#You know I wrote this thinking that the limit was 1500 words
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hello, my loves!
today marks one year since i created this blog. i could never have imagined that i'd be celebrating it with more than 1500 of you. so please, join me for a paper anniversary sleepover from 25 february to 1 march.
@divine-mistake had never heard of a "paper anniversary," so for those of you who are cooler than me, it just means one year. (the tenth anniversary is tin, the fiftieth is gold, the sixtieth is diamond, etc.)
sappy rambling, plus the details on how to join in the sleepover, below the cut.
(skip to the next divider to skip the sappy ramble)
in january of 2021, i got back on tumblr. my mental health was struggling more than it had in a while, and i had begun to realize how unhealthy my living environment was for me; i was craving interaction with kinder, more tolerant people. so, i got back on the aesthetic blog i'd created in high school, @loving-books-is-easier.
not that you asked, but the blog title was originally @/booksnotboys, but when i realized i liked non-boys too, i didn't want to exclude them.
the 30-some followers of that blog had followed me for my aesthetic, or maybe for my one niche "survivor" shitpost that got like 40 notes for some reason. they were not there for the marvel fanfic community that i soon found and fell in love with. i created this page on 22 february 2021 as a home for the fics that i loved, and for some stories of my own. @wkemeup's writing challenge was the push i needed to start.
for several days, i started writing a story in my head. i was hosting at a restaurant at the time, and one of the host responsibilities a la covid was to act as a crossing guard between the main restaurant patio and the satellite tent seating. none of the hosts ever wanted this job (gee, i wonder why no one wanted to stand alone outside in january wearing a neon vest to almost get hit by cars), but i took it at every opportunity because it was mindless and allowed me to just think about my plot.
on 25 february 2021, i started actually writing the story out. i wrote the entire thing in the tumblr post creator because i was very dumb and apparently wanted to risk losing 13k words at any given time. i also wrote a lot of it on mobile, and when i hit the 250 text block limit, i would type
a
bunch
of
words
like
this
on desktop before i went anywhere so i would have extra paragraphs to work with. on 1 march 2021, i posted it.
deadweight is now somehow sitting at nearly 2500 notes, and i have all of you to thank for that. i don't even know where to begin.
more than that, in this year on tumblr i met some of my best friends and a slew of other wonderful mutuals and followers who are both brilliant creators and incredible people.
all that to say, i'm celebrating with a paper-themed sleepover, and i hope you'll join me.
the schedule for the sleepover is listed below. i will start posting on friday 25 february and run through tuesday 1 march.
when can i start sending prompts in?
prompts are welcome any time during the sleepover, on or before the day they're going to be addressed. but feel free to start sending requests now, so i have something to start the day with.
how many requests can i send?
send in as many as you like; i will try to get to as many as possible, although i cannot guarantee that i will address every request.
are there any rules for requests?
requests surrounding drabbles must still be within my regular request guidelines (see those here).
did you spend too much time figuring out how to make all of your days paper-themed?
absolutely.
friday. 25 february.
📑 post-it notes on top
i'd like to add figurative post-it notes to my fics. that is, extra little moments to the pairing's dynamic, glimpses into their future, elaborations on their relationships.
send in requests for any of my existing fics with questions you have about their past, present, or future moments. i'll do my best to answer, potentially in drabble form.
saturday. 26 february.
💌 a love letter for you
let me show your writing a little love. send me one of your fics to review... i might even make a little doodle or moodboard to go with my thoughts.
sunday. 27 february.
🔖 my dance card is open
let's talk about music, my loves.
send me a song or a playlist to review.
ask for a song that reminds me of you or your blog.
send me a song, and i'll tell you what character it reminds me of and why.
(probably no song-based drabbles--it took me months to get through those from my last celebration, and i still have a few coming.)
monday. 28 february.
📝 scribbles in the margins
we're going behind the scenes, for my fics or for yours.
ask me about where i got certain ideas, which fics presented what challenges, things that i cut (from little moments to entire plotlines), or what moments were the origin of the entire fic itself.
or, tell me these things about your own fics. i want to know!
tuesday. march 1.
🖋 adding new pages
let's add some new pieces to the masterlist. talk to me about my wips (i'll post an updated list the day of), or send in some requests. i'll work on as many of them as i can.
i'm so, so thankful for you all, so please come hang out with me at this silly little celebration!
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Project Rebirth - CH2: Preparation
Word count: ~ 1500 words
[ Previous ] -- [ Masterlist ] -- [ Next ]
TW: restraints / muzzle / collars / pet whump (institutionalized) / dehumanization / syringes / drugging / conditioned whumpee (Toby)
Toby’s POV
Toby pushed the hand truck back off the stage. Subject One wouldn’t stop trashing and squirming. “Calm down,” he squeezed their shoulder. “You’ll feel better soon, he’s going to teach you how.”
He moved through one of the lab’s many halls. The evaluation room was at the end of it. He’d spent almost everyday in it with the subject. He asked them the questions Whumper required answers to. He fed them, spoke to them.
When the Project would really start he wouldn’t be allowed contact with the subjects anymore until after the Rebirth. Whumper didn’t admit, but Toby could see this subject was a challenge. They had been a registered pet for five years, and a recorded menace for two. The three years before weren’t on record. Toby doubted those years would reflect well on the ministry.
He frowned at himself. He wasn’t supposed to have those thoughts. The ministry did their job the best they could. Pets are a defiant species by nature, they have to be tamed. It’s good for them.
He opened the door to the evaluation room and rolled the hand truck into it’s designed spot and clicked the locks on the wheels. He reached for a plastic face mask and a pair of gloves on the table beside it. Once he put them on, he took off Subject One’s muzzle. They immediately spat in his face, but that was what the mask was for.
“You’re a traitor to our kind,” the subject hissed.
Toby tilted his head in surprise. “Our kind,” he repeated. He let out a breath. “See? You’re already learning.” He sat down at the table and opened his tablet. He liked touching the screen. He wasn’t allowed near any electronics other than the TV with his old owner. He opened the report and filled in the observations Whumper asked for.
How the subject breathed, moved, even cried, during his speech. He wrote down which people they looked at, and at which words their defiance sparked. He had an excellent memory, Whumper told him he was allowed to be proud of it. The subject yelled on as he wrote, but he ignored them. He always hoped they would tire themselves out, but they seemed to have and endless supply of energy. Even in their sleep they spoke of ways to murder or maim their old trainers.
Whumper told him to keep the muzzle off when they were in the evaluation room, though. He said it would help make the subject’s silence during the pre-Birth stage, also known as stage 3, more intense. For the subject. All they did was scream and shout and cry out curses. During the third stage, they wouldn’t be able to make a sound. After, they’d be lucky if they still had that first word.
Toby had gotten used to it, but his eyes still widened every time he re-read their history. The parts Whumper deemed appropriate for him to read, at least. The subject was young, which wasn’t a surprise given their behavior. Most pets grew out of their defiance. But in the two years since the subject had been old enough to be placed, theirs had only gotten worse.
“You think you’re so much better…” the subject was out of breath. It wouldn’t be long now before they reached the limit of their energy. That was the moment Whumper waited for.
“I’m not better,” Toby said. “I’ve just learned.”
“What, with all those questions you keep asking me? My favorite food, the nicest color I can think of? My name. You asked for my name, but do you even know yours?”
Toby sighed. “Yes, I do. It’s Toby.” The subject had a long way to go, but Toby had been surprised when they didn’t remember their childhood name. The one from before the ministry saved them from growing up in the wrong environment for any longer.
“Are you sure? Was it Toby two months ago? I didn’t have the same name two months ago. Now I don’t have one at all”
“Names change,” Toby answered. “You have a name. It’s Subject One.”
“That’s not a name, that’s a title.”
“Only good pets get titles, so it’s a name.” Toby shrugged. “You’ll get a new one when you’re reborn. I have to prepare you now.” He pressed send on the report and moved over to the subject.
“What do you mean Reborn? Prepare me for what?”
“Please don’t move too much. You’re not supposed to move.”
The subject didn’t listen. They trashed and screamed and spat everywhere. Toby opened a drawer and picked up a syringe.
The subject’s skin went pale. “Don’t you dare.”
“You’re moving,” Toby said. “I won’t have to if you stop moving.”
“Fuck you.”
Toby pressed the syringe down in Subject One’s neck. Within seconds, their body went limp. It was a paralytic, but it didn’t work for long. Toby only had a few minutes to adjust the restraints and clean them for the next stage. Stage 2 was the storage stage. Whumper’s team needed time to apply the knowledge from the evaluation. Meanwhile the subject needed to be put in the right head-space.
He wiped the sweat off their face, and adjusted the straps across their chest so Whumper could swiftly remove them. He put the muzzle back on, but loosened the straitjacket as far as Whumper had told him to. Toby didn’t understand why, but he hadn’t asked. He was only allowed to know what Whumper decided to tell him.
He took off the subject’s collar. A pet was never allowed to be without, but this wouldn’t last long. They would get a purple training collar after the Rebirth. Their current one was completely red. That meant they were too dangerous to be placed. His was blue at the top, green on the bottom half. The blue meant he didn’t resist. The green meant he didn’t have much trouble following commands, but he wasn’t perfect yet. One day he’d stop slipping up and earn a fully blue collar. He’d be one of few pets that worked that well.
Double red was rare. He’d never seen it before. They resisted, even when they were kept comfortable, they disobeyed, even when they were told to do something they wished to do. Whatever their trainer had demanded of them, they did the exact opposite regardless of the consequences. Outside of training, pets with such a collar were never to be left unrestrained.
He put the collar in the locker that also contained the other stuff they had on them when they were brought to Whumper. Their training facility’s uniform, for instance. That, Whumper would probably throw away. But collar, that would become a trophy of what he would manage to conquer, as he told Toby.
As he waited for Whumper to come take the subject, he went over the tiers Whumper had explained to him the night before. During the second stage, Whumper prepared all the machines and rooms necessary for the program. Meanwhile the pet had to acclimate to their new environment, that’s how Whumper explained it. So they went into storage, where they could rest. According to one of the other testing-pets, it made the transition into stage three smoother.
The first storage tier was the normal one. The pets were restrained in the same outfit this subject already wore, on the same hand truck. The second tier also had a blindfold, earpieces, and a muzzle if necessary. The third tier had everything mentioned before, but the subject wasn’t allowed to breathe on their own.
The third one was a punishment. Whumper rarely punished pets, but some were just too defiant. They had to learn to submit just a little before they could be reborn. On all three tiers, no one was allowed to speak to, or touch the subjects. Subject One wouldn’t mind that. Or at least they thought they wouldn’t. But all pets needed touch. Whumper told Toby he didn’t have to take care not to touch them like he would have to with the others. Until they were stored. Subject One needed extra help to learn.
As Subject One began to move again, Whumper entered the room. Toby stood up as Whumper expected of him. Whumper gave him a nod and released the hand truck. Subject One whimpered and cried when he began to move them toward the door. They pushed and pulled at their restraints. The metal buckles of the straps clanged against the hand truck. Whumper shushed them, and signaled for Toby to follow.
“Did you give them the right dosage?” He asked.
“Yes,” Toby replied. “They’re just not like the others, sir.”
Whumper smiled. “No, they are not. And they won’t be. In the end, they’ll be better.”
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An Oiran’s Tale.
I wrote something for a contest! I couldn’t go into depth on certain things because I had a 1500 word limit. Feedback is appreciated :0
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Fujiwara Hana hated her profession.
Being an Oiran, or a high-ranking Japanese prostitute was not the easiest thing in the world after all. Even though you had a lot more freedom than the other girls, you still had to deal with customers and appearances to keep your high ranking. It was the same routine every night. Walking along the streets of the Yoshiwara red-light district to advertise herself, keeping up with certain skills like playing the Koto and writing calligraphy, and meeting or turning down customers. However, Hana knew that this was needed to make the best amount of money possible. The only way to make connections in this world was through money, right?
Hana had just come back from walking through the streets of the district. Even though she was highly respected for her ranking, it was still something she quite loathed. As she returns to her room, she takes a breath of air for the first time all night. She looked in a small mirror she had. Even though she has been an Oiran for a little while, she could never get used to the way she looked. She didn't recognize who the person was, it was hard to tell. She had kept on the facade for so long and spent so much time suppressing memories that she didn't know if she had ever been real or not.
Hana finally comes out of her room. The brothel was quite big, however, there wasn't a lot of space inside. There were many different rooms and a lot of girls who resided in the brothel, so it often gets crowded along the hallways. When she turns the corner of her hallway, she runs into her Yarite, or the main guy who customers contact. "Hana! You have a customer interested in your services." The Yarite says.
For Hana to perform her services, she must meet a customer three times. The first time, Oiran sit far away from a customer while at a tea house. This is when the Oiran decide if they want to perform services for them or not. The second time, the Oiran sits a little closer to the customer. The third time is when an Oiran performs their services.
Hana enters the tea house and sits down far from the customer. She watches him carefully, however, there is something off about him. He does not act like other customers, he is a bit more gentle than them. He does not flaunt the money he has all around, but instead just lets his attire speak for himself. "How does he expect to interest me when he can't even show how wealthy he is?" Hana thinks to herself. Hana made sure to keep her emotions neutral, however, she was interested in him. After all, there has never been a man before that has done this. As Hana gets up to leave the tea house, the strange man slips an envelope her way. She quickly picks it up and quickly returns to the brothel to see what's in it.
When she enters her room, she opens up the envelope to see a note with a good stack of cash. "Please consider meeting me in private before our third meeting," The note said, along with a time and address. Hana was surprised and skeptical, especially because this sounded super suspicious. "What was he thinking?" Hana said to herself. Customers aren't supposed to meet up with Oiran without supervision, especially after only one meeting. She could get him in trouble for this and even get into trouble herself if she went.
Hana found herself in front of what looked like a newly renovated brothel at the end of the red light district. It was noon, so the district was all asleep, and she was supposed to be asleep too. Why would he want to meet up with her? Was he going to do something bad? Was she about to get kidnapped and taken to another district? With these thoughts fresh in her mind, she slowly enters the brothel. "Excuse me…" Hana says. She hears a voice down the hall of the brothel that calls for her. She slowly makes her way down the hall to see the customer from before. However, the customer looked a little different this time.
Hana stood speechless. How could no one notice this? How did she not notice this? The customer before her was wearing a flowery kimono, instead of the traditional male clothing that was worn at the tea house. The said customer was a woman. "Hello, let me introduce myself. My name is Nakamura Kuromi, and I am honored to be in your presence." The customer said with a soft smile.
Hana slowly bowed towards Kuromi and sat down. "You're probably wondering why I'm a woman aren't you?" Kuromi said with a laugh. Hana stays silent. Kuromi's demeanor suddenly changes. "I asked for your services because I'm here to get you out of this district," she said with a serious look on her face. Hana responds with a nervous chuckle, the first time she's laughed in years. "You can't be serious..this is the only way I'm able to--" She starts to say, just as Kuromi cuts her off. "Make money? You can just get another job, I'll help you find one," she says. Hana is once again rendered speechless. "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?" Hana says quietly. "I see you are unhappy here, and I want to see you thrive again," Kuromi says.
For the first time in a long time, Hana recalls memories of her past. She remembers the times when she enjoyed her life and her hobbies. After a moment of silence, Hana looks up at Kuromi. "Even if you helped me, I would never be able to pay you back." She says sadly. "Not all connections thrive off of money. What if I told you that I'd like to help you because of the memories we share?" Kuromi replies. After a moment of silence, Kuromi speaks up again. "We'll have our second meeting soon. Please think about what I've said."
That night, Hana finds herself once again walking along the streets of the district. However, this time Hana was thinking about what Kuromi said. From all of the memories she could remember at the moment, everything had surrounded money. Money was how she ended up here in the first place after being sold by her father. How could anyone truly care for others without money?
At their second meeting, they sat a little closer to each other. Hana still spent her time thinking about what Kuromi said, even though she was supposed to be watching her. During the day when she was supposed to be asleep, she spent her time thinking about her decision. After the meeting was technically over, she was suddenly pulled over by Kuromi in a private spot. "Have you thought about your decision?" Kuromi asked. "...Yes. I'll do it." Hana replied.
After that, Kuromi and Hana spent every day working with each other to create a plan. They were able to get to know each other more, and they shared memories of their past once comfortably. They were able to laugh and cry together. They truly got to understand each other. One day, Hana got the courage to ask something.
"Hey…do you remember the first time we truly met each other?" Hana said. "Yeah, you were shocked the entire time," Kuromi laughed. "You said something that confused me, you said you wanted to help me because there were memories we shared.." Hana continued. Kuromi sighed. "Hana...we were best friends when we were little," she said. Suddenly, the friends in Hana's memory had faces. One of them was Kuromi's. Hana and Kuromi cried together that day and reminisced about old memories.
Tonight was the night of the third meeting. It was also the night that Hana and Kuromi would escape. The plan was to jam the door in with the Obi that was tied to her waist and escape through a small window in the room. When Kuromi came into the specific room for their third meeting, they quickly enacted the plan.
Unfortunately, they were quickly found out and were running from the personnel of the district. They finally escaped and landed at an abandoned railroad and hid in a train cart. Hana laughed, she laughed hard and for a long time. "What are you laughing about?" Kuromi said, confused. Hana thought about her past. She thought about her father selling her for money and everyone at the brothel who cared about her just because she was able to make so much money. Then, she looked at Kuromi and thought about the time they’ve spent together. “Nothing!” Hana replies with a smile on her face.
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Hello, and welcome back to the newsletter! Lent term at LSE began this week, which means two of the same classes as last term for me, and one new one.
I went for a meandering walk in an area near my apartment I hadn't been to, the Sunday before classes started. I saw an adorable cat (image #1) who kept meowing when I would walk away. I also saw a Range Rover Khan (image #2, absolutely no idea what this is) and a gorgeous 450SL (images #3&4). And an amusing sign (image #5).
I had East Asia in the Age of Imperialism (1843-1945)on Monday, taught by an older British professor who I think is only two or three degrees separated from the most famous British foreign secretary to the Qing empire in the late 19th century. As in, he knows someone who knows someone who knew the guy. In class, he often wanders around the room, and will gaze forlornly out the window as he discusses the fall ofimperial China.
After class, I went to a little Korean restaurant (image #6) a bit north of LSE for lunch with my close friend from my cohort. We often go here after this class; the place closes at three, and the staff always look moderately annoyed that we waltz in at 2:25. Their bibimbap is good.
The next day I began writing my MA thesis (on German merchants in London under Elizabeth I) in earnest, for the first time. Got a bit over 1000 words of 15,000 total, and it's due in early May, so I'll take this as good progress. I also went for a walk and saw a Reliant Kitten (image #7). Never heard of this vehicle before.
I had my new class on Wednesday, Asian Borderlands. The professor is a young woman who was just hired as a professor at LSE. She walked in and announced that she'd spent the last three years teaching at a military academy in the southern US and would not tolerate rule-breaking or any transgressive behavior. She actually turned out to be quite lovely, and I spent about half the class talking in the discussion. We're discussing a lot of the same ideas that I did in my class Local History in Tibet, at Columbia, which was one of the best classes I've ever taken.
Later that day, I walked to a used electronics store with my nextdoor neighbor and closest friend in the cohort to buy a cheap computer keyboard. They had an RTX 3070 graphics card (image #8) on sale for £1000, or nearly $1500. For reference, I purchased the 2020 equivalent of that card (an RTX 2070 Super) in 2020 for $500; for $1500, you could (at least in non-pandemic times) get an entire prebuilt computer with equivalent components for $1500.
On Friday, I went to my class Maps, History, and Power (taught by my dissertation adviser). In class, we discussed such heady subjects as "what is art?" and "what is Italy?" Then I and my four cohort friends in the class went to my favorite pub, the Ship Tavern, for lunch. It's originally for the 16th century, and I like to imagine Hanse merchants going there in the 1570s to talk about how much they hate the English.
Yesterday, I won an online Smash Ultimate tournament (image #9) against seven people whom I can only imagine were children, because they were really bad. I will not participate in such an event again.
Today, I attended a performance of Shostakovich's 14th Quartet at Wigmore Hall (image #10), near Covent Garden, with a number of friends from LSE. I had no idea that Shostakovich wrote chamber music. It wasn't really my cup of tea, although it was amazingly technical and I could appreciate it from that point of view. In a couple weeks, a large group of us will go to see the London Philharmonic play Mahler's 1st Symphony, which I'm quite excited for. Mahler is particularly important to my family, and in my opinion this symphony is his best (though my experience is limited).
Until next time!
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I recommend reading the introduction to Invisible Women by Caroline Criado Perez, she talks about the importance of language in fighting misogyny and the overwhelming bias toward males found throughout language. For instance, she compared countries with super gendered language (where every word has a gender), countries like America where words aren’t all gendered but can denote gender (like actor, actress) and countries where the language is almost completely genderless (so like actor only.) And you know what she found? The second type of country, countries where the language isn’t all gendered but gender can be specified - are more equal than countries where gender can’t be specified. Because if you can’t specify that it’s a woman, everyone assumes it’s a man. You can’t correct the hidden bias towards men unless you can emphasize the presence of women. Men try to tell us that ‘he’ is the default, that it includes women. (Perez mentions a Greek myth where a man claims this.) They’re lying. Male language always denotes men, and gender neutral language also often denotes men because we aren’t used to it referring to women. The simple act of using she/her can be a meaningful act of rebellion under the patriarchy. Job vacancies, particularly in leadership, tend to use male language. Male is the default, women is other. Except that’s utter crap. Don’t let men erase us, and they will try their best. Did you know the first writer we have a record of was a woman? Her name is Enheduanna. One of the first movie makers was a woman, named Alice Guy-Blache, only her husband tried to steal credit for her work. 135 years before the Brothers Grimm, Madame d’Aulnoy coined the word ‘fairy tales.’ Most people at least know that Mary Shelley wrote the first science fiction story, Frankenstein, and it’s not a coincidence that her mother Mary Wollstonecraft was one of the first feminist philosophers. They’re realizing now early cave paintings were probably done by women. “Man’s” first calendar was almost definitely a woman tracking her menstrual cycle. Plus, any time a woman has wanted to exist outside of her cage, they’ve questioned whether she was a woman. They made jokes about Sappho being a man. They pretend warriors that were clearly women must actually have been men. They want to make women a tiny little box that no person would be able to breathe in, and they pretend that’s what it meant historically. They. Are. Lying. Our maternal ancestors always always always fought this bullshit. There’s discourse from I shit you not, the 1500s, about all the women dressing in “male” attire. In the beginning of the 1900s sexual harassers and cat callers were called “mashers” and women were praised for stabbing them with their hat pins. I could go on for a while lol - the point is, they will always try to disparage and erase anyone who we’d refer to as She/Her. But, a She created superheroes, She discovered sex chromosomes, She single handedly freed 70 slaves. She went to prison to get women the vote. On International Women’s Day a bunch of men always ask about the male equivalent. It exists. But no one cares. Because the first IW Days were 15,000 working class American women protesting for their rights and tens of thousands of Russian women protesting for theirs, and over a million women in Europe protesting for theirs. IWD means something. It wasn’t easy, but they did it, and often they did it thinking of us. That’s the heritage they’ve given us. Don’t listen to misogyny when it tries to get you to reject it, when it tries to redefine and limit it and belittle it. You know the quote ‘Well-behaved women rarely make history?’ It’s often misunderstood. It’s not just that rejecting patriarchical bullshit helps us achieve. It’s also that a man could be perfectly ‘well-behaved’ and still “make history,” while our maternal ancestors wouldn’t. They’d be erased. Don’t let them erase you. She can be and do anything. All we share is our biology and an amazing history. Help us fight to make it heard. Existing and embracing yourself is a radical act.
thank you so much for haring this, this is fascinating
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I need you. Both. - A Taiorato Friendship one shot
Characters: Yamato Ishida/Matt Ishida, Taichi Yagami/Tai Kamiya, Sora Takenouchi
Genre: Friendship, comfort
Rating: K+
Words: 1500+
Summary: Losing a special someone will never be easy. Fortunately, we all have friends with shoulders to lean and cry on. Even when you don’t say a word, they just know they are needed.
More below, under read more! Enjoy.
A/N (feel free to not read it): For some unknown reason I found myself suddenly rewatching Digimon Kizuna (the english dub unfortunately, because I can’t find a properly version of the original with english sub - anyone who knows where to find it?) and I started wondering: what would Taichi and Yamato have done directly after losing Agumon and Gabumon? What would they say to each other? And how did they find out about Sora, who went through the same happenings on her own probably without letting anyone know... Well, here is my take on that!
Update on 27th of August 2021: So originally I wrote Sora and Yamato broken up (see fanfiction.net for the original one-shot), but after coming to terms with canon and Sorato during the past couple of months and this Kizuna meta I recently wrote, it didn’t feel right anymore. So I fixed it, Sora and Yamato are dating, but on a break (as I can totally see that happening with their personalities).
Just to be clear, one last time: this is a Taiorato friendship! Which means all these dynamics are from a platonic point of view, even the Sorato parts.
Also fixed some typos :)
xxxxx
A cool breeze. Quiet after the storm. And the stabbing feeling of a loss.
He tried to fight his tears, burying his true feelings. In his one hand was the Digivice, petrified. He looked down on it, trembling, realizing what just had happened. With his other hand he brushed over the Digivice, then held his other hand preventing it from trembling too much. He needed to be strong. For himself, for the others. For Gabumon.
Gabumon.
Where would he be now? Yamato wondered. That thought freed the flow of tears he was failing to hide behind his eyelids. He wanted to scream. Shout. But what was the use? It wouldn’t bring his partner back. So he just stood there. Crying.
Mourning.
The thoughts kept trying to fill the pit he felt in his stomach. As the crying died down because of those deep thoughts, he simply stared, following the flickering lights with his eyes. It being the only movement in front of him.
Movement. Life.
What was life? He knew for example life was not limited to earth only. There was a whole digital realm existing in between this world where he came from and the network where Gabumon had his roots. Was there even more? How far could he go? Space? Maybe space was where he should aim for. As far away as possible from here, from where he stood now. From the spot where his partner vanished.
“Yamato.”
He stood straight at attention upon hearing his name. It sounded vague and far away, though he knew it was close by. He turned around, letting his blue eyes meeting the brown ones now in front of him. He watched his companion scan the surroundings. His friend looked sad to him.
“No Gabumon?”
Yamato swallowed and shook his head, biting his lip to once again fight his feelings. The trembling made his Digivice almost fall out of his hand. He squeezed it tight and with that holding onto everything he knew. Not ready to fully let go yet.
Usually Yamato was the one far more calm and collected. Though this time, for once, it seemed like the guy who tracked him down was better at keeping his cool.
Taichi.
It was just Taichi, no yellow dinosaur following him. Yamato figured out Taichi must’ve gone through the same fate as him. Yamato wanted to be there for him, but he felt his feet stuck in his place. His legs were heavy, as was his heart. Any movement, except from trembling, seemed impossible. So he stood there, questionably looking for answers which he knew his friend neither had.
xxxxx
Yamato.
He just stood there, looking at him as if he had all the answers he wanted to hear. But he had to disappoint. He had one answer: both Agumon and Gabumon had vanished. With that their Digivices had turn into cold stone. Taichi figured out Yamato already knew that.
It had been one hour since it happened and he had been mourning since. But what Taichi knew too was that moping around wasn’t going to make things better. Besides, it wasn’t what Agumon would have wanted him to do, moping around.
Agumon.
Instead he had taken out his phone, the ring of light on the back vanished just like Agumon had. He was glad to see the phone still worked, though it looked like it was a little faded. Maybe he was seeing things. He had quickly updated the others in their group chat by sending them a picture of his petrified Digivice, then closed the chat. He did not want pity from his friends, from his sister, from the others. They did not understand.
In all probability, there was one other person who would come close to understand him. So Taichi tracked Yamato down through his GPS. As he found out his whereabouts, he silenced his phone and made his way to him. Without haste, because he knew Yamato wasn’t going far or fast for that matter, not even with that motorcycle of his. After all, he was mourning too, just like Taichi.
His feelings had been right as there was no sign of Gabumon. The only visible sign was the stone in Yamato’s hand. The same stone Taichi was carrying with him, in both his pocket and heart. Yamato looked completely lost in his feelings, emptiness overwhelming him.
Yamato turned his back again to him. Taichi’s hands balled into fists, at once feeling the urge to fight him just like the old days. Breathing in deep, that feelings quickly faded, replacing it with a sudden feeling of concern. He glanced to the blond, slowly walking towards him.
“I know how you feel,” Taichi said now standing beside Yamato, staring into the same direction. “It’ll be fine eventually. I promise.”
A careful smile appeared on Yamato’s face, making Taichi smile a little as well. It was a careful smile, but it was genuine, the feeling of concern growing bigger. Taichi placed a hand on the blonde’s shoulder closest to him before gently pulling Yamato to him.
An embrace.
Back in the days the physical contact between the two of them were mostly fights with fists, but right now, Taichi knew it wasn’t the kind of touch he needed. What they both needed. Comfort, Yamato needed his friend, a shoulder to lean on.
“I know,” Yamato mumbled as he untangled himself out of Tachi’s grip after a little while. “It still stings though.”
Taichi nodded, completely understanding him, all the while grabbing the phone out of his pocket and switching it on to check the messages out of habit. He quickly scrolled through the messages in the group chat, but decided not to answer and leave them be for now. He looked through his private messages.
One message from his worrying mother. A missed call from a bragging classmate. Another message from…
Taichi gasped. After a brief moment he placed his hand back on Yamato’s shoulder, making him turn to face Taichi. He held the screen to Yamato.
“We need to go. There’s someone who needs us.”
xxxxx
She had been standing near the window for what felt like days, the rain falling for hours and hours. And hours more. The tears on her face joined the crying sky, but there were no tears left. She sighed, swallowing the lump in her throat.
She turned around, briefly looking at her desk filled with both clothing and flower designs. It was loaded with things she loved, but it was empty to her all the same. Then her eyes trailed further down the room to an empty pillow in the corner, one that belonged to someone very dear to her. To someone who sadly wasn’t here anymore.
Piyomon.
The name lingered in her thoughts, making Sora want to cry, but nothing came. She felt empty, like the pillow, lonely and hollow. At the same time she was thankful. Thankful for the time she could have spent with her partner.
Would she still be here if Sora had chosen to keep fighting? Would it have made a difference? Sora wondered, feeling a sting in her heart. It had to happen eventually, so why not now... Because she knew she had to grow up, especially after that message they received from Koushiro about the glowing ring, counting down the time of her partnership. Little did she know that Taichi went through the same thing at the same time.
Somehow it was hard to imagine him growing up. Into a man. To her, he had always been her childhood friend, the one making her feel strong, young and aware. She remembered the echoing sound of the whistle earlier today, immediately connecting the sound to him. By then she knew, even after they grew apart and had barely talked to each other during the past couple of weeks or even months, he was arriving at the same place where she already was at that time.
Partnerless.
“Honey, there’s someone for you.” Sora heard her mother from the other side of the bedroom door, snapping her out of her thoughts. She walked towards the door, sliding it open and stepping into the hallway. Her head turned ninety degrees and her eyes grew wider.
Taichi.
There he was, with his back leaning against the frame of the door, her brown haired friend, as if he knew she was thinking about him. His arms folded across the chest, his head diagonally directed to the ground. Further outside she saw the silhouette of a certain blond boy she knew all too well.
Yamato.
After Taichi had sent a picture of his petrified Digivice in their group chat, she had sent him a reply through a private message. For Sora it was important that he knew and felt he wasn’t alone. But seeing Yamato standing there, leaning against the rail of the gallery, his blue eyes ice cold, she knew that Taichi already knew he wasn’t the only one.
As wasn’t she.
A few steps. Taichi looked up as Sora walked past him. Without looking she brushed over his arm and hand for reassurance, but her focus was on Yamato. It had been a little while since she saw him last. They maintained a steady relationship in the past, but with their busy lives and studies they decided to take a little break to take things slow. Very slow, distancing from each other to focus on their own paths first.
Of course she missed him, and she still cared for him. A lot. And he needed her, she could feel. She knew he did. Standing fully in front of him, she placed her hand on one of his shoulders, finally making him look her straight in the eyes. She smiled her most genuine but soft smile, then carefully hugged him around the neck, placing a small peck on his cheek. She felt his heartbeat slightly increase, so she held on to him until his heart calmed down again.
As she let go and stepped back, Yamato flashed her a painful smile. Sora had to swallow seeing him like that, shifting her gaze to the ground. The touch of a hand on her shoulder brought her attention back up. She had thought she had no tears left, but that one touch did the trick.
Sora swiftly turned around, throwing her arms around the waiste of the owner of the hand on her shoulder. She felt Taichi pulling her even closer as she heavily cried, wetting his shirt. But she knew he didn’t care, because in that moment all he cared for was her. And Yamato.
Stupid.
And they just stood there, the two of them. Until suddenly she felt a warmth behind her, another body becoming part of their embrace. And she knew that whenever she was sad or lonely or in need of a hug, they were there within a heartbeat.
“I need you,” she mumbled into Taichi’s shirt.
“Both.”
#digimon fanfiction by me#Digimon#Digimon Kizuna#Taiorato#Yamato Ishida#Taichi Yagami#Sora Takenouchi#Matt Ishida#Tai Kamiya#taiyama#taito#sorato#taiora#yamato#taichi#sora#matt#tai
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5 works tag game
Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and post or link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!
tagged by mine olde friende @dollsome-does-tumblr!
All of this is Jaime/Brienne, because I’m a one-trick pony.
1. Concupiscence - A Fuck-or-Die Fairytale. I’ve been twiddling my thumbs around writing a fuck-or-die fic for a while now and so when I did, of course I sort of fucked it up.
2. The Limit Does Not Exist - My exchange fic! In which I finally got to write a Professor/Student fic in full because I had a good excuse! I also got to make heart-eyes at mathematics. A good time was had by me.
3. my heart is holding on to you - Technically, this isn’t complete yet. But I love it still. It’s a soft, bittersweet, little thing. I think of it as fall breeze on a cloudy day somewhere temperate? It’s loosely bookverse, but basically takes place post-battle for King’s Landing wherein Jaime has basically eat pray loved his way back to a now-widowed-mother Brienne.
4. i’ll unfold before you - Painter!Jaime! I basically wanted to write extremely long detailed descriptions of Brienne and also use the word “quim”. And here we are. (I really like some of the writing in this dammit.)
5. because i know no other way - Here! Have some Valentine’s fluff I wrote on a lunch break! It is very schmaltzy and it is a HS AU that is less than 1500 words. But sometimes that’s all you need! I think!
tagging; @sdwolfpup @brynnmck @angel-deux-writes and anyone else that wants to do it and hasn’t so far!
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January Fic Recs
ok so a ...... LONG time ago I made a fic rec list after reaching 1500 followers and I had a lot of fun doing it and now that I’ve decided to be multi-fandom I just wanted to share some of my favorite fics I've read in January so uhhh here goes :)
also pls know that most of them are going to be for FMA:B simply because thats my current hyper fixation but I’ll put what fandom each one is for ajadhfsa
Get A Hobby, Asshole by @borkthemork - in progress
Fandom: FMA:B
Ed tells Roy to take up cooking instead of working himself to death and he ...... takes that idea and decides to use it to work himself to death in true Roy Mustang fashion I love it so far
The Amestrian Candidate by @dyannehs - in progress
Fandom: FMA:B
Y'all know I LOVE a political drama WHEW omg this one is so good I think about it constantly!!!!! Roy is running for PRESIDENT and his campaign is MESSY! It recently went on hiatus but thats ok I will wait patiently until the next stellar update
Limited Release by rageprufrock - complete
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
This is the first x-men fic that had me hooked in a HOT second and made me remember how much I love cherik so if all my February fics are cherik .... mind your business anyway this one is actually very Alex Summers centered which I didn’t think I would like but the WRITING !!!! bby Scott is missing and the first class squad is part of the FBI so its a modern setting but there's still mutations aka a perfect storm
An Invite For Tea by @borkthemork - complete
Fandom: FMA:B
Yes I did go read all of borkthemork’s works after reading Get A Hobby, Asshole and yes they were all great but this one right here ........ YALL. Roy and Riza TALK ???? and CUDDLE ???? and I fucking CRIED ??????? oh my god
*Also please just read everything they’ve posted so I don't have to list every single one and give bad summaries that no one wants to read
A Spoonful of Sugar by oretsev - in progress
Fandom: FMA:B
Riza owns a bakery and Roy opens a coffee shop next door. It is just as pure and wholesome as it sounds and I love it ....... so much ????
*I also binge read everything else orestev had posted on their AO3 after reading this one and everything was incredible I highly recommend :)
Deadeye by @existentialspacecowboy - in progress
Fandom: FMA:B
Roy and Riza are COWBOYS what other information do you need please read it immediately
My Girl Claudine by @leeloforever - complete
Fandom: FMA:B
Team Mustang has a night out and their dynamic .... we absolutely love to see it
and i’m not trying to be with you, now by yourendlessblue - complete
Fandom: FMA:B
The only thing I love just as much as a political drama is, you guessed it, a DOCTOR AU !!!!!! also don't think I didn’t peep the Taylor Swift reference in the series name, my third mortal weakness
delicate by @lantur - in progress but its almost done and I genuinely don’t know what I’m going to do with my life when its finished
Fandom: FMA:B
You’re absolutely CRAZY if you think this one was not going to be on the list and I’m sorry it took this long to get here but here we are. What do I even say about this masterpiece ...... other than Riza Hawkeye is the love of my life. Thats it, thats the fic. And ANOTHER Taylor Swift reference in the title ???? I keep winning
*P L E A S E read everything else lantur has on their AO3 page the TALENT
Pyrolysis by raisingmybanner - complete
Fandom: FMA:B
OOF I love this fic ajasjdfsh and I know I've said that about literally every fic on the list and if I didn’t love them they wouldn't be here but ..... this one ????? YES ok so its Roy focused and goes from pre to post canon following him and Riza, and you may not have noticed but that premise is very much my current obsession and I need 50 more fics that are just like this one
Holding Out by Oort - complete
Fandom: FMA:B
Riza tries on one of Roy’s gloves and thoughts begin to HAPPEN this one is short but I absolutely loved the writing
I can’t say the words out loud (so in a rhyme I wrote you down) by @hawkeyes-riza - complete
Fandom: FMA:B
ok so I was brought in by the Bastille lyrics and after reading this one spent like the next two days reading everything hawkeyes-riza has up on AO3 uhhhhh I LOVED this one its set the night before the promised day and its STEAMY
*after reading this fic I went through all of hawkeyes-riza’s other fics and I can confirm they are all A++++++
From Start to Beginning by SpaceFarm - complete
Fandom: FMA:B
Remember like 5 fic recs ago when I said my current obsession is pre to post canon royai :)))))) this one is so good you guys I literally cannot hype it enough
*ALSO I love love LOVED all the other royal fics SpaceFarm has up like you guys don’t even understand pls read EVERYTHING
ok ladies and gays thats the end of my list!!! I don’t think I’ve ever actually mentioned what my AO3 user is but its stevie1120 for anyone that was wondering!
I’m reading constantly but have never been much of a writer and I’m really bad at commenting but I’m trying so hard to get better at interacting lol but yes I am that weirdo that left kudos on all of your fics and you may have been wondering “hey how did she possibly read like 8 3k fics in one day” and the answer is that I literally have nothing better to do !!!! I love reading and I want to thank the authors that I mentioned here, and tbh all authors, so much for enabling my addiction and working so hard on bringing these characters that we all love to life!
If you know one of the authors who’s blogs I couldn’t find pls tag them in this post and tell them that I love them!!!!
I hope you guys enjoyed this post and I’ll see you in February :)
#also pls don't be afraid to share fic recs with me this can so easily be a two way street#ok its past my bed time goodnight#fic rec#fic recs#fma:b#x-men first class#fanfic#the way this is all fma and one x men fic that I stumbled upon on my feed BYE
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Rikiya, Kiryu, & Haruka - Rikiya’s Lonely Struggle [RGGO] - Ch.4, Epilogue
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
.
Doing this made me realize I miss the suspense of these multichaptered stories <3 Don’t be fooled by the “Prologue” “Epilogue” terms, they’re just as long as the regular chapters, just without the player input :D
Previously: The rumors have gotten worse, but Rikiya thinks he’s finally pinpointed the source. He also thinks Kiryu’s kinda at fault, with his penchant for talking like a scary yakuza no matter how domestic the task. (Also Kiryu really needs to take lessons from Dead Souls Ryuji on how to kill an octopus, cuz 2 hours is just excessive, man.)
.
CHAPTER 4
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Rikiya: “What the hell are you . . . ?! Why are you posting false rumors about my Aniki . . . ?!”
Woman Passing By: “It’s not a false rumor! Kiryu Kazuma comes to the shop I work at every week.”
Rikiya: “Shop?”
Woman Passing By: “I’m a waitress at a coffee shop on the outskirts of Ryukyu City.”
Rikiya: “Kiryu-no-aniki going to a coffee shop? I’ve never heard a word of that from him! In the first place, why does an ordinary kid like you know who Kiryu-no-aniki is?”
Waitress: “Because that’s the name he calls himself by, on the phone . . .”
Rikiya: “The phone?”
Waitress: “Kiryu is always talking on the phone. At one time, I heard him saying, ‘It’s me. Kiryu Kazuma.’ . . .”
Rikiya: “My Aniki doesn’t refer to himself that way. So who is the person on the phone?”
Waitress: “I don’t know. But every time that person talks, it’s to make plans for the market takeover . . . First, to try and brainwash the young captain of the Ryudo Family. After that, to poison the head of the Ryudo Family.”
Rikiya: “So you heard that and wrote a letter about it?”
Waitress: “Yes. I have to tell someone to protect the market, was what I thought. But if I announced what I told you, Kiryu could kill me . . .”
Rikiya: “So you put it in an opinion box where you can post anonymously?”
Waitress: “Yes. I heard the Youth Club in the market are very strong people. If they knew about it, they could stop Kiryu’s invasion . . .”
Rikiya: “Miss Waitress. The man who comes to your coffee shop is not Kiryu Kazuma. It’s a fake.”
Waitress: “Even if you claim that . . . please come to the coffee shop now to check Kiryu’s face.”
Rikiya: “He’s in the shop now?”
Waitress: “Yes.”
Middle-Aged Man: “Can I say something? Did you say that Kiryu Kazuma is in a coffee shop right now? That’s strange. Because Kiryu Kazuma was at a convenience store just now.”
Rikiya: “Eh?”
Middle-Aged Man: “I’m the manager of a convenience store in Ryukyu, and sometimes Kiryu Kazuma comes to the store.”
Rikiya: “Was that Kiryu Kazuma on the phone as well . . . ?”
Convenience Store Manager: “Yeah. He was talking to someone. About the market takeover plan. So I eavesdropped on what he said, wrote it down, and came here to the opinion box.”
Elderly Man: “The same is true for me, I came here from Tarekomi Street to post a letter . . .”
Rikiya: “You too . . . ??”
Elderly Man: “Kiryu was in my barber shop a while ago. Talking with someone on the phone about taking over the market . . .”
Rikiya: “Oi, oi! Is there a fake Kiryu Kazuma in town . . . ?! Let’s go to the coffee shop, Ma’am! Lead the way!”
Waitress: “Yes!”
----
Bad Guy A: “How was the convenience store?”
Bad Guy B: “It worked. The store manager pretended not to, but I could see he was listening in!”
Bad Guy C: “The barber shop owner too. He was sneakily taking notes while I was on the phone!”
Bad Guy A: “Hehehe . . . Those idiots. No one was on the other side of the phone.”
Bad Guy C: “By the way, did the letter already reach the Youth Club?”
Bad Guy A: “Yeah. The Youth Club hired thugs and made them into bouncers, but those thugs aren’t reliable. They were defeated by Rikiya of the Ryudo Family.”
Bad Guy C: “Well, why don’t they hire a stronger guy next time? They can’t choose the means for the market they love.”
Bad Guy A: “Eventually someone’s going to take Kiryu down. If Kiryu is gone, the Ryudo Family will lose their supporter. Then the Ryudo Family will be scared. The market, which is their territory, can be easily hijacked. By us . . . the Tamashiro Family. Hehehe . . . instigating the citizens into getting rid of Kiryu is a good strategy. Isn’t it a good idea? This way we don’t even have to get our hands dirty and get arrested. As a longtime member of the Tamashiro Family, if this goes well, I might get a promotion.”
Tamashiro Family member C: “Yeah, but we have to keep it a secret from the higher ups until we succeed. Can’t have them stealing the credit.”
Tamashiro Family member A: “I know . . . Alright. Let’s head back to the office. Hey! Give us the bill!”
Rikiya: “Yes. Your three iced coffees cost 1500 yen.”
Tamashiro Family member A: “Oh. Hand me that receipt, I’ll receive it.”
Rikiya: “Right now we have a limited time offer for Tamashiro Family members, where you get half-killed by me.”
Tamashiro Family member A: “Oh, yes. Half-killed . . .”
Tamashiro Family member A: “. . . You! Rikiya of the Ryudo family!”
Rikiya: “You really thought this was a good idea. Are you stupid? That’s why you’re still a low-ranking member even after so long! Your only salvation is that you didn’t tell your higher ups! If the executives knew about your plan, you know all of you will be expelled, right?”
Tamashiro Family member A: “What are you saying! The plan is going well! As long as Kiryu drops dead, the market is ours!”
Rikiya: “Idiot. You’re the ones who’re going to drop dead.”
Tamashiro Family member A: “You have a bad habit despite being a kid. Die a little earlier than Kiryu then!”
{Rikiya kicks their ass.}
Tamashiro Family member A: “D-Damn it . . . ! Don’t think this is over! We will definitely take the market!”
{The Tamashiro Family runs off.}
Waitress: “Is it okay to let them escape? They might spread false rumors around the city again . . .”
Rikiya: “Don’t worry. No one will believe rumors about Kiryu-no-aniki from now on.”
Waitress: “You mean by telling the truth to the people in the market, right?”
Rikiya: “Yeah. But I shouldn’t be the one to tell them about it. They think I’ve been brainwashed. So, Miss Waitress. Can the explanation to the people in the market come from you?”
Waitress: “Come from me . . . ?”
Rikiya: “Originally, it was a misunderstanding that stemmed from your story. If you tell the truth, the twisted string will unravel.”
Waitress: “I understand. Let’s go tell the truth in the market.”
{Rikiya’s phone rings. He answers.}
Rikiya: “Hello?”
Man’s voice: “Rikiya! You asshole! You did so well!”
Rikiya: “This voice . . . the director of the Youth Club?”
Youth Director: “It’s dirty to launch a surprise attack!”
Rikiya: “Surprise? What are you talking about?”
Youth Director: “Right now, the members of the Tamashiro Family are inside the market!”
Rikiya: “What?!”
Youth Director: “I can’t believe Kiryu is brainwashing even the Tamashiro Family!”
Tamashiro Family member A: “Ora! I’m destroying everything! It’s all because of Kiryu-no-aniki’s command!”
Youth Director: “N-No, stop . . . !!”
{The call gets cut off.}
Rikiya: “. . . Damn it! Those bastards from the Tamashiro Family are causing chaos! I have to get to the market right away!!”
.
-END-
.
EPILOGUE
.
Waitress: “What was that phone call just now . . . ?”
Rikiya: “The Tamashiro Family members are rampaging in the market! I have to stop them right away!”
----
Tamashiro Family member A: “Everyone! From now on, this market belongs to Kiryu-no-aniki! 1 million yen for protection racket per store! Give me the list of the store names!”
Greengrocer: “I can’t believe Kiryu even brainwashed the Tamashiro Family . . . ! 1 million yen is messed up!”
Tamashiro Family member A: “You’re lucky it’s only 1 million yen!”
{The guy standing next to the talking Tamashiro Family member sees a certain someone approaching, and runs away in panic, unbeknownst to his companion.}
Tamashiro Family member A: “If Kiryu-no-aniki came back from his business trip, do you think he won’t kill all of you? Pay up quick before that happens! Kiryu-no-aniki is slowly coming closer . . .”
Kiryu: “What was that about me?”
Tamashiro Family member A: “Oh, here is Kiryu-no-aniki. Just now, I said you were . . .”
Tamashiro Family member A: “. . . Eh?! Kiryu?! Why are you here?!”
Kiryu: “Is it wrong to come shopping? Isn’t the market for everyone?”
Tamashiro Family member A: “Th-That’s right . . . ! The market is for everyone . . . ! And now, it belongs to you, Aniki! Hahaha! Enjoy shopping as much as you like!! We’re thrilled!!”
{The guy tries to slowly sneak away.}
Kiryu: “Wait. How about you don’t take one more step? You can’t get away with that.”
Tamashiro Family member A: “Y-Yes . . .”
Tamashiro Family member A: (This is the first time I’ve seen him up close, but what a powerful presence . . . ! It’s scary . . . !)
Kiryu: “Me brainwashing you Tamashiro Family members? Taking over the market? Well, looking back on Rikiya’s recent words and actions, I can guess it was about this current situation.”
Meat Vendor: “Fi-Finally Kiryu has arrived . . . !! My life up till now . . . !!”
Kiryu: “I have no intention of hijacking the market, or of hurting you. It’s all a lie made by those Tamashiro Family members over there.”
Meat Vendor: “You won’t win! You evil mainlander! Just because someone can’t pay the protection racket, you’re going to kill them?! But I won’t let you kill me just like that! I’ll stab you and kill you . . . with this knife!”
{The meat vendor brandishes his butcher’s knife.}
Kiryu: “So if I let you kill me, only then will you believe my words?”
Meat Vendor: “Yeah. I’ll believe you if you let me stab you quietly without any resistance! But you won’t do such a thing! Do you have a hidden weapon somewhere? Is it a pistol? A dagger! That’s why I’m going to kill you!”
Kiryu: “No, I have nothing on me. Now stab. My heart is on your right side.”
Meat Vendor: “I-I’m not messing around . . . ! I really will stab you!”
Kiryu: “Yeah. I’m ready.”
Meat Vendor: “Ugh . . . ! Ugh . . . ! Dieeeee!!!!”
{The meat vendor rushes at Kiryu with the knife.}
Tamashiro Family member A: (Oh! He went for it! This is the end of Kiryu!)
Kiryu: “. . . What’s wrong? Why did you stop right before?”
Meat Vendor: “Why?! Why didn’t you move?!”
Kiryu: “I wanted to believe in you. That’s all.”
Meat Vendor: “You’re willing to throw your life away, just for that reason . . . ?”
Kiryu: “Believing in other people shouldn’t be done half-heartedly. Especially if you’re a stranger like me. But I have to believe. For the sake of the children at the Morning Glory orphanage. If the caretaker is accused of a crime, those kids won’t be allowed to live on this land.”
Meat Vendor: “So, you did it for the kids . . . ?”
Kiryu: “Yeah. I’ll risk my life just to take care of them.”
Meat Vendor: “That urge to take care of your children is genuine . . . I don’t think you’re trying to take over the market . . .”
Greengrocer: “I agree. You’re not the kind of person we heard about!”
Meat Vendor: “I’ve decided! I believe in Kiryu!”
Greengrocer: “Yeah, me too!”
Tamashiro Family member A: (Shit . . . ! I have to escape quickly . . . !)
Kiryu: “Wait. You there from the Tamashiro Family.”
Tamashiro Family member A: “Wh-What do you want . . . ?!”
Kiryu: “It’s not me who wants something from you, it’s them.”
Greengrocer: “Who are you guys? Why did you confuse us with false rumors?”
Meat Vendor: “How dare you try to imitate someone! You can’t get the better of us people of Okinawa!”
{The screen goes black as the people of the market collectively kick the Tamashiro Family’s asses.}
Rikiya: “Haa, haa . . . ! Where? Where’s the Tamashiro Family guys?”
Tamashiro Family member A: “P-Please help me . . . !”
Rikiya: “You, aren’t you from the Tamashiro Family?!”
Tamashiro Family member A: “I’m never coming back to such a terrifying market again . . . !”
{The Tamashiro Family runs away.}
Rikiya: “What does that mean . . . ??”
Meat Vendor: “Rikiya.”
Rikiya: “Mister Meat Vendor?”
Meat Vendor: “You didn’t get brainwashed . . . I’m sorry I believed that. Forgive me!”
Rikiya: “What on earth is going on . . . ?”
Meat Vendor: “I woke up. Thanks to this person’s honorable spirit.”
Rikiya: “A-Aniki!! Why are you here?!”
Kiryu: “Because you weren’t available to show me around the market, I decided to go for it.”
Rikiya: “What does waking everyone up with your honorable spirit even mean?”
Kiryu: “It’s no big deal. But there’s one thing I don’t understand. You knew about the bad rumors circulating about me. Why did you try to hide it? If you told me about it early, it never would have gotten this bad.”
Rikiya: “That is . . . I couldn’t tell you right after I preached that ‘the people of Okinawa are kind’. Besides, my pride as your younger brother won’t let me allow my Aniki to deal with such an incident . . . I wanted to solve it on my own! Not rely on my Aniki!”
Kiryu: “You and I are not bound by the sake cup. You just started calling me Aniki on your own.”
Rikiya: “. . .”
Kiryu: “But, if we were really brothers, then you’re supposed to give your big brother a lot of trouble. That’s a brother’s duty.”
Rikiya: “Eh . . . ?”
Kiryu: “Didn’t you say you couldn’t allow it on account of your pride as a younger brother? Then the same is true for the big brother. My pride won’t allow me to be taken care of by my younger brother. So next time you have trouble, come talk to me right away. . . . If not, then I don’t want you to call me ‘Aniki’ again in the future.”
Rikiya: “. . . Aniki! Thank you very much!”
Meat Vendor: “Heh, you have a good Aniki there, Rikiya! Kiryu-san, we also want to apologize to you too. I swallowed the rumors and thought you were a terrifying person. I’m sorry.”
Kiryu: “Don’t worry about it. Rather, are you a butcher?”
Meat Vendor: “Yeah. I’ve got some delicious pork leg, so I’ll be happy to serve you!”
Kiryu: “No. I wanted to borrow something . . . that kitchen knife you had earlier.”
Meat Vendor: “Kitchen knife . . . ? Wh-What are you using it for . . . ?”
Kiryu: “To off him.”
Meat Vendor: “O-Off him . . . ?!”
Kiryu: “I didn’t know earlier. So now I’m going to kill him.”
Meat Vendor: “After all that . . . you really are that kind of a man! P-P-Please help me!”
{The meat vendor runs away.}
Rikiya: “Wait, what do you mean?! Why are you killing?!”
Kiryu: “Hm? No, I bought this from the fish shop over there . . .”
Rikiya: “That’s . . . gurukun?!”
Kiryu: “I came here to buy it because you wouldn’t let me join you in the market for so long. When I asked the fish seller to sell me a very fresh one, he gave me a live fish. However, it’s hard to carry with it flopping around in the bag. I’m sorry, but I have no choice but to off him.”
Rikiya: “Is that so . . . Aniki, remember what I advised? Please keep in mind to speak more gently.”
Kiryu: “Yeah. I’ve been keeping that in mind since then.”
Rikiya: “In what way?! In the first place, half of this uproar is because of you, Aniki! If you always talked more gently, no one would have believed the rumors!”
Kiryu: “Heh, I guess that sudden authority means the usual Rikiya is back. Alright, now I can finally enjoy Rikiya’s market tour. Please guide me well. Let’s start.”
{Kiryu walks off.}
Rikiya: “Wait, Aniki! I haven’t agreed . . . ! Already~ Guess it can’t be helped~.”
.
-END-
.
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Masterlist
#this is why Kiryu gets shanked by Hamazaki :/#have some tough guys being emotionally honest with each other <3#rgg online#rggo lore#rggo#rgg#ryu ga gotoku#yakuza#rikiya shimabukuro#kiryu kazuma#kazuma kiryu
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how an idiot like me got into good schools
A quick run-through of my academic history and how I got into good colleges will be below the cut! I’m also including a list of some of the schools I got into for reference. I apologize in advance for how messy this is, but my memory is shitty and I remember random things that I keep throwing in lol. (and for people congratulating me, thank you very much, but I got into all these schools last year lol! so keep in mind I graduated high school in 2019)
If all you came for are the basic stats and you don't want my rambling:
I went to a public school
GPA: around 4.4 on 4.0 scale (3.9 unweighted)
SAT: 1520/1600
APs: 10 (4 3s, 2 4s, 4 5s)
Extracurricular: mainly NHS (around 300 volunteering hours), StuCo, Varsity Golf, and Quiz Bowl
EDIT: comments made by the readers who reviewed my application are available here!
First off, I am not an einstein! I am blessed that I pick up on stuff easily and gifted in academics, but I’m nowhere near a genius. For a little backstory, I went to a public school in Michigan for the entirety of my pre-k - 12 education. When I was in the third grade, the district introduced an accelerated program. We took a quasi IQ test and if we tested high enough (I think the threshold was 80%? If I remember correctly I got a 97) we were put in a class that was 2 years ahead in English and Math. We stayed grouped together for the rest of our public schooling, basically a core group of around 20 people. Since we were the first year of the program and our grade was exceptionally gifted for some weird reason, it was a very high achieving group of students, so I’m going to include their stats along with mine for comparison because colleges also factor in your peers when they look at your stats.
I’ll start off with basic stats:
I got a 1520 on the SAT. My grade had around 5 - 10 people achieve over 1500. Some of them had been studying for years, while others (me) did not know that the SAT existed until that year and couldn’t afford any private tutoring and had no patience for the study books from the library. I’m lucky to have an aptitude for the skills they were testing. I did not take any SAT subject tests.
For GPA, I think I ended up with around a 4.4 on a 4.0 scale. I was around 15/350 when it came to class standing, so I was far from the valedictorian. I think our valedictorians got around a 4.6 or 4.7.
I took 10 AP tests. I got a 3 in APUSH, World History, Language and Comp (I fell asleep lol), and Chem (I will get into this class a little later). I got a 4 in Literature (I fell asleep. Again.) and in Psychology. I got a 5 in Calc AB & BC, Comp Sci Principles, and Environmental Science.
AP classes were really pushed in my high school, especially onto my grade, and I don’t like being told what to do lol so I pushed back and took fewer AP classes than most of my peers (valedictorians ended up with maybe 15? It’s crazy) and basically only took classes I was interested in or that I had to take because I had exhausted the rest of the curriculum.
I also dual-enrolled in 2 classes at the local community college since I’d exhausted the curriculum at my high school for things I wanted to do (english and comp sci). I want to make it clear that I never sat down and planned how I was going to maximize my schedule or how I’d take the most advanced classes, I just fell into it since we had already essentially skipped two grades. Most people didn’t dual enroll since they wanted the AP GPA boost.
For extracurriculars, I mainly focused on Quiz Bowl, Golf, NHS (volunteered around 350 hours in 3 years I think) and Student Government. I never had any leadership positions and just kind of fucked around most of the time. Most of my peers held several leadership positions throughout the years and did like a bazillion things. 5 of them even traveled to Europe for some science research thing where they presented their research. I was not that big of a nerd.
In junior year, I stumbled on something called Questbridge and decided to apply because I wanted the money for the scholarship. I became a Questbridge college prep scholar, which then led me to apply for the National College Match. I didn’t rank any binding schools so I didn’t match, but I did apply to several schools with their application. If you are a low-income high achieving student, I highly recommend looking them up. I was the first person in my school to do this program and encouraged my peers to do it too. I think 4 of us were Questbridge scholars.
As you can see, I had good numbers, which probably got me past the first wave of application look throughs. However, I’m fairly confident that what made me stand out was my essays. I always stress this to whoever asks me for advice: do not write a perfect essay, write YOUR essay. I can only imagine how bored those poor people are of reading about someone winning a soccer game or a spelling bee. Add some pizzazz in there. Talk about your flaws and your mistakes and your unique life experiences!
For example, my personal essay wasn’t even in essay format! I wrote it like journal entries, focusing on my sophomore year when my life was Extra Tumultuous and I was going through homelessness. I did not say I was homeless once in the essay. I just did day by day entries of what my life was like during that time and through that the readers were able to see that I loved to read, that I am fiercely protective of my single-parent family, and they saw how I handled adversity. I want to stress that I’m not encouraging poverty porn at all. I did not write it to make the reader feel bad. I simply relayed what I thought about in a day, focusing on both big and small.
I also wrote about funny things related to academics, partly to explain my transcript and partly to be funny. This is the AP Chem thing. I actually dropped out of it after one term (so about a third of the way through) so I could dual enroll in a class I was interested in instead. My chem teacher HATED that since I was good at chemistry (hate it. Hate that subject so much) and tried to convince me to stay. One of the things he said was “You’ll never be ready for college if you don’t take this class! You wouldn’t even be able to pass the AP test!” so I said bet. dropped the class and signed up for the AP test that same day and showed up almost every day for the rest of the year and dicked around the entire class, taking naps in the back of the lab, sitting on his desk, cracking jokes about whatever he was teaching. I got a 3 on that exam purely out of spite with only half the information I needed. So write about stuff like that. It’s fun.
The fact that I had no guidance in writing the essays was actually really good for me since I just kind of let loose. My UChicago essay read like I was on crack, and they loved it so much that they literally mentioned it during the welcome speech for their little college visit in April.
And don’t sweat over the small stuff! The short answers don’t have to be perfect and mind-blowing, just answer honestly. For the “why Yale” supplemental essay I just ranted about how beautiful their library is for a good 300 words (at some point I said I needed my inhaler because it was that breathtaking. I made a Yale admissions officer read that.) I ranted about Howl’s Moving Castle to Columbia. I told them my favorite magazine was the American Girl ones for their arts and crafts! I have a friend at Columbia who literally sent them a picture of her in a duck costume as a supplement. They loved it. So don’t lose your mind trying to sound worldly and educated. You’re like. 17. Just answer honestly and don’t think too hard about it.
I was also extremely lucky to have a dedicated counselor who sat down for hours with each individual student to write fantastic letters of recommendation. She really made it clear what I had achieved and what challenges I’d faced.
So. tl;dr: I got lucky. Unless your parents donated a couple billion to the school, there are no guarantees. Sometimes you can have the stats and perfect essays and amazing extracurriculars and you can still get rejected because they don’t think you’re a good fit with the school compared to the rest of the applicants. There’s limited space in the student body. I got into schools my valedictorians didn’t get into even though I was academically less than them in every possible way. So let yourself shine through your essays and know you’ll end up in an environment that values the person they saw in those essays.
I got into a lot of schools, and don’t really have a record of all of them, but here are some of the top ones I can remember off the top of my head:
Yale, Columbia, University of Chicago (likely letter), Northwestern, University of Michigan, Northeastern, CWRU, UNC Chapel Hill, and a couple other schools here and there that slip my mind at the moment.
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Hypothetical Questions
ALRIGHT! This is for Ellie’s 1500 follower celebration. I chose the character Pietro Maximoff with the prompt “ What would you say if I asked you out on a date? Y’know like….hypothetically.” This is also a continuation of a previous fic I wrote for Ellie called Let Me Help! I suggest reading that one first because this picks up where that one ends.
Also, I refer to the reader as Baby Avenger in this to try to keep our Reader gender neutral. I also HC that Stark would totally make FRIDAY call them that, so there.
Rating: T- Just some language
Word Count: 1132
Tag: @mycupoffanfiction
ENJOY
The first thing that you noticed when you woke up was that it was very warm. Snuggling in deeper to the blankets, you realized that you were not only not in your bed, you were also not alone. A heavy arm was wrapped tightly against your waist and your back was pressed to someone’s chest. Mentally freaking out for a moment, you quickly tried to figure out where you were without moving. As your sleep addled brain leaped into awareness, the memories from the night before sprung forward and as your eyes swept over the room, they settled on a familiar black jacket with a chevron pattern on the sleep. Sighing in relief and relaxing, you felt Pietro pull you even closer to him and bury his nose in your hair.
“Good morning, Prinţesă” He murmured. You shivered slightly at his breath on your neck but couldn’t stop the soft smile that spread across your lips.
“Good morning, Piet.” You felt him take in a breath as if about to say something, but FRIDAY cut in before he could get anything out.
“Excuse me, Mr. Maximoff?”
“Yes?”
“Captain Rogers is looking for Baby Avenger. Sergeant Barnes has requested to see them.” You felt your breath leave you in anxiety but Pietro’s arm tightening around your middle helped ground you. “I thought it best to let you know since they’re with you.”
“Thank you, FRIDAY.” You rubbed a hand down your face before rolling out of the bed. Standing with your back to the bed, you stretched before running your hand through your hair. Turning to look at Pietro, you felt your cheeks heat up at the look he was giving you. His eyes seemed to linger on the exposed skin of your legs and you couldn’t stop how flustered it made you.
“Uh, right. I guess I should go.” You headed to the door but stopped in it to look back at him. He was still laying in the bed but had shoved the blankets down around his waist. His hands were rubbing his eyes and you were hit with just how amazing he looked like this. Closing your eyes, you forced the thought from your head. Opening them again, you found Pietro looking at you in confusion.
“You okay, Prinţesă?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m good. Thank you for last night.” With that, you left the room. Heading to your own, you continued to try to push your feelings to the side, not even knowing you weren’t the only one fighting feelings.
After getting changed, you hunted down Steve and went with him to see Bucky. Both men berated you for feeling responsible for Bucky’s injuries and you sat back, properly chastised. Logically, you knew it wasn’t specifically your fault, but you felt responsible for not being able to do more. They both assured you that you did everything you could and that sometimes, unexpected outcomes happen in missions. What mattered was that you both got out with your lives. All you could do was learn and grow from it.
Your slightly accelerated healing meant that your arm healed in two weeks and as soon as the cast was off, you were back to training. Everything seemed to return to normal except your relationship with Pietro. There was a tension there that hadn’t been present prior to the night you spent together. The two of you were almost never alone together and whenever you were, it was like Pietro couldn’t speak. Which for the usually chatty speedster, was incredibly unusual. You found yourself worried that you actually had overstepped your boundaries by asking to stay with him that night. You wanted to apologize but never could get him alone long enough to do so.
Sometimes, Pietro would go to say something to you but someone else would walk in and he would immediately stop talking. Every time you would ask him about it later, he would brush it off as nothing. You were getting frustrated and you weren’t the only one. Occasionally, you would walk into a room where Pietro and Wanda were to find them arguing in Sokovian. Pietro would take the distraction you entering the room caused to speed off every time. Wanda would look after him in exasperation before throwing an apologetic look your way. It made you feel a little better that you weren’t the only one getting annoyed.
Wanda had clearly reached her limit. You were training one morning when the door to the room opened. Pietro was quite literally thrown inside, and the door was shut and locked before he could get to it.
“Wanda, this is childish!” He yelled, slamming a fist against the locked door.
“I wouldn’t have to resort to childish measures if you would quit being one!” She yelled back. You watched this all from your location across the room, jaw dropped in shock. Pietro stood leaning against the door; his forehead pressed into the metal. Straightening up, he roughly ran a hand through his hair before turning and surveying the room. His eyes landed on you and a sigh left his lips.
“Piss Wanda off, Piet?” You asked before turning back to the punching bag you had been training with. He never answered you, so you fell back into your usual rhythm. You could feel his eyes on you though and did your best to ignore it. A few minutes passed before you heard him sigh and shuffle over. He called your name causing you to stop and turn to look at him. He muttered something under his breath before looking up and straight at you.
“What would you say if I asked you out on a date? Y’know like….hypothetically.” Your eyebrows shot up, trying to decide if this was a joke. The man before you looked nervous but completely serious.
“Hypothetically? I would say no.” You told him, watching his face fall. “You’ve been a dick these past few days and that’s not the kind of person I would want to date.”
“I’m sorry, Prinţesă. I shouldn’t have-“
“Realistically though? If you asked, I would say yes. Because I know that’s not how you are normally.” Several emotions flickered across his face. Confusion, shock, happiness, and finally confidence. His usual smirk in place, he stepped up to you and grabbed your hands.
“Will you let me take you out, Prinţesă? Let me make up for how I’ve been acting and then some.”
“I think I will, Piet. I hope you realize you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“You know I love a challenge.” Wrapping an arm around your shoulder, he led you out of the training room. You had no idea what he had planned, but you knew you would be happy as long as you were with him.
#pietro maximoff#pietro x reader#pietro maximoff x reader#ellies1500#hopefully this isnt garbage#our speedster is a dork who cant feelings properly#we love him anyway
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also i wrote another 1500 words of ben solo vs. the darkest timeline and I have no chill and no patience so here you go:
The recruiting campaign started slow and quiet, taking them through parts of the Inner Rim that had never wavered from the Republic. Ma wanted to build a support base that could muster troops and amass supplies on their own steam, and without drawing too much of the First Order’s notice. Ben knew that was how Ma liked to work: tell her people what was needed, and trust them to do it right.
The First Order didn’t work that way, of course. There were reports already of worlds stripped bare for metals and water, shipyards driven to their limit, whole populations pressed into service. It was mostly vague, though, mostly broad strokes. Not much news of their internal politics ever made it to the free parts of the galaxy, and what there was came mostly from a small-but-steady trickle of low-level defectors.
Apparently the new Supreme Leader wasn’t big on having his praises sung, at least compared to Snoke.
Ben wasn’t the one who suggested Naboo; that was Connix, who was shrewder about politics in his own universe, too. “It’s time for a statement,” she said. “They know we’re building up forces, so let’s show we’re not afraid to do it in public.”
Ma didn’t like it, Ben knew. She always felt a little guilty about recruiting from Naboo. Ben had never agreed with her about that. Sure, they were towards the pacifist end of things, historically, but it was a wealthy planet that could afford to help, and didn’t need much convincing. They had a weird mix of guilt and pride, there, that came from producing both the old Emperor and the mother of the Rebellion, and there had always been plenty of Naboo recruits in the Rebellion and the Resistance.
She agreed to it, eventually. They took the Falcon, and about half of the little convoy they’d managed to build up so far: not really a fleet, yet, but on its way there.
“While we’re there,” Ben said, “are we visiting Grandma?”
Ma gave him a sharp look. “I haven’t done that in years,” she said. “But if you want to.”
She couldn’t make time for it right away. They had a bunch of audiences with the current queen and the ruling council, which meant a lot of very formal dinners that Ben was thankful to be excused from. Apparently they were impressed by Rey and found Finn and Rose just terribly inspiring. Nobody mangled their pronunciations enough to upset the Gungan councilors. When Ben went walking in the lower city, there were a lot of people agreeing with each other that something had to be done, that Naboo had never turned its back on the free galaxy before and they weren’t about to start now.
After a few days of that, Ma could take an afternoon off to visit the tombs of Naboo’s queens.
Ben’s grandmother had a mausoleum that was almost half again as big as any of the others, a florid pile of early-Empire excess. It was, frankly, pretty ugly from the outside, but one of the first queens under the New Republic had ordered all of the Imperial symbols and regalia stripped out, and the result on the inside was spare and clean and peaceful.
The lid of the sarcophagus was carved to look like Padmé lying there atop it, eyes closed, hair fanned out around her face, hands resting on her round belly. When he was a kid, Ben had studied her, looking for a resemblance; he could see it in Ma, but not really in himself. Now Ma was so much older than her mother had ever been, with lines on her face that Ben couldn’t imagine in the smooth, serene marble.
At the foot of the tomb there was a brass-colored bowl, with a blue flame burning forever in it. Ma knelt down in front of it, and Ben knelt down beside Ma. He watched her unpin her hair, pluck a few strands free, and coil it back up again. Ben yanked out a couple of his own -- he hadn’t cut his hair yet in this universe, and he probably needed to -- and handed them to Ma.
She wound them up into a little knot, and dropped it into the blue flame, and lit a stick of incense to cover up the burnt-hair smell. “There,” Ma said. She brushed a bit of incense off her hands, let Ben brace her as she stood. Ben had done this with her a dozen or so times, and she never wanted to stay any longer than she had to.
But there was something Ben wanted to try. It had only ever worked the once, at home, but -- Ben had a feeling. “I’m going to stick around,” he said.
“If you like,” Ma said.
Alone, Ben sat down on the floor again, his back to the tomb, and listened to the Force. It was calm here, with hardly any living sentients nearby. There had been a time, once, when people came here to heap the floor with offerings of flowers and fruit, to spill out their grief and anger at what had been lost to the Empire. But that was long ago, and the Force had long since carried all of that emotion away. Ben could just pick up the echoes, if he tried, but they weren’t what he was looking for.
You don’t belong here, said a voice.
Ben opened his eyes. “Hi, Grandpa.”
You know I’m not really your grandfather, said Anakin Skywalker. For one thing, my grandson hasn’t listened to me for years.
“I know,” said Ben. “I’m sorry about that. Things turned out -- better, for me.”
Yes, said Anakin. He looked like the man he’d been before his Fall. Younger than Ben, except around the eyes. The Force is always bigger than we expect it to be, isn’t it? Turns out there’s enough room for everything to happen, somewhere.
“Yeah, I was surprised about that, too,” said Ben, as dry as he could make it. He didn’t get a laugh, but the corner of his grandfather’s mouth ticked up, just a little.
So, grandson who listens to me, what do you want to know?
Ben shrugged. He had his big heart-to-heart with his own version of Anakin already, and it had been weird and cathartic and nothing Ben ever wanted to repeat. “I was hoping -- do you know how I get home? Or even how to just, I don’t know, send a message, tell them I’m all right.”
But Anakin shook his head. Sorry, kid. For a moment he flickered, blurring into the way he’d looked at the end of his life, bald and scarred. There are paths in the Force to everything that’s ever happened, or could happen. But I’ve been dead for a long time. If I left this universe I don’t think I’d find my way back. And if I were going to go -- nothing against your universe, but there are other ones I’d look for.
“That’s fair,” said Ben. He could imagine the kind of universe Anakin would look for. Maybe one where, if there was still a tomb here at all, the effigy on the lid was a woman with more lines on her face than her daughter. How big a change would that universe need, to exist? As far as Ben knew, the only thing separating Ben’s universe from this one was that he hadn’t lost his shit at Luke and burned down the Temple.
Was there a choice some other Anakin made, or didn’t make, that sent his whole galaxy down a brighter path? Which one was it?
“Do you know what he did, that I didn’t?” Ben asked. “I mean, besides the obvious. Why he did -- that -- instead of anything else he could have done.”
I think you’d have to ask him yourself, Anakin said.
“If we’re ever in the same star system, I’m going to be too busy trying to fucking kill him,” said Ben. “So if you’ve got any suggestions for how to stop wanting to do that, I’m all ears.”
I’m definitely the wrong person to ask about that, said Anakin. I think you might actually be this galaxy’s leading expert in not falling to the Dark Side.
“No,” said Ben. “Ma has more practice.”
Yeah, but you were pushed harder.
“Tied for first, maybe,” Ben allowed.
Sure. If you like. Anakin pushed up off the floor -- Ben noticed that, standing, his blue, semitransparent feet floated about a half-inch above it -- and said, I wish there was more I could tell you. But he’s been closed off to me for a long, long time.
“I get it,” Ben said. Which wasn’t exactly true, because Force ghosts never made any fucking sense, not really. But he knew that this wasn’t where his answers would come from. “So, uh. Should I go, or…?”
Leia’s waiting for you, Anakin said. He reached out to the tomb, his spectral hand floating a half-inch from the peaceful, unlined marble face. It’s okay. I’m going to stay for a while. May the Force be with you, Ben.
“Thanks,” said Ben. He left his grandparents to their rest.
#i have already written the ending and i think i know what goes in the bits between this and that now!#wish me luck with. yknow. actually writing it#ben solo vs. the darkest timeline#star wars#i wrote a thing
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Does “Hathayoga” Really Mean Force? An Interview With Yoga Master Mark Whitwell
Mark Whitwell | Heart of Yoga
Mark Whitwell is a world-renowned yoga teacher of the old school, who for decades has been sharing the tools of body movement and breath and bearing witness to the madness of the yoga industrial complex with compassion. Sometimes seeming to have stepped directly out of a fourteenth-century Tantric temple, Mark teaches in the traditional way of transmission between teacher and student through non-hierarchical and sincere mutual friendship and affection.
We wanted to interview Mark as someone who does not just hold knowledge of Yoga but embodies it (as you will see if you spend some time with him) about whether “hathayoga” really means “the yoga of force,” as claimed in numerous books and articles. In a world where one study found Yoga to be more dangerous than all other sports COMBINED, and where yoga-related injuries are increasing rapidly, do we really want or need a practice whose very name indicates “force?”
Interview by: The Dirt Magazine, an independent online magazine featuring new writing on spirituality, embodiment, relationships and psychology.
The Dirt: Mark, let’s start with the big question: does haṭhayoga really mean yoga of force?
Mark Whitwell: Well, some have translated and interpreted it that way, and some certainly practice it that way, so maybe we have to say that to them, it does. But I would argue that no, it does not mean that, because if what you are doing is forceful, than it is not yoga.
I have to tell you, I am not an academic. I am not a scholar reading Sanskrit who can look back through the texts and tell you the meanings. But I am very interested in the findings of those who are doing that work, and how it aligns with what for all of us should be the main touchstone of truth, which is our own embodied experience. Not our opinions and impressions, because as we know they can be severely warped, but something deeper.
The Dirt: So could you give us a quick overview of that research, maybe some leads if people want to dig deeper?
Mark Whitwell: Well for the academics reading this, a good place to start is Jason Birch’s article, The Meaning of
Haṭha in Early Haṭhayoga, (Editor’s note: this is available on academia here.) I found this very interesting to hear about what is said in the Tantric and haṭhayoga texts of over a thousand years ago, in some cases.
For starters, it is very interesting to me that Jason Birch finds that all the early references seem to refer to something earlier and lost. So the truth is we don’t know the earliest roots and uses of the word. I believe it may go way way back to the time of the Vedas, but there is no textual evidence for that yet. But I also feel we should be careful not to impose the western academic paradigm of needing textual proof onto what is essentially an Indigenous knowledge system with its own systems of — not belief, that’s dismissive, something deeper — own ontologies, own ways of understanding reality, that should not be seen as less true than the ‘rational’ academic paradigm. Otherwise we’re just continuing the legacy of colonial cruelty, assuming the western paradigm is superior.
The Dirt: That’s very interesting. Could you give us an example of that?
Mark Whitwell: Sure, take for example Krishnamacharya’s text, the Yoga Rahasya. Krishnamacharya described how this was transmitted to him from his ancestor Nathamuni. This kind of thing is absolutely normal and completely dignified, serious and sincere within the Vedic traditions, the Tibetan traditions, the Yoga traditions… all across that ancient world there is a deep tradition of transmission of teachings beyond time and space. This is dismissed or seen as a quaint anthropological phenomenon by modern academic scholars, starting from the first European Indologists, who want to find out the ‘real’ story according to the known laws of western physics etc. “who actually wrote the piece” — that world actually reveal a lot, the assumption of the superiority or priority of their lens on reality. I recommend reading Charles Eisenstein’s essay, ‘The Feast of Whiteness’ for a really good explanation of the problem of imposing a western framework of “but what really happened” onto another culture’s ways of knowing, and suggestions for other ways of engaging.
The Dirt: I think we could have a whole other conversation about that subject alone. But let’s come back to the findings about what ancient texts say about haṭhayoga. Some people who don’t like the implications of ��force’ use a translation of haṭha as meaning “sun and moon.” Is there a history of that, or is it a modern new age invention?
Mark Whitwell: Oh, there is absolutely a deep profund history of that. Ha and Tha, sun and moon, the union of opposites within and without. Strength receieving, male and female in perfect prior union. This is the essence of the Tantras, and as we now know, haṭhayoga comes to us from the tantric period, approximately 400–1500 CE.
Going back to Jason Birch’s research, he notes that modern books and practitioners have been drawn to the “sun and moon” definition to avoid the distastefulness of “force”. I mean people are using force, but they still don’t want it branded as that. He finds clear definitions of Yoga as the union of sun and moon in early Haṭha texts such as the Amṛtasiddhi (11th/12th century), and of the syllables ha and ṭha being used to indicate sun and moon, and inhale and exhale in earlier medieval Tantric texts. So this definition is valid, but it’s not widespread in the older texts to my understanding. We have the word haṭha in use before that definition is first found.
The Dirt: So what did it mean in those earlier contexts?
Mark Whitwell: Well I think we have to consider what is meant by force. Because there is very much a force we encounter in our yoga, which is the force of life. You know, one aspect of Christopher Tompkins’ excellent work has been pointing out that there are zero references in the tantric literature to a person raising their kundalini, in the sense of a coiled force at the base of the spine. There are references to a coiled force that may act upo0n you, descending down and then rising up your spine, but we don’t awaken kundalini, we are awakened by it. That sense of I the doer is dissolved. If anyone says to you “I awakened my kundalini” or “I had a kundalini awakening” something has gone very wrong, their identity structure has co-opted an experience of some kind and taken it on as an identity possession. Anyway, force is like this. It is something that acts upon us, something we join up with, something we are, not something “you” as a limited and separate self identity enact upon, to use Mary Oliver’s immortal phrase, that poor soft animal of your body. Your yoga is your participation in this force, this power, that you are. Not a manipulation of it, not trying to get to it. Abiding in it. This is how the ancient texts of our tradition speak about yoga, that energy may move forcefully, but not as an act of forceful volition.
Jason Birch has tracked it all down and finds the early Haṭha texts using the word “haṭhat” or forcibly, but only toward a movement of energy, not toward the body or into any movement or action. It has a sense of taking the normal downward movement in embodied life and turning it around, not violently. The implication is “that Haṭhayogic techniques have a forceful effect, rather than requiring forceful effort.” (Birch 2011). Force in the modern sense of pushing these poor old bodies into something that makes them sweat, shake, collapse, strain and sprain is absolutely not there. These are serious devotional practices we are talking about, from the Tantric cultures, one of the lost wonders of the world with their incredible insight that matter was not a degraded shackle pulling down our ethereal souls, but rather just on the spectrum of vibration of the whole cosmos. It’s a similar perspective to the understanding of modern physics that matter is just energy, not solid at all. This was radical, that the body could be a site of liberation, of deity abiding, not just a hindrance to be managed and bullied. The Christian legacy of anti-materiality is deep in the western psychology and has very much shaped the western approach to yoga. We are not that far on from self-flagellation and hair shirts.
The Dirt: So how could we summarise your interpretation of the word haṭha.
Mark Whitwell: I was always taught that asana and pranayama must be done carefully and within our breath capabilities, measured by the number of breaths and the ration of breaths. So I affirm the academic findings that haṭha can either mean the union of sun and moon — that’s accurate, and poetic and beautiful — or it can mean the great force of life, the energy of life that is moving through us, as us, and which our yoga enables us to feel and participate in. To be devoted to. A great force is moving the planets and oceans, the sun and moon, growing your hair. What is that force? What is the force that grows a seed? That force, that power. We don’t enact that, we recognise and abide in it.
As far as I know, looking at the translation work of Birch and Christopher Tompkins and others, “the word haṭha is never used in Haṭha texts to refer to violent means or forceful effort.” (Birch 2011). That matches my experience with Krishnamacharya and Desikachar, and their students such as Srivatsa Ramaswami. All emphasise that the key qualities to master asana were comfort, ease, and stability. Never force.
The Dirt: Could the association of yoga with the word force be to do with the association with tapasya, with ascetics?
Mark Whitwell: Yes, there has been great confusion in the last 500 years between ascetics and yogis. You might like to refer to the excellent article by Domagoj Orlić, “Why Yoga is Neither Physical Gymnastics.” Yoga became associated with obscene acts of self-torture, holding one’s arm in the air for years and years, a metal grate around one’s neck, and such extremes. Yet these extreme practices are not there in the Tantras, the Shastras, the Haṭha texts. They are not yoga. Mortification of the flesh is the opposite to realising the intrinsic union of the source and the seen. It was the early Europeans coming to India and trying to understand what they saw that really popularised an idea of yoga as force, as self-violence. Perhaps reflecting the internalised violence of their own culture. A kind of projection that the Yoga sutras warns us about. And getting confused with the fakirs and ascetics, and seeing it all as a suspicious kind of witchcraft. India internalised all of that British projection and judgement. By the time Krishnamacharya was teaching, yoga was not seen as a high or holy calling. This was a man with the equivalent of 6 or seven PhDs, yet he was teaching yoga, as a very serious undertaking, in a time when it was not taken seriously at all. He would do some kinds of “feats” at the Maharaj’s request, such as stopping his heart for doctors, that kind of thing. But he refused to teach this to his son when he begged him. He said it was just to get attention for yoga, to get the ball rolling so to speak.
The Dirt: So there was also a confusion between ascetiscism and yoga within India as well?
Mark Whitwell: Yes. It’s something Desikachar would often clarify. Krishnamacharya really stood apart from any of the traditions based on anti-body philosophies, dualistic transcendent schools that saw the body as a bag of rotting flesh, a meatsack, that needed to be bullied and purified and ideally gotten rid of altogether. That kind of school has denigrated asana and pranayama the way they denigrate the body itself. Krishnamacharya’s lineage came from the 10th century Ramanujacharya, who had declared that yoga was the means that the two became one, and that householders and ordinary people could practice this. He wasn’t from a monastic, man alone type tradition. Even his guru in the Himalayas, Ramamohan Brahmachari, lived there with his wife and children, in his accounts.
So Krishnamacharya really represented the coming together of these great traditions of Vedanta and Tantra, which belong together. They are branches from the same great tree and are now back together.
The Dirt: And finally, could you tell us what you have observed in terms of the impact of this misunderstanding on people’s yoga, and how to correct that.
Mark Whitwell. Thank you. Thanks for caring about all the people out there, sweating away and struggling and getting injured. I think the idea that the body, that the earth, that the feminine is less, something to be conquered and controlled, has done great harm. It is the basis of centuries of patriarchal culture. And that cultural split, between some sense of essence within, and a dead materiality without, has enabled humanity to use and abuse its Mother, the body of Nature, and our own bodies are part of that body. So the conditioning towards a forcefulness towards embodiment runs very deep. This is the same psychology in the earlier Indologists translating haṭha as simple “yoga of force” and in the bullies who rose to prominence in the yoga world. And then the same psychology in the western students, who had been conditioned to control themselves, restrain the body, who were beaten at school, who thought a good teacher hit you with a stick to help you get it right… who were hit by their parents… this is the western mind, the modern mind, the cultural framework criticised as “whiteness,” but I don’t think that is accurate enough, as it is not intrinsically tied to skin colour. Basically it is deeply in us to bully and force the body, and yoga is our way out of that, into reverence and ease, and yet it has been popularized as mere duplication of the same old hegemonic patterns of abuse.
Your body is tired. It’s been forced into so many things it didn’t want to do. Deprived of sleep, filled with comfort food, too much or too little, plucked and poisoned, whipped along in jobs it hated, squashed into uniforms and cubicles. Yoga is the freeing of our bodies from all of this, the freedom to be that soft animal, that embodiment of love, that piece of wild mother nature. Our yoga is careful, precise, different for each unique embodiment. Please, don’t throw yourself around in the circus gymnastics they’re calling yoga. It’s just simply not. It’s all made up. There is no precedent for this kind of insane forcefulness, this self-violence. Step out of it all and be free, live your life in the garden.
vimeo
About:
Mark Whitwell was born in 1949 in Auckland, Aotearoa/ New Zealand. In 1973, he traveled to India and began a life-long study of yoga with Tirumalai Krishnamacharya (1888-1989) and his son, T.K.V. Desikachar (1938–2016). Mark Whitwell’s simple mission is to give people the principles of practice that came through Tirumalai Krishnamacharya to make their Yoga authentic, powerful, and effective. Mark Whitwell is the founder of the Heart of Yoga foundation and the Heart of Yoga Peace Project, an organization dedicated to developing yoga communities in conflict zones around the world. Mark Whitwell lives between New Zealand and Fiji.
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They Will Rise Again
I think I may start posting some of my writing on Tumblr. Here is a little piece (~1500 words) that I wrote for a fiction workshop last fall. I sort of had a gender neutral Crowley and fem Aziraphale in mind when I wrote this, but the general story itself has nothing to do with Good Omens. I didn’t have a solid idea when I started it so I kind of just put down whatever came to mind, but I actually like how it turned out.
I love getting feedback, so let me know what you think!
Title: They Will Rise Again
Type: Angst/Fluff? (I honestly have no idea)
Warnings: None
Word count: 1480
~~~~~
There are several things that one can do in the English countryside that the streets of London simply do not allow. Breathing, for example – rather important, that one. Another is sitting in near-complete silence in the middle of the day.
A young woman of some twenty years sat alone in a small cottage in the north of Oxfordshire, taking advantage of both of those simple pleasures. The town in which she resided is not important; very few apart from the locals would recognise the name. Surrounded by sprawling fields of wheat and corn, it was the sort of place that was easily passed through without sparing it a glance, and so unremarkable that those who did take note usually forgot about it soon after leaving the town limits.
This meant that apart from the cattle and chickens belonging to the family next door, and the occasional yelling from Mrs. Simmons across the way when she forgot to turn on her hearing aids, there was very little outside the cottage to disturb the peaceful quiet that usually settled over the property.
This was not to suggest that there was never trouble in the village. Those who move from the city to the country should not be (yet invariably are) surprised to learn that people, regardless of where they live, are human. And quite often, humans are assholes.
That morning, however, had passed with no apparent trouble as far as the young woman was aware. The sun had risen as it is wont to do, and the birds that had nested in the eaves (despite many efforts to relocate them) had sung their tune to their hearts’ content. Breakfast had been made and eaten, and the woman now lounged in the kitchen, where the only sounds to be heard were the rumbling of the electric kettle and the rustling of paper as she flipped through the weekly news.
It had become a Saturday ritual – get up late, read the paper, drink tea, stay inside, and pray that no visitors came. So far, everything had gone to plan. She was still dressed in her pyjamas from the night before with no intention to change out of them. Tight, frizzy curls protruded every which way from where her dark hair was piled messily atop her head.
She hummed to herself as an article caught her attention. The legs of her round-framed glasses were just slightly too long, causing the specs to slowly slip down the arch of her pointed nose. Every few moments she would nudge them back into place, her eyes never pausing as they roamed across the pages. She was so engrossed in the words that she hardly noticed the way that her lips moved silently as she read – a habit that she adamantly denied having, even after catching herself on more than one occasion. She sighed in content.
The peaceful atmosphere was suddenly broken a moment later when the outside door was violently flung open. It swung back on its hinges until it collided with the wall, banging loudly upon impact. Another dent was added to the ever-growing collection left behind by the doorknob. The young woman had given up trying to fix them long ago, knowing that more would appear soon after.
Just inside the door there stood a rather striking individual. They were tall – so much so that they had needed to stoop to enter the cottage. Their slender figure, clad in all black, only emphasized this further. A deadly looking scowl hung on their lips and they muttered complaints and vague threats under their breath.
It was hardly the first time that the figure had burst in, impassioned by some unknown source. So regular an occurrence was this that the young woman did not even flinch at the noise. Her eyes never strayed from the print before her, nor did she acknowledge the slew of words that would have made poor old Mrs. Simmons want to turn off her hearing aids for good. She simply turned the page of her newspaper, continuing to read the article on the other side as she waited for the explanation that would inevitably come.
Despite their sudden appearance and apparent eagerness, they took their time to close the door and saunter over to the table. There was such a swing to their gait that it led most to believe that they had either been seriously injured or had become well acquainted with the contents of the liquor cabinet. Both were incorrect, but only one person had ever been brave enough to ask.
The woman rose from her seat as the kettle shut itself off, intending to fix herself some tea. Instinctively, she reached into the cupboard to retrieve a second cup. Her companion slipped by her on their way to the table, dropped the post from the box on the counter, then dramatically threw themselves down onto a chair.
“If I ever get my hands on those bastards, I’ll tear their heads clean off their bodies,” they seethed, white-knuckled as they slammed their fists onto the wooden surface. Their dark eyes blazed with untamed rage.
“That’s called murder, dear,” the woman reminded them patiently, pouring hot water into the pair cups. “Quite frowned upon, I’m afraid. Tea?”
Her partner grumbled in response and a moment later, a dainty porcelain cup and saucer were placed before them on the table. Their long, boney fingers tried clumsily to pick it up by the small handle, nearly spilling it in the process. Upon successfully lifting it to their lips, they found that the correct amount of sugar (two heaping spoons) and a splash of milk – not one drop more – had been added.
“You think they cared about it being bloody frowned upon?” They shook their head. “Murderers – beasts, the lot of them. Didn’t even hesitate, ripping them apart and throwing their heads in the mud.”
As she settled back into her seat, the woman’s gaze wandered to the nearby vase. In seconds, realization dawned over her. “I understand that you’re upset, darling, but don’t you think you’re being tad bit dramatic? It’s probably just the children, after all.”
Her companion narrowed their eyes at the accusation. “That’s hardly an excuse – they’re hellions, I tell you! Savages!” Impassioned, their hand came down onto the table once more, their cup roughly clanking onto its saucer.
“You’ve gotten yourself all in a tizz. Now, calm down and finish your tea.” When they tried to protest, the woman pointed a stern finger in their direction. “And if you break one more of my teacups, those ‘hellions’ will be the least of your worries.”
“Yes dear.” The cup was gingerly returned to its saucer.
Unbeknownst to them, their conversation had not been private. A delivery man, new to the job, had chosen a rather unfortunate time to drop off a package. He stood outside their door, slack jawed as he tried to process what he had heard. As far as he could tell, there had been multiple murders in the town – committed by children, no less – and someone inside the cottage was more concerned about their teacup than the fact that people’s heads had been ripped off and thrown in the mud.
He quickly retreated to his lorry, his eyes darting mistrustfully to the two young boys who skated past on the opposite side of the laneway. The package was still clutched in his hands. Some other unlucky sod could be the one to deliver it.
The couple inside the cottage was unaware of the vehicle as it sped away. They sat in silence as they continued to sip their tea. The woman observed as the tension slowly retreated from her companion’s shoulders, leaving them to sag dejectedly. A pout had replaced the scowl on their lips, and sorrow had drowned out the last embers of rage that had burned in their eyes.
Reaching across the table, she rested her hand atop her partner’s, holding it carefully as she caressed it with her thumb. “I know you loved them, darling,” she said, “I did too.”
“It’s not just that.” They slouched forward to rest their chin on their crossed arms.
“Then what is it?”
“They were for you,” her lover replied, a sad smile passing over their face. “And those little bastards just threw them aside like they were nothing.”
“Are they still out there?” She received a curious nod in reply. “Then we shall lay them to rest.”
That Saturday, they left their cottage, hand in hand, to approach their flower garden. Dozens of sunflowers had been uprooted, their stems torn to pieces and their heads discarded in the mud along the side of the lane. Tenderly, they cleaned up the site of the massacre, evened out the soil, and buried the dead. Soon enough, they would rise again.
#writing#one-shot#imagine#short fic#fluff#angst#I don't know how to tag this#good omens inspired#good omens#genderneurtral!Crowley#fem!Aziraphale
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Year in Review 2019
Total word count:
Total fics written: 24 (a LOT of these are less than 1k)
Fandoms written in: BNHA, Yuri!!! on Ice, Harry Potter, Free!, and MCU
Chronological list of fics (in the order posted on AO3, not written)
Romance at the Roasted Bean (Harry/Draco, T, 1k) - Draco has a secret admirer.
Start With a Cold Brew (Victor/Yuri P, E, 5k) - Coffee Shop AU (this was technically written in 2018 but was in its exclusivity period for Victurio Anthology)
the music plays bitter, plays sweet (Harry/Draco, M, 1k) - Angsty with a hopeful ending of Harry’s marriage to Ginny ending.
The Taste of Something Different (Harry/Draco, T, 1k) - Harry is getting increasingly frustrated with his Auror partner’s inability to get him the right food.
Shining Bright (JJ/Yuri, T, 5k) - Five times JJ fails at asking out Yuri and the one time he succeeds (another 2018 fic in exclusivity for YOI Litmag).
The 80th Floor (Kirishima/Bakugou, M, 1k) - A deleted scene from the BNHA movie answering the question of how krbk ended up on the 80th floor.
Scars You Can’t See (Kirishima/Bakugou, G, 300 words) - Kirishima trying to comfort Bakugou after Kamino.
Strawberries (on your lips) (Kirishima/Bakugou, T, 900 words) - Studying with Kirishima turns into something unexpected.
The Bakugou Problem (Kirishima/Bakugou, T, 2k) - The Bakusquad decide to get Kirishima and Bakugou to date. Chaos ensues.
Fate Can Suck It (Kirishima/Bakugou, T, 3k) - Soulmate AU
I’ll unfold before you (Kirishima/Bakugou, E, 2k) - Post BNHA movie (and a sort of sequel to The 80th Floor)
Morning Light (Kirishima/Bakugou, T, 400 words) - After their first night together, Kirishima wakes up with Bakugou in his arms.
the fear of seeing death without ever loving you (Steve/Tony, E, 3k) - Steve returns the stones to their proper place but can’t help but see Tony one last time.
Truths in Letters (Harry/Draco, T, 5k) - Harry and Draco participate in a Guess the Penfriend inter-house unity game with interesting results. Epistolary fic written with just_another_loser.
Win-Win (Kirishima/Bakugou, E, 1500 words) - Bakugou likes that Kirishima can take his blasts. Kirishima just likes Bakugou.
Dare Me (Kirishima/Bakugou, T, 1500 words) - Uraraka gives Bakugou a dare. Eijirou isn’t sure what to think of it.
First Date (Kirishima/Bakugou, T, 1k) - Going from best friends to boyfriends isn’t the smoothest transition, but Bakugou and Kirishima make it work. (fun fact - this fic is based on @icicle33‘s Sims characters).
so good to be yours (Makoto/Haru, E, 2k) - Makoto visits Sydney while Haru is at a training camp for the Olympics. While things are awkward at first, they find their rhythm together again.
The Note (Kirishima/Bakugou, T, 1500 words) - Kirishima leaves a note to Bakugou on his desk confessing his crush to him. Humor and misunderstandings ensue.
everyday i want more of you (Kirishima/Bakugou, T, 2k) - Seven somewhat connected 300 word drabbles written for Chill November. Basically all krbk fluff.
Out of the Slipstream (Kirishima/Bakugou, E, 15k) - The professional road cycling AU no one asked for but I wrote it anyway.
Beauty, Like the Night (Iida/Aoyama, M, 10k) - A classic example of having to write the fic you want to read. Iida has a crush on Aoyama but it isn’t proper for a future hero to lust after his classmates.
Spark (Endeavor/Hawks, E, 2k) - When what Keigo thinks is a casual hookup suddenly becomes something more.
There’s also a week’s worth of BNHA Fluff Week Drabbles I wrote in June.
From my past year of writing…
My best story of this year:
Honestly, probably my Stony fic. I was so raw after Endgame and this fic was screaming to be written.
My most popular story of this year (by kudos, comments or notes):
Stony again. One of those rare times I agree with stats.
Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:
Take a chance on The Note? It’s only 1500 words.
Most fun story to write:
Beauty, Like the Night. Iidayama is my favorite rare ship and I fucking love Iida so much.
Hardest story to write:
Probably my cycling au. After thinking about this fic for so long, I really got in my head about it and didn’t feel like anything was good enough.
Biggest disappointment:
My drarry fics have been pretty off as of late. It doesn’t help when I have krbk basically always on my mind.
Biggest surprise:
Fun fact - I’m not a big fan of soulmate au tropes so I was pretty surprised Fate Can Suck It was so well received lmao. Honestly though I’ve warmed up to the genre since I wrote this one.
Most unintentionally telling story:
Probably Stony again. I usually self insert into Tony but this time I went way into Steve.
Favorite Opening Lines:
“We have a problem.” The Bakugou Problem
Favorite Closing Lines:
“For now, they can sleep.” the fear of seeing death without ever loving you
Reflection time
Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted?
I wrote a lot less. My goal was 100k and I ended up just shy of 65k.
What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January?
BNHA/Kiribaku/Endhawks. I fell pretty hard for krbk at the end of the first season then came the sports festival and their beautiful ship moments just kept coming. Endhawks I have no excuse other than they’re hot af together and so much opportunity for angst with feelings.
What’s your own favorite story of the year?
Dude idk. A lot of what I wrote was fun ficlets. I’m gonna have to go with either my cycling AU or iidayama. I know I said I struggled with the cycling au but I’m fairly happy with how it turned out.
Did you take any writing risks this year?
Not exactly. The Stony was definitely different from my usual style.
Do you have any fanfic goals for the new year?
Gonna shoot for 100k for 2020 again. I’m doing the Tododeku Big Bang and then I have two Kiribaku ideas I’m going to write. One will be a oneshot and the other will likely be a longer fic. I’d also like to do some sort of drabble event because I really enjoy the challenge with a limited word count.
Decade wrapped
If you’re still with me, I want to briefly reflect on my decade of fanfiction. I’ve been writing fic since 2002 but I fell in and out of it through high school. I didn’t really get back into writing until 2010 toward the very end of college. I met @icicle33 thru ffnet at the end of 2011 and she introduced me to LJ events and fests and exchanges and my writing style developed a ton. I fell out of it a bit in the middle of the decade but came back in full force in 2017 (thanks again in large part to Icicle), especially once I joined YOI fandom. In this decade, I’ve written/posted roughly 600k words (I feel like the distinction is important because I also have about 100k of unposted WIP/outline/nonsense). I’ve made friends, enemies, laughed, cried, met multiple fandom friends irl including my darling @phaytesworld and Icicle, modded and written for zines, and so much more. Writing has always been a way for me to explore a different side of myself, to play in a sandbox with no stakes. I can’t imagine where I would be without it. Here’s to another 10 years and you can bet in 2029 my old ass will still be writing. Should the world have ended by then, you can find me in hell writing porn.
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I hope you like metatextuality, We-Care
INT. CLASSIC DORM ROOM - NIGHT
Two young women sit on their beds, both working on laptops. EMMA - 21, proud Slytherin, the kindest person on their floor and also the sneakiest- browses Facebook. Her roommate ADDIE - 20, reluctant Gryffindor, wants to be Tumblr famous but never posts anything- stares at her screen. She starts out of bed suddenly and groans.
EMMA
What’s wrong?
ADDIE
This application. It’s like it’s specifically designed to send me into an existential crisis.
EMMA
Oh?
ADDIE
And I quote- “Out of the avalanche of applicants, why should we choose you?”
EMMA
Oh boy.
ADDIE:
I know!
Addie walks over to Emma’s desk and opens a tin of chocolate covered espresso beans. Through their conversation, she paces back and forth, tossing them individually high into the air and attempting to catch them with her mouth. She’s not excellent at this.
EMMA:
I wouldn’t know how to answer that.
ADDIE
I’m thinking of listing a bunch reasons and explanations. And I kind of want them all to start with D. You know, Dedicated, Disciplined, Delightful...
EMMA
-Dutiful!
Emma looks sheepish. Addie laughs.
ADDIE
Desperate. And like yeah, it’s a gimmick, but it gives me room to play around. Like after ‘Delightful’ I’m gonna be all “Okay this one’s a bit of a stretch, but I can be funny! I’m pretty nice! You’ll like having me around the office!”
EMMA
I like having you as a roommate.
ADDIE (CONT’D)
(halfway under Emma’s bed, searching for a dropped bean)
We should write each other testimonials.
EMMA
Dear random company- I hereby guarantee that Margaret Adaline is cool and you should hire her.
ADDIE
Perfect. And for Dedicated I can be like- Yo, I’m just looking for a job that will let me do what I’m good at (marketing and communications) while letting me feel like I’m not making the world a worse place. And this org is about actively making the world better. I’d feel so lucky to be there I’d work my ass off.
EMMA
What type of thing are they?
ADDIE
I think they’re about connecting big businesses with non-profits. So shopping big brands can send some of their money to the non-profits who do their saving-the-world thing. I’m underselling it. They’ve helped keep kids out of the slave trade.
EMMA
That’s good!
ADDIE
I know!
Addie’s attempts at throwing and catching the beans are becoming increasingly desperate.
ADDIE (CONT’D)
I’ve been thinking again about whether the impact I leave is net positive or negative. I mean environmentally alone it’s probably the latter.
EMMA
Isn’t that why you started using your Divacup instead of tampons?
ADDIE
Yeet. And now I get to go this company and be like ‘Will my work on this planet be worth the damage I do just by existing? You decide!’
EMMA
I think you have a good impact. I mean, at least you’re not considering going into the oil industry.
ADDIE
You’re not gonna go into oil, Emma. You’re like the most environmentally conscious person I know.
EMMA
Addie, I’m a GEOS major. It’s kinda what we do.
ADDIE
Ok, sure, but if you do it’s gonna be about promoting new, less shitty alternatives. You’re gonna be on that team PR points to to be like ‘See! We’re not all bad!’
EMMA
...I do get really excited when I think about fracking...
Addie can’t resist.
ADDIE
Well. I mean, who doesn’t love fracking.
EMMA (playing along)
It’s like, invigorating to imagine.
ADDIE
And so dirty.
Emma falls into laughter.
ADDIE (CONT’D)
How could that place not hire me? Look at the complex high-brow humor they’d be missing out on.
EMMA
Of course they’ll hire you. You know non-profits- you did Grubstreet!
ADDIE
You and your optimism. Hold on-
Addie looks to her computer.
ADDIE (CONT’D)
They want me to know business stuff- I can spin Grubstreet finance into that... Research- Grubstreet and Boston Lit District... Writing skills- English major... Independent projects and strategy- did a lot of that making those videos at Cape Ann... Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, Insta- I’m a millennial; I know these. Ok wait guess I’ll need to learn how to Pinterest. Linkedin? Fuck yeah.
EMMA
See? You’re qualified.
ADDIE
So is everyone else. Ha! I like this one though. “Bonus points if comfortable on the phone.” I can do that. Grubstreet’s front desk drilled any phone anxiety out of me. I’m great at phones. I’m clear, I’m friendly, I don’t stutter. I’m Excellent.
EMMA
Well you know what that means.
ADDIE
What?
EMMA
Next time we want delivery, you get to place the order.
Addie stares at Emma, amazed.
ADDIE
Oh my god. Wow. WOW. I walked right into that!
She glances back at the application. Looks away quickly. Tosses another bean into the air and catches it. Chewing, she says-
ADDIE (CONT’D)
Yo, I think I got it figured out. Watch-
She tosses another bean. This one bounces off her tooth.
ADDIE (CONT’D)
Ow! Fuck!
EMMA
Ahh! Are you okay?
ADDIE
I’m fine. See?
She picks up the same bean and tosses it. Misses again.
ADDIE (CONT’D)
Fuck!
EMMA
You know my heartrate speeds up a little every time you do that.
ADDIE
Why?
EMMA
What if you choke!
ADDIE
(tossing and catching/missing throughout) I’m not gonna choke! Though like, I thought they would make me feel more awake, and, like, they totally are! But I also think that they might, like, be making me a little more anxious? Which is kind of, like, the opposite of what I need right now? Can I have a cider?
EMMA
Addie I’m cutting you off.
ADDIE
No!
EMMA
From the beans I mean. Have a cider.
ADDIE
Ok wait last one.
She presses an espresso bean into Emma’s hand.
EMMA
Ohh, I don’t think that’s a great idea... I don’t really want to...
ADDIE
No dude I meant for you to toss it to me.
EMMA
Oh! Thank God! Yeah, I can do that! I thought you wanted me to try to catch it and I was like Hell No. Okay, you ready?
Addie crouches closer to bed-level. She opens her mouth wide and grunts an affirmative. Emma throws the bean overhand- it misses wildly. The two laugh.
EMMA (CONT’D)
That was really bad!
ADDIE
Well maybe you should try throwing underhand. Here-
Addie picks up the bean and gives it back to Emma. Emma tosses it in a gentle underhand- right into Addie’s mouth.
ADDIE (CONT’D)
Mmm! Fuck yeah!
They high five. Addie retrieves a hard cider from their closet and cracks it open using a bottle opener off of Emma’s desk. She takes a long sip and sighs.
ADDIE (CONT’D)
Oh my god that’s so much better already. Day three of the semester and I’m already turning to drink.
EMMA
Whatever will become of you?
Addie’s face scrunches up at the joke. She finishes her cider, crawls into Emma’s bed, and rests against Emma’s thigh. She takes Emma’s non-scrolling hand and places it on her head. Emma cards her fingers through Addie’s hair.
ADDIE
Why do they have to be so stressful?
EMMA
Applications?
Addie nods.
ADDIE
I just wanna not have to worry anymore. But then again I guess worrying is human. Maybe I wanna be a dog.
EMMA
I saw this thing online that was like- imagine being a golden retriever. You’re living on a farm in Maine and you’ve got a family that looks after you and feeds you... you can just hang out all day...
ADDIE
Okay like I feel that? But also- you’re bordering on furry talk there Emma.
EMMA
You’re the one demanding to be petted.
ADDIE
Touché. Being a Golden Retriever is the dog ideal though.
EMMA
Everybody loves them!
ADDIE
It’s cause they don’t have resting bitch face.
Addie realizes her pun, then plays herself a ‘badum ts’ on an imaginary drum set.
ADDIE (CONT’D)
They’re always smiling! They look like:
ADDIE (CONT’D)
:D
EMMA
:D
The pair laugh. Addie becomes fixated with a tipsy intensity.
ADDIE
Okay I got a plan.
EMMA
Plans are good! Plans ward off existential dread!
ADDIE
My thoughts exactly. I’m gonna work on application between classes tomorrow. After that I’ll do homework with free time til Friday night. We can have fun then- that’ll be my incentive to do work. Then I’m donating blood on Saturday morning because it will make me feel better.
EMMA
That’s a good plan!
ADDIE
Thank you! I think I might include that in the app. About why I donate blood. Because yeah, sometimes I only do good things to feel better about myself, but that’s not a bad thing. It means that as humans, helping other people makes us feel good. Altruism is overrated. Humans evolved so that it makes us happy to help other humans. That’s awesome! It means that if you give someone the opportunity to do good, they’re gonna take it! Even if it’s a company- that’s just a bunch of humans! And this org- it gets that, and it’s making those opportunities, and that’s good! Doing good is beneficial to me, and that’s good! Because it says something amazing about humans in general.
EMMA
I think you should include that. It’s honest. I like it.
ADDIE
Yeah, they’ll love that. Dear sir or madam, I know there are people more qualified than me applying, but I’m honest.
EMMA
You’re unique!
ADDIE
Ugh, don’t say that to a theatre kid- you’ll unleash the monster. I spent most of my high school years convincing myself that I’m no better or worse than anybody else. And now this application comes in like ‘why should we hire you?’ The beast rears its ugly head- “BECAUSE I’M SPECIAL!!!”
Addie mouths ‘I’m not’ to Emma, who smiles.
EMMA
Hm. Well you’re not afraid to present the less polished sides of yourself-
Emma starts giggling.
ADDIE
What?
EMMA
And that makes you-
Emma laughs harder.
ADDIE
Am I missing something?
EMMA
Daring!
Addie laughs.
ADDIE
Delectable!
EMMA
Delicious!
ADDIE
Deviant!
Done.
#Thank you for your time and consideration#Whoever reads the We-Care intern applications#I appreciate you#You know I wrote this thinking that the limit was 1500 words#not characters#to be fair I do not list attention to detail on my resume#applications#dedicated#disciplined#delightful#dutiful#writing
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