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sparkleofpizza · 4 years

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The archer - Tim Drake x reader 3/?

Requested: no

Warnings: swearing, flashback in italic

Taglist: @isthataladybag

Summary: Y/n Queen will be living in the Wayne Manor for a while, and Dick Grayson decided to be the Cupid between her and his little brother Tim Drake.

Word count: 2.918

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

Tim trusted Bruce. He trusted Bruce a lot, he was Batman after all, he took care of the city very well and would never let a known threat just live there normally. But Tim was a detective as well, he felt a bit bad for it, but he had to dig a bit on you.

After finding out you are Oliver's sister and not Roy’s, and that you had been trained by Talia al Ghul, he realized he knows nothing about you or your past. If it was anyone else staying at his house, he would've already found out all of their secrets and everything they had ever done in their life. He couldn't let a silly crush get in the way, or your pretty conquer smile. He felt very bad for snooping around, but he had to do it. It was who he was.

You were out for the day, you had to take care of a few papers at Gotham University since you would be studying there in a few days. You had invited Tim to accompany you, and he really wanted to, specially since you knew nothing about Gotham and could easily end up going somewhere dangerous (everywhere was a bit dangerous, but still). He told you he had to work on a few papers for Wayne Enterprises and suggested you invited Jason to join you.

So now, there was Tim. Sitting alone in his room, laptop open, a mug of warm coffee by his side, and he was ready to look you up. He started typing, doing the thing he always does when he needs to dig dirty on people he is tracking for a case - he still felt terrible about doing this behind your back, but he pushed it to the back of his mind, it was just the crush he had on you talking louder than common sense.

Y/n M/n Queen. Birthday: xx/xx/xxxx. Birth place: Star City.

Moira Queen - mother (deceased)

Robert Queen - father (deceased)

Oliver Queen - brother

Emiko Queen - half sister

Tim started reading everything he could find about you. Good student with great grades, former cheerleader, socialite knowing for mingling with important people from Star City. Has been saved by the Green Arrow a few times when kidnaped for being a Queen, and then Deathstroke's victim. Footage of you out there being Silver, in the years where you were activated the most, now a days you're hardly ever seen as vigilant. Associated with Thomas Merlyn - mercenary, Malcom Merlyn - mercenary and assassin. Joined the League of Assassins for five months after being held as a prize on a fight between Malcom Merlyn and Oliver Queen, resulting in the loss of Oliver and you being sent to the League. Trained by the whole al Ghul family. Often associated with Roy Harper and Connor Hawke. Teamed up with Red Arrow and Kid Flash before.

Tim was pleased he didn't find anything bad about you. All of this was ok, even the League of Assassins stuff. He was relived, but now was feeling ever guiltier than before. Should he tell you what he did? Would you be mad?

He closed his laptop, rubbing his eyes. Maybe he was just tired, that's why he did all of this. There was no need for you to know any of this.

"Drake." Damian said, barging into his room, hands behind his back and chin held up high "I think we need to discuss the fact that Queen is a former member of the League of Assassins."

Tim sighted "I already looked it up, she is fine, Damian."

"Then look it up again and harder. You are letting your feelings cloud your judgment."

And with that the little boy left.

You were sitting at a cafe with Jason in Gotham Downtown. You had already delivered the missing papers at Gotham University, and now were enjoining an iced coffee with him. He had a hat and sunglasses on, trying to hide his identity, he was supposed to be dead and hasn't made his big debute just yet.

"So... Dick seems to be trying to be the cupid between you and Tim." he commented, taking a sip of his Frappuccino "What do you think about that?"

You chuckled "I am certainly not opposed to that."

Jason's eyebrows shot up "Really? So you are crushing on my replacement?"

"Stop calling him that, you know he didn't want to replace you." you rolled your eyes, no you didn't know that, but from what you learned about Tim, you could tell that wasn't his intention when he took the mantle of Robin "And yes, I am crushing your brother. Although I have no idea what he wants from me."

The man in front of you rolled his eyes back at you, not like you could see trough the dark lenses covering his eyes. Of course you were crushing on him, if you were already willingly to defend Tim without even knowing everything.

"Dick wouldn't have came up with this idea if he didn't think Tim was interested in you as well. But, I can try and talk to him if you want to. Please, don't."

"Geez, why did you volunteer if you don't want to?"

"Because I am trying to be nice to you."

You shook your head, sipping on your iced caramel macchiato. You only hope that Jason don't rat you out to Roy, you don't want your brother to find out about you having a crush on Bruce's son thought Roy. God knows he didn't know how to keep the gossip to himself.

"What's the deal with you being trained by the demon's mother?"

Ah there it was, the question you knew would come eventually. You regretted telling them the truth in the first place, but you also knew that if they found out later and on their own it would have been worse. They would probably think you were trying to hide it from them because of bad motives. It wasn't, you just didn't really like to look someone in the eyes and say hey, did you know I was trained by assassins?

"I already said it isn't..."

"Yes, it is." he cut you off, not buying any of your bullshit "I know you are not the bad guy, if that is why you are afraid of telling me the truth. I just want to know what happened. I know how the league can be... brute."

You bit on your lower lip, staring off into distance.

The air was warmer than you remembered it from a few years ago, maybe it was because you were younger and was only trying to see the best into the situation - it was like a trip, right?

You looked out of the window, watching the trees' leafs waving with the wind, people walking in a group outside, looking for any inconvenience. You wondered how long it would take for you to be killed if you decided to escape.

"It is time for your training." Nissa al Ghul informed you, standing at the door of the room you were currently calling yours

"Again?" you asked, not turning around to face her, you didn't want her to see your blank face "I just finished training with your sister."

Nissa sighted, pushing back the brown hair that was around her shoulders. Her hand left the handle of the sword tucked into her belt. She had promised Oliver that she would do her best to keep his sister out of harm ways, but there was only much she could do. Going against both her father and sister was not a smart idea, and although it wasn't often that she saw eye to eye with them, they were still her family, and Oliver and you were simple... friends? Maybe, that was a complex term.

"Yes, again. My father is waiting for you and he doesn't like when people keep him waiting."

You nodded your head. There was no point in fighting like you did the first couple of weeks. You knew you were outnumbered, and God knows when your family is coming to rescue you, if they can succeed in doing so.

As you walked around, silent footsteps, no sign of your approach, you saw Ra's al Ghul. Before you could even blink, he had his sword down to your neck, you on your knees as you helplessly stared into his eyes. His angry eyes.

"Never keep your opponent waiting. It gives him the time to explore his surrounds and learn the best path to ambush you the moment you arrive."

You pushed his sword back, not caring that the blade cut into the palm of your hand. You allowed the blood to drip on the floor, pushing yourself off the floor and grabbing your bow and an arrow from the quiver on your back.

Fighting with Ra's made you think that maybe this was going to be your life from now on. Sparring everyday until you had to kill for the first time, then sparring harder until you got sent on a mission, for your first kill. You wondered if maybe you would be stopped by your brother and friends, if you would allow them, or if not, if they'd succeed in stopping you.

"It was just Malcom's Merlyn fault." you stated, turning your gaze to Jason who was still staring at you "He provoked my brother into a fight, I was the prize. Malcom won and the league finally got a Queen so they could mold into the perfect assassin. Thankfully, Tommy joined Oliver and they both got me out of there."

Jason nodded, it wasn't a full story like he was expecting, but hey! He doesn't like to talk about his time at the league too. Hell, he thinks not even one of his brothers know fully everything that happened there with him. Somethings are better left unsaid, and apparently, for you, this was the case. He was ok with that, that was your story to be told, and if you didn't want to share it, then you didn't have to.

"Yeah, Roy mentioned a couple of times how much of an asshole Merlyn can be." He said, earning a laugh from you

“He knows how to be a pain in the ass.” You nodded your head in agreement “I thought Bruce had said something about it to you guys.”

Jason shook his head, it was typical Bruce to not share informations with the rest of them. Jason learned from him how to be closed off and not share his feelings, even when Dick would bother him about it.

“No, he didn’t say anything.”

You persued your lips “Oliver asked him for help at the time, you know, because of Bruce’s connections to Talia. He wanted to know the best way to outsmart her. I thought at least one of you knew...”

“Bruce probably thought it was for the best to keep this kind of information away from Damian. He doesn’t like to talk about his time at the league, I don’t like to talk about my time at the league. Dick would’ve found a way to ask us how we feel about it, and Tim... he would’ve found a way to ask us how was our time there, trying to learn more.”

You nodded your head. You couldn’t blame Bruce for not talking, you were actually relieved he didn’t, that way the boys got to know you because they wanted to, and not to prove you weren’t an assassin living in their house. You’ve never even killed anyone before, so... maybe you should’ve started the conversation with Jason by stating that fact, it would’ve been better.

“I never killed anyone.” You addded, voice just above a whisper “I thought you should know that.”

“Well, then I am glad the league didn’t break you enough to start killing.” He smiled at you

Dick was sitting at the kitchen with his brothers. Damian was going on a rant about you, exclaiming everyone should keep an eye on you, just in case.

Dick grabbed a cookie from the plate, they were still warm, freshed baked. He could understand why his little brother was worried, but Tim looking you up?

“I already talked about it with her today.” Jason sighted, presssing his hand trough his face “She isn’t an assassin, Damian! Let this go!”

“I can’t believe you were digging dirty on her.” Dick said, shaking his head in disappointment “I thought you were crushing on her! Damian said he saw you guys almost kissing yesterday!”

Tim blushed “I just had to make sure she was who I thought she was. We knew nothing about her, now we do. Her parents are both dead, she doesn’t have a criminal record, and she’s never killed anyone before.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, frowning. Did you hear them correctly? Did they look you up just to make sure you weren’t a bad person? Ok, you understand them being wary of you after they found this whole league of assassins thing out, but Tim...? You just couldn’t believe he had the nerve to do this instead of asking you, you would’ve told him anything he wanted to know.

Maybe you were being a fool, trusting him blindly when you shouldn’t. You were being a fool for just starting to fall for this boy who clearly doesn’t trust you enough like you trust him, and clearly his crush on you means nothing.

Frustrated, you went back to your room, closing the door behind you. Right now, you were regretting having agreed to wait for Oliver to come back from his missions to look for an apartment to live in Gotham.

You grabbed your cellphone from the bedside table, clicking on the screen and then holding it up to your ear.

“Hi, I need to talk to you about something.” You said as soon as he picked up

“Hello to you, too.” Connor Hawke said on the other end of the line “Who ate your ice cream?”

You rolled your eyes. Once when you were younger, Roy ate all of the ice cream there was on the fridge and you were pissed for the rest of the day. Now, every time you are on a bad mood, they would ask who ate your ice cream. Very funny.

“Hi, Connor. How are you?” You asked after taking a deep breath, taking your anger out on your best friend wasn’t going to solve your problems

“I’m fine, but you apperently aren’t. So tell me, what did Gotham do to you? Or perhaps what did the Wayne boys did to you?”

You sighted, taking a sit on the bed, Connor knew you too well. He also knew the troubles you went trough growing up as a Queen and as the Green Arrow’s sister. He was always there for you, so he knew a lot how you coped with things and how certain small things had a big impact in your life.

You started by telling him about the sparring session you had with Jason and how it ended up with everyone finding out about you being trained by the league of assassins. And then proceeded to tell him about what you overheard at the kitchen.

“I know that me being part of Team Arrow should make me understand why Tim was researching about me. We have been betrayed by people close to us before, and I really want to be resenoble about this whole situation, but...”

“But you are upset about it. You wish he had came to you to ask you all this questions.” Connor finished up your train of thoughts

“Yes, God yes! I wish he would’ve just came to me, I would’ve told him anything he wanted to know, and damn, I know this makes me sound like a fool.”

“Just a little bit.” Your best friend laughed “I am happy to see you are developing feelings for him, even if I am a bit mad he was suspicious of you. But in our line of work, we should always be too careful.”

You pushed your hair away from your face, staring at the cream walls in front of your. Connor was right, you were overreacting because you were developing feelings Tim and you wanted him to trust you because trust is fundamental in a relationship. You couldn’t help but think that if it was the other way around, you would’ve done the same thing.

“You’re right. Thank you, Conny.”

“I am always right, and please, don’t call me Conny.”

You chuckled, flopping down on bed so you could rest your back on the soft mattress.

“Should I talk to him about it?” You asked quietly

“If it is going to make you feel better than you should approach him with the subject, if not, let him come to you, it will be a proof if it is worth nurtrishing feelings for him.”

After you ended the call, you kept thinking about what Connor had said. He did know how to give good advise, and waiting for Tim to tell you was indeed a good test to know if it was actually worth it to have a crush on him. Maybe you shouldn’t let him know you knew. Let’s see what he’s gonna do.

After all, he wasn’t the only one who came from a family that knew how to keep emotions on check.

#tim drake x reader #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #tim drake imagine #tim drake headcanon #red robin x y/n #red robin x you #red robin x reader #red robin imagine #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #damian wayne x reader #roy harper x reader

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amintyworld · 3 years

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Doubts - Beginnings Part 4

WATERFALL (Part One), SUNSET (Part Two), SECRETS (Part Three)

A/N: Guess who back, back again-! Anyway, thanks to all the support in the last three parts, this series has been such a blast to write! I’ve finally decided on a name for it - Beginnings, so that’s what they’ll be titled with from now on to avoid any confusion. As always, links to the last three parts are above. I hope you enjoy! - Minty

TW: Surprise Pregnancy, anxiety/worry, blood/gore, alcohol/drinking, implied major character death, sickness, cursing. (Let me know if I need to tag anything else!)

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They started construction on a house around a 15-minute walk from Phil’s house, on a hill that overlooked the waterfall in the distance. They didn’t know what they were doing, but Phil did his best to help out when he could and give advice, having been in a similar situation not too long ago. Wilbur went out searching for jobs when he could and managed to get gigs every now and then as he saved up cash to get everything they needed. It was a new feeling for the couple - Wilbur’s constant worry over his girlfriend, and Sally’s determination to not let the pregnancy control her. All in all, it was a bit of a frazzle. Tommy and Tubbo were a bit off-put at the fact that they’d be uncles at such a young age - nonetheless, they tried to take it all in stride.

Phil answered a lot of questions in the following weeks from his two younger sons, who didn’t understand how it all worked. A good example could be just last week when Tubbo gave Sally ginger ale and straw, leaving Phil slightly confused until he figured out Tubbo was trying to help her out since ‘her stomach hurt’. Tommy’s confused ideas of helping were a bit more out there than his brother’s - the Carrot Incident was a pretty good example - but it was clear that their hearts were always in the right place.

Technoblade was distanced and tried not to get too involved but helped out when he needed to - he told Phil that this was more Wilbur’s responsibility than his, which Phil couldn’t deny. The pig hybrid still hung around the couple and even eased their worries when he realized how absurd some of Wilbur’s concerns became - “You’re reading too much on those books, Wil. Just because it could happen doesn’t mean it will!” Technoblade was always available to talk and support his brother, who became a bit of a mess from it all.

Still, they were a happy family who was nothing but excited for the baby’s arrival - they were going on five months, and things had been going smoothly… at least, mostly smoothly.

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Wilbur pulled up the covers on the bed as he left a tender kiss on Sally’s forehead. She smiled, yawning. “Wake me up for dinner…?”

“Of course, my salmon. You rest, I’ll make sure Tubbo and Tommy are quiet.”

Another yawn escaped the shifter’s lips. “You tell them if they wake me up they’ll be dealing with a very pissed off pregnant lady who…*yawn* won’t hesitate to kick their asses.” Wilbur giggled softly, brushing the hair out of his girlfriend’s face in a simple loving gesture.

“Get some sleep, okay?” Wilbur said. “I won’t be far.”

“I love you, Wil.”

“I love you too, Sally,” Wilbur said, turning off the lights to darken the room as he gently and softly closed the door behind him. Over time, most of his worries had eased, thankfully - but a few lingered in his mind that fizzled around his brain. Wilbur tried to push them away as he moved downstairs, resting his head against the counter for a brief moment, sitting on one of the kitchen stools. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he ran his hands through his hair once again. He had a gig later that night, but his body craved rest. Wilbur chose to ignore it, there wasn’t much use anyway. If he napped at this point he’d miss the job altogether, and he needed the cash. Bored, trying to distract himself, he pulled out his notepad and flipped to a fresh page as he rhythmically tapped the pencil against the paper, willing himself to focus his thoughts.

It felt strange to Wilbur to stare down at a blank page and not have anything to write. It was hard to describe how he felt, much less think of rhymes. So much was overwhelming his emotions and feelings, still, he tried to focus and scribble words across the page. Maybe if he wrote it all down, he’d feel better somehow - it always worked for him before. His notepad held all the times he was happy, all the times he was sad, upset, angry, confused… all hidden in words like a code only he could understand. It was the closest thing to a journal or diary that he owned, one of his most prized possessions.

Maybe it’ll comfort him now.

I’m struggling to breathe

Keep going

Protect her

Push forward

Wilbur looked down, his mouth turning down in distaste - this wasn’t exactly the lyrical poem that he usually formed. There was, as always, some truth in the words. It felt like he was ranting, almost. It didn’t make sense.

Everything will be okay

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrowed in thought at what he wrote. He was trying to reassure himself, but… it felt wrong.

Will everything be okay?

“Uh-oh, the notepad’s out,” Phil said jokingly from the doorway as he carried in what looked to be a large basket filled with the garden’s harvest - wheat, carrots, and potatoes. He quickly noticed Wilbur’s distress, his smirk quickly disappearing. “Wil? Wil what’s wrong?”

Wilbur sighed as he read the words staring up at him over and over. “Nothing really. Just a lot on my mind, I guess.”

“I see,” Phil said, not believing that for a second as he set the large basket down on the counter, methodically moving to store up the food. “You look tired.”

“I feel tired,” Wilbur said, finally closing the notepad as he let out a soft chuckle in the suffocatingly silent house. “Got a gig in an hour, though.”

“You need to sleep, Wil.” Phil scolded, his gaze stern.

Wilbur waved him off. “I’ve got a lot I need to do. It’s no problem, anyway - the club’s gonna close up in a few days, and then Jay said I might not get another job in at least a month while they restock for summer.” Phil gave him a look, hand on his hip as Wilbur held up both his hands in surrender. “I’ll get some better sleep then, I swear.”

“Good,” Phil said, his gaze softening as he turned back to the basket. “Are you heading to Melrose’s place tonight, or TBO?”

“Melrose. She needed me last minute to fill a half-hour slot, promised to pay double.” Wilbur said as he got up from the stool and stretched, heading over to grab a cup of lukewarm coffee that was left in the pot from the morning. Hey, coffee was coffee, and he needed to keep the sandman at bay - double pay was no joke, and with his earnings tonight he’d finally be able to get everything they needed for the new house and for the baby. He needed to go, and he had to do well.

“I hope she doesn’t expect to keep dragging you out last minute.”

“Hey, as long as it pays well-” Wilbur shot thoughtfully as he sipped his coffee. The two turned their attention as Technoblade entered the house, his weapons, and clothes covered in blood, a few of his kills on his shoulder. Phil grimaced.

“Techno, I told you not to track blood in the house, go around to the back-!” The smell of rotting and decay, potent, filled the boy’s noses as they pinched them, trying to get rid of the scent. Technoblade silently turned around, going out the front door again. “You better shower and change before dinner, don’t forget!” Phil called as Techno simply waved his hand.

“Yeah, yeah…”

Wilbur quickly chugged the last of his coffee as he put the mug in the sink and quickly followed his older sibling. The night was cold as he pulled his jacket closer around him, walking around toward the back of the house. The sky was quickly turning dark as the day began to end, stars not quite appearing just yet. Techno sat over the two dead sheep he’d brought into the house earlier, the nasty musk somewhat masked by the cold wind. The pig hybrid was focused as he ran his blade along the belly of the kill, carving and cutting out sizable chunks of meat which he began to wrap in some jungle leaves for storage. Technoblade liked hunting, and no one could deny his skill, knowledge, and precision of it. He was patient and always waited for the right moment to strike, always hunted smaller game because he knew others were too big to carry back home. The prey always usually went down in one hit, and if that didn’t do the job Techno would usually hold the creature down while he made a quick jab toward the skull. He pig prided himself on his hunts, which provided the majority of their meat for meals ever since the town decided to enforce a livestock tax on the people to raise a little extra coin.

Setting the packages aside, Techno looked up to notice Wilbur staring at him silently. “Uh, hey Wil. Whaddya need?”

“Can’t I just check on my sweet older brother?” Wilbur smirked, and Techno huffed, amused.

“You can, but you and I both know you don’t.” Technoblade joked as he walked past him, heading toward the river with Wilbur close behind, grabbing a cloth and his bloodied weapons along the way. The pig hybrid took a breath as he turned to look at his brother. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing important, really,” Wilbur said. “I’ve just been worried, I guess.”

“About Sally?” Technoblade asked, kneeling down beside the river beginning to scrub his weapons clean. “Don’t tell me you’ve been reading those parenting books again, I’m telling you they’re shit-”

“I’m worried about myself.” Technoblade’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at his brother, slightly shocked at the intensity in his voice as he sat next to him by the riverbank. Wilbur took a deep breath as he tried to release the stress from his mind, looking into the clear running waters. “What if I mess up, or… or I can’t be a good father? What if I’m the one who’s not ready, you know?”

“This has all been your decision, Wilbur. Your life. I can’t tell you that everything will be sunshine and rainbows because to be completely honest Wil, I don’t know.” Technoblade said honestly, moving to place his clean sword on the grass and moving to grab his axe. “But I don’t think you should be worrying so much about the future. Live in the moment, in the now. If things go bad, you’ll know what to do Wilbur. Trust yourself.”

“But what if I-?”

“Nope. No more worrying.” Technoblade said, cutting off his brother. “Just focus on right now, and as cheesy as it is, have a bit of hope.”

“When did you get so philosophical?”

“I’m wise beyond my minutes, young one,” Technoblade smirked as Wilbur laughed. Techno began to wipe off his face and neck of blood, rinsing the cloth in the river as he went.

“Do you have any parenting wisdom to place upon me?” Wilbur asked, half-joking.

“I mean, It’s not really my department. Kids aren’t really… they’re not my thing.” Technoblade said with a little shrug of his shoulders. “But if I had any advice to give you, it would be that if you have the same patience and love Phil had for us, I think you’ll do just fine.”

Patience and Love. Live in the moment. Trust yourself. His worries seemed to melt and dull in his mind, and he felt a lot better than he did earlier. “Thanks, Technoblade.”

Technoblade just saluted his two index fingers with a smile before moving to get up, ruffling Wilbur’s hair. “Be good to the little scamp, this family’s already crazy enough.”

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Wilbur zipped up his guitar case as he grabbed his keys and the small bag of coins. Looking out the window, he could see the nightclubs and bars, restaurants and torched streetlamps slowly flicker to life, glowing against the dark sky. Like a whole new town lying just beneath the surface, revealed in the darkness. Sally walked over with his gloves and scarf, a gentle sad smile on her face as Wilbur took the wool gloves and pulled them on.

“Every time you leave, I miss you just a little more.” Sally said, wrapping the scarf around Wilbur’s neck and folding it neatly in front. “Do you have to go?” Wilbur warmly smiled as he gently cupped her cheek.

“You know I’ll never be far, my salmon.” He kissed her forehead tenderly as he brushed a bit of stray hair behind her ear. “You’ll close your eyes and when you wake up I’ll be right by your side, you’ll barely even notice I left.” Sally leaned in closer as Wilbur wrapped his arms around her comfortingly, his chin resting gently on her head. As they pulled away Sally’s eyes looked up to his, a worry and fear behind her gaze that seized Wilbur’s heart.

“Promise you’ll be safe?”

“When am I ever not safe?” Wilbur asked, leading Sally to cross her arms and look at him with a slight pout that made Wilbur laugh. “Okay, okay. I promise.”

With one final goodbye kiss, Wilbur shut the bedroom door behind him again, walking downstairs. He noticed Tommy sat on the couch, head in his hands and his blonde hair messed. He looked over to his younger brother, gently propping up his guitar against the stair railings. “It’s late, what are you doing up?”

“Nightmare.” Tommy mumbled, slightly sleepily.

“Do you... wanna talk about it-?”

“I’m not seven anymore, Wil. It was just a stupid nightmare, I can handle it on my own.”

Wilbur was quiet for a moment, processing what Tommy said, how he snapped at him. He sighed before looking over to meet the teen’s eyes. “If you’re sure you’re alright…?” Tommy nodded before Wilbur pulled him into a small hug, Tommy’s hand held onto his arms around him in comfort as he smiled slightly despite his current state.

“Heh. Thanks, Wil.”

“That’s what big brothers are for, right?” Wilbur smiled as he pulled away. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I guess I’ll be off.” Wilbur said, getting up from the couch to grab his guitar once more, throwing the straps over his shoulders. “That gig won’t play itself.”

“Good luck, Wil.” Tommy called before Wilbur turned, his heart warm and happy, giving him a smile and thanking him before taking his leave into the cold night air.

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“Thank you, you’ve been an amazing audience!” Wilbur said as cheers erupted from around the pub. Moving off the stool, he grabbed his guitar by the neck and sauntered offstage, feeling happy with his performance. Within 30 minutes he managed to squeeze in four songs, which to his delight the crowd seemed to enjoy - at Melrose the tap was never empty, and as such the crowd was easily angered by the slightest things, or even nothing at all. The only somewhat mishap during his slot was when a bit of beer had splashed against his clothes thanks to a patron who had a little too much. They were quickly shown the door and the night resumed its somewhat peaceful pleasure.

He walked up to the bar and sat in the corner with his guitar, watching the next musician take the stage - it looked like a band from the amount of people. Wilbur knew he wouldn’t get paid in full until the end of the night after each performance was done, Melrose wanted to make sure they held up their end of the bargain instead of running off what the money. He had at least another hour in here before closing.

“Are you drinking or not?” Wilbur looked up to the bartender as he stared down at him, expecting some kind of response. He wasn’t exactly a big drinker, quite the opposite - the only times he’s ever drank were with Phil and Sally. Sally, once when they were both eighteen just to try it out - he winced remembering the monster hangover the morning after. Phil around a year ago when he turned twenty-one and they both shared a few beers together in celebration. Both times he’d gotten tipsy pretty easily, either because he wasn’t exactly used to drinking yet or because he was a natural lightweight, who knows. Either way, he wasn’t exactly going to risk getting drunk right now.

“Uhm, I’ll have a club soda, thanks.”

The bartender gave him a once-over, put off by his request before slightly shrugging his shoulders. “Suit yourself, buddy.”

“Alright, we’re Black Rose and we hope you enjoy the set! This first song is called ‘Sleepless’.” A guy spoke into the microphone, turning to his friends with a smile before counting them in as the music began to blast through the pub. It was a nice tune, and Wilbur found his foot unconsciously tapping along with the music. He closed his eyes and let the sound fill his ears as they began to sing the chorus. It felt right. There was a kind of emotional distress behind the singer's voice, in the twinge of his tone or in a voice crack or two that almost felt like magic.

“And I’m not going blind, I just keep falling, falling behind;

Time goes slow and fast, my heart’s pumping and my head has crashed;

Sit in silence and pretend like your demons are your friends;

Your thoughts are racing while you’re pacing, it’s all in your mind, sleepless~!”

“Hey Wil, you got a minute?” Wilbur jolted back at how close the voice was, as he looked over to see none other than Melrose - her blonde hair flowed down her back messily with a ruby red dress that complimented her blue eyes. She pursed her lips into a line, a signal she was thinking as her pen tapped against the clipboard in her hand. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s, uh, it’s fine. What’s up, Mel? Hope my performance was up to par.”

Her lips formed back to a comfortable smirk. “Performance was great as always, Wilbur. You never cease to please.” Her eyes turned down toward her clipboard. “Though I’m afraid I can’t say the same for everybody. Tips came up a little short thanks to a few blanks, I’ve got to decrease your pay for tonight.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrowed. “Mel, you promised.”

“Look, Wil I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can do.” Melrose let out a sigh, rubbing her temple in frustration. “I’m barely making enough to pay as is.”

As she turned to leave, Wilbur quickly grabbed her wrist to stop her. “Mel, you don’t understand, I need the cash.”

Melrose sighed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t we all.” She snapped slightly, yanking back her arm. “I told you I can’t do anything-”

“Rosie, come quick!” One of the bodyguards interrupted as he approached with a sword slung over his back. “Charlie’s getting wasted in the back, someone gave him vodka…”

“Goddammit, not again. Can’t that bastard ever get sober?” She huffed, giving Wilbur one last look before slipping back into the crowd. Fuck. Well, there goes a whole extra gig’s pay - with the pub’s restock he won’t be able to pay off everything now even if he had work twice each week...dammit. The due date was in April, he still had time. He could probably get another job while the pub’s down, he’ll have to check the town bulletin on his way home later. He turned back to his club soda, letting out a defeated sigh.

Guess I’ll be away from home more than I thought.

A scream from outside quickly tore Wilbur from his thoughts as he turned toward the sound.

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

Philza was a light sleeper. Being on the road and sleeping the wilderness had always made him jump at the slightest hint of danger, a sort of survival instinct that developed. It only increased when Techno and Wilbur came around, for the first time in his life he had someone else to protect and look out for than just himself, more he could lose. He guessed that’s why he jumped the gun a bit at teaching them how to fight so early - If he couldn’t be there in time, he wanted for them to be able to protect themselves. Even so, his instincts from way back then never stopped, which was most likely why the head of the family was awake now.

Muffled sounds came from below him, shuffling. Something was here, and whatever it was it wasn’t good. His heart beat quicker as adrenaline rushed into his veins. He grabbed his sword, leaned against the wall, and crept down the hallway silently. It was dark in the house, he could barely see a few feet in front of him as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He couldn’t hear the noise anymore, which only heightened his senses as his heart beat faster.

Then, a groan which sent him backing up - that was much, much closer than before. Suddenly, he bumped into something that grabbed his arm and without thinking he swept his feet under whatever it was, sending them to the floor. “Ugh… hey to you too, Phil.”

He looked down and noticed his oldest moving to stand back up from where he fell against the floorboards, rubbing the back of his head. “Techno…?” He asked before quickly helping him up. “What are you doing, you scared me!”

“I was checking out the noise, same as you.” Technoblade said before readjusting his grip on his own sword. “Remind me to never spar with you when you’re in attack mode.”

“Will do.” Phil smirked. Both quickly tensed as they heard shuffling and groaning from down below, clear enough for the two to recognize the noise instantly. They looked to each other, eyes wide. Zombies. Where there’s one there’s bound to be more around in minutes. “Get Tubbo and Tommy, I’ll get Sally.” Technoblade nodded before turning and rushing off behind Phil as he rushed toward the end of the hallway, toward Sally and Wilbur’s room. Phil didn’t know how they managed to have a breach in the walls, but however it occurred it meant one thing - the next ten minutes were the difference between life and death.

He entered the room to see one of the rotting creatures standing over the shifter, who decked it clean across the face, her ears scanning her surroundings, green goop covering her hand. She turned to face Phil, who rushed forward and pushed his blade through the zombies’ skull, killing it for good. Both panted heavily as Phil checked her over, worried. “Are you okay, did it bite you?”

“No, no. I’m good.” Sally reassured him as she looked around the room. “Where’s Wil?”

“I...I don’t know, but... I’m sure he’s safe, wherever he is.” Phil said, trying his best to push his own worries out of his mind.

“Wait, he’s not back yet?” Sally’s eyes grew wide at the realization as her body tensed in worry. “He’s out there, with… with…”

“Wilbur knows how to handle himself.” Phil reassured her, worry growing in the back of his head and forming an uncomfortable spot in his stsomach. “For now we need to be more worried about ourselves - If we’re going to survive until morning we need to barricade the house, and fast.” Phil said, grabbing her by the wrist as they rushed back out into the hallway, Phil chopping another zombie’s head clean off its skull as they rushed past it toward the stairs. He could see Tommy and Tubbo wielding their swords as they tore through zombie after zombie in the living room, somehow making it into a sort of game as they smiled and laughed. Technoblade, on the other hand, moved chairs and tables against the two doors to block them watching his back as a zombie stauntered toward him, and he swept his legs under the creature and quickly curb stomped its skull, slimy green goo flowing into the wooden floor. Phil tossed Sally an axe that she caught quickly, feeling the weight in her hands and happy to have a weapon. “Clear out the ones inside.”

“Got it.”

Tommy jumped from the couch onto a tall zombie, piercing it through the chest and pinning it with his sword to a nearby wall. “Ha! Top that, idiot!” He shouted trumphantly toward Tubbo, who’s eyes lit up competitively as he attempted to hack a nearby zombie in half and managed to get his sword stuck.

“Uhm…”

Sally rushed in, ignoring the tender soreness in her tired body as she hacked the zombie’s head clean off with her axe as its body slumped to the floor. Quickly and effortlessly, she pulled out the lodged weapon and handed it to Tubbo. “Be more careful, yeah?”

“Uh… yeah, yeah…” Tubbo said sheepishly as he took his weapon back and Sally rushed to finish off Tommy’s pinned zombie. With a few strikes, it was down. Tommy grabbed his sword to get it free, tugging harshly to no avail. He got more anxious with each tug as Sally faceplamed.

“You stupid-” She muttered, handing him her axe. “Finish off the last two with Tubbo, and try not to lose another weapon, okay?” Tommy huffed in slight protest before Sally gave him a look and he rolled his eyes, taking the weapon and running off.

“I don’t think it’s gonna hold!” Technoblade yelled as he threw his back against the door, pushing it closed against what must have been around twenty zombies pushing and trying to get in with any means necessary. Sally looked over to Phil, who looked around frantically, trying to think of a plan, any plan at all. “Phil?”

“Phil, what do we-?”

A loud crash erupted - a broken window. Danger. Phil’s grip tightened on his sword as he began to shout orders. “Tommy, Tubbo, hold the back door NOW! Sally, stay behind me.” Phil’s tone was tense and sharp, and the two teen boys rushed like mice to do as he asked. “We just need a little more time, it’s gotta hold a little longer…” At this point, he was hoping for some kind of miracle. This wasn’t just a regular breach - this was a massacre. Rushing forward, he pushed the shadow in the dim light down to the floor, and quickly raised his axe to bring it down when-

“Wait wait wait-! I’m not one of them!”

Phil’s eyes squinted in the light to find… Wilbur. He looked like a mess, his clothes torn and ripped with green slimy goo staining the fabric. Phil’s eyes watered in relief as he quickly pulled his son in for a tight embrace, helping him up off the floor. “Thank god, don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“Good to see you too, Dad.” Wilbur smiled before the two let go, his eyebrows furrowed and his tone more serious. “These aren’t regular zombies, they’re stronger and more resilient. Last I checked they were taking down the square one house at a time, and from the looks of it most of them were not prepared for a visit.”

“...Fuck.” Phil cursed under his breath, his mind beginning to race once again. Did they have a chance?

“I ran as fast as I could to get here, I was so worried…” Wilbur said as Sally rushed forward to embrace him with a smile, running her hands down his face and through his hair, afraid she’d lose it again. Wilbur, in turn ran his hands down her arms, his smile brightening that it was real and alive and here-

“Good to see you’re not dead, Wil.” Tommy huffed against the door as the monsters on the other side growled and moaned, pushing their weight and strength against it. “But we have a bit of a situation here!”

“We need to get out of here.” Wilbur looked over to Phil. “If we stay any longer, we’ll be trapped. Once we’re out of here we can run into the forest to hide and wait out the horde.”

“But both exits-”

The two elder brothers looked at their father and answered at the same time in surprise. “The second floor window.” They turned to each other, sharing a brief smile. Technoblade looked over to Phil once more, his mind and heart racing as the voices in his head boomed louder, and he tried his best to ignore their shouts.

“Look, it’s risky, I know, but we’ve gotta try. We don’t have time.” He winced and grunted as the zombies on the other side of the wall grew more violent in their animalistic attempts to break in. Phil looked at his family’s faces, hints of fear and uncertainty in their expressions. Tommy’s arm went to stop Tubbo from falling over at a particularly forceful blow, and as Tommy’s nerves increased he could see Tubbo holding his hand and giving it a squeeze. Technoblade’s heels dug into the wooden floor as chairs, tables and wooden boards began to splitter under the force of the creatures outside. Wilbur pressed a soft kiss to Sally’s forehead as Sally’s hand drifted to her stomach instinctively at this point, her eyes filled with nothing but worry. He knew this was crazy, but if it meant that there was a chance they’d be safe, he’d risk it.

“Alright. Wilbur, make sure the window’s open and we have a clear way down. Everyone else, get ready to run.”

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

Wilbur’s heart stopped as he saw the creature’s teeth sink into Phil’s neck as he let out a scream in agony. Shit, shit, shit… he didn’t know where they came from, they blocked the stairs as they ran up, why didn’t he see it?! The zombie that bit Phil fell to the ground with a thud as Phil’s own blood seeped down his shoulder and stained his shirt. Techno stilled as he made eye contact with his father, who looked sad, knowing his fate. “Phil, I’m so sorry, I-” Wilbur trembled, his hand reaching out toward Phil, not knowing what to do, what to say. Phil’s head shook back and forth slightly before pushing his sword into Wilbur’s hands.

“You two need to go. Now. Before you lose the chance.”

Technoblade was stone faced. “Phil, we’re not leaving you-”

“There’s no time to discuss this, I said GO-!” Phil shouted sternly before going into a coughing fit, holding himself steady against the wall. Wilbur stepped forward, wanting to grab his hand, help him before Phil recoiled. “Wil… Techno… you need to go, that’s an order.” Silence fell over the two brothers, not wanting to leave their father. “Look, they’re not going to attack me now but they will attack you, now MOVE IT!”

Shuffling and groans grew behind them as Phil winced, feeling the infection flow through his body. They needed to get out before he turned, they needed to live, he wanted them to live-

“But what about you?”

Phil looked over to his sons with a sad smile. “I think I’ve taught you both enough to know what happens now.” Suddenly it felt like all the air in the room vanished. “Now do me proud and show me what we do if someone gets bit. Show me what I’ve taught you.” Phil could feel himself getting lightheaded, he was going to pass out, but he couldn’t… not until they both were safe.

Wilbur didn’t know what to do as he looked to Techno then to Phil, who slowly lowered himself to the floor, his back leaning against the walls of the home he built for them. Techno’s fists tightened as he turned to face his brother. “Techno…?”

“Get somewhere safe, okay?” His voice was heavy, serious. “Promise me you’ll get somewhere safe.”

“I… I will, I promise.” Wilbur said, trying to look at his brother to see if he had any plan. “But what are we going to-?” Before he knew what was happening, Techno shoved him through the window, closing and locking it firmly behind him. Wilbur began to panic, realizing what Technoblade was doing and trying to find some kind of grip before he slipped off the roof and landed in the bushes, pain and bruises blossoming on his body. Tubbo helped him up off the ground as Tommy’s eyes looked up to the window, confused.

“Where’s Phil and Tech?”

Tears pricked at the edges of Wilbur’s eyes as he felt his heart begin to throb without them here. Why, why why… Why did he stay? Why didn’t he let him stay? Why wasn’t he careful enough? It’s all his fault-

“Wil…?” Tommy’s voice wavered. “Where’s Technoblade and Phil?”

At that moment, Wilbur knew things changed forever. Phil and Techno were gone, they were gone and they were never coming back. He told Technoblade, he promised him that he’d get all of them somewhere safe, and with a heavy heart Wilbur knew it wasn’t here, not anymore. He wasn’t going to lose anyone else, he was going to protect them. He was going to protect all of them, if it was the last thing he’d ever do. That very moment what Techno said to him finally made sense.

‘If things go bad, you’ll know what to do, Wilbur.’

Right now, he wanted, more than anything in the world, to get them out of here. Tubbo and Tommy shared awkward glances as Wilbur took a deep breath for a moment, sniffling and wiping the tears from his eyes. Sally looked towards him concerned as Wilbur slid his hand into hers, looking towards his brothers with the same look and tone Phil had.

“We need to go. Now.”

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sinceileftyoublog · 3 years

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Riot Fest 2021: 9/16-9/19, Douglass Park

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Much like Pitchfork Music Festival earlier this month, this past weekend’s Riot Fest felt relatively normal. Arriving at Douglas Park every day, you were greeted by the usual deluge of attendees in Misfits t-shirts and dyed hair, the sound of faint screams and breakneck guitars and drums emanating from nearby stages. The abnormal aspects of the fest, at least as compared to previous incarnations, we’re already used to by now from 2021 shows: To get in, you had to show proof of vaccination and/or a negative test no older than 48 hours, which means that unvaxxed 4-day attendees had to get multiple tests. Props to the always awesome staff at Riot Fest for actually checking the cards against the names on government-issued IDs.

For a festival that dealt with a plethora of last-minute changes due to bands dropping out because of COVID-19 caution (Nine Inch Nails, Pixies, Dinosaur Jr.) or other reasons (Faith No More/Mr. Bungle because of concerns around Mike Patton’s well-being), there were very few bumps in the road. Whether Riot Fest had bands like Slipknot, Anthrax, or Rise Against in their back pocket as replacements or not, it very much felt like who we saw Thursday-Sunday was always supposed to be the lineup, even when laying your eyes on countless “Death to the Pixies” shirts. Sure, one of the fest’s main gimmicks--peeling back the label on Goose Island’s Riot Fest Sucks Pale Ale to reveal the schedule--was out of date with inaccurate set times and bands, and it still would have been so had Faith No More and Mr. Bungle stayed, since Fucked Up had to drop out last minute due to border issues. But the festival, as always, rolled with the punches.

The sets themselves offered the circle pit and crowdsurfing-inducing punk and metal you’re used to, with a few genre outliers. For so many bands of all styles, Riot Fest represented their first live show in years, and a few acts knew the exact number of days since their last show. For every single set, the catharsis in the crowd and on stage was palpable, not exactly anger, or elation, but pure release.

Here were our favorite sets of the festival, in chronological order.

WDRL

Last October, WDRL (which, amazingly, stands for We Don’t Ride Llamas) announced themselves with a Tweet: “y’all been looking for an alt black band,, well here you go”. A band of Gen Z siblings, Chase (lead guitar), Max (lead vocals), Blake (drums), and Kit Mitchell (bass guitar), WDRL is aware, much like Meet Me @ The Altar (who, despite my hyping, I couldn’t make it in time to see) that they’re one of too few bands of POCs in the Riot Fest-adjacent scene. Their set, one of the very first of the weekend during Thursday’s pre-party, showed them leading by example, the type of band to inspire potentially discouraged Black and brown folks to start punk bands. Max is a terrific vocalist, able to scream over post-punk, scat over funk, and coo over slow, soulful R&B swayers with the same ease. The rest of the band was equally versatile, able to pivot on a dime from scuzzy rock to hip hop to twinkling dream pop. Bonus points for covering Splendora’s “You’re Standing On My Neck”, aka the Daria theme song.

Joyce Manor

Joyce Manor’s self-titled debut is classic. The best part of it as an album play-through at a festival? It’s so short that you can hear it and you’ll still have half a set for other favorites. So while the bouncy “Orange Julius”", “Ashtray Petting Zoo”, and ultimate singalong “Constant Headache” were set highlights, the Torrance, CA band was able to burn through lots from Never Hungover Again, Cody, Million Dollars to Kill Me, and their rarities collection Songs From Northern Torrance. Apart from not playing anything from Of All Things I Will Soon Grow Tired (seriously, am I the only one who loves that record?), Joyce Manor were stellar, from the undeniable hooks of “Heart Tattoo” to the churning power chords of “Catalina Fight Song”. After playing “Christmas Card”, Johnson and company gave one final nod to the original fest cancellation, My Chemical Romance, who were slated to headline 2020, then 2021, and now 2022. If you ever wondered what it would sound like hearing a concise punk band like Joyce Manor take on the bombast of “Helena”, you found out. Hey, it was actually pretty good!

Patti Smith

Behold: a full Patti Smith set! After being shafted by the weather last time around, a sunglasses-laden Smith decided not to fuck around, leading with the inspiring “People Have The Power”, her voice as powerful as I’ve ever heard it. Maybe it was the influence of Riot Fest, but she dropped as many f-bombs as Corey Taylor did during Slipknot’s Sunday night headlining set. After reluctantly signing an adoring crowd member’s copy of Horses, she quipped, “I feel bad for you have to cart that fucking thing around.” It wasn’t just the filthy banter: This was Smith at her most enraptured and incendiary, belting during “Because The Night” and spitting during a “Land/Gloria” medley, reciting stream-of-consciousness hallucinogenic lyrics about the power of escape in the greatest display of stamina the festival had to offer.

Circa Survive

“It feels good to dance,” declared Circa Survive lead singer Anthony Green. The heart and soul of the Philadelphia rock band, who cover ground from prog rock to post-hardcore and emo, Green was in full form during the band’s early Friday set, his falsetto carrying the rolling “The Difference Between Medicine and Poising Is in the Dose” and the chugging “Rites of Investiture”. While the band, too, can throw down, they’re equally interesting when softer and more melodic, Brendan Ekstrom‘s twinkling guitars lifting “Child of the Desert” and “Suitcase”. Ending with the one-two punch of debut Juturna’s introspective “Act Appalled” and Blue Sky Noise’s skyward “Get Out”, Green announced the band would have a new record coming soon, one you hope will cover the sonic and thematic ground of even just those two tracks.

Thrice

Thrice played their first show since February 2020 the same day they’d release their 11th studio album, Horizons/East (Epitaph). To a crowd of fans that came to hear their favorite songs, though, the Irvine, California band knew better than to play a lot of the new record, instead favoring tracks like The Artist in the Ambulance’s spritely title cut and Vheissu standout “The Earth Will Shake”. Yeah, they led with a Horizons/East song making its live debut, the dreamy, almost Deftones-esque “Scavengers”, and later in the set they’d reveal the impassioned “Summer Set Fire to the Rain”. But the set more prominently served to emphasize lead vocalist Dustin Kensrue’s gruff delivery, on “All the World Is Mad” and “in Exile”, the rhythm section’s propulsive playing buoying his fervency. And how about Teppei Teranishi’s finger tapping on “Black Honey”?!? Thrice often favor the slow build-up, but they offered plenty of individually awesome moments.

Smashing Pumpkins

William Patrick Corgan entered the stage to dramatic strings, dressed in a robe, with white face paint except for red hearts under his eyes. He looked like a ghost. That’s pretty much where the semi-serious theatricality ended. The Smashing Pumpkins’ first Chicago festival headlining set in recent memory was the rawest they’ve sounded in a while, counting when they played an original lineup-only set at the United Center a few years back. It was also the most fun I’ve ever seen Corgan have on stage. Though they certainly selected and debuted from their latest electropop turn Cyr, Corgan, guitarist James Iha, drummer Jimmy Chamberlin, guitarist Jeff Schroeder, and company more notably dug deep into the vault, playing Gish’s “Crush” for the first time since 2008, Adore’s “Shame” for the first time since 2010, and Siamese Dream barnburner “Quiet” for the first time since 1994 (!). Best, every leftfield disco jam like set opener “The Colour Of Love”, “Cyr”, and “Ramona” was quickly followed by something heavy and/or recognizable, Chamberlin’s limber drum solos elevating even latter-day material like “Solara”. At one point, Corgan, a self-described “arty fuck,” admitted that years ago he would have opted for more experimental material, but he knew the crowd wanted to hear classics, the band then delving into a gorgeous acoustic version of “Tonight, Tonight”. And while Kate Bush coverer Meg Myers came out to sing Lost Highway soundtrack industrial ditty “Eye”, it was none other than legendary local shredder Michael Angelo Batio who stole the show, joining for the set closer, a pummeling version of Zeitgeist highlight “United States”. Leaning into the cheese looks good on you, Billy.

The Bronx

Credit to L.A. punk rock band The Bronx, playing early on a decidedly cooler Saturday early afternoon, for making me put in my earplugs outside of the photo pit. Dedicating “Shitty Future” to Fucked Up (who, as we mentioned, had to drop out), the entire band channeled Damian Abraham’s energy on piercing versions of “Heart Attack American” as well as “Superbloom” and “Curb Feelers” from their latest album Bronx VI (Cooking Vinyl). Joby J. Ford and Ken Horne’s guitars stood out, providing choppy rhythms on “Knifeman” and swirling solos on “Six Days A Week”.

Big Freedia

The New Orleans bounce artist has Big Diva Energy, for the most part. After her DJ pumped up the crowd to contemporary Southern rap staple “Ayy Ladies” by Travis Porter, Big Freedia walked out and showed that “BDE”, firing through singles like “Platinum” and “N.O. Bounce” as her on-stage dancers’ moves ranged from delicate to earth-shaking. At this point, Freedia can pretty much do whatever she wants, effortlessly segueing between a cover of Drake’s “Nice For What” to “Strut”, her single with electropop DJ Elohim, to a cover of Beyone’s “Formation”. Of course, the set highlight was when she had volunteers from the crowd come up and shake and twerk--two at a time to keep it COVID-safe--all while egging them on to go harder. Towards the end of the set, after performing the milquetoast “Goin’ Looney” from the even-worse-than-expected Space Jam: A New Legacy soundtrack, she pulled out the beloved “Gin in my System”. “I got that gin in my system,” she sang, the crowd singing back, “Somebody gonna be my victim,” a refrain that compositionally not only leaves plenty of room for the thundering bass but is thematically a statement of total power--over sexism, racism, the patriarchy--even in the face of control-altering substances.

Les Savy Fav

During Les Savy Fav’s set, lead singer Tim Harrington at various points--*big breath*--went into the crowd, deepthroated an audience member’s mohawk spike, found a discarded manikin head with a wig on it, revealed the words “deep” and “dish” painted on his thighs and a drawing of a Red Hot on his back, rode a crowd member like a horse, made a headband out of pink tape, donned ski goggles, surfed on top of a door carried by the crowd, squeezed his belly while the camera was on it to make it look like his belly button was singing, and referred to himself as a “slippery eel.” Indeed, the legend of Les Savy Fav’s live show starts and ends with Harrington’s ridiculous antics, as he’s all but out of breath when actually singing dance-punk classics like “Hold On To Your Genre”, “The Sweat Descends”, and “Rome (Written Upside Down)”. We haven’t heard much in terms of new music from Les Savy Fav in over 10 years--their most recent album was 2010′s Root For Ruin--but I could see them and the extremely Aughts genre in general become staples of Riot Fest as albums like Inches, The Rapture’s Echoes, and !!!’s Louden Up Now reach the 20-year mark. Dynamic vocalists, tight bands, and killer grooves: What’s not to love?

State Champs

This set likely wins the award for “most immediate crowd surfers,” which I guess is to be expected when you begin your set with a classic track 1--album 1 combination. “Elevated” is the State Champs number that will cause passers-by to stop and watch a couple songs, the type of song that can pretty much only open or close a set. And because they opened with it, the crowd immediately ramped up the energy. It’s been three years since the last State Champs full-length, Living Proof, so they were in prime position to play some new songs. As such, they performed their bubblegummy “Outta My Head” and “Just Sound” and faithfully covered Fall Out Boy’s “Chicago Is So Two Years Ago” (releasing a studio version earlier this week). But the tracks from The Finer Things and Around the World and Back were, as usual, the highlights, like “All You Are Is History”, “Remedy”, “Slow Burn”, and set closer “Secrets”. At the end of the day, it didn’t entirely matter: The crowd knew every word of every song.

Bayside

Putting State Champs and Bayside back-to-back on the same stage made an easy decision for the many pop-punk bands at Riot Fest. Bayside’s been at it for twice as long, so the breadth of their setlist across their discography is more variable. Moreover, they’ve thrice revisited their discography with acoustic albums of old songs, so even their staples are subject to change. They provided solid versions of Killing Time standouts “Already Gone” and “Sick, Sick, Sick”, Cult’s “Pigsty”, and older songs like their self-titled’s “Montauk” and Sirens and Condolences’ “Masterpiece”. For “Don’t Call Me Peanut”, though, they brought out--*gasp*--an acoustic guitar! It was a rare moment not just for one of the most popular pop punk sets but the festival in general, a breather before Vacancy shout-along “Mary”.

Rancid

“Rancid has always been anti-fascist and anti-racist,” said Tim Armstrong before the band played “Hooligans”. It was nice to hear an explicit declaration of solidarity from the street punks, reminding the crowd what really matters and why we come together to scream and mosh. The band expectedly favored ...And Out Come The Wolves, playing almost half of it, and they perfectly balanced their harder edges with more celebratory ska songs like “Where I’m Going” from their most recent album Trouble Maker (Hellcat/Epitaph). My two favorite moments? The breezy, keyboard-laden “Fall Back Down” from their supremely underrated 2001 album Indestructable, and when they asked the crowd whether they wanted the set to end with “Time Bomb” or “Ruby Soho”. “We have 4 minutes left, and it’s disrespectful to play over your set time,” said Armstrong. It’s easy to see why Rancid continues to make an impression--instrumental and moral--on touring bands new and old.

Run the Jewels

The brilliant hip hop duo are masters of balancing social consciousness with the desire to fuck shit up for fun. Live, the former tends to come in between-song banter, the latter with their actual charismatic, tit-for-tat performances of the songs. However, Run the Jewels also are probably the clearest live performers in hip hop today, Killer Mike and El-P’s words, hypersexual and woke alike, ringing in the ears of audience members who don’t even know the songs. (Looking around, I could see people smiling and laughing at every dick joke, nodding at each righteous proclamation.) Some of the best songs on their most recent album RTJ4 (Jewel Runners/BMG) are perfect for these multitudes. Hearing both RTJ MCs and the backing track of Pharrell Williams and Zack de la Rocha chanting “Look at all these slave masters posin’ on yo’ dollar” on “JU$T” as the rowdy crowd bounced up and down was the ultimate festival moment. For those who had never seen RTJ, it was clear from the get-go, as Killer Mike and EL-P traded bars on “yankee and the brave (ep. 4)” that they’re a unique hip hop act. For the rest of us, it was clear that Run the Jewels keep getting better.

The Gories

It felt a little weird that legendary Detroit trio The Gories were given the first set of the final day--I’d have thought they’d have more draw than that. No matter what, they provided one of the more satisfying and stylistically varied sets of the festival, showcasing their trademark balance of garage punk and blues. Mick Collins and Dan Kroha’s guitar and vocal harmonies were the perfect jangly balance to Peggy O’Neill’s meat and potatoes drumming on “Sister Ann” and “Charm Bag”, while folks less familiar with The Gories were treated to their fantastic covers of Suicide’s “Ghost Rider” and The Keggs’ “To Find Out”. Smells like time for the first Gories album in 20 years!

FACS

I thought it would be ill-fitting to watch a band like FACS in the hot sun, early in the day. Their monochrome brand of post-punk seems better suited for a dimly lit club. But the hypnotic nature of Brian Case’s swirling guitar and Alianna Kalaba’s slinky bass was oddly perfect in a sweltering, faint-inducing heat. Just when you thought you might fade, squalls of feedback and Noah Leger’s odd time signatures picked you back up. Songs from their new album Present Tense (Trouble In Mind) such as “Strawberry Cough” and “XOUT” were emblematic of this push-pull. And everything from the band’s red, white, and black color palate to their lack of stage banter suggested a cool minimalism that was rare at a festival that tends to book more outwardly emotional bands.

Alex G

On one hand, Alex G’s unique combination of twangy alt country and earnest indie rock makes him an outlier at Riot Fest, or at the very least a mostly Pitchfork/occasional Riot Fest type of booking. On the other hand, like a lot of bands at the festival, he has a rabid fanbase, one that knows his back catalog hits, like “Kute”, “Kicker”, and “Bug”, as much as if not more than hyped Rocket and House of Sugar singles, like “Bobby” and “Gretel”. Backed by a band that knows when to be loose and when to tighten up--and the instrumental chops to do so--Alex G was better than he was a Pitchfork three years ago. He still sings through his teeth, making it especially hard to hear him on louder tunes such as “Brick”. But when the honesty of his vocals combines with the dreamy guitars of “Southern Sky” and circular melodies of “Near”, it’s pure bliss.

HEALTH

The formula for the LA industrial noise band has pretty much always been Jake Duzsik’s soft vocals contrasting John Famiglietti’s screeching bass and pedals and BJ Miller’s mammoth drums. Both in 2018 and Sunday at Riot Fest, the heat affected Famiglietti’s pedals, which were nonetheless obscured by tarp. Or so HEALTH claimed: You wouldn’t know the difference given how much their sound envelops your whole body during one of their live sets. Since their previous appearance at the festival, the prolific band has released two new records on Loma Vista, Vol. 4: Slaves of Fear and collaboration record Disco4: Part 1. Songs from those records occupied half of their excellent set, including battering opener “GOD BOTHERER”, “BODY/PRISON”, and “THE MESSAGE”. It was so wonderfully loud it drowned out K.Flay’s sound check drummer, thank the lord.

Thursday

Last time Thursday played Riot Fest, Geoff Rickly was battling heroin addiction, something he talked about during the band’s triumphant late afternoon set on Sunday. He mentioned the kindness of the late, great Riley Gale of Power Trip in extending a helping hand when he was down and extended his love to anybody in the crowd or even the world at large going through something similar. To say that this set was life-affirming would be an understatement; after 636 days of no shows, Rickly was at his most passionate. He introduced “Signals Over The Air” as a song the band “wrote about men beating up on women in the pit,” that a record exec at the time told them that it wouldn’t age well because he thought--no kidding--sexism would eventually end. Rickly’s voice, suffering from sound issues last time around, simply soared during Full Collapse’s “Cross Out The Eyes”, No Devolucion’s “Fast to the End”, and two inspired covers: Bruce Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark” and Texas Is The Reason’s “If It's Here When We Get Back It's Ours”. The latter the band played because TITR guitarist Norman Brannon’s actually on tour with them, though Rickly emphasized the influence the NYC post-hardcore greats had on Thursday when they first started. Never forgetting where they’ve come from, with self-deprecating humor and radical empathy, Thursday are once again a force.

Devo

Much like the B-52′s in 2019, Devo was the set this year of a 70′s/80′s absurd punk band with some radio hits that everybody knows but with a swath of die-hard fans, too. It’s safe to say both groups were satisfied. You walked around the fest all day wondering whether the folks wearing Devo hats were actual fans or doing it for the novelty. By the time the band actually took the stage after a career-spanning video of their many phases, it didn’t really matter, because it was clear the band still had it, Mark and Bob Mothersbaugh and Gerald Casale’s vocals booming throughout a massive crowd. They ripped through “Peek-a-Boo”, “Going Under”, “That’s Good”, “Girl U Want”, and “Whip It”, which caused the fans waiting for Slipknot (and presumably some Devo heads) to form a circle pit. And that was all before the first costume change. Mark passed out hats to the crowd, fully embracing converts who might have only known “Whip It”. The feverish chants of “Uncontrollable Urge” and synth freakouts of “Jocko Homo” whipped everyone into a frenzy. And the band performed the “Freedom Of Choice” theme song for the first time since the early 80′s! I had seen Devo before, opening for Arcade Fire and Dan Deacon at the United Center, but the atmosphere at Riot Fest was more appropriately ludicrous.

Flaming Lips

“The Flaming Lips are the most COVID-safe band in the world,” went the ongoing joke, as throughout the pandemic they’d give audience members bubbles for their bubbles to be able to play shows. The normally goofy and interactive band scaled back for Riot Fest. Before launching into their traditional opener “Race For The Prize”, Wayne Coyne explained that while the band is normally proud of where they come from--Oklahoma City--they’re saddened by the local government’s ignorant pandemic response and wouldn’t risk launching balloons or walking into the crowd because they might be virus spreaders coming from such an under-vaccinated area. To his and the band’s credit, they wore masks during the performance, even when singing; Coyne removed his only when outside of his bubble that had to be deflated and inflated many times and that sometimes muffled his singing voice even more than a mask. Ever the innovative band, they still put on a stellar show. Coyne autotuned his voice on “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, Pt. 1″, making it another instrument filling the song’s glorious pop melodies. Less heavy on props, the band favored a glitchy, psychedelic setlist that alternated between beauty (”Flowers Of Neptune 6″, “Feeling Yourself Disintegrate”, “All We Have Is Now”) and two-drummed cacophony (“Silver Trembling Hands”, “The W.A.N.D.”). They’ll give a proper Lips show soon enough, but in the meantime, it was nice to see them not run through the motions.

Slipknot

Apart from maybe moments of Slayer, I’ve never witnessed a headliner at Riot Fest as heavy as Slipknot was. Even the minor ethereal elements present on their most recent and very good album We Are Not Your Kind, like the chorus of voices during “Unsainted”, were all but abandoned live in favor of straight up brutality. Sure, there were moments of theatricality--Corey Taylor’s menacing laugh on “Disasterpiece” and pyrotechnics in sequence with the instrumentation on “Before I Forget” and “All Out Life”--but for the most part, Slipknot was the ultimate exorcism. Taylor’s new mask, with unnaturally circular eyes, seemed like it came from a particularly uncomfortable skit from I Think You Should Leave. They bashed a baseball bat to a barrel during the pre-encore performance of “Duality”. And the songs played from tape, like the gasping-for-breath “(515)”, were designed to contrast Slipknot’s alien appearance with qualities that were uncannily human. For a band whose performances and instrumental dexterity are otherworldly--who else can pull off tempo changes over a hissing, Aphex Twin-like shuffling electronic beat on “Eyeless”--the pure seething emotion on songs like “Psychosocial” and “Wait and Bleed” shone through. Like Smashing Pumpkins, and like so many other successful Riot Fest headliners, Slipknot abandoned drama for pure, unadulterated dirt.

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fluffykitty1999-blog · 3 years

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Burned Chapter 13

As always, coffee is appreciated! https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12

Edward sat rather sullenly in Roy's office the next day, a frown etched on his face.

"Edward. Quit sulking."

"You don't believe me."

"I didn't say that. I just didn't see it for myself. I've imagined things when I was tired before."

"I'm not tired!" Ed banged both fists on his desk, causing everyone to pause and look up at him. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I know what I saw."

The door to the office burst open, and Hughes stood there, looking out of breath.

"Hughes?" Roy cocked an eyebrow.

"We've got a severed arm found in an alley last night. It was a woman's."

"Just an arm? No body?"

Hughes frowned. "Just an arm. We... we're expecting to find more later. But the marks on the skin- it's our guy. It was about 6 blocks from here- it was right under our noses. We've got a few people nearby who were out late last night to come in to interview, but nobody's said anything that stands out..."

"It was the clown."

All eyes turned to Ed.

"What?"

"Mustang and I came back to the office late last night to grab some papers. Mustang went in and I stayed in the car and I saw him. Six feet tall, wearing a clown suit, painted face, red balloon. Smoking a cigarette beneath the street light. I was gonna trap him in the cement of the sidewalk and question him, but Mustang came back out and distracted me, so he got away."

Hughes frowned, turning to Mustang. "You saw him too?"

Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, I didn't. I saw a silhouette, maybe, but it might've been the light playing tricks on my mind. There was no sign of anyone when we got there..."

"I saw him."

"I'm not saying you didn't, Ed, but I didn't see him."

"I wanna sit in on the interviews with the people who were out last night." Ed said seriously, turning to Hughes.

Hughes looked uneasy.

"You're only to listen. You don't say a word, nothing to suggest anything to the witnesses. You're to report back to me immediately after." Roy said.

"That's fair. Let's get started. The sooner we get this creep off the streets, the better." Ed turned and strode briskly out of the room, with Hughes looking hesitant.

"You sure you want to let him in on this? It's a murder investigation..."

"I'm not letting him see the case files or the pictures. But he's convinced he saw something... and with how dead set he is on it, I'm not convinced he didn't."

"Alright. But just the interviews. After that he's done with this case."

"I agree."

Most of the people who were outside around midnight were doing pretty mundane things, it turned out. Stumbling home from a night out with friends, stopping to relieve themselves on a brick building. Walking to the corner store for late night cigarettes. The occasional college student walking home from a late night studying in the library.

Ed quickly grew bored, but Hughes never faltered, recording every detail like his life depended on it. Still, no one had seen anything unusual, until they got to the last man. Henry Johnson was unremarkable, about 5' 4", and he had to go to work early as a baker, so his morning was at midnight.

He'd been taking his dog outside to go to the bathroom at the park, and saw the call for people who'd been outside in the area in the newspaper, so he'd come in.

"What time were you out?"

"About quarter after midnight to twelve thirty. I was walking by Meadow and Broad street, taking my girlfriend's dog to the park to pee. I saw a guy on Broad out smoking a cigarette, but he's Frank and he's usually out there at that time so it didn't bother me. It wasn't til I was starting back home I saw the clown."

Hughes stopped taking his notes and looked up. "Clown?"

"Yeah. Big guy, at least six feet, dressed as a clown. Walking down the street with a red balloon."

"He was smoking a cigarette, wasn't he?" Ed spoke up from where he'd been sitting in the back corner.

The man nodded. "Yeah, yeah he was. Freaked me the hell out. Normal people don't do that crap. I just hurried up and went home locked my door. Didn't wanna be out with that."

"What time did you see the clown?"

"Oh, twenty after twelve I'd say..."

Ed had already stood and was heading for the door. Hughes didn't bother following him out.

"Someone else saw him. I was right."

"I never said you were wrong, Ed, it just seemed... Odd."

"Well chopping women up and leaving there body parts around the city isn't exactly normal either." Ed's eyes were stone.

Roy sighed. "You're getting too involved in this case."

"I'm getting too involved!? Without me you wouldn't have known about that creepy clown in the first place!"

"And now we do, and that's good. But Hughes and I both agreed you're getting too involved. I'm not even supposed to be on this case- I'm just helping as a favor to Hughes."

"I find the only damn lead and you tell me to quit it!?"

"Ed. Stop. Go home. Spend the day with Al. You have research to be doing, don't you? On the philosopher's stone?"

Ed's gaze softened slightly at the mention of his brother. "Yeah, I do. I have to finish those reports..." his eyes drifted to his desk.

"You can do them tomorrow. I'm your superior officer, and I'm telling you, go take a break."

"Fine. You coming home for dinner or am I eating by myself?"

"I'll be home by 5. If you wouldn't mind heating the oven up for me we'll have macaroni or something. Now go on."

1 week passed. 1 week of them finding a body part every day, until the entire woman had been assembled. Her name had been Patricia Matthews, a local prostitute.

Ed didn't say much about the case, though Roy caught him reading about it in the papers. Everything seemed fine. Ed's anxiety from his accident was well managed with his journaling and relaxation techniques, and while he was nearly completely healed by this point, he made no mention of moving back to the military dorms, and Mustang didn't bring it up either. Truth be told, he liked having the Elric boys around. He hadn't realized how quiet his residence was until the boys had moved in with him.

Still, Roy was pretty sure the kid was still having nightmares. He'd looked rather tired in the mornings for the past few days. He found himself palming open the door to the boy's room around one in the morning, checking to see if he was sleeping peacefully.

He didn't hear any breathing, and he stepped closer to the lump beneath the blankets, expecting to hear breathing and see pale locks of hair on the pillow... only to find a mass of pillows stuffed underneath the duvet to look like a sleeping form.

The wind blew the curtains to his right, and he realized with sharp alarm the bedroom window was wide open.

Edward was healed now, he'd clearly had no trouble climbing down from the second floor to the sidewalk below.

Roy's heart jumped to his threat, and for a brief moment he found it hard to stem the panic swelling within him.

Where the hell had Edward gone? He'd been a fool, thinking the kid was tired from nightmares, when really he'd been sneaking out...

And then he knew. Dread and certainty settled in his gut like a brick, and he calmly headed down the hall, almost robotically, to knock on the door.

"Alphonse, I'm going out for a little while. I should be back soon."

"Okay, Colonel." Alphonse didn't sleep, and he clearly hadn't noticed Edward was gone, or he'd be panicking too. Al was too sensible to let his brother go running off in the middle of the night alone...

He grabbed his keys and started his car, and ten minutes later his headlights were illuminating a small form in a red cloak sitting on the curb, just outside the office.

He threw the car into park, jumping out and slamming the door with much more force than necessary.

"Edward." He barked.

Ed jumped up from where he'd been sitting on the curb, surprised. "What!?"

"Just how, pray tell, do you explain sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night?"

"I needed fresh air." Ed said simply.

Roy looked down road at the streetlight, frowning. "You're looking for him."

"So?"

"You're looking for that clown, who may be a murderer, at one in the morning, every night, alone..." Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. "You didn't even tell anyone where you were going! Do you know how stupid that is!?"

"Not as dumb as not looking for him at all! I've seen the papers, they keep finding pieces of that girl! I'm a state alchemist, I don't need you looking out for me all the time, I can handle myself!"

"Of course you can." Roy's vice was dripping with sarcasm. "That's why you moved in with me after you got burned, because you were so capable of changing your bandages and taking your medicine and handling your anxiety attacks..."

"You were the one who burned me."

Roy stopped dead in his tracks. Ed stood perfectly still, a slight breeze catching his cloak and rustling it in the wind.

Roy found himself unable to breathe for a brief moment as the world seemed to stop completely, before he took a breath, acknowledging just how much that hurt. He's right. YOU burned him. That little voice in his head spoke up. His insides were a rolling cocktail of emotions he couldn't deal with right now. Edward was strong, but he was over-confident, and over-tired, and a child. And Roy needed to be the adult here.

Be the adult.

"Ed, get in the car."

"Huh? Why?" Ed looked surprised Roy wasn't shouting back at him, getting into his war of words.

"It's one in the morning, and we should both be in bed. Especially you, considering how often you've been sneaking out. Get in the car. We'll talk about this later. Right now we both need to be at home, asleep."

Ed paused, looking across the road at the empty circle of light beneath the street light.

"Ed. Hughes and I will find the clown. But being exhausted and searching the street every night isn't gonna help anyone."

"There is a clown." even though he was exhausted, Ed looked vindicated, and a slight smile crept onto his face as he said it.

"Yeah, there is. And investigations will find him. Investigations. Not you, and not at one in the morning. Now get in the car."

Ed did as he was told, but he still had that little smirk on his face at being right.

You burned me... Roy's amusement faded as he recalled Ed's words and his steely expression minutes earlier.

Still, he parked the car and led Ed inside. He was the adult. He shut Ed's window and sternly told him to stay in bed, that they'd talk about this in the morning.

He was the adult until he got into his own bedroom and closed the door, and then he laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling and closed his eyes and tried to unhear those words.

You burned me...

Normally, his room smelled like aftershave, but he couldn't shake the scent of burnt flesh. No matter how hard he buried his face in his pillow, he could smell it. It was too hot, and water leaked from his eyes slightly as he struggled to control his breathing...

It'd been awhile since he'd had a night this bad. Normally he'd have a glass or two of whiskey to pass out, but he couldn't bring himself to, not now...

Breathe. Just breathe... he told himself. And slowly, the bedsheets stopped suffocating him and he was able to lay, uncomfortable but not stifling hot, and the scent of burnt flesh faded to unwashed linen and waxy burning candles.

He just laid there, not asleep but not completely awake, tired by his own anxiety and mental ordeal. One hour passed, two... it was nearly three in the morning when the quiet was shattered by a scream.

He was on his feet before he knew it, sprinting down the hall.

"S-Stop, he's my brother! I-it burns! Stop!"

Strangled shouting as Edward struggled in the bedsheets.

"Edward! Ed!" he unraveled the cocoon of blankets the boy had wrapped him in, but Ed was still thrashing.

"Stop, stop, ah god why does it hurt!?"

Edward's eyes were half open and glassy. He hadn't had a night terror like this in weeks. Ed never let Alphonse near him when he was in this state, and by now the suit of armor knew to stay away.

Roy's own ills and fatigue were quickly forgotten, and he slipped back to what he'd done all those weeks ago when Ed had just been learning what nightmares and PTSD was, wrapping his arms around the flailing boy and holding him still, pulling him close to him and wrapping him in a tense hug.

"Fullmetal- Ed- Ed, it's a night terror. Shhh, shhh, it's alright, Ed, it's okay..."

Slowly but surely, the boy's struggles stopped and mellowed to harsh breathing. "R-roy..." his voice was hardly a harsh whisper. "I-it hurt so bad. I could feel it- heating my automail, burning my skin..."

"I know, I know, but it was just a bad dream. Breathe, breathe Edward, it's okay..."

Slowly, the boy's choked sobs evened out into shaky but steady breathing.

"It's alright, Edward..." the boy had sweat clean through his shirt, it'd been that anxiety provoking, and he ran his fingers through the sweaty locks of blond hair, trying to soothe the boy.

"I know, buddy, I know. Breathe for me..." Roy took deep breaths, demonstrating what to do as Edward mirrored him.

"I...I didn't mean it..."

"Didn't mean what?" Roy frowned, looking down at the tear-stained child's face. The moonlight made his golden locks look silver and his face even more pale.

"I...I said you burned me... I-it was an accident... I know that. Y-you took care of me... A-and you w-woke up and stayed with me all those nights I got scared, and you took me to the doctors... A-and I repayed you like a selfish brat. I...I know you didn't mean to... I don't deserve your help... S-sorry, I'm sorry..." Ed dissolved into quiet crying and buried his face in Roy's chest.

For the second time that night, Roy found himself speechless. Out of shock, and... gratitude? Ed's forgiveness seemed to have lifted a weight off his shoulders, his gratitude proved that despite all his mistakes, the accident, burning Edward... He'd done something right in taking the boy in and trying his best to care for him.

"Oh Ed... You're just a kid. It's alright..." He reached up and wove his fingers into the back of Ed's blonde locks, holding him steady and just being solid. His other hand rubbed soothing circles on his shuddering back, and gradually, the boys sobs quieted to cries, and whimpers, before he was finally still.

"A-are you mad?"

"No. How can I be mad? I'm just glad you've calmed down. You were tired, we all say things we don't mean..."

"You gonna kick me out?" Ed's voice was slightly muffled as he was still clinging to Roy for dear life.

Roy laughed. Ed flinched and peeled himself back, looking watery-eyed and exhausted and surprised.

"If I was going to kick you out, I wouldn't have bothered to come find you outside tonight. I'd have told you to pack up when you got home. I'm not sending you anywhere Edward. You are stubborn, and impossible, and headstrong, and I'm not going to make you stay if you don't want to, but you are ALWAYS welcome here. You can stay as long as you like. I... I like having you boys around."

"Really?" Ed sniffled, looking baffled.

Roy chuckled. "Yes, really, you loud-mouthed flea."

"Hey." Ed protested half-heartedly, and Roy ruffled his hair.

"But what you did was dangerous, Ed. Sneaking out without telling anyone where you were going, going after a killer- it was dumb, and stupid. And I'm not letting you off the hook for it. It was reckless, and you're grounded- not allowed to go anywhere without my permission- for a week. You understand? I think that's fair, considering the stunts you've pulled. And you're already a bit punished, your anxiety is thru the roof and you're exhausted... Get some sleep. Alright?"

Roy went to stand, but was held still when a hand grabbed his shirt.

Ed looked up at him with those pitiful golden eyes, looking afraid. "Stay?"

He and Ed hadn't slept in the same bed since the first few days after Edward had been burned, when he'd needed Roy to help talk him through the flashbacks.

But he laid back down anyways, and listened as the boy's breathing evened out beside him. His own breathing was calm and steady, as he watched Ed's sleeping face.

Was this what it was like to be a father, he wondered? Twice in one day, one moment in the worst possible anguish, the next with a heart so full it could burst...

I failed you once, Edward. But I will never give up on you. was his last thought, before he, too succumbed to a well-earned sleep.

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surly01 · 3 years

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This Week in Collapse April 11, 2021

"Give me bacon, or give me death!" ~Shaneka Torres, February 9, 2014

If you believe, as we do, that environmental and social collapse is already well underway, the news of the week provided a cornucopia of data points in confirmation. Next week will mark the sixth anniversary of the conviction and sentencing of Shaneka Torres for storming a Michigan McDonald's upon discovering her baconless burger. The frustration Torres felt is now mirrored in all of us as we consume each day's headlines in similar frustration.

But hostility, like violence, is as American as cherry pie. Did you know that members of the starving Donner party were offered assistance by local natives, only to be shot at for their troubles?

Washoe scouts brought the stranded migrants food — including a deer carcass, fish, and wild potatoes — but were met with hostility. On one occasion, an offering of fish was refused. On at least three others, the Washoe approached the Donner camps with food only to be met by gunshots, leaving one man dead…

When a scout saw the white people cannibalizing their dead, the tribe was said to retreat, afraid they too might be killed and eaten. From then on, the Washoe referred to the migrants as “not people.”

Today this hostility toward others, even those trying to help you, pervades most of American society. Many look back upon their high school years as an American version of "Lord of the Flies." Similar put-downs, one-upsmanship, and attack behavior can also be seen in our popular entertainments. This framing our headlong retreat from the natural world and from one another as we immerse ourselves in our phones. To say nothing of our political divisions, best characterized by objectification (of the other, making them “not people”) and derision, and where any attempt to find common ground is met by the back of the hand of friendship. Little wonder that the rising generations find our current set of arrangements hopeless.

But this week's headlines suggest that for a variety of reasons, that set of arrangements won't last indefinitely.

Who could forget the recent Suez Canal flap with the large container ship stuck like a throat lozenge? Not Egypt, who has said to Ever Given’s Owners: Pay Us $1 Billion Or You Aren't Getting Your Big Boat Back. If you thought the Egyptian government would be thrilled to see it go, think again. Nice boat you have here… be a shame if anything happened to it…

“The vessel will remain here until investigations are complete and compensation is paid,” Osama Rabie, chairman of the Suez Canal Authority, told state television in Egypt on Thursday.

“We hope for a speedy agreement,” he said. “The minute they agree to compensation, the vessel will be allowed to move.”

A country filled with people traumatized by the Great Toilet Paper Shortage of 2020 paid full attention to the threat of supply chain collapse. Why you should expect more Suez-like supply chain disruptions and shortages at your local grocery store In one short week, the price of oil went up, and companies fretted as hundreds of ships carrying everything from coffee and cattle to toys and furniture were delayed. Just-in-time delivery means low to nonexistent inventories. Experts estimated that every hour traffic remained stuck cost the global economy over US$400 million in lost trade.

The pandemic revealed that even simple supply chains, such as that of toilet paper and hand sanitizer, can easily break in the face of disruptions. The same was true with food, personal protective equipment, pharmaceuticals and ordinary household items, which all suffered from severe shortages that lasted for months into the pandemic.

Pandemic-strained supply chains are now creating a global shortage of semiconductors, a component used in a wide variety of consumer goods, from Samsung smartphones and Apple laptops to Ford Explorers and Sony PlayStations. Virtually every piece of electronics needs a chip, and the supply chain is much more complex than for toilet paper.

All coming to a supply-chain chokepoint near you. Read more in The Conversation.

The weekly economic news is not good, but economic news is never good. How does a country deal with climate disasters when it’s drowning in debt? Not very well, it turns out. Especially not when a global pandemic clobbers its economy.

Today, the debt that Belize owes its foreign creditors is equal to 85 percent of its entire national economy. The private credit ratings agency Standard & Poor’s has downgraded its creditworthiness, making it tougher to get loans on the private market. The International Monetary Fund calls its debt levels “unsustainable.” Many other smaller countries are in a similar bind. It's a house of cards.

Government Admits Zimbabwe Dollar Collapse, Pegs Passport Fees In US$. Information Minister Monica Mutsvangwa said the senior government officials had acknowledged Zimbabwean currency was no longer a viable option for offshore purchases. That's weaselspeak for “our money is officially toilet paper.”

“Foreign currency is required for the off-shore procurement of consumables. However, the current fees payable in the local currency are no longer viable…”

And that is just one domino. Africa offers others.

Collapse often follows insurgencies. Hunger spreads as Mozambique crisis reaches tipping point.

Insurgents from a group known as Al Shebab attacked Palma, a town in Mozambique’s far northern Cabo Delgado province. They launched an attack on the coastal town, firing indiscriminately, setting fire to buildings and killing dozens, according to local officials. Residents there did what people do: scattering in a desperate attempt to reach safety by whatever means possible: on foot, by road and boat fleeing with the clothes they were wearing and a few things for their children. To hide in the bush for the smoke to clear.

Townspeople joined thousands of others sheltering in displacement camps with limited food supplies across Cabo Delgado.

Much of the strife in the Global South stems from the stresses unleashed by climate change. The climate news this week was as ugly as the economic news.

Despite pandemic shutdowns, carbon dioxide and methane surged in 2020

NOAA announced last week that levels of the two most important anthropogenic greenhouse gases, carbon dioxide and methane, continued their unrelenting rise in 2020 despite the Covid-driven economic slowdown. Carbon dioxide levels are now higher than at anytime in the past 3.6 million years. The last time atmospheric CO2 was this high, sea level was about 78 feet higher than today, the average temperature was 7 degrees F higher than in pre-industrial times, and forests occupied areas of the Arctic that are now tundra.

Methane Has Never Risen This Fast in the Atmosphere

There’s more methane in the atmosphere than any other time since record keeping began. Levels really spiked last year, despite the fact that we were all inside for most of the time. Methane shattering records is one of those things that seems to happen every year. But what’s really troubling is that last year’s rise in methane levels was the biggest rise in a single year since record-keeping began. Methane is over 80 times more potent as a warming agent than carbon dioxide over a 20-year period.

Short takes and highlights from the week:

'A biological Fukushima': Brazil COVID-19 deaths on track to pass worst of U.S. wave

Brazil’s coronavirus death toll passes 4,000 a day for first time

Bolsonaro a 'Threat to the Planet,' Says Lula as Brazil's Daily Covid Death Toll Hits All-Time High

New 'Double Mutant' Coronavirus Variant Found In California

Americans' Worry About Catching COVID-19 Drops to Record Low

A record-low 35% of Americans worry about catching COVID-19. At the same time, 77% say the coronavirus situation is improving.

Ecocide: Should Destruction of the Planet Be a Crime?

Atmospheric CO2 Passes 420 PPM for First Time Ever

Scientists: Mass Extinction Is Coming as Organisms Flee the Equator-- Oceanic life is fleeing the increasingly-hot equator for more hospitable water, and a mass extinction event is likely to follow.

The Coming Antibiotic-Resistance Pandemic that Could Make COVID Look Like the Flu

America Never Wanted the Tired, Poor, Huddled Masses

Another Day, Another Far-Right Fantast: Texas Man Tried to Blow Up the Internet-- Federal Investigators allege that a Texas man wanted to use C-4 to blow up around 70% of the internet.

So it’s been a week of extortion for supply chain disruption, CO2 and methane-based catastrophe, immanent ecosystem collapse, unsustainable debt, and worthless currencies. Another week of downward spin as the American Empire unwinds along with late stage capitalism..

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benaffleckofcrowdsurfing · 4 years

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Lazerquest - part 4

Alex Turner x Reader

Chapter 4/?

Description: you are an impulsive bartender who recently moved to London after traveling across the United States and living on the road for a few years. You befriend Alex, a musician who recently got out of a long term relationship, and you show him the ways of your free-spirited lifestyle in an attempt to help him move on from his ex. However, you become more of a muse than a friend for Alex and all is revealed when he releases his band’s fourth studio album, “Suck it and See”.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: none

Tag list (msg me if you would like to be added):

@lolurnotmileskane @imagine-that-100

Updates whenever the heck I please (at least once a week)

Author’s note: hi friends. This is a sucky chapter because im brain dead from work, but i promise things will pick up soon. Ive got big plans for this bad boy, i just need to figure out how to get there.

**************

“Here she is,” Alex burst, and stopped in front of a beautiful vintage Porsche. Your jaw dropped as he leaned up against the car. It was a beautiful deep green color with tan leather interior, and although it was obviously an old car, it was in pristine condition.

“Oh my god, Alex, this is yours? Is this a 1969 convertible 911?” You inquired, but you knew the answer. You were a bit of a car geek, and Porsches were some of your favorites. You ran your fingers lightly across the hood in awe, you couldn’t believe you were actually touching such a classic car. Alex had a proud grin on his face.

“Yes ma’am. One of my larger purchases after Favourite Worst Nightmare went platinum. She’s my baby,” Alex beamed, and opened the passenger door for you. “Your chariot awaits, Milady.”

“Why, thank you Sir,” you imitated Alex’s accent, before stepping into the car. He shut the door behind you and went over to the drivers side.

“I got a brand new sound system put in, it has an auxiliary cord and everything. You can go ahead and hook your phone up to it if you’d like, it’s your adventure so you can pick the music,” Alex said, and handed you a cord. He then turned on the car and shot you a huge grin. You pulled out your brand new IPhone 4 - a going away gift from your best friend back home - and scrolled through Itunes. You settled on another album that reminded you of home: Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Californiacation. As the opening track, Around the World, began playing through the car’s speakers, Alex drove off and out of his apartment complex’s garage.

“So, where to?” Alex had to yell over the music.

“You know the vintage shop by the place I work?”

“Yeah, the one with all the leather and costumes and shit right?”

“That’s the one!” You chortled. Alex and you exchanged knowing glances before he stepped on the gas and you turned up the music.

The two of you were speeding through the city, and you thought you looked quite good. Your hair was flowing in the spring breeze, and your leopard fur coat matched the interior of the car perfectly. Alex looked cool as all hell in his oversized aviator sunglasses, and his toned arms resting on the steering wheel of the car made your insides weak. When you’d stop at a traffic light, the people in cars around you would stare and smile at you, and to be honest you liked the attention. You liked being the mysterious girl in a Porsche with Alex Turner. As the 911 pulled up to the vintage shop, you clapped your hands in excitement.

“I hope you brought your wallet, Turner. We’ve got shopping to do,” you winked at Alex as he opened your door and put a hand out for you to hold onto as you exited the car. What a gentleman.

When you entered the shop, you grabbed Alex’s hand and dragged him towards the huge section of racks containing leather jackets.

“Alright, Al. Remember when I said I knew how to make your outfit perfect? Well here we are. You need a good vintage jacket to match that vintage shirt and vintage car of yours,” you smirked. Alex gave you a massive grin before practically diving into the massive collection of jackets.

“You go look around, Y/N, and I’ll show you the one I choose once I’ve found it. Like some sort of big reveal,” Alex instructed. You ruffled his hair and squeezed his arm before skipping away.

You found yourself in the dress section, like usual, and began digging. Most of them were rather cheesy numbers from the 80’s, but just as you were about to give up and move on, you found a stunning 60’s Mod style dress. It looked like a checkerboard, it was 4 huge grids alternating between black and white. It was a rather stretchy material and was a bit short, which you thought was unusual for the time period, but you knew that it’d just make the dress far more flattering. A huge grin appeared on your face, and you darted to the dressing rooms to try it on.

Just as you had slipped the dress on, you heard Alex calling your name. You were so eager to see the jacket he had picked out that you didn’t bother to look to see how the dress looked, you opened the curtain to go find Alex. You were surprised to see him waiting for you right outside of your dressing room. Both of your jaws dropped at the sight of each other. Alex looked amazing in his jacket, he had picked a rather worn one in a biker style that looked to be around the 1950’s era.

“You look like a greaser, Al. Like a modern Danny Zuko or something. It’s fantastic,” you gushed. Alex hadn’t said anything yet, he just looked at you with wide eyes and a little smirk.

“And you look like a modern Twiggy. Absolutely brilliant,” he breathed, before taking a step towards you. He traced the outline of the dress with his large hands, before reaching for the price tag. He was so close you could smell him, this time the sandalwood and cigarette was accompanied by the smell of worn leather. “I’m buying this for you.”

“Oh no you aren’t, you can buy your own jacket and I’ll buy my own dress. Oh and those SHOES!” you gasped and practically ran to the wall of shoes. You pulled down a pair of chunky soled white go-go boots and squealed when you discovered they were in your size. You put them on right there in the middle of the shop and gave Alex a huge smile. “Thoughts?”

“I don’t think you want to know what I’m thinkin, Love.” Alex’s eyes were glued to you, the corners of his lips curled up into a devious smile.

You rolled your eyes and gave him a little nudge. “Stop playing, Alex. I’ve got to go take this beauty off, then I want to go look at costume jewelry. Then our day can really start.”

“Brilliant.”

“Be back in a jiffy.”

When you had come out of the dressing room, you found Alex at the front of the shop looking at jewelry. The man behind the counter was showing him a gorgeous yellow diamond choker with a black diamond in the center.

“It’s a 30’s era piece, one of my personal favorites. I think it’d look absolutely lovely on your bird, there,” the man said and nodded towards you and then back at Alex.

“I think so too, Sir. I’ll take it,” Alex beamed. You blushed when he looked down at you and bit his bottom lip. “And don’t let her pay for those shoes and that dress either, I’ll take care of it.”

You frowned. “Alex, seriously. I can buy my own things.”

“I don’t care, I want to buy them for you.”

“You don’t need to do that for me.”

“Y/N.”

“Alex.”

“Y/N/N.”

“Al. I’m being so serious.”

“Do I need to show you my bank statements? Trust me, it’s nothing. Think of it as a little thank you for staying up with me last night.”

“Alexander….”

“Y/N…..”

“Cut it out and move so I can pay for my shit.”

“Nope. I’m buying them for you.”

“You’re impossible, Al.”

“You love me, Y/N/N.”

**********

Once Alex and you had returned to the car, he took the necklace out of the bag and instructed you to turn around. He wrapped it around your neck and gently moved your hair out of his way so he could fasten it. Once it was on, he turned you back around, and fixed your hair. He was still wearing his new jacket, and you took the moment to admire how good he looked. Neither of you spoke, he just stood there with his hand on your shoulders, smiling down at you. You could feel your cheeks turning pink as the two of you locked gazes. After what felt like an eternity of blissful silence, he chuckled and shook his head.

“You’re an interesting one, you.” He muttered as he opened the door of his car for you. “So, where to next?”

“Not sure. Just travel East till you reach the water. I want to go for a swim,” You hummed.

Alex looked at you, rather amused, before starting the car. “I know just the place.”

************

By afternoon time, both you and Alex had shed your coats and were driving down a windy, narrow, road, soaking in the sunshine. You had taken off your shoes and your seat belt so you could lounge your legs up on the dash and look up at the sky above you. Alex had put on Room on Fire by The Strokes, and the two of you sang along as you sped towards the beach. He had one arm draped over the steering wheel, the other alternating between playing chords on the air guitar and messing with your hair.

When the two of you made it to the beach, it was nearly sundown. Alex had taken you to a small village perched on a cliff above a large and sandy seashore, and the two of you parked on a small bluff before hiking down towards the water.

“You know, you said you wanted to swim, but neither of us have swimwear,” Alex called after as you ran down the bluff and onto the beach. You didn’t answer him, though, you just turned to face him and took off your top. Alex was extremely taken-back by what you had just done at first, but when you continued to slip off your shorts and skip down the beach, he caught on and took off his own shirt and jeans. You were quite a bit closer to the water than him when he had done so, but just before you were about to stick your toes in the cold water, a pair of muscular arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you off the ground.

You let out a little shriek as Alex threw you over his shoulders. He adjusted his arm around your thigh, and began walking deeper into the water.

While helpless in the arms of the musician, you couldn’t help but notice his boxers. “Nice dino undies, Al. Very badass of you.” You gave him a playful slap on the bum and he slightly tightened his grip on your legs.

“Well I’m sorry that I didn’t expect to be getting naked in public today, Y/N. Not all of us can wear an Agent Provacateur set on some random Tuesday.”

You knew Alex was referring to the undergarments you had chosen this morning, and you laughed. Sure, it was a black and lacy number and looked a bit fancy, but it definitely wasn’t Agent Provacateur. “For your information, Al, I got this at Target. And watch your mouth, Buddy, I’m not some slut that just expects to end the night in her bra and undies. I just like to feel put-together.”

“Oh, trust me Y/N, I’m not complaining,” Alex smirked. He was now waist deep in the waves, and still had you on his shoulders. He shifted you down so he was carrying you bridal style, and grinned at you before biting his lip. “Now are you ready to get wet?”

You smirked to yourself a bit. If you had held my thighs like that any longer, Turner, you wouldn’t have had to put me in the water for that to happen.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, Alex,” you laughed. When he told you to hold your breath you did, and at that he tossed you into the water. The cold of the ocean bit you the moment you hit the wave’s surface, and you gasped in shock.

“Jesus it’s cold,” you shrilled. Alex laughed hysterically as you tried to climb on him and out of the water, still shaking due to its temperature. He pushed you off of him, and when an exceptionally large wave came your way he completely submersed himself under it.

“Bloody hell, you’re right. Fucking freezing.” He yelled as his head popped out from the white caps surrounding the two of you. “Why’d you want to do this, Y/N?”

“Well, you’re having fun, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am!”

“Well then there you go, my plan worked out perfectly,” you beamed. The late afternoon sun gave Alex a golden tint, and with the combination of his wet curls and the waves surrounding him, you thought he looked something like a Greek god. The thought made you let out a breathy laugh, which caused Alex to scrunch his nose at you.

“Making fun of my Dinosaur boxers again, Y/N?”

You faked a gasp and put a hand over your chest dramatically. “I would never!”

“Then why are you staring, Love?”

Shit.

“Just trying to figure out how I can get you back under the water,” you sniggered. Alex began swimming away from you, so you chased after him and when you were close enough you put your arms around his neck. “Gotcha!”

“Oh, do you know?” Alex chuckled, and hooked his hands under your armpits. He lifted you all the way up and out of the water, causing you to giggle like a schoolgirl. When he put you back into the water, you wrapped your legs around his torso and placed your hands on either side of his face. Alex pressed his forehead to yours, and you looked into each other’s eyes.

The two of you were so close you felt like you could feel the atoms between you, and a massive smile painted itself across your face.

“You’ve got gorgeous eyes, Y/N,” Alex whispered, just barely loud enough for you to hear over the roaring of the ocean. His comment caused your cheeks to turn as pink as the sunset behind you.

“As do you, Alex.” The two of you were still wrapped in each other’s arms, forehead to forehead and nose to nose. “Now, take me back to shore before it gets too dark. We’ve still got items left on our agenda.”

Alex furrowed his brows before turning around and allowing you to climb on his back. “What more could you possibly have in store for us, Y/N.”

“You’ll see.”

“You know, being with you is like constantly getting left on a cliffhanger.”

“I like that, Al.”

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let-it-raines · 5 years

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Catch Me If You Can (26/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: So you guys had some pretty big feelings about the last chapter. (I love it.) I think you might also have some about the next few. 🙈❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current

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-/-

Liam has been yelling at him for thirty-two minutes and seventeen seconds.

That might be a little off, his timing incorrect since he didn’t start counting until it’d been going on for quite a few minutes, and he’s only been counting with his head. He doesn’t have a watch on, has no idea where his phone currently is except probably in the locker room, and counting in his head is the only way he’s able to keep track.

The clock on Elsa’s wall is dead. That seems apt.

Counting is very literally the only thing that is keeping him sane right now. It’s also distracting him from the throbbing pain that’s emanating from his shoulder every time he so much as flinches or shifts in the wrong direction.

Killian has felt like an idiot more times than he can count – ironic with how much he’s counting right now, he knows – but he thinks that ignoring his shoulder, ignoring the pain, ignoring the signs, and ignoring every other little thing over the past few months has been the dumbest thing he’s ever done.

This could fuck up his entire career, again, and he ignored it for the idiotic hope that things would simply get better on their own.

Things have obviously not gotten better on their own, and he was pretty much carted off of the field and out of the stadium to the hospital so that he could have an MRI and an X-ray done only to find out that he has tendinitis in the rotator cuff that was injured in the boating accident and already had to have surgery to repair it once before.

Liam is currently yelling at him because he made a joke about how at least it was only tendinitis and not another full tear that would require surgery and being out of the game completely for ten months.

Just four to six weeks this time.

That’s nothing, right?

Except the playoffs start in four weeks, and while he can’t remember the rules of eligibility right off the top of his head since this is something he’s never had to deal with before, he thinks that as long as he doesn’t miss the entire post-season, he could still play in the World Series.

If they make it that far.

Shit.

This is not good.

And his hopes for the World Series really shouldn’t be what’s going on in his head right now when he has another arm injury, which is another derailment for his career.

(He’s only twenty-eight years old. It shouldn’t be like this.)

But focusing on this one thing that he wanted, that he wants, for himself and for his team, is inexplicably both driving him into madness and keeping him sane all at once.

“How could you let all of the signs pass you by, Killian?” Liam huffs, his loafers likely going to run a hole in the linoleum floor of the hospital with how much he’s pacing. “Do you not remember what happened the last time you got injured? The lows that you went through? That’s happening again. You finally got to be happy, got to have things going right for you, and you screwed it up because you didn’t want to admit that there is something wrong with you? How fucking dumb can you be?”

“Liam,” Elsa admonishes from her spot in her office where they’ve all gathered now that he’s been released from all of his tests. It’s kind of feeling like a prison in here. “Now is really not the time to yell at him.”

“I think it’s a pretty damn good time.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Killian groans, twisting in Elsa’s office chair to look at his brother. His arm is throbbing, his medicine not quite taking effect yet but the ice pack helping a bit, and that’s all probably not helping with his level of agitation. “I am twenty-eight years old. I do not need you to yell at me like I am one of your children. ObviouslyObviously, I know that I fucked up. The insane amount of ice on my shoulder that’s pretty much going to stay there for the next month as I sit on my ass proves it.”

“All of this could have been solved if you’d come to a doctor. I’m a doctor. Elsa works in a hospital. You have fantastic health insurance. It’s not…the solution was right there. You should have told Archie too!”

“Liam,” Elsa scolds again, and his brother’s head snaps toward his wife.

“What? What could you possibly have to say? He screwed up.”

“No, you screwed up when you started yelling at him like he’s a child. But certainly not your child when there’s no way in hell you would speak to Addison or Lucy this way. Killian gets it. You can see it written over his face, and if you can’t tell that he didn’t say anything because he was scared of finding out something was going to be wrong with him again, I don’t know what to tell you. Is it dumb? Yes. But you see it happen with patients every single day. People get scared, and the confirmation makes injuries and diseases real for them.”

Damn, Elsa Jones.

“Elsa,” Killian sighs, “thank – ”

“No,” she starts, holding up her hand at him, her voice full of emotion. “Just because I understand you and am defending you doesn’t mean I’m not still mad at you. I’m not going to yell at you like your brother, though.”

Elsa wipes at the few tears that have fallen underneath her eyes, and before Killian can even get up to give her a hug and tell her just how much he loves her, Liam is crossing the room and wrapping her up in his embrace so that his frame dwarfs hers for a few seconds while Killian continues to get to sulk and loathe himself for doing this.

It’s all his fault.

There’s no other way around it. That’s the truth, and there’s no changing it.

What the hell is he going to do? And is this going to keep coming back if he continues to pitch? If he does proper treatment, is it something he can monitor? Is his career really about to be cut in half? What is Al going to think when he tells him? What are any of his teammates going to think? Or the owners? All of the managers?

What about Emma?

If he’d told her all of those times he wanted to tell her, all of those times he’d meant to tell her when she caught him in pain over the past few months, she would know about his past and would most likely have had enough sense to tell him to go see a doctor since she would have a more frequent look at how he was every day than either Liam or Elsa.

But “if” doesn’t exist.

What has happened, happened. There’s no changing that.

But if he could…no, nope. No. He can’t go there. “If” doesn’t exist.

Elsa phone starts ringing on her desk, Emma’s name popping up on the screen, and Killian’s hands fumble for it so quickly that he nearly drops it onto the ground. But he doesn’t, managing to slide his finger across the phone to answer so that he can hold it up to his ear to talk.

“Hello, beautiful,” he greets and both Elsa and Liam turn to stare him down.

“Killian?” Her voice is frantic, hoarse, and he has absolutely no idea how she managed to keep on working when he’s sure that her mind was running through all of the worst-case scenarios. She’s got to be pissed at him. He deserves it. Why couldn’t he have found the time to text her before he left? Right. He doesn’t know where his phone is. “Is that you?”

“Aye, love. It’s me. I’m answering Elsa’s phone.”

“SoSo, you’re not dead then?” He opens his mouth to respond but is cut off before he even can. “Because I have pretty much convinced myself that you were dead. It doesn’t even make any sense because you obviously didn’t have something, like, dangerous happen to you while you were playing, but all I’ve known for the past threewo hours waswere that you were hurt. And then my producer walks in the booth and tells me that you’re in the hospital but doesn’t say anything else and…you weren’t answering your phone. No one was. I don’t even know which hospital you’re in. I assumed Mt. Sinai because that’s where Liam works, but I don’t – ”

“Swan,” Killian interrupts as Emma keeps babbling. “Hey, hey, Emma, love. It’s okay. I’m fine. I am at Mt. Sinai. I’ve already had some tests done on my shoulder, and I’m sitting in Elsa’s office so it’s not like I’m laid up in a hospital bed. And I don’t have my phone. It’s in the locker room somewhere, probably, so that’s why I haven’t called you. I’m sorry.”

“How long are you going to be there? Can I come see you? Or should I just go home?”

“Where are you, love?”

“Maybe ten minutes away. I don’t – I got on the subway to go to your apartment first, but then I changed my mind and got off at the one hundred and third street station realizing that you were probably not there.”

“I think you’ve got a future career as a detective if this whole broadcasting thing doesn’t work out for you.” He smiles, even though she can’t see it, and he definitely ignores that look on Elsa and Liam’s faces. He’s had enough judgment from them today even if he deserves all of it. “How’d that go, by the way?”

There’s a loud blare through the phone followed by Emma cursing, and he chuckles to himself. “Can I tell you later? People don’t know how to drive, and I’m probably going to get run over even though I have the damn right of way.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll text you directions to her office.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Killian sighs. “I’ll see you soon.”

The call ends then, and he doesn’t even have time to digest it all before Elsa is speaking again and causing him some serious whiplash.

“What are you going to tell her when she gets here?”

He shrugs, as much as he can at least. “The truth.”

“All of it?”

That familiar sense of guilt settles in him again, pressing down on his shoulders like a ton of bricks, which really isn’t helpful right now when his shoulder is already in so much pain, but this is the situation he’s built for himself.

“What are you guys talking about?” Liam asks, and Killian has to bite his tongue. “Seriously. What?”

“Killian never told Emma about the full extent of the accident,” Elsa explains, rubbing the heels of her hands underneath her eyes. “And I’m guessing he’s been lying to her about how much his shoulder has been hurting too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck,” Killian groans, leaning forward to press his face into the stack of papers on Elsa’s desk, but that hurts his damn shoulder. “She’s going to be so pissed at me.”

“It’s not like you lied about something that’s fundamental to your relationship, though,” Liam says, obviously missing the point because he doesn’t know Emma like Killian knows Emma. “I think she’ll just be pissed like we are.”

“No, no she won’t.” Killian He rolls back in his chair and adjusts the strap that’s holding his ice pack there. “Emma’s got a pretty shitty history with people lying to her or not trusting her with things, and she’s going to be pissed that I did this. I don’t…there’s no way around that. I love her, and I wasn’t honest about the struggles I was going through.”

“It’s going to be fine, sweetie,” Elsa promises, but his mind is already running through worst case scenarios too.

He’s already lost the game again, temporarily at least, and he’s not sure that he can lose anything else.

For years he thought that losing the game would be the only thing possibley of beating him down and having him lose the spark for life that he has. Now he knows that’s not true.

Losing the game would hurt. Losing Emma would kill him.

Killian doesn’t count the ten minutes that it takes Emma to get to the hospital. He doesn’t need to. He feels every second of them. Before he knows it, there’s a timid knock on the door, and then Emma is walking through, her cheeks red and her hair windblown with her eyes widened. She looks like she just ran here instead of taking the train, and the big exhale that she lets out when she makes eye contact with him has him feeling like maybe he ran a marathon too.

Slowly, he stands up from the chair so as not to jostle his arm, and even though he can tell that Emma is a bit hesitant with Liam and Elsa in the room, she walks toward him and wraps her arms around his stomach so that he can feel her over feeling the throbbing in his arm.

“Hey,” he whispers as he rubs his hand up and down her back while his lips press into her forehead. “I’m okay. It’s all okay, love. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“My brain still has me convinced that you’re dead, so give me a minute.”

Killian chuckles. “Okay, okay, I can do that.”

For someone who is so keen on time today, Killian has no idea how long he stands there with Emma’s face buried in his shoulder and his hand on her back. He has no idea.

It’s not long enough though.

Because then Emma is pulling back, the warmth of her body disappearing, and she’s stepping away to wipe out the wrinkles in her dress skirt before moving to hug Liam and Elsa too., almost like she didn’t even realize they were in the room at first.

“So, what happened?” Emma asks. “You said your shoulder? What’s wrong with your shoulder?”

His eyes dart from the green pair to the two sets of blue, pleading for some kind of help in answering her question.

“Liam,” Elsa starts, grabbing onto her husband’s forearm, “why don’t we let them talk? Let’s go get some coffee.”

“You guys can stay,” Emma offers, a sweet, unknowing smile on her face.

“No, it’s fine, sweetie." Elsa nods her head at him, a soft smile on her face as well. “We’ve spent enough time with Killian. We’ll let you guys have this moment. Use my phone to text Liam when you leave, okay?”

“Yeah, Els. That’s fine. I love you guys.”

“Love you too,” Liam answers for them before they’re taking the few steps to the door and walking out of it, letting the wood frame click behind them.

And then he’s left with Emma.

“So, what’s wrong?” she asks again, sitting down in the chair that Elsa has across from her desk while he takes back his seat behind Elsa’s desk. “Did you throw out your shoulder? I know you’re, like, a whole ten months older than me, but I didn’t think you were that much of an old man.”

His chuckle is weak, but he’s thankful that Emma is at least in a bit of a joking mood. Today has been such a big day for her professionally, and he hates that he’s taken away from it.

“I have tendinitis in my rotator cuff.” He’s about to spew out a hell of a lot of information at her, but he doesn’t know how else to do it. The worry etched across Emma’s face certainly doesn’t help. “It’s not a big deal. I’m going to be out for hopefully no more than six weeks as long as I don’t fuck it up again, so I should be able to come back for the Championship Series, not that it matters. I’m in a lot of pain today, but it’s not always so bad.”

“What do you mean it’s not always so bad? Has this been happening more than just today?”

“For a couple of weeks. Maybe a month of two. I don’t – I’m not sure the exact moment that it happened, but it’s gotten worse recently. That day in Boston where we got blown out of the water and I pissed everyone off by being a jackass? That was probably the worst of it on a game day until today.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Emma sighs, holding her hands up to him as her brows furrow, those little worry lines popping up on her forehead. “You’ve been feeling this for more than today? And you didn’t say anything? Not to me or your family or even Archie? You’re a pitcher, Killian. You’ve been warned about rotator cuff injuries your entire life, and you didn’t think to say something?”

“I was scared.”

“Of what?” she asks before she gets up to pace back and forth in the same path as Liam before her. “All you had to do was say that your shoulder was bothering you, you’re benched for a week or two, and you have time to heal. Then you’re not getting carted off in the middle of games while I’m left sitting in a booth with two assholes who couldn’t care less about you being injured and who made jokes about it while I felt like I could throw up the entire time.”

“Emma – ”

“What?”

“I have something else to tell you.”

Her eyes flicker over him as she crosses her arm over her chest, tugging her dress down and bringing attention to the fact that she’s wearing his mom’s ring around her neck. He’d nearly forgotten about that, only remembered really when his hands absentmindedly reached for it out of habit.

“What do you have to tell me?”

Killian swallows, kind of feeling like he’s going to throw up too. It’s not a big deal. It can’t be. Emma will understand. He’s lying to himself thinking that, but that’s what he has to do.

“When Liam and I were in the boating accident, when I had an open fracture on my arm, I also had a rotator cuff tear. It’s why I didn’t come back at all that season. It’s why I have the small scars on my shoulder.” Emma stops pacing and turns to look at him, worry written all over her face as his own worry constricts his throat. “No one knows about it. Only my family, Archie, and the doctors in Florida who did my surgery. I never told anyone because I didn’t want to be seen as weak. I’d finally gotten myself together, stopping the drinking and the women and every other dumb decision I was making, and there I was having my life torn away from me again. I guess I was so over being pitied and being looked down upon that I rationalized not telling anyone. I thought that if everyone didn’t know, things would be just fine. Life would go on as normal, and that’s all I wanted.”

He takes a breath and tries to figure out what’s going on in Emma’s head, but he can’t tell. There’s no emotion on her face. Absolutely none at all.

“Last season,” Killian continues. “I played with pain. It wasn’t much, and it was really more when I was working my way back than anything. By the time we made it to the Series, I felt fine. This season, not so much. It’s hurt randomly. Sometimes on game days. Sometimes when I’m waking up in the morning or in the middle of the night. Those days I can’t really move it for awhile. I – I know I shouldn’t have ignored the signs, Swan, but I couldn’t have it all taken away from me again. I just couldn’t.”

He’s not even sure if he said everything he needed to say. He’s got no clue. If he had to, he couldn’t even repeat the words that just passed through his lips. But they’re out there, and the bricks on his shoulders don’t feel quite so heavy.

“Every time we’ve talked about the accident,” Emma starts, and he recognizes the change of tone in her voice immediately, “you have never once mentioned that you tore your rotator cuff and that you had to have surgery to repair it. I would get you keeping that from me as a journalist but not as your girlfriend. How many times have we talked about that day, Killian? How often have we discussed it? How often have you sat there and lied to my face about it? And not only it. Every time you’ve been in pain this year, you’ve lied to me. This morning when I asked you what was wrong, you lied to me. In Boston when we were mad at each other, you lied to me. And those are just the times that I know of. I’m sure there are more. I can’t…”

“Swan, I’m sorry, okay?” he pleads. She shakes her head from side to side, and he rises from his the chair to come to the other side of the desk, leaning against the wood so that they’re not separated by it. “I wanted to tell you. I kept telling myself that I would and that maybe I’d work up the courage to say what was going on, but I never could.”

The clench in Emma’s jaw is visible, especially when she turns to the side to look away with another shake of her head. “I am sorry that you have been through so much, that you are still going through so much. I love you. I really do. But it almost makes it worse to me that you’ve known you were keeping something from me and still didn’t tell me. It doesn’t matter what it is. You actively lied to me, and I am not okay with that.”

“I was terrified, Emma. Don’t you get that?”

Her head turns back to him then, green eyes full of tears, and he can barely hear anything over the sound of his heart thumping.

“I think I just…I think I need some time is all.”

“Emma – ”

“No, Killian,” she starts, holding her hand up and stepping backward, “I need time. Because I’ve trusted you with so much of what’s going on in my life, I’ve let myself lean on you and need you more than I have ever let myself need someone else, and you couldn’t bother doing the same. Why couldn’t you bother doing the same? This is the same exact thing that’s happened to me every time I’ve put my heart on the line, and I – I need some time to think.”

“Emma.”

“I’ll call you soon,” she says as she rises from the chair, but he’s not sure that he believes her. “You have Liam and Elsa to take care of you, right?”

“Aye,” he nods, biting his tongue at all of the things he wants to say right now. Emma is fighting between wanting him to be okay and being upset with him. He can tell, and he has to respect her wishes right now. In a few days, it’ll be different. But damn if this doesn’t hurt. “I don’t…I’m sorry. I promise I didn’t mean to hurt you, love. That was not my intention here.”

“I know. That’s what makes this worse.” Emma blinks, her lips pressed together, before silently walking out the door and leaving him sitting there.

Alone.

Fuck.

He knew it was going to happen, and not even that could have prepared him for it.

But all she said was that she needed time, right? She didn’t yell at him saying that they were over, that she was breaking up with him, that she didn’t love him anymore. None of that was mentioned, so there’s hope, right?

There has to be hope.

It doesn’t matter that he didn’t hurt her in the same way that Neal and Walsh hurt her, that he didn’t hurt her the way the foster system did. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t maliciously set out to inflict pain. What matters is that she’s upset with his actions, with his lies, and who is he to try to say what she can be mad about and what she can’t be mad about?

He’s no one.

Only Emma can decide how she feels about things.

He probably deserves all of this for how much of an asshole he is.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

And he’s still got to tell his team. And Ariel will have to release a statement and oh shit, Ariel. She’s going to murder him.

She really is.

Killian uses Elsa’s phone to text Liam that he and Emma are finished talking and that he’s going home now. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t give any more details. No one needs any. They know where they live, and if all else fails, he will answer their texts from his laptop.

When he gets home fifteen minutes later, though, he sees it sitting on his coffee table and ignores it. He’s really not in the mood to talk to anyone or to do anything. All he wants is to take a shower and wash this damn day away. It’s not like he’s got any deadlines anymore or anything to do.

He can’t even do his job.

And it’s his fault.

How could he have been so stupid?

The moment Killian walks into his bedroom, he sees Emma’s clothes everywhere. She’d brought over a bag of things last night, outfits that she was considering wearing but hadn’t decided on, as well as seemingly everything else she owns. She’s not the neatest person in the world, never has been, but it seems that this morning she was determined to make her mark on every single inch of this room.

She did a damn good job at it.

Killian’s sure that she was planning on cleaning it up when she came back here tonight. They were going to celebrate her tonight. He had a whole dinner prepared that he was going to cook. All of the ingredients are in his fridge as well as Emma’s favorite whiskey and a chocolate and cherry cake that he baked because he knows that she loves those.

They never even got to talk about how it was for her today.

How could he have ruined a day that was so important to her?

And he knows that he’s ruined it. He does. He knows that she’s probably in her apartment right now fielding questions from everyone about what it was like, how she liked it, if she wants to do it again. And she’s fielding questions about how he is and why she’s not with him. He doesn’t know what she’ll say, if she’ll say anything at all, and for as many times as he’s hated himself, he doesn’t think he’s ever hated himself as much as he does right now for upsetting Emma.

This is not how things are supposed to be.

He doesn’t bother picking her clothes up, leaving all of them where they are. That’s something he’ll deal with later. He’s going to take a shower right now, and absolutely nothing is going to stop him.

Except for the yellow and blue sticky notes pressed in a line on his bathroom mirror over where Emma has left her curling iron.

I promise I’m going to clean up my things later. Don’t get all tense about it if you see it all before I do.

Thank you for being such a big supporter of me and “cheering me on.”

We’re both going to kick ass today.

I love you, Killian Jones.

Killian’s stomach twists at the last one, and he carefully pulls it off the mirror so that he can run his fingers over the words there as well as the lipstick mark that she left.

“I love you too, Emma,” he mutters to himself in the silence of the bathroom.

#catch me if you can #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan

93 notes · View notes

mattygraygubler · 4 years

Text

our campus: chapter 4 (tom holland fanfic)

summary: frat!tom and reader go to the same college and y/n is tasked with being his tutor, they don’t really get along at first (because i love reader and tom hating each other trope)

warnings: none ?????

word count: 2.1k

a/n: so many texts and so much dialogue fuckin kill me also texts are bold

for a list of characters click here

to be added to the tag list send me an ask !

masterlist

✰✰✰✰✰

“I don’t know what you did to get her to give you a second chance, but I need to warn you.” Ally said. Tom turned to look at her, they had only ever spoken when necessary for theater stuff.

“Warn me?” He asked.

“Y/N can make your life either very, very good or very, very bad. She has most of the professors in this school wrapped around her pinky. And she doesn’t make it obvious, but she’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. She can really help you if you let her.”

“Well, thanks.” He said awkwardly and turned back to his stuff.

“One more thing.” Ally said. Tom turned again and raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you dare catch feelings.” “Seriously? No need to worry about that.” Ally scoffed.

“I’m serious, Tom. Don’t. She doesn’t need that right now.”

“Yeah, fine, I get it.” He said.

“Alright guys let’s get started.” Gigi said, signaling rehearsal was about to start.

* * *

It was finally Friday, and your phone was blowing up as you walked to the library. Class had gotten out late, so you were walking as fast as possible so you wouldn’t be late to your meeting with Tom.

if Y/N is ok with it its fine with me

i still dont know how i feel about this

pretty pretty please guys i really like this guy and he really wants me to go

You

what are we talking about i was in class

harrison invited em and all of us to the delt party tonight

and i said we shouldnt go bc of what happened

plus isnt tom a delt? wouldnt that be a bit awk?

You

honestly i couldnt care less. after the week ive had im gonna too blacked to even realize where we are

lets take it to a vote

aye

nay

You

im abstaining

the ayes have it! delt BABEEEYYYY

ill have harrison put us all on the list

You

glad we got that sorted ill see u guys at mine at 8

You walked into the library, checking your watch and seeing it was 4:02. You bit your lip. Hopefully he didn’t give you any crap for being late.

You walked quickly into hlab, and you knew you looked like a crazy person. Your bag was falling off your shoulder, you had a coffee in your hand and your water bottle tucked under your arm, and your phone in your other hand.

You scanned the room and saw Tom sitting across from Max, both of them had books out.

“Hi,” you said breathlessly. Max slid over a seat so you could sit across from Tom. “So sorry I’m late, crazy day.”

“No worries dar-” You heard him start to say darling, but stopped himself. “No worries. It’s only 2 minutes after.”

“How long have you been waiting?” You asked.

“Max and I have been hanging out for a while, not a big deal.”

“Speaking of, I’m on alc duty for tonight so I better go.” Max said, did his stupid handshake with Tom, and walked out.

Hlab was almost empty except for some freshman. Most people don’t like studying on a Friday, who could blame them?

“So I got a copy of your lectures from this week. What do you want to start with?”

“I don’t care.”

“Ok, what is currently confusing you the most?” He thought for a second before saying “Astronomy.” You nodded.

“Great, grab your notes and your textbook.” He pulled out a notebook and his laptop, opening the online textbook. You pulled out your laptop and a pen and highlighter.

“May I?” You asked and pulled his notebook to your side. You went through his notes, circling certain things with the pen and highlighting others.

“These are really good, Tom. I like how you put question marks next to things that confused you.” He laughed.

“Do I get a gold star?” He joked. You rolled your eyes.

“So phases of the moon.” You started.

“Wait a second,” he said after you had been talking for a while. “You’re telling me that the moon doesn’t actually, like, change?”

“It’s all shadows.” You replied. He nodded and seemed to finally be getting it.

“The phases will most definitely be on your next lab, which isn’t open note, so make sure you memorize them.” You said. “Let’s move onto stats.” He groaned. “What?” You asked.

“Statistics is so stupid. Letters and numbers shouldn’t go together.” You rolled your eyes.

“Stats is easy, I promise you. This is the first unit, all we’re doing is descriptive statistics and graphing. Let’s start with some vocab.” You said, highlighting certain words in his notes.

Once you could see his brain was about to explode, you moved onto writing.

“There’s not much to talk about, just email me your most recent paper so I can go through it and look for themes we need to discuss.”

‘“Themes?” He asked.

“You know, on going issues that need to be addressed.” He nodded and emailed you his paper, which you would read tomorrow. You heard your phone buzz and took a quick glance.

al dont be upset

then dont give me a reason to get upset

what is it

……….. It’s themed

are you kidding? were not freshmen, i dont wanna go to a stupid themed frat party

its blackout !!!! itll be fun i promise

You turned your phone back down and didn’t realize you had an upset look on your face.

“Everything ok?” He asked.

“Just arguing in the group chat.”

“Do you need to go?” He asked.

“No, no, just arguing about tonight.”

“What’s tonight?”

“Tonight is not related to political conflict, which is what we should be talking about.” He laughed.

“Do you ever have fun?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m serious, do you ever have fun, or do you just go to sleep surrounded by planners and textbooks.”

“That’s not funny. There’s a lot more about me that you don’t know.”

“Clearly.”

“So we’re starting off with socioeconomic issues over time and the class strugle. Did you read the Marx chapters?”

“Yup. Didn’t understand a word of it.”

“Ok, let’s get into it.” You said and began rambling about the bourgeoisie and the communist manifesto. Politics was your favorite subject, you could talk about it for hours.

You were having a really good discussion with Tom. It was global political conflict, and he was able to connect the themes to both America and England, which made you really pleased.

You were pulled out of your discussion when your phone vibrated.

pickin up panera anyone want anything

“Jeez it’s already past 6:30, I gotta go.” You said.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He said.

“No it’s not your fault, I get so into politics I lose track of time.” “I can tell.” He said as you both packed up your stuff.

“Wanna grab some food?” He asked.

“Sorry, can’t,” you said.

“Why, got a hot date?” He joked.

“Maybe,” you said.

“At least let me walk you to wherever you’re going.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Well where are you going?”

“Congression Hall?” You replied.

“Wait, you live there?”

“Uhm, yes? Me along with practically every other junior.”

“What floor?”

“8.” You said.

“Should’ve guessed.” He replied as you started walking across the quad.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Honors 8. I forgot you were in hc.” He was referring to the eighth and top floor of Congression Hall, which was reserved for the honors college juniors.

“Yeah.” You said simply.

“I’m on six, by the way.” He said. “That’s why I was curious. I’ve never seen you around there.”

“I’m not usually, I only really use it for sleep.”

“Of course,” he replied.

“I assumed you lived in a frat house.” You commented.

“Nah, next year.” He said with a wink. “Speaking of frat houses, there’s kind of this party going on at Delt tonight-”

“I’m aware.” You said, cutting him off.

“Ah, well, if you want I can get you on the list.” You smiled to yourself.

“No need, I’m already on the list.” You said.

“Oh?” He said, clearly embarrassed. “Because of delta nu?”

“Nope.” You said, not offering any other information.

“Well maybe I’ll see you there then.”

“Even if you do see me there, I will be pretending I don’t know you.”

“Why?” He asked, clearly offended. “I run that house.” He joked, trying to play off the embarrassment.

“No offense, but your reputation would not be good for mine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well I have a certain reputation in the greek community, and if people see me with you they’ll get the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea?” He asked as you walked in the lobby of your building.

“Well, see, the thing is,” you said, stepping into the elevator. He pressed the button for six and eight. “I have certain standards. If people see me with you, they’ll think I’ve…”

“Wow, you are really uptight, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Certain standards? Jesus christ, you’re not the queen, Y/N. And I don’t have a bad reputation. But god forbid I don’t live up to your ‘standards.’” He said, storming off the elevator without another word, clearly upset. You sighed. Good job, Y/N.

Tom got to his room and threw his stuff on the floor, collapsing on his bed. His head hurt from all the tutoring, and trying to focus on not staring at your lips.

delt juniors

Tom

aight important question guys

Cal

whats up tommy

Tom

do you guys know a girl called Y/N Y/L/N? shes a delta nu

Joey

dan knows her ;)

Cal

fuck, Y/N? what are you doing with her?

Tom

shes tutoring me stop buggin

Max

i know her which u know shes in hc with me

Liam

oh danny DEFINITLY knows her

Will

who doesnt know Y/N? shes a hot commodity

Tom

what do you mean?

Cal

shes like the perfect girl next door, totally hot and so smart which just makes her hotter

Will

doesnt help that shes a huge fuckin flirt AND can hold her alc

Joey

dan is being suspiciously quiet……..

Dan

shut up joe

Liam

care to share with tommy your story with Y/N, daniel?

Dan

i hate u all

fine

i was like in love with her freshman year

and i thought she was into me too

and we made out a couple of times but nothing else

the second she found out i was in delt she stopped talking to me

like complete radio silence

Tom

wtf? Why?

Cal

she doesnt fuck with delts

thats like common greek knowledge

Will

maybe its because shes gonna be dchi sweetheart?

Joey

nah theres gotta be something else

Harrison

well i just put her on the list for tonite

Tom

wait YOU put her on the list?!

Harrison

yeah i invited her friend Emily Gold and she doesnt go anywhere without Y/N and these two other girls

Cal

Ally Park and Isabelle Miller

Harrison

yeah howd u know?

Cal

theyre like those cool girls from high school everyones obsessed with that are just out of everyones league

Tom

wow american high schools are so weird

Dan

tom if u wanna get with her i wont be pissed

Tom

nah like you said she hates delts, and after three tutoring sessions with me i guarentee i am her least favorite delt ever

Liam

theres no fuckin way she shows up tonight

she wouldnt be caught dead at a delt party

Noah

wait you said Y/N Y/L/N may come tonight????

DIBS

DIBS DIBS DIBS

I CALL DIBS

Cal

noah u seriously show up just to call dibs?

Noah

yeah bro have u seen her? if she comes tonight and any of you try to cockblock me i stg ill deck you

Dan

pretty sure tommy has rightful dibs to this one

Tom

nah fam she hates me so fuckin much

let noah try his luck

i doubt she’ll even show

Max

she’ll show.

Tom

what makes u say that?

Liam

max does know her best

Max

she and ally and emily and isabelle are ride or die. they circulate who picks what party they go to and if its emilys turn and harrison somehow conviced her to go, Y/N wont miss it

Dan

she hasnt set foot in a delt house since freshman year, you seriously think she’ll show?

Max

five bucks says she does

Dan

youre on

Noah

i just wanna make it clear

that if she does show

D I B S

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #frat!tom

39 notes · View notes

newstfionline · 4 years

Text

Monday, November 16, 2020

After thousands of Trump supporters rally in D.C., violence erupts when night falls (AP) Several thousand supporters of President Donald Trump in Washington protested election results and then hailed Trump’s passing motorcade before nighttime clashes with counterdemonstrators sparked fistfights, at least one stabbing and at least 20 arrests. Several other cities on Saturday also saw gatherings of Trump supporters unwilling to accept Democrat Joe Biden’s Electoral College and popular vote victory as legitimate. Cries of “Stop the Steal” and “Count Every Vote” continued in spite of a lack of evidence of voter fraud or other problems that could reverse the result. After night fell, the relatively peaceful demonstrations in Washington turned from tense to violent. Videos posted on social media showed fistfights, projectiles and clubs as Trump supporters clashed with those demanding they take their MAGA hats and banners and leave. The tensions extended to Sunday morning. A variety of charges, including assault and weapons possession, were filed against those arrested, officials said. Two police officers were injured and several firearms were recovered by police.

Coronavirus Deaths Are Climbing Once Again (NYT) For weeks, as coronavirus cases spiked across the United States, deaths rose far more slowly, staying significantly lower than in the early, deadliest weeks of the nation’s outbreak in the spring. New treatments, many hoped, might slow a new wave of funerals. But now, signs are shifting: More than 1,000 Americans are dying of the coronavirus every day on average, a 50 percent increase in the last month. Twice this past week, there have been more than 1,400 deaths reported in a single day. “It’s getting bad and it’s potentially going to get a lot worse,” said Jennifer Nuzzo, an epidemiologist and senior scholar at the Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security.

US, Israel worked together to track and kill al-Qaida No. 2 (AP) The United States and Israel worked together to track and kill a senior al-Qaida operative in Iran earlier this year, a bold intelligence operation by the two allied nations that came as the Trump administration was ramping up pressure on Tehran. Four current and former U.S. officials said Abu Mohammed al-Masri, al-Qaida’s No. 2, was killed by assassins in the Iranian capital in August. The U.S. provided intelligence to the Israelis on where they could find al-Masri and the alias he was using at the time, while Israeli agents carried out the killing, according to two of the officials. The two other officials confirmed al-Masri’s killing but could not provide specific details. Al-Masri was gunned down in a Tehran alley on Aug. 7, the anniversary of the 1998 bombings of the U.S. embassies in Nairobi, Kenya, and Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. Al-Masri was widely believed to have participated in the planning of those attacks and was wanted on terrorism charges by the FBI.

Hurricane Iota heads for battered Honduras, Nicaragua (AP) Iota became the thirteenth hurricane of the Atlantic season early Sunday, threatening to bring another dangerous system to Nicaragua and Honduras—countries recently clobbered by a Category 4 Hurricane Eta. Iota was already a record-breaking system, being the 30th named storm of this year’s extraordinarily busy Atlantic hurricane season. The U.S. National Hurricane Center said Sunday morning that Iota had maximum sustained winds of 80 mph (130 kph), making it a Category 1 hurricane. But, forecasters said Iota would rapidly strengthen and was expected to be a major hurricane by the time it reaches Central America. The system was forecast to bring up to 30 inches (750 millimeters) of rain from northeast Nicaragua into northern Honduras. Costa Rica, Panama and El Salvador could also experience heavy rain and possible flooding, the hurricane center said.

Peru’s interim president resigns as chaos embroils nation (AP) Peru’s interim president resigned Sunday as the nation plunged into its worst constitutional crisis in two decades following massive protests unleashed when Congress ousted the nation’s popular leader. In a short televised address, Manuel Merino said Congress acted within the law when he was sworn into office as chief of state Tuesday, despite protesters’ allegations that legislators had staged a parliamentary coup. The politician agreed to step down after night of unrest in which two young protesters were killed and half his Cabinet resigned. Peruvians cheered the decision, waving their nation’s red and white flag on the streets of Lima and chanting “We did it!” But there is still no clear playbook for what comes next. Peru has much at stake: The country is in the throes of one of the world’s most lethal coronavirus outbreaks and political analysts say the constitutional crisis has cast the country’s democracy into jeopardy. “I think this is the most serious democratic and human rights crisis we have seen since Fujimori,” said analyst Alonso Gurmendi Dunkelberg, referring to the turbulent rule of strongman Alberto Fujimori from 1990 to 2000.

Lessons From Europe, Where Cases Are Rising But Schools Are Open (NPR) Mahua Barve lives in Frankfurt, Germany, with her husband, a son in first grade and twin daughters in kindergarten. All three children are currently attending school full time and in person. That’s despite a coronavirus surge that has led Germany to shut down restaurants, bars, theaters, gyms, tattoo parlors and brothels (which are legal in the country) for November. Schools were allowed to remain open. Despite the resurgence of the virus, Barve says, her children’s school’s careful safety strategies give her confidence. “When I see all the parents who are coming to pick up and drop off, they’re wearing masks. The teachers are always wearing masks. They’re doing their best to minimize risk. And as soon as something is detected, they are quarantining.” Across Europe, schools and child care centers are staying open even as much of the continent reports rising coronavirus cases, and even as many businesses and gathering places are shut or restricted. Countries such as France, the United Kingdom, Germany and Italy appear to be following the emerging evidence that schools have not been major centers of transmission of the virus, especially for young children. The U.S. has taken a different approach. As new cases climb above 100,000 per day, there are very few places in the U.S. where classrooms have remained full.

German government ad hails couch potatoes as virus heroes (AP) The German government has released a tongue-in-cheek ad hailing an unlikely hero in the fight against the coronavirus pandemic: the humble couch potato. The 90-second video posted online Saturday begins with an elderly man recalling his ‘service’ to the nation back when he was just a young student “in the winter of 2020, when the whole country’s eyes were on us.” “I had just turned 22 and was studying engineering,” he continues, “when the second wave hit.” With violins stirring at viewers’ heart strings, the setting switches to a scene of the narrator as a young man. “Suddenly the fate of this country lay in our hands,” he says. “So we mustered all our courage and did what was expected of us, the only right thing. We did nothing.” “Days and nights we stayed on our backsides at home and fought against the spread of the coronavirus,” the narrator continues. “Our couch was the front line and our patience was our weapon.” The ad ends with a government message that “you too can become a hero by staying at home.”

Austria orders three-week lockdown to rein in surging coronavirus cases (Reuters) Austria on Saturday ordered a three-week lockdown in a last-ditch effort to bring surging coronavirus cases under control and relieve the stress on the health service in time for retailers to reopen in the run-up to Christmas. The country had so far used a lighter touch in dealing with the second wave of cases than it did with the first outbreak. A nighttime curfew is in place from 8 p.m. to 6 a.m. this month but shops are open; cafes, bars and restaurants are limited to take-away service; theatres and museums are closed. The current nighttime curfew will become an all-day requirement to stay at home, with only some exceptions such as for shopping or exercise. Working from home should happen wherever possible. Non-essential shops will close, as will service providers such as hairdressers. Secondary schools have already switched to distance learning; primary schools and kindergartens will now follow suit but still provide childcare for those who need it.

900 reported arrested in Belarus protests (AP) A human rights group in Belarus said more than 900 people were arrested Sunday in protests around the country calling for authoritarian President Alexander Lukashenko to step down. The demonstrations continued the wave of near-daily protests that have gripped Belarus since early August. In the capital Minsk, police wielded clubs and used tear gas and water cannons to disperse thousands of demonstrators. The Viasna human rights organization reported detentions at demonstrations in other cities, including Vitebsk and Gomel. It said the nationwide arrest total was at least 928 and that some of those detained were beaten by police.

‘You Cannot Say No’: The Reign of Terror That Sustains Belarus’s Leader (NYT) Appalled by savage police violence at the start of Belarus’s would-be revolution, the host of a popular morning show on state television quit his job in protest and declared that his country’s veteran leader, no matter how brutal, would never “force Belarusians back into the box they existed in for these 26 years.” Arrested soon afterward and held in a grimy prison, the broadcaster, Denis Dudinsky, reappeared a few days later—this time with a video message calling on opponents of President Aleksandr G. Lukashenko to stop protesting. Asked what made him change his mind, Mr. Dudinsky declined to go into details, just remarking obliquely that “these people know how to formulate their requests in such a way that you cannot say no.” After nearly three months of protests that began with widespread anger over a rigged election, Mr. Lukashenko seems to be surviving the challenge to his power. He has managed this not just through harsh police tactics, hollow promises of reform or the passage of time. Rather, he has relied on a more insidious and often invisible machinery of persuasion, coercion and repression: a domestic security agency little changed from the Soviet era that, indeed, still uses its old Soviet name, the KGB. It controls a network of spies and monitors—known as “curators”—who oversee every establishment in the country, from schools and businesses to the presidential administration. Its agents collect compromising materials on just about anyone suspected of disloyalty and eavesdrop on the conversations of senior government officials to make sure they toe the party line.

ASEAN, China, other partners set world’s biggest trade pact (AP) China and 14 other countries agreed Sunday to set up the world’s largest trading bloc, encompassing nearly a third of all economic activity, in a deal many in Asia are hoping will help hasten a recovery from the shocks of the pandemic. The Regional Comprehensive Economic Partnership, or RCEP, was signed virtually on Sunday on the sidelines of the annual summit of the 10-nation Association of Southeast Asian Nations. The accord will take already low tariffs on trade between member countries still lower, over time. Apart from the 10-member Association of Southeast Asian Nations, it includes China, Japan, South Korea, Australia and New Zealand, but not the United States. It is not expected to go as far as the European Union in integrating member economies but does build on existing free trade arrangements.

Palestinians torn as Israel seeks Gulf tourists in Jerusalem (AP) When the United Arab Emirates agreed to normalize relations with Israel, the Palestinians decried the move as a “betrayal” of both Jerusalem, where they hope to establish the capital of their future state, and the Al-Aqsa mosque compound, the city’s holiest Muslim site. But with Israel now courting wealthy Gulf tourists and establishing new air links to the major travel hubs of Dubai and Abu Dhabi, Palestinians in east Jerusalem could soon see a tourism boon after months in which the coronavirus transformed the Holy City into a ghost town. “There will be some benefits for the Palestinian sector of tourism, and this is what I’m hoping for,” said Sami Abu-Dayyeh, a Palestinian businessman in east Jerusalem who owns four hotels and a tourism agency. “Forget about politics, we have to survive.” The prospect of expanded religious tourism could end up benefiting Israelis and Palestinians alike, as wealthy Gulf tourists and Muslim pilgrims from further afield take advantage of new air links and improved relations to visit Al-Aqsa and other holy sites.

Ethiopia’s Tigray leader confirms firing missiles at Eritrea (AP) The leader of Ethiopia’s rebellious Tigray region has confirmed firing missiles at neighboring Eritrea’s capital and is threatening more, marking a huge escalation as the deadly fighting in northern Ethiopia between Tigray forces and the federal government spills across an international border. The brewing civil war in Ethiopia between a regional government that once dominated the country’s ruling coalition, and a Nobel Peace Prize-winning prime minister whose sweeping reforms marginalized the Tigray region’s power, could fracture a key U.S. security ally and destabilize the strategic Horn of Africa, with the potential to send scores of thousands of refugees into Sudan. At least three rockets appeared to be aimed at the airport in Asmara, hours after the Tigray regional government warned it might attack. It accuses Eritrea of attacking at the invitation of Ethiopia’s government after the conflict in the Tigray region erupted on Nov. 4 with an attack by regional forces on a federal military base there.

UN food agency warns 2021 will be worse than 2020 (AP) The head of the World Food Program says the Nobel Peace Prize has given the U.N. agency a spotlight and megaphone to warn world leaders that next year is going to be worse than this year, and without billions of dollars “we are going to have famines of biblical proportions in 2021.” David Beasley said in an interview with The Associated Press that the Norwegian Nobel Committee was looking at the work the agency does every day in conflicts, disasters and refugee camps, often putting staffers’ lives at risk to feed millions of hungry people—but also to send “a message to the world that it’s getting worse out there ... (and) that our hardest work is yet to come.” Beasley likened the upcoming crisis to the Titanic saying “right now, we really need to focus on icebergs, and icebergs are famine, starvation, destabilization and migration.” Beasley said WFP needs $15 billion next year—$5 billion just to avert famine and $10 billion to carry out the agency’s global programs including for malnourished children and school lunches which are often the only meal youngsters get.

#headlines #news

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prorevenge · 5 years

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Made these kids work for 9 months for NOTHING!

Okay so a little background before I start my story.

My name is Patrick. I am 18 years old and I’m an Eagle Scout. To get Eagle in my troop you have lead a 50 mile hiking or canoeing trip which typically lasts a week or more. For my leadership I got a long three week trip to Alaska (which is pretty substantial since we live in a city that borders Mexico.) One week for hiking, one for canoeing, and one for touring. This requires we start planning at least 9 months in advance. I am one of two main leaders for this trip and there is one assistant leader to help us.

I’ve changed their names for privacy reasons.

Andy - The other main leader on the trip going for Eagle.

Robert - The assistant leader assigned to help us.

Mr. Sammy - My scoutmaster.

Let’s start from the beginning. Since the trip is in June - July we start planning in August - September. We start out pretty smooth. Andy and I get an idea of who’s going and how much the trip will cost per person while Robert manages payments and some paperwork. Things are good. Later on we start to lose track of our work and get lazy (since the trip is like 8 months away). So Mr. Sammy starts laying into us calling us a bad leadership team.

This is where my battle with Andy and Robert begins.

For some reason unbeknownst to me Andy and Robert decided it was my fault the leadership team had temporarily fallen apart. They team up and decide it’s Me vs Them (which is a really bad way to approach this trip). They don’t talk to me and hide things from me. When I do paperwork they decide not to take it and do it themselves. Whenever Mr. Sammy gets mad about ANYTHING they instantly look for a way to pin the blame on me.

I decide rather than fighting with them I try to reach out and communicate to maybe save the Alaska trip dream team. That didn’t really work. Every single time I talk to them Robert decides to lash back at me for minor things being as rude and condescending as possible. Andy (who hasn’t done anything for the trip) just stands behind him with his thumb up his ass. Keep in mind most of this occurs over text. After I’ve reached out as much as possible I decide “okay motherfuckers. You wanna fight? I’ll fight.” But not in the way you’d think.

Flash forward to maybe 4 months before the trip. Up to this point Robert has done most of the paperwork (since he was deliberately hiding it from me) and has managed all of the payments while Andy has been standing around with his thumb up his ass doing whatever Robert says. Mr. Sammy looks at me like I’m a bag of shit left on his front porch.

This is where the fun begins.

As soon as I get the chance I take all of the up to date paperwork from e-mail to Mr. Sammy from Robert and copy it to my computer. After that I see that the excel documents this kid has made are a TOTAL clusterfuck so I reformat them and update the information to look really uniform and pretty (even if your document is full of bullshit having it look pretty is half the battle). From this point on the paperwork is in my control. I send and e-mail to Mr. Sammy with the subject “UPDATED ALASKA PAPERWORK (insert date)”. From that point on the old man only excepts my copy which Robert and Andy don’t have. Even if they download it from my email I make sure to be the one who updates it and emails it first. I copy my two “partners” on every single email to Mr. Sammy just to say “look at me”.

From that point on I control all of the paperwork. Payments, IDs, the roster, the tip calendar, everyone’s contact info, etc. I have it all under lockdown and make sure Mr. Sammy knows it in every email I send him.

The problem is now that when anything goes wrong there’s even more of a reason for Robert and Andy to verbally assault me and put all the blame on me. But I have my battle plan. I just play it cool. Everything Robert says I just answer “okay, is that all?” And when he’s done I say “thanks for the feedback I’ll keep that in mind.” I’ll give you an example of one of these conversations.

Me: (to a group chat with Andy and Robert) okay guys I updated the roster and other stuff. Robert has anyone else made a payment recently?

Robert: Maybe.

Me: Maybe?

Robert: You’re missing a lot of info on the payment roster. This kind of carelessness is going to cost me my leadership and I won’t stand for it.

(at this point I think “that’s why I’m asking you this dip shit” but I keep cool)

Andy: I agree.

(“As always” I think)

Me: Thats too bad. Would you update me on those payments so I can get it updated?

Robert: I guess. he then gives me all the payment info I need

Me: Thanks Robert! 😄

These conversations always made me want to rip my hair out, but by playing it cool and keeping calm and being nice I never really gave them any reason to go after me. Now they don’t have anything to give to Mr. Sammy to make me look bad. Just them being rude to me while I say things like “Thanks Robert! 😄”

This ended up making the two so mad that they spent most of their time trying to make me look bad and trying to make me mad that they didn’t spend any time working on the planning for the trip. This was fine by me even though I had to play attrition with these guys every night for months over text message. All I cared was that I was looking good, and I was. They weren’t which made them even more mad.

When it comes time to distribute the food we need for the trip I also take that over not letting the other two touch it so they can fuck it up and blame it on me. To be fair I could’ve done a way better job at this but I did get the job done and we had all the food we needed for 2 weeks away from civilization (almost).

After 9 months of ripping my greying hairs out for having to deal with these two annoying pestering balls of hate we are finally flying from our hometown up to Alaska to go on this trip. Andy and Robert decide to sit back and blend in with the crowd of scouts in khaki uniforms which is perfect for me. I step up making it obvious that I was in charge and leading the scouts through each airport. When we land I make sure to get everyone dressed into their hiking clothes in the airport and packed for the hiking trip. (It was past midnight in the airport so no one was around to watch us change.) after that we take a bus to the trailhead.

At this point I have stepped up as much as I can for Mr. Sammy and he noticed pretty well. He also notices Robert and Andy blending in with the crowd not doing anything. I speculate that they probably didn’t want to associate with me because they expected me to mess up and didn’t want to be a part of that mess up. Jokes on them. I’m looking pretty good at this point.

1st day of hiking. We run into a problem. Two of these stupid younger scouts have forgotten they’re dehydrated meat so now we have to divide up the other meat but first have to figure out who has it (I didn’t keep good track of who had what food item which I’m willing to admit is my fault entirely). I notice that after like 36 hours of idleness Robert and Andy have sprung into action to document what food item EVERYONE is carrying. You might think I’d try to stop them but I just thought “hey they’re finally doing something.” I offered them my help multiple times which they refused so I simply sat back and watched.

After they documented everything they called me over to talk. I knew I was about to get a meaningless lecture from a pasty Jewish kid and his Mexican buddy short enough to be speedy Gonzales. It went down exactly as I thought it would. They told me basically...

“This is all your fault and you need to acknowledge that. You didn’t even help us fix it and you really need to start stepping up because you’re making US look bad.” They continued to go on bus that summarizes what the said.

I simply asked “is that all” and then went to bed. I could practically feel the heat from their foreheads as they got angrier and angrier.

To make a long story short I did really really well leading the hiking trip according to scoutmaster Sammy. After we had finished he came up to me and told me I’d done a great job. As far as he was concerned I had earned my leadership requirement for eagle but Andy hadn’t and Robert wasn’t doing well either. He asked me to supervise they’re leadership for the week long canoeing trip and week long touring section.

At this point I had them right where I wanted them. I knew Andy and Robert didn’t have what it took to lead a trip this big, so I sat back and watched them struggle. It was great.

The canoeing portion went awful. Andy and Robert broke our propane stoves on the first day! The food was awful and they never planned ahead one bit. I offered to help but always got turned down. I knew they would do that.

After canoeing came the touring part of the trip which went even worse.

For a portion of our touring trip we stayed in a public park in a small town. Andy and Robert decided it would be a grand idea to leave their stuff outside of their tents at night where anyone could see them. Come morning time and their backpacks were GONE! Not only did they lose their scout uniforms but also their cellphones and wallets! I acted like I cared but on the inside I was laughing my ass off.

Later we stayed in an army barracks in anchorage. Mr Sammy told Andy and I to get the scouts to bed by 10:00 but we both totally forgot. Come 10:20 I was doing laundry for everyone while Andy and Robert were messing around in a community room. People were laughing and playing cards and even showering. Mr. Sammy has just returned from dinner with an old friend and he was FURIOUS to find people still awake. I could hear him chewing out Andy in the hallway. He came into the laundry room and yelled at my friend and I.

“PATRICK! WHY ARE YOU TWO STILL AWAKE!”

“We are doing laundry for the scouts sir.”

“Oh... okay.”

AND HE WALKED OUT WITHOUT PAYING ME ANY ATTENTION! He then proceeded to chew out Andy harder and harder for letting people stay awake. He ended up getting all of the blame. Watching him get yelled at was like seeing fireworks in 1830. Beautiful.

Now, almost a year later, I am an Eagle Scout. In case you didn’t figure it out, Andy and Robert didn’t get credit for leadership on this trip. 9 MONTHS OF WORK DOWN THE DRAIN!!! Andy hasn’t even started writing up his eagle project (which is a ton of awful paperwork in my troop). He actually didn’t come to any meetings for like 2 months after the trip. Robert has been scrambling endlessly to make up for his lost leadership which is really fun to watch.

Now I just drive my brothers to the meetings on Tuesdays and get to watch the pair give me dirty looks. It honestly makes me feel ecstatic. 9 months of dealing with their bullshit every night and 3 weeks of taking it face to face in the woods and it was all worth it!

If you made it this far, thanks for reading! Feel free to share this story anywhere.

(source) story by (/u/IF_RealTrap)

#prorevenge #by /u/IF_RealTrap #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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thethoughtsfromthreeam · 4 years

Text

Lady of the Lake

Pairing: Ginger Ale/Elizabeth x Merlin/Hamish

Warnings: Smut

A/N: We’re now in the same modern day timeline as California. You’ll probably wanna read Chapters 8 through 12 if you’re lost.

Reminder: I haven’t seen Kingsman: The Golden Circle, so I’m just using the Wikia, IMDB.com, some gifs, and my own weird ass brain to make up this whole ass story.

Tag List:

@zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @tarrevizslas , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale [please message me to be added or subtracted if you were just here for some Jack Daniels goodness! I don’t want people being tagged in something they don’t want]

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

Part 6

California Dreaming

Today

Ginger was typing away on some notes when the door to the tech room opened. She looked up and saw Shirley walk in with her arms full of folders and books, looking every inch of the spectacular researcher she was. She stopped at Ginger’s desk and set down a large folder stuffed with papers. She looked up when Ginger spoked to her.

“Hey friend, I wasn’t expecting to see you today!” Her voice and smile were cheery, but it faltered a bit when she really looked at Shirl. Though the librarian’s voice didn’t give anything away, something seemed off about her.

“Hey Ging, here’s that file you asked for. I’m still working on it, but I didn’t want to delay what I already had for you so you could get started.” While her voice held steady, Ginger sense that something was wrong only grew. Her questioning face was answered with a tight smile and shoulder squeeze. “I’ll see you later, ya?”

“Of course.” Came the reply. Ginger knew better than to push her friend, but she worried, nonetheless. The research she requested was on three dead agents connected to the Chicago office and she opened her file as Shirley left the room and began to go over the case contents. Her work on the California case was heating up and she was certain she had been able to track the killer’s patterns.

She wondered if Shirley’s behavior was tied to the subject matter. She never said anything directly to her, but Ginger wondered if she should start asking someone other than Shirley to help on this case given her deep connection to it. Even if the woman insisted everything was fine, her friends secretly thought Shirley was just telling them what she thought they wanted to hear.

She was engrossed in her readings when Merlin shoved open the door and strode up to her. She looked up and smiled before she saw his face. It immediately fell when she saw the serious look he sported and began to worry when he saw the panic in his eyes. Merlin doesn’t panic, but he was now.

“He’s here, m’eudail.”

“What? Who?”

“The killer you’ve been hunting. He was in the library and spoked to Shirl.” Ginger’s gasp was loud, and she dropped the file that was in her hand. He stood next to her, but before he could say anything, Chai’s radio went off and Champ’s voice filled the room alerting her to the situation.

Ginger began to feel a creeping cold in her chest at his tone – he sounded scared. She looked through her windows towards the library across the hall when she saw Tequila stalk by with his rifle out and the doors to the library swung open as Jack strode through. Oh god, oh god, oh god, she thought.

“Oh god, Hamish!” In her fear she used his real name in the lab without thinking about it and in his concern, he didn’t notice. He put his hand on her shoulder and nodded towards the CCTV monitors. She nodded back and they hurried over, with Chai on their tail. With thirty monitors, three sets of eyes were needed.

“Focus on the library, Elizabeth, he was in there with Shirley.” Her hands shook at the thought that her sister had been in the same room as the killer, as the man who tortured her all those years ago. The cold in her chest soon felt like a block of ice and she tried not to panic. The last time she felt such cold was five years ago and she forced herself not to think of California or its aftermath.

“I don’t see anyone out of place on this thing, though and no one going into the library.” Merlin’s voice was rough with frustration. She looked over at him. She realized he didn’t know half of it.

“We think he’s a Statesman.” His head whipped around to look at her. “Everything Shirley uncovered years ago and everything I’ve been working on points to it. He knows our tricks, Hamish, he’s going to be hard to find because we taught him how to stay hidden from sight.”

Jack entered the room, clearly trying to keep his fear and anger in check. “Anything?” He asked, his voice giving him away.

“Give me a minute, we’re still scanning the halls.” Ginger murmured as her face was practically against her screen, looking for something that would tell her where the bastard was. “I didn’t see him leave the library after the call came over the radio, so he had to leave before.”

She suddenly stopped and Merlin looked at her with heavy concern. They both turned to Jack and yelled in unison, “Whiskey, the boardroom!”

Jack looked stunned and paused a moment before he whirled around and ran out of the tech room. Ginger ran to Chai’s desk and grabbed the radio to relay her findings to the rest of the team. Chai stood still next to the monitors while Ginger ran to a lockbox in the lab.

She drew out her keys and unlocked it, revealing several guns. She pulled out one and checked to see if it was full. She put the safety on and tucked it into the waistband of her pants before turning around to Merlin. He nodded and they left the room.

Ginger took a hard left at the end of the hall and she saw a small crowd already gathering at the doorway to the board room. Champ stood in front of it, arms out and blocking access to inside. Brandy, Vodka, and Tequila, along with a few other agents were standing outside the door, watching the events inside unfold. Even from the hallway, Ginger could hear Jack’s voice.

They elbowed their way to the front and Ginger lightly gasped when she saw Jack tussling with what must have been the killer. She felt both Tequila and Merlin each grab a hand and she clung to them for dear life. Her eyes wandered over the Shirley, who stood in the corner not looking the least bit afraid. The tightness in her chest eased at the sight, but she was still worried for Jack.

The fight seemed to last forever and when the killer slammed Jack into the ground several times while strangling him, Ginger couldn’t hold back her sobs. Her friend was being killed and Champ wasn’t doing anything about it. She felt Tequila’s hand get tighter and she glanced over and saw his cheek muscles jumping. She knew he wanted to jump in and save Jack. They were like brothers and it pained him to see it all go down the way it was.

“Oh my god.” Brandy’s voice behind Ginger made her jump and she looked back into the room just in time to see Shirley drop a plant pot on the killer’s head before stepping back.

“What the fuck?” he screamed as he turned around. Shirley stood there looking at him.

“Get off of him.” Her voice was low. He laughed.

“Aww, the kitten has come to protect her man.”

“I said, get off him, you fucking prick.” Ginger gasped and dropped both men’s hands to cover her mouth. The man turned to her and the cold that seemed to ease a few moments ago grew bigger in her chest until she saw Shirley draw a gun and point it at the man. When the gun went off, Ginger jumped a mile and let out a squeak. She then watched the woman she’d spent five years trying to avenge walk over and sit on the man until he bled out.

She started to cry again as Shirley ran over to Jack and they kissed. The killer was dead, and this exhausting saga was done. Champ stepped aside and Tequila and Ginger ran to their friends. They fell into a heap and Ginger kissed Shirley on the cheek and hugged her before Tequila grabbed her. Ginger held her hand out to Jack who took it and smiled at her. Their foursome remained unbroken.

Merlin stayed back at the door with Champ, watching the scene unfold before him. His heart eased at the lightness on Ginger’s face and when he was asked to stay to help with the aftermath, he heartily agreed. Happy endings weren’t staple in their work, especially for cases like this one, so he wanted to enjoy it while he could.

It was over.

---***---

Several Days Later

“So, here’s what I know and what Malbec and I assumed. . .” The authority in Shirley’s voice filled the room and she, along with Ginger, Merlin, Chai, Tequila, and Champ closed out one of the agency’s longest running cases. A serial killer had operated inside the organization for years and over forty agents, recruits, and even retirees had been murdered by one Agent Kirsch out of the Austin office. Chai worked the computer, compiling the reports while Ginger created the digital timeline. She looked at back at the faces on her screen and her heart clenched at so many lives lost.

“Ginger, call Jackson Hole, Port . . . I mean Kirsch . . . said he killed a female agent from their office two weeks ago.” Merlin made the call instead and as they watched, the headshot of a woman with sparkling green eyes and curly red hair looked back at the crew as it popped up on the screen. She had been known as Agent Bourbon and she had been only thirty-three when she was tortured and killed. They all sat silent and Chai’s quiet sniffles could be heard.

“God, I hope that is the last of them.” Champ’s voice was roughened with emotion. Knowing so many of his agents had been killed so brutally by one of their own was heartbreaking. But the bastard was dead, and he knew that they had to be better about ferreting out these kinds of agents and getting rid of them – by any means necessary.

“I’ll notify the offices of this news and I’ll work with Cooper, Tannin, and Oak to create new policy to stop this shit.” Champ stood up. “The least we can do is make sure this never happens again and that no one can use our work against us. But first, I’m calling Austin. I’ve had it with Rum.”

Ginger couldn’t help the smile the played on her lips. Looks like he was getting Mezcal as Austin’s new chief agent after all. Shirley also stood and said her good-byes before leaving for lunch with Jack. Tequila and Chai sat together, talking quietly and Ginger briefly wondered if anything was going on between the two of them. Elizabeth, you got sex on the brain, she scolded herself before turning back to Champ.

Merlin sat at the desk working on the digital files while Ginger and Champ chatted about technical protocols that they could put in place now.

“Damn. I think I need Shirley back; I have questions.” Merlin looked at Ginger. Champ held up his hand before reaching for the phone and calling his assistant, Tannin.

“Go waylay Shirley before she and Jack leave. We need her here.” He nodded a few times before hanging up. “She’ll get Shirl.”

As they continued to talk, Tequila walked up to them and joined the conversation. Much of the work he and Chai did gave them some understanding of a final count, but he was certain they wouldn’t ever know the final number. When Shirley walked in, she was smiling at everyone and Merlin pulled her aside. She stayed for an hour and together the two had a completed case file to share with the rest of the Statesman offices. The look of satisfaction on everyone’s faces was contagious and the dark cloud was fully dissipated, the five-year saga was at an end.

“Let’s get lunch, Ging, I’m starving.” Shirley looped her arm through her friend’s. No. Her sister.

“Aren’t you having it with Jack?”

“Not anymore, he’s gotta be in his meeting with Brandy about those transfers about now. I think they’re going to be the last ones for a while. Kingsman is almost at capacity.”

“Then sure.”

“Good, then I can give you an earful for interrupting me before Jack could rail me on his damn desk.” Shirley said quietly as she glared at her friend and Ginger coughed in shock before laughing almost manically. Shirl just kept walking out the door, dragging the hysterical woman along with her. Sometimes sisters could be such little shits to each other.

#ginger ale #halle berry #merlin #mark strong #ginger ale x merlin #fanfic #kingsman: the golden circle

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tysonrunningfox · 5 years

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Ripped: Part 11

Why are they like this? Why? What is even their issue?

Ao3

Astrid is a believer in hard work.

There are very few obstacles in life that can’t be overcome with determination, willingness to get her hands dirty, and dedication to the cause. However, deciphering her feelings while sitting across a dingy bar table from Hiccup’s sharp jaw and green eyes, holding a beer she got from her best friend’s cousin who now only owes her forty-seven dollars while said best friend and Hiccup’s cousin hook up might be one of those outlying obstacles.

And that’s not even unpacking the fact that she only met Hiccup because he was giving serial killer tours to her apartment, the past tense being because a new set of twin murders interrupted his route with the promise of further interruptions. And then that gets even more complicated because not only did she and Hiccup kiss while she was at work, but later that same night she was with him when they discovered the second murder victim, seconds after she accidentally called him sexy.

Or not him specifically, but something he did, and that’s almost worse.

And she might be able to scrape together some plan of attack for all of that, but adding the fact that he also happened to discover the first body after a middle of the night private serial killer tour he gave her where they were caught trespassing and practically hugging on camera pushes it over the edge.

She’s lost.

And there’s the whole thing he’s been in custody twice in as many weeks but she still can’t stop thinking about how he looked at her, like he absolutely couldn’t handle not kissing her for another second. Even though she was being stubborn and loud and forcing her opinion on him. Maybe even because of those things.

Neither of them knew what to say while they finished their drinks and their interaction devolved into silence occasionally punctuated by people watching commentary. He offered to walk her home, but she took an Uber because as safe as Berk’s new condo developments brag about being, she doesn’t live in one of those.

She lives in yet another Grimborn murder site, likely on a list to be revisited.

Yet another complication.

“You’re thinking about that ship roster really hard,” Fishlegs sits down at his desk, flicking through his meticulously maintained planner.

She half wonders what Fishlegs would say about her current conundrums. He’s got the kind of analytical approach she can really admire, but his opinion of Hiccup is clear and deserved. It was Hiccup who pushed her against the bookcase and threatened his precious encyclopedias, after all.

“It’s complicated.”

“Want to talk about it?”

She thinks a minute, “no.”

Astrid doesn’t want to talk about it. She wants to do something about it, she just doesn’t know what to do.

Hiccup (4:23pm): hey are you at work?

She hates how the silent implication makes her cheeks burn.

Astrid (4:24pm): yeah

Hiccup (4:25pm): oh cool, would you mind if I dropped by and got a copy of that Al, I. Safe picture to laminate? The one you gave me is wearing out quick and it’s smeared not that you care I’m sure it smeared in your fervent quest to prove me wrong

Astrid hates how she can’t deny that her stomach flips. If Fishlegs repeated his concern right now, she’s not sure what she’d say, but he disappeared into the back room to organize new donations.

Astrid (4:27pm): sure

Hiccup (4:28pm): be there in like 5?

Her heart stutters and she tries not to care. She can’t help but hate how she left it at the bar, the weird backward walk towards the door, the insistence that she get a ride rather than walk. And now she has to deal with another random, instantaneous meeting? She needs time and planning and for it to occur away from Hiccup’s undeniable pull.

She tries to focus exclusively on her work but every time she hears the door open she jumps and has to reread at least a paragraph. The first is the mail, the second is someone lost and hoping for the library upstairs, but the third is Hiccup, determinedly faking casual as he trots down the stairs with uneven strides she still wants to ask about.

“Hey!” He says too brightly and Astrid purposefully takes a second too long to look up.

“Hi.”

He pauses a couple feet in front of her desk and swallows hard. He shaved recently, and he looks younger and sharper and somehow more likely to catch her off guard.

“Are you doing something super important for the future of Berk’s history’s maintenance or…”

She can’t quite stifle her smile, “not really.”

“Great,” he grins wider, all crooked teeth and genuine excitement and everything would be so much easier if Astrid’s heart didn’t skip like a turntable in a hurricane. “So, Al. I, safe message? If you don’t mind…”

“Right, sure,” she stands up too quickly, chair rolling back a few feet and smacking into a bookshelf.

“No rush,” Hiccup laughs, shoulders rigid and hands waving at her chair, “wouldn’t want you to break something in your excitement to help me copy something.”

“I haven’t put it away since last week, I still need to talk to Fishlegs about how we’d recategorize it as Grimborn-related,” she ignores his comment about breaking things and leaves her chair where it is, leading him down the familiar aisle between old yellowed papers to the table she set her findings out on.

“Does that mean there’s a special stack you send Grimborn-ologists to so that you don’t have to talk to us?”

“Well, that would be my solution,” she flips carefully through the paper to the picture, trying not to think about the vague wrinkles in the print from his hand clenching as he kissed her. “But currently Fishlegs’s solution is to just send them all my way.”

“Let me guess, it’s been busy?” He skirts around mentioning the recent murders, but it doesn’t matter. Sometimes it feels like all she talks about lately, as she leads curious, insensitive people to documents she then has to make sure they don’t take as a souvenir.

She nods, “I hate to say you’re right, but you are pretty well adjusted, considering the crowd as a whole.”

“What makes you say that?” He cocks his head, reverently taking the paper from her and following towards the copier. The encyclopedias mock her when his hand brushes against her arm.

“You know, there was the guy who wanted his girlfriend to lay on the floor to pose like Elizabeth Smith,” she wrinkles her nose, “but I don’t know how even that compares to the guy who got angry at me because I didn’t magically produce modern crime scene photos to compare to vintage ones. He claimed this was a ‘decaying institution’ because I explained we obviously don’t have access to current police case documentation.”

“What an idiot,” Hiccup snorts, “this is a historical archive, there are obvious environmental controls to prevent decay.”

“That’s bad,” she doesn’t understand how he can melt more stiff tension than she can think through with a bad joke, it must go hand in hand with how he made her feel safe in dark alleys when logic and reality continually affirm she was anything but. “Come on, that was lame.”

“It got a smile,” he says, self-satisfied but not smug, and his eyes narrow when he sees the copier, “we meet again, old friend.”

“What?”

“The copier and I have history, remember? I tried to copy a comic book three years ago and jammed it up,” he sets the paper down picture up on the work table and pats the top of the copier with a careful hand, “the foundation of Fishlegs and my blood feud, as you put it.”

“Right,” she takes the paper and carefully folds it back to align the picture with the corner, “maybe I should press the buttons then, I wouldn’t want to involve myself in that drama.”

The copier is probably older than some of the archive’s collections and it takes a minute to turn on, its wheezing fan turning the silence awkward as Astrid’s worries whir back to life along with it. Hiccup is alternating between staring at his feet and the side of her face, brows furrowed.

“Thanks for letting me come by, by the way, and for the picture. And for finding the picture, in the first place, even though you were only doing it to prove me wrong, which you did, it clearly does have punctuation—but that’s not what I mean.” He doesn’t pause to breathe so much as to let the mental gears behind his eyes rotate fully so that he can pick back up where he got off track. “I uh…I guess I understand all the very real reasons you probably want nothing to do with me—”

“What?” She turns to face him, frowning.

“I’m just saying I get it, and I appreciate you being cool about it even as I’m…practically having a spasm over here trying to talk to you,” he laughs, high pitched and nasal, his arms flailing and smacking the copier. It coughs and she has to press the start button again. “And considering the size and scale of ass I made of myself at Gruff’s the other day, I get that other things that might have ummm…been said or occurred are likely voided, as it were—not that there was any kind of contract when you said and did them, I was just amazed someone as, you know, astounding as you seemed to be starting to like me, maybe—”

“Hiccup,” she reflexively puts her hand on his shoulder, sure that if she doesn’t hold him down he’ll vibrate into another dimension, “I let you give tours to my apartment, do you think I’d do that if I didn’t like you?”

“Oh,” he thinks on that for a second, eyes darting to her hand on his shoulder, and she carefully retracts it, flushing as he half smiles. She gets that bone deep feeling she’s going to regret what she just said as he opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it and presses his lips together in a tight line.

The copier spits out a single, un-smeared picture and he reaches for it, already leaning away from her like he’s planning a great escape. That isn’t allowed and she grabs it before he can, setting it on the small table behind her and crossing her arms.

“What’s your problem, Hiccup?”

“Problem?” He blinks, long eyelashes adding to the innocent façade, “I wouldn’t say I have a problem, I think I just—the long and short of it is I met someone really…amazing, but I pissed her off before I even officially met her and for some reason she forgave me enough to go on a private tour with me and it felt—I don’t know, like we—but it doesn’t matter, probably, because then there was a murder. Except maybe it does matter because then we kissed and it was,” he’s so red he’s practically glowing but his frantic energy is dissipating with every word, like he’s exorcising himself of it, “and then we found another murder victim, together, which isn’t my ideal date or not date or…activity.”

“Mine either.”

“It’s not the association I really wanted, you know?” He winces but his chuckle is real, “but at the same time I don’t blame you if you look at me and see, you know, a modern times Grimborn murder re-enactment scene.”

“I don’t,” she looks at him a little too hard, taking in his open, nervous expression and the hope there that he’s trying and failing to put out. “You know, your problem sounds pretty similar to a problem I’m having right now.”

“Yeah?” He isn’t bad at pretending to relax, but his stiff upper body doesn’t fool her, “did me blurting it all out like an idiot help?”

“Maybe,” her small smile feels tired, “at least we’re on the same page.”

“That’s all I’ve been hoping for since you found this picture,” he points at his copy, “which is still amazing, by the way, I don’t think I’ve said that enough.”

“Just another thing wrapped up in Grimborn.” She shakes her head, “my apartment, my job, my…” She looks at him importantly, fumbling for a word that could encompass everything he just said and the way she feels when she looks at him. Excited and comfortable at all the wrong times.

“So we just don’t talk about Grimborn then,” Hiccup shrugs, shoulders forcefully easy as he leans back against the copier, knuckles white where his hands are gripping his upper arms.

“What else are we going to talk about?” Astrid pulls the original Enquirer out of the copier and folds it carefully on the table next to it, trying not to feel his eyes boring into the side of her head.

She knows he doesn’t ignore advantages and this time it makes her hold her breath.

“We could talk about the fact that you like me,” his voice dips at the end, conspiratorial, and Astrid can’t shake the feeling that the papers are listening, adding information to their tightly stacked volumes and storing it for later. “I’m kind of still wondering how I managed that.”

“Who says it’s not your Grimborn knowledge?” She wishes he was wearing the hat. The hat makes him bold and winking and silly, an act she can act back at. He’s vulnerable in an unzipped jacket and band tee-shirt she wants to ask him about and it’s an invitation to be vulnerable too.

She usually clicks tentative yes on those, hoping people get it means no.

“I thought we weren’t talking about him.”

Astrid can imagine all of those stories in all of those papers, all the people largely forgotten and lost in their own environmentally controlled, ink preserving worlds, turning away out of a well-deserved kind of respect. She keeps their secrets legible after all, the least they can do is keep her secret.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I can be a little intense,” she edges closer, finger messing with the copier buttons while she drags her eyes to his. Green even in the dingy corner of the room, soft and shy and locked on hers like he’s not going to let either of those things stop him.

“A little?” The corner of his mouth quirks into a quiet half smile, eyes squinting with that eternal curiosity that feels heavy and light and warm when directed at her. She could bring up Grimborn and re-direct it, but as convenient as that would be, she doesn’t want to.

“Most people want me to back off,” she tucks her hair behind her ear and watches him suppress a smile, “you don’t.”

“Back off? As in decrease the intensity?” He laughs, long arms flailing, hand brushing her arm and shrinking back, cautious and hopeful and jittery. “Never, why would—if anything increase it. More is better, right?”

She lets it hang long enough for him to get nervous, for the hope to condense into worry and indecision and the urge to open his mouth to keep convincing, “more intense then, is what you’re saying?”

“I umm,” he clears his throat, eyes scanning her face like he’s checking that she’s real and giving her reason to prove that she is, “wouldn’t mind. I welcome it, actually.”

Somehow, he still manages to be surprised when she grabs the back of his neck to pull him down to her, hands flailing and hitting the copier again when she kisses him.

Astrid will never admit to anyone, personalities trapped in hundred-year-old papers included, how many hours of sleep she lost not to thinking about murder, but to lamenting the fact that Hiccup kissed her before she kissed him. The cheek doesn’t count, that was impulsive and embarrassing and looking back with what she knows now, everything would be a lot less complicated if she’d acted on her full impulse then.

He wouldn’t have been stumbling on a body fifteen minutes later, for a start.

Kissing him first is better, she likes his shocked pause and sharp inhalation against her cheek before coming back to life with soft, careful lips.

It’s good for a lot of reasons that Hiccup recovers quickly from shock, but right now the only one that matters is his hands settling warm on her hips and pulling her closer. He kisses like he talks, meandering and endless, lips pressing trailing anecdotes along her jaw while she desperately wants him to get to the point.

The copier creaks and chimes when she leans harder against him, one hand in his hair and the other sliding under his jacket to feel the sharp lines of his shoulder blades. He feels stronger than he looks and his light grip on her hips feels teasing, half the story when she needs it all now. She nips at his lower lip to hurry him along and he manages to stumble while standing still, fingers digging into her sides for support at the sharp snap of breaking plastic behind him.

“Shit,” Astrid pulls back and Hiccup kisses down her neck, nose dragging along the collar of her shirt and making her shiver, “we’re breaking the copier.”

“I’ve fixed it before,” his breath is cool against the damp trail he left under her jaw and she closes her eyes, willing herself to pull back.

“Astrid is the one to talk about Grimborn with, it’s not really my specialty,” Fishlegs voice shatters the tension and she stands up too fast, straightening her shirt and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

Hiccup is not as quick, staring at her with a dazed, open expression, lips kiss swollen and hair sticking up on one side. She grabs his hand and pulls him away from the copier, swearing when one of the plastic trim pieces clatters to the floor, the clips on one side snapped off.

“Fix it fast,” she shoves it into his limp hands, trying and failing to pat down his hair as another voice joins Fishlegs’s.

“Ah yes, Astrid, I’ve been waiting to meet her,” it’s accented and polite, but something about it sends a chill up Astrid’s spine that has nothing to do with Hiccup struggling to make the trim piece stay in place.

“Oh?” Fishlegs is defensive, again, and she’s really going to have to talk to him about that.

“For the investigation.”

“Do you have duct tape?” Hiccup whispers, but it’s too late as Fishlegs is coming around the corner with a tall man in a gray uniform that matches the sinister undertone in his voice. Hiccup thinks fast and leans back against the copier again, holding the trim piece in place and waving at the newcomers.

“Hey Fishlegs,” he says brightly, despite Fishlegs’s scowl, and then his voice drops flat and unimpressed, “Mr. Grisly.”

“I should have expected to find you two together again,” the man in gray holds out his hand and when Astrid shakes it, it’s icy, not even vital enough to be clammy. “Mr. Grisly, head of the Neighborhood Watch Force, I’ve been invited to help investigate the recent murders and I understand you were unlucky enough to encounter a victim.”

“Yes,” she resists the urge to wipe her hand on her pants when he lets go, “I gave my statement to the police.”

“Of course, I’ve read it.” His grin is as dead as his touch, everything animated about him condensed in his eyes. “You have an interesting perspective on all of these unfortunate happenings.”

Saying luck and fortune too many times too close together makes them sound like badly veiled intention.

“I wouldn’t say I have much of a perspective at all,” Astrid shrugs, tucking her hands in her pockets, “all of it is in that statement.”

“You were hear to ask about Grimborn,” Fishlegs cuts into the conversation and Astrid is surprised that she doesn’t mind his protective tone for once, “I can actually help you with that.”

“Actually, I don’t think I’ll be needing your help, not with the real Hiccup Haddock expert right here.” Mr. Grisly gestures at Hiccup with those waxy fingers and he raises his eyebrows, shifting against the copier with a scrape of plastic that would be funny and awkward in any other tense situation. Here though, it just sounds like a pin dropping during a stealth mission, a weakness on display to someone looking out for one.

“I wouldn’t call myself a Hiccup Haddock expert,” Hiccup laughs, deflecting, “I know myself maybe a five out of ten at best, you might want to talk to Officer Jorgenson about that one.”

“I was speaking of the Viggo Grimborn suspect Admiral Hiccup Haddock,” Grisly’s chuckle is gravel thrown through a window, all solid malice and sharp edges, “although it does inform the current case to hear how clueless you are about your own actions.”

“Not my actions so much as my intentions,” Hiccup blanches, shrugging like there’s some hope of pulling this situation back towards the casual. “And my reasoning. Basically my trajectory in life, but I’m pretty solid on my own actions. What do you want to know about Admiral Haddock?”

“I’m just curious about the connection.”

“There’s no connection, the original book is fiction,” he elbows Astrid for corroboration, “right? You’ve read it.”

“Bad fiction,” she agrees and Mr. Grisly smiles.

“My favorite. Can you recommend me a version?”

“Uh,” Hiccup looks at Astrid out of the corner of his eye, realizing he’ll have to move, and she tries to look casual putting her hand on the piece of loose trim. Her fingers brush a little low on his back when she does and she can’t hide her blush with a stoic expression so she just tries to avoid Fishlegs’s eyeline. “Sure, I know where they are in the library upstairs.”

“How helpful,” Grisly’s approximation of delight is more menacing for his dedication to it.

“Anything for the investigation,” Hiccup steps carefully away from the copier and looks at Astrid seriously for a second, “talk to you later?”

“I’m sure you will,” Grisly and Fishlegs say in unison with exact opposite intonation, Fishlegs’s arms crossed as he purposefully stands in the way and forces Hiccup to walk around him on the way to the stairs.

Hiccup and Mr. Grisly are barely out of sight when the other side of the copier trim pops free, waving in mid-air.

“And he broke the copier, again.”

Astrid sighs, taking the trim piece off and setting it on top of the machine, “to be fair, we both had a part in that.”

“He broke the copier,” Fishlegs raises an eyebrow, “and I told you to check out a study room.”

“Nothing happened, we were just…arguing about Grimborn.” She rubs the back of her neck, willing the heat to dissipate from under her hair.

“Right, that always gives me a hickey,” he looks pointedly at her neck and she pulls her hair forward to cover it.

“It won’t happen again,” she nods, “and he said he can fix it.” She doesn’t mention the duct tape comment, there’s no way that would go over well. They don’t even have scotch tape at their desks because glue and old documents is such a bad combination.

“What do you see in that guy anyway?” Fishlegs oversteps, yet again, but Astrid’s almost glad that someone finally asked. “You used to be so determined to get him away from you, what changed? And why does he have to be here so often?”

The last question dents her last clinging scrap of resolve and she lets it go.

“Has anyone ever thought you were a little too academic, Fish?” She tries out the nickname, letting this feel like friendship even though that risks more awkward questions.

He snorts, “there was a time in elementary school that I legitimately thought my middle name was ‘get your nose out of that book, young man’.”

“One second it was something to be proud of that I was the first Hofferson to go to college,” she shrugs, faking noncommittal even though that word has never applied to her, “but when I came back having learned things, suddenly I was uppity, disrespectful. Hiccup…he seems to like it when I’m right. He doesn’t even mind when I’m loud about it.”

“Here I thought we were bonding,” Fishlegs smiles, “I thought you were finally going to admit you’re just fascinated with the top hat.”

“You caught me,” she punches him in the arm and he winces, “come on, that did not hurt.”

“I barely know you Astrid, and I’m as sure that you are freakishly strong as I am that you aren’t uppity or disrespectful,” he rubs his arm and weighs that, “well, disrespectful to priceless collections of Brittanicas, maybe—“

“Shut up about the encyclopedias or I’ll hit you again,” the threat is empty and friendly and final, getting Fishlegs off of her mind and letting her wonder about Mr. Grisly with her full attention. She doesn’t hesitate as much as she would have thought before texting Snotlout, hoping for a little illumination, as he doesn’t seem very good at keeping his mouth shut.

Astrid (5:02pm): some guy calling himself Mr. Grisly just came by my work

He doesn’t answer right away and she tries to focus on work, but documentation isn’t really holding her attention after all that happened in the last hour. Especially knowing Hiccup is just upstairs with ostensibly the creepiest man she’s ever met while her lips are still tingling from that kiss.

“So this is the glamorous job that lets you afford your own place,” Ruffnut interrupts, strolling down the stairs and perching on the edge of Astrid’s desk, wrinkling the corner of an old shipping manifesto.

Seeing Ruffnut hasn’t brought on so much relief since that first night in her apartment when someone downstairs started yelling murder.

“My job is to keep stuff like this safe,” Astrid pokes her friend’s butt until she scoots off of the paper and then sets a heavy book on it to press the creases flat. “And my apartment is cheap. What’s up?”

“Tuff needed to drop off a check upstairs so I thought I’d come say hi, like the thoughtful and attentive friend that I am.” Ruffnut’s smile says otherwise and Astrid sighs, still ultimately glad for the distraction. Her eyes were starting to glaze over trying to find a reason to name a stupid shipping manifesto for thirty bushels of apples as important in any way, especially when so many other things obviously are.

“You’re here to brag.” Astrid doesn’t expect the flash of frustration, bordering on jealousy, given that she and Hiccup have been on however many not dates by now and Ruffnut is the smug one.

“I was going to say gloat but brag works too,” she laughs, “also, I did forget to get his number so if you could help me out with that…”

“You’re telling me you never found a moment of pause to get his number?”

“Nope.”

“Ok, gloat is a better fit, I see that now.” Astrid’s phone rings, Officer Snotlout Jorgenson flashing on the screen, “speak of the devil.”

“Wait, why’s he calling you?” Ruffnut tries to snatch the phone but Astrid beats her to it, “he should be calling me.”

“Then you should have given him your number,” she picks up, too aware of Ruffnut leaning down on the other side of the phone to listen, “what’s up?”

“I’m not actually a weirdo who calls people, I just don’t want a written record of bitching about Grisly as long as I have to see his stupid face at work every day,” Snotlout starts, “what was he doing talking to you?”

“Just asking about the investigation,” Astrid glares at Ruffnut, turning her office chair away so to try and minimize the eavesdropping. It seems smart given she can’t trust Ruffnut not to run around threatening disembowelment. “The investigation that you’re calling about, the one with the current murders and I happened to find one of the bodies, so it pertains to me.” She drives in the point.

“Duh, Astrid, keep up,” Snotlout laughs and she grits her teeth.

“Not having a problem with that, thanks, but who is this Grisly guy?”

“Thought you were all caught up,” he teases but apparently thinks better of it and continues, “no but it’s probably good you know because Hiccup won’t remember not to antagonize those NWF fucks—“

“NWF?”

“Again, since you’re so caught up, I’ll pause and explain that Grisly douche is the leader of these pseudo-police assholes acting like they own the place because a few condo developers are paying him out the ass to keep the streets clean, because apparently public cops aren’t good enough for rich people.”

Astrid groans internally, remembering Hiccup mouthing off while trying not to remember his mouth.

“Well, I wish I’d known that a minute ago because he left with Hiccup—“

“Shit,” Snotlout sighs, “I love the guy but keeping him out of jail is a full time job.”

“Ugh, you guys bonding over your boyfriend being an idiot is boring,” Ruffnut groans, “give me the phone, I’ll ask for his number.”

“No,” Astrid shushes her, but it’s too late.

“Is that Ruffnut? Is she there with you?”

“No.”

“Give her your phone, I have to tell her something,” he pushes and Astrid rubs her temple.

“Is it your number? Because then I could stop being your go-between.”

“Nah, it’s about last weekend—“

“No, I’m hanging up now,” Astrid doesn’t wait for an answer before doing exactly that and turning back to Ruffnut. “Are you done gloating?”

“Since I can tell you’re done listening to it, sure,” she shrugs, “the gloating was mostly just a bonus anyway, I was going to ask if you wanted a ride home.”

That’s almost sweet enough to mute her annoyance and she starts to thank her for the offer and decline, but then she thinks of what Snotlout said and the hollow, manic look in Grisly’s eyes. The idea of him being in command of people doesn’t scare her, but it makes her nervous. She’s never been less sure that this whole situation is only going to get worse and she hates it.

“Sure, I’ll take a ride, I was just about to pack up anyway.” Astrid declines an immediate call back from Snotlout and texts Hiccup instead.

Astrid (5:21pm): how’d that go?

“Sweet, more time to get that number out of you,” Ruffnut grabs Astrid’s bag for her.

“Not a chance.”

#ripped #hiccstrid fic #modern au #serial killer tour guide au #hiccstrid #tw copier abuse

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thesportssoundoff · 5 years

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“I suppose not every show is going to be UFC 231, right?” UFC Fight Night In Canada Preview

Joey

April 28th, 2019

The UFC returns to Canada for its standard run of 3-4 shows in the market and our first show is....something. In many ways I actually think it looks like your standard non-PPV Canada card; there's no Canadian worthy of headlining so you roll out a few relevant names at the top of the bill, try to protect a few Canadian fighters you like on the undercard and then roll through the roster, see who has the flag next to their name and then give them a guy and see what happens. The main card is fine enough; a great main event, a great featherweight fight, a heavyweight fight, arguably the "best" Canadian they have in Elias Thorodoru and then two intriguing Canadian born prospects trying to make good at home vs two proven UFC fighters. The undercard is a pretty bland mixture of debuting Canadians on short notice vs other Canadians and the occasional prospect vs proven name fight. It's not a great card but ESPN+ seems to have a good idea of how to give us these shows in formats that don't make us mad we watched them from start to finish. I guess what I'm saying is this show isn't good on paper but it'll probably be quick, violent and inoffensive. There are worse ways to spend a Saturday, am I right?

Fights: 12

Debuts: Kyle Prepolec, Cole Smith, Marc-André Barriault, Sergey Spivak

Fight Changes/Injury Cancellations: 4 (Leah Letson OUT, Macy Chiasson IN vs Sarah Moras/Brian Kelleher OUT, Cole Smith IN vs Mitch Gagnon/Alexey Olynek OUT, Sergey Spivak IN vs Walt Harris/Siyar Bahadurzada OUT, Kyle Prepolec IN vs Nordine Taleb)

Headliners (fighters who have either main evented or co-main evented shows in the UFC): 6 (Donald Cerrone, Al Iaquinta, Derek Brunson, Cub Swanson, Macy Chiasson, Mitch Gagnon)

Fighters On Losing Streaks in the UFC: 6 (Elias Theodorou, Sarah Moras, Nordine Taleb, Mitch Gagnon, Cub Swanson, Derek Brunson)

Fighters On Winning Streaks in the UFC: 5 (Brad Katona, Walt Harris, Donald Cerrone, Elias Theodoru, Macy Chiasson)

Main Card Record Since Jan 1st 2017 (in the UFC): 25-19

Al Iaquinta- 2-1 Donald Cerrone- 3-4 Derek Brunson- 2-3 Elias Theodorou- 4-1 Cub Swanson- 1-3 Shane Burgos- 3-1 Brad Katona- 2-0 Merab Dvalishvili- 1-2 Walt Harris- 4-2 Sergey Spivek- 0-0 Andrew Sanchez- 1-2 Marc Andre-Berriault- 0-0

Fights By Weight Class (yearly number here):

Bantamweight- 3 (23) Featherweight- 2(20) Heavyweight- 2 (15) Middleweight- 2 (14) Lightweight- 1 (27) Women’s Bantamweight- 1 (3) Welterweight- 1 (27)

Women’s Strawweight- (11) Light Heavyweight- (16) Women’s Flyweight- (13) Flyweight- (7)

2019’s Records We Keepin’ Track Of:

Debuting Fighters (10-27): Kyle Prepolec, Cole Smith, Marc-André Barriault, Sergey Spivak

Short Notice Fighters (11-13): Sergey Spivak, Macy Chiasson, Cole Smith, Kyle Prepolec

Second Fight (29-6): Juan Adams, Vince Morales, Matt Sayles, Kyle Nelson

Cage Corrosion (Fighters who have not fought within a year of the date of the fight) (10-16): Mitch Gagnon, Aiemann Zahabi

Undefeated Fighters (14-19): Juan Adams, Cole Smith, Macy Chiasson, Sergey Spivak, Brad Katona

Fighters with at least four fights in the UFC with 0 wins over competition still in the organization (6-5): Mitch Gagnon

Weight Class Jumpers (Fighters competing outside of the weight class of their last fight even if they’re returning BACK to their “normal weight class”) (14-8): Kyle Nelson

Twelve Precarious Ponderings

1- Two distinctly different main events in back to back weeks with similar-ish undercurrents at play. Jacare vs Jack Hermansson was a case where one guy was trying to help out the organization, risking it all in the process to be the company guy of sorts. It backfired and now Jacare may retire as one of the greatest fighters to never get a UFC title fight. Donald Cerrone looked to be on the verge of getting a fight ABOVE a title fight; the one on one clash with Conor McGregor that would've/could've created generational wealth for the new dad. It seemed like that was the plan before McGregor decided to get in more trouble and sideswipe Cerrone entirely. As such instead of making sitting out and staying busy while waiting for Conor McGregor, Cerrone is back at it with a fight that he doesn't have to take against Al Iaquinta. Why? Well perhaps he figures the McGregor fight is gone or perhaps he's just the company guy who remains a company guy. Even so you'd assume there were more entertaining names and fights out there for him above Iaquinta. Maybe that's just me overvaluing the risk and undervaluing whatever sort of name/hype Iaquinta has now.

2- Cerrone in the past has struggled with guys like Iaquinta; the sort of guys who can box him up straight down the pike with uppercuts to be mixed it at will. Cerrone has the ability to beat Iaquinta up from distance but if they get into boxing range and if Al is able to keep his punches down the center of Cerrone, I think there's a great chance that he can hurt Donald. I know we're all in love with this new Dad Cerrone mythos we have and how he might be mentally locked in BUT styles exist and history matters. We're talking about years worth of both about how to beat a guy like Cerrone. Iaquinta has more than enough of those to be a realistic threat.

3- Why is Elias Theodorou vs Derek Brunson a co-main event? Over Shane Burgos vs Cub Swanson especially?

4- Cub Swanson is riding a pretty gnarly losing streak right now but let's be fair here; we're talking losses to Frankie Edgar, Brian Ortega and Renato Moicano. It's fair to say that Shane Burgos does not exist in that same vein of those guys as of right now. The last time Cub was tasked with taking on a tremendous yet unproven prospect (Not counting Moicano because I think we all knew he was the goods by that fight); he dispatched Doo Ho Choi in one of the wildest fights in UFC history. These are the sort of fights Swanson more often than not gets up for, the kind of "tests" he finds a way to rise up to the occasion for. At the same time, you get the feeling Cub is almost aware of his own fighting mortality now. He's almost become more and more of a guy who seems to do his fighting outside of the cage with/against the UFC if that makes any sense. He's also the sort of guy who seems to ride between that perilous line of "too durable for his own good" and "simply not durable enough anymore" on a fight to fight basis. Burgos is in a weird space having gotten finished by Calvin Kattar to start 2018 before ending 2018 by finishing Kurt Holobaugh after getting dropped early on in the first round. This feels like a pick 'em primarily because I have no idea which version of each guy I'm getting.

5- At the risk of being a flim flam man, I have to admit I'm turning the corner on Brad Katona. He's fighting in MMA's deepest weight class at a seemingly imploding SBG but he's starting to look more and more like a solid bantamweight. His hands are coming together, he can grapple really well (although I think the more he tries to do this as he goes up the ranks, the less likely it is that'll be the case) and he's one of these guys who fights with great composure. I struggle to grasp whether or not he has one defining trait I'd feel comfortable betting on and I don't know how he'll take to pressure fighters BUT we're going to get a GREAT shot of that come Saturday! Merab Dvalishvili does nothing but come forward, throw with power and force clinches. He'll be outathlete'd by some guys and his love of rock 'em sock 'em robots will lead to some bad decisions and some close fights. This is a good fair test for Katona.

6- I wonder if Cerrone breaks out more BJJ with Iaquinta who can get reckless and has a few sub losses on his resume basically due to how excited he can get in those wild scramble exchanges.

7- Walt Harris went from Oleksiy Olenik in Russia to Olenik in Ottawa to fighting an undefeated HW making his debut on short notice in Ottawa named Sergey Spivak. Rough go of it.

8- The undercard is pretty much carried by a trio of prospect vs proven veteran type fights. Macy Chiasson fighting at 135 lbs still has me VERY nervous but good lord she ran through Gina Mazany in her debut at the weight class. I'm pretty curious to see how she handles a) the short notice call and b) Moras' weird Maia' esque ability to throw fists early on to get people snookered into her grappling exchanges. This might be a bit much too soon. Aiemann Zahabi had a GREAT fight with Ricardo Ramos and then disappeared off the face of the Earth after a spinning back fist loss in the third round. He's back and he draws a solid lower level 135 lb-er in Vince Morales who has losses to Domingo Pilarte and Song Yadong. Lastly you have big and athletic but raw Juan Adams on the prelims drawing Arjan Bhullar in a fight that almost feels like a fight designed to expose/really test Juan Adams. Bhullar can wrestle and smother dudes, creating the kinda boring snoozy fights you regret seeing live and forget immediately after.

9- Marc-Andre Barriault is a really interesting middleweight prospect who has been cutting his teeth at TKO in Montreal. He's been basically beating up on local dudes although he handled former UFC signee Adam Hunter. He gets Andrew Sanchez who is basically a big slow grinder type who has some success when he does decide to let his hands go.

10- Mitch Gagnon has fought seven times in the UFC dating back to 2012. Thiago Santos fought EIGHT times just in 2017 and 2018 alone.

11- It's a shame it won't count on the second fight stats but Matt Sayles' return bout against Kyle Nelson is a really intriguing one. Sayles had a rough go of it vs Sheymon Moraes (harmed in part by some wild eye pokes) but he's a really solid meat and potatoes style fighter who should be able to carve out a nice niche at 145 lbs.

12- Did I mention Elias Theodorou vs Derek Brunson is the co-main?

#MMA #UFC #Canada #Brad Katona #Elias Theodorou #cowboy cerro #Al Iaquinta

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garden-ghoul · 5 years

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I finally remembered DURING the weekend to record my notes on Sourcery! In this one you can hear me: enjoying doing a Rincewind voice. Clocks in at 19:26 (I’m going to start putting in episode length because it seems like the kind of thing people will like to know.) Transcript under the cut.

HELLO and welcome to episode 4 of what I am now calling “It’s Yelling All the Way Down.” Because it just seemed a bit egotistical to ascribe critical analysis to myself. This week* I’ve drawn the number 5, which means we’re reading Sourcery. With a U. Before reading this book I did not remember a single thing about it except that the main character is perhaps… a sorcerer? And is named Coin. Also according to the summary this is a Rincewind book, the first one since The Light Fantastic. I think he might have died in that one. But no matter, he’s back!

A bit about wizards, before we begin:

We’ve already seen witches, who are my favorites. Pratchett was fond of saying “if men were witches, they would be wizards,” which I think is supposed to be a comment on how men are socialized to be self-important and relatively useless and ask for more credit than they deserve? Although it could just be gender essentialism. Anyway, that’s what wizards do. We very briefly met some in Jingo, where as you might recall they were extorting money from the city-state under threat of magical mayhem. We’ll see more of exactly that in this book! Let’s get right to it.

Now, on Earth (or Roundworld, as it is sometimes called), specifically in England, seven is considered to be a magical number. So much so that whoever perpetrated ROY G BIV (Newton, maybe?) invented several colors just so a rainbow would have seven of them. On the Disc there is an eighth color, inspired by the extra little echoey bit on the inside of a rainbow that is both green AND purple; this color is called octarine. That’s not what the introduction is about, it’s about the eighth son of an eighth son, who of course has become a wizard. But I’m sure it will come up, and then we’ll be prepared, won’t we?

Now this eighth son of an eighth son, he had seven sons, each one from the cradle at least as powerful as any wizard in the world.

And then he had an eighth son...

A wizard squared. A source of magic.

A sourcerer.

We join this double-eight wizard with his young eighth son on the shingle, where he’s having a chat with DEATH. DEATH is a friendly sort. Likes cats. Very little patience with wizards who are trying to create a magical destiny for babies. Because all prophecies require loopholes, the double-eight wizard prophesies that his son will become the mightiest and everyone will bow before him, et cetera et cetera, UNLESS… he throws his staff away. And then the wizard gets struck by lightning and as he dies he puts his soul into the staff. The kid also got struck by lightning but he’s fine. As you may have guessed, this kid is our protagonist, Coin, the sourcerer.

Cut to Unseen University, on the eve of the appointment of a new arch-chancellor. The books in the library are uneasy. The university seems to be sinking. The rats, mice, ants, and even the gargoyles off the roof are abandoning ship. Rincewind and the Librarian seem to be the only wizards who have noticed, although as we are told Rincewind is so bad at wizardry that he’s actually worse than non-wizards. One wonders how he was admitted to the university, because he doesn’t seem rich. Is it just that EVERY eighth son gets in because it makes them A Wizard? Anyway, he’s an assistant librarian (honorary) so he invites the Librarian out for drinks just to get him out of the University.

This means they’re going to miss the arch-chancellor accession feast, which is probably for the best because Coin is going to be there, and you can bet his dad’s been whispering in his ear about what ought to be done to the rest of the wizards who kicked him out. Indeed, he walks right in and challenges the most powerful immediately available wizard to a magical duel, lets him do a party trick, and then vaporizes him. He’s ten, and is set up as a Creepy Child: he stares through people rather than looking at them, talks a bit like an encyclopedia, and clearly hasn’t heard of ethics. The wizards immediately accept him as their arch-chancellor, realizing that it will be incredibly easy to manipulate this kid into doing whatever they want by making him think he has the sort of power that matters.

Lots of good mentions here of how wizards instinctively distrust each other; wizard politics; assassinations; mind games. Nevertheless, two wizards have made a cautious alliance to deal with the threat Coin represents. Spelter, the Bursar and a fifth level wizard; and Carding, an eighth-level wizard (that’s the highest level).

Let us leave them there for a moment to follow the thief who has stolen the arch-chancellor’s hat, which seems to be a talking hat and actually quite keen to be stolen. This thief has tracked down Rincewind, the only readily apparent wizard outside of the university, and is trying to kidnap him for some kind of dangerous wizard mission, under threat of death. The mission is to bring the arch-chancellor’s hat to Klatch, where “there is someone fit to wear us.” There’s a brief misadventure where the hat is stolen, apparently to show off that it can kill people on its own just fine. It’s pretty clear that the hat is full of wizards in the same way Coin’s staff is full of his awful dad, setting us up for a battle of evil and evil: there are plenty of battles in which neither side is correct.

A bit about the thief: her name is Conina, and in my opinion far too much is being made of her looks. She has an apparently hereditary urge to murder, basically a hair trigger with throwing knives, which is unfortunate for her because she wants to be a hairdresser. She can’t see the tools of the trade without imagining doing a murder with them. I was pretty into this whole high fantasy parody thing Pratchett was doing until he started parodying sexist tropes by, uh, just straight up putting sexist tropes in his book. Not his finest hour.

At the university, most of the wizards are enjoying all the extra magic pouring out of Coin. They can do exciting spells now! As soon as Coin starts doing exciting spells, though, they remember they’re afraid of him. He appearifies the Patrician—good old Vetinari, who hasn’t yet been characterized beyond being the sort of person who says “what is the meaning of this?”—and turns him into a lizard. Because wizards should rule the city, you see? Not people who understand politics. Coin has a very ten-year-old understanding of what it means to rule. One imagines him ruling so thoroughly that all he has left is a bunch of lizards and then I’m sure he’d feel rather foolish.

The wizards take their cues from Coin and go out to terrorize the city, and they seem to have a great time. But wizards, like everyone else, fundamentally want certainty and familiarity in their lives. And Coin is scaring them. At this point we start to wonder to what extent Coin’s mind actually is his own, because he’s saying incredibly ominous grown-up things like “who among you has been into your dark library these past few days? The magic is inside you now, not imprisoned between covers. Is that not a joyous thing?” You know, sort of cognitively, one doesn’t expect a ten-year-old either to speak like this or to be this single-minded. It’s worrying. Is he okay? What thoughts does he think?

In the oppressively quiet darkness of night in a university under new rule, Spelter hears someone quietly crying. When he looks into the room Coin is on the bed sobbing while his staff whispers to him. The next day “Coin” announces that they’re going to burn down the library, 90,000 books, many of them sentient. Spelter barely manages to tell the librarian, who’s barricaded in, before he comes across the staff and it vaporizes him.

Let’s see what Conina and Rincewind are up to. Oh, getting attacked by pirates! Conina murders a whole bunch of them but some do make off with the hat, so when they land she decides they ought to go somewhere in port they can get attacked by The Criminal Element. This will allow them to get information or something. Look, Conina just wants to get in a fight, and I can respect that.

I also want to check in with Rincewind because I think the way he’s written is pretty interesting. His psyche seems very uncomplicated: at most times he’s just thinking about how he can avoid getting attacked and get as far away from danger as possible. And being racist about how they don’t do things proper in Al Khali. But we get occasional interjections from his conscience and, now, his libido, which gives the feeling that he works hard to suppress any thoughts he feels are foreign to his lifestyle. Pratchett reinforces this foreignness by portraying them as voices Rincewind doesn’t recognize. He has a suspicion that he’s falling in love, but doesn’t like it. He only has physiological symptoms, as far as I can tell. So we get this picture of a person completely out of tune not only with his body but with his mind as well, who has worn such a deep psychological groove of habit that he can’t conceive of climbing out of it.

Anyway, Conina and Rincewind are kidnapped by the ruler of the city, who is called a Seriph because heaven forbid Sir Terry let any small detail go un-pastiched. The Seriph’s grand vizier has possession of the arch-chancellor’s hat and is aware that it’s dangerous, because it told him. Also he’s evil, because a grand vizier’s got to be evil. He imprisons our heroes I guess, but very shortly afterward the amount of ambient magic skyrockets and there are a ton of wizards from Unseen University there! Halfway across the Disc! The vizier turns up, having had his mind taken over by the arch-chancellor’s hat and declaring that wizards are taking back what’s theirs from sourcerers. I like this, we have two opposing magical forces, both figureheaded by humas but in fact ruled by inanimate objects with echoes of dead minds inside.

And, yes, just a few pages later Rincewind states one of the major themes of the book!

“That’s what you people never understand,” said Rincewind, wearily. “You think magic is just something you can pick up and use, but the truth is, magic uses people. It affects you as much as you affect it, sort of thing. You can’t mess around with magical things without it affecting you.”

After hearing so much about the thousand-year, horrifyingly destructive Mage Wars, it’s pretty clear that magic isn’t just magic here. Any kind of power corrupts, and if in this book it happens to corrupt not because of human nature but because of its own malice—well, that’s metaphors for you. Anyway Rincewind and company escape on a magic flying carpet, which is using him as a conduit to fly itself, per usual.

Then we get this honestly really cool scene where the fleeing heroes are camped out on a beach watching spells streaking across the sky like meteors over the Circle Sea: the hat’s tower in Al Khali doing battle with Coin’s tower in Ankh. Shockwaves ripple across them, and in his sleep Rincewind is trying to build a tower, which seems to be some kind of wizardly instinct. As soon as he can he steals the flying carpet and absent-mindedly heads for Ankh-Morpork because he thinks of it as his home base. Over the ocean we see other wizards’ towers springing up everywhere: they’re all joining in the war. I love this sort of distant apocalypse imagery, the contrast between the peace of a totally uninhabited area and the massive devastation that from far away looks kind of pretty. Here at the end of all things.

Rincewind returns to a city totally unlike the one he left: gleaming white marble, fountains, and not a single soul. Smoke boils up from the university’s tower, which is slagged and melted but still firing off terrifying magic at the tower in the next city-state over. And the library, where Rincewind spent a lot of very happily boring time as an assistant librarian, lies in ashes. Rincewind goes into the tower. The flashes of magic illuminate the librarian and many of his 90,000 books, which flew in to take shelter when the library burned. He tells Rincewind to put a stop to all this sourcery, seeing as Rincewind seems to be the only other wizard who hasn’t gone mad with power (the reason being, he hasn’t got any). And obviously the librarian has his books to tend to. So Rincewind puts a half-brick in a sock and starts up the tower.

In the top of the tower the Ankh wizards defeat Quirm, and then when the hat is momentarily distracted, they defeat Al Khali too. But Coin is still an open doorway through which magic pours into the world. “Can you hear them?” asks Carding. “You’re pouring sourcery into the world and other things are coming with it.” I have always liked this image, of a great number of terrible things just barely compelled to stay outside of the circle of the universe, and being invited in when too much magic is used. For a moment the staff is indisposed horribly murdering Carding and Coin is uncertain, upset that a man is dead. Then it returns to his hands and he says: let’s fight the gods. I was expecting it to be a bit more of a thing but he settles it in about a paragraph: we’ll just put them inside this bubble, there we are. Just then Rincewind staggers up over the edge of the tower, swinging his half-brick. His exchange with Coin is… absolutely delightful. They’re at exact opposite ends of the wizard spectrum.

“I have come,” said Rincewind thickly, “to challenge the sourcerer. Which one is he?” He surveyed the prostrate wizardry, hefting the half-brick in one hand.

One of the wizards risked a glance upwards and made frantic eyebrow movements at Rincewind who, even at the best of times, wasn’t much good at interpreting non-verbal communication. This wasn’t the best of times.

“With a sock?” said Coin. “What good is a sock?”

The arm holding the staff rose. Coin looked down at it in mild astonishment. “No, stop,” he said. “I want to talk to this man.” He stared at Rincewind, who was swaying back and forth under the influence of sleeplessness, horror and the after-effects of an adrenaline overdose. “Is it magical?” he said, curiously. “Perhaps it is the sock of an Archchancellor? A sock of force?”

Rincewind focused on it. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I think I bought it in a shop or something. Um. I’ve got another one somewhere.”

“But in the end it has something heavy?”

“Um. Yes,” said Rincewind. He added, “It’s a half-brick.”

“But it has great power.”

“Er. You can hold things up with it. If you had another one, you’d have a brick.” Rincewind spoke slowly. He was assimilating the situation by a kind of awful osmosis, and watching the staff turn ominously in the boy’s hand.

“So. It is a brick of ordinariness, within a sock. The whole becoming a weapon.”

“Um. Yes.”

“How does it work?”

“Um. You swing it, and then you. Hit something with it.”

The staff tells Coin to kill Rincewind, but Coin is hesitant, because Rincewind looks like “an angry rabbit,” and is probably harmless. “Why should I do everything you tell me?” says Coin to the staff. “I always do everything you tell me, and it doesn’t help people at all.” Basically it’s like asking a kid to murder a clown. He’s so funny! Why should I kill him!

The staff tortures him a bit. Might I remind you: his ten-year-old son. Rincewind thinks this is a bit much and whacks the staff out of his hand with the half-brick-in-sock. He actually steps in front of Coin to defend him from the staff, even though bravery and altruism are really not his thing. And Coin catches the staff, and throws it away. It comes back, of course, and they do battle. All the wizards are terrified, and Rincewind looks around accusingly at the wizards who won’t help this ten-year-old fighting for his life and the fate of reality itself. All we see of Rincewind’s intervention is his seared hat floating gently to the ground.

He and Coin wake up on the cold black sand of the Dungeon Dimension, staring at the backs of the Things that are trying to break into the universe. The staff has been melted and Rincewind decides to be a real hero one more time and attack the Things with a sock full of sand as a distraction so Coin can get out of there. Which he does. And then the door closes, and Rincewind is stuck in the Dungeon Dimension. We’ll see him again later, don’t worry.

As a minor footnote, the apocalypse is happening out there. It’s a Norse-style apocalypse: the gods have vanished, so ice giants are taking over the world. The librarian gets the pearl full of all the gods and sort of throws it and they come out and reverse the apocalypse, I guess. And then Coin undoes everything he did, and I THINK he also erases everyone’s memory of the very brief Mage War. And because he’s lost and alone and doesn’t know what he wants at all… he steps out of the universe, into a simpler, nicer one. A small universe with a garden. And the door closes behind him.

The book ends in the library, where the books have come back to roost and it’s warm and quiet. The librarian has put Rincewind’s hat in a minor ceremonial niche, because “a wizard will ALWAYS come back for his hat.” Listen, I think the librarian might be a bit sweet on Rincewind. It’s very cute.

So, thus ends the book! This one doesn’t have a whole lot of themes since the main purpose of it is to be a fun fantasy adventure with an absolutely kicking climax. I’d say the main one is that Sir Terry vastly prefers consistency to excitement and that war is bad. Oh, hey, that’s a lot like the last one, isn’t it? And there’s also a bit of a warning about how allowing yourself to have power is always a very dangerous balancing game. Humans always have to be careful not to forget how dangerous it is to have power, and how the only way to use it even a little bit well is to think scrupulously of the masses of normal people your actions affect. I feel like he’d agree with my (rather unwilling) stance on Ethical Anxiety. Which is to say, he might understand why I am constantly extremely anxious about taking ethical actions.

Today’s thought, Shabbat shalom, is to ask yourself how you are using the power you have, and ask yourself where you get your ethics: your parents? Your friends? The news? Which news? That’s all for now. This has been It’s Yelling All the Way Down, intro and end music is TOKiMONSTA’s “Hungry Stomach.” Bye!

#discworld #audio #it's yelling all the way down

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rkjoohyvn · 6 years

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↠ * mnet global auditions season 4 , ♥«´¨`•°.. » episode four ! that new new » ¸.•* DEJA VU by NU’EST W ! ( LINE DISTRIBUTION & STYLE ) `*•.

the ending of episode three happens much faster than she ever anticipated, people getting eliminated more quickly than she could process. it takes a while for her to full comprehend their ranking as a team, and even longer to realize that not all of them are moving on.

once she does, she’s heartbroken. she doesn’t believe wonshik deserves to go home at all with how well-rounded he is, and nearly finds herself trying to speak up, but the words just get caught up in her mouth. disbelief is soon taken over by the guilt---she’d been the one to recommend the song, she’d been the leader of the team. surely, she could have found a way to prevent this; if only she’d worked harder, then maybe none of them would have had to go home, maybe they’d have been at the top. it’s hard to stop the tears that threaten to fall, but she manages, barely, only to break down as soon as they’re all swept off stage.

but she isn’t given any time to deal with the guilt, deal with the regret. the mga’s are fast-paced, and she’s learned just how fast in the past week and, as cruel as it is, she has no choice but to push those thoughts to the back of her mind. she has to move on. she has a new team now, a new challenge to face.

it’s a little bittersweet, meeting new people when she’d grown attached to the group she’d been in last week. she wishes to redeem herself as the team leader, but the rules don’t allow it, and she isn’t sure whether she’s disappointed that she can’t, or relieved that she doesn’t have to worry about whether or not she’ll be ale to actually do it. at the very least, she’s happy that minho is still in the same group with her, allowing for some sort of anchor in this fast-paced, ever-changing journey.

still, despite her initial apprehensions about it, she once again finds herself becoming comfortable with this new group, especially after they all decide to do a band concept for part of their performance, an idea first brought forth by daniel, and one she thinks is so brilliant she’s just as enthusiastic about it as he is. perhaps that had been their downfall last time; they’d stuck too close to a classic, hadn’t taken enough risks. and this is a big one that she hopes will pay off.

throughout the week, she learns about each and every person, once again picking up on their traits and skills, their different personalities that didn’t clash, but rather worked together in productive discussions and constructive criticisms because they all had one goal: to put out their best. it shows in the way they help each other, in the way every person makes sure that everyone else is doing well, that everyone else is getting the help they need.

it shows in the way yongsun takes the reigns of as the leader extremely well, making sure every single detail is taken care of, reigning them in if they ever got off topic, checking in on everyone if she senses them struggling. she witnesses it first hand when yongsun approaches her to practice their lines together, in her soft yet strict approach at helping the others. "you remind me of my vocal coach back home in sydney,” she tells her as they take a break from rehearsing. “i always viewed her as an older sister. you’ve got that same warm kind of feeling.”

it shows in rose’s determination to familiarize herself with the electric guitar and playing in a band, both foreign concepts to her. her willingness to learn makes it easy for seola to teach her and guide her, and, despite her initial insecurities, rose shows a great deal of courage to be willing to play in a band for the first time at the mgas, whose audience was much larger than anything seola had ever played for, and she admires her for it. even when they’re working on the choreography for the transition from instruments to choreography, seola learns of just how talented her fellow teammate is.

it shows in the way daniel so openly admits his own weakness in dancing so that he can get help with it. as someone who has always had a problem with admitting her own faults, she respects his candor when it’s her turn to help him through the choreography, carefully explaining each step, making sure that he’s not only got the choreography donw, but also that he’s aware of his spacing when in formation, aware of how his lines look as he performs. "you know,” she tells him as she helps adjust the position of his arms and waist during a particular move, watching their reflection in the mirror. “you say you’re bad at this, but with some practice, i bet you’d be pretty decent.”

and it shows in the way minho holds her up when she reaches her lowest point mid-week and she goes to him with all her thoughts, dumping each and every insecurity and sense of guilt on him, so much so that she feels bad afterward for having done so. but he shows great maturity and empathy when he tells her he understands what she’s going through, but that she shouldn't be too hard on herself, that all they can do for now is do their best. “i need you to be amazing again, so i can be too,” he tells her, and she feels the tears welling up in her eyes again. when did she become such a crybaby? “otherwise i’d be too worried and tripping on my own feet and we can’t have that okay?” he then wraps her in an embrace and she feels as if a dark cloud is being lifted. she hugs him back, chucking at his words even as she continues to cry and let it all out. “see, you would have been a great leader. i knew i voted for you for a reason,” she jokes quietly, referring to when they’d all voted on who would be the leader for the week. and as much as she’d like to sit around to recover, he’s absolutely right; it’s time to get back to work.

the work load is large, with having to not only learn new choreography, learn a new song, but also having to arrange a band version of the first minute and a half, all within a week. but with the group working like a well-oiled machine, things seem to be running as smoothly as she could have dreamed. the choreography is cleaned up, the band is playing like a cohesive unit, their name is picked, and their stage outfits chosen.

before she knows it, the day of filming arrives and her nerves are once again on high alert. she doesn’t think they can get any worse, but a cog in the machine comes lose and the gears come to a grinding halt once they run through rehearsals and daniel makes a mistake with the choreography. tensions are unbelievably high as they leave the stage afterward, so much so that she feels she can’t breathe. she can only imagine how daniel must feel after making such an error on stage, and she doesn’t want him to feel that way, so she approaches him from behind, walking in step beside him as she wraps an arm around his, hoping it’s comforting, even if just a tiny bit.

“hey, you okay?” she asks him, concern clearly written in her tone. she glances at him, soft smile on her features. “it’s okay, you know. we all make mistakes.” she bites on her lower lips, trying to find the right words to say, deciding to take it to a lighter tone. “i know it doesn’t seem like it, but even i make mistakes. shocking, right?” she laughs quietly to herself, lips pursed into a close-lipped smile. “mistakes don’t matter. what matters is how you recover from them and learn. we’ll go through it again, yeah?”

in the end they all run through their performance again, making sure they’re back on track just before filming.

last week, her team had been the fifth to perform, and it had put her extremely on edge while watching everyone else’s performances. now, with them going dead last, she isn’t sure she’ll make it to the end. her fingers are tingling and her mind and heart are going a million miles a minute. she finds that watching the performances of the other teams helps, but it also puts more doubt in her mind. everyone on the show is so talented---where does she stand?

by some act of god, she makes it to the end, and their team name is called. she trails behind most everyone, standing just in front of yongsun as they make their way to the stage. “hello, we are girl crush!” they introduce themselves, bowing at the audience and at the judges, each of them dressed to the nines and looking sharp as all hell in their suits.

afterward, they make their way to their starting positions, instruments at the ready, and she takes one last deep breath.

remember to have fun, she tells herself. you got this.

she starts off the song on her electric guitar, fingers gliding across the strings like she’s been playing it her entire life, and she has. she owes all of her guitar knowledge to her father, and this is in part an ode to him, to show him that all the time he’s spent with her is paying off, that she’s doing what she loves and is using what she’s learned from him well. she leans in toward the mic as her voice and rose’s joins in with the melody. daniel and yongsun then take over before the song fully takes off, the rest of the instruments joining in to make the song have a fuller sound.

난 널 그리워하고 i’m missing you 너는 날 기다리게 해 and you make me wait for you

she looks directly into the camera as she sings her first line, voice soft but clear as she tries to emote the feeling of having loved and lost, drawing from her most recent experience at her mother leaving her family behind. it’s painful to admit that, even after all the wrong she’s done, seola still misses her, even if it’s just a line in a song.

after her short adlib, she no longer has any lines until just before they switch to choreography, so she focuses instead on her fingering, making sure she’s in time with the rhythm minho keeps on the drums, still aware of her facial expressions, painting a melancholy expression on her features with her lips turned down at the corners in the most minute of manners, her brows ever so slightly furrowed.

say woo woo woo woo woo woo woo woo woo woo

she sings her lines with longing, eyes closed as she brings her lips closer to the microphone, still strumming along to their arrangement. the most difficult part of their performance, in her opinion, is coming up soon, and soon as rose finishes her line and the lights dim, she quickly removes the guitar from around her shoulders and carefully places it down on its stand. she then rushes to join her fellow teammates in formation, making it just in time before the lights come back on, with minho at the front of their straight line. it had run flawlessly, despite the small hiccup they had during rehearsals.

from behind, they do the arm choreography while minho raps, and then break off toward the sides into full choreography. as much fun as she’d had doing the band section, seola enjoys this the most. she considers dancing to be just another extension to her singing, another way to express the emotions and nuances of a song when her voice isn’t in use. her movements are sharp as a knife where they need to be, smooth as running water at other times. she’s a trained dancer through and through, and it shows in her precision and musicality. compared to last week, this type of choreography is more her style.

밝은 곳을 걸으며 빛을 남겨줘 let me walk to the bright place, leave the light on

when she sings again, there’s hardly a sign at all that she’d been exerting herself, her voice still loud and clear, barely a waver to be found. she falls to one knee at the end of her line, continuing on with the choreography. allowing the rhythm to dictate the flow of her movements, in time with the pace of the song as well as her other teammates.

the mirroring part of the choreography comes up and she positions herself in front of their formation, turning around to face minho, making sure their movements are perfectly in sync as they look at one another.

네가 보여 i can see you

she whips her body around again at the end of her line, and they once again disperse across the stage into a new formation after minho raps his line. she repeats her wooing line again, walking across stage with purpose as she once again finds the camera, looking straight into it. she then launches into the following line, yongsun joining in as they sing the section they’d first gone over together during practice.

잠시라도 사라지면 안 돼 deja vu deja vu don’t disappear even for a moment, deja vu deja vu

with all her lines sung, she puts all her effort into the last few counts of choreography, face still just as expressive as it had been when she’d started the song. their performance comes to an end to the sound of yongsun and daniel’s voices, and they all form into a circle, each of their backs turned toward the middle as they sit on the floor.

they’re quietly shooed off stage, and she’s one of the last to leave, wanting to savor the moment for just a bit longer, of their hard work paying off. even if she’s in the bottom again this week, at least she can say she’s proud, not only of herself, but of the rest of her group.

“congratulations on a great performance guys,” she says once they’re back stage and their mics have been removed. she’s all smiles and giddy as she grabs onto the shoulders of minho with her two hands on either side of his head, using his height as leverage to get more air as she jumps up and down. “you all did amazing.”

and she means it. she just hopes the judges think the same.

#.;* monologue ;#rkmga4 #rkmga4new #rkxmnho #rkyngsun #irenerk #danielxrk

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