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kikizoshi · 4 years

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Gogol Dialogue w/ Turgenev then Dostoyevsky

Gogol stared suicidally down at a blank page.

He didn't bother brushing off the itchy black flakes accumulated in his hair from the quill nib's scratching, nor did he concern himself with the fact that he was, as was he every evening, due in the dining room in about… negative five minutes, so indicated the glowing clock. His only care, rather, was the fact that, in the four hours he sat staring at the page, not a single image in his mind seemed to want to grace its empty canvas.

Unlike many who tried this craft, he wasn’t want for stories. He imagined a Tsar enjoying a heroine, embracing her and singing her praises as she slid a knife from her thigh into his back. He remembered two young men talking in a plain drawing-room, sparsely furnished--especially compared to the men, one of whom’s shiny black suit hugged his frame in place of the woman long-since gone; the other who quite resembled a gentlemanly peacockish clown, with frilly lace and a quilt of vibrant patterns--yet the atmosphere remained homey and comfortable nonetheless. He saw through his mind’s eye these stories as clearly as the neon numbers before him, but he couldn’t find /written/ words to express them.

If Gogol wanted to orate the story to someone, to make a grand spectacle of it, the words would flow endlessly. He could go on for hours about the most inane of matters, and men would hang on his every word. However, those magical, honeyed phrases he just never seemed to be capable of forcing through his quill.

And so tonight, exactly as every night for the past three months, a restrained knock came upon his door, and Gogol sighed.

“Come in,” he said as he resignedly set the quill down. “I was practically finished anyway.”

“Ah, good,” the man's voice came muffled from behind the door, which he opened thereafter. The relatively average-sized man--an Ability user by the name of Turgenev--held quite the appearance of the black-suited man previously described, though I’m afraid Gogol neglected to mention the quite striking scarlet hair. “Dinner’s ready," he continued, "I know you probably don’t feel like eating, but you should at least come out of your…” he looked around, blatantly fraternally concerned about the, frankly speaking, hovel of a room his friend managed to subsist in, “nest.”

Gogol chuckled and stood, cracking his back at an alarming volume. He waved for his friend to leave, and went about the room, picking up the black-and-white vest he discarded as too confining hours ago and grabbing his cape from the hat rack. While he went on reassembling his outfit, Turgenev spoke once more.

“You didn't get up once?”

“Mm, yes, so it seems,” Gogol said, agitated, after a moment. “I’ve taken your advice to ‘try and write something’, but nothing comes to mind! It’s not even art block… I just have nothing I want to tell the page.”

Turgenev sighed. “You don’t /have/ to write, it was just a suggestion. Now, frankly, I wish I’d said trapeze instead and avoided this whole ennui.” He held the door as Gogol moved to exit. Gogol shuffled out.

“Seriously,” he continued as they entered the hall, “at first I thought some rest would do you good, but now it’s clear that being cooped up for days at a time is draining the little sanity you have left. What am I supposed to do when you get jobs that have you killing again? Watch your slow descent into madness from the sidelines like some half-rate circus hand watching the clown set the tent ablaze?”

Gogol forced a laugh, “Well, why not? All of your work--which has always been excellent, at least as long as I’ve known you--has been shrouded. Where’s the harm in a change of scenery?”

“I said seriously.” Turgenev sighed. “Be serious.”

“Hmm, well, seriously,” Gogol considered, turning into the dining room and taking his seat across from his friend, “Seriously, then, isn’t madness the point? After all, my namesake wouldn’t /be/ my namesake without his madness! And what am I, if not, his namesake-ee?”

“Ha,” Turgenev said, “Hilarious, I’m dying. Have you considered stand-up?”

“Eh? No, I’m writing stories right now.”

“Comedians can tell stories. I know, become a trapeze comedian.”

Gogol huffed merrily, “Well, why don’t you?”

“/I/ don’t-”

“Excuse me,” the butler of the house, Gregor, interrupted, “I wasn’t instructed to account for the palate of Gogol, so I need to have your order now.”

“Hm, well Gogol,” Gogol said with a conspiratorial wink, “probably wants--though I don’t know, you’ll have to ask him directly for confirmation, God knows where he may be--whatever’s leftover. I’ve heard he’s not picky! Although that could be just a rumour…”

“Very well,” Gregor said, unperturbed, and turned to Turgenev, “and for you? I’m afraid I wasn’t informed of your coming either, Sir.”

“Ah, no,” Turgenev said, “that’s because I won’t be eating here. There’s an assignment I’ve gotta do not long from now, but I wanted to see Kolya here first.”

“How gentlemanly,” Gogol gasped, starry gold eyes twinkling, “I’m almost jealous of your lover, Vanya! If this is the treatment she gets...”

Turgenev simply smiled. “And I,” he said, “am not in the least jealous of yours.” Gregor took the moment to slip away.

“How proper…” Gogol gazed at Turgenev, lost in bittersweet memories, “You never used to be so cordial, to imply I’d manage something as sophisticated as that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Turgenev scoffed. He flatly punched the side of Gogol’s arm in jest, “I’m still every bit of the strapping young chap you knew. Just… in a different skin.”

“Hmm…” Gogol donned a severely suspicious face, “But old Vanya wouldn’t have implied such! No, you must be Ivan Sergeyevich now… If not, then tell me: where’s the grin in your eyes?! The coil in your limbs?! The fire in your heart?!” All of a sudden, Gogol’s face fell into a deep melancholy, and he lay a single finger over the centre of Turgenev’s breast, “It’s bitter cold in here now, I can barely feel myself.”

Turgenev frowned. “It’s cold,” he said, “because fire without fuel always burns out eventually. There’s no if, and’s or but’s. Oh, but one but,” Turgenev rekindled some warmth into a smile, “you should still be able to feel yourself; the fire hasn’t gone completely. It’s just muted right now.”

“A muted fire…” Gogol thought aloud, retracting his hand, “How very… poetic.” He laughed, “Like your hair.”

“My hair?” Turgenev tugged at his short red ponytail in confusion. “How is my hair poetic?”

“Exactly in the way that it exists!” Gogol exclaimed, “In this dull, drab, dreary, /monochrome/ colour scheme our boss seems so fond of, not one colour stands out when you’re away! Not Sigma’s grey-and-darker-grey hair, not our boss’ white-and-black suits, and /especially/ not either of my own! The only slight argument you could possibly make is for the Recluse’s eyes, and their purple is so muted they might as well skip the middle man already and turn black. No, only yours,” Gogol concluded, “is a colour that inspires.”

“Well, I disagree,” Turgenev said, smiling, “For you at least. You’re not wrong about the Recluse, definitely, but you have some colour in your eyes. Yes--they’re pale. But they’re very expressive, even when they’re trying not to be. They have a liquid shine, so maybe they’re the gasoline that keeps the red flame burning.”

Gogol clutched his chest dramatically, “My, how sincere! If I were a woman, no kings or horses could ever restore me after how far I must’ve fallen!”

Turgenev’s face lit up, and he laughed, “So, in other words, the women in my life are eggs? Give me a hundred years and I’ll never crack what on /earth/ that’s supposed to represent!” He cackled and nearly fell over. Gogol grinned along.

It wasn’t just Turgenev’s face that lit up when he laughed, Gogol thought, but his entire being. His shoulders relaxed from their usual stiffness, the rigidity melted away and the true man--the ‘Vanya’, as Gogol loved to refer to it--shone through with a blinding passion.

Every time Gogol saw it, it was as though the gamma was suddenly switched from near-debilitating dark to enlightening technicolour. Alas, the times nowadays that such an occurrence happened were few and far between. And unfortunately, Turgenev took the time in Gogol’s silence to check his watch.

“It seems my stay is up,” he rose, “or was up way too long ago. But eat when Gregor comes. He went through the trouble of getting it ready, so don’t be an ass.”

Gogol nodded and waved as Turgenev hurried off, smile taking time to fade from his face. He sighed. Along with Turgenev’s departures, Gogol’s happy interludes vanished just as soon as they appeared.

‘It’s just as well,’ he thought, ‘happiness isn’t something that’s meant for me, and Vanya’s too nice to be corrupted by me for long. Plus, I shouldn’t get carried away. He’s wrong about my eyes… If anything, mine are like Fyodor’s--no, worse, because mine aren’t weathered by compassion. Maybe an empathy, but I have no compassion to keep some sort of innocence in my eyes like he. If Fyodor’s eyes are the dead twigs left in the ashes of the fireplace, mine are the cracked stone, with no hope of ignition. But we’re both dead.’ Gogol sighed at his conclusion. ‘Lone Vanya, then, has the only touch of colour, the only spark of happiness in this God-forsaken world of ours. I suppose I should thank Him that happiness isn’t my goal.’

“...Are you going to eat?” A voice, soft but not hesitant, crept past his thoughts.

Gogol forced the mask of his smile into place and turned to look at Fyodor. “Yes! Yes, I’m just waiting…” As he spoke, he noticed the distinct smell of seasoned tomato. Quite strong was it, in fact, so strong that it surprised him, and he looked down to see an innocent bowl of tomato soup staring politely up at him.

“Gregor brought it while you were disassociating,” Fyodor supplied.

“Hm…” Gogol contemplated for a moment, mask still firmly in place, and continued, “Hm, well, I suppose…” But he, so lost in a state of confusion, couldn’t figure out how to continue. The boy seemed to take pity on him, and sat gently next to him with a bowl of his own.

“Turgenev sent me to you,” he went on, “to ensure that you would eat. So you will eat?...”

“Yes,” Gogol said, a spark of amusement in his eye as he replied. “I will eat.” He noticed, looking at Fyodor’s eyes, that his former thoughts were eerily close to the mark, though perhaps Fyodor was more like he than initially suspected. The simmering mania and deep morbidity felt sickly familiar.

“Good,” Fyodor replied. He left it at that and stirred his soup quietly. He must have known, Gogol realised in that instance, what Gogol and Turgenev thought of him--that they called him the Recluse. He was smart, even if young, and so Gogol couldn’t help wondering why Fyodor would waste time on them. On a whim, he inquired thus.

“Why?” Fyodor paused, then smiled benevolently, “‘As you do to the least of these, so you do unto me.‘” Gogol raised an eyebrow.

“You fancy yourself our saviour, then?” Fyodor merely sipped his soup carefully in lieu of a reply. Despite the care, he winced as the tomato seared his lips, and set his bowl down. After a moment, he appeared to deem it worthy of a second attempt, and brought the bowl’s lip to his own gingerly. He blew softly this time on a tilted portion before sipping slowly, and, as evinced in Fyodor’s lack of reaction, he managed to consume the cooled viscous liquid harmlessly. For reasons unknown, the boy’s actions struck Gogol as odd.

“Well, if that’s the case, then surely you’ve a plan for our salvation,” He prompted as Fyodor set his bowl down once more, “Care to share?”

“A plan…” Fyodor considered for a time, “For you two, no, not yet. Is it necessary?”

“‘Is it necessary?’” repeated Gogol, as though he couldn’t believe the words were uttered, “Of course it is! How can you save someone without the slightest clue of how you’re to go about it? Your enemy--no matter how metaphysical--isn’t going to just sit there and wait patiently for you to come up with plans. If you start a performance haphazardly, if the bar gets tossed just a second too late without the safety net of a plan, the trapezist comes crashing down and all the show is ruined.”

“Much to my fortune, the trapezist is more than capable of catching himself and his fellow performer.”

“No, not like that,” Gogol said. “That’s my point. If I’m a trapezist, then I can’t perform with a cape--it’d ruin everything preemptively! And so I couldn’t catch anyone. It’s up to the choreographer to ensure that the performers have a set route more ingrained than their own morals. If a saviour can’t ensure the safety of his save-ees, then he’s no better than an incompetent stage director.”

Fyodor frowned and drank more of his soup. After all that remained in the bowl was a splotchy red residue, and he had nothing else to occupy his thin mouth with, he sighed and rested his chin on his palm. The angle couldn’t have been comfortable, Gogol mused. Fyodor’s wrist bent at a right angle and his sharp chin dug into the delicate skin of his hand, where Gogol could already see the blood gathering under the surface. Gogol’s own hand ached in sympathy.

“Safety of what?” Fyodor asked after another moment. “If the matter is of the physical, then you’re correct. However, if it’s the soul, then so long as a person devoutly follow their God, their spirit shall be forever saved.”

“And eviscerated over time,” Gogol continued for him, “as what’s first assumed as a benign happenstance crushes self-expression and crumbles autonomy. Metaphor or not, we’re talking about performers, and performers can’t perform if they can’t hold a simple form.”

“...Eat your soup, please.” Gogol sighed, but acquiesced.

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choileon · 4 years

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( ASTORIA TASK #3: ALTERNATE UNIVERSES )

sliding doors ( self-paras )

warnings: death, murder, abuse, blood, violence, imprisonment, pregnancy, bad writing

mentions: zakary prashad, moonji min, minamoto no osamu, aleyna greer

Has it ever crossed your mind? That perhaps, somewhere else, we all live a different life, with different relationships... in another world? --- Train, 2020.

--- ( universe #1: learn to hate ) ---

Open cell 58!

The clanking sound of the metal gates had always given him a skull-piercing headache. He blamed it on the heavy annulling spells that surrounded the prison. Within each brick on the walls, to the fences around it, lights, windows… everything in there, there was a spell to cancel out everyone’s powers. Vampires had their supernatural strength and speed canceled out. Same for werewolves and shapeshifters. Humans didn’t need spells in the first place, so they didn’t feel any difference.

His block was one designated to violent criminals, and he had to say, he was one of the quiet ones in there. The warlock looked up from the book he’d been reading all week when a guard stepped inside, wearing protective gear that had been magically made to cancel out the annulling spells, thus enabling their powers. It was a smart move, he reckoned. Less dangerous for everyone. Human rights activists were certainly thankful for that—well, human rights was a way of putting it.

The guard prompted him up from his bed with the stern attitude that was required from prison guards anywhere in the world. The warlock rolled his eyes at the demand as he adjusted his glasses and abided to the man’s request, standing up from his bed and stretching out his arms to have his hands cuffed to his ankles. His powers might have been cancelled, but physical assaults were still a thing, and dangerous criminals were usually violent. Many had hit the guards before, so, this was a simple precaution.

He was brought to the visitation room, where other prisoners, each sat on round tables and chat with their loved ones. His eyes landed on a table where a single person sat, staring out at the bars behind the window near him. The same person that stood up when the prisoner approached him.

“Mr. Locke.”

He said, drawing out his hand, to which, the warlock showed his own hands, cuffed together and with a chain tying them to his ankles, making it impossible for him to return the gesture and shake hands.

“Right. Um… my name is Zakary Prashad and I’m a journalist for the Astoria Times.” The journalist produced a business card and slid it across the table, before both him and the warlock sat down. “I’m writing a piece on violent crimes that have happened in Astoria in the last twenty years and was wondering if I could ask you some questions.”

The warlock glanced over at the card, before shifting his gaze up to the journalist and shrugged. “You’re already here, so it’s not like I have a choice, is it?” A smirk appeared on his lips, fingers lacing on the table as he leaned in.

Zakary asked if he could record their conversation, to which he received a positive answer to, and so, he pulled out the little note book he’d carry everywhere, where he’d written some questions and started reading from his own scribbles.

“So… Leon Locke… twelve years ago, you murdered your entire coven in cold blood. Including your parents and sibling. What led you to do it?”

His tongue traced his bottom lip. It was almost as if he could still remember having his face and name covering every newspaper and magazine in the district. The flashes were blinding, mixed with the amount of drugs he had in his bloodstream at the time, they made everything much worse. In a way, it was almost funny that someone had decided to write a piece on him, because, although he was considered himself to be a violent criminal, Leon had never been more at peace than behind those walls. The blood in his hands had been justified. He had the right to do it. They had taken everything from him, he was simply returning the favor.

“I felt like it.”

A short answer, followed by a shrug of his shoulders. That same smirk went back to his lips, as if to pester the journalist.

“Records show that you came to your coven meeting one day, bringing several knives with you and, in a fit of rage, used your powers to kill them all in cold blood. Is that true?” Zakary tried once again.

“If you already have the information, then why are you wasting your time, asking me to tell you what happened?” Leon fired back.

“I wanted to hear your version of it.”

Beside giving his own confession in court, Leon hadn’t had the media approaching him, wanting to know his version of the story. They were all quick to judge, to paint him as a heartless monster, and with all honesty, he couldn’t care less about the titles, but knowing that someone was willing to listen was actually—entertaining.

There was a long pause between Zakary’s words and until Leon decided to share his version of what happened. Enough time for him to think this through and if it was worth going back to that night and reliving all of that once again. He hadn’t thought about that night in a while, so, his memories could be a little hazy. Especially since it had been a drug-induced rage fit.

“People tend to think that my adoptive mother was a saint.” He began. “You know… stellar citizen, bright smile, paid her taxes… all that shit. I guess everyone becomes a saint if they’re murdered… But I don’t remember a single day where that woman didn’t abuse me. Mentally, physically, psychologically… take your pick. For 20 years she was the devil in disguise, offering smiles to others while making me suffer at home.”

He paused, his dark hues moving up to the clock on the wall. They didn’t have much time left, maybe Leon could take advantage of it. Maybe he could just refuse to see Zakary the next time. “I started using drugs to numb the pain. Not the usual legal shit like weed. The heavy stuff so I could pass out and not think about it. Ever tried anything?”

“Can’t say that I have, no.”

Prude. Leon thought to himself.

“This one day, I come home—I was 18, by the way. So, I come home from a late soccer practice and Althea’s talking to her ancestors about how murdering my real parents hadn’t done anything for her yet. How sacrificing them hadn’t given her the power she was promised.” His smirk turned into a thin-lipped, tainting smile to Zakary as Leon tilted his head to the side. “That’s not something one would like to hear, right? So, I started planning to leave that house. I stopped going to coven meetings and became more recluse. I relied more on drugs and less on people. I lost my scholarship to college because I didn’t past the drug test, so of course, they had to notify Althea and her husband. And of course, I was punished for it.”

Leaning over the table, the smirk was back on his lips.

“Would you like the details of how she hexed me?” Although he asked, Leon didn’t leave much room for an answer. “One day, two years later, I finally gave in. It was a full moon… one that messed up with the witches’ powers, so that, mixed with the drugs?” He whistled, in order to illustrate his feelings. “I finally exploded…”

He let out a dark chuckle as he stared at his hands, as if he could feel that same power emanating from his fingertips. Flashes of that night filled his mind. The glory and gore of that night and the relief he felt while energy was pulsating through his veins. He could feel their blood splatting on his skin, painting him red while he screamed in anger. In agony.

One of the guards pulled him up, also pulling Leon out of his trance while announcing that visitation time was over.

“Yeah, I killed them all…” Leon said while looking at Zakary, a teasing smirk toying on his fleshy lips. “And you know what—I don’t regret any of it.” He leaned in so that only the journalist would hear it, before the guard pulled him away.

“Come back next week!” He shouted, while being dragged out of the visitation room. “Don’t miss me too much!”

--- ( universe #2: wrong side of heaven ) ---

There were too many people crying around him. He needed a break.

That was what Leon told himself as he stepped out of the wake room and headed outside for a minute. At least, the sounds of a busy Seoul would help him keep his mind on track. The striped band on his right arm, indicating he had lost someone and was in mourning, made people bow in respect whenever they walked past him. Sure, Leon appreciated the gesture, but it wasn’t like he was sad. In so many ways, he was thankful for the loss of his mother. The old woman was becoming more of a nuisance in her old days, than anything else. His father, far too busy juggling between guiding a coven and taking care of his senile wife to care about how Leon led his life, nor how dark magic was still a constant in their lives. Despite all it had taken in order to restore the balance of nature.

Leon took a drag from his cigarette, then tugging on the sleeve of his perfectly tailored suit while his eyes observed the movement of the city. Fast-paced cars, people coming and going as the lights went from red to green, then red again. He had come a long way since his childhood in Busan. A time where feelings were still present in his life. Now, he walked around Seoul as an empty shell, all thanks to the years of dealing with dark magic. He had never intended to start meddling with it. Not really. But from watching his mother practice it, he became curious. When the darkness lured him in, the tempting claws making offers he couldn’t deny, Leon didn’t resist.

It had given him everything in this world: power, influence, more money, coven members that followed him blindly as if he was some sort of god instead of his own head priest… but it had stripped him naked from harboring any feelings or dealing with emotions, which, the way he saw it, was nothing in comparison to what he’d gained. At least it had kept his sanity and youth, which was more than he could say for his mother, who decayed in months what most people did in decades.

The future was going to present him with a coven that Leon wasn’t certain he wanted in the first place. Sure, Leon was a natural-born leader, but his ideals were far from what most witches in his father’s coven wanted to hear. Now, he thought more of himself as a one-man army, rather than anything else. Chances were, he would most likely end up dissolving his father’s coven. Like mentioned before, most witches didn’t exactly agree with his thoughts, and the ones he found that actually agreed on witches being superior beings, turned out to be as greedy as him, which—was something Leon didn’t have time to waste with. Not when it meant what it usually did: a childish fight to decide who was the most powerful witch. He had no quarrel with fellow witches and their agenda of who’s coven was the most powerful. His problem was with humans. The ones that had burned his ancestors at the stake and forced his kind to live in secrecy.

Evolution, like one of their humans had presented so magnificently, was about the survival of the fittest. Evolution had given witches powers for a reason, to place them above any puny human, so how dare they think of themselves as the ones who should be out there, enjoying their lives while the witches hid in fear for their lives and practiced their magic in secrecy? Yes, Leon had found it fair to take matters into his own hands, thus carrying a lot of blood in them, but, the way he presented his case to his coven members whenever the topic would surface, had painted him as their hero and not a murderer. Why should they be the ones suffering? Magic ran in their veins, it made them three steps above humans. Like they should have always been. Why should they be the ones fighting for their lives? Humans shoulder fear witches, not the other way around.

“Yeobo.”

A voice pierced through his thoughts and it made Leon clench his jaw as the woman wrapped her arms around his middle and searched for his eyes. His mother’s last wish, was for him to marry a nice woman in order to continue their family’s legacy, and despite having done what she had asked for, Leon felt nothing for this woman. She was nice. Beautiful, smart, very interested and invested in the coven… He could see she cared for him, loved him even, which almost made him wish he cared enough to want her to find someone more suitable, someone who would reciprocate her love, but said feeling was not there.

“Are you okay? Abeonim is asking about you.”

“I came out to smoke. I’ll be there soon.”

His wife planted a kiss on his cheek and returned to the funeral home. Leon stayed outside just long enough to take a last drag of his cigarette, before dropping it to the ground and smashing it with the sole of his shoe.

On his way back, he walked past another wake room. The commotion inside made him stop and look in. People were crying… louder than he wanted them to. Older people were always so loud, weren’t they? Death was an inevitable part of life. Plus, it wasn’t like the veil was thick enough that they had to scream like that.

Inside, a younger woman held onto an older one. The loud old lady.

The sign outside read Min Moon Bin. A name he’d never heard before, but then again, Leon couldn’t know everyone in Seoul. On one corner another young woman was curled up crying. She looked more exhausted than most in that room. A smiling face on that picture frame, was surrounded by flowers. The man had died young—he couldn’t have been older than Leon. Actually, he didn’t even look the warlock’s age. Leon, despite not being an empath, could feel the love filling the room. A mix of love and sadness.

The woman that had been holding onto someone that seemed to be her mother, acknowledged his presence by the entrance. She asked her father to come to her mother’s aid and approached Leon. Her eyes were red from crying, he noticed, but her face didn’t look wet. She had probably cried in secrecy, away from the crowd. For a brief second, he wondered if that made her feel better, before the thought dissipated in his mind.

“Thank you for coming.” She bowed, and Leon arched one brow. The fact that she was assuming he knew the deceased, was hilarious. Yet, he bowed as well, mostly out of respect. “Were you friends with my brother?”

“We worked together.”

He lied. Nobody ever really ask questions whenever work was involved. Especially family. One’s family almost always knew what they did for a living anyway. Plus, lying came so easy to him, that Leon almost believed himself.

“Oh…” The brunette paused. Leon was ready to give a random excuse and leave when she continued. “So… were you there when he had his accident?”

Work-related accident. Color him curious.

“No. I was traveling abroad.”

Another pause. Silence.

He needed to leave. This was too suffocating.

“I—”

“I’m Moonji.” They spoke at the same time and Leon decided to let her continue before he gave an excuse and left. She didn’t feel like a witch. Definitely supernatural, though. “I was his older sister.”

“Choi Lee Ahn.”

He offered one hand, the other touching his stomach from over his clothes, as a sign of respect. Once Moonji let go of his hand, Leon fished his phone from inside his pocket, thankful that it had started vibrating a couple of seconds ago and it provided him the perfect excuse to leave. The warlock waved the gadget at the brunette, pointing towards the exit before he stepped away to take the phone call.

It was his wife, once again looking for him.

Back in his own crowded wake room, Leon could definitely use a drink. He was about to head towards the eating area to open a bottle of soju when he felt someone touching his shoulder, prompting him to turn around.

“Excuse me.” Moonji said, as she pointed towards the band on his arm. “I just wanted to say... I’m sorry for your loss, too. You left before I could say anything.”

“Ah…” He replied, gaze going to his arm as well. “Thank you.”

Silence yet again. People were so exhausting to him. Strangers even more so. He just wanted his drink.

“You should go. I’m sure your family misses you.”

As rude as that might have been, Leon also knew that in times like these, people were far too inclined to offer a helping hand and well—he wasn’t in need. Death wasn’t as bad as people painted it out to be, and for someone like him, it was barely felt. Yet, Leon knew that for the world, he needed to keep on acting like he was affected by it. When he died, he knew many would miss him. Life in society had given him a wife, co-workers, a coven. Plus, he knew how to be charismatic enough to leave his mark in people’s life. Hopefully, none of these people would make a scene at his funeral, but he knew he would be missed. What difference that piece of knowledge had in his life? None whatsoever.

With that thought in mind, he popped open a bottle of soju, pouring himself a glass.

--- ( universe #3: beyond ) ---

It had been a busy day to Leon. From dealing with a minor crisis at the clinic first thing in the morning, to commuting all the way to Hull’s Island to pay his parents a visit, arriving home felt like a reward for such an eventful and emotionally charged day. It was his turn to buy dinner, but with his head about to explode, Leon figured they could just order something later that night.

The ring around his finger hung heavy that evening for some unknown reason and, as he made his way further inside his house, walking past several picture frames symbolizing his life achievements, that feeling slowly dissipated. From college graduations, to vacations with friends, coven meetings, witches’ celebrations, as well pictures from his wedding day, it was odd to think that Leon had everything he’d ever ask for and so much more. As respectable job, loyal friends, a loving wife who knew how to call him out when he was in the wrong, two adorable little cats who were probably hiding out somewhere in the house… all of it dawned upon him as some sort of gift. Maybe it was life’s way of paying him back for doing what he did all those years ago.

Upon calling out for his wife, the warlock was brought to the master suite, where her voice guided him to the bathroom. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her in the bathtub, extending an invitation to join her. Knowing himself, Leon was well aware that he could never say no to her, so, once he’d gotten rid of his clothes, he sat behind her, his arms immediately wrapping around her petite frame.

“How are they?”

She asked, resting her cheek against his arm, while Leon gently pushed her hair away in order to plant kisses along her shoulder.

“I’m not sure… I mean, as well as one would possibly be in prison, I guess.”

Most days, Leon still struggled to decide whether he still felt guilty about being the one to call the authorities on his parents or not. Ever since they had moved to Astoria, when he was still a child, Leon had witnessed both of his parents practicing dark magic. Much of it happened during his childhood, so it made sense that he wouldn’t remember it. He even thought they had stopped, that they wouldn’t be crazy enough to move to a country that treats practicing dark magic as a crime, and still practice it. However, when he realized that his parents had continued to consistently breaking the law, Leon was old enough to know right from wrong, thus, reporting his parents to the police and watching as they landed in jail this day, ten years ago.

His lips brushed softly against her skin, caressing her shoulders with their light touch. His hands traveled downward, resting on her growing bump, yet another shift in his reality, but one Leon welcomed happy. The baby she had been expecting hadn’t been at all planned. Knowing of his wife’s lack of desire to be a mother, Leon was just as surprised as she was when she mentioned being late. At first, there was confusion and desperation on both sides, but Leon figured that the burden was heavier for her. Communication was essential, and Leon was glad that he was able to make her know that no matter what, he would support any decision of hers. He’d never had strong wishes to become a parent either, but, in his mind, the difference between them was that unlike his wife, he wouldn’t say no if the chance presented itself.

Well, in the end, she ended up getting cold feet on their drive to Planned Parenthood a few months ago, and they eventually decided to keep the baby. In the end, they both accepted their reality when parenthood presented itself. They were happy without a child, and they could be happy with one too… it wasn’t like they were bad people to begin with. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t give their best.

“Don’t be mad, but…”

Leon began, and his wife was quick to complete his sentence.

“…But you forgot to buy dinner.”

His wife turned her head in order to face him, rolling her eyes playfully when their gaze met. The small gesture causing his heart to skip a beat while he traced patterns over her bump.

“I’m sorry. I’ll order something once we leave here, okay? Any special requests? What are you in the mood for?”

“Hmm… definitely something cheesy.” Scrunching her nose at him, she continued, leaning up to press a kiss on his lips. “Like you.”

Leon couldn’t help but to chuckle at her joke. He was a little cheesy, there was no way of denying that… his wedding vows would know. But he didn’t think it was that bad to be this open about his feelings and about how much he loved this woman. He’d give her the world if that’s what she wanted. They’d been married for a couple of years, dated for even longer, so he would take it as a sign that she didn’t mind his cheesy ways either. In order to get revenge for the joke, however, Leon took advantage of his hand’s positions and started tickling her for a brief moment. He lived for moments like these, where her laugh would echo through a room and recharge his dying batteries. Or simply… whenever they got to spend a moment in each other’s company, just sharing ideas about which part of the house they should renovate next or talking nonsense together.

The clinic he worked at was doing some renovations, so Leon was often updating her on its progress, as well as on the progress of a little Boston Terrier’s recovery that had been rescued from a situation of abuse and was being treated by Osamu, one of his co-workers. Whenever he could, Leon sent her pictures of him (the dog, not Osamu) and if it wasn’t for the baby growing in her womb, he was sure that the puppy would end up being adopted by them once he was ready to be adopted. They were already so invested in him... Sadly, they had different priorities at the moment, but hey—they would survive. For now, they were fine just looking at pictures. Leon also let her in on what had happened at the clinic earlier that day because during his lunch break, he hadn’t been able to give her much details on it. But these three cats had been brought in after being rescued from a house fire, and Leon, being as soft for cats as he was, of course felt like his energy had been quickly drained.

His wife left the bathtub before Leon did. Choosing to stay back for a few minutes more, Leon tried to make sense out of how he felt after visiting his parents in prison. He had made a habit out of it, but not one that would make him feel bad. Every year, not necessarily on that same day, he’d pay them a visit to see how they were doing. Now, without the temptations of dark magic surrounding them, they could understand why Leon had done it. Apparently, there was some sort of group counselling in prison, too. It helped lessen his burden, but in all honesty, it would never be easy to carry the weight of knowing you had been responsible for the imprisonment of one’s parents. With a sigh and once he was ready, Leon dried himself and wrapped a towel around his middle and made his way to the master bedroom.

His arms went around her petite frame again, taking in the scent of her exposed skin. Leon knew he wouldn’t be able to be where he was without her. No big sacrifices had been made in order for them to work, but he knew not to take for granted her constant support, especially when it came to sharing his burdens with her. It was something he did with hers as well, but Leon could only speak for himself.

Turning her around to face him, Leon offered her a small smile as he brushed her dark strands behind her ear. The light pink in her cheeks making him wonder if she was blushing or if she was just feeling hot due to her body’s adjustments to the new life it was carrying.

“Have I told you how much I love you, Aleyna?”

“Hm. How much do you love me?”

She was trying to act casual. Unbothered, even. Rolling her eyes and trying not to laugh at his antics, having known this type of conversation for a while now. It was actually pretty common between them. Common enough for Aleyna to know how to respond to it already.

“Ah… to the moon and back.” He said and she nodded, waving her hand at him as if asking for more examples. “As much as the stars in the sky.”

Finally, Aleyna scrunched her nose, sticking her tongue out at his response. She did say she wanted something cheesy.

“I love you more than I love our cats.”

“Right. Now I believe you.”

Ally chuckled, patting lightly on his chest as she tried to get away from his grasp, but Leon kept her from doing so. Crouching down a little, his arms went behind her thighs and he picked her up. One arm adjusted around her back, while the other guided one leg around his waist, hoping the other would follow. The motion caused his towel to drop to the floor, but he paid no mind to it. The walk to their bed was too short for him to care. Laying her down, he hovered on top of her.

“Are you happy?” Aleyna questioned while Leon caressed her hair.

He didn’t answer it at first. For a long time, it was hard for Leon to understand what happiness truly meant. For a long time, he didn’t know if he would ever be. Maybe life would find a way of punishing him for doing what he did to his parents. Was he a bad son? And if he were, what kind of parent would that make him? Time showed that it was possible to be happy. That he had a good life. Time had given him friends, his pets, a family in Aleyna and now, a baby. But was he happy?

“I am.”

Leon nodded slowly, ducking his head to rest his forehead against hers.

“I am. I really am. Are you?”

With that, he pulled away so he could look into her eyes. Aleyna made a silly face, pressing her lips together and crinkling her nose as she held her index finger and thumb at a short distance from one another.

“A little?” He replied with humor filling his voice, moving up to his knees in the space between her thighs and leaning down to press a kiss on her lips. “Just a little?” Leon teased, mimicking the motion of her fingers, before stealing another kiss. “I guess I should work harder then, right?” With that, he tugged on her legs, pulling her downward on the mattress and closer to him. A chuckle left his lips and was muffled by hers as he deepened their kiss.

Dinner could wait a little more.

#astoriatask #death tw #murder tw #imprisonment tw #blood tw #abuse tw #violence tw #lmao sorry ;-;#pregnancy tw

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emybain · 5 years

Text

Renegades Titanic AU: Part 2

I have a lot of random enthusiasm for this okay? just let me write it out for my own sanity. these are pretty short so far, so I can write them pretty quickly. anyway, enjoy!

side note: as someone who has many health problems and a mother with asthma and grandparents and family members who smoke(d) and some died from cancer, I do not condone smoking. bUt I had to think about the time the movie takes place/when the actual ship sailed, as well as the characters:)

part 1

part 2: At First Sight

Nova

It was stuffy inside the third class general room. It was currently just before lunchtime, and Nova was certain that the entire third class was crowded inside the room. It was too small for seven hundred people all to share. She grabbed one of the papers that was on the table in front of her and folded it up to fan her face. For once, she was jealous of Honey’s handheld fan that she carried with her everywhere.

She looked at their four person table. It was small. They were small. Once upon a time Ace had supporters around the country and at his feet, kissing his shoes. And now here they were, the four of them. Just Nova, Ingrid, Honey, and Leroy. Before they left America, Winston had been placed in an insane asylum, and Ace’s closest ally, a man nicknamed Phobia, was arrested. The four of them were all that was left.

“Little Nightmare, are you paying attention?” Ingrid snapped her fingers in front of Nova’s face. Nova blinked and sat up.

“What? Yeah, yeah, I’m paying attention.”

Ingrid raised her eyebrows. “Sure you were.”

Nova rolled her eyes and scanned their plans laid out before her. There was a sketch of Ace’s prison, a map of the city where the prison was located, and a handful of notes.

It had been decided weeks ago that Nova had to be the one to physically free her uncle. As her alter ego, Nightmare, she was unrecognizable and had yet to be caught, at least in Europe. She was currently one of the most wanted criminals in London, Paris, and a dozen other cities. The others were already being watched with every move they made due to their own criminal pasts, so they used her as a loophole to continue their crimes.

“Remind me again how all of this ties into us murdering the Council.” Nova flipped through the papers. The ‘Council’ was their nickname for the five people who were in charge of all the Renegades; they were the power hungry and stuck up asses who betrayed Ace years before and had him imprisoned.

“We free Ace, his old allies return, and our power is restored,” Honey drawled. Her eyes wandered the room, most likely for someone who was attractive. But it third class, it was hard to come by. Most of the third class guests were immigrants or homeless or both, but they all had poverty in common, and poverty was not a handsome trait.

Sweat trickled down the back of Nova’s neck. Her fingers were itching for a cigarette, but Honey had confiscated the pack she snuck onboard with them.

“It’s unladylike,” she had said before hiding them from Nova.

Nova didn’t even like smoking. She found it rather disgusting, in all honesty, but it gave her something to do; it was something to distract her mind.

The heat of the room was growing more and more unbearable. Suddenly, Nova stood from her chair.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need a minute.” Leroy began to stand, but Nova had already started out the door when he called her name.

_________

Adrian

The bell for lunch would be ringing soon, but Adrian and his friends were outside on the deck, looking at the ocean before them. The others chatted with one another while Adrian was bent over his sketchbook that was perched over the fine wood railing. He looked up every few seconds, eyes pointed down toward the third class deck. There was a grandfather holding a little girl up on the railing, probably explaining the mechanisms of the ship, from the way he was pointing down below at the water.

“Do you ever sell your work, Adrian?” He turned his head up to find Danna looking at him, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

He shook his head. “I have no need. If anyone ever wants a piece of mine, I give it to them for free.”

Ruby snorted. “How charitable. Could you draw me something, Adrian?”

“You could draw me,” Oscar offered, “but I’d like a nude portrait.”

Adrian pushed him jokingly, laughing out loud. “That would cost you.”

“Well, I am worth a lot,” Oscar said, to which both Ruby and Danna laughed at. Adrian opened his mouth to respond, but it closed when his eyes found someone new on the third class deck. At first, he thought it might be a young man, because of the shorter hair and suspenders and trousers, but upon closer inspection, he saw it was a young lady, probably around his age. She made her way to the railing overlooking the ocean, resting her arms on the rail, crossed at the wrist. He could only see half of her face, for she was facing away from him, but even from his spot on the first class deck, higher up than her, he could point out her sharp features.

He could also tell, from the way she was standing and the way she had walked, that she was thoroughly pissed.

Adrian flipped to a new page in his sketchbook quickly, pencil hovering over the blank paper to begin a new piece. But he froze as pencil hit paper. Something in his head told him to not draw her, that even he, who had been into art since he was young and was skilled at drawing, could not catch her person properly.

“It seems like our sweet, kind, quiet Adrian has a crush.” Adrian tore his eyes from the girl to look at Oscar, whose lips were curled up teasingly.

Adrian felt his cheeks heat up. “What? No. She just looks interesting is all.” He turned back to her, pursing his lips. “Different.”

Danna and Ruby moved closer to take a look, Ruby leaning over the rail, as she was the furthest away. “She’s very pretty,” Danna observed. “But seriously, Adrian, she’s third class. We know your dads expect you to get married soon, but be a little more realistic. It could never happen.” Her tone was light, teasing, but it still hit Adrian with reality. At least it wasn’t like he was actually attracted to her or wanted to meet her.

She turned her head then, and her eyes met Adrian’s. His breath caught in his throat. He was wrong. He was definitely attracted to her and a sudden longing to learn her name and her life story filled his body. She turned away again, but after a few seconds, looked back up. Adrian was still staring. Feeling awkward, he raised a hand and waved weakly. She scowled at him and whipped her head to face the ocean once again.

Another woman, this one dressed rather elaborately for someone in third class strolled up beside the girl, reaching for her arm. The girl turned and yanked her arm back, as if repulsed. The woman was much older, and at first, Adrian suspected she was the girl’s mother. However, something told him he knew the woman, and so that meant he must know the girl too, but he didn’t, so he ruled out the familial relation. Also, they looked nothing like one another. She could be adopted, he supposed, like him, but he highly doubted it by the look she was giving the woman.

The woman said something to her, which deepened the annoyed look on her face. She scoffed and brushed past the woman, stalking off and out of Adrian’s view. His heart sank.

“Honey Harper,” said Danna, her voice now cold. She pulled at Adrian’s arm as the lunch bell rang. “See, Adrian? She’s one of them. You don’t want to get mixed up with her, even if it’s just a fling. She’s no good.”

Adrian allowed himself to be pulled away by his friends, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the girl for all of lunch and the rest of the day.

#renegades #archenemies #nova artino #Adrian everhart #Oscar silva #danna bell #ruby tucker #anarchists #my writing

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fatedcaniine · 6 years

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Servant Alice Profile

Avenger Alice Almarias

Servant Details: True Name: Alice Almarias Servant Class: Avenger Region of Origin: Pennsylvania, USA Age: ??? Faceclaim: Aqua from Kingdom Hearts Birth By Sleep

Servant Parameters:

Strength : B+

Agility: A

Endurance: B+

Luck: D-

Mana: A-

Noble Phantasm: A++

Servant Skills:

Wrathful Dog Rank C

As a human forced into multiple life changing situations by a being above humanity, her body and mind slowly transformed even if she didn’t want them to. This skill acts similar to Mad Enhancement, increasing her strength as it also lowers her sanity in turn. However, it also transforms her body into a more monstrous form that she sees her own body as at times. This form is a mix of a werewolf, dragon, giant, and a demon. This form drains more prana from her Master the more transformed she becomes, and she can turn on her Master within a second if the transformation gets too far.

Disengagement Rank B-

The ability to withdraw from the battlefield in the midst of combat or reset the battle conditions. At this ranking, it has the bonus effect of returning battle conditions to what they were at the beginning of the match (1st turn) and restores the condition of this Skill to the initial value. As a unyielding warrior, she has learned when it is good to run away from a battle and when to continue to charge into combat as well. With this skill is at this rank, she is given a slight speed increase when she runs away from a battle.

Eye of the Mind (True) Rank A+

This skill is a heightened capacity for observation, refined through training, discipline and experience. A danger-avoidance ability that utilizes the intelligence collected up to the current time as the basis in order to predict the opponent’s activity and change the current situation. This is not a result of talent, but an overwhelming amount of combat experience. A weapon wielded by none other than a mortal, gained through tenacious training. So long there is even a 1% chance of a comeback, this ability greatly improves the chances of winning. At this rank, She is capable of calm analysis of the abilities of the opponent as well as the battle conditions even when in danger and deduce an appropriate course of action after considering all possibilities to escape from a predicament. Hundreds of thousands of fights of different kinds have given her the ability to understand how a fight will go and how a foe will act when they make movements of a combative nature.

Magic Resistance Rank D

While she was a normal human all of her lives, she gained plenty of knowledge on how magic works and how to protect herself from it. Though without the ability to call upon all of her years of skills and abilities, her protection from magic is less than what it normally would be if she was summoned at her peak.

Servant Noble Phantasm:

Castle Canem Diebus Fatalibus; A Castle of no Escape

A++ Rank, Anti-Unit

A large castle that reaches into the sky, where the outer walls are the least defensive of the entire castle. A courtyard with a single chair, a sleeping beast, and a woman covered in scars innumerable. The number of floors in this castle is hard to count, but they all are filled with corpses in many forms of decay. Some have barely decayed and only miss what they lost in life, while others have skin and muscle hanging onto the bone by a small amount of connective tissue. This is a Reality Marble based upon how she sees herself, how she wants to be even in life; locked away from anyone or anything that she could hurt by being around them. The person drawn into the Reality Marble ends up on the highest floor of the castle, unable to escape unless they make their way down to the Courtyard and kill the woman in the center.

Each floor of the castle is manned by a different Corpse that takes on a different classification that Servants can take on. Saber, Archer, Lancer, Assassin, Caster, Rider, and Berserker. To move down to the next floor, the Corpse with a Servant class must be killed, else they will never be allowed to escape as the corpse hunts them down to kill them.

The Castle, her visualization of it is based upon the Houska Castle, a place she once visited in life. A castle meant to defend the common man from the hole to Hell. A fitting place to keep the Dog from escaping and ruining the lives of those around her.

Servant Lines:

Summon

I am Avenger, though perhaps that is the best for a monster like me…

You can call me anything you want. So long as you fight for mankind, I’ll be by your side.

Level Up

I still like this feeling of getting stronger.

Ascension 1

Oh? This armor? It’s one of my favorite sets, Master.

Ascension 2

You… Still want me to be stronger? Are you sure?

Ascension 3

… I can’t tell… I can’t tell if you’re an idiot, or if you’re suicidal. Maybe both.

Ascension 4

I’ve lived for many years, Master. I’ve lost count of the years, seeing as each day was never the amount of time I wanted to deal with. But in the end, everything dies, even me. I wish… I really wish you were smart enough to not tempt Fate, but… Perhaps this is why I stand with you, Master. We’re both idiots who don’t listen to reason.

Battle Lines

Battle Start 1

Your Fate is sealed.

Battle Start 2

I hope you don’t hold back against me.

Skill 1

G-Grrraaagh!

Skill 2

Let’s see how you fight, eh?

Command Card 1

Oh?

Command Card 2

Very well.

Command Card 3

I know this will end it.

Noble Phantasm Card

Very well… Prepare yourself, monsters!

Attack 1

Haah!

Attack 2

Hrmph!

Attack 3

Huhn!

Extra Attack

You won’t survive this!

Noble Phantasm

Behold this castle. Behold the corpses. Behold your tomb. Rise up and assist me, my unending corpses! Castle Canem Diebus Fatalibus!!

Damage 1

Gah!

Damage 2

Damn, that hurts!

Incapacitated 1

D-Damn… Even now, I hate… Dying.

Incapacitated 2

T-thank… You...

Victory 1

I see. I still stand tall, against all odds.

Victory 2

Are you sure these foes were strong? They didn’t seem strong…

My Room Dialogue

Conversation 1

Are we going to be heading out soon, Master?

Conversation 2

I’m a Dog, Master. Eh? N-no of course I’m not actually a Dog! It’s a title!

Conversation 3

Even now, I can tell that the other Servants care for you. Am I really needed here then, with so many legends around you? I’m not even that well known, you know...

Conversation 4

Requires Hercules

I… You managed to summon him? Eh, do I know him? Of course I do! He’s my Sen- I mean he’s the first Dog of Fate to ever live. I look up to him, a warrior of whom I will never defeat.

Conversation 5

Requires Gilgamesh

You know, hearing of this man, I was expecting a bit more. The King of Heroes… He just throws weapons at people! I never throw swords! They need to be shoved right up your foe’s a- A-Ah! Forgive me Master. I got a bit too excited there, didn’t I?

Conversation 6

Requires any Servant with the Saberface attribute.

Um… Master? Why are there so many people with the same face? I mean… It gets kind of hard to tell who is who. Like… Is it normal for legends to share the same face? I’m not sure if that is normal.

Conversation 7

Requires Asagami Fujino

This girl… She’s very much like myself… She’s almost human, yet she’s a Servant. I… I wish she never had to suffer like I.

Conversation 8

Requires Merlin

… I met you once. I do not doubt you remember me. But… That tower… Can I go back there, someday? It was peaceful… Somewhere I felt safe… Please, just one more time.

Conversation 9

Requires Iskandar, Altria, Ozymandias, Cu, Leonardo, Cleopatra, Sherlock, Arjuna, Karma, Rama, Tesla, Drake

You know… Looking upon you… I know I’m at a disadvantage. I’ve killed gods, demons, angels and more. Yet… You stand as heroes of mankind. I… Even if I was a legend of my own, I still don’t stand a chance… God damn it…

Conversation 10

Requires EMIYA (not Alter)

Who are you? I swear I know who you are but… I keep drawing a blank. Pah, it doesn’t matter. We’re both fighting for our Master, for mankind. Besides, we both should work together, eh?

Conversation 11

Requires Aŋra Mainiiu

You… Even looking at you sickens me. All the World’s Evil… You certainly feel like that. If you try to kill a single human, I will not hesitate to turn you to a pile of blood and gore, you fucking abomination! Even if Master wants you here, I won’t hesitate!

Conversation 12

Requires Mash

Well, this is a surprise. I never see you around much, but you’re special. Don’t worry. If you ever want to relax and not fight, I’ll stand in your place. A hero needs to know when not to fight, after all.

Bond Level 1

Master, I hope you don’t mind if I made some effort to clean the room up. It was kind of a mess before.

Bond Level 2

Um, Master? Are you well? You seem to be tired. No? You’re fine? Alright then. Just… Try and slow down, kay?

Bond Level 3

I… I hope you know that you aren’t alone. I’ve felt alone many times, so I know what you may be feeling. So you should lean on them more than you lean on me at the moment, kay?

Bond Level 4

Why the hell are you getting close to me, Master? This is too much, alright!? Do you want the bastard to try and kill you!? Leave me alone, now! I’ll fight for you, but if you get any closer, I won’t stay here.

Bond Level 5

I… I can’t get you away from me. No matter what I tried, you just came back.

I, All my life I’ve had to deal with everything being taken from me by Fate. Everyone I was close to, everything I held dear, that bastard took it away from me. Yet… You stand there and tell me that you’ll keep me here.

Heh. You have to be a freaking idiot. But then again…

I’m just as big of an idiot as you, Master… No, (Your name here).

Likes

My likes? I do like peace, and I like food that isn’t stale.

Dislikes

Hate? Oh that’s simple. I hate Fate and anyone that thinks that life is ‘fated’ to happen such a way.

The Holy Grail

The Holy Grail eh? I would like to use it. But… It’s probably stupid, you know? I want to go back to the day I died… And wish my sister a happy birthday. I never got to do that, you know?

Event

Something’s going on, Master. I suggest you do what you feel is important and relax when you’re done.

Birthday

It’s… Your birthday? I… Oh dear god why the hell did you not tell me that it was coming up!? I need to get a cake and a card and so much shit for you! Next year you better warn me it’s coming up! I can’t have things happen just like my first life!

Servant Bond CE Text:

How many years has it been since I saw you last?

I don’t remember, really. I do remember your face, though.

You were so mad when I didn’t give you the chance to tell me what day it was.

You pouted so much. I kept interrupting you when you tried to tell me what was going on. You thought I was ignoring you…

I wasn’t.

I knew what day it was. I knew what you wanted to tell me. And I knew what I was doing. It was your birthday, little sister. And I was going to get your cake, your card, and the present that I ordered for you.

But I never got the chance. Because he took me away that day. He took me away because he wanted a Dog to use for his ‘experiments’. I never got the chance…

And now? Now I’ll never get that chance, ever again… Please Seras… Please forgive your dumb sister, who failed you on your thirteenth birthday. Please don’t hate me…

Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday dear Seras… Happy birthday to you...

#{Muse:Servant Alice}#{New muse alert}

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randomnotesofmyown · 4 years

Text

Psycho Pass (17)

Episode 17 - Iron heart

Order was restored in the city, yet damages and losses had been done.

Agents of Division one assess the aftermath of the chaos that resulted in

1) destruction across the city, 2) Kagari unaccounted for, and 3) one enforcer of Division two took advantage of the chaos and fled.

Masaoka asked Ginoza if he thought Kagari would escape.

Tsunemori wondered if they had won. Kogami replied "Detective work is, by nature, about treating wounds. Our investigations start after there are victims."

"But at least with this lost game we were able to end in a draw. We just have to settle with that." "In the end, what did all that talk about the safety of the Sibyl system mean?" "A safe and perfect society is just an illusion."

"In this society, people depend on things that are convenient but also dangerous. Our government made us take risks. But the risks were dispersed and distributed so cleverly that no one was able to notice it."

"Everyone might have been looking the other way. Precisely because there was danger...they had to act as if there wasn't instead, in order to keep their sanity." ep17-07 "I don't like to lump people together when I speak, since everyone is different...but I'll generalize broadly here."

"They can unknowingly try to evade their responsibilities."* Then Kogami changed the subject, saying that "how they're going to judge Makishima...the problem is what happens next. It's a far more difficult and troublesome task than shooting a dominator."

"it's an undeniable fact that he committed crimes." Kogami said in a teeth-gritting voice. "In any case, we still have that idiot Kagari to worry about. He split off from us and went down to the basement. Why did the communication end there?"

Ginoza and the others were still assessing the damages caused by the chaos instigated by Makishima. Kunizuka noted that "a large number of people needing mental care...detention facilities overflowing with people...economic losses due to crippled city functions..."

"It's too early to talk in the past tense. There's still the matter of his sentencing... The judiciary has been abolished for a while now. It will probably be difficult to prosecute someone based solely on evidence" said Masaoka.

Masaoka, "Okay. Okay." Then, Ginoza got a call from the PSB Chief. The Chief told Ginoza that the cases Makashima was involved in would be investigated by a special team formed by the Ministry of Welfare, and it was thus out of the hands of the PSB.

The Chief continued saying that Makishima's case being a unique one, medical staff would have to be there whenever he is interrogated, and it was important to keep the information confidential. Ginoza tried to voice his opposition, "Makashima Shogo was very likely involved in various crimes in the past. In order for the facts to come to light, the PSB needs to be able to interrogate him!" "Are there any unsolved cases in those past crimes you mentioned?" "No...but..."

"No, he was disposed of." The Chief corrected herself. "Rather than being worried about an arrested criminal, you have a big problem at division 1, don't you? An Enforcer escaped...and he's still missing." Ginoza, "We still don't know if he really escaped." Chief, "The Sibyl system has already been restored. Enforcer Kagari hasn't been caught by the surveillance network because he's been steering clear of it as he moves about. As it stands, you'll be held responsible." "That's...uh..." When Ginoza told division 1 the Chief's decision, Kogami exploded.

"What makes you think you can talk to me like that?! You're an Enforcer!" Kogami, "This is not the time to discuss our positions! It's strange that we aren't even allowed to question him when we were the ones who arrested him, isn't it?!" "It wasn't my decision, if you want to complain..." "'If you want to complain, talk to the Chief directly.' Is that it?! I'm an Enforcer, there's no way I can see the Chief, is there?! If I actually march into her office, it's you who will be in trouble, inspector." Then, as Kogami walked out of the office, Kunizuka shut her eyes. Her eyes remained closed as she answered Tsunemori's question of what would happen.

Ginoza ordered the division to search for Kagari. "Depending on his actions, it could mean the end of the PSB for different reasons."

Makishima came to. The Chief greeted him, "It's been a while, Shogo. It's good to see you haven't changed a bit."

"I don't think we know each other." "Well, my appearance has changed quite a bit in the past three years, so...First, I need to offer you an apology. About the book I borrowed from you a while back...I lost it due to the troubles that I had to go through." Makishima took the book and was noticeably surprised. The person he lent that book to was Touma Kouzaburo.

Makishima asked the chief for confirmation. And the reply was

"When I heard that you fell into the hands of the PSB, I felt that it was terribly unfortunate. But...that face...plastic surgery...No, that's not it. Considering that body structure, you're a different person." "Your friend Senguji Toyohisa achieved whole-body cyberization, too, right? But artificial body technology that is this flawless hasn't been made open to the public."

"Nothing of the Touma Kouzaburo you know is left except his brain." "What's going on? The culprit of those grotesque serial killings that seriously upset society is now the head of the PSB? It's not even funny." "In a precise sense, that's not the case. I'm not the only Kasei Joshu, and I'm not always Kasei Joshu, either. Our brains are unitized so that they can be swapped easily. We always take turns using this body...Well...it also serves as a bit of a break from our everyday work. " "'We'?" "Yeah. I am only a rep. I was only entrusted with talking to you here since you and I are old friends. We've never shown ourselves to people, but when it comes to our name, we are famous in a manner of speaking. You should know it, too. People call us..."

As the two talked, a music played in the background. And I couldn't make out what it was.

Kogami and Tsunemori went to the basement of Nona Tower to look for Kagari. Kogami was certain that Kagari would not run off.

"Then, abduction...kidnapping..." "Or he was killed in a way that wouldn't leave any traces of his body. For example, using the Decomposer mode of the dominator or something." Kogami deduced. Tsunemori got a call from Ginoza and learned that a broken dominator was found. The fact that the dominator was located at least 20 km from the Nona Tower made Ginoza question the possibility of Kagari not being caught even once by the cameras.

Cut to the Chief and Makishima. Chief, "As for the incident this time, your aiming for the right target was just like you, to say the least. In fact, your friend was able to discover the truth." The Chief tossed Che's smart phone at Makishima. He saw the video and played it

"The Sibyl system is said to use a PDP model, an extensive network of supercomputers performing parallel distributed processing. It's not really a lie, but it's far from the truth. It's ability to utilize a knowledge base and to perform inferences were not achieved solely by speed gains in conventional computing. By parallelizing the system that was able to do those things and expanding it mechanically, it was just given massive processing ability, that's all. The fact is that a system that expands and speeds up its ability to think by incorporating human brain activity was already put into practical use more than fifty years ago. Precisely because we kept this technology secret and used it carefully, today our country is able to function as the only country on Earth ruled by law."

"By having about 200 of the 247 connected in sessions at any given time, we can continuously monitor and judge the Psycho-Pass of every single person in this country."

Makishima saw the moment Che died in the video and kept his gaze on the screen as the Chief continued her talk, "After all, the ability to judge using only mechanical programs is limited to stress measurements based on the Hue check at best. Specifying Crime Coefficients, which indicate a more profound human nature, requires a higher degree of thinking ability and judgment. "

"What a joke. Management of a fair society by machines...A society that doesn't depend on human egos...People accepted the Sibyl system because that's how it was presented. And yet, it was actually done arbitrarily by you, an aggregate of human brains?"

"No it is boundlessly fair. We judge and supervise people. We are already an existence that transcends mankind. This first qualification to be a constituent member to the Sibyl system is to have an irregular personality that doesn't fit in with mankind's conventional standards. Without aimlessly empathizing with others...without being lost to emotion...you should be able to oversee human actions from an outsider's viewpoint. Such talent is desired. For example, like the way you and I are." Makishima made an inquiry sound. "I too am a unique human whose Crime Coefficient can't be determined from his Psycho-Pass. Because of that, I've experienced a great deal of loneliness. A personality that cannot be measured even by Sibyl's collective intellect is called criminally asymptomatic. Those with this personality are distinguished from all citizens and have a new ideology and sense of values. By finding such valuable people and taking them in, the system has continued to expand its range of thinking and gained new possibilities as an intellectual form." And Makishima realized why Touma disappeared without being executed. "Yeah, I was added as a member of the Sibyl system. I was puzzled at first, but I was able to understand its splendor very quickly. Omnipotence achieved through the expansion of both understanding and judgment sharing one's cognition with other brains, I feel like I'm a prophet right out of a myth. I understand everything. I feel that everything in the world is under my rule. There's a limit to the amount of pleasure a person can obtain. But pleasure brought out by intellect is infinite. You can understand that, can't you?" "Yes. It's not really hard to imagine." "Both you and I have been isolated and oppressed in this world full of contradictions. But we don't need to grieve over it anymore. We should be proud of the nobility of the mission given to both of us as our fate. The time has also come for you to take your proper place!" "In other words...you're telling me to become a member of the Sibyl system?" "Your intellect and deep insight...those are qualities we eagerly seek out in order to further evolve the Sibyl system. It's not to say that we can't make you a member by force. But...'value exists only in the acts based on one's free will'...those were your words, right?"

Feeling fed up, Makishima shut his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, he picked up the book and replied that he didn't find becoming a cog in a machine appealing. The Chief continued her persuasion. "Of course, this would not impede upon your independence as an individual. In fact, as you can see, I'm still maintaining a sense of my self as Touma Kouzaburo. All you have to do is say a single word, 'yes.' The operation will be completed on our way to the Ministry of Welfare using the equipment we have here. The Makishima Shogo known to the public will disappear with your body, but you will become one of those who rule this world with no one being the wiser."

"That sounds like the doctor in Balnibarbi," Makishima said as he got up. The chief was confused, and Makishima recounted the story of what that doctor do to get politicians with conflicting opinions to reconcile: carry out a surgery to transplant half of person A's brain to person B and vice versa. "Once that is done successfully, they could 'produce that moderation as well as regularity of thinking'. For the self-conceited lot who think that 'they come into the world only to watch and govern its motion', Swift writes that it is the most desirable approach. " Sensing that all the persuasion effort didn't pay off, the chief reached for the dominator hidden under the desk.

The moment Makishima saw the chief pointing a dominator at him, he threw the book in her face. Then he lifted an equipment and smashed it in her head, knocking her over before he proceeded to disarm her. "You probably thought I wouldn't resist until I knew where I was, but as usual, you aren't very careful."

"By saying that, you hinted that we're in transit. We're not inside the PSB, as I judged that I could escape." "Why? You should have been able to understand the joy of omnipotence and the pleasure of governing the world..." "Just like God?" Makishima went on, "That might be pleasurable in its own way, but unfortunately I'm not into being an umpire or a referee, as I can't genuinely enjoy the game if I were one." Makishima then sent the Chief flying.

She crawled, trying to grab the dominator. Makishima wouldn't allow it.

Makishima smashed an equipment onto the chief, who begged him to stop.

Makishima blew a hole on the plane and escaped.

Kogami got up from a nap, about to drink coffee when he felt Makishima appeared next to him.

Shocked, he leapt away. Panting, he looked at where he felt the presence of Makishima and saw no one. Then he received a call from Makashima.

"It's not something worth you putting your life on the line to protect. I just wanted to let you know that. Well then, I'll see you around." Kogami called Ginoza, and was told that the plane carrying Makishima reportedly crashed.

End of episode 17.

*The subtitle provided was "We can involuntarily try to avoid our responsibilities" However, the very sentence that Kogami spoke before this one still carried the hint that Kogami regarded himself an outsider to the society, and to the human race as a whole. It made no sense if he would go from seeing himself an outsider from one sentence to adopting an exact opposite attitude in the next. So I changed the translation of "自分の責任を回避する努力を無意識に行うことが出来る (Source of the transcription here)" a bit.

Comment 1) Things I noticed from the conversation between Kogami and Tsunemori. Kogami distanced himself from the society he observed, he didn't consider himself a member of the society he lived in; he considered himself an outsider. Tsunemori, on the other hand, regarded herself a member of that society.

2) The conversation between Makishima and the chief touched on multiple topics. And it took me quite a bit to figure out how to summarize it. Makishima and Touma were similar in the sense that they both saw themselves outsiders to the human race and, with their level of intelligence, they did not see other humans on equal footing. The difference between them, though, was that Touma still yearn for recognition and wanted to be worshipped. It would satisfy his vanity even if that came from people he thought were beneath him. And in the process of playing God, he actually came to care about the world. Makishima was not one who would take up the burden of becoming God for those who lived like livestock, those he considered humans in shape only, and their worship was worthless. He want to find meanings, and he wanted to be entertained by seeing others acting on their own free will, making their own decisions. Sibyl, being a system that took care of everything for everyone and made things effortless and meaningless for everyone, was precisely what Makishima wanted to destroy. The knowledge that Sibyl system was a congregation of human brains only made Makishima despise it even more.

#psycho pass

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singingpeople · 8 years

Text

Paying the price

Chapter 15

@pathybo @jojuarez26 @tigpooh67 @beautifulramblingbrains @jaiboomer11 @lets-play-truth-or-dare @carefultheyspit @love17mwh

@iammarylastar @bookwarm85 @deepfrz

Important: This chapter is wholly unedited, so it may be terrible spelling & sentence wording & all that stuff. But I´m writing from my brother´s PC because the ventilation system of my new one broke down today, making it sound as if he´ll explode anytime soon. I won´t have my brother´s PC very often because he needs it for writing his master thesis & when I have to send mine in (hopefully it´s a guarantee case) I have no idea when I will get it back. Still, I´ll try to make it work with the updates & all :) This chapter is really rough, but bare with me it will get better very soon, I promise! :) Thank you for reading & all the reviews, I´ll try to edit it tomorrow if my brother doesn’t need it! :)

Time is an abstract thing if you think about it. Sometimes it is as if no time at all passed while at other times, it just flies by you, blurring your memories until you don’t remember what day it is or what you did yesterday. For a minute you lose yourself, cease to exist while you feel like walking through honey, your limbs heavy while the world around you is spinning on and on. You are rooted to the spot while everything around you spirals out of control, being so stuck in your own universe that you´de indifferent to the happenings around you, only moments stand out, colorful specks in a world of full of grey.

Have you ever looked down at your own hand, moving your fingers, watching every single muscle contract while asking yourself if this is really your body if this is all you are. All you will ever be. Just a mass of skin and bones that is condemned to walk on this earth until you finally bite the dust.

Or do you ever feel like standing beside yourself, not being the person in control of your own body. You watch them going through their daily chores like machines, your mind so far away from the empty shell that is considered being alive because it breathes, that only a flicker of pain can bring you back.

I ask myself if someone else ever felt the way I do now. If anyone in this damn city feels everything, every single emotion at once while feeling nothing at all. If their breathing becomes forced the moment they feel the panic rising in their chest until it overwhelms them, consuming them alive but still don´t show any signs of being nervous. If the people in their lives don´t notice it because those people have become so good at acting, always so collected, so calm as if nothing ever bothers them or if the humans that are supposed to support them just don´t care. Maybe they don´t realize they're the exact the opposite of calm and indifferent. They care, maybe too much and about everything. About how to overcome the struggle their facing, if they are worth loving or if they should stop trying at all because, in the end, their struggle will have been in vain. Like always.

Are there walking paradoxes like I am one, a person that is consumed by their fear while simultaneously feeling nothing at all, or am I just crazy?

All I know is, that I was lying in that bed for days, my hands at one point restricted, limiting my movements to the bare minimum, at another free again, giving me the chance to curl up, the fetus position acting as a shield against the world. There were people. Sitting on my bed, trying to talk to me or worse, touching me. I did my best to ignore them and their obnoxious babbling, but it followed me into my dreams, their voices echoing through the empty space that was my mind.

There were also needles piercing my skin, right after living through a very vivid memory that was playing in an endless loop, like a broken tape. Every time I felt myself coming out of what felt like cotton candy clouding my head and got more lively, something cool would touch the back of my hand and I was gone once again, drifting in and out of consciousness.

Funny, I always thought I knew what it felt like to stand beside myself, but in this state, it was so much worse. Every second seemed to last an eternity while hours flew by in a blink of the eye. I knew they had all been here, my mother, Tris, the twins and even Ivy and Avery. But despite Dante not once showing up, his voice telling me that everything would be okay followed me into these strange dreams, lightening the burden I carried with me for at least a little, just for a second making it easier to breathe.

I also knew, that dad always stayed outside the room, only getting a short briefing from the nurse before disappearing again. From one of these conversations that ended in a screaming fit of him, I concluded they had found traces of the fear serum in my bloodstream. Guess now I know where that vivid memory of hot burning iron marring my skin came from.

I came to the conclusion that they had planned this, Edgar had planned this. It was a simple concept, really. Something an erudite could think of. Their methods of calculated mental torturing had me thinking of the scruffy cat I found playing with a little bird when I was on my way home from school. She always gave it the chance to escape, drawing her claws back to created the illusion that the little sparrow was free to leave. The bird, scared as it was always hopped away, not realizing that his eagerness to get away and survive was exactly, what the cat wanted, what it craved. The prey running away from its predator was, what the cat considered fun, the chase what was so thrilling. To crush any hope it may have by capturing it over and over again until it got finally got boring. That was the moment the cat showed mercy and killed it with one bite, ending its agony. The final kill wasn't the satisfying part, it had been the chase, the diminishing of every ounce of hope it may have still had. That was, what got the cat off.

In the end, I would suffer the same fate like this bird. I just wished Edgar and his minions would get it over with and kill me before someone else dear to me would pay the price for being a part of my life. Like Dante almost had.

If he had died in that alleyway, right before my eyes, my life would have been over. Being the cause of one person's death was worse enough, but adding another life to that list would have effectively caused my own demise. My real breaking point, as if I wasn’t pathetic enough right now. It would have been easier than breaking a window in one of those countless crumbling skyscrapers in the heart of the city. Only one stone, for me one bullet to shatter the fragile resistance we still managed to muster.

Yeah, life is an abstract thing, not tangible for the human mind, while love, which is just hormones going crazy inside our heads creating hallucinations, isn’t something for everyone. It certainly isn’t for me. I either end up hurting the people dearest to me in the worst way possible or they die, maybe even both. It was simple as that. No, loving someone and being loved in return was never something that would be granted to me. And as long those around me were happy living their lives, I would go gladly through mine. Alone, until the bite of death would wipe my mortal existence from the face of the earth, until everything that remained was a faint echo of pain and the stardust I was created from restored to its original condition.

The week I spent in the infirmary was one big blur, partly through the meds I was given, partly by the daze that left my whole body numb and my mind fuzzy. In hindsight, everything seemed a little clearer, now that the sedatives didn´t turn my brain into useless mush, but I also knew what I had to do. I knew it from the moment the first gunshot rang through the air, almost killing the one person I wanted to stay out of the shitshow I call live. If being associated with me was a death sentence, I would reduce the number of people in my life to the bare minimum. And that meant only mom.

She had spent the whole time by my side head buried in countless files, only leaving when someone else would come to watch over me. Most of the time their voices faded into background noises while I stared at the white wallpaper, barely blinking. For days. Internalizing every swirl and bump into the wall, I tried to make it easier for them to leave. The moment they would realize I was already a dead man walking was be the moment, they would finally leave me be. Leave me to resign to my fate.

The last string in my heart was ripped apart when Tris thought it would be a good idea to bring Sam to my room. Something to cheer me up she said. Being convinced I couldn’t feel any longer, the sharp pain in my chest when I turned my back towards them, moving for the first time that day, was almost a pleasant sensation. Reminding me that I wasn’t dead yet.

Getting the hint, my aunt left again immediately, trying to explain Sam what was wrong with me when she asked, her voice as curious, as it was sad. Curled up under my blanket that mom specially brought from home I asked myself if she would remember me in the years to come. Maybe it would be better if she didn’t, you couldn't miss what you didn't know, right? But still, I selfishly wished for it.

After six days that felt like six weeks, I was discharged and sent my way, with a bottle of pills I was supposed to take if I felt anxious or homicidal. Maybe if I sneaked some of them into dad´s food, just a pill or two he would let loose for a day. The thought of him running around in the compound like an amity on peace serum almost made me smile. Almost.

The majority of the time home I spent in my old room, lying in my bed, staring at the wall. Instead of white, this one was a dark grey, almost black. The only burst of colors being the flames that symbolized everything I wasn’t. Our manifesto told us to fight our fears, no matter the cost of it. It certainly seemed as if I´d lost my sanity trying to do just that, my happiness long gone so it should count at least for something. Thinking of our manifest, I was sure that I would also always stand up for people, maybe even shout for them if I could. But I would never be free from my fears, from the demons that haunted me. They would always control my actions. How cowardly. And because my faction thought this cowardice was to blame for the world's injustice and that the bravery, I didn´t possess, is considered the most important virtue of them all, it is safe to say I have failed my faction before I was even a part of it. That sums my life up perfectly.

After three of four days of peaceful serenity, dad suddenly came storming into the room, the door slamming against the door, declaring he had enough of it. His face contorted in anger, his eyes blazing fire like they always did before he ended the life of a poor soul. Not being able to help the small sliver of fear, I blinked, trying to scoop away from him, cowering away in the corner of my bed. But he wasn’t having any of it.

Grabbing my wrists, dad wasn´t faced at all by my resistance and dragged me to the bathroom, basically pulling me after him while I stemmed my feet into the floor with all my strength. But it just took him one powerful pull to make me stumble into him. Sensing his chance, dad threw me over his shoulder marching into the bathroom. When he turned on the water I knew exactly what he was planning and I tried my best to get him to put me down, hitting his back with my fists. And then he did.

Grabbing my waist, he heaved me from his shoulder before pushing me directly under the ice-cold water, not giving a damn that I was gasping for air, still dressed in leggings and a shirt or that I was basically freezing to death after only three seconds under the stream.

“You have ten minutes before I want you dressed, ready for training.” With that he was gone, the bathroom door of my en suite slamming shut behind him as I scrambled for the temperature regulator, turning the water scolding hot before peeling the heavy clothes off me.

Like dad demanded, I was done in under ten minutes but instead of waiting for him, I just stormed out of the apartment while he was busy doing something in his study. If he wants me gone, fine. I have no problem with leaving when I know I´m not wanted. But I won´t hang around him all day, listening to how a perfect dauntless would behave. Not today.

It was already evening, the whole day had passed in a blur while I sat hidden away in an alcove on one of the lower levels of the chasm. The way down there was reclusive, only known to a few and I was one of them.

The sound of water crashing against rock always caused a strange sense of tranquility to wash over me, but with it came also the numbness, the little spark of anger and defiance from this morning gone as soon as it came.

How many days of training I had missed, including this one, I had no idea but I knew, dad would skin me alive as soon as he´d get his hands on me. So my hiding game had to be strong.

Lost in thought, I hadn’t realized how much my back and butt really hurt from sitting on cold, wet stone the whole day but standing up, I almost toppled over. In the last second before falling I managed to regain my balance, swaying on my wobbly feet. Not quite good so close to a hole filled with water that swallowed everyone and everything up, unless you were suicidal. And, I wasn’t yet at that point of my life.

After having scaled the steep pathway, I thought about where to go now. It must have been close to midnight, the white light being replaced by blue, solar powered ones. Going to the dorms, jut like going home wasn´t an option. But since sleep avoided me ever since leaving the infirmary and without the meds, I was content spending my night somewhere I could let my mind wander around, without having to worry about people seeing me.

Letting my feet carry me wherever they wanted, my mind was still reeling about everything and nothing at once. Stopping short, I found myself in front of the training room that whispered for me to step in. Opening the heavy steel doors I did just that. My feet dragging over the rubber floor I soon faced the door of the small chamber in the back. Slowly extending my hand, I pushed this one open too, the memories rushing into my head as soon as I smelled the familiar scent of leather mats, gunpowder and sweat overwhelming me to such an extent I had to support myself on the threshold.

Closing my eyes, I stumbled inside before sinking down on the mats, a few feet away from where Dante and I had first become one. Reliving all the passionate kisses and shared laughter while he sunk himself into me over and over again I found myself reminiscing the first happy memory since landing in the infirmary. The ache in my chest getting almost unbearable. Happiness to have been granted such a special moment in my life. Sadness because there wouldn´t be any more of them. No more stolen kisses or passionate nights, no more covert glances or breathless laughter.

Folding my hands, I pressed them against my chest, drawing in a shaky breath because right in that moment, I could almost see him looking down at me with these warm brown eyes. I could feel his hands traveling across my bare skin, igniting every nerve ending in my body. His smell had been manly, the scent of his sweat not overpowering despite him training the whole day. I could even fucking taste him, his lips moving against mine and I knew he must have been chewing a gum before we kissed, his breath all minty. All these sensations after weeks of numbness were just too much for me. Pressing my palms against my eyes, I rocked back and forth trying to get my composure back. But it was futile.

Slapping my hand against my forehead, I tried harder, almost desperately when suddenly the door to the little chamber was thrown open and he wasn’t any longer a figment of my imagination.

Letting himself fall to his knees beside me, Dante pulled my head up, his hands on either side of my cheeks. His gaze frantically flitting over my face, he let out a relieved breath the moment he realized I was fine, before pulling me into his chest. He laid his chin on my hair and I could feel him taking a deep breath, his arms pulling me even closer to him. “Thank fuck, Lexi! We have been searching for you the whole goddamn day. Your family is going nuts, especially your father.” Letting out an incredulous chuckle, I felt him press his face into my hair, exhaling deeply. “Fuck. I thought something happened to you. Don´t ever do this to me again!”

Having almost forgotten what I had promised myself, I melted into him for a second reveling in the tranquility his touch brought. But then I froze up, not believing I had thrown all my cautions into the wind like this. Like I wouldn’t be the cause of his doom. Instantly feeling something was wrong, Dante drew back a little, looking down at me with worried eyes that tore my soul apart. Not having it in me to withstand him even a second longer, I did was I was best in. I ran.

Pushing him away with all the force I could muster, I was out the door before he could even get up again. But as I sprinted towards the doors leading out of the training room as fast as I could, I realized the lack of sleep and most importantly food had drained my powers. How much exactly, I had to find out when Dante suddenly grabbed by my wrists only inches away from the door and whirled me around, slamming us against the wall beside it.

“Forget it. Not again.” Dante was hovering over me, his muscular body caging me against the wall like he had done so many times before, his breathing ragged. And for the first time, he looked almost angry, his eyes hard and I shrank back, the fury boiling under the surface such a foreign sensation coming from him. “Do you really think I would just let you run away again? Just look where it took us last time!”

Lowering my head in shame, I stared at our chests that were pressed against each other, both heaving heavily. Yes, it had been my fault. My fault he was shot, my fault for freaking out. My fault for making everything worse by mindlessly running after a bunch of guys, I knew wanted nothing more than to kill me.

“Hey.” Dante grabbed my chin, but I tried to push him away, not being able to deal with his proximity. To deal with him and everything he stood for. When my movements turned into real struggling, almost desperately trying to get away from him, Dante captured my hands, pressing them against the wall by my side, rendering me completely immobile. “Lexi, stop it.” When I didn’t, he grabbed both of my wrists in one hand, raising my head with his other. But I lowered my eyes, avoiding his questioning gaze. “Look, I´m sorry for not visiting you in the infirmary but your mother was always there, your brother had me handling the other dauntless-born 24/7 and when I finally had an hour off, I had to deal with the consequences of the patrol debacle. I really tried, though...”

Trailing off, Dante tilted his head, his lips barely brushing over my cheek. Despite wanting to revel in the feeling of his stubbly face against mine and melt into his embrace to forget everything around us once more, I turned my head. Away from his touch, from everything I ever craved. Freezing up, it took Dante a moment before he drew back and from the corner of my eye, I could see him muster me intently. But I stared straight ahead, matching the hurt that crossed his face with an indifferent expression, even though it send sharp jabs into my guts. “Lexi, what´s wrong?” No answer.

“Tell me, please...” After another minute without any reaction from me, Dante positioned his face right in front of mine, causing me to turn away again. He huffed incredulously and I heard it, despite it being so quiet. Not wanting to see the range of emotion my indifferent behavior caused, I closed my eyes willing him to just leave it be and leave me. But he didn’t. Slamming me against the wall once more, frustrated but still careful I wouldn’t get hurt, I cursed the loud, surprised breath that left my lips, not ever wanting him to think I was afraid of him. But I still felt him increasing the space between us so that our chests weren´t touching.

“I see that you obviously want nothing to do with me right now, Lexi. And I understand it, I totally do. After all, it was my fault you were there, right? That you ended up in the infirmary.”

Biting my lips in despair, I shook my head. He didn’t understand it, none of it. Especially not, that it was for his own good. Me wanting to end whatever we have had nothing to do with him taking me there. the incident just showed me what I had to do. For him.

“Alright, just tell me one thing.” Letting out a breath, I despised the resigned tone in his voice. It was the way everyone spoke to me before giving up for good. “Did you ever have any feelings for me? No matter how little they were, was there something?”

Snapping my head up, my wide eyes met his hooded ones for the first time this evening. Dante´s face was guarded, his brow furrowed but his eyes gave away the vulnerability he felt.

Heart rate speeding up, my breathing quickening I felt my chest constricting, my throat closing in. I would have never assumed Dante would ask such a question in a moment like this. And right now, it was freaking me the hell out. But it was also the opportunity I had waited for, hoped for. To cut him off, to end what could have been the beginning of a perfect relationship. The start of a fairytale where the prince saves his princess and shields her from every harm that may come her way while looking ridiculously good doing it.

But I had never been a princess and in the end, he would just die in the process of trying to save me. If from myself or Edgar, I had no idea... Dante was so much more than a tragic love story gone wrong. He was an amazing human being and had the potential to be great, to achieve something. To become a high ranking member, having a loving wife and maybe even children. The image of a brown haired little boy with Dante´s eyes running around in the compound took my breath away, my heart fracturing as I pictured him kissing some dauntless female on his way to work, while I spent the rest of my life alone. He´d have the perfect family. And I wouldn’t be part of it.

So despite my heart screaming at me to not do it and the knowledge that this would be the one moment in my life, I would never forgive myself for, I shook my head no. Telling him that I didn’t have any feelings for him. Never had and never will.

“Alright.” Nodding his head, before shaking it, Dante stepped back, letting go of my hands while huffing. Immediately the cold started to settle into my whole being, only the spots where his skin had touched mine still burning like fire. The disappointment and hurt in his eyes were so all-consuming that I had to look away, threatened to be swallowed whole.

He took more steps back, seemingly wanting to get space between as while he ran his hands through his hair, jaw gritted. Every inch of space between us enlarged the hole in my chest and I balled my hands into fists, preventing myself from running forward and cling to him. When Dante finally spoke, chuckling humorlessly as if he couldn’t believe I was such a bitch, his voice was croaky, sounding more than just pained. “Goodbye, Lexi.”

Without one last look, he was gone and I collapsed on the floor. Slinging my arms around myself, I hugged my knees to my chest rocking back and forth, gasping for breath as the hole in my chest seemed to double in size. He was gone, most likely for good, just like I wanted him. My plan had worked out perfectly. But for what price?

Why does doing the right thing hurt so fucking bad?

Sometimes you have to burn the bridges to prevent yourself from making the same mistake twice. And that what I was doing now.

Yesterday, the first day I had gone back to training and two days after Dante and I´s conversation, I almost lost my shit in front of the whole training room. Lyssa approached him, a sly smile on her lips claiming she needed extra training to keep up with the class. Dante hadn’t spared me one glance the whole day, not even uttering one word to me. Despite knowing it would be like this, it still hurt, especially when he told her it wasn’t a problem and smiled at her. A real, genuine smile. I tried to keep my face expressionless but it´s needless to say that my knuckles were almost black after training ended, the jealousy burning a hole through my whole body.

So here I was now, in the bar I first spotted him, trying to prevent myself from doing something utterly stupid by doing something equally stupid. Maybe it was even worse, at least for me. My mind was still reeling from everything that had happened the last few weeks, meeting someone, choosing dauntless, beginning a forbidden affair and ending it in less than a month. If someone ever said to me developing feelings for another person could happen so fast, I would have laughed outright into his face. But now I knew better and considering my stupid plan, I asked myself countless times if I was going nuts by really doing this.

I despised doing this, but I didn’t to pay Dante back, no not at all. But if he started to hate me it would be so much easier for the both of us. Not to mention that it would save him in the end. Because by not associating with me, the target on his back would be gone. And when they would finally get me, it would be so much easier on everyone surrounding me if they were able to tell themselves just how fucked up I really was and that they´re better off without me. Only the truth...

Ordering a shot from Sal who gave me a warm smile, I downed it, disgusted with the strong liquor and myself. But it certainly would take the edge off long enough.

I knew he was there, watching me. After all, I could feel his gaze on my back, causing shivers to erupt all over my body, especially when it started to trace the exposed skin on my neck, my whole body heating up under his scrutiny. Waiting on the barstool, I ordered myself another drink, so close to throwing it up when I suddenly, finally felt a pair of lips caressing my bare skin while two broad arms slung themselves around my waist. “Miss me?”

Turning around, I plastered a fake smile on my lips as I came face to face with a smug looking Freddy. He only pulled me closer to him, burying his face in my neck. Grimacing, I had to suppress the violent urge to push him away, only being able to control my face when I looked up to see two burning eyes watching me intently, condemning me into the depths of hell. Dante was standing on a higher floor of the bar, jaw clenched as he squeezed the neck of his beer bottle to death, while Freddy was peppering light kisses onto my skin. Hurriedly adverting my eyes, I forced my lips into what I hoped was a genuine smile, before I pushed Freddy back to give him a real kiss. He started to moan when his lips met mine, his hands immediately wandering to the small of my back while I was so repulsed by myself I had to keep the bile down, that was rising in my throat. Luckily, Freddy being the simple-minded guy he was, drew back fairly quick, his smile sickly smug while he pulled me from the chair and out of the club.

I knew that Dante had seen every second of this act and that I had succeeded in my mission. From now on, he would despite me with his whole being and I couldn't even be mad about it. When Freddy pulled me closer, slinging his arm around my waist I knew there was no going back to before this all happened. That small glimpse of joy I had been granted being the only happiness I would ever experience. And now knowing what it was like, letting go of it was even harder than it had been before. But I had made my choice.

The last bridge had been burned down.

#eric coulter #divergent #eric divergent #dauntless #daugther #dante #fanfiction #factionbeforeblood #favouritepsycho #family #paying the price #depressed #unedited

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robinsonmiguel93 · 4 years

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What Should I Say To Get My Ex Back

#My Ex Looking Back Like A Pillar Of Salt Meaning Sublime Cool Tips #How I Got My Ex Back By Being Fri

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juniorformulamotorsport · 6 years

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Saturday, August 4th 2018 – Basildon Park, Berkshire

Headed for an evening at a particularly excellent restaurant in Berkshire (or possibly Wiltshire – I haven’t double checked yet) we were casting around for something to do in the afternoon, to make it into more of a “holiday” than just a trip out for dinner. After casting around for a while, and lighting on a number of possibilities that we then rejected on the grounds that a sunny Saturday in August would be more crowded than we could deal with and hang on to our sanity we realised that Basildon Park was not that far off our route, and neither of us had ever been, or in fact knew anything about the place.

I suppose I knew it was nowhere near Basildon, which is probably just as well, given that a) Basildon is an unremittingly grim sort of place – or at least it was back when one of our friends used to live there – and b) on the wrong side of London given where we wanted to be. Actually it’s close to Reading (which is not that thrilling a place either but nowhere near as bad as Basildon), but we didn’t go there en route anyway, just headed down a series of quite small and lovely country lanes until a final slightly unexpected veer off into the car park, which was full. We were directed to the also pretty full overflow car park. It looked as if the whole world (or at least a large part of the Netherlands) had decided to visit all at once.

However, once we arrived at the ticket office we could see that there was a great deal of space available inside in terms of grounds at least – the house was not visible from there – and so we decided we’d nose around the house first, and then, if it had cooled off at all, we might take a stroll around the grounds should we still have time.

The walk through the woods to get to the house was lovely, and cool, and reminded me somewhat of the path between the car park and the castle at Burg Eltz, though less steep.

It also contains a number of fun benches with carved wooden animal heads for armrests…

And some very Tim Burton-esque trees! I know I kept expecting a hobbit or two to pop out from behind the trees any second.

Anyway, reaching the house it was soon apparent that it’s an interesting structure, very much the picture of Palladian symmetry, which I think is pretty rare. Most houses have had bits added on (or removed), and so they don’t have quite the precise frontage that Basildon Park manages. The estate was bought by Francis Sykes, who had made a fortune in the East India Company, and it was he who demolished the house that was already there and had John Carr, the architect, build him a new one. Most people who know Carr’s work won’t be surprised by the style, but the location is unusual; he didn’t normally work outside Yorkshire and its immediate vicinity. As a Yorkshireman himself, Sykes managed to persuade Carr out of his normal geographical comfort zone, and work began on the house, though it was not completed in Sykes’ lifetime, which presumably didn’t help his political ambitions, given that he’d bought the estate because he required a house suitable for entertaining that would also show off his at this point considerable wealth and that was close to London. He wasn’t alone; many rich returnees from India settled in this part of Berkshire, so much so that it became known as “the English Hindoostan”.

Sykes plans to rise politically and socially met with mixed success and when he died at his London house on 11th January 1804, none of the principal rooms at Basildon Park were completed. They didn’t get much love afterwards either, with the heir, also Francis Sykes, died a few weeks after inheriting the unfinished pile. Next in line was Sykes’ grandson, the five-year-old third baronet. As he grew up he showed no sign of financial sense, and pretty much bankrupted the family fortune by the time he was 14, an association with the Prince Regent not helping at all. In 1829 the estate was placed on the market, but it didn’t sell for a considerable period of time because Sykes would not lower the price below £100,000. As a result the house was often let out over the 9 year period it was on the market, finally being sold to the entrepreneur James Morrison for £3,000 under the £100,000 asking price. He completed work on the house and filled it with treasures, working with architect John Buonarotti Papworth to create what Morrison described as “a casket for my pictorial gems,” which included works by John Constable, J M W Turner and many Italian and Dutch old masters. Morrison died at Basildon on 30th October 1857.

Morrison’s daughter, Ellen, inherited the house and live in it until her death in 1910. It was then inherited by her nephew, James Morrison, who made some improvements initially, including commissioning Edwin Lutyens to design workers’ cottages in the neighbouring villages. He didn;t live in the house though, and in 1914 it was requisitioned by the British Government and used as a convalescent home for injured soldiers. After that period, Morrison’s lavish lifestyle and three marriages meant he had in effect run out of money, and in 1929 he sold the house to property developer, George Ferdinando.

He initially planned to sell the house to an American, marketing it for sale foe $1,000,000, which would include the cost of taking it down and re-erecting it in America. Luckily for us, he changed his mind, and converted the old sawmill at the top of the park into a house for himself and his wife. He also persuaded one of his sons to return from America with his family and to take up residence in the east wing. This son, Eric, did some renovation work, including returning fittings like the stair balustrade. Some of it they could not get back, however.

In World War II Basildon was a billet for troops, and a training ground for tank and ground warfare was set up in the park. Damage was perhaps inevitable, with walls damaged by bridging units used on the river and massive holes left behind. Requisitioned by the Ministry of Works, it suffered further indignities when a caretaker stole the lead from the roofs.

The ministry would not pay for most of the damage, and Ferdinando moved out, leaving Eric to deal with the house. When his father died, between inheritance tax and the repair costs, the house had to be sold. Despite its rather sorry state, the second Lord Iliffe, who lived in the area, bought it under persuasion from his wife, Lady Iliffe. Lord and Lady Iliffe spent 25 years restoring and refurnishing the house, buying fixtures and fittings from similar houses that were schedule for demolition, finding that 18th-century mahogany doors and marble fireplaces fitted in the spaces available perfectly in many instances. Having no children, the Iliffes donated the house and park to the National Trust in 1978, along with a large endowment for its upkeep.

It may not be the most spectacular architectural gem, and it’s not the home of any especially notable art works now, but its sheer survival makes it notable, given the state it had been reduced to when the Iliffes took it on. We actually started outside the house, nosing into the cafe and buying a cold drink each, needing to refresh ourselves after a two hour drive and the woodland walk to the house. Next to the cafe area (which is on the ground floor under the main house) was the original kitchen, in the north pavilion, away from the main house to avoid kitchen smells in the living quarters. Because Palladian buildings need symmetry, there thus had to be a second pavilion, in this instance a laundry. To avoid food having to be transported across an open area in all weathers, when Lady Iliffe was modernising the place she had a new state of the art kitchen installed on the piano nobile, but that was to be seem later in our visit.

Before that we also walked around the rose garden, which apparently looks towards the River Avon (though you can’t actually see it), but sadly the roses were pretty much past their best after the summer we have been having. There are some statues in the garden, several of them headless after being used for target practice by American soldiers billeted in the house in WWII.

After that we headed into the south pavilion, where there was an exhibition of “domestic” paintings, At Home with Art – Treasures of the Ford Collection, most of them the sort of thing that would have covered the walls in houses like this, produced more as a form of wall covering than art of great merit. It was interesting enough, though I doubt anyone apart from historians of the domestic would go out of their way to see it.

The house, thankfully, is more interesting, and the volunteers in particular are very keen to offer any information you might want to make your visit more informative. In addition, it turned out that photography was permitted in the house with a couple of exceptions (the portraits of each of the Iliffes, which I was a bit baffled by, and what is known now as the Sutherland Room, formerly Lady Iliffe’s dressing room, which contains studies for Graham Sutherland’s tapestry “Christ in Glory” which decorates Coventry Cathedral which I can understand).

The hall contains a lovely ceiling which is actually original, unlike much else to be found in the house. It has of course been renovated. The hall also has its original Spanish mahogany doors, removed in the 1920s, but returned in 1954. It also contains one of a number of white marble fireplaces salvaged from Panton Hall prior to its demolition.

Of the rooms I particularly liked the Octagon Drawing Room, which was used to display the owners’ best art works. It was restired and the walls covered in red felt, and renewed with works from Pompeo Batoni and Giambattista Pittoni. I loved the shape of the room, and the way the three windows provide fabulous views over the park and surrounding countryside.

The Dining Room is a lovely space, decorated in a neoclassical style, and it too has had a somewhat chequered history. In 1845 it was redecorated by the architect David Brandon, who replaced the original paintings with polychrome depictions of Dante’s Divine Comedy. The walls were not much changed though, retaining their 18th-century plasterwork. In 1929, Ferdinando stripped the dining room of its panels, mirrors, fireplace and doors and sold them to Crowther’s, a firm of architectural antique dealers. They were sold to what was until last year the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York where they formed the Basildon Room. Lord and Lady Iliffe opted to redecorate it in a style similar to the original scheme by de Bruyn, using Carr’s surviving plasterwork, and a fireplace and doors salvaged from Panton Hall to return the room to its original neoclassical form.

The second floor, with all the bedrooms, is also interesting with the Shell Room probably the most startling. Apparently, shell collecting was very much a thing for ladies at one stage, and they have been used to odd and slightly alarming effect to decorate pretty much any surface that didn’t need to be flat!

The Bamboo Bedroom is rather fun too, the bed having apparently cost £5 in an auction.

The rest of the room is of course decorated to suit.

Also on display is a spectacular Coromandel screen, which is a 17th century Chinese lacquerware screen, unusually made for the Chinese domestic market not for export, and is one of a handful of such items now left in the UK. It would likely have arrived in the UK along with the newly popular pursuit of tea drinking in the 17th or 18th century,, and depicts a famous gathering of scholars in the garden of the Emperor’s son-in-law in the 1100s. Half of it is apparently missing, with just six panels remaining, but as it was not uncommon to cut down Coromandels to create other pieces of furniture, it’s more remarkable perhaps that half of it has survived. It’s even more remarkable that it’s still intact now, having been bought to hide a toilet door from guests by Lady Iliffe. It had started to deteriorate because of the conditions in the cloakroom, but is now on display and undergoing restoration. It’s really spectacular!

I’d love to know what it would have looked like when complete! It was towards the end of the visit and we finished off by diving into the “new” kitchen I mentioned earlier. It’s very, very 1950s and we had some fund spotting things that were familiar to us. I would have happily made off with the picnic basket, mind. It was very stylish.

We were about ready for some more refreshments, so an ice cream and a sit down were the order of the day (and I was very pleased to find a raspberry Magnum on sale). After that we took a wander into the Garden Room, which Lady Iliffe was in the process of converting to an “Indian” room to reflect the heritage of the house when she died. It’s lovely, but incomplete, and will presumably remain that way now.

And then it was time to retrace our steps through the woods, back to the car, and on to our destination for the evening.

Travel 2018 – Basildon Park, Berkshire Saturday, August 4th 2018 - Basildon Park, Berkshire Headed for an evening at a particularly excellent restaurant in Berkshire (or possibly Wiltshire - I haven't double checked yet) we were casting around for something to do in the afternoon, to make it into more of a "holiday" than just a trip out for dinner.

#2018 #Arts #Basildon Park #Europe #Lower Basildon #Museums #National Trust #Sightseeing #Stately Homes #Travel #UK

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