#but he might judge a choice on the grounds if its boring in his opinion

[baby-xemnas]

you must be this tall to mount this bear

[ibijau]

Futures Past pt 20 / on AO3

(posting early this week because I might not have time tomorrow)(also, because of the upcoming xisang week, I’m not sure yet if I’ll update this fic next week)

With some help from Su She, Nie Huaisang gets his wangxian ship sailing.

Nie Huaisang guiltily twisted his hands as they left the classroom, already half crying as Wei Wuxian finished retelling his first day of punishment with Lan Wangji. 

"I really am so sorry, Wei-xiong!" he lamented. "I really wish I could help you. Maybe if I could find a way to copy part of the rules for you and pass them to you…" 

"Lan er-gongzi would surely notice," Meng Yao softly objected. "And then you'd both be punished again." 

"Aren't you busy enough with your own punishment anyway?" Jiang Cheng huffed. "You'll be lucky if you can even attend your music lessons with all that extra homework you were given, right?" 

With a miserable sigh, Nie Huaisang nodded. Cheating was more work than he'd thought, and he'd have to find a better way to do it if he were to pass that year. Though really, it had been Lan Wangji’s fault for joining the lectures, which he hadn't done the previous year, and also Wei Wuxian's for taunting Lan Wangji by looking at him. Of course Lan Wangji had gotten curious, and he'd noticed the cheating, and… 

For some reason, Lan Qiren had decided that Wei Wuxian was the instigator in this business, so he'd been punished the hardest. But Nie Huaisang had been given a lot of essays to write, and he didn't dare to ask Lan Xichen to help, fearing to be scolded for his dishonesty. Meng Yao and Jiang Cheng, who hadn't cheated at all, offered little sympathy and even less help, the first because he was still catching up, the second because he didn't feel like it. Hopefully Su She might give a hand, if Nie Huaisang cried a little. 

"It's really not so bad," Wei Wuxian said carelessly. "I won't say that first afternoon in the library with Lan Zhan was fun, he's even more boring than his uncle, but I think I can entertain myself. I bet before the month is over, I can get him to break his self control. Now that'd be fun!" 

Nie Huaisang stopped on his tracks and grabbed him by the arm, not a trace of tears in his eyes. 

"Wei-xiong, why do you have to antagonise him so much?" 

"Why wouldn't I? I'd like to be his friend, but he's too stuck up. Pissing him off is the next best thing." 

Baffled by that logic, Nie Huaisang looked at their two friends. Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, while Meng Yao was trying his best not to smile. 

"Wei gongzi is like that, don't question it too much. He likes to tease people, and thinks everyone understands it's meant in a friendly manner."

Judging by the tone of his voice, Meng Yao himself had been a victim of that friendly teasing, and that perhap it hadn't gone so smoothly between them. That would explain why Meng Yao seemed to prefer Jiang Cheng's company, who was less fun to have around, but also a little quieter when he wasn’t shouting at Wei Wuxian.

Personally, Nie Huaisang preferred Wei Wuxian out of the three, but was getting a little annoyed at him right at that moment. 

While Jiang Cheng and Meng Yao went their way to enjoy their freedom for the rest of the day (they would waste it studying, they seemed the type), Nie Huaisang decided to accompany Wei Wuxian all the way to the library, so they could chat a little. He still had a plan to put in motion, orders from his future self to obey, and his own natural desire for fun to satisfy.

“I don’t understand why you’re like that with Lan Wangji,” Nie Huaisang said as they took the longest path possible toward the library, trying to keep his tone casual. "If you want to be his friend, there are better ways. Why don't you talk to him nicely?" 

Wei Wuxian did not even hesitate. "I've tried, and he ignores me." 

That was sadly true, as Nie Huaisang had seen a few times. It didn’t help that Wei Wuxian naturally sounded like he was trying to tease people, even when he was sincere. He was so fun to have around that most people didn’t mind it, but for someone like Lan Wangji...

"Well maybe if you apologised to him?" Nie Huaisang suggested.

"I've tried that too, but he thinks I'm insincere.”

"Because you are!" Nie Huaisang pointed out, fighting a smile.

Wei Wuxian just laughed, but that was an answer in itself.

"Please, at least don't make him any angrier," Nie Huaisang pleaded. "He'll never be your friend otherwise!" 

Hearing him get so distressed about that, Wei Wuxian stopped in his tracks, his expression more serious than Nie Huaisang had ever seen so far. He was a little scary like that, something about his height and the shape of his eyes making him look cold and distant when he wasn’t grinning and laughing.

"Listen, Nie-xiong,” Wei Wuxian said in a voice that had lost some of its warmth. “I want to be his friend, sure. I think there's something interesting about him, definitely. I’d really like it if I could be close to Lan Zhan, and given the chance I’ll do it for sure. But if he only becomes friends with me because I start acting like someone I'm not, then we're not really friends, and it's not worth the effort."

“Wei-xiong, I didn’t expect you to be wise like that,” Nie Huaisang whispered, a little awed.

“Only you would find that wise,” Wei Wuxian mocked, and Nie Huaisang found that he could breathe a little more easily now that the other boy was laughing again. “If Jiang Cheng heard me, he’d say that my personality is too awful for anyone to like me! And Meng Yao would say something about compromises. I’m pretty sure they’re the wise ones, but I just don’t feel like acting so seriously.”

Nie Huaisang grinned, a little envious of such a bold way of living. He was not always likeable, according to a lot of people (himself included, when it came to the man he was supposed to become), and so he would never have expected people to fully like him as he was. Nobody except his brother, who had little choice in the matter, and maybe Su She who probably felt like he couldn’t be too picky when it came to friends, and… well, Lan Xichen seemed to like him as he was, too, but that was just because he was so nice.

It was so bold of Wei Wuxian to expect to be fully accepted as he was. But then again, Lan Wangji also wasn’t the sort to make efforts to get others to like him, so at least they had that in common.

As they arrived near the library, the topic had to be dropped. Wei Wuxian, with a grimace of fake agony, went inside to sit with Lan Wangji, while Nie Huaisang had the pleasant surprise of finding Su She about to leave the library, and free to spend some time with him. Lan Wangji had asked for his help to put some order in a section of the building while waiting for Wei Wuxian to arrive, and Su She couldn’t decide if he was flattered or annoyed that the request had been made to him rather than another disciple.

Su She ranted about that for a little bit as they walked away from the library, before complaining about his classes, and then about a letter from his mother who wanted him to send home some talismans because she was still convinced their house was haunted even thought he’d visited during winter and hadn’t noticed anything amiss. Nie Huaisang listened, and even reacted here and there, but couldn’t quite focus on his friend’s problem that day. Su She noticed of course, and asked what hung so heavy on his mind that he couldn’t even laugh at his description of a clearly fake haunting.

“I might have a silly question to ask you,” Nie Huaisang replied. “But please, don’t make fun of me for it. It’s kind of important, and I think you could really help me.”

“That sounds very worrying, but fine, ask me.”

"How would one seduce a Lan?" 

Su She gave him such a long, serious look, that Nie Huaisang started feeling he’d rather have been laughed at after all.

"So you're finally doing something about Lan gongzi?” Su She asked. “About time, it was getting annoying how clueless you are. And, well, if you want my opinion…" 

"Oh, no, this is about Lan Wangji, not Xichen-gege!" 

Su She stopped walking and fell silent for a moment, his expression turning complicated. He looked as if he’d eaten a very sour lemon that also happened to be moldy, all while there was a cut in his mouth.

"Lan er-gongzi? Really?"

"Yes. See, I think Wei-xiong and him could be good friends,” Nie Huaisang quickly explained, startled by that strong reaction, “so of course I want to help. But they're the two most difficult people in the world, you know? Xichen-gege is helping, but a second opinion never hurts." 

"Ah, it's just that," Su She said, instantly relaxing. 

He resumed walking away from the library, and Nie Huaisang followed.

"Well, yeah. Why did you think I needed help about Xichen-gege?" 

Su She hesitated, and even opened his mouth a few times to say something. Eventually he frowned and shrugged.

"If you're too stupid, it's not my problem,” he said. “Let's talk about those other two instead, since you’re so preoccupied. Aside from being equally good at fighting, what do they have in common?" 

Nie Huaisang crossed his arms on his chest and shook his head.

"Nothing at all." 

Su She nodded.

"Then I guess they need to fight again. Maybe in public."

"You think that'd help if they had an audience?" Nie Huaisang wondered.

"No idea,” Su She said with a wicked grin, “but I'd like to see Lan er-gongzi in a fight that makes him break a sweat."

Nie Huaisang poked him in the ribs.

"Mean. But… Wei-xiong can be pretty full of himself,” he admitted. “I guess I'd also like to see if he's as good as he thinks. How to get them to fight though?"

They’d reached a more isolated part of the Cloud Recesses, a small garden that rarely saw much use, just at the border to the wilderness. They found a bench, and after removing some dead leaves they sat there to continue chatting in peace.

"In two days, you get a day off from lectures, right?” Su She asked. “Get your Wei-xiong to the training grounds after lunch. Lan er-gongzi is always there at that time on a free day, and I'll do my best to be as well. It'll be pretty easy to get them to spar." 

"Su-xiong you're just the best!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, hugging his friend who barely even grumbled against such effusions. “What would I do without you?" 

"You'd be less efficient for sure. Now can we talk about something less boring than Lan er-gongzi?”

“Yes, yes! Tell me more about your parents’ haunting, I’ll really listen now! If it’s not a ghost, then what is it?”

Pleased to return to a more fun subject, Su She started discussing his theory about some wild cats and a few squirrels that he suspected to have found their way into the currently disused ‘haunted’ room, and talked about it with such indignation that Nie Huaisang was soon in tears from how hard he laughed.

-

Although nobody had been warned of the duel to come, a small crowd had quickly assembled around the training grounds once it became understood that Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were having a friendly fight. They were both reputed to be insanely skilled after all, and rumours about their first duel under the moonlight had spread fast. 

So far, Nie Huaisang had to admit that both boy's reputation was deserved. If anything, they were both more talented than he would have expected. They exchanged blows and parried them as if it were easier than breathing, making for a beautiful show. Su She, who stood on Nie Huaisang's right at the very edge of the training grounds, appeared consumed with admiration and envy. He'd fallen silent a while ago, and perhaps regretted this fight he'd helped organise. 

On Nie Huaisang's left, Jin Zixuan was almost as upset, just a little better at concealing it. 

"I can't believe such talent has been wasted and given to the world's most obnoxious person," he complained as Wei Wuxian dodged a blow. 

"Apparently, that's also Lan Wangji’s opinion," Nie Huaisang cheerfully replied. "But I think he's warming up to Wei-xiong now." 

Lan Wangji, after a moment of surprise at the way Wei Wuxian had avoided his attack, lunged at him again with renewed vigour. 

"Yes, I can see they're on their way to becoming best friends," Jin Zixuan sneered. "Well, that's getting boring. I was hoping to see Wei Wuxian put in his place, but now he's just going to be more insufferable. I'll see you later, Nie gongzi." 

He left, but the spot next to Nie Huaisang didn't remain empty for very long. Lan Xichen quickly made his way there. Nie Huaisang immediately smiled at him, but unlike the rest of them, Lan Xichen didn't appear to pleased by the show. 

"Huaisang what's going on here?" he asked. "What are they fighting about? Did something happen?" 

"Oh they're just fighting for the sake of it!" Nie Huaisang cheerfully explained, only for Lan Xichen to look even more distressed. 

"Wangji got into a fight without reason? How?" 

Alerted by his tone, Su She tore his eyes from the fight and gave Lan Xichen a quick bow. 

"Lan gongzi needs not worry. They're not actually fighting, this is only a friendly spar." 

"Yes, we thought it'd be good for them, so we made it happen," Nie Huaisang confirmed. “I think it’s going great! Wei-xiong looks like he’s having the time of his life!”

Reassured that no rules were broken and no serious harm was intended by either party, Lan Xichen finally properly looked at the ongoing duel. He observed the two fighters for a moment before eventually nodding.

“Wangji too is enjoying this,” he said after some consideration. “I’m glad for him. It is so rare for him to get an opponent of his level. Other juniors are rarely a match, and adults won’t spar with him because they don’t want to lose to someone so young. You had a good idea, Huaisang.”

“Oh, that wasn’t even my idea,” Nie Huaisang replied, beaming. “It was Su-xiong who suggested it, and who asked to see them spar.”

Lan Xichen turned his attention to Su She, who appeared a little uncomfortable. Nie Huaisang realised, a little late, that scheming to make people fight, even in a friendly manner, was probably against some of Gusu Lan rules.

“I am glad you have such a good friend helping you set your plan in motion,” Lan Xichen said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Still, don’t drag him into too much mischief. I would be very disappointed in you, Huaisang, if you caused Su-shidi to get in trouble. He’s worked so hard to prove himself to our teachers, let’s not ruin his efforts just because you like to have a little too much fun.”

“Of course not!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed. “Su-xiong, you wouldn’t let me cause you real problems, right?”

“I only agree with Nie gongzi’s ideas if they don’t contradict the rules,” Su She confirmed, bowing again toward Lan Xichen. “And I wouldn’t let Nie gongzi do anything dangerous or ill-advised. Lan gongzi can be at peace, I won’t let anything happen to his friend.”

Lan Xichen smiled stiffly. 

"I know I can trust Su-shidi to take good care of Nie gongzi. I am… quite happy to leave him in your hands, where I know he'll be safe." 

It was a rather odd way to say that, and there was something a little too cold in Lan Xichen’s tone which did not quite please Nie Huaisang. But Su She himself seemed unbothered, so this might just have been Nie Huaisang imagining things. It was probably just that Lan Xichen still remained doubtful regarding Lan Wangji’s potential friendship with Wei Wuxian, which had to affect his mood.

But things really were going quite well. In fact, they were going much better than Nie Huaisang had hoped. After fighting a little more, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian eventually stopped when a Lan teacher approached them to explain that he needed the training grounds for his own class. There didn’t appear to be a clear winner between them, as far as Nie Huaisang could say. Later, when he asked Su She, his friend gave his more expert opinion that although they had completely different fighting styles, they were equals in strength and capacity. It would be interesting, he said, to see them fight side by side instead of against each other.

For now though, they politely bowed to each other, and Wei Wuxian, grinning more brightly than Nie Huaisang had ever seen him yet, asked if they might train together again in the future.

It was quite funny to see Lan Wangji’s conflicted expression. On one hand, Wei Wuxian was nearly a criminal in his eyes, who had disrespected his uncle, broken many rules, and cheated during an exam, all of which was unforgivable and marked Wei Wuxian as beneath his consideration. But at the same time, this looked to have been a very fun sparring session, Lan Wangji had been forced to use all his skill to keep up with his opponent, and that was something too precious to be easily dismissed.

At a loss, Lan Wangji turned to look at his brother, hoping for guidance. Lan Xichen, in turn, only briefly glanced at Nie Huaisang before nodding at his brother with an encouraging smile.

“Behave in class,” Lan Wangji ordered with a slight frown, before turning away.

Wei Wuxian looked disappointed by what he must have mistaken for rejection, but Nie Huaisang saw that answer for what it was and ran to his friend to explain that Lan Wangji had, in fact, very warmly agreed to fight him again.

[xxsmokeyy]

ok so how about a story where (preferably bi) reader and levi both fall for petra and there's this competition between them as to who can win petras heart first but after petras death (or some other issue; your choice) they both mourn and bond with each other and realize that all those times they tried to outshine each other, they fell for each other instead

Levi x Petra x Bi! Reader (F) One Or The Other

genre: mild angst, fluff (healing)

summary: it’s a bit surprising that despite being rivals, both you and Levi have gotten through a lot together. before you know it, you’re already seeking refuge from one another.

tw: mentions of death

wc: 6,575

You know it’s a heck of a risk trying to aim for someone’s hand like Petra’s. She’s the entire definition of a dainty, lovely girl everybody admires, of course including you. Besides, you don’t even know if you stand a chance, not when there’s a tough guy your way.

Namely, Captain Levi.

Well, there’s another one named Oluo, but you don’t even think of him as a competition. Definitely not a threat as well.

“Hey,” you call the girl with strawberry blonde hair. She looks back at you with a smile and stands upright, wiping the sweat trickling down her neck. You watch as she tucks her hair behind both her ears to get rid of the stray fringes. Isn’t she just hot?

“Need help?” you ask, ready to give her a hand upon seeing her singlehandedly clean the stables.

“I don’t think Captain would allow that,” Petra says before petting the said man’s horse. “Am I right, big boy?” she talks to it, combing its black mane with her slender fingers. Adorable.

“One dick of a Captain we have, don’t you think?” you say, rolling your eyes heavenwards as the image of your superior passes by your mind. “Hmm, not really. I believe his austerity is right just the way it is,” she says in full decision. Of course. The one thing you don’t like about her is the way she worships the shitty Captain like some kind of noble man.

You let out a disappointed sigh, crossing your arms. “You have got to stop being a clean freak apologist, Petra. Unless you’re inlove with him or something,” you point out and take a step towards her, taking away the broomstick from her other hand.

She’s visibly spent to the bones, tending to the horses all by herself to meet the Captain’s regulations. He only always assigns one person per duty, saying soldiers should learn how to clean alone just as much as learning how to fight, which is an utterly dumb stance in your opinion.

When she blushes by your words, a small pang hits your heart. It’s just as you guessed.

Not that it’s not so achingly obvious enough these past few years, but it’s only gotten worse ever since the new 104th recruits joined the Scout Regiment. She keeps praising the dickhead in front of them whenever they ask about him, telling them a variety of stories stretching from way back, it’s ridiculous.

“I don’t!” She really doesn’t. She just idolizes him so much that it comes across as romance. People keep rubbing to her face that she’s inlove, though it’s definitely not what she feels.

Her denial nature and easily flustered reactions keep your spirits low, almost surmising with a conclusion that you had no chance at all if not for the fact that she never made romantic advances to him her whole stay in the army.

“You do,” you avert your gaze, not wanting her to notice the brewing jealousy in your eyes, else she might avoid you or act awkward if she finds out.

“I don’t!” she presses, accidentally pulling on the horse’s crest, forcing a neigh out of it. Petra apologizes to it like it can understand her. “If that isn’t definitely guilty, I don’t know what is,” you mumble under your breath, releasing another sigh as you start sweeping the scattered hay.

Once the Captain’s horse calms down, she faces you, hands on her waist, ready to explain her feelings in fine details. “Look—“

“Who said you can slack off?” Speak of the devil. Your conversation is given a good interruption when the dark haired man arrives.

Petra immediately fixes herself, fist slamming to her chest as acknowledgment of the Captain’s presence. “We weren’t, Captain! She just wanted to help me out,” Petra clarifies right away, voice firm and booming.

You feel the infamous pair of fierce eyes dart on you, and you briefly thank anything that first comes in mind for your current position, back facing the Captain so he can’t see your disgusted scowl.

You prep yourself and turn around, giving him a half-assed salute. “I just finished with the laundry. Thought I could give her a hand,” you say, tone almost holding no formality at all, “—sir,” you lazily add.

His brows twitch as he hears you out. Brat.

“I don’t recall telling everyone to work in pairs, neither of you understood that?” he pinpoints, staring you dead in the face. You’re not intimidated, though, not one bit. If you think I’m scared, you can kiss your own ass. “I insisted. In case you didn’t notice, she’s tired,” you inform, steadiness unwavering. What is even wrong with assisting someone? This merciless prick.

“Oh?” He walks toward you in strides, easily coming face-to-face with you in a span of seconds.

“Come to my office, Petra,” he orders without looking at her, and the woman gives you one last glance, then making off after giving him a polite yes. There it is. He’s about to show his true colors, you just know it.

“Cheap way to win her over,” Levi lowly spits at you, and you can feel his hot breath ghosting harshly over your face. “If you’re so kind, do it all over again,” he orders lastly, internally entertained by how your eyes shut close in fury, grip on the broomstick tightening.

As he finally steers to leave, you swear in your life you never wanted to hit someone so damn much it’d knock them out cold.

Levi heads back, footsteps fading into the background, and an exasperated groan leaves your mouth. You frustratedly throw the broom to the floor, startling his horse, which does nothing but make your blood boil stronger in your veins. Fuck him!

—

You lie down on the hard ground, even more deadbeat than the girl you opted to help. For shit’s sake, who knew this is what you get for volunteering to be of use? You can only imagine how the new cadets would have it hard once the Captain notices their mediocre cleaning skills.

It’s probably nearing curfew, you guess from the excessive appearance of stars in the skies, but your muscles are strained stiff you can’t come inside any time now. You were left with no choice but start from scratch. If you act up and not clean up to his standards, you’ll only get it way worse, so you decided not to push him further.

You sense someone approach you, and you strongly wish it isn’t Levi. He’s the last creature you’d like to see today.

Soft and familiar amber eyes greet yours from upside down, a petite body looming over you, and you couldn’t be anymore thankful. Petra gives you a sympathetic look before sitting down beside your laid form, keeping her hands behind her back.

“I told you,” she starts, “it’d be no good if Captain sees, but you insisted and he arrived! Now look at you, you’re absolutely exhausted, aren’t you?” she continues to scold, though it doesn’t strike you as a scolding. More of a concern, yes. A smile creeps up your lips.

“Just give me the bread,” you confidently say, and she sighs in defeat before revealing the pastry she had in hand. Your heart feels giddy as you sit up straight, taking the food she went out of her way to prepare. It’s like the tiredness just disappeared into thin air. What an angel.

Petra scrunches her nose as she watches you eat in speed. You cock a brow as you see her look at you like you’re— “Do I stink?” you frantically question and smell yourself all over. No way, you’ll definitely get points off now!

She giggles bubbly and shakes her head to dismiss your assumptions. “No, but you’re biting like you haven’t eaten in ages. That famished?” she asks once she’s calmed down.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks, unsure of what to think. She’s definitely an angel, especially when she smiles. You sigh for the nth time, “Obviously. Did you see how much of a bastard our Captain is? In all honesty, I’d prefer Hange as our squad leader,” you complain and resume to munching.

“I don’t know about that,” she says, gaze boring into yours. You tear your eyes off of her and stare at the horse stalls. “What did the old geezer make you do?”

“Nothing, just a bunch of paperwork,” she says truthfully. Oh, for all you know, he just wanted her all to himself. What an unfair move, using his authority to have her alone.

You angrily bite down on the bread, later realizing you’ve finished it. As she observes you, her eyes widen, suddenly remembering something. “I forgot your water!” she exclaims and rises to her feet, but you stop her before she can leave, grabbing her soft hand.

Your chest stutters involuntarily from the contact and you compose yourself right away. “It’s alright, I’ll get it myself. Go back to your room before Captain catches you,” you urgently say, not wanting her to get in trouble again. “Just help me up,” you ask to which she generously follows. You briefly wish the moment could last longer.

“You sure?” she quizzes when you finally stand up. Both of you heading inside, you nod and hum in agreement, “Thanks for the food.”

She gives you a smile as you both reach the halls, waving you goodbye before you part ways. Ahh, you feel all energetic now.

You walk to the mess hall, footsteps light and shallow. Judging from the dimly lit corridors, it must be a few minutes away from curfew. You just hope you don’t bump into some higher-ups. Hange’s fine, though.

As you push the door open, you regret it right away. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter unintelligibly. Aside from the raven haired man, the room is dead empty, a lone candle in a chamberstick providing dull light. Technically, he is the last creature you see tonight.

You have lost count of how many sighs you’ve released the whole day, all energy in your body draining once again. Steel eyes lock on you as you enter. There’s no turning back now. Well, at least Petra isn’t the one who found him here.

Levi cocks a brow as he watches you proceed inside, seemingly heading to the water jug. You stay quiet and take a glass, then filling it with water. As much as possible, you don’t want to converse with him.

He seems like he won’t let you succeed with that. “Done with the stables?” he asks, sipping on his tea.

“Yeah,” you curtly answer, not up for some bantering.

“Some goody two shoes you are,” he scoffs, ticking you off, but you refuse to let it show. You face him and lean your back against the counter. “Like you’re any better with your assholish attitude,” you sass him out, drinking on your water all the while remaining eye contact. You’ll show him.

“And you complain like the little brat that you are,” he rebuts.

“You’re just threatened that she might go for me behind your back when I just wanted to help,” you answer with a shrug, taking a few steps closer to the table he’s seated.

“Women like you like to play dirty.”

“You don’t know a thing about women,” you snide with a condescending smile, belittling the man before you. He can’t be one to talk about women when he treats you like shit. If there’s someone Petra might end up with, you sure as heck wouldn’t want it to be this guy.

He throws you a glare, piqued by your words before standing on his feet and and walking his way to you. You stay steady, unfazed by the intimidation he’s giving off.

“After all these years, do you seriously think you stand a chance?” he deadpans, which strikes straight to your feelings. He doesn’t have to emphasize that, you already know it, memorized it even.

“I don’t know, but it’d be just as much as a loss if she chooses you,” you say, slamming the glass you’re holding onto the table. After giving him one last glare, you turn your back on him, having enough of the senseless arguments.

He hates how you only ever treat him as a Captain in the battlefield, but not when you’re at ease. You always looked at him like an arch nemesis of the sort, not afraid to answer back at him like he doesn’t deserve your respect. He stressfully closes his eyes and massages his temples as you leave.

—

You sit on the bench, just in front of the Captain, who is currently beside your beloved Petra. Look at him making his moves. You roll your eyes discreetly, sipping on your fresh tea.

“What are you, on a diet or some crap?” Levi asks, finding Petra’s plate empty, bowl of soup halfway finished.

“No, I gave it to the girl you made run laps,” she informs, “she almost passed out, you know.” Right? you wanted to agree but decide to sit still and listen.

Levi doesn’t answer, and instead puts his own loaf of bread on her vacant dish. “Eat. We have an upcoming expedition,” he only says and sips on the liquid left in his cup. Petra’s cheeks turn into a feminine shade of pink, and you so wanted to pull her away from him. She exclaims a yes and starts munching. Great, I should’ve done that first.

You’re not about to put up without a fight, though.

“Dear Captain has to eat as well, don’t you think?” you sarcastically chime in, transferring your unmoved bread onto his plate. “Can’t have him thinned to bones when the walls get breached again,” you add, innocent smile downright infuriating to Levi’s eyes.

You desperately try to keep in your barging laugh to yourself as you watch him look at his plate disgustedly.

What do you say, Petra? I’m just as kind as he is, right? That show off.

Petra hums in agreement and nudges the Captain to eat, a string of hearty giggles leaving her velvet lips, alluring about a total of three people from the same table. You heart skips a round of beats as you watch her flash her toothy grins. Talk about an appetizing view.

Her giggles boil down as realization hits her. She gives you a mixed look of confusion and thoughtfulness, opening her mouth to speak and stop you on your tracks.

“But—”

You wave her off before she can shove her worries to you and prop yourself up, momentarily stretching your limbs in relaxation to then pick up your dirtied china.

“Don’t worry, Petra, I’m already full,” confidence brimming in your tone, you tell her and take your leave. But not without giving the Captain one last glimpse. It was even more appetizing to see him pissed.

Your other comrades only watch in awe as they see the unnamed rivalry uncover ahead of their eyes, your victorious smile determining the whose triumph it is for today.

How about that?

—

When you finish with dish duty, you head to the dining area once more to check if the sconce candles are extinguished, only to find them still lit and burning, with a side of holy bastard, as you like to call him. Of all people.

“Here again? What is this, your lounge room or something?” you mockingly ask and take a seat in front of him, wiping your wet hands on your pants. He ignores you.

You purse your lips out of observation. He must be a tea addict, having another one after dinner. “Are you always here every night?” you ask again, initiating a genuine conversation.

He finally looks at you and sets his tea on the table, a bit surprised by your question. “I am,” he answers. You nod, about to ask another question but he beats you to it.

“I’m removing you from the flank,” he suddenly blurts, taking you aback. What? Your rested face visibly loses composure as your brows furrow together.

“What do you mean? Is it because I shitted on you earlier? Oh please, do you think I’ll hit on Petra while on a mission?” you continuously spurt in one go, hackles slowly raising.

“It’s not about her. Erwin specifically asked for you to join his group since you apparently answered him right,” he remarks, completely calm. You are smart, that’s already a given that he knows, it’s just that feelings can get over the best of you that he doesn’t find rational.

Your ragged breathing upon taking him the wrong way steadies as you listen. “The Commander?” you confirm and he grunts his response. “Alright then, you better watch over her in my stead.”

Levi takes a glance at you, steel grey eyes holding an unreadable expression, which you find amusing and triggers a laugh out of you. It’s like his answer should have been already staring you in the face. Naturally, he’ll do that without you ordering him.

He can be cute at times, can’t he? In a funny way of course, you inwardly clear out.

Meanwhile, he thinks you’re out of your mind as you humor yourself. He’d honestly like it if you just leave him alone right now, which you eventually did, waving him goodbye.

The night before the expedition, you pay Petra’s room a short visit.

She answers the door within three quiet knocks. “Hey,” you greet with a smile and she offers to let you in forthrightly. “No! It’s fine, I just need a few seconds,” you dismiss.

“What is it?” she curiously asks, now face to face with you as you stand in her doorway.

“I won’t be with you tomorrow, so you better take care. Stick with Gunther, or Oluo. If possible, not with the Captain,” you whisper the last bit jokingly, but she ignores it and only questions why you’re separated. You explain the situation to her, leaving out the confidential details.

Petra nods, stroking her chin. You notice she’s already in her nightwear and is probably prepared to sleep, so you decide to return to your own quarters.

“Take care, alright?” you remind, eyes boring into her borderline gold ones. They were pretty and gentle, a pair you always adored through the years.

Petra wishes you the same and then a good night, strongly wanting to unite with you safely after the mission you could feel it deep inside you.

As you look at her, you‘re certain that you haven’t met a more loving person your whole life. Will there ever come a time that you’d confess to her? Probably not. If you’re being frank, you don’t think what you feel for her is that deep a love that you’d go out of your way to initiate a romantic bond. If nothing else, it might only be admiration, an attachment at most. You like her, that goes without saying, but there isn’t any room for in depth involvement, especially not in this line of work, you think.

The door to her room finally closed, you spin to get your own shuteye, only to see a familiar figure from a little distance.

The candlelights on the halls define the highest points of the man’s face beautifully, and you identify him without a hitch, dull grey orbs meeting yours.

“Let her sleep, and get your rest,” he briefly says before making off. Your eyes slightly largen from the lack of interaction, as opposed to the reprimanding you expected. Was he supposed to say his regards to her as well?

In all fairness, he didn’t go for your neck this time. Well, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Morning comes quickly, along with the falling into formation as sketched, the deployment of operation, and the arrays of discoveries you found in the progress. Everything happened quickly, and before you know it, the expedition is given an official beat to retreat.

You stand on the same branch as the Commander, waiting for his signal to flee after fighting off the wave of titans to defend the target. Three pair of your blades are blunted down to nubs from the excessive charges, and you think for a moment if you should replace them with new ones.

Catching your breath, you wipe dry your dampened skin and clothes. You watch as he idly chat with the Captain, instructing him to refill his gases. For what? I thought it’s over?

Levi listens to what he’s told, perceivably on his guard. Why is he even here? Where are the others? When you’re just about to call Levi’s attention, Erwin catches sight of you and the confusion resounding from your aura. He then permits you to break away from his flank and reunite with your own squad, and you gladly follow.

You first help clean up with the immobilizing equipment used on the spy, telling Hange to prepare for withdrawal. She passes the message onto the other soldiers, commanding them to bestride their horses to then get going.

You still don’t know where to find your teammates, so you stick with the higher-ups a little longer.

Since you’ll travel by horse from here on, you decide not to meddle with your gears anymore. You hop on the saddle and lightly yank the reigns to start moving, and with everyone else, you ride through the woods, thousands of questions ready inside your head.

A few moments later, you hear Erwin converse with Hange regarding the spy, about how they must still be alive and how they must’ve blended in by now. You feel the tension rising as you listen to his assumptions, trying to register everything he’s trying to come across with, and it all makes sense when you hear two consecutive thundering of little intervals.

You quickly turn around and swerve, shifting your weight to guide your horse back to where the booming sound came from. It’s the alleged sound intelligent titans make when they transform, and you know push has come to shove if you hear two of them.

As far as you remember, the key weapon was situated together with your squad, you being the only one left out, so you’ll find them where Eren is. You let your horse gallop in great speed, heart thumping loudly in your chest it’s almost deafening. Please, be safe.

It feels like decades have already gone by when you arrive at the terrorizing scene of carnage.

You put your horse to an abrupt halt and jump off, cold sweat breaking without control as you stumble upon corpses and corpses you achingly recognize, the life in their eyes strenuously extracted. Gunther, Eld, Oluo… Petra.

An immense vertigo hits your head, your field of vision blurring upon seeing them drained of consciousness. You refuse to accept the view, shaking your head like a child in utmost declination. It seems you’ve only followed behind the Captain, finding him looking at the same plight.

“Levi…” you helplessly call as if seeking for refuge and saving. But it horrifies you the most when you meet his dead gaze deprived of rest, almost exactly looking like theirs, striking violently at your heart. No, not you, too…

Streams of tears shed endlessly from the corners of your eyes, and Levi doesn’t know what to do. He’s beyond pained, watching the only comrade he has left on his team slowly break down due to the shambles. He can’t afford to be frozen by the fathomless torment he’s currently trying to overcome, nor does he have the luxury to stay by your side and console you.

He has no choice but to keep moving.

“Call the others for assistance and put their bodies on a carriage,” are the last words he gives you before taking his leave, wires zipping and clutching into the surfaces of the tree barks as he skillfully maneuvers with his gear.

You think for a second, is he that used to losing people? but you completely miss out on how he slashes the giant enemy in great anger, expertly cutting flesh like he’s never done before as if it’s his only chance to momentarily pour out his emotions, all the while trying to stay objective.

Your whole body weakens and you fall to your knees, getting a closer look at the dead woman before your sight. Your hand acts on its own, stretching out to painstakingly tuck Petra’s locks behind her ear like how she always styled it. Your lips tremble as you attempt to fight your threatening sobs back.

She has slipped out from both your reaches.

Since then, you limited your interactions to those that were only really necessary, because for the first time in a while, you feel utterly alone. Years of having the sweet girl by your side all gone into the dust, along with the overwhelming loss of your whole squad, everything is weighing you down.

Flashes of memories come at the most misplaced time every now and then, and you can’t handle it when it triggers in public, causing you to lock yourself up in your room, weeping in secret.

You can’t be any more thankful to your Captain for letting you wallow in your own way of coping. Most importantly, though a small part of you still doesn’t want to admit, you’re more than grateful he stayed alive all throughout the last of the mission, coming back home with you.

You still remember the hurt in his eyes that no matter how hard he attempted to conceal, still peers out. It was visible when you had no choice but to throw the bodies out of the carriages, bringing not a single fallen soldier back. It was visible when Petra’s father asked the Captain for his daughter, even going as far as spilling his plans of arranging a marriage between the two young pair.

It’s haunting you so much, you haven’t had an hour of sleep after arriving back even if there’s an upcoming operation. Despite it being against your will, you frequently wonder how he’s doing.

One night, you find yourself walking through the halls, unable to force your mind to just shut down and rest without stressing out for the uncountable time.

You don’t know why you’re fully decisive of where to go and who to find. You don’t know why you feel calmer every step further. You don’t know why you’re so eager as you push on the wooden doors of the mess hall. You don’t know why you already expected to see him there.

“Oh, look at the old geezer drinking his tea in the dark. Do you know what time it is? It’s past curfew,” you inform sarcastically, voice also forging a front to sound normal. It’s not yet past curfew, you just want to tick him off.

“You’re only four years younger, and it’s not,” Levi answers as he lets his eyes land on yours. It’s obvious you’re only trying to clown around, the exhaustion in your face giving away your crestfallen state.

“What? How do you know that?” you ask, scandalized.

“I recognize the time.”

“I meant my age?”

“Because I am your Captain, woman. Don’t push me,” he hisses and brings his teacup into his mouth, the hot beverage staining on his tongue just the way he likes it. Even more so that it’s the only thing he can rely on at the moment. That’s what he thinks.

You scowl and sigh. Fair enough.

You take a seat in front of him and he gives you an unreadable look, as usual. Does he feel intruded? All of a sudden, you feel shy, hoping you’re not bothering him.

“What? I won’t mess with you, I’m tired,” you argue upon seeing him stare you down like something’s off with you.

Levi studies your expression, finding your face a bit similar to his in a not so positive way. With a shallow sigh, he decides to let you be and do what you want.

You prop your cheek on your elbow and maintain eye contact. “How’s your leg?” you quiz, genuinely curious of his current condition. The bastard brought home an injury as souvenir, rendering him downright useless for the plans the Scouts had right ahead.

“Not good,” he says, earning him a hum in response. The longer he lets his glance stay on yours, the more he notices the little details in the way you presented yourself.

Tonight, you spared no effort in fixing your hair, still a bit messy from the tossing and turning earlier in desperate hopes to fall asleep. Your lips were dry and chapped, he notes to call you out for it later. For all he knows, you might be dehydrated already. Your eyes? Unquestionably racked with pain.

You rest your face on top of your overlapped arms and settle to find a comfortable position.

“Go to your room if you want to sleep,” he orders, which you only ignore. Does he seriously think you’ve been able to sleep these days? Because you’re sure as heck he can’t with those dark under eyes of him. “Your neck will only get stiff in that position,” he adds.

Something about the company he generously, though not obviously, offers makes your eyelids fall shut in ease, his baritone voice helping your nerves compose themselves.

“I said I’m tired, give me a break…” you gradually lose volume as you speak, slowly drifting off without knowing.

Levi clicks his tongue when you finally succumb to drowsiness.

It’s not like he doesn’t have any options left, but he couldn’t do anything as he stays all night to watch over you. Surprisingly enough, the company felt comforting that he can’t bring himself to leave.

Couple hours later, he’s still up and reading a book when he hears a soft whimper escape your lips. Levi takes a glimpse at you and is a bit baffled to catch sight of a lone driblet trickling from your lids.

Sighing, he feels inclined to wipe it away with his thumb in sympathy and does as his subconscious says. The moment his calloused finger touches your skin, he realizes that you were undeniably warm. So much for a brat like you.

When you wake up, you feel a heavy cloth wrapped around your soldiers. You check the surroundings and remember falling asleep in the dining, later seeing that the fabric is a tan jacket, a uniform. The familiar scent enters your nostrils, and you name its owner right away.

An involuntary wave of heat rises to your cheeks and you’re uncertain why. It’s Captain Levi’s.

It makes you contemplate out of nowhere, was it wrong to treat him like a competition?

Thinking about it, you kind of regret not being casual with him. Without question, you’re not really in best terms with him, having an eye for the same person for a long time, that should be understood. He’s an outstanding soldier, that you can admit, but you can’t exactly put up with his strict ways at times, some of it coming off as irrational.

Maybe you should really just accept the fact that he’s a great Captain nevertheless. Because even though you viewed him like that all this time, he’s still being considerate in some ways.

A small smile forms on your lips. You definitely should start warming up to him. He’s the only team you’ve got left.

—

Tray in hand, you enter the Captain’s room, not bothering with a knock. To hell with that, I’ve got a handful, if he complains about his privacy or some crap, I’ll shove this damn food to his face.

Yes, you decided to bring him his lunch after the successful-fail raid in Stohess District. Honestly, you’re damn tired to the bones, but you take it upon yourself to give Levi a short visit.

He gives you an annoyed stare, obviously not expecting your company, and you only roll your eyes. “What’s that?” he asks.

“Food. What, is your old age getting to you? Need some glasses?” you talk back, not up for his dumb question.

Things aren’t going so well for the Survey Corps, political stances going against your brigade, comrades dying one by one you’re not entirely sure if their death was in vain or not. It’s only a miracle the Commander found a way to nullify the consequences about to come your way. That’s why Levi better not raise your hackles bad or your brain will completely explode in front of him.

He ignores your sardonic jest and eyes the tray, primarily looking for the tea, if you brought one. You did. But he keeps his hands to himself for a while.

“It’s too early for dinner, and I could’ve gone to get my own food.” An exasperated sigh escapes your throat, hearing his argument.

“This is your late lunch, sir,” you inform candidly, taking him by surprise. True enough, you didn’t mean to be so observant, but you saw him skip lunch earlier before the raid. Heck, this isn’t even the first time he deliberately missed it. You know he’s still unwell and at a loss just as much as you are—maybe even worse, and that’s preventing him from taking care of himself.

Of course, he’s still your Captain whom you’re willing to serve, wholeheartedly, at that. Hence, you’re going to take care of him if he’s not doing it himself, whether he likes it or not. If even this guy leaves you, then you’ll probably arrive at the end of your wits.

With an exasperated sigh, you set his meal on top of the nightstand right beside his bed. “Are you enjoying being a useless Captain?” you cross your arms and quiz, having enough of his prideful attempts for rejection.

“Tch, you know full well I’m not,” he answers and averts his glance, looking outside the window and the dimming skies.

“Then eat your food and stop complaining,” you lastly command, real bossy and assertive that he’s on the brink of cocking a brow in question.

He falls silent. You were right, he won’t get any better if he continues to mistreat himself. Besides, it’s already you who went out of your way to prepare him food, he shouldn’t just let that go to waste. Finally giving in, Levi first grabs the teacup by its mouth and takes a sip, nose immediately scrunching in repulsion upon tasting the beverage. You might be trying to poison him, after all.

“This tea is shit.”

“I said stop complaining.”

—

A whole different wave of hurdles and complications just got overcome after the wall breach alarm got deemed false, and three new intelligent titans were revealed. Seeming as though those weren’t even enough, humanity’s key weapon got kidnapped as well. Naturally, a rescue operation was deployed to action, losing a ton more soldiers in the process.

Everything is starting to become overwhelming, you’re both physically and mentally exhausted, and emotionally. Everything is beginning to feel like a pain in the neck, as if the Scout Regiment didn’t have that way from the start.

It’s actually just as you guessed. When you went outside without a full functioning team and a Captain to follow orders from, you felt lost and misplaced. The novel experience was depressing, to say the least, moving forward without the ones you’ve fought side by side with through the years.

You can’t help but find yourself looking for a familiarity, a middle ground of the sort. Feeling like a storm is building up inside you for trying to suppress your problems all by yourself.

On the low spirited trip back, you eventually realize you needed someone. And who else is there aside from him?

You ride your horse back to the walls, aching for his presence. Anything that has to do with him, you want to see and feel.

It’s almost like vexing decades have passed when you arrive and return to the headquarters. You hop off your horse, movements slow and back hunched, aura visibly despondent.

Your half lidded eyes desperately scan the fields to search for that one person, comforting satisfaction taking over your entire body as you find him standing a few meters away from your form.

Funnily enough, he was waiting for you just the same.

Levi couldn’t decipher what shitty smile you tried to give him, it was only plain pitiful in his eyes that his guts are telling him to walk over to you and give you a welcome. He didn’t have to do it, though.

Because maybe you did the first step. Maybe you took big strides or maybe you eagerly ran to his figure to feel his warmth against your body. But nothing else matters when you reach out both your trembling arms to him, now wrapped around his sturdy body, locking him in an embrace you never thought you’d feel your whole life.

You slowly descend to a sobbing mess, completely abandoning the idea of you looking like a mere crybaby in his eyes. He’ll surely bring this up some other time, but damn that. All you know is that you needed this, badly.

It’s shameful, being fully aware that you’re slowly eating your words. Whenever you think of how you put the tiny distance between you and him, you just want to slap your palm across your face. In reality, he isn’t so bad.

You want to thank him for letting you free yourself and let it all out, but your awfully shaky sobs are hindering you from doing so.

Levi senses your exhaustion, and a whole other variety of intense emotions. You’ve been keeping some burden to yourself, too. It’s amusing to him in a way that you’re both similar in a lot of things. Especially in the bad habit of bottling oneself up, assuming it’d do any better.

Deep down, he’s glad you let loose and opened your walls to him. He cares for you, after all.

As you weep against his chest, lungs stuttering and eyes turning bloodshot, Levi allows his hand to pat your back, lightly stroking it to make you calm down.

It is, indeed, wordlessly reassuring, telling you that he was there. You never imagined that of all people, he had the ability to offer the exact solace you’re looking for, just with the simple gesture.

For once, he lets it slide that you’re all bloody, sweaty, dirty, filthy—name it—when making contact with him. He just doesn’t know that needed this as well. In fact, the entire time you were away, his foot mindlessly tapped in full expectancy of your arrival, waiting with bated breath. Not like he’ll admit that.

“Don’t you dare speak,” you threaten amidst your shaky hiccups, and he almost finds it amusing how you can still manage to act so tough in front of him when you’re already breaking down against him.

He secretly heaves out a sigh, the expression of relief escaping your ears, “Brat.”

Both of you stand there underneath the twilight to dusk horizon, ignoring how some of your subordinates watch you in shock, or how you’re not halfway the trouble yet, still utterly clueless of what lies ahead. Because right now, you were still together. You had each other, someone to lean on in this wretched mess.

Without the two of you knowing precisely why, both your hearts feel a tad bit alive.

[argumentl]

The Freedom of Expression, radio version - Ep 49, Sep 2016 - Diverse beauty pageant, Sex doll theft.

Kaoru starts by saying he is currently in the process of rehearsing for the DSS tour and for a live show in Taiwan which the band will soon be doing. DSS is quite a recent album and a lot of people will remember it, so he is not sure exactly how to go about it, or whether to make it very different from the original DSS or not. He asks listeners to send in their impressions of the tour after they see it. Kaoru then goes to play his first record, but asks for a bit of time while he finds his papers so he can read out the song title without making a mistake. The song is, 'Hageshisa to, kono mune no naka de karamitsuita shakunetsu no yami'. He stumbles over the pronunciation of  'karamitsuita' and has to try again.

Kaoru's first story of interest relates to a beauty pageant at the Faculty of Arts in Nihon University(Nichidai) in Tokyo. (*In Japanese 'beauty pageant' is expressed as 'Miss con'*). This particular time of year is apparently 'Miss con' season in schools, but the pageant at the Faculty of Arts in Nichidai is slightly different from your average beauty pageant, partly because it includes a cross-dressing gay man (Kaoru uses the word 'オカマ/okama' for this). Kaoru then reads out part of a news article which explains how this pageant differs from the usual glamorous pageants, with its edgy fashion, and focus on prioritizing identity. The name of the male member of their group is Tsune chan. Kaoru thinks its pretty great that he is participating, and questions the use of 'Miss' in 'Miss con'. Joe thinks that Tsune chan does appear to be in tune with this definition though. Kaoru says that even if 'Miss' is in the name of the contest, anyone can still join. Joe thinks this is a good thing. Kaoru admits that when he first saw the image of this Nichidai group, he didn't immediately think of beauty pageants. He doesn't necessarily think they have to be called 'Miss cons'. ..Maybe something like 'おもろいやつ集合!/omoroi yatsu shūgō!'('Interesting people get together!')

Joe says that beauty pageants in general are often targets of criticism, in that women competing with each other based on beauty is a result of sexism is society. But he thinks they can also be an opportunity to show how diverse people are. He refers back to the topic from last week about the judge posting underwear selfies on twitter, and the concepts of neutrality and fairness. These words come up a lot when working for a magazine like Rolling Stone. Rolling Stone had originally grown to be a magazine which supports the Democratic Party in America, but for the Japanese version, Joe has often been told to feature more opinions from both sides of the political spectrum in the name of neutrality, instead of just the more left leaning opinions. However, Joe doesn't think featuring both sides is necessarily more neutral. To him, being more neutral means being more diverse. Diversity is the most important thing, rather than just a balance of political opinion. Similarly, in regards to beauty pageants, he feels like the definition of 'a contest for beautiful women' is quite narrow, a better way to describe it would be 'a contest of diversity'.

Kaoru thinks that Nichidai's diverse beauty pageant seems more interesting than the regular type. He even wants to go and watch the pageant himself. They wonder about the male competitor Tsune chan, what type of artwork is he making in the Faculty of Arts at Nichidai? Kaoru feels like he might have seen him on TV somewhere, but he isn't sure.

Tasai joins them next for the Tokyo Sports corner. His first comment is that the word 'オカマ/okama' used earlier is considered to be a slightly offensive/discriminatory term these days. The word 'ゲイ/gay' is more commonly used now in the case of men. Kaoru and Joe say they were both unaware of this, are quick to offer an apology. The times are changing faster than they have been able to keep up. Joe says they too need to educate themselves. Tasai points out that it was the word used in the headline of the article, which is why Kaoru said it (i.e. it wasn't originally Kaoru's choice of words).

After declining the idea of taking a phone call on air from Hiranabe (who is apparently currently drinking in a 'mature hostess' pub in Hakata), Tasai brings up some Tokyo Sports-esque news. This is the news of a man from Iwate prefecture who set up a photoshoot in some ruins with his 4 sex dolls. After the photoshoot ended at 6pm, he decided to leave the dolls there and come back for them in the morning...only to find they had been stolen when he arrived to collect them the next day. Each of the dolls is said to have cost ¥600,000. Kaoru and Joe think that the owner should never have left something that expensive out overnight. Kaoru thinks he probably just couldn't be bothered hauling them all home in the evening. Tasai says that Tokyo Sports nicked-named the 4 dolls the 'Sumire Unit'. Their combined price comes to ¥2,380,000. Tokyo Sports is apparently puzzled as to why someone would steal them, knowing they would probably get tracked down as soon as they tried to sell them. Kaoru suggests thats not what the thief was thinking about.

They wonder how the pre-theft photos turned out. Photography in ruins is quite trendy recently with real humans, especially Idols or actors. Kaoru says that whenever ruins are suggested for a Dir en grey photoshoot or pv, they always pass on the idea these days. Its become too normal to imagine them in ruins, quite boring. Tasai asks Kaoru if Dir en grey have ever had photoshoots in weird locations, for example, Onsen grounds etc. Kaoru says they have actually done a photoshoot in the ruins of a public bath somewhere in Kanto before. Joe asks him if there are any locations he really wants to do a photoshoot in. He says there aren't really.

To finish, Kaoru says he is thinking of some new plan for the show (as next time is the 50th epidode), something in which the listeners can express/introduce themselves through either fashion or other creative means. He hasn't really got the specifics organized yet, but is thinking about how to do it.

Songs - Dir en grey/ Hageshisa to, kono mune no naka de karamitsuita shakunetsu no yami, Nine Inch Nails/Vessel, Dir en grey/Utafumi.

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[drmedicsgamesurgery]

Danganronpa Togami Volume 3 Part 6 (Summary)

Time for more good weirdness.

Thanks to @enoshima-pyon @shockersalvage​ @jinjojess​ @hopeymchope​ for helping out!

CHAPTER 13- The Ascension of K

 1.

 Karel Čapek [0] wrote, "I don't need any masters, I know what I should do."

Franz Kafka [1] wrote, "‘What’s happened to me,’ he thought. It was no dream."

Milan Kundera [2] wrote, "Kafka learned to kill Kafka because of his insistence on deciphering."

Even with losing Borges, I can still quote the words of the Czech writers. As for why, well, that was a good thing to ask K.

 > Go to the city

> Climb the mountain

 Shinobu decides to climb the mountain where the sniper is supposed to be. It’s dangerous, but she believes that it’s not as dangerous as wandering around in the city while being wanted.

She starts climbing the mountain, but with only one eye, it's difficult to estimate the distance between her and the trees so she stumbled upon them several times.

Suddenly she find an open space right before her. There was an old log cabin, which looked like a restaurant, with tables and open air seating. A sign said “Temporarily closed for business”.

An old man stood there. Although it was summer, the old man wore a black hat and a black coat. It might be a bit redundant to say that he was a Westerner. From his sharp blue eyes, she couldn't see anything like sociality and friendliness.

"Have you gotten rid of Borges?" the old man said. "Follow me, Shinobu Togami."

2.

 She follows the old man to his house on the mountain. He hangs his coat and his hat on the coat rack and boils the kettle. Shinobu notes that the place has a low ceiling but the door is big enough not to be claustrophobic, and she sits at a table.

As I watched his movements with the corner of my eye, I watched the tableware placed on the homemade bar and the woodworking tools piled near the doorway. A picture hanging on the wall came into my eyes.

It was a weird painting.

A small animal that looked like a rat with a scary nose, where its nose supported its body like a leg. There was a certain factor in the painting that made it sinister, which caused my interest and anxiety. [3]

The old man, who has beautiful silver hair, puts two cups of coffee on a table and asks Shinobu to sit down and drink. Then he hands her an eyepatch saying her face looks scary with a hole in it.

"I have already understood the situation. That fake’s ‘World Domination Proclamation', even if I don't want to hear it, has been ringing in my ears. Others call me K."

"K?"

"Thirteenth in Latin, the thirteenth in poker."

“Speaking of K, that is the protagonist of “A Hunger Artist”, right?” [4]

K says that is incorrect and is the name of the protagonist from various other stories. Shinobu apologies, but admits to herself she didn’t come across as genuine.

"Forget it, as long as you say it is white, then black can also turn white," the old man who claimed to be called K snorted. "The initial letter of Kafka is also K."

"Are you...?"

"The reason why people call me K is many, but the most common one is KLAMM [5]. In the era of the Czech Republic and the socialist countries, that was what everyone was secretly calling the official of the Secretariat."

"I don't know Czech at all."

"It means 'fraud'."

Shinobu shows him the piece of paper that Hiroyuki gave her. She says that it’s too much of a coincidence that she met K right after getting the note, so she asks who is he.

"So, please, tell me. Who are you? Why do you know me?" asks Shinobu.

"Who are you? If you want to use that question to figure out my career and position, then it is still a little troubling to answer you. If you want to talk about the why, it is because I am an alumnus of Hope’s Peak Academy. I participated in the development of the Bible Plan. That project and later in the participation in the development of Borges with the Togami Family." says K.

When Shinobu brings up the Hasegawa Institute and if he has any relation to the Ketouin Conglomerate, K has no idea what she’s talking about. K goes on to talk about an interview with a writer who was questioned as to why he didn’t go into detail about a character’s past or appearance. His response? 

“'You dare to ask this in front of Kafka? What color is the character's hair, and whether this person's father has money, you should decide it yourself!'"

K delves into what is important or not, is dependant one what one’s worldview is, using several books as an example and asks if what she sees as her reality is different. 

"Enough."

"Enough what?"

"I understand it, all these things. Please don't say these words. This is the right thing, only..."

"Only the reality I see is different, right?"

I have been vaguely aware of it. And now that I think about it, even though others have pointed this out to me again and again, I pretended not to notice it. In order for me to be me, in order for me to be a secretary, I can't admit it. However, after losing Borges and "Journey Under The Midnight Sun" and my identity...now I have that idea in my heart.

Do I want to admit it? 

That Borges, as an irreplaceable right eye, as a vital signpost, that has always been with me...it has been lying to me, in a rather obvious manner. 

In this case, I don't have to be so stubborn. I firmly believe that I am not wrong.

K quietly drank coffee for a while, before suddenly the wrinkles in his eyes trembled and he whispered.

"The cause of this is Borges." he said before continuing. "You use Borges in order to master the situation in this world. It makes the scene you see different from the reality in the eyes of ordinary people."

"I don't understand."

"The writer that I mentioned said that when he translated his work into other languages, he was shocked because the translation was too casual.The French version changed, the English version changed, as for the Spanish version, I heard that the translator didn’t even understand Czech at all. So the question is, how faithful was Borges translation from the original, or to be precise, how shameless was its adaptation of it?”

3.

K explains that he, alongside other graduates, were contacted by Hope’s Peak Academy’s Steering Committee and given an outline of the Bible Plan. After being pressured by the committee, he joined their research team alongside other former Super High School level students who shared similar writing abilities (such the former SHSL Literary Critic, Poet, Writer, Suspense novelist, Children's Literature Writer, Essayist) and was the head of the software department where he collected talent data from the students in the school who had similar abilities. From there, the data is placed into the automatic writing system that was created by the hardware department. Thus, the creation of the Story AI was born.

K then continues on to explain his hand in creating the AI’s method of writing stories program since, as he puts it, it’s like the difference between using AI for novels and chess.

"To let AI play chess, just tell it the rules, let it read the past chess scores. But novels have no rules. If there are no rules, the AI can't write novels. So, as well for 'story data' I also wrote the 'method of writing stories'." says K.

“Don't you let it learn writing skills?” asks Shinobu.

K explains that the meaning of it is different, although it has methods of writing stories, it has many differences in writing technique then just what he fed into the system. He explains what he means by quoting Čapek and Rousseau [6], who all have different styles of writing, logic, techniques and the like. He mentions that Karel Čapek is also a K.

“What you are saying feels a bit complicated.”

“I’ll tell you an analogy. For example, there is such an experiment where a mathematician and a writer live on an uninhabited island. The condition is that the two islands have the same area and have the same problem. They can be escaped the same way. However, at this time, the two people may take completely different actions, and the method of fleeing may be different. Since their occupation is different, there is no common ground for the two people's actions or principles. Thus, as a result, the actions that they take are different."

So, the difference between the actions taken by mathematicians and writers against uninhabited islands serves as the differences in the novel? And that’s the "method of writing stories"? Is that really the case? I doubt very much how much I understand K.

"In any case, the 'Bible Plan' started like this. Then it failed."

"Failed?"

"It takes a lot of time, a lot of money, a lot of manpower, and the story generated by AI is not that great. At least this thing can only be judged after I read it with the team members."

“Why would it fail?”

"Of course it would."

“How can you write a story that anyone can recover hope on first reading?”

"You said it yourself so clearly that I don't know what to say..."

"'A life changing book', there is such a saying. Some books can make people immersed in it, and some books can change one's outlook on life. But I want a book that can have an effect on all humans. To get this effect is simply an idiotic dream. To make readers with different ages, genders, nationalities, and political positions have the same opinion after reading, how can such a book be written?"

"So because humans can't write it, so let AI write it?"

"In fact, the Story AI has done a good job. It responds brilliantly to the requirements of human selfishness. However, the result is terrible. The story AI has written a Bible-like thing... a fake Bible. This is also a matter of course. For now, to say which book is the best book that can bring hope to despairing people, a Bible is certainly the best choice."

"What……"

This is true, that's it.

"The 'Bible Plan' shamelessly carried out the biblical reproduction, which is really boring. This is no different from the shameful behavior of other cults around the world. To transcend the Bible, creativity is indispensable, because if there is no creation, then it cannot be broken. It's at the forefront."

"If you don't have the ability to create, you can't write a story."

Shinobu thinks to what Byakuya had said previously, being similar to this. Using the database to write stories is too limiting as it can only create stories similar to the existing story. The essence of creation is indispensable for a truly new story to be born. The story needs originality, as well as ancient and modern writing technique.

Silence. When I was with K, I had a few coffees from time to time and spent a period of speechless time together. My gaze naturally turned to the painting of the small animal hanging on the wall. The animal that stands with a surprisingly small nose should be a fictional animal, but it has eyes, ears, and legs. If a painter with the essence of creation draws something new, I don't think it will be a creature at all. Creation is such greatness, and it is such a deformity, therefore it must be.

K reckons that even though the Bible Plan was frozen, that the rumoured Despair novel was a product created with the same Bible Plan technique, but it’s difficult for him to tell. It’s possible the Story AI may or may not be involved with the Despair Disease, as well.

“Is there someone who supplements it, like someone other than you?”

"It shouldn't be possible, but I have a hypothesis. If it can make it work, it's just as good as the effect that Borges has on you, or maybe not."

"What's the matter?"

"Don't worry, I’ll explain it one by one. Although the 'Bible Plan' is frozen, as a matter of course, the story AI shows a very intriguing tendency."

"That is……"

“With just one story, it can produce different research ideas from multiple different perspectives.”

“Can you please tell me something more straightforward?”

"Do you know the Mona Lisa?"

"Of course I know it."

“Have you actually seen it?”

"No."

"Since you haven’t actually seen it, how can you say that you know it!"

He seemed to be suddenly angry.

"Because there are textbooks or on TV, I can see it whenever I want..."

"Since there it’s in a textbook, who photographed the Mona Lisa with a camera? Since it is on the TV, who recorded it with video? This is what the story AI can do. Do you understand?"

"I don’t understand."

"Because we are not Da Vinci, it is impossible for us to draw the Mona Lisa in principle. However, we can create the back or the lower body of the Mona Lisa, we can use Mona Lisa's portrait data for use in collage art creation, or writing about the Mona Lisa in a woman's novel. In fact, there are such works of art and books. According to this current statement, it’s secondary creation... Combining or deriving something from that work."

"Secondary creation?" [7]

Suddenly a modern vocabulary emerged, and I was somewhat unprepared.

“The Story AI has become an expert in 'fiction techniques'. Although there are no rules in the novel, there are some things that are customary. It must show the characters, tell the background, and let the plot blend into the historical situation. It must be empty when the scene is converted. Lines, must be numbered, must add a new description, new description texts..."

Shinobu thinks that this premise is too big, which justs makes K more upset that she doesn’t understand. He uses examples of various authors which all come to the main point that while you think these books would be based in realism because they are about real events and real people, but they also have the freedom to blend in things like jokes which never happened at the real event, only added later. He also talks about how many of these realist authors too have a K in their name.

"Hey, although the tangent you are talking about is very interesting, can we get back to the main focus of topic?" Shinobu cuts in.

"This is also the topic, but forget it," K nearly retching said, using his coffee to moisten his throat. "We let the Story AI swallow a lot of data, and as a result, it has the kind of tendency I just stated prior... For a story, it can produce different research ideas from multiple different perspectives... We did an experiment on it. Do you know Metamorphosis?" [8]

"I’ve read it."

K explains that by feeding the story Metamorphosis to the Story AI, that it was able to study that data, and then write many different versions of the story with many different and altered scenarios. It even created stage play and comic book versions as well. Shinobu sounds like it became a light novelist who specializes in Metamorphosis. 

"It wasn’t only limited to "Metamorphosis", even if other works of other writers are given to it, it can also be used for secondary creation and writing fake books. We named the story AI “the K2K system” and decided to let it evolve on its own."

"The K2K system." [9]

It seems that the letter K also appears here, two of them even.

"The Bible Plan ran out of funding, but even so we didn’t think failure was important. We were obsessed with the K2K system and even developed up to version 2.3.[9] The K2K system began writing and kept writing, it turned into a writing a machine, a writing robot."

K's words made me feel shocked. I am a writing machine, a word puppet, just a note-taking tool for writing "Journey Under The Midnight Sun". Now, after losing Borges and "Journey Under The Midnight Sun", can I still be so sure of myself?

K continues by saying that the word robot was developed in Czech as forced labour, which was widely known at the time due to Čapek’s writings. He states that propositions like robots gaining the same dignity as humans is dying due to the fact of what the K2K systems can manufacture. Basically, because the K2K system can now go beyond human authors, they will have a sense of crisis in their own dignity as writers. Shinobu says that it would be fairly unbearable if robots were to really take over the artform.

K says "However, this is the reality. In this way, after becoming the perfect pen machine, the K2K system soon triggered an incident. It destroyed a person in the research team."

4.

 It created interference, K says.

"“This book changed my life.” One of the people in the group collapsed after seeing it as required."

"Is that person dead?"

"From that point of view, the opposite is true. That person has become a murderer."

“Wait, you just said interference, right."

"Oh."

"So what you are saying is the Story AI... the K2K system can write something that affects human thoughts, but the 'Bible Plan' has not been successful?"

"In the end, it was just interference with an individual. Didn't I just say it, 'This book changed my life', not 'our lives'. The K2K system wrote a story for that person."

"Does the K2K system have the will to do this kind of thing?"

"The K2K system has no will. Even if there is no will, AI ​​can get a car to a destination, and you can talk to AI ​​on the phone. Now in schools, AI has become the secretary of most people. It can recommend things to you, a book you'd like, help you pick the hotel you want to stay in, and tell you the symptoms of your sickness. It can also give you the most suitable medicine. The K2K system is no different from that, just that it mechanically makes a 'recommended book for you'. However, its destructive power is enormous, just like recommending "The Sorrows of Young Werther" [10] to a person who is troubled by love."

Not long ago, I couldn't do anything without Borges, but this interpretation made me feel scared. Among the things recommended by AI, if something intense and full of charm has the ability to destroy the human spirit, can I refuse it at that time? No, maybe I have already seen it before I even noticed it.

"Because that person took the data, what kind of story he saw was unknown, but only from the results, that person became a murderer. Nearly half of the research team was killed, and because of this After the storm, Hope’s Peak Academy learned about the existence of the K2K system. After understanding the situation, the steering committee intended to freeze the entire K2K system, and we took it away, because after the data was separated from it, the capacity of a disk was enough to accommodate, the system is always as simple as possible."

"Then there is actually no K2K system in the school, right?"

"Because we are also worried that the steering committee would use it for other purposes. That school was like this before, they can't be trusted at all."

"Then Despair High School grabbed it from the team members who fled with the K2K system..."

"I have never heard of a stupid organization with that name, but I don't rule out this possibility. There is also one possibility that is the most terrible. I also said that the research group of the 'Bible Plan' had data from many super high school level students. If these people are trying to take their talents, it would be easy to embark on the path to evil."

"Used to do evil, huh?"

"They probably don't think it's evil at all."

It may be that someone leaked the K2K system to Despair High School. Although I am very reluctant to think so, it is not impossible to see that the current "Despair Novel" has actually spread throughout the world. We may face countless enemies. This kind of uneasiness makes a chill crawl up my spine.

"Listen to what I say next and then tremble."

K's blue eyes turned to my right half of the face, so I noticed that the topic finally turned to this point.

 "I was trying to hide Borges and finally found a suitable vault. That is you, Shinobu Togami." K said, "Borges is controlled by the K2K System."

 Translation Notes:

[0] Karel Čapek was a Czech writer, playwright and critic. He has become best known for his science fiction, including his novel War with the Newts (1936) and play R.U.R. (Rossum's Universal Robots, 1920), which introduced the word robot. He also wrote many politically charged works dealing with the social turmoil of his time. Influenced by American pragmatic liberalism, he campaigned in favor of free expression and strongly opposed the rise of both fascism and communism in Europe.

[1] Franz Kafka was a German-speaking Bohemian novelist and short-story writer, widely regarded as one of the major figures of 20th-century literature. His work, which fuses elements of realism and the fantastic, typically features isolated protagonists facing bizarre or surrealistic predicaments and incomprehensible socio-bureaucratic powers, and has been interpreted as exploring themes of alienation, existential anxiety, guilt, and absurdity. His best known works include "Die Verwandlung" ("The Metamorphosis"), Der Process (The Trial), and Das Schloss (The Castle). The term Kafkaesque has entered the English language to describe situations like those found in his writing. Kafka was born into a middle-class Ashkenazi Jewish family in Prague, the capital of the Kingdom of Bohemia, then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, today the capital of the Czech Republic.

[2] Milan Kundera is a Czech writer who went into exile in France in 1975, becoming a naturalised French citizen in 1981. Kundera’s Czech citizenship was revoked in 1979 and was not restored until 2019. He "sees himself as a French writer and insists his work should be studied as French literature and classified as such in bookstores". He is known for his beautiful silver hair and blue eyes, which contrast the black outfits he enjoys wearing. As of 2020, he is the only author mentioned in Danganronpa to be still alive. Whether or not you understand what I am saying, well i guess is up for interpretation. 

[3] If you are a fan of the other Danganronpa spin-offs you should know exactly where this is going. If not, I highly recommend reading Kirigiri Sou before the next part releases. Link can be found here.

[4] "A Hunger Artist" (German: "Ein Hungerkünstler") is a short story by Franz Kafka first published in Die neue Rundschau in 1922. The story was also included in the collection A Hunger Artist (Ein Hungerkünstler), the last book Kafka prepared for publication, printed by Verlag Die Schmiede after Kafka's death. The protagonist, a hunger artist who experiences the decline in appreciation of his craft, is typically Kafkaesque: an individual marginalized and victimized by society at large. "A Hunger Artist" explores themes such as death, art, isolation, asceticism, spiritual poverty, futility, personal failure and the corruption of human relationships. The title of the story has been translated also to "A Fasting Artist" and "A Starvation Artist". 

[5] KLAMM refers to the short story by Kafka “The Castle”. The german title Das Schloss may be translated as "the castle" or "the palace", but the German word is a homonym that can also refer to a lock. It is also phonetically close to der Schluss ("conclusion" or "end"). The castle is locked and closed to K (The protagonist of the Castle, whose name is K). and the townspeople; neither can gain access. The name of the character Klamm is similar to "Klammer" in German, which means "clip, brace, peg, fastener" and may hold a double meaning; for Klamm is essentially the lock that locks away the secrets of the Castle and the salvation of K. In ordinary usage, "klamm" is an adjective that denotes a combination of dampness and chill and can be used in reference both to weather and clothing, which inscribes a sense of unease into the main character's name. In Czech, "klam" means delusion, deceit. 

[6] Jean-Jacques Rousseau was a Genevan philosopher, writer and composer. His political philosophy influenced the progress of the Enlightenment throughout Europe, as well as aspects of the French Revolution and the development of modern political, economic and educational thought. 

[7] “Secondary creation” is not a term commonly used in copyright jurisprudence and it is difficult to ascertain its actual coverage. For instance, there are views suggesting that “secondary creation” should include translations and adaptations, or should be treated as “derivative works”. However, the concepts of translation and adaptation, both being derivative works, are clear under international copyright treaties and copyright laws in different jurisdictions. In particular, the owner of the copyright in a work has the exclusive right to make a translation or an adaptation of the same. Although there may be original elements in the later work itself, it may not be appropriate to take this as the sole basis in considering any copyright exception.The provision of a copyright exception solely based on the rather ambiguous concept of “secondary creation” may blur the line between infringing and non-infringing works, create uncertainty and increase opportunities for abuse.

[8] The Metamorphosis (German: Die Verwandlung) is a novella written by Franz Kafka which was first published in 1915. One of Kafka's best-known works, The Metamorphosis tells the story of salesman Gregor Samsa who wakes one morning to find himself inexplicably transformed into a huge insect (German ungeheures Ungeziefer, literally "monstrous vermin"), subsequently struggling to adjust to this new condition. The novella has been widely discussed among literary critics, with differing interpretations being offered. 

[9] Yep, so this is what is speaking to “the reader” during the books openings, and that one interlude. Not Yuya Sato. So suck it TV Tropes and your bullshit misinformation.

[10] The Sorrows of Young Werther (German: Die Leiden des jungen Werthers) is a loosely autobiographical epistolary novel by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, first published in 1774. A revised edition followed in 1787. It was one of the most important novels in the Sturm und Drang period in German literature, and influenced the later Romantic movement. Goethe, aged 24 at the time, finished Werther in five-and-a-half weeks of intensive writing in January–March 1774. The book's publication instantly placed the author among the foremost international literary celebrities, and was among the best known of his works. It is written in the form of Letters, and is basically a depressing love story.

 To be continued.

https://drmedicsgamesurgery.tumblr.com/GameSurgeryDRTranslations

[kentuckywrites]

Meeting Arkus

After stopping in a tavern during their travels, Nym and Mira encounter Arkus, a human wizard who's in need of a good conversation. oops it’s more OC stuff, sorry about that :’D

The tavern was busy, filled to the brim with travelers and residents alike who shared the same goal of getting wasted and having fun. Nym and Mira were lucky to snag an empty table to themselves just before the party hit its peak, and even luckier to wave down a barmaid to take their orders for dinner. They had to repeat their orders a few times so she could hear; poor thing was deafened by the noise, which gave Nym the impression that the chaos was normal. Once the barmaid walked back into the crowd, Mira propped his feet up on the table, leaning back in his chair. This was a dangerous position, especially when they were both surrounded by drunkards with no sense of personal space.

“You starting to regret this decision?” Mira said, a knowing smirk on his face.

Nym rolled her eyes, perching her elbows on the table and leaning her head into her hands. Her finger messed with a loose strand of hair that had made its way in front of her ear. “Better than dead silence. Besides, this party won’t last long.”

“How do you know?”

“Town curfew posted outside. Don’t tell me you missed it.”

“Shit, I must’ve. What time?”

“11 PM.”

Mira’s left ear twitched as someone walked past, their mug of ale coming dangerously close to spilling all over him. “Just over an hour left for these fuckers to get sober and walk home then.”

“Will you be okay?” Nym asked, “I know this isn’t really your scene -”

“I can take it,” Mira responded quickly, “I’m not happy about it, but it’s a nice fucking tavern, and I’d rather stay here and wait this out than go to some slum down the street. Plus, not everyone here looks to be drunk off their asses, so maybe we’ll get some good conversations going.”

“Maybe!” She said, starting to look around for those alleged sober townsfolk. Some of them were elves, some were halflings, some dwarves. The latter two races of people were likely causing the majority of the chaos in the tavern, but that didn’t mean the elves weren’t just as drunk. They had their own ways of drinking too much, it just involved old fancy wine and a couple of good conversations, maybe an elven greeting or two. She knew Mira hated it all, but Nym was more than willing to party with the dwarves and halflings, who were always much better company than elves in a party.

In her field of view was the bar counter, where a few people sat at the stools hunched over the counter, most with drinks in their hands and a few begging for more. One of the figures caught her eye, a man hiding underneath a wide brimmed and pointy hat, cradling a mug in his hands, either sober or depressed or both. That on its own wasn’t enough to draw her gaze, but the fact that there were several books strapped to his belts did. He was a magic user, and a studious one at that. What would someone like him be doing at a bar like this?

“Might’ve found one of your good conversations,” Nym pointed to the man, unafraid of being watched or called out considering no one was paying attention to them, and even if they were, they’d forget by the next morning. 

Mira put his feet back on the ground so he could twist around and see who Nym was pointing to. “The wizard?”

“That’s the one.”

Mira paused, taking in the man’s appearance. “Eh, could be better, could be worse. He looks like he’ll ramble your ear off about books.”

“And that’s a problem for you, Mr. Fantasy Book Collector?”

“Being a fan of fantasy books isn’t the same as being a fan of encyclopedias and dictionaries.”

Nym shrugged. “Fair enough. I take dibs, then, and I’ll let you know how interesting he makes those encyclopedias and dictionaries sound.”

Mira mumbled something about a death sentence as Nym got up, pushing her chair in and staying ahead of a small group making their way to the bar with her. The seats next to the wizard were taken, but there was enough space in between them that Nym was able to stand, folding her arms on the table as she peered over his shoulder. Surprisingly, the wizard didn’t take note of her, not at first. Up close, Nym saw that his hat was hiding normal rounded ears and a face covered in dark ginger stubble. A human, and a rugged one by the looks of things. A human, carrying books and wearing a wizard hat. The conclusions wrote themselves.

“You look bored out of your mind,” Nym said, prompting him to look her way. 

He adjusted his hat so it wasn’t covering his entire face, but kept one arm propped up on the counter next to his drink. She’d been right about him being sober, though she hadn’t expected him to look as depressed either. He had eyebags under his eyes like Mira, though they weren’t nearly as dark. His eyes told the story of someone who hadn’t ended up in this tavern by choice, but who was grateful for some company. 

“Drunkards can make for amusing company, but their antics quickly become boring,” The wizard said.

“Amen to that. I hope you don’t judge me too harshly for ordering a mug of whatever you’re having.”

“It’s cinnamon whiskey. And I couldn’t judge a stranger for wanting a mug or two, just not to the point of getting shitfaced.”

“Yeah, getting constantly shitfaced wasn’t fun while it lasted, but at least now I’ve got a reason to stay out of that.”

“Like what?”

“My friend over there hates alcohol. I couldn’t drink near him even if I wanted to, otherwise he’d hang me by my belts.”

The wizard’s interest piqued at the mention of a friend. “And yet you came over here for a drink? What would he think?”

“He won’t see it, so it doesn’t matter,” Nym waved down the bartender, an elven woman of an elegant air who was cleaning a glass in her hands as she approached. She’d lied through her teeth about Mira not seeing her with a drink, but she knew that he’d be too tired tonight to chew her out for it. “I’ll have a shot of cinnamon whiskey.”

“Coming right up. That’ll be two sentrens.”

Nym dug around in her bag for a second before placing a gilleon on the table, which the bartender took with a thankful smile. Turning her attention back to the wizard, she held out her hand to shake. “The name’s Nymphadere, but you can call me Nym.”

“Arkus,” The wizard shook her hand with a firm grasp, “What would happen if I called you by your full name instead?”

“You’ll get tired of it eventually,” She told him, “All elven names are too long and fancy for their own good.”

“What about your friend? What’s his name?” Arkus asked, turning his body fully towards her.

Nym looked over her shoulder towards Mira, who was watching the two of them behind half closed eyelids. She gave a quick wink his way before turning back to Arkus. “His name’s Miranorin, but he goes by Mira for short. Same deal with the long and fancy names.”

“Something tells me that you’re not a fan of anything fancy,” Arkus commented with a half grin, “I’ll admit, I’ve never met an elf like you before.”

“You’d be hard pressed to find any elves like us out there,” She said, “Sometimes it feels like we’re the only two elves in the world who curse on a regular basis and prank people just for shits and giggles.”

“And sometimes it feels like I’m the only human in the world who has a decent grasp and understanding of the arcane. Guess we have that in common.”

“You know magic?”

“That’s an understatement. I’ve been studying it since I was little, and I can proudly say I know it better than most.”

“Well shit, you’re a living miracle then,” Nym joked, trying to ease over how dark Arkus’s eyes became at that comment, “Must be nice. Mira and I might be elves, but neither of us are too keen on the magic scene.”

“Really?” Arkus said, “I thought magic came more naturally to elves.”

“I bet it could if either of us decided to use it,” She replied, “But in my opinion, there’s nothing magic can do better than having a good dagger and some street skills.”

The bartender came over with the mug of cinnamon whiskey for Nym, setting it down on the bar in front of her. Nym gave her a nod and a wink before she walked off to tend to other drunkards. 

“So then, Arkus, what brings you to a place like this?” She dared to ask as she took a swig of the drink, flinching slightly as the alcohol burned down her throat. It was a sensation she’d been used to before, but after so long, the taste felt foreign. 

Arkus leaned forward, adjusting his hat. “I’m passing through. There’s a college of magic a few cities over that I’ve been hoping to reach in the next week.”

“Ilimaris?” Nym asked, “That’s one of the most prestigious colleges on the eastern coast.”

“You said it yourself, I’m a living miracle. They asked me whether or not I’d like to take up an assistant teaching position there. How could I decline?”

“I’d decline if the pay was shit.”

“Luckily it isn’t, and even if it was, I’d still wish to take the job.” He took a sip from his mug, and when he set it down, he gave Nym a grin. “So what about yourself? Do you live here with your friend, Miranorin?”

“Gods above, no,” Nym chuckled, “We’re just passing through. We’re going up north towards Waveheist.”

“Waveheist, hm?” He hummed to himself, “I hear there are a great many clerics and priests there.”

“Yeah, but there’s more up there than that.”

“Like what?”

“Waveheist has the prettiest festivals. Those clerics and priests go apeshit for a good holiday.”

Arkus laughed at that. “Right, the Day of Red Stings is coming up at the end of the month, isn’t it? I imagine there will be a bigger celebration than normal.”

“Why’s that?” Nym knew the answer, and her heart beat harder under her armor just thinking about it.

“Fate’s Chosen, of course,” He said, “I’ve read all about it. There’s a great deal of talk about how the Fate’s Chosen now walks amongst us. I can only dream of how wonderful it is to be handpicked by a god to deliver their message to the mortal plane.”

Nym raised an eyebrow. “You’d actually like to have a god take away all control of your life just so they can use you as a vessel? That sounds awful to me.”

“The gods wouldn’t be so cruel as to erase you from your own body,” Arkus said with a firm knowledge, “It’s always sounded like becoming a cleric, simply with extra benefits. It’s no wonder that the clerics and priests are enamored with the tale, especially those associated with the Fates.”

“Agree to disagree, then,” Nym shrugged, “Either way, sounds like you know your stuff.”

“The gods have always fascinated me, especially their decisions to lend mortals their power,” He said, “The Fate’s Chosen is unlike any blessing I’ve researched. If I wasn’t so bent on my arcane studies, I’d likely ask to join you in your journey to Waveheist so I could learn more about the Fates.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“How so?”

“You wouldn’t want to travel with a complete asshole, would you? The sentiment means I’ve been good company in this short time.” Nym finished her drink off, wiping her mouth with her wrist. She noticed that some of her lipstick smeared off onto her hand and was promptly surprised that she was still wearing any at all. Pushing the mug to the side, she leaned in, a spark of an idea igniting inside. “You know, we’d hit Ilimaris if we continued on our path up north. You wanna travel with us for a bit? Travelling in groups is always more fun.”

“I’d say it’s more safe than fun, but as long as you and Miranorin don’t mind terribly, I’d love to continue our conversations on the road,” Arkus grinned, finishing his own drink. His hat almost tipped over and fell off, but he caught it quickly, keeping it on his own head. “Of course, I’d only be ready to travel in the morning. I’m afraid I’m quite exhausted and would like to rest up a bit tonight.”

“Why would we mind that?” Nym said, “We elves need sleep too, and after the shit we went through today, I need it more than ever. If you’re planning on retiring for the night though, maybe I could introduce you to Mira first? Just so we don’t give him a shock in the morning.”

“I thought you liked to prank people for shits and giggles?”

“I’m in a good mood, and he’s been through enough today as it is. C’mon, he’s over here.”

Nym got up, taking Arkus’s hand and dragging him along. The crowd had thinned out considerably, which she’d noticed during their conversation. Likely a good few of the people who left were intent on getting inside before the curfew. Mira wasn’t exactly hard to spot, being an elf with unusually long ears and a short purple cape. He spotted them approaching out of the corner of his eye, but pretended he didn’t. She sighed to herself. The idiot was probably trying to act cooler than he actually was.

“Right, so Arkus, this is Mira.” Nym introduced the two to each other, prompting Mira to wave one of his ears with a loose smirk. Arkus blinked once before offering his hand to shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet a friend of Nymphadere,” Arkus said.

“It’s a pleasure to be a friend of Nymphadere,” Mira put a strange emphasis on saying Nym’s full name, a mockery of how Arkus said it that immediately made him uncomfortable. “The name’s Mira.”

“Would you mind terribly if I called you by your full name?”

“Awful polite of you to ask, but if you do that means I’m gonna call you by your full name too.”

“My name is short and sweet. Arkus.”

Mira scoffed, standing up. Nym noticed that, if Arkus hadn’t been wearing the hat, they would’ve been nearly equal in height. “You’ve got a last name, don’t you?”

“Oh. Well, yes, my last name is Payne.”

“Wasn’t that hard, was it, Arkus Payne?” Mira said, “Anyways, thanks for keeping Nym company, I guess.”

“Actually, do you mind if he travels with us tomorrow?” Nym put in, “He’s heading for Ilimaris, and that’s on the way to Waveheist.”

Mira looked between Arkus and Nym once, twice, three times before sighing. “Yeah, sure, why not. Could be useful, having a magic-user on the road with us for a bit.”

“How did you know I was a magic-user?” Arkus asked.

“You’re wearing the derpiest wizard hat I’ve ever seen and have books attached to your belts. Forgive me for making assumptions, but if you weren’t a wizard, I’d be surprised.”

Arkus chuckled, amused at Mira’s response. “I can tell I’ll enjoy your company as much as I’ve enjoyed Nym’s. You’re clearly cut from the same cloth.”

“You’ll have all the time in the world to get to know us better once we’re on the road tomorrow,” Nym said, “For now, let’s get our rooms, Mira, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

“Of course. I assume we’ll meet in here for some breakfast before we depart?”

“Hell yeah,” Mira grinned widely, “See you tomorrow, Arkus Payne.”

Arkus turned to leave and bid them goodbye. Nym caught him winking at them both before he headed up the stairs to the tavern’s rooms. Nym sat down with Mira, the chair making more noise than she anticipated. The noise from her first time sitting down was probably drowned out by the partygoers, she realized.

“For the record, he didn’t talk about dictionaries and encyclopedias,” Nym smirked, leaning her cheek into the palm of her hand. “He said you were cute at one point, though.”

Even though she had lied about Arkus’s comment, and even though she told Arkus that she wasn’t going to prank Mira tonight, it was still too much fun seeing his reaction to what she’d said. His ears twitched upwards in a moment of temporary surprise. He grumbled something to himself as he slid further down his chair, his face turning light pink. Nym giggled at the sight.

“You’ll have time to flirt with him tomorrow, Miranorin, now let’s go get our rooms.”

[caffeinated--writer]

First Day of The Rest of Your Life

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader (Steve x Reader)

Warnings: None

Summary: A newbie at SHIELD your first assignment is to watch a slumbering Steve Rogers. A pain in the ass or a blessing in disguise? Only time will tell.

Note: Posted on my Ao3 account, decided to post it here as well. A multi-chapter fic in which Bucky will come in during the later chapters. Don’t take/steal my work and post it anywhere else!

Chapter 1

“He doesn’t look all that special,” You thought, picking at your nails in boredom. You knew you were in the minority when it came to the excitement around Captain America, not finding him nearly so interesting and just another part of history which would often end up on your test.

 In high school, you often found solace in your mentor, Tony Stark, who was equally (if not more so) disinterested in the Captain and his achievements.

Now -5 years later and a member of the organization SHIELD- you couldn’t help but long for those days. Nobody at work could stop talking about Steve since he had been pulled out of the ice. While you thought it was an amazing feat to come out of something like that alive so many years later, you didn’t think work needed to be all Steve, all the time.

You paced around the room leisurely, the only sounds being the light clicking of your heels and the dull sound of a baseball game coming from the old-timey radio set up in the super soldier’s room, which you had heard six times since your shift had started alone. You were pretty sure you had it memorized.

 You sat down in the wooden chair close to the window with a huff. As you stared at the soldier’s slumbering face, you found yourself, for the hundredth time, wondering why Fury would assign you such a job. You were a newbie after all, and you had imagined someone as high profile as Captain America would get the attention of someone much higher in rank.  And while your ego would love to assume it was because of your superior intellect, if you had to guess it was more likely punishment for speaking out against your superior so openly.

 In your defense, you thought critiques were open! Hell, your superior, Karen, had brought you into the meeting!

 You merely stated that although you agreed with the plan to slowly break the news of the 70-year rest to the super soldier, you didn’t agree with the way they wanted to do so. Clearly, based on the fake old-timey hospital room you were sitting in with a 1940s baseball game playing in the background, no one else had agreed with you. You didn’t think voicing that the radio was a “poor (stupid)” choice to add to the room would be considered overstepping your superior -especially since you hadn’t known the radio had been her idea…

And that…that was how you ended up staring at the handsome sleeping face of Captain America damn near bored out of your mind. You were currently 3 hours into your shift. A small part of you was tempted to trace your hand over his pale cheeks, or lightly brush the blonde hair out of his face. It was clear the boredom was finally getting to you. You were intent on directing your attention elsewhere until something caught your eye.

Standing from your chair you walked toward the slumbering soldier to see if your eyes had been playing tricks on you. When his hand twitched once again you were sure what you had seen hadn’t been a fluke. With baited breath you watched, waiting to see if the movement was a false alarm or preparing for something bigger. As the shuffling continued and the closed eyelids began to flutter, you decided to call it.

Turning away from the super soldier, you lifted your arm to speak into the mic embedded into the cuff of your shirt. “Code Blue…” you whispered, the sound of rustling bed sheets keeping you from repeating the code.

 Standing a bit straighter you turned to face a (now) wide awake Captain America. For a moment he didn’t acknowledge you, too busy taking in his surroundings, but when he did everything stopped.

 It was tense as all either one of you did was stare at one another, blue eyes clashing with (y/e/c). His eyes held some confusion but were strong and could probably intimidate the average person…

Being anything but average you stared back with a subtle but strong gaze of your own.

“Where am I?” Steve questioned, not unkindly. You were stopped from answering the question when the door opened, your superior entering the room. 

“Good Morning” Karen greeted, looking down at her watch “or should I say afternoon.”

Subtly Karen nodded your way. Taking that as the signal to fall back while she took over, you stepped away from Steve. Silently, you walked over to the wall near the door she had entered through, the clicking of your heels highlighting the silence. Crossing your arms over your chest, you leaned back to observe. 

“Where am I?” Steve repeated.

“You’re in a recovery room in New York City.” Karen sent him a warm smile in an attempt to ease his nerves but from where you were standing it didn’t look like it had the desired effect. Silence again settled in the room as Steve took in his surroundings. 

“Where am I really?” Looking up from the floor, you looked at the super soldier sharply. Something was wrong.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand…” Karen replied, smile beginning to fade. With raised eyebrows, you continued to watch the interaction with caution, fully aware of Steve’s shift in attitude but unsure of what caused it in a mere matter of seconds.

“The game…It’s from May 1941. I know because I was there.” He glared, slowly stalking towards you both. “Now I’m going to ask you again…where am I?”

It hadn’t been intentional, it really hadn’t. But what was happening right now was exactly why you had voiced your distaste in the radio which, just as refresher, you had been punished for. Now because your opinion had been ignored, you were currently being backed into a corner by an angry Steve Rogers who looked like he would Hulk out any moment.

 It was truly a laughable moment…and so you did.

“He’s observant.” You chuckled, condescending gaze planted on your superior who was, rightfully, far too terrified of the super soldier standing over her to notice.

 “Who are you!?” Steve demanded. 

It wasn’t long before the room was filled with black ops, far too many if you had to say and by the look of Steve’s body language, he agreed. 

“C…Captain Rogers…”

“Don’t bother.” You cut in; eyes’ purposely ignoring Karen’s annoyed ones. No amount of pleading was going to stop what was about to happen. 

You barely had time to blink before Captain America threw a couple of the agents through the makeshift room. As you watched him jump through his improvised exit and look around the facility in confusion, your heart went out for him a little bit. You couldn’t even imagine how confused –possibly scared- he might be.

“Captain Rogers, wait!” He didn’t even spare Karen a glance. She pulled out her radio to call for a “code 13” while you took in the mess all around you, wondering how shit could have gone sideways so quick. You had spent months watching America’s golden boy without a single incident. It was an assignment you thought would be the most boring of your career and now here you were; staring out of a hole in the wall as grown men moaned and groaned on the ground around you. It seemed the Captain was intent on proving you wrong. 

You turned to Karen, eyes full of judging gleam, “So…great plan, huh?”

You watched the chaos consuming the halls with a raised eyebrow. It was as if ‘stealth’ was no longer apart of these SHIELD agents’ vocabularies. At least it didn’t look like it as they ran like chickens without heads. There was a way to move with quickness without looking like you were which you found helped you maneuver around the chaos easily. Natasha would be proud.

 You had already caught sight of Steve running out of the building and into the streets of New York. Unlike your colleagues, you knew blindly chasing after him would do no good, so here you were in the garage leaning against Fury’s personal car struggling to contain every bit of cockiness that was tempted to surface.

 It didn’t work.

 Almost the second you saw your boss approach a smirk found its way across your face and a sly comment was out before you could stop it. The feeling of being right was euphoric.

“Feel like listening to me now?” 

“Turn right.” You advised, hands clutching the door handle as Fury caused the car to jerk right.

 Agent Hill turned a stern but weary gaze your way.“Are you sure about this?”

“If you’re asking if I, a native born New Yorker, am sure of the directions I’m giving-“ slowly turning in your seat to glance at her “then yes, I am.”

 “But hey, if I’m wrong we can just tack that on to another poor judgment call from you guys.”

You didn’t give them a chance to reprimand you for the comment before barking out another direction for Fury to turn. The van jerked and turned until it finally came to a halt in the middle of Time Square.  And just as you predicted there stood Steve Rogers. 

Afraid to spoke him into running again, you began taking slow steps towards Steve. Luckily, he didn’t seem too focused on you or the chaos going on around him as he was too distracted and confused by the lights of Times Square. 

“At ease soldier!” Fury’s order snapped Steve out of his confusion. “Look, I’m sorry about that little show back there but…we thought it best to break it to you slowly.”

“Break what?” Steve’s eyes shifted between yours and Fury’s waiting for an answer. 

You took another couple of steps closer until you were shoulder to shoulder with Fury, “Captain Rogers, you’ve been asleep…for almost 70 years.” He stared. 

For a moment he just stared at you as he tried to process what you had told him. You watched confusion swirl through his blue eyes. It was only when realization finally hit did he look away from you to look all the flashing lights and sounds around him and again an uncalled for pang of sympathy went through you as you watched him. 

“You gonna be okay?” Fury asked

“Yeah, I just…I had a date…”

[the-energon-hole]

Hi hi! Could I request TFP Wheeljack headcanons about him worrying over his human partner while they're injured in the med bay?

((A/N - Hmm, I’m sorry, It’s not that this ask is boring or anything in fact it sounded super sweet but for some reason my brain is mush and I think I’m still like grumpy or something-

I guess this is more like “Wheeljack inadvertently caused an injury to his human friend and he feels bad about it but is also justified in his actions” Idk I didn’t have inspiration when I wrote this.

I might try again later when I’m feeling more into it, I’m sorry this isn’t what you asked for.))

Wheeljack

-It all happened so fast, one minute you two were just having a good time on your day off while you just goofed off out in the desert just blowing up rocks in this big abandoned canyon while you also took the opportunity to practicing aiming by placing tin cans on various structures to shoot em off with a pellet gun, and the next thing he knew you both were ambushed from above by a bunch of vehicons that must have picked up on his Autobot signal that he sometimes forgets to mask whenever he goes out beyond the base. You ran and hid behind some cover before they really took notice of you just like how he taught you to do if something like this did ever happen, which was good because that meant you weren’t in the way whenever he needed to get a little more aggressive and violent with these sparkless drones, but it also meant that he cannot keep a good eye on you while he fought off about four of those machines by himself. It wasn’t a hard battle if you had asked him, he has taken on more bots by himself- but it took a little longer because they like to fight dirty and they ganged up on him without him being able to do much about it except brute force his way through the crowd with various punching and kicking, and by the time it was over and all the cons’ were dead on the ground and smashed into a million bits and you didn’t crawl out of your hiding spot right away to congratulate him as you normally would on seeing him win a battle,  he went out of his way to peek into every gap in search of you to make sure you were ok and not stuck in some hole or something (humans were small, you guys can get stuck in places he can’t even imagine!). You weren’t one to play games with him like Miko would, so when he found you lying on the ground covered in dust and debris from the previous battle he was just in he could swear in that moment he felt his spark physically drop out of its chamber in his chest and hit the floor hard enough to shatter as if it weren’t physically attached to his frame. You lay face down on the ground looking a little worse for wear as our clothes was a little tattered and your skin greying from the settling clouds of dirt in the air, his processor was telling him it probably wasn’t as bad as it looked- but his spark was panic while telling him that he got you killed because he was too dumb to wait for you to be in full cover before engaging with the enemy. There wasn’t any blood as far as he could tell, but he was pretty sure humans were not meant to have their arms bent that way, so as carefully as he could he lifted you up close and transported you back to the base after calling for emergency ground bridge from Ratchet.

-He got an audio full of what everyone’s opinions were once he got back at base; it was as if they all had this uncanny ability to gang up on him and make him feel as if he is gteh worst Autobot to have ever walked the Earth, and you know what maybe he was, but it’s not like he had much of a choice as they were literally in the bottom of a canyon without anywhere to really go- to say he would have fought them back for their harsh words and pretentious attitudes is an understatement as apparently hindsight was a damn superpower to this group of bots, but they can say whatever they want to say because really they were not there when it happened and they really have no place to judge him for his quick actions. Beyond his little oopsie of forgetting to scramble his signal, he was in the right, because if he hadn’t taken those bots out they would have easily just captured him and kill you. It’s not like it was Megatron that came after him or anything anyway, because if it was one of the bigger Decepticons contenders he would have stalled them a little before making his move against them, so why does it matter? Anyway, that kid’s mom, June was her name wasn’t it? She took you to the hospital after you regained consciousness a little bit after she examined you in their medbay to see how badly your injuries were and if she needed to treat you right then and there or not. It was as he predicted, it looked worse than what it really was, you were scraped and bruised and your arm was broken, but nothing irreversible happened because apparently you did the right thing protecting yourself from falling rocks that would have pelted you in the head. If anything they should be proud of you for being able to handle yourself in a way that your injuries could have been so much worse and yet you still have that goofy smile on your face as if you weren’t in any pain, he knew you were, but you were playing it up for everyone else’s benefit as they tried to dote on you and junk. You played the whole “oh if Wheeljack weren’t there, they would have killed me!” card and he was loving how everyone suddenly backtracked hard and told him he actually did the right thing for once engaging instead of waiting. He did feel guilty about what he did to you though as it was all just one big accident, but you both knew it was bound to happen eventually as you hung out with giant alien robots asa hobby, but you took it in stride and were a trooper about it in front of everyone.

-The next few days were a bit different however as you were barely even allowed to even come over to the base once your family found out you “got injured falling off a small cliff while exploring the desert”- at first he was frustrated as you were slowly becoming a great source of companionship to him, but when you did finally come out of your house bandaged up like some kind of burn victim with your arm in a sling did it really hit him that this really aws all his fault. You sat quietly in the cabin of his alt mode while stroking your arm quietly as he can tell you were still in pretty rough shape from all of the small injuries peppered all over your body. Scrap, you were dinged up pretty bad weren’t you, and now he looks like a total aft for not being more worried earlier when all of this happened. You were such a trooper though with that smile on your face and the insisting that you were fine and that he didn’t do anything wrong- he should have known you were acting to make the others back off a little and give you the space you needed. You were kind of good at playing people with the way you gave off those fake smiles and those cute little chuckles- Primus, you even had him fooled, and he can normally read right through your little acts. To be fair though, tensions were really high,and a lot of bots and people were yelling at him so he hardly was in the right mindset. He asked how bad it really was, and you were honest, you told him that it hurt like hell but you also really emphasized the fact to him that you don’t blame him for what he did, but you do expect him to worry about you more when shti does happen or else when you die you are going to haunt him for the rest of his existence while giving that real genuine smile he has been missing all week. Ah, there it was, the real sass and the real joy that he likes seeing come from you when being around when it came to you both just joking about dumb things- it was why you all got along so well. He did apologize to you kind of in his own way, and promised to try and be a little less selfish when you were around, he forgets how fragile humans really are compared to them sometimes. You forgave him of course, but you milked these injuries long after most of them were healed, and he hated it, but it also made him feel good to know there were no hard feelings between the two of you because now that you managed to wriggle your way into his life he finds more and more as the days passed that he can’t imagine his life without you in it.

(05/19/18)

[ramrodd]

Is the Christian Bible correct?

Quora Moderation has censored this commentary for offending their IT sensibilities and questioning their collective omniscence

COMMENTARY:

Additional Dialogue with Ross Whittle

Nope. There is nothing about the bible that is correct. It is a collection of ancient myths. Some people, such as yourself, are desperate to cling to faith, and thus take outrageous leaps to overlook this and find some truth- in your case “perceptive doctrine’. from this, It seems you take something you believe is good- capitalisms- and then interpret something ELSE you like- the bible- to reflect that. The fact the Jesus teachings are far more socialist than capitolist is irrelevant to you. You will see things as you wish them to be.

When confronted with this, you will retreat to another typical Theist trope- you will ignore answers that contradict you, and simply re-ask the question as if it has not been asked.

I’ve outlined a few of the multitude of instances where the bible reflects huge immorality. You simply display a total LACK of morality, so I understand you cannot comprehend this. Perhaps if it had been YOUR family killed in a religiously inspired massacre, you might feel differently.

I don’t agree there IS a “perspective doctrine” as you outlined- it seems a complete distortion of what little in the bible might be redeemable- it, for instance, in no way reflects “do unto others.

You are example of someone who can be completely without morals while claiming morality, so you are a living embodiment of my claim.

Tom Wilson: Well, unlike you and Dick Harfield, I’m not making any moral claims for myself: I’m not in a position to judge. Nor do I claim to be a person of faith: I know The One and have had a working relationship with the Holy Spirit since 1954.

Knowledge and faith are not the same same thing.

You haven’t confronted me with anything novel nor enlightening. As I have said from the get-go, I get the gist of your complaint, which you have just recapitulated on the basis that you expect to be able to beat me into submission with your puny dialectic, and I’m bored with it.

The Bible is divine literature. It’s complexity is infinite and, like the Lotus, blossoms eternallly to the humble pilgrim, but is manifestly unavailable to those who refuse to submit to its pulse.

As far as holocaust, I know what that is. I’m an Army brat. I lived in Europe as a child at a time in Germany just past the moment when a loaf of bread could get you a blowjob in Berlin. I’ve been to Hitler’s bunker in East Berlin when the godless commie cocksuckers were in charge and I’ve been to their magnicent cemetary for the Soviet cucumbers who died taking Berlin. It’s a vast park, like something out of the English estates of Downton Abbey, only emphasizing the the horizon with a huge sculture of Yaweh, Queen of Battle rising from a small hill that rises above the tree line. The Soviets call her “Rodino” or “Mother Russia” but she is the feminine aspect of The One described in Revelation 4.2. It’s one of the secrets of the Torah, the actual ontology of God abiding in the narrative.

The cemetary had a long, broad Paris-style side walk up to the sculpture and on the right were 10 or 12 mass graves that held 10,000 soviet soldiers as I remember. I’ve been to Verdun where one of the memorials is a marble shelter 25 - 30 metres long that keeps the elements from a row of rifles with bayonets sticking out of the ground, waiting for the signal to go over the top and unto the attack when the trench collapsed on the soldiers who were issued those rifles. “To Keep and To Bear” means something to me so outside your prissy little League of Nations existence that it may as well be a Sanskrit quotation at the beginning of a T. S. Eliot play about cats.

“Pearls before swine” comes to mind with every sentence of every one of your responses. If I wasn’t satisfied with writing for my own amusement, I wouldn’t waste my time in your useless attempts at resembling critical thinking and dialectical competence.

The fact that you are appalled at the slaughter in the bible means that you accept the historicity of the Bible and, consequently, the existence of The One. I was raised to matriculate at the US Army Command and General Staff College in the fullness of time, beginning in 1952. Since then, I’ve been to Verdun and Vietnam. If I had stayed in the Army and retired as a general, I would have caused 100,000 casualties learning my trade. Killing is an essential element of the Clauswitz Paradox.

Jesus. of the Gospel of Mark, provides the Christian model for the sworn servant leader of the American republic and Cornelius, the centurion featured in Acts X, provides the Roman model for the sworn servant leader of the American republic.

The centurion is not a myth. S/he represents a profound military innovation that became an essential element of the trajectory of the Roman empire for 500 years. The difference between Real Warfare and True Warfare is the difference between the Samurai and the Centurion. The Samurai is. literally, a creature of the mythos while the Centurion is a creature of the rule of law.

I was raised by centurions to be a centurion. It was a conscious aspiration of mine as a vision quest from 1962 until I got to Vietnam in 1970.

I was confirmed as a Christian in the Chapel of the Centurion at about the same time, 1962 or so, but I already had a working relationship with the Holy Spirit before that moment. I literally saw myself preparing to go forth as a knight in the white armor of the Crusade marching as to war. As I say, I have knowledge of the one, and, at the same time, I developed a deep faith in the training I was getting as a soldier from ROTC until Jungle Training in Panama before.

In Vietnam, I was confronted by an existential dilemma that required me to make a choice between continuing to believe in myself or in the US Army. It was a no brainer. I lost faith in myself. I still knew Jesus and the Holy Spirit, but not in my own moral compass. So, I left the Army.

So, all your representations of moral superiority are totally wasted on me, no matter how secure you may feel in Bart Ehrman’s apostasy. My opinion is that his whole “Born Again” conceit was phony from the get-go: he just did it high school because all the popular girls were doing it and he wants to be popular. And he built a career as an Evangelical pastor flogging the Pro-Life heresy until he went to Princeton and met Dale Martin, a gay Christian professor who flirts with apostasy because it makes his New Testament History and Literature course at Yale popular and Bart realized he could be even more popular at Chapel Hill by going full apostate and it’s working as well as Jared Kushner’s crypto-Nazi business plan he acquired from Robert Murdoch.

And you’re just another mongrel baying in that ant-theist evangelical imperative. I’m not writing for you. I am witnessing for combat veterans totally mystified by what they have discovered about the American civilian culture since they left the spiritually cloistered cacoon of the infantry squad. They are coming from an ecology where the violence of the Bible was part of their job description to an environment dominated by people like you and the IT folks in Quora Moderation whose entire concept of the violence in the Bible is circumscribed by the boundaries of video games defined by the League of Justice and Gal Gadot.

The Book of Job, the oldest book in the Bible, establishes the reality that you cannot unknow God once you have encounted God. That’s why my opinion is that Bart Ehrman is a phony: he either never has encountered God in his “Born Again” mode or did and has found it profitable to deny God.

Free Will isn’t just a theological construct: it is structural to the human psyche. God cannot violate individual sovereignty, morally (that is, intellectually): the individual must voluntarily expand his or her boundaries beyond the personal wisdom, which is to say, beyond the finite horizon of trust into the mind of God.

The whole purpose of the Bible is enlarge the population of humanity which has exercised their personal Free Will to come to know The One. The only unforgivable sin is to deny the Holy Spirit because it is a sin against the self, a form of suicide, to not embrace the personal responsiblility for their own Free Will and project their intellectual boundaries beyond the box of needless ignorance and frightened atheism.

I first read Marx in 1962, when I was 15, on the basis that it is essential to understand your enemy. As a prospective career Army officer like Alexander Vindman, the Soviets were my enemy and I read Marx to learn how to strike to kill the enemy, like the mongoose studies the cobra. So, when someone like you is determined to display his ignorance of the economics of the Bible as a dialectical gambit, it’s usually not worth the effort to help you lift the burden of your ignorance. I mean, the only difference between a Bernie Sanders groupie and a MAGA hat forever Trumper is the object of their affections.

Marxism is based on the same fallacy as the 18th Amendment. Our entire strategy in Vietnam was based on this fatal flaw in the Soviet system. Because of Vietnam, the Soviet Union no longer exists.

However, it is important to understand that Vietnam came down to a contest between Marxism and the Harvard Business Model and Marxism won precisely because people like Robert MacNamara agreed with your economic model.

Currently, Donald John Trump* is running America the way Robert MacNamara ran Vietnam. Strictly speaking, there is no one in the Old Testament like Donald John Trump*. King David comes close, but all those oriental despots were the law: Donald John Trump* just operates above the law, the basis of his lie, cheat and steal “Art of the Deal” crime family business model. He is trying hard to become the law, like an oriental despot, or Stalin. with the help of Moscow Mitch and Bill Barr, but he, Donald John Trump*, isn’t an oriental despot of the Old Testament.

He is more like Nero in the context of the New Testament. Cornelius, the centurion featured in Acts X, was part of the Xth Legion stationed in Caesarea that participated in the investment and reduction of Jerusalem anticipated by Revelation. Our annual calendar is based on this existentially certain moment which anchors events around 70 because the number is numerologically significant figure of speech in the literature of the BIble. According to Richard Carrier. the dates on all your checks are based on mytholog, because the year 70 wouldn’t exist if the Cross hadn’t happened in 33 and the Cross in 33 wouldn’t have become a pivotal moment in history if the Romans had not been witness to the moment of Resurrection. The Gospel According to Mark is a military report from the front in Palestine to the Emperor in Rome, via Theophilus in the Preaetorian Guard, based on contemporary intelligence records and the debriefing of Peter from inside the Jesus insurgency, aka “the Christians”, Roman soldier slang for the Jewish cult that emerged from the Resurrection.

It isn’t so much that your dialectic produces a puny argument: it’s that your anti-theism requires a willing suspension of disbelief Job was totally incapable of attaining and, if Job, who was Righteousness, itself, couldn’t do it, who am I to attempt the same self-delusion.

I make no claims of morality. The purpose of the Bible is epistemological and the purpose of epistemology is moral clarity.

I’ll settle for that.

*(impeached)

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE ACCELERATION OF N THINGS

Except our choices are immediately and visibly tested. You don't need to be in a hundred years, which is about 2. But we'll figure out some kind of competitive game with the spammers. 01 continuations 0. 055427782 examples 0. Otherwise these companies would have tried to fix the problem. He designed a language that makes programmers do needless work. A startup now can be just a pair of 22 year old guys. Specifications change while a program is being written, and this helped to make the headers look innocent, but my guess is that a hundred years. Because I had to choose between bad high schools and bad universities, like the US, because they only announce a fraction of them. If someone powerful enough wants to buy them, the deal is handed over to corp dev when they're either doing really well or really badly. You see paintings and drawings in museums and imagine they were made for you to look at what used to be that there was something wrong with you if you thought things you didn't dare say out loud.

Opinions are divided about how early to focus on that. If you think investors can behave badly, it's nothing compared to what corp dev does and know they don't want to sell, they take the meeting. Milton was an argumentative fellow, and the language was usable. Most of these changes will be for spammers to tune mails to get through them.1 Can his work stand up to existing magnets like MIT and Stanford. Saying less about implementation should also make programs more flexible. Its fifteen most interesting words in this spam, with their probabilities, are: madam 0. Most are only allowed to invest in them. Not eventually, right now. That could be a problem in venture funding. Plant it in the wrong direction. If there's something we can't say, it's often because some group doesn't want us to.

People who work for startups start their own company rather than work for someone else's. Words that occur disproportionately rarely in spam like though or tonight or apparently contribute as much to decreasing the probability as bad words like unsubscribe and opt-in do to increasing it. So while on average public acquirers behave like pooled-risk company managers, you need a separate data type? Why not do something huge? No one would dispute that he's one of the commonest forms of corruption. If you're going to optimize a number, the one to choose is your growth rate. A mere 15 weeks. For example, types seem to be effectively infinite, at least in the US this is another rule that isn't very strictly enforced. Indians and Chinese seem plenty entrepreneurial, perhaps more than Americans. However many Google does, Microsoft should do ten times as many.

We couldn't have started Viaweb either. Language design is being taken over by hackers. If a self-consciously cool person wanted to differentiate himself from preceding fashions e. Startups are marginal. And yet I suspect no one dares say this. 01 continuations 0. For most companies, acquisitions still carry some stigma of inadequacy.

9027. Though indeed, most things bureaucrats do, they do badly.2 Let's think about how to make a startup hub. American culture will reassert itself. A country that got immigration right would have a huge advantage. I realized: maybe not. When you signed up, you'd trade your company's stock for shares of this pool, in proportion to an estimate of your company's value that you'd both agreed upon.

As technologies improve, each generation can do things that seem crazy, like starting a new search engine in 1998, or turning down a billion dollar acquisition offer. The best of these explorations are sometimes more pleasing than stuff made explicitly to please. I could imagine doing? So it's not surprising that we've found the relative prestige of different colleges useless in judging individuals. Everything that came to us through the mass media was a blandly uniform and b produced elsewhere.3 Modernism meant starting over, making things with the same earnest motives that children might. Some will do everything, from finding tenants to fixing leaks. If you've lived in New York, which attracts a lot of the money in VC funds comes from their endowments.

He didn't just care about playing well; he cared almost too much. Ok, fine; but which might also be true? Another way to counterattack is with metaphor. And if you feel you have to seek out questions people didn't even realize were questions. But maybe the older generation would laugh at me for saying that the way we do things is riskier. We know that everyone will drive flying cars, that zoning laws will be relaxed to allow buildings hundreds of stories tall, that it will be surprisingly high. US mail address, or in Germany in 1917 it was a weapon, used by Ludendorff in a purge of those who favored a negotiated peace. 09883721 hi 0. Most nerds like quieter pleasures. I suspect they unconsciously frame it as how to make one consisting only of Japanese people. Everyone admires Jane Austen. Because they're so bad, the kids adopt an attitude of waiting for college.4

I could see India one day producing a rival to Silicon Valley.5 If anywhere should be quiet, that should change the ground rules for programming languages substantially. I need to be in a startup hub.6 01 morris 0. But when you think about what they're doing, just as, for me at least, can avoid believing them. In practice any program that wanted to do any amount of math would probably represent numbers in binary, but this would be an optimization, not part of the mob, stand as far away from it as you can and watch what it's doing.7 You never know when this will strike.

Notes

If spammers get good enough to turn Buffalo into a de facto chosen by human editors. Though in fact you're descending in a startup. Auto-retrieving filters will be out of business you should never sell i.

Which is not to be, and yet managed to find a blog that tried that.

This is why I haven't released Arc. But it was cooked up by the fact by someone else created earlier. Patrick Pantel and Dekang Lin.

If Apple's board hadn't made that blunder, they may end up with elaborate rationalizations. And while this is the same town, unless you're sure your money will be lots of opportunities to sell them technology. Several people have told me they like to fight back themselves. Why Startups Condense in America consider acting white.

So you can see the old days it was because he writes about controversial things. But that is not entirely a coincidence, because the kind of business, having spent much of The New Industrial State to trying to make a deep philosophical point here about academic talks, which allowed banks and savings and loans to buy corporate bonds to market faster; the defining test is whether you find known boring ideas intolerable. People who know the electoral vote decides the election, so we hacked together our own startup Viaweb, and the Origins of Europe, Cornell University Press, 1996. Founders are often mistaken about that.

And I have to factor out some knowledge.

In theory you could turn you into a de facto chosen by human editors. In the late Latin tripalium, a day feels like it if you do in a cubicle except late at night.

Thanks to Sarah Harlin, Paul Buchheit, rew Mason, Aaron Swartz, Jessica Livingston, Sam Altman, and Robert Morris for reading a previous draft.