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hecallsmehischild · 3 years ago

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Recent Media Consumed

Books

The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien. About ten or fifteen years ago, I tried to read this and was totally overwhelmed by it. I kept it around, hoping maybe someday I might be able to read it. I finally have, and here are my impressions: WHY SO MANY NAMES. WHY YOU HAVE TO NAME EVERYBODY, AND EVERY TRIBE OF PEOPLES, AND EVERY INANIMATE OBJECT, AND EVERY LANDSCAPE FEATURE. WHY. *ahem* So. I have a general comprehension of the events of The Silmarillion, but I dealt with it by doing what you do for an impressionist painting. I (mentally) stepped way back and let all the names flow by me, and if there were names that were repeated a lot, then I mentally attached appropriate plot points and character details to those names so I could track with who they were and what they were doing. And, actually, I found myself able to hang on and enjoy the book for the most part. This is going to lead into a re-reading of the Lord of the Rings books, since I haven’t read those in about as long…

The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. I haven’t read some of these books since pre-teen years, with one required re-read of The Two Towers in high school (i.e. it’s been many an age since I’ve read these and my memory of the stories has been far more heavily influenced by the movies). In re-reading the first book, I was struck by the extreme tone shift for the Elves and Dwarves. Elves seem much closer to happy, mischievous fairies than these ethereal, solemn pillars of elegance and grace the movies show them to be. And Dwarves are far more bumbling and craftsmanlike than the movies show. Aside from that, The Hobbit was a pretty solid adaptation from the book, and the book also reminded me that this story was the first time I experienced “NO, MAIN CHARACTERS DON’T DIE, HOW DARE YOU,” and probably was the first book to make me cry. I must have been 8 or 10 years old. I FORGOT HOW MUCH THIS STORY INFLUENCED ME.

A Conflict of Visions by Thomas Sowell. I have a longer-than-usual list of things to say about this book. First is that it was just that level of difficult that I was struggling to understand while reading it (on Audible), but I think I got it. Sowell has several base concepts that I see repeated throughout his books, though he does like to dedicate whole books to specific aspects of the same topic. He is pretty damn thorough that way. So, for example, I would put this book in the middle of a three-book spectrum of similar concepts: Intellectuals and Society (most concrete and easiest to read), A Conflict of Visions (next-level abstraction, a little difficult to read), Knowledge and Decisions (root abstract concept, very difficult, I have not been able to get past chapter 2). The second thing I have to say is about a couple interesting concepts it proposes. Its whole point is to help readers understand the roots of two ways of seeing the world that come into severe conflict politically, and he calls them by their root titles: the constrained and the unconstrained visions. He traces the path of each back through the intellectuals that most spoke of them (tending to contrast Adam Smith with William Godwin and Condorcet). Though he leans heavily toward the constrained vision (based on reading his other works) he does his best to make this book an academic study of both, with both of the visions' strengths and flaws and reasoning and internal consistencies fairly laid out. In doing so, he helped me understand a few things that make this situation really difficult for people on opposing sides to communicate. One of them is that root words and concepts literally mean different things to different people. I had some vague notion of this before, but he laid out three examples in detail: Equality, Power, and Justice. It was kind of astounding to see just how differently these three words can be defined. It makes me think that arguing about any specific issues rooted in these concepts is fruitless until first an understanding has been reached on terms, because otherwise two parties are endlessly talking past each other. Another really interesting idea he brought up is the existence of “hybrid visions” and he named both Marxism and Fascism as hybrid visions. This was especially fascinating to me because I have seen the accusation of “Nazi” flung around ad nauseam and I wondered how it was that both sides were able to fling it at each other so readily. Well, it’s because Fascism is actually a hybrid vision, so both sides have a grain of truth but miss the whole on that particular point. In any case, this was a little difficult to read but had some fascinating information. For people who are wondering what on earth this gap is between political visions, how on earth to bridge the gap, or why the gap even exists in the first place, this is a really informative piece.

Movies

The Hobbit & Fellowship trilogies (movies). I mean, it’s definitely not my first watch, not even my second. But I went through it with Sergey this time and that means the run-time is double because we pause to talk and discuss details. This watch came about partly due to Sergey’s contention that Gandalf’s reputation far outstrips his actual powers, so we ended up noting down every instance of Gandalf’s power to see if that was true. Conclusion: Gandalf is actually a decently powerful wizard, but tends to use the truly kickass powers in less-than-dire circumstances. That aside, this movie series was always a favorite for me. I rated The Hobbit trilogy lower the first time I saw it but, frankly, all together the six movies are fantastic and a great way to sink deep into lore-heavy fantasy for a while. And I’m catching way more easter-egg type details after having read the Silmarillion so it’s even more enjoyable. (finally, after about a week of binge-watching) I forgot how much this story impacted me. I forgot how wrenchingly bittersweet the ending is. I forgot how much of a mark that reading and watching this story left on my writing.

Upside-Down Magic. Effects were good. Actors were clearly having fun and enjoying everything. Story didn’t make enough sense for my taste, but it was a decent way to kill flight time.

Wish Dragon. So, yes, it’s basically an Aladdin rewrite, but it’s genuinely a cheesy good fluff fest that made me grin a whole lot.

Plays

Esther (Sight and Sound Theatres). < background info > This is my third time to this theatre. There are only two of these in existence and they only run productions of stories out of the Bible. The first time I went I saw a production of Noah, the second time I saw a production of Jesus. My middle sister has moved all the way out to Lancaster, PA in hopes of working at this theatre. My husband and I came out to visit her. < /background info > So. Esther. They really pulled out all the stops on the costumes and set. I mean, REALLY pulled out all the stops. And the three-quarters wrap-around stage is used to great effect. I tend to have a general problem of not understanding all the words in the songs, but I understood enough. I highly recommend sitting close to the front for immersive experiences. This theatre puts on incredible productions and if you ever, ever, EVER have the opportunity to go, take it. Even if you think it's nothing but a bunch of fairy tales, STILL GO. I doubt you'll ever see a fairy tale produced on another stage with equal dedication to immersion.

Shows

The Mandalorian (first two seasons). Well. This was pretty thoroughly enjoyable. It felt very Star-Wars, and I’d kind of given up after recent movies. Felt like it slipped into some preaching toward the end? Not sure, I could be overly sensitive about it, but I enjoyed this a lot (though I did need to turn to my housemate and ask where the flip in the timeline we were because I did NOT realize that the little green kid IS NOT ACTUALLY Yoda).

Games

Portal & Portal 2. Portal is probably the first video game I ever tried to play, back when I had no idea what I was doing. Back then, I attempted to play it on my not-for-gaming Mac laptop. Using my trackpad. Once the jumping-for-extra-velocity mechanic came into play, I just about lost my mind trying to do this with a trackpad and gave up. Later I returned to the game and played it with my then-boyfriend on a proper gaming computer. Now, after having played several games and gotten better at "reading the language" of video games, I decided I wanted to see if I could beat the Portal games by myself. Guess what. I BEAT 'EM. Yes, I remembered most of the puzzles in Portal so that's a little bit of a cheat, but I'd say a good 2/3 of Portal 2 was new puzzles to me. It is crazy how proud I feel of myself that I could beat Portal 2, especially. Learning how to play video games at this age has really knocked down the lie, "You can't learn anything." Though I still suck at platformers and games that require precision. Since I find those types frustrating, I probably won't be playing many. Games are about enjoyment, so I'll push myself a little, but not to the point where I can't stand what I'm playing.

The Observer. I like the concept and the art but I don't think I could keep trying to play this game. It's really depressing. My in-game family members all died of illness or accident or committed suicide. I also kept getting executed by the state. In order to keep us all alive I'd have to do pretty terrible things that I have a hard enough time contemplating even in a fictional setting.

Baba Is You. Fun and interesting concept, but I got stuck pretty early on. Don't think I want to push as hard on this one.

#recent media consumed #n00b gamer child #child loves books #child loves movies #child loves shows

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downwiththeficness · 4 years ago

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A Need So Great-Chapter 21 (Final Chapter)

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count: ~5,700

Warnings: Smut--y’all this is the chapter containing Eva’s next heat. So, yeah, keep that in mind.

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand @clydesducktape @revolution-starter @autumnleaves1991-blog @jedi-mando @buckysalefty @anaeve @maouzon

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8.5, 9, 10, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20

Eva picked up the basket from the floor, dumping it on the bed to begin the sorting process. She made little piles in a line—shirts, shorts, underwear, socks. The slacks, she set aside to be hung, along with the occasional polo and her washable sundresses. Task complete, she pushed the stacks into their respective drawers and hung up the rest.

Setting the basket by the door, she moved to the windows and opened them to the cool morning air. It had taken a few days of frantically looking at every available home on the coast of Spain, hours upon hours spent walking through and trying to make a decision, before they found this one. Though not right on the water, it was close enough that she could hear the waves crashing on the shore. She inhaled the salt laden air, a warm contentment in her belly. Perfect.

Stepping away from the window, Eva plucked the basket from the floor and headed downstairs. On the landing, her stomach cramped hard enough that she dropped the basket. Hissing in pain, Eva bent over a bit, pressing her fingers into the source until it eased.

“The fuck was that?”

The feeling left as quickly as it came, leaving a soft ache in its place. Shaking her head to dismiss it, she set the basket on top of the washer and made her way lazily to the couch. Plopping down, she picked up the remote and channel surfed for about an hour, until the washer buzzed. She switched the load into the dryer and turned the knob, standing for a minute as the barrel turned.

A glance at the clock on the wall told her it was lunchtime, but she found that she wasn’t truly hungry. She should be. She hadn’t eaten breakfast, choosing instead to lounge in bed with Horacio until the very last second before he had to go to work. He’d found a job as a consultant for a security firm and seemed pretty happy with it. His permanent frown had eased, though he was still as serious as he’d ever been. She supposed that old habits would never truly die.

Though they’d only been in the house for about a week, he was settling into their routine with more ease than Eva. She was still looking over her shoulder a little bit, though Horacio had been monitoring her in laws with Javier’s contacts in the states. To compensate for starting over again in a new country, Eva had made a long distance phone call to Connie, giving her the run down and inviting her to stay when the summer was over. It helped—marginally.

Eva busied herself with staring at the open refrigerator, all the while giving a mental reminder that she had been the new girl in town over and over again throughout the years. This would, hopefully, be the last time. And, she had practiced her friend making skills in Colombia. She could do this. Again.

Finding nothing in the fridge worth making, Eva shut the door and leaned against the kitchen island, looking out over the open space floor plan. The dining room set was picked up from a local thrift shop, already scraped a little across the wooden tabletop. She’d seen it and loved it immediately. A little worn, but still good.

The couch was new—a luxurious leather that reminded her of the couch she’d curled up on with Horacio before they’d started selling furniture in prep for the move. A coffee table and entertainment center sat on a plush shag rug thrown over the hardwood. All in all, it was a good start to their new life together. Just a few essentials that she’d add to the longer they stayed right here.

Upstairs, they didn’t have much, other than a king size bed—Horacio had insisted on the larger mattress when Eva had balked. He needed a space to spread out, she needed enough room to nest properly. She had no argument against him, especially when he leaned down and whispered how easy it would be to go down on her properly. He could lay her out across the mattress and still have room for his own body, rather than kneeling on the floor or hanging off the edge. More comfort, meant more orgasms. Later, he’d proven his point several times over.

He’d also proved the point again the night previous. Eva felt her cheeks warm as she thought about it. He’d been...insatiable—no, they both were. He’d come home a little early. Eva was just starting dinner. He’d hung up his jacket and walked around the island, arms wrapping around her middle. The solid length of his body pressed up against her as she tried to chop celery was certainly distracting. As was his way, he tugged her hair over her shoulder and nosed along her neck, inhaling.

His hands covered hers and he gently pulled the knife from her fingers, setting it aside even as he walked her back and away from the counter. Dinner ended out being peanut butter and crackers, eaten furtively over the sink, hours after the sun had set.

Heading back to the couch, Eva flung herself back on it, smiling as she thought about how he’d trembled beneath her that last time, sweating and begging for her to come just one more time. It was an image that, even now, made her fan herself.

Taking a deliberate breath, Eva pointedly picked up the remote and put on some daytime television. For a while, it was enough of a distraction. She dozed a bit as the afternoon wore on, ignored the buzz of the dryer that signaled her clothes were dry, and generally did not much of anything. It wasn’t until her stomach gave another clench that Eva sat up and paid attention.

Hand to her belly, she stared into the middle distance as she tried to place just where the...pain wasn’t the word for it...ache, maybe. It throbbed gently now, spiked sporadically with a tightness that had her blowing out a breath. Pressing her free hand to her head, Eva noted the slight fever, though she felt herself give an involuntary shiver.

Was she sick?

When she tried to stand, Eva went to her knees, a low, anguished moan sounding. On the floor, she breathed deep, her nose pressed into the rug. After a few seconds, the feeling eased and she was able to rock back onto her heels. Using the couch for leverage, she pushed to standing. Another steadying breath, and Eva was moving slowly around the couch to the kitchen cabinet where they kept most of their over the counter medications.

With care, she turned each bottle around and read their label, not sure which she should rely on. Eventually, she settled on Tylenol and popped a few in her mouth with a glass of water. While she waited for it to kick in, Eva leaned a hip against the counter, her eyes feeling a little heavy. Perhaps she should eat...but the thought of food turned her stomach. Not even the very expensive chocolate bar in her hidden stash seemed appealing, and that was saying something.

Squinting into the afternoon sunlight, Eva waited for the ache to ease. The dull throbbing in her belly absolutely did not pass. It remained stubbornly in place, growing by tiny increments. Eva wiped at her brow, which had begun to sweat. Setting the glass down, Eva dropped her head into her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. Her body felt tired and wired and achy and lazy and utterly ridiculous all at the same time. There was so much going on that she didn’t know how to feel about it. Even her feelings were a mishmash of anxious and lethargic.

Breathe.

As she took long, deep breaths, the smell of Horacio filled her lungs. Normally, she would be comforted by it, soothed. She was not, in this moment, soothed. The scent of him burned through her, settling low in her belly. Flicking her eyes to the clock on the wall, she noted the time. He wouldn’t be home for a few hours, even if he clocked out as normal. She wanted him, wanted him with her, wanted him to hold her. Drowning in him was the only way she’d make it through whatever this was.

Mouth curling, Eva tried to think of something that she could do to distract herself. Looking around the house, she tried to find an activity—any activity—that could be done with little to no thought. Eva settled on some light cleaning. Leaning down to grab the cleaners from beneath the sink made her wince, her muscles straining as she tried to keep her body upright.

Determined, Eva got through the table tops, the windows at the front of the house, and was wiping down the coffee table when she finally gave up. Throwing down the lemon scented towel, Eva slumped against the couch, head thrown back in resignation. Rubbing the heels of her palms into her eyes sockets, she groaned as another wave hit her. Only sheer force of will kept her from curling in on herself and dissolving into a tantrum.

Hands falling to her lap, Eva stared at the ceiling for a long time, the dips and bends of it going in and out of focus. Breaths uneven, Eva felt her eyes tear up in frustration. Her jaw locked as she made every attempt to fight them off.

What the fuck? She thought, flinching when fire began sizzling over her skin. Every second it grew more apparent that whatever this was, it was not going away. The hair at her temples was wet with sweat, her limbs were faintly trembling. She was dizzy and disoriented in a way that startled her. Eva closed her eyes, trying to relax...

She awoke with a cry that was muffled by the rug. Shaking, Eva’s thighs clenched together, her cunt pulsing. She blinked at the individual strands of the shag, realization coming over her like a kick to the head. Heat. It was a heat. Though the ache was still making itself viscerally known, all she could feel was relief. She wasn’t sick, she wasn’t dying. She was just undergoing her normal cycle—well, normal for her.

Pushing ever so carefully to sitting, Eva weighed her options. An hour and a half, and he would be home. She could do that. Maybe. Eva stood and grabbed the basket off the top of the dryer. In it, she put every snack she could find—anything that could be eaten quickly and without much effort. She also packed every soda, every sports drinks, every juice. They would need to replenish.

It took some time, and many breaks for her to catch her breath, but she got the basket upstairs and into the bedroom. Unable to help it, she checked the time again. Forty five minutes. She could do this. Moving as easily as she could, Eva made her way back downstairs, pulling an ice pack out of the freezer and sitting gingerly on the couch.

Half an hour. Fifteen minutes. Five. Zero. Nothing. His truck didn’t pull up in the drive. He didn’t come through the door. He just...wasn’t there. Not yet. Every minute that followed was excruciating in a way that Eva hadn’t ever felt. Not in all the years since she’d manifested her designation had Eva truly felt as helpless as most omegas were perceived to be. The grim reaper, himself, could walk through the front door, and Eva wouldn’t be able to move a muscle in her own defense.

Too soon, it became overwhelming and Eva was crawling pitifully over the cushions and grabbing the phone, dialing the number to his office. The ringing took too long, but she was relieved at the sound of the handset picking up from the cradle.

“Hello?”

“Horacio?” Her voice was small and far more timid than she felt.

“...Eva? Is everything alright?”

She bit her lip, the urge to deflect too strong for her to come right out and say it, “Its just...you’re usually home by now.”

He sighed deeply, and she could see him leaning back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, “We had a meeting go long. I’m supposed to run out and do a site visit. I should be home in a few hours.”

A few hours. Eva wasn’t going to make it a few hours. She wasn’t even sure she’d make it through the rest of this phone call. Her body, hearing Horacio’s voice, had kicked it up a notch, her thighs trembling with the want of wrapping around his body.

The sound that she made was pathetic and she hated it immediately. He, of course, heard it.

“Eva, what’s wrong?” His voice was firm, suspicious.

She inhaled, begging her body for calm. “I’m fine.”

He made a soft tsk of censure, “You’re not. Tell me what’s wrong.” When she hesitated, he rumbled, “Evangeline, you tell me what’s wrong.”

A directive. No argument. She felt her spine straighten.

“Horacio,” she started, her voice cracking, “Its...here. Its here.”

“What’s here?”

She could hear the concern that was in his voice rise up further into near panic. In the background, she could hear his keys jingling.

“The heat,” she clarified through her teeth, her brows coming together as she tried very hard to concentrate on the situation at hand and not how eagerly her body was telling her that she was talking to her alpha and that he was everything to her. “Its here.”

The line went silent for several long heartbeats and Eva feared that he’d hung up. Desperately, she listened for any sign that he was still there.

And then, “I’m on my way.”

The line went dead, the dial tone buzzing loudly in her ear. Eva dropped the handset onto the couch cushion and breathed deeply. He was maybe twenty minutes away. She could do that—told herself that she could do that. Twenty minutes was easy. Two sets of ten. Four sets of five.

When she tried to stand, her knees buckled and she hit the ground. Defeated, she laid down right where she was, sandwiched between the coffee table and the couch. Eva decided that she was just going to lay here and wait. She’d done what he would want her to do—she told him, just like he’d asked. Now, she would just have to try to relax until he got home.

The door opened and closed firmly. Eva blinked her eyes open, her vision blurry. She heard his footsteps move further into the house, his jacket hit the floor, and his keys hit the dining room table. Two further thumps sounded, his boots kicked off—she had just about enough energy to be annoyed that he couldn’t be bothered to put them on the shoe rack that was right there.

“Eva?”

She couldn’t answer. Her throat was dry, the muscles around her vocal cords refusing to cooperate. Fingers flexing, Eva tried to gather her limbs underneath her. They moved like molasses and had about as much strength as a bowl of jello.

“Eva?” his voice was louder, more urgent.

She made a sound, a pathetic little thing, choked out and exhausted. Fuck, how was she supposed to last through the heat when she couldn’t even get the thing started?

He heard her, his steps swinging around the couch until she could see his socked feet standing just outside the perimeter of the rug she was laying on. Her eyes traced upwards, following the line of his legs to his torso, shoulders, and face. He towered over her when she was standing. From the floor, he looked like a fucking giant.

His expression was concerned, but his hands were clenched into fists, sweat on his collar. She wondered how much of the drive home had been spent trying to control the rush of hormones that he’d no doubt been feeling. Thinking about what was waiting for him when he got home. She swallowed and reached for him.

Horacio caught her by both hands, dragging her out from between the coffee table and couch to lay near the landing of the stairs. She let the leverage of the moment pull her to sitting, her legs splayed useless in front of her.

Eva stared at him for a few seconds, “Hi…”

His mouth opened to respond, but no words came out. He just...looked at her, his entire posture stiff. Eva felt her stomach drop a little. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Why wasn’t he moving?

Eyes dropping, Eva ran her hand over the floor, trying to parse out the thoughts that were still foggy and stilted in her brain. Her hormones were raging hard enough that she couldn’t steady her breathing, everything inside her filling up with him in every way, except the way she most wanted.

He knelt, hand touching her chin. The contact made her shiver, tingles billowing out from her jaw and down her neck. Eva reluctantly looked at him, feeling her breaths stutter.

“Are you alright?”

Was she alright? Was she alright? Her latent anxiety morphed into righteous anger, her body bristling. He must have read her anger clearly across her face, because he leaned further into her space.

“I just need to know you’re alright—before...Once this starts, I won’t be able to stop—mmph,”

Eva cut him off with a hard kiss, rising up to her knees and knocking him onto his back. She followed him down, kissing him again before lifting her head and glaring at him.

“Horacio,” she grit out between clenched teeth, “Shut up.”

Not waiting for an answer, Eva dropped down and licked up his neck, ending it with a firm kiss. Her thumbs pressed into the hollow above his jaw, urging him to open for her. Tongue dipping in for a taste, she groaned, settling her weight further on his body. He was hard beneath her, and her already frazzled hormones spun up into a chaotic mess. Skin prickling, she ground against him, swallowing down his moan.

Grasping her hips, he pulled her closer, using what little leverage he had to help her rock against him. Not needing any more encouragement, Eva let her hips go fluid in their movements, setting up a hard, quick rhythm. Fuck, but it felt good. All that time spent waiting for him, burning up inside, melted away with the delicious friction.

He breathed her name between kisses, hands grabbing at whatever they could reach. He said it again when she released his mouth to kiss down his neck to the collar of his polo. And again, when she pulled the fabric out of his khakis.

“Evangeline,” he nearly yelled, “We need to get upstairs. Now.”

She stared down at him, her mouth curling into a smile. Then, with no preamble, she sat up, tore off her shirt, and threw it at him. Her body had just enough adrenaline to get her up and off him, scrambling up the stairs, hands shoved onto each step for balance. They slapped at the polished wood, pushing her forward and up to the second floor.

Eva felt herself giggle as she made it to the top stair, sliding a little as she rounded the corner. She could hear Horacio’s answering growl as his heavy steps boomed behind her. As quick as her feet would go, Eva hurdled towards the bedroom, clearing the door and making it almost to the bed when he slammed into her from behind. The momentum pushed her into the mattress, bent at the waist, the air punched out of her with the impact.

A flat palm between her shoulder blades held her in place as he pushed his fingers between her body and the mattress to get at the button of her shorts. Flicking it open, he pulled down the zipper and shoved both her shorts and underwear down and off her legs. After kicking the bundle away, he unsnapped her bra pulled it from her, throwing it off the side of the bed.

Eva tried to get her arms underneath her so that she could turn over. She even got a quarter turn of her torso before he leaned more weight on his hand, pushing her into the mattress again. Groaning, her face buried in the comforter, Eva kicked out in frustration. She wanted to touch him, wanted to rub every inch of her skin on him, anything to ease the fever that was growing steadily hotter.

He dropped down on her, his bare chest searing against her back. Eva realized that he must have removed his shirt somewhere between the stairs and their bedroom. His body was like a furnace, scalding her already sensitized skin. He ran the flat of his tongue over her shoulder, teeth scraping. His arms encircled her waist, holding her to him as much as he was holding her down. She wiggled against him in a vain attempt to gain any kind of sensation to urge her along towards the orgasm she knew would be a-fucking-mazing. It didn’t matter that he was doing exactly what she wanted, he wasn’t doing it fast enough. She needed hard and fast and now.

Nose in the crook of her neck, Horacio breathed deep, his body rigid all around her. Eva bit her lip, a cry building in the back of her throat. She needed something to happen, and quickly. Her nails dug into her palms, muscles tense all over. An attempt to get her feet firmly planted on the ground was met with a quick slap to her outer thigh, his teeth setting against her skin in warning.

A clink sounded, followed by the rasp of leather as is slid through belt loops. She heard fabric tear as he worked to get his pants off.

“Eva, tell me you’re ready,” he gasped, head bowed over the curve of her spine. One hand gripped her hip, the other reaching down to line himself up, “Tell me.”

The cry she’d been working to hold back broke free, a low keening thing that had her clenching her eyes shut, “Yes, please, alpha.”

With a rough, almost angry sound, he pushed home, sinking deep. Though she was more than wet, sopping, the burn was still there as he bottomed out. It pulsed through her deliciously, putting pressure everywhere that she so desperately needed it. With his hands on her hips, she had the leverage to finally push back onto her feet a little so that she was balanced on her toes. It was a precarious balance, and put way too much strain on her thighs, but Eva couldn’t find it in herself to care.

Though the position gave her little in the way of controlling a movement in counterpoint to him, it didn’t really seem to matter. His every push inwards was hard and deep enough that her body clenched down on him out of reflex, cresting over the orgasm so easily that it caught her off guard. She groaned, her cunt squeezing him in a vice.

“I feel you,” he bit out, his pace never faltering, “Fuck, I feel you.”

Then, with deliberate slowness, he pulled his hips back, arms looping around her waist and hoisting her up and further onto the bed. Eva whined, a pathetic, needy thing that would have been embarrassing if she didn’t need him back inside her right fucking now.

Rough hands pushed her higher on the mattress, spreading her knees a little to make room. And then he was sliding home again, fucking into her brutally. Chin tilting back, Eva felt her arms give out. Her hands slid upwards and underneath the pillows, nails digging into the sheets. The change in angle let him farther inside, and she barely heard his pleased growl over the near constant sounds stuttering out of her.

She could feel it, hitting at her opening with every thrust, a hot, swollen ridge of flesh that had her gasping. As with the first time they spent the night together, Eva had a brief thought that maybe she should reevaluate. It was...big. Horacio was already so thick that it took a little patience to get started any other time they had sex. His knot made her want to scramble away just as much as she wanted to see if she could take it. Every thrust put a little more pressure on her, opening her just a little bit further, prodding at her enticingly.

A harsh sound escaped his mouth and he leaned down to grab her shoulders, hauling her up and off the mattress to sit back on him. Eva cried out, struggling a little in his hold as she tried to accommodate the deeper angle. He snarled, arms locking around her, holding her still.

Eva felt the omega in her rise up a bit, a visceral need to make him earn the right to knot her. She might have claimed him as her own all those months ago, but this was their first heat. It wouldn’t be right if she just laid down and gave it to him. She needed him to take it just as much as he needed to be the one doing the taking.

Planting her knees, she grabbed at his forearms, arching her hips up to shallow out the depth of his penetration, keeping him from grinding his knot against her. His hands tightened, biceps bulging as he adjusted his grip. Although Eva could see his face, she knew his eyes were narrowing in confusion. She heard him snarl at her, felt the way he rocked back onto his heels a bit, hips tilting to get underneath her a bit more.

When he moved to push upwards, Eva countered him as best she could, given that she had little to no leverage. The snarl dropped into his chest, coming out as a warning growl. Eva laughed a little bit, unable to keep her amusement to herself. She wasn’t intimidated by a little growling.

That was, apparently, not the best thing to do. One of his hands released her torso, threading through her hair and yanking her head to the side. She felt his teeth lay against her skin even as he used his free arm to cross her chest and grip her shoulder. His thrusts, already hard, picked up in pace and intensity. Short, stunted, as if he couldn’t bare to be outside of her more than absolutely necessary. He barreled into her in a way that made all her muscles give out with the sheer pleasure shooting through her.

His cock speared inside her, hitting her g spot and gliding smoothly through the slick dripping down between their bodies. Sweat pooled on her stomach, in the crease of her burning thighs, on her temple. His breaths punched out of him and onto her skin, each one like a physical blow against her neck, collarbone, and shoulder.

He pulled her down by her shoulder as his movements became more determined. Horacio cursed desperately, and she could feel his eyes squeeze shut as he pressed his face into her cheek.

“Omega,” he grunted, “Eva, I can’t...I need…”

She knew exactly what he needed, could feel it spreading her open from below, knew that it wouldn’t be much longer before he was pushing it inside her, locking them together. Eva didn’t have to wait long. His fingers dug into her skin as he gave one final thrust upwards, hips flexed so far that her body bowed forward in one elegant arch, her head flung back over his shoulder.

He stretched her open. She could feel that he had stopped breathing. His heart pounded against her back. There, there, there. Eva’s body relaxed, allowing his knot to breach her, filling her to capacity. That was it. She couldn’t get any fuller. Not even his come would leak out of her until he softened a little, their bodies sealed together perfectly.

Horacio groaned against her neck, lips pulling back from his teeth as he sank them into the skin covering her scent gland. The pain of the bite pushed her over the edge again, her voice sounding against the walls, coming back to her as a harsh shriek.

Locked together as they were, Eva could only circled her hips, grinding down on him as she came. She could feel his answering pulses, knew that she would trickle out all over the sheets when they were finally able to separate. He held her there, breathing hard, until they’d calmed just a bit. Then, with careful movements that sent aftershocks through them both, he eased them down on to the bed.

Laying on her side, Horacio behind her, Eva felt herself drift a little. He was stroking her body, nose pressed against her spine, the motion calming. After a while, his knot contracted a little, allowing him to pull out. She was right. A mixture of their come dripped out of her, coating her thighs. Eva didn’t have the ability to feel embarrassed about it. They’d wash the sheets later.

Rolling her to her back, Horacio leaned over and kissed her deeply. She felt every ounce of the love that he felt for her in that kiss, knew that their bond would deepen as the days went on, sealing them together as a pair.

Reluctantly, he pulled away. She watched him assess her, could see the effort it was taking for him to bank back his building arousal. His cock was already beginning to harden against her hip. Her body rose up in answer. With shaking limbs, she pushed up and over, clumsily sitting astride his hips. He tried to sit up, but she shoved him back down with a strength that she shouldn’t have had.

Leaning down, she kissed him lightly, “My turn.”

Her body moved without real conscious thought, slotting him inside her, reveling in how hard he was, how well he filled her. She hissed on the first downward thrust, her eyes squinting as he dragged against every exposed nerve. Biting her lip, Eva breathed deeply through her nose, the scent of him filling her lungs. It spurred her on, pleasure flushing every system until she had no choice but to move.

Bracing her hands on his chest, she gave him no warning before she began to ride him hard. The motion had no finesse—she wasn’t trying to tease, she didn’t have the capability. Eva could feel the need to come squirm inside her, pushing her to fuck him harder, faster, deeper. Adrenaline and oxytocin flooded her already brimming body, shaking down her spine.

He reached out and grabbed her ass, giving her an assist. Already, his knot was swelling up, Eva could see it protruding from where they were joined, the skin flushed and pulsing. She bounced on it, earning a helpless little moan from the man beneath her. His hands slid up and curled around her hips, his arms straining to pull her down on him harder. Eva felt him shift his feet on the sheets, knew he was working to gain enough traction to work more of himself inside.

Hands splayed on his chest, Eva forced herself to stop, just for a moment. Though her body screamed out in resistance, she wanted to draw out the feeling just a little. His brows drew together, and she could tell that she only had a second or two before he was going to flip her over and take control. Eva looked him in the eye, smiled, and let all of her body weight fall on him. The effect was exactly what she wanted. She sank down onto his knot while he watched, powerless.

The feeling of it, knowing that she was the one who’d done it, that she had brought on the pleasure that skyrocketed through her, was infinitely gratifying. Still further, from her vantage point above him, Eva got the watch him utterly fall apart. It was...beautiful.

His head was thrown back, exposing the long line of his throat. His jaw was clenched, face screwed up as he rode out the orgasm. Every muscle in his torso was drawn tight, cutting vivid lines that emphasized the strength she knew was there. From his lips came a cry of ecstasy that mirrored her own.

Beautiful.

When he was able, he helped her to roll to her side, hooking her leg over his hip, their chests pressed together. She was sweating, shaking, barely able to form coherent thoughts. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, massaged at the muscles he could reach. Eva snuggled into him, the swivel of her hips sparking another, smaller pulse to go through her. He groaned when she clenched on him, his cock undulating in response.

An indeterminate time later, he sat up and padded over to the basket she had put together. He made her drink as much as she was able and eat a few crackers, leaving a snacks and an extra bottle of water on the nightstand for later. Even a heat couldn’t keep him from being practical.

She slept for a bit, waking groggily to Horacio sucking on her clit hard enough that she came all over his fingers, her legs spasming over his shoulders. When he pushed inside again, he grabbed both of her thighs and eased them up and into her chest, giving him the most room to move. Punishing thrusts, an unrelenting pace. He shoved his knot into her hard, forcing a scream from her throat. Eva shook through the orgasm, her hands holding onto his forearms for purchase.

Nearly unconscious by the time he pulled out again, Eva let him arrange her limp body against him. She was draped over his chest, staring aimlessly through the still open window, listening to the waves. For the moment, everything was still. The air in the room was filled with their combined scents, the bond twisting them together. As she drifted once more into sleep, Eva pressed her nose into his skin, inhaling happily. Tobacco. Vetiver. Home.

#narcos #horacio carrillo #carrillo #A Need So Great

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minghaocouture · 4 years ago

Text

Fearless Chapter 1

Pairing: Werewolf!Jeon Wonwoo x Vampire!Reader Genre: Romance, Action, Fantasy, Non-Idol AU Warning: Language, mild mentions of non sexual nudity Rating: T WC: 2.8K AU Lore: Vampire Coven Info/Wolf Pack Info/Lore Info

Chapter List: Chapter 1/Chapter 2/Chapter 3/Chapter 4/Chapter 5/Chapter 6/Chapter 7/Chapter 8/Chapter 9/Chapter 10/Chapter 11/Chapter 12/Chapter 13/Chapter 14

***

“[Y/N] If you sleep any later you’re gonna be late for your shift.” You groaned hearing the familiar voice of your Coven sister, Siyeon. She was always such an early riser. You’d think after a few decades you would be used to it.

Surprise, surprise, you aren’t. So you simply roll over on your bed and cover your head with your pillow.

“Go bother Yuna, I’m not in the mood Yeonie.” Being the eldest of the female in the Coven, Siyeon had a tendency to mother you all. Despite everyone being almost a century old at this point. The only exception being little Hyunjin who had just been turned a few months ago. The coven life wasn’t the easiest but it was definitely better than being a stray.

You heard a scoff from Siyeon as she continued getting ready for her patrol. “Fine, let Minghao find out you’re sleeping in again. See if I care.” Now that was playing dirty. Minghao was easily the strictest out of the 4 Coven leaders, even without being considered Primus or Venture. He also scared the living daylights out of you. While some members of the clan could walk around mostly silent, usually your ears are good enough to hear them coming. Minghao was a whole different beast, you would never know he was in a room unless he announced his presence.

With a groan, you threw your legs out from your blanket and onto the wood paneling bellow. You could almost feel Siyeon’s smug smirk as she heard your movement. With a heavy hand you reached up in an attempt to at least sort of get your hair into some semblance of order. Trekking over to your wardrobe and pulling out a good set for your patrol tonight. Patrols weren’t exactly fun, especially with that Stray that’s been wandering around town and the Wolf Pack. Though the Pack had been a problem for months, and by this point you just wanted them to go away so the Patrols would lighten a bit. It’s not like any of you could control what they did during the daytime, it surprised you that those mutts didn’t use that weakness to their advantage. You honestly didn’t know why Soonyoung didn’t just run them out of town, sure your numbers were even but a Vampire was worth at least three of those mongrels.

“Make sure you’re careful out there tonight. Chan said that they were a bit more active last night.” The warning definitely didn’t fall on deaf ears, the Full Moon was drawing near. They were probably planning something big for that night. Rolling your eyes as you slipped your shirt on, you then turned towards your roommate.

“You should be telling that to Kevin, not me. He keeps trying to talk to them.” You retorted, returning to your bed so you could pull on your boots before going down to check in with Jun. Being Primus, Jun was generally the one who would let you know your Patrols if Soonyoung was busy. Now Soonyoung wasn’t always busy, but he was usually pretty damn hard to find. With his unending high energy it was always like trying to catch smoke just to have a solid conversation with the Venture. In contrast, Jun was always at the bar and was generally just easier to find.

Siyeon groaned at your words, and you heard a bit of muttering from the elder female before she stalked out of the room, not bothering to say goodbye. Well, looks like Kevin was gonna get into some big trouble today...oops.

For a minute you just sat on your bed, just kind of debating about staying there and hiding out for the day. Previously, Patrol just consisted of walking around for an hour or so before someone came to tap you out but now, patrols were partnered and could last all night. It had been like this for a few months, ever since the Wolf Pack moved into the woods on the Northern side of town. Sure members of the Fae courts had lived in the area before, and they were troublesome and tricky but they had their own territories on another plane so they would flitter in and out like...well like you would expect of a Faerie. The Wolves, on the other hand, seemed to be hell bent on driving your Coven out.

Groaning you stood once again and made your way downstairs to the bar. Jun, Keonhee and the new girl (you couldn’t exactly remember her name) seemed to be setting up for the night since there was at least another 30 minutes until open. Keonhee practically beamed at you, waving when he noticed you. He was such a sweetheart, definitely a contrast to the darker interior of the bar with its harsh flashing lights and bass heavy music. You couldn’t stop the small smile from creeping its way onto your face as you waved back. Keonhee nudged the girl, so she would greet you. Her eyes seemed to pierce you like ice, which...to be fair was very fitting as she was of the Winter Court. Her face didn’t bother to change from its neutral and almost irritated look that it always seemed to have, she simply nodded in your direction before continuing with her work.

“[Y/N]! Good Morning!” Jun greeted, traveling to meet you at the end of the bar. You noticed him patting the female on the shoulder as he passed, as if telling her she did a good job for just meeting your eyes. He was always soft on newbies at the bar. You watched the female tense a bit when his hand touched her, but when the pressure left her you noticed her eyes follow him down the bar.

“So where am I headed tonight?” You questioned, plopping yourself onto the nearest bar stool as Jun reached under the bar and passed you a blood bag. He pouted at your words, seeing him like this you never would have guessed that he was over a thousand years old. The only one who was as bad as him was Minhyuk, maybe that’s what being alive for over a millennia does to you? He didn’t seem a day over 5, or at least in the way he acted. You waited for him to start as you popped a straw into the bag.

“You never come talk to me unless you need your patrol.” He whined, crossing his arms over his chest and only further proving your earlier thought about him acting like a child. You didn’t respond to his whining and simply continued to sip on your blood, AB positive today, not your favorite but at least it wasn’t B negative. You’d have to check when the next Blood Night was, this bagged shit just never really cut it. The Primus continued to pout but spoke again. “You’re with Yuna tonight. The two of you will be going to the Northern residential area near the forests, you’re the closest to the Pack tonight so be careful. I wanted to send another with you but we just didn’t have enough manpower tonight.”

“With people getting nights off so we are all good for the Full Moon, yeah yeah I get it. Yunnie and I got this.” She’d probably complain if she heard the two of you calling her Yuna, for some reason her and Eunbi wanted to go by code names. Saying they didn’t want the wolves to hear their real name or something, just in case they knew any nearby witches. A name was a powerful weapon of course but like...Wolves being smart enough to use them as such was a stupid thought. You thought they were vastly over estimating the brain power of the wolves.

You passed the now empty bag back to Jun for him to get rid of. “Thanks for the snack Jun. We’ll be back before sunrise.”

***

“Wonwoo-Hyung, you coming out for a run with us?” Glancing over the top of his book, connecting eyes with his Pack brother Jacob. It was just a few days before the Full Moon so everyone in the house was on edge, needing to be out in the woods. Wonwoo was no exception to this. Sure he wished he could just sit at home and read his new book, his wolf wanted to go with his brother.

Sighing, he picked up his book mark and slid in between the pages of his novel. “Who all is going out tonight?” He questioned, while Wonwoo knew they couldn’t just hide inside he also knew that the Vampires were more on edge the closer the Full Moon got. Those Blood Suckers were ridiculous, did they really think that their little ‘patrols’ were actually doing anything? It was just irritating at this point. Even Seungcheol had had enough of them. The Full Moon this month was going to be the turning point for their rivalry, hopefully with this push they would be able to send the Vampires running and then they wouldn’t have to deal with them sticking their nose into everyone;s business.

Jacob almost beamed at Wonwoo, if he had been in his wolf shape his tail would definitely have been wagging. “It’s gonna be me, Changbin, Felix and Yubin. Hyunwoo-Hyung was going to come too, but he and Hoseok-Hyung are going to try and sneak into that bar again.” Because of course they were. Hoseok was almost obsessed with trying to get into that bar the Vampires ran. He was convinced that if they could get in then they could have the upper hand, Hyunwoo was probably only going so that Hoseok didn’t get ganged up on.

Wonwoo definitely wasn’t going to complain about going on a run, but he just wished he hadn’t gotten to such a good part in his book. Setting the novel down on the coffee table, the elder wolf stood and stretched. “Well we better get going before it gets too late. Felix and Changbin have classes tomorrow.” Personally Wonwoo didn’t care too much if the younger ones skipped their college classes, he had done it back when he had been in college (of course that had been back in the 30s, and it was a different time back then) but Seungcheol wanted to make sure the younger ones were getting a good education before they really had people start to question their ages.

Being stuck looking 20 definitely had its perks but the drawbacks were pretty extreme, especially when you were 92 and stuck looking like you’re 20. He’d had conversations humans younger than him, but acted like he was just a dumb kid. It was beyond annoying.

Jacob’s cheer brought Wonwoo out of his thoughts, the younger boy dashing to go let the others know they could go running. With that energy, no one would have ever guess that Jacob was a 54 year old man. Wonwoo simply shook his head before making his way outside, taking off his current outfit and setting it onto the bench outside the cabin. As the door opened again he waved to greet Yubin, not bothering to cover himself before he shifted into his Wolf form.

Yubin had been with the pack for a good 10 years, and the pack had all seen each other in various states of undress. At this point they were all desensitised towards it, at least when it came to members of the pack. The only ones who were still shy about the whole coed pack arrangement were the pups, Felix, Changbin, and Vernon. Felix being the worst, being the runt of the pack and had only just turned 20. He was still shy and would usually wait inside the house until the girls had shifted and he would always shift on the other side of the house when any of the females were with them. Wonwoo had to admit it was kind of cute, and reminded him of when Sojung had first joined.

No one had really known how to treat Sojung, but they could feel the pack bond with her and knew she was one of theirs. It was strange for a few years, up until they had found Sana. Now the presence of the women was just normal, at least for the elder members of the pack.

Yubin was followed out by Jacob and Changbin, Felix still inside obviously waiting for Yubin to go off. Yubin, knowing this, disrobed quickly and wasted no time shifting. She stalked over to stand near Wonwoo but kept her back towards the house so that Felix would be comfortable enough to come outside. Which he did in fact, practically bolted outside to join his pack siblings in shifting.

The run started out fairly regularly, The young ones, Felix and Changbin would race off ahead of the pack while Wonwoo would tell them to stick close to the middle with Jacob, and Yubin kept her spot at the back to keep an eye on their rear. Wonwoo loved the feeling of the wind in his fur and the snow beneath his paws as they ran, it was always such a freeing feeling. He heard a few yelps from the pups as they play fought at the front of the group, and he let out the closest a wolf could give to a chuckle. After a good 30 minutes they stopped for a second near the edge of the forest. Wonwoo and Yubin sat just getting a good look up at the moon, why Jacob oversaw a match between Felix and Changbin. It was moments like this that Wonwoo lived for, just the peaceful moments with his family.

The moment was broken when he heard Yubin begin to growl, casting his eyes away from the moon followed her line of sight and noticed what caused her sudden reaction. With a quick signal to the boys, he quickly got in position to fight just in case the Vampires attacked.

The smaller female looked a bit more on edge while her companion simply looked irritated, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her leather jacket.

“I thought we told you mutts to stay away from this side of town.” She called out, making sure to keep a distance from the quintet of wolves. Wonwoo simply growled in response, This caused the female to roll he eyes, “Oh i forgot, you can’t talk like this. Must be hard. At least I can have access to my abilities all at once. I don’t have to pick and choose like you.” She taunted, almost like she was trying to edge them on. This seemed to make the smaller woman a bit concerned. She grabbed onto her companion’s arm before speaking towards her, but her eyes never left the wolves.

“Unnie, they’re still in the forest. Hoshi would be upset if we provoked them.” This only caused the female to roll her eyes once more, and mutter something about stupid code names. But this did seem to cause the woman to take a step back.

“Oh come off it Yun-...Yuju. They’re just dumb dogs.” Her words caused Changbin to growl at her, him being a bit more sensitive to the insults. This just caused the Vampire to bare her fangs towards him “If you wanna fight mutt, then come on. No one’s stopping you.” The Yuju girl took a step away from her companion, who seemed prepared for any fight that might come.

As Changbin was just about to take the bait and rush her, Wonwoo positioned himself in front of the younger wolf. His dark brown gaze focused on the female. Something felt off in him as he watched her, but he couldn’t focus on that. Right now his Pack was what he needed to be concerned with. His interruption caused a whine to escape from Changbin, who was obviously willing to fight her. Wonwoo didn’t move though, he simply gestured for Yubin to take the lead in heading back to the house. She complied but gave one last glare towards their antagonists. She was followed by Felix, who hated fighting and wanted to get away as quickly as he could. Jacob gently nipped the back of Changbin’s neck to force him to follow him. Wonwoo waited until the four were far enough away from the two females before he began backing into the forest, not letting his eyes leave the two. As he did, the more aggressive of the duo waved.

“Bye bye puppies! Don’t go out and get rabies, it’d be a shame to have to put you down.” Obvious sarcasm lacing her voice. While Wonwoo was grateful to be getting away from the female, a part of him wanted to go back if only just to be around her. Which was definitely a strange feeling, but nothing too concerning.

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scullydubois · 4 years ago

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Only the Light Ch. 11

Emotions run high as Mulder and Scully are reunited after Aubrey and an accidental 'I love you.' Then, Scully gets her blood test results back.

-----------------------

Tapping her foot out of sheer impatience, Scully waits in front of the elevator in the Hoover building’s lobby. She glances at her watch; it’s 9:26am--earlier than she agreed to meet Mulder--and yet she couldn’t keep herself away any longer. She’s among a crowd of other agents, either bored with their jobs or killing themselves for it, and she’d bet her life savings that she’s the only one going down.

The elevator dings, the up arrow illuminating to indicate its direction. Scully steps backward to let the other loiters slip in. She is left alone. As expected, the basement is not in high demand. Every day she starts off by waiting for the elevator, hoping that maybe it will be her lucky day and that down arrow will light up right away. And every day, she finds herself headed for the stairs like a dejected puppy.

The heavy door of the stairwell clicks shut behind her as she descends into the building’s darkened depths. She traverses the stairs like she is back at the Academy running drills, trying to prove herself. It’s only one story, nothing much, and she takes it in eight seconds--she counted in her head.

Her heart rate just a bit elevated and her hair just a bit displaced, she pushes out into the ever-familiar basement hallway. Halfway open, the door collides with something solid and whiplashes her backward.

“Shit!” The exclamation comes from the other side of the door. Scully flicks a stand of hair out of her face and tries again, this time with caution. She peeks around the door, and there he is. She’d believe he was a figment of her imagination if the door hadn’t just proved otherwise. She slips into the hallway, lets the door shut behind her.

“Mulder,” she practically laughs, “are you okay?”

He kneads his right shoulder. “They’ve got to put a speed limit in there,” he groans.

“May I suggest not standing right in front of the door?” she muses.

“Well, considering we’re the only two who ever come down here, I figured I’d take my chances.” He bends to scoop up his key, his injury evidently not so serious after all. He jams it into the lock while Scully interrogates him.

“How did you get down here?”

“Teleported.” He twists the key, and the lock surrenders.

“I was waiting for the elevator not sixty seconds ago. I didn’t see you head to the stairwell.”

They jaunt into the office, or as they have taken to calling it, their dominion.

“I didn’t take the stairs,” Mulder tells her. “I took the elevator.”

Scully turns and looks through the doorway as if some fairy godmother will appear to explain it all. “What do you mean? I was waiting for the elevator. It went up. You didn’t get on it.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Scully. I walked up, hit the down arrow, and the doors opened within five seconds.”

“But I-I took the stairs in eight seconds,” her voice high with frustration. “It’s impossible for the elevator to have beat me.”

“You have other redeeming qualities, I assure you.”

“Oh, really?” Scully coos. “Like what?” The more time apart, the more willing they are to walk the line when they see each other. Especially in the wake of accidental I love you’s.

Mulder props himself against the desk. “We’d be here all day if I dove into it. Rest assured that a conveyor belt built in the 60s has nothing on you.”

A feeling Scully can’t quite identify bubbles in her chest. She smiles, looks away. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she teases.

“Yup.” He tosses his keys in the air and catches them as they fall back to earth. “I don’t have much success with it...what am I doing wrong?”

Laughter flutters out of Scully, the butterflies in her stomach taking flight. It is a wonderful sound, a more certain version of the girlish giggles Mulder heard through the phone--the ones that followed him into his dreams. His eyes meet hers. They are the color of caramel this morning, she notices, sweet, sweet caramel.

“You know it’s an hour earlier than we agreed to meet, right?” She raises an eyebrow in his direction. Mulder being willingly early is about as unlikely as catching Bigfoot.

“I caught an earlier flight. I was going to surprise you, but you see how that worked out.”

“I don’t take kindly to surprises, Mulder,” she drawls, her pupils dilating as she looks up at him.

“Yeah well, neither does my shoulder.” He rubs it dramatically, then squares himself up in front of her, hands on his hips. Her eyes are level with his lips. The image of her tongue gliding over his mole flashes in her head. It would feel--no, she can’t think about that. Thinking about feeling tends to lead her to some dangerous places. Namely, more feeling.

The jig up, they snap back into themselves. “So, the case.” Scully plants herself in the chair in front of the desk. “What happened? And how’s BJ? Are she and Tillman going to raise the baby?”

Mulder sighs, swipes his fingers through his hair. “So Melissa is better, I take it?”

“Mulder…” Scully shoots daggers at him with her eyes. “Missy is fine. What happened in Aubrey?”

He sets his elbows on the table and rests his chin atop his hands. “I told you about Cokely, right? The suspect from the 1945 murders?”

Scully nods.

“Turns out, BJ is his granddaughter. Her father was adopted, so she didn’t know. Essentially…” he hesitates, hoping to slip his supernatural explanation into the field report without Scully’s interference. “BJ...she went crazy.” Scully’s jaw locks as she listens. “Genetic memory tends to skip a generation. I think the psychosis of her grandfather surfaced in her.”

Scully stares at the desk, at his hands against the desk, at his rolled-up shirt sleeves. She wants him to be kidding; she knows he’s not.

“Is she…?” Her eyes plead for the answer she wants to hear.

Mulder thanks her god that he’s able to assuage her fears, at least partially. “No,” he shakes his head. “But she’s being committed to a psych ward.”

“But she’s pregnant!” The desperation in her voice is about as cutting as Mulder has ever known.

He softens his voice. “It’s an all-female ward. They’ll take care of her.”

“She’s just a woman, a normal woman…”

Of all the parts of the story he expected Scully to object to, this was not one. “She killed Cokely, and she tried to kill two other people, Scully. Me included.”

“She tried to kill you?!”

He nods, his face a solemn slate. “Tillman saved me. I’m fine.”

“You can’t go alone anymore, Mulder.” She chokes back tears. Mulder leaves his chair and kneels before her, shocked by how quickly emotion has sprung to the surface. “You can’t.”

He frames her shoulders with his hands, breathes words of comfort into her ear--”It’s okay, Scully. I’m okay.”

Her body trembles against him. “Mulder, if you died right now, I’d stop breathing. By my own hand or God’s.”

Mulder is seized with such sudden fear--such distilled awareness of his own mortality--that he wants to lash out, to tell her to never ever say that again or he would go far away and change his name and abandon this life just so that she would never have to hear of his death. Instead, he collects himself.

“I’ve always thought the moments you think you’re dying are the ones where you’re living the most.”

She hides her face in the crook of his neck. It is such a dignified thing to say, so completely Mulder. It tears her heart clean in half.

“I’m screwed if that’s true,” she blubbers into his shirt. It smells like airport and aftershave. His hands meet her shoulder blades like he’s looking for angel’s wings. She imagines he must be disappointed. He’s not. He walks his fingers up and down her bra straps like a mother might rock her baby. He doesn’t mean it in a sexual way, but as an acknowledgement of what she is--not just a coworker, or his friend, or any ordinary human being, but someone--the only one--who makes him believe in holiness, the single thing he has never pinned his hopes on.

He presses his lips to her cheek, catches her salty tears on his tongue. Speaking to her skin, he whispers, ”What’s wrong? Why did you leave Aubrey?”

He knows. Of course he knows, she’s known that he knows, but it still startles her to be caught in a lie. She turns her head so that he’s forced to take his lips from her skin. He cradles the back of her head instead, her hair getting caught between his fingers.

She’s told too much of the truth to lie anymore. “Something happened to me during my abduction. They did something to me, but I don’t know what. I’m trying to figure it out.”

She speaks plainly, raw as skin-to-skin contact. Mulder feels as if her sorrows have migrated to his body, burrowed into him, and sworn to stay.

“I haven’t had my…” she sniffles, the fear coming back to her again. “I haven’t had my period since I was returned. That’s abnormal for me.”

He pulls her in closer, like they could become one if he tried hard enough. He doesn’t want to say it, but he knows he has to.

”Are you pregnant?”

He feels her eyelashes flutter closed against his shoulder. “No, I even got a professional test done. That’s the worst part, something being wrong and having no explanation.”

“I know how you feel.”

She exhales. Her stomach fills then flattens against him.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks, knowing that nothing would ever be enough.

“I think that maybe…” her voice falls quieter. “I think that I should take a leave of absence. While I get this all figured out.”

“Mmm-hmm.” The vibration of his voice box resonates within them both. “That sounds like a good idea.” He is as gentle as if he were speaking to a newborn baby.

“I am really, really sorry,” she stammers, mouth against his ear.

“For what?” His breath tickles her earlobe.

“For making you do it alone.” If she weren’t pressed to his ear, he wouldn’t be able to hear her.

“I’m not alone, Scully. You’re a part of me now. I’m carrying a miniature version of you in my head wherever I go.”

She’s crying again, a reflex tapped.

He continues whispering into her ear. “She’s telling me that there’s a scientific explanation, that there’s no such thing as extraterrestrials, that I’m batshit crazy--” Scully laughs, Mulder smiles. “--and I have to say, she makes a very convincing argument. I’m even starting to believe her, you know, just a little bit.”

He pulls back so that he can see her face. Her brokenness glimmers off of her like a shattered mirror. He wipes her tears away with his thumbs, then looks straight into the reflecting pond of her eyes.

“You are more important to me than any dumb X-file. Even Samantha hurts less because of you.” He was hollow, and she is filling him in. He hadn’t realized that he was draining her in the process. “I want you to be happy, and I want you to be whole,” he affirms. “Whatever you need to do, I’ll support you.”

She wraps her arms around him and nods in gratitude, her nose bouncing off his cheek. She will learn to live in her body again. She will learn to live. She will learn. She will.

---------------------

Scully made the appropriate arrangements with Skinner and walked out of that basement office indefinitely that night. She had spent so much time pretending she was fine to save face, thinking it was the noble thing to do. That was what she was taught, how could she know any different?

She never anticipated the inner strength that comes from vouching for yourself. From deciding that you are worthy just because you are alive. From owing nothing to no one, unapologetically. She suddenly understood why her sister had always seemed brave to her, so completely okay with disregarding expectations and breaking rules. Courage breeds confidence, Missy remarked when Scully brought this up to her. All you have to do is take that initial leap of faith.

But it would be a mistake to assume that Scully is truly free now. A person who is in total control of their life does not choose to leave a job they love, however temporary the absence may be. It’s not like something better has come along, an option that brings with it the bittersweet pang of leaving a beloved place for a new adventure. No, that’s not this--this is sacrifice on all sides.

Her, backing away from the work that keeps her sane and the experience that has made her insane. Mulder, shouldering the blow of fruitless investigation all by himself. Another loss in his stepping stone graveyard. And what about Missy, who has uprooted her life and left the woman she loves to take care of one she shares blood with? Scully has not properly thanked her for that, she knows this. And now...what comes now?

Scully’s stomach folds in on itself. She has not felt this listless since the weeks between the FBI’s offer to join them and her med school graduation, when her heart knew what it wanted and her brain feared anyone finding out. Working yourself to the bone to get a medical degree and then shoving it aside? Her parents would think something was wrong with her. In fact, she thought that something was wrong with her then too. It was Missy who convinced her that changing your mind is the most human trait of all. What is Scully always at odds with if not her own human fallibility?

These thoughts play through her head from her drive home to Missy’s homemade dinner to the moment she tucks herself into bed. Before her head hits her pillow, she pops open a bottle of melatonin tablets and places one on her tongue. It plunges her into dreamless sleep.

It is a relief, when she wakes up, to realize that she did not dream because this means she did not have nightmares either. Being a captive audience to your own brain gets tiring. Two nights pass this way, their days filled with waiting and research. She cracks the spine of every medical encyclopedia she has looking for clues into her condition. This is the most sensible way to move through life, she thinks, preparing for the worst so that reality will be no more heinous than the depths of your imagination.

Mulder calls from the office each night before he leaves. She did not ask him to do this, but she is grateful that he does. Their conversations are neither deep nor long-lasting, the perfect salve for Scully’s sudden rush out of their breakneck world into relative normalcy.

Missy is, unsurprisingly, elated that her sister is prioritizing herself. She even goes for an extra grocery run after work and stocks up on Dana’s guilty pleasures, hoping that the pattern of abstaining may be ending on all fronts. Dark chocolate covered strawberries, Greek yogurt that doesn’t say nonfat on the label, Nutter-Butters. These are things Dana loves but denies herself. Missy has never been more proud to see an empty package of Nutter-Butters in the garbage.

That is how the conversation starts. Dana is on the couch, and Missy joins her.

“You found the Nutter-Butters. I’m glad.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Scully nods, half-paying attention, half-perusing one of her old medical textbooks.

“I tried to pick stuff I remember us having in the house as kids. I wasn’t sure if you still liked them.”

“Oh, I do, I just usually avoid peanut butter.”

“Why?”

She looks up from the page for a moment, as if the question should answer itself. “Fattening.”

“Yeah, because that’s something you should be worried about,” Missy jests.

“Heart disease is the number one killer of American women, and it is tightly linked to weight and diet,” Scully says matter-of-factly.

Missy reaches over and lifts the textbook out of her sister’s lap. “That’s enough of that.”

Scully smirks, lets her sister close the book and put it on the table. She pulls her feet onto the couch and sits cross-legged. “My test results came back, by the way.”

“What?” The textbook slams onto the table.

“Yeah, they called a couple hours ago.” Scully rubs her eyes, sleepy from reading. “I have elevated follicle-stimulating and luteinizing hormone levels, but low levels of anti-mullerian hormone.”

Missy raises her eyebrows. “What does that mean?”

“It’s consistent with the results of a menopausal woman.” She says it in her doctor voice, as if she’s speaking of a body she autopsied instead of herself. “I have an ultrasound tomorrow to count my ovarian follicles.” She sighs, her face revealing nothing. “To give an idea of whether I could still be fertile.”

“My goodness.” Missy touches her sister’s hand. “I think that warrants a hug.”

Scully nods, and her sister pulls her in. Missy’s hugs are like a warm towel after a shower, purifying the cleansed.

“What time is your appointment?”

“One. But you don’t have to come.”

“I’m coming, no arguments,” she insists. “I have the lunch shift tomorrow, but I can swap for the dinner one instead.”

“Okay.” Scully smiles softly, devoid of any urge to fight. She has surrendered to her fear, and in doing so, has found herself free of it.

#~all aboard the angst train!~#i just have to edit ch 12 so i will have that posted this week too #thank you for reading <3 #it really means so much #only the light fic #txf fanfic #the x-files #dana scully #fox mulder #melissa scully #missy & scully fic #mine

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kinetic-elaboration · 3 years ago

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100 Days of Writing: Day Sixty-Three

I decided to catch up on The 100 Days of Writing and then I... accidentally wrote a large number of words. In my defense, this is like 2 weeks’ worth of questions. Also I skipped the ones I didn’t have anything to say about so actually this could be worse.

(I’m not even kidding, this is really long. I talk about writing rituals, tools for plotting, my thoughts on opening with dialogue and why I don’t like it, my favorite topics, the weather, and what length of fic I like to write.)

I’m tagging, and apologizing to, @the-wip-project and fellow participants @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold, @thelittlefanpire, @hopskipaway, @easilydistractedbyfanfic, @dylanobrienisbatman, and @fontainebleau22.

Day 49: How do you get yourself in the mood to write? Do you have a ritual?

Every time I tell myself I’m going to get back into doing these questions, I see this one in my bookmarks and go nope! and turn around. It’s not a hard question; I’ve just been having trouble consistently getting into the mood to write, so I feel like any answer I try to give to it will be, in some sense, a lie. Like do I ever get “in the mood” to write? Really?? Also, I feel like I’m relying too much on ‘ritual,’ building up ‘the perfect writing situation’ in my head, which at the end of the day is less important than just saying ‘I’m going to do this now’ and then doing it.

I do have some things I always do when I sit down to a writing session. I write on my couch. Almost always (unless I’m on an event deadline where I just have to write in bits and pieces whenever possible), I write in sprints—I use write or die to keep me actually typing and not staring into space. I write in order, and I often write a whole scene at a time. So before I start I need to have at least a couple solid opening sentences in mind, plus some kind of idea about what happens/needs to happen in the scene. In order to get in the right headspace, I usually spend some time just thinking before I actually get to writing. I reread my outline or notes, and skim whatever I might have already written on the project. Sometimes I look at images that help me get in the right mood. Sometimes I just imagine or daydream for a bit. The difficulty, especially recently, is in making sure I do this just enough and not too much, because then I get too caught up in my head and I can no longer translate what I’m seeing into words.

In a broader sense, I also have a building up to writing ritual—again, I think this is part of my problem, that I don’t know how to balance this build up with actual writing. In the hours/days before writing something, I turn it over in my head a lot. I practice different versions of those critical opening sentences. I play it out like a fantasy just to see if there’s a possible flow, even if the final version is different. Basically, I try to turn it into something that just needs to be written, that just needs to get out. But again—this can lead to overthinking and frustration.

The best way I can describe writing for me is that, when it goes well, I find a rhythm, or enter into a zone, where I can describe the images in my head in a way that’s both accurate and pleasant to read. But entering that zone or finding that rhythm is like jumping into a game of jump rope. If you don’t do it right, you’re just going to trip over your feet and get tangled in the rope. But if you do it correctly, it’s fun and exhilarating and you can keep jumping for a long time. Sometimes it takes me some false starts to jump in. And recently I’ve been having days where I just can’t at all, where I tangle the rope up so much I can’t unknot it. Those are the days I just have the same sentences repeating over and over in my head, sounding wrong, and I can’t do anything about it. On the other hand, I write in much longer sprints than I did a couple years ago. I used to only write partial scenes, maybe a few hundred words. Now I can write whole scenes without stopping, and on a few occasions, I’ve written multiple scenes or even whole stories without stopping. So in other words, when it works, it really works. But it doesn’t always, and there’s not a lot of in between.

Day 50 What fic/story made you?

Um… honestly I’ve been writing, in general and fic specifically, for such a long time that I didn’t have a ‘maybe I can do this’ moment. I mean one problem I’ve never had is thinking I can’t do this. I had positive reinforcement for my school and academic writing, and for a long time my fictional stories were just for me, and I knew what I liked. Even just thinking about my fic writing… I’ve been posting fic online since 2006, and I’ve been in multiple fandoms. I don’t really have much connection to a lot of those early stories anymore. They feel like they were written by someone else, a little. I’ve also moved on from most of the fandoms I wrote for in my early fic days so I don’t feel like I can really judge them anymore.

That said… there is kinda an obvious answer for my Star Trek fic lol. I also have favorite stories, and stories that stick out even years after I wrote them, in all (or at least most) of the fandoms I’ve been in. But I’m not sure if that’s the same.

Also, I had two teachers who were really encouraging of me and who I still think about often. One was my seventh grade English teacher, who had us do a lot of writing exercises of various types, both large and small, including keeping writing journals we wrote in every day at the start of class. He once told my mom that I wrote well, not for a seventh grader, but in general, and to be honest I still think of that with some regularity and take a lot of pride and comfort in it. The other was my creative writing professor in college. I don’t think I did my best work for that class, but she was very encouraging and seemed to like what I did. At the end of the semester, as I was preparing my portfolio, she told me that if I didn’t want to do much editing, I didn’t have to, because my unedited work would stand on its own. Again, especially considering all the problems that I saw with my writing for that class even then, I really took that comment to heart. When I’m feeling very self-critical, I remind myself that even my raw scribblings have, perhaps, something to them, and it helps ease the excessive and unwarranted pressure I put on myself. These aren’t really stories about specific writing pieces that ‘made’ me but I do think they speak to that ‘maybe I can do this’ feeling.

Day 51: Do you use tools for plotting and what are they?

So, generally, no. Sometimes I’ll look at various writing/plotting/organizational tools as a method of distraction, but my actual process is very simple. I use plain old notebooks and pens, and word documents on my computer, to plan all my fics, from the one-shots to the multi-chapters. I start by writing down general thoughts and brainstorming, then I build a scene list and/or outline, and then, if necessary, I separate the scenes lists into chapters. Sometimes I break down the scenes even more, if I have additional ideas I don’t wan to forget or if I know I need to hit certain points in a specific scene. The process varies a little bit from project to project, but that’s basically all I do.

I did use Evernote to plan the (still unwritten….) Ark AU. I don’t know if that was the best program choice or if something else exists that would have more precisely met my needs. But that’s what I used and that’s how it is. It’s a little annoying that every time I open it, it’s been updated, and the interface looks totally different and I have to relearn where everything is. But the tagging system has worked decently to allow me to see the big picture of this complex, multi-strand, multi-character, multi-ship disaster epic of a story. I struggled to plot it for a long time because I didn’t know how to balance all of the different parts. In Evernote, I made one ‘note’ for each character, and one for each scene (in addition to miscellaneous notes about sub plots, relationships, questions, etc.). Then I tagged each of them, including tagging the scenes by chapter. So now I can look at a list of all the characters, or all the scenes, or all of the scenes in chapter 8, or whatever, but I can also look at just one particular note at a time, and not be distracted by anything else. That said, I do also have one note that is just a total scene list for the whole fic, which is pretty reminiscent of my usual outlining process.

So… somehow this helped me plot (tentatively) the whole thing, but as I’ve written almost none of it—I finished outlining this in February 2020 so in my defense… I think you can see why it stalled—I’m not yet sure if it was a successful experiment in a ‘plotting tool.’

Day 60: How do you start your chapters? Do you start with dialogue? Why or why not?

While I am definitely against prescriptive “writing rues” generally, as my own personal rule, I try not to start with dialogue unless I have a very good reason.

To be quite honest, I think it’s lazy. I do think that dialogue openings can be used well, if the writer acknowledges that they are intensely stylistic and, from a reader’s perspective, quite difficult. Even within fanfiction, where a line of dialogue (especially if accompanied by a dialogue tag or swiftly followed by a reference to the speaker) gives a lot more information to the reader than in original fiction, opening with dialogue still shoves the reader directly into the deep end of the scene, with very little to orient her. WHERE is the speaker? WHO is being addressed in the dialogue? WHAT is the context of the conversation? Who ELSE might be present in the scene?

There are reasons you might want to throw the reader in the aforementioned deep-end. Maybe it’s an in media res situation and you want to emphasize the overwhelming nature of the action—starting a scene with “Get down!” for example. Or maybe the overall mood is one of disorientation or floating or uncertainty, and you want to create the same effect in the reader.

But I think if you’re starting a scene with dialogue because that’s the first thing that comes to mind for you—the person who conveniently already has the setting, character list, and even future plot already in mind—and it’s just simplest and easiest to start that way, you’re doing a disservice to the reader.

For example, I actually am planning to start the next chapter of the Sleeping Beauty AU with dialogue. My POV character is in a room with multiple other characters, and she’s examining something meaningful to her and not fully listening to the conversation around her. So I want the dialogue to float around in the background, to feel unmoored, and to stand in contrast to the very precise, detailed thoughts and memories that she’s experiencing, which are grounded in physical sensations like touch.

I haven’t quite gotten it to work yet, though, in part because opening with dialogue and doing it well is, in my opinion, quite hard. The difficulty lies in alleviating the challenges the reader is experiencing and making the text fluid and easy to picture. You need to get all of that scene-setting information—the who, what, when, where, and why—in very quickly, but without being jarring. In this scene in particular, I have multiple characters, all in a comparatively unusual location, and I need to establish where they are, who exactly is there, how they’ve come to meet my POV character (which happens ‘off screen’ between the end of Ch5 and the beginning of Ch6), all on top of the character’s thoughts and feelings.

I know all of this very well. To picture the scene in my own head takes only a moment. I just think about it and I see all seven of the characters, where they’re sitting, how they’re positioned, what their facial expressions are, and I also know roughly what each of them is thinking and feeling. To describe all of this in words would take several sentences. Do I put all those sentences on the front end? Do I weave them in among other description and dialogue? Is all of it even necessary—maybe we don’t need to know who’s sitting in what order on the couch, for example.

I’ve gone over a couple of different ways to do this in my head, and I’m sure it is possible, but I’m struggling to get it all down in a coherent way. (Admittedly, I’ve only made one solid attempt. As I was describing above, I’m probably going to jump in with several false starts, and then it will suddenly click.)

My initial attempt to set up the scene relied heavily on dialogue, but when I read it over, what sounded snappy and interesting in my head just fell completely flat—because it lacked context and thus, any meaning. I think the gulf between how dialogue openings feel to the writer and how they feel to the reader is large. To the writer, they feel easy and natural. To the reader, they can feel forced and, contrary to the writer’s intention, serve as an additional reminder that this is a constructed narrative rather than an immersive experience—the opposite of natural. In other words, as I said, they’re a highly stylized form of writing.

To illustrate, this was my first try at the Chapter 6 intro:

"I still can't believe it," a lightly awed voice says from somewhere behind Clarke. "The Princess of Alpha Station really used to live in our quarters.”

She pictures Miller, sunk into the couch cushions, slowly shaking his head, the expression on his face equal parts satisfied and amused.

"Really? That's what you think is the oddest part of all this?"

"Yeah, Bry, I do. Would you prefer I gloat? About being right this whole time? Who says she's just a legend now?"

My current idea is to still start with dialogue, but to move back into a significant amount of description pretty immediately afterward, and only then add more dialogue. Even this is a little hazy, since I haven’t thought much about this fic in a while. But I do think it’s quite clear this won’t work.

As for how I DO start chapters/scenes/stories… I like to start with a strong image that sets the scene and mood of the story, and hopefully leaves the reader wanting to know more. Here are some examples of story openings I’ve written recently, which I like a lot:

When Bellamy is angered, deafening bouts of thunder shake the heavens.

The cawing of the crows—high, sharp, angry shots of sound. The buzzing of the telephone wires.

Marcus Kane's body shows up again in June, skeletal and rotting, six months after his disappearance at the turn of the year.

The sky has turned a bruised yellow, like the inside of a plum, by the time Bellamy starts seeing the robots in the fields.

At noon on the third-to-last day before Christmas, Murphy leaves the cafe, with a single peppermint mocha and a small paper bag, and heads right, walking parallel to the ocean.

The last one doesn’t seem as interesting but consider: you get the who, what, when, and where, the mystery of the paper bag and where he might be going, and also the immediate understanding that this is probably going to be a Fluffy Beach Christmas story—which is correct, that’s exactly what it is.

I’m not saying that I’m always creative or unique. I often start stories off with descriptions of the weather. And I have committed the ~~cardinal sin~~ of starting with a character waking up, heaven forbid. I don’t have any hard and fast rules for myself other than that I try to avoid dialogue, or at least, be careful about its use (another example: I use dialogue to start off Mad Women—but it reads like narration, until it’s rudely interrupted, a sort of in-joke/reference/twist). I try to match the mood of the story and, as I said, include something that will create a question for the reader, some version of why, that the rest of the story will answer.

Day 61: Do you describe the weather? Try changing a scene you wrote by adding weather effects.

After writing a book for the last question, here’s an easy one! Yes, I describe the weather. A lot. Often. In detail.

(Though if we’re talking about the Sleeping Beauty AU as my “current wip,” I actually don’t do much weather describing there, because 4 of the 6 chapters take place in a location with no weather.)

Day 62: What is your favorite thing to write about?

Honestly I like to write about people being dramatic about their emotions. That’s what I’ve discovered while writing my surprisingly self-indulgent Troped fic: I want to describe people acting as if Everything was the Most Ever. It’s fun. Part of this is getting into the usual romantic tropes—longing, pining, exaggerated touches and glances and the like—but why stop at romance when you also have stuff like The Weather and Random Feelings to contemplate?

I also like setting scenes that I find soothing, which is part of why I like Seasonal Stories.

Day 63: Are you more of a drabble/flash or a longfic/novel kind of writer?

I’m in the middle. I mostly write one-shots, and I’ve noticed that a lot of them fall in the 4-6k range. Long one-shots can get all the way to 10-12k but I feel like most of those are, semi-objectively speaking, too long, and would probably have been stronger if they were pruned down to 6k, or, better yet, never made it past 6k in the first place.

I have written some multi-chapters, or, uh, started multi-chapters, but I’m VERY bad at it. The only thing that makes me slightly less bad is being stubborn. Hence the existence of a WIP that I’ve had going for over 10 years now and refuse to call abandoned. Hence this year’s extended angst about the Sleeping Beauty AU, which is only 6 chapters but has taken me literally years to write. I don’t honestly know if I’ve ever finished a multi-chapter WIP, like, properly speaking. I’ve done some short multi-chapters that I wrote as if they were one-shots and then split up for ease of reading or, I dunno, just because. I wrote a Big Bang once, but it’s not very good. Nor very long, if I remember correctly. Generally speaking I probably shouldn’t be allowed to write novels lol—I have a lot of them in my ‘I should write this one day’ idea list—but as it so happens, no one can stop me, so here we are. I definitely have wild fantasies of writing multi-chapters with ease but I’m just a very slow writer and my ideas can’t keep up with my actual-writing. Thus one shots are much easier than multi-chaps, and one-shots on a deadline are much easier than ‘I’ll finish this whenever’ one-shots. One-shots written for events or exchanges also tend to be shorter (and, imo, better) because of the deadlines they’re written on, and are thus more likely to hit that sweet 4-6k spot than stories where I’m allowed to ramble at will.

All that said, I ALSO write a good number of drabbles/writing exercises. I used to write them more often than I do now, but still over the last five years I’ve produced 110,000+ words in free-standing scenes so like… that’s also a thing I guess.

#100 days of writing #my 100 days of writing #100daysofwriting

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sumisuchan · 4 years ago

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First Name Basis Ch.1

Hey y’all just thought I should post this to Tumblr as well, but here’s the link to the ao3 for people who are more interested in that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25889923/chapters/62913253

I don’t know what to say for myself other than I love Kaiba and Jounouchi, and I hope you enjoy this fic <3 Also feel free to leave me a comment. I cherish all of them forever.

--------------

It was a quiet winter morning, the second Monday of January, when Mokuba pushed open the double doors to Seto’s room. However silent he tried to be, they still scraped across the hardwood floor. He had cast a light that shot from the hallway to envelop Seto’s figure in bed, buried beneath a plush comforter.

“Seto — ” Mokuba tried to keep his voice low, leaning culpably against one of the doors. “I'm going to head out.”

Without throwing off the comforter, Seto rose as if accused. The pale morning light made him squint. “I thought I was taking you.”

“I know, but I was going to meet a friend a little bit early. I'll meet you there, I promise.”

“But it's snowing,” Seto laid his head back down. Even with centralized heating, the air was cold. His alarm clock read 6:46 a.m., which made the comforter seem warmer and the mattress more generous.

The door clicked softly shut again. Seto had lost. He closed his eyes and let Mokuba go, the bed’s hold too strong to break. Maybe he would wake at 8:00, or 8:05, or 8:10...

***

It was 8:15 when Seto had hit snooze for the third time, and had finally managed to sit up. He opened the curtains behind him to a chalky sky and a Domino City winterscape, draped in snow. It even obscured the faraway mountains whose dark grey bodies wore pure white caps. Seto sighed visibly into the glass. Another harsh one.

Seto ate, washed, and dressed, finding himself in a partially cloudy bathroom mirror. He had put a sharp white suit over a blue shirt speckled with gold, and fixated upon the second gray hair he had found that month. He leaned in, making the mirror fog up more. Though his hair was still a little damp, there it was — front and center, mocking him.

Seto straightened himself out, turned the bathroom light off, and went downstairs. He could see from the top of the staircase that Mokuba had taken the kimono from its resting place upon the front room sofa—garment bag and all, his geta disappearing from the entrance evidence that it hadn't been just a dream.

***

The traffic to the ceremony was hell. Every damn car in Domino City had congested the roads leading to town hall, each of them progressing only about a meter before stopping again. Snow fell as a light powder, dusting the shoulders of young men and women dressed in expensive suits and long-sleeve kimono. Seto estimated that at least 3/4 of them were rentals. Their parents walked alongside them, shielding them from the snow with clear convenience-store umbrellas, and Seto realized that he had forgotten one himself.

Finally, his driver reached town hall and held open the car door. Parents, brothers, sisters, cousins, who had come to support their own twenty-year-olds, all seemed to turn around at once, then double take. “Isn't that Kaiba Seto?” They whispered too loudly as he passed them. Seto was certain he could feel someone's phone camera pointed at his back as he entered. His watch read 10:37. The ceremony would start soon.

***

The mayor, a slightly overweight man in a gray, cheap-looking suit took the stage, adjusting the microphone and clearing his throat. Several rows of newly-minted adults straightened their backs and lifted their heads. The entire auditorium stopped talking, and the mayor preemptively set his short-fingered hands on the podium. For the final time, he adjusted his legs, shoulder-width apart. Seto noticed a bald spot at the very back of his head, bordered by thinning white hair.

“Everyone, thank you for attending today's ceremony — ” He spoke in a coarse voice.

Seto began searching the first three rows for Mokuba. The young men and women had formed clusters, some still chatting quietly to one another. They made a patchwork quilt of solid black suits and explosions of flowers in red, white, and gold.

Mokuba would be in white. He had insisted. “I'm going to wear a suit for the rest of my life, but I'll probably have far fewer opportunities to wear a kimono.” So Seto took him shopping at one of the most expensive boutiques in Domino City, their winter line of handmade kimono on display. Most of them were furisode — sleeves to the floor and soaked in snow flowers, chrysanthemums, tsubaki .

Mokuba looked uncomfortable. He tensed at the extremely attentive sales assistant, who asked them in exquisite keigo what they needed. He tensed even more when Seto replied bluntly, “he needs an outfit for coming of age day.” He tensed while they brought out the entire cavalry of men's kimono — admittedly plainer than the women's, but just as elegant. Almost all of them bore complex patterns that fit seamlessly into their solid black or white fabrics, allegedly handmade. The shopkeeper ran her hand over each of them as if playing an instrument. It was genuinely surprising when they didn't respond with a musical phrase.

“You’re more than welcome to try on any one that you like, and one of our male employees can help you dress if you require assistance.” She had nearly reached the end of her, “please take your time,” when Mokuba pointed to the one on the very end.

“Uh — that white one looks nice.”

“Oh,” the shopkeeper had to walk to the far end of the table to reach it. “Do you mean this one, sir? Would you like to try it on?”

“Sure. Yes, I can try it on.”

Without prompting, yet another attentive male employee rushed over to lead him to the dressing room. “Please follow me this way, sir.” Seto got a glimpse of the kimono. No discernible pattern. Nothing extra. Just white silk adorned with the shop’s brand insignia embroidered in gold at the end of the sleeves.

Mokuba left the dressing room without the kimono on, yet claimed that he wanted that one. When Seto asked him if he was certain, he only nodded and tensed even more once Seto paid one million yen in cash straight from his wallet.

From his place in the third row of guest seating, Seto searched for that kimono, the stark white against both plain black and noisy flower patches, and found him sitting amongst a group of young women. One of them whispered something to him and Mokuba turned around, missing his shoulder-length hair. Sometime that morning he had gotten it cut. The woman at his side adjusted his bangs, giggling. She said something. “You look like your brother,” Seto imagined. Mokuba pulled away, brushed it off. That must have been it.

***

The ceremony ended and its attendants came gasping into the freezing winter air. The families occupied the bottom of the staircase as their children emerged at the top, posing in formation for pictures.

Mokuba had found a place in the second row, his hands at his side for the first serious photo and then with his tongue out and fingers forming a heart for the silly one. The same girl from earlier in a red kimono and thick-rimmed glasses made bunny ears above his head — something he would find later when they received the photos. They posed for one more before the crowd dispersed and Mokuba turned to her before coming downstairs. He must have promised to rejoin her, but then met eyes with Seto and began his descent.

Finally, Seto witnessed the full body of his kimono, its white sleeves and gray pants making him resemble the snow-covered mountains in the distance. He treaded so carefully down the steps, responsible with his new-seeming long legs, but he had been chipping away toward Seto’s height for a while. That fact hit especially hard when Mokuba ran to embrace him. His long strides had brought him so smoothly.

Someone snapped a picture.

“How did you manage to get a haircut?” Seto asked, maintaining his balance. “Every salon in the city must have been booked.”

“They were.” Mokuba set his hands on top of Seto’s shoulders, negotiating himself against the icy sidewalk, “but I had reserved my appointment months ago. I wanted to surprise you. I guess…” He paused, touching the back of his head. “I didn't realize how much I would resemble you.”

“It suits you,” Seto said. “You look grown up.”

Mokuba smiled but furrowed his brows. Someone shouted, “Kaiba- san ! May I please take a picture of you and Mokuba?” and someone else added, “to commemorate the occasion!”

Seto, who would normally have walked away, turned toward the crowd. He put his hand upon Mokuba’s back and found it to be rigid. Yet, Mokuba smiled for them. There would be articles written whether he did or didn't, so he chose to be pleasant. He grinned into the flashing lights, into a future of magazines that would compare their heights, their faces, weigh their fortune, pondering if Mokuba had found a girlfriend yet and commenting on the fact that Seto never had. It would be a thing for months until it wasn't at all, until something else happened, and the cycle would start over.

Seto felt Mokuba inflate with a sigh that no one would notice. He had become so good at letting it deflate slowly from his nose that only someone standing as close as Seto would hear it.

He called off the pictures and they loaded into the car, leaving barely enough time for Mokuba to wave to the young woman he had left up on the staircase.

#Seto Kaiba #jounouchi katsuya #katsuya jonouchi #puppyshipping #violetshipping #yu-gi-oh #Gay #Mokuba is a character as well

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linkspooky · 5 years ago

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Your analysis on shigaraki's worldview is 😍😍😍. Who's your fav bnha character btw, and what kind of manga are you into? (i mean as in genre, but my phrasing is terrible at times so idk how to put it all in the last sentence)

My favorite manga in the whole world are the manga that run in Weekly Shonen Jump. I read almost everything that runs in the magazine from week to week. I know that’s not technically a genre, but let’s not arguen semantics.

And now because no one asked for it, my opinion on all of the manga currently running through Jump that I read.

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba usually manga in shonen jump slowly get worse over time as they try to stretch their stories out, but Kimetsu no Yaiba is a story that continues to develop on itself and improve the longer it runs.

The art is phenomenal and has a good balance of when to be silly and when to be drop dead gorgeous. It’s more of an ensemble piece tied together by a big brother trying to save his little sister, and because of that almost every character Tanjirou interacts with is fun and really immediately attention grabbing.

It’s also a pretty heavy story that deals with death, grief and loss and trying to find life beyond a world that has suffering like that. I’m actually planning to make some meta of it soon, especially with the interactions between Domi and Shinobu. My only real complaint is that it’s deep but not too deep. Usually the demons are always bad and the demon slayers are always good in the end, even if sympathy is expressed for some of the demons. Once again though it does so well in the technical aspects of telling the story it wants to tell.

My Hero Academia it’s pretty obvious that I like it. The biggest draws for me are the art style and the characters, specifically the villains. Also the idea of a reverse X men world where what are basically the mutants now outnumber normal people and dominate society is a fantastic idea for world building with a lot of options.

I’ve actually followed Horikoshi’s work for a long time. His two previous works, Oumagodoki Zoo and Barrage both ran in Shonen Jump for a short time before they were cancelled which I find really unfortanate because they both had a lot of potential as well.

I love both the hero kids and the villains, though sometimes I feel like the villains are more connected to the central conflict of the story than the heroes. It would be nice to see Deku evolve a more radical philosophy then just wanting to save people right in front of him, or protecting the status quo. The heroes should ideally act in response to the villains to create a better world and resolve a problem the villains brought up, but if say the League of Villains were wiped out now another League would be created later because the central problem of the story has not been dealt with.

Dr. Stone this is a series that almost got cancelled, but was saved by a main character switch. Senku is really likable and unique as a character, kind of a mad scientist archetype who turns out to be the good guy and the hero of the story.

He reminds me a lot of Yoichi from the writers previous work, Eyeshield 21. In that they’re both laughing mad eccentrics who seem like they have little scruples for how they use and treat other people, and yet are surrounded by friends and act as the leaders of their team. They also both have a tendency for strategy over brute strength and like to outwit their opponents.

The only thing I can say about Dr. Stone is that while the characters are a fun little group of oddballs, they rarely get any deeper than that. The most interesting thing is still figuring out the central mystery of the world and what happened to turn everybody to stone, which is why having Senku as a main character was a really smart move on the series part.

Yozakura Family This is a new series that I actually really like and hope beats canellation at the two week mark. It’s kind of your basic romantic comedy characters get married in the first chapter promise, but also there’s some really strong character writing with the older brother. He’s one of the few examples of the obsessive and overprotective brother type that was portrayed as actually abusive and damaging for seeing his younger sister that way.

The premise also reminds me a lot of Katekyo Hitman Reborn, just suddenly getting sucked into the underworld of spies and crimminals when you’re an unlucky loser with no social skills. If the character writing is as strong as it is for the brother I can definitely see a lot of improvement and staying power.

The Promised Neverland the smartest written series in Shonen Jump write now with the best ideas. The Promised Neverland is all about theme, theme, theme, theme, which is why someone like me who devours stories for their nutritious value and content loves it.

While there are only about three major characters with arcs that matter to the plot, Norman, Ray, and Emma they are some of the deepest characters in shonen jump currently and the complexity of their relationship and the way they all foil each other is superb.

It’s a story about children trying to escape a neverland where they can never grow up, and live in a world that never wanted them alive. Not only is it just about them though, it’s also about adults who are still inside the system and gave up at one point or another and decided to just live in the evil world rather than change it. It’s a deep story but it’s also undeniably shonen jump, the central theme is about not giving up even in a world that is determined to deny your existence.

Act Age If you’ve read Chihayafuru this manga has a lot in common with that, because both of them are about very singleminded girls with complex emotions that they themselves don’t understand, finding themselves completely enveloped in a niche hobby to the point of obsession.

Act-Age is a story that’s primarily about storytelling and the nature of stories themselves, with each arc focusing on an adaptation of either a movie made up for the sake of the story or a pre-written play ie, Journey to the West, Night on the Galactic Railroad. However, it’s also bout the nature of stories, as understood by the perspectie of an actor.

There are only a few major characters but they all get intensely developed in their arcs. My absolute favorite relationship is that of the main character, quiet on the surface but with deep emotions that she uses for her acting talent with her rival an actress that’s much more like a pop star or idol. Rather than having deep talent she instead uses her ability to read people to appeal to them. She is cheerful and lively on the surface, but empty inside. The way they envy each other and learn to grow from each other because each of them has what the other one desires.

Jujutsu Kaisen reminds me of really early bleach that was just Ichigo and his teenage friends fighting Hollows. This is one of the manga I definitely reccomend, because it’s one of the lesser known manga in jump currently. The art style has this scratchy look about it which really adds well to the horror aspect of the series. It’s a demon fighting anime with some of the best demon designs, more attention is put on making them look grotesque and scary then in series like KNY where the demons for the most part are pretty good looking still.

The main trio is very solid, a reckless idiot who swallowed a cursed finger in the first chapter and is continually dealing with the consequences of that, the shadowy, quiet type cool headed one who almost never talks about his past or his true feelings on the matter, and between them the cheerful girl whose a tad on the merciless side.

Not only are the characters good, but it’s one of the few series where the fights and lore are super interesting. Rather than dealing with demons directly Kimetsu no Yaiba style we deal with curses, which are generated from the human subconscious.

For exmaple one of the villains Mahito is the embodiment of the fear humans have for other humans, that is the anxieties of life, and the fear and suppressed feelings that go hand in hand with humanity. Because that he’s much like a child curse quickly learning and progressing with a human intelligence.

The fights, the powers of characters, they’re all used to further develop a really interesting world of curses and the people who live dealing with them that it feels like we’re only scratching the surface of right now and desperately makes you want to figure out the system they have in place for this entire world.

Yui Kamio Lets Loose - I find it to be a really sweet romantic comedy about a stuck up boy obsessed with appearances and what other people think of him falling in love with two sides of a girl, the uncontrollable Yui that beat him up and constantly gets into fights and trouble, and the perfect demure girl who can only ever be helpless and kind and needs to be protected. It has a feel of a lot of classic 80s high school romantic comedies. The only real problem is that it needs to acquire a plot fast, because it’s at risk for cancellation which makes it hard for me to get invested in a series that might end soon.

Double Taisei - One of those shonen manga that had a really interesting beginning chapter, but then failed to do anything with it. I think it would work well as a character piece between two personalities who act like brothers in the same body, but the characters aren’t strong enough quite yet to work that way. I do like the character design…

Tokyo Shinobi Squad - It looked like a ripoff at first but the main character is actually fairly different from Naruto, and the manga itself is uniquely its own thing. I just hope it learns to utilize it’s cyberpunk setting better, because ninjas fighting in a cyberpunk dystopia is a very tropey premise and the story needs to utilize those tropes in order to work. I do like the fact that the main character starts out pretty powerful so it’s not a typical shonen formula about a main character slowly learning to gain power, instead it’s him taking in and being responsible for a kid.

Manga I don’t read - One piece, Yuuna of the Haunted Hotsprings, Chainsawman, Samurai 8 the tale of Hachimaru, Beast Children, Miitama Security Busters.

#anime-freakchow #weekly shonen jump #shonen manga #my hero academia #dr. stone #jujutsu kaisen #act-age #the promised neverland #act age #black clover #we never learn #kimetsu no yaiba #spooky speaks #askspookies

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terramythos · 4 years ago

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TerraMythos' 2020 Reading Challenge - Book 22 of 26

Title: House of Leaves (2000)

Author: Mark Z. Danielewski

Genre/Tags: Horror, Fiction, Metafiction, Weird, First-Person, Third-Person, Unreliable Narrator

Rating: 6/10

Date Began: 7/28/2020

Date Finished: 8/09/2020

House of Leaves follows two narrative threads. One is the story of Johnny Truant, a burnout in his mid-twenties who finds a giant manuscript written by a deceased, blind hermit named Zampanò. The second is said manuscript -- The Navidson Record -- a pseudo-academic analysis of a found-footage horror film that doesn’t seem to exist. In it, Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist Will Navidson moves into a suburban home in Virginia with his partner Karen and their two children. Navidson soon makes the uncomfortable discovery that his new house is bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. Over time he discovers more oddities -- a closet that wasn’t there before, and eventually a door that leads into an impossibly vast, dark series of rooms and hallways.

While Johnny grows more obsessed with the work, his life begins to take a turn for the worse, as told in the footnotes of The Navidson Record. At the same time, the mysteries of the impossible, sinister house on Ash Tree Lane continue to deepen.

To get a better idea try this: focus on these words, and whatever you do don’t let your eyes wander past the perimeter of this page. Now imagine just beyond your peripheral vision, maybe behind you, maybe to the side of you, maybe even in front of you, but right where you can’t see it, something is quietly closing in on you, so quiet in fact you can only hear it as silence. Find those pockets without sound. That’s where it is. Right at this moment. But don’t look. Keep your eyes here. Now take a deep breath. Go ahead and take an even deeper one. Only this time as you start to exhale try to imagine how fast it will happen, how hard it’s gonna hit you, how many times it will stab your jugular with its teeth or are they nails? don’t worry, that particular detail doesn’t matter, because before you have time to even process that you should be moving, you should be running, you should at the very least be flinging up your arms--you sure as hell should be getting rid of this book-- you won’t have time to even scream.

Don’t look.

I didn’t.

Of course I looked.

Some story spoilers under the cut.

Whoo boy do I feel torn on this one. House of Leaves contains some really intriguing ideas, and when it’s done right, it’s some of the best stuff out there. Unfortunately, there are also several questionable choices and narrative decisions that, for me, tarnish the overall experience. It’s certainly an interesting read, even if the whole is ultimately less than the sum of its parts.

First of all, I can see why people don’t like this book, or give up on it early (for me this was attempt number three). Despite an interesting concept and framing device, the first third or so of the book is pretty boring. Johnny is just not an interesting character. He does a lot of drugs and has a lot of (pretty unpleasant) sex and... that’s pretty much it, at least at the beginning. There’s occasional horror sections that are more interesting, where Johnny’s convinced he’s being hunted by something, but they’re few and far between. Meanwhile, the story in The Navidson Record seems content to focus on the relationship issues between two affluent suburbanites rather than the much more interesting, physically impossible house they live in. The early “exploration” sections are a little bit better, but overall I feel the opening act neglects the interesting premise.

However, unlike many, I love the gimmick. The academic presentation of the Navidson story is replete with extensive (fake) footnotes,and there’s tons of self-indulgent rambling in both stories. I personally find it hilarious; it’s an intentionally dense parody of modern academic writing. Readers will note early that the typographical format is nonstandard, with the multiple concurrent stories denoted by different typefaces, certain words in color, footnotes within footnotes, etc. House of Leaves eventually goes off the chain with this concept, gracing us with pages that look like (minor spoilers) this or this. This leads into the best part of this book, namely...

Its visual presentation! House of Leaves excels in conveying story and feeling through formatting decisions. The first picture I linked is one of many like it in a chapter about labyrinths. And reading it feels like navigating a labyrinth! It features a key “story”, but also daunting, multi-page lists of irrelevant names, buildings, architectural terms, etc. There are footnotes that don’t exist, then footnote citations that don’t seem to exist until one finds them later in the chapter. All this while physically turning the book or even grabbing a mirror to read certain passages. In short, it feels like navigating the twists, turns, and dead ends of a labyrinth. And that’s just one example -- other chapters utilize placement of the text to show where a character is in relation to others, what kind of things are happening around them, and so on. One chapter near the end features a square of text that gets progressively smaller as one turns the pages, which mirrors the claustrophobic feel of the narrative events. This is the coolest shit to me; I adore when a work utilizes its format to convey certain story elements. I usually see this in poetry and video games, but this is the first time I’ve seen it done so well in long-form fiction. City of Saints and Madmen and Shriek: An Afterword by Jeff VanderMeer, both of which I reviewed earlier this year, do something similar, and are clearly inspired by House of Leaves in more ways than one.

And yes, the story does get a little better, though it never wows me. The central horror story is not overtly scary, but eeriness suffices, and I have a soft spot for architectural horror. Even Johnny and the Navidsons become more interesting characters over time. For example, I find Karen pretty annoying and generic for most of the book, but her development in later chapters makes her much more interesting. While I question the practical need for Johnny’s frame story, it does become more engaging as he descends into paranoia and madness.

So why the relatively low rating? Well... as I alluded to earlier, there’s some questionable stuff in House of Leaves that leaves (...hah?) a bad taste in my mouth. The first is a heavy focus on sexual violence against women. I did some extensive thinking on this throughout my read, but I just cannot find a valid reason for it. The subject feels thrown in for pure shock value, and especially from a male author, it seems tacky and voyeuristic. If it came up once or twice I’d probably be able to stomach this more easily, but it’s persistent throughout the story, and doesn’t contribute anything to the plot or horror (not that that would really make it better). I’m not saying books can’t have that content, but it’s just not explored in any meaningful way, and it feels cheap and shitty to throw it in something that traumatizing just to shock the audience. It’s like a bad jump scare but worse on every level. There’s even a part near the end written in code, which I took the time to decode, only to discover it’s yet another example of this. Like, really, dude?

Second, this book’s portrayal of mental illness is not great. (major spoilers for Johnny’s arc.) One of the main things about Johnny’s story is he’s an unreliable narrator. From the outset, Johnny has occasional passages that can either be interpreted as genuine horror, or delusional breaks from reality. Reality vs unreality is a core theme throughout both stories. Is The Navidson Record real despite all evidence to the contrary? Is it real as in “is the film an actual thing” or “the events of the film are an actual thing”? and so on and so forth. Johnny’s sections mirror this; he’ll describe certain events, then later state they didn’t happen, contradict himself, or even describe a traumatic event through a made-up story. Eventually, the reader figures out parts of Johnny’s actual backstory, namely that when he was a small child, his mother was institutionalized for violent schizophrenia. Perhaps you can see where this is going...

Schizophrenia-as-horror is ridiculously overdone. But it also demonizes mental illness, and schizophrenia in particular, in a way that is actively harmful. Don’t misunderstand me, horror can be a great way to explore mental illness, but when it’s done wrong? Woof. Unfortunately House of Leaves doesn’t do it justice. While it avoids some cliches, it equates the horror elements of Johnny’s story to the emergence of his latent schizophrenia. This isn’t outwardly stated, and there are multiple interpretations of most of the story, but in lieu of solid and provable horror, it’s the most reasonable and consistent explanation. There’s also an emphasis on violent outbursts related to schizophrenia, which just isn’t an accurate portrayal of the condition.

To Danielewski’s credit, it’s not entirely black and white. We do see how Johnny’s descent into paranoia negatively affects his life and interpersonal relationships. There’s a bonus section where we see all the letters Johnny’s mother wrote him while in the mental hospital, and we can see her love and compassion for him in parallel to the mental illness. But the experimental typographical style returns here to depict just how “scary” schizophrenia is, and that comes off as tacky to me. I think this is probably an example of a piece of media not aging well (after all, this book just turned 20), and there’s been a definite move away from this kind of thing in horror, but that doesn’t change the impression it leaves. For a book as supposedly original/groundbreaking as this, defaulting to standard bad horror tropes is disappointing. And using “it was schizophrenia all along” to explain the horror elements in Johnny’s story feels like a cop-out. I wish there was more mystery here, or alternate interpretations that actually make sense.

Overall The Navidson Record part of the story feels more satisfying. I actually like that there isn’t a direct explanation for everything that happens. It feels like a more genuine horror story, regardless of whether you interpret it as a work of fiction within the story or not. There’s evidence for both. Part of me wishes the book had ended when this story ends (it doesn’t), or that the framing device with Johnny was absent, or something along those lines. Oh well-- this is the story we got, for better or worse.

I don’t regret reading House of Leaves, and it’s certainly impressive for a debut novel. If you’re looking for a horror-flavored work of metafiction, it’s a valid place to start. I think the experimental style is a genuine treat to read, and perhaps the negative aspects won’t hit you as hard as they did to me. But I can definitely see why this book is controversial.

#taylor reads #2020 reading challenge #6/10

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queenofnohr · 5 years ago

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The Charming Empire - Otome Review (Soshi Amazaki Route)

I was going to hold off on doing this because 1. I wanted to play more routes to have a more comprehensive look at the game and 2. I don’t really have free time yet. Promptly ignored the above logic mostly to get this out of my system.

Before we begin, a disclaimer - While I do have pretty extensive knowledge about the otome genre in both longer “proper” VNs as well as the shorter, bite sized mobile VNs, I’m able to derive enjoyment from most anything (I feel the need to point this out because I see a lot of reviews that get hung up on stuff I can easily brush off even if I do understand where they’re coming from).

This is going to be a spoiler-free review based on Soshi Amazaki’s route alone.

Firstly, I must note that this is a mobile otome game. If you’re looking for something as long and substantial as, say, Hakuouki, Alice in the Country of Hearts, Dandelion, etc. this is probably not the game for you.

Now that that’s out of the way, I’ll be rating it based on usual points with a more... comprehensive and personal look at the end (feel free to skip to that if you know our tastes align and/or just want to see me losing my mind).

Prologue - 1/10

Normally I wouldn’t separate prologue from story. However, as this game started as a mobile game, there is no general route in which one gains points toward a love interest as is standard in full-length otome games. However, even by mobile game standards this game’s prologue fails in that it you meet exactly 0 love interests. Indeed, the prologue is the bare-bones introduction of the setting. This flaw is further complicated by the fact that, because it started as a mobile game, routes are bought individually. This means that there is no way to gauge the love interests except by the game’s straightforward summary on the buy screen. Luckily for me, I was sold at “Kenjiro Tsuda voices a love interest who is both a big brother and a lord” so this wasn’t as knee-capping as it could’ve been, but normally you’d have to simply take a leap of faith because if a love interest doesn’t actually end up being your type, you’re out of luck since you’ve already paid for the route.

This is an aside, but translation for the prologue is... questionable. It isn’t unreadable, like some translations I’ve had the misfortune of reading, but it does create some confusion regarding the MC’s family situation which I can’t help but clear up here. MC is the daughter of the previous lord whose mother moved with her out to the countryside. Her mother is died of illness, and MC now lives with an elderly couple. It’s simply when I say it here, but in game the family situation isn’t actually explained until well into the route and the narration refers to the couple as the “old man” and “old woman,” while the MC calls them “Grandpa” and “Grandma” (ojii-san, obaa-san in Japanese, which is a literal translation of what someone would call any older folk with the degree of familiarity MC has with them) while they call her “princess” (literally, hime-sama). The closeness of referring to them as grandparents vs the distance of the narrative’s “old man/woman” + calling the MC princess in a literal sense (vs. a nickname) is jarring especially because, again, they do not clearly explain the MC’s family situation.

Story - 7/10

Soshi holds the most powerful seat in all the empire. Only trusting himself, he rejects the opinions of others as he continues his dictatorship agenda -- breeding animosity amongst the people. He’s a cold man who sees even his own sister as a political tool.

This is the official description for Soshi’s route. Unfortunately(?) for some this... doesn’t really hold true for most of the route and I find it an odd way to bill it.

The initial conflict/relationship growth in the game stems from the MC wanting to be closer to Soshi - not necessarily in a romantic sense - and his distance due to his position. If you’re expecting a more haughty/sneering/pragmatic Kenjiro Tsuda more along the lines of his role as Kazama Chikage and/or a villain archetype who treats MC as a tool (no judgment, we all got our otome types) he’s by and large not that. Things get more complicated around the 10th chapter, but that’s 2/3 of the game in.

The writing is competent. Again, if you’re looking for complex worldbuilding and something deep, you will not find it here. But, while it isn’t poetry in motion, there was at least no point where I actively cringed or asked myself why I was playing it (this is compared to my experience with Voltage Games and Playchoices).

The MC is tolerable. There’s nothing special about her, but she avoids being a literal faceless protagonist with zero presence while also not having such a strong personality as to be polarizing. She shows more competence and restraint than I expected of her (the bar was nearly floor level, but still).

The pacing is... odd. I get the distinct feeling that it’s a longer otome shoved inside a mobile otome, if that makes sense. I’ve seen other reviews call it rushed, but that isn’t necessarily the feeling I get. For a game to feel “rushed” to me, it has to show a lack of care and attention to detail; scenes are had just to have them and either don’t contribute to the overall plot/theme/feeling of the game. I feel like this game does take care, especially in it’s early bits, but some developments happen later on which don’t get the development time they necessarily need. Which leads me to-

The plot kind of goes off the rails around chapter 10 or 11. It returns to form in chapter 14ish. This... plot twist, shall we say, is predicated on hiding obfuscating knowledge from the reader that should be apparent due to being from the MC’s PoV. Whether or not this is a dealbreaker will depend largely on the person. Personally, I was loopy off resisting sleep medication while reading this part so I just sort of accepted it and the return to form/explanation in later chapters made it worth it, but your mileage will definitely vary. I have Thoughts on this, but this is all I can really say while still maintaining a spoiler free review.

Playtime if ardently listening to the voices is ~3 hours. Playtime can be cut down significantly if you’re a fast reader and don’t overly care about the voice acting.

I haven’t tried all alternate options, but there doesn’t seem like huge variations regarding the choices. The 16th chapter, however, will change based on whether you get the Normal or Happy End.

Art - 7/10

The art isn’t anything special nor is it terrible. It’s much less stiff and has more style to it that most mobile otome’s I’ve played, but is lacking when compared to, again, full length otome games.

The MC has a face, which gets points from me (I dislike faceless MCs a lot especially when included in CGs). The fact no one but love interests even get sprites is somewhat jarring.

As far as CGs go, they’re standard fare and about the number you’d expect for the length of a route. The game isn’t raunchy like... at all so don’t expect anything too scandalous.

Voice Acting - 10/10

What can I say? It’s Kenjiro Tsuda.

To elaborate, however-

Kenjiro Tsuda does an excellent job. I’m not sure if I’d call it his best work, but even if it is voiced, I think there’s some expectation for a mobile otome’s voicework to be phoned in. This is not the case and Tsuda’s acting gives a lot of life to the character and scenarios. I’ll, uh, save my gushing for my line-by-line dissertation, and leave it at that.

What was unexpected was, despite not having sprites, minor characters do get voices! They also have some rather nice performances, and there was no VA I disliked listening to or whose performance was noticeably lacking compared to the others (the actual sound quality was consistent overall as well).

Overall - 8/10

Aside from the prologue, this is a solid performance from a mobile otome game. Compared to full-length otome games it’s lacking, but it’s still one of the better mobile otomes I’ve played. For the $6 you can get individual routes for on the mobile app, it’s a fun, quick romp that was perhaps not necessarily what was advertised (regarding the actual summary), but instead met the expectations I dared to dream of. While I can’t vouch for the game in its entirety, I can, at the very least, vouch for this route.

Comprehensive Overlook + Personal Rating - 10/10

Okay, I’ve been objective as possible despite this being a very subjective topic and now it’s time for me to shill my little heart out.

Writing a standard fare review for this game was really really hard for me because against all odds, logic, and my own taste preferring shit like Hakuouki, I’m in love with this game. Obsessed with it. Half the reason why I’m doing this is because it is a totally unremarkable (though, again, fun) otome game so of course it doesn’t have, like, a community, but I need to fucking gush about it somewhere.

Why?

Because Soshi Amazaki literally hits every single husband trait I so dearly love. This route is the equivalent of if someone took my taste buds and analyzed each and every one of them, then cooked a meal precisely on my most loved things. It isn’t necessarily fine dining, but it feels like it was scientifically engineered to appeal directly to me. It’s like I was possessed and ghostwrote it. It’s like someone peered into my heart and teased out the essence of everything I’ve ever wanted, then told me to eat shit because the shell it’s rammed into is that of a bite sized otome game. I have never had such a feast before me. I’ve never been served such an exquisite palette of flavors. I have never been so thoroughly outraged that this is the form my heart takes.

And yet, I’m... pretty much satisfied, despite its flaws and shortness, with my only real outrage stemming from the fact there is literally nobody I can talk about this with (the morning after I binged the entire route I made my boyfriend play it just so I could rave like a lunatic to someone about it) as well as my shame for being so enamored with what is essentially a mediocre otome game.

I talked about how the story kind of went off the rails 2/3rds of the way through, but honestly? I didn’t care because the payoff was incredible. Was I scared the game wasn’t going to end up where I wanted it to while it was happening? Was I prepared to be immensely disappointed because I felt, briefly, like I was baited and that of course nothing would never let me have my cake and eat it too? Yep. But you know what? I don’t know or care if it’s because I set the bar so low or what, but my expectations were thoroughly blown out of the water.

I’m still committed to making even this part of the review spoiler free, so I won’t be going into depth about what I loved (I’ll save that for another post because this is long enough as it is), but I’ll add this apart from just character archetype and themes being what I loved.

That is, shockingly enough and even considering the pacing and, ahem, weirdness - this is a route where everything seems to serve a function. Again, the story isn’t necessarily deep, and while perhaps I would’ve gone about certain things a different way (and had there been space allotted for greater development), there are many, many, many things that are called back to or that seem insignificant, but serve as thematic backbone and create delicious implications.

As a big brother connoisseur, I give this route 3 Michelin Stars.

If you followed me for/like Fire Emblem’s Marx/Xander, I highly recommend this route.

#long post #the charming empire #soshi amazaki #otome game review #otome game

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darkpetal16 · 6 years ago

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Pride & Humility - Chapter One

Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Fanfiction

Genres: Gen, Friendship, Family, Adventure, Hurt, Comfort

Summary: “Friends look the other way. Best friends eat the body.” -Selim B. The story about an innocent and disturbing friendship between homunculus and human. Old soul OC. Surprisingly wholesome.

Warnings: Violence, gore, death, excessive child abuse, profanity

Beta: Taintedletter

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood. Elizabeth belongs to Midnightwishes, but I will be borrowing her for this journey.

Next Chapter

This will be my only beginning A/N.

This is a tribute story to Midnightwishes. I wish you all the love and happiness in the world, and hope you’re able to enjoy your next great adventure. Rest in peace, sweetheart.

This story was originally going to be my very first fanfiction, but I lost motivation when I lost my friend. I made a hard switch to the Naruto/Pokemon fandom, and found it difficult to return to FMA.

When I clearing out my drop box, I found this old story again, and… well, here we are.

This story is a slow build up.

This is NOT an EdOC, AlOC, or RoyOC story. I am perfectly happy with their canonical pairings.

Note about canon / AU: This is to clarify the established canon in my story.

In the manga / wiki it’s stated that Pride is able to adjust the age range of his container by around 5ish years. I’m going to go ahead and AU it so that he can freely adjust the age of his container to whatever he wants it to be.

Did you know that Bradley’s first name is King? I did not until I checked the wiki, so führer Bradley is named King Bradley here.

Mrs. Bradley will also get a lovely first name, because she very much deserves it: Katherine.

Lastly, King Bradley genuinely loves his wife.

Smart!OC, so if you don’t like reading about OCs with high levels of book-smart intelligence, this won’t be your cup of tea.

This story will eventually be posted on Fanfiction.net and Wattpad, but for the moment it will remain on tumblr until I write enough of it.

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Death was not the end, nor the beginning. It was a bump in the road, an interlude in the story.

Dying did not mean one ceased to exist, but rather, one’s existence changed.

Memories are not meant to survive the transformation, but there are always exceptions. When taking the first breath in a new body, one can usually remember the last breath in the old body.

But too soon what defined the previous life will fade away, and the new life will be given a (mostly) blank slate.

They’ll likely still retain some knowledge, some experiences, or information too vital to forget. Maybe they’ll remember the face of their lover, or their talent for music. Maybe they’ll be drawn to an old friend, or they’ll retain unexplainable fear over a past lives trauma.

Someone terrified of the ocean might have drowned in their previous life.

A man or women overcome with unshakable insecurities might have been cruelly hurt before.

Regardless, death and birth did not mark the end or beginning for one’s existence.

It simply meant a change in scenery for that soul.

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This is the journey of one such soul being born in a world it was not meant to be a part of.

It, like all the others, knew it had been reborn at first.

But unlike the others, memories of its past lives did not flee right away.

No.

Oddly enough, they stayed for a solid three years. And even when those cherished memories of dear friends and family left the soul, knowledge remained.

Knowledge of math and science.

Of medicine.

And of an undeniable, insatiable thirst for more.

More knowledge.

More adventures.

More everything.

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Elizabeth Luxanna was born to the estranged daughter of a retired general. The daughter, Hannah Luxanna, had eloped with a simple farmer after a bitter argument between her father—Crow Luxanna—and mother—Isabella Luxanna.

Hannah enjoyed over a decade of blissful marriage before her husband tragically died from an unknown illness. To make matters worse, Hannah was pregnant, and they had lost their home in a terrible fire.

With nowhere else to go, Hannah returned home to find her mother already dead, and her father consumed with bitterness and regret.

Crow accepted his daughter back with great reluctance, and the time leading up to Elizabeth’s birth was filled with despair and grief for Hannah.

The young woman’s heart gave out after birth, and she left her only daughter orphaned.

Crow Luxanna adopted his granddaughter, but he did so with a thoroughly broken and blackened heart.

He did not know how to handle her.

He did not want to handle her.

So he hired plenty of servants to take care of her for the first year of her life, and dismissed them shortly afterward.

Next came tutors.

So soon? Some might ask.

But Crow Luxanna did not want to raise a granddaughter. No, he wanted to force her to grow up as soon as possible and send her out.

Ideally into the military.

And when Elizabeth Luxanna began to show exemplary intelligence, and whispers of a prodigy started to arise, Crow Luxanna finally took an interest in his granddaughter.

And what a shame, that was.

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Grandfather Crow was a short, well-dressed man. He was a proud retired general, and had high expectations for all those around him. Rules were meant to be strictly adhered to, and when boundaries were pushed too much he enforced harsh punishments.

He wasn’t one for social visits. Not even for his last living family.

Elizabeth was quiet, well-behaved, and completely devoted to her studies. It became blatantly apparent early on that she had difficulty connecting to her peers, and after enough incidents her grandfather forbade other children from entering their home.

She rarely saw anyone aside from her tutors.

Especially Grandfather.

Which was why when Grandfather told her to eat dinner with him, she was surprised.

Thankfully, he cut straight to the chase and explained why he was there.

“The exam you did yesterday, do you remember it?” Grandfather inquired stiffly, his well-groomed mustache quivering as he tried out a smile. It looked terribly awkward on him.

The young girl nodded at his question. After months of completely devouring her lessons, and answering all of her tutors’ questions they had come together and devised an extensive exam for the heiress. It took Elizabeth six hours to complete, and the trio (one for science & math, one for history & English, and one for etiquette) watched her intensely the entire time.

Grandfather tapped his fingers on the table, his dark eyes staring straight through her. “Mm. Yes, well, you’ve exceeded expectations. Your intelligence is remarkable for someone your age, a true prodigy.” Again Grandfather tapped his fingers, and his gaze didn’t seem to notice her anymore. “The military will want your mind, do you understand?”

Elizabeth mutely shook her head.

“They will want you,” Grandfather repeated. “I am a loyal soldier, so I will not refuse them.”

Her brow furrowed as she tried to follow the conversation. “I’m going to be enlisted?”

Grandfather blinked once, now focusing on Elizabeth. “Yes, and no. You are too young, but… But they will claim you one way or another. I want to make sure you survive, and do our family proud.”

“Why would they claim me?”

“You are a talented child, and I am a loyal soldier,” Grandfather repeated. “Retired or not, I would sacrifice everything for my country, for my führer.”

Including you, went unsaid.

“Your mind… yes. It will be good for the military. For Central. You will serve our führer well,” Grandfather Crow said.

There was no permission to be sought out.

There was no debating, or discussion.

Elizabeth knew in her heart that there was no fighting this.

She was a single little girl, who just so happened to be a little good at math and science.

She had no power to refuse.

No confidence to say no.

Even a hint of disobedience would land Elizabeth locked away in her room, with no lights, or food for however long her grandfather wanted.

She had nowhere to go, and no one to turn to.

So Elizabeth swallowed back her nerves and tried out a wobbly (fake) smile. “Yes, Grandfather.”

The retired general smiled. It was disturbing to see. “A mind like yours… They need State Alchemists. Yes, you will do well there. I will hire a new tutor for you.”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

And that was that.

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“I am Lisa Delve,” introduced a middle-aged woman. Her graying hair was swept up in a tight bun, and she dressed very modestly. Her dark blue eyes narrowed when she looked at Elizabeth, and a sneer curled back on her lips. “You are my student?”

“I am,” Elizabeth answered quietly, her green eyes lowering when she saw the plain scorn in the women’s eyes.

She knew then that Mrs. Delve would not be any companion to Elizabeth.

“A big game was talked up about you. Do not disappoint,” Mrs. Delve said, her voice clipped. She turned her back to young curly-haired brunette, and began to draw on the blackboard.

All tutoring was done in the small library, where not a window could be seen. It was dark, dreary, and stuffy.

Elizabeth wished she was anywhere but there.

“This,” Mrs. Delve said as she finished her drawing, “is a basic transmutation circle. Memorize it. I am told you already know your periodic table?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Recite it.”

Elizabeth did as ordered, and the alchemist scoffed. “Speak up, girl. You are the heiress of the prestigious Luxanna family, and the granddaughter of one of our greatest generals. Have you not taken any etiquette classes?”

“I have, ma’am,” Elizabeth said, sitting up straighter in her uncomfortable wooden seat. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“It’s not me you be apologizing to, but your family,” Mrs. Delve snapped. “Have you done any reading into alchemy before this session?”

“Only that human transmutation is illegal, and dangerous,” Elizabeth softly responded. She only knew that because it was mentioned offhandedly in a biology textbook.

But that was fine.

Elizabeth had no interest in human transmutation.

No, what drew her focus was botany and how alchemy could be applied there.

She couldn’t find any concrete information on alchemists who worked with plants. She knew it had to be a difficult science since alchemy applied to any living organism was tricky, but she didn’t think it would be that hard.

Plants didn’t have nervous systems, after all.

And if she could find a way to create hybrid plants, she might be able to invent new species of plants that were more effective than modern medicine.

At least, that was her initial hope.

“Rudimentary. Very well, let us begin. Do keep up, as I will not be repeating myself.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

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Elizabeth Luxanna was largely left alone.

At first, when she was mentally a grown adult who enjoyed her solitude just fine, she had no complaints.

She was an unusually obedient and quiet child, and as long as she was given enough books to read, she didn’t complain.

If she did complain, she’d be immediately locked in her bedroom and forced into isolation for however many days her Grandfather saw fit. Food would be shoved through the slot in the door, and not a single peep was allowed to be heard.

Since Elizabeth was an adult (a very, very old one at that), she was able to comply with these rules without much fuss.

But when her adult memories slipped away from her one night, and she was suddenly left a child without any companionship, being alone started to bother her.

Grandfather Crow was a stern man, and had no patience to raise a granddaughter. All the servants that worked for the Luxanna family were veterans who had to retire premature, and were uncomfortable dealing with Elizabeth.

While she no longer had all the memories that made Elizabeth an old adult, she retained her knowledge of math, science, and other similar topics. She couldn’t explain how she knew what she knew, either, which gave others the wrong impression about her.

At first glances Elizabeth was a child with a seemingly high intellect.

From the Grandfather’s Crow point of view this was to be taken advantage of for the betterment of his country, of his führer. It was an asset to be used to its maximum potential.

But from Elizabeth’s point of view it simply made it that much harder to connect with others.

Children her age didn’t even understand what an electron was, let alone wanted to talk about it.

Adults either didn’t take her seriously, or only saw her as someone to be used.

There was no way for Elizabeth to form any kind of positive bond, let alone a friendship.

For five years she was confined to a bitter home without a single person to care for her.

This made for a terribly lonely little girl.

So painfully lonely she would wish for any kind of friendship.

For anyone to show her even an iota of warmth.

And then came the day that person showed up.

Her only friend.

Selim Bradley.

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Welcome back to my loyal readers, and hello to new ones!

Cover by @cantrona.

Question: Would you open the gates to Truth? What for, and what would you sacrifice?

Reviews are love!

Next Chapter

#Pride & Humility #Pride and Humility #Elizabeth Luxanna #Selim Bradley #Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood #Pride #Humility #OC #Fanfiction #Elizabeth #Selim

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doodlelolly0910 · 6 years ago

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Love Don’t Cost a Thing

Summary: Emma thought she was living her happily ever after until she wasn't. Now Neal is living his with someone else and Emma has a plus one option to the wedding from hell but no one to fill the space. Enter Killian Jones, devastatingly handsome male escort and the answer to Emma's problems. She hires him for the wedding because he's the safe choice. The temporary choice. Falling in love wasn't on the invoice.

You can also find this on AO3 and FFN!

A/N: Hello! I come bearing new fic! So this was supposed to be a oneshot. I wrote it as a oneshot. The fic clearly had other ideas and it is now an MC lol. So here we are! Super huge ginormous thank you to @superchocovian who was just a the most fantastic beta and a wonderfully patient person. She thought she was signing up to beta a oneshot and she got me instead haha. And another super huge thank you to my wondertwin @artistic-writer who has made the most AMAZING picset for this fic that I could have ever wanted. It is seriously fantastic and I nearly squealed her ear off about it. I honestly love it so so so much. And she was an awesome second set of eyes on this project and frequent calmer of my anxieties and just an overall wonderful, lovely person. Thank you in advance for reading this fic! I hope you love it as much as I do. It's been my pet project for quite a while now and I'm so excited to share it with y'all. Watch for updates every Friday, and you can yell at me on here if you want. Away we go!

Chapter 1

Ten months.

Ten measly fucking months is all it took for Neal Cassidy to send out wedding invitations after he tossed Emma aside like yesterday's newspaper. Of course it wasn't too much of an asshole move to send an invitation to the mother of your child when you'd found a new love, especially if said child was going to be in the wedding. Was it? Her fury at the envelope grew as she decided yes it was an asshole move and she took another generous drink from the glass in front of her.

It still stung, even three months later, as she sat drowning herself in her sorrows at the bar on what would have been their ten year anniversary. To add insult to injury, the one he'd sent to her was addressed to Miss Emma Swan and Guest, written on the front in elegant gold script. She scoffed and tossed back her drink, fingering the edge of the envelope absent mindedly.

Miss Emma Swan and Guest.

Neal knew. He fucking knew she didn't have anybody. He knew how hard it was for her to let people in. He sent her the invitation just to rub it in her face. Just another message that she'd never find happiness. She conjured an image of his smug smile in her mind's eye and felt the sudden urge to find him and slap it off his face. She signalled to the bartender for another drink instead of doing something stupid, like driving to New York City from the Boston hotel bar she sat in and punching her ex. Repeatedly. She sipped slowly this time at the vodka cranberry in her hand, newly delivered by the petite blonde behind the counter. In reality, she wanted to be slamming back shots of whiskey, but self preservation told her that advertising her heartbreak in such a way would be ill advised. So she sipped and turned the envelope over in her unoccupied hand again and again, looking at its broken seal and debating whether or not to open it again for what felt like the millionth time since she'd gotten it those short few months ago. She couldn't believe this was happening. Couldn't believe he would have the solid fucking steel balls he must have upgraded to since he left her to send her this after all they'd been through. She had been with him for nine years, since she was seventeen and naïve, a runaway foster kid with no family, no friends, and no place to go, all the while planning their future together as she thought he had been. They'd met when she tried to steal a car that he'd already stolen, and they kept up the Bonnie and Clyde act to survive. It stung the first time she had asked why he hadn't proposed and he told her neither of them were ready for that. They'd only been together a year and they were still having fun. At least she wasn't alone. So Emma carried on, and didn't ask questions. They were happy. Not long after that, she'd gotten pregnant. Neal had wanted her to get an abortion, but Emma couldn't do it. She was eighteen, he was twenty four, and she followed his lead in most things, but she just couldn't bring herself to do that. They'd settled on adoption. They got real jobs, a real apartment, and everything was okay for awhile. But once Emma heard the strong cries as her son was freed from her womb and she laid eyes on him for the first time, she couldn't give him up either. She and Neal had fought about it. He'd even left for three whole weeks when she wouldn't relent. But he came back, saying he didn't want to be like his father and walk out on his son. Emma quashed the urge to remind him he'd already done that and welcomed him back with open arms. She knew what it was like to grow up without parents; she didn't want the same for her child. He still didn't want to marry her, citing the need to work on their relationship and being parents. She accepted that. At least she wasn't alone. The next few years seemed to fly by as Emma threw herself into her little family. Henry wanted for nothing, and Neal even ended up being a really good dad. But they fought a lot. Bills piled up and Emma worked two jobs while Neal struggled to hold down one most of the time. He would work whenever a job offer came to him, but he never really looked for one. And they never seemed to last long. Emma made enough as an office clerk for a private investigator by day and a waitress by night to keep them afloat. Around that time, Robert Gold, Neal’s estranged father, had come back into Neal's life and wanted a relationship with him and his grandson. Neal rejected his requests, and Emma always tried to support him, whichever way he wanted to go with it. Emma asked one night that had been mostly calm and normal if he wanted to get married. He dismissed the idea easily, telling her he wanted to be more stable in a career, that way they could afford the ring and wedding they deserved. Emma told him it didn't matter to her, but dropped the subject. They could wait to get married. At least she wasn't alone. In the end, one of Neal's biggest complaints was that she never had time for him (or Henry, as he had callously tossed in her face a time or two during some of their more heated spats) and he needed more from a relationship. Ironically, he started seeing his father regularly and looking for work more frequently around this time as well, stretching his own time at home thin. Nonetheless, she tried harder, losing contact with her friends and even her foster brother David, that she'd reconnected with when Henry was born, in favor of making more time for her boyfriend and son. It never seemed to be enough. Tamara Herr had time for Neal though. The caramel skinned beauty lived right across the street from their apartment building and was decidedly everything Emma was not. So, when Emma caught them together in their bed after coming home early one day to celebrate her promotion, all she could do was laugh as her heart simultaneously closed up tight and shattered into a thousand pieces. And now they were getting married. Neal got the girl of his dreams that it was clear Emma wasn't and a relationship with his father that came with his very own trust fund. And she was alone. "Bad night?" Emma jumped at the sound of a British baritone voice coming suddenly from behind her. Her face pinched in a scowl and she turned to make sure whoever this interloper was knew she wasn't in the mood for company. She looked up as a tall, well built frame placed itself in the seat next to her. Emma was almost shocked off her stool when her gaze meet his. She wasn't expecting someone so... well, gorgeous, if she was being honest. Dark chocolate hair fell just over his forehead, dusting his quirked brows. Bright ocean blue eyes watched her with mild amusement, studying her as she was him. His pink, plush lips were framed by dark, neatly trimmed facial hair that was interspersed with auburn whiskers here and there that she almost would have missed if the light hadn't caught it just right. There was a single onyx stone in his right ear that matched his cufflinks on the lighter gray dress shirt that he wore under a steel grey suit. The shirt had several buttons undone, exposing his chest and the thick smattering of umber hair across it. Realizing she'd probably been staring too long, she reset her mouth into a hard line and tilted her head back away from him. "It has been a pretty shitty night. That's usually how one finds themselves drinking at a bar near eleven o'clock alone," she replied stiffly, hoping her tone and words would prevent him from pursuing whatever this interaction was between them. It seemed, though, that the man only took it as an invitation. "I could tell. If you stared at that envelope any harder, it may burst into flames, love," he said with a chuckle. Emma's scowl deepened. "Not your love," she huffed. "Not anyone's love," she added before she could stop herself. Her cheeks flushed at the admission and she hid her face in her drink, letting her golden hair fall in front of it as she dipped her head down.Maybe she’d had enough to drink. To her surprise, the man reached out and tucked a good portion of her tresses behind her ear so he could look at her face. He continued to amaze her when she saw no pity in his expression, just a glimmer of understanding. "I can't imagine anyone not wanting to love someone as beautiful as you," he murmured. Emma wrinkled her nose at the over the top declaration and he cracked a grin in response. "Too much?" "That was epically cheesy. Does that line really work on anyone?" She took another sip from her glass and felt her eyebrows climb her forehead. "It wasn't a line at all, love. But I have plenty of those as well, if you'd like to hear." He nodded towards her, almost begging her to pick up the gauntlet he'd thrown. She remained silent, not wanting to further encourage this conversation, but feeling strangely uplifted by his presence. So he continued on. "Here, how much would you say a polar bear weighs?" Emma gave him a funny look, contemplating where he might be going with this. "I'm not sure, like a thousand, two thousand pounds?" she guessed. He looked positively gleeful that she'd played along. "So you might say then... enough to break the ice? Killian Jones, at your service." He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. Emma rolled her eyes and groaned, drawing her hand back but still feeling the sear of his lips just below her knuckles. "I can't believe I just walked right into that one." She shook her head with a laugh.

“It's a gift of mine, leading women places they don't expect to go,” he said, his voice low and sultry, and oh, man, he was definitely flirting with her. “Would you like to go somewhere else unexpected?” He swiped his tongue over his lower lip, his darkened gaze holding hers.

"Sorry, pal. You just aren't my type," she lied, her breath catching in her chest as she flitted her eyes back to the bar and her drink. Truth was, she was far more attracted to him than she'd been to... well, anyone really. More attracted to him than she had been to Neal, that was for sure. "Darling, for the right price, I'm anyone's type," he replied, his words hanging heavily in the air between them. Emma's eyes widened at the implication, snapping back to his face, and Killian's own blue orbs smoldered into her gaze, waiting for her reaction. They stared at one another in silent challenge, willing the other to expand on the proverbial elephant that now sat quite noticeably in the room. Curiosity won out and Emma licked her lips before responding, flushing slightly when the handsome man tracked the movement with his eyes. "Are you telling me you're a hooker?" She hissed under her breath, darting her eyes around the room as if someone might be listening, and Killian grinned at her. "Please, love. 'Hooker' sounds so crass. Not to mention, illegal." His grin grew larger as she sighed in frustration. "Well isn't this just my damn luck. Sitting alone, wallowing over my ex-boyfriend's happiness wasn't enough, I suppose. Now the one guy who even talks to me is only here to make a quick buck." She scoffed and shoved the envelope violently into her clutch purse before digging out some cash to leave for her drinks. His careful eyes watched her flustered movements before he reached out to loosely grip her wrist. She froze, unsure of whether or not she should pull away. He stroked the pad of his thumb over the small flower tattoo nestled at the base of her palm, prompting her to look up at him again. She did, ignoring the electric sparks shooting up her arm at the contact. "For what it's worth, love, I would have approached you whether I was on the clock or not." He brought her hand up and placed a soft kiss to the place his thumb had just been smoothing, never breaking eye contact, causing her breath to hitch again involuntarily. She cursed herself mentally for acting like a hormonal mess. "How many girls has that bullshit worked on today? Bet your bank account is padded with the results of pick up lines like that," she spat, snatching her hand back from his gentle grip and standing abruptly. She was more embarrassed than she could recall feeling in recent memory and she hated it. Hated how he'd gotten under her skin so quickly. Killian seemed to accept her retreat gracefully and smiled softly at her. He stood as well and reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, pulling free a small black card. Boldly, he reached down and slipped it into the gap of her clutch, not even bothering to try to hand it to her, knowing she wouldn't take it. "Think what you'd like, Swan, but that was also not a line. That's the absolute truth. And should you change your mind about some company, well, you have my card." Emma stood in shock. She could feel her face reddening further. Then the bastard winked and smoothly turned, walking away to find his next companion. And that is when it hit her that he'd used her last name.

It had to be a coincidence, or she must have misheard him, because why the hell, how the hell, would he have known her name?

Emma's cheeks were still flaming as she stormed out to her car. She wasted little time in jamming her keys into the ignition, making the little yellow Volkswagen rumble to life and peel out of the parking lot in haste. How dare he. Men like Killian Jones were the absolute worst, preying on women who were vulnerable for their own gain. The thought that he'd recognized her as vulnerable made her stomach turn. She should have never let her guard down so low. She hadn't even been aware that she'd done it. How often did she have her weaknesses on display? she mused as she waited at a red stoplight. She slammed her open palm into the steering wheel. In the five minutes she spent in Jones's company, he'd managed to peel back her layers and reach her in a way that she hadn't been reached in years. If she didn't know any better, she may have even admitted that she felt a connection to Killian Jones. Damn him. It was all an act, she reminded herself. He was skilled in the art of flirtation, ready to seduce and take advantage of every sad sob story that would make him a few bucks. A loud honk from behind her jerked her from her thoughts and she realized the light was green. Putting her foot on the gas, all she was focused on was getting home. No more thoughts of handsome male hookers--or shitty exes, for that matter. Except that was all she could think about as she parked in her designated space and made her way into the apartment building. She kept a brisk pace as if she could physically outrun her train of thought. She was glad that Henry was staying with Neal this week, not expected back until the day after tomorrow. She loved her kid, but he was too damn smart for an eight year old. He would have picked up on her distressed state in no time. She didn't bother with picking up the house that night, only dropping her purse on the table in the entryway, stripping away her shoes and clothes as she made her way to the room and slipping into an oversized t-shirt and pajama pants for bed. As she slipped under the covers and settled on her pillow, the last thought that ran through her mind before sleep consumed her was of Killian Jones. The next morning was no better. She scowled at herself for waking up with Killian's blue eyes dancing through her head and decided she needed a distraction. Usually, she and Henry would spend their Saturdays in a park or a library, or the occasional museum, but he wasn't here and she didn't fancy doing any of that alone. She could call her sister-in-law, Mary Margaret, or her friends Elsa or Ruby, but all three of them knew her well enough to know when she was hiding something and she was still embarrassed just enough by her run in with a male escort and her subsequent escape to decide against putting herself through the ringer. Mary Margaret would be appalled and tell everyone (she was horrible at keeping secrets), Elsa would be sympathetic to the point of pity (which she was not ready for), and Ruby would either make fun of the whole situation or try to find him herself (based on how much of a description she could get out of Emma). No thank you to all of those scenarios. She padded barefoot into her kitchen, grabbing a mug and leaning against the counter to wait for her coffee pot to finish percolating, silently thanking the heavens that she remembered to set it before she went out last night. She looked around the apartment she shared with her son and sighed. It was a good sized apartment, much better than where she'd started with Henry. Her eventual licensing as a private investigator afforded her a much better lifestyle for her and her son. One that could have included Neal. She'd actually been on her way home to share her license confirmation when she'd caught him with her. And the rest was history. The coffee pot gurgled its last drops into the pot and Emma happily made herself a cup. Maybe she should've RSVP'd that she'd be coming alone. It would've been much easier, but she was so mad to see that plus one included on her card that she'd gotten out the Jack Daniels and the whiskey checked the box for her. It seemed like a good idea at the time. And it wasn't like she hadn't moved on from Neal; on the contrary, she had, she just hadn't moved on with someone else just yet. Sipping at her cup, her mind automatically went to her phone. She usually skimmed news headlines and went through her email with her morning coffee, but she didn't have it with her and she didn't remember seeing it on her nightstand. She let out a groan when she remembered that she'd left it in her purse. Grumbling, she pushed herself away from the counter and made her way to the entryway, picking up her purse with one hand and setting her mug down with the other. She shuffled through the contents and pulled her phone free, but as she did, a small, black square fluttered to the floor. She bent down to retrieve it, frowning and trying to remember where it came from or what it was. She flipped it over to read it and her face immediately flushed, though she wasn't sure if it was out of embarrassment or something else. KILLIAN JONES PERSONAL ENTERTAINMENT 617-555-9870 Emma snorted. 'Personal entertainment' indeed. She didn't even know why he slipped her his card. She'd never paid for sex and she wasn't about to start. She was lonely, not desperate. She tucked the card against her phone for the moment and went back to her clutch for her charger. Her fingers bumped against the thick envelope inside as she searched and she scowled at it. And then a lightbulb went off in her head. She thought of the little nest egg she'd put aside for a rainy day as her mind began to hatch a plan. Maybe she was a little desperate. "This is stupid, this is stupid, this is stupid..." she muttered, grabbing her phone and heading to the couch, flicking the edge of the business card with her finger. She plugged her phone in and sat down, letting a large sigh escape her, and punched in the numbers on the card. She fiddled with the ties on her sleep pants while the phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Just as she was about to hang up, a sultry English voice came on the line. "Hello?" Emma's throat closed up immediately and her mouth felt like she'd poured a shaker of salt into it. Her heart pounded in her chest and every word in the English language fled her frazzled mind. "Hello?" he said again and Emma jumped as she realized she should be saying something back. "Uh, hi." Smooth, Emma. "Hello, love. Can I help you?" He sounded amused and that incensed her. "Yes. No. Maybe. Dammit, this isn't how this was supposed to go," she rambled. "Look, you gave me your card last night, and I'm calling." "I gave quite a few women my card last night. Refresh my memory a bit, love." He didn't sound the least bit confused and Emma was positive he was messing with her now. She clenched her jaw. "Well, aren't you a regular Romeo." She was sure her scowl could be heard through the phone. He laughed out loud, warm and rich, the sound crackling through the phone and warming her to her toes. "Why don't we start with a name?" he prompted, mirth now flowing freely through his warm voice. She sighed. "It's Emma. Er, Swan. From the bar last night." She felt her grip tighten on her lap. He was silent for a beat and she began to rethink if he actually did know it was her before the reveal. "I was hoping it was you." His voice had dropped an octave and something twisted in her lower belly at the sound. "Yeah, well, it's me. It's kinda weird that you know my name, though. Or, y'know, that you remember me at all," she mumbled, tugging at her shirt nervously. "As if I could forget the most beautiful woman I've spoken to in recent memory," he purred and Emma wrinkled her nose at the flirtation, but he continued on. "And your name was easy enough to discern since you were waving it around on that envelope you had with you." "Oh. Well, I guess that makes sense," she said, embarrassed. An awkward silence fell over the line. "As much as I'm thrilled to hear your lovely voice, Swan, I'm assuming you didn't just call for a chat?" The amusement in his voice was back and Emma felt her blush deepen, thankful for the barrier the phone provided. "Uh, yeah. I was actually calling because, well, I'm looking to procure some of your, uh, services-" "Really, Swan?" The surprised delight in his tone made her frown. She wasn't a conquest. "Not like that. What I meant to say was I have sort of a proposition for you.” Her voice was all business and she found herself straightening her shoulders in resolve, though she knew he couldn't see her. "Color me intrigued, love. What sort of proposition?" he asked and Emma fidgeted nervously. "Can we meet to discuss it? Lunch, maybe? My treat of course, I know you're," she cleared her throat, "on the clock, or whatever." Killian chuckled low on the other end of the line. "Alright, darling, where and when?" he asked. "There's a diner near downtown, Granny's. Do you know it?" She grimaced at the thought of bringing him there. Ruby Lucas, her best friend, ran the place with her grandmother. She'd be ruthless with questions upon seeing her with a man, but she wanted to be somewhere that was familiar in case things went wrong. "I know it. Never been inside, but I've heard good things," he replied. "Can you meet me in an hour?" she asked, looking at the time. It was already approaching noon. "Aye, I'm free until this evening. I'll see you there, Swan," he confirmed and Emma hung up the phone as soon as he did, getting up and heading into her bedroom. What did one wear when they were potentially making the dumbest decision ever?

Tag list (if you would like to be added or removed from this list, please send me a message): @artistic-writer @snowbellewells @bmbbcs4evr @kmomof4 @xemmaloveskillianx @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @courtorderedcake

#csff #cs ff au #cs ff #Captain Swan #escort!killian #love don't cost a thing #LDCAT #Chapter 1 #1/12 #friday update

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aliceslantern · 6 years ago

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Beyond this Existence, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 10

Summary: After Xehanort's death, Demyx finds himself unexpectedly human in Radiant Garden. With nothing but fragments of his past and a cryptic statement from Xemnas, he's left to figure out who he is. When Ienzo asks for his help with a project, the two find common ground, but the trauma and secrets in both of their pasts could tear it apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post-KH3 canon compliant

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

Demyx slept deeply, and soundlessly. Admittedly he spent the first few minutes of the morning thinking about the previous afternoon, remembering and wanting touch, finally giving in and taking care of it himself. All traces of any misdeeds washed away in the bath, he got ready for the day. When he saw Ienzo buried in a book at the kitchen table, he was ready to get angry; but it was the same book from yesterday. He kissed him good morning and relished in the fact that he could even do that much. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why do you always keep your hair in your face? Is it an aesthetic thing?”

“You sound like Even,” Ienzo said, shaking his head. “Partially, I suppose. When I was little the weight of it would help me avoid sensory overload. Now it's just habit more than anything. I assure you I can see quite well."

“Really?”

“Yes. Seeing or hearing too much would cause me intense anxiety, especially certain pitches. Not so much anymore."

“Mythology,” Demyx said.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I just want to learn more about you. That’s all.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Can I see it?”

“It looks like the other one. But, I suppose, if it will sate your curiosity.” He pulled aside his bangs. Ienzo was right; there was no discernible difference. But it was nice to look him fully in the eye.

“...You have a nice face,” Demyx said.

“...Thank you. I-I don’t have any strong feelings about it,” he said, with a laugh.

“So what do you want to do today?” Demyx asked.

“I’m not so sure. It might be nice to get outside. I hear the weather is good.”

“You hear things, but you don’t know.” Demyx sighed. “You have so got to get out more.”

“Precisely why I suggested it,” Ienzo said.

The season was just barely turning, with hints of cold in the breeze. They walked, hand in hand, through the quiet.

“The light feels good,” Ienzo said. “I feel as though I’ve lived here, but I haven’t been a part of it.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Morning, midweek, the marketplace was nearly empty. They browsed, a bit emptily, but nothing caught either of their eyes. Demyx bought a bag of roasted seeds and they ate it slowly to have something to do.

“I’m going to have to get a job,” Demyx said, counting the change in his palm. “I’m almost out of money.”

“Now that I’d like to see,” Ienzo said.

“What happened to the ambition you saw in me?”

“It doesn’t necessarily relate to making a wage. Lucky for you, you get room and board free.”

“Cool. Great. Now even you don’t believe in me.”

Ienzo rolled his eyes. “Could always ask to make you my research assistant.”

“Yeah, like that’d go over well.” Demyx snorted.

Ienzo laughed. “You’d be miserable. You’d quit within the hour.”

“Well--with you it might not be so bad.”

“No, I’d find you much too distracting. In multiple ways.”

Demyx squeezed his hand.

“Besides, your talents lie elsewhere.”

For a little while they sat and fed the birds with the remaining seeds.

“...I don’t know what will happen,” Demyx said, scattering a handful on the ground.

“In the future? Or in general?”

“Both,” he said. “I mean, I thought I would know, once I became human. But I feel pretty aimless. Haven’t you thought about what will happen after Sora? Will you keep doing experiments?”

“I have not… put much thought in it,” Ienzo said. “Yes, maybe I would research something else? But I haven’t the slightest idea what it would be. Part of me thought I would never make it this far. But here I am. And here you are. And my life has taken turns I never thought possible. I… I don’t know.” His hands fluttered at his throat. “This existence scares me.”

“Me too. So much.”

“I could spend my whole life thinking about what it means to be human after all that and still be wrong.” He hesitated. “I know it’s early yet. But I hope that you might be perhaps involved in some way.”

He felt like he was full of light. He leaned over and kissed him softly. The kiss deepened, but Demyx broke away before it could become unsuitable for public. All this warmth and tenderness and comfort… maybe he didn’t know much about humanity, and maybe their connection was still growing, but Demyx was almost sure that he lo--

“Shall we head back?” Ienzo asked. “I’m feeling a little tired now.”

Demyx jerked, like he was coming out of a dream. “Yeah. Of course.”

They took the short way home, back through residential backstreets that were largely abandoned. People who had once lived here had either died, become Heartless, or plain didn’t return to Radiant Garden. There was an icy vacancy that the rest of the town lacked, and Demyx shuddered. “This place gives me the creeps.”

“I don’t like it either,” Ienzo said. “Let’s hurry. Might be Heartless about.”

They picked up their pace slightly. Several of the homes here were shrouded by overgrown shrubs. Ienzo stopped dead in his tracks. “What’s up?” Demyx asked.

“This place feels… familiar.” He approached the door to one of the homes and brushed the dirt off the nameplate. His back was to Demyx; he couldn’t see his expression. Ienzo reached for the door, hanging slightly off its hinges with age and decay.

“You know it?” Demyx asked.

He was silent for a moment. Looking in on the darkened room, he said in a strained voice, “This used to be my home. This is the first time I’ve come out to this part of town in many years.”

“You mean… with your parents?”

He nodded.

The wind blew coldly.

Ienzo pushed through the half-open door. Demyx hesitated. A place with this much bad energy--especially tied up in emotion--was bound to be crawling with Heartless, something Ienzo no doubt knew. But he seemed to be in a trance.

It was an average home, one that had no doubt once been beautifully furnished. The walls, once a soft peach if the odd preserved patch meant anything, were grayed, and cracked open in places. “Someone must have been after the copper piping,” Demyx muttered. “Assholes.”

The windows were blown out. If there had been nice things, they were broken or had been stolen, and glass littered the threadbare carpet.

Ienzo was breathing quickly. Demyx could see it in the set of his shoulders. He took Ienzo’s hand. “We really should go.” But Ienzo pulled away from him. He knelt down and pulled something out of the glass and dirt.

An old photo. There was a young man and woman, smiling happily. They were dressed professionally, like they were academics. Between them was a younger Ienzo.

“Do you want to take that with you?” Demyx asked. “We can frame it. Make a memorial for them.”

“I thought I would feel something.”

“What?”

There was a terrifying furrow of rawness in his voice. “Demyx, I don’t feel anything.”

He didn’t know what to say. He fumbled. “You know how when you’re about to cry or have a panic attack and everything is numb? I think that’s how you feel.”

“I’m a monster. It's my fault that they--”

Demyx exhaled. “That’s not true. Don’t you ever say that about yourself.” The air in the room shifted. In the corner, Demyx saw the shadows begin to pulse. “Ienzo, we have to go now.”

“If they knew what I was responsible for--”

“You need to calm down. There are Heartless and they’re reacting to you.”

“...then they’d wish I’d never been born.”

The shadows became solid, their gold eyes glowing in the dark. These weren’t weak Shadows, but their stronger, merciless counterparts. “Ienzo, please.” But when he remained motionless, Demyx knew he had to do something. He wrapped his arms around his waist and hauled him up, ready to drag him out the door if that’s what it took.

Ienzo resisted, positively thrashing against him in an aimless, traumatized way. His elbows beat against his ribs. Demyx could feel tears in his eyes.

“Ienzo--”

He screamed. It was a weird, animal sound that set Demyx’s teeth on edge. Clearly he was deep in some memory, something not dealt with, maybe something he’d previously repressed.

He finally got him past the door frame and they collapsed painfully onto the street, Ienzo’s elbows digging into his chest and knocking the breath out of him. Demyx pushed him off and ran to the door, slamming it hard and watching the jam for several anxious moments, waiting for the Heartless to appear, but they seemed to have delved back into their nest. Apparently they weren’t hungry.

Demyx turned back to Ienzo.

He’d curled into a ball and was rocking slightly, an empty look in his face. Demyx knelt down next to him and touched his shoulder. He looked up, the emptiness slowly giving way to pain, and he burst into tears.

Demyx held him for a long time as he cried. The sound of it felt like it would shatter him, and he cried a little too. After a while the sobbing subsided, but Ienzo shook, his whole frame quaking. Demyx kissed his forehead. “You ready to stand?” he asked. “It’s going to be dark soon. I don’t trust that nest.”

He said nothing, locked deep in himself. Demyx helped him up. Ienzo pulled away, hugging himself tightly.

Demyx sighed. “I’m sorry I had to force you like that. I just didn’t want them to attack you. Especially when you were so vulnerable. You get that, right?”

He began walking, heading off towards the castle. Being nonverbal was one thing; he was completely numb. Demyx noticed the photo on the ground. He picked it up and slipped it into his pocket. He stayed several paces behind Ienzo. Demyx couldn’t help but feel like this was somehow his fault, even though there really wasn’t anything he could’ve done. Triggers were triggers.

Once they got back to the castle, Ienzo went to his room and shut the door. The message could not have been clearer: leave me alone.

It began to rain.

It took Demyx a long time to fall asleep that night. When he finally did, he was bombarded with images of the inside of that house, crawling with darkness, until he saw watched it tear him and Ienzo apart.

The images shifted, turned into the Keyblade Graveyard. People in armor, alive, but instead of fighting monsters they were fighting each other, ruthless in their blows and magical attacks. And he was running hard and fast, trying to get away from it all, but everywhere there were swarms of them, until gradually they started coming after him too, and then--

Being shaken. The memory was hesitant to let him go, but at last it did. It was dark, still night; and the wind was howling.

“You were having a nightmare,” Ienzo said. Demyx couldn’t see his expression.

“...Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

“I can’t sleep. And I know that if I’m alone I’ll only torment myself.” It seemed to take a lot to admit this; his whole body sagged.

Demyx sighed. “Come here.” He lifted the covers and Ienzo crawled under. There wasn’t much room on this small bed for them to spread out, but Ienzo didn’t seem worried about space. He rested his head against Demyx’s chest and breathed shakily.

“Your heart’s still racing,” he said. “What were you dreaming about?”

Ienzo was no doubt too brittle to be able to take in the enormity of the truth--not only was Demyx somehow hundreds of years older than him, but was also apparently a war survivor and a Keyblade wielder? Yucky. Demyx pushed those thoughts down, and lied. “I already forgot.”

It rained. They listened to it patter on the old window.

“I thought I could handle it on my own,” Ienzo said. “But I can’t. Doesn’t that make me weak?”

“No. Not at all.”

“I’m sorry I hit you.”

“You were having a flashback. You weren’t in control of yourself.” Demyx could also feel Ienzo’s pulse, still heightened with anxiety. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Alright. That’s alright.”

He held him for a while, stroked his hair, let him breathe. Eventually, Ienzo’s heart rate slowed to normal. His warmth and weight soothed Demyx, brought him down to somewhere very near sleep.

“Will you stay?” he asked Ienzo.

“Yes.”

Morning. It was still downpouring, and the light in the room was a dreary gray. Ienzo, lying against him, was still asleep, momentarily at peace. They could always wake up like this, together.

But Demyx would have to tell him about his past somehow. How could he tell him when he didn’t know much himself? Would Ienzo be mad? Would he consider this lying? He just wanted to be good enough, and strong enough, to be the person Ienzo needed.

Somewhere in this complicated thought process, Ienzo woke up. He lifted his head long enough to see the rain and lay back down. “What a gloomy morning,” he said.

“You sleep okay?”

“Surprisingly, yes. You make a good pillow.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I’m still so very tired.”

“It’s the weather. And yesterday was a long day.”

“Very, very long.” He sighed. “I don’t think I’d mind if we stayed here for a while.”

“See? You’re getting the hang of it.”

“I’ve always loved the sound of the rain. Especially in the spring. It’s so cleansing. It makes me want to curl up with a cup of tea. Read something halfway decent. I can't remember the last time I read a novel for the pleasure of it.” He yawned. “Maybe later.”

“Maybe.”

He propped himself up on an elbow. “I’m glad you’re here,” Ienzo said. “I can only imagine how… difficult this experience would be otherwise.”

Demyx was thrown momentarily for a loop. “I… I’m glad I’m here too.”

He kissed him. It was a sort of kiss built on comfort and trust, in a way different than any of their previous. The pureness of the vulnerability was overwhelming.

That was the moment Demyx fell for him.

The kiss changed, became heavier, less hesitant. He pulled his fingers through Ienzo’s hair and pressed his lips against the old scars, making peace with them. They were together now, and there was more strength in that than he anticipated. Ienzo shifted his weight, pulling his legs around Demyx’s hips and slipping his hands up under his shirt. His hands were so soft and Demyx’s sides were so sensitive that for a moment he couldn’t breathe. He let him take the shirt off, aware suddenly that the only other piece of clothing he had on was his underwear because that was all he usually wore to sleep.

He slipped off Ienzo’s shirt and for a moment they lay skin to skin, struggling for air. Ienzo traced the innumerable scars on Demyx’s chest, left there by Sora and who knew what else.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Ienzo said, his voice catching slightly.

“It’s okay. I mean…” For some reason he thought he might cry, though he wasn’t upset by any means. “Are you sure you want to try something? We just talked about this two days ago.”

He nodded, and Demyx could tell he meant it from the soft glint in his eye. “Yes. Are you?”

He thought about it for a few seconds. Something vital between them had shifted. No more doubt. “Yeah. I guess I kind of am.”

Ienzo laughed.

“I think… maybe it would be easier if we switched spots?” He was feeling anxious again, though more differently, flightier. “Just because you’re starting from scratch, here.”

“What, are you an expert?” Ienzo asked in a low voice that sent chills through him. “You know I learn fast.”

Demyx couldn’t help but kiss him for that.

“You’re right though,” Ienzo said shakily. “For now.” He lay back against the pillows. It felt slightly less spontaneous than before to get on top of him. Even in the gray light Demyx could see the flush in his skin. But his hands didn’t shake.

“You can relax, okay?” he said. “Do whatever feels natural to you.”

Ienzo helped him take off his thin cotton pants and then reached for Demyx’s underwear.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said quickly.

“I want to.”

And just like that they were naked. Demyx could not get over the strangeness of the moment, but it all felt right . Every nerve was twice as alive. Demyx kissed him. Every feeling and touch eddied into the next, achingly. Demyx was shaking as he touched his skin. Every bit of Ienzo was still more surprising. Soft. Supple. Surprisingly wiry.

Ienzo gripped the hand that was touching him and squeezed it once.

I am completely lost, Demyx thought, but then, do I care? It took a moment to find the nerve to let his hand dip lower and lower still, across the curve of his lip and his inner thigh to his dick.

The response was instantaneous. Ienzo gasped, hardening a little more with the slightest touch. Demyx could feel himself getting even more turned on. As gently as he could, he stroked him a few times. Touching someone else like this had never made him feel so vulnerable before. Ienzo was breathing hard and fast. His hands knotted at the nape of Demyx's neck, catching in his hair.

“Is that good?” Demyx asked. His voice was husky, as though he might cry.

Ienzo kissed him in response. His bucked up against Demyx’s hand, the muscles in his thighs tensing against him. Even though Demyx wasn’t being touched himself, knots of tension began building in the pit of his stomach, almost sweetly painful. Hearing and feeling him react was almost too much. It was more than he thought it would be, more emotional, too.

He began to move a little less hesitantly. Ienzo's grip on him tightened. “I feel…” he said in that same strange voice, but couldn’t complete the sentence.

“Are you going to come? It’s okay. Let it happen.”

He stifled a moan against Demyx’s shoulder and he felt the rush of heat against his thigh. Ienzo’s grip loosened, and when Demyx saw his hands they were trembling. “I…”

“Are you okay?”

He nodded. “I’m… a little dizzy.”

“Just relax.” His own hands were shaking. The want was almost painful, but Ienzo’s comfort was far more important. He seemed almost shocked, a touch shaken. He straightened his legs and then looked down. Demyx lay on his side and pulled the sheet quickly over his own body, but Ienzo had seen.

“You’re still--”

“I’ll live.”

“It doesn’t seem fair.” He lay on his side. “If you want some privacy, I can step out.”

“Really, Ienzo. I’ll be okay.”

“...Okay.”

Demyx lay down next to him, as much as the small bed would allow.

Ienzo seemed to regain his composure somewhat, relaxing more naturally. “...So this is what people are always obsessing about,” he said. “I finally have some insight.”

“Well--I mean, there are other things people do.”

“No. When people write of longing, is this what people are seeking?”

“You’re a scientist. You can say it. “Orgasm.” You came on my thigh.”

Ienzo wrinkled his nose. “I suppose I did.”

“Did it not live up to your expectations?” he asked, only half joking.

“I didn’t have any expectations,” he said. “Only what I’ve heard.”

Demyx was so shocked he nearly sat up. “You mean you never-- ever --”

Ienzo shrugged. “My life has been peculiar.”

“I can’t believe this. You’ve never masturbated? You’ve never come in your sleep?”

“Believe it or not. These are simply feelings I’ve never had to act on. Consciously or no. Chalk it up to an emotionless puberty.”

“Holy shit. I don’t know if I should feel honored, or if I’ve completely corrupted you.” The talk was distracting Demyx, which was good.

Ienzo laughed. “I don’t feel corrupted. And I should know. No. I feel… clean, if that makes sense. Despite the evidence otherwise.”

It did make sense. Not only was there a sense of release (for him, anyway), but the trust there was stronger, less superficial.

“And yet. If you’d have told me last year that this would have happened, I’d have gone positively feral,” Ienzo said. “This life is so strange.”

“The strangest,” Demyx agreed.

#beyond this existence #demyx #ienzo #zemyx #demyx/ienzo #ptsd #trauma

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jeminy3 · 6 years ago

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FIRESIDE - Chapter 3

3. I'm not sure if I should show you what I've found.

has it gone for good?

or is it coming back around?

WARNINGS: suicidal talk/thinking, death mention, closeted feelings, yelling, callouts

Read on AO3

Read on Google Docs

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5

- Back in the Present -

"...So, it was alright, I guess. She was alright, I mean. Don't know if I can say the same for myself."

...

"I mean, I tried. But she didn't seem into it as it went on. Dunno, maybe she could tell. At least she was nice enough not to say anything."

"...Not nice enough to at least leave me a note, or something. Just... poof, gone. Didn't even wake me."

...

"I'm not hung up. It was one night, I'll live. Not like it's the first time it's happened anyway."

...

"Hah, that's true. Look who I'm talking to."

Roy looks down from the horizon to what's in front of him: the grave of Brigadier General Maes Hughes. He's left another rose on it, alongside the other flowers and bouquets he's brought over the past two years. The grief's still there, but at least it's a more distant, empty feeling now.

He lets out a long, tired sigh. "...I know what you'd say. That I deserve better, right?"

He takes a swig from the small metal flask he's brought. It's some cheap gin, nothing special. Just something to take the edge off.

"You used to say that all the time. Didn't really help, but I guess it was better than nothing. We all know what I really deserve."

...

"Yeah? Wish I didn't."

...

"I guess so, yeah. It's nice while it lasts."

...

"Hah. You always made it look so easy. You were kind of an ass like that, y'know? Telling me to get married and all. But you didn't know, to be fair, so."

...

"Like I said, I'll live. This is nothing, compared to everything else I've been through."

...

"Well, it's looking like I'll be promoted soon, so... maybe it's not too long, now."

...

"I'll be fine. I'm kind of looking forward to it, actually. Maybe I'll see you again. See my parents, even. You'd better introduce me if they're there."

...

"I was a child, Maes. I'm practically a stranger now."

Roy glances back at the horizon, where the sun's dipping further and further from its high-noon position, the glare long-since faded from the surrounding clouds. He guesses that it must be getting close to two o' clock now. Break's almost over.

"It's getting late. Better get back to it, then."

...

"Yeah, I'll try. It's just... hard. You know."

He glances back over his shoulder as he turns to leave. "See you later, Maes."

Then he makes his way down the hill and out of the graveyard, away from the silence.

---

Breda approaches the break room door with some trepidation. It's quiet in there - too quiet. But he knows why. He sighs long-sufferingly, and pushes his way inside.

As soon as he enters, Havoc glares at him from the couch at the back of the room. And as Breda predicted, he's still in that mood. Leaning forward, arms draped over his knees, gritting his cigarette between his teeth, bouncing his foot vigorously. He's a ball of tension wound too tightly, ready to snap at any moment.

He's way too obvious at this point.

The others know as well, but are still keeping their distance from him. Riza in a chair near the center of the room, Fuery at the coffee pot in the corner, Falman by the water cooler to the left of the door. Safe positions.

Havoc meets Breda's eyes, jerks his chin. "He's at the graveyard again, isn't he?" he growls.

Breda shrugs. "Probably, yeah. His car wasn't out there when I looked."

"Tch..." Havoc clicks his tongue so harshly he almost hisses. With the smoke from his cigarette he looks every bit like the lit fuse of a bomb. He leans back, trying too hard to relax, crushing himself into the couch's back cushion.

He tears his cigarette out of his mouth, breathes out a uneven plume of smoke. "Typical. Talkin' to dead men when there's real ones right under his goddamn nose."

"You know how he is," Riza says evenly, but doesn't look at him.

He glares severely at her. "Yeah, but I don't have to like it."

Riza just shrugs at him. Breda can confidently say he's sized up the situation by now, and decides to move himself next to Falman by the water cooler, away from the door. The others aren't saying anything or making any moves, just glancing at Havoc nervously (especially Fuery). As usual, Breda decides to step up to the plate himself.

He gives Havoc a pointed look, putting his hands on his hips. "Y'know Jean, you could talk to him."

Havoc aims that glare right at Breda. "Oh yeah? And say what, exactly? Some sage relationship advice or somethin'? Sure, I'm the damn guru of that shit. Big help I'd be."

He's wide open. Breda looks him dead in eye, keeps his voice even and matter-of-fact.

"Jean... just tell him you love him already."

Direct hit. Havoc's eyes go wide, his jaw goes slack, his cheeks flush to the color of tomatoes. The tension snaps.

Havoc stares, stammers. "I- I don't- W- what the HELL Breda?! Where'd that come from?!"

Breda frowns. After knowing Havoc for as long as he has, he can't be surprised. "Uh... from you, man. For what, the past year?"

"Two years now," Riza corrects.

"Possibly more, if you count anything before the Lab Three incident," Falman adds.

Havoc just gapes at all of them, mouth opening and closing like a fish. He's flushed down to his neck by now. "Wh- what the HELL are you talking about?! I- I'm not- I'm straight and you all know that!"

They all give him knowing looks. Fuery's turned away from the counter by now, arms crossed in front of his chest, face pinched with a look of absolute pity. "Jean, please. We're getting worried about you. You can't keep denying it forever."

Havoc scrambles to his feet and throws his cigarette to the floor, standing in this vaguely defensive stance with his fists up. "I- I'm not denying a goddamn thing! I like women! And he's our boss! And that's FINE!"

Fuery frowns further, looks him up and down. "...You don't seem fine with that."

"The hell d' you know, Kain?!" Havoc barks, shaking a fist. "Y'all don't know me!"

Fuery cringes further. He might've hit him a bit too directly, Breda thinks. The drawl only gets heavy when he's really pissed off. And he definitely is now, from how he's trembling slightly, gritting his teeth and flaring his nostrils like a bull. But honestly, Breda saw this coming, too.

He tries to save face for Fuery. "Jean, stop-"

Havoc turns on him, the bull ready to charge. "You stop, Heyman! And all y'all! Yer makin' shit up that don't exist!"

Breda shakes his head, fixes him with the disarming look he always uses when he has to silently tell Havoc that he's flying off the handle and needs to calm down. And as usual, Havoc catches it, closes his mouth, exhales through his nose, simmers down into a venomous glare.

"Forget it. Fuck y'all."

He strides to the door in a second, throws it open with enough force to make it slam against the wall, and leaves. The tension dissipates as his footsteps echo down the hallway, and everyone sighs collectively. Breda's glad he moved away ahead of time.

He scratches idly at his neck. "Honestly? I expected that."

"Same here," Falman says, defeated.

Fuery lifts his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I'm gonna have a nervous breakdown for him at this rate."

Riza's leaning against her knees, rubbing her eyes and mumbling. "I'm getting a migraine."

Breda sighs deeply, again. "God... Was Rebecca ever this bad?"

Riza shakes her head, still covering her eyes. "Not nearly."

Fuery readjusts his glasses. "Well, you had the smart idea of confronting her early on, so it never got this bad."

Riza withdraws her hand and straightens. "Yeah, that's true."

"And Rebecca didn't follow you into bars just to spy on you from the smoking area," Breda adds.

Riza side-eyes him at that. "Well, yeah. I don't drown my feelings in booze and loose women. And Rebecca isn't an anxious mess with an inferiority complex."

Breda just shrugs again. "Harsh. But true."

Fuery shakes his head. "I just don't get it. Doesn't Roy notice anything?"

"Doesn't notice... or won't notice?" Falman muses, his eyes shifting.

Riza sighs, dipping her head again. "He's ignoring it. Has to be."

" But why?" Fuery asks.

"Easy. He thinks he doesn't deserve it, like he does with everything," Riza mutters.

Breda shakes his head, clicking his tongue. "Tch- Well they're a perfect match there. Jean acts like he'd rather lose his damn legs again than think he has a chance with him."

Riza groans softly. "Ugh- It's not about having chances, or being in the same league, relationships are hard enough without everyone making up silly rules that don't matter. Just TALK to each other."

"He's scared. So's Roy. That's all there is to it, at this point," Breda says, now with finality.

Falman hums in agreement, and Fuery just sighs sadly. No one says anything for several seconds, and the awkward silence is... well, awkward.

Suddenly, Riza rises to her feet, jerking her chair back and squaring her shoulders. "Well, I can't watch this anymore. Next time they're in here together, I'm leaving and locking the door behind me. Leave them in here overnight, if that's what it takes."

Fuery snorts behind her. "God- that's kind of extreme, isn't it?"

Riza side-eyes him over her shoulder. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. And those two are the most desperate I've ever seen."

Fuery just snorts harder. "Well, you got that right."

"A solid enough plan, unless Roy melts the door open," Falman points out, stroking his chin.

"Not if he doesn't have his gloves," Riza says coolly, glancing at him.

"He doesn't need them, he can do that clapping thing like Edward did, can't he?" Breda asks.

Riza closes her eyes, nodding slowly. "He can... and he wouldn't even need to use fire, just a metal transmutation to break the lock."

And then she looks at Breda again, this time with lidded eyes and a mischievous smile. "...He's forgetful under pressure, though."

Another look that Breda knows all too well. God help them.

#jeanroy #royvoc #team mustang #roy mustang #jean havoc #jeminy writes

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metalshea · 6 years ago

Text

Guys and gals, let’s talk about nü metal.

Are you still reading?

Great! Because I’m about to take a very unpopular position: I think nü metal has some value as a genre and is surprisingly influential.

Are you STILL reading?

Nü metal is probably the most maligned sub genre in all of metal. So much so that I would hazard to say that more people dislike it than hair metal. There are still people walking around that appreciate bands like Poison, Ratt, or Mötley Crüe, after all. I don’t know of anyone that still says: “Limp Bizkit, that’s my jam”.

But there was a time when people did say that. Limp Bizkit are multi-platinum selling artists, after all. They were one of the top draws in all of music, headlined Woodstock ‘99, and even toured with Metallica. People loved Limp Bizkit.

I’ll let that sink in a moment.

It wasn’t just Durst et. al. that filled arenas around the world: Korn, Linkin Park, Mudvayne, POD, Godsmack, Static-X, System of a Down, Disturbed, all were, and in some cases still are, huge concert draws. Just look up some of the pictures of System of Down’s show in Yerevan, Armenia, back in 2015. Something, something, a joke about crowd sizes, amiright?! Does anyone have any doubt that if SOAD announced a tour tomorrow that it wouldn’t sell out? (Before we get too far away from Limp Bizkit, I should probably mention that Wes Borland is actually pretty popular in Indonesia)

I’d even go so far as to argue that most metalheads that lived through the nü metal years actually like at least one band from those times. Sound crazy? How do you feel about, say, Mudvayne (Dig)? Static-X (Push It, I’m With Stupid), Slipknot (Wait and Bleed), System of a Down (any song)? Maybe nü metal isn’t so bad.

Obligatory disclaimer: that all being said there’s a ton of Nü Metal that is just awful. Back to Limp Bizkit: Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavored Water hasn’t aged well at all. POD. Papa Roach. Freaking Crazy Town.

There’s a lot of bad nü metal out there.

But we’ve gotten off topic. The whole point of this article is to talk about nü metal as still remaining valid and influential to modern metal, after all, so let’s explore that. Let’s start with definitions.

Quick: if I asked you “what is it that musically differentiates nü metal from other types of metal,” what’s the first thing that comes to mind? Probably rapping, right? But not all nü metal acts rap. Korn doesn’t. Orgy doesn’t. So what else?

I think there are 4 major descriptors—aside from rapping—that we can use to define the genre: heavily syncopated riffs, song structure/length borrowed from pop, angsty or self-reflective song lyrics, vocal centric while musically riff- and beat-driven.

Let’s break this down a bit starting with syncopation.

Syncopation is a musical term that refers to emphasizing the off beats in a piece of music. Most music emphasizes what are known as downbeats. When you hear a song and start tapping along, your usually counting out groups 4 taps and hitting a little bit harder on the first beat. That first beat is a downbeat. The groups of 4 tell us the song is written in 4/4 time. Sometimes in addition to the hard beat on the 1, you’ll also do a hard beat on the 3. This is still considered a “normal” or conventional beat.

In a syncopated song, the downbeats are played on the 2nd and 4th beats instead of the 1st and 3rd. This gives the song a bit of a bouncy feel. And syncopation is all over nü metal. Check out Linkin Park’s “Crawling” and Static-X’s “I Want to Break It” in the linked playlist to really hear this at work.

Let’s talk song structure: nü metal typically borrows a really basic song structure that comes straight out of pop that is known as AABABCBB. If you break a typical pop song down into different parts and assign those parts a letter, you get this formula. Essentially “A” are the verses, “B” the chorus, and “C” the bridge or breakdown. Many pop songs will set their songs up to have do an extra long first verse, a quick and catchy chorus, a shorter second verse, a quick and catchy chorus, a bridge, and then back to the chorus (sometime played twice) to close out the song. It’s an easy formula that makes songs pretty memorable. Especially if you have a catchy chorus.

Let’s take Korn’s “Freak on a Leash” as an example. We have the intro riff which rolls right into the first verse (8 lines). After a short prechorus (“sometimes...”), it rolls into the chorus (something takes a part of me), right into a short second verse (4 lines), prechorus, chorus, a two-part bridge with Jonathan Davis scatting, followed by a variation on a double long chorus to close out the song. Formulaically, the song goes: AAABCABCDECF, which is really, really close to the pop song formula.

Most other nü metal acts tend to follow the same basic song pattern with some variations. Mudvayne’s “Determined” front loads the chorus at the very beginning of the song. So does Slipknot’s “Wait and Bleed”. But they all tend to at least superficially follow the same pattern that artists from The Beatles to Ariana Grande have utilized for decades.

Next are the lyrics. Nü metal borrows it’s angst directly from grunge. Lyrically, the genre is very inwardly focused, often touching on depression, anxiety, post traumatic stress, and in the moment emotions. Now this is certainly not unique to nü metal compared to other genres of metal, but let’s be honest: nü metal takes it to a whole different level of superficiality. While there are countless songs about being angry, Linkin Park will often dive into the underlying emotions driving that anger. It’s an extremely self-reflective genre that was perfect for the postmodernist late-90’s.

Finally, nü metal is vocal centric and riff and beat driven. We already talked beats so let’s leave that aside. As for riffs, the songs are constructed usually around 1 distinctive riff. While a lot of metal will try to use multiple riffs in a song (ahem, Between the Buried and Me). Nü metal keeps it simple, using 1 riff and several variations to drive the music. We’ll use Sevendust’s “Praise” as the example here. We’re hit with the main riff right at the very beginning of the song. From there we hear constant variations pop up throughout the rest of the tune. It’s under the verses. It is the riff the makes up first prechorus. A third variation is under the second prechorus. Over and over: variations on a theme. I should say that Sevendust are really good at squeezing everything they can out of riff to pull off a catchy song. But it underscores the point, the songs are constructed around 1 catchy riff.

As for the vocals: they’re front and center. In Death metal, the vocals often compliment the instrumentation. The growled vocals mimic the distortion of the guitars. In nü metal, the vocals are brought up in the mix. You hear every word.

All these thing combine to make nü metal. Compared to other parts of metal one thing is really, really clear: nü metal borrows a TON from pop, grunge, and hip hop. In fact, it borrows the best parts of all 3. It is a genre that is distinctly ripe for commercialization. And woooo boy was it commercialized. Which, let’s be honest, is probably why most metalheads hate it: it pays lip service to “heaviness” while throwing in with pop sensibilities. It feels artificial and at times frankly juvenile. And sometimes, the bands themselves are just awful and untalented: looking at you again, Crazy Town.

But! Nü metal has a legacy, and it’s not all bad. There are still acts that are selling out arenas and inspiring the next generation of musicians. Slipknot is probably THE gateway band for heavy music today, and their music still sells. Their 2014 release, “.5: The Gray Chapter” was rock solid. System of a Down are in limbo pending the return of Serj Tankian, but let’s be honest, they are one of the most beloved and respected bands in heavy music in the world, even though they haven’t released a record in 13 years. Linkin Park we’re past their heyday when Chester Bennington sadly took his own life, but they were still actively writing new music and regularly touring (and say what you want about LP, they put on a great live show). Finally, most metalheads like to forget Machine Head’s foray into nü metal, but no one can argue their importance to metal today, especially following 2007’s “The Blackening”.

We like to think of all these bands as somehow being separated from the utter nonsense of other nü metal acts—a friend used the term nü metal-adjacent. But they built their fan bases from among the angsty kids of the late 90’s early 00’s. They drove record sales in the days before Napster and file sharing. They kept MTV musically-relevant for years longer than it probably otherwise would have been. And they introduced a new generation to heavy music. I’ll put it out here: I listened to Korn and Slipknot well before I listened to In Flames, let alone any black metal. I’ve covered System of Down songs in my own bands and I still jam out to Static-X.

Nü metal is a lot of things to a lot of different people. It’s divisive, juvenile, self-absorbed, and often superficial in its song writing and lyrics. It reeks of consumerism. But it also birthed some of the most influential artists in heavy music and left an important mark on the history of metal. Maybe we can redirect the hate that we would normally throw at the genre as a whole back to where it belongs: at Fred Durst.

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