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kareofbears · 3 years

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persona 5 strikers thoughts and feelings

This is going to be a long post. Like, the type of post you’d only really have time to read when you’re trying to sleep but you’re not ready to be unconscious yet so you’re just looking for something to do to spend your time with minimal effort.

So in 2018, a masterpiece was born into the world: Into the Spider-verse was released and it was amazing—it’s honestly the best spiderman movie we have without a doubt, and it’ll be very far into the future before Spider-verse is beaten as the best spiderman movie. Them’s the facts. Then in 2019, Spider-man: Far From Home was dropped. It’s a great movie! Great characters, great continuation of who these characters are and works fantastic as a continuation of a story. It’s really hard trying to take the torch of a previous movie (or in Marvel’s case, juggling twenty something movies) and come up with a new movie that both works on its own, as well as being the next step in this series of films. Thus, with that idea in mind, I think it’s kind of unfair to judge into the spiderverse and far from home, because these are two movies with two completely different objectives in mind.

Okay, so this is still a persona 5 strikers post, I promise, but the idea is the same: Persona 5 could basically do whatever it wanted—new story, new characters, new everything, and it’s just plain old awesome. However, Persona 5 strikers did not have that sort of freedom. It was bound to the original game, and it had its own rules and stuff it had to keep intact, characters they had to work with, and on top of that, it had to justify its existence as a sequel (lets pretend money doesnt exist lmfao).

SO, the big question is: did it do that? Did it justify its existence?

And my answer: holy fuck did it ever do that

I came into this game knowing the extreme bare minimum. I knew there was someone named Sophia, and i knew there was roadtrip, and i knew there were Personas. That’s my knowledge of it before i played it on the Switch. I should also clarify like, early on, that i was not expecting anything from this game. At all. I was the world’s biggest cynic of this game—if you scroll down my p5s tag far enough, youll just see me complaining about a game that hasn’t even come out yet. I was fully expecting to have this be a Waifu show, and any male character that isn’t Akira to just be shoved aside like some kind of nerd in a high school hallway, and i have never been more pleased to be wrong. In fact, i actually owe it an apology, because of how fucking rude i was for no reason!!! Because this game deserves everything to be honest.

Persona 5 strikers is, frankly, insane. Insane in the sense that it got to pull shit off that just would never have existed in the original game, because the original game is scared. It had to be as impressive as possible and garner as much attention as possible. Strikers does not have that problem—every single person who bought that game does not need to be convinced that persona 5 is a good game. They already played it. That means Atlus can just fuck around and have a good time, and man did they have a good time. There’s still scenes that still shock me if i think about it too hard, because i’m used to atlus having to follow this sort of rule set when it comes to persona 5 (or any of the main games im assuming, but i havent played them.) And on top of that, there’s still shit that’s Atlus Trademarked Branded in a good way. The style of story of story telling, and revealing the mystery that is so integral to what p5 is, is still there.

So, to make this even a little bit comprehensible, i will make a list!

First of all, What is this game?

In short, this game is an OVA of an anime. It’s bonus side content that has one thing in mind: to showcase these lovable characters more by putting them in fun situations. That’s it, and it is just phenomenal. That was the main point of, i’d say, like forty hours of the game. It’s just fun times with fun characters.

But to get deeper of what i think is happening, or what they were thinking during the development, is that this is a second opportunity. Persona 5 (as we all know) had a lot of problems, and we were not quiet about those problems. We yelled it all out, made posts, made complaints on every social media platform ever. And Atlus heard all of them, and Strikers is a way to mitigate those mistakes. Aside from being a fun OVA, Strikers also works to be a deeper exploration of these characters—more specifically, the characters that did not receive much in the original game. Creating this sequel is having the ability to redo what they felt (or to be more specific, we felt) in the original game while adding new ones. I will get to that in a second.

The format of the game

Absolutely brilliant to throw them on a road trip. P5V already forced us to experience Shibuya for 200+ hours, and im so glad that they didn’t do that again. Going from town to town, making us experience these new places alongside our favorite characters is so good, and it just makes sense. It’s fun, it’s lighthearted, and it’s actually shockingly good. But one thing i do want to talk about early on is the way the story unfolds and the villains that they use, and what they do with it because it’s very interesting.

So as we explore japan and stuff, we encounter jails, and with those jails comes an antagonist. This antagonist works to be a parallel to one of our characters. That character will find it in their hearts to feel bad for the antagonist, because the antagonist could have been them had the original game not happen. At first I thought all of the thieves were gonna get an antagonist, and i was really hyped for the ryuji one. And then came to hour forty of the game where i realized “yeah that’s not gonna happen. There’s just not enough time.” And i was right, and the game ended. But i am not salty at all, honestly, because the people who got a direct antagonist were: Ann, Yusuke, and Haru. (we wont count zen and sophie).

Is there a trend??? Yes. these are all characters in the original game that have received the worst treatment by atlus. The three of them are basically cast aside the minute they finished their original arc, and its horrible! BUT that’s why this is the path that atlus chose for them—to give them more depth, and screentime, and a way to show their inner self. That isn’t to say that the ones who aren’t those three (makoto, futaba, mona, akira, ryuji) didn’t get anything. Futaba still has her thing at the end with ichinose, and she was very prevalent and animated during the rest of the game. Mona and Akira have to be a focal points, that’s just the nature of the game. The other two though, I will talk about in depth in a second.

Makoto

Y’all i poke fun at shumako fans sometimes cause its kind of easy and fun, but i honestly love makoto. In my very first playthrough of p5 (my first ever jrpg game, first persona game, i had no idea what i was doing), i had only maxed out two characters: ryuji and makoto. And i know she had a lot of screentime and love in the original game which is great, but i truly felt like she was dissed in this game. Her only roles were

A driver

Someone to tell them “we don’t have a choice. Let’s keep going and see where this takes us.” (seriously, if you replay this game, you will see how much she does this)

Idk, i just wish she had more to do, especially compared to how much love they gave the other characters.

But let’s talk about some of the new characters!

Zenkichi

Damn you atlus. Damn you and your insistence at bringing in cop characters. I was fully on board with hating zenkichi, i was fucking ready for it. I was convinced that there was nothing they could do convince to like zenkichi. I was immune to their copaganda.

And then i ended up loving him, which makes me sad a little bit. I didn’t realize how desperate i was to have an adult who has a persona. Someone who wants the world to change just as much as they do, while still having that aspect of them that makes them adult. Like??? As someone who is technically an adult, its a breath of fresh air. An adult. Who fights. For justice. Using a persona. And god i love akane so much, and her obsession with the thieves (that scene is probably in my top ten fave scenes of the game). Also what i loved about zenkichi is that he fucking hates the cops!! He hates the system of the cops!! And thats why i actually really started to love him!! Because i thought it was atlus saying that the systematic problem of the police cannot be solved by one person, and zenkichi threw away his badge. I actually cried at that part!!

But then he became a cop again, and i was just :/ but as a character, i really love him to bits and would love to do a study on him, or at least use him as an outside pov. But! i absolutely love his persona, since im a les miserables fan hehe

Sophia

she’s probably my favorite new aspect of the game. I was ready to not like her—again, i just suck like that, lmfao—and when i saw her, i was scared that she was just another waifu. I mean, she was very cute after all. But then as the game went on, i thought she was a little too cute. And even further into the game, i finally slapped myself in the face and realized oh my god shes not a waifu. Shes a sister.

That blew my mind, im ngl to you. A female character that isn’t supposed to be romanced? By jove, what a miracle!

And she…is an amazing character. Im sorry, i just love her so much. I love her so much that she probably ranks as my fifth or sixth favorite character which is surprising even to me. Everything about her is delightful and invigorating. She’s funny??? Her comedic timing is amazing, and she has such chemistry with the rest of the team. She’s actually useful to the plot, and while her character design is a little too on the nose for me in terms of cuteness (i mean, good god she’s wearing oversized sweater to show how cute and tiny she is, and her hair has literal hearts in it), she is absolutely lovable.

But what i actually really wanna gush about for a second is sophia at the last stage of the game. You get the idea, i dont really like to get excited over things, so at this point i figured that there was nothing this game could do to shock me.

And then sophia had a persona awakening.

Like. holy fuck did i yell. I didnt realize what was happening until the music had already kicked in. and its just so fucking smart!!! Sophia??? The ai?? With no heart?? gOT A PERSONA???? AWAKENING??? BECAUSE SHE LEARNED WHAT THE HEART IS AND THE PASSION THAT YOU NEED IN ORDER TO GET A PERSONA??? I started crying honestly, because it was just so smart. And looking back on it now, its obvious!! Of course it would lead to this, it only made sense that the culmination of her character arc leads to her getting a persona, nothing else would have been as good. Also, her voice actor is just amazing?? When she was talking to ichinose at the end, i actually got incredibly emotional because of the line reads. Its just so spot on and it really captures the essence of sophia.

Muah. five stars Atlus. You got me.

Ryuji <3!!!!

Oh man. Oh boy. Okay. so where do i start.

Yall know i love him. Hes probably my favorite fictional male character of all time, and he is the one i was the absolute most cynical about in this game. I was expecting literally nothing. Nothing. Like. nothing. I thought he was just gonna keep being used as a joke, or a gag, and he’s gonna be super horny all the time for the other girls and it was gonna make me mad and there was gonna be some insane homophobic/queerphobic jokes in every other scene and i know i was being unfair, but i cant help it.

And then i played the first two hours of the game, and i cried the entire time. Because ryuji has never been better than he is in this game. Its crazy.

The ryuji in persona 5 strikers is who ryuji should have been/how he should have been treated this entire time. From the actual funny jokes (for example, the gold bar joke + his reaction to it in the beginning of the game), defending his female friends instead of being the one people need to defend from (natsume arc), and the fact that he was the one to be there with morgana and akira in the very beginning of the game. Its such a small thing that they didnt even need to do, but it was such an integral part of the original game for me, that i just was convinced that nothing like this was going to happen. But then it happened. Its just small stuff like that that could have been overlooked but it wasn’t because this game? Persona 5 strikers? Fucking loves ryuji.

The actual respect they gave this boy is insane and i wasn't ready for it. Like, they gave the shujin trio lunch, they gave the little charm of the katana when they were in natsume’s jail, and, in my opinion this is the second-best thing that they could have given ryuji is sophia. Ryuji and sophia are the pinnacle of a brother & sister bonding relationship in the game that isn’t akira & futaba. And its really prevalent too?? Small stuff from the beginning of the game (pulling her out of a jail, calling her shorty), but then you have the iconic “shut the fuck up” scene, and that scene was so well characterized and written and voice acted, that somehow him saying “fuck” was the least exciting part of that scene to me. Ryuji is an older brother to her, like its undoubtable, and its only further cemented at the end of the game where Ryuji helps out ichinose because he knows how much sophia cares about her. This game. Love ryuji. And i love. This game.

You know what else i love? Akiryu.

Guys. i was fully prepared to starve in terms of akiryu. But theres just. So much of it. I wont get too deep into it, because i think this aspect of the game for me still needs marinate a little bit. Like, what was that last shot when EMMA died and Ryuji walked to approach Akira so they could relish in their victory together?? And the smile from both of them??? What the fuck. That was amazing. Also Joker being saved by Ryuji when he was about to fall from the cliff to save sophia??? WHAT. The LEADER AND HIS RIGHT HAND MAN? WHAT. anyway. If theres anything i want to keep for myself in my own brain, its the akiryu aspect of this game, so i wont talk too much about that part of things (instead, itll probably manifest in fic lmfaooo).

Sure, there’s tidbits of stuff i dont like that they gave ryuji: sexualizing ann in that one cut scene and making him touch the jails even though it hurts, and i recognize those and frown at them, but for the most part, i am blown away with how they treated him.

Basically, Ryuji has never been better. From the opening of the game with him being the first text message and the one to sling his arm around akira, to the very last cut scene where it was ryuji wordlessly leaving because he’s so confident that they would never be separated for long, this game adores Ryuji and i am so so happy to say that.

The Royal aspect of things

Yeah, i had to talk about this, but itll be a short thing i just wanted to point out. Because the last part of this game...is persona 5 royal. Which is curious. Like taking reality and giving that power to someone else so you dont have to experience suffering anymore? And even like, the final section just looked a lot like the top half of maruki’s palace?? And whats even crazier is that we had a boss fight with sophia, just like how we had a boss fight with sumire? Royal and Strikers have like, the same thesis statement. It’s kind of uncanny.It’s interesting, it’s like atlus came up with these two ideas, and then just decided they liked both of them so much that they just did it twice. I don’t mind though—actually, in terms of how the last Palace/Jails go, i probably like them both about equally.

Though i did love the final battle in this one more than i did in royal. Splitting into teams?? Thats cool as fuck, and really innovative and i didnt see it coming. It also kicked my ass. A lot.

Now for the last stretch: the small stuff!

The music — bomb as fuck. In my heart, Daredevil is ranked the same as Rivers. Axe to grind is also amazing, but Daredevil owns me

Akechi — i really debated whether or not to talk about him, but i figured a bullet point should be enough. Im really shocked that he wasnt in this at all. Like not even a name drop. If this is an OVA, and the point of the game is to please the fans, and akechi is arguably the fan favorite character, i was really ready for something. But there was nothing, except for the pancake hallway if that even counts as a reference. Thats it. Thats all i wanted to say about him.

The humour — FUCKING HILARIOUS im convinced that in my fifty hour playtime, five of that is dedicated to me laughing and unable to continue the game

Akira — so much personality! His lines of dialogue are crazy sometimes (like. Whats up with him saying Ryuji has ‘nice abs’ when they were in bath? Im crazy and even i dont know what the fuck that could mean)

Battle system — oh my god i almost forgot to talk about this. I love it! I kind of miss the turn based aspect just because i found it very comforting for some reason, but this hack and slash style of gameplay is so invigorating because i do feel like it justifies shit like the baton pass and huge attacks. This battle system fully encompases how the Phantom Thieves are supposed to fight, you know what i mean?

Anyway, thats my thoughts on strikers. Loved it. Amazing. 9.3/10, wouldve been higher but Konoe’s Jail almost bored me to death. Also im a monster and i didnt do any requests that isn’t a fun one, teehee. As if i play persona 5 for the persona aspect of things.

#cant believe im done #but you know what?#i was actually at peace when i finished it #so i consider that a good healty thing #p5s #alex plays p5s #mine #p5 #my moon and stars #the leader and his right hand man

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concussed-to-pieces · 3 years

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The Mettle Of A Man; Part Eleven

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains brief mentions of pregnancy (relating to bodily changes and a C-section) and a graphic depiction of an emotional/nervous breakdown. Stay safe!]

Two weeks and three days.

Danse wasn't exactly certain of what to do. It had taken his squadron nearly three weeks to track down Cutler, so three weeks had become his hard limit almost unconsciously. The paladin had never been overly good at resting on his laurels, but it wasn't like he could single-handedly lay siege to the damn Institute for a retrieval mission.

Returning to the Prydwen without his charge might prove divisive , regardless of how many technical documents Codsworth had procured from the cul-de-sac's abodes.

Speaking of Codsworth…

"Aw, cheer up man." Sturges comforted the robot, who (unless Danse was imagining it) was hovering a bit lower today. "I bet she'll be back any second now!"

"Mister Sturges, as much as I appreciate your optimistic outlook," the robot sniffed dramatically. "I'm afraid that you cannot begin to understand the sadness I feel. I believed for two hundred years that I had lost Miss Vega, and to have lost her once again is...well, it is unbearable , Mister Sturges."

Danse grimaced. Did he actually feel bad for a robot? He was, at the very least, sympathizing with it. What the hell was his world coming to?

Knight Vega certainly kept some interesting company. Aside from the seemingly permanent presence of the elderly Mama Murphy, Sturges, Codsworth, and the married couple of Jun and Marcy Long, numerous colorful individuals had drifted through the settlement over the course of the weeks.

First there was Cait, a woman with hair red enough to put Proctor Ingram's to shame. She blew into town, provisioner in tow, speaking with a thick, caustic brogue and toting a sawed-off shotgun. "I owe Backhand my life." She said shortly when Danse enquired as to what her business was with Vega. "She got me off the chems, so now I keep her goddamn caravans free from pests."

She only stayed for a night, but she insisted that Danse join her for a sparring match. He wasn't afraid to admit that she put him through the ringer , his whole body sore the following morning.

"Tell Handy Cait sends her love!" The woman had called before she departed, giving him a small smile. Danse had ruefully promised to do so, trying not to visibly wince as he waved farewell.

One Robert MacCready followed shortly thereafter, who had acted like Danse being there would raze the town to the ground on nothing but principle. "I dealt with you ass--er, you jerks in the Capital Wasteland." The lithe man scowled up at Danse, pushing the bill of his hat back. He had a sniper rifle slung around his body with a barrel that was almost as long as he was tall, bearing an ornate, quick-slide scope.

"I assume you are used to the charity of former Elder Lyons. The eastern chapter is no longer so benevolent, civilian." Danse growled, pricked by MacCready's blatant disdain for the Brotherhood.

He could tell MacCready wasn't a bad sort, just overly suspicious and prickly. After serving with Knight Rhys for so long, Danse was almost tempted to tell the younger man that he would need to try harder to keep people away from him.

"Backhand saved my kid." Robert admitted one night after he had been drinking by the fire with Sturges. "She...She helped me get the medicine I needed. Helped cure my little boy."

Danse knew he shouldn't be surprised that someone who seemed as young as MacCready had managed to procreate. But as he watched the other man toy idly with a tiny, battered tin soldier that he had pulled from his pocket, Danse felt that perhaps...perhaps Robert had the right to be a bit suspicious and prickly.

The next visitor was a petite, dark-haired woman named Curie who had an incredibly strange accent. She was of the medical persuasion and curious about everything . Danse was a little taken aback by how blunt some of her inquiries were, but he did his best to humor her.

She seemed harmless enough, even if she was hellbent on learning the inner machinations of his entire existence. She asked everything in such a clinical manner, Danse didn't even have the presence of mind to be uncomfortable or embarrassed.

That is, until she asked whether he was sexually active and " when was zee last time you stimulated yourself, Monsieur Danse? " Then he clammed right up, loathing that he could feel his face going hot as he remembered exactly when the last time he had stimulated himself was.

"I will not be answering any more of your questions about my personal matters, civilian." The paladin informed her curtly, caught off-guard by her plaintive cry of dismay at his refusal.

"But Monsieur Danse, I must learn zee secret of your overgrown size! You are so very tall and muscular compared to your contemporaries, my research could result in a breakthrough for your whole species! If you are a genetic throwback, zis could mean-" Sturges finally came to his rescue, ushering the wailing doctor away and shooting Danse a wink that made the paladin huff out an irritated grunt.

Genetic throwback . Dogmeat was a genetic throwback. Danse just...maybe he had good genes. Both of his parents must have possessed more robust constitutions. That was the clear answer.

An elaborately-dressed ghoul had marched down the main road like he owned the joint a few days after Curie had come and gone, only stopping when he realized there was a fully-armored paladin aiming a laser rifle at him. "Whoa! Easy crewcut, you'll harsh my mellow." He exclaimed, taking off his tricorn hat and fanning himself with it. "The name's John Hancock," he continued with a showy little bow. "I'm lookin' for General Vega. She around?"

"Knight Vega is indisposed at the moment, but you're welcome to leave a message, ghoul." Danse gritted out, oddly keen on attempting civility.

Hancock whistled and Dogmeat came running over, immediately flopping onto his back for a belly rub. "Ah, there he is. My favorite of the general's mutts. Sorry, you say somethin'?" The ghoul asked lazily, the pitch-black void of his eyes boring pointedly into Danse's.

The paladin threw his hands up in the air after a moment and stormed off. God damn it, Vega, you could have warned me that you kept such diverse company! he ranted inwardly.

The visitor that had nearly sent him into a conniption was an old synth, its skin ragged and tattered enough to show its inner workings. Sturges chatted away with the damn thing (and its traveling companion, a self-styled reporter apparently named Piper Wright) and Danse just floundered . Backhand made friends with synths?

Ticking mentally over everyone else he had met during his stay at Sanctuary, Danse reluctantly admitted that yes, Backhand would absolutely make friends with synths. Perhaps he should have come to terms with that before everything that had occurred, but now here he was, fully kitted and watching this synth narrowly.

"Come on over and introduce yourself, big fella'. No need to glare from afar." The synth commented wryly. "From what I understand we're all on the same team."

"If it's all the same to you, synth , I'll keep my distance." Danse could tolerate a lot of things. Ghouls, specifically. He had met numerous in his travels and while it was unsettling to converse with them, he knew they weren't all diseased, mindless shamblers despite what the Brotherhood had beaten into him. But synths …

They were the embodiment of mankind's arrogance. Monstrous, uncanny, a mockery of bodily functions. They made Danse's skin crawl.

Piper huffed indignantly, rolling her eyes and pointing a finger at Danse as she remarked loudly to Sturges, "I wasn't aware that Blue had rechristened this place Bigotry Hills."

The synth inclined its head in the meantime, somehow giving off an air of mechanical resignation. "Alright, I'll go first I suppose, since you've forgotten your manners. Name's Nick Valentine. I'm a detective operating out of Diamond City."

Nick Valentine . Danse's mouth became a desert. This , this was the detective Vega sang the praises of when it came to tracking down the man who had stolen her son? "Knight Vega failed to mention that you were a synth." He muttered.

"She probably figured it wasn't relevant. After all, the Institute left me at the curb with another man's memories in my head. Miss Vega did me a good turn after I helped her out with that Kellogg fella'." The synth shrugged. "Let an old bot put a few more ghosts to rest." He dusted off the raggedy fedora he wore, those unnerving golden eyes focused on Danse. "I caught wind that something might have gone a little sour with her infiltration, so Piper and I thought we'd drop by and see if we could offer any sort of assistance."

"And can you?" Danse asked, concern and suspicion making his tone even sharper as he glanced at the woman. Piper stuck her tongue out at him, to his chagrin.

The synth looked regretful for a second and Danse pondered that its face could even convey such a complex emotion. "Probably not, but at least now I know I'm not the only one worrying about our doll Vega." It remarked shrewdly.

Danse blushed guiltily, dropping his gaze from that calculating stare. It felt like the synth could see every damn thing he had ever done wrong in his life and Danse loathed the idea of this machine being able to help where he couldn't. "I'll be watching you, synth ," he blustered. "If you step out of line-"

The synth actually interrupted him, waving a spindly, metallic hand. "You'll what, melt me into slag? I'd be careful, I might do something nefarious like trap you in an intelligent conversation."

…

Danse's sleep schedule had never been anything even bordering on concrete, but now the worry kept him up more than the nightmares. A thousand scenarios ran through his mind, each one worse than the last. His fatalistic tendencies would be the death of him one of these days, and wouldn't that be a poetic end. Death by apoplexy, his heart just exploding under the stress of his own imagination.

No one commented when he ended up abandoning that soft mattress in the front room of Vega's house in favor of planting his bedroll on the floor at the foot of her bed. He spent long hours there every night, disassembling his gun, cleaning it thoroughly and checking over his mods.

When he inevitably gave up on sleep, he would patrol the perimeter. Jun joined him fairly often, the soft spoken man having taken it upon himself to manage the security around the settlement.

"At first, I think Backhand just wanted me to have something to do." Jun mentioned out of the blue one evening, his haggard expression illuminated in the faint light of the moon. "So she told me to uh, walk the property line. Marcy didn't know what to do with me. Hell, she didn't even know what to do with herself . Losing Kyle was…" the man swallowed hard. "Well, the general understood, on account of her own little one. She knew I needed to be kept busy, especially after that close call in Concord. I'm just glad Marcy didn't give up on me." He admitted.

"Why would she have given up on you?" Danse asked, a bit confused that this conversation was even occurring. He didn't do this sort of thing. "Whatever transpired with your child wasn't your fault." He had never asked for the specifics and Jun hadn't volunteered them.

Jun shrugged. "Being married is...full of ups and downs. And sometimes the downs are really, really hard. Too hard. It's terrible, seeing the person you love turn into some kind of...angry husk because of grief and you're grieving too, and you know you can't fix it because-" the man's eyes welled up, his voice hitching. "-b-because you're not strong enough."

Danse's breath caught in his lungs because oh God , that had been him after Cutler. Frustrated, hollow, newly promoted and warming Arthur's bed out of duty as he tried to privately grieve the man he had lost.

It had been Haylen and Rhys who pried him from his depressive, wrathful tendencies. Brandis had suggested that Danse consider sponsoring his own initiates, and recommended him two candidates. The young woman, barely into adulthood, so full of life and eager to learn, and Rhys had been angry like him.

More followed after those two, but they had been his first. He sponsored Dawes, Brach, Keane, Worwick...squire or initiate to aspirant, aspirant to scribe or knight. All the while keeping them at arm's length, reluctant to open himself up again to the suffering that had wreaked its havoc upon him after the loss of Cutler.

Learning about Paladin Krieg's passing during the assault on Adams Air Force Base was a blade twisting in his back. Danse had felt like his entire body was on fire, raw with agony once more as everything he had tried so hard to keep under control collapsed beneath him. He emerged from that particular rubble stoic and grim, and it was shortly after that incident that Recon Squadron Artemis went dark in the Commonwealth.

Brandis was sent to die and you know it! That evening in the barracks had been one of the hardest in his entire military career. Danse had known he was lying, lying to every single man, woman and child in that room that he would pass along any information he learned about Paladin Brandis.

But what else could he do?

"You can't fix everything and every one, Mr. Long." The paladin murmured finally. "You'll only burn yourself out with the effort. All you can do is let time do its work."

"Oh, I know." The other man said calmly, having clearly mastered himself while Danse mulled over his response. "Marcy and I had a long talk about...our son, and even though it still hurts to talk about him, I know someday it won't." He smiled at Danse. "Thanks for listening, Mr. Paladin. I can see why the general likes you."

Danse may or may not have tucked that precious information away, deep down in his heart.

...

Backhand had no idea how many days had passed since she had departed. The Commonwealth was relatively quiet all around the settlement as she took a few steadying breaths after relaying back, bent nearly double with her hands on her knees. Overhead in the night sky, the moon beamed weakly between the thick clouds.

Staggering down the steps that were still attached to the bare foundation, a wave of exhaustion threatened to cripple her. Away from the artificial lighting and brilliant whiteness of the Institute, she abruptly felt like she hadn't slept in weeks. How long had she been awake for?

Bed , Vega decided with a nod. Bed before anything else . With slow, trudging footsteps, the young woman made her way to the house where she had lived before the bombs fell. Whatever time it was, it was obviously late. There wasn't a light on across the whole settlement, and she was incredibly grateful that she would be afforded a few moments of reprieve before she was plied with questions.

Backhand closed the front door behind her, doing her best to be quiet. Danse must be asleep. Either that or he had returned to the Prydwen. Vega was a little startled at how distraught that made her feel, like she had lost somehow.

She stifled a yawn as she jiggled the sticky doorknob to her room and, too impatient to ease the door open, she put her shoulder to it.

The door flew open and she immediately found herself on the business end of a very familiar laser rifle. Vega couldn't help her shriek of surprise and in her haste to retreat, she toppled into the hall and landed hard on her back. "Wait, wait! " She pleaded, throwing up her hands in surrender. "Don't shoot, Danse!"

The paladin just stared down at her for a moment, his brow slowly unfurrowing in recognition as he lowered his gun. "Elizabeth?" He asked, his voice rasping hoarsely.

"Y-Yeah. Hi." Backhand replied, her voice shaky. "It's me." Danse extended his hand, easily pulling her upright off the ground. She half-fell against his body, the large man accepting the weight without a word. "Why are you sleeping in here?" Backhand blurted out the first question she could think of, noticing the disturbed bedroll on the floor at the foot of her bed.

"I assumed that should you return, you would most likely head to your room first." The paladin answered quickly, too quickly for it to be the truth.

Backhand raised an eyebrow. "And the armed greeting?"

"A reflex."

Vega's hands curled into fists on his chest, taking handfuls of his shirt between her fingers. I missed you , she wanted to say, I missed you so much . "How long was I gone for?" She asked instead.

"Seventeen days." Danse replied in a no-nonsense manner. "It appears your infiltration of the Institute was a success." He was watching her closely. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Knight."

Vega wanted to kiss him, not missing the warmth of relief in his eyes despite his neutral tone. She hurriedly peeled herself off of his chest, awkwardly clearing her throat and casting her brain around for an excuse to leave. "I'm...I need to shower." She lied, grimacing. "I was going to go right to bed, but…"

"Take your time. I'll remove my personal effects and return to my quarters." The paladin intoned stiffly.

Backhand grabbed a random assortment of clothing from atop her rickety dresser and fled to the bathroom without another word.

She slid down the door once she had shut it firmly, closing her eyes and hanging her head. What the hell were you expecting, Vega? she chastised herself, starting to unlace her boots. Some kind of fairytale reunion where he sweeps you up into his arms and professes his undying love? And we ride into the sunset? Backhand scoffed, bringing her fist down on the side of the salvaged water heater to get it to function.

Vega stared down at her body as she showered, feeling oddly like a spectator. The faint scar at the bottom of her stomach mocked her, taunting her with the memory of the hospital room, the swaddled Shaun being pressed into her arms…

This was all so wrong.

She pushed the heels of her palms into her eyes hard enough to blind her for a moment, fending off the tears that threatened to close her throat. The scar was placed low enough on her body that the waistband of her underwear concealed it. She didn't have to think about it too often. Usually she avoided looking at it while she bathed, the surgical leftover making complex feelings of grief and resentment war inside her.

Her fingers drew over the faded scar, then rose to brush the stretch marks that striped over her belly from where her body had changed to accommodate Shaun's growing form. And still her eyes were dry.

Backhand emerged from the lukewarm shower and simply sat on the side of the tub, watching the water slowly swirl down the drain. She thought of the Institute, where clean water was just a faucet turn away. Free of parasites and radiation, bearing a faint reek of chlorine that had clung to her hair and skin after bathing.

Her brow furrowed and she toweled herself off briskly, donning the clothing she had grabbed at random. The shirt was too big, unfamiliar, and she realized with a sharp pang of a strange emotion that it must be one of Danse's. Had he done her laundry while she was gone?

The young woman hung her towel up to dry, scooped all her dirty clothes off the floor and padded back across the hall to her room.

Danse, true to his word, had removed his bedroll and pack from the room, leaving no trace of his previous occupancy. Vega dropped her ball of clothes in the corner and sank down on the edge of her mattress, putting her head into her hands.

I believe you will do great things for the Institute.

Her fingers dug into her hair, raking through it in a nervous gesture. She didn't want to do great things. She had never wanted to do great things. All she had wanted was a family.

A child, a husband, a modest house in a quiet neighborhood…

The bombs had taken so much from everyone else, did she even have the right to mourn the life she wished she had? It seemed so selfish, so...petty.

Shaun's crib sat empty by the door like always, but now its vacancy mocked her. Had she ever truly believed she would find her son? Or had she been lying to herself the whole time, trying to convince herself that she could have been a good mother and that it wasn't all her fault Shaun had been taken. Rage bathed her in a comforting blanket of numbness and Backhand clenched her fists, rising from the bed.

With a stilted, furious cry of, " fuck you! " she heaved the empty crib against the wall.

It was a simple enough task to snap the rungs in it, blowing through them one after the other. Next the flimsy headboard, torn from the sides with a shriek of abused screws. Backhand broke it over her knee, pitching the pieces off to land somewhere as the crib teetered on two legs. She grabbed those last two legs, picked the remains of the crib up, and smashed it against the floor with all her might.

It exploded in a cloud of chipped blue pieces, effectively destroyed. Backhand screamed in frustrated anguish, sinking to her knees and wrapping her arms around herself. She hadn't even noticed she was crying, but the tears were hot enough to burn on her cheeks.

She felt running footsteps vibrate through the floor, but she didn't so much as raise her head.

Danse, Danse , those brown eyes so warm and concerned, knelt in front of her. " Easy , Knight." He soothed. Backhand sobbed hysterically, her whole body shaking with each inhale. "Elizabeth." Danse said her name calmly, quietly, his arms falling open.

The woman flung herself into his embrace, gripping his back tightly. Danse held her close, like she was small and fragile and needed to be protected, one hand on the back of her head stroking her still-damp hair. Vega just went limp, weeping pitifully into his shirt.

"By Jove…" Codsworth breathed from the door. "Oh mum, I'm so sorry." She felt a metal pincer rest gingerly on her shoulder and Backhand knocked her forehead against Danse's clavicle when she turned her face to look at Codsworth. "You should have told us, mum. Whatever it is, it's all too much to carry alone." The robot scolded her kindly. "I helped you raise the little tyke, if you recall. We will always have those fond memories, you and I."

"It hurts." Backhand said thickly. "It h-hurts so much. I just wanted him back."

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth." Danse murmured, words laden with sorrow. And he didn't even know what had happened yet!

"I don't want anyone else to be sorry. I-I want to take every one of that smug f- fuck's toys and break them. If he wasn't already on his way out, I would-" Backhand dissolved into seething, nonsensical muttering. "There's good people in the Institute." She said finally. "People who wanted to help. People who need to get out."

"And the Brotherhood will do everything we can to save them." Danse promised solemnly, taking her hands in his own and making a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat as he examined the battered skin. "Christ Vega, you're full of splinters."

"I just...I don't know, I shouldn't have done that." Backhand mumbled, feeling idiotic for letting herself get so out of control.

"Not to worry, mum!" Codsworth cheerily clicked his pincers. "I'll have you squared away in a jiffy!"

Danse didn't let her go as Codsworth painstakingly worked over her abused hands to remove every last sliver. The paladin even assisted when the robot asked, holding her skin taut or flattening her palm out on his own to keep her steady so Codsworth could get a better grip.

Piper appeared in the doorway in the midst of the procedure, wearing a raggedy robe and carrying a steaming mug. "And there's our gal." The reporter said softly. "Heya' Blue."

"H-Hey Piper." Backhand sniffled.

The other woman tipped her head. "Nicky's on his way. You want tea or coffee?"

"Coffee, please. Please." Backhand begged, feeling Danse's hold on her tighten slightly. She was sitting in his lap still, his arms around her while Codsworth worked. She hated herself for enjoying the comfort his proximity provided, hated herself for being too weak to deal with this on her own.

As if he could sense her thoughts, the paladin settled her back more firmly against his chest.

…

She was back. She had come back. Harried and haggard but alive . Danse could feel the tension radiating from her and he wanted to kick himself for greeting her with a weapon at the door. His brain hadn't even registered that it might be her , he had awoken from his uneasy half-doze to someone breaching the door and his body reacted.

Danse wanted to question her. He wanted to grip her to his chest and never let her out of his sight again. He wanted to berate her for being gone for so long. He wanted to lay her down on her bed and--

He shoved that thought away. She was obviously exhausted and worn from whatever it was that she had gone through. Now was absolutely not the time to voice the pesky, budding emotions that warred in his chest.

He could sense the impending explosion hanging heavy in the air like the changing pressure of an approaching storm, but he hadn't expected the rupture to happen so soon. Vega was barely out of the shower when he heard the first crash , her yell of " fuck you! ".

Danse wrestled momentarily with himself, his hands clenching in the fabric of his sleeping bag. Expressing anger could be therapeutic in it's own right, and her getting everything out now might be miles healthier than bottling it all up until she imploded.

But her sobbing cries effectively wiped his plan of inaction. She sounded like she was in agony and Danse didn't even remember tearing the door open. One second he was in his own room and then the next he was on his knees in front of her, " easy , Knight," his voice gone soft and tender in a manner wholly uncharacteristic of the usually stoic man.

He couldn't help saying her name, her first name, even though he felt wrong for doing so. But she pitched forward into his embrace just like Haylen had, weeping as though her heart was fit to break. And all Danse could do, all anyone could have done, he assured himself, was hold her close.

She had no care for the safety and wellbeing of her hands, he realized wryly as he checked them over for broken bones. This was the second time patching up her poor fingers, the first time feeling like a distant memory. Her shredding her knuckles to ribbons on the manual release of his suit, her complete disregard for her own comfort…

Danse didn't move, even when the synth arrived on Piper's heels. Everyone crowded into the room and he knew he ought to feel self-conscious, but now Vega was the one refusing to release him . So there he sat on the floor with her secure in his arms, listening to the entire sordid tale as Codsworth quietly tidied up the mess that had been Shaun's crib.

The Institute was real , and it wound for miles underneath the Commonwealth. They had access to safe food and pure drinking water, all made possible by unimaginable technology. Her son wasn't dead or even a child, but instead old and frail. The years had stretched on longer than anyone could have anticipated between his removal from the Vault and Vega's own awakening.

The advances that made the generation three synths possible had been brought about by utilizing infant Shaun's pre-war DNA, and he was known as Father to all the synths. But he wasn't a father at all, at least not one that anybody would want to have.

"Synths are like lower class citizens to these scientists. Expendable. Seen and not heard." Backhand explained, and Nick muttered something uncharitable under his breath. "They're not people, they're tools. Shit, Shaun even listed them off like that, he called the coursers hammers ." Vega spat. "But they think . They dream. Hell, they grieve even though they don't know that's what they're doing."

She spoke of the courser mourning the loss of his friend, forced to grieve without understanding the feelings he suffered through and Danse was somehow full of sympathy for a damn killing machine. It must just be Vega's compassionate nature transferring to him. There was no way he could actually believe anything like that was even possible.

Spinal recalibration .

Danse wasn't sure why , but he felt a blunt stab of pain at the nape of his neck when she explained the procedure. It was probably psychosomatic, he reasoned. The process sounded gruesome.

Nick flipped back and forth through his notepad, scratching at the side of his head with his pencil. "I'll need some time to look all of this over, sweetheart." He said to Backhand, glancing at Piper. "And you need time to recover," he continued in a gently-chiding tone. "You seem half-dead, doll."

Danse realized with a barely-hidden start that he had begun to refer to the synth as Nick in his mind. What was happening to him? Had he been away from the Brotherhood for so long that he was going soft? Was his moral integrity being compromised?

Or was he just coming to terms with something that he couldn't bring himself to label yet?

Backhand nodded, tugging the paladin out of his reverie. "I really want to sleep." She mumbled. She must have been truly exhausted, because in spite of downing the mug of coffee Piper had procured for her, she was slumped in Danse's arms.

Piper patted Vega's knee, giving Danse a stern glare. The paladin wanted to laugh at her attempt to intimidate him. "You get some rest, Blue. Nicky and I will do our best to compile what you've given us." She assured her.

After the duo from Diamond City had left, Codsworth made a noise like he was clearing his throat. "I'm just so glad you're back, mum." He said, his words weirdly heartfelt for coming from a machine.

Vega reached out and caught one of Codsworth's arms before the bot could leave, the young woman smiling wearily up at the Mister Handy. "I'm glad to be back, Codsworth."

Danse managed to usher her into her bed just as the sun was rising, but she grabbed his hand when he turned to depart. "Wait." Backhand whispered, her eyelids drooping. "Please...please stay? I don't want to be alone, Danse." A lone tear wound its way down her cheek. "Please don't leave me alone."

Danse planted himself in the chair beside the bed, laying his laser rifle across his knees. "I'm not going anywhere, Knight Vega." He promised her solemnly, taking a greedy, selfish moment to push the hair back from her face. "Sleep."

Part Twelve

#fallout 4 #fallout four #paladin danse #fallout fanfic #fallout fandom #paladin danse x sole survivor #paladin danse x f!sole #paladin danse/sole survivor #Eventual romance #paladin danse imagine #fo4 companions imagine #fo4 companions #fo4 paladin danse #brotherhood of steel

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mobydickmusical · 5 years

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Every book chapter a song is named after: Loomings (Ch 1)

Since most of the (most recent) tracklist is named after chapters of the book, I’m going to attempt to work through the whole of the show this way, talking a bit about my thoughts on each chapter’s translation into a song. Based on the tracklist chronology rather than the book chronology. Skipping the songs we’ve already heard, for obvious reasons.

Also fairly obvious, but even though I’m using the chapters to imagine the songs, I naturally can’t be sure how closely they’ll follow the text of that specific chapter (see, The Pacific, which actually follows completely different chapters).

TW for brief mention of suicidal ideation

Loomings is very different from Extracts, in that I can pretty easily envision it fitting into a show of Dave’s, and imagine what it might be like as a song.

This chapter is our first direct introduction to what to expect from the body of this book, and it has four-ish main sections:

1. Ishmael introduces himself as the narrator recounting this story, and explains his general path in it (going to sea because it’s what he does when he’s exceedingly depressed)

2. He dwells on mankind’s inevitable attraction to water, and that this is due to how it represents the unknowable to us

3. He details his reasoning for why he always goes to sea as a simple sailor, as opposed to a passenger or a crew member of higher rank

4. He describes his “choice” to go on a whaling voyage in particular as actually designated by fate. He does, however, then explain his personal attraction to going on the voyage, that could make it appear like free will to him.

So, there is a lot being set up in this chapter. I can very much feel this becoming my main issue to accept (i.e. get my head out of my ass) with reconciling the adaptation with the book overall - there is so Much in Moby Dick and there is only so Much you can fit into a musical. Even a 4+ hour one. But yeah, that’s seen on a smaller scale with Loomings, in how it sets up a lot of background information about Ishmael and how he thinks, as well as starting some thought process about a number of important themes for the book (fate vs free will, capitalist and power dynamics, the limits of mankind’s knowledge… all that important shit). Where the song draws its focus from will just depend on what Dave chooses to emphasise the most.

I'll go through the chapter, and mention where I connected things to either comments Dave's already made about the musical, or to his writing in general.

Coming into reading Moby Dick because I knew Dave was writing his musical, and reading the opening paragraph of Loomings where Ishmael introduces himself by launching headfirst into the details his depression, I naturally went straight to “so this is an introductory solo for a character played by Dave”. It’s not only something that leapt out at me straight off the bat, but one of the more ludicrously famous sections of Moby Dick, so I have to imagine it’s likely to make an appearance.

The further thing I wanted to point out while I’m on this section, is that despite how famous this little piece of Moby Dick which clearly describes Ishmael’s depression and suicidal ideation is, the majority of Moby Dick adaptions have little to no other reference to his depression. Or they just have none at all if they’re really eschewing the narration. I’m not saying that it’s a deal-breaker for an adaption or anything of that kind, but mental illness definitely has a presence and impact in Moby Dick (I’ll just, leave it at that for now) that doesn’t especially get a lot of attention. On the other hand, it’s something that I, personally, will notice and think about. Anyone who’s familiar with Dave, however, knows that his shows almost consistently revolve around mentally ill characters (and what’s probably the most famous solo he’s written is about depression/suicidal ideation), and portray them in ways mentally ill fans relate to and appreciate. If an adaptor was to make a specific effort to earnestly portray Ishmael’s depression, and how that relates to his role in this story, it’d be Dave. (I could potentially even argue that The Pacific and Cetology already suggest ways in which he’s doing this but. Mm.)

But, anyway. I said Loomings is a good fit for that song that can be found in almost any Dave Malloy musical, where everything is just starting out, and someone (who is often played by Dave) sits down to pour out all their frantic thoughts and unstable feelings and draw you into their story - so, how I imagine the song is strongly based off the pre-existing examples of that type of song. Namely, I drift to Pierre and The Astronomer.

Both songs have aspects I like for an imaginary Loomings. They’re both ruminative, emotive introductions to a character and their brain’s inner workings. They’re both at least somewhat depressed and ranty. I like Pierre for its emotional tumult, its inquisitiveness and desire for something more, its explicit descriptions of the effects of his depression on his behaviour, its moment of curiosity about mankind, and its drama. I feel like Pierre barging his way into his introductory solo, the first time we ever hear him sing about himself, with “It’s dawned to me suddenly, and for no obvious reason, that I can’t go on living as I am...” is not worlds away from how Ishmael can come across. I also like how it’s piano-driven (because I unimaginatively imagine Ishmael as a pianist in the show), unlike The Astronomer, but on the other hand, I prefer the less dense instrumentation of The Astronomer (maybe not quite that sparse though. Intermediate). I also like The Astronomer for its slow-paced style ranting, its dreaminess, its dwelling on Big Ideas, and the way it is more an explanation of who this character is through exploring his beliefs. Which is relevant as Loomings goes on.

Both songs, particularly Pierre, channel more anger and resignation than is really relevant to Loomings, however. A part of this is that they’re both dwelling inside the emotions of an unhappy/unsatisfying present, describing that to us as who they are, now. Ishmael is outside of his present self because he’s a narrator. Throughout Loomings he is... recounting his past, but also describing the future of and influences on his past self, moreso than his past self’s present or who he was at that particular time. And, from that more distant position, opening these influences up to us, and the rest of the world. Uh. How relevant or sensible this is to point out I don’t know, but it seems like a very different emotional experience to convey.

The second section of Loomings, where Ishmael discusses water, moves the furthest from talking directly about himself and his story, I suppose, but is a big bit of theme/motif/setting foundation, and is also just very beautiful writing. I love it a lot, and I’d love to hear some of it put to music... A few little quotes from it because I like them:

What do you see?—Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries.

///

They come from lanes and alleys, streets and avenues,—north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite. Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all those ships attract them thither?

///

There is magic in it. Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries—stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he will infallibly lead you to water

///

Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever.

///

But though the picture lies thus tranced, and though this pine-tree shakes down its sighs like leaves upon this shepherd's head, yet all were vain, unless the shepherd's eye were fixed upon the magic stream before him.

I also like the abundance of rhetorical questions in this section, and how that invites the reader in as if you were in a conversation. Those could fit well into a theatre song, where you have Ishmael sort asking himself, sort of asking the audience (also a bit Pierre, tbh). This, combined with how much switching up of sentence length there is in this section, give it this lovely gentle-paced, meandering, breathing rhythm that makes me think of it being sung. There’s probably a better, more technical way of describing that, but I don’t know that smartness, so essentially - I can almost hear it simply because of the way it’s already written.

The conclusion of this section is where Ishmael draws together his claim that the reason we all find water so magnetic is because to us it represents the things that’re unfathomable and unreachable in life:

Why upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself feel such a mystical vibration, when first told that you and your ship were now out of sight of land? Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did the Greeks give it a separate deity, and own brother of Jove? Surely all this is not without meaning. And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all.

It’d definitely be a way to get us onboard this ship, swept up in this journey, while we’re inside a theatre: “Come along with me, into this huge, intrinsic thing, come, and try to obsessively chase down whatever inscrutable thing is still maddening you in the craziness of the world today!” Mmm.

A little thing I find interesting, however, is how this little piece, and how it’d be presented in the context of the show, relates to some pre-existing lyrics from Cetology: “And the ocean is too deep for me to fathom/ And life is just to big for me to bear/ But who am I to compare my despair to the shaking of the sea?” These lyrics have no root in the chapter Cetology itself, and I can only assume they’re actually rooted in this section here. The weirdness of that is how Ishmael makes the comparison he lays out in Loomings, but then immediately questions his right to make it. He paints his own personal experiences as insignificant in the scheme of it all, even if he does harbour those feelings about the ocean which are due to feelings about the unknown. Which is intriguing and opens up a lot of shit. There’s a lot going on in Cetology which can explain why he says that in the context of That Song, but it makes me wonder if this claim will appear in Loomings and then reappear later with the catch on the end, or if it’s sole appearance is in Cetology. It shall be seen. And I’ll probably discuss those Cetology lyrics more when I’ve... actually heard Loomings! Or, oh, you know, the full show for legit context.

The next thing Ishmael does in this chapter is discuss why he makes the choice to go as just a "simple sailor" every time he goes to sea, in doing so telling us a bit more about himself and his opinions. I won’t expand on these hugely, but I do think it’s a fair enough point to say that Ishmael makes statements in this section which could act as starting points for themes that Dave has specified he’s discussing through this show - namely capitalism, democracy and race/systems of power, in this situation.

One of Ishmael’s reasons is money. He doesn’t have the money to pay to go to sea as a passenger, he needs/wants to be paid for it as a sailor. The actual pay for which, by the way, is really, really not that much considering how dangerous a job he’s signing on for. But we have to survive somehow, we suppose...? And, his opinion on the money-making in general?

The urbane activity with which a man receives money is really marvellous, considering that we so earnestly believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no account can a monied man enter heaven.

Another of his reasons is that he prefers not to go to sea in any higher rank because he doesn’t care for the honour attached to these positions, and doesn’t want the level of responsibility involved. He goes on to explain that while it can be unpleasant to be ordered around by one’s superiors, he accepts it, and there’s no sense in striving for superiority when he is in essence no lesser than them, since, he states, everyone is inevitably under the command of someone else.

With very intentionally provocative wording in the context of a book published in America in 1851.

Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain't a slave? Tell me that.

He finally says that it’s the ordinary sailors rather than their superiors who get the first, freshest breath of that revitalising ocean air. He then leans deeper into the thought:

He thinks he breathes it first; but not so. In much the same way do the commonalty lead their leaders in many other things, at the same time that the leaders little suspect it.

Having laid out his justification for this choice, Ishmael moves onto why a whaling voyage specifically. He essentially accounts it to the mysteries of fate - though his desire to experience new, remote things could trick him into exaggerating the role of his free will.

There’s a part towards the end of the chapter that I specifically wanted to point out, where Ishmael actually uses a piece of theatre as a metaphor for his voyage. It’s not as famous/iconic as some other parts from this chapter but it’s very entertaining in the context of an actual musical, and I’d love if it were referenced:

“And, doubtless, my going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time ago. It came in as a sort of brief interlude and solo between more extensive performances. I take it that this part of the bill must have run something like this:

"Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States "Whaling Voyage by one Ishmael

"BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN." Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the Fates, put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage, when others were set down for magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces—though I cannot tell why this was exactly; yet, now that I recall all the circumstances, I think I can see a little into the springs and motives which being cunningly presented to me under various disguises, induced me to set about performing the part I did, besides cajoling me into the delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased freewill and discriminating judgement.”

This little piece fits well with the metatheatricality Dave has said he’s interested in exploring in the show. In terms of this concept, he’s mentioned both Ishmael vs Meville antics, but also broadening the idea of character vs writer with the added layer of him as the composer playing Ishmael. This quote specifically refers to theatre, and referencing one’s own role in a performance, which obviously becomes increasingly funny when you’re a narrator in and composer of a musical based on the book. Pondering over your “shabby part”, and why it was given to you, while you’re existing in theatre you composed yourself… strikes me as in line with Dave’s humour. In the song Cetology, Ishmael already actually laments that “this could be an amazing song...”, in doing so pretty heavily suggesting that he’s self-aware of being in a musical he wrote. So I don’t think Dave using this quote for metatheatre’s sake would be that surprising.

I also like this quote because of the quite bizarre, almost eerie throwaway piece of modern foretelling we’re given in the layout of performances in the “bill”. It’s interesting enough for a modern adaption to point out as it is, but especially since Dave is highlighting connections between the book and modern America, it feels like something he might reference.

#moby dick musical #moby dick #moby-dick #dave malloy #ishmael #loomings #mdtracklistchapters #my post

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daturanerium · 5 years

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let’s give beau the spotlight for a hot minute.

so this ep is going to be.....pretty heavy. i think we can all agree on that. most likely there’s going to be some falling out between the empire kids--bowlgate 2.0, anyone? people have already done a shit ton of meta on caleb and his choices and feelings right now, but I haven’t seen much on my girl beau so here’s her point of view (from what i can gather from the last couple eps and talks)

quick disclaimer: I agree caleb made a good decision in giving up the beacon! beau, however, has a lot of reason to be angry with him (and the rest of the party) about it. that’s what i’m going to be talking about.

let’s start at the beginning. beau met up with her mentor darion, who she thought had been injured or dead. darion is a huge role model for beau, and also the only person who takes beau seriously and believes in her. as a result, beau takes what darion says to heart. Darion tells her a lot of important things when they meet up, but something that really stuck out to both beau and i was “don’t get too close.” beau hesitates, then responds with, “i haven’t.” both us as the viewers and (presumably) beau know that’s a lie. she doesn’t agree with darion’s lone wolf view of life, shown when a minute later she asks darion about naming her birds. upon first viewing it looks like a joke question (and maybe it was and i’m just reading into this too much!) but i see it as a deeper question in disguise: why not let people in? they may surprise you. darion shuts that down pretty quick (“I named a bird once and it flew away from me. that’s why I don’t name my birds.”), but beau is still left feeling conflicted. mix that conversation with darion’s earlier ALL KRICKS ARE EVIL mentality that beau so heavily disagreed with that she openly calls them out on it--we’ve got a solid recipe for some Angsty Conflicting Feelings. on the one hand, beau and darion are very close and beau looks up to and respects them like no other authority figure. she’s constantly trying to prove that darion trusting her was not a bad move, and will do a lot to impress them. on the other hand, beau is starting to realize that darion might not be as good as they claim, or that at least their judgement is clouded heavily by prejudice and hatred. that is something beau doesn’t want to be a part of. so does she continue with her training with darion and hopefully get the praise, recognition, and belonging she’s always wanted? or does she allow herself to get close to the m9 and leave darion’s flawed teaching behind? her oldest mentor or her new friends--it’s a tough choice. (and a pretty great parallel to caleb’s story, which, as an avid empire kids fan, fascinates me to no end. but that’s different meta lmao)

now, the fight in the well. i’m not going to get into this too heavily because i feel like most of it is pretty simple to figure out. beau had some pretty great moments in there. when caleb first gets possessed, her first reaction is to grab his hand and ask if she has to kill him. hello???? juicy. she made a promise to keep caleb in check, and this was a strong reminder of that. later, when yasha is the one to get possessed, it’s beau that gets her out of it (YOU. ARE IN. A TOXIC. RELATIONSHIP!) with both caleb and caduceus down. and it’s beau that rips the heart straight out of the beast’s chest. this fight was beau’s reminder that she’s ride or die for these people--she’s attached. we don’t really know, but it could be a point where she started to make up her mind on her inner conflict between darion and the m9.

and then, last episode. oh boy. things start off okay (hello everyone that beaujester scene with the other traveler follower was fantastic), but everything turns to shit pretty quickly with the whole...….slave thing. that was about the only thing on talks marisha talked about openly--beau hated that, and for good reason. fjord and jester hop on the slaveholder train a little too quickly for her comfort, with fjord pushing her in the mud for no good reason and jester literally using her as a footstool. meta-wise, we’re aware that the majority of this was done as a joke by laura and travis, but it still happened in canon and beau was not enjoying it in the least. her only real comfort here was that caleb was equally as uncomfortable as her the whole time--at least he’s on her side here. because the way she sees it, the people she’s (presumably) decided to stick with only pretend to respect her. when given the chance, they’ll step all over her just like everyone has before. and that really sucks.

okay, now what everyone’s waiting for: the Moment, the last twenty minutes of the episode, and what will maybe happen tonight. caleb, in a panic, pulls out their hail mary: the beacon, or the dodecahedron. he presents it to the bright queen, saying that while he is from the empire, he is certainly no friend of the empire. good for him! we love character growth! even though that was probably less character growth and more of a desperate, last minute play to save his friends’ lives. the problem is, caleb was only speaking for himself here. beauregard is a member of the cobalt soul, which, although technically neutral in this war, have spies everywhere. they’re well known for their collection of knowledge as well as their espionage. specifically, beau is an expositor, which is apparently tasked with “pursuing the secrets and evils of the world and exposing them to the light.” when the bright queen and her court find out that beau is a part of not only the cobalt soul but the expositors, chances are pretty high that she’ll at the very least be kept a close eye on. more likely, she’ll be confined to a certain area and interrogated pretty heavily, maybe even locked up. we don’t know a lot about the bright queen’s court or the xhorassian government, but we can assume they don’t take well to potential spies.

now, we as watchers have had two weeks to think about this whole scenario. what went well and what went wrong. but beau has had all of six seconds. and beau, as we know, can be a little quick to jump to conclusions. so when caleb hands over the beacon, her first thought isn’t thank god. it’s more along the lines of holy fuck i’m going to be outed as a spy and killed. caleb, in her eyes, made another rash decision for the whole party that could get her in some serious trouble. we also have to keep in mind that beau is still under the impression that caleb’s only with the party for protection. during their infamous “don’t go” moment, caleb responds with (paraphrased) “i’ll consider it”. to us, that him not wanting to admit he cares for them. for beau, who tends to view conversations from a very surface-level perspective, sees it as nothing more than exactly what he said--noncommittal. so when he pulls out the beacon here and only mentions himself when talking to the bright queen, i think it’s reasonable for her to think that he’s only doing it to save his own hide. she’s had some good, soft moments with him, but as far as she can tell they’re pretty one-sided.

so, tl;dr:

beau was having conflicting feelings on darion’s teachings and wasn’t sure weather she should continue getting close with the m9 or follow darion’s advice to please her

during the crazy-ass battle in the well, beau was reminded that she loves the people she’s with and is ride or die for them. it can be assumed that she made her decision to stay close to her friends

last episode, the gross slavery thing made her realize that the people she chose to stay with don’t respect her

caleb handing over the beacon (and the rest of the party putting her in a position in front of the queen of xhorass to begin with) could put beau in a really difficult position, since she’s an expositor of the cobalt soul and Potential Spy Material

during caleb and beau’s inevitable fallout tonight she’ll probably call him selfish, and while we know that isn’t true, we should also make sure to view the situation from beau’s perspective and understand that it’s a pretty justifiable conclusion based on her background, history with caleb, and current situation

tonight’s gonna be crazy, folks. things are going to be said. things are going to happen. this is a major turning point for all of the charaters and their story, and everyone’s feeling tense and conflicted. we love some good drama and inter-party conflict, but let’s try not to pick sides too heavily on this one.

#beauregard #critical role #cr spoilers #cr meta #beauregard lionett #expositor dairon #darion #empire kids #THIS TOOK ME TWO HOURS TO TYPE OUT #it's not perfect #I might edit some stuff later #anyway tldr i love beau and she's had a rough couple of days here and nobody's talking about it #THIS ISN'T CALEB HATE I CAN SEE YOU TYPING #I hope they have one of those moments tonight where beau's like WELL THEN WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO IT and caleb goes BECAUSE I LOVE YOU GUYS #that's a juicy trope #anyway

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writer-and-artist27 · 6 years

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How to Kill a Slimy Snake Man

Because Osie gave me permission and the idea was too tempting to really resist. And they were nice enough to help me edit, so woo! More writing to share!

The usual disclaimers as always: I don’t own anything or anyone except Tomoko. Kei belongs to @langwrites, and Otoha to @owlsofstarlight.

The theme for this story is My Soul Your Beats, specifically the fanmade Duet Remix done originally by Lia and LisA for Angel Beats. I found that the remix really fits the world that is Silent Feathers, combining the piano that Tomoko is known for with the rock beats Lang and Osie seem to use a lot for CYB. I wanted to use this song for so long, I’m just glad Silent Feathers has given me an excuse to do so now!

This should canonically take place after the original Silent Feathers post, the short story titled Kuroha-san, and Osie’s most recent story showing Otoha’s lab antics.

Please enjoy!

Secrets always seemed to have this unspoken code of conduct. Vy’s past family took it to heart enough to where it was still ingrained in me as Tomoko.

(1) Never force someone into saying it. (2) No one was entitled to hearing another person’s secret. (3) If a secret is shared with you, you’re not supposed to share it with others because it breaks the whole idea of a “secret” in the first place. And (4), always be patient and understanding when someone wanted to share a secret. Interrupting was literally the nail in the coffin of any talk like that.

Even now, that didn’t change.

Kuroha-san was particularly antsy when the prospect of secret sharing came up in the air, and even if I didn’t know them as well as Kei, that didn’t mean they were any less deserving of respect.

Kuroha-san was just as much of a reincarnation buddy and friend as Kei. The least I could do was hear them out. The more help we could get before the world went to shit via Aliens and bullshitty snakes, the better.

I wasn’t expecting Otoha to blurt it out when the tension became a bit too much.

…Well, technically, they glossed over it, but the words were way too suspicious to be ignored. Even if they weren’t directed at me.

Kei was with us too, so that helped.

Maybe.

It all started with Kei prompting the question behind her cup of tea. “So, any updates on snake-man?”

Otoha flapped their right hand in the air while swaying back and forth on their seat cushion. “Oh you know, same-old same-old. The snan’s still proving why we need a code of ethics.” She fell silent for a second, then brightly added, “Oh, fun news, I told him about Unsealing Technique: Flesh Confetti and actually creeped him out!”

Kei visibly paused her thinking. “Flesh Confetti?”

Snan? What? Hisako loudly expressed in my place with a raised eyebrow. Is that supposed to mean something? And what the hell is Flesh Confetti?

For some reason, I could only imagine that one filler arc where Hinata came up with the Protective Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms Technique for literally slicing up summon bees, and I shivered. Bug corpses were already not a pretty image to remember.

Otoha’s next comment didn’t help because Kei apparently set off an explanation. Around their strawberry mochi, because the sweets didn’t even deter them from talking. Or flapping their hands. “I store the fleshy bits and gore left over from my Razor Wind Jutsu and then unseal it over my unsuspecting enemies when I need a quick distraction! So, Flesh Confetti!”

Never mind. Ew.

My stomach sank as the saliva quickly dried up in my mouth. “How…effective.” The words were almost guttural and far too deep to really be from my voice if not for the fact I felt my lips move.

I did not need that image in my head.

Otoha only grabbed another strawberry mochi from the plate sitting in the center of the impromptu group huddle that we were having on my room floor. They apparently didn’t mind? “That’s the same reaction Orochimaru had.”

Now bile was climbing up my throat. Um. What.

Rewind. Did Kuroha-san say, “Orochimaru”?

My mental voice came out tiny and barely audible in the massive mental library. Hisako?

…They said, “Orochimaru.” My Nobody paced back and forth, shaking her head vigorously. Her long brown hair was flying everywhere, but she didn’t even seem to care, continuing to pace with a fish face. They. Freaking. Said. OROCHIMARU. Hisako repeated incredulously.

What. What.

Kei didn’t seem all that fazed, judging by the raised eyebrow in Otoha’s direction, but my stomach was already starting to grow pumpkin patches for butterflies to start flocking around. Ugh.

The conversation starter of “snake-man” didn’t make me feel any better. I probably shouldn’t have been surprised that my voice turned high-pitched to express that uncertainty. “Um, Kuroha-san? Kei?”

Both ninja turned to me. “Yeah, Tomo-chan?”

They were in unison. Holy heck, they were in freaking unison. Hisako clapped almost immediately, but I outwardly blinked because that kind of thing rarely happened outside of well-established ninja teams. Then again, I only really talked with Team Minato and Gai, so there was that…

That was both cool and kinda whoa. Hisako finished for me.

Yeah…

Kei and Otoha exchanged a look before turning back to meet my stare. “Uh, Tomo-chan,” Kei started slowly, putting down her cup of tea, “are you okay?”

“Trying?” I squeaked. The stomach butterflies were starting to mate now, frig. I did not want to throw up right now! “To be okay. I think. Um. Uh.”

Hisako had taken a fetal position in the library while pulling out a single cue card from around the corner. She was broken too. Darn it. The cue card barely helped with its single sentence of, Just say it.

This was going to be a bombshell.

I forced as much oxygen into my lungs with a deep breath, instinctively closed my eyes to save myself the embarrassment that was meeting my friends’ stares, before blurting it out. “WH-WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY OROCHIMARUUU~?!”

A long pause followed.

My heart was still beating against my ribs, the stomach butterflies were having a field day, and for some reason, no one was talking.

Okay. I know we’re not ones to talk, but. Hisako raised her head from her knees to glare out at the world. Despite her limited vantage point. Someone. TALK. Silence. Sucks.

I slowly opened my eyes.

Otoha had apparently turned white, brown eyes wide as their jaw clenched. Kei was equally perplexed, glancing between Otoha and I before shrugging helplessly. “We forgot to tell Tomo-chan, didn’t we, Os?”

“Eh…yeeah.” Otoha said slowly. I was not expecting them to chuckle nervously when turning back to meet my stare, and I couldn’t help but feel like I had done something wrong when hearing it. “Hehehe…yeah, Tomo-chan, I work for creepy snake guy.”

It was such a simple sentence, but it was enough to set something off.

Hisako, naturally, blew up first. Because of course. Inner darkness, people. THE FUCK?!

Outwardly, I held my tongue, took another really deep breath, and clenched my hands. Kuroha-san was nervous. They sounded guilty. I couldn’t panic. “…Creepy snake guy?”

“Creepy snake guy,” Otoha repeated, laughing again. It was still a nervous laugh. “Hehehe…oops?”

“OOPS” DOES NOT HELP ANYTHING.

I took another breath. Hisako wasn’t helping either, but yelling something wouldn’t help the sudden weight residing in my heart. There were so many questions flooding my head, but what left my mouth instead was a quiet, “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” Otoha inclined their head, and the confusion was obvious in their voice. “Oh yeah, Tomo-chan, I’m mostly safe. I mean, I’m taking shifts at the hospital and now I’ve got you. He can’t disappear me without questions. And being his lab assistant means I’m right in the spot to take him down.”

“Th-That’s not what I meant!” I didn’t even mean to yell, especially considering the fact that Otoha and Kei both had flinched, but something had snapped in me, and I was left helpless in riding whatever emotional wave it had. “You’re…you’re…” I hung my head. “You’re…”

You’re putting yourself at risk. And I have to hear about this just after we got to meet up? You’re risking your life?

You’re risking dying again?

Hisako was already getting up from her previous fetal position in the library to reach out towards me, a solemn look on her face. She already knew. She already saw where Vy’s old memories ended. There was too much red. Tomoko-chan—

Kei was faster than my Nobody in scooting over to sit near me, a hand already resting over both of mine. I didn’t even realize my hands were starting to shake until she was steadying them with hers. “Tomo. It’s okay.”

Snot was starting to come up to my nose as the doubt took a seat in my heart to fester like the darkness it was. Goddammit. The memory had to influence me again. “I-Is it? It’s fucking Orochimaru, Kei. An Orochimaru who got away with abusing his only son in Canon. An Orochimaru who got away with countless murders and child abuse and Hokage Naruto didn’t put him to justice. Hokage Naruto didn’t do anything to him.” The urge to cry was strong, but I didn’t want to break down now. The emotion wave couldn’t take me yet. It couldn’t. “A-And, Kuroha-san…” My voice stalled, no thanks to the sudden lump surfacing in my throat. “I just met you again, and hearing that—”

My breath was already starting to shake, but I choked out because they needed to hear it. From me. “I-I…I don’t want you to die.”

There was only a single second of silence before I could pick up the sound of someone scooting over. A hand landed on top of my head, and I looked up only to see Otoha smile. “Eh, no worries, not even death can kill me.” I could vaguely register that same hand start to pat my hair, and even when the tears were starting to bubble up in the corners of my vision, Otoha was still smiling. “I’ll be fine, Tomo-chan.”

When glancing to the side, Kei only shot me a small smile, nodding her head encouragingly. It was obvious she shared the same sentiment.

Trust them, Tomoko-chan. Hisako was already hugging me. Trust them.

I could’ve taken it. I could’ve. Instead, what left my mouth was a tiny and squeaky, “Really? How—How do you know that?”

I could’ve taken it if not for the fact that Ty said the same thing, and their influence still hurt. If not for the fact that I — that Vy — tried to help him, and he didn’t accept it. That he still called me out for being too naive. Too ignorant.

Otoha frowned, letting out what sounded like the hum of a troubled dinosaur as their hand stilled on my head. I wasn’t expecting the frown to suddenly turn upside down. “Hey,” their hand started patting my head again, smoothing some stray hairs back into place. “I got you and Kei, right? We can handle anything.”

My heart skipped a beat. When I glanced to the side, Kei only smirked, nodding again. “We’re all together, Tomo-chan. We’re not alone. We can do this.”

Hisako only closed her eyes, stepping back to look up at the library ceiling with a resigned smile. Water was already pooling at her sneakers. Three, two, one…

The first tear slid down my cheek. “K-Keiiiiii, Otohaaaaaa…” my voice cracked. “You—you two are such—” A smile was creeping up my face as I reached up to wipe at my eyes, the beginnings of a laugh echoing in my throat. “You two are such cheesy dorks. And you’re the ninja…” The first sniffle finally slipped through.

These two were the ninja, and they weren’t pessimistic.

They were actually optimistic. They actually believed in something better.

They weren’t Ty.

They felt like Leo and Josh. The same warmth, the same confident reassurances.

They were my friends.

I could finally take that.

Even with the water starting to flood the library like a sudden rainfall, Hisako only shrugged with a fond smile. We’re lucky, huh, Tomoko-chan?

I didn’t even have to look up to know Kei and Otoha were exchanging another look before I could only see past their shoulders. I somehow activated the Quick-Play Magic Card: Sudden Group Hug. Aaaaaah. “You don’t have to worry, Tomo-chan.” Kei’s voice echoed above my head, and the tight grip on my shoulders was enough for me to know that those hands were hers. “We can do this. There’s no need to cry.”

“I-I can’t help but cry, okay?” was the protesting squeak, but I couldn’t deny I was hugging them both back just as hard if not more so. “You two are my reincarnation buddies, and I want to see the future with you! A-And just when I worry, you two say something like that, and now I feel so happy, even though I know I should be worried about the Creepy Snake Guy…!”

Hisako bit back a barking laugh. Avatar reference a no go?

Then the lightbulb went off. “O-Or should I just call him, ‘Creepy Spooky Slimy Snake Guy’?”

Otoha let out a soft and happy crow-noise as the hand on my head started to brush through my hair. If I didn’t know any better, it resembled a triumphant laugh from how sudden it was. “Tomo-chan, I’m the lab assistant, let me worry about the Creepy Snake Guy. That’s easier.”

Even without the space to look up, I could already tell Kei was rolling her eyes. “Creepy Snake Guy. That works.” There was a small pause before the arm around my shoulders squeezed softly. “I think we should leave the music to Tomo-chan and not the names, huh, Os?”

“Hey…”

Otoha laughed again. “Vy Vy’s better at music.”

Now the tears were fading for a pout. Gosh darn it, these ninja. I could never be depressed around them, huh. “So,” I tried not to grumble, “does that mean I have to be the Nurse Joy of the group?”

Another small pause, then Kei was chuckling above my head. “I think Kairi is better.”

Otoha squawked like a pterodactyl. “Why not Al? Or Winry?”

Kei’s hand on my shoulder loosened. “That works too.”

Did they just start bringing on more references? The water in the library was already starting to reach Hisako’s knees, but she apparently didn’t seem to care judging by the proud grin on her face. Yes.

I probably shouldn’t have been surprised by my Nobody pulling out a vacuum of all things. Time to clean up! was the loud bellow. Water, be nice, and they’ll be no blood spilled.

It was best to ignore her pushing the power button.

Instead, I found myself laughing before sitting up in the group hug and squeezing Kei and Otoha both.

“Tomo?”

Another squawk. “Tomo-chan?”

“Just, thank you,” I said honestly, holding back happy tears. “Thank you both, so much. For believing. And for—” the name was like sawdust on my tongue, but I still said it anyways because I needed to let go. I needed to vent at one point. “For not being Ty.”

Kei exhaled shakily in what sounded like clear understanding, just as Otoha’s hand on my head stilled, another dinosaur trill soft in the air. “No problem, Tomo-chan,” they added quietly, hand patting my head all over again. “No problem.”

I couldn’t help the last small happy tear. I didn’t deserve these two, yet they were here. They were here, in the Group Hug, and my heart and mind were finally in agreement about something.

They weren’t going to leave.

The tear fell quickly to the floor tile as the Group Hug didn’t let up for a while.

Snake Man was going to see a painful death, and at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if these two ninja were the ones I would have to thank for it.

I had more than enough to thank them for already.

#silent feathers #hoshino tomoko #otoha kuroki #keisuke gekko #writing #the sea and stars #long post #owlsofstarlight #langwrites

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giraffles · 6 years

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Stay The Night

forgot to post this one here, whoops! some post-canon sweet taakitz for y’all, because I’m weak for these boys.

Stay The Night (Taako/Kravitz)

His solution, brilliantly, is to not sleep. Not until he falls over from exhaustion or passes out while cooking. He's even got everyone fooled that he's a-okay. At least he thinks he does. No one says otherwise, and that suits him just fine.

you can also read it on AO3 here!

The world doesn't end. And that's a good thing, because they didn't have a backup plan. There was no second chance, no desperate bid for freedom, no tedious reset. It was all or nothing. And they came out on top with all the sweet victory they could ever want. Against all odds, they won. They won, and it's a flood of joy and relief and tinged with a little disbelief. And it's absolutely exhausting. Taako isn't sure if it's physical or mental or just an ungodly combination of both. Maybe it's the weight of over one hundred years of memories finally catching up to him. It's a lot to have lived through, and then to have lived through again, much less cobble back together a coherent understanding of his place in the world. Like, holy fuck. That's a lot to wade through. Sometimes it gives him such a bad headache that it's easier not to think about it, and focus on the here and now. On rebuilding. On reconnecting with those he'd lost but some how found again against all odds. Lup has taken to finding new ways to scare the living hell out of everyone, from floating through the bureau at night to phasing through walls. She even startled him and wasted a whole pot of soup when she popped her lich head up through it. (He had chased her, for all the good it wouldn't do, while she cackled and made full use of her incorporeal form. It had been equal parts nostalgic and aggravating.) Magnus carves ducks in between rebuilding jobs, even though Fisher has long since departed their universe. Merle is trying, and mostly succeeding, to boost morale as they shift through the wreckage, finding what can be saved and mourning what cannot. Everyone is there. Everyone is safe. And yet there's this looming feeling of impending doom that just won't quit. It's as though that through the act remembering, Taako has forgotten what it's like to feel safe. Ignorance really was a sort of bliss, as much as the fuzzed out edges of his life had caused a constant turmoil, because now it's a struggle to stay on top of everything. So much is the same and yet so much can never be the same again. You can't go through something like the apocalypse and not be changed. Sure, at his core he's still Taako, from TV, a living brand name, a hero to be sung about down the ages; but now he's a different kind of Taako. Literally. It still takes a lot to convince himself he doesn't need the illusion spell every morning, and sometimes he does it anyway. Just a little. Nothing too noticeable, but enough to make him feel better, especially on the very likely chance that he hasn't slept much. Sleep is hard now. Meditation is straight out the fuckin' window. Nights and days get stretched together when he's plagued with either insomnia, or worse, the dreams. No, not dreams, because that would imply fantastical but harmless mind adventures. These are memories. Always back to the goddamn memories. The worst ones, the times they almost didn't make it, when he had to watch friends die or feel the cold sting of death himself. Or memories that his brain decided to make up new, more grim endings; his sister, turned to ash, his boy, bleeding out on the floor. Endless rounds of games in a horror carnival that leaves everyone he ever cared about in pieces. Things that leave him awake and gasping and on the edge of tears. Things like that. His solution, brilliantly, is to not sleep. Not until he falls over from exhaustion or passes out while cooking. He's even got everyone fooled that he's a-okay. At least he thinks he does. No one says otherwise, and that suits him just fine.

Date night rolls around. Taako has been looking forward to it all month, a distraction and an excuse to monopolize Death's free time. No business talk. No family. No not-actually-family-but-kinda-sorta-maybe-adopted family. Just the two of them, together, for a nice evening. And god, did he need a break. There's still so many loose ends to tie up, so many things that still need to be sorted out. Not to mention the new void of what the hell he was going to do with his life now. Kravitz stops when he sees him. He squints at Taako, and frowns. "Are you okay?" "Just fine, babe," as fine as he could be, really, "Why, didja forget how gross I looked now?" When all else fails, self-deprecating humor is where it's at. He can preen and put himself down at the same time. Win-win. Kravitz pauses, brows knitted and looking at him intently, seemingly gathering up the right words. "Taako," he begins carefully, "When was the last time you slept?" "Dunno. What's today?" The reaper sighs. He rubs his forehead. Taako drapes himself lovingly in his arms. He's dizzy on an endorphin high and ready for a night out on the town with his most beloved bae. Even if said bae keeps looking at him with such a sour face, and-- "You're going to bed. Right now." "Oh no--" Taako attempts to bolt, but has already made the fatal mistake of allowing Kravitz so close. He might not technically be alive, but he has all the strength of a man his size, and Kravitz has him in a vice grip. He struggles. Any other day of the week and he'd be admiring those guns, but today they're helping commit a great betrayal. Taako whines. "Babe! C'mon!" "No," Kravitz picks him up and starts carrying him inside, "You look like I should be collecting your soul soon, and frankly, that's a little alarming." Taako does his best to wriggle out of his grasp, but it's fruitless. Kravitz can be just as stubborn as he is. Taako resorts to flailing and complaining. However, neither of those slow down the reaper, who's drawing ever closer to his dormitory door. "I don't need sleep! It's for the weak!" "Yes, you do," Somehow Kravitz manages to keep a hold of him even as Taako flips himself upside down, which is both impressive and infuriating, "We can go out another time." Taako huffs and crosses his arms, braid swinging freely and dragging on the floor. This sucks. He can't even get one lousy night to not think about how overwhelming everything is. Kravitz is the worst and he hates him. (He doesn't, of course, he adores his hot boyfriend who's sometimes a skeleton, who's both a badass and a giant dork. He's just mad at him at the moment.) Taako gives him the silent treatment. It's harder to do than it looks, because he'd much rather be vocal about the injustice that's happening to him. Kravitz sighs again. "Taako--" "I'm not talking to you." "Love, please," the pet names have come out, and he resolves to not let it affect him, "You know I care, right?" "I guess," Taako pouts as he's gently set on a couch, "But I wanted to spend time with you." Kravitz looks conflicted. Taako sulks and makes a point to avoid eye contact. So maybe he's a little cranky for only sleeping three hours out of as many days. It's still not fair. "I could stay." Kravitz says. He blinks dumbly up at him. "Do what now?" "Stay with you. While you get some rest. That's a lot creepier out loud than it was in my head." "Do you even need to sleep?" "No," Kravitz admits, "But I wouldn't mind. I mean, if you wanted me to. I don't have to. But I could, I have the whole night off, not that I expected to... do anything. For the whole night. I should stop taking now? I'm stopping now. Sorry." He can't believe he's in love with such a ridiculous, stupid, wonderful, and kind person. Entity? The definition was kind of up in the air for that one. Taako doesn't have to look to know that Kravitz is blushing, probably all the way up to his ears, off-kilter and rambling. He's still wrapping his head around the idea that there are persons out there who, honest to gods, want to put Taako first. Taako doesn't even think Taako deserved that. Sure, that's not what he tells people-- because no one needs to know how bad the inner battle gets. In some ways remembering has made it easier. In others, it's that much harder now. He thinks, that maybe, it would be nice to have someone at his side. Someone who liked him before his life's story got broadcast through reality. Taako considers the proposal for a moment. "Okay." "Okay?" "Okay as in, you best be ready to get super snuggled. I'm clingy as hell." Kravitz gives him a shy smile. "I think I can handle that."

Kravitz has a bigger frame than he does-- nothing like Magnus or Killian who are built like brick shit houses, but he's not as slight as Taako is. Even as a flipwizard, there's not much he can do about genetics and non-athletic career choices. It takes him a minute to fish out some of his more drapey clothes that have half a chance of fitting Kravitz. As much as he enjoys the suit and cloak ensemble, it's not exactly practical sleepwear. And it would be a shame to excessively wrinkle it. Unless it was gonna be in a sexy way, but that should probably wait until another time, when he's fully present for all the fun. Taako's fanciest skirt goes flying across the room, landing on a bookshelf that has less books than colorful knick-knacks and choice pieces of junk. The first time Kravtiz had come over, in a panic he had tried to cover everything in sheets instead of cleaning up, but somehow managed to trip and pull them all down at once. It had been equal parts hysterical and mortifying. Kravitz said that his collection of garbage was 'charming'. Taako still isn't sure he believes that, but it's still sweet. What's also sweet is the way that Kravitz pointedly looks away, trying to be respectful or something-- as though they haven't fucked wildly on various flat (and not so flat) surfaces around his room. He's flustered and it's still as cute as the first time it happened. And nothing would top that first morning, that so called walk of shame where Merle gave them a knowing wink when they came down for breakfast, and Taako had 'accidentally' burned his pancakes in return. At least everyone else had a little more tact and kept their opinions and eyes to themselves. None of them also wanted burned pancakes. But he sets aside those more recent and pleasant memories for pajamas instead, wiggling into them and undoing his complicated orante braids as Kravitz dons his spare clothes. They're still a little tight on him. Taako is very okay with this. "Just sleeping." Kravitz says firmly, catching his gaze. He pouts back. "Not even a little smooching?" The reaper pauses and seems to think on it a moment, though he knows what the answer will probably be. Taako makes his eyes extra big and disarming anyway, having perfected the cute puppy look years ago. You could never be too sure. "Fine, a little smooching," Kravitz yields, "But you have to get some rest." Taako dramatically falls forward into those strong arms again, knowing he'll be easily caught and securely held. "Then take me to bed, big guy." He doesn't miss that breathless laugh, and revels in the way his heart lifts as he's easily swung up and onto his unmade bed. There's no illusions here that if Taako really wanted to he could have a dozen different spells incapacitating his lover, leaving escape for him wide open. Power acquired over decades of study and practice and mad dashes across planes has given him abilities previously only talked about in legends. And so maybe he is a legend, something that should be mysterious and untouchable, always sought but never found. Just like a light they'd once chased through realities. A story to be sung, a name to be called in hushed tones, an abstract ideal to be strived towards. So it's nice, he thinks, when Kravitz looks at him like a person. When Kravitz gets frustrated with him, exasperated, or even bemused. When he looks at Taako like he's the whole world and then kisses him like it's ending all over again. It's nice to have that grounding force to remind him that he's not entirely a fuck up and that he's also not just a product of good marketing. He never thought it would matter to him so much. But it does, and every action is an affirmation, from the way Kravitz smiles at him to the way he runs fingers so gently through his hair. It's wonderful and it hurts and it's so good. He's drunk on the feeling of being wanted. "It's... not too cold, is it?" Kravitz asks him nervously as he curls up on that broad chest, nestling into the crook between neck and shoulder. Yes, he's cool to the touch-- he's never been anything approaching warm since Taako met him. But he's gotten used to it, adapted even, because Kravitz doesn't feel icy and doesn't leave him with a chill. It's almost pleasant in weird way. "S' fine," he mumbles back sleepily, "Kinda nice, actually." Already something is different from all the other times he'd recently crawled into bed or dozed off in the foyer. Something shifts, puts a damper on the rolling anxiety and dread. It takes him another few long moments to realize it's an aura of safety that he's been missing. A bit of calm in a turbulent sea that's been threatening to sink him for weeks. There's no heartbeat beneath his ear, and he's sure the breathing part is either habit or for his own benefit, but it's a piece of normalcy that soothes beyond a doubt. It's something he hadn't realized he even needed. Something solid. Something real. He wraps his arm around Kravitz and holds tight. Taako hadn't been kidding about the clinging part, knowing full well from his days of youth he had a tendency to latch onto things (or someones) in his sleep. This is still different, a conscious effort not to let go of a tie keeping him close to home. Because petty fears and insecurities only seemed to grow as time went on, feeding on each other and plaguing every thought both conscious and not, bringing him to the vicious cycle he was now caught in. And while usually the words would flow so easily, he now found them strangled in his throat. They died before Taako can give them a voice. Kravitz must have felt the tension reverberating through his body, because a hand comes up to push circles into his back. Yes, they've banged countless times, but this is a different intimacy. A different context for something slow and sweet. And he suddenly feels bad for being so needy and high maintenance, but can't summon the energy to do anything about it. "I'm right here," Kravitz murmurs into the darkness, "I'm not going anywhere." And really, that's all he needs to know. That there's someone there. That it's safe to let go.

#the adventure zone #taz #taz fanfic #taakitz #fanfiction #ao3fic #they do the cuddle #I have so many taako feelings how do I hold them all #taz spoilers #giraffles

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fvaleraye · 4 years

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Political Correspondence

Oh hey would you look at that, I made another chapter Amazing what a few kind words will do... I see y’all ;w;

Anyway, this one is... a little different? It’s mainly worldbuilding, and a peek at the goings on of the political shit of the Council that runs the world, or, more specifically, their more... uncooperative members, and it’s not very long. I may do a follow up that’s just the council members who don’t get along messaging each other ASDLFKJN

I hope y’all enjoy reading ^^

The lands of Magna Terra have been dominated by the Ten Great Cities for generations. Though still a relatively young civilization, all things considered, it has manage to stand tall despite much strife. Or, at least, that's what they say. The Council, the leading body of the government, are believed to be a unified and benevolent group, unshakeable in their will to lead Magna Terra to greatness and prosperity. While this is not... entirely accurate, the continent has not descended into anarchy yet, so that must mean something. The Council are, on paper, made up of ten exceptional, hand-picked individuals from each of the ten cities. In reality, only six of them consistently show up to any meetings. One is typically busy with research, another has many spiritual responsibilities, while the other two quite honestly only have a seat on the council in name only. No-one complains, however. Forcing all attendants to appear in person would most likely do more harm than good. So. Written correspondence is the next best thing.

Technically speaking, Finley was the one and only Free Lands representative on the council, as he was the only one who had the patience for all the paperwork and political dealings, but all four Pirate Kings typically debated, or argued, on any decision that the Free Lands would make on council proceedings. Odysseus was usually busy raiding ships for "volunteers" in his bloodsports and shiny metals to decorate his opulent ships with, and clearly cared very little for anything else. Delphine mostly guided the various ocean dangers away from the ports, as she was expected to, as every siren emissary from the Deep Kingdoms did. And Finley's brother, Lockley, mostly just got into barfights and raided ships that Odysseus hadn't already picked clean, when he wasn't nursing hangovers.

So, with all these... colorful individuals, it fell to Finley to keep track of everything, and make sure that the Council didn't come down on their less than legal activities like a hammer. It was stressful, and he didn't want to be the one to do it, but someone had to. And no-one else was going to volunteer. So he spent most of his time sitting in his study, or in the captains quarters if he was on the sea, writing to the other Council members and keeping track of all the numbers in his fellows... escapades. This is why he had his own private grog stash kept stocked at all times.

"Fellow Members of the Council.

I appreciate your continued tolerance of my fellows activities, and we're all thankful for the shipment of various goods. Odysseus in particular was overjoyed at the crates of fine wine, and I doubt you'll be seeing much of him and his crew for a bit, as they've managed to drink themselves into a stupor these past few nights with the stuff. Delphine is doing well, and, as a result, so are the seas, so you should have no trouble getting your other shipments here and back. I must admit that I am continually thankful, though not surprised, at the generosity and tolerance you have shown us, despite how the citizens of the Free Lands continue to do what pirates, outlaws, and scoundrels do. Again. Thankful. Not surprised. After all, we're the ones with all the cannons, muskets, and flintlocks. And, to answer your last letter, no, they're still not up for trade. You have magic, don't you? You'll be fine. I'm sure. As long as we're all in good standing with each other, that is.

Signed Yours Truly, Finley Bracket, Third of The Name, Lord Pirate King of The Free Lands."

The Charred Lands, meanwhile, wanted very little to do with the land beyond the forests, and the pyromantic Council members, understandably, stopped attending any meetings after the Third War of Embers. They still weighed in on any decisions the Council made, but they were governed by their own Council, the Council of The Charred Ones, presided over by the Nine Charred Lords. Quite honestly, they were more united in their efforts than the actual Council, but they still had their squabbles. They hardly payed lip-service to any laws the Council made, and were simply self ruled. The Charred Lords had been around since the dawn of the Sparking, they did not need to listen to these petty mortals in their gilded tower.

The cold war between them and the Golden City went back ages, as the words of the Sacred Embers and the teachings of the Holy Church often conflicted, and the animosity between them was only strengthened after the war. The Church didn't take kindly to any "pagan" religions who did not worship their Lady of Light, and the people of the Charred Lands believed in only the Nine Unburnt Gods. Most Council members were thankful when the Lords stopped attending, honestly, as they spent most of their time bickering with the Archbishop than actually adding anything to the decisions. It was far more productive this way, even if they still didn't add much at all to Council decisions.

"Councilman of The Uncharred.

We have deigned to hear your requests for the holy metals, and the rare ores they are crafted from, that our holy guard uses in defense of the most holy Citadel of The Everlasting Embers, resting place of the gifts of the Unburnt Ones. We shall decline. These metals are for the use of true believers, and you have shown yourselves to be quite the opposite time and time again, as the wars prove. Remember, you have earned our tolerance, not our forgiveness. We have not deigned to give you any of our resources. We, however, deign to give our thanks for the fine jewels you have sent. We shall return them to you in a few suns time. The Unburnt Gods have no need of such finery, and neither do we. Bribery will get you nowhere in these discussions. As for your requests to remove the demons currently creeping through your lands, isn't that what your "Holy" Order is for? To kill or restrain these Blessedly Charred Beings is to betray the teachings of the Holy Ember, which your "Church" should take no issue with. Deal with it yourselves.

May The Blessings of Ember Touch Upon Your Woefully Uncharred Minds. The Council of The Nine Charred Lords, Children of The Unburnt Gods."

The Councilman Argentum, or Silver Councilman as most people call him, spent most of his waking hours researching the magic and history of Sparks, as well as contributing to the Historum in the Silver City. While he had very little interest in politics, his decisions and opinions were weighed very carefully by the rest of the Council, and his mind was held in high regard, even if his more logical approach to things rubbed the Church the wrong way at times. While he is a well regarded and respected member of the Council, more and more often he fails to attend Council meetings, as he becomes more and more absorbed in his work, hoping for a breakthrough before the end of his long life.

He keeps in very close contact with the High Magus of the Historum, though the two have been falling out with each other in recent times. Mostly due to a difference in scientific opinion. But still, he contributes to the Historum, and to the Magus's research, as well as his own. Still, the other Council members have recently begun to raise brows at his decision making in his old age. But he hasn't gone senile yet.

"Regarded Members of The Council.

While I am shocked and appalled at what has transpired in the eastern villages, I must protest the investigation of my Magus's. These men and women are respected historians and valued sorcerers, not barbarians who burn villages and steal children. And the accusations laid against the High Magus himself are absurd at best. I refuse your request to investigate any of my inner circle, as internal investigations have already taken place, and nothing has been found. I doubt the Church's Inquisitors would find anything that my investigators haven’t. You can tell the Archbishop that. As for your request to have the lower levels of the Historum searched, I must refuse that as well. The only things down there are dust and things too valuable to be within reach of the public. If you want to poke around at dusty old relics, go to the Old Lands and find some for yourselves, it will be close enough. And the fresh air should do you some good. I am old. Not senile. And I'm a better judge of character than any of you seem to assume.

Signed Stephan M. Moores, Councilman Argentum."

The Archbishop, the spiritual leader of the Holy Church, and representative of the Golden City within the Council, could very easily attend more Council meetings, as she lives directly within the Golden City's Holy Ring, but she values her spiritual teachings more than the political intrigue of the Council. Which, given how often the other members of the Council grate on her nerves, is understandable. She leads the processions of the Holy Church within the Golden City, and personally teaches aspiring priests and priestesses of the words of The Lady of Light, as well as dealing with the backlash of the more zealous actions of the Order. Many people who do not hold the church in the absolute highest regard often raise brows at the steps taken to "protect" the Cities from the "harmful" or "heretical" religions spread around Magna Terra.

Still, the Archbishop is not a cruel woman, and would rather convert a "heretical" individual than kill them. Though, as the other members of the Council know, she is more than willing to take a morally grey stance on things if she believes it would do more good than harm in the long run, and that she can be rather terrifying when angered. While not the oldest, or wisest, member of the Council, she is level-headed enough to be a key component in keeping the other Councilmen from ripping each others throats out. When she actually attends meetings, that is.

"Dearest Councilmen.

I have heard your fears and concerns regarding the pagan cults cropping up across the outskirts of Magna Terra. I, too, am worried for the spiritual future of our fellows, so far from Her light. I have already sent several cohorts of clergymen, and, while many found success, most were repelled. I have, with a heavy heart, authorized use of the Order's Paladins to quell these dissidents. I did not want it to come to this, but some just cannot see the light until they are brought to Her judgement. As for your reports of Abyssal Kin in Crystalbarrow, I have dispatched several Inquisitors. They will arrive before the Scaled Moon rises. If the Silent Titan's misbegotten children are hiding there, they will be found. I promise you that. And, as for evidence regarding the attacks on the eastern villages, I am sorry to report that no new evidence has been found. It seems that we have found all we're going to.

May Her Light Shine Upon Your Path. Yours Truly, Lilliana Beneficia, Archbishop of Her Holy Church."

The other members of the Council, while just as important to the wellbeing of Magna Terra, are not as noteworthy as those who cause the most issues with the formal proceedings. They are, while still colorful individuals, rather normal in comparison. Most are often exasperated by their fellows. Some are amused. They would all rather they just get along and get things done without a crisis having to happen first. While not quite as unified as they wish to appear, they are thankfully still far from ineffective in keeping the different territories from tearing each other to pieces.

#Valerie Writes #Scintillam #i had fun with this asdlkfjn #it was different!#and i jus wanted to worldbuild; mostly #may do more of these worldbuilding chapters if y'all rlly like them #just. chapters that don't add toooo much; or progress the story a lot #just chapters that add background to the story #*shrugs*#maybe...#reblogs are appreciated if u enjoyed :V

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btsvt-adventures · 7 years

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The Dinner Date Mistake

Title: The Dinner Date Mistake Pairing: Jimin x Jungkook, hints of Yoongi x Taehyung Warnings: Swearing, cute fluff, slight implication of sexy times but nothing very R Rated~ Word Count: 2,364

A/N: This was based off this prompt I saw, but I can't remember where, so if this is yours, hit me up and I'll credit you! ^^ - Admin Soojin

*Note: This is also crossposted on my AO3 here!

So you knock on my door saying you live across my apartment, and you’re asking me to make food for you even though we’ve never met?

When Jungkook decided he was making roast chicken and sweet potatoes, he meant for himself. Not this decidedly very cute guy at his door begging for help. He sighs, letting the stranger –his neighbour apparently– into his house.

“So, you want me to give up my beautifully roasted chicken and my perfectly glazed sweet potatoes for you?” he asks bluntly, letting a tinge of his Busan satoori slip. The smaller man –Jimin– with pretty pastel pink hair and an ass that could kill (Jungkook was not ogling…. much), nods eagerly.

“Please, I always smell the food from your place and it always smells delicious and I may or may not have lied to my date that I can cook and now he’s coming over in like half an hour please help me,” Jimin pouts cutely at him, and Jungkook can’t bring himself to refuse.

He glances at his chicken longingly, wishing he could at least eat some of it, but any part that was cut off would be too obvious. He’s very iffy about sharing, and even more possessive about his food, but something just wants to give Jimin anything he wants, if not just for him to smile again.

He’s got such a fucking pretty smile, Jungkook thinks as he takes the perfectly roasted chicken out to rest. Whoa, chill Kook you barely know him. What if he’s a serial killer who lied to you to get into your house? Jungkook shakes his head while grabbing the sweet potatoes, small smile forming at the ridiculousness of his inner monologue.

I’m sure he’s a nice guy, he thinks to himself, turning his attention on his, well Jimin’s now, sweet potatoes, focusing on not overglazing them (he tries not to think too hard about that one time he cooked for Seokjin hyung). Jungkook tends to have these internal debates, especIally if he’s nervous, even if they sometimes don’t end well.

Just say he’s a nice guy? Or make a joke about hoping he’s not a serial killer. Just start small talk, It’s not that hard??? Jungkook sighs, still stirring the potatoes carefully. Don’t be so awkward Jeon–

“YOU’RE A NICE SERIAL KILLER!” Jungkook nearly yells, and Jimin stares at him, stunned, before breaking out into a full bodied laugh. Jungkook can’t decide if he wants to smack himself or just die by faceplanting into the pan.

“Thanks, I think,” Jimin chortles, and Jungkook turns away from the pastel haired boy, cheeks flushed bright red while he stirs the potatoes, feeling satisfaction leak into him when he sees the thin shiny layer of sugar coating the potatoes.

Jimin sits at the dining table to watch Jungkook cook, cheek resting in his palm, and a strange… warmth growing in his belly. It’s not desire (not yet anyway), but it’s almost like… content. He’s content to watch a complete stranger cook dinner for him, like they’re a domestic couple and Jungkook’s his boyfriend who sometimes says strange things.

Yah, Park Jimin you have a date with Kim Taehyung, hottie with Yaoi hands that could probably choke you the way you want, get your shit together and stop mooning after your tall, hot neighbour, he wants to shake himself, but accidentally stubs his toe, and curses loudly, startling Jungkook.

“Sorry, but fuck that hurt,” he groans, standing up and bending over to rub his poor toe.

Jungkook’s frozen, staring at the newfound glory of Jimin’s ass, and he knows he’s fucked. Jimin’s ass is perky and round, forming a perfect peach in those tight ripped jeans of his. His ass looks good and this asshole (pun fully intended) knows it.

“Quit staring, I can feel your eyes drilling holes into my ass,” Jimin snorts weakly, still trying to recover from his accident (He’ll never admit the slither of heat that pools in his belly from Jungkook’s intense gaze), and Jungkook jerks so hard he hears a crack, stumbling over his apologies as he hurries to pack the food for Jimin to bring back.

Jimin half wants Jungkook to tug his arm and ask him to stay, like in those clichéd dramas his mom loves watching, but they’re both guys, both shy, and Jimin is going to be late.

“T-thanks for this, I’ll return the favour eventually, promise,” Jimin stutters, cheeks flushing lightly as his brain conjured up all the filthy ways he’d like to repay Jeon Jungkook. The younger grins slightly at him, showing off his bunny teeth and the adorable way his eyes scrunch up as he holds the door open.

“Sure hyung, you know where to find me,” Jungkook laughs, winking, and Jimin giggles nervously, practically dashing out of the apartment and back into the temporary sanctuary of his apartment.

Jimin’s heart is still pounding from his encounter with Jungkook not five minutes ago, but he needs to get ready for his date with Taehyung. He pretties himself up with a little bit of eyeliner and eyeshadow (and concealer of course), just to give himself some definition, and sets about plating everything that Jungkook’s prepared. He opens the container that the chicken is in, and moans from how good it smells. The chicken’s glistening, already carved so Jimin won’t have to butcher it later, with soft baby carrots and vegetables soaking up the juice from the chicken.

He thinks fleetingly that he should be eating this with Jungkook, but shakes the thought away, hurrying to get the chicken, sauce and sides on a nice big plate so it’ll look like he didn’t just buy takeout (which he technically didn’t, but eating from a container is so classless).

Jimin’s just getting the last of the sweet potatoes onto another plate when a loud knock on his door startles him. He glances at the clock, dumping the containers in the trash (thank god they were disposables), and hurries to the door, shaking out the tension in his shoulders before opening his door.

Kim Taehyung is.... Beautiful. There’s nothing else to say about it. Taller (by only 4cm, but it feels like so much more), with mesmerizing eyes and a blinding smile, Jimin’s stunned at how good Taehyung looks. Taehyung on the other hand, just wants to kiss Jimin (or fuck him, he hasn’t decided yet). Pastel hair contrasting prettily against his honey skin, hands small and twisting in his too-long shirt sleeve, ripped jeans that reveal smooth strong thighs.

“I know I’m irresistible but I think we should eat first,” Taehyung breaks their staring (read: ogling) match with a quirk of his lips. “I mean you put in all this effort into making dinner, I can smell it all the way from here, and I’m starving,” he winks salaciously at Jimin, and nearly coos when the smaller’s cheeks flush a dainty pink.

Min Yoongi eat your fucking heart out.

Taehyung never intended for this to happen, not a date like this anyway. He’d just seen Jimin at a club, dancing like he didn’t have a care in the world, slut dropping for anyone who was willing to look his way, and Taehyung was definitely willing. He isn’t heartbroken per se (he’s completely broken), but seeing Jimin dance like that made things a little less painful. It put a small grin onto Taehyung’s unusually sullen face, and made the rock in his chest the slightest bit lighter.

He follows Jimin’s mop of pretty hair into the dining room, humming with approval at the chic light blue walls with sleek monochrome furniture, but his attention is drawn to the food on the table, and his mouth waters.

“Holy shit you actually can cook!” Taehyung exclaims, eyes taking in the food, and Jimin lets out a nervous laugh, pulling the chair out for Taehyung like a gentleman.

Not like Min Yoongi, that asshole.

No. Taehyung isn’t going to think about his shithead of an ex-boyfriend; he’s going to focus on this adorable cutie sitting across him, looking at him like he had saved Korea in his past life. Jimin nudges the plate of chicken towards Taehyung, and he blinks, grinning boxily and taking a drumstick, biting into it heartily, groaning when the richness and juiciness explodes in his mouth.

“Fuck why didn’t I meet you first? Yoongi hyung could barely fry a fucking egg,” Taheyung moans, nearly inhaling the bone with how good the chicken in. Jimin giggles, feeling a swell of pride that Taehyung’s enjoying Jungkook’s cooking– Jesus Park Jimin stop thinking about him you’re on a date right now!

“Yoongi hyung…?” Jimin asks carefully, taking the other drumstick and eagerly digging in, suppressing a groan when the flavours hit his tongue.

Taehyung wrinkles his nose with slight distaste, but his shoulders sag in a way that Jimin can only describe as broken-ness. He sets the chicken down, turning wide, sadness filled eyes to Jimin, and he feels his already bleeding heart ache with sorrow.

Jungkook hates himself. Well, not really but he really wishes he had the balls to ask Jimin to stay, to share the chicken with him, not the cute bowl haired boy he saw knock on Jimin’s apartment door earlier (he did not stalk… he was heading to the convenience store for ramyun and instant rice). Jungkook sighs heavily, punching the pillow and pouting.

He wants to eat the chicken, he wants to talk to the cute pastel haired boy who lives across the hallway, see his pretty smile and perfect peachy ass, maybe kiss and nip at those fucking plump lips and– fuck he’s getting hard for his pretty neighbour.

He shakes his head, deciding a very cold shower, his makeshift dinner and some Overwatch will do him some good (or so he hopes).

This was a horrible idea, Jimin thinks, no less than an hour later, when Taehyung’s sobbing his eyes out in apology. It’s not that Taehyung’s an awful date, god he’s great, and any other time he’s sure Taehyung would’ve made him fall head over heels, but just… not right now.

“I still love him,” Taehyung wails into the ice cream that Jimin dug out of his freezer. “I only asked you out because I was upset and wanted to make Yoongi hyung jealous and you were slut dropping so sexily, Jimin-ah I’m so s-sorr-SORRY,” he sobs, and Jimin can only pat him on the back, ignoring the twinge of rejection and ouch, I was only a rebound.

“Hey, if you still love him, then go tell his stupid ass that you still love him, and that your argument was stupid, and that you still want to move in with him, you were just scared,” Jimin coaxes Taehyung gently, and the elder whimpers softly, nodding and mumbling his apologies, quietly asking for the bathroom so he won’t look like such a wreck.

Jimin laughs lightly. “I’ll even help you with your makeup, mm? I’m pretty sure we’re about the same shade anyway,” he offers kindly, and Taehyung just nods, nose red and eyes puffy from all the crying.

Twenty minutes later, some more convincing, and a little more pushing, Taehyung’s on his way with a wide, hopeful grin on his face, any trace of his sobfest hidden under the makeup, and a promise to stay in touch with Jimin (mostly so Jimin can know if Tae’s stupid ass actually managed to make up with this Yoongi guy). He slumps, staring at the still warm chicken, sitting temptingly in the oven, and a shit eating grin makes its way onto his face. He grabs it, nearly dropping the plate bc it’s hot, damn it, and carefully dumps the untouched sweet potatoes onto the plate. It doesn’t look half bad, save the missing thighs, but Jimin figures he’ll have to make it up to Jungkook… if he’ll even forgive him for stealing his dinner like that.

Jungkook sighs heavily (he really needs to stop sighing, it’s going to give him wrinkles or something), and throws his Xbox remote onto the sofa cushion. It’s not helping, nothing’s working. All his mind can focus on are those damn mesmerizing eyes, with that disarming smile, adorable laugh, and – fuck – that ass.

God damn you Park Jimin

A (second) frantic knock on his door startles him even more than the first, and Jungkook can’t believe his luck.

“I don’t have any more food to give!” he yells sulkily, pouting at his TV screen.

“What about some food to share? I come bearing ice cream too!” a voice he only familiarized himself with this evening comes through the door, and Jungkook nearly trips over his feet in a hurry to wrench the offending thing open.

“What happened to your date?” he asks breathlessly, taking in the sheer beauty that is Park Jimin. The elder shrugs, brushing slightly past Jungkook and setting the food on the table, putting the ice cream into the fridge before he settles into the chair.

“Rebound. I sent him off with wise words and a warning to reconcile with his boyfriend,” Jimin grins shyly. “Besides, I couldn’t focus on the date at all,” he admits quietly, pink tinging his cheeks.

Jungkook gulps, almost gingerly seating himself at the table. “A-and why not?” he asks, looking at the man in front of him, the man who’s refused to leave his mind the entire night. He can feel the air between them, charged and sizzling with tension, but he doesn’t mind; in fact, he welcomes it.

Jimin leans forward, till they’re barely inches away. His cheeks are still flushed slightly, but for a whole other reason now. “Because,” he breathes, and Jungkook can almost taste the plumpness of Jimin’s lips under his own. “I could only think about how much I wanted to spend the time with you instead.”

Jungkook blinks at him almost owlishly, then leans forward, closing the gap and kissing Jimin sweetly. It’s every bit as perfect as he imagines it to be, plush and sweet, moving eagerly against his own, but he pulls away before they can go further, much to Jimin’s unwillingness.

“Let’s finish dinner first, then we’ll talk about dessert,” Jungkook smirks at Jimin, deliberately letting his eyes rove over Jimin’s body, and he blushes, nodding as he cuts out a piece of chicken for himself. Jimin giggles nervously, heat pooling low when he sees Jungkook’s eyes, dark and filled with lust, and can only thank heavens that he can’t for cook for shit.

Doesn’t mean I won’t be eating good though

#Jimin x Jungkook #JiKook #my baby boys #BTS #Bangtan Boys #bangtan sonyeondan #Jimin #chim chim #Jungkook #kookie #Admin Soojin #park jimin #boyfriend no.2 #my insecure lil poot #perfect baby boy #Golden Maknae #boyfriend no. 1 #this boy will ruin me #he's too talented

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