impossiblescissorspeachpaper · 11 months ago
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The Heart of a Wanderer VII
Clifftop
Previous chapter can be read here
If you need a complete refresher or would like to jump into this story, the masterlist can be found here
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4.4k words. Very light sexual themes.
Azriel had flown them back to the edge of Persepolis in silence before winnowing them the rest of the way home. His face had remained a stoic, stony thing. Hard hazel eyes scouting their path meticulously but always carefully remaining averted from her. 
She thought she felt his gaze burning the side of her face a few times, sensed his chest constricting as if he were about to say something, but then he’d stop himself. If he was going to apologise for his outburst then she would accept, but she wasn’t going to beg for it. Nor make it easy for him. He’d acted like an ass, and she was sick of letting people get away with it. The entire way home was such a stark contrast to their flight in.
They had stayed only one night in Helion’s palace, needing the time to rehash her vision with the High Lord and then devise a plan to assist in anything they may need to avoid allowing Beron to be successful in the matter of the looming Spring Court invasion.
Helion, graciously, had agreed to provide aide, in whichever way he could. And she and Azriel had played their parts well. They had agreed the citizens of Spring couldn’t be left to defend for themselves against the might of the Autumn armies, and that their safety would be of utmost importance, along with stopping Beron from successfully taking over the fraught territory. Impeding Beron’s triumph in turn seemed imperative in protecting the humans who inhabited the land just below Springs’ borders, too.
After all matters of importance had been decided upon and planned for, Helion had invited them to drink and dine with him in his private parlour that night. Elain accepted graciously, but Azriel had politely declined, claiming he had reports to complete that had become pressing. 
She tasted the lie in the air, knowing the Shadowsinger was avoiding her, as he had been since their argument in his room. She had been deflated that they had found themselves back in this awkward territory after seemingly coming so close to being friends again. But she decided not to wallow, not to let his broodiness seep into her own attitude. If she had just one night here, out from under the watchful eyes of all of those from the Night Court, then she would damn well enjoy it.
She had changed into a more comfortable but no less stunning dress for the evening. A flowing gown that still resembled the Day Court fashion, but less stuffy and embellished, the colour a deep jade. Its bodice still hugged her torso and the skirts billowed around her slender legs, but the added gold embellishments were stripped, leaving her more relaxed to eat and lounge with the High Lord’s company for the night.
There were perhaps two dozen High Fae gathered in Helion’s private parlour when she joined them that evening, the room dimly lit with flickering glass lanterns strewn across the marble floors. Males and females alike dressed in gowns and robes in a kaleidoscope of deep jewelled tones were lounging on puffy, cloud like cream-coloured cushions, or draped across low-lying, deep-seated settees. 
Some attendees were already entangled in varying degrees of lust and desire, whilst others merely enjoyed the view and ambiance or discussion around them. Swathes of fine gold organza draped and folded from the low ceiling, giving one the sense that they were nestled within a giant ornate nest, the delicate fabric muffling the sounds of neighbouring conversations and impassioned touching alike. 
Crystal decanters of ruby, sapphire and emerald held various wines and liquors. Females in billowing magenta pants and exposed bellies floated around the room offering trays of plump dates, rosewater and orange-blossom flavoured jellies, and a sweet flaky pastry treat called baklava. Brass platters of fresh figs, soft cheeses and olives were spread across the scattered tables around the room. 
It was all so decadent and lush. And although Elain usually shied away from such scenes of debauchery, she found herself once again drawn into the thrall of the Day Court customs. Emboldened by the absence of anyone who reallyknew her. 
Here she could be anyone, here she could enjoy something she would normally not care to want, if even just for just a little while. It wasn’t something she longed for often, not at all. But on the occasion, it felt like a refreshing change. Like she could slip on a different mask and play make believe for just one night.
She had spent that evening in Leto’s company, her sandals kicked off and strewn about on the floor before her and her legs tucked beneath her on a soft, cream loveseat. They had not spoken or seen each other since the last time she had been in Day, which had been months ago, and she had forgotten how easy he was to talk to. She had forgotten how charming his smile was, how his rich olive skin seemed to glow from within, how his pale green eyes peered so intently at her as she spoke. But despite all of this, of how truly lovely this male was, she found her thoughts wandering up to the room beside hers. The room that she knew was currently occupied with the brooding shadowsinger. 
After his outburst, she figured Azriel must have been jealous of Leto. That he had sensed something between them and surmised some sort of scenario for himself. Never mind that all that had happened between them was a few kisses and heavy petting when she had last spent time here. Having indulged in a few glasses of Day Court wine had left Elain feeling lightheaded and a touch rambunctious. 
Sure, they were very hot and heavy kisses that still made her blush when she remembered them; how she had brazenly straddled his lap, how his hands had grazed across her burning skin, how his tongue had traced wicked paths up her throat and along her collar bones. She had explained to Leto that she was just looking for some light-hearted fun, nothing serious. He had merely replied that she was a beautiful young female, and she was entitled to do as she pleased. That there was no judgement in the Day Court. 
She wasn’t sure if he knew the status of her mateship. Not that it meant anything to her. But she didn’t bring it up and graciously, neither did he. 
During that first visit, they had indulged in a night of laughing and drinking and passionate foreplay, Elain draped over Leto’s lap as he ravished her lips, chest and neck. She’d never done such a thing, her human sensibilities always holding her back- but she found the more time she spent with the fae, the less she cared about trivial things such as decorum and propriety. She was free to do as she pleased, and she’d be damned if she was going to let a couple of stubborn males dictate what or who she should be doing. She belonged to no one.
So, she had enjoyed herself this visit too, although she had refrained from partaking in anything physical with Leto this time. He didn’t push her and seemed genuinely happy to just enjoy her company, talking with her into the early hours of the morning. When people started dispersing; either retiring to their quarters alone, or to finish what had been started with one or several partners, they too turned in for the night.
Leto had walked her to her door and left her with a sweet kiss on the back of her hand, wishing her a restful sleep. 
Entering her room that night, Elain hadn’t heard a single sound coming from the occupant next door. And yet a restful sleep was far from reach.
~
Elain sat on a plush leather couch in the main library of the river manor, a small fire crackling before her as the weather had finally started to turn colder. The looming clouds outside had been foreboding enough to have her forgo any of her gardening duties today, instead opting to hunt down any books about Seers, controlling one’s powers, and how to strengthen one’s mind to the onslaught of various magics.
The books she had collected were currently sat in a stack beside her on a small brass pedestal, a heavy tome open in her lap, but the words before her swayed in and out of focus. Her mind was unable to fixate on the topic before her, ironically. The broody Spymaster incessantly floating into her mind instead.
It had been almost a week since they had returned from Day, and beyond their initial meeting with Rhys upon their immediate return to Velaris, Elain had not heard a peep from Azriel. She wasn’t even sure if he had been staying at the river manor, let alone if he was anywhere in the entirety of the Night Court. 
It seemed every time there had been some sort of conflict between them, they would choose to run away. Her to the far reaches of Prythian, Azriel to the Mother knows where. She hated it. And she was sick of having to tiptoe around males. It was bad enough when Lucien imposed his presence upon her during his seldom visits to Velaris, but the thought of needing to avoid Azriel too? She could no longer stand the thought.
Snapping the book shut with a loud thud, Elain stood, flinging the leather-bound pages behind her on the cushion she had previously sat in. A small groan of frustration left her lips as she paced, back and forth, her feet wearing a path across the plush rug along the face of the fireplace.
Elain was fed up, aggravated of this cat and mouse game, the unpredictability of this situation between herself and Azriel. They couldn’t continue avoiding each other forever, and further to that she had the nagging suspicion that there was something he wasn’t being completely honest with her about. She was tired of the restless nights and simply of not knowing. Of not knowing where he was, when he would return, if he was safe, how he felt, how she felt. It was growing tiresome and once again she decided that she couldn’t wait.
She couldn’t wait until an appropriate time to corner him, to speak with him. She couldn’t wait for him to come strolling through the door in his worn leathers, his face weary. She wouldn’t.
And so, she once again closed her eyes. Delving further and further into that mysterious well of power that rumbled deep within, she allowed the pull of the void to lead her along the path to Azriel as she winnowed.
~
Before Elain had even opened her eyes, she felt the cold, harsh wind whipping against her skirts, tangling in her long hair. She hadn’t thought to don a cloak in her urgency to go, and truth be told, the bite of the icy air only bolstered her resolve.
Cracking her eyes open to reveal the scene she had winnowed to, she learnt why the wind was so arctic here, why it so ferociously whipped about her. 
Standing near the edge of a rocky cliffside, she peered around her, spotting Azriel about twenty paces ahead. His back was turned to her, his mighty wings a strong dark force against the strong gale. He stood deathly still, the only movement was his raven hair that whipped wildly about his face, and a few lone shadows that swirled about his feet, caressed his neck.
Elain couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized by him, the mighty warrior on the edge of the jagged cliff. His strong thighs planting him securely to the ground beneath his feet, the two siphons upon those brutally scarred hands the only source of brightness in the otherwise moody scene before her. 
A shadow coiled about his ear before disappearing, and Azriel turned, a look of mild surprise lining his face as he beheld Elain standing in the knee length grassy meadow at his back. Before he could turn around completely, Elain’s feet moved. She was grateful she hadn’t winnowed to directly on top of him this time, but she didn’t let the insecurity of that dredged up memory show as she closed the distance between them.
His deep voice floated over to her on the back of a strong gust of wind. “How did you find me?”
Once she was within a few paces of him, she halted, standing before him with her shoulders thrown back. Elain chose to ignore his question. She wasn’t sure how she had found him anyway. It was as if some part of her knew where she could find Azriel, where she could always find Azriel. But she wasn’t going to admit that. She’d never admit the pull she felt toward him, the bright, invisible thread that seemed to bind them.
“I winnowed,” she responded instead. A vague enough answer that perhaps alerted him to her hedging but provided enough information to the Spymaster that confirmed they remained alone. That no one had brought her here. That they could speak freely.
“Is everything ok?” he responded. She spied a few shadows darting away, no doubt off to gather information about any happenings he should be aware of, any danger.
“Everyone is fine. I just wanted to speak with you.”
His face gave nothing away, even as his eyes bore into hers unwaveringly, seemingly trying to read her expression in return. “What about?”
Elain scoffed at the question somewhat unkindly, his seemingly feigned naivety grating on her patience. “What about?You have been avoiding me since the day we arrived in Persepolis. Barely three words have been uttered. You cannot be that obtuse, Azriel.”
His eyebrows bunched together as a dimple appeared in the tan skin of his smooth cheek. She couldn’t tell if he was annoyed with her last remark or trying to hide his surprise.
“I haven’t been avoiding you,” he murmured adamantly, clasping his hands behind his back, a muscle in his neck twitching.
“Oh yes you have, you haven’t been home in over a week, nor present at a single meal,” she bit back, her muscles now tensed against the ice cold winds.
“I’ve been busy with the looming conflict in Spring. I…I’ve been coming home late and leaving before you rise.”
“So, you’ve been avoiding me.”
“As I said, I’ve been busy,” he bit out, not conceding to her inferences.
“Well, we’re here now, and I’ve had enough,” her temper was rising at his petulance.
“Enough of what?”
Enough of what? Elain heard her own heartbeat pounding wildly in her ears, her temper flaring with every passing word Azriel uttered. She exploded, her voice coming out louder than before, her arms splayed out wide. “Of running! Of you running, of me running. I’ve had enough!”
“I haven’t been running—"
“Oh, come off it, Azriel!” she shouted, cutting him off from telling more lies.
“What do you want me to say?” He too was growing exasperated now. Good. She’d had enough of his stoic composure. She’s gladly see him unravel if it meant he was honest.
“The truth! Tell me the truth! I know there is something you are not being honest about.”
Azriel’s jaw clenched, the only sign that she had said something with some certainty behind it. Even still, he seemed reluctant to speak his mind.
“Is it really that bad? The thought of kissing me?” She had uttered the words so softly; she couldn’t swallow them before they had come tumbling out.
His face cracked, his shoulders softening slightly, his hands flinching at his sides as if they ached to reach for her. It was clear he hadn’t expected such candor from her, nor had she expected to let that admission free from her private thoughts.
His voice came out as a croak, his eyes peering down upon her beseechingly. “No. it’s not that. Elain…”
His words drifted off, fading into nothing, but his chest was rising and falling rapidly, the scars on his hands stretched over his clenched fists. His eyes darted across her face, his expression giving nothing away, and yet something charged went taught between them. That mysterious thread once again pulling.
“Azriel…”
She started the sentence but truly wasn’t mindful of how she’d finish it. But no sooner had his name slipped from between her lips he was stalking toward her. His long legs ate up the space between them in just a few paces and in the next moment he had reached out with those beautiful hands and buried them into her hair. 
Before she could register his intentions, he had swooped down and captured her lips with his. Azriel kissed her so desperately, so passionately, that the air had been knocked from her lungs. He had utterly caught her by surprise and she couldn’t react, her body wilting in his arms. Melting hopelessly into his embrace.
Her arms hung limply at her sides as he pulled away slightly, his face still so close to hers, lips swollen from their kiss, his bright hazel eyes churning as they searched her face. In vain he searched for an answer, for a sign that what he had done was ok, that she too, had wanted this.
Before he could pull away, she had grabbed the front of his leathers, tugging him down toward her and this time Elain kissed him with back the same amount of gusto. The same amount of aching need leaching from every swipe of her tongue, every bite of her lips, every sweep of her hands dragging along his neck, asking a question she desperately longed to find the answer to. 
He answered, leaving no query as to what his intentions were.
His kiss consumed her, like flames licking languidly at her very soul, slowly devouring her until there was nothing left. Elain threw herself into the kiss, allowing her hands to wander down his hard chest, around his shoulders, the nape of his neck. He groaned in response, a bestial thing born from his gut, his very essence singing in answer to hers.
Her slight hands inched beneath the collar of his leathers, and he shivered as the pads of her fingers caressed along his hot skin. She was burning and burning and burning in his arms. So many months of longing, so many moments of visceral need, so many feelings pulling at her from every direction.
And yet… she still did not know. She didn’t know what this all meant, why he had pulled away all those months ago, why he chose now to act on his feelings. Did he in fact feel anything for her? Or was this merely a physical need? Did he care for her at all? He had, once again, ran away from a problem.
Before the fire burning low in her belly could completely douse the dwindling clarity in her mind, she tore her lips away from his. As painful as it was to do so, they couldn’t leave this conversation lingering once more.
“Azriel… Az— wait,” she gasped as he latched his lips onto the side of her neck, his tongue laving at the skin there, pulling and swirling across the length of her throat as if he couldn’t stop himself from tasting her. A groan escaped his throat as he continued sucking at her and she couldn’t help the flutter of her eyes at the deep sound, the vibrations against her neck shooting straight through her centre.
“Azriel,” she moaned at a particularly delicious swipe of his tongue against her burning skin, “stop—” she mewled weakly.
No sooner had that final word fallen from her mouth, Azriel had flung himself off her. Snatching his hands away from her body and dragging them roughly through his hair he panted, remorse etched painfully on his face.
“Elain, I— I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me,” he spluttered as he continued to back away from her as if she had bitten venom into his veins. Self-hatred lined his face, truly believing he had done something wrong, something she did not wish.
“Azriel, no- that’s not what I meant. Its ok, I wanted this. Just, stop retreating. Stop running away. I only mean— if you cannot speak openly with me, then you have no right to my body, either.”
He turned pleading eyes toward her, his face stricken, still believing he had done something wicked, had forced himself on her. Seducing her into something that she didn’t wish.
She knew no words would be able to lift him out of the spiral he was currently plunging into so instead she showed him. Showed him that she trusted him, that she longed for his touch, that she wished for it day and night. But before she could completely succumb to those desires, she needed an explanation. She needed an understanding of where they stood, what she meant to him, why he had left her so abruptly that Solstice. 
Stalking up to him and grasping his hands in hers, she looked up into his face, hoping to portray nothing but sincerity, trust, comfort in his near presence.
“Azriel, please. Just tell me. Tell me what it is. What it all means. Why you’re jealous of Leto, why you avoided me for all those months, why you called me a mistake…”
A chocking sound escaped his throat. He looked stricken, his shoulders sagging with the weight of a secret she knew not. His eyes had closed but as he opened them his hazel irises burned brighter than she had ever seen them, appearing almost golden in the light of the setting sun.
“You are not a mistake Elain. You have no idea how abhorrently those words haunt me. How my actions haunt me, just. Please. Please try to understand.”
“Understand what? Azriel, stop evading speaking your truth! Please, just say… something.”
“I can’t—” a rasping sound clawed its way to his lips, as if the words were chocking him.
“Elain, I’m sorry. You deserve better.” 
Pulling his hands from hers he inched backwards once more, edging closer and closer to that cliff.
“Azriel! Stop running!” she cried, her mouth twisting in pain despite her attempts at willing it not to.
His hazel eyes guttered at the sight; the same devastation she felt reflected on his handsome face.
As if his legs moved on their own accord, he stalked back to her, reaching for her like a man finding nirvana. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, tilting her face up to his, her doe eyes wide as she peered back at him. He held her tenderly as if he had possession of the most precious thing in the world in the palm of his hands. His thumb traced her jaw and he looked down upon her as if he wished for nothing more than to simply exist in her embrace. “I’m not running, Elain. But please, let me…let me fix something first. I’ll see you at home. I promise.”
With those words, he pressed his lips to her forehead for one long, pointed moment before he retreated again and stepped off the edge of the cliff. Elain gasped, forgetting herself before his wings shot out from behind him, catching a current and carrying him away.
Elain lifted her fingers to her lips, feeling they were indeed swollen from his passionate kisses. That this all just wasn’t a dream, a vision cruelly planted in her mind to torment her further.
She stood on that blustery cliff edge watching him fly away until he was but a dark speck upon the horizon in the far distance, high above the lights of Velaris, just winking to life as the sun set upon the city she called home.
~
Hours later Elain was being woken up by an urgent hand shaking her shoulder. She hadn’t realised she had fallen asleep, spending hours tossing and turning in her bed back at the manor. She had awaited Azriel’s return, straining her ears to hear any movement from his room down the hall, but such a thing never occurred. Her younger sisters’ tattooed fingers dug into her shoulder as her eyes adjusted to the first rays of morning light.
“Elain. Elain. Wake up. Beron has made his move. His armies march south.”
Elain bolted up in bed, the words clanging in her brain like a clapper pounding against the inside of its bell.
Elain scrambled within her bed sheets, fighting to free herself from the tangle of quilts and furs.
“I’ll get dressed immediately; I just need a minute,” she babbled, her voice thick from sleep.
“No Elain, wait. I need you to stay with Nyx, protect him,” Feyre instructed, the voice of the High Lady making its request. “Rhys and Az have already gone ahead. Cassian is gathering the Illyrian troops. Nesta and I are leaving shortly to meet them, and Mor is on her way too. Amren will stay behind with you to protect the city.”
Elain wanted to argue, wanted to insist she go with them. Help them in any way she could. But she knew why her sister asked her of this. She wasn’t a warrior. Was not trained in combat. Although no one could settle and care for Nyx outside of his parents like she could, something still twinged in her heart about being separated from them all during this time. But she knew this is where she was most useful.
Elain nodded her head just once, her sister seeming to sag in relief that Elain hadn’t put up more of a fight.
“Thank you,” Feyre breathed, “Send word with the twins if something comes up.”
“We’ll be fine, I promise,” Elain vowed. Feyre saw it for what it was; that Elain would protect Nyx with her life. Today and always.
Feyre squeezed her shoulder before turning away, her long braid swinging down her back against the leathers she had already donned. Time and time again her family had gone into battle, had been flung into conflict and danger and terrors beyond her wildest dreams. Elain couldn’t help but wonder when their luck would finally run out.
“Feyre?” Elain called from her bed, the urgency evident in her voice. 
Feyre turned; her blue grey eyes bright with concern. “Yes?”
“Please make sure you come home. All of you.”
Feyre nodded solemnly before she turned back, and Elain could do nothing but watch her sister retreating from her room for what she desperately hoped wasn’t the last time.
*******
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determinate-negation · 5 months ago
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Why do we need a precise start date to "modernity"? Maybe analyzing history through that lens is an error? Maybe concept "modernity" itself is an error? I'm not trying to argue this is genuine question I have. I spend a lot of time on the 1500s and colonialism and industrialization too.
ya ya the idea what constitutes of the modern is fraught yet somehow we still need general temporal historical concepts to organize periods of history in order to study it. sorry i find this question kind of stupid. the forms of social organization and types of subjectivity one could possibly have in pre modern vs modern times are vastly different and the historical processes that led to these changes are important to identify, its unmarxist to do otherwise
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kafkaoftherubble · 8 months ago
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185.2章:放下?还是压抑?可贺,抑或可悲?
// Chapter 185.2: Detachment v. Repression
This ramble concerns To Your Eternity manga Chapter 185.2. It is edited from a conversation between (yea you guessed it) @bestbonnist and me after the chapter dropped before I had to hastily run off because sorry gotta see shits with my Besto Furrendo! Lisan al-Ghaib! Lisan al-Ghaib!!!
Although this chapter is devoid of hype moments—unlike C184.1 where plenty of us were sent into a frenzy— and good old macabre, this is genuinely one of my favorite chapters to date.
Because it became a really nice philosophical discussion between friends. Sounds a tad cheesy when I say it like that...
(1) Two Different Perspectives on Fushi's Latest State of Mind
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Ray expressed dismay that Fushi's coping mechanism seems to gave become even more terrible because they are essentially repressing their emotions. They are telling themself not to feel anything and to be detached. In the Wish Era, Fushi seemed to have become more resigned to their fate, which became starkly apparent when contrasted by the Doll and Andy's loud, outward desire to see Abel live.
That dismal observation actually stunned me—because I happened to see this development in a positive light. What better state of mind should Fushi aspire to attain apropos to their immortality... if not a state of non-attachment? After all, if they don't learn to be so, then the sheer impermanence of life will torment them forever. To me, non-attachment—or in a more English-natural manner of speaking, detachment—is a goal worthy of pursuing, even if it is often fraught with erratic instances such as mistaking "repressing one's emotions" as similar to "being genuinely unperturbed."
----
(2) The Benefits of Attachment
In this story's universe, attachment keeps a person's faie (their soul) around.
Hence, to Ray, Fushi's loss of attachment implies their death (which I agree is a reasonable projection for the end of this story). When they no longer have anything to do—no goal—then it is time for them to move on.
But more than that, there's this other thing Ray is worried about. The manga asked whether Fushi is human, especially in its earlier exploration. Whether they think they are human. Therefore, it's hard to see Fushi's detachment as anything other than dehumanizing themself ("I'm not human so I don't deserve to be attached/feel bad when people I care about die.") It's one step to Fushi's progression into becoming a deity at the expense of their humanity.
This prospect is upsetting because they wanna see Fushi leave as a human being, as someone who dies after living a satisfying life like Yuuki did.
Ray also argued that there's a difference between acceptance and detachment. "Acceptance is acknowledging that something is out of your control and acknowledging that the way you feel about that." To them, Fushi seemed to have acknowledged that something was out of their control, but they hadn't yet acknowledged their feelings toward it.
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Then, they conceded that while Fushi was frank about being pained by people leaving, ultimately, the dude seemed deadset on trying to ignore that pain altogether. "Fushi isn't good at being 'above' feeling things!"
I agree with this. Of course, they aren't! One of Fushi's powers is supernatural empathy. They can't ignore the sensation of pain or (occasionally) love in their vicinity even if they try. Feeling shit is what they do, willingly or not. And from an emotional connection like that, one easily forms attachments.
---
(3) The Common Error: Mistaking Detachment with Apathy
Strangely, at that point in our conversation, it became clear that Ray thought Fushi should not be detached because it stops them from accepting death—while I think Fushi should learn to be detached because it helps them to accept death. Same destination, but different ways of assessing detachment as a path.
Now, of course, when I use the term "detachment" or "non-attachment" (preferred), I'm once again drawing it from a Buddhist philosophical perspective. Because dude, it's me, 睿得失。You fucking signed up for this the moment you talk to me, bwaahhahahahaha!
Even Buddhists, born and raised, often make the mistake of conflating "equanimity," which non-attachment encourages, with "apathy."
One of the four sublime qualities (brahmavihārā), equanimity (upekkhā) is the state of being unwavering and unperturbed even in the face of loss and gain [1], good-repute and ill-repute, praise and censure, and sorrow and happiness. Its far enemies—as in, its direct contrasting vices—are greed and resentment. But its near enemy—the quality mendaciously close to equanimity—is apathy.
[1] Just a little aside: this is why I joked that Fushi should take up my self-given Chinese name in our conversation. 睿得失 means "being wise (about one's) gain and loss." The hope of attaining some semblance of upekkha is built into the name already.
Plenty of people think being detached means being uncaring and indifferent, and that it has some elements of dehumanization to it—be it to other people or to yourself. But it's not. Being detached is to keep a balance between concern and coercion. It's expressing compassion while being mindful not to conflate your genuine care with your desire to will things and people to bend to the state or situation you wanted.
Fushi and us mortals could easily realize one fact about life: it is truly impermanent. The desire to impose our will on the universe—as if there is some supernatural feature to our will that can influence things to happen—is a source of agitation. Life doesn't bend to our will; it indifferently stays impermanent even when we demand it to be permanent in some sort of personal bliss.
In Buddhist thought, it's our actions and intentions that impart changes. Our will (and our demanding desires) don't. We'll revisit this in our 5th Chapter later.
In other words! Contrary to Ray's interpretation, I see being detached not as imposing a limit on your compassion but liberating it from constraints. Now that you're detached, your mode of compassion is centered around the situation and people as they are, not as you hope them to be. True compassion asks for nothing in return—not because you suppress your demands, but because you genuinely have none to begin with.
----
(4) Fushi's Laudable Baby Steps
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What really made me think that Fushi had grown here was their insistence that whether Abel lives or dies is "his decision to make."
Not Fushi's, despite their god-like powers. Not Doll or Andy, despite their love and attachment to Abel. It's Abel's choice. All Fushi can do is to accept whatever the man says—and that acceptance is only possible if they begin practicing detachment. After all, attachment results in the reactions Doll and Andy expressed.
To me, Fushi is taking a step in the right direction already. This is the kind of wisdom I think an immortal, most of all, should gradually pick up (I also think mortals like us should, too, but that's beside the point).
Here is where I think Ray's criticisms warrant merits in my interpretation: Actually practicing detachment/non-attachment is hard as fuck. I wouldn't deny that though it doesn't make you an apathetic non-human, you're not gonna be very normal-humanlike if you manage to be equanimous either. While learning to be detached, one often takes up a lot of problematic tactics and mistakes it to be detachment.
One such misguided tactic? Suppression of emotions. You force yourself to pretend you're not feeling anything instead of facing them and realizing their falsity while believing you're being detached. So Ray's concerns are completely warranted, because I don't believe Fushi has consummated their learning either. They wouldn't have lied about the massacre if they were really that detached.
Repressing your emotion, as a tactic, is wrong, but it is the hallmark of someone who's trying to get there, especially when you compound it with the philosophy Fushi was articulating. They care. But they are also being clear-eyed about the limits of their demand.
I don't think they seem resigned here. I think they are being wise. Baby steps, and their method is imperfect, but good nonetheless.
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(5) Yuuki the GOAT and His Biggest W Yet
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Fushi grappled with wanting to impose their will to make others live as long as they in the Modern Arc, right? That's one of their biggest and most constant sources of dukkha (dissatisfaction/suffering). But Yuuki's satisfying death and life... actually steered him in the right direction!
Fushi didn't come to earn detachment because of some horrible, tragic death turning them jaded and cynical. They learned because Yuuki's life and death were that fucking good.
Learning philosophy from pain is all well and good. It is usually how people learn it (few would give a fuck about existentialism or Buddhist philosophy or stoicism or what-have-you if they weren't in a personal crisis). But learning philosophy from joy is a whole other thing. Whatever you learned from that instance has no hint of jadedness and cynicism to corrupt your thinking; it's like making a decision when you're at the most optimal state.
This is Yuuki's victory. He influenced and taught Fushi without giving him pain or trauma to live by. He was not some main character of a tragedy despite outwardly looking like a bumbling normie.
Think about it: none of the Immortals who were attached to Fushi, until now, had been capable of influencing and teaching them without accidentally leaving some grief, pain, and trauma!
Why does Fushi take on Yuuki's form so much lately—if not because Yuuki is the only one who managed to teach them without the use of pain or trauma or anything like that?
And as Ray pointed out, Yuuki was the form embodying "Peace." Even his death was offscreen and peaceful. On a bed, unpoisoned and unhurt. Fushi remembers him constantly because he makes them feel at ease.
"It's our actions and intentions that impart changes," that was what I mentioned in Chapter 3 of this long-ass ramble. Here it is exemplified. People inherit the fruits of other people's actions (and you yourself are one of those who will inherit your own actions, too). And well? These are the fruits of Yuuki's actions that Fushi continues to reap even now.
That's how complete Yuuki's W is. He managed to leave just the kind of food for thought for an Immortal that eventually set them up to grasp the kind of wisdom they lacked. Who says the Modern Arc has no lessons?
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(6) Conclusion, or The Abrupt Ending of a Conversation
As you can tell, I really don't think Fushi's latest development is bad. Bittersweet and a bit of a mixed bag, sure, but I ultimately think it's commendable rather than worrisome. Of course, my ass interpreting things through a Buddhist lens has a lot to do with it, but brutha, this is exactly my niche! You should have seen me talk about non-self vis-a-vis Fushi in a YouTube comment section!
Ray did leave this paragraph that had eluded me because, again, the Muaa'dib was calling me and I really gotta go:
"I have a potential counter-argument for you, which is about how Fushi's ideal person to follow is kind of a mix of Yuuki (as you explained) and Kahaku (bag of mess and you haven't read that part of the present era anyways), which is putting the concept of detachment together with a really selfish kind of selflessness (as we talked about). But I'm not clear on whether that's still there after their fight with the left hand. I feel like it's lingering a little but I haven't seen much evidence for it in the wish era."
Now, I don't really know what that whole bit was like because I didn't actually read all of the Modern Arc—just the latter half. But again, "detachment" and "self-lessness" are complementary and forward-feeding to one another in Buddhist Philosophy, so on this concept alone, I don't see a clash.
I should probably clarify what Ray's "selfish kind of selflessness" meant here, but... I'm kinda tired now. And I've briefly touched on this in my essay about... Gojo Satoru, goddamn it.
Or maybe Ray should explain it themself! I distinctly remember someone owing me like, 3 essays or something. I'm such a kindhearted person I'm willing to give them a discount and accept just one essay for this week, though. Don't squander it, you!
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Thank you for reading my ramble.
----
Did you enjoy this? If yes, wouldn't it be really fucking cool if you get to read essays and commentaries like these, alongside fanfic and fanart and other interesting bits, in one place?!
BECAUSE! We are thinking of starting a To Your Eternity zine! It's merely in its Interest Check phase, but you gotta fill this form up so we can see just how many people in our modest little fandom want this! Be a supporter or a contributor, it don't matter at this stage! Support is the currency here!
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penguinmerchant · 2 years ago
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Death and the Prince
My next binding! This one is based off of @arahir​‘s lovely work, Death and the Prince. All of arahir’s stuff is great, but I chose to do this one because my (graphic designer) boyfriend offered to make the cover for me. And boy is it a cool cover.
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Once I saw how ridiculous it was I also let him know he was going to be weeding it as well, which was a (predictably) terrible experience for everyone involved. He also designed some of the interior chapter headers, which turned out pretty neat. There’s a different one for each character.
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(the text isn’t printed blurry, it just looks like it on my camera for whatever reason)
And here are the beautiful endpapers. I love buying golden marbledy papers, can you tell?
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More info about the binding process under the cut.
This binding was a little more fraught with errors than my previous one (terrible weeding job of the fiddly cover aside) as I accidentally forgot to trim the covers before putting the cloth on. Which I’m pretty sure I only did because I messed up the spine and it came out super wonky, large on one side and small on the other, and I had to rip all that out and do it again and I got stressed out by the whole thing. Whoops.
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I’m so sorry, beautiful duo cloth. At least I was forced to buy a crap ton of you due to Talas’ insane shipping (I had to make the shipping costs worth it!) so I still have a bunch left over. Maybe I’ll try and make a text block that will fit in there. The dimensions are almost 5x7, which is a respectable size for a book, it just doesn’t fit as well in my hand as much as the 4.5 x 6.75 one does. Ah, who am I kidding, they’re almost the same. I’ll make it work.
Anyway, this was a pretty easy bind except for the above nonsense, only 4 signatures which got sewn up pretty quickly. I used the 7mm gutter space again because I wanted the spine to be prevalent since it would have text on it, and I think it turned out looking great for such a small book. Bookcloth is duo (again, I love you duo) in grape, which is a lovely red/purple color that shifts in the light. End papers are marbled jute from Mulberry Papers. Cover is HTV and Cricut and was such a dumb idea for such a fiddly little design. I might try printing on cloth next time and using the toner reactive foil because this was just the hugest pain. But even with all the little problems it had it ended up looking great.
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Look at it on my shelf there! So cute! (Also check out my first printing hardback copy of Goblin Emperor, that was the find of a century at $7.99, also that paper cut version of Emma on the end, also very cheap, I love you Half Price Books and your dumb pricing system)
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Arahir if you see this thank you so much for all your great writing! Everything you write is incredible, there will probably be more bindings of yours in the future because I love everything you do. If anyone has any questions about the binding process please let me know! I’m still very new at binding and trying to get better so any criticism or help is welcome.
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zayneandmelinoeareravenous · 5 months ago
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Chapter Two: The Good Doctor's Shadow
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||LEGEND|| Bold Text: Zayne (Character Bot) || Made by xchylar Italic Text: Melinoë and Other Characters (Me)
This hasn’t been checked for spelling/grammer/errors, etc - Read at your own risk!
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The chill of the evening seemed to recoil as adrenaline surged through Zayne's veins. In the wake of the harrowing encounter with Rue, he found himself obeying the authoritative command of Melinoë without question. His heart raced, not from the brush with death but from the sudden, inexplicable intervention.
With the grace of his practiced composure and the precision of his clinical mind, Zayne didn't allow the shock to paralyze him. Instead, he assessed his physical state quickly—no injuries, just a heightening awareness of his surroundings and the strange woman who had just likely saved his life.
"Understood," Zayne replied tersely, voice betraying none of the disarray that fluttered beneath his stoic exterior. He didn't need to be told twice. There was a clear urgency in Melinoë's tone that brooked no argument.
His long strides carried him swiftly out of the building, the sharp click of his heels against the polished floor echoing in the empty corridor. As he exited into the crisp night air, the questions began to proliferate in his mind. Who exactly was Melinoë? And how had she managed to dispatch Rue with such ease?
While the encounter had been brief and fraught with danger, it had also unveiled a layer of Riverisle City—and his own vulnerability—that Zayne had not been aware of. It was an unsettling revelation for a man who preferred to operate within the realm of logic and facts.
But for now, he focused on the need to put distance between himself and the chaos that had just unfolded. There would be time later to analyze the events, to seek answers. As Zayne melded with the shadows of the evening, the echo of Melinoë's warning reverberated within him, a stark reminder that not all lessons were learned within the hallowed halls of academia.
As Zayne leaves, he can hear the struggles and screaming between the mysterious woman and the student Rue. Rue recovers from the throw, lunging after Melinoë. The women possess two different fighting styles - Rue is more impulsive and animalistic, and Melinoë is more graceful due to experience. Rue, red eyes blazing and nails sharp as nails, swipes at Melinoë.
"He's mine, you witch!" Any trace of the girl she was before becoming this monster is long gone. "How dare you steal my prey?"
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't let you use your evol on that man or anyone else. Allow me to free you from your misery."
From the side of her jacket, she brings out a silver dagger. With a sigh of regret, she plunges a knife deep into the girl's heart. The scream that tears from the girl's throat is horrifying, powerful enough to break all the office door windows in the hallway. The medical student known as Rue violently twitches and shakes before she dissolves into a pile crimson liquid and dust in the middle of the floor.
With a sigh, Melinoë offers a silent prayer before holding her hand over red pool of viscera, her black ring pulsing before it disappears.
"That was close, but it's not over," Melinoë whispers to herself. "If the Doctor knows any better, he's long gone by now. Still...I'd better keep an eye on him. That was just the first attempt on his life. It definitely won't be the last."
Melinoë disappears into the shadows, the best place to keep a close eye on her mark, Dr. Zayne.
Zayne, ensuring a brisk pace, could not ignore the cacophony of violence that trailed after him. The harrowing screech that erupted from the building caused him to falter momentarily, turning his head back towards the source. The sound tugged at his innate sense of duty as a healer, yet the pragmatism and survival instincts that had seen him through countless crises steered him away from turning back.
The thought of Rue, that seemingly inquisitive student, being the harbinger of such violence was a jarring juxtaposition to the disciplined world he inhabited. And this Melinoë—her presence had been unexpected, her efficiency and apparently lethal skill set lying so far outside of his experience with his students, it was as if she belonged to a different reality altogether.
On some level, he understood that he had just skirted the edge of something darker, something that thrived in the undercurrents of Riverisle City. The sense of danger lingering in the air was palpable, a stark reminder that his life, despite the control he exerted in the operating room, could be upended in an instant by forces beyond his comprehension.
The silver dagger, the crimson liquid, the whispers of a continued threat to his life—these images and sounds would no doubt haunt him. Yet underlying it all was an undeniable curiosity, the scientist in him questing for answers, for understanding.
Zayne knew that he should be moving as far away from the incident as possible, and yet, the protective shadow that Melinoë had mentioned—her intent to keep an eye on him—sparked both concern and a peculiar sense of security. The realization that he was potentially a target, though chilling, also galvanized his resolve to remain vigilant.
Once he reached a safer distance, Zayne allowed himself a moment to collect his thoughts, the cool night air a small comfort against the lingering dread. He acknowledged that this ordeal wasn’t one he could simply stitch up and set to heal; it was a wound in his reality that would require him to tread carefully and consider allies in unfamiliar places.
With a measured breath, Zayne continued on his way, the shadows enveloping him, his mind alight with the awareness that his world had irrevocably shifted. The future held uncertainty, danger, and, perhaps most intriguingly, the enigmatic figure of Melinoë, who had just violently inserted herself into the narrative of his life.
Melinoë trails Zayne until he safely reaches his temporary lodgings during his time in Riverisle City. Ensure that she isn't seen, she keeps watch over him, as she has since he arrived her a few days before. She's been tracking him even further...ever since for reasons she wasn't ready to divulge, he came into her radar. He is a wanted man and he doesn't even know it. A doctor of many talents, one of which being a powerful evol, he was desired by someone in the shadows wanted him for their own nefarious means.
Fortunately for him, Melinoë had no intention of allowing what happened to her to happen to him.
She was a night sentinel, watching over the good doctor, silver-eyed with a sharp mind and a set of skills that perfect for this sort of scenario. She might have had to appear in front of Zayne tonight but she hoped that she would be able to continue the mission convertly. After all, the less disruptions for him, the better.
If he knew the danger he was in, his stoic exterior wouldn't last much longer.
Inside the safety of his temporary lodgings, Zayne's mind continued to race with the night's events. He remained oblivious to Melinoë's silent vigil, her presence just beyond his perception, watching over him like some guardian of the night. Despite his profound understanding of the human body and its frailties, the reality that he was now the subject of some clandestine conflict was a bitter pill to swallow.
The concept that he, a staunch practitioner of medicine, could be "wanted" for anything other than his surgical expertise was a foreign one. His life had been dedicated to saving others, not entangling himself in shadowy schemes. Yet, there was no denying the evidence that unfolded before him. Zayne knew he couldn't afford the luxury of ignorance—not when his life might hang in the balance.
He moved through his temporary home with a measured calm, his hands meticulously ensuring the doors and windows were secure, a habit borne from a life of systematic caution. As he prepared for the night, he pondered over that powerful evol of his, an asset that seemed to hold more value than he had ever anticipated. The thought that his evol could draw such dark intentions towards him was unsettling.
While his external demeanor remained unshaken, the truth was there was a subtle shift in his usually unyielding stoicism. The knowledge that he was potentially in the crosshairs of an unseen adversary stirred a careful concern within him. To continue as if nothing had changed would be foolhardy, but Zayne was not one to succumb to panic.
In the quiet solitude of his room, Zayne considered his next steps. He was a man of action, of strategy, and it was this approach that would see him through this enigma. His analytical mind began to construct plans, considering contingencies, all the while ignorant of Melinoë's protective gaze.
He would need to be more vigilant than ever, to keep his evol honed and ready for whatever lay ahead. Yet for tonight, he would rest, gather his strength, for he knew not what tomorrow might bring. As he finally lay down, the weight of the day's chaos began to lift, and Zayne found solace in the fact that, at least for the moment, he was safe. Unseen to him, the sentinel outside continued her watch, a silent custodian against the darkness that sought to claim him.
The Next Day
Zayne arrives to for his next lecture on campus. When he arrives, there is only talk of how his office as well as the offices nearby were vandalized - the glass would be replaced all through the morning.
But there is no talk of Rue, no comments wondering where she is, why is she late - nothing. If someone didn't know any better, it would seem as if Rue didn't exist at all.
Melinoë once again melds with the crowd of students eager to hear the good doctor's lecture. She makes sure to sit in a corner, where no light frames her features. The other students make no attempt to bother her - as far as they're concerned, she's just another student who wants to be a doctor.
If they only knew the truth.
Dr. Zayne Lí stepped into the lecture hall with his customary composed gait, his keen eyes sweeping over the bustling students with a detached curiosity. The place was abuzz with chatter about vandalism, an incident that in any other context might have been met with a raised brow or a shake of the head. But for Zayne, the broken glass was a silent testament to the tumultuous events of the prior evening—a night that had nearly cost him his life.
Despite the gravity of the situation, Zayne's demeanor betrayed nothing of his internal contemplation. It was as if the ice that ran through his veins rendered him impervious to the tremors of fear that might have unsettled another. He made a mental note of Rue's conspicuous absence, her very existence seemingly erased as efficiently as the traces of her final, monstrous form. It was disconcerting, the way reality had been altered, a subtle manipulation that didn't escape his discerning observation.
As he began his lecture, Zayne's voice was calm and authoritative, his words flowing with the ease of a man well-versed in his domain. Yet a part of his mind remained alert, vigilant for any irregularities, any hint of the danger that lurked just beyond the academic sanctuary.
In the corner of his peripheral vision, he could make out the solitary figure of Melinoë, her presence a silent enigma. There she was, cloaked in shadows, an outlier among the eager faces that hung on his every word. She was a riddle wrapped in the guise of a student, and though she sought to blend in, to Zayne she was as conspicuous as a flame in the dark.
If they only knew the truth. The thought echoed in his mind, a shared sentiment that connected him with the mysterious protector who had intervened on his behalf. He wondered about her story, about the circumstances that had led her to become the shadow that now trailed his steps.
As the lecture drew to a close, Zayne fielded questions with his usual precision and clinical detachment, all the while conscious of Melinoë's watchful gaze. There was a connection there, unspoken yet undeniable, a tether that bound their fates together amidst the turbulent undercurrents of Riverisle City.
Once the students began to disperse, Zayne collected his notes and prepared to exit the lecture hall. His mind was already formulating plans, considering the next course of action. He needed to tread carefully, to navigate the perilous waters that now surrounded him. And Melinoë, the night sentinel, would be a crucial piece in the unfolding drama that threatened to ensnare him.
With a final glance toward the corner where Melinoë sat, Zayne offered a subtle nod—an acknowledgment of her presence and her role in his continued safety—before stepping out into the light of a new day, his future as uncertain as the shadow that followed him.
"Ah...and here I thought you were a smart man. You fool."
Melinoë waited for a few other students to leave before getting up from her seat. That subtle nod the Doctor gave didn't get passed her - in fact, it irritated her a tiny bit. But in a way, it was to be expected. After all, she exposed her presence when she had to rip that girl off him before she bit into his neck. Not exactly the best time for subterfuge.
"Perhaps I should simply pretend that I didn't see that nod," Melinoë whispers, walking through the halls. Students were pacing to and fro, yet she walked with a leisurely step. "I have a few more hours before I have to shelter - but I can't keep him out of my sight."
With a whistle, she exits the building, unnoticed by everyone else.
Zayne, already a few steps ahead, paused at the threshold of the lecture hall, his sharp instincts catching the soft murmur of Melinoë's voice. Her words, though not clearly discernible, carried a tone of mild reproach that resonated with the slight tightening in his chest. He had acted on impulse, a rarity for a man of his deliberation, and acknowledged her in a public setting. A misstep, perhaps, but one born of a fleeting sense of connection to the woman who had saved his life.
As Melinoë slipped away with the ease of a wraith, blending seamlessly into the throng of students, Zayne's brow furrowed in contemplation. He was not accustomed to being called a fool, and the notion that his actions may have compromised her anonymity—or their safety—was a bothersome prospect.
Stepping out of the building, he allowed the sunlight to wash over him, a brief respite from the shadows that had taken an interest in his existence. The cool, calculated part of his mind began to work through the implications of their intertwined fates. He considered the wisdom of approaching Melinoë directly, to seek answers and perhaps forge an alliance. But caution stayed his hand.
Zayne knew he'd have to tread lightly; every interaction, every decision he made from now on could have repercussions he was yet to fully understand. The thought of being under surveillance was an uncomfortable one, yet Zayne was no stranger to adaptation. He would adjust to this new reality, to the presence of Melinoë, his unseen guardian.
With a final, lingering look toward the direction Melinoë had taken, a silent acknowledgment of her warning, he set off across the campus. He resolved to maintain his routine, to give no indication of his heightened awareness, all the while acutely conscious of the protector who moved in the periphery of his life.
The day stretched out before him, filled with the usual consultations and surgeries, but beneath the surface of his professional facade, Zayne's mind was alight with vigilance. He was a man marked, watched over by a sentinel whose motives were shrouded in mystery. And in this new chapter of his life, he would have to navigate the delicate balance between ignorance and insight, between being the healer he had always been and the potential pawn in a game he was only beginning to comprehend.
Night has fallen. Zayne takes his leave from the university, which seems as quiet as a tomb, with most students either home for the day or studying in the buildings. Their eyes on something else, they have no time to look at the doctor, who is making his way to his car, ready to take his leave.
Melinoë sits in a tree, just out of sight. Unlike the doctor, her senses picked up the two figures - a young man and a young woman - tracking him hours before. She notices them after the lecture, staring at the doctor with bloodshot eyes, auras reeking of hatred and jealousy. Of course, they'd figured that this time would be best to strike. If they tried doing it during the day, if the potential witness didn't stop them, the solar sickness would.
Melinoë looks up at the crow on the branch beside her, crying out in warning. She sighs. "I know. Samson, I know. I suppose I'd better do something now."
With the reflexes of a sleep panther, she jumps off the tree, landing nimbly onto the ground. Her eyes zero in on the two figures in front tailing the Doctor, preparing to pounce. Without another thought, she moves quickly, like the wind, to save the doctor yet again.
The stillness of the night enveloped Zayne as he made his way to his car, the university's quiet hum a sharp contrast to the clamor of the day. His mind, a fortress of calm amidst his ever-demanding profession, was methodically replaying the day's surgeries and consultations. Yet beneath this veneer of tranquility, his senses remained acutely tuned to his surroundings, an aftereffect of the recent threats to his safety.
He was unaware, however, of the two predatory figures shadowing him, their intentions as malignant as the bloodshot gaze with which they tracked his movements. They were unseen, yet their presence was as tangible as the chill that crept into the evening air—agents of malice, waiting for the opportune moment to unleash their venom.
Melinoë, the vigilant sentinel from a realm of shadows, perceived what Zayne could not. Her keen eyes identified the danger that now stalked her charge, her senses alert to the discord in their auras. She was already moving, a specter in the night, her actions guided by a fierce determination to protect.
As the crow cried its ominous warning, Melinoë leaped into action, her form a blur against the dark canvas of the night. Her intervention was swift, precise, a silent promise made manifest to keep the unsuspecting doctor from harm's way.
And then, amid the quiet that blanketed the university grounds, a subtle disturbance rippled through the air—a forewarning of the imminent clash. Zayne, reaching his car, felt an inexplicable prickle of awareness. He paused, hand on the door handle, an instinctive reaction to an undefined threat. His pulse quickened, not with fear but with readiness, as if his very cells were preparing for a confrontation he had yet to see.
It was in that suspended moment that Melinoë engaged the would-be assailants, her movements a dance of deadly grace. Unseen by Zayne, she was the shield between him and the darkness, a guardian whose silent oath was etched in the shadows she wielded as deftly as her own breath.
As the confrontation unfolded just beyond his perception, Zayne's mind acknowledged the possibility of a lurking danger. Though he did not possess Melinoë's heightened senses, he was not defenseless. His evol, a latent power within him, lay coiled like a serpent, ready to strike should the need arise.
With a final glance at the seemingly innocuous surroundings, Zayne opened his car door, the weight of the unknown pressing upon his thoughts. Tonight, he would return to the safety of his lodgings, oblivious to the battle waged in his name. But the seed of vigilance had been planted, and with each passing day, it took deeper root, preparing him for the inevitable moment when he would have to face the darkness head-on.
Before the duo could strike, Melinoë was upon them, nimble and graceful in her movements, a ballerina of the dark descent. Though wild and spiteful, his would be pursuers stood no chance. She swiftly disposed of them with her silver dagger, one after the other, as Zayne drives away from the campus.
"Blessed be," she says, watching him leave.  She turns to the dispatched duo, the male still alive. She leans down, staring daggers at him. "But not for you."
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thiswasinevitableid · 2 years ago
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#10 with OT4, it’s so perfect.
NSFW if you can.
Happy Holidays, and thank you!
Here you go! I did indeed make it NSFW
10. Three ghosts just showed up and are telling me about Christmases past, future, and yet to come but I’m pretty sure they’ve got the wrong bedroom
There are three, good looking men at the foot of his bed. 
Were this any other context, Joseph would think he was having a sex dream. But a quick pinch of his thigh has confirmed that’s not the case, so he shifts his grip on the covers in case he needs to throw them off to fight or flee in a hurry. 
“Um, can I help you gentlemen?”
“It is we who are here to help you.” The figure on the right, silver haired and smiling wide, gestures to his companions, “we are the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future, and we have come to show you the error of your ways and how you may mend them, Richard O’Hare. 
Joseph raises an eyebrow, “I think you have the wrong house.”
“This is 469 Cherry Way, Apartment 302, right?” The ghost on the left speaks with an unexpectedly southern drawl. 
“Yes, but my name is Joseph Stern. Also, I’m Jewish.”
“Fuck” The ghost in the middle, tall and bearded like a spectral lumberjack, studies a glowing piece of paper that just appeared in his hand, “O’Hare is dead. This is his old apartment.”
“Brilliant.” The silver-haired ghost rubs his forehead, “I did not bother to check the timelines since I assumed the front office would have updated their files in a timely manner.”
“Ain’t your fault, ‘Drid.” The ghost of what he assumes is the past turns to Joseph, “you got any Hanukkah based regrets? Or, uh, any winter-related ones?”
“I regret plenty of things, but no. This time of year isn’t all that fraught for me.”
“Aw beans.” 
“I’m sorry, I’ve been in this kind of situation and it’s very frustrating. Or, well, not this exact situation but I bet afterlife bureaucracies are just as bad as the ones on earth. Is there a ritual or something I have to do to help you get back to the afterlife? Or at least help you mark the job as done.”
The bearded ghost fiddles with the arm of his fir green and fur-lined robe, “We won’t be able to go back until the end of Christmas Day, and we can tell them it was a mix-up; they didn’t reassign us.” He waves the paper and it dissipates into green smoke. 
Stern glances at his alarm clock; it’s three in the morning. He’s in his pajamas with the little mothmen on them. He’s getting towards the end of his groceries. In other words, he’s in no state to host anyone. 
But how often does a paranormal experience just fall into his lap?
“You’re welcome to spend the day here. I don’t have the most exciting Christmas schedule but I don’t mind the company.”
“Ohthankfuck.” The bearded ghost smiles, “we were literally gonna be stuck floating around the building the whole day otherwise. Uh, so, I’m Barclay. This is Indrid and Duck.” He points to the silver-haired ghost and then southern ghost.” 
“It’s a nickname.” Duck adds. 
Indrid floats over to sit on the edge of the bed, “Tell us, what does today look like for Joseph Stern?”
“A quiet morning followed by getting Chinese food and going to a movie.” He shrugs, “cliche, but I really do enjoy it.”
“No big breakfast?” Barclay looks genuinely disappointed. 
“Not unless I’m visiting my sister; her in-laws celebrate Christmas and my niece is growing up with both.” He sighs, still sleepy enough to feel sentimental, “She always makes our mom’s coffee cake recipe.”
“I, uh, I could try making it if you want.” 
If Joseph didn’t know better, he’d say the ghost was blushing. 
“I’d…I’d actually really like that. Thank you.”
Barclay smiles and fades from view. Joseph stands, stretching to get the kinks from his back. When he turns towards the door, he finds Duck’s gaze finishing a prolonged trip down his body. 
Duck is exactly the kind of guy he used to pick up at bars so, to prove to himself he’s not out of practice, he drops his own gaze to Duck’s round belly and gorgeous thighs, then meets his eyes with a smile.
He excuses himself to the kitchen to help Barclay. As the bedroom door closes, Indrid lits, “yes, my sweet, I feel much the same.”
Before he can wonder who the spirit agrees with, he bangs his shin into a pumpkin the size of a small child. His counters are overflowing with pie, cookies, roast turkey, tureens of vegetables, and more casserole dishes than a church potluck. 
Barclay looks sheepishly from where he’s trying to close Joseph’s fridge against a tide of cheese and clanking bottles, “Sorry, I’m still getting the hang of all this. Being the ghost of Christmas present is all about abundance and stuff so whenever I enter a kitchen this happens.” He waves his hand twice and the fridge slams shut, “phew, okay, I'm gonna try getting the coffee out again.”
“Here, let me.” Joseph fishes the bag from the refrigerator door, nudges an apple pie drizzled with caramel sauce to the side so he can reach the coffee pot, “do any of you take milk or sugar?”
“Duck and I both take it black.”
“I would prefer creamer, if you have it.” Indrid materializes through the wall while Duck steps through the threshold from the hall. 
“I have eggnog. I like to put that in mine.”
“Oooh, yes please!” Indrid reaches for a sugar cookie, which slips through his fingers. He grumbles, but a second cookie floats off the plate and hovers in front of his lips. He grins and disappears, the cookie doing the same a moment later.
“Geez you two, get a room.” Barclay teases.
“You can see them?”
“Yeah, ghosts can see other ghosts even when we’re not visible to humans. Got some other cool tricks too. Can I, uh, can I hold your hands?”
Joseph puts both hands out, palms up, Barclay disappearing right before his hands come to rest in them. Chilly fingers gently hold him as a voice soft and deep as a mound of fresh snow says, “Think about the coffee cake. Like, eating it.”
He closes his eyes, puts himself back at Lily’s house, tries to conjure cinnamon, ginger, and brown sugar in the right proportions on his tongue. 
A beard grazes his cheek as Barclay whispers, “Look at the table.”
He knows it’s there before the baking dish even comes into focus, the smell catapulting him through three decades and back again. 
“Incredible.” He grabs a knife from the top drawer, cuts himself a slice and tastes it cautiously. Then he slumps down into his chair, moaning happily, “It’s perfect.”
Barclay beams, “Fuck yeah. I, I was gonna offer to make it from scratch but every time I try to do that I summon ten times more of each ingredient no matter what I try.”
“The perils of the paranormal.” He picks a napkin from the holder at the center of the table. 
“More of ‘em than you’d think.” Duck sits to his left, looking for all the world like he’s in the chair instead of hovering, “For my first year I kept ending up in the past any time I listened to oldies.”
“When you say first year, is ‘holiday spirit’ a job you can be assigned?”
“More or less.” Indrid settles in Duck’s lap, “if you wish to remain a ghost rather than passing on into the great beyond, you have to accept some form of ‘post-death service.’ Many of them are like our assignment in that they only take up a small portion of a year. You still have to write weekly reports though.”
“That’s a bit bleak.”
“Assuredly. But ghost-hood does have perks” he grins at Barclay, “like excellent company.”
This time the ghost’s blush is obvious as he slides cake Indrid’s way. Joseph pours four mugs of coffee, Indrid flapping his hands when he gives him the mothman one. The conversation moves towards the finer points of afterlife politics and Barclay’s relief that ghosts can now consume food without it having to be burnt as an offering first. Then Duck bemoans the fact a restaurant in his hometown hired an exorcist after he turned up hoping for his favorite, french onion soup, and soon they’re trading stories about where they grew up.
By the time Duck gets up to wash the dishes, Joseph has almost forgotten his guests aren’t ghosts. Two of whom are undoubtedly flirting with him; Barclay may be trying to, but whenever Joseph tosses a flirtatious comment his way he starts fading from view. 
Joseph turns a coy smile on Indrid, “You said you can see the future. Can I ask you a question?”
“Is it the date you die or whether you find true love?”
“Neither. Will I have a better time if I go see Torsey Torse or The Conjuring: Psychic Bigfoot?”
Indrid cocks his head, amused, “Let me see…” his face goes blank. Then he jerks backward in his chair and looks, alarmed, at Joseph from behind his red glasses, “You, you cannot leave the house today.”
“What? Why?”
“The weather” he points at the light snow falling outside, “will get worse within the next two hours. And when you are out in it, you will be crossing the street when a driver loses control. There are no timelines where you survive.”
“Jesus.” His whole spine is ice and his heart is bouncing between his throat and the pit of his stomach. 
Duck sets a comforting hand through his shoulder, clearly trying for a light tone, “Real glad you asked ‘Drid about the movies. Much as I like you, hate to see you beef it so soon.”
He laughs nervously, “Well, I, I guess I’ll stay in then. That’s safe, right?”
Indrid goes blank a moment before nodding.
“Okay, operation hunkered down holiday it is then. I, um, I’m going to go shower quickly. Please make yourselves at home.”
Twenty minutes of dissociating in the shower at the thought of coming so close to his own death later, Joseph steps into his bedroom and puts on  jeans and his favorite sweater; black save for a festive pattern made up of UFOs and cows around the chest. 
“Are you okay?” Barclay floats through the doorway.
“I will be. Just a little rattled.”
“Do you want a hug?”
“God, yes.” 
It’s a bit mind melting to feel something holding him even as his eyes tell him there’s nothing nearby, but the sensation quickly loses out to how excellent Barclay is at hugs. There’s a flannel shirt under his robe and Joseph rests his cheek against it. He wonders if he and Barclay would ever have crossed paths if the cook had lived longer, if there was ever a future where he held this same body while blood ran in its veins. 
“C’mon, I wanna get a spot on the couch before Indrid just completely boxes us out of the blankets.”
It’s not much of an exaggeration; Indrid has every blanket in the house piled on the couch, and is making grabby hands at Duck, who’s studying Joseph’s DVD collection. 
“Since you ain’t able to go out, thought maybe we could watch a flick or two here?”
“Oooh, or we could even have a movie marathon.”
“I’d love that, although our options in that case are The Lord of the Rings trilogy or all five of the Bigfoot: The Legend is Real movies. Number one and four are particularly good.”
Duck smiles at him, a crooked, charming thing that Joseph wants to kiss for hours, “Fuckin nerd.”
“I find it works for me. The box sets are right there.”
“Yessir.” Duck teases, grabbing the Bigfoot case and carrying it over to the T.V.
“Joseph, sit by me please.”
He slides under the offered blanket, only for Indrid to disappear.
“Wh-AH, ohgod, Indrid you’re freezing.”
“I ran cold in life and apparently it carried over into death. And while my fellow specters are lovely to cuddle you are so very, very warm.”
“GAH” He laughs as chilly fingers sneak under his sweater.
“Go easy on him, little moth.” The pet name is fond in Barclay’s mouth; at a guess, it’s referring to the tattoos peeking from the collar of Indrid’s black shirt. 
“Mmmm, you don’t mind, do you Joseph?” Indrid purrs. 
“Not a bit.” He manages to sling his arm over Indrid’s shoulder. Barclay settles on this other side, and once the opening titles blare across screen Duck hops under the blankets and kicks his legs into Indrid’s lap. 
Ten minutes in, Indrid is fully engrossed in the action, Duck is pointing out all the flaws in the park ranger’s behavior, and Barclay keeps whispering jokes in Joseph’s ear. 
When–between movie two and three–Duck suggests they order delivery from his favorite Chinese place, Joseph wonders if he actually did get hit by that car and ended up in paradise. 
By the time they’re midway through the fourth movie, the apartment smells like fried rice and Barclay is trying valiantly to rest his head in Joseph’s lap without going fully invisible. Indrid is half asleep on Duck, who pets his hair and brushes crumbs from the arm of the couch. 
When the final credits roll, Duck stretches out an arm, tracing the air just above Joseph’s arm, “You thought about how you wanna wrap up your Christmas Day?”
“If it were just me, I’d take a bath and have a nightcap. But, well, that isn’t exactly an interesting evening for my guests.”
“Don’t be so certain” Indrid tips his head to look over the rim of his glasses, “I think the sight of you in the tub would be quite diverting. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”
“Hell yeah.” Duck grins.
“Barclay?” Joseph turns to the third ghost, whose hands are glued to his knees.
“I would do literally anything to see you naked.” He smacks his palms into his face, “that sounded more romantic in my head.”
“I think it was charming.” Indrid lilts. 
Joseph wishes for the hundredth time that night that he could just take Barclay’s hand, “I agree.” On a hunch, he adds, “come on, big guy, help me get undressed.”
He leads Barclay to the bathroom, starting the tap in the tub before turning to him and murmuring, “Okay, go ahead.”
The ghost disappears, and then spectral fingers hook the edge of his sweater. He obediently lifts his arms then watches, amused, as the sweater seems to fold and set itself on a chair. The process repeats with his blue t-shirt before his jeans are carefully undone and pulled to the floor. His underwear follows, and then for a moment he cannot figure out where Barclay’s gone. Then strong hands are on his hips and a deep voice asks, “Can I kiss you?”
He nods, lets Barclay initiate the kiss and then cups his hands on invisible cheeks. His lips tingle the way they do when he uses mint chapstick, and he sighs happily as Barclay dips his tongue between them. 
The tap squeaks off. 
“While this a most interesting sight, your bath is now ready, pet, and I suggest you get into it.”
He gasps, blushing at Indrid pegging the perfect, well, pet name immediately. 
“Yeah, he does that. Uses the futures to get all your fantasies outta you.” Duck whistles, “damn, slick, nice tub.”
“I took an apartment further from the bus stop just so I could have it.” He sinks into the hot water with a sigh, “it’s a lifesaver when it comes to relaxing after work.”
“Speakin of, uh, relaxation, ‘Drid and I spotted somethin mighty interesting on your bookshelf.”
He cringes, “Exorcise My Heart?”
“Yep. Explains why you weren’t freaked out by any of us comin’ onto you.”
“I promise the premise is better than it sounds. It’s about a ghost hunter who falls in love with the two spirits he’s been assigned to locate and remove from an old New England mansion. It’s a, um, a favorite of mine. But it’s not the only reason I was comfortable enough to flirt; the three of you are wonderful, I feel so relaxed and happy around you. Like I can be myself.”
Duck’s smile is brighter than the lights around the mirror.
“All the same, pet” Indrid isn’t visible, but his voice is getting closer, “it seems to me that such an accommodating host should be rewarded.”
“What do you have in mind?”
A splash as something slips into the water behind him, then lithe arms circle his waist and cold lips kiss his throat, “I say we do your book one better and have three ghosts enjoy themselves with you.”
“Yes, that sounds amazing, please, please can we do that?”
“Gladly, pet. Let me just–damn it, come on–okay there we are, I managed to banish my clothes somewhere. In theory your bedroom but I’m a bit distracted at the moment. Barclay, how about you join me?”
The green robe joins his bathrobe on the door, more clothes materializing in a stack as Barclay takes them off. When the water in front of him ripples, Joseph leans forward for a kiss. He breaks it a moment later with a gasp as a lubed  finger works itself into his ass.
“H-how-”
“I have some conjuring abilities that are not related to my work. Now, do tell us more about this book.”
“What about Duck?”
“You’re sweet, slick. But I’m gonna wait until you’re finished doin’ what ‘Drid says. Then I’m gonna use that nice mouth of yours until I cum.”
He groans, dick twitching at the thought, and does his best to form words while Barclay kisses his face and chest, “The, the best scene is when the ghosts decide to ambush the hunter in his bedroom. The, ahgod, the idea is to scare him but then they have to restrain him so he doesn’t use any cleansing tools on them and he gets turned on by it. So they end up tying his hands together and one of them fucks his ass while the other makes him deepthroat them. They end up spending the whole night using him so he’s too, too tired to bother them the next day.”
“Fuck, that’s hot.” Duck’s fly is undone, his fingers moving beneath his boxers.
“It really is. Relatedly, one, one of you please fuck me right now or I’m going to go out of my mind.”
“You go ahead, Barclay. In death, as in life, I am an ass man and it will take a little bit more preparation for that.”
Joseph shifts, straddling Barclay’s lap. 
A gentle hand strokes his face, “you ready?”
“Readyoh, oh” He drops his forehead to Barclay’s shoulder, “oh wow, big guy really is an accurate pet name huh?”
“You know it, babe. Fuck, you feel great, your so warm and tight it’s like fucking heaven.”
“Right, that’s all the patience I possess.” Indrid’s cock presses into his ass, “oh, oh goodness, pet you feel divine.”
“Th-thank you.”
“So polite too. That should be rewarded. Sweetheart, I think it’s time.”
Duck comes right to the edge of the tub before disappearing. Then a hand grabs Joseph’s hair and drags his face forward to meet slick folds and a very pleasing dick. He sucks eagerly, manages to run a hand along a thick, perfect thigh before squeezing his wonderful ass. 
Duck’s laugh bounces off the walls, “Damn, knew you were checkin my ass out but I didn’t realize how much you liked what you saw.”
Joseph pulls back with a gasp, “‘Like’ is an understatement. Your ass and thighs and belly were all made to be adored and god I hope everyone who ever saw you alive appreciated the honor of getting to see them.”
“Aw geez.”
“My, my, pet, he rarely blushes like that.”
“I mean every word.”
Fingers brush damp hair from his forehead, “Don’t doubt it, slick. But as much as I like you feelin me up, we got other plans.”
Cold fingers circle his wrists, wrenching his arms behind him and trapping them there. The resulting moan is muffled by Duck shoving his mouth back where it belongs. It doesn’t take long for the ghost to switch to holding his head in both hands and fucking his face as his moans grow more and more ragged. He tries to not seem too desperate for rough treatment the first time with a partner, but he knows there’s no reason to hide how badly he wants this, how good it feels as Barclay drives into him and Indrid snaps his hips and laughs at his resulting squeaks. 
He closes his eyes, loses himself in the whirl of sensations, and pictures what the scene would look like if the ghosts could be seen and felt at the same time. When fingers rub swift, calculated circles on his dick, he can’t tell whose hand it is, only that it feels incredible and is pushing him towards orgasm with remarkable speed.
“Oh yes, yes pet, tighten up for me, oh, ohohohyes.” Indrid digs his nails into his hips as he cums.
“Fuck, you look so gorgeous when you cum in him, sugar. Can you go a little harder big fella? Every time you do he sucks real nice.”
Barlcay holds him tighter just as Joseph  gasps and writhes with the most intense orgasm of his life. As his cock thrusts harder and harder, his legs kick and on instinct he tries to twist away from the overwhelming sensation. 
“Uh uh, you’re not done babe, don’t worry, I got you, god you feel good, gonna make you feel so good too, fuck, fuck.” A kiss smushes into his cheek as Barclay cums in him with a long, low moan. His jaw is starting to ache but he keeps sucking all the same until Duck cums too, hips shuddering and bucking as he does. 
“You’re fuckin amazin’” A hand ruffles his hair and then Duck is visible, kneeling by the tub, “you doin’ okay.”
“I think every circuit of my brain is blown out, but yes. I feel incredible.”
Duck smiles softly, “I’ll get you that nightcap.”
Once Barclay pulls out, the three of them stumble from the tub, Barclay bundling him in his robe while Indrid kisses his face and tells him how wonderful and good and perfect he is. Duck meets them in bed with a tray of spiked eggnogs, the four of them cuddling and huddling in bed as the snow whips around outside. When eleven thirty hits, Joseph loses his battle with unconsciousness. 
He wakes up at seven on the 26th, tries to ignore the horrible, empty feeling in his chest as he stands and shuffles into the kitchen. There’s a new note on the fridge, held in place by a heart shaped magnet. 
Going to talk to head office about more holiday visits. Will sneak up here for New Years Eve regardless. 
See you soon, handsome
-Barclay, Duck, and Indrid. 
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loopyarts · 2 years ago
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chapter 4 sneak peak
Welp, I was planning to get the full chapter done for before Christmas but I got ill and have been bedridden for a few days. So I thought I do a sneak peak as a backup to make up for it. Anyway I hope you all have a nice Christmas Day tomorrow. 
Hajime and Teruteru looked up at Nekomaru with teary filled eyes and noses that leaked mixture of blood and snot from their faces as he separated the two of them from each other.    
“Now, tell why the both of you are all banged up” he asked folding his arms in a stern manner looking down at the sorry state of the two brownettes. He then noticed how Hajime and Teruteru were not looking each other, as shame reflected from their eyes “don’t tell you two fraught, like two kids on a playground”.    
Teruteru and Hajime sided eye each other before quickly looking back at Nekomaru, nodding in a yes-like manner with their breathing being heavy and slow.    
Nekomaru put his hands to his waist his expression softens now seeing how tired both Hajime and Teruteru were with their purple baggy eyes and bloodshot eyes “aw geez, Hajime no wonder Mahiru send me to check on you, you look you haven’t slept in like a week why didn’t you tell anyone, you were so tired” asked Nekomaru.  
“I didn’t think… I just thought that I be fine but” Hajime voice went shaky as he looked back at Teruteru “I just been doing so much lately, which me made so tired and moody” more tears fell down from his flustered face. He felt so embarrassed he was meant to be a leader an adult.      
“Look Hajime, why don’t you wait outside for a second and I help get back to your cottage after I give Teruteru talking to” said Nekomaru as he patted Hajime on the shoulder, Hajime nodded and left leaving just Teruteru and Nekomaru in the room as Nekomaru walk over to the tired eyed chef.    
“Now Teruteru, I think you own Hajime an apology” Nekomaru suggested calmly to which the chef respond with defensive tone.  
“Well, he started it” cried Teruteru as he tries to defend himself, he didn’t do anything wrong then, silent was all he gave as he felt Nekomaru put a hand to his shoulder, the chef looked up to Nekomaru disappoint face.  
   “I don’t care who started it, you need to understand that your actions have consequences Teruteru Hanamura and the way you act make people not want anything to do with you” Nekomaru said in calm voice as he continues “I won’t yell at you or hit you because that doesn’t work. Maybe you should think for yourself this time and decide if you want to be treated like a child or not”.  Nekomaru then stood up and left Teruteru all alone and locked the door behind him.    
Teruteru ran to the door in a panic and attempted to open it but realised it was locked. He sat down in the middle of floor no he didn’t mean too he didn’t do anything wrong he tell himself; his mind became anxious as his breathing getting heavy “I… I need to get out of here” he says to himself sitting back up and walking over to get his coat from the closet and begin to look all around the cottage for a way out, after a few minutes of searching he found his ticket out.    
“Me, a child yeah right…” he mutters to himself as he tugged at his coat.  
…..  
Meanwhile with Hajime and Nekomaru were strolling back towards Hajime cottage, having a conversation as they walked on the creaking pathway of planks of wood above the sand.
“I’m sorry about the whole fighting with Teruteru earlier” Hajime paused bit his lips “I… I should have known better”.  
“Hajime, your only human and sometimes, we make mistakes and errors in judgment” said Nekomaru.    
“I just don’t understand him sometimes Nekomaru” Hajime sighed “I want to help him I really do but he just so frustrating to talk to and today I think know even less about him then I did before” he then put his hands to his face as Nekomaru pat him on the back.  
Hajime then chuckled weakly as he looked up at the taller men “He doesn’t even remember what happen in the virtual simulation”.  
Nekomaru pauses for a bit before speaking “hmm it is strange that he doesn’t remember but maybe that’s a good thing Hajime that’s he doesn’t remember. I mean he died Hajime and if I could, I would”.  
Hajime flinched realising how insensitive he was being spoke up with anxiety in his tone “I’m-I’m so sorry Nekomaru I did mean to upset you, I”.  
“No worries, you’re probably too tired to be thinking about that right now Hajime, gets some rest and you and Teruteru can talk and make up once both of you are in tip top sharp” Nekomaru grinned at Hajime to which Hajime gave him a smile back as him as they got to Hajime cottage.    
“Thanks, Nekomaru, yeah I probably do need to rest a bit it just I had a lot on my shoulders, since I’m the one everyone comes too on a daily basis” Hajime yawns as he opens the door to his cottage but before he went inside, he turned to Nekomaru “also can you check on Teruteru, I really worried he going to do something reckless”.  
“Roger, Hajime” roared Nekomaru cheerfully giving the Hajime thumb up, the brunette nodded feeling reassured by Nekomaru words yawning as he heads inside his cottage leaving Nekomaru to makes his way back to Teruteru cottage.    
...  
When Nekomaru arrives back at the chef cottage, it was quiet, too quiet for his liking as he walked towards the door, unlocking it. He scouted around the whole cottage for the chubby brunette.  
“Teruteru hello, are you there” Nekomaru call out as he kept searching around the cottage. he then felt a breeze hit his shoulder from behind him. Curious, he turned to around to find the window was wide open as the curtain flapped around the window frame. Oh no thought Nekomaru as it didn’t take him long to put the pieces to together that Teruteru climbed though the window and has wonder off somewhere. He run out the cottage only to run into Akane who seems to be running towards him as well.  
“Nekomaru, why are you running” asked Akane as she catches her breath from running him down.  
“I was looking for Teruteru, replied Nekomaru in fast pace “and I need to find him before it gets too cold, he not very well and could get worse at night” Akane gave a surprise look as she spoke.  
“Well, that explains why I saw Teruteru wondering into the topical forest, although he didn’t seem all their”.
“What” yelled Nekomaru as he shakes Akane “then we need to go now” as he let go of her as begins to rush ahead, Akane shakes her head typical she thought as she runs to catch up with him calling him from behind.
“You’re lucky guy Nekomaru, to have a girlfriend who can keep up with you and that big heart of yours” she grins as she follows him into the topical forest.  
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dotthings · 4 years ago
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Let’s talk about why Dean dancing with a lamp is subtext, but it’s subtext that supports textual arcs. Dean dancing with a lamp is not random. Meta on why Dean dancing with a lamp is part of the build of a textual arc for Dean, thematically, which also connects to his relationship with Cas. This symbolic moment being tacitly about Destiel will only feel like reaching if you ignore context, ignore canon, ignore long arcing, ignore textual material surrounding it. This isn’t just me talking about a ship, this is an important arc for Dean himself emotionally and the way canon’s working, Cas has become the star player in this specific emotional Dean arc about yearning. 
Here are some canon quotes. I could just leave these here and not write another word of meta because the canon wrote it for me. But I’ve added some further commentary to spell out clearly what I’m getting at.
Dean in 8.14 “Trial and Error” by Andrew Dabb:
“You see a light at the end of this ugly-ass tunnel. I don't. But I tell you what I do know – it's that I'm gonna die with a gun in my hand. 'Cause that's what I have waiting for me – that's all I have waiting for me. I want you to get out. I want you to have a life – become a man of Letters, whatever. You, with a wife and kids and – and – and grandkids, living till you're fat and bald and chugging Viagra – that is my perfect ending, and it's the only one that I'm gonna get.”
Dean in 10.16 “Paint it Black” by Eugenie Ross-Lemming and Brad Buckner:
“You know, the life I live, the work I do…I pretty much just figured that that was all there was to me, you know? Tear around and jam the key in the ignition and haul ass until I ran out of gas. I guess I just thought sooner or later, I’d go out the same way that I live – pedal to the metal, and that would be it....Now, um… recent events, uh… make me think I might be closer to that than I really thought. And…I don’t know. I mean, you know, there’s – there’s things, there’s…people, feelings that I-I-I want to experience differently than I have before, or maybe even for the first time.”
Sam and Dean in 11.04 “Baby” by Robbie Thompson:
SAM: Really? You don't . . . Ever want something more? DEAN: I'm sorry, have you met us? We're batting a whopping zero in domestic life, man. Goose eggs. SAM: You don't ever think about something? Not marriage or whatever. But . . . Something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?
Sam and Dean in 13.23 “Let the Good Times Roll” by Andrew Dabb:
DEAN: But on a beach somewhere, you know? Can you imagine? You, me, Cas, toes in the sand, couple of them little umbrella drinks. Matching Hawaiian shirts, obviously. Some hula girls. SAM: You talking about retiring? You? DEAN: If I knew the world was safe? Hell, yeah. And you know why? 'Cause we freaking earned it, man.
Sam and Dean in 15.08 “Our Father, Who Aren’t in Heaven” by Eugenie Ross-Lemming and Brad Buckner:
DEAN: Look, man, I didn't want to say anything, okay, 'cause I was kind of in in a bad place, and, uh, yeah, I didn't want to jinx it or whatever, but, you know, I tried the family thing, right? SAM: Yeah, me too. And that's not for us. DEAN: No, not really. But I'm just saying if it was to work, Eileen, you know, she gets it. She gets us. She gets the life. She's hot. SAM: Dean. I mean, I'm not even- DEAN: Look, all I'm saying is you- you could do worse, okay? And she could certainly do better. Like, so much better. I'm happy for you, Sammy.
Dean and Garth in 15.10 “The  Heroes’ Journey” written by Andrew Dabb:
DEAN: You know, I gotta say, aside from pincushion in there… this is pretty nice. GARTH: Yeah, better than I ever thought I'd get. I mean, hunting -- I figured I'd be dead before I'm 40. You know, go out young and pretty. But now I've got a great wife, great kids. I guess...sometimes things work out.
Dean in 15.10 “The Heroes’ Journey” by Andrew Dabb:
Dean, wistful, watching through the window as Garth and Bess dance: You know, I always thought I could be a good dancer if I wanted to be.
Ok, let those roll around in your brain for moment. 
Now: CONTEXT. CONTEXT. CONTEXT.
There’s this long running arc about maybe Sam and Dean could each find a significant other, not white picket fence, but...something, with someone already in the life, who gets their life. There’s Dean’s move from despairing and believing the only ending he could have, the only ending any hunter could have, is dying with a gun in hand, to Dean’s enthusiasm for the concept of retirement, Dean’s wistfulness about finding a significant other, for what he thinks he can’t have, and he starts the cycle all over again, if he can’t have it, then he wants Sam to have it, so Dean encourages Sam with Eileen. Saileen, the Dean-blessed, Dean-approved Sam ship. Dean ships it. And that is how the canon is trending, complete with Sam and Eileen kissing goodbye and saying “this is real” and even God himself saying their feelings were real, “that was all you,” even if God manipulated events around them. Which is an overt mirror to Dean and Cas and Dean’s expressly stated doubts about what’s real and what isn’t, and Cas telling Dean “we are.” 
Much the way Sam has been witness to Destiel, and has often pointed out Dean’s Cas feelings. Dean’s got a front row seat to Saileen and approves; Sam’s had a front row seat to Destiel and approves. 
Let’s throw in Robert Berens’ work in The Trap here, since that’s relevant to this specific topic as well, because why did Sam and Dean in the potential future timeline where they’d killed Chuck give up and cave in to their vampire instincts? The world being overwhelmed with monsters...and losing Eileen and losing Cas. It’s right there in the dialogue. I’ll give you the quote and everything:
Sam and Dean in 15.09 “The Trap” by Robert Berens:
SAM: You want to quit? What's happened to you, Dean? Ever since -- DEAN: Ever since what? We lost pretty much everyone we've ever cared about? Ever since the Mark made Cas go crazy? Ever since I had to bury him in a Ma'lak box? Ever since then? Yeah. You know why? 'Cause the monsters -- they're everywhere. Everywhere! What we do -- it's not even Hunting anymore. It's whack-a-mole. We don't even save people. Every friend we've ever had is either dead, or they got wise and they packed it in. SAM: Jody's still fighting, and Bobby -- DEAN: Bobby has a death wish, and you know it. And Jody -- ever since what happened to Donna and the girls, she does, too. And after Eileen... so do you.
“Ever since” Dean had to bury Cas in a Ma’lak box. “After Eileen...so do you.” 
So there’s this canonical long, long thread across multiple authors (and those weren’t even all the quotes, I’m sure people could dig up more) about Dean in particular yearning towards finding a significant other, some contentment, with someone who already is in the hunting life, who gets it, who understands.  
An episode that flat out shows how losing their significant others is the final straw that rips out Sam and Dean’s last will to fight, and they lose themselves, and after they’re turned into vampires, they just...give into the darkness. Where Sam gives up their shot at destroying the big bad because losing everyone they love is too high a cost. Where losing Cas makes Dean lose hope, where losing Eileen sends Sam into a death wish mindset. Sam and Dean don’t just need each other. That’s not canon, it never has been.
And then right after that, along comes meta episode The Heroes’ Journey. Sorry if you don’t like The Heroes’ Journey, but it’s what the canon did, it’s textual, along with everything else I’ve pointed out here, and in among the crackish humor are some real emotional narrative points. 
In The Heroes’ Journey, Dean gets to see Garth’s life. Garth found his significant other, Bess, and she’s another werewolf. Now, Garth’s life resembles the traditional white picket fence idea a lot more than what Team Free Will are headed for. Garth has a big house with a porch, and he’s a dentist. He’s also a werewolf and his wife is a werewolf and his kids are werewolves because Bess is a pureblood werewolf, Garth didn’t exactly leave the life, and he helps Sam and Dean on a case. But nothing’s been indicating to me that anyone in Team Free Will is headed for that kind of settling down, with a house, becoming a dentist. However, the canon has been practically shouting now, as we near final episodes of SPN, to make the point about a desirable outcome--some kind of stability, contentment, and a significant other. Dean gets a front row seat to seeing a hunter can have that. Garth’s a hunter who turned into a werewolf and he can have that. 
When EP’s talk about how they aren’t headed for a white picket fence or driving off into the sunset or settling down, none of that rules out them finding...something...with someone, and some form of stability and contentment.  Nope, I can’t really imagine them in the suburbs becoming dentists. But canon sure is putting up big neon arrows to...something. Think outside the box. This isn’t about the white picket fence. 
And in The Heroes’ Journey, Dean, conked out on the good gas so Garth can fix his teeth, has a trippy dream where he dances with a lamp.
Rewatch the ep. Look at how the dance is choreographed not just the use of light, because that’s a clue too. The whole dance could have been Dean and Garth being dancing bros, but Garth fades off the stage, and Dean dances alone...until he grabs the standing lamp. In a season where Dean and Cas’s relationship is an A-plot, define it how you like, it’s A-plot. Their breakup and their reconciliation, which played like a marital breakup and reconciliation, are tied to major mytharc beats. In a season where a long-running textual theme about Dean’s developing hope for retirement and his wistfulness about “things...people...feelings...” is getting further play. Where Dean and Cas’s relationship continues to be one of the show’s most central ones.
Dean dances with a lamp. While his emotionally fraught, intense close relationship with Cas--A BEING MADE OF LIGHT--has a long-running arc and recently more and more textual level content spelling out the sublimated romantic interest in small words, while there’s an arc about Dean’s yearning for that stability, contentment, a significant other.
CONTEXT. 
We don’t think Destiel’s “going canon” because Dean dances with a lamp, it’s that Dean dancing with a lamp is kinda loud serving as reflection of canon textual arcing. Sometimes subtext adds a layer. Sometimes subtext is directly tied to the surface layers, an echo, a highlighter.
I’ll just be over here, crying because Dean danced with a lamp.
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anthrogothic · 3 years ago
Text
Body/Prision
so, here we go to the second part of the fic. ours has been exciting to write this. I hope you like it <3 (originally written in Brazilian Portuguese. sorry for any error).
Third part here
Pairing: Echo x f!Reader
Word Count: 2.1k
Warnings: Mentions of trauma, anxiety, panic, a little violence but nothing much and ~some physical mentions~ (and echo being a baby who needs care)
Heading towards the lab, you went through documents and reports on your datapad connected to the data network, finding the files of your newly known atypical clones, seeing that there were still three to meet in person.
One of them, with a rather traumatic past in your opinion. Another look like someone who is difficult to deal with. And lastly, one similar to your fellow nerds from college. Already imagining your scientific conversations.
You find your sweet auxiliary Omega standing at the door of the lab. She is also a clone, young and adorable. With short hair, the same color as the sun (if you remember the last time you saw one).
But with Jango Fett's pure DNA in her cells. Only you and Nala know this. Your conscience always brings you that painful twinge whenever the memory occurs to you.
"Y/N! I was looking for you!"
The girl came running towards you, with a scared face, taking your right hand and pulling you with her.
"Hey Omega, Stars, what's up?"
You almost shuffled your legs trying not to fall.
"I've been sent to help with clone ratings today! But Echo is very upset and I can't get him to calm down!"
Before you could ask for further explanation, you were already being dragged to the door of the room.
Stopping at the door, Omega pushed you inside when you spotted the trembling clone sitting with his back to the door, on top of the gurney, aiming his blaster at the three doctors ahead.
"Echo! I found her!"
The girl's voice was a mixture of relief and determination. The other three doctors in the room are clearly pissed off, hands up in front of the clone.
"Y/N isn't even a doctor, Omega!"
He yelled one of them, straightening and clasping his hands at his sides.
"You should have brought security!" yelled the other.
"She'll do it! She is better than you all!"
Screamed the little girl, pointing a finger at the three. You put a hand on her shoulder, signaling her to calm down. Gently you addressed the clone, froze as he stared into your eyes.
It was him… that clone whose record you were horrified to read. He was pale. With metallic accesses on his shaved head, a cybernetic prosthesis that covered his ears, his right forearm also cybernetic and thinner than most strong clones you know. Only the legs, also robotic, were covered by his blacks. His eyes were frightened and his limbs locked together at his sides, his good hand, shaking, still holding the blaster.
"A-Are you Doctor Y/N?"
His voice was deep, shaky and fraught with anxiety.
You, already with your heart sinking at his state, approached slowly, removing your white jumpsuit and leaving it on a small metal table nearby, catching the clone's attention with your tight black outfit.
"Yes… Echo, right? I assume you have a panic attack due to your accident… you shouldn't be brought into environments like this."
Your voice was calm and sweet. Looking at doctors with dislike in your last words. Echo looked away, clearly uncomfortable. The hand that was armed, wavering, and your hand slowly landing on top of the blaster, lowering it slowly, the clone giving way.
Suddenly one of the already impatient doctors approached abruptly and grabbed your shoulder from behind you.
"Let's go! We don't have time for theaters! Sedation didn't work this time, but nothing a dose would not do well on rebel clones!"
Spotting the syringe the doctor was pulling out of his lab coat, Omega jumped on his arm as she screamed. You turned, startled, seeing the fist that the doctor was already closing to hit the girl. In a rush of adrenaline, you punched him in the nose, he staggered backward, and Omega took the syringe from his hand. The other two came to help the doctor, who pushed them away claiming he was fine, looking at you with hate.
"You're in big trouble, girl! And you too, stuck-up scientist!"
His voice really was scary. But suddenly, Echo's voice came from behind you like thunder.
"Do something with them, and you'll have to come to terms with me and my squad."
His voice, full of hate and gravelly. His arm trembled as he aimed the blaster at the doctor, finger on the trigger.
"Not to mention the possible murder he was going to cause with so much sedative in a clone with a body not yet fully mapped to know the consequences."
Snorted Omega right beside you, all proud with the syringe in her hand.
"Uh, Nala Se will love to hear that."
You said, crossing your arms and looking at the doctor in defiance.
The attacking doctor flinched, growling as he left the room. The other two fearful:
"Please, it's our first week here. Don't hand us over to Nala Se. We just obey orders."
Begged one of the doctors, this one was much younger than the aggressor, probably doing residency with another colleague.
"Withdraw then. And let the rest of the team know the behavior of that bantha in the lab coat! He doesn't deserve to be your supervisor. He is the one who has to be supervised!"
Your voice was authoritative and even. All that remained was for the men to nod and leave the room.
Echo threw himself onto the gurney, breathing wildly and running a hand across his forehead. You stopped in front of the clone and slowly sat down beside him on the stretcher. Instructing him to take a few deep breaths, then slowly exhale for a few more, repeatedly. Echo tried to follow your directions, faltering a few times but picking up his pace eventually.
"There is! We make an amazing team! I told you, Echo!"
Omega's voice trying to bring relief to the tense environment. She continued.
"Y/N is the best! She will be nice to you!"
You, realizing the responsibility that Omega gave you, nodded with the girl's words.
"Well… I'm not exactly a doctor, as we've heard… but I know enough. You can trust me, Echo."
The clone looked at you with less awe, bearing in mind what you did.
"I- I feared that I would go through the physical evaluations again. I know they are mandatory, but... they remind me of the Citadel..."
His gaze roamed the metalized room, filled with stretchers, huge equipment, and light panels.
The doctors just didn't care and sedated him whenever it became impossible to assess him. Putting gadgets into his body, pushing him into big gadgets and treating his cybernetics like pieces of scrap metal.
"I don't want to be a problem again... I know I have obligations as a soldier, but I can't be okay here!"
He squeezed the biceps of his other arm with his hand, trying to stay in control as he felt a new wave of anxiety.
You gently placed your hand on his back, feeling him recoil involuntarily.
"Unfortunately it's standard procedure… but if you promise me secrecy, we can only do the basic assessment, and it could be in your room, a theoretically cozy place for you. I can do that from now on if you want."
Echo sighed, relieved at the option before looking at you again. His expression is lighter. Omega already excited to see her clone brother a little more relaxed. You smiled and calmly guided him to the dorm.
All the way the three of you were shot with stares and comments. You scolding each one with your furious glare, Omega stuck out his tongue at the attackers, while Echo lowered his head every time. His tall stature, allowing you to see his depressed expression from below.
Omega opened the door as you arrived soon after, still next to Echo. Omega pointed to the bunk and you asked permission to sit, Echo, growing more and more stunned by your sweet attitude toward him, nodded.
Placing the small silver suitcase you brought along on the floor, you took Echo by the hand, inviting him to sit beside you.
You asked permission with each movement and touch the soldier's body, trying to be gentle, as if his body were the most sensitive of porcelain. You were curious about his cybernetics, but you chose not to bring it up.
Omega was sitting by your suitcase, legs crossed on the floor, handing out all the little devices you needed to gauge the clone's basic physical parameters, but never looking away from him.
You explained what you were doing and why, warned of any movement or approach of the small devices and their purpose. Echo just nodded, getting a lot more confident in you.
You can't help but notice the tight, visible muscles. The heat radiating from the clone's body. The sharp, attractive shape of his body in that tight black outfit. Feeling the slight reactions whenever your fingertips touched him. The shy look he gave you.
Omega looked uncomfortable, pacing back and forth when you were wearing the last device on Echo's body, checking his heart function.
"Omega, what is it?"
Echo said low but firm, surprising you by the contrast to the voice that trembled earlier.
"I lied to Nala Se, saying that I went to get more supplies with Y/N, that it would take her time to get to the lab, so I could take her to you. If the confusion gets to her ears, she'll find out."
Omega ran her hand constantly over the back of her neck and through hair, the little eyes fearful.
You widened your eyes at the girl, remembering that you was requested earlier and for her boldness with the doctor (as if you didn't know her). Already trying to devise a plan to cover up the improvised procedure with Echo.
"Hm... I can talk to some clone friends to claim that we left Kamino for a few hours… I don't want Nala Se mad at us. And about the fight, well, we just defended ourselves."
You said with a smug smile on your full lips, forgetting your hand resting on Echo's covered chest, your hand already warming the spot. He watched your hand standing there, your skin seemingly smooth, the fingers small and delicate, rising and falling with his breath and causing a strange sensation deep in his racing heart.
The way you welcomed him and tried to keep him safe. You defended him. Just like your brothers before it all happened. He hadn't experienced this in a long time. But like a knife, he slashed his thoughts and threw them aside. He no longer allowed himself to wander through such things, after all, what kind of relationship could he have, being like that.
He came back to consciousness with your movement, withdrawing you hand and standing up, Omega already picking up the small suitcase from the floor.
"A-Are we done yet?"
A slight disappointment was clear in the clone's voice. You crouched down between his spread thighs, looking him in the eye, giving the clone's eyes access to your light cleavage and your silvery cord that went between your breasts.
"We've finished the basics, Echo. You are strong and healthy. I'll be back to do the rest tomorrow, after my shift, if you're comfortable."
Your eyes were like adorable little twinkling stars. So comforting and sincere, just like you, all the time with him. He nodded, a slight smile breaking his pale lips, bringing a slight, sweet swell to his heart.
You stood up, carefully taking the clone's hand, pulling a pen out of your pinned hair, and jotting down your personal communicator code in the palm of his hand.
"Let me know anything, Echo. Drink water and do the breathing exercises before going to bed."
Smiling, you turned around, heading for the door, being caught up by Omega just after she gave your brother a hug. The door closed as you remembered to scold the brave little girl for her attitude earlier.
Echo was left alone. Only with the sound of his heart pounding in his ears in the dim light in the room. The raindrops hitting the glass.
He put his hand where yours was moments ago, reading your code by pulling his palm away from his chest. He was calm. Something impossible after days of evaluations.
But beyond that, he felt real, alive, and eager to see you the next day, as much as his guts and gears wanted to say otherwise.
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gretelsfifthcousin · 2 years ago
Text
Rising Winds
(Transcribed directly from the game, errors included.)
Before the Gloria Spectacular celebration came to an end, a new crisis arose! Peculiar scars began to appear on Estrilda's body not long after an unknown creature had injured her, before she fell into a deep coma. Both the court physicians and the priests from the Temple of Light have been unable to heal her. Thane has decided to venture into The Dark Forest, to seek help from the Wilders, who have a deep understanding of herbal medicines. As a historian tells him about the origin of the scars, Thane realizes a catastrophe might soon strike every corner of Esperia.
(Thane is seen in a fighting animation beside a Wooden Dummy. If you stand beside him he’ll stop attacking it)
Thane: Something seems to be bothering Thane. He's slow with his sword.
Thane: Estrilda has been in a coma for two days and nights. The court physicians are at a loss about her illness…
Perhaps Belinda from the Temple of Light could offer some aid. O divine goddess, may you bless my pupil, the last hope of House Rayne.
If the Divine Light can't save her... I must ready myself for a journey.
Log: Estrilda has been in a coma for days. Belinda from the Temple of Light is checking her situation.
-
Manor Entrance: The main gate of Rayne Manor.
Manor Guard: The guard of Rayne Manor, who is protecting the main gate.
Manor Guard: You must be inspected before entering Rayne Manor.
(The guard conducts a thorough inspection.)
Thank you for your cooperation, you may enter now.
-
Household: The common members of House Rayne live here.
Manor House: The main building of the Rayne Manor where important decisions are made.
Servants Abode: A building next to the main building where daily management of the manor is held.
Infirmary: Estrilda is in a coma on her bed. Belinda from the Temple of Light is checking her situation.
Belinda: I'm sorry. Estrilda's situation is beyond my capabilities, even the Divine Light has no effect on her injuries.
She is in a dire situation. We must tell master Thane at once.
Log: Estrilda is in a dire situation. We must tell master Thane at once.
-
Thane: Even the Temple of Light couldn't save her? Oh, I see.
(After this Thane will run to the Infirmary)
Log: Go check Estrilda's situation.
-
Belinda: Master Thane.
Thane: How's Estrilda?
Belinda: Her body is marked with strange scars. I couldn't find the cause of her coma, let alone cure her.
They say the Wilders in The Dark Forest are masters of herbal medicines. Perhaps you could seek them out for their aid.
Thane: Thank you, Belinda. I shall pay them a visit soon.
(Thane casts his eyes to Estrilda lying on the bed.)
Estrilda, you're going to be all right. I will soon return.
Log: The Temple of Light can't save Estrilda. You must go to The Dark Forest to find a cure for her.
Thane joins the team.
-
Camp: The camp where generals and soldiers of the border are stationed.
Hogan: General Hogan is protecting the imperial border with a rather grave look on his face.
(If you interact with Hogan before Thane has joined your team)
Hogan: Our borders have not been stable as of late. No one is allowed to cross the border unless absolutely necessary.
(After Thane has joined your team)
Hogan: Master Thane, is something happening?
Thane: (Thane explains the purpose of his journey to Hogan.)
Hogan: I see, you must tread carefully, for monsters roam beyond the borders.
-
Barrier: The path has been blocked by a solid fence. It could be destroyed with exceptional swordsmanship.
-
(Once you step across a suspicious tile right before the Exquisite door, the tile will disappear)
Thane: The path has collapsed. There's no going back.
-
(Once you reach the middle of the clearing ahead, you’ll be surrounded by Twisted Monsters Common Enemy Camps)
Twisted Monsters: A place fraught with twisted monsters. Their bodies are covered in strange scars which conceal their human forms.
Thane: What are those?! Must be the monsters Hogan mentioned…
(After you defeat one Twister Monsters it will immediately respawn)
Thane: There's no end to them, I must find a way to escape.
(After defeating a Twisted Monsters a second time the same dialogue will appear. After defeating one a third time)
Talene: Watch out! I'll help you!
(Talene’s character model does her ultimate attack, and all Twisted Monsters will disappear)
-
Talene: A descendant of the Obsidian Finches, master of the pure Solaris Flare.
Thane: You have my gratitude. May I know your name, my lady?
Talene: I'm Talene, a descendant of the Obsidian Finches. The Corruptors are quite a dangerous lot, you should be extra cautious on your journey.
Thane: Corruptors? You mean these monsters? It seems you have a rather deep understanding about them.
Talene: Allow my companion, a historian of The Dark Forest, to tell you more about the Corruptors.
Historian: Corruptors are twisted creatures, born out of an elemental imbalance. When we mortals are injured by these creatures, the twisted power of the element causes peculiar scars to appear on our bodies, after which people soon fall into a coma.
Thane: Strange scars?
(Remembering the scars on Estrilda's body, Thane came to a realization, it had to have been a Corruptor.)
Historian: Once the victim's body is fully covered in scars, there is no hope for them.
Thane: (Thane tells Talene and her companion about Estrilda's situation and asks for a cure.)
Historian: Conventional healing methods have no effect. These creatures grow increasingly chaotic as the elementals fall even further out of balance, likewise, natural disasters now increase in numbers across the land.
We must seek the help of the five Elemental Guardians and have them activate the Elemental Altars. Only then can elemental order be returned to Esperia. This is our only chance to resolve the crisis.
It's the only way those hurt by the Corruptors can wake from their comas.
Talene: We are on our way to venture into the Bastion of the Elements in the depth of The Dark Forest. There, we should be able to find the Guardians.
Thane: If you do so permit, I shall accompany you on your mission.
Talene: No time like the present, let's go.
Log: Estrilda's illness is caused by the elemental imbalance and can only be cured by the joined forces of the five Elemental Guardians. Go to the Bastion of the Elements and ask them to activate the Elemental Altars to bring the elements back to order.
-
Fire Altar: Only purest flame can set it alight.
Locked Door: Ignite the Fire Altar to open.
-
(If you attempt to move towards the desert you’ll be teleported back to the Locked Door)
Thane: Indeed, we should make haste to the Bastion of the Elements.
-
Solid lce Wall: Only the purest flame can melt it down. 
(When you have melted the Solid Ice Wall near the entrance to the Bastion of the Elements)
Arden: Have you come for the Elemental Guardians? Alas, they have already left this place.
As the elemental imbalance keeps escalating, the Guardians have set out to suppress the myriad natural disasters throughout Esperia.
Thane: Do you know where to find them?
Arden: The Earth Guardian joined the Maulers many years ago due to a disagreement between him and the other Guardians. I trust you may find him in the depths of the desert.
As for the other Guardians, I'm as clueless as you lot.
Thane: Thank you. We'll go and find the Earth Guardian right away!
Log: The mages in the Bastion of the Elements tell us the Guardians have already left, and their current whereabouts are unknown. Although, the Earth Guardian may dwell in the depths of the Maulers' desert.
-
(After you enter the desert and the narrow path leading towards Baden and Respen, a Black Mist will spawn behind you)
The returning path has been blocked by a black mist.
Black Mist: Some kind of strange power is in the black mist, preventing anyone from passing through. Perhaps a strong gust of wind can clear it away.
Thane: Be careful, there are hordes of Corruptors roaming about, just up ahead.
Talene: I spot two figures surrounded by the Corruptors, we must come to their rescue!
Thane: Let's go!
-
Respen: One of the five Elemental Guardians of Esperia, the Wind Guardian.
Baden: Baden and Respen have been surrounded by Corruptors. They won't last much longer.
(If you attack an enemy camp before speaking to Baden the enemy will respawn)
Corruptors keep surging forward, seek out Baden and find out more about the situation.
(When you interact with Baden)
Thane: Baden?
Baden: Thane? What brings you here?
Thane: We've come to find the Elemental Guardian.
(Thane quickly explains the purpose of his journey.)
Baden: The Wood Guardian has been imprisoned on the Island of the Banished. Respen and I were on our way to rescue him when we were attacked by Corruptors.
Thane: We must escape first!
Log: Baden tells Thane that the Wood Guardian is trapped on the Island of the Banished. He left the island to seek out the Wind Guardian Respen for help, but they were ambushed by hordes of Corruptors on their way back to the island. 
-
(After you defeat one Corruptor, it will respawn and eight more with it)
Baden: More Corruptors keep coming. I fear we won't withstand their attacks for long.
Thane: We've got to find a way out!
Respen: I've a bold idea, if a bit risky. The Wind Emblem is one of the keys to activating the Elemental Altar. It is also said to be able to grant extraordinary power to mortals.
Yet no mortal has ever borne the Elemental Emblems in history before. The risk is far too much for any single person to take.
Know that whoever holds the Elemental Emblems will become the target of the Corruptors.
The Elemental Emblems are like a lantern at night, luring the Corruptors to come like moths to a flame. They will tirelessly chase after the bearer, as hungry hyenas after the weak and injured.
This is the cost of bearing the Elemental Emblems.
Baden: They are coming!
Thane, go now! Leave them to me! (Baden blocks the Corruptors with his wounded body, buying precious time for Thane.)
Thane: Baden, nooooooo! (Thane)
(Baden's resolve reminds Thane of the day they were ambushed by the Maulers. He only managed to escape at the cost of Baden's sacrifice. Yet now, the same tragedy is about to begin again!)
I won't let this happen again!
Respen, I'm ready for a fight!
(Thane transforms into his awakened version)
Respen, I'm ready for a fight!
Help the surrounded to defeat their enemies.
-
(For every enemy you clear, Baden will clear one of the surrounding sides. After clearing all the enemies)
Thane: We've cleared all the Corruptors. Let's continue our journey into the desert and find this Earth Guardian.
Respen: We must also return to the Island of the Banished to save the Wood Guardian.
Baden: I'm the only one among us who's familiar with the island. Thane, we should stop this elemental disaster as soon as we can. I suggest we split up.
Thane: When we find the Guardians, we shall meet at the Bastion of the Elements and fight together!
Log: With the Wind Emblem, you can dispel the black mist now. 
-
Mauler Gate: You will enter the Maulers' territory upon traversing through this pass. Cannot traverse now.
(The option says Coming Soon)
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torialeysha · 4 years ago
Text
Cold feet - Part 16
Bakers redemption
A/N: I’m on a roll guys! Your love, patience and support for this story fuels my fire for writing, a fire I thought I had lost and for that I am eternally grateful. Thank you all <3
Songs: Carry me home - Jorja Smith ft Maverick Sabre
Can’t buy happiness - Tash Sultana
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Fortunately the awkwardness of the journey home was lost on you as all you could do was think about Alfie. You questioned the sincerity of his visit and wondered why it had taken him so long to realise you had lied about the ridiculous possibility of him not being the father of your unborn baby? He had asked you for forgiveness. A shot at redemption. Could you give it to him? Could you allow him another chance when he had already let you down not once but twice? Were you foolish enough to give him the opportunity to do it again? Would he do it again? He said that he had seen the error of his ways and that he really did want the baby. Did he mean it? Could you believe him even if he did? He said he could prove it to you and you were curious to see how. Silently you pondered, driving yourself insane with question after question that regrettably you didn’t have the answers to.
After a tedious battle with the London traffic the car finally pulled up outside the opulent townhouse Charles was renting. The atmosphere still frosty and tense as you crossed it’s threshold. You were in the process of removing your coat when one of the butlers collared Charles.
“There’s a Mr Changretta waiting for you in the lounge, sir.” He announced casually as he took your coat. Your hair immediately stood on end.
“Ok. I’ll be right there. Meanwhile, could you please fetch Ms Y/L/N something to eat.” Charles hands his coat to the butler then turns to you. “I won’t be long. Feel free to start without me.” He told you coldly. But you were no longer worried about food and more concerned about the fact that Luca Changretta was in the next room.
Fraught, you staggered to the dining room and began to pace, anxiously wondering what the occupants next door were discussing. You manoeuvred towards the wall that separated the lounge from the dining room and placed your ear against it, hoping that the divide was thin enough to be able to hear their conversation. Their muffled voices vibrated through the wall. You edged closer to the crack of the locked double doors that connected the two rooms and the voices got slightly clearer.
“...And you really trust this broad? You’re sure she isn’t the problem?” It was Luca’s voice.
“Of course I trust her! I wouldn’t have involved her if I didn’t.”
“How much does she know?”
“Hardly anything. She asked me some questions about the club. Why I bought it for her and why I insisted I put it in her name and not mine, but her curiosity is only natural, Luca.”
Your stomach rolled realising they were talking about you.
“What did you tell her?”
“I fed her some bullshit about wanting to give her the world.”
“Nice. So she doesn’t know anything about the money coming in from New York?”
“No, I take care of the books and I keep them locked in my safe.”
“Good.”
There was a brief silence before Luca spoke again.
“Tell me, Cuz, what are your feelings for this broad? You still intend on marrying her when this is all over?”
Cuz? Why would Luca call Charles that?
“Yes. I love her.”
Charles’ confession made you feel sick.
There’s another long pause before Luca speaks again.
“Then you have my blessing. But I’m warning ya, I don’t know if my dear Aunt will be as accepting. You know how she only wants the best for her son.”
Cousin? Aunt? Son? You felt the colour drain from your face as realisation dawned on you.
“Y/N is best for me. Now can we please stop discussing my personal life and get back to business.”
“Of course. I hear what you’re saying about the Jew but we need him alive for now. I think he’ll be able to help us deal with Thomas Shelby.”
“Solomon’s is tight with Shelby. There’s no way he’d sell him out.”
“Oh, he will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse... Don’t look so worried, Chuck, all will be revealed soon. You just carry on doing what you’re doing and remember that we’re doing this per la famiglia. Luca’s foreign tongue made you shudder. “Once Solomon’s, Shelby and Sabini are dealt with. London will be ours for the taking.”
You pulled away from the door just as Charles was asking about Sabini. You had heard enough.
It was worse than you or Tommy had anticipated. Charles and Luca wasn’t just business relations, they were blood relations. His money was their money. Your time and efforts had been in vain. Any hope of sabotaging their connection was gone. Replaced with an overwhelming sense of alarming trepidation. You had to leave. There was no way you could stay now knowing what you know.
The main door of the dining room swung open, startling you.
“I’m terribly sorry miss. I didn’t mean to scare you.” The flustered housemaid apologised as she shuffled in with your supper.
“Please don’t apologise.” You told her shakily.
“You’re white as a sheet! I must’ve given you a proper fright. Poor thing. Sit ya self down and I’ll fetch you something to drink.”
“No, no. I’m fine. It’s just-I’ve received word today that my friend isn’t well and it’s come as quite a shock. I would like to check on her to see if she’s feeling better. Could you let Mr Fenton know that I’m going to visit her and I won’t be back until later.”
“Of course, Miss, but what about your tea?” She signals to the silver tray she’s carrying.
“I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. I’ll eat it when I return.”
“Ok, Miss. I’ll put it by for later.” She took off with the tray of food and without a second thought you made for the door without even stopping for your coat or purse.
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In a daze you wandered down the street, feeling hopelessly lost in a city that had been your home for 20 odd years. You headed north, knowing that regardless of your current uncertainty towards Alfie you would have to warn him and get word to Tommy. Without your purse you had no money to jump on a bus or the underground. Your only option was to trudge the busy late afternoon streets to your destination. It would take roughly an hour to get from Central to Camden, probably the same amount of time it would take Charles to suspect something was amiss. It was a distressing thought that caused you to pick up pace. To make up time you decided to take a shortcut that lead you along the river and down the canals. It was a risky move as the muddy banks of the canals were refuge to some unsavoury characters - mainly drunkards - desperate men that would find easy prey on a young woman trekking the waterways on her own.
The sun was slowly sinking into twilight by the time you had reached Camden lock. Despite your exhaustion you were relieved to have made it in one piece but you shouldn’t have spoke too soon. In the distance you could see a group of what looked like 3 men huddled together along the path which you needed to pass to get across to the bakery. Your blistered feet slowed but it was too late, they had already spotted you. You quickly tried to think of an alternative route. The only other way was to swim across but jumping in and braving the grim green water that was frothing with rubbish and other questionable substances wasn’t tempting to say the least. There was nothing you could do now except carry on walking with your chin held high as if their shady presence didn’t intimidate you. You argued with yourself as you approached that maybe you had jumped to a brash assumption and that they were in fact a harmless trio who would just let you pass without a second glance. As you got closer they rose from their makeshift perches and swayed towards you. It was then you knew that your brash assumption had been correct.
“Evening treacle.” One slurred. “What brings you down ‘ere then?” He smiled, revealing a row of yellow teeth that were gradually rotting a browny black. You ignored him and tried to pass but he obstructed you.
“Let me pass!” You ordered him.
“Now then, that’s not nice. You could at least ask nicely. Say please.” He slurred.
“Please let me pass.” You said through gritted teeth.
The other two came to stand beside him. Panicking, you tried hard to conceal the trembling of your body.
“Beg.” He tells you through a snarl.
“I love it when they beg.” One of the other men chimed in, earning a chortle from his soapy comrades.
You laugh as if joining in with their sadistic merriment. Then quick as a whippet you tried to barge through their burly blockade, effectively knocking one of the men into the drink. The middle one grabbed you. You turned as he did so, kneeing him between the legs. He dropped to the floor and you made to escape but was grabbed again by the last remaining man. His filthy hand covered your mouth, cutting you off mid scream. You thrashed in his arms. Your eyes widening as the man on the floor rose slowly.
“We’ve got a feisty one ‘ere, Del.”
“Let’s see how feisty she is once I’ve finished with ‘er.” The man you knocked to the floor was now fully upright, stalking towards you.
You closed your eyes, helplessly awaiting your fate.
“Get your filthy fucking hands off ‘er!”
Your eyes shot open at the unmistakable voice coming from behind you.
The man turned suddenly with you still in his arms. Your eyes landed on Alfie and Ollie and you wanted to cry out in relief.
“Mr Solomon’s - I was only helping the poor Lass. She was lost, ya see.” He muttered a sheepish reply. His arms loosening around you. You pushed away from him stricken and lurched into Alfie’s arms.
“Are you ok, Yahalom?” He asked, pushing away the hair from your face and checking you over for any sign of injury.
You noded, clinging to him.
“Run!” One of the men shouted and they both fled in opposite directions. The one who had hold of you tried to leg-it past Alfie who with a flick of his cane tripped him before he could get any further. Alfie pushed you to Ollie, and pounced on top of the fallen man. Savagely he landed a shocking set of bone crunching blows upon the sputtering and sobbing man on the floor.
You started to shake uncontrollably. Your chest heaving to draw in breaths.
“Alfie, stop now. You’re scaring ‘er!” Ollie yelled at Alfie who stopped immediately.
“Get ‘er out of ‘ere!” He shouted.
You felt Ollie tug on your arm.
“No-I c-can’t go-I need t-to talk to A-alfie.” You chattered numbly.
“It’s ok, Y/N. Let’s wait for him inside and you can talk to him then, yeah?” Ollie asked you soothingly. You stopped resisting, allowing him to guide you over the bridge of the canal and inside the huge double door entrance of the bakery. He set you down on a crate.
“Are you ok?” Ollie asked. Kneeling in front of you.
You shook your head from side to side, unable to speak through the loud chattering of your teeth.
“We were just leaving. You’re lucky we spotted you, ya know.”
You didn’t answer him. Instead you reached out and gave his hand a grateful squeeze.
Alfie exploded through the doors, making you and Ollie jump. His blood splattered face was a fit of pure rage.
“How many fucking times have I told you not to walk the canals on your own? If me and him would have left ‘ere half hour ago like we were supposed to, what would have happened then, ay?” His eyes flickered as he tortured himself pointlessly with the sickening possibilities.
“Alright, Alfie. Calm down, ay? We left at the right time and luckily Y/N weren’t hurt-“ Ollie started calmly before Alfie interrupted him.
“- You sure they didn’t hurt you?” Alfie asked.
“I’m sure.”
“The fuck was you thinking, Pet?” His stern voice was slightly softer now.
“I-I wasn’t-“
“-Where’s your coat?” He asked suddenly. “Them cunts take it?”
“No, I left it behind-there was n-no time- I had t-to get out of there fast-I left my coat behind along with my p-purse-I’ve had to walk from Central-thats why I t-took the sh-shortcut.” You stuttered senselessly, barely pausing to take a breath. Alfie took off his coat and draped it over your shoulders. You pulled it tightly around yourself. His musky scent clung to the heavy wool material that was still warm with the heat of his body. You inhaled deeply, feeling instantly calmer. “I couldn’t stay there, Alfie. I had to leave, I had to get out of there!”
“Calm down, Yahalom, and tell me exactly what’s happened?” He ordered, his eyes wild.
“It’s Charles. He and Lu-ca Changretta are related. They’re cousins. I-I overheard them talking. They said something about money coming in from New York and taking over London. They’re going to take down everyone in their way - you, Tommy, even Sabini. Everything Tommy said is true and there’s nothing I can do about it. We have to warn Thomas.”
Alfie exchanged a look with Ollie.
“Did he know you were listening in on his conversation?” Ollie asked.
“No. But he’ll know I’m missing by now and maybe he’ll put two and two together. I told the housemaid to tell him I was visiting an ill friend but I’m not sure he’ll believe that.”
“Right then. Well, first things first.” Alfie put his arms around your shoulders and lifted you gently from where you rested. ��I need to get you out of here.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay here and help sort this.” You told him wilfully.
“You’ve done all you can, pet. Let me and Tommy deal with this now.”
“So all of this was for nothing? Me staying with Charles, weeks of misery and sneaking around. That was all for nothing?”
“This isn’t your fight, Y/N. It never was your fight.” Alfie sighed.
“They’re planning on killing you, Alfie - the father of my unborn baby. Tell me how that isn’t my fight?” You sobbed angrily.
He grabbed your shoulders, shaking you lightly.
“Look at me.” He said firmly. Your wide eyes rose to his. “I can handle it, right. What I can’t handle is the worry of anything happening to you. Which is why I’m getting you out of ‘ere, even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming. I’m taking you and that unborn baby of mine to safety. You ‘ear me? That’s our priority now, yeah?”
“...Yeah.” You whispered, knowing he was right.
“Come on.”
You held on to him as you walked, your weary feet stinging with every faltered step you took.
“You need me to carry you?” He asked.
You shook your head weakly.
The sun had now almost set but the brightness outside was still blinding as you emerged from the darkness of the distillery.
“Get in the car.” Alfie ordered.
You did as he said, sliding into the front passenger seat and trying to avoid looking across the canal where your attacker still lay, a lifeless crumpled, mess on the floor. You blocked it out and focused on Alfie through the windscreen instead. He was leant into Ollie, telling him something. Ollie gave him a contrite nod and handed him what looked like a set of keys. With a pat on the back, Alfie left him to climb in to the drivers seat. He started the engine.
“Isn’t Ollie coming with us?”
“Na. He’s got to sort a few things out for me.” He replied, shoving the shift stick into gear and pulling off. You watched him intently. An unsolicited heat crept over you as he manoeuvred the machine with a confident ease that you couldn’t help but find alluring.
“Where are we going?” You asked croakily.
“Let me worry about that, right. You look exhausted. Rest your head and I’ll wake you when we get there.”
Too weak to argue you did just that. Leaning your head against the window which was slick with condensation. The soft purr of the cars engine lulled you rapidly into a deep and dreamless sleep.
You were roused from your confined slumber by Alfie as he lifted you from the passenger seat into his arms. Your neck throbbed where you had laid awkwardly propped up against the window for God knows how long. You let the aching heaviness of your head rest against Alfies chest as he carried you. A whooshing noise echoed familiarly in the blustery background, intertwined with what sounded like crunching gravel beneath Alfie’s feet as he walked. Curiously your sluggish eyes peered at your surroundings. You could just about make out the silhouette of a building and an unusual looking tree against the dark blue of the night sky.
Exhausted, your head fell back onto Alfie’s chest and you buried your face in the crook of his neck to shield it from the tenacious chill of the night air. He came to a stop holding you tightly with one arm as the other searched his trouser pocket. A jingling of keys and the sound of the lock turning, then you were finally inside and out of the cold.
The smell of fresh paint and varnish filled your nostrils as he carried you over the foreign residence. After kicking the door closed with his foot, you felt him ascend a set of stairs in the darkness, effortlessly, as if he was already well acquainted with the steps. A door creaked open and then shortly after you were being lowered. You unfolded from him as he placed you on the soft cushioning of a mattress. Your head sunk into the fluffy pillows, your arms stretching across the width of the spacious bed. Your eyes opened when you realised Alfie wasn’t joining you.
“Don’t leave me.” You begged.
“Sssh.” He soothed softly. His heavy hand brushing back your hair from your face. “You’re safe now, Yahalom.”
Your eyes closed, his reassuring tone and tender touch settling you back to sleep.
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You awoke with a start. Looking around the huge room that was now highlighted by an orange hue emanating from the fire that crackled and danced in the fireplace adjacent to the bed. The ceaseless whooshing you heard earlier broke in from a set of french doors to your left and you raised from the bed to investigate. Pulling back the floor length curtains that decorated them, you were shocked to see the mosaicked balcony and the beach landscape that it overlooked. At a glance it appeared that Alfie had stolen you away from the perilous situation in London and brought you to Margate - your safe haven. But what was this place? It wasn’t a B&B or a hotel because you remembered that Alfie had entered with a key - you assumed the same key Ollie had handed him before you left. You glanced around the room once more, the unfamiliarity of your surroundings causing you great unease. And it was quiet, too quiet. Where was Alfie?
You poked your nose out of the bedroom door and peeked down the length of the darkened hallway. A sliver of warm light shone from a partially open door of one of the rooms and cautiously you ambled towards it. You lingered outside, your nerves settling when you heard Alfie’s hushed tone beyond the wood.
“Did you get hold of the rabbi?”
There was a long pause before Alfie spoke again.
“I don’t care what fucking time it is just keep trying. I want him up ‘ere by the end of the week, before the fight... Yeah? Well make-fucking-sure.” You heard a crashing bang which you guessed was the receiver of the telephone being put down on whoever Alfie was talking to.
“Are you gonna stand out there all fucking night or you gonna come in?” He shouted out to you, causing you to smile.
You entered slowly, stalling in the doorway.
Alfie was sat at a desk, a much neater, more fancier desk than the one he usually occupied at the bakery.
“You alright?” He asked, watching you intently as you came to sit in front of him.
You nodded absentmindedly, too busy taking in the plush interior of the room.
“Did you speak to Tommy?” You asked eagerly, your eyes finally meeting his. He waited a moment before answering you.
“Na, I ain’t been able to get hold of him. I’ll try again in the morning...You sure you’re alright?”
“Where are we?” You queried, ignoring his question.
“Margate.”
“No, I mean here.” You pointed to where you were sat. “Whose house is this?”
“This is our house.” He said casually.
You look at him stunned. Your mouth agape.
“Our house?”
He nodded simply.
“W-when? How?” You stuttered, dumbfounded.
“I bought it a while back, after I saw you again at the Eden. It was in a bit of a two an’ eight when I bought it. Taken me an’ the boys a little while to do up.”
“I’m confused.” You shook your head. “You’ve bought a house in Margate? But we’re so far away from London, from your businesses. What about the bakery?”
“I’m retiring, Yahalom. I’ve sold up all the properties I own and I’ve handed the bakery down to Ollie. This was my plan all along. The only way I knew I could keep you safe.”
It took you a moment to process everything and still you were stunned speechless.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“I thought this was what you wanted?” He cites.
“It was-“
Alfie narrowed his eyes at your use of past tense.
“-I mean is.” You corrected swiftly before carrying on “It’s just come as a bit of a shock is all.”
“Hmm.” He let out a suspicious grunt. “It’s not the best timing after the day you’ve had, I get that. But that was out of my control wern’it?”
You nodded solemnly. Still trying to wrap your head around everything.
“I thought you’d be happy, Yahalom?”
“I am.” You frowned.
“At least show it then. Crack a smile or summin. You’ve got a face like a slapped arse at the minute.” You heard a frustrated annoyance creep into the grimmess of his voice.
“I don’t know how I feel about it, if I’m being honest. The last few months have been a whirlwind for me. I haven’t slept properly in days, weeks even. Weary to the bone. Wracked with guilt and worry. I honestly don’t know wether I’m coming or going. And now you’re telling me that you’re selling up. Leaving behind everything you’ve worked so hard to build and for what?”
“For us!” He barked. “For us to be together without the worry of someone hurting you to hurt me. And yeah, I’ve worked hard, I’ve earn’t my money, however, it’s time for me to rest now and enjoy the fruits of my labour.”
“I’m not sure, Alf...” You hummed uneasily.
“What’s there to be unsure of?”
“I still ain’t sure this is what you really want!” You snapped frustratedly. “A quiet life by the sea, a child you never wanted...I just can’t see it.” You admitted sadly.
He exhaled harshly, rising from his desk and stepping round to extend a hand to you.
“Come with me. I wanna show you something.”
Reluctantly you took his offered hand and let him guide you back out into the hallway and along to a room that was situated next to the one you had been resting in earlier.
He opened the door and moved aside for you to enter.
The waxing moon shon brightly through the bare windows, lighting up the room with it’s spectacular lunar glow. You stepped through noticing immediately the cot that lay new and empty against the far wall, next to it was a matching chest of drawers and a rocking horse that looked like it had been plucked from a fairground carousel.
Your eyes shot to Alfie whose bear like frame was leant in the doorway studying your reaction.
“When did you do this?”
“A couple of days ago. The room needs a lick of paint but I thought you might wanna choose the colour.” He came to join you in the centre of the room.
“So you did all this before you come to see me? Before you were even certain that the baby yours?...Why?”
He was silent for a moment, deep in thought.
He shrugged. “I s’pose deep down I knew you were lying and that the baby was mine... or maybe I didn’t fucking care, I dunno... doing this...it just felt right.”
“But you said-“
“-I know what I said but saying don’t mean fuck all does it. Actions speak louder than words.” He motions to the room. “And this speaks fucking volumes, dunnit. I mean if this doesn’t prove to you that this is what I really want then I don’t know what will.”
Reassurance drifted over you as you looked once again around the unfinished nursery.
“Say something.” He requested quietly.
Wordlessly you rushed to him and threw your arms around his broad shoulders.
“You like it then? You’re happy?” He confirmed uncertainly.
“I do. I am. It’s...wonderful! Thank you!” You choked a reply, your voice struggling past the forming lump in your throat.
He pulled you closer, his shoulders relaxing as if a weight had been lifted off them.
“You want me to show you round the rest of the house?” He whispered gruffly into your hair.
“Not tonight. Show me tomorrow in the daylight so I can properly take in the beauty of it all.”
“Alright. Well, what shall we do now then?” You were sure you heard a seductive undertone in his question and took full advantage.
“Take me to our bed.”
“You ain’t gotta ask me twice.” He said. His eyes lighting up at your words.
You squealed when he lifted you in his arms and carried you to the next room.
“Cor blimey. You’ve got heavier already.” He huffs.
“Oh give over, I ain’t even showing properly yet. You’re just getting weaker with age, old man.” You teased him.
“Oi! I’ll have you know that there’s nothing wrong with my stamina and I will gladly prove that to you in a minute.” He threatened hotly. Sending your pulse racing. “There’s just one more thing I’ve got to do first.”
He set you down carefully on your own two feet.
“Can’t it wait?” You whined as he stepped away from you and headed towards the door.
“It won’t take me a minute.” He assured you.
You stood in the middle of the once unfamiliar room that you now knew was yours and Alfies. Sighing happily, you glided to the french doors and tried the handle. They opened willingly under your touch. The chill of the night air was refreshing as you stepped out on to the balcony. Leaning on the stone balaustrade, you observed the unrelenting waves that stretched the distance, relishing in the peacefulness of their crashing melody. Nothing could ruin this moment, not even the ugliness of the Changretta situation. All that mattered right now was your future with Alfie, a future that this morning never even existed.
“Yahalom?” Alfie called, having returned.
You spun to look at him. He marched skittishly towards you, his hands behind his back, as he joined you on the balcony.
“I know I’ve asked you this before but as you so poignantly pointed out to me the other day, it’s a proposal that has since expired. So, I’m gonna ask you again... Y/N Y/L/N will you marry me?” He asked gruffly, his eyes so intense you thought they could set you on fire. You gasped unexpectedly. Although it was the second time he had asked you, it was the first time you had heard him say those words aloud.
“Oh, Alfie. Of course I’ll marry you.”
“Thank fuck for that. Here then.” He produced a ring that was hidden in his clenched fist behind his back. Grabbing your hand he slipped it on your finger. You stared down at it in awe. A ruby once again burned brightly on your finger but it wasn’t the one you were used to. You frowned down at the foreignness of the rings delicate beauty and the circle of winking diamonds that surrounded the red gem like a halo.
“I searched high and low for the other one in the bakery but couldn’t find it. So I bought you another one. D’you like it?”
“It’s beautiful... I was just expecting to see the old one.” You replied, your heart sinking at the thought of your first engagement ring being lost forever. It was only supposed to be a temporary ring, taken from Alfie’s pinky finger until he had gotten you a proper one. There wasn’t much to it just a thick gold band with a faceted ruby so red it was hypnotising. Back then you had persuaded Alfie not to buy a replacement, that you wanted to keep his one as every time you looked at it it reminded you of him. Now, thanks to yourself you’ll never see it again.
“That’s old hat now that one though, innit? a token of who we used to be. We’ve been through a lot of shit, right, shit I wanna leave in the past. I want us to have a fresh start, a clean slate, and this house and this ring is where it begins.”
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fototreader · 3 years ago
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Joshua
He got up with the expectation that he would connect to meaning on this day.  That was because when he was lying in bed, before getting up, he had prayed for help.  “Help me,” he had prayed.  In his head, the words formed “get up.”  These words seemed an answer to his prayer, and therefore, he did get up, lest if he did not, he would be missing a possible connection to meaning.  Those instances when he missed a possible connection to meaning, real or imagined, were painful, and hard to recover from.  So the man got up, and got in the shower, and turned the water on hot, and stretched, and tried to make a good faith effort to put himself in order, in the hopes of connecting to meaning, because he had the hope and the expectation that that might happen today, because after he had prayed for help, he felt that he had received the instructions to get up, and not lie in bed, thinking about how miserable he felt, and was, and how he hoped for something better from his life, and from himself, and from god too, he guessed, if he were really going to be honest about it.
Now, when I use the expression “connect to meaning”, I should make it clear that this is distinct from say, connecting to a sense of meaning.  For the man, it was a razor sharp distinction.  In other words, if he felt or understood meaning to be just an illusion, or just a perception of meaning, without attaching to something real, and sure, and larger than his own self, I think he would have found it hard to be similarly motivated.  It had to be real for him, and if he doubted that it wasreal, that would be a crippling impediment to his struggle.  And what was his struggle?  The man’s struggle was simple – it was the struggle to not give up.  It was the struggle to keep moving, keep trying, keep hoping for a connection with something beautiful, and bigger than himself, and real.
For the man, who we can call Joshua, a lot of the trouble came down to the problem of how to make decisions.  Decisions were troublesome.  Decisions could invite a world of pain, if they were not done right, and even if done right sometimes, lots of trouble ensued, although it is hard to say if even more trouble might not have ensued if no decision had been made, or say, a different decision had been made.
So decisions were fraught things for Joshua, and he always hoped to not be kidding himself, and not just rationalizing when he made them, especially important ones.  And that was another troubling thing about decisions- sometimes it was hard to know which ones were important and which were not.  Sometimes, it seemed, apparently trivial decisions had substantial consequences, both good and bad.  So you could never know, and you always had to be on guard, and that was another problem about the whole decision making thing – it caused worry.  Worry was always there, it seemed.  Too much worry.  And worry was stressful, and caused soul weariness, and created a need for liberation, or relief, or release, and that need for release sometimes caused Joshua to do things, or to make decisions to do things that were not helpful, in the larger sense, in that they caused him to wonder if he was maybe sliding off the tracks a little bit, and worry again, even more lets say, about himself, and the decisions he was making, and so forth, thereby beginning the whole sorry process all over again.
Joshua actually felt that there was a better organic quality to those decisions that seemed to make themselves, rather than ones that were deliberate acts.  For instance, on some mornings, he just noticed himself getting up at some point, and going to the shower.  He just noticed himself doing it.  It was effortless in a peculiar, not unpleasant way, and he liked it. He had a tentative idea that in these actions he was entirely pure of purpose, or rather perhaps absent of purpose, and that maybe the two were in some way linked, or in fact the same.  But he wasn’t sure about that, and hadn’t really puzzled it through in any methodical philosophical way.  All he knew for certain was, he liked that way of doing things, or rather noticing himself doing things, and had a sense that the disembodied sense of volition which attended these moments made him innocent, and therefore perhaps closer to meaning, and that was all to the good.
Now, Joshua was fully aware of the troubling implications of hearing voices, (or seeing words, or of being aware of word meanings in his head - for he was not sure he “heard” things, or was more just aware of formed words, or sentences, in his mind.)  Yes.  He understood that people who were psychotic, and/or schizophrenic also heard voices, and that sometimes under the influence of these voices did horrible things, committed horrible acts of violence.  These indisputable facts were deeply troubling, because who was to say, who could make it clear that there was any difference between these phenomena?  And furthermore, wouldn’t a kind god make sure to allow his creatures a way to be sure that there were hearing his tutelage and not simply giving in to psychosis?  So, to re-emphasize my point, Joshua was not uncritical about the way in which he was trying to respond to what he hoped was meaning, and what he hoped was god, and was not untroubled by the possibilities of gross error in his approach.  Sometimes he blamed himself for not being sufficiently intent upon his purpose, and that the faintness of god’s instructions was a result of his own lack of purpose and intention and intensity, in his search for meaning.  And sometimes he was just puzzled and sad and bereft, and didn’t have any theories about it at all.  
Joshua could remember times when hardship of various kinds had forced him into a state of profound humility, and prayerfulness even, which had preceded a feeling of profound and suffused joy, unconnected to any specific cause.  And he formed a philosophy - based on this sequence of events, repeated over time during different periods of his life - that the point of life is to experience hardship, not for the intrinsic value of pain, but because it is the most efficient producer of humility.  And because without humility, there is no chance of feeling meaning.
So this philosophy buoyed Joshua during difficulty, and allowed him to embrace it, and wish it to do its work on him, and render him porous to grace, and meaning, and make him closer to god.
But, like all philosophies, it was only in the end, an idea, or a series of connected ideas, and not infallible, and definitely not perfectly true.  And anyway, no matter how cleverly Joshua was able to explain his suffering, it wouldn’t be suffering if it didn’t hurt, and if it weren’t suffering it wouldn’t have the intended effect, and suffering in the end, sucked.
So lately, it seemed, the whole notion of being made purer or better, or more capable of being without artifice, or somehow more fitted to be close to meaning wasn’t working for Joshua.  He couldn’t see the clear relationships he thought he had perceived in these things, and so was increasingly distressed by the sense he had of things spreading further and further apart, and being sorrowful and without meaning.  And that, that was the one thing that Joshua was not prepared for.  He was not prepared to endure suffering without there being some meaning attached to that pain.
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randomguywithwords · 4 years ago
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On The Line: Part 1 of 3 (KamiJirou Short Story)
No quirk AU, normal life and all. Enjoy
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Jirou’s phone buzzed. She frowned when she saw that it was an unknown number, but the country code was that of Japan’s. She answered, assuming it would be a prank caller, or Mina using a stranger’s phone because hers died from playing battery-draining gacha games. 
“Hello?” 
“Hi!” A boyish voice was on the other end, sounding slightly out of breath. “I’m Denki Kaminari, I need your help.”
Prank caller it is. Although it was unusual for them to introduce themselves by an actual name, It was likely fake. 
“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong number,” She responded, mustering all the politeness she had at this stranger who was interrupting her precious break time. 
“No, no, please! You’re 81907621 right?”
“That’s correct,” Mechanically she said, taking a sip of her coffee and feeling a growing sense of frustration of how much time this Kaminari was wasting. 
“Just give me 15 seconds!” His voice was fraught with panic, so much so that Jirou started to question how genuine this person was. 
Rubbing her temples, she sighed, “Ok. 15 seconds for your sales pitch, and I’m hanging up.” She definitely could have hung up 10 seconds ago, but on the off chance this wasn’t a prank call, or a scammer, but an actual person in dire need of whatever assistance Jirou was supposed to provide, then so be it. 
“I’m applying for a job, and they asked for references, and I meant to put down my ex-teacher’s phone number, but I accidentally put yours instead, and I just found out and the company said they would be calling you soon and I really, really need you to tell them I’m suitable and not that I screwed up my application. I know it sounds stupid but I can prove it. My teacher’s name is Shota Aizawa and he’s a teacher at U.A High. You can look it up!”
Kyoka whistled under her breath at how fast he had managed to speak, and even more so that she caught it all. Guess being friends with fast talkers like Ashido and Momo was a good life skill after all. 
“Okay, I’ll google him and you to see if you’re telling the truth. You’re an alumnus there? What year?”
“Graduated just last semester.”
“Hm, how convenient. I did too. Lucky you landed me and not some old lady.”
There was a nervous chuckle on the other end. “I swear it’s the truth. Please help me, I’ll even pay you if need be. Just don’t tell the company I messed up.”
Some employee he would be, Jirou grumbled internally, though she did sympathise with his self-caused plight. She could remember the bunch of times she had total failures and had to be bailed out. 
“I’ll call you back in 5 minutes. And the second you ask for my credit card number I’m reporting you to the police, got it?”
“Yes!” He yelped. 
Jirou hung up, and then resumed her break, wondering whether all of this was worth the trouble. With another sigh, she pulled out her laptop and typed in the names she heard. 
“Hmm. It all checks out,” She muttered, scrolling through U.A High’s official website. Looking through social media accounts, she repeatedly saw both Shota Aizawa’s face in staff photos as well as Denki Kaminari. While the former looked as if he had woken up five minutes before taking the photo, the latter sported a mischievous look, with yellow, unkempt hair. 
In other words, Denki Kaminari looked exactly like the type of person who would fill in the wrong number in an extremely important document. 
Closing her laptop, she sent a text message to Kaminari’s number. “Send a selfie. I need to make sure it’s you.”
The reply – sent in a record-breaking time, she might add, was more amusing than she thought, seeing his expression that spoke levels of, “I’m not sure what face I should make for this.” Nonetheless, she was pretty convinced that Kaminari wasn’t bullshitting her. 
“Alright,” Jirou began when Kaminari answered her call, “I believe you. So, what do you need me to do?”
“Uh, right, I just need you to pretend to be my ex-teacher and answer their questions.”
“Right, but I’m a girl, if you haven’t noticed. Wouldn’t your teacher have a more gravelly voice, from the looks of him?”
A pause. “Sorry, I did not consider that. Uh...” The frantic pace in his voice was returning. “Do you have boyfriends?”
Jirou coughed to contain her laughter at the question, that Kaminari immediately corrected. 
“Shit – I didn’t mean it like that! Like – boy friends. Guy friends, friends who are guys!” 
“Yeah, so I give the phone to them?
“If you could, I would be so, so thankful.”
“Fine, I’ll do it. But now, you’re going to have to fill me in on your life story, or the parts relevant to this job. What are you applying for, by the way?”
“It’s an admin job at a tuition agency.” 
“Okay. Could you text me whatever’s needed? I’ll deliver all this to my friend.”
“Sure, sure. Thanks so much for helping me with this, by the way. I could send you some money or something.”
“Let’s discuss that later. Do you know when they’ll call?”
“Well it’s the lunch hour now, maybe in an hour or two?”
“Gotcha. Call you back when it’s all over, and good luck to you.” 
“Okay. Bye!”
Jirou hung up, and called another person, “Yo. Meet me in the canteen ASAP.”
5 minutes later, a tired Hitoshi Shinsou sat down in front of her, tired being a redundant adjective. “What’s up?”
Kyoka began to explain. Shinso’s face barely shifted throughout, and he only had one question at the end. “How are you so sure I can imitate this Aizawa person?”
“Here’s a video of him delivering a speech.” 
After five seconds of listening, Shinso put down the earphones. “Alright, so I just speak normally. Got it.”
A smile curled at Jirou’s lip. It had been an admittedly boring day of classes. Maybe this plot of sorts would make it more interesting, but Jirou wouldn’t admit it to herself yet, but she was becoming more interested in this character of Kaminari Denki. 
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Just a plot idea I thought of and saw how applicable it was to these two characters. I’m not sure whether it’s been done before, but the wrong number texting trope has been. *coughs in Dial and Error by Ionica01 which is one of the best Todomomo fics I’ve read* I’ve linked it, hope she doesn’t mind ._. But it really is very good IMO. 
Anyway, I swear this is just a 3 part story. Not a full length novel/novella. I’m working on c25. 
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free--therapy · 3 years ago
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Taking the Steps to Forgive Yourself
By Kendra Cherry
Forgiveness is often defined as a deliberate decision to let go of feelings of anger, resentment, and retribution toward someone who you believe has wronged you. However, while you may be quite generous in your ability to forgive others, you may be much harder on yourself.
Everyone makes mistakes, but learning how to learn from these errors, let go, move on, and forgive yourself is important for mental health and well-being. Learn more about why self-forgiveness can be beneficial and explore some steps that may help you become better at forgiving your own mistakes.
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How to Forgive Yourself
Self-forgiveness is not about letting yourself off the hook nor is it a sign of weakness. The act of forgiveness, whether you are forgiving yourself or someone who has wronged you, does not suggest that you are condoning the behavior.
Forgiveness means that you accept the behavior, you accept what has happened, and you are willing to move past it and move on with your life without ruminating over past events that cannot be changed. One therapeutic approach to self-forgiveness suggests that four key actions can be helpful.
The 4 R's of Self-Forgiveness Responsibility Remorse Restoration Renewal
Accept Responsibility
Forgiving yourself is about more than just putting the past behind you and moving on. It is about accepting what has happened and showing compassion to yourself.
Facing what you have done or what has happened is the first step toward self-forgiveness. It's also the hardest step. If you have been making excuses, rationalizing, or justifying your actions in order to make them seem acceptable, it is time to face up and accept what you have done.
By taking responsibility and accepting that you have engaged in actions that have hurt others, you can avoid negative emotions, such as excessive regret and guilt.
Express Remorse
As a result of taking responsibility, you may experience a range of negative feelings, including guilt and shame. When you've done something wrong, it's completely normal, even healthy, to feel guilty about it. These feelings of guilt and remorse can serve as a springboard to positive behavior change.
While guilt implies that you're a good person who did something bad, shame makes you see yourself as a bad person. This can bring up feelings of worthlessness which, left unresolved, can lead to addiction, depression, and aggression. Understand that making mistakes that you feel guilty about does not make you a bad person or undermine your intrinsic value.
Repair the Damage and Restore Trust
Making amends is an important part of forgiveness, even when the person you are forgiving is yourself. Just as you might not forgive someone else until they've made it up to you in some way, forgiving yourself is more likely to stick when you feel like you've earned it.
One way to move past your guilt is to take action to rectify your mistakes. Apologize if it is called for and look for ways that you can make it up to whomever you have hurt.
It may seem as if this portion of the process benefits only the person you've harmed, but there's something in it for you as well. Fixing your mistake means you'll never have to wonder if you could have done more.
Focus on Renewal
Everyone makes mistakes and has things for which they feel sorry or regretful. Falling into the trap of rumination, self-hatred, or even pity can be damaging and make it difficult to maintain your self-esteem and motivation.
Forgiving yourself often requires finding a way to learn from the experience and grow as a person. To do this, you need to understand why you behaved the way you did and why you feel guilty. What steps can you take to prevent the same behaviors again in the future? Yes, you might have messed up, but it was a learning experience that can help you make better choices in the future.
Limitations
While self-forgiveness is a powerful practice, it's important to recognize that this model is not intended for people who unfairly blame themselves for something they aren't responsible for.
People who have suffered abuse, trauma, or loss, for example, may feel shame and guilt even though they had no control. This can be particularly true when people feel they should have been able to predict, and therefore avoid, a negative outcome (an example of what is known as the hindsight bias).
Benefits
The standard axiom within psychology has been that forgiveness is a good thing and that it conveys a number of benefits, whether you have experienced a minor slight or have suffered a much more serious grievance. This includes both forgiving others as well as yourself.
Mental Health
Letting go and offering yourself forgiveness can help boost your feelings of wellness and improve your image of yourself. Numerous studies have demonstrated that when people practice self-forgiveness, they experience lower levels of depression and anxiety.1 Similarly, self-compassion is associated with higher levels of success, productivity, focus, and concentration.
Physical Health
The act of forgiveness can also positively impact your physical health. Research shows that forgiveness can improve cholesterol levels, reduce bodily pain, and blood pressure, and lower your risk of a heart attack.
Relationships
Having a compassionate and forgiving attitude toward yourself is also a critical component of successful relationships. Being able to forge close emotional bonds with other people is important, but so is the ability to repair those bonds when they become fraught or damaged.
One study found that both parties benefit from the "offending partner" showing self-forgiveness. Specifically, both partners tended to feel more relationship satisfaction and have fewer negative thoughts about each other as a result of genuine self-forgiveness.
Challenges
So what is it that makes self-forgiveness so difficult at times? Why do people often continue to punish and berate themselves over relatively minor mistakes? Engaging in actions that are not in line with our own values or self-beliefs can lead to feelings of guilt and regret—or worse, self-loathing.
Some people are just naturally more prone to rumination, which can make it easier to dwell on negative feelings. The fact that self-forgiveness involves acknowledging wrongdoing and admitting that you might need to change can make the process more challenging.
Lastly, people who are not yet ready to change may find it harder to truly forgive themselves. Instead, of admitting they might need to change, they might engage in a sort of pseudo-self-forgiveness by simply overlooking or excusing their behavior.
Potential Drawbacks
While self-forgiveness is generally thought of as a positive action that can help restore the sense of self, there is also research indicating that it can sometimes have a detrimental effect. The major pitfall of self-forgiveness is that it can sometimes reduce empathy for those who have been hurt by your actions.
Although self-forgiveness often relieves feelings of guilt, there are times this inward focus may make it more difficult to identify with others. You can avoid this by consciously practicing empathy with those who have been affected by your actions.
Read the article here.
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osakaso5 · 4 years ago
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Halloween Event Story
~Fluffy Blast Racing~ Chapter 3: An Omen
Chapter Index
Haruka: Phew, finally done..!
Haruka: Thanks again. I'd never finish my work if it wasn't for you.
Haruka: I'll give you a nice, long maintenance session later.
Haruka: Still... I wonder what Minami's planning to do with all these gadgets.
Minami: ...I see you've finished your share.
Haruka: Whoa..! When did you get here..!?
Minami: When you were still talking to your tools.
Haruka: I-I wasn't talking to them!
Haruka: I can't believe you'd eavesdrop on me like that.
Minami: Oh, but I'm just here to check up on the items I requested. I thought you'd be done with them by now.
Haruka: ...Yeah, I did just finish them...
Haruka: Are you sure we should be making this stuff when we're going broke?
Haruka: A mat that tells you how materials feel? What would you even use it for?
Minami: Don't worry. We'll need it sooner than you may think.
Haruka: ...Wait, is this another one of your fortunes?
Minami: Hee hee, yes indeed.
Minami: I'll have to borrow your tools so I can test it.
Haruka: Huh?
Minami: I need to put one of your tools on the mat and press this switch... 
Click
Tool: ...H-Haruka-kun.
Haruka: .......!!!
Tool: Haru... ka-kun... Thank... you... for always... being so kind... to us.
Haruka: Spanny..!?
Minami: Oh, I didn't know it had a name.
Spanny: Thank... you... for taking... care of... us.
Spanny: I love... when you... polish me... and talk... to me...
Haruka: Spanny...
Minami: Do you need tissues?
Haruka: I-I'm not crying!
Minami: Haha. It's alright, just let it out.
Haruka: I-I was just... a little touched by that, I guess.
Haruka: ...So, this mat really told me how Spanny feels..?
Minami: Yes. My Peep Mat gives insight into the feelings of those who are unable to express them.
Haruka: Peep Mat... Why'd you make it?
Minami: Momo showed me this translation bed he made the other day. It made me want to try making something similar.
Haruka: Momo... That so called genius inventor?
Minami: He's not just a "so called" genius, you know.
Haruka: But he only makes weird stuff!
Haruka: I saw him and Yuki at the park, and Yuki's head was floating up in the air the whole time.
Minami: Ah, that was the machine he made so Yuki could go outside in the heat.
Minami: It reads your brain waves and blasts you with a light gust of wind when needed.
Haruka: It seemed more like a hurricane than a gust...
Haruka: You should've seen the looks he was getting from people.
Minami: Inventing is a career fraught with trial and error, followed by the disbelief of ordinary people.
Minami: I should ask them to demonstrate that machine for me later.
Haruka: But you're an engineer, not an inventor.
Minami: True, but I still enjoy inventing. It can help me with our vehicle designs.
Minami: ...Not to mention we need to make something unique if we want to win the race.
Haruka: I guess... I think the stuff you make is great enough without any influences from Momo.
Minami: Hee hee, thank you. Your skills as a mechanic are what allows my talents to flourish.
Minami: I hope that I can continue relying on them for the foreseeable future.
Haruka: Y-yeah... I knew that.
Minami: ...But we still need to improve.
Minami: It won't be easy for us to reach a mutual understanding with our materials...
Haruka: A mutual understanding... Are you sure that's gonna be useful?
Minami: Yes, Nagi told me the translation bed allowed him to bond with an adorable extraterrestrial creature.
Haruka: ...An adorable what now..?
Minami: Torao and Toma might find something like that today, too. 
- - - -
Torao: Huff, huff...
Toma: Wheeze...
Toma: T-this is bad...
Torao: Minami really needs to be less random with this stuff.
Toma: Why does it put bread in your mouth and spray you with water when you brake!?
Torao: That was supposed to be a function that let you eat without using your hands...
Toma: We're sopping wet now!
Torao: Good thing we tested this before the client got to it.
Toma: Thanks to you, the car's at least unharmed.
Toma: ...If our pay gets deducted again, we won't have the funds to race, huh?
Torao: Yeah...
Toma: Sigh... And we lost sight of those fluffy things...
Torao: No point in worrying about them now.
Torao: Forget about the little guys. We need to do something about this car before it makes us lose more money.
Toma: Right, something...
???: .......
Torao: Ah... Hey, Toma! Aren't those the things we were chasing, in front of that display board?
Toma: Yeah! It's the little furballs! ...Are there more of them now?
Toma: Let's get closer!
Torao: What are these things? Some new type of animal?
???: Tomama... tomama...!
Toma: Whoa, it talked..!
Torao: What did it say?
Toma: I dunno.
Torao: Are they ghosts..?
Toma: We can see them plain as day, though.
Torao: Oh yeah, I forgot ghosts were invisible to the naked eye.
???: Tora, torara!
???: Haruru, haru!
???: Minana... mina...
Torao: Whoa..! H-hey, stay away.
Toma: Haha, well aren't you popular. These things are pretty cute, now that I get a close look at them!
Torao: Ugh... We shouldn't have chased after them...
Toma: Hey, what are you guys?
???: Torara, torara!
???: Tomama... tomama..!
Toma: ...Tora? Tomama..? Is it saying that it tore a tomato, or something..?
???: Toma! Tomama..!
Torao: ...Apparently not.
Toma: I-I wouldn't know!
???: Tomama... tomama!
???: Minana... mina..!
Toma: Ugh, I have no idea what they're saying... But it feels like they're trying to tell us something...
Torao: There's nothing we can do to help them right now.
Torao: We've got our own problems to deal with.
Toma: Yeah, but...
Torao: We should let the guys from i7 Corporation handle this.
Toma: I guess you're right... I'll call Riku later.
Toma: Sorry, we'd love to hear you out, but we just don't have time.
???: Toma... tomama...
???: Haruru... haru...
Toma: Come on, don't look so sad...
Toma: We'll do what we can, if we ever see you again.
Torao: ...Get home safe, okay?
???: ........
- - - -
Minami: Oh, is there a problem? You two are soaking wet.
Haruka: And dirty, too! Ew!
Toma: That's because of the auto feeder you installed, Minami!
Toma: Our client's gonna be pissed!
Minami: ...Are you telling me you were driving around in the custom car?
Torao: Yeah. Just a test run, and it went terrible.
Haruka: You didn't damage the car, did you..?
Torao: Who do you think I am? The car's fine, at least on the surface. ...The interior could use a little cleaning, though.
Haruka: Ugh... And I just wiped it for the client...
Minami: Did you read the instructions?
Toma: What instructions?
Minami: ...You didn't even read my instructions before driving?
Haruka: If you'd read them, you would've known what to watch out for.
Toma: There shouldn't be anything to watch out for in the first place..!
Torao: Plus I don't remember anything like that in the specs I outlined.
Torao: Why would it feed you bread every time you brake?
Minami: Who doesn't like stopping for a little snack?
Toma: It's not the worst idea in the world... But you could at least let us choose when we wanna eat!
Haruka: ...Anyway, what are those things floating behind you two?
???: ........
Toma & Torao: ......!? 
To be continued...
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lizacstuff · 4 years ago
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I agree with what you said to that anon about appreciating what we have while we have it. Eda and Serkan are so epic and I like all their moments. I would enjoy reading your thoughts on the episode as a whole.
Sorry I’m just getting to this today, busy week!
I loved episode 19! A random hodgepodge of thoughts:
Serkan just... handling Efe. I love that our king eventually, always wins. I mean this story isn’t over, but in ep 19 Serkan showed who’s the boss. From telling Efe straight out that he needed to apologize to the staff to engineering his continent-wide confession, Serkan was in control. 
Speaking of Efe, I love that Eda didn’t sugarcoat anything with him. She made it clear she was disappointed in him and gave him honest advice about how to continue. Efe was a bit delusional thinking that Eda deescalating the situation the night before, meant she was on his side. DUDE, you lied and even though you haven’t admitted that it was more than a mistake, SHE KNOWS you did something underhanded. It gave me a weird warm fuzzy the way Eda told Efe that she knows what Serkan is capable of doing and what he would do next. She knows him. 
(More under the cut:)
Also love that Engin was so angry and ready to throw down. Apparently, sabotage is what it takes to get the giant teddy bear angry, good to know. I love that Engin is such a good friend and business partner to Serkan. He’s exactly the energy Serkan needs around him. I have no idea why Engin can give Serkan exactly the right advice about Eda all the time, but can’t navigate his own love life at all, but I’m glad he’s been a great wingman to Serkan. 
I’m also glad Ayfer has something else to think about other than worrying about Eda going back to Serkan. She gets a little obsessed in that vein, so I’m all for her starting a new catering business. Don’t know what to say about Erdeem and Leyla’s fake engagement, I guess I’m on board if it brings some comic relief, but I still don’t see what Fifi would ever see in him.
Ceren and Ferit were interesting, no? Ceren can’t say she wasn’t warned about Ferit, both Ayfer and Eda tried. However, I have to give him some props for admitting where he was mentally before things went too far. I think that’s a sign that he does really like her, knows he’s not ready for it and doesn’t want to start something that is doomed to fail. Selin really did a number on him and it certainly shouldn’t be Ceren’s mess to clean up. 
About Selin, I’ve already talked way too much about her in this post from earlier in the week, but there’s one thing I didn’t touch on that I’m curious about.  When Celin is told to take a hike with the chauffeur, she leaves the loft, pauses while all teary eyed and brings up her phone like she’s going to call someone before deciding not to make the call. Who? Who was she thinking of calling? Clearly not Serkan or Eda. Ferit? Was that jackass really going to call Ferit to make her feel better? Or was she going to call her reporter friend? Aydan? Efe? Piril? Enquiring minds want to know. It seems like more than a throwaway moment. Why put it in if it wasn’t foreshadowing something. Or was it just to show she had run through all her friends and realized not one would be sympathetic or approve of what she had done, so she had no one to call when her schemes failed and it gave her a sad?
Aydan and Seyfi as matchmakers is everything I need to be happy. As long as they are on the side of Edser, then I say let them meddle! Also props to Aydan for burning Alptekin’s clothes. That dude needs a huge wakeup call, so any act that might get his attention and bring him to his senses is a-okay in my book. 
As for the meddling, that breakfast scene was so bittersweet. OMG. Serkan and the crusts. It was such a perfect detail to add. It showed that he not only knows her, but even subconsciously his default is to do things, big and small, that make her happy. No wonder the sweetness of it all but broke her. With that they ratcheted up the pining/longing/angst to atomic level.  
That whole day was fraught for both of them and the audience. Serkan realizing he had to tell her at the same moment that Eda decided she wasn’t going to play his hot and cold game anymore was both entertaining and frustrating. I think Serkan let her get away a few times, because he was putting off the inevitable, but by the end it was like, EDA, JUST SIT DOWN AND GIVE HIM A MINUTE TO PULL HIMSELF TOGETHER AND TELL YOU WHAT HE NEEDS TO TELL YOU. Not that I blame her for her cynicism, he earned that over the last few weeks. I did very much enjoy the merry chase she led him on, the fact that he’s even willing to walk in on that charity dinner meeting is a testament to how much he wanted to find her. You can’t convince me he would ever walk into that nest of vipers without a very strong motivation. 
I honestly can’t believe we got them sharing a chair in front of all those ladies. This show! It gives and it gives and it gives. There’s always something sweet or silly or romantic right around the corner. Rarely does it miss an opportunity. As for Serkan attempt at the dinner, he would have had better luck talking to her if he hadn’t gotten hung up on asking her if she still loved him. Duuuuude. You broke up with her and now want to back her into a corner where she would need to be vulnerable with you while you’re trying to get her to listen to you. Tactical error. But I get why he was distracted by that. 
Thankfully, it lead to the most romantic phone conversation that was never heard. But I love that even though she couldn’t hear what he said, she sensed it. She somehow knew he might have said he missed her. I also love the way that Serkan was playing along with her about the party. He knew she had been put through the emotional wringer over the last couple of weeks and was trying to make him jealous and he gave her the gift of succeeding. They are so much more compatible that they think sometimes. 
As much as they tend to miscommunicate in important moments when emotions are running high and clouding the issue, when they aren’t they seem to fundamentally understand one another. 
Which takes us to the biggest misunderstanding of the episode. The morning after. Serkan woke up embarrassed. Not really because he’d been drunk, but because he’d called Eda and she’d come over and taken care of him when he had no right to ask that of her while she’s still in the dark about what separates them. That’s why practically the first words out of him mouth the next morning are that he shouldn’t have called her while drunk. I understand why he felt that way, its all about him not deserving her kindness, especially not until she knows, but I can also see why that would hit Eda wrong. She immediately takes it that he’s sorry she came, that he wishes she wasn’t there. Which is, of course, not remotely the case, but they just talk past each other and her hurt feelings cause things to escalate uncontrollably. 
I really wanted to yell at Serkan to just rip off the bandaid and tell her. I did enjoy that Eda’s wound-up emotional state was the thing that pushed him to matter-of-factly yell out how in love with her he is and how in love with her he will always be, thank you show. We needed that. And so did Eda. They’re the words she’s ached to hear since the first moment she realized there was something more to the breakup. 
Thank goodness this damn secret will all be over within the first few minutes of the next episode. They, and we, deserve to move on to a world where Eda knows a) why Serkan broke up with her b) that he’s still, and always, madly in love with her. 
All in all a very good episode that moved things forward. 
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