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thefinalcinderella · 3 years

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Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 9 - To Beyond (Part 1)

We’re finally here folks. After two years we’re finally at Hakone and boy is it long

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. JR stands for Japan Railway and refers to the trains operated by the company

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January 2nd, 7:45 a.m.

The start of the Tokyo-Hakone Round-Trip College Ekiden Race was fifteen minutes away.

After the roll call twenty minutes before the start, Prince tried to go down the subway’s pathway again. Earlier in the morning, he had been able to run on the sidewalks above ground to loosen up, but now that was impossible—there was a large crowd of people in front of the Yomiuri Shimbun’s Tokyo headquarters in Otemachi, waiting to watch the start of the Hakone Ekiden.

From the Yomiuri Shimbun’s headquarters to the Wadakura Gate along the inner moat of the Imperial Palace, the sidewalks were lined with walls of people which consisted of cheering squads from each school, staff, and Ekiden fans who were celebrating the New Year with cheerful faces. The echoing sound of drums and the school songs of each school. The colorful flags and banners in the cold wind that eddied around the buildings. The rising noise and excitement.

“Where are you going?” Kiyose, who was accompanying Prince, stopped him. “Your body’s already warmed up. What will you do if you get tired before the race starts?”

“I know, but I feel sort of uneasy when I’m not running.” Prince paced on the spot. “I didn’t think there would be so many people here.”

Kiyose never thought the day would come when he would hear the phrase “I feel uneasy when I’m not running” come out of Prince's mouth. He smiled reassuringly.

“You’ve had plenty of practice. You’ll be fine. Did you go to the bathroom?”

“Many times,” The Yomiuri Shimbun’s staff entrance was open for athletes and officials to use the restroom and change clothes in the waiting room. “It’s always crowded with the runners running in the first leg.”

“You’re not the only one who’s nervous. Don’t worry.”

He couldn't let his body be chilled by the wind. Kiyose took Prince to the back of the newspaper building. There were not many people there, and Kiyose and Prince ran lightly side by side.

The final entries, announced at 7 a.m., were posted on the wall of the building.

“Rikudou didn’t assign Fujioka-san to the second leg.”

Prince tilted his head curiously. Rikudou had put Fujioka as an alternate for the leg entry. Fujioka was the captain of his team and the best runner in Rikudou, but he hadn’t heard any rumors about him getting injured, so he wondered if he wasn’t feeling well. Each school had been paying attention, but Fujioka still wasn't announced in the final entries for the outward journey that morning.

“They probably plan on putting him in the ninth or tenth leg,” Kiyose said.

It seemed that Rikudou was trying to assess the situation carefully; it was thought that if anybody could stop them from winning again this time, it would be Bousou University. In the leg entries, Bousou had made it clear that they were taking the fight to the outward journey.

If Rikudou were to only face the elites of Bousou, the outward journey would be quite a tough battle, even for Rikudou. Perhaps the plan was to hand over the victory for the outward journey to Bousou and take the return trip and the overall victory, which was determined by the total time of the round trip. There was no doubt that Rikudou was trying to decide which leg of the return trip to put Fujioka in depending on their ranking when they reached Lake Ashi and the time difference with Bousou.

“But don’t think about Rikudou right now.” Kiyose lightly pushed Prince’s shoulder. “It’s almost time to go back to the starting point. Do you remember what I told you?”

“Yeah.” Prince nodded vigorously and took off the thick bench coat that reached his knees. The gathered spectators made way for Prince then, who was wearing Kansei’s black and silver uniform.

The cold didn’t bother him anymore. As the first runner, Prince had a sash hanging from his left shoulder—it was black with the words “Kansei University” embroidered in silver thread. The plasterer’s wife had been steadily working on it since they passed the qualifiers.

Prince gently touched the precious sash. It would connect the ten of them and return to this place tomorrow. He definitely wouldn’t let the sash be interrupted midway.

Kiyose adjusted the length of the sash and tucked the extra parts into the waistband of Prince’s shorts so that it wouldn’t get in his way when he was running.

“Prince, sorry for making you go along with us until now,” Kiyose said.

The music being played by the cheering sections grew louder. “Athletes to the starting line!” A staff member called out.

“Haiji-san, I don’t want to hear those kinds of words,” Prince laughed. “Wait for me at Tsurumi.”

Prince entrusted his coat to Kiyose and stood at the starting line along with the nineteen other people running the first leg.

It was 8 a.m. in Otemachi, Tokyo. Clear skies. 1.3 degrees Celsius. 88 percent humidity. Wind from the northwest at 1.1 meters.

For a moment, the area was completely silent, and then the starting gun sounded.

Prince started to run. There was no need to look back. Because Kansei University’s first Hakone Ekiden was only created by advancing down this road.

---

As Kiyose had predicted, the race unfolded at a leisurely pace. With Tokyo Station on the left hand side, they passed Wadakura Gate. The cheers of the spectators and the wind around the buildings tore away at their backs. As the group spread out horizontally, they moved forward along the damp road at a pace of 3 minutes and 7 seconds per kilometer. Even Prince could keep up with this.

Perhaps it was because of the wide road, but it didn’t seem like they were making much progress no matter how much they ran. Around him, he could sense people checking and restraining each other, wondering who would be the first to break out.

“Keep going slowly,” Prince recited in his mind.

The wind blowing through the gap in the buildings made the temperature feel cooler than it was. Remembering Kiyose’s advice, Prince got behind a slightly larger runner from Teitou University; it would be bad for Prince, who had a speed disadvantage, if he had to use his extra strength to secure a place. Having secured a good spot to guard against the wind, Prince concentrated on keeping up with the group.

The pace remained almost the same even after they entered the Daichi Keihin highway from the intersection at Shiba 5-chome. They passed the five kilometer mark at 15 minutes and 30 seconds.

The coaches from each school were following the runners in their coach cars. The coaches were allowed to talk to their runners over a speaker connected to a microphone at the beginning of the race, during the last kilometer, and every five kilometers. However, no coach gave instructions before the five kilometer mark; there was so much tension in the group that it was impossible to speak out carelessly.

Rikudou and Bousou were battling for the lead, but every time they tried to put on a spurt, they repeatedly got swallowed up by the group. The first leg was 21.3 kilometers long and it was only the start of the Hakone Ekiden. If you failed in putting on a spurt and got worn out here, it would trouble the runners in the following legs, and the mentality of not being able to take the plunge was swirling through the group.

Forgetting about the presence of the lead car and the TV cameras, Prince moved forward desperately, but with a composed expression on his face.

At the same time, Kiyose had just transferred to the Keihin Express after having arrived in Shinagawa from Tokyo Station on the JR line. (1) Holding Prince’s bench coat, he put the radio earphones in his ears. Picking up the sound from the TV and learning that the group hadn’t broken up yet, Kiyose let out a small shout of “Yes!” He drew attention from the passengers around him, but he couldn’t care less.

The TV announcer and commentator spoke as though they were bewildered by the slow pace.

“There has been no change in the race at all.”

“I think the stronger runners can be more aggressive and go for the record.”

“You don’t have to say unnecessary things,” Kiyose snapped without thinking. The slow pace is fine. Nobody make any moves. Run as a group for as long as you can.

His phone rang. He looked at the display and saw that it was the landlord in the coach car. Kiyose hurriedly pressed the button, wondering if Prince had begun to drop out.

“I don’t know what to do, Haiji,” the landlord said easily.

“What’s wrong?”

“They’ll be at ten kilometers soon. Should I shout something at Prince?”

“Does it look like he’s having trouble?”

Kiyose gripped his phone.

“No? He just passed Yatsuyama Bridge, but he’s holding on well. The group is still staying in a horizontal line.”

“Then you don’t have to say anything.”

The Yatsuyama Bridge was just before the eight-kilometer mark. There were gentle ups and downs as they crossed the railroad tracks on an elevated level. If they were still in a horizontal line after that, they should be able to stay like that until they reached Rokugo Bridge, the most difficult point in the first leg. Endure it, Prince. Kiyose called out in his mind.

“But what kind of coach would I be if I just sat in the car and stayed silent?” The landlord seemed bored. “It’s like I’m just driving to Hakone.”

“All you have to do is to be at the ready. If Prince is having a hard time, encourage him.”

“How? I can’t sing the school song, I’m tone deaf.”

“No coach would encourage their runners with the school song nowadays,” Kiyose sighed. “In that case, I want you to give him a message from me: ‘I have something I want to tell you. So come to Tsurumi even if you have to crawl.’”

Prince heard that message at the fifteen-kilometer mark. The landlord in the coach car, with a microphone in his hand, shouted that at him in a hoarse voice.

What do you want to tell me? Let me hear it.

His breathing was becoming more and more labored, but Prince felt inspired again. He had also been successful in receiving water, at which point he was informed by a member of the short-distance track and field team that “this kilometer was exactly three minutes.” The pace was speeding up. As expected, victory would be decided at Rokugo Bridge, which was the 17.8-kilometer mark.

After twelve kilometers, there had been a situation where the race seemed likely to move—the runner from Eurasia University had made a move and the group had stretched out vertically. However, Rikudou and Bousou had quickly followed, and the others had chased after them like they were being dragged along. Ultimately, no one dropped out of the group.

In this situation, the Rokugo Bridge would decide everything. Prince could tell that everyone tacitly understood that.

Rokugo Bridge was a large bridge over the Tama River, and it was 446.2 meters long. There was an uphill climb to reach the bridge and a downhill climb to get off the bridge. The ups and downs were physically demanding after running nearly twenty kilometers.

When he finally started to climb the slope of the Rokugo Bridge, Prince's legs suddenly became heavy; he couldn’t believe how steep the slope felt. Prince gasped and swung his arms to try to move his body forward.

At that moment, there was a change in the rhythm of the group. The breathing of the strongest runners suddenly became quiet, and right at the moment Prince realized “it's coming,” the Yokohama University runner put on a spurt. Bousou and Rikudou followed suit.

The group quickly broke apart and stretched out vertically. What stamina these guys have! Prince couldn’t do anything but stare in amazement at the growing distance between him and the rest of the group. He wanted to keep up with them, but it was impossible; as they descended Rokugo Bridge, the top group was getting faster and faster.

“Don’t rush. If you can keep up with them until Rokugo Bridge, there won’t be much of a time difference. Besides that, just think about running at your own pace.”

Kiyose’s instructions before the start of the race came back to mind.

That’s right, I just started doing track. No matter what kind of spurts other people do, I can only run with all my might.

He was already about a hundred meters away from the head of the group, but Prince didn’t give up—didn’t get pessimistic—and ran patiently.

Just started, huh? So, am I going to continue doing track? Even though I’m in so much pain because I got dragged into it.

Prince opened his mouth for oxygen and a small laugh slipped through as he exhaled.

The gentle and warm morning sun shone down on him from the front.

---

At the Tsurumi relay station, Kakeru and Musa were huddled together, looking at the screen of a portable TV—an electronics store in the shopping district had lent it to them for free.

“Oh, Prince-san has been outstripped,” Musa said sadly, staring at the TV in Kakeru’s hand like he wanted to see Prince disappearing from the screen for as long as he could.

“But there shouldn't be much time difference from the top runners.” With Prince’s heroic figure properly burned into his eyes, Kakeru looked up. “Musa-san, let’s catch up in the second leg.”

“Yes. I will do my best.”

It was about time for the first leg runners to arrive at the Tsurumi relay station. Musa took off his woolen hat and scarf. The temperature was 3.3 degrees Celsius. There was almost no wind, and it was clear, but it was still bitterly cold for Musa. He had consulted with Kakeru and decided to wear arm covers that would cover everything from his wrist to his elbow; this way, if it got too hot, he could take them off and just wear his running uniform.

“Did you drink enough water? Even if you think it’s cold, you don’t want to get dehydrated while you’re running.”

“If I drink any more water, I would have to urinate standing up while I run.”

Musa laughed. This was the first time he had used words like “urinate standing up.” “It doesn’t suit you,” Kakeru also laughed.

The voices of the announcer and commentator came from the portable TV Kakeru was holding.

“In the second leg, each school is fielding their ace or ace-level runner. Eleven out of the twenty runners can run ten-thousand meters in twenty-eight minutes. Four international students are also making their appearance here.”

“Manas from Bousou University, Iwanki from Koufu Gakuin University, Jomo from Saikyou University, and Musa from Kansei University.”

When his name was spoken, Musa and Kakeru looked at the TV. They saw themselves on the screen. They looked around in surprise and saw a TV crew approaching them from behind. Musa smiled awkwardly at the TV camera.

“Kansei’s Musa is a bit unique: he is a government-sponsored engineering student and it seems that until last year, he had no experience in track and field. Kansei is taking on Hakone with only ten runners, but most of them have no experience with track.”

“I can’t believe they were able to make it this far. It’s quite a feat.”

The screen cut to the studio, where the commentator was nodding in agreement. “They must have put a lot of effort into their training.”

“The Kansei team is rich with individuality. I am looking forward to seeing how they will perform in their first ever Hakone.”

The screen cut to a commercial and the TV crew left. Oh no, Musa seems to be getting nervous again now that he got introduced on TV, Kakeru thought.

Kakeru’s phone rang. It was from Shindou, who was at the Odawara relay station to run the fifth leg. As soon as he pressed the answer button, Kakeru passed the phone to Musa.

“Musa, you were on TV!” Shindou said. He sounded very muffled.

“How is your cold?” Musa asked worriedly, and Kakeru also leaned in to listen. Shindou had gotten a fever on New Year’s Eve and still hadn't been feeling well that morning.

“I’m fine. Are you okay, Musa? You’re probably nervous right now.”

“Yes, a little bit,” Musa answered. Could Shindou see what was going on at the Tsurumi relay station? Kakeru was stunned at the depth of the bond between Musa and Shindou.

“Hey, Musa. Think about something fun,” Shindou said in a nasal voice. “Once this is over, it’s finally New Year’s for us. I’m thinking of going home to my parents’ house during winter break. Do you want to come with me, Musa?”

“Is that okay? You’ll be spending time with your family, won’t you?”

“My parents are waiting for you to come and visit. We live in the boonies where there’s nothing, so there’s nothing to do there except building snowmen.”

“What is a ‘snowman’?”

“That’s right, you've never made one. Then, it’s settled. Let’s go back to my home together.”

“Yes,” Musa nodded. “Thank you very much, Shindou-san.”

After hanging up, Musa’s eyes showed no more hesitation or fear. The cheering along the road grew even louder—they could probably see the runners now. Kakeru and Musa approached the road.

Kiyose came running from Keikyu Tsurumi-Ichiba Station carrying a bench coat. He saw Kakeru and Musa and exhaled loudly, saying, “I made it in time?”

“Musa, how are you feeling?”

“I am feeling good,” Musa assured them strongly. Kiyose checked his expression and his shoelaces, and made sure there was nothing out of place.

“Good. Prince will probably come here in last place. But don’t get shaken by that and just run as usual.”

“If we are in last place, then I will feel better, because we cannot get any worse than that,” Musa joked. “Besides, I am more comfortable chasing than being chased.”

“That’s the spirit,” Kakeru said, accepting Musa’s bench coat.

The Rikudou runner arrived at the Tsurumi relay station in the lead. The relay station was set up in front of a police box along Route 1—it was a nondescript tree-lined street, and since it was straight and level, one could clearly see the runners arriving one after the other.

The staff member who received the message hurriedly called out the school names. The runners of the first leg came in that order, so runners of the second leg went to the relay line to wait for their teammates.

Rikudou’s sash was relayed from the first-leg to the second-leg runner. His time was one hour four minutes and thirty-six seconds from the start at Otemachi. After him came Yokohama, Bousou, and Eurasia, handing over their sashes in that order with almost no time difference. It was a very close race, as the runners had been clustered together until the end.

Musa bent down. Kakeru leaned out into the road. One after another, the runners of the first leg came and handed over their sashes, and the runners of the second leg ran out of the Tsurumi relay station. There was still no sign of Prince. It was thirty seconds since Rikudou had passed.

“It’s Prince-san!”

In the shadow of the competition cars, they saw Prince, running with his teeth clenched. The staff member was calling out the names of the schools that were still at the relay station at the same time. “I am going,” Musa said. He stepped out onto the road and stood on the relay line.

Musa turned towards Prince and raised his hand. Prince was running desperately while swinging his arms, but when he noticed Musa’s figure, as though remembering, he removed his sash from his shoulder. The elastic waistband of his shorts snapped lightly against his side as though to scold him.

Just a little more, just a little more.

“Prince-san! Prince-san!”

Musa and Kakeru were shouting. Kiyose was standing next to Kakeru, waiting patiently for Prince to arrive.

After crossing the relay line, Prince put the sash he had been gripping in Musa’s hand as Musa began to run. The sash connected the two of them for a moment, and then it quickly slipped through Prince’s fingertips.

My heart hurts. I can’t even keep my eyes open. I wonder if this wild breathing belongs to me?

Prince stopped and pitched forward, almost falling, but then realized he was caught in someone’s arms.

“I take back what I said to you at Otemachi,” Kiyose’s voice was right next to him. “I wanted to say this to you: Thank you for coming all the way here with us.”

“You passed,” Prince muttered.

Kakeru and Kiyose took the Keihin Express to Yokohama and then the JR to Odawara. Since they were short of hands, they planned to go on ahead to Lake Ashi and meet with Shindou, who was running the fifth leg.

They were worried about leaving the exhausted Prince at the Tsurumi relay station, but Prince told them this:

“You two, just leave me behind and go to Hakone. I already finished running. When I can walk again, I’ll go to the hotel on my own.”

Prince had the role of keeping track of the race on TV in a hotel near Yokohama Station. Kiyose and Kakeru were also planning on returning from Hakone that night and staying in the same hotel to prepare for tomorrow’s race.

After rehydrating, Prince managed to get up, so Kakeru and Kiyose left the Tsurumi relay station.

The bench coat Kiyose had brought from Otemachi was once again being worn by Prince. Now, Kakeru was carrying Musa’s bench coat. Shindou would be wearing it after his climb. If they just barely had enough manpower, they also just barely had enough clothing.

On the second day of January, the seats on the Tokaido Line were almost all filled with people running after the Hakone Ekiden and families who seemed to be going for the first shrine visit of the New Year. Kakeru spotted an empty box seat and sat Kiyose in it. Kiyose took out a notepad and ballpoint pen from the pocket of his bench coat.

“Prince’s time?”

“One hour five minutes and thirty-seven seconds,” Kakeru answered after checking with the stopwatch function on his watch. Kiyose wrote down the data on the notepad.

“The time difference with Doujidou University, which was right in front of us, is eleven seconds. The difference with Rikudou, which is in the top position, is one minute and one second. We still have plenty of chances. Prince fought bravely.”

Kansei’s sash was handed over from Prince to Musa at the Tsurumi relay station, and they were in twentieth place out of the twenty teams competing. The Kanto Athletic Union’s selected team, which was made up of runners who had participated in the qualifiers, would use the individual times of each runner as an official record, but wouldn’t enter the rankings as a team. Therefore, Kansei was ranked nineteenth, but when they finished running the first leg, they were still unmistakably in last place in both name and reality.

But Kiyose was right: it was a time difference that could be overturned. The slow-paced development was a blessing for Prince and Kansei. The race had only just begun.

Kakeru was carrying the portable TV, but reception in the train was bad. “Try this one,” Kiyose told him, and gave him the radio. Right when he was twisting the knobs to try to get sound, Kiyose’s phone got a message. It was from King in the Totsuka relay station, who was with Jouta, the one running the third leg.

“Haiji, we’ve got a big problem! Look at the TV!”

“I can’t,” Kiyose said.

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#Kaze ga tsuyoku fuiteiru #kazetsuyo #kazetsuyo translations #run with the wind

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

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First-Line Defensive Pairing

Of all the things they’d done in the last few months, spending the afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream was one of the more ridiculous. Mostly because of the wooden spoons they gave out on the tour. Partially because it seemed Will Scarlet could not stop casting furtive glances at Belle French. Or the heels that always matched her dresses. Maybe because she kept answering his hypothetical questions. And maybe even because he was willing to drift far closer to genuine these days. At least when it came to his feelings for her.

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Word Count: 3.7K AN: Take two! Ok, so apparently yesterday when I posted this Tumblr thought it’d be a really cool idea to just...reformat the entire story. With whole graphs in totally wrong spots. Anyway, here it is again. Just as ridiculous as yesterday. With just as many Will and Belle emotions. Because that’s a thing I’m doing now, apparently. Writing Blue Line-era Will and Belle. If you’d like more of these flirt-prone idiots, here is their first date and Belle getting annoyed that Will fought someone on the ice. Technically, this was part of the kiss prompts and was “height difference kisses.” I hope the five of you who are interested in this enjoy it. That includes @shireness-says and @eleveneitherway who are mostly to blame for this.

————

“I’m going to ask you a hypothetical question.”

Belle lifted her eyebrows. Let some of that light creep back in her gaze, a flash of amusement that regularly made Will’s stomach leap dangerously close to the base of his ribs. That’s why he did it. Maybe not the rib thing, partially because he wasn’t even sure that was the correct technical term. The rest of it, though. The eye thing. Sure. Definitely. One-hundred percent. Why he’d also made sure the little wooden spoon they’d been given at the start of this tour was still in the corner of his mouth; to guarantee absolute absurdity, and he figured that started when they decided to spend their afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream, but he was willing to take it all a step further.

In the absurdity factor, at least.

Other things were—

Well, it wasn’t as if they explicitly decided to keep the relationship a secret. Not on purpose. Not really. Or come to any sort of legitimate agreement regarding the use of the word relationship. It never seemed...important, honestly. And that was a potentially problematic and lackadaisical approach to someone who made Will smile with an almost alarming consistency in the last few months, but she’d also sort of snuck up on him, and Ariel was going to be so annoying.

About the whole goddamn thing.

She’d never shut up about it, he knew.

So he didn’t push. Belle didn’t, either. An unspoken agreement, that’s what it was. He had other things to do, anyway. Like get ready for a playoff run and ignore the lingering ache in his calves after the echo of Arthur’s whistle stopped ringing in his ears, and, ok, his apartment was starting to feel a little bit larger than it had in a long time, maybe since Killian had moved out, but that was fine. Cup runs did not come because someone was in a relationship. Will had seen that first hand. With Cap, of all people.

Watched the way his whole life had fallen apart around his ankles, little shards of hope and possibility that, Will knew, still threatened the structural integrity of Kilian’s internal organs and all four ventricles of his heart, and he did not understand enough basic biology to be making those sorts of sweeping observations, but Robin had lost someone too and that had been horrible and tragic and—

If Will simply did not want to jinx things, then that was neither here nor there.

Relationship’y speaking.

It was good. They were good. He hated the wooden spoon they gave them to taste test half a dozen ice cream flavors.

He was legitimately worried about getting splinters in his tongue.

No excuses could possibly reason away that problem pre-game.

Belle’s eyebrows were still in the same spot. “You going to follow up on that, or…” “Would you burn a Gutenberg Bible? To stave off the apocalypse and or potential frostbite?” “Those two things go together, do they?” He shrugged. “In this instance, yeah, because—” “—Well, it wouldn’t matter,” Belle said, eyes flitting towards the overly enthusiastic tour guide and the seemingly never-ending history of ice cream, “because I wouldn’t allow myself to be in that position. And I don’t live anywhere near the Public Library. What would I be doing there when the freeze-wave came?” His stomach. Did that thing. Jumped and twisted, got a ten from the Russian judge on its floor routine. He was cautiously optimistic he’d be able to pull off a flawless beam performance too. It was an exceedingly convoluted metaphor. Wrong Olympics, too.

“Does salt air give you mind-reading powers?” “You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are,” Belle grinned. Moving her hand faster than he was entirely prepared for ensured that he nearly dropped his small plastic cup of churro churro ice cream. He made noise. Without trying. A hiss and a grunt in the back of his throat that then led to a sound escaping between Belle’s half-hearted scowl, and that sound was closer to a giggle than either of them would ever admit and just enough to mess with his mental faculties a little and the tour guide stopped talking. To stare straight at them.

Color lifted on Belle’s cheeks, ice cream-covered spoon held awkwardly between them.

“As you were, ma’am,” Will said, all false bravado, and that was something of a trend. In several different capacities. It was far too depressing a thought to have while eating cinnamon-flavored ice cream.

Belle elbowed him.

And the tour guide got back to her to spiel. Without a reprimand.

“Say freeze-wave again without laughing.”

Her eyelashes were more of a problem, honestly. Than the eyebrows. Or the specific jut of her chin Will had rather quickly learned meant she was ready to challenge him on some ridiculous topic, fully prepared to argue a position she might not have otherwise agreed with. Only because it wasn’t what he was arguing, and it was easy to understand why she won that Model UN award.

Plus, her eyelashes were just stupid long, and he thought she was really pretty.

Like in a fundamental sort of way.

“Freeze-wave,” Belle enunciated, pausing between syllables for maximum effect, “are you asking me Day After Tomorrow questions because of the ice cream, because I’m a librarian or because you’re the strangest man alive?” She finally ate the rest of the ice cream. It was starting to melt, that was why. This was very melt-prone ice cream. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled, “this is really good. Better than mine.” Something popped in his shoulder when he reached towards her plastic cup. He wouldn’t tell Ariel about that, either.

“Which kind is—” Fighting off the objections of a small librarian who resolutely refused to wear anything except heels, no matter what the weather was like, was not usually as difficult as it was in that moment. Will assumed it had something to do with sugar. Or the force of his smile. Robbing the rest of him of energy and the ability to fend off either one of Belle’s fists. “Why are you like this?” “You didn’t want to try peanut and pretzel. With peanut butter swirl.” “Swallowed the flyer for this place while I wasn’t looking, huh?” Sticking her tongue out was distracting. Almost enough that he didn’t notice the absolutely atrocious attempt at impersonating his voice. “Oh, no, no, babe, I don’t want that; you can get peanut butter anywhere. That’s not special.” “Well, it’s not.” “I’m a big fancy hockey player, and I know everything there is to know about ice cream flavors and the potential life-changing palette moment that comes from the sublime combination of salty and sweet.” “Oh, now you’re just taunting me.” Her eyes narrowed, that time. His smile was going to permanently stretch out his cheeks. “You have a disgusting mind.” “You can’t get churro ice cream everywhere, babe.” “I’m going back to get honey later.” Will hummed. Stuck his lower lip out. Noticed that flash return. And hoarded it. Like a relationship—

Ah, fuck.

“Would you burn the Gutenberg Bible?” Her laugh was quickly becoming his favorite sound. Which wasn’t bad, per se. Was just kind of passably concerning. God damn. It was the heels. All of them kept matching the dresses she wore. She kept wearing dresses.

Of course, that was going to mess with Will’s head.

Belle shook her head. “No.” “Historical significance?” “Well, once again, I would not be in that position, would have listened to science and fled to warmer climates, so as not to make myself prey for escaped...what were they? Tigers?” “I honestly can’t remember,” Will admitted.

“This was your hypothetical!”

Heads snapped their direction. Frustration creased the tour guide’s forehead, and they’d paid extra to learn about the history of ice cream. Will had already known about the origins of the ice cream cone, though. So, the whole thing felt almost like a raw deal, and he was far more interested in preserving the color in Belle’s cheeks. He saluted. Who he was saluting was anyone’s guess, but it very likely was the otherwise unengaged teenage kid trudging behind his family who absolutely recognized Will.

“That’s going to end up on sixteen different social media sites,” Belle warned, not quite able to get her voice to an appropriate whispering level.

“So long as he got my good side, you won’t hear me complaining.” “Do you have a good side?”

“Sweetheart, the self-confidence. God.” She squeezed her eyes shut. While practically beaming at him, and Will had to bend his knees to reach, something else creaking in the process, but that was fine, and good, and pretty goddamn fantastic because her lips tasted a bit like chocolate.

“‘S’not your best work,” Belle mumbled, almost entirely into his mouth.

“Brain freeze.” “I would burn no books. That’s my final hypothetical answer.” Her eyelashes must have existed purely to torment him. Leaning back made it clear when they fluttered back open, and he swore there were flecks of gold in her eyes. Maybe he was melting, too. With the ice cream. That was almost poetic. “None at all? What if you were going to die?” “Maudlin.” “I don’t know what that means.” “Liar,” she challenged, another smile tugging at her mouth, and Will was clearly staring at her mouth. Stained slightly with chocolate, as it was. “I stand by it, though. The book stuff, not the commentary on your burgeoning intelligence.” “You want to find a corner to go and make out in?” Different laugh. The kind that came with her head thrown back, hair tickling Will’s forearm because at some point his arm had found its way around her, and touching Belle was becoming something almost close to second nature. “I could keep complimenting you if you want,” Belle said, “or I could give you my reason for not burning books.” “You’re a giant nerd, that’s why.” She clicked her tongue. “Very, very cute nerd, though.” “Betcha say that to all the girls.”

His stomach stilled. Dropped a few inches, for good measure. Below where it was supposed to be, and inching dangerously close to his feet, and what Will could not imagine was a very sanitary floor. The Museum of Ice Cream had a giant sprinkle pit. Nothing about that seemed very sanitary.

“I think stories have a purpose,” Belle said, still not quite whispering but definitely getting there, and he knew. Knew she knew. What he was thinking and feeling and unspoken understanding was quickly becoming the name of this particular game. With them.

Where it wasn’t a game at all.

Damn.

Ariel was going to be so annoying.

“No matter what they are. Shitty as they can be, all those ups and downs, and ridiculous, often unnecessary melodrama. It’s going to matter to somebody. Someone, somewhere, will be living their life and read those words or see those letters, and they’ll think, wow, whoever wrote this, gets me, and it will change everything for them. They’ll go back to it. Find solace and safety in it. Themselves, maybe. They’ll believe everything will be ok. Even if they only think that while they’re reading.” “Don’t forget audiobooks,” Will muttered, voice strangled and tinged with emotion. In the ice cream museum. Figured, honestly.

Belle pinched the side of his wrist.

“Ow. Avoid the bruise further up, please.” “Did you get hit?” Nodding took more energy than it should have, too. She hadn’t been to a game. He hadn’t asked her. What an idiot. “Not bad though, that’s just—” “—Par for the course.” “Mixing idioms, mon trésor.” “Oh, I got that one, actually.” “Slow pitch softball, that’s why,” Will reasoned, some of the tension he wasn’t especially pleased by loosening.

“I think we’re on a roll now.” He hummed. Nodded, again. Curled his fingers into the back of Belle’s dress. Blue, that afternoon. With matching heels. “It all matters,” she added, soft and earnest, and his eyes snapped. To her and with her and that second one didn’t make sense, not really, but he was and wanted to be and that absolutely terrified him.

Of it all falling apart again. Of it not being enough.

He wasn’t enough.

A story no one was ever all that interested in finishing.

“You think?” Belle nodded. “Why’d you start playing hockey?” “Quite a transition.” “Tit for tat, or—no, no, c’mon don’t look at me like that.” Red stained her cheeks, now. Making it difficult to concentrate on anything else, although the desire to kiss her again was a fairly strong second, and that kid was taking more pictures. “That’s not fair.” “You’ve brought this on yourself, babe,” Will argued, and he hoped Lucas didn’t yell. At him. He’d never really listened to the social media rules. “It’s a very long, occasionally depressing story about a kid and his single mom, the second of whom often worked her ass off and her fingers to the bone, and all those other delightfully visual clichés. But then! Who would guess, she got a job picking up extra shifts cleaning at the rink in town. Home to the world’s shittiest ice and loudest Zamboni, it instantly drew the attention of our kid-like hero.

“He was...infatuated, let’s say. With the sounds, especially. Nothing sounds like that first scrape of skates on fresh ice. Full of possibility, you know?” Belle didn’t answer. Will kept talking. “Best noise in the world. And then he learned there were other noises. Pucks hitting the back of nets. Sticks clanging together. Grunts and groans and the game itself, how loud it was. Helped silence some of his thoughts, none of which were ever very good. Lots of worries, some about his very dead sister, then a few more about that mother and her predilection toward clichés.”

“Good word,” Belle murmured. He kissed the top of her hair. The kid was openly staring at them, now.

“Anyway, the crux of the story is that the guy who owned the rink agreed to let the kid play on the rink. Knew the mother, understood her situation, and hockey is expensive. Like, well, we spout all that bullshit about hockey is for everyone, and I’ve got to stand up there and smile and nod and agree, and it’s fucked up because it’s not really true. Hockey’s for rich kids and families with regularly functioning alternators in their car.”

He shook his head. Had to. To chase away the memories and the cobwebs, and Cap knew this, too. Understood it, even. Remembered a life before the Vanklads, and not every kid got the Vankalds, and sometimes Will let himself wonder what would have happened if he’d found the Vanklads. Or their upstate New York equivalent.

Gotten better shin pads, probably.

“Hockey’s an exclusive sorta club,” Will continued, “gotta know someone who’s related to someone else, and they know someone who played, and it’s six degrees of increasingly desperate separation. By some lucky twist of fate, though, Jimmy Newell knew some bastard who knew somebody else, who saw me play, and you don’t say no to USA Developmental. Spent two years in Minnesota, way before Cap did, so he doesn’t get to claim that state as his own.” Belle’s lips twitched. “Good to know, for argument’s sake.” His stomach was becoming a problem.

Heart, too.

Sputtering and slamming, uneven beats that were going to leave another bruise. Will licked his lips.

“I went to Developmental, declared for the draft, got picked by New York, went to college, stayed in college, and the rest is history. As they say.” “They do say that, yeah.” “What’s the next question, then?” “How do you know there’s another question?” “Shot in the dark,” Will shrugged, but that was a lie, and it was getting increasingly easier to read that pinch between her eyebrows. “So, hit me.” “Literally?” “Please do not literally hit me. Locksley’s been feeling the forecheck the last couple’a practices.” “I know what that means!” Someone shushed them. Will couldn’t imagine the color will ever leave Belle’s cheeks.

He kissed the bridge of her nose.

“Who’d you get to teach you French?” “Who said I didn’t just learn French on my own?” “Babe,” she chided, and, well, that was the tipping point. As they say. To his heart and his stomach and—

“You wanna come to a game this series?” Belle blinked. Once, twice. Leaned back. Tilted her head. Likely waited for the camera crew that was inevitably lurking in the corner he was cautiously optimistic they’d make out in eventually. Didn’t happen, though. There was no camera crew.

Just Will Scarlet, professional hockey player, and part-time sap. Standing in one of the more nonsensical museums they’d been to in the last two months. Although they did go to the transit museum on three separate occasions, and he could honestly say he didn’t expect that.

So, maybe this was all just—

Par for the course.

He’d have to make some sort of deal with Eric. To make sure Ariel didn’t proclaim her relationship-plotting victories from a variety of rooftops. Someone in front office had to know someone else with Empire State Building connections.

Zelena probably did.

Ariel would use that.

“Where would I sit?”

He pulled her. Up. With an almost violent amount of force, threatening the safety of both of Belle’s shoulders in the process. But she’d asked the one question he hadn’t totally considered in his half-plotted plan, and getting his mouth back on hers was an acceptable diversion. Plus, she looped her arms around his neck pretty quickly.

Which had to count for something, he figured.

One hand cupped the back of his head, pulling him closer. Like he had any intention of being anywhere else, swiping his tongue against Belle’s lip and swallowing her sigh. They were still in public, technically. Her feet trailed the multi-color carpet beneath them, Will’s arms tightening and his palm flat against her back and her spine, and if she kept rocking up like that, he was going to do something drastic.

Something in the same realm as melting, probably.

Strands of hair tickled his skin, making him tilt his head and alter the angle, and that was entirely appropriate, but getting kicked out of the Museum of Ice Cream would probably make an absolutely fantastic story. Once they told people they were—

Doing whatever it was they were doing.

They’d get there eventually.

“Cap’s sister-in-law is coming,” Will said, not entirely able to catch his breath, “wants to see Kris and—” “—Should I know who that is?” “Works in equipment, and that’s not really the point.” “What is?” “That Little Vankald isn’t super interested in listening to Cap be full older brother on her and, far as I know, is fully capable of getting tickets wherever she wants. Can sweet talk the gold out of anyone’s pockets, and—” “—Wait, wait, are you equating hockey tickets to gold?” “When I’m playing, ma choupette.” “Is that cabbage?” He hummed. Nearly tripped over his own feet trying to hold onto Belle and the mostly melted cup of ice cream and paying for more churro ice cream made perfect sense. At the moment. “One of the kids at school was French Canadian,” Will explained, “used to swear all the time on the ice, and then he’d use stuff like that.” “You’re sharing endearments with a trash talker.” “More or less, yeah. Used to infuriate other guys.” “Who wants to be called a cabbage?” “I think you’re super cute.” Belle scowled. Didn’t argue, though. And Will refused to linger on the beat of his pulse. “I’d really like it if you were there,” he added, “Little Vanklad’ll be cool about it. She owes me. I fed her for a very long time.” “Did you just?” “I make incredible garlic bread; ask anyone.” “Wow,” Belle drawled, “just like people on the street, or…also, do you call her Little Vanklad all the time?” “To her face and behind her back with startling regularity. Not everyone gets my French endearments, babe. Consider yourself lucky.”

She scrunched her nose.

Stayed silent. All Will could hear was the soft explanations of the tour guide, and the questions from tourists who probably also thought going to the Museum of Sex made them edgy. After they bought a STRAND tote bag. God, maybe he was a dick. A judgmental dick, who still had too many thoughts and used an occasionally violent game to silence them by making sure he was the one dictating the noises and the trash talk and—

“Hey, uh, Will...Mr., uh—Mr. Scarlet? Do you think we could get a picture?”

Belle’s lips disappeared. Behind her teeth, and that didn’t do anything to temper the sound of what might have actually been joy. At the prospect of the staring teenager and his photo request.

In the goddamn Museum of Ice Cream.

Giving a jerky nod, Will quickly scanned the kid for any team-branded, but it didn’t look like he was wearing merch and that was a rather small miracle. Far as those things went.

Still, he had been in the middle of a pretty intense internal dialogue and potential freakout, and there was going to be ice cream on his hand if he didn’t throw this cup away.

Belle took the phone.

The kid’s phone.

“Smile,” she instructed, and Will tried. Really. He hoped he didn’t end up looking like a murderer on Twitter or Instagram or whatever kids used, and he had no idea when he got that old. When things started to freak him out, and he let the nerves claw back in, and the worry take root and—

“Hey,” he said before the kid could walk back to his parents and their matching STRAND tote bags. “You think you could take a picture of us, real quick?”

No one had ever moved faster.

In, like, the history of photography.

Circling an arm around Belle’s waist, Will’s smile came a bit easier and that was good because he was totally unprepared for what happened after that. Another instruction and flick of someone’s thumb, but then Belle was on her toes, even with the heels, and her lips were pressed against his cheek and it was like some sort of really exceptional sugar high.

Without the threat of inevitable crash.

Will didn’t think so, at least. He was also pretty positive it wasn’t tigers in The Day After Tomorrow. Wolves, maybe.

“Tell Little Vankald to save me a seat.” “I mean, I don’t think you should call her that.”

Her teeth grazed his jaw. Both of them were laughing in the picture, the kid’s eyes going impossibly wide as Will thanked him. “How hard you think it is to set up an Instagram account?”

#scarlet beauty #scarlet beauty ff #scarlet beauty fic #will x belle #blue line one shots #what did i use yesterday as my tag for this?#so as not to also confuse it with the au of the au staring will scarlet?#defensive!blue line #that wasn't it but it is now #anyway these have been real fun to write #because as we all know i am certified trash for alternate stories in the same 'verse #also giving belle a personality finally is a delight #seriously i hope the five people interested in this enjoy it

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 years

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LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

May 10, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

A poll today by the Associated Press (AP) and the National Opinion Research Center (NORC) shows that President Joe Biden’s administration is gaining positive traction. Sixty-three percent of Americans approve of how he is handling his job as president. Seventy-one percent approve of how he is handling the coronavirus pandemic; 62% percent approve of how he is handling health care. Fifty-seven percent approve of how he is handling the economy; 54% approve of how he is handling foreign affairs.

Fifty-four percent of Americans think the country is going in the right direction. This is the highest number since 2017, but it is split by party: 84% of Democrats like the country’s direction, while only 20% of Republicans do.

Biden’s weak spots are in immigration, where 43% approve and 54% disapprove, and gun policy, where 48% approve and 49% disapprove.

And yet, Biden’s people have been working to address the influx of migrant children; White House Secretary Jen Psaki noted last week that “At the end of March, there were more than 5,000 children in Customs and Border Protection Patrol stations. Today, that number is approximately 600…. The amount of time children spend in CBP facilities is down by 75 percent — from 131 hours at the end of March to under 30 hours now.”

The administration has backed that short-term work with a long-term initiative. Last week, Vice President Kamala Harris met virtually with Mexican President Andrés Manuel López Obrador, the leader of the left of center populist nationalist coalition party MORENA, to talk about finding ways to promote economic development to address the root causes prompting the flight of refugees from Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador and southern Mexico. They also talked about working together to protect human rights and dismantle the criminal networks that smuggle migrants. She will travel to Guatemala and Mexico in June, where she will meet with their leaders.

Disapproval of Biden’s gun policies might well reflect a desire for a stronger stance. In April, a Morning Consult/Politico poll showed that 64% of registered voters supported stricter gun control laws. We have had an average of ten mass shootings a week in 2021, 194 in all. (A mass shooting is one in which four people are killed or wounded.)

This week, Biden will be meeting with bipartisan groups of leaders, including Representative Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) and Senator Mitch McConnell (R-KY), to begin to hammer out an infrastructure measure based on his American Jobs Plan. He will also meet with Senators John Barrasso (R-WY), Roy Blunt (R-MO), Mike Crapo (R-ID), Pat Toomey (R-PA), Roger Wicker (R-MS), and Shelley Moore Capito (R-WV), who have proposed their own $568 billion proposal without corporate tax hikes.

As the good news from the administration is starting to filter into the media, bad news from the Trump wing of the Republican Party is also starting to get traction. On Saturday, we learned that at retreats in March and April, staff for the National Republican Congressional Committee refused to tell lawmakers how badly Trump is polling in core battleground districts, where 54% see Biden favorably while only 41% still favor Trump. Vice President Kamala Harris, the $1.9 trillion American Rescue Plan, and the $2.3 trillion American Jobs Plan are all more popular in those districts than the former president.

Indeed, it is more than a little odd that party leaders are bending over backward to tie their party to a former president who, after all, never broke 50% favorability ratings—the first time in polling history that had happened—and who lost both the White House and Congress.

Another set of data from Catalist, a voter database company in Washington, D.C., shows that the 2020 election was the most diverse ever, with Latino and Asian voters turning out in bigger numbers than ever before. Black voting increased substantially, while Asian-American and Pacific Islander voters had a decisive increase in turnout. The electorate was 72% white, down 2% from 2016 and 5% from 2008. Thirty-nine percent of Biden-Harris voters were people of color (61% were white); only 15% of Trump-Pence voters were POC (85% were white).

This demographic trend is behind the new voter suppression bills in Republican states. But the racial breakdown of the 2020 vote is not the only problem for the current Republican Party. The biggest turnout gains in 2020 were among young voters, 18 to 40 years old, who now make up 31% of voters, while those over 55 have dropped to only 44% of the electorate. Younger voters skew heavily toward the Democrats. Also notable was that women break heavily toward Democrats by a 10 point gap—79% of women of color support Democrats; 58% of white women voted for Biden-Harris—and women make up 54% of the electorate overall.

News out of the private “recount” in Arizona by Cyber Ninjas, a company without experience in election recounts and whose owner has already gone on record as believing that rigged voting machines in Arizona cost Trump victory, continues to be embarrassing as well. Although the Maricopa County Board of Supervisors, which has a Republican majority, said the count was fair and opposed a recount, sixteen Republicans in the state senate voted to give the ballots for Maricopa County, which includes Phoenix, to the company for a private recount. The count has been plagued by conspiracy theories—one observer claimed they are examining the ballots for signs of bamboo in the paper to show that tens of thousands of ballots were flown in from Asia—and it turned out that one of the people recounting the ballots had been at the January 6 riot at the Capitol. Now the “recount” is running so far behind it appears it won’t be done until August, rather than May 14 as the company promised.

State senator Paul Boyer, who voted for the “audit,” told New York Times reporter Michael Wines: “It makes us look like idiots…. Looking back, I didn’t think it would be this ridiculous. It’s embarrassing to be a state senator at this point.”

And then, this morning, the Washington Post dropped a long, investigative story by reporters Emma Brown, Aaron C. Davis, Jon Swaine, and Josh Dawsey revealing that the arguments former president Trump has grabbed to “prove” the election was stolen from him were part of a long conspiracy theory hatched in 2018 by Russell J. Ramsland, Jr., “a Republican businessman who has sold everything from Tex-Mex food in London to a wellness technology that beams light into the human bloodstream.” The story follows how Ramsland’s theories, which were debunked as “bat-s**t insane” by White House lawyers, got pumped into the media by Representative Louie Gohmert (R-TX) and Trump’s lawyer Rudy Giuliani, among others, and how Trump came to embrace them.

While Republican leaders are still standing behind those theories, and the former president, opponents of the party’s direction are pushing back not just against Trump but also against those leaders supporting him. Representative Adam Kinzinger (R-IL) tweeted this morning: “A few days before Jan 6, our GOP members had a conference call. I told Kevin [McCarthy] that his words and our party’s actions would lead to violence on January 6th. Kevin dismissively responded with ‘ok Adam, operator next question.’ And we got violence.”

Representative Liz Cheney (R-WY) has narrated a video distributed by the Republican Accountability Project recalling the violence of January 6, blaming Trump for spreading lies about the election, and reminding viewers that more than 60 lawsuits disproved his claims that the election was stolen. The video says “we are the party of Lincoln. We are not the party of QAnon” (showing an image of Jacob Chansley, the so-called “QAnon Shaman,” who wore a horned headdress during the Capitol insurrection) “or white supremacy” (showing an image of Fox News Channel personality Tucker Carlson). “We cannot embrace insurrection” (showing a picture of Georgia Republican Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene). “President Trump provoked an attack on the United States Capitol which resulted in five people dying. That is a person who does not have a role as a leader of our party going forward.” The video features an image of McCarthy standing with Trump. Cheney made it clear she was not about to shut up.

This afternoon, McCarthy released a statement calling for Cheney’s ouster as conference chair, featuring the line: “[u]nlike the left, we embrace free thought and debate.” (References to George Orwell, who famously wrote about how fascists used language to rewrite history, were all over Twitter.) McCarthy and other Trump loyalists have suggested that Cheney needs to go because she keeps talking about the past, but Allan Smith of NBC News points out that Trump himself seems to be the one who cannot stop talking about the past.

—-

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#political #corrupt GOP #criminal GOP #January 6 2021 #insurrection #Liz Cheney #Biden Administration #Heather Cox Richardson #Letters From An American

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patriotsnet · 4 years

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Did Republicans Riot After Obama Was Elected

New Post has been published on https://www.patriotsnet.com/did-republicans-riot-after-obama-was-elected/

Did Republicans Riot After Obama Was Elected

Undocumented Kids Are Saved By Obamas Executive Order Daca Which Would Put A Halt To Deportation For Those Whod Entered The Country Before Age 16 And Yet In A Bid To Get The Gop To Come Over To His Side On Immigration Reform The President Has Also Deported A Record 15 Million People In His First Term

A Family Caught in Immigration Limbo

When Belsy Garcia saw her mother’s number appear on her iPhone on the afternoon of June 15, she felt what she calls the “uncomfortable fluttering” sensation in her chest. She knew that daytime calls signaled an emergency. The worst one had come the previous year, when her sister told her ICE agents had placed their father in federal custody.

Garcia was attending Mercer University in Macon, Georgia, when her father was marched out of her childhood home. As an undocumented immigrant — like both of her parents, who are from Guatemala — she couldn’t qualify for loans. She financed her education through scholarships and a stipend she earned as a residential assistant. Now she wondered if her mother was calling to say her father had been deported, which might force her to leave school to become the family’s breadwinner.

But this call was different. “Go turn on the television,” Garcia’s mother said. “You’re going to be able to work, get a driver’s license.”

Onscreen, President Obama was announcing the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program. Undocumented immigrants who had arrived in the United States as children could apply for Social Security numbers and work permits. Garcia qualified: Her parents had brought her to this country when she was 7 years old. DACA transformed her into a premed student who could actually become a doctor. “It was like this weight was lifted,” she says. “All of that hard work was going to pay off.”

In The Next Hundred Days Our Bipartisan Outreach Will Be So Successful That Even John Boehner Will Consider Becoming A Democrat After All We Have A Lot In Common He Is A Person Of Color Although Not A Color That Appears In The Natural World Whats Up John Barack Obama White House Correspondents Dinner

And Then There Were Three

The first woman to argue a case before the Supreme Court did so in 1880. It would take another 101 years for a woman to sit on that bench rather than stand before it. Even then, progress was fitful. Over the 12 years that Sandra Day O’Connor and Ruth Bader Ginsburg served together, their identities evidently merged; lawyers regularly addressed Ginsburg as “Justice O’Connor.” When O’Connor retired in 2006, she left the faux Justice O’Connor feeling lonely. Ruth Bader Ginsburg warned of something far more alarming: What the public saw on entering the court were “eight men of a certain size, and then this little woman sitting to the side.” They might well represent the most eminent legal minds in America. But there was something antiquated, practically mutton-choppy, about that portrait.

How many female justices would be sufficient? Nine, says Justice Ginsburg, noting that no one ever raised an eyebrow at the idea of nine men.

Seal Team Six Kills Osama Bin Ladenraiding His Secret Compound In Abbottabad Pakistan While Obama And His Top Advisers Watch A Live Feed Of The Mission From The White House Situation Room The Picture Of The Assembled Becomes The Last Supper Of The Obama Era

Poop Feminism

For me, it’s one moment. All the bridesmaids have come to the fancy bridal shop to see Maya Rudolph try on wedding dresses. This should be a familiar scene: The bride emerges from the changing room and … This is the dress! The friends clap. The mother cries. Everyone is a princess. Go ahead and twirl!

But when the bride emerges in Bridesmaids, almost all of her friends have started to feel sick. Sweat coats their skin. Red splotches creep over their faces. They try to “ooh” and “aah,” but it’s already too late. It starts with a gag from Melissa McCarthy, followed by another gag. Then a gag that comes simultaneously with a tiny wet fart. It’s the smallness of the fart that’s important here. It’s the kind of fart that slips out — a fart that could be excused away, a brief, incongruous accident. Women don’t fart in wedding movies, and women certainly don’t fart at the exact moment that the bride comes out in her dress. This can’t be happening. Melissa McCarthy blames the fart on the tightness of her dress. We breathe a sigh of relief.

Then sweet Ellie Kemper gags, and the sound effect is surprisingly nasty. Ellie’s face is gray. Melissa’s face is red. They look bad. They are embarrassed. How far is this going to go?

The camera cuts. We are above now. We look down from a safe perch as the release we have been anticipating and dreading begins. It is horribly, earth-shatteringly gross. A woman has just pooped in a sink. The revolution has begun.

The Government Acquires A 61 Percent Stake In Gm And Loans The Company $50 Billion The Auto Bailout Will Eventually Be Heralded As A Great Success Adding More Than 250000 Manufacturing Jobs To The Economy

The Auto Industry Gets Rerouted

“The president was very clear with us that he only wanted to do stuff that would fundamentally change the way they did business. And that’s what we did. There were enormous changes. For example, General Motors had something like 300 different job classifications that the union had. If you were assigned to put the windshield wipers on, you couldn’t put tires on. And we wiped all that stuff out. We basically gave back management the freedom to manage, to hire, to fire. People stopped getting paid even when they were on layoff. We reduced the number of car plants so that there wasn’t so much overcapacity. So now, when you have 16 million cars sold , they’re making a fortune.”

Black Lives Matter Activists Are Arrested In Baton Rouge Louisianaprotesting The Murder Of Alton Sterling; More Than 100 People Are Detained In St Paul Minnesota Protesting The Murder Of Philando Castile

What Is the Point of a Quantified Self?

Melissa Dahl: The Fitbit was introduced at a tech conference eight years ago. It’s kind of incredible to realize that, before then, this idea of the “quantified self” didn’t really exist in the mainstream.

Jesse Singal: I feel like it’s the intersection of all these different trends: Everyone plays video games these days. You got smartphones everywhere. And people are realizing that solutions to the big problems that lead to sleeplessness and anxiety and bad eating — unemployment and income inequality and yada yada yada — aren’t gonna get solved anytime soon.

MD: That’s interesting, because all of this self-tracking is also, according to some physicians, giving people more anxiety! A Fitbit-induced stress vortex.

Cari Romm: It feels like productive stress, though. I’m talking as a recovered Fitbit obsessive, but it does make you look at Fitbit-less people like, “You mean you don’t care how many steps you took today?”

MD: Oh, God. I don’t care. Should I care? Sleep is the one thing I obsessed over for a while. Which does not really help one get to sleep.

JS: Do you think an actually good and not obsession-inducing sleep app could help, though?

MD: There’s some aspect to the tracking idea that really does work. I mean, it’s just a higher-tech version of a food journal or sleep journal, right? Ben Franklin 300 years ago was tracking his 13 “personal virtues” in his diary.

JS: Would Ben Franklin have been an insufferable tech-bro?

Officer Darren Wilson Fatally Shoots Michael Brownin The St Louis Suburb Of Ferguson Sparking A National Protest Movement And Setting Off Unrest That Will Remain Unresolved Two Years Later

On the Triumph of Black Culture in the Age of Police Shootings

In the two years since Mike Brown was fatally shot by the police in Ferguson, and the video footage of his dead body in the street went viral, we have seen the emergence of a perverse dichotomy on our screens and in our public discourse: irrefutable evidence of grotesquely persistent racism, and irrefutable evidence of increasing black cultural and political power. This paradox is not entirely new, of course — America was built on a narrative of white supremacy, and black Americans have simultaneously continued to make vast and essential contributions to the country’s prominence—but it has become especially pronounced. And it’s not just because of the internet and social media, or the leftward shift of the culture, or black America’s being sick and tired of being sick and tired. In fact, it is all of these things, not least two terms with a black president. In the same way that black skin signals danger to the police , his black skin, to black people, signaled black cultural preservation. African-Americans didn’t see a black man as the most powerful leader in the free world; we saw the most powerful leader in the free world as black. This is what comedian Larry Wilmore was expressing at the 2016 White House Correspondents’ Dinner when he said, “Yo, Barry, you did it, my nigga.” It was a moment of unadulterated black pride.

Militants Attack American Compounds In Benghazi Libya Killing Us Ambassador Chris Stevens And Three Other Americans There Will Eventually Be Eight Congressional Probes Into The Incident

“I Know I Let Everybody Down”

“Before the debate, David Plouffe and I went in to talk to him and give him a pep talk and he said, ‘Let’s just get this over with and get out of here,’ which is not what you want to hear from your candidate right before the debate. We knew within ten minutes that it was going to be a debacle. We had armed him with a joke — it was his 20th anniversary, and he addressed Michelle — and it turns out Romney was expecting just such a line and had a really great comeback. And Romney was excellent — just free and easy and clearly well prepared and showed personality that people hadn’t seen before. Obama looked like he was at a press conference.

We had a meeting at the White House and he said, ‘I know I let everybody down and that’s on me, and I’m not going to let that happen again,’ and that was his attitude. We always had debate camps before, where we’d re-create in hotel ballrooms what the set would look like, and all of the conditions of the real debate. When we went down to Williamsburg, Virginia, for the next debate camp, he seemed really eager to engage in the prep. We had a decent first night. That was on Saturday. On Sunday night, Kerry, playing Romney, got a little more aggressive and Obama a little less so; it looked very much like what we had seen in Denver. It was like he’d taken a step back.

Scott Brown Is Elected Massachusetts Senatorturning Ted Kennedys Seat Republican For The First Time Since 1952 And Suddenly Throwing The Prospect Of Passing Obamacare Into Jeopardy

Plan B

“I’m talking to Rahm and Jim Messina and saying, ‘Okay, explain to me how this happened.’ It was at that point that I learned that our candidate, Martha Coakley, had asked rhetorically, ‘What should I do, stand in front of Fenway and shake hands with voters?’ And we figured that wasn’t a good bellwether of how things might go.

This might have been a day or two before the election, but the point is: There is no doubt that we did not stay on top of that the way we needed to. This underscored a failing in my first year, which was the sort of perverse faith in good policy leading to good politics. I’ll cut myself some slack — we had a lot to do, and every day we were thinking, Are the banks going to collapse? Is the auto industry going to collapse? Will layoffs accelerate? We just didn’t pay a lot of attention to politics that first year, and the loss in Massachusetts reminded me of what any good president or elected official needs to understand: You’ve got to pay attention to public opinion, and you have to be able to communicate your ideas. But it happened, and the question then was, ‘What’s next?’

Sheryl Sandbergs Lean In Hits Bookstores Making The Feminist Case That Women Should Be More Aggressive And Ambitious In Their Careers And Making Feminists Themselves Very Angry

The “Mommy Wars” Finally Flame Out

After decades of chilly backlash, we find ourselves, these past eight years, in an age of feminist resurgence, with feminist websites and publications and filmmakers and T-shirts and pop singers and male celebrities and best-selling authors and women’s soccer teams. Of course, as in every feminist golden age, there has also been dissent: furious clashes over the direction and quality of the discourse, especially as the movement has become increasingly trendy, shiny, and celebrity-backed.

Perhaps the most public feminist conflagration of the Obama years came at the nexus of policy and celebrity, of politics and pop power. It was the furor over Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg, who gave a viral 2010 TED Talk about women in the workplace who “leave before they leave” — who alter their professional strategy to accommodate a future they assume will be compromised by parenthood — which led to the publication of her 2013 feminist business manifesto, Lean In.

It’s a lesson of the Obama era: One approach to redressing inequality does not have to blot out the others. Sometimes, attacking from all angles is the most effective strategy.

Texas State Senator Wendy Davis Laces Up Her Pink Running Shoes And Spends Ten Long Hours Attempting To Filibuster A Billthat Wouldve Imposed Statewide Abortion Restrictions

“The Concept of Dignity Really Matters”

“I was given an enormous degree of latitude. I did communicate with the White House counsel on occasion about high-profile cases, but it was much more in the nature of just giving them a heads-up, to calm any nervous feelings they might have. There’s only one exception to that, and it was on marriage equality, in the Hollingsworth v. Perry case in 2013. We were contemplating coming in and arguing that it was unconstitutional for California to refuse to recognize the legal validity of same-sex marriages. But we didn’t have to do it . And because it was a discretionary judgment, and it was such a consequential step, that was the one matter where I really sought out the president’s personal guidance. I wanted to make sure the president had a chance to thoroughly consider what we should do before we did it. It was really one of the high points of my tenure. It was a wide-ranging conversation about doctrinal analysis, about where society was now, about social change and whether it should go through the courts or through the majoritarian process, about the pace of social change, about the significance of the right at stake. He was incredibly impressive.

A Golf Summit Between John Boehner And Barack Obama Stirs Hopethat Perhaps The Two Parties Will Come To A Budget Agreement And Forestall A True Crisis Secret And Semi

A Grand Bargain That Wasn’t, Remembered Three Ways

“The president of the United States and the Speaker of the House, the two most powerful elected officials in Washington, decided in a conversation that they both had to try to make something happen. Maybe it would be the way it worked in a West Wing episode in a world that doesn’t work like a West Wing episode. That’s how it started — two individuals saying we’re going to try. I think they both shared a belief in the art of the possible, and they both did not think compromise was a dirty word.

When our cover was blown — a Wall Street Journal editorial came out saying that Boehner and Obama were working on this and attacking the whole premise — that was devastating. It resulted in Cantor being a part of the talks. Cantor and Boehner came in, and I think it was a weekend private session with the president in the Oval Office, and they were talking about the numbers. At one point Cantor said, ‘Listen, it’s not just the numbers. There’s concern that this will help you politically. Paul Ryan said if we do this deal, it will guarantee your reelection. If we agree with Barack Obama on spending and taxes, that takes away one of our big weapons.’ There were so many obstacles, some of them substantive — how much revenue, and what about the entitlements? — but there was also this overlay of ‘This is going to help Obama.’

Illustrations by Lauren Tamaki

The Obama Administration Unveils Its Plan For Regulating Wall Streetwhich Is Then Introduced In Congress By Senator Chris Dodd And Representative Barney Frank

MJ=JC?

Lane Brown: Michael Jackson’s death was a big deal for lots of obvious reasons, including the surprising way it happened and the fact that he was arguably the most famous person on the planet.

Nate Jones: He was an A-lister with an indisputable body of work; he was 50 years old, his hits were the right age — old enough that every generation knew them, but not too old that they weren’t relevant anymore.

LB: But it was also the first huge celebrity death to happen in the age of social media, or at least the age of Twitter.

NJ: MJ’s death came alongside the protests in Iran, which was when Twitter went mainstream.

LB: It also meant that so much of the instant reaction was to make it all about us.

Frank Guan: In a lot of ways, the culture prefers the death of artists to their continuing to live. Once an artist gets launched into the stratosphere, there’s no way to come down, and that permanence becomes monotonous. They run out of timely or groundbreaking material and the audience starts tuning out. At some point, their fame eclipses their art, and then the only way to get the general audience to appreciate them anew is for them to die.

LB: People seem to like the grieving process so much that even lesser celebrities get the same treatment.

Congresswoman Gabby Giffords Returns To The House Floor For The First Time Since Being Shot In A Massacre In January Casting A Vote In Favor Of The Debt

A Rare Moment of Unity

“I was doing intensive rehabilitation in Houston at the time but was following the debate closely, and I was pretty disappointed at what was happening in Washington. I’d seen the debate grow so bitter and divisive and so full of partisan rancor. And I was worried our country was hurtling toward a disastrous, self-inflicted economic crisis. That morning, when it became clear the vote was going to be close, my husband, Mark, and I knew we needed to get to Washington quickly. I went straight from my rehabilitation appointment to the airport, and Mark was at our house in Houston packing our bags so he could meet us at the plane.

That night, I remember seeing the Capitol for the first time since I was injured and feeling so grateful to be at work. I will never forget the reception I received on the floor of the House from my colleagues, both Republicans and Democrats. And then, like I had so many times before, I voted.

I worked so hard to get my speech back, and honestly, talking to people who share my determination helped me find my words again. I’ve been to Alaska, Maine, and everywhere in between. Best of all, I got back on my bike. Riding my bike once seemed like such a huge challenge. It seemed impossible.”

Miley Cyrus Twerks At The Mtv Vmassetting Off A Controversy About Cultural Appropriation That Soon Ensnares Seemingly Every White Pop Star On The Planet

• Karlie Kloss wears a Native American headdress and fringed bra at the Victoria’s Secret fashion show.

• Justin Timberlake is accused of appropriating black music when he tells a black critic “We are the same” after praising Jesse Williams’s BET Humanitarian Award speech about race and police brutality.

• DJ Khaled gets lost on Jet Ski, snaps the whole time.

• Two UW-Madison students snap their meet-cute as the entire student body cheers them on.

• Playboy Playmate Dani Mathers films and mocks an anonymous woman in the gym shower.

• A Massachusetts teen records the sexual assault of a 16-year-old girl. The video is later seen by a friend of the victim.

Prior To Going To War In Iraq Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld Optimistically Predicted The Iraq War Might Last Six Days Six Weeks I Doubt Six Months

What’s more, Vice-President Dick Cheney said we would be greeted as liberators by the Iraqi people after we overthrow Saddam.

They were both horribly wrong. Instead of six weeks or six months, the Iraq war lasted eight long and bloody years costing thousands of American lives. It led to an Iraqi civil war between the Sunnis and the Shiites that took hundreds of thousands of Iraqi lives. Many Iraqi militia groups were formed to fight against the U.S. forces that occupied Iraq. What’s more, Al Qaeda, which did not exist in Iraq before the war, used the turmoil in Iraq to establish a new foothold in that country.

The Iraq war was arguably the most tragic foreign policy blunder in US history.

In 2012 Republicans Predicted That Failure To Approve The Keystone Pipeline Would Send The Price Of Gasoline Sky High And Kill Large Numbers Of Jobs

Despite the fact that the Keystone Pipeline was not approved, the price of gasoline continued to drop below $1.80 per gallon, millions of new jobs were created and unemployment dropped from 8% to 4.9% by early 2016. The most optimistic predictions say that the Keystone Pipeline would only create a few dozen long-term jobs and would do nothing to lower the price of gasoline.

Eric Cantors Stunning Primary Loss Suggests No Politician Is Safe From The Rage Of The Tea Party Not Even The Tea Partys Canniest Political Leader

From Party’s Future to Also-Ran in a Single Day

On the day his political career died, Eric Cantor was busy tending to what he still believed was its bright future. While his GOP-primary opponent, David Brat, visited polling places in and around Richmond, Virginia, Cantor spent his morning 90 miles away at a Capitol Hill Starbucks. He was there to host a fund-raiser for three of his congressional colleagues — something he did every month, just another part of the long game he was playing, which, he believed, would eventually culminate in his becoming Speaker of the House.

The preceding five years had brought Cantor tantalizingly closer to that goal. In the immediate aftermath of Obama’s election, he’d rallied waffling House Republicans to stand in lockstep opposition to the new president’s agenda. In 2010, he’d helped elect 87 new Republican members, giving the GOP a House majority and making Cantor the House majority leader. He became the champion of these freshmen members, stoking their radicalism during the debt-ceiling fight and working to undermine Obama and John Boehner’s attempt to strike a “grand bargain.” His alliance with the ascendant tea party was strategic — it gave him leverage not only over Obama but over other Republicans who might also have had aspirations of becoming Speaker. It never occurred to him that the wave he was trying to ride might crash on him instead.

In 1993 When Bill Clinton Raised Taxes On The Wealthiest 15% Republicans Predicted A Recession Increased Unemployment And A Growing Budget Deficit

They weren’t just wrong: The exact opposite of everything they predicted happened. The country experienced the seven best years of economic growth in history.

Twenty-two million new jobs were added.

Unemployment dropped below 4%.

The poverty rate dropped for seven straight years.

The budget deficit was eliminated.

There was a growing budget surplus that economists projected could pay off our national debt in 20 years.

Republicans Predicted That We Would Find Iraqs Weapons Of Mass Destruction Even Though Un Weapons Inspectors Said That Those Weapons Didn’t Exist

The Bush administration continued to insist that WMDs would be found, even when the CIA said some of the evidence was questionable. As we all know, the WMDs predicted by the Bush administration did not exist, and Saddam Hussein had not resumed his nuclear weapons program as they claimed. Ultimately, both President Bush and Vice President Cheney had to admit that there were no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.

Republicans Predicted That President Obamas Tax Increase For The Top 1% In 2013 Would Kill Jobs Increase The Deficit And Cause Another Recession

You guessed it; just the opposite happened. In the four years following January 1, 2013, when that tax increase went into effect, through January 2017, unemployment dropped from 7.9% to 4.8%, an average of more than 200,000 new jobs were created per month, Wall Street set new record highs, and the budget deficit was cut in half.

Over 5.7 million new jobs were created in the first two years after that tax increase. That’s more jobs created in two years than were created during the combined 12 years of both Bush presidencies.

In 2001 When George W Bush Cut Taxes For The Wealthy Republicans Predicted Record Job Growth Increased Budget Surplus And Nationwide Prosperity

Once again, the exact opposite occurred. After the Bush tax cuts were enacted:

The budget surplus immediately disappeared.

The budget deficit eventually grew to $1.4 trillion by the time Bush left office.

Less than 3 million net jobs were added during Bush’s eight years.

The poverty rate began climbing again.

We experienced two recessions along with the greatest collapse of our financial system since the Great Depression.

In 1993, President Clinton signed the Brady Law mandating nationwide background checks and a waiting period to buy a gun.

Apple Announces That It Has Sold 100 Million Iphoneswithin A Few Months It Will Overtake Exxonmobil As The Most Valuable Company In The World

Earthlings Gain a New Appendage

What if we had the singularity and nobody noticed? In 2007, Barack Obama had been on the trail for weeks, using a BlackBerry like all the cool campaigners, when the new thing went on sale and throngs lined up for it. The new thing had a silly name: iPhone. The iPhone was a phone the way the Trojan horse was a horse.

Now it’s the gizmo without which a person feels incomplete. It’s a light in the darkness, a camera, geolocator, hidden mic, complete Shakespeare, stopwatch, sleep aid, heart monitor, podcaster, aircraft spotter, traffic tracker, all-around reality augmenter, and increasingly a pal. At the Rio Olympics you could see people, having flown thousands of miles to be in the arena with the athletes, watching the action through their smartphones. As though they needed the mediating lens to make it real.

This device, this gadget — a billion have been made and we scarcely know what to call it. For his 2010 novel of the near future, , Gary Shteyngart made up a word, “äppärät.” “My äppärät buzzing with contacts, data, pictures, projections, maps, incomes, sound, fury.” Future then, present now. His äppäräti were worn around the neck on pendants. Ours are in our pockets when they aren’t in our hands, but they also sprout earbuds, morph into wristwatches and eyeglasses. Contact lenses have been rumored; implants are only a matter of time.

Let’s face it, we’ve grown a new organ.

Republicans Said Waterboarding And Other Forms Of Enhanced Interrogation Are Not Torture And Are Necessary In Fighting Islamic Extremism

In reality, waterboarding and other forms of enhanced interrogation that inflict pain, suffering, or fear of death are outlawed by US law, the US Constitution, and international treaties. Japanese soldiers after World War II were prosecuted by the United States for war crimes because of their use of waterboarding on American POWs.

Professional interrogators have known for decades that torture is the most ineffective and unreliable method of getting accurate information. People being tortured say anything to get the torture to end but will not likely tell the truth.

An FBI interrogator named Ali Soufan was able to get al Qaeda terrorist Abu Zubaydah to reveal crucial information without the use of torture. When CIA interrogators started using waterboarding and other enhanced interrogation methods, Zubaydah stopped cooperating and gave his interrogators false information.

Far from being necessary in the fight against terrorism, torture is completely unreliable and counter-productive in obtaining useful information.

In 2008 Republicans Said That If We Elect A Democratic President We Would Be Hit By Al Qaeda Again Perhaps Worse Than The Attack On 9/11

Former Vice-President Dick Cheney stated that electing a Democrat as president would all but guarantee that there would be another major attack on America by Al Qaeda. Cheney and other Republicans were, thankfully, completely wrong. During Obama’s presidency, we had zero deaths on U.S. soil from Al Qaeda attacks and we succeeded in killing Bin Laden along with dozens of other high ranking Al Qaeda leaders.

Game Of Thrones Arrives On Televisionwith An Assemblage Of Dragons Torture Nudity Incest And Despair A Show The Whole Family Can Enjoy

Explaining Kale

ADAM PLATT: Many things in Foodlandia, these days, have a political element to them, and if you want to emblazon a flag to be carried into battle, you could do worse than a bristly, semi-digestible bunch of locally grown kale.

ALAN SYTSMA: To eat kale is to announce you’re a person who cares about the matters of the day.

AP: The idea of kale is much more powerful than kale itself. In short order it went from being discovered, to appreciated, to being something that was parodied. Frankly, I’m all for the parody.

AS: The same thing happened to pork. Remember bacon peanut brittle? Bacon-fat cocktails? There’s bacon dental floss.

AP: Ahhh, bacon versus kale. The two great, competing forces of our time.

AS: Do you think one gave way to the other?

AP: What we’re really talking about is artisanal bacon, and the more sophisticated-sounding pork belly, made from pigs that were lovingly reared at upstate farms and fed diets of pristine little acorns. Bacon is the great symbol in the comfort-food, farm-fresh-dining movement, a kind of merry, unbridled pulchritude. Kale is the righteous yin to pork’s fatty, non-vegan yang.

AS: But pork has an advantage: People like the way it tastes.

AP: That’s a huge advantage, one that will hopefully see it through to victory.

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desiree-harding-fic · 5 years

Text

Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Based on that one post by @thepensword about how Taako is always cold. Can be found here. Plus an idea I’ve had for a long time but never written about.

Cw for swears, kids. Be safe out there. But other than that it’s light angst with a fluffy chaser and a dash of Lore.

Enjoy!!!

*~*~*~*~*

Positively stomping through the streets of Neverwinter, Taako, for the thousandth time, curses the city for its positively idiotic name.

“Neverwinter”, his ass. Maybe they should have gone with “UsuallyWinter,” or “JustAsMuchWinterAsAnywhereElse,” or “CanWeReallySayThatAnythingOnThisOneSunnedPlanetIsn’tWinter.”

Because, you see, Taako is cold.

Taako is always cold.

It’s a holdover from a plane long behind them. Two-sunned elves have different traits than those of Faerun. Ears that move. Different colored eyes.

Different body temperatures.

Taako is a sun elf. A sun elf from a planet with two suns. He was made for warmth. More warmth than here. And even on two-sun he ran a little colder than the other elves he knew. But there, the extra warmth was enough to compensate. He’d tan in the summer, he’d soak up the rays and wear sleeveless shirts and live for the suns.

Faerun has one sun. On Faerun the long sleeves and pants, the heavy coat with the dozens of pockets he wore adventuring were more than just good sense - they helped him stay fucking warm.

It’s not even fair because Lup isn’t even cold all the time. Lup feels fine. Mostly. She gets a little chilly but it’s nothing a jacket can’t fix, and now she’s a Reaper and something about that helps too (Taako doesn’t know what). Taako’s body doesn’t work that way. And to top it all off, ever since Wonderland, when those fucking liches stole some of his vitality, it’s gotten even worse.

The snowy winter days in Fucking Neverwinter are hell to the multiverse’s favorite wizard, because no matter how many layers of coats and scarves and gloves and enchanted wizard hats he throws on, he can’t get warm.

He turns off the road, starts making the hike up the hill to his house which looks out on the Stillwater sea. He liked the walk when he bought the place. Lined it with trees and flowers that Merle and Pan blessed to grow big and beautiful.

He bought the place in the summer.

Magic should help. It doesn’t. First lesson he ever learned on the road with Lup: no matter how good a wizard you think you are, you never directly influence body temperature using magic. It’s too powerful, too volatile. Transmutation on the body was a risk they were willing to take. Watching your sibling’s blood boil just because you got a little chilly was not.

He finally makes it up to his front door, pushes inside, and sighs in relief.

Ever since the first chills of autumn in the city, every fireplace in Taako’s home, of which there are many, has been running almost nonstop. Is it a fire hazard? Probably. Does Taako give a shit? Maybe ten percent of one. He’s got more money than anyone else in the damn planar system. He can buy a new house.

(But he likes his villa-styled sprawling house by the sea. Likes the herbs in the window boxes and the flowers in the front and back. Likes the view of the water. It would be a shame if it burned down.)

The fireplaces help. But not enough. Never enough.

He takes off his outermost layer for the sake of the snow caked on it, but keeps on everything underneath it. Stupid, he thinks, to wear a full coat and scarf inside of his own house. But he doesn’t know any other way.

He walks through the foyer, and there.

The man of the hour.

Kravitz.

He’s reclining on the couch, close by the fire, book in one hand and glass of red wine in the other, wearing his usual suit without the jacket and shoes. He looks...

Well.

Taako knows how he looks (miraculous).

The worst thing about the winter is the space it’s put between him and his boyfriend.

Six months after Story and Song, and Taako, against all odds, is living with Kravitz. As in, Kravitz lives in his house. Kravitz drinks his wine and moved in his books and plays piano here and sleeps in Taako’s bed.

Well, most of the time.

Kravitz, who’s hands were ice cold on his and Taako’s first date, who tried to warm himself up for their first kiss, is fucking freezing to the touch in the winter.

It’s been a solid couple of months since Taako and Kravitz have cuddled without at least three or four layers between them, and by then Taako could pretty much have just bought a weighted blanket for all the good it does him. It’s hard to satisfy that craving for skin contact from the person you... care about when said skin contact feels like hugging an ice sculpture.

Kravitz looks up, puts down his glass of wine.

“Evening,” he says, mildly, as though testing the waters. And that’s what does it for Taako.

“Hey,” Taako says, immediately turning into the kitchen, not looking at Kravitz, because he just can’t.

Ever since the winter started, and Taako, out of necessity, started shying away from Kravitz’s touch, things have been... weird.

Taako knows that Kravitz isn’t the kind to speak up about this kind of thing. They’re working on it, but it’s been so long since he’s been in a relationship, so many mortal things are new to him. Taako knows this. And yet... breaching this issue, to which Taako has no solution, trying to communicate to Kravitz that he wants him while constantly having to push him away is... frustrating. What Kravitz wants is for Taako to be happy, for Taako to be comfortable. He says it constantly. He insists. And it’s the insisting that’s the problem.

Because Taako knows that even if he’s not saying it, Kravitz isn’t happy either.

And now when Taako comes home, and tries to spend time with his boyfriend, there’s all this horrible... space between them. When Taako’s cold, it seeps into his words and his actions, until all of him is cold, not just his body, not just his skin. Until he’s cold to people he cares about, and apologies come slow and with difficulty, and then the damage has been done.

Taako starts on a simple soup, no energy to make anything flashier, and still refusing to use magic in the kitchen. He hates the way all the extra clothing gets in the way of cooking. Hates the way the warmth of the stove only does so much.

Kravitz eats with him that night, and they talk, but it’s a weird, shy conversation, both of them anticipating what comes after.

What comes after is Kravitz sitting on the other side of the couch pretending to read while Taako shivers and pretends too.

What comes after is Taako going about his evening routine before slipping into bed in a full onesie and under about five blankets. It’s Kravitz dressing in flannels to try to shield Taako from the coldness of his skin, and then the two of them, side by side. Lying on their back and staring up at the ceiling, as they wait for sleep to come.

It’s a long wait, when one of them is an elf and the other doesn’t sleep naturally.

And there’s the thing about Kravitz: he’s not just without warmth. He’s actively cold. His body radiates cold like a living person’s radiates warmth. It’s only been a few minutes and Taako’s already shivering.

“I’m sorry,” Kravitz says from his side of the bed. And he sounds so fucking defeated and sad and Taako feels bad but he also feels annoyed. Because he’s cold. Because why can’t Kravitz just be a normal fucking person. Because Kravitz won’t talk to him and he won’t talk to Kravitz and this whole situation is just a goddamn nightmare.

“Not your fault,” Taako says, but the words have been said so many times they hardly mean anything anymore. He can feel how flippant they sound. He can feel the way they don’t sink in, how they bounce off Kravitz’s skin like Taako doesn’t care.

I do, he tries to broadcast. I promise I do.

“I think maybe it would be better if I stayed up tonight.” Kravitz says, like it’s an idea he’s only just had, not something he’s been saying nearly every night these days, like it’s not the new normal, like he truly believes that they still sleep in the same bed and touch each other and they aren’t on the verge of -

Kravitz slips out of the bed, pads gently out of the room and shuts the door behind him. And Taako turns over in bed, ignoring the tightness in his throat and trying, desperately, to get warm.

*~*~*~*~*

Candlenights comes, as it always does, despite the coldness in Taako’s house and his heart.

And Taako’s happy for it, really. He didn’t harbor any delusions about everything being beautiful and shiny and sparkly so close to the apocalypse, and in the aftermath of it. The world is still healing from a colossal wound. But he’s hosting, at least. He’s always been a good party planner. Lup is there and so is Barry. Merle comes up from the coast with his kids. Magnus and his dogs. Angus, visiting on his break from school. Davenport is still abroad, and Lucretia is conspicuously absent (no amount of begging from Lup could convince Taako to let her into his house), but it’s... good. Cozy, almost.

Taako even cooks for everyone, Lup assisting, and ignores the careful distance Kravitz keeps from him and from most of his family. The meal goes off without a hitch, save Taako’s shivering. He can see the sympathetic eyes Magnus keeps making at him, wants to glare and snap and tell him to fuck off, but he doesn’t. Just because the cold makes him crabby doesn’t mean he has to be an asshole.

He has a thick will blanket wrapped around him elegantly, like a shawl, while they’re unwrapping presents. Lup smiles brightly at the diamond earrings Kravitz got her, and Taako’s heart swells a little. Angus loves his books. Kravitz gets Taako a set of jewelry done up in gently curling silver and sapphire and pink tourmaline, because he’s a romantic, and Taako tries to ignore how... wiggly it makes him feel.

He wants to kiss him. He doesn’t.

Taako saves Lup’s gift for last, as is tradition.

It’s a tiny little box, which Taako had first been terrified was from Kravitz and then relieved wasn’t, and it’s as light as a feather.

Because, Taako discovers, there’s nothing inside.

Nothing, that is, except a tiny ivory card with scrolling golden text on it. It reads:

Command word: flambé.

Love, Barry and Lup! :)

“What the fuck, Lulu?” Taako asks, turning the card over and over in his hands.

“Oh fuck off, Taako,” Lup says good-naturedly from Barry’s lap. Gross. “You’ll thank me later. Well, thank us.”

And isn’t that fucking cryptic, he thinks. But Lup is Lup. His sister is fucking weird, and he brushes it off in favor of drinking more wine.

It’s a good day, mulled wine and carols and gift-giving, but as all good days do, it winds down sooner than expected. The guests go off to their many rooms, Taako’s house big enough to host them all (by design), and before he knows it, he and Kravitz are headed to bed.

It’s the same old charade. Kravitz goes through the motions, and Taako does too, and it’s awful and stilted and he just wants it to end.

It’s not fair, he thinks, staring at the the bed while Kravitz is still futzing around in the bathroom, a charade of mortality. Kravitz is good. Taako likes him. He’s nice to talk to and doesn’t make Taako feel like he has to perform. He’s a big old nerd and actually really compassionate and sometimes an entity of absolute chaos and he’s perfect for Taako, he really is. So why can’t he just have this? Why does there have to be fucking... roadblocks in the way?

Taako expected things to be hard. He expected having to make things work. Sometimes Kravitz is gone for days going after bounties and Taako can deal with that. There are elements of mortal life Kravitz has to re-learn, and he doesn’t know how to interact in just.. normal society sometimes, and Taako can deal with that. Sometimes he’s a real asshole and gets prickly and offended and impatient after a bad day and Taako can deal with that.

He doesn’t know how to deal with not being able to touch him for months at a time.

He’s shivering just standing there. He needs cover.

But when he pulls back the comforter the sheets are a deep fuchsia. And while it’s a nice color, it looks nothing like his usual ones.

There’s a piece of paper like a letter, there, on his side of the bed under the comforter. It’s the same as the card he found in lup’s gift, and all that’s on it, in that same gold ink, is a winky face.

Taako sighs, long and deep. Because with Lup these things are always a gamble. Is it a gag gift? If Taako says the command word, will his bed explode? He has a horrible flashback to the memory of his first conversation with Kravitz, which was about tentacle porn, and Lup heard it from the umbrastaff, and now she’s given him enchanted bedsheets. Taako pales at the thought.

But here’s the thing: it’s late, and he’s tired, and he can always shut it off because he’s the best wizard in all planar systems, and he’s curious.

He stands, contemplating, cold as balls, for another minute.

And then he says, very deliberately,

“Flambé.”

And for a second it looks like nothing happened. And then it really looks like nothing happened. And then...

Taako can feel the warmth just from standing next to the bed.

It takes him about 0.04 seconds to hop in after that, to pull the sheets up around his shoulders and bury himself under the covers up to his chin.

It’s heavenly. Warmth from all sides, and Taako sighs, long and deep, as he feels tension in his muscles all over his body, held from weeks and months of being cold all the time. Already he can feel the chill in his veins slipping away. He can feel the warmth reaching the core of him, strong and comforting.

He can feel his face flushing, and the warmth rushing up into his long ears.

And then it gets warmer.

And warmer.

Uncomfortably warm.

Taako’s sweating, he realizes. He’s flushed, not in the comfortable way of sitting by the fire. He’s hot like a beach day, hot like a desert plane. He throws the covers off above the waist. It’s not enough. He’s too hot. Much, much too hot.

The door to the bathroom opens up and Kravitz steps out.

“Oh thank god,” Taako says, without thinking, “get the hell over here.” He holds up the blankets on Kravitz’s side of the bed, gestures for him to get in. Kravitz is staring at him like he’s grown an extra head. He slides into bed, slowly, tentative, and Taako practically throws himself on top of him.

The relief of his cold skin isn’t enough through the flannel pajamas Taako’s wearing. He goes for his shirt buttons.

“Taako,” Kravitz says, “what’s happening here?”

“Damn enchanted sheets from Lup are too fucking hot,” Taako grumbles, pulling his shirt off and squirming around with his pajamas pants until those are off too. He tosses them across the room.

Laying across Kravitz’s chest is such a relief. It’s like cold water on a hot day, and Taako spends a luxurious moment running his hands over his chest and shoulders, nuzzles into his neck and revels in the coolness on his face. He sighs, goes boneless against his boyfriend. He feels wonderful.

Kravitz’s arms come up around his back, tentatively holding him, and it hits him.

“Oh shit,” he says, half sitting up. Kravitz looks him in the eyes, questioning.

“That was Lup’s Candlenights gift. It was...” he licks his lips. Why is it so much harder to say things than it is to feel them? “It was this,” he says, running his hands over Kravitz’s chest again.

Understanding dawns in Kravitz’s eyes, and he smiles at Taako, and his smile is like the sun on a warm day.

“Glad I can be your ice pack,” he says, smiling.

“Shut up,” Taako says, resting his head back down, feeling more than hearing the happy little hum Kravitz makes. He snuggles a little closer. Kravitz’s arms tighten around him.

“I missed you,” Kravitz whispers.

And what can Taako do in response to that but kiss him?

“I missed you too, handsome,” he whispers into Kravitz’s lips.

#taz balance #taakitz #taz taako #taz kravitz #taako taaco #kravitz #my fic #desiree: the tumblr sessions #thepensword

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newstfionline · 4 years

Text

Headlines

Images of brutality against Black people spur racial trauma (AP) Since Wanda Johnson’s son was shot and killed by a police officer in Oakland, California, 11 years ago, she has watched video after video of similar encounters between Black people and police. Each time, she finds herself reliving the trauma of losing her son, Oscar Grant, who was shot to death by a transit police officer. Most recently, Johnson couldn’t escape the video of George Floyd, pinned to the ground under a Minneapolis officer’s knee as he pleaded that he couldn’t breathe. “I began to shake. I was up for two days, just crying,” she said. “Just looking at that video opened such a wound in me that has not completely closed.” Johnson’s loss was extreme, but, for many Black Americans, her grief and pain feels familiar. Psychologists call it racial trauma—the distress experienced because of the accumulation of racial discrimination, racial violence or institutional racism. While it can affect anyone who faces repeated prejudice, in this moment, its impact on Black people is drawing particular attention. The unfortunate irony is that the very tool that may be helping to make more people aware of the racism and violence that Black and other people of color face is also helping to fuel their trauma.

Critics question `less lethal’ force used during protests (AP) When a participant at a rally in Austin to protest police brutality threw a rock at a line of officers in the Texas capital, officers responded by firing beanbag rounds—ammunition that law enforcement deems “less lethal” than bullets. A beanbag cracked 20-year-old Justin Howell’s skull and, according to his family, damaged his brain. Adding to the pain, police admit the Texas State University student wasn’t the intended target. Pressure has mounted for a change in police tactics since Howell was injured. He was not accused of any crime. He was hospitalized in critical condition on May 31 and was discharged Wednesday to a long-term rehabilitation facility for intensive neurological, physical and occupational therapy. His brother has questioned why no one is talking about police use of less lethal but still dangerous munitions. “If we only talk about policing in terms of policies and processes or the weapons that police use when someone dies or when they are ‘properly lethal’ and not less lethal, we’re missing a big portion of the conversation,” said Josh Howell, a computer science graduate student at Texas A&M University. The growing use of less lethal weapons is “cause for grave concern” and may sometimes violate international law, said Agnes Callamard, director of Global Freedom of Expression at Columbia University and a U.N. adviser.From 1990 to 2014, projectiles caused 53 deaths and 300 permanent disabilities among 1,984 serious injuries recorded by medical workers in over a dozen countries.

Coronavirus Global Death Toll Passes 500,000 (Foreign Policy) The coronavirus pandemic, about to enter its fifth month this week reached two grim milestones over the weekend: More than 10 million people have been infected with the virus and over 500,000 have died of it. Europe has seen the most deaths of any continent, although its overall caseload is declining. The situation in the Americas is more concerning: Two countries—the United States and Brazil—account for roughly 35 percent of all COVID-19 deaths worldwide and both countries are still seeing new cases in the tens of thousands daily.

Virus hits college towns (NYT) The community around the University of California, Davis, used to have a population of 70,000 and a thriving economy. Rentals were tight. Downtown was jammed. Hotels were booked months in advance for commencement. Students swarmed to the town’s bar crawl, sampling the trio of signature cocktails known on campus as “the Davis Trinity.” Then came the coronavirus. When the campus closed in March, an estimated 20,000 students and faculty left town. With them went about a third of the demand for goods and services, from books to bikes to brunches. Fall classes will be mostly remote, the university announced last week, with “reduced density” in dorms. Efforts to stem the pandemic have squeezed local economies across the nation, but the threat is starting to look existential in college towns. Communities that have evolved around campuses are confronting not only Covid-19 but also major losses in population, revenue and jobs.

Band’s pandemic diversion leads to every-night gig in park (AP) What started as a way for two musicians to get out of the house during the pandemic has turned into nightly concerts at the boathouse in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park—with fans who expect them to play three to four hours a night, seven nights a week. “One day I came here with my guitar out of nowhere, to just get some fresh air. And people just started coming over. And then they were like, ‘Thank you!’ And then it took a life on its own,” said Alegba Jahyile, leader of Alegba and Friends. Jahyile, a Haitian raised in New York who plays guitar, drums and bass, recalled a woman who cried at one concert. “You made my day,” she told him. “It’s been a terrible week for me and my family. Listening to you, singing, I felt the joy, I found a little bit of serenity, of peace to my day.” The area has steps that are good for sitting. It’s also adjacent to a grassy hill where people can bring children and dogs, spread blankets, plop down lounge chairs, and picnic while listening to the music.

World Food Program warns of ‘devastating’ pandemic impact in low- and middle-income countries (Washington Post) The World Food Program (WFP) warned Monday that the socioeconomic repercussions of the coronavirus pandemic will be “devastating” and could trigger food shortages for millions of residents of low- and middle-income nations. In the countries in which the organization operates, the number of people suffering from hunger is estimated to rise by more than 80 percent by the end of 2020, in comparison with pre-coronavirus times. Latin America and Africa are among the most heavily impacted areas. “This unprecedented crisis requires an unprecedented response. If we do not respond rapidly and effectively to this viral threat, the outcome will be measured in an unconscionable loss of life, and efforts to roll back the tide of hunger will be undone,” WFP Director David Beasley was quoted as saying in a release. “Until the day we have a medical vaccine, food is the best vaccine against chaos.”

Iceland’s president wins second term (Foreign Policy) Icelandic President Gundi Johannesson won a second term on Saturday in a landslide victory. Johanneson won 92 percent of the vote, while his right wing challenger Gudmundur Franklin Jonsson received just 7 percent of the vote. The Icelandic presidency is a largely symbolic post, although the president can exercise veto power over legislation.

Britons are fatter than most in the rest of Europe, says PM Johnson (Reuters) British Prime Minister Boris Johnson said on Monday Britons were significantly fatter than people in most of the rest of Europe, admitting he had lost weight after contracting the novel coronavirus. Speaking to Times Radio, Johnson said: “I have taken a very libertarian stance on obesity but actually when you look at the numbers, when you look at the pressure on the NHS (National Health Service), compare, I’m afraid this wonderful country of ours to other European countries, we are significantly fatter than most others, apart from the Maltese for some reason. It is an issue.” “Everybody knows that this is a tough one, but I think it’s something we all need to address.” Johnson did some press ups to show he was “as fit as a butcher’s dog” in an interview with the Mail on Sunday newspaper, just months after he fought for his life in hospital against the coronavirus.

French court convicts former PM Fillon of embezzling public funds (Reuters) A French court on Monday found former French Prime Minister Francois Fillon guilty of embezzlement of public funds in a fake jobs scandal that wrecked his 2017 run for president and opened the Elysee Palace door for Emmanuel Macron. A French court on Monday found former French Prime Minister Francois Fillon guilty of embezzlement of public funds in a fake jobs scandal that wrecked his 2017 run for president and opened the Elysee Palace door for Emmanuel Macron.

Hard times even for homeless (Worldcrunch) Speaking to German newspaper Süddeutsche Zeitung, anthropologist Luisa Schneider described one homeless girl she’s followed. “Before the crisis, she was able to study and wash in cafes or libraries. Neither is possible now.” Schneider expects more Germans to sleep on the streets in the coming months. “Many networks have now collapsed. Even homeless people who used to support each other are now losing sight of each other.” In France, government authorities and NGOs were able to accommodate 177,600 people with shelter during the lockdown period, reports Le Monde. The government has invested more than 2 billion euros helping those without homes, including requisitioning 13,300 hotel rooms. Yet France’s emergency phone number for homeless assistance remains overwhelmed, with over 200 calls on average daily and many unable to secure a temporary housing situation. And as the country continues opening up, it is unclear how long the special accommodation period will last.

Polish election (NYT) Polish President Andrzej Duda failed to win enough of the vote in Sunday’s election to avoid a runoff, according to exit polls, forcing him into what is expected to be a tightly fought contest with the liberal mayor of Warsaw Rafal Trzaskowski next month. Although Duda came out ahead on Sunday, analysts expect that to change in the runoff election in two weeks, as opposition voters whose support was split in the first round unite around Trzaskowski.

Russian state exit polls show 76% so far back reforms that could extend Putin rule (Reuters) Russian state opinion pollster VTsIOM said on Monday that its exit polls showed that 76% of Russians had so far voted to support reforms that could allow President Vladimir Putin to extend his rule until 2036. The nationwide vote on constitutional reforms began on June 25 and is being held over seven days as a precaution against the coronavirus pandemic. If approved, the changes would allow Putin to run twice for president again after his current term expires in 2024.

Militants attack Karachi stock exchange, killing at least 3 (AP) Militants attacked the stock exchange in the Pakistani city of Karachi on Monday, killing at least three people—two guards and a policeman, according to police. Special police forces deployed to the scene of the attack and in a swift operation secured the building, killing all four gunmen. There were no reports of any wounded among the brokers and employees inside the exchange and a separatist militant group from a neighboring province later claimed responsibility for the attack.

China forces birth control on Uighurs to suppress population (AP) The Chinese government is taking draconian measures to slash birth rates among Uighurs and other minorities as part of a sweeping campaign to curb its Muslim population, even as it encourages some of the country’s Han majority to have more children. While individual women have spoken out before about forced birth control, the practice is far more widespread and systematic than previously known, according to an AP investigation based on government statistics, state documents and interviews with 30 ex-detainees, family members and a former detention camp instructor. The campaign over the past four years in the far west region of Xinjiang is leading to what some experts are calling a form of “demographic genocide.” The state regularly subjects minority women to pregnancy checks, and forces intrauterine devices, sterilization and even abortion on hundreds of thousands, the interviews and data show. The population control measures are backed by mass detention both as a threat and as a punishment for failure to comply. Having too many children is a major reason people are sent to detention camps, the AP found, with the parents of three or more ripped away from their families unless they can pay huge fines. Police raid homes, terrifying parents as they search for hidden children.

Thailand opens its borders to some (Worldcrunch) Thailand will allow pubs and bars to reopen on Wednesday and plans to let in some foreign travelers after recording five weeks without any community transmission of the coronavirus, a government official said. Pubs, bars and karaoke venues will be able to operate until midnight as long as they follow safety guidelines such as ensuring two-meter spaces between tables. Foreigners with work permits, residency and families in Thailand will also be able to enter the country, but will be subject to a 14-day quarantine. Visitors seeking certain types of medical treatment such as some cosmetic surgery or fertility treatment could also be allowed into the country.

Balcony churches: Kenyans find new ways to worship in lockdown (The Guardian) The children hang over the balcony railings on Sunday morning. In the parking lot below, a four-person band test microphones and practise harmonies. A moment later, the group fills the Mirema apartment complex in Nairobi with music: “I’m happy today, so happy. In Jesus’s name, I’m happy.” The Rev Paul Machira, a tall, slender beanpole of a man with greying hair, leaps around energetically, encouraging the balcony worshippers to join in prayer. Sporting green overalls embroidered with his nickname, Uncle Paul, the 43-year-old has been traveling around apartment complexes across Nairobi, bringing his balcony services and Sunday school to families since the Covid-19 pandemic closed down places of worship in Kenya on 22 March. Pairing dance moves with their tunes, the band encourage children and their parents to spend the hour dancing and praying together. When Machira realises that a crowd has gathered on the balcony of the apartment building next door, he shifts to a “360 service” to include those neighbours. Machira’s services are by invitation only. He says that the group have had to skip services because some of the neighbours have objected to “noise-makers” in their complex. Machira’s group have been booked for as many as four services in one day before. This popularity means that they sometimes have to split into two, renting an additional van and musical equipment to cover more ground.

#headlines #news

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kireon · 4 years

Text

Store Bought Hero

x-posted from my writing account as well as my author blog.

If natural heroes didn't work, store bought was fine too.

At least, that's what you keep telling yourself. It becomes a mantra as you peruse the discount racks at your favorite clothing store that definitely does not start with 'K'. Setting aside the whole ‘escaped from the lab you were created in’ thing, you haven’t noticed any serious differences between natural heroes and the lab created ones ('store bought', as they say) except for the whole income disparity thing.

Oh, and the sponsors.

Everyone knows natural heroes shopped at Gucci and their sidekicks at Macy's, bare minimum, they simply must be outfitted with the best at all times if they are to be known in the world. You can hear the professor from the labs’ rant clear as day even fifteen years later. While you definitely like a select group of brand name items? You have bills to pay, mouths to feed, and a gigantic fucking load of student loans on your back.

No rich parents, tragic enough backstory, or sponsors for you: a 'store bought'.

With a sigh, you eye a sequined leotard and run your hand up and down the rough fabric. There is something satisfying about the way the colors shift from a too shiny silver to a lurid cherry red. You like shiny. You like shiny an awful lot, as a matter of fact, and that's how you got yourself into this entire mess in the first place.

"How was I supposed to know the stupid anklet was his downfall?" You grumble as you tear yourself away from the sequined nightmare. Restraint isn’t something that comes easily but you’ve had years to practice. A half-hearted paw through the racks of clothing marked at sixty-percent off or more reveals a pair of dark red pleather pants that might just make a good costume base.

"It's not like I walk around with my weakness in plain sight."

It wasn't even a decent anklet either; not even sterling silver or real diamonds or brand name. It was a cheap nickel plated piece of flash and the rash it gave you still itched even a week later. Some sort of curse for the unwary, or so the hero had claimed when you'd given it back to him a day later.

You neglected to inform him of your nickel allergy during the confrontation.

Well, maybe not wisely. You might have been able to get some sort of financial compensation outta him for the damage done to your skin. The rash and blisters did look really awful when he’d caught up with you and he looked horrified when he saw the results.

Heroes had that whole ‘do innocents no harm’ thing, after all.

You'd rather die than admit to anything so common as a nickel allergy, so you accused him of having a curse put on it. He ate up the accusation and used it to his advantage, as they all do. In exchange for falling for the good old fashioned sob story that was your life-- lightly embellished, of course--you had to become his sidekick as penance for your (petty) crimes. Also to completely remove the effects of this nonexistent curse.

After all, you were in ‘dire need’ of a good role model, yadda yadda yadda. You’d stopped listening to his moral prattling about the same time he tried to invoke the ‘daddy issues’ card. The last time someone had pulled that shit on you, they woke up woozy, confused, and completely unaware of the clown makeup as they walked out (pantsless) into the busiest part of the city. Waterproof makeup at that.

Just as a little extra “fuck you” to prove a point; you don’t like doing more than petty retaliation if you can help it.

You can be quite nasty, after all.

In the end, Hero McDadguy puffed up in his usual self-importance and gave you an entire fifty bucks towards a ‘basic’ costume and sent you on your way with a time limit. He was currently busy getting some frothy concoction at that one coffee shop just around the block. Far enough away that it’s a test of trust and boundaries but close enough he can close the gap and probably haul your ass in if he needs to.

The added caveat that you weren’t to embarrass him with your costume choice makes you want to do it even more. The only thing holding you back is the fact that you do have to wear the costume. In public.

Petty and spite take a backseat to pride and self-preservation.

Not like he was one to talk. He had that whole ‘90s cyberpunk meets Dad-on-Tropical-Vacation’ theme going on. Fanny pack, socks with sandals... the works. You’d rather go to jail than try to figure out how to replicate, keep in theme with, or otherwise find something to compliment that mess.

You mutter that very thing under your breath while you snag a few promising pieces-- and the leotard because fuck self-control you deserve something nice-- off the rack and head for the dressing room to start trying things on. Twenty minutes of posing in the mirror in varying outfit combinations later and you ignore the request for 'photo evidence' of you behaving and call your oldest child instead.

“Hey, what’s the name of that one bird that steals shit?” You ask as you shimmy into a pair of leather shorts with sequins on the ass. You’re definitely about ten pounds shy of ‘Juicy’, as the flashy hot pink word on your butt says, but this could very well be the start of something amazing.

“Maybe you wanna be more specific unless you want me to read descriptions for the next ten years?”

Nat is much like you; level-headed, brilliant in school but woefully under challenged, and has the same smart-mouth that had gotten you slapped through a wall once or fifteen times in your early life. You would never lay a hand on your kids regardless of how mouthy they get with you and so have to find other methods of curbing their attitudes when they get too out of line.

There’s a lot of yelling and someone sounds like they’re on the verge of tears in the background. A muffled Nat’s voice tells them to ‘calm the hell down, it’s fine’ before they come back on the line.

“What’s all that about?” You ask as you sift through the tops for something that would go with it. This opportunity might be a wash with how little luck you’re having. Might be time for Plan B- especially if there’s a problem with the kids. Your hand lands on a peacock blue-and-green number that doesn’t look bad but isn’t quite what you’re looking for. Ugh.

It’d clash with that highlighter orange from Mr. I Sweat Burberry Cologne.

Your middle child’s voice is loud and clear on the line now. “If you buy those shorts I am putting myself into the Child Relocation Program and you’ll never see me again.”

You consider it for a moment. Mortal embarrassment of your thirteen year old or being a slightly less fashion disaster than you feel. Tough decision, really. You feel yourself smile after letting Morgan sweat it out just long enough.

“Clean the kitchen and I’ll consider it.”

The quintessential teenage shriek of fury and angst comes loud and clear through the phone. “I knew you were going to say that! You’re the worst!”

Some parents prayed against having a child born with precognitive powers. While annoying to deal with, it’s also a lot of fun to use against them. It makes parenting interesting and more of a game to see just which future the kiddo wants to avoid- or get away with. “

You feel your smile widen at the range of futures said kiddo has likely foreseen. You’ll have so much fun with this particular set of visions and using it like baby photos against them. “So did you clean the kitchen?”

“Duh!” A most indignant tone.

You laugh. You can’t help it. “Put Nat back on the phone.”

“Promise me you’re not buying those first.” Stubborn and firm. A bit of desperation there too. Not quite ready to beg but not all that far off either.

The way they say ‘those’ makes you laugh all over again. “I’m not buyin’ ‘em, don’t worry.”

“And that weird guy isn’t buying them either?”

Damn it. “Nope. He won’t buy them either.” So much for that idea. Maybe you could-

“No stealing them either!”

Double damn it. “Fine, fine; the shorts stay in the store.”

“Thank you.”

The phone goes back to your oldest. “So, about that bird?”

“Jackdaw, Magpie, Corvids.” You hear scratching of pencil on paper. Homework? At, you check your phone, two-seventeen in the afternoon on a Saturday? Your eyes narrow suspiciously.

Who is it you’re talking to and what have they done with your child?

“Corvids? Like crows and shit?”

“Yup. And no, I’m not a body snatcher.”

A grin. “Sounds like something a body snatcher would say.”

Jackdaw didn’t have that something you were looking for. Didn’t roll off the tongue the way it needed to in your head when you imagined some Big Bad Villain spotting you mid-villainous speech. Corvid didn’t either. Crow wasn’t hitting any notes either.

Raven was absolutely taken by no less than eighty-three variations in your city alone.

Rook had some fun possibilities if you had actually bothered playing and learning chess. (You can’t; you can’t sit still or pay enough attention for that shit and you own that.)

Your eyes fall on the silver-and-red sequined leotard again.

You hear your prophecy cursed child screech in despair in the background and the younger two who have gathered to watch the show tell them to shut up.

Nat, ever patient and ever your child, smiles on the other end of the phone. “I think that’s the one, Magpie.”

Magpie... yeah, you like the sound of that one. Magpie it is. “It’ll make a good base; is Morgan--”

“McFreakin’ Losing It? Yep.” You can hear the sounds of pencil scratching against paper again. Curiosity overrules any possible ‘do not need to know’ that you and Nat sometimes stumble into.

“Okay, I’ll bite; what are you doing?”

“Fulfilling the prophecy as foretold by the ancients long ago.” if Nat’s voice were any drier, they’d be dust in a forgotten tomb. “I’m designing the rest of your costume so you’re not a total train wreck and Morgan can die quietly.”

“You’re my favorite.” You say as you gleefully stuff the leotard-- you’ve tried it on twice and know it fits like a dream-- back on its hanger and wiggle out of the shorts. A wiggle that almost ends badly for you, at that, and you can hear the brats laughing at you in the background as Morgan probably mimics how you just about bit it in the dressing room.

“Remember that when I inevitably try your patience in all of forty-five seconds.” Nat hangs up on you and you feel nothing but pride in the way these sassy children have grown up under your less than skilled thumb. You’ve not been the best parent or even the best role model. It’s funny what unresolved childhood issues and bad habits will do, but damn it you have given it everything you have up to and including your favorite line of ‘do as I say not as I do’.

That is your right as a parent, goddamn it, to use that line and they can pry that right from your cold dead fingers.

They’re all good kids. They’re going to end up heroes in their own right with or without superpowers. That, above all else, is all you want for them so that they’re twice as capable as you’ve ever been in your life. Lab created and thus ‘store bought’ or natural born; it doesn’t matter and it never mattered to begin with.

Heroes are heroes in the end and the world could always use another helping hand as it spins through another chaotic cycle.

Your phone beeps and you glance at the text message.

Black thigh high socks. Get two pair. Amazon sucks for deals rn.\

U r not my fave >:(

You scowl and wish the walls would burn as you unfold the crumpled bills at the register. You don’t need Morgan’s gift of prophecy to know what that text message says and yet, like a fool, you look down at it anyway.

There’s a photo of all five of your grinning children holding up score cards. All of them holding 10s.

All of them dressed in Hawaiian shirts.

You have never felt so betrayed in your whole life.

#my writing #store bought heroes #original fic

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a-singleboat · 5 years

Text

Smosh Family Feud

WORD COUNT: 1805

A/N: so, i’m uploading this from mobile and will get back to format it asap when i get home on Tuesday morning!

You glared into the sun from your post next to Noah and Lasercorn. It was getting cooler as the hours clicked on, but the setting sun seemed to be taunting you. It was saying that this day would end and another would have to take its place. On any other day, you’d be fine with it. Today, however, the sun was a timer and it was ticking down how much longer you guys had outside before you had to wrap filming for the day.

You forced your gaze away from the sun in time to see Sarah bounce over to stand in the middle between the two groups. You refocused on your podium and took note of the person counting down behind the camera.

“Smosh Summer Games: Apocalypse!”

Lasercorn made a comment loud enough for his mic to pick it up, sending you into a small fit of giggles. You poked his cheek, a smile gracing your lips, “Old man Corn.”

He swatted your hand away, sounds of protest coming from his mouth.

“Today, we are playing Smosh Family Feud,” Sarah announced, pausing for the several whoops that were let out by the cast. “It’s gonna get nasty, it’s gonna get a little shady and we’re gonna spill all the tea.”

Sarah explained the rules of the game, which was more for the viewers than it was for us. You looked off to Toxicitea’s side, furrowing your eyebrows at what Ian and Joven were up to. They both had their foreheads pressed together while making running movements but moving nowhere.

Sarah explained the punishment, a Holi Powder Slap to the face from the opposite team. You squished your face between your two hands and pouted. A Holi Powder Slap was the last thing you needed.

Soon enough, the first question was asked. Sarah turned to us and proclaimed that we would receive the first question.

“Don’t let us down, Court!” you called, shooting her a supportive thumbs up. “You got this, I love you!”

She glared at you before dropping the mean look and giving you a cheesy grin. “Love you too!”

“My first question to team Mushroom Clout is, we’re gonna start out a little soft,” Sarah glanced down at her cards. “Who on your team would die first during the apocalypse?”

You bit your thumb before scribbling down your answer and flipping your board over.

Sarah asked for Damien’s answer first.

“Love you, Courtney, but Court!”

Courtney took offense to that, playing up her reactions for the camera. She threw her hands up and fell onto her podium in semi-defeat.

Keith’s answer came next, working down the line until it reached you.

“I’m so sorry, but I put Damien,” you flipped your board for the camera to see. You put up your hands in self-defense, rocking back slightly, “But only because I feel like he’d go back for someone or he’d make the sacrifice play for his friends!”

“No yeah, that makes sense,” Shayne shouted from the opposite end of the line. “Damien would one-hundred percent make the sacrifice play.”

The votes were tallied up as one for Courtney, one for Keith, one for Damien, and two for Noah.

“So, Courtney, who did you think would die first in an apocalypse?”

Courtney whipped around to look at Damien. “First of all,” she started, “Damien, I am hurt. I would kill it in the apocalypse. But, you know I picked the person, the only person who doesn’t have a driver’s license.”

She flipped her board to reveal Keith’s name written down. You clapped politely and stood quietly for the opposing team to take their turn. By now, the sun was on a steady decline downwards and you could see the golden hour coming into play.

The next question for your team was, “Who on your team has the worst style?”

You looked at each person individually before your eyes settled on Lasercorn. You sent him an apologetic look before quickly jotting his name down. The votes for this round ended up being five votes for Lasercorn.

“I’m sorry, dad, but have you seen what you’ve decided to wear today?”

Lasercorn looked down at his outfit and motioned wide. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

You turned and pointed at the camera, “Nothing! Hashtag Rep Mushroom Clout!”

“Wait, no, don’t change the subject. What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“I don’t know, dad. You tell me!” You used that bit to garner a few laughs before hugging it out with your Smosh dad. You both refocused on Damien at the guessing booth and crossed your fingers in anticipation for Damien’s answer.

“Real quick,” Damien said. “Noah, your style is wacky weird. And like good is subjective, you know? And Lasercorn wears a lot of video game shirts, I wear a lot of video game shirts.”

Your eyes widened at what Damien was implying. “Damien, tell me you didn’t!”

“No, you’re right I didn’t. But I did put Lasercorn down.”

The whole group came together at Damien’s words, screaming and generally being crazy. Courtney beelined for you and snuck a kiss onto your cheek. You instantly felt your face heat up at the content and hid bashfully behind your hands.

You watched Wes get voted as least funniest for their group, though he was okay with that. The round wrapped up with Toxicitea in the lead, ten to six. The odds were not looking so good for Lasercorn’s streak.

“Alright, Mushroom Clout’s turn,” Sarah whipped out her cards again and flipped to the next question. “Who on your team would ditch you guys to hang out with a celebrity?”

“Well, you know he’s really just one of my best friends but I feel like sometimes he’s just way too cool for me,” you flipped your board to reveal Keith’s name. “Keith, I love you and I know you would never intentionally hurt me or anyone else like that, but if Michael Jackson came back to life specifically for you, you wouldn’t say no.”

By the end of the voting, the points had rallied up as four for Keith and one for Courtney.

“This has really given me some time to self reflect, but at the same time,” Keith pointed at you. “My homegirl, Y/n knows me too well, I would leave y’all motherfuckers in a heartbeat to hang at the Jackson’s house.”

The way that the votes swung put both teams on equal ground, and it stayed like that for basically the whole time, forcing a tiebreaker round to be played.

“It’s time for the tiebreaker,” Sarah announced. “This question is for everyone on the cast. Who out of everyone-two people-do you think has the best ship?”

You contemplated for a moment before jotting down Shayne and Courtney’s names, thinking that besides from you and Courtney, those two would be an obvious choice. The only reason you didn’t put yourself was that you and Courtney haven’t really told the fans about your relationship, wanting to let it flourish without any outside input.

Courtney’s final answer proved your thinking right she revealed her answer to be herself and Shayne.

Toxicitea all voted, two for Iancorn, Two for Shourtney, and one for Ian and Anthony. Ian flipped his own board, revealing Shourtney as his answer. As Toxicitea celebrated their win, Matt Raub called you off to the side. He handed you the box that you had asked him to hold onto before this video’s shooting and gave you a thumbs up. “We’ve stopped shooting for now so you could do this.”

You thanked Matt before slowly walking back over to your podium. If you did this, there would be no going back, no matter the answer though you hoped it to be yes. You blinked, running your fingers over the soft velvet of the case and making up your mind. You put the box behind you, tucking it into your waistband, and marched over to where Sarah stood.

“Okay, while Shayne and Courtney was the winning choice, I have something to say.” Celebrations stopped in their place as curiosity overtook the group.

“Listen, Courtney and I have been together for a little over a year and a half but we’ve known each other since we were both Smosh babies.” You held out your hand to your girlfriend and she walked over and took it. You squeezed her hand tightly in your own. “We may both just be two women of Smosh, but right now, I am a woman about to ask the love of her life a very important question.”

You bent down on one knee and pulled the box out from your waistband. “My grandmother gave me this ring right before she passed and told me that I’d know what to do with it. And now that I’m on my knees in front of you, I know I’ve made the right choice.”

Courtney started to cry, all attempts to stop the tears failed as more kept coming.

“Courtney Ruth Miller, will you marry me?”

“Yes!” She pulled you up from your kneeling position and pulled you in for a kiss. The two of you separated long enough for you to slide the ring onto her finger before you were kissing again. All your friends cheered in the background, Joven going as far as to shout, “Get it, Y/n!”

Courtney laughed and pulled away and walked over to Ian, pulling him up to you. “So, get this though, Y/n,” Courtney held out her hand to Ian who had pulled out a near-identical box that was the same save for the color.

You watched as she got down on one knee. “I’ll only be accepting your proposal if you accept mine!”

Your friends started to scream in excitement, the two teams merging together. You laughed at the hilarity of it all before pulling her up and kissing her once more. “Of course, I’ll marry you.”

Courtney slipped the ring onto your finger and you both held up your hands, showing off the rings to your friends.

Eventually, Matt Raub had to intervene so that the punishment could be filmed while there was still sunlight out. After getting slapped by Olivia, you stumbled off to the side to blink out any holi powder that may have gotten into your eye, even if you were told it was safe.

Once everyone had been slapped, you found your way to Courtney’s side to watch Lasercorn tackle Ian after his slap.

“You know, people are gonna comment on our rings and we haven’t been public at all with our relationship.”

“Well then, I think it’s time we were.” Courtney kissed the side of your head. “Maybe a wedding planning video or a wedding dress shopping vlog.”

“I think that that would be an amazing idea.”

A /N: part two is a possibility with the “wedding footage”

ALSO; reminder that the red light green light survey is still up until tonight!

RED LIGHT GREEN LIGHT IS NO LONGER OPEN, BUT 8/1′S SURVEY IS

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euphoricpixi3 · 6 years

Text

So we meet | Part One of Tattoo Artist!Yoongi au

Summary: the one where Yoongi needs someone

Warnings: panic attack

▹author’s note↴

I wrote this at 3 a.m. and i’m posting this at 4 a.m. My heart went soft on this one. Tell me if I should write the other parts too! I would like to hear your feedback on this one!

☾ ☾ ☾

Yoongi is tired, so fucking tired. His brain is on five percent battery, the heavy jacket hanging on his bony shoulders became heavy bones. He sits heavily in the back of the tattoo parlor, neon signs flickering on and off in the dark exposing cobwebs in every corner of the room.

There are days the tiredness comes in various forms, physical and mental. But now, his body needs to rest yet his mind needs it to move, to burn the anxiety that had deeply soaked into him. Without some kind of movement his mind will keep him up all night long and that would be already the third time this week.

Every night is a futile tussle of conflicting thoughts. He doesn’t want to sleep. He just spent fourteen hours working and he is not ready to wake in the morning to rinse and repeat. His second voice chastises him, the longer he lie in that bed the more chance of sleep he had and the better tomorrow will be. But he knows that between now and the return of daylight are his zombie hours- when he is mostly awake but dozing in fitful spurts. Six hours will feel like sixty yet he’ll rise as if it was less than ten minutes of down time, just as exhausted as he is now. Then he'll put on the wrong clothes, leave the milk on the counter and color another person.

Fuck, his head is pounding now, his eyelids impossibly heavy, the flickering sign messing with his migraine. He sigh standing up, hands gripping the cushion sides deadly, so he wouldn’t pass out right there and be a surprise for his coworker in the early morning.

Just imagining the care and concern he would receive sends shivers down his spine.

Yeah, not happening.

After few heavy breaths that sends his body into another sea of ache he makes his way towards the door and shallowly smile as he hears the rain drops smashing against the dirty concrete.

He sighed heavily, the fresh air brushing his cheeks. It was still hot outside, but when the night came, the salty wind made the temperature a bit chilly, making goosebumps rise on his skin.

He started to walk, hood up and fingers twitching inside his pockets, the world seems like a painting, as rain gets in his eyes.

He stopped taking deep breaths with his eyes closed, feeling the wind around him. He took a deep sigh, stretching his neck, before opening his eyes, but everything felt fake. He gulped the lump in his throat, his stomach tight. The familiar feeling was growing in him, almost paralyzing his limbs. He stumbled a bit, chocking on his spit. He sat down on the sidewalk, taking deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

His shoulders were tense, hands shaking slightly as he tried to calm down.

He’s pathetic, what kind of tattoo artist can’t stop his hands shaking?

Only then he realized it wasn’t the rain that got into his eyes, it was tears all this time.

And that only made him more pathetic.

“Are you alright?”

Yoongi lifted his head, vision blurred by the tears which he tried so hard to keep in, he opened his mouth slightly and closing it as soon as the sob broke away.

He wanted to scream that no, nothing was right.

But all he did was cry, hands securely wrapping around his knees, his bones painfully crushing against the wall.

The lights around him blurry and almost aesthetically out of focus, reminding him of one of those trendy photos on Instagram will blurry lights. Now he was in the frame, held against his own will by the anxiety that ironically became a part of him, a trait he would mention when describing himself.

The girl soaked from head to toes crouched down next to Yoongi.

“I know it may seems impossible, but I need you to take deep breaths, okay bud?” she said in reassuring tone.

She was taking a deep inspiration, gesturing it with one hand, the other trying to block the rain.

And if Yoongi wasn’t so tensed up, he would’ve chuckled.

When Yoongi looked like he had calmed down, she helped him stand up, her hands secured around his waist keeping him steady.

“C’mon, let’s go to my shop” said the female.

Tears now mixed with rain still streamed down his face as they walked into a shop. The air was perfumed by the heavy scent of the flowers. The sweet, almost sickly, smell cut through the bubble of tiredness and as he felt the soft cushion against his body, he was paralyzed and so, so terrifyingly tired.

Her voice was coming through like she was using a plastic cup and thread to talk to him, so far away and so incomprehensible.

He wanted to shake her by her shoulders and tell her to speak up, but His jaw went slack. His eyes glazed over blankly and his head nodded forward.

Next thing - whomp!

He winced as the strays of sun forayed through his closed eyelids. He felt heavy, his body resting on probably the comfiest piece of mattress he had ever experienced.

It was even better than the embrace of his best friend Namjoon, who would scoop once in a blue moon and that is saying something.

But once the sickly smell broke through again, he jolted now completely wide awake.

Looking around all he saw were pastel walls and flowers. So many blooming flowers making his head spin once again.

“I don’t think you should be standing, perhaps you should lay down” a voice behind him said.

He turned around meeting a smaller girl.

“W-what happened?” he mumbled, voice still raspy. He had the time to gulp down the nervous lump forming in his throat.

“You were having a panic attack in the middle of a street at 3 a.m.”

Yoongi winced, gaze falling to his feet. No one was supposed to know about that. No one was supposed to know about his weaknesses.

He could feel the concern emanating from her and it made his stomach tight and warm. She laid her hand lightly on his shoulder and instead of flinching like he usually did to any kind of skin contact, he was soothed by it, it felt as if he was in a blanket of her caring.

It felt strange and unknown.

But addicting, god it was addicting.

Both of them sat on the cold ground as the place didn’t have anything else.

“Sorry” she murmured the blush already appearing on her skin “I’m new here, so there isn’t much yet”

Yoongi nodded knowingly, that’s why he had never seen before.

It’s not often that a flower shop or a bakery would appear in this sketchy neighborhood, so a part of him wanted to tell her to go away back where she belongs, but his buried selfishness kept his mouth shut, he was scared she would actually leave.

Yoongi tugged his sleeves up exposing the ink on his porcelain skin. The lines weren’t neat and something looked off but that’s how he learned to make tattoos in the first place, on his own body with his own shaky hands.

Only now her eyes skipped through his art, a large tattoo of daffodils growing through a heart with stems coming down to his wrist, colorful and messy in a watercolor style. On his right collar is a simple black tattoo saying “Bad lover”, his right wrist shows another saying “tragic”.

There were many written lines making her heart ache.

Yoongi has a hard time saying what he feels, it’s very complicated for him to express himself. While it brings hardships with his personal life, that’s why he focuses so much on expressing himself with his art. It’s sadly poetic, to be honest. He’s good at what he does solely because he suffers and has to cope somehow.

How can he pick himself up and hit the ground running towards the sun when he is running towards the cold?

The temperature in room is rising to cancel out his freezing heart and maybe this time he will accept it.

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thedovahcat · 5 years

Text

And Then There Was...Wildstar

Since today is the anniversary of the shut down announcement, or at least I think it is, and cuz I’m a copycat and I’ve seen a few people’s introspective posts flying around my dash today, it’s time to add my experience to the pile.

Where do I even begin with Wildstar? It came around during an EXTREMELY volatile time in my life, aka the end of the teens and my early twenties. The real ‘formative years’ if you asked my opinion on it.

I had been an avid WoW fan since I could first play at the age of 13, which had to have been about 2007-2008 abouts. When 2013 or so rolled around, I had been told by friends that a new MMO was coming out, and that it was all space-western-y, my two greatest loves.

Naturally I waited, along with everyone else for a beta, and got in and instantly fell in love with what we’d come to know as Nexus. I was star-struck. The art, the music, the style, the humor, everything hit home with me like no other game had at that point, and I was ready to throw WoW to the wind to go full time and soak up as much of those space rays as I could. And it was even better because it was going to be with friends! I had already established I wanted to bring Rev over and start anew in the Dominion. I had so many new plotlines and ideas whirling around in my head faster than a tornado over a bee farm.

Unfortunately, during this time as well, I saw Wildstar as an escape.

I was being bullied away from WoW at the time by someone who wanted what I had. You think, “Who would do that?? What did they try to do, Dovah?” Many things really. At first they were small aggressions disguised as an interest in trying to befriend me, then that curtain dropped and the aggressions got bigger and bigger.

It was like watching something rot out from the inside. Was I absolutely jealous they were trying to steal a close-now-best friend from me?? Absolutely. I knew it was intentional. I could see it written on the walls. And while I was accustomed to this kind of shit occurring in real life and on the internet to some degree, it only really hurt because for a while, nobody believed me.

Rumors had been planted, people had been told lies and god knows what else, that I was the bad guy of this story. Accused of doing everything that was being done towards me at the same time. It was just another episode of ‘Who Started The Drama’ on Wyrmrest Accord, business as usual amiright?

And I won’t lie, I did try to retaliate several times to stop everything. I got desperate. Said things I meant, said things I didn’t mean, to the point where I couldn’t tell which was which anymore. Everything was wrapped in a huge burrito of panic and fear. And will I be ashamed of that, possibly for the rest of my life? Absolutely positively one hundred percent yes.

After a while, I didn’t fight back anymore. I didn’t make public call-outs, naming names. Sure, did I tell people about it if they asked? Of course, but in private only (because it turned out they too had suffered a similar situation like I was at the time.) Or, sometimes I told people unprompted in private because we happened to talk about our experiences being caught in drama, and I never hesitated to give my side of the story. The side that was RARELY ever heard, to my knowledge. I wanted as many people as possible to know what this person was like and what they were doing to me. For my own sanity, and for the sake of getting the truth out there in some form or another. It was relatively contained as far as I knew, so I rolled over onto my back, ready to accept my lot in life once again as someone’s punching bag because they were jealous of me and what I had and just would NOT go away no matter what happened. Naturally, I thought it really was all my fault that this was happening. We all jump to that conclusion at least once or ten times.

And then came Wildstar, and it had started to look very tempting.

I could start over. I could get away from it all. I could play with my friends ‘in secret’ and not have to worry about being slandered or god knew whatever ELSE had been done at that point on WoW, or wherever else.

Foolish was I to think that my troubles had ended there.

Many people from WoW came to play Wildstar, which was both a blessing and a curse. Moreso the latter in my case.

The person in question found out, began to main the same faction, and just put their hands on everything all over again. I felt as though I had hit a reset button, everything just started over once again. They told people about me, they got me blacklisted and blocked from one of the biggest RP guilds ever to hit the server at the time, and who knows where it branched out from there.

I went silent again. Kind of like a dog with its tail between its legs. The Dominion was no place for me, so, what was I to do?? I didn’t want to abandon this game and world I’d come to love so much in such a short amount of time.

I had never taken an interest in the Exiles. For some reason they hadn’t appealed to me at first. They were the overrated good guys. The underdogs that would always win. I wanted to play the ‘bad guys’ and do my whole spiel about making them more than JUST the bad guys.

But suddenly? As dramatic as it sounds, the Exiles, suddenly sounded very appropriate, in terms of matching up to how I felt.

Exiled. For stupid shit ‘crimes’ I never ‘committed.’

So, I rolled up my sleeves and rerolled Rev’s character, deciding to branch him out in a different direction entirely. I ended up with Roger, and was dumped out into the Gambler’s Ruin, the complete shamble-of-an-arkship. And after that? The frosty bitter cold of the Northern Wastes.

My friend had offered to make another character with me, so that we could play together without being bothered. I had a glimmer of hope. Everything wasn’t over and I wasn’t dead yet (but man did I feel it) and so I pressed onwards.

I saw Algoroc for the first time and all its rolling plains and roans and the mountains and the whole wide open range. It felt so much different than the stormy Levian Bay, or the dark and gloomy Ellevar. The music was lighter, more upbeat, more ‘western’, which is silly because I had stated earlier that that was what I was looking forward to the most. The WESTERN COWBOY YEEHAW aspect of it.

Things were brighter, no less colorful, happier, hopeful. There was SO much land to explore and so many things to do. I was ready. Ready to start all over one more time. So I did.

I made my way through the area, learning about the Exiles and their culture, and the Eldan and whatever sinister happenings they had going in beneath the surface.

Before I knew it, I had reached Thayd, and was absolutely blown away by the size of the city. I was used to large environments from WoW, no doubt. But Thayd felt so interactive for some reason or another. Maybe it was the art style or the NPCs inhabiting it (and the players of course). But it felt alive. There were so many nooks and crannys to get lost in, how will I ever see this whole entire city?? I wondered.

It was a broken mish-mash of all that the Exiles slapped haphazardly together. Different people that didn’t fit together, trying to make something out of lots of little pieces of seemingly nothing.

It was a whole symbolic thing for me essentially.

After that I felt like I was home, in yet another dramatic sense.

Thayd felt right, what with its trashy streets and mismatched themes. Illium and its golden and crimson towers had never struck me as somewhere I belonged.

From that point on, things blur. I explored Galeras after that, introduced to the dire situation that was the Dominion descending upon the Exiles, ready to blast them all to kingdom come to reclaim a planet they believed theirs. I felt the tension, in a good way. It was a great story waiting to unfold, I thought. And I get to see it all from the beginning and be a part of it. I was absolutely ecstatic.

And then, from there, I went to Whitevale. One of the most FRUSTRATING ZONES I will never forget. I don’t even remember why. Maybe it was the size. Over time, I grew to love it in its own weird way, only because I departed for the damn MOON (Farside) afterwards and realized I hated the lack of gravity.

But, despite all. I had so much fun.

I thought about Roger and how he’d come to the Exiles, because I still wanted him to have a connection to the Dominion somewhere. I wanted to try exploring new character tropes and such with him, I wanted to be bold and take chances with ideas and do things I’d rarely seen people do (in my case? Traumatic brain injuries, good going.) I did myresearch, I kept exploring the world, I put all the pieces together little by little and I crafted a story. A story that grew larger and larger and larger and branched out to other characters I created alongside just Roger.

Suddenly I had an entire ‘world’ on my hands. Maybe not one the size of all of Nexus in this instance, but it was ROGER’S world.

I had locations planned thanks to the housing system, I had different story lines going alongside the ‘main one’. Every so often they would mesh and meet up and affect one another, and the ‘world’ would continue to grow from there.

These characters, new as they were, suddenly had lives. They had history, they had jobs, they had all those little aspects of fictional characters that bring them to life. Personalities, likes and dislikes, feelings, all of it. I was no stranger to creating characters, of course they did! In fact, most of them were based off many existing characters I had already HAD, just Wildstar-ified.

Over time, they became their own separate entities, only because they had grown and branched out into different directions I had never dreamed they would.

I don’t remember how long I had been in this enormous creative process of planting my roots. Maybe a year or two? It didn’t really matter. I was having the absolute time of my life.

However, on the back burner I knew all those awful things were still being said about me out there. I continued to play the game and storycraft mostly by myself. I knew if I stayed away from the masses that were WSRP, then no one would ever have any ‘proof’. No one could twist anything I said, or twist interactions I had with people, and use it against me.

You can’t accuse someone of something or things when all they do is play by themselves in their own little box all day long, can you? That was my line of logic.

Naturally I still got blocked from people’s tumblrs and such, which I found out on complete accident when I would try to fav posts. I never showed up to events. I did my artwork and only did artwork of my or my friends characters. Everything was very controlled.

And then one fucking day in August, my name gets tagged in someone’s call out post. At first I fucking panic, because of course. What did I do NOW? I made EXTRA SURE to stay out of everyone’s way. Who could POSSIBLY HAVE A BEEF WITH ME-

I checked the post.

Turns out, I wasn’t the one being called out.

No.

It was that person who’d been HOUNDING me for several years at that point, who was finally being called out.

The original poster had mentioned my name because, according to their words, and I’ll never forget it, ‘they heard through the grapevine’ that all that nasty crap had happened to me. Turns out, I wasn’t the only one who had been treated this way. MANY other people had been. There had to have been a good two handfuls of them out there, maybe more, who had been harassed by this person and their crummy friends. I was named in the post, and all the abuse I had took was relayed to the entire damn community (however it was worded in a way that it had to have been from an outsider’s perspective who’d heard the rumors spread about me, and never spoke to me directly. Cuz I didn’t know ANY OF THESE people and some of the details were wrong...but I digress.)

My business was practically on the front page of the Wildstar and WoW RP community (A smaller portion of the latter.) People had known about what happened to some degree. They had been on the receiving end of these rumors, they heard all the bullshit, they looked me up, they saw I had no dirt to my name. Never did anything to anybody. Maybe some of the stories I had told got relayed to them via playing telephone with other people, I’ll have no real way of knowing for certain.

If people didn’t know me then, they sure knew me NOW, I thought.

It turned into a hot fucking mess after that. People came out with their stories, people got angry at the victims, or at the abuser. There was collateral damage from what I could see from my spot in the corner.

That bad person was supposedly reprimanded by their guild leader for the backlash they received, though I’ll never know how big it actually was. It was probably really small, realistically. But like I said, I don’t know.

It was only then that I was finally believed. Like, completely. There were always little shreds of doubt with people, but this? This blew it out of the water.

I wasn’t at fault. People saw it wasn’t my fault.

I felt…

Liberated?? Like the shackles of this depressive, anxious...whatever DISASTER state I was in, finally broke off. And so QUICKLY too. I didn’t really know what the hell to do. There was nothing I COULD do except move on and try to recover.

It was OVER. It was finally fucking over and I was at a loss, because I had grown used to living in a state of panic and sadness and anger and god knows what else.

So, slowly, I started to.

I came to the conclusion, now that it was over, or ‘over’, I wanted to make some new friends.

Roger and company had already been set up and I found very little wiggle room for collaboration with people I didn’t know. So? What better way to fix that than make a new character to use to reach out to new folk?

I grabbed one of my older characters I salvaged from a falling out I had had before this entire post began, fixed him up and threw him into Thayd face first.

And so was the infamous Captain Yaedra reborn. With an e added to his fake name because it was ‘Yadra’ before, yet for some reason both names are said exactly the same way.

I had no idea what to do with him. I hated elves. I hated long ears. They were boring. Everyone was making them and beautifying them and whatever else. I was salty. I wanted to create a raccoon more than I wanted an elf.

The zombie aesthetic definitely helped me some.

I played through all the Mordesh areas, trying to learn as much as I could about their history, about Grismara, about the Contagion.

A zombie story...it utterly fascinated me. And considering I had not changed Captain’s outfit design from his original self in the slightest? Once more, I rolled up my sleeves and began to craft a world. Another world.

Yaedra’s entire world. And by extension, my own version of a portion of Grismara.

His hometown, his career, his life, his family, every little bit. I brought it all to life once more, and soon found myself living in the ‘past’ as much as I was living in the ‘present’. As far as character timelines go.

During all this, I tried being nice to random people, or I saw art and commented on it, I tried to be more open with the community, I even joined another small guild and in the end I ended up making some really great friends who I still talk to today!

They loved what I had created. And I loved their creations in turn. We formed a tight knit group of ‘heroes’ if you would. Got into all kinds of IC shenanigans. It was fun, it was silly, it was dramatic. I didn’t feel any pressure to be anyone in particular. I felt like I could be myself, and so could Captain. We were where we belonged. And it was fantastic. And still is.

From there, I met some of their friends, and so on and so on, and I did end up gaining a small bit of presence in the community via commissions and doing my own artwork as well. Things were finally nice, and calm.

I felt like I had waded through a war of some kind, and finally, at long last, it was OVER. Peace had finally COME. I had gone through a lot of mental trauma, but as the months and several years went on, I slowly came around. I tried very hard to. My dragon scales grew thicker as time went on, and my flames certainly hotter.

And, after a while… I found myself playing Wildstar less and less. Not because I hated it, not at all. But because it no longer felt like a crutch to me. I no longer felt as though I needed it to stay afloat. I had grown and changed, for the better no doubt. I learned to stand my ground from all the knocks I had taken, I learned to start speaking up when things were being done to me that weren’t right, or nice, or whatever. Did I end some friendships that way? Sadly, yes.

But I was done. I wouldn’t be ANYONE’S punching bag anymore.

The Exiles toughened me up. I wasn’t about to take ANYONE’S crap and neither was Captain. Both of us, fists BARED.

My time on Nexus dwindled even more.

I went back to WoW out of habit, and spent more time there. Soon enough I was hardly logging onto Wildstar at all. Many people were bored of the game’s lack of ...everything. Content most certainly. You could only do the same things so many times. I wasn’t part of a huge RP guild that constantly had events going, though I was by the end (but even that was kind of flakey because people just weren’t as interested in the game as they had once been.)

I hadn’t thought much about my story lines or characters. They had, over time, fallen into situations and such that I had long resolved. My ‘characters’ were tired of adventure and drama, and I wanted to give them a chance to have their happily ever afters, via ‘soft-retiring’ them. I still wrote stuff and drew art on the side, just….less of it.

In the months before Wildstar, I rarely thought about Nexus at all.

Until the horn sounded with Wildstar’s imminent closing.

For months prior to that, I had been sitting and watching. I knew it had been on the way. NC SOFT being...NC SOFT of course (with Carbine’s mismanagement in general, though at the time I did not know about this,) made this more than obvious.

So it didn’t come as a surprise to me.

If anything, I felt a sort of subdued melancholy about it.

If I can compare it to anything, it was like watching a pet or something grow old. There was the initial excitement of a new friend, and the beginning years were amazing and fast and fun filled and emotional. And then over time, things grew comfortable. I didn’t need to give Nexus my full attention anymore. ‘We’ had this ‘understanding.’ I could always go back to Nexus whenever I wanted. I always had a place there waiting for me. Characters, fun, stories, etc.

And then I began to move on.

Wildstar for me was a lot of things. It was a period of mental destruction, it was a period of rebirth and growth for me as a person, it was a reminder of the roller coaster ride that was good and bad times all bundled into one. It was my ‘growing up’ period. It was the rocky road of a transitional phase from the end of my childhood, to the beginning of my adult years.

Yes I know this might sound silly, all over an MMO that barely lasted at all, and the last thing I wanna do is be silly, but it’s how I felt. I’m not going to try to disguise it as something else, because that was what it all was to me.

The months sped by and before I knew it, it was the last day the server was up. Wildstar would be closing that evening or afternoon, or whatever. I don’t recall the time.

I had sat there debating whether or not to attend that final count down.

A part of me wanted to. I wanted to be there, to send off this MMO that had meant so much to me!

But another part of it told me to not go.

In the end, I did not go.

Not because I would be crying, or throwing a fit or whatever.

The main reason I didn’t go, was because I wanted to remember Nexus the way it was. I didn’t want to see people bunched up in one area, being turned into all sorts of critters, I didn’t want the lag to destroy my computer, I didn’t want to see their storm of messages and how sad everyone was, I didn’t want to read the Caretaker’s countdown messages saying how he’d miss us, in his own special way.

To me, all that meant Wildstar was due to die at any moment. That Nexus would suddenly cease to be, that all these things everyone worked so hard on, would just be gone, in the blink of an eye.

I didn’t want that to be the last memory I had of that place.

And so, the shut down came. The night went on.

I woke up the next morning, and everything felt ok, for the most part. Yes I felt like I was missing a piece of myself, but it was a lot smaller than I can say for some people.

The hole I had in my heart had mostly patched itself up with nicer memories. With the possibilities that were yet unexplored.

As far as I WAS, and am, aware? Nexus isn’t dead. Not at all. It’s just sleeping, for right now. It’s taking a well needed rest. It’s not really gone.

All the stories, all the characters, they exist in our head spaces. They still go on. I still write for them occasionally.

If anything, I feel like they have even MORE to explore now.

These days, people are working or playing already on private servers, and while I entertain the idea of joining one or finding another group to play with… Well, that’s all it really ends up being. An idea.

I’m perfectly happy with what I got out of Wildstar, and what I got to take away from it and keep.

I grew as a person, albeit the hard way (but that’s just how it is sometimes.) My creativity grew, my ability to make better stories and characters grew alongside that. I made new friends that I still keep to this day. That bad person got their just desserts and my most-likely-over-exaggerated-because-I’m-sure-people-have-gone-through-worse-torment was finally put to rest. I had more confidence in myself, yada yada… You get the idea.

Everything had resolved, for the most part.

Everything was said and done, regarding that chapter of my life.

And what a ride it was.

BUT I have to say, if there’s one specific thing I favor, that I got from this entire putrid mess that I would do it all over again for??

I got Cap back.

So, thank you for returning my raccoon to me, Nexus. I’ll never forget it. One day when those private servers are finished and the game is mostly restored, I’ll definitely come back to play through it again, and most likely come up with even more new adventures for me to write and explore.

Until then, cupcakes! Dovah signing off on this...eight page story-rant!

#wildstar #i didnt mention EVERYTHING in here because it would be even longer #but for the most part this was my experience #and i wouldnt trade it for the world

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cravingcrazewriting · 5 years

Text

youwillbefound.org

Trigger Warning- Mentions of suicide attempt and suicidal thoughts.

youwillbefound.com is a safe haven for any troubled teens/young adults who are looking for someone to find them. This site intends on being a place to reach out to others and to find them as you wold want yourself. Harassment is strictly prohibited. If we find you are abusing this site to target and harass people who are suicidal then you will be banned firstly for a week, secondly for a month, and thirdly will be a permanent ban and removal of your account. We hope you find whatever you're looking for on youwillbefound.com and we wish you the best of luck! Have a fantastic day!

What was Evan doing?

It wasn't like him to get a social media. It wasn't like him to rely so much on people, but yet he did, for no reason whatsoever. He did meet someone who he could trust, and needed help as much as he did. It was nice. He only had a few other friends who friended him out of pity.

He was currently on his laptop, writing his therapy letter, when he heard his phone go off.

HighandAllMighty: hey dude, wuts up?

Evan made a smile. High, that's what Evan nicknamed him due to privacy issues, was one of his closest friends, he'd even call him a best friend. High suffered from Anxiety and Bipolar, and had a very hard time making friends due to all of his outbursts. On the internet, he was able to calm himself down and not act rashly, but sometimes would assume the worst and snap at Evan a few times, but when that did happen, he'd awake to multiple apologizes from High.

High admitted to smoking openly, from cigarettes to weed, mainly because the way it calmed him down and less likely to snap at people. Evan didn't really mind this, since High's parents didn't get him any medication to him. If it helped, then that was that.

AnAnxiousTeen: Nothing much, just sitting in bed. I might write my therapy letter soon. What about you?

HighandAllMighty: sweet. Honestly I'm just dazing in and out atm. Me and my family just ate and my dad is trying to start shit again. HighandAllMighty: so the usual bs

AnAnxiousTeen: I'm so sorry.. I wish I could help you.

HighandAllMighty: Nah, don't be. U should probably start your letter.

AnAnxiousTeen: Well you know I hate writing them so I'd rather not heh

HighandAllMighty: hey, can I ask u something kinda important?

AnAnxiousTeen: Sure! Ask away!

HighandAllMighty: can we FaceTime? HighandAllMighty: I know u might not want to bc of ur anxiety HighandAllMighty: it was just something I wanted to try, if you wanted to at least

AnAnxiousTeen: I'm.. not sure.. I need time to think this over. AnAnxiousTeen: My mom is still home, so I can't right now.

HighandAllMighty: I understand. It's ok

Evan was trying not to freak out.

He was scared. He was scared he'd disappoint High. Incredibly scared of the mental image he imaged him looking like and being a huge let down and not being able to say anything and make things ten times worse than what they are and-

"Honey! I'm heading out! There's a twenty on the counter! Please get something to eat while I'm gone! Love you, bye!" Heidi called from downstairs, pulling Evan out of his thoughts. A moment later a door closing could be heard.

Evan sighed and ran his fingers through his messy blonde hair. There was another complication; he had completely fallen for High, one hundred percent in love.

HighandAllMighty: ah man, I'm rlly srry. My dad is gonna take my phone. HighandAllMighty: we'll talk later, k?

AnAnxiousTeen: I understand. I'll see you when you get back!

HighandAllMighty: in one week. Bye bud

Evan laid down on his bed. A whole week?! This obviously wasn't the first time it happened, but would that stop him from missing him? No. Definitely not. It'd be a lonely week without him.

This would be a long week

~~~ It was only Tuesday.

High had his phone taken on Saturday, so they were completely out of touch for tree days straight so far, and Evan was miserable and lonely.

Evan was sitting in his room, unenthusiastically working on homework. He was sinking into a depressive state. He'd never admit to it, but there was something wrong, that he just wasn't happy. He let out a sigh, setting his pencil down and grabbing his phone. The only notifications he had was some posts from people he liked, and a text from Jared.

Jared K: U have math done?

Evan H: -Evan H has sent a picture-

Jared K: thanks

Well, that made Evan feel even more like shit. It made him feel like Jared would only miss him for his car insurance if he suddenly disappeared. Hell, his mom would have it easier if he was gone. And High.. he was just a burden to him. Fuck it, he needed to vent.

AnAnxiousTeen has posted a status update: I'm always being told that things will get better, that I'll find someway to deal with my social anxiety, but nothing is seeming to be working. No one would notice if I suddenly left, if this account was suddenly shut down, maybe except for @HighandAllMighty but if I'm being honest, I'd be doing him a favor. I wish that things were different. I wish that anything I said mattered to anyone. Because let's face it. Would anyone here notice if I disappeared tomorrow?

After posting his update, he got a handful of responses, that mainly said stuff among the lines of "I'd notice! Please don't do anything rash!". It didn't feel real to Evan. He knew how this stuff worked. After a week of his death, people would forget him. All he could think of was how thankful his anxiety held him back from another attempt.

AnAnxiousTeen has posted a status update: If a tree falls in a forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it ever make a sound?

There was a lot of debate about this one. No one saw the hidden subtext, that he fell-no, let go of the branch that was holding him and was now restrained to a cast. It made his stomach do a cartwheel at the thought.

AnAnxiousTeen has posted a status update: Sorry for all the depressing stuff tonight. I'm going offline to hit the hay early.

Well, that wasn't a total lie. He had homework to do first, then he'd probably lay in bed till sleep took him away.

And that's exactly what he did.

~~~ HighandAllMighty: why didn't you tell me how you were feeling?

High was back, early, and Evan was downright terrified.

Unlike before, he used almost perfect spelling and grammar, something he'd only do in serious situations. Evan hated confrontation, so so much.

AnAnxiousTeen: I'm sorry.. I didn't want to be a burden...

HighandAllMighty: you could never burden me with your problems. HighandAllMighty: we have to look out for each other, otherwise we'll loose us both. HighandAllMighty: I want to video chat with you. I want to see /you/. Let me help you. Please

Evan didn't really think when he answered. He didn't consider what his anxiety was telling him. He just had to make it up to High, especially with what he just put him through.

AnAnxiousTeen: Of course, just give me a few minutes to set up.

HighandAllMighty: thank you. I mean it

Evan let out a puff of air and set his phone down. His mom was home but sleeping, so he'd have to be quiet and not talk to loud, which wasn't a problem because he's.. him. He grabbed a set of dark blue headphones (he preferred them because they felt more comfortable on his ear) and plugged them into his phone. He made sure they worked okay and sent High a message.

AnAnxiousTeen: I'm ready. Can you send the request?

-HighandAllMighty has sent you a Face Time Request!-

-x Accept x or x Decline x-

Evan hesitantly hit the accept key and sat down on his bed, tidying up his shirt and hair while it loaded. Things'll be fine. They'll be perfectly okay. Just stay completely calm, don't fuck anything up, and your guys' friendship will be saved.

A minute later, the Face Time had finished loading, and on Evan's screen he was greeted to a pale skinned boy with long brown hair that went down to his shoulders, his eyes were blue but they had this brown glint to them that really made them stand out and made them so much more mesmerizing. He was wearing a simple black hoodie and the rest of his outfit Evan couldn't see.

The room Evan assumed was High's was messy, to say the least. Evan never understood how people could find what they needed in a mess. That's why he kept everything organized and clean, so if he needed to find anything, he could right away. It was an anxiety thing he couldn't get over. Evan also noticed the contrast of dark colors in High's room, that was mainly dark purple and black for the most part. Evan knew High enjoyed dark colors rather than light ones it made sense to why his room was painted that way.

Holy fuck was he hot or what?

"Um, hi! C-can you hear me o-okay?" Evan asked nervously, adjusting his headphones ever so slightly. He could hear some shuffling around so he took that as a good sign.

"Yeah, you're good. What about me on your end?" High asked, leaning back.

"Yo-you're good too," Evan nodded, confirming that he could hear him quite well. "Why did you w-want to call?"

"Well one, I wanted to see what you looked like, and two, I need to ask you a few other things, and this is the best way to see if you're lying or not," he simply said, shrugging his shoulders.

"O-okay, ask a-away," Evan smiled, shuffling slightly on his bed to get comfortable, waiting for whatever High was about to ask.

High inhaled, staying silent for a moment, before asking, "..Are you suicidal?"

Evan immediately tensed up. He hadn't put much thought into being depressed or suicidal, although he had those thoughts a lot he couldn't possibly be.. right? "I.. I don't know, a-actually... It could be a p-possibility, I do get suicidal thoughts and... a lot of self h-hate..."

High nodded slowly, picking at what appeared to be black nail polish. "Well, have you ever... attempted?"

Evan bit his lip, and he turned his gaze to his cast, although it wasn't planned, it still counted as one. He simply nodded his head. "It's.. s-scary..."

High let out a sigh. "I know the feeling all too well.. Just, wanting it all to end, but yet your anxiety is telling you not to, and you get so afraid.. I dunno, it's a reminder that you're still human I guess, attempting or not.."

"Honestly, it's m-my anxiety holding me b-back from trying a-again.. I'm scared I-I'll fail again.." Evan chuckled meekly, picking at his cast's plaster.

"Well, I'm glad," High smiled at him. "You don't know how much better you've made my life. I.. probably would've attempted again if I didn't know you.."

"Same with m-me. I'm.. so, so a-alone at school, I don't have any f-friends, and I was-well, still kinda- miserable. But, when we started t-talking, I didn't feel as alone a-anymore.." Evan admitted, blushing lightly.

"I wish I could meet you," High admitted. "I can tell no one's signed your cast still, and I really wanna fucking sign it. I.. I want to be by your side... Helping you order food, keeping you company, hell, I even know a few places down here you'd fucking adore and I know it.."

Evan smiled like a complete dork at these things. "That's s-so sweet.. You probably w-wouldn't like to meet me though.. I-I'd be so awkward.."

"Hey, don't put yourself down like that. I prefer awkward over cocky assholes any day," High said. "And like, not to mention you're a fucking amazing guy. Any girl would- fuck how do I phrase this?- well, she'd be pretty lucky to be with a guy like you," High told him, a noticeable blush appearing on his cheeks.

Evan blushed probably more than what he should've, but he couldn't help it. No one except his mom had said this type of stuff to him. "Honestly, t-thank you.."

"Okay, secondly, I need to tell you something really important. I hope it won't weird you out or anything but here it goes.. I really, really like you- and I don't mean that in the friendly way, I mean like- fuck this is harder to explain than I thought. Look.. I'm, head over heels in love with you, man.." High finished.

Evan was in pure shock. He had his hand on his mouth and felt like he could've cried. All that his mind could register was he liked him back. Holy fuck, he never thought he'd see the day his feelings would be returned. He could process words, he moved his hand away from his mouth, revealing a huge smile he was wearing and said hand anxiously ran through his hair.

"Holy f-fuck.. I.. I didn't think you'd l-like me back, so I never said anything.. Oh my god, t-this is incredible!" Evan admitted, watching the brunette's shocked expression turn into a smile.

"Holy shit, you actually like me?" High asked, and Evan nodded to him, he'd proudly admit to it, because now he had nothing else to loose.

"Does this mean we're like.. a thing or..?" High trailed off, and Evan laughed, saying, "Maybe! I t-think We should try."

High smiled at him, "I'd love to date you.. even if it's long distance.."

"Can I a-ask you something?" Evan smiled sheepishly, tugging lightly at his shirt while High responded with a "You can ask me anything you want to."

"What-what's your a-actual name?" Evan asked slowly, as stated earlier, they both kept their names a secret for privacy, but Evan was too curious to contain himself from keeping the question residing in his mind.

"It's Connor. What about you?" High- no, Connor returned his question, gazing at him with a loving gaze.

"I l-like to go by Evan.." Evan hoped that would satisfy him, because who'd want to date a guy with a name like Mark? No one, that's for sure.

"It suits you," Connor stated. "A wonderful name for a wonderful boy."

Evan flushed at his comment. "Well er- it's n-not as beautiful as 'Connor'. It, it fits you, so so well.."

"Are you calling me beautiful?" Connor teased him, and Evan just laughed.

The two ended up chatting for an entire two hours, enjoying whatever they could get out of each other's presence. They were both hopelessly in love, despite distance keeping them apart, they hoped they would one day meet in person.

That would be more than enough for them both.

A/N-I fucking love this AU so much?? I loved writing every second of it,and going over 2000 words better prove it.

Anyways I'm opening up requests! I don't have a lot of ideas so please request so I can keep updating this book! Thanks a ton!

#treebros #connor #connor murphy #evan #evan hansen #deh #dear evan hansen #convan #online dating

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playertsuna · 5 years

Text

Silver Sky Chapter 4 [Part 2]

Chapter Four [1/3] | Chapter Four [3/3]

Fanfiction Master List | Silver Sky on AO3

A mirror verse to New Games Plus. [Still debating whether to post on ff.net.]

Summary: Instead of simply returning to the beginning with higher stats, Tsuna returns with all his powers levels and skills.

XXxxx Chapter Four xxxXX

[A random limited time quest is taking place near the train station. Would Player [Sawada Tsunayoshi] like to participate?]

Tsuna nearly walked into a wall.

A limited time quest?!

He couldn't remember the last time he’d seen one of those. Not only were they rare but the amount of experience and loot he could gain from completing one of them was far beyond the amount he earned doing normal quests.

He moved the pop-up window to the side and clicking into his inventory he scanned through the items.

If this quest was anything like the last one this quest would be difficult, perhaps even impossible to complete. He needed to be prepared for anything.

He could equip the Ember Sky Gloves again, but if he needed firepower they weren't the right gloves to use. Not only was the purity of his flame limited, but the amount of flame he could channel was limited. If he wanted to use something like the X-Burner he'd give himself second-degree burns at the very least. It was likely he was going to need something stronger.

He did carry the upgraded version of the Ember Sky gloves but...

He frowned thoughtfully.

If he remembered correctly there was some drawback to them.

He slid his finger across the screen scanning through his inventory until he finally he found what he was looking for. He clicked on the gloves and a caption appeared above them.

Ember Celica Sky Gloves {D Class}

A set of gloves designed to add additional protection to the wearer's fingers. Allows for usage of tinted Sky Flames as well as finer control over the amount of flames points used. Caution: usage of gloves for extended periods will lead to burning and loss of Health Points due to the poor quality of the flame metal used in its design. -50 HP per minute. Reduces flame cost by 30%.

Unlike Health Points, his Flame Points couldn't be restored by eating food and they took quite a lot of time to recover, but was it worth losing HP per minute? Probably not. Maybe if it was just another set of everyday thugs he was going up against he might have considered it, but this was a limited-time quest and it was going to be difficult to defeat as it was. He didn't need to make this any harder on himself.

Scanning through the rest of his gear he decided to come back to it later. For now, he should start figuring out which armor to equip to himself.

Clicking the inventory into its subsections, he further separated it into mat types. Clicking on headgear, he scanned through the equipment. There were several masks, ranging from high B-Class items to a few S-Class items, but Tsuna ignored most of them in favor of the earrings and chokes. Unlike the full masks or hoods, he could equip both a set of earrings and choker if he was careful. Considering he was going into a limited-time quest, there was likely going to be flame fighting and high-level weaponry.

Considering that it was likely to be a battle of attrition, he would need to increase his defense as much as possible. Even with his auto-healing, there was still a good chance that the enemies he would be fighting would be at powerful, perhaps high-level mafioso.

Scanning through the sets of accessories, Tsuna looked through items available to him. Because he was in the pre-chaos arc, he was limited to items below A-Rank. Additionally, the fact that this quest took place in the middle of a busy train station, there was still the danger of Vendice getting involved if the battle escalated too far. He needed to consider power as well. Tapping on the inventory filters he limited the items visible to B-Rank or lower. Studying what was left, Tsuna immediately moved through the sets eliminating anything that wasn't usable for fighting. There likely wasn't going to be intelligence or wisdom checks that he couldn't overcome at his current stats. Moving some of the items back into his normal inventory, he has only left with four sets of jewelry to choose from.

Waving his hand, the armor pieces floated in front of him, their stats screen floating side by side for comparison.

Silvergrace Earrings {B Class}

"A set of earrings said to have gained their power from a sea-dwelling race known as the Zora. Silvergrace earrings are strong, durable and easy to repair, but are difficult to find. It is said that find a pair as part of a boss reward grants a person good luck. This pair was found after defeating Man-Eater during overtime during the third playthrough. "

Grants the ability to swim faster, and breathe underwater. (While in water, +16 to all stats, and complete resistance to all water attacks.)

VIT:+ 15

DEX: +22 ��

Noctis Royal Earrings {B++ Class}

"A set of earrings created by an ancient prince but never worn. These earrings show some slight wear and tear, as well as some repairs, though who it was done by is a mystery. As a result, this set of earrings are now unbreakable. This set of earrings was discovered in a limited-time event during the second playthrough."

Grants additional power at night as well as the Quicksilver (+25% speed in using machinery) perk. (During the nighttime, add +20 to the stats below as well as night vision.)

FP Reduction: 21%

VIT:+14

FP:+10

Exp Inc by 15%

Goron Choker of Armament {B+ Class}

"Said to have originated from a city deep in a volcanic mountain, the player accidentally created this replica during synthesis at Talbot's house in the last playthrough. The chance of creating this particular piece of armor is only one in a thousand, but after learning to craft from the Ancient and Wise Talbot, a miracle happened (and you didn't explode). This choker's durability is medium and it needs some repair."

VIT:+50

Defense is raised by 50%

Aureole Earrings { B- Class}

"Created with the remaining pieces of a B Class boss dark type monster. This artifact is rarely ever created, mostly because the requirements are not only difficult to obtain but because of its reputation for leading men to their doom. Colored a bloody red, and styled in a fashion known as Gothic, this piece is cursed."

Grants special ability Life Drain (killing an enemy restores health to the player).

Cursed item Debuff: Increased blood lust

Attack is raised by 12.5%

All stats +17

Thinking over the sets, Tsuna banished two of the sets back to his inventory and equipped the rest.

Player [Sawada Tsunayoshi] has equipped [Noctis Royal Earrings]. Two stats are raised, and experience gained is increased by fifteen percent.

Player [Sawada Tsunayoshi] has equipped [Goron Choker of Armament]. One stat is raised and defense is raised.

[NEW] [Player Sawada Tsunayoshi] has gained three new titles.

He blinked at the last one but decided to wait to view it. He still needed to equip the rest of his armor set. Going back into his inventory and changing the filters yet again, Tsuna scans the rolls of chest armor. Unlike jewelry where he had around thirty items, the sheer amount of chest and pants armor he currently owned bordered on ridiculous.

Some sets he owned for various and specific battlefields, and then he had several costumes he had for the pure trolling effect. Separating the amusing from the actual functional armor took a little more work than he would have liked, but at least it saved him time. The first thing he did was filter out any full-body outfits, most of which were for beginning players and would remove his earrings and choker. After the screen refreshed itself he manually went through the twenty or so armor sets left and tossed out anything with the costume title back into his normal inventory. From there he was left with ten items, of which he ran the filter over again canceling out anything over A-Rank. He was only left with four outfits.

Way of the Dawn Checkered Set Level MAX (Includes chest, belt, pants, and shoes)* {B++ Class}

"This armor piece is a study in balance and mastery. One of the rare few sets that level up, this particular piece was worn by warrior walking the thin line between light and darkness. The player has found/created all current pieces in the set. Gifted as a reward for the completion of the first playthrough, this armor set is the first B plus item the player received."

All stats +20.

Increased Attack by 15% at night.

Increased Defense by 15% during the day.

Grants three additional abilities when the whole set is worn;

Mass Effect: Area of effect attacks are 10% more powerful and require 5% less flame power.

Deux Ex Humanity: Every perfect dodge gains the player a 1.5% chance to increase a random stat permanently.

Balance: The player cannot be knocked back.

Void Gear (Includes chest, belt, pants, and shoes) {B+++ Class}

"A set of armor found in the endless palace. Most of its abilities remain a mystery, however, the few facts known about this item, detail a great sacrifice made in the name of love. The polar opposite of the Existence armor, the void specializes in nullification of enemy immunity and battles of attrition."

Complete Set: Grants increasing amounts of Auto-Healing the longer the player is fighting.

Unbreakable

All debuffs are nullified.

Despair Aura: causes fear in enemies.

Medium Flame immunity up to 20% of the player's flame power.

Mist Flames cause 60% less damage to the player.

Belladonna Bright Clothing (Include chest, belt, pants, and shoes) {C++ Class}

"Once a set of armor worn by the infamous witch of the forest, this outfit was crafted by the Atropa Family after the death of their daughter Blake. Contrary to its name this outfit is in no means brightly colored, and instead this outfit was created using only three colors; Nightmare Black, Crimson Blood, and Greedy Gold."

Complete Set: Blood bending and Vampiric Healing (drain blood to heal).

Weakness to Lighting Flames.

Aura of Fear: Simply seeing the player wear this outfit causes fear on a level higher than Despair Aura. Cannot be blocked.

Increased Stealth stats by 75%

Attack decreased by 25%

One Autumn Leaf; Shades of Fall

"Once owned by a great battle mage, the player received this set from the greatest and most famous of the Great Tacticians. Named after the battle mage's main avatar, this set boasts great attack, at the cost of high cool downs. The player was warmed by Ye Xiu himself, not to use this armor set until he has reached level 500."

Abilities:

Level 0-300: all stats +15

Level 300-320: Healing Light: The player heals at double speed. & Healing Wind; Heal Allies for half heath.

Level 321-340: Meteorain: Random Damage to Enemies & Meteor Strike: Heavily Damages One Enemy

Level 341-350: Cosmos Memory: Damages all Enemies

Level 351-370: Radiant Creation: Heals Party Completely & Doom of the Living: Cast debuffs on all enemies

Level 371-380: Incantation of Chains: Casts chains on all enemies slowly stealing FP and HP for 20 seconds.

Unknown: LOCKED (ten lines are hidden)

Mulling over his choices Tsuna immediately, banished the Belladonna Bright Clothing back into his inventory and started comparing the last three armor outfits before he finally made his choice. The One Autumn Leaf armor set didn't really add anything to his stats, and beyond the extra abilities, it wasn't much help at his current level. The Void Gear armor had much the same problem as One Autumn Leaf without the abilities, so banishing them back to his inventory Tsuna equipped the last armor set left.

Player [Sawada Tsunayoshi] has equipped [Way to the Dawn Checkered Set Level 3]. Three new abilities are now available. All stats are increased by 20. The player's attack is increased by 15%.

Going back to his inventory, he filtered his inventory to show only weapons. Now, that he had chosen his armor, he had a much clearer idea of what he needed for his weapon. He immediately sent back any weapons that were too bulky, or unusual. Maybe he would try some of them out another time, but not now. Reducing his weapons to only gloves, and gauntlets, Tsuna scans the list. Compared to the list of items he had for his other armory pieces, he had a massive amount of gloves and gauntlets. Nearly two hundred items were left, so he set to work limiting the list as best he could.

He removed anything above B Rank and removed anything made for beginners as well as anything far too specialized in physical combat. He needed a good mix of flame and physical ability if he wanted to have any chance of completing the limited time quest. Sadly, even with the list limited he was left with still had far too many weapons to go through. Frowning, he went back to the filter screen and started trying to adjust the stats, looking for ways to reduce the nearly fifty sets of weapons pieces into something more reasonable.

Thankfully, he was able to find a way to separate the terrible from the good when he remembered the level meter. Considering he rarely used anything under S-Rank it wasn't surprising that he had forgotten about it. Unlike all other armor pieces, weapon mats came with a level requirement as well as a rank. At his level, there was little he couldn't use, but just because he could use nearly any weapon he did obtain didn't mean he was a master at using them. Weapons training was still necessary and experience counted for more than hit points. A beginner swordsman could never defeat a master swordsman just because he could pick up a sword.

Clicking enter, Tsuna watched as the list shorted to ten pieces, he immediately sent six of them back to his inventory when he noticed that they were specialty items good for only very specific situations and not much else. The debuffs on them might not have had an impact if he was fighting normal Mafioso, but in a limited time quest, any debuff was a disadvantage he couldn't afford to have.

Spreading out the weapons information, he started to compare the last four weapons in his inventory to each other, looking for flaws and strengths.

Polaris Arias {B+ Class}

"A set of gauntlets created with ice from the sparkle of Stardust lodged in its metal. The radiance of cold space is said to pierce enemies in all directions. This item was obtained during the first playthrough from the boss drops of ‘The Dark Sky, Bermuda’.While strong against people using Night Flames, this set of gauntlets is limited in its might against any other flame of the sky."

Special Effects:

Lowers Defense and Attack of Enemies during an area of effect attacks by 10%.

Has a high chance (49%) of slightly lowering the amount of damage received from night flame attacks.

Fixed 12% chance to slightly increase damage while attacking.

-22% flame power against all flames other than Night Flames.

Bloody Gauntlet {B- Class}

"A brutal weapon that specializes in wounding enemies and reducing their ability to recover. It is said that this weapon’s performance reflects the mindset of its user. There is a high chance of increasing the blood lust of the player and party members. This weapon was created through weapon creation during the third playthrough."

Special Effects:

Has a high chance (47%) of causing the bleed debuff, which causes a constant HP loss on enemies.

Has a high chance (49%) of slightly lowering the amount of damage received from normal attacks.

Heals allies by a mild amount of HP for equal amounts of damage to the player up to 40% of the allies' health.

Sky's Ordinance {B+++ Class} Level 2 of ?

"This weapon holds the karma of many people. This famous set of gauntlets has a long history of protecting its wielders. Perfect for groups ofenemies, its true power can only be seen after going through numerous battles. Enemies defeated will increase its power. Defeat a fixed number of enemies to level this weapon. (27,064/1,000,000). This item was received as a prize for completing Sky's Raid Grounds."

Special Effects:

Reduce the flame attack and defense of enemies by a great amount 42%.

Flame attacks on the player have a 28% chance to restore FP to the player.

Any flame attacks by a flame other than Sky Flames have a 27% chance of harmonization (turning to stone) before hitting the player.

There is a small chance 1.5% of permanently increasing FP when the player damages an enemy.

Dragon's Claw {B Class}

"Handcrafted from the claws of a Steel Dragon located in a volcano. It is said that those defeated by this weapon will have burnt slash marks on their body. Dragon materials have a chance to increase stats and possibly increase rank. Bought as a low-level weapon, the player has increased this item's power and rank through material additions."

Special Effects:

Has a chance of causing the burn debuff, which slows enemies and causes damage at random points during a fight.

Deals great flame damage to one enemy and increase the player's own attack by a large amount.

The player is granted an increase in both attack and defense by 22%.

Resistant to flame attacks is increased by 19%.

Looking over the list Tsuna could already eliminate Bloody Gauntlets and Dragon Claw. Bloody Gauntlet was a weapon best used while in a party, while Dragon's Claw was great for attacks it was much better for battles where he only had one enemy. Considering that limited-time quests were pretty much always battles of himself against many, he would be better served to choose something else.

So down to two options Tsuna sent the rest of the items back to his inventory and compared the remaining two items side to side.

At first glance, Polaris Arias seemed like a good idea, with its enemy area of effect debuff, and physical damage lowering but he knew it would be a waste of a buff considering his natural regeneration was maxed out. Not to mention that at his current level increasing his attack wouldn’t do much if, in the long run, he ran out of flame power. Siding that screen back to his inventory, he equipped the other armor piece.

Player [Sawada Tsunayoshi] has equipped [Sky’s Ordinance]. Defeat 972,936 enemies to level up this weapon.

Feeling the gauntlets appear on his arms, he was a little surprised to see them change color to match his outfit. He had forgotten about that system effect.

Turning back to his inventory he was left with just one more armor piece to decide upon.

Normally after equipping chest, belt, shoes, headpieces and a weapon a player was no longer able to equip anything more. However, once a player completes a hidden mission at the end of a playthrough an extra slot can be obtained. Tsuna had only found the hidden mission once, but it was enough to grant him an extra slot. Theoretically, anything could be placed in this slot, from an additional chest piece, rings, or even a second belt but Tsuna had discovered through much trial and error that it was much more efficient to equip a wing array. Unlike the dexterity reduction he would gain from having extra armor piece on or being overburdened from having too much armor on, a wing array simply increased stats without a reduction in his weight or a limitation to his dexterity.

Sliding through his rather limited wing arrays inventory, of which only contained four pieces, Tsuna picked the only one with any buffs.

Player [Sawada Tsunayoshi] has equipped [Strife Black Wings]. FP is reduced by 6% any time the player uses a flame attack.

Waving his hand, the inventory screens vanished, and Tsuna was left staring at two screens. His stats screen and the screen asking if he wanted to participate in the special event. Ignoring one screen in favor of the other for a moment, he clicked on his stats. He was curious to see what new titles he gained.

Sawada Tsunayoshi, Level. 383

Exp: 209,189/383,000

HP:10121(SSS)* FP:10975 (SSS)* VIT: 321 (SSS)* STR:217 (A)* DEX:210 (SS)* INT:223 (A)* WIS:357 (SSS)* LUK:561 (S)*

Skills [Hidden]

*Note: Stats have been increased from armor buffs.

Title [show buff]

Hyper Intuition (Active): +12 WIS and +1 DEX per lvl.

Second Great Sky: +4 FP and +1 WIS per lvl.

Tainted Saint: During Battle only, WIS inc. by 10.

Student of the Demon (Reborn): + 10 VIT per lvl.

The Sky Tactician: +5 INT and +4 WIS during battle.

Protector of the People: + 5 to all stats when protecting someone during battle.

Protector of People II: + 7 to all stats when protecting someone during battle.

International Criminal: +8 STR and +6 FP per lvl.

Master Tactician: all allies gain +4 to all stats when led into battle by the player.

Healer in Training: a temporary increase in Sun Flames whenever the player is in the presence of a doctor, or a skilled flame user.

Handy Healer: a temporary boost in flame power whenever the player uses Sun Flame to heal.

Divisions of the Sky: +12 to HP and FP permanently whenever the player fights and wins against another sky flame user.

Will of the Strong: %#$$#*^&%@+*/#@ to the player.

[NEW] Armed and Ready: Weapons have a 6% chance to causes a critical hit.

[NEW]History Maker: Any time the player has three or more stats S Rank or above, the player gains an extra 3% experience during battle.

[NEW] Sky's Awakening: Enemies using flames of the sky have a 50% greater chance to be sensed while in the presence of the player in or out of battle.

Looking over his new titles, Tsuna blinked. He had never heard of any ability that allowed flame users to be sensed before attacking, and if this new title was anything like he was guessing it was going to add a whole new level to his fighting. Instead of having to wait for his enemies to launch an attack and then having to dodge, he could make the first move and attack first and yet something about the wording bothered him.

What did this title mean for normal day to day life? Could the percentage increase? The move itself didn't say, and while the addition of an extra ability could give him an edge in battle, there was also the fact that he might have to train a whole new ability that he hadn't accounted for.

Frowning Tsuna went over the matter in his mind.

While useful, the last place to be trying out a new title was a limited-time event. Tapping his fingers, he attempted to see if he could turn off the buff and apparently he could because a second later the title faded to gray, signaling its deactivation. Steeling himself, Tsuna banished the last screen away.

He clicked on the only screen left.

[A limited time quest is taking place near the train station. Would Player [Sawada Tsunayoshi] like to participate?]

He clicked on Yes and felt the ground fall out from beneath him.

XXxxxxXX

Chapter Four [1/3] | Chapter Four [3/3]

Fanfiction Master List | Silver Sky on AO3

#khr #katekyo hitman reborn #sawada tsunayoshi #vongola tenth generation #op tsuna #playertsuna #fanfiction #silver sky

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carmenlire · 6 years

Text

Like Nobody Else

This is based on this tweet by @cardanscrown!

read on ao3

Simon’s days follow a routine. He wakes up at 6:30 sharp and rushes to his local gym where he has a daily Zumba class that’s at least seventy two percent elderly women (Simon long ago accepted that he was no match for Doris or Evelyn who can dance circles around him to Despacito).

He then rushes back to his studio apartment where he gets ready and spends exactly two minutes choosing his outfit before hopping in the shower and using his favorite Bath and Body Works body wash that smells like vanilla cupcakes.

He leaves his apartment by 8:20 and takes the train to Lightwood Co., the nation’s biggest tech company that holds an eighty four percent market share. He’s the assistant to the Founder and CEO, Alec Lightwood, who started the company when he was still in his freshman year at MIT.

Staring mournfully out the dirty window of the subway, Simon tries to ignore his obnoxiously growling stomach. He’s always running just a little too late to grab something on his way out the door and he knows by this point that he can stop by the cafe on the second floor of Lightwood Co. and grab something on his way up to his desk up on the thirty seventh floor.

It’s just that he still has seventeen minutes until he gets there and he always works up quite the appetite during Zumba. It didn’t help matters that Phyllis and Dorothy had been talking about their favorite pie recipes while everyone was waiting for class to start.

Simon’s stop comes up and he makes his way through the throng of commuters milling about. He walks down Fifth Avenue, enjoying the early spring sunshine that warms him through his tweed jacket. He’s lived in New York all his life but sometimes he’s still struck by the constant buzz of activity, the low thrum of energy that always seems to be pulsing around the city.

It’s just a few minutes later that Simon’s scanning his employee badge and placing his thumb on the digital print reader, walking through security and into the hubbub that was Lightwood’s pride and joy.

He stops by the cafe and grabs a waffle taco and a white chocolate hazelnut mocha with five shots of espresso and extra whipped cream. He eats half of his taco in the elevator-- ignoring Jace’s disgusted look-- and he’s the last one off the elevator as it opens unto the top floor-- the penthouse office suite.

Simon landed this job as a temp still in college, working on his botany degree and needing extra cash. His best friend Clary had mentioned the job she’d scored as the assistant to Magnus Bane, world renowned historian and scholar who’d taken publish or perish as a personal challenge.

Shrugging internally and figuring that he could file papers as well as the best of them, Simon had signed up at Alicante Agency, a temp agency that placed people everywhere in the city.

Including one of the biggest companies in the world, apparently.

Simon’s number had been called and when he’d been told that he would be the personal secretary-- administrative assistant, he’d thought with a huff-- of one Alec Lightwood, he’d been ecstatic. Lightwood was a tech genius who had worked on everything from the latest Downworlders video game to Idris, the world’s most comprehensive academic database.

When he’d asked how long the job was for, he’d tried to ignore just how scathing the agency manager, Ms. Herondale, had been.

Lightwood’s been through a dozen of our temps in the last six weeks. Our company record is six days. Good luck, kid, though I’ve heard that doesn’t exist where you’re going.

Resolutely not gulping, Simon had taken the folder that Imogen had handed him and walked out of her office without a backwards glance.

He’d been on the street before he’d paused, leaning against the wrought iron fence of the business and leafing through the sparse contents of the folder.

There were only a few sheets of paper. One was simply the name of the company he was to report to with an address, phone number, and pass code. The next sheet was the position description. It listed half a dozen key responsibilities and as Simon read through the list, he was relieved yet increasingly confused. They were all basic administrative duties including filing, keeping Mr. Lightwood’s agenda, and taking meeting or conference call minutes.

The third and last sheet looked to be a draft of a confidentiality agreement, which Simon skimmed through. Really, it all looked standard for where he was going.

As Simon boots up his computer, he flips over his watch and sees that it’s exactly 8:58. He has five minutes before the boss man himself arrives and he uses that time to look over Mr. Lightwood’s schedule for the day and make sure that the forms he printed for Alec’s signature last night are still waiting in his designated tray.

Finishing off his taco with a last bite that’s just a bit too big, Simon laboriously chews as he opens his email and glances through the few dozen subject lines, making sure that nothing is catastrophically urgent.

He hears the muted ding of the elevator a split second before Mr. Lightwood steps into the penthouse lobby, wearing a navy suit with a crisp white button down open at the throat. His loafers are gleaming and Simon breathes a sigh of relief as he sees the relaxed slope of his shoulders.

Simon’s been Alec’s assistant for the past three years. He’s currently working on his dissertation-- how different genres of music affect plant growth-- and he enjoys his job, even if it’s a little challenging on occasion.

Or all the time.

Alec was a hard ass, no doubt about it. He had exacting standards, a perpetually sardonic expression, and Simon had literally never seen the man smile. Lightwood had exploded onto the scene ten years ago and in that time, he’s made a name for himself that no one else could rival. Interns fought for covetous positions and even if they routinely stress cried for the entirety of their four month contracts, everyone agreed that their time at Lightwood Co. was a huge boon for their emerging careers.

Mr. Lightwood wasn’t necessarily liked but he was respected. Every single employee at the company-- either here in New York or at any of his branches domestically or internationally-- knew that they were a valuable part of the company.

Alec might be an unforgiving man but he was an understanding one. Simon had been told on more than one occasion to block off an entire afternoon so that Alec could go down to one of the R&D floors and help an employee who was struggling with their project. Alec regularly works weekends or covers shifts in the customer service department if something comes up and his company has been rated number one on Forbes’ Best Companies to Work For list, eight years running.

Simon stands next to his desk as Alec strolls over to him, briefcase slung over his shoulder. Simon hands Alec his worryingly sweet coffee with one hand and the small stack of papers needing his approval with the other.

“Morning,” Alec says absently as his eyes scan over the top page.

“Morning, boss man,” Simon replies cheerfully. Alec doesn’t even blink at the greeting now, though he’d given Simon a slow blink after the exuberant words for a solid year after Simon had joined on.

“What’s on the slate for today?”

“You have a conference call in fifteen minutes with your manager in Dublin and this afternoon you have your back to back monthly meetings with the department heads.” Simon frowns, glancing briefly at the agenda on the screen of his computer before looking back at Alec, confused. “There’s nothing on your agenda from 11-2, though. You’re completely free.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Alec says easily, turning towards his office.

Simon bites his tongue to keep from asking any impudent questions-- questions are always impudent where Alec’s concerned. That doesn’t necessarily keep Simon from asking whatever comes to mind, though this time Simon wants to try to solve the mystery himself.

It’s a slow day and Simon is caught up on his classwork with nothing better to do.

As he spins his chair in slow revolutions, Simon thinks of how peculiar it is that Alec’s blocked off three hours during the work day. Alec’s always been a dervish during working hours, though the past year or so, he’s been very firm about leaving the office by 6pm at the latest.

Simon doesn’t know much about Alec. He knows that his sister, Isabelle, is a tenured professor and the president of NYU’s School of Engineering. He knows that Alec’s gay-- the man is not subtle when he checks out men-- and he knows that Alec isn’t all big and bad.

His first day, Simon had walked into Lightwood Co. nervous as hell. He’d discovered that Alec was gruff and demanding and a natural leader, handling the dozens of facets involved in running a company this size without a hitch in his step.

The first few days, he’d walked on eggshells. Simon had been looking for signs as to why all of the other temps at Alicante had deserted their post before they’d made it a week. Was Lightwood just an asshole? Was he one of those privileged, pervy bosses who thought they could get away with whatever they damned well pleased? Did he sing obnoxiously loud while he worked?

Simon couldn’t figure it out. Alec gave him a pile of work every day to slough through and while Simon felt the pressure, a lot of that was leveled out by the fact that Alec was observant-- he knew when to slow down and explain things and slowly but surely, Simon got the hang of being Alec’s administrative assistant.

Alec worked with his schedule and the pay was better than anything else he could get in New York. Well, legally anyway.

Simon spends the rest of the morning fielding phone calls, instant messaging Maia in software development between calls.

Maia’s worked for the company just a bit longer than Simon, earning a full time position after she completed her internship with flying colors. They’re pretty good friends-- they get lunch at least three times a week and Maia is the best movie partner Simon could ask for-- and he knows that if anyone has the dirt, it would be her.

S: Do you know if Lightwood has a mistress?

M: How the hell would I know? I’m on the eighteenth floor. The last time I saw Alec was at the company Christmas party.

S: He blocked off three hours for lunch and the only people who do that are CEOs who run to a seedy by the hour motel to get their rocks off with their side piece

But that would mean that he has a main piece

Wbk that Alec’s unattached

M: Why would you say that?

He’s a very attractive man. He’s rich and smart and young. He’s actually pretty perfect.

Simon scoffs at the screen.

S: Yeah, if you can ignore the fact that the man never smiles. I’ve been his right hand man for three years and I’ve yet to see one Mr. Alec Lightwood crack a smile unless it’s for business.

The man’s terrifying

M: I bet he smiles during his lunch break

S: Doubt it tbh

The meeting is probably black ops or something. Omg!! What if the government wants Lightwood’s tech but it’s all super secret so that’s why he didn’t tell me?

M: You’re crossing the line again, babe

S: As if I even know where the line is anymore.

Simon startles as the elevator dings, looking absently at Alec’s agenda that sits in its stand. It’s just before eleven and Simon frowns. His least favorite job is turning people away who think they’re entitled to Lightwood’s time. Alec trusts Simon to keep everything running smoothly and Simon prides himself on being the best damn secretary Alec’s ever had.

Alec works around his classes, puts up with his jokes, and has actually shown some hint of personality in the past three years. Simon refuses to jeopardize any of that by interrupting his boss’s very busy schedule.

Hot damn.

Simon didn’t count on the uninvited guest, however.

The man is dressed to the nines, looking elegant yet approachable. His makeup is all sharp lines and flawless smudging and the toddler on his hip is chattering happily as it plays with one of a dozen necklaces hanging low enough to grab.

“Hello,” Simon says, echoing the man’s smile. His teeth are perfect, he thinks dazedly.

“Morning,” the man says dryly. He doesn’t say anything else, just moves to walk right past Simon’s desk, obviously on his way to Mr. Lightwood’s office.

“Wait!”

Simon subtly rolls his chair back, nearer to his desk so that he can easily reach the silent alarm button underneath. With a sigh, Simon wonders just how deranged the man is-- and to involve a baby of all things.

The stranger raises a brow expectantly, swaying side to side gently to soothe the child.

“You can’t go back there,” Simon says flatly.

“I’m sorry?”

Pointing to the closed double doors, Simon repeats, “You can’t just go back there. I’m Mr. Lightwood’s secretary and you’re not on the list. Mr. Lightwood is preoccupied for the foreseeable future, so I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask you and your baby to leave, sir.”

Simon expects a reaction-- obnoxious annoyance, cool rage, a ballistic temper. What he doesn’t not expect is the amused, relaxed expression.

“Sherman--”

“Simon,” Simon corrects, unthinking. He doesn't realize that the man shouldn't know his name.

“Simon,” the man starts, nodding at the correction. “While I appreciate your dedication--”

“Magnus?”

Both Simon and the man look towards the office, whose doors have now opened to reveal a rumpled Alec. He’d taken his jacket off after the conference call and he’d rolled his sleeves up a few times, exposing strong forearms. His hair was messy from running a frustrated hand through it several times over the course of the morning and he was leaning against the door jamb, looking unconcerned as hell.

Simon straightens. “Mr. Lightwood, I was just telling Perfect Hair that he and his baby had to leave--”

Simon breaks off, stunned, as Alec chuckles before straightening and walking the few steps over to the man. Simon sits in his chair and feels like he just had a covert lobotomy as he watches his boss reach for the baby-- and the baby all but fall into his arms, squirming out of the other man’s arms.

“Simon, this is my husband, Magnus. Magnus, this is my assistant that I’ve mentioned a few thousand times.”

“Wait, you talk about me at home,” Simon absently asks before his brain comes back online. He looks up at Alec to see him smiling down at the baby in his arms, gently chiding it as it tries to tug off one of his shirt buttons.

“You’re married,” Simon asks incredulously.

At that, Alec looks up and shares a look with Magnus. “Of course I’m married Simon. Magnus and I have been together over six years.”

“And married for three,” Magnus adds, leaning into Alec’s side reflexively.

Looking between the two of them, Simon feels like his head is three seconds from exploding. “How did I not know this? I’m your right hand man!”

Alec just throws him a quizzical glance. “We’ve had Max here for just over a year. I worked from home six months last year,” Alec says sardonically. “You dropped papers off at our place almost every week.”

“I never saw a baby or a husband,” Simon shrieks.

Max-- who Simon has to admit is adorable-- claps at the rise in volume and falls against Alec. Absently bringing a hand up so that Max can high five it a dozen times, Alec just sends Simon an amused glance. “Max must have been sleeping or with Magnus every time, then.”

Alec reaches down to grab Magnus’s hand, tugging him towards his open office while holding Max with the other.

“Absolutely no interruptions until two,” Alec throws back over his shoulder, laughing as his son pats his face clumsily.

Magnus looks over his own shoulder to wink at Simon. “Whatever the boss says,” he adds with a grin.

Simon sits at his desk for fifteen minutes trying to wrap his head around what he’s just discovered before opening the companies IM.

S: I owe you dinner and maybe a bottle of your favorite tequila

M: What did you do now?

S: Mr. Lightwood is married with a baby! How did no one know??

He smiled. Alec! Smiled!! And he even laughed!! I feel like I don’t even know my boss anymore

He’s super cute with kids though

M: My brother isn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type but Magnus and Max tend to bring out the marshmallow in him

This is Izzy, Simon. Please stop gossiping about my brother and get back to work

Though, I can see why Alec showing any emotion besides stern disapproval would be fodder for the gossip mill.

Simon’s eyes widen as he reads the messages. What the hell?

M: Sorry, Simon. Isabelle stopped by my office to pick me up for lunch when your messages came through.

Iz offered to take us out for dinner tonight and tell us all about her brother’s “epic love story” if we go to the Chinese restaurant off Broadway.

I already accepted so I hope you don’t have plans!!

Rolling his eyes, Simon kisses his quiet evening of guitar hero and Oreo milkshakes out the window. He can’t deny that he’s looking forward to hearing about his boss’s private life, though-- his first real glimpse in over three years.

When he visits Clary after dinner, full on spring rolls and lo mein, he collapses onto her bed, rambling about weird ass bosses, his renewed interest in polyamory, and how goddamn strange the world is.

He’s face down in the bed, wishing that he had some Oreos, when Clary’s voice breaks through.

“Wait, you’re telling me that your boss is married to a Magnus? Alexander?”

Simon shoots up to sitting, staring at Clary incredulously. “Yeah?”

Clary leans forward, smacking Simon on the shoulder. “I work for Magnus Bane, you idiot! How many Magnuses do you know? And, he has a husband though I’ve only ever heard him referred to as Alexander. What are the chances?”

Simon rubs his shoulder. “Does he have dark hair that defies gravity? Perfect teeth? And he can blend eye shadow better than Izzy?”

“Yes, that’s him,” Clary cries, eyes widening. “We were working for husbands and didn’t know. What the hell.”

“Small world,” Simon mumbles, falling backwards onto Clary’s mountain of pillows.

The two of them lay there for long minutes, reconciling the new bits of information they’ve just learned.

“Wild,” Clary murmurs and Simon has to agree.

The next morning, the elevator opens to a smiling Alec, who’s looking down at his phone as he steps into the office.

“Morning,” he says absently.

Simon returns the greeting and holds out the coffee for Alec to take. Alec reaches out and snags the coffee on autopilot, humming as the sweetness hits him.

Alec looks up and sees Simon’s still form and the glee dancing just behind his eyes.

“Yes?”

“I’m just happy you’re happy boss.”

Rolling his eyes, Alec pockets his phone, sheepishly admitting, “Magnus just sent me a picture of Blueberry eating cherries. He’s made quite the mess,” he chuckles.

Simon’s eyes light up and Alec finds himself slowly but surely confiding more in Simon, sharing little anecdotes. Alec doesn’t know how his intern never managed to realize that his boss was married-- his legal name on all contracts has been Lightwood-Bane since his wedding not to mention the ring-- but Alec can’t find it in himself to care.

Simon’s a dedicated worker and adds some much needed levity and capability to his days. Alec had been through dozens of secretaries before Simon had been sent to him and since day one Alec has been pleased, if regularly nonplussed, by his administrative assistant. Alec treasures Simon as his administrative assistant and is already mourning his inevitable departure when he finishes his doctorate in botany-- though he’s been thinking of ways to get Simon to stay for months now.

It’s a small price to pay to dish about Magnus and his family a few minutes each day, Simon’s eyes glowing with just how interested he is in the topic.

Alec and Simon grow from their strictly professional relationship into great friends.

Alec gets a kick out of seeing Simon’s face every time they’re together outside of the company. Simon’s like a kid on Christmas who’s just seen Santa as he watches Alec laugh and joke and throw around truly hideous puns to a fondly amused Magnus or Izzy.

It’s even funnier when no one believes Simon’s tales that the illustrious Alec Lightwood, CEO of the biggest company in the United States, has a sense of humor. No one believes that the man who regularly looks stoic enough to be marble is capable of understanding a joke, let alone snorting in hilarity.

It’s Simon’s definition of purgatory but he can’t complain too much when he’s brought into the Lightwood family as one of Izzy’s partners and one of Alec’s best friends.

When Magnus and Alec adopt Rafael a couple of years later, Simon tearfully accepts the offer of being a godparent.

A few weeks later, Simon tries not to pout too badly when Magnus snatches his phone out of his hand when he tries to record Alec drunkenly singing New Rules at the New Year’s Eve Party Magnus and Alec host every year at their loft.

All around, Simon learns, Alec's not only a great boss but a great friend and he takes great delight in being one of the few people Alec lets down his guard with.

Working for Mr. Lightwood was great. Being Alec's friend was even better.

#like nobody else #my writing #i honestly don't know what this is #but i had fun writing it so oh well lol #im so tired and im sorry this has to be a bit incoherent or downright Not Good #malec fic

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lorewytch · 5 years

Text

Scene from Fragments

Hey there everyone! I haven’t gotten anything else really new lately sadly. I’m not feeling good today so I may be taking a few sick days if this continues. :( However I did want to post this. I had this lying around and I sadly haven’t done much more on this fanfic yet. But, this is another fanfic I will work on, its just not a priority right now. Also, I love this opening scene I wrote for the characters XD It’s one of the first scenes I wrote when I branched off from the Consumed by Shadows series into other one-shots and such and I really enjoyed writing the kids older. If no one really remembers, here’s the summary for Fragments:

Fragments- At 16, the triplets and Webby have formed tight bonds. Louie is slowly earning his first million from Louie Inc, Webby has become a part time spy with SHUSH and part time explorer. Dewey has his pilot’s license and is often seen going on adventures and spy missions with Webby, and Huey is busy developing new technology to help his family in any way he can as well as the world. But when Louie is offered a cool deal for a new kind of fuel that may help Duckburg and the world, he seeks the help of Webby, Lena and his brothers. All five go this mysterious island that only appears once every 500 years, keeping this a secret from their guardians of course! But this island becomes much more than even they can handle. Split up and quickly running out of time, each group has to rely on their strengths to face the trials the island throws at them. But the clock is ticking and they must escape this island, even at the cost of one of their own. So, this is in fact probably the opening scene I’d be introducing the story with. Anyways, thought I’d give you guys a sneak peek. This probably would be roughly in the middle of the projects I currently have going on since this one is one of the stories I have the least amount of written material on at this time. Anyways though: Enjoy!!

Webbigail Vanderquack dodged an incoming blast from an energy cannon. Smirking, she slid easily under the blast, pulling forth her grappling hook and launching the pronged end into the air. Catching the nearby tree, she swung easily behind her target. Black Heron let out an infuriated yell as Webby threw the capsule to the ground. Exploding in a sticky web, it surrounded the villain and trapped her within it in seconds.

Laughing, she jumped fearlessly to the ground, just as Dewey crashed next to her, rubbing a sore spot on his head. Glancing up, he winked. “Hey Webs!” His long legs kicked the next goon that approached the duo, sending said unnamed man through the foliage. Once he stood up, his back pressed against hers as they surveyed their surroundings for more enemies.

“I thought you said you could handle those 20 enemies?” Webby teased with a chuckle and pulled out a few more capsules.

Dewey rolled his eyes at his partner and gave her a dashing grin. “Well, I did get 19 of them.”

Shaking her head at her best friend, Webby attacked. Throwing several capsules at the foliage, several explosions of color erupted from the trees and suddenly four enemies dropped to the ground, captured in various ways due to those capsules.

“Did I ever tell you that those things are really cool?” Dewey commented in awe.

“You should know more about these things than me. Your brothers helped create them.” Webby shrugged her shoulders and a sudden beeping from her watch alerted her to an incoming message from…Huey?

Making sure there were no more enemies nearby, Webby pressed a button and a hologram of a sixteen-year-old Huey with his arms crossed appeared before them. Dewey brushed a hand through his already messed up hair and grinned at his older brother by three seconds.

“You do realize those capsules only come in finite quantities, right?” Huey asked with a dry tone.

“Yeah and how crazy expensive they are!” Yelled a voice from nearby offscreen. Huey rolled his eyes.

“Louie? What’s Louie doing there?” Dewey asked, confused. “I thought he was at his office.”

The green clad triplet appeared within the hologram, wearing a gold necklace and dark green tinted suit with black lining. “I was when I happened by something I think we all could get behind. One of my contacts brought a business proposition…”

“Couldn’t this wait until we got back?” Dewey asked.

An enemy crept up from behind the duo, but Webby pulled out a frying pan from nowhere and slammed it hard against the assailants’ face.

All three triplets watched the poor enemy hit the dirt. Louie even winced.

“It’s sort of a time crunch deal.” Louie continued once their attention was back on him. “Y’see the place we need to go to is….remote and the window of opportunity for this only lasts a couple days. But the payoff would be massive! Enough to fund those capsules galore I might add.” Louie wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Huey, who had his arms crossed rolled his eyes and sighed. “Anyways its up to you two since you’d be doing most of the hard work.”

“Hard work?” Webby inquired, spinning and drop kicking another approaching enemy.

Louie laughed nervously. “Well, it is on an island with an active volcano…”

Webby and Dewey shared a look.

“Anything else you are failing to tell us?” Dewey asked, his arms were crossed and eyeing his brother skeptically.

“And well it might be guarded by a few monsters and highly elaborate medieval traps…” Louie rushed.

“And there it is..” Dewey sighed and glanced at his partner, who turned to him with a raise eyebrow. “What do you think Webs?”

Webby thought a second. “What’s our cut?”

Louie seemed to have hope shining in his eyes. “Were splitting it even through and through! Whatever we get you guys will get an equal cut.”

“25 percent huh?” Webby thought about it. She shrugged. “Fine as long as it doesn’t interrupt my spy duties or on Friday.”

“What’s on Friday?” Dewey suddenly asked and Webby grinned mischievously.

“Wouldn’t you like to know..”

“Yes, I would actually!” Dewey seemed more curious now.

Rolling her own eyes she glanced back at the holograms.

“Now I’m curious as well.” Huey commented.

“Dewey are you in too?” Louie asked.

“Huh? What? Oh yeah I’ll go too.” Dewey was still eyeing Webby though as if distracted. “C’mon Webbs tell meee..” he draped himself over her shoulders with a dramatic sigh and Webby was trying to keep a straight face.

“Great, I’ll see you all on Saturday then. Well leave first thing in the morning. Also, don’t tell Uncle Donald, Scrooge or Beakley.” Louie frowned a bit. “I’m sure Scrooge would want a cut and I’m pretty sure Beakley and Uncle Donald would try to stop us.”

“True that.” The others replied.

“Okay we’ll keep it from them for now. But we have to have a cover story which will fool Granny.” Webby commented.

“True, I don’t think the ‘over at a friends house’ lie will work with this.” Louie hummed.

“Not that it worked before.” The bow clad female duck smirked.

Raising a hand, Louie opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. “Touché.”

Sounds of rustling intensified behind the duo and instantly Dewey spun around to face ten more enemies surrounding them.

“Whoops got to go!” Webby spun and punched an approaching enemy from the right. “Call you as soon as were done here! Byeeeeee!” Webby smiled brightly and waved before pressing a button on her wrist and pulling out her nunchucks.

“You have nunchucks?!” That comment was supplied by Dewey as Webby launched into the battle.

#Ducktales #fanfic #fragment #Webby #huey dewey and louie #I loved this scene #Webby is so awesome #part of chapter one #I will finish this..one day #I'm tired #maybe a nap would help?#They are teens in this #all grown uppp

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