two when he’s free and I take you to my ship?”

If possible, her brows sink lower on her face. “Why?”

Jones shrugs. “Well, you may have seen the inner workings, but your boy hasn’t.”

And that’s got her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline.

(They’re getting quite the workout today.)

“You want him to give him a tour of your boat?”

“Ship, Swan, the Jolly Roger is a ship,” he groans, rubbing away at his forehead and the frustration her mistake causes him. “Yes. I think it’s good for a lad to know where his mother will be working, if not to meet some of the folks she’s working with as well.”

“Really?”

He nods, digging his hands into his pockets. “We’ll just pretend he’s come to your office for a little while. Meet your boss and such.”

“You’re not my boss,” Emma scoffs. “If anything, I’m your boss.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “I do love a woman in charge.”

Emma slaps his arm. “Fine. Meet me outside the schoolyard at ten after three.”

He leans forward in a slight bow. “As you wish, Swan,” he says, before walking away.

“Don’t think you’re going to charm me by quoting Princess Bride!” she yells after him, then scolds herself because she’s going to have a hell of a time editing her B roll now.

She whiles away the day doing busy work, trying not to think of what Killian had basically accused her of earlier. She knows she has walls. She knows she walks around with heavy armor around her heart. For good reason. Her life was on the right track until a man came along, got her pregnant, and then left her to take the fall for his crimes. Of course she’s going to have trouble trusting anyone after that. She thought she had loved Neal, gave him everything, only to receive nothing as thanks.

But for Jones – practically a stranger, someone she considers a coworker at most – to call her out on that. It’s unheard of.

Her past experiences are what make her eyebrows raise in confusion, but pleasant surprise when she strolls up to the elementary school to find Killian chatting with some of the other parents there. He’s laughing jollily at something a woman is saying, his arms crossed over his chest as he throws his head back. She walks up to them and clears her throat to get his attention.

“Swan!” Jones shouts in greeting. He gestures to the woman he was talking to by casually swinging an open hand toward her. “Have you met Aurora?”

“Not yet.” She leans forward with her best people smile and shakes hands with the woman. “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Aurora says. She seems nice, much like the rest of the people in Storybrooke. Very domestic in her vintage dress and long hair, waiting for her children to get out of summer camp. “Killian here was just telling me about your son. I think my Phillip has been talking about him.”

“Oh, you’re Phillip’s mom,” Emma says in recognition. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Yeah, Henry was really excited telling me how Phillip had invited him to his birthday party.”

Aurora chuckles. “Yeah, he’s really excited about it. Turning double digits and all that.”

“Is the lad really turning 10?” Jones asks in disbelief.

Aurora hums and nods.

“My god, I remember when your husband burst into the Rabbit Hole and bought everyone a round in celebration of his birth,” he chuckles.

Aurora laughs. “Yes, I remember that as well. I wasn’t all too happy with him after that.” Her phone rings. As she takes it out of her pocket and finds who’s calling on the screen, she sighs. “Speaking of my darling husband. Sorry, I have to take this.”

They wave her off, Aurora heading off to the other end of the playground to speak with her husband. Emma, on the other hand, turns to Killian and says, “You’re here.”

“Of course I am.”

“You’re here early.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Sometimes Mary Margaret lets the children out early for some extra time on the playground, especially on a nice day like today.”

Emma tilts her head toward her shoulder. “How’d you know that?”

“I hear things around town,” he reasons with another shrug. “Mary Margaret Nolan, bless her heart, made her and David’s presence known the minute they moved into town.” Killian chuckles and shifts his feet a little closer together. “She came knocking on our door with cookies to introduce herself a couple days after they’d come.”

“Huh,” she hums. “Sounds like her.”

His eyes widen a bit and his brow cocks up. “You know her?” he asks.

“I should hope.” Emma says, licking her bottom lip and shaking her head. “We moved in next door. And I knew her and David when I was in school.”

“Really? You’ll have to tell me all the embarrassing stories one day.”

“Hmm, don’t count on it, buddy,” she says with a smirk, satisfied that she’s managed to shut him down.

(For now.)

(He’s trying to get under her skin even more so than he already is. Trying to create excuses to spend more time with her in an effort to make her like him, she’s sure.)

(And now that she knows he lives down the street from them and he knows they live next door to the Nolans… well, it’s a small town. She wouldn’t be surprised if he came knocking on their door unannounced.

Emma doesn’t know if she could handle that.)

The bell rings and the kids start to stream out, slowly, then in a huge crowd. As a now-sixth-grader, Henry may be a little taller than the rest of the kids, but he’s told her before how his classroom is also the furthest from the doors. So when the crowd starts to thin, that’s when she starts really searching for her son.

He appears, wet brown hair in his eyes, his pack slung over one shoulder. Henry spots her and starts jogging toward her, but slows back to a walk when he sees who’s next to her.

“Hey, kid,” Emma says happily, avoiding the obvious question in his eyes. Henry tucks himself under her arm in a side hug, her arm resting on his shoulder. “How was camp?”

“Fine. We went to the pool and they taught us how to dive.”

“You know all about that, now, don’t you?”

He nods. “I practiced on my back stroke while they taught the other kids.”

She laughs. “And how’s it looking?”

Henry shakes his head, his nose crinkling up in disgust and dissatisfaction. “Not much better.”

“I’m so proud of you, kiddo.” She reaches both arms around him and hugs him tightly.

Henry leans into her side, his still-damp hair soaking through her shirt. He speaks so quietly she has to lean down when he repeats it. “Who’s this?”

The moment of truth: Emma glances up at the man, who’s remained silent so far, waiting until she gives him the go ahead. His expression, however, has opened up into something she’s never seen before. It’s kinder than anything she’s seen on the ship. Granted, she hasn’t known him that long, but it’s still a bit eye-opening.

After a moment of hesitation, Emma repositions the two of them so they’re facing Jones. “Um, Henry, this is Killian Jones,” she says. “He’s the captain of the bo-ship,” she quickly corrects herself. “Of the ship that I’m filming on.” With the smile of a mother who can’t help herself but be happy around her child, Emma introduces her two worlds. “Jones, this is my son Henry.”

Killian pushes out his hand for a shake. Henry obliges timidly. “Lovely to meet you, lad,” he says. “Your mother told me that you had really hoped she’d be hanging out with pirates.”

Emma reaches out to punch Jones in the shoulder, scoffing, “I did not!”

“Swan, please,” Killian playfully pleads, rubbing at the spot on his arm where she hit him. He crouches down in front of them until he’s squatting low enough to have to look up at Henry. He leans into her son. “Do you want to know my ship’s name?” he asks conspiratorially. Henry, of course, nods. “The Jolly Roger.”

His eyes go wide. “Like Captain Hook?”

“Exactly.” Killian’s pointer finger moves and bops Henry on the tip of the nose, surprising both of them. Henry giggles and Emma can’t help but smile at the noise. “Would you like to see it?”

“Yes!” Henry shouts enthusiastically. The shy kid from minutes ago is gone as he looks up at Emma with bright excited eyes. “Mom, can I?”

Shrugging, Emma glances over to Killian, who sends her a wink. “Why not?”

“Awesome!” Jones stands up and gestures toward the water. In all his youthful joy, Henry takes the lead, half walking, half jogging in front of them with his back to all opposing traffic. “Can I steer it?”

“Afraid not, m’boy.” For what it’s worth, Jones matches his steps to hers, a slow sort of trudge that isn’t exactly exuberant but isn’t exactly hesitant as well. “We’ll have to stay docked today. My crew is making sure she’s all ready for whatever happens this season.”

“But can I steer it some time?” Henry asks, coming to a halt in front of them.

Killian looks at Emma for the correct answer. She’s not quite sure what he sees there, but Jones turns back to her son. “We’ll see, lad. We’ll see.”

Emma hangs back as they walk to the harbor while Henry and Jones walk together in front of her. Henry’s regaling him with tales of their travels – how to tell a good New York street vendor from a bad one, how nice winter in Phoenix is – and Killian, surprising her yet again, reacts genuinely and accordingly. Unlike other people – specifically men who’ve wished to pursue her romantically – Jones is treating her son as anyone should: like her 10-year-old is a person.

She catches up to them once they reach the docks, only to hear Jones say, “What in heavens do you mean, you’ve never seen snow?”

Henry shrugs. “We were always somewhere warm in the winter time. I might have seen it when I was a baby, but I don’t remember seeing snow anywhere but on TV.”

Jones looks at Emma. “I am appalled, Swan. You’ve never let your son experience snow?”

She shrugs, internally chuckling at the apparent family trait. “There were never any jobs where it was snowy.”

“A likely excuse,” Jones scoffs. They come up to the bow of the ship, Henry basically hopping on the balls of his feet. “Well, here she is.” Emma comes up to his side and accidentally brushes against his hand with hers. “The Rolly Joger.” His voice cracks, causing both her and Henry to laugh at his slip in words. “I mean, the Jolly Roger.” He blushes and scratches behind his ear. “Shall we board?” Henry nods fervently. Killian gestures to Emma. “Ladies first.”

She rolls her eyes, but heads up the steps of the gangplank before Henry does. “Watch your step, kid, there are ropes everywhere.”

“How would you know?”

“I work on this ship, remember? It’s like my office,” she says, wrapping her arms across her body to keep the sea breeze from making her more uncomfortable than she already is.

Always happy to be the center of attention and talk about something he's obviously passionate about, Killian shows Henry the captain’s roost and the inner belly of the boat. Emma notices that her son seems to be enjoying this time with Jones – some boys’ time that he’s never really had much access to. It’s not like his father was around, or any of the men she sought company with were appropriate for her son to hang out with.

Emma realizes that, though she might not exactly like Jones, maybe her son knowing and liking him might not just be the worst thing ever.

When the tour is finished, Henry’s eyes bright and cheeks flushed, Jones ushers them off his ship, onto the gangplank, and back to the docks. Once again, Henry’s basically jumping up and down between the two of them, practically hanging off of Killian’s side and surely his every word.

“Did you enjoy yourself, lad?” Jones asks.

“Yeah!” Henry shouts. “Are you sure we can’t take her out today?”

“’fraid not.” Killian looks at her. “The day is late and I should think your mother wants to get some dinner in you and then get you to bed.”

Emma nods in agreement. “Jones is right, Henry, it’s getting late.”

She turns and faces the sun to start their walk home, her flip flops slapping against the wood of the docks and then the concrete of the sidewalk. But she stops when she realizes that her son isn’t following her, or he’s dragging his feet and she’s had the kind of day where she can’t deal with that. Looking over her shoulder, Emma finds he hasn’t moved, still on the wood of the docks, staring up at Killian.

“Go on, Henry,” Killian chides him with a small smile. “We’ll take the ship out soon. You can be my first mate.”

But that’s not what her son wants promised. Even from her position a couple yards away, Emma can spot the determined features on Henry’s face.

“You promise she’s gonna come home?” Her son is so serious when he asks that it nearly breaks Emma’s heart. It’s not like she doesn’t understand where he’s coming from: his father’s already left him, he doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. Just as Henry is all she has in her world, she is all he has in his.

But Killian, being the ever-confusing man that he is, crouches down so that he’s at Henry’s eye level. He sticks his hand out to her son.

“I promise.” His voice is surprisingly stern and serious.

Considering his proposal for a second, Henry finally takes Killian’s hand and shakes it. “And you, too?”

“Of course, lad,” Killian assures him, standing back up. “Liam and I have always come back to shore. If anything, we’ve only got more reason to make it home.” His eyes flicker over and catch Emma’s, as though to make sure that his words don’t go unnoticed.

And they don’t. Not by her. No, she hears every word, said and unsaid.

(It sounds like he’s coming back for them. For her. And the mere idea does not sit well with her at all.)

(Mostly because it settles nice and warmly somewhere in her middle.)

But the insinuations fly over Henry’s head. He nods solemnly and then smiles brightly, as he tends to do. “Thanks for showing me around the boat.”

“It’s a ship, lad,” he corrects him gently, “and it was my pleasure. I’ll take you out on it someday soon, aye?”

“Okay!” With that, Henry finally catches up to his mother, allowing Emma to wrap her arm around his shoulders. “Goodnight, Jones.”

“Goodnight, Henry,” Jones bids him. “Pleasant dreams, Swan,” he says with a wink.

She rolls her eyes and only allows herself to smile when she knows he can’t see it.

[karenmessy-blog]

MASTERPIECE

“I still fall on my face sometimes and I can’t color inside the lines ‘cause I’m perfectly incomplete, I’m still working on my masterpiece,” a woman sings it in a normal tone with her earphones on and sets it to a highest volume while sitting on a wooden chair at the terrace of her room, facing the lively green trees dancing by the wind “And I, I wanna hang with the greats got a way to go, but it’s worth the wait no, you haven’t seen the best of me,  I’m still working on my masterpiece” as she continues singing it. ‘Masterpiece’ by Jessie J is the music she keeps on playing despite those hundreds of music she has on her phone. Her room has a terrace where she stays when she wants to think or look back memories. The view is perfect to relax and reminisce old times. There are three huge Narra trees in front of it. Ten steps to the right of the trees is a river while to its left side are different kinds of flowers like daffodils, sunflowers, tulips, roses and other odd flowers which are not well arranged but look cool as its diverse colors merge together.

“What is my masterpiece?” Kartesha asked herself while listening to the song. She is tall, straight – blonde hair, pointed nose, having curled eyelashes that complement her dark eyes and has a slender body.

“What is my masterpiece?” she asked again for the second time.

She still sitting on the wooden chair, watching the birds flying and trees keep on dancing along with the wind.

“What is my masterpiece?” she asked in the third time.

“They talk that blah blah, that la la, that rah rah s**t, go with the punches and take the hits,” she sings again along with the music. “Sometimes I mess up, I f – up, I swing and miss but it’s oka—“ she stops as her mother pulls the earphones abruptly.

“I called you so many times but you didn’t hear me” her mother said in a calm tone

“I’m sorry” she answered sadly.

“I was just so stress from work and it’s been 5 years now since I last seen you guys” she added. She is still sitting.

“Is it us? Or you just simply miss your room?” her mother mocked.

Kartesha is now 25 years old and working as a successful Civil Engineer to a well – known company located in a city. She filed a leave for a week just to go back to their province and visits her family. And also she is drown with the pressure at her job and decided to have a short vacation instead.

“Mother!” she shouted and they laugh together.

Her mother knows how important her room to her for reasons that all the stuffs in there are witness of her pain, grieves and loneliness before, but every negative has a counterpart of positive and that was happiness.

Her mirror was her first witnessed of her smile, her room echoed her laughter so many times, her bed almost broke its stands as she kept on rolling and jumping because she was happy and almost tore her pillows whenever she felt butterflies in her stomach but also absorbed gallons of tears from her eyes. The four – cornered room echoed billions of shout caused of her angriness, hundreds of broken things has been displayed despite its damages because those things were blotches of her uncontrollable acts rooted by her pains. Rest room she often showered for 1 to 2 hours just to cry and let the water brought with it those tears she shed, is still looks the same. Notebooks that were filled with her burdens and written thousands of hatred quotes years ago are place on her study table sets on the right side of her bed and her color pink walls that have stains of blood from her punches and kicks has not yet erase and been stayed there for years now.

All those agonies were because of someone who dumped her after she was used and played.

“Your father is looking for you. You know how much he misses you. Let’s go out and join them. Your brothers are playing guitar along with him” as her mother invites her.

Kartesha stops the music and stood. As they both heading out from her room, she sees the pink teddy bear and remembers how special that thing to her. And her painful past immediately flashbacks.

“Now I know your favorite color.” Karl commented on Kartesha’s post at Instabook.

She posted a photo of her wearing color pink dress and captioned ‘I love pink!’ with a heart.

They were Second Year College when they met. They both studied in the same school. Karl saw Kartesha at the school library and instantly attracted to her. Since then, he always went to the library just to see her even from a distance. Later on he found out that his gay board mate was Kartesha’s best friend. He asked Marlon, their mutual friend, to help him made friend with her. Marlon invited Karl to have lunch with them, Kartesha. The two became friends started that day. He always sent sweet messages that made her looked crazy as she read it, he often called just to check her if she was doing well, sent random video clips of him singing love songs and had lunch together every day.

“HAHAHA yeah” she replied

“I’ll find something cute pink stuff and give it to you soon” he replied back

One day, she received a text from Karl.

“Can you come out? I’m outside of your classroom”

She came out even they had a class and saw Karl holding a 3 – feet long pink teddy bear.

“For the most beautiful girl exist” he said as he handed it to her. “Wow you’re so sweet. Thank you!” then she hugged him so tight.

Kartesha couldn’t help herself but to fell in love with his actions. Karl was not just sweet, he was handsome too. He was tall, no beard, pointed nose, white skin and had a pinkish lips that could make every girl droll upon starring at it.

“I love you Karl” Kartesha could no longer hid her true feelings for him so she confessed.

They were sitting at the central park inside the campus. Karl didn’t talk. He remained quiet and kept on playing online game on his phone.

“Did you hear me?” Kartesha was trying to get his attention. “Karl?!” and she grabbed his phone.

“What are we?” she asked since she was confused with their status. They were sweet to each other but had no label. She was trying to clear vague things between them.

Kartesha never experienced that kind of feeling because she rejected all those guys who tried to court her since she was avoided by her parents.Not because she was too young for love, but because her heart was too weak for that. Karl for her was different and that she couldn’t stop herself from falling

“What are we?” he bounced back the question. “Why did you spring it back? Karl, please, can we clear this?” she begged. “Aren’t you happy with what we have?” he asked. “Of course I do, but its better if we know what we are” she answered. “That’s all that matters. We are happy, let’s keep it this way” and he smiled to her.

After that confession, Karl began to cold. He never texted her first like how he used to, he didn’t answer her calls and always seen her messages at instabook that made her cry each night.

She didn’t eat sometimes, woke up late and traces of her cries were clear. She always got late on her class and at times absent. Her parents began to worry about her.

“Princess, what’s wrong?” her father asked. “Nothing, I just want to embrace the cold night” she answered.

They were sitting at the terrace of her room.

“You know we are here, your mama, to listen to you” as her father tried to comfort her. “Do you remember --“

“Papa please, I want to be alone” as she cuts her father’s words. Her father felt sad because he knew his Princess was not okay. “I love you Tesh” he said and went out of her room.

Since Kartesha fell in love, she changed. She never had time with her family. She constantly locked herself in her room and kept on checking her phone.

Three weeks she never heard anything from Karl. She asked Marlon where he was since they were board mates but then even him, didn’t know.

One day, he saw a familiar figure walking towards a classroom. She followed him. When the man reached his destination, she secretly watched him from the door and found out that she was right, it was Karl. He was talking to a girl inside the classroom and kissed her. It was long passionate kiss. Kartesha was frozen as she watched them. Tears fell instantly from her eyes. The two stopped when they heard someone’s crying. Karl was shocked when he saw her. She ran and went home.  Karl didn’t follow her. She threw and destroyed all the things she saw in her room. Punched and kicked the walls, broke her lampshade, tore here pillows and so on. She shouted and screamed how much she hated him.

Her parents heard the noise and knocked unendingly her door. They begged her to open it yet she refused. She kept on shouting and screaming until she fainted.

When she woke up, the room was unfamiliar. It was painted white and had fewer decorations. She looked at her right side and saw her parents crying.

“What happened?” she asked as she woke up. They came closer to her and tried to put a smile on their faces. “Are you okay?” her mother asked. “I’m so happy you’re awake now. I thought we’ll lose you.” said by her father.

On her 2nd day in the hospital, a sudden visitor came. It was Karl. They both talked alone. Her parents left them.

“Tesh, I’m sorry” and his tears began to fall. “You shouldn’t be here. Probably you are happy and well if I didn’t come into your life. I did this to you Tesh, I destroy you” his tears kept on falling. “That girl you saw? She is actually my life,” she could no longer stop her tears when she heard the words my life. “We just broke up because she thought I cheated. I tried to explain everything to her but she didn’t listen. I was hurt and decided to have fun in order for me to forget her and there I saw you. I also wanted to find a replacement, for her to see that I am happy even without her. I just want to make her jealous so she will be back to me” his tears were still falling while he was explaining. “When she heard about us, she realized how much she loves me and asked for a second chance and I said yes” still his tears were dropping. “I regret of hurting you. Not because I have pity over you but because I already love you” hopes for their chance began to rebuild within her but devastated when he added “but I just love her even more. I’m sorry..”

Her heart started to pump faster right after he walked out of the room. She was catching her breath and her parents just arrived, called a doctor but whatever the doctor did, her eyes closed gradually.

That was the last time he saw Karl and never heard anything about him anymore.

Few days after, she finally awakes. She was discharged and decided to give herself a hand. She continued her studies and graduated. Even it was been 2 years had passed, she couldn’t forget him so she went to the city and tried to fix herself there few days after her graduation. She left her family without even thinking what would they feel if she will leave them and lives in the city like what she wanted for her own.

“Kartesha? Are you okay?”  her mother asked her when she noticed that she stops and stares the pink teddy bear above her pillows. “Yes, I’m okay. Let’s go now. They are waiting for us for sure” and they continue heading out from her room.

“It’s been 5 years now Princess since you left here. I miss you a lot” as her father speaks while fanning the hot dogs he grills.

They are having a little picnic at their backyard. Her two brothers are playing guitar while her mother is arranging their plates. Their day is full of happiness. No cries, just laugh.

Their fun stops as her father is having a heart attack. They brought him to the hospital but it is too late.

“Why you didn’t tell me he has a heart failure?” Kartesha asked her mother. “5 years I’ve gone and all those years he was sick but you didn’t tell me? Ma, why?!”

“We decided not to tell you because we were afraid you might be in danger if you knew about it. We didn’t want you to worry” her mother explained

“Danger? How can I when I’m totally well?”

“You know love is not for you because you have a heart disease but still you did it. When you were brought to the hospital, you were actually attacked by your disease. We felt relieved when you awake after you were attacked in your room. But at the second time, after you talked with Karl, it was worst. Your heart needed to be replaced by a healthier one but we can’t find a donor so your father sacrificed his and gave it since his was compatible to you”  her tears never stop falling. How much pain he felt for Karl before was triple from the pain she has now. “And he was using yours that is why we always brought him to the hospital since the day you left. He was so worry about you that made the heart more weaker” she feels like her heart grasp with pain as she listen to her mother. “he almost died several times as the heart is poisoning his body, but he fought because he waited for you to come home and have a family bonding like how we used to before you met that Karl. That was his only wish before he goes.”

After knowing the fact, she regretted all her selfish actions. She only did what she thought was best for herself that brought her father at risk.

She then realized that her, being a successful civil engineer and all those beautiful building designs were not her masterpiece after all. It is the love from her family. A masterpiece that cannot be seen but felt, and that she can treasures it forever.

[maddyanarchist]

SIGNIFICANCE OF LENS

This blog is a short book review of one of the recent ones read by me & which h I kind of hopped it in to accidentally but ended up liking it more because of the simple psychological perspective which is nothing  but utter common sense which I think is the most rare word used these days for INTELLEGENCE QUOTIENT always took the former step.

I would just be sharing some of the insights I got by scanning it through & I thought its important to be shared.

THE BOOK IS BY WALTER MURCH, ‘ BLINK IN THE EYE’

Now if some of you have already read it, you must have been thinking you came so late to this book which I accept, but I think nature has its own way of connecting the dots when its the right time for the individual even to read the same.

To give you a little snapshot of the same I would begin by throwing some light in to different forms of QUOTIENT THAT EXISTS IN THIS CENTURY & EVEN MANY CENTURIES BACK BUT ONE OF THE MOST TALKED ABOUT & APPLAUDED THE MOST LEAVING THE REST AS ORPHANS IS NONE OTHER THAN INTELLEGENCE QUOTIENT.

Now whenever we or our adults talk about this particular quotient it is mostly about your logical & mathematical analysis parameter whereas if I may go in depth about all the different bullet points that go in to this particular quotient, you may be surprised , may be not for internet is at the tip of your fingers today & may be you kind of research about the same. So excuse to those , but to the rest I would like to point out the same.

1. NATURALIST ( nature smart)

2. MUSICAL ( sound smart)

3. LOGICAL MATHEMATICAL ( NUMBER/ REASONING SMART)

4.EXISTENTIAL( LIFE SMART)

5. INTERPERSONAL( PEOPLE SMART)

6. BODILY KINESTHETIC( BODY SMART)

7. LINGUISTIC ( WORD SMART)

So these are the top seven intellegence quotient which falls in to the entire parameter of this particular analysis , but most 90% of people judge you under the third category, not because they think that is the most important , but because most of them are unaware of the complete scenario , hence due to their own lack of foresight & intelligence on the same note , to which they have been pestered for centuries makes you also fall in to the same trap. There is a saying that as more knowledge is harmful , because it makes you think you know everything , similarly less is even more harmful because it gets spitted by half a generation that believes the same in the form of RUMOURS. But thanks to this day and age where you have your evidence right in front of you.

So the next time somebody judges you on the same point out to them the different parameters & then ask them to categorize you on the same.

Now coming on to the different forms of QUOTIENT Which consists of mainly three types:

1. Creativity quotient

2.Emotion quotient

3. Intelligence quotient

Now you may think I started off to talk about IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE but ended up in a conversation which has nothing to do with the same. But let me point you is  surface level analysis, for everything is connected in the sand beads. Even the great visionary MR STEVE JOBS did calligraphy which have nothing to do with the MACHINSTOSH APPARENTLY , but has everything to do with the core of it.

IN THE BLINK is an editor ‘s  analysis of what goes in to making of a good movie & you may think that has nothing to do with reality, which is absurd , for he quietly stated the similarity in perception of A MOVIE & A DREAM on the same note. I believe whatever whatever we happen to mke a reality is not just technical , it is also a bit of intuition. A good businessman is not the one who surveys the market constantly to understand the changes in forces, but is also the one who has an intutional foresight of the same. That is when he/she is in alignment to the work they are doing. It is the same as learning to drive a car. Most of which you can learn technically by following the steps, but the person who is well versed in the language of what the engine speaks know the best what the car needs even before it gives an indication. 

Same is also the case of editing where actually the synchronisation of the shots happen in discontinuity because the editor knows the best when the character m the space , the dialogues are in sync with each other & that’s where the cut happens. The discontinuous fragmented shots give a whole new perspective of assembling the parts in coherence so as to make a complete meal. I guess that ‘s why they use the 24frames per second as a discipline to ensure the flow in that particular scene.

Secondly WHAT Mr. murch talked about is about the most with the least fundamental. It will be pretty obvious to you if you happen to be in a middle class family. This is where the artistry of housewives work & the best part they don’t show it whenever it happens. They quietly drape the tense situation in to their veil & happen to come out with such a replacement which otherwise wouldn't have turned out , had situations been always normal. How do you notice the same? Just observe when they cook & the ingredients required are more than usual, but they happen to make sensible decisions unaware of their very potential. Similarly in films we have all been spectators of the same , wherein the producer spend way too much so as to get everything perfect , but seldom it turns out as amazing  as it would have been in an unfavourable situation. Its so weird but I don't know whether you guys realize we connect more to the RAGS TO RICHES story than to RICH TO RICHEST story , well I got something in mind about the same while writing I got the glimpse of RICHIE RICH , if you guys remember , he was a rare one , not because of his affluence , but because of his wittiness. WELL leaving it aside moral is the abundance makes you little bit less reflective & effective aboult the same. THERE is a quote , “ NECESSITY IS THE MOTHER OF INVENTION” to which I may like to add, ‘LIMITATION IS THE DOOR TO CREATIVITY’

COMING on to the third part which I find to be the most amazing is THE FUNDAMENTAL RULE OF SIX, wherein he categorises priority in stage wise so as to make a frame look complete.

The six parameters are”

1. EMOTION     2.STORY  3.RYTHM   4. EYE TRACE  

5. TWO DIMENSIONAL PLANE OF SCREEN 

6.THREE DIMESIONAL SPACE OF ACTION

This is the very reason I gave you an insight in to  psychology. The bottom two I consider to be intelligence quotient which is purely technical , and the top one is all about the emotional quotient which he gives more emphasis than anything else. Story comes in to the category of creative quotient wherein the blockages & the leakages is what you try to release through your self- creativity . WALTER MURCH says a simple rule , if he has to cut any of them from his chart he would start from the bottom not from the top & this is the unique fundamental is what makes all the difference. We just don't consume entertainment which is an incentive nowadays to the intentional content that is nowadays projected on the screen. That’s what human beings crave for is some form of connection in the form of laughter ,tears , smile.jingling , humming etc etc. A good meal is not that which has all the spices, but the one which fills your appetite. The same is about the films.

He has unique way of identifying when the shot is correct after considering all the different parameters, that is nothing but the blink. In this context he shared a clip of JOHN HUSTON TALKING about his perspective which is ,’ To me the perfect film is as though it were unwinding behind your eyes & your eyes were projecting it themselves. so you see what you wished to see’.

To him the blink is either something that helps an internal separation of thought to take place or it is an involuntary reflex accompanying the mental separation that is taking place anyway. In simple words , whenever there is a blink , understand there should be a cut, trying the bridge the space in between.

This is because blink happens because of our emotional state not due to external conditions, that is where discontinuity in the frame takes place to take the next shot. Whenever the blinking is scattered, that basically indicates that the person is losing the connection , & his / her mind is bothering him or her with other whereabouts to occupy themselves with, that can be, coughing, food , gossip ,loitering around.

As an example from the same excerpt, there was a famous live recording of a famous pianist SVIATOSLAV RICHTER PLAYING MUSSOGORSKY’S PICTURE AT AN EXHIBITION , during a flu epidemic in Bulgaria many years ago. It was just as pain a day as always. While he was playing certain passages , no one coughed. At those moments he was able to suppress with his artistry the coughing  impulse of 1500, sick people. I guess that is what called an inspiration , something which keeps you hooked, not wanting to cut. 

I don't know what is so much interesting to read about in this blog , but if you ask me I have certainly being able to filter my thoughts  in to a medium which if read by someone give them a little bit insight. VISUAL REALITY is a more strong source of communication than anything else because you even don't what you want.

Hope if this may lead you to read the book, I guess that would be my achievement.

thank you if you beared till the end. I WOULD CONCLUDE BY SAYING ,’ THE LENS IS NOT WITH WHAT YOU SEE AHEAD, THE LENS IS WHAT YOU SEE BEHIND YOUR BACK’

[easy-win-games-blog]

STILL GOOD? — GRAND THEFT AUTO III

This is ‘Still Good?’, an editorial series in which I look back at both favourites games of mine and classics that I somehow missed, working out how these titles stack up today and whether or not they’re worth going back to.

tl;dr — has <insert game> aged well?

That said, let’s dig into Grand Theft Auto III.

Originally released in 2001 for the PS2 GTA 3 was hailed by critics and fans as a landmark in video game design. Its core gameplay mechanics — driving, shooting and navigating an open world — had all been seen before, but this marked the first instance of these mechanics being put together in a seamless and (for lack of a better word) good way. Mix this with elements of The Sopranos and the popular gangster movies of the time and you’ve got one spicy meat-a-ball.

Upon its release it received fantastic reviews across the board, sitting on an aggregate score of 97% (Metacritic) for the PS2 version. It was called, "a luscious, sprawling epic,” a, "technological marvel ... that captures the essence of gritty city life in amazing detail,” and "on a scale that's truly epic” (quotes lifted from Wikipedia). From here on out, aided by various other releases of the time, the gaming landscape was irreversibly shifted towards a focus on cinematic storytelling and open-world settings. It’s become difficult to not find traces of GTA 3’s DNA floating around a most modern releases.

It’s also very easy to get ahold of today. A mobile version was released for its 10th anniversary, but if you prefer something more solid it’s also available on the desktop App Store for Mac, Steam and on Xbox 360 through backwards compatibility if you can find a hard copy.

This sure is a celebrated classic, but it really hasn’t aged well.

If you’ve gone ahead and put in the work by reading my About page you’ll know I go hardcore with the GTA series. GTA 3 especially introduced me to mature video games in a way that I’ll never forget, but unlike other classics of the medium like the 2D Mario games it’s really tough to go back. I finished the game in high school on a MacBook using a trackpad, and recently bought it and Vice City on eBay for Xbox (these versions received various graphical improvements over the PS2 version) and have played maybe half of 3 so far since then.

But it’s hard, man. I love GTA but I’m honestly struggling to continue. It’s a weird case because I can look past its dated graphics and the driving is fine, but nearly everything else is just frustrating. My major gripe with playing this game now is that the controls are absolutely shitted. Locking on to enemies is vague, both in the sense that it only sometimes works with certain weapons and that the lock on rectangle is very transparent. Combat lacks any kind of possible finesse and relies upon a lot of dumb luck and blind button mashing, and moving Claude around feels like I’m controlling a marionette puppet.

And the camera…

There’s a strange feature I’ve found both in GTA 3 and Vice City on Xbox, and I’m not exactly sure if it was apparent on PC or PS2 (but I’m probably wrong). The option to rotate the camera around your player, whether you want to focus on enemies or check out the scenery, is gone. Completely. Instead, when you move the right stick, the camera jumps into a first-person perspective from which you can’t actually do anything. No walking, no combat. Its only really purpose is to change what direction you’re looking (duh), which is just slow and painful. Especially in combat because you have to stop, change the camera, and then move or perform some kind of action to go back out to third-person.

Imagine, if you will…

A mission tells you to go into Chinatown.

Easy, you get there.

But uh oh, you’ve been ambushed by gun and baseball bat-wielding Triads!

You pull out your Uzi and pump a clip into one guy at your 12 o’clock, but three more guys on your 6 you have opened fire!

You act fast, and duck into first person mode.

Five seconds later you’ve turned to face your foes, and have lost half of your health in that time. Now, to lock on.

In a daring move, you lock onto Triad #1 on your right, shoot two rounds and wait for another three seconds while you automatically reload (something that can’t be done manually).

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

You got him! Well done! You’ve also got next to no health.

Time to aim at the next pistol-packing Triad.

But uh oh again, you’ve locked onto someone with a baseball bat instead. You can’t switch your target on the fly, silly, and now you have six guys in total all around you shooting and beating you to death.

You’re dead, good luck next time.

As 2K18 gamer bro, this is frustrating as hell. And this happens constantly. A lot of combat scenarios, in my case at least, came down to me trying over and over again and succeeding only by shepherding the AI into a tight pack and using up the five molotov cocktails I’d scrounged to burn them all alive like a pack of zombies.

I was too young to be involved in the original hype of this game, but I imagine there was a big emphasis on strategy and player freedom in the marketing leading up to the game’s release. I get that, and GTA 3 sure is revolutionary on that front, but by today’s standards it just isn’t good. When the game at hand has a focus on combat and action it’s not a good thing when success comes from manipulating the infrastructure of the game itself. I don’t feel like I’m playing it the way it was meant to be played, but I don’t see any other option.

To make my point clearer, take the example of Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. There are a lot of points in this game where you’re surrounded by enemies, who mostly all have guns. There’s no cover-based shooting or anything of that sort in San Andreas, but the fluidity and freedom of the movement with the ability to crouch, walk while crouched, jump and vault over obstacles, strafe, free aim and lock onto and attack enemies without having them in your immediate line of sight really make the difference. Just the ability to freely rotate the camera around CJ and switch lock-on targets make combat scenarios infinitely more strategic and playable than GTA 3.

Sure, San Andreas only exists because of 3’s legacy, but in three short years so much of the Grand Theft Auto formula was refined by intuitive but glaringly obvious improvements for San Andreas, making it now so much easier to go back to than 3. I would put San Andreas, a now 14 year old game, in front of any gamer in 2018, tell them to play it and be confident they would have fun and play with a full sense of control.

The other area where GTA 3 really lacks is in its narrative elements.

In the game you play as Claude, a mute blank slate of a man who wasn’t actually given a name until a one-off skippable phone call in San Andreas. At the beginning of the game we find Claude robbing a bank with his girlfriend, Catalina, who betrays him as they make their getaway with the line, "Sorry babe. I'm an ambitious girl, and you're just small time.”

Immediately, there’s confusion. Stylistically, it’s cool for sure. There’s shotguns and convertibles and action, but who is this lady? Why do her ambitions stop her from robbing banks with her lover (something they have been doing together for around nine years)? She must just be psycho or something, because she jumps in a sports car with some other guy, so to her it’s more beneficial to share the money with the getaway driver than with your long-term boyfriend. What’s more, Claude can’t explain any of this because he can’t talk, so these questions linger for the whole game and never get answered.

You can see here by making Claude the blank slate that he is that it’s likely the intention from Rockstar was to let the player use the mute as a vessel through which they could project themselves, personifying the game with their own personal flavour. Only, there are numerous and very definitive displays of Claude’s character throughout the game that the player might not agree with.

Character defining moments for a character who isn’t meant to have character.

For Christ’s sake, it’s implied he shoots a woman point blank at the end of the game because she talks too much.

It’s a weird half measure. It feels like Rockstar were trying to toe the line between an open world RPG packed with player personalisation and a fully scripted cinematic experience like Goodfellas. They’ve learned since, and their campaigns have been largely compelling ever since, but this feels like a big misstep.

Also, a minor issue I have; the cutscenes and cinematic moments of this game look like dog shit. The direction, cinematography and pacing of nearly every cutscene is awful. Claude will walk to someone’s door and knock, only to be answered an instant later by immediate talk as if this other character intuitively knew he was there. The shots will cut out parts of character’s faces, sometimes ending at their forehead or mouth, and as the cutscenes conclude it isn’t uncommon for Claude to start heading for the exit as the mission boss is still mid-sentence, as if he also intuitively knows the conversation is about to end. Even if the mission parameters haven’t been outlined yet. It’s almost as if the residents of Liberty City have been endowed with psychic abilities (but only in 2001 because Liberty City Stories is much more aligned with the rest of the series in this regard [maybe it’s something in the water]).

Coming from later GTA games, this just doesn’t feel like GTA.

The story overall is also just bland. It’s the most generic revenge plot you could imagine, with some out-of-nowhere betrayals such as that of Salvatore Leone — the local Mob boss.

After completing a number of tasks, both extremely dangerous and tedious, the Don congratulates you on your achievements and your loyalty to the Leone family. This feels pretty good, especially since the missions immediately preceding this moment are a hellish cluster fuck full of shoddy AI and stupid mission design. And you know what? He’s right. You have been loyal to him. You’ve done literally everything he’s told you to do and more. As this happens, he asks you to collect a car parked somewhere Downtown. So, like the good little Mafia errand boy you are, you skip down the hill to get it, only to be sent a page from Salvatore’s girlfriend of all people that the car is a trap and that you’re about to be murdered. Surely enough, the car is rigged with explosives, so your only option is to actually betray Salvatore and flee the first island with his girlfriend as you plot your (second) revenge.

It’s simply not good writing. There’s no cause and effect, no setting up of any kind. You are blank man. You work for blank Mafia man. But blank Mafia man turns on you, because he is bad Mafia man after all. You get blank revenge. It’s high school shit.

Just like Catalina. Take that blank man example, but substitute ‘black Mafia man’ with ‘blank girl’. It’s bad writing.

When it comes to games and movies it becomes hard to define what is good, especially in cases where legacy and nostalgia are involved. Super Mario Bros. 3 or World or whatever might be a better game than OG Super Mario Bros., but you might see OG Super Mario Bros. as the better game because it gave birth to what came after it. In my opinion that’s a really weird viewpoint to have, especially since gaming culture is so focussed on iteration and improvement. Some see it as sacrilege to say an old classic just doesn’t play well, but that’s the case because games as a medium inherently get better as we improve the craft and polish the development process.

With this in mind, and everything else I’ve already said, Grand Theft Auto III is not a good game in 2018. It’s not fun and it doesn’t control well. The story is bad and the moment-to-moment writing is no better. From a historical stance, I think it’s definitely worth playing, but if GTA V was your first introduction to the series and you want to explore its past GTA 3 is not the place to start.

STILL GOOD?

Not really, no

Am I completely wrong? Is my subjective opinion too subjective? Did I forget to mention how much San Andreas fleshes out both Salvatore Leone and Catalina and their character arcs in this game? Shoot (pew) me a message up top through the Ask Me Anything link OR hit me up on Twitter @easy_win_games.

Illustration left-to-right: Catalina, Maria, Asuka, Kenji, Donald Love, Toni, Luigi, 8-Ball, Salvatore Leone. Claude in the foreground.

- Editorial & illustration brewed in-house -