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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

could you possibly write something about Sirius & remus dating and remus feeling bad that Sirius keeps paying (since obviously he's big deal NHLer v trainer)

Oof, yes. This was combined with asks for some Coops hurt/comfort where one doesn't want to talk, as well as an argument. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for wealth insecurity, small argument (not a blowout)

Grocery shopping had never been Remus’ favorite thing in the world, but he had to admit it was a lot more fun when everything came with the thrilling reminder that he was living with the love of his life. He got to learn Sirius’ preferences on everything from candles (softer scents, or something woodsy) to towels (as fluffy as humanly possible) and filed every detail away in the little pocket of his brain entirely dedicated to the beautiful man that could reach the top shelves.

“What’s next?” he asked an hour into their latest Target excursion.

Sirius tilted his phone to show the screen. “Sheets.”

“I still can’t believe you had a hole in those and didn’t notice,” Remus said with a shake of his head.

“How do you know it wasn’t your fault?” Sirius countered with a playful quirk of his eyebrow.

“I’m not the one that runs marathons in my sleep,” Remus laughed, standing on his toes to kiss his stubbly cheek. “Oof. Prickly.”

Sirius scrunched his nose. “You like it.”

“Hmm. Perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” he mimicked, bumping Remus’ hip with his own. “What kind do you want?”

Remus shrugged one shoulder as they turned down the next aisle, scanning the shelves of plastic-wrapped packages in a million different patterns. “I like the look of the white ones, but grey or blue could be nice. You?”

“As long as they’re soft and have you in them, I don’t care.”

“Sap,” he teased, though he was unable to fight the blush racing hot up his neck. Sirius didn’t protest; his small, smug smile needed no explanation. Remus pushed the cart slowly down the aisle, making note of the price tags as he went. Sheets were always an expense—not as bad as blankets or, god forbid, a new mattress, but an expense all the same. He had managed to keep his last ones in good condition for almost ten years before they wore out.

The $30 set doesn’t look too bad, but that’s a weird color…Sirius hates microfiber…I’d rather not sleep on puppy print…getting laid on a 1970s paisley pattern would kill me instantly… “How about these?”

He startled and glanced down the aisle, where Sirius was holding a set in faint gray. An unbidden grin pulled at the side of his mouth. “The softest of the bunch, huh?”

“Of course,” Sirius laughed. “Come feel, it’s like heaven.”

Remus pushed off and hopped up on the undercarriage, riding the cart all the way until he reached Sirius’ side; his hand was halfway to the exposed block of fabric when he froze. $186.99, read the price tag below the stack of sheets in varying colors. Almost $200, and the only difference was the softness. “I…” he faltered slightly, looking between Sirius and the sheets for a moment.

“Do you not like them?”

“No, I do,” Remus said as his mind whirred. He had never spent more than a hundred dollars on sheets before. It wasn’t wildly out his budget, especially once he started working with the Lions, but he had always been careful with money. Sirius…Sirius had never had to do that. Never in his life.

“Is it the color? Because they have white ones—”

“It’s 200 dollars,” he almost laughed. Sirius fell quiet in obvious confusion as Remus turned to look at him. “Sirius, those sheets are 200 dollars.”

“Yes?”

“There’s—” Remus broke off again; something a little too much like shame for his liking crawled up his throat. “I—sure, yeah, if you like them.”

“It’s not about what Ilike,” Sirius continued, as if he couldn’t see the discomfort tensing every one of Remus’ muscles. “It’s our bed. I don’t want to get sheets you hate.”

“No, no, they’re nice.” Too nice. Remus forced a smile. “I like them.”

Sirius looked at him for a moment. “Which ones do you prefer?”

The ones that don’t cost the same as my monthly food budget. “Uh, the color threw me off at first,” he said. “The blue ones are better.”

The crease between Sirius’ brows eased by a degree and he kissed Remus’ jaw gently, then switched the sets. “D’accord, mon loup. Whatever makes you happy.”

Remus was as quiet as he could be without arousing suspicion for the rest of the trip. Sirius paid for their things—like always, Remus realized with a turn of his stomach—and helped him carry the bags to the car without another word about the sheets.

He stayed quiet the whole way home.

The shame mounted as they drove. It seemed everything was a sudden, unwelcome reminder of just how different he and Sirius were. Sirius’ family had a chef during his childhood—Remus made himself PB&Js every morning for the entirety of middle school. Sirius had a brand-new car—Remus had never had cause to justify that over public transportation and Uber. It was embarrassing, and Sirius’ unintentional thoughtlessness was more frustrating than he thought it would be.

He didn’t say anything as they pulled up to the house and unloaded their shopping bags; his shirt and jeans itched his skin like sandpaper. Judging from the look on Sirius’ face, he had picked up on Remus’ frustration, but there was no way Remus was going to get into the root of it while he still felt so twitchy.

Damn you and your emotional intelligence, he thought as he slipped past Sirius’ worried glances and up the stairs to their bedroom. Be oblivious for once and let me get through this.

The bed was stripped bare—their duvet and pillows sat in a heap on top of the mattress. Remus thought back to the first night he had slept there, marveling at the cloudlike support on his achy lower back. He had chalked it up to the pure bliss that came with finally having what he really wanted, but his traitorous brain was starting to convince him it wasn’t the joy that made it seem so nice.

He had never gone without food. His parents always made sure he had clothes that mostly fit and the school supplies he needed. They paid for his hockey gear and the team dues until he was old enough to work part-time and start saving his own money; scholarships had always been of a quiet importance in their house. Things got tighter when Jules was born, but they made it work. Remus would always be grateful for that.

Sirius had never had to think about money in that way. Not once.

Remus sighed through his nose as he pulled his battered Wisconsin hoodie over his head and tightened the drawstring of his sweats, letting the comfort envelop him. “It’s not his fault,” he murmured into the mirror. “Don’t get into your head about this.”

Sirius was in the living room when Remus made his way down the stairs with his hands curled into the worn sleeves of the hoodie. He said nothing while Remus began absently cleaning up the scattered items around their junk bowl, though his gaze prickled the back of his neck.

“Mon loup?” came the soft question after two minutes of tense silence.

“Yeah?” he managed around the tightness in his lungs.

He could practically taste Sirius’ hesitation. “Did I—nevermind. Sorry.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” Sirius said again, though he seemed to be folding in on himself. Remus hated seeing him try and take up less space, and hated the idea that he was the one that caused it.

$200. On sheets.

“What’s going on?” Remus asked, leaning back against the countertop.

“No, I just—” Sirius pasted on a smile and cross the room, dropping a tentative kiss to the top of his head as he passed despite the wary look in his eyes. “Just a thought. It’s nothing.”

“You’re upset.”

“No, no, I’m good.”

“Please don’t lie to me.” It came out harsher than intended and Remus winced. “I mean—Sirius, something is obviously bothering you.”

He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment, rubbing his thumbs in small circles over the marble countertop before making brief eye contact. “You’re angry,” he said at last, cautiously. “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” Remus said, then paused. Sirius’ face fell. “Well, I’m a little irritated, but—but it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t be.”

“It’s not stupid.”

Remus swallowed hard at the kicked-puppy look on Sirius’ face. “It is.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said.

And that was…honestly, kind of the worst thing he could say. “You don’t get it,” Remus said, staring at the floor. “Sirius, you just spent 200 dollars on sheets.”

If anything, that seemed to upset him more. “You said you liked them.”

“I—” Remus flailed his hand around. “I do! But Jesus, honey, that’s kind of a lot!”

“We both liked the sheets.”

“I don’t know how to tell you that that’s expensive!” he blurted as the words wormed their way out and hung in the air. “Two hundred dollars might be peanuts to you, but that used to be my food budget for the month!”

“Remus—”

“You have never had to budget a day in your life,” he said, quieter. “Your watch probably cost more than a month’s rent for my apartment, you’ve never taken public transportation—”

“Remus—”

“—and you make millions of dollars every year!” He paused, out of breath, and ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. “Millions, Sirius. And—and now that we’re together, that we’re living together, it’s just really apparent in a way that it wasn’t before.”

Sirius’ throat bobbed. “I wish you had told me at the store.”

“It’s not about the sheets,” Remus laughed, because there was nothing else he could do other than cry. “We have entirely different views of how much money is worth. You can pay for things for me and I can’t do the same for you, and that feels like shit.”

An unsettling quiet blanketed the whole first floor as Sirius stayed very, very still, like a small animal caught in a trap. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he confessed, barely above a whisper. “You’re right. Money is…it’s not something I’ve had to think about, but I like spending it on you.”

“I don’t like being cared for,” Remus forced out around the grate that had been keeping it down. “I don’t like feeling like I can’t support myself, or that I’m a burden on you and especially that I can’t repay that.”

Sirius finally met his eyes, and he looked appalled. “Remus, you’re never a burden.”

“It feels like it.” He was horrified to feel the burn of tears in his eyes. “Sometimes. When—when you buy nice things for me, or we go on nice vacations, or even when you buy groceries for us for the fifth time in a row, it feels like I’m using you for your money.”

“But you’re not.”

“No!” Remus said immediately. “God, no, never. That’s the last thing I want. But I don’t want you to have to change your lifestyle to make it revolve around me, either. I feel like I’m caught in the middle and there’s no good answer.”

Sirius watched him for a moment, the way that always made Remus feel a little bit like a particularly intricate play he was trying to work out. “What did you want to say at the store?”

“I—what?”

“What did you want to say while we were getting the sheets?”

Remus bit his lip in thought. “Those are too expensive, and I think we should get different ones,” he said eventually. “I like the color and the fabric, but I don’t want to spend that much money on sheets when we could do something else with it.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner.” The earnest look on Sirius’ face eased some of the bubbling feelings in his chest. “And I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“…why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing to look at your multi-millionaire boyfriend and say, ‘I can’t afford $200 sheets’, Sirius. It sucks. I feel like I can’t measure up.”

Sirius nodded. “I’ve never judged you for your money, not once. Just for the record. There’s nothing I would rather spend it on than making you happy.”

“I don’t want to be sheltered and provided for.” Remus blinked back the last of the tears and closed his eyes. “I want us to be equals. That’s important to me.”

“Okay.”

“And I don’t know how to fix this right away.”

“I don’t, either.” Warm fingers brushed the back of his hand and he leaned into Sirius without looking. “Can we try and figure it out, though? As a team?”

“Yes, captain,” he snorted, feeling Sirius’ soft huff on the top of his head. They stood silently for a few seconds before Remus let go of his tension with a slow exhale. “I don’t think a joint bank account is a good idea yet, but maybe we can start by alternating who buys groceries? Or something small like that. I don’t want to feel like this anymore, not with you. I love you too much.”

Sirius nuzzled into his hair for a moment before lips pressed against his temple. “How about we start by making the bed?”

The pressure on Remus’ chest eased. Making the bed was easy. They had the exact same method for it, a function of Sirius growing up with a militant mother and Remus’ aunts lovingly terrorizing him into learning how to do hospital corners. It was an olive branch that he could happily accept with a light squeeze around Sirius’ waist. Baby steps, he thought. We’ll deal with the big stuff when we’re better settled. He offered a half-smile to Sirius. “What are we waiting for?”

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #sweater weather #lumosinlove #money talk #hurt/ comfort #angst #argument #sheets

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shima-draws · 4 years

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FINALLY NEW OC TIME BABEY

The boy is Emrys, a prince from the Mirrorplane who is on the run from his own kingdom! The girl is Lacie, an orphan who was raised by a guild that rescued her from a somewhat abusive/manipulative friendship as a child!

More (incredibly long) info about these kiddos under the cut~

Emrys (or Em for short)

Age: 23

Hair color: Golden orange

Eye color: Red

Element: Lightning

Emrys is from the Mirrorplane, the parallel world to ATS. His kingdom is caught in a huge power struggle between all the other kingdoms, and Emrys’ mother, a queen who only seeks power from others, is leading them straight into ruin. Emrys is destined to receive the Crest of the Crowned, which is basically a huge emblem of power, as soon as he’s officially crowned as the king. Except that the queen plans to utilize the emblem’s power to start a grand war, which. Is not good!! The night Emrys finds this out, he plans to escape the kingdom along with his childhood best friend Lixin, a regular human who’s basically being used as a pawn to be married off to Emrys’ younger sister in order to create powerful elemental children. Yikes! Emrys is also engaged to a princess from another kingdom, but it’s an arranged marriage, and he doesn’t have feelings for her (so there’s another good reason for him to leave). Lixin is caught during his escape, and Emrys leaps to his rescue, but in the scuffle things get tense and he accidentally kills the guards sent after them. Hands stained with blood, Emrys stumbles into a portal leading to the other side of the Mirrorplane.

Emrys decides that he might as well stay there since he doesn’t know how to get home and he probably shouldn’t go home--he’ll be safer here, and this way his mother can’t use him to start a war. This goes alright for a couple months as he adapts to a world that isn’t constantly fighting with each other, until he realizes that his mother somehow sent people to come look for him and capture him so he can be dragged back home. He also hears word that Lixin is in this world as well. Emrys goes on the run, never sticking around one place for long, and tries to search for Lixin along the way. This is when he meets Lacie!

Personality traits

• Has a hard time trusting people in general. Refuses to get close to people in fear of them getting hurt. Because he's on the run and is a target he tries to keep to himself. A very lone wolf type. Doesn't want other people to get dragged into his problems so he tries to handle everything alone

• Very quiet, observant, INCREDIBLY intelligent--gets really absorbed in books when given the chance. One of the few times his facade falls and he gets Soft and passionate is when he's immersed in reading/studying. Loves absorbing knowledge from this world since it’s different from the Mirrorplane

• Makes scathing remarks often. Doesn't get riled up even when people tempt him. Is able to keep a very cool head most of the time. When he does get angry he gets STUBBORN. Refuses to let people try to talk to him or calm him down. Brushes people off and ignores attempts at support

• You know that he trusts you when he teases you or pokes fun at you

• Very wary. Always keeps an eye out for an escape route

• Careful around people. Knows his strength so he tries not to hurt others

• Deep down tho he's utterly selfless, unbelievably loyal to the people he cares about, and is a truly kind and generous person. He would sacrifice anything, even himself, to keep his friends safe, and beats himself up constantly if one of them gets hurt. Once he learns to open himself up to others he becomes Tender and is able to express himself easier. He's truly a gentle person at heart

• Is awful at romance because he has no experience (even being engaged) and gets flustered easily when it comes to anything with romantic intent. This is like the one thing he has zero confidence in. Lacie usually has to take charge in this department because he’s too hesitant and nervous to figure anything out himself, so he tends to follow her lead, which sometimes leads to disaster but they figure things out one step at a time!

• Was attracted to Lacie immediately but didn’t want to get close to her bc he knew she’d get hurt because of him. WELP

• Develops a huge guilt complex after Lacie loses her arm

Elemental abilities

Lightning elemental: Uses a thin sword/rapier to fight. Is VERY fast and agile. Usually starts by hitting pressure points and jolting them with electricity to numb the nerves. Doesn’t really like using his lightning directly so he tries to stick to the rapier as often as possible

He’s not a huge fan of fighting so he’d rather avoid conflict if necessary (especially after he killed someone on accident before). However he should not be underestimated in battle--he’s been trained how to fight from a young age so he knows what he’s doing. He uses a lot of tactics and smarts to get himself out of sticky situations

Lacie

Age: 21

Hair color: Gray/silver

Eye color: Brown

Element: Metal

Lacie’s parents died when she was very young, so she was sent to an orphanage shortly after. Her parents were bandits, labeled as outlaws, so a lot of the kids teased her and ostracized her. This caused her to hold a grudge against both them and her parents, even though they’d only resorted to thievery to provide for her and themselves. There was, however, one person who reached out to her there--an older girl named Gwendolyn. Gwen was very standoffish and didn’t care what the other children thought of her. She was the first person to treat Lacie normally, so Lacie grew attached to her. However, Gwen used Lacie and treated her as a tool to do what she wanted, but Lacie, too terrified of losing the only ‘friend’ she had, never spoke up about it. Gwen did care about Lacie, and there was a genuine friendship there, but that was overshadowed of her tendency to manipulate Lacie.

Gwen eventually hatched a plan to escape the orphanage and strike out on their own. Lacie agreed and together they snuck out in the middle of the night. (Sounds familiar? Wow, parallels!) The next day, Gwen tried to steal from a person in town, which ended up being a member of the guild nearby. Gwen managed to get to Lacie before getting caught and shoved the stolen items onto her, making her a target. Lacie realized how awful this was and finally gathered the courage to yell at Gwen. The guild member caught up, saw their interaction, and took Gwen in for questioning. He escorted Lacie to the guild, where she was pretty much adopted by the members.

Lacie grew up with the guild and learned compassion and how to forgive her parents. As an adult she’s a very kind, friendly and confident person. She is still burdened by her past but she tries not to let it get to her.

Personality traits

• Not the most polite person since she doesn't really have a filter

• VERY curious. Somewhat naive. Asks a lot of bugging questions if she doesn't know something

• Hot-headed and stubborn. Gets riled up easily, but can control herself when she's angry. Argues a lot but isn't fond of it

• In reality, a very kind person who cares for her friends and would do anything to protect her family. Spirited and determined

• Can be kind of silly, especially when she's trying to cheer others up. Emrys finds her amusing and calls her a dork

• A leader type character...one that can take charge of the situation when everybody else is losing their heads

• Willing to step out of her comfort zone and dive into new adventures without hesitation. She lives for the thrill. Is spontaneous and willing to take risks/chances. Drags Emrys into her fun a lot bc he’s so sheltered as a prince lmao

• Self confident on the outside, insecure in reality (a lot of this comes from the emotional abuse she went through as a kid). But not enough that it's crushing--just enough to make her second guess things sometimes, ESPECIALLY when it comes to Emrys because he's a rubix cube of emotions and she's always afraid of overstepping her boundaries--this is only when she finds out more about him tho. She doesn't mind being an ass to him when they first met because he’s kind of a jerk so her first instinct is to lash out at him

• Isn't necessarily a rule breaker until it's brought up, and then she gets excited about doing daring things. Is almost too enthusiastic about it sometimes

Elemental abilities

Metal elemental: Uses throwing knives infused with magic to fight. Being a metal elemental, she’s able to control their trajectory and can toss them around and have them zip right back to her like boomerangs. She mostly uses these to unbalance enemies and strike them hard enough that they get too dizzy to stand. After she loses her arm, she also utilizes the metal it’s made out of to temporarily transform it into usable weapons.

She’s fine with fighting and is hasty enough to throw herself into battle without thinking, but is fine with peace talks most of the time.

AND NOW onto how these two cuties meet ;)

If it weren’t obvious by now Emrys is a loner and therefore hates guilds and being associated with them. So naturally, after running into Lacie, he treats her with a lot of attitude and snark, which she retaliates against. After Lacie helps him chase off a couple thugs that he stole stolen goods back from (not the people actually chasing him), she somehow coerces him into the guild for a couple days, and he’s unsettled yet warmed by the friendly atmosphere. Emrys eventually admits he has to stick around town for a while to make some money, so Lacie offers to help him out by going out on official guild missions. Emrys is like I don’t need or want your help and she’s like alright fine then try making money on your own, guild missions pay WAY better and you can’t do one without an official member escort. So he’s like. Jesus fine okay I’ll go on the damn mission with you LOL

They go on a couple missions together and start getting close. Emrys is like oh no this is not what I want so he panics and tries to leave town, but Lacie catches up to him and yells him for leaving without saying anything. Unfortunately during this whole mess the trackers sent to follow Emrys find out where he’s hiding. He and Lacie go out on one last goodbye mission together and they get ambushed. They’re horribly outnumbered and even when Emrys resorts to actually fighting his hardest, Lacie gets terribly injured. Emrys manages to fight off the attackers, getting his hair cut off shorter in the process (which is why it’s shorter and in a cute little half bun in the second pic), but Lacie’s losing so much blood at this point--so he stumbles into the closest building in the closest town and GUESS WHO’S IT IS.

YEAH. IT’S THE ROBO FAM!! (Take note that this is like, 2-3 years after they return from the Mirrorplane themselves, so they’re around 25 at this point.)

Elias and Gifre are enjoying a nice evening prosthetic check date when Emrys stumbles into the mechanic shop, covered in Lacie’s blood, and begs for help before passing out. Both of them go OH SHIT and immediately leap to the rescue. As Elias, Gi-bot, Ava and Ignis (who were called in) work on patching up Lacie’s wounds, Elias realizes that her arm is too far gone to be saved. And this is kind of a sad moment for him since you know. He also lost his arm. So he can relate. Ava’s like you’ll just have to make her the best goddamn prosthetic in the world then and he’s like alright yeah, so they have to remove Lacie’s left arm and it’s. Not pretty.

Emrys wakes up several hours later to find that Gifre treated his wounds. When he asks where Lacie is and Gifre shows him, he immediately breaks down, because she got hurt SO badly because of him and this is why he didn’t want to get close to her in the first place. He laments over dragging her into his mess, and Gifre gives him a nice long Pep Talk, coming from a similar situation with dragging Elias into his personal issues with Python’s Blood. It helps a little, but Gifre can tell Em’s gonna be blaming himself for this for a WHILE (hence the guilt complex comment).

As Lacie recovers and gets used to her new prosthetic (and keeps smacking Emrys whenever he looks guilty about it), the two of them become closer despite Emrys’ attempts not to--but Lacie is stubborn and refuses to let him distance himself. They also get really close and bond a lot with the robo fam, having bunked with them for a while. The main part of the story is just these domesticity moments with the robo fam and their two new dysfunctional houseguests LOL

Eventually Emrys does find Lixin and decides to return to the Mirrorplane to sort things out with his mother, and that brings up a whole bunch of crazy drama, but the robo fam and Lacie come with him (and by that point he’s gone Full Tender and leans on them a lot for support so it’s NICE and CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT), so things get sorted out one way or another. There is a point where he and Lacie have a huge fight because Lacie...finds out something about the Mirrorplane that she does not like, and it nearly shatters her entire relationship with Em, so that’s a big oof. But they get it all sorted out and it’s fine. The reason why their fight hurts even worse is because at this point they’re full on in love with each other but are both too awful at romance to actually say anything. They’re stupid and they can’t communicate and I love them

Yes they end up together because *points at self* I’m a hopeless romantic loser. Lacie becomes a princess of the Mirrorplane which is WEIRD as hell to her but she gets used to it. Also they actually don’t stay there, Emrys hands the kingdom over to his younger sister, who’s always been better at handling royal affairs, and comes back to the regular verse with Lacie to live with her there. They get a house in Spinel Town near the robo fam and LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER THE END

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Un-Human.”

I survived finals and am finally home for Christmas. this should give me more time to work on writing for the book, and working on the conlang for the Drev language. I know a lot of you are busy with your own school work, but I hope that this is at least somewhat entertaining.

“Kill the bastards.”

“Steal him back.”

“Kill them with fire!”

“Start a riot.”

“Go to their planet and make sure that none of them can get anything done.”

“Burn their fucking planet to the ground!.”

“Tell the GA if they don’t give him back we will start a rebellion.”

Commander Vir sat at the head of the conference table hands clasped lightly on the table before him He may have seemed calm on the outside, but on the inside he was seething with a rage that threatened to rip through his body and level the entire building. Everything his crew was saying, every suggestion of violence and every urging to go out and do something insane made his insides thrill with eager emotion.

He wanted to do what they suggested, he wanted to rain hell down upon the bastards that had taken Krill. He wanted to sweep down upon them like a destroying angel with all the power to turn cities to salt, and rivers to blood.

Every bone in his body ached to descend upon them with all the fury of humanity at his back.

“No….”

“What do you mean no!” Maverick demanded, “They took Krill, now they have to pay.” Her anger caused a chorus of agreement, especially from the other marines, who were so riled up they could barely maintain their seats.

“Yeah, Maverick is right.” Ramirez had jumped from his seat

The other marines continued to chorus their agreement.

Then the entire room erupted, and could not be silenced until Commander Vir slammed his hand on the table “THAT’S ENOUGH.”. The marines and rest of the bridge crew went silent Heads turning in shock and surprise.. Commander Vir was standing partially from his seat hand in a fist atop the table, “I-said-no. Now all of you SIT-your-asses-down.” Wide eyes and glances were exchanged about the room, but the marines slowly took to their seats shuffling into position the fire in them partially dampened by surprise. Commander Vir stood at the head of the table leaning over the cold metal two hands bracing himself against the cold metal. He stared down for a long moment quietly waiting for the marines to calm down and take their seats looking at his distorted reflection in the face of the metal.

When he looked back up, it was only cold calculation that they saw in his single eye.

The marines shifted in their seats in surprise.

The bridge crew glanced between each other.

“We will not be doing any of that.” The man said quietly looking around at each of the marines, “I don’t think I have to remind you what kind of political backlash any one of those options might cause to us. Do I want to go in and reign hellfire? Yes, but we have to think about the long term consequences.” He stood back up and turned around clasping one wrist behind his back,

“You aren’t suggesting we just abandon him, are you?”

Commander Vir turned his head to the side slightly, “I never said anything about abandoning our friend, but I am suggesting that we push our more baser instincts back where they belong.” He turned back away from them his head low, “If we do what we all want to, it could potentially result in a galaxy wide war at most and extreme political unrest at least…. We need…. We need to do what Krill would do.”

“Scream profanities and write a rant about how stupid humans are.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of the man’s mouth, “We need to be surgical….”

***

The Vrul Official floated just in front of the entrance to his ship staring out at the alien horizon on an alien planet. He did not bother to hide the fact that he wished for nothing more than to go home. Traveling through space was a delicate matter that required a great deal of risk. The fact that he was willing to captain a ship had nearly ostracized him from much of society that knew of his job.

Of course, he did not find pleasure in his work, but it is what he was good at, and he intended to keep doing it to the best of his ability until such time that he was terminated from his position. He was not inherently a riskater, and would have taken extreme offence to anyone who suggested it, but he was willing to do what needed to be done for the good of his species.

He continued to watch the alien horizon neither interested or awed by its strange other-wordly beauty. It was simply time to return home, with the cargo that had been requested by the council.

If any Vrul had the audacity to think he was a risk-taker, they would soon be proven wrong in comparison. The Dr….. Dr Krill, a renowned Alpha of some importance has and was proving himself to be of some concern. The official had seen in, in the way the creature moved when he stepped aboard the ship, not bothering to float but scuttling along with quick jerky movements. The way his head had turned at every sound, and the strange way in which he spoke.

It was all quite strange and rather…. unsettling .

Completely un-vrul.

Of course, they hadn’t worried about this phenomenon so much before. There was even a time where they had let humans onto their planet, but that was before their scientists had discovered this strange change in behavior. Of course the doctor wasn’t the only one, but he was the worst having demonstrated signs of deviation even before exposure to the humans.

At the time everyone had just thought it an eccentricity of an Alpha. If the Doctor’s official transcripts were to go buy, he was more than a simple alpha, he was a genius, a strange creature that thought differently from the rest of them, but still this behavior was just outrageous.

He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he did not see the human approach.

It was a fact that gave hi great unease, the way the large creature could be so silent despite it’s clunky misshapen frame.

He only noticed it when he heard the hissing humm of his own dialect being spoken through the things rubbery lips.

“Official, it is I, Commander Vir. I desire to speak with you.”

He nearly leaped out of his skin. The words sounded strange and distorted coming from the human mouth, but it was unmistakable as the Vrul language. How the human had even managed to learn it was a surprise, and the fact that he could utilize it even more surprising.

The Vurl remained at a safe distance, “Speak your peace, human.”

“I think, Officer, the title you are looking for is, Commander. That is your custom, to call people by the title they hold?”

The Vrul officer pressed his mouth tight closed, “Very well Commander, speak your peace.”

“I wish to accompany you.”

The Vrul was very unsettled by the unwavering expression of that single green eye.

“I am afraid that is not possible commander, and besides, don’t you have a fleet to command?”

The human crossed its upper appendages over it’s trunk, “Not currently, my ship is being serviced.”

“I still cannot allow it.”

“Quite to the contrary. I think it can be allowed once you hear my reasoning.”

Reasoning with a human, now wasn’t that a fun thought experiment, “Go on.”

“If what you say is true, that the simple interaction of our two species causes irreparable psychological changes to your species, than I wish to see it. Humans need to understand the danger we put you in, if there is danger at all. I need to know in order to make an accurate statement to my human counterparts about the issue because if they do not see it, they will not believe it. I must learn how this has affected you, and what I must do to mitigate the effects.” He ... had a point.

“Forgive my caution, Commander, but humans are known to be rather…. impulsive . How can I be sure you would behave yourself.”

“I came alone didn’t I? Even if I weren't to behave myself we can assume that you would quickly take care of the problem.”

The Vrul floated a bit closer to the human, “It can be argued that even one human aboard our ship could be quite disastrous.”

“But now you have warning and can prepare.” The human pulled something from behind his back buckled it around his waist, and then engaged in some sort of control. And then, he floated from the ground gently kicking himself until he was eye level with the Vrul who quickly paddled backwards in shock.

The human’s cold green eye fell upon him without so much as a waver.

“Official, you must trust me. And know that, If I were going to behave rashly, I would already have done so.”

The vrul pulled back slightly not entirely sure if that had been a threat or not, but it’s meaning was clear. The human could have killed him at any time, but he had CHOSEN not to, and his words made sense. As far as they knew the human brain seemed capable of reason and logic, so it wouldn’t make sense to anger the humans by refusing their civilized offering.

“Very well Commander, but you will be isolated as much as possible during our voyage. We would not want to expose you to any more of our unsuspecting crew members. Our conversation is already pushing the limits of what I consider to be acceptable. I will escort you to a room, but beyond that your interaction will be limited.

“Understood, Official.” The human lowered his large head in a strange nonverbal gesture that he couldn’t have determined the meaning.

Was he making a mistake.

***

Krill was escorted through the 3 dimension-ed maze of hallways curving upwards and backwards and downwards. Considering their use of helium sacks, the Vrul did not require such structured floor-plans as the humans did, and made a habit of utilizing all space possible including vertical.

It was a rather strange and alien scene despite being a produce of his own species, after spending so much time with the humans he had grown used to their geometrical architecture laid out in very meticulously planned grids. Granted the Vrul were almost as organized, arguably more so, but in different ways.

The two beta guards and their Omega assistants escorted him up a long vertical tube and through another lateral passageway to the left. The ship was designed to operate with a minimal amount of Vrul crew members, generally equaling less than fifty, a fact that made the ship seem wide, quiet and deserted, a far cry from the human ship which was always bustling with active life.

Ahead of him, the organic structure of their ship drew back with a soft slithering noise, and he was pushed into the room and left the wall closing behind them.

“Beginning diagnostic examination.”

Krill sighed but remained very still as the sensors in the walls rolled around him.

“Good morning, Doctor.” The voice said “Please complete this short psychological survey. How are you feeling.”

Krill blinked at the wall, not amused, “Annoyed.”

“Word does not translate, please be concise.”

Krill huffed. He forgot how nebulous annoyance was, “I am displeased with the situation as of now. I wish to leave.”

“Why are you displeased.”

“I was taken away from my friends and crew and accused of things that have no bearing on the rest of my species.”

“Please repeat again, and be more precise.”

Krill growled in frustration, “I have been removed from my duties and accused of something that does not directly involve the Vrul as a species.”

“Psychological evaluation complete, please wait for a physical representative to come speak with you. Enjoy the relaxing array of lights while you wait.”

The voice clicked off, and the walls began to glow with a soft blue light.

It only made Krill more mad.

He turned back to the door waiting, and it seemed as if he was waiting for a while before the door opened and another Vrul stepped inside. This one grey with yellow prisms for eyes, “Greetings, doctor, I am here to complete your psychological evaluation. The results to your physical tests are out of my range of expertise, but I am told they were ... worrying.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean diagnostics indicate changes in core body temperature, movement patterns, neuron arrays, and brain waves. The brain waves being the most worrisome. How are you feeling.”

“I am displeased.” Krill snarled

The expert watched him with a dark expression.

“How would you consider your current emotional state.”

“I already said. I am DISPLEASED. The humans have a lovely word for the emotion. It is called annoyed, when a slight inconvenience leads to almost anger but not quite. You have removed me from my duties against my will, that makes me annoyed.””

“How ... interesting.“Do you often find yourself using human terms in conversation.”

Krill glowered, “Of course I do, I work with humans. I MUST use their language structure to communicate. I also find they have words that are more accurate than our speech.”

“Do you understand why you are here, Doctor.”

“Of course, I understand why I am here. This is a termination evaluation, an absolute load of chicken shit.”

The Vrul stared at him in confusion, “I am sorry? I do not understand.”

Krill turned in a frustrated circle, “I mean that I think it is illogical and a waste of time.”

“Why do you insist on using these human terms while you speak.”

“Because human words more accurately represent how I am feeling.”

The evaluate shifted on his four limbs adjusting the amount of air in his helium sack.

“Doctor, you understand why the council is worried. Even after our first few minutes of discussion, I can see that your behavior has deviated from the correct Vrul behavior and towards human behavior. You are showing increased aggression, agitation, and your body utilization has changed.”

“I am behaving this way because you are being illogical. By taking me you risk angering the humans, and that is a bad idea. Not to mention that my departure from the ship leaves the humans in danger.”

“You think you are that important to them?”

“I AM that important to them.”

“And what makes you say that.” The Vrul didn’t turn his gaze from Krill who shifted in annoyance in the air.

“Because the humans have accepted me into their pack. I am one of them now.”

“Does this mean that you identify more with the humans than you do with your own species?” He questioned his face so smooth and expressionless, Kril was having a hard time telling how he was feeling. Then it crossed his mind that he had never needed facial expressions when he did not live with the humans. In fact, the Vrul had never assumed to know anything about the inner workings of other vrul, but here he was, presenting open emotions to this emotionless creature.

He was trying to interact with his creature as if he was interacting with a human. He was using human speech patterns, human terms and even human body language. A fact that he had not realized he was doing subconsciously until just now.

He was behaving just like a human would….

How fascinating.

“No, I simply accept a way of behaving that does not align with my original behavior This is adaptive for my survival aboard a human ship.”

“Are you afraid of the humans.”

“More afraid FOR the humans.”

“Why would you be afraid FOR humans.”

Krill turned away from the questioner facing the wall and its uniform gleaming surface. The room was a ball, not a square lie the humans preferred, the ground was bumpy and uneven.

“I am afraid for what they might do…. Humans are rash you know, and they might get themselves hurt.”

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punkscowardschampions · 4 years

Text

Jac & Amelia

Jac: How was your first day? Amelia: 🥱😴 Amelia: What about you? Jac: Oh dear, it was a lot more observing rather than doing I suppose, but I kind of expected that, if you want to get experience somewhere that isn't willing to just let anyone come in and do a shift so Jac: You'll never guess who was on my placement too though Amelia: Connor following you there wouldn't surprise me Amelia: he can't take a hint Jac: Thankfully not Jac: Swerving him during school is basically an extra-curricular Jac: I suppose it isn't all that surprising when you think about it, but I still was taken aback by the turn of events Amelia: thrill me Amelia: who is it? Jac: Savannah Moore Amelia: oh god, that sucks Amelia: if you don't wanna change placements, we'll make her Amelia: it'll be okay Jac: That's the surprising thing Jac: she was like, a different person Amelia: like really fake, you mean? Jac: No, like, a normal person Jac: maybe because she was away from her friends, her audience, or I don't know Jac: but she was just getting on with her work too, being chill about the whole thing Amelia: 🤔 suspicious Jac: Well, you can't say anything Jac: but why would you Jac: she's having like, a really hard time at home right now, she was a bit upset at one point Jac: it just broke the ice, and it makes a lot of things make sense Amelia: did it or did she throw you off with a convincing 😥💔 story? Jac: She was having a breakdown in the toilets basically Jac: I don't think she wanted anyone to see that, least of all me Jac: we knew her dad was like A LOT anyway, it tracks Amelia: it's Savannah, she wants everyone to see everything, especially you Jac: Come on, what would she even get out of tricking me with a sobstory Jac: bar work experience not being a total drama, which surely she'd love more, by that logic? Amelia: your attention Jac: 🤔🤔 I just don't see it this time Jac: I can't explain how sincere it was, what she said Jac: it definitely wasn't made up, at any rate Amelia: if you believe her, I believe you Jac: Like, I'm not saying we were wrong Jac: but too harsh, maybe Jac: we don't need to waste any energy on being her enemy or whatever Jac: not that we were ever THAT childish but, she really isn't that bad Amelia: I can be a bit harsh Jac: You're a softie, really Jac: but I'm not going to spill all your secrets to her Amelia: it's not a secret that I missed you today Jac: Was it seriously that boring? 😞 Jac: Who are you with again, anyone not awful? Amelia: yeah Amelia: my 🧠 has turned to mush Amelia: they put with with Valentina Hernández, I've had detention with her before Jac: You poor thing Jac: we'll have to do something fun when this is over, if you're going to hate it so much Jac: and I'll keep to a minimum how much I'm enjoying getting some industry experience 🤐 Jac: Oh yeah, she's cute Jac: I don't have many classes with her, but I know who you mean Amelia: she said I look like her ex, do you think that means she hates me or I'm her eye candy of choice for the next week? Amelia: can't we do something fun tonight!? Jac: How weird Jac: sounds like a really bad pickup-line a 40-year-old man would use Jac: Guess you'll see what she meant Jac: That's not going to make your early start tomorrow any easier, is it Amelia: I'm already planning to sleep through my alarm Amelia: and Is is up for it Jac: I'm totally wiped Jac: and trying to save you from yourself 😉 Jac: Is can make her own poor choices Amelia: vodka redbulls were invented to change wiped to wired Amelia: you know she'll get drunk and throw herself at some boy, that's what you'll be saving me from Amelia: dark corners are no fun when I'm being left in them on my own Jac: so I can be hungover tomorrow Jac: if she is tricking me, I'm going to need ALL my wits about me Jac: maybe Val will come and keep you company Amelia: and if she's as nice as you say, she can pick up the slack Amelia: please come Jac: Are we talking about a house party or a club or what, you've not even told me 😅 Jac: also, you know I don't want to drop anything, I need to ace this Amelia: it's a club you'll love Amelia: so you won't have to drink loads to have fun anyway Jac: If Is or any of her conquests have picked it I SO doubt that 😏 Amelia: I picked it in case you needed cheering up but it works for a pat on the back too Jac: Okay, I'll see what the parents say Amelia: if they look like they're leaning towards no, it could've been me having a breakdown in the toilets Jac: I'll tell them you'll be heartbroken Amelia: the truth works too Jac: they're not that understanding so I wouldn't hold your breath Jac: I'll corner one of them when they get in though Amelia: more understanding than mine, not to be Savannah-ish about it Jac: I assume you will be sneaking out, as per Jac: or staying over one of ours to catch up with your work Amelia: 😏 Jac: 🙄 how you ever get away with it when your mother knows everything about everyone is beyond me Jac: if you applied yourself, you could be seriously impressive Amelia: could be? Amelia: you just said I am Amelia: she knows everything about me that I want her to know Jac: duh Jac: gotta give you something to aim for though Amelia: oooh a challenge Jac: I know how you feel about them Amelia: unless it's going to be something about applying myself this week Jac: am I a teacher? Amelia: you've taught me loads like why would I waste my energy buckling down with Valentina 📠 when I could spend it doing something that isn't 🥱😴 with you Jac: You have a point Jac: or, I do? 😂 Jac: and I can come out for a while, but I need to be home to get at least 5 hours sleep minimum Amelia: can I stay or does Jude still need 15 hours minimum? Jac: if you keep the noise down and promise to talk less than her Amelia: I'll be so 🤫🤐 Jac: another person at mine in the AM makes no odds Jac: but I will be leaving extra early, FYI Amelia: why? Jac: Mainly because I want to get there on time Jac: but also because Savannah said she'd bring breakfast, as I listened to her when she was upset today so Amelia: bribery is her style 🤑 Jac: I guess so Jac: but it'd be rude of me not to accept any coffee or pastries she wants to throw my way Amelia: what if they're toxic Jac: You're giving her too much credit now Jac: she isn't going to have the time to poison them AND not be late Amelia: she's probably baking them right now, what else are her and her invisible mum going to do to bond? Jac: You're the one that takes home ec 🍳 Amelia: yeah and if you wanted me to kill her, all you had to do was ask Jac: Feel free to note my silence any time you like 😏 Jac: What are you wearing, how smart/casual is this place? Amelia: [pictures of potential outfits on the bed so she can see the vibe] Amelia: which one will you break your vow of silence for? Jac: You know I love that colour [hi khaki moment] Amelia: 😉 Amelia: if you want to know what Is is wearing, the group chat is full of her maybes Jac: I am purposely ignoring that notification 🙄😑 Jac: like yeah, I'm probably going to wear my black tank dress again but the difference is, I'm not pretending it's getting any crazier Amelia: it got her to shut up about all the 'hotties' at the sports centre that she got to 'service' today Amelia: 😣 Jac: Ew Jac: she's so graphic sometimes Jac: it's a good thing she has her reputation tbh if those are her lines Amelia: this is before a drink too Amelia: I need you, I wasn't even laying it on thick Jac: God, she is a lot Jac: hopefully one of them asks her out, she's at least less gross when she's in a relationship Amelia: 🤞 Jac: I do need to plan my outfits for the rest of work experience though Amelia: god, I can imagine what Savannah looked like today Jac: Right? Jac: She was so on point Amelia: for a stepford wife Amelia: it's unsettling Amelia: her mum probably stays invisible because she takes the clothes off her back Jac: Come on, she looks good Amelia: so would I in head to toe chanel Jac: Exactly Jac: so I need to keep up so I don't look like a scrub Amelia: you don't have to try as hard as her, that's the difference Amelia: you actually look good Amelia: not just expensive Jac: You're biased but I love you for it Amelia: you could ask anyone in our year and they'd tell you the same thing Amelia: even her boyfriend would probably want to agree with me Jac: I doubt his eyes ever leave her, they're totally inseparable aren't they Amelia: it sounds like you'll be getting all the gossip Amelia: you'll be able to tell me everything by Friday Jac: not that that has any real use now Amelia: maybe or maybe not Jac: ?? Amelia: we've got loads of school left, you can't say never Amelia: today could've been a weird fluke Jac: Nah, it was a total ceasefire if nothing else Jac: it's not like a feud Jac: Oh my God, what is that skirt she just posted Amelia: okay Amelia: 😳 on her behalf Jac: should I tell her to wear it? Amelia: yeah 😂 Jac: 😏 Amelia: what are you wearing though? Jac: my lbd 😂 Jac: I don't know if it's classic or predictable but if nothing else, I can say this was short notice Amelia: if I couldn't predict you I'd be worried Jac: but you love a challenge 🤔 Amelia: but I love the way things are Jac: see, so soft and soppy Jac: nothing has changed yet Jac: still think transition year is pointless 🤷 Amelia: your 🧠 didn't turn to mush Jac: it might Jac: I just wanna pick all our new classes and get started Jac: but it is cool we get to do stuff like this, I suppose Amelia: you just want to find out if Savannah will be in every single class again Jac: 🙄 Amelia: [like I'm gonna say she was joking then but now the posts have appeared so it's like oh you actually do and she leaves her on read which I cannot overstate how much that would NEVER happen because she always answers immediately no matter what] Jac: Hello? Jac: are you picking me up? Amelia: are you ready? Jac: you aren't talking to Isabelle Jac: of course I am Amelia: nothing she's saying needs a reply Jac: 'Fashionably' late is her vibe Amelia: yeah I know, Is hasn't changed since I met her Jac: Like that's a good thing? Amelia: I wouldn't go as far as to call her perfect or anything Amelia: but at least I get her Jac: Funny, Meels Amelia: like totally weird, that kind of funny Jac: You are being weird Amelia: that isn't even a worthy deflection Jac: What do you wanna say? Jac: It's just a post Amelia: I've never heard you describe anything as perfect, what are you saying? Jac: Did you see her post? Amelia: yeah, it's obvious why you're tired Amelia: I was exhausted reading it Jac: Well I couldn't just say nothing in return, could I Amelia: I never caption anything, it's easy Jac: you're a girl of few words Amelia: why does she think she knows you on such a 'deep level' now? Amelia: you said she was the one who overshared Jac: You know her friends Jac: Paige G and Becca Jac: I doubt they do 'deep' Jac: it's just in comparison Amelia: I know you, there's things you aren't telling me Jac: like what, I told her all my secrets Jac: if you know me then you know there's no way that's true Amelia: then you're keeping hers Jac: No I'm not, I told you, it's her home life Jac: and I'm sure she doesn't want everyone to know so I shouldn't but I did Amelia: okay Jac: You don't like her, you don't have to Jac: but don't be off with me Amelia: neither did you yesterday Amelia: but now you're going to [whatever that market location was] together Jac: She needed cheering up Jac: and I was going to go anyway, my last bouquet was dead Jac: it's not a big deal Amelia: it was so chill you weren't going to say anything before she outted you with a post Amelia: obviously Jac: I didn't say anything 'cos I didn't think you'd be bothered Jac: it's not your thing Amelia: right, why would it be news that you've changed your entire POV on Savannah Moore Jac: Well I told you about that Jac: scroll up Amelia: it's one thing putting up with someone during work experience, which is what you said Amelia: do you see me taking Valentina out when we're allowed to leave? No, because it'd be totally weird Jac: Why would that be weird? Amelia: we're not friends, I barely know her Jac: you're free to get to know her Jac: you may as well Jac: like I said, it's totally childish having some kind of grudge against her Amelia: it's too late to invite them both Jac: so you want to? Amelia: no, but you think I'm being childish Jac: I think it would be childish for me to decline this peace offering Jac: if it makes life easier, it'd be stupid not to Amelia: I don't see how it'll make anything easier if she's going to be that extra Amelia: Is is already a lot Jac: I can deal with them both Amelia: okay Jac: You don't need to be jealous Amelia: of her? oh please Jac: right Amelia: she's not the only one who has had a bad day, that's all Jac: what's wrong? Amelia: I got in trouble, they might not even have me back tomorrow Jac: What did you do? Amelia: nothing! It wasn't my fault Jac: Alright, what happened then Amelia: I didn't think it would crash the whole system, I was just trying to get done quicker Jac: Oh God Meels Amelia: it would've been impressive if it had worked Jac: they can't get rid of you for a mistake Jac: just be really, really sorry, yeah Amelia: I am sorry, it was really 😳 Jac: I bet Jac: you won't do it again Jac: did she tell you to Amelia: who would tell me to do that Jac: You said she was your detention buddy Amelia: no I didn't, I said I've seen her there before Amelia: everyone gets detention except you and Savannah Jac: Hardly Jac: well, you could say it was her idea Amelia: you've been having a go at me for being childish Jac: you'll be in so much shit if they refuse to have you back Amelia: I'll go work with my dad or something, it'll be even more boring but it's only a week anyway Jac: it'll still reflect really badly on you Jac: it's not childish, it's practical Amelia: it was an accident, I won't be the only one who's done something stupid Jac: Yeah, but you said they were arsey about it so Jac: just saying Amelia: maybe I was a bit defensive Amelia: don't worry about it Jac: Hmm Amelia: I'll smooth it over Jac: Good luck then Amelia: trust me Jac: You always end up alright Amelia: you're my lucky charm Amelia: I just ask myself wwjd Jac: You're such a loser 😏 Amelia: you're so cruel to me 💔 Jac: You love it Amelia: I love you Jac: I love you too Amelia: are you coming out or am I coming in? Jac: You'll just get waylaid by dogs and siblings Jac: be right out Amelia: the hair isn't an accessory I should wear to the club Jac: I've not done anything with mine, don't judge Amelia: it always looks perfect whatever you do or don't do Jac: 😘 Amelia: if you're going to use that word, at least throw it in the right direction Jac: oh yeah, that's a caption I wanna write 😂 Amelia: I'll write it for you, if anything's worth breaking the rules for Jac: You want to compete with Savannah's word count? Amelia: I don't want to, but I will if I have to Jac: I'm not that desperate for validation, you're okay Amelia: Isabelle meanwhile Amelia: has NOT shut up Jac: It's a wonder anyone is getting past her on reception Amelia: 😂 Jac: maybe she should ask if she can work the door when she finally shows Jac: [you go out now though gal, don't need to be messing about] Amelia: [go forth and be messy gays at this club instead] Jac: [no wonder, the tension henny] Amelia: [all the useless lesbian awards to amelia for not making a move tonight] Jac: [blink and you miss it babe] Amelia: [literally does not think she's running out of time, soz gal] Jac: [oh it's sad[ Amelia: [it is, we've been doing this dance for years ladies, obvs we think we'll just keep doing it until uni forces us to stop and do something else and at that point that's years away still] Jac: [when you think you got another three years to have gay angst and drama, nay nay] Amelia: [mhmm] Jac: [well, a different kind of angst and drama will be happening but nobody is loving that Amelia: [except me haha]

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marginalgloss · 4 years

Text

the red telephone

The thing about Control is that I don’t think I’ve ever played a game where I’ve felt such a vast difference between a game’s artistic and technical quality and its total lack of thematic and narrative depth.

There is a good case for saying that this oughtn’t to be a problem. It’s long been the case that if a video game is entertaining enough, any further ‘depth’ (by the standards established by other media) is unnecessary. This is why we don’t much care if the story isn’t good in Doom. The sense of being there and doing the thing is enough. But Doom isn’t drawing on influences bigger than itself. Clearly it’s been influenced by a variety of things — from Dungeons and Dragons to heavy metal album covers and Evil Dead and everything in between — but Doom is not referential, and it’s not reverential. Doom is complete unto itself. Control is not complete.

Horror films and ghost stories and weird fiction are best when they are about things. Think about The Turn of the Screw and The Thing and Twin Peaks and Candyman, to pick a few examples off the top of my head. They work not just because what we see and hear and read is mysterious. They are compelling because they have intriguing characters and thematic resonance. The Babadook is not just a story about a monster from a book for children. Night of the Living Dead isn’t just about, you know, the living dead. By comparison I find it hard to say that Control is about anything, but it presents itself as adjacent to this kind of work. It is a magnificent exercise in style which trades in empty symbols. It wraps itself in tropes from weird fiction in the hope of absorbing meaning by osmosis.

It feels like a wasted opportunity, because the setup is not without interest. You play as Jesse Faden, a woman supposedly beginning her first day on the job at the Federal Bureau of Control, a mysterious government organisation that deals in high-level paranormal affairs. The FBC is a feast of architectural and environmental detail: a vast Brutalist office complex with an interior that seems to be stranded in time somewhere around the mid-1980s. Everything is concrete and glass and reel-to-reel machines and terminal workstations. It’s frequently stunning.

Unfortunately most of the staff are missing because Jesse’s visit to their headquarters coincides with a massive invasion by the Hiss, a paranormal force which has taken over the building. The Hiss is a sort of ambient infection that turns people into mindless spirit-drones, chanting in an endless Babel. (Conveniently, most of those drones are present as angry men with guns. There are also zombies, and flying zombies, for variety.)

There is, obviously, more to Jesse than meets the eye. She spends a lot of time talking to someone nobody else can see. But there isn’t that much more to her. Like every other character in the game she is a monotone. There is no reason to believe she has any existence outside the plot devised for her here. Similarly, the other characters you meet exist only as the lines they speak to you. It works only when the effect is entirely, deliberately flat: the most compelling person in the game is Ahti, the janitor with a sing-song voice and a near-indecipherable Finnish accent. He is nothing but what he is — he has no past, no future. He has all the answers, if only you knew what questions to ask.

Control is undeniably stylish. The interiors are striking, vast, spacious. Even on the smallest scale the game has a great eye for little comic interactions via systemised physics. You can shoot individual holes in a boardroom table and watch the thing splinter apart into individual fragments. You can shoot a rolodex and watch all the little cards whirl around in a spiral. If a projector is showing a film you can pick the whole thing up and the film will reveal itself as an actual dynamic projection by spiralling and spinning madly across the nearest walls. (Speaking of film, the video sequences with live actors are great fun, and this being a Remedy game, there’s a fantastic show-within-a-show to be found on hidden monitors around the FBC.) And all of this before I mention the sound design — the music, which is full of concrète mechanical shrieks and groans — and the endless sinister chanting which fills the lofty corridors and hallways of this place, The Oldest House.

All of this is very, very good. And most of the time it’s quite fun to play. I mean, you can pick up a photocopier and fling it at enemies. It’s never not fun when almost anything can be used as a projectile. And then you get the ability to fly! At its best the combat in Control feels messy and chaotic — in a good way — but in a way that has little to do with typical video game gunplay. Staying behind cover doesn’t work because the only way to regain health is to pick up little nuggets dropped by fallen enemies, so most of the time you have to use your powers to be incredibly aggressive. The result is that often you feel like the end-of-level boss — a kind of monster — throwing yourself into conflict with a team of moderately stupid players who think they’re supposed to be playing a cover shooter circa 2005.

That you are given a gun at all seems odd. The gun feels like a compromise. The gimmick of a single modular pistol that can shape-change into a handful of other weapons is neat, but those weapons are just uninteresting variations on the same old themes: handgun, shotgun, machine gun, sniper, rocket launcher. The powers are more interesting and powerful. But of course the gun has to be there; can you imagine them having to go out and sell this game without a gun in it? What would Jesse be holding on the front cover?

A gun is an equaliser. It evens the odds between the weak and the strong. But if you’re already strong it doesn’t feel worthwhile. You’re clearly so much more powerful than everyone else you meet in Control that after a while you begin to wonder why the game is also frequently quite hard. The omission of any difficulty settings is notable in a game of this type; it suggests that the developers were committed to their vision in the way that might recall Dark Souls. In fact the hub-like structure of the game is pretty clearly influenced by From Software’s games, and though it’s nowhere near as challenging, it seems to be reaching towards the same kind of thing.

It’s a game which demands you take it seriously as a crafted object. But then it has all these other elements cribbed from elsewhere — the generic level-based enemies with numbers that fly off them when shot, and the light peppering of timed/semi-randomised side activities, both of which made me think of Destiny. So there’s games-as-service stuff wedged in here too, and it doesn’t sit at all comfortably with this supposedly mysterious, compelling world that you’re supposed to want to explore.

This isn’t a horror game. There are one or two enemies with the potential to induce jump scares, but given that you can always respond with overwhelming force, it’s never really unsettling. But it’s clearly been inspired by horror. A source often mentioned as an inspiration for Control is the internet horror stories associated with the SCP Foundation wiki. From there the game borrows the idea that unlikely everyday objects can become sources of immense cosmic power — hence we see items like a rubber duck, a refrigerator, a pink flamingo, a coffee thermos imprisoned behind glass as if they were Hannibal Lecter. A pull-cord light switch becomes an inter-dimensional portal to an otherworldly motel. The great part about this is that these little stories can be told effectively in isolation; it’s always interesting to come across another object in the game and to discover what it does. (The fridge is especially unpleasant.)

But experiencing this kind of thing in the context of an action game is entirely different to stumbling it on it online. SCP Foundation is pretty well established now, but still, there’s a certain thrill in stumbling across something written there in plain text, titled with only a number. When those stories are good, they can be really good. Given the relative lack of context, and the absence of any graphical set-dressing, there’s room for your imagination to do the heavy lifting.

In Control these fine little stories are competing for attention with all the other crazy colourful stuff going on in the background. You read a note and you move on to the next thing. You crash through a pack of enemies and the numbers fly off them. There’s never a sense of the little story fitting into an overall pattern. That lack of a pattern can be forgiven in the context of a wiki. In Control, these stories start to feel irrelevant when you never come across an enemy you can’t shoot in the face. In a different format, or a different type of game, this kind of rootless narrative might be more compelling.

But what is this game about? There’s a sister and brother. A sinister government agency. Memories, nostalgia. A slide projector. It’s all so difficult to summarise. When I think about the game all these words seem to float around in my head, loosely linked, but not in a way that suggests any kind of coherence. The game always seems to be reaching towards some kind of meaning but it only ever feels hollow. It feels flat. Yet all the elements that are good about Control must be made to refer back to these hollow, flat signifiers. Sometimes the flatness works for the game, but mostly it doesn’t.

Today, it’s hard to see that anyone could see the point in establishing a website like SCP Foundation if it didn’t already exist. Viral media is not what it was in the first decade of the 2000s. Written posts that circulate on social media have a shorter half-life than ever. It’s almost impossible for any piece of writing over a few hundreds words to go viral in ways that go beyond labels like ‘shocking’, ‘controversial’, ‘important’, etc. ‘Haunting’ and ‘uncanny’ don’t quite cut it. This kind of thing doesn’t edge into public spaces in the way it used to via email inboxes, or message boards, or blogs.

Perhaps the weird stuff is still out there. Perhaps we only got better at blocking it out. With the arrival of any new viral content, today’s audience is mostly consumed by questions of authenticity, moral quality, and accuracy. If you think this creepy story might be ‘real’, you’re a mug. If you promote it you might be a dangerous kind of idiot. And that’s fair: there are a lot of dangerous idiots out there. Yet there’s something to be said for an attitude of persistent acceptance when it comes to the consumption of weird stuff on the internet. I know I become gluttonous when I come upon such things. I want to say: yes, it’s all true, every word. I’ve always known it’s all true.

#gaming #control

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urflowersdied · 5 years

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cold as ice(d coffee), part two

In which Norah’s super serious, but incredibly soft-looking, café-owning boss Harry might be warming up to her and she is trying desperately to hold onto her sanity.

Read Part One here!

A/N: I am aware that it’s been so long since I posted the first part and that I’ve absolutely failed at my attempt to pull through with my first series, but finally the second part is here. I’ve struggled so much writing this but I’m really looking forward to move onto the third and last part now! Special thanks to my loves @isitjamiemoriarty and @harryfeatgaga.

Hope you enjoy!

Norah was absolutely baffled. Not because she had gotten an amazing night of sleep in Harry Styles’ guest room - after she stepped into it and saw that it looked just as cozy as the rest of his house she had kind of expected a comfortable night’s sleep. Once Harry had quietly left her to her own devices, Norah had set her alarm clock for a different time than she usually would have, keeping in mind that it would take her some extra time to get to her classes due to public transport. Not long after she forced her eyes shut and after getting over the initial iffy feeling of resting under her boss’ roof she ascended into the weird realm of dreams.

But when her alarm blared and Norah awoke to the particular smell of french toast, she felt a little (or rather, quite a lot) confused. On one hand, she hadn’t expected Harry Styles to even be awake at this time of day - it was around 6:30 am -, given that he was basically his own boss and had earned himself the right to wake up at whatever time he fancied. Then again, Norah figured it might be a little unsettling housing a guest that you don’t really know at all. So the fact that he was actually awake quickly started to make sense to her.

What Norah couldn’t wrap her head around, though, was that he seemed to be cooking. Actually cooking breakfast. And she didn’t want to assume anything, but she was also fairly certain that Harry Styles was preparing breakfast…. for her. That realisation alone made her a little panicky. She really hadn’t expected any interaction with him at all, much less a shared meal that was no doubt going to turn out more awkward as opposed to enjoyable.

Once Norah actually gained enough courage to leave the confines of the guest bedroom she entered the kitchen, just to catch a glimpse of her actual boss - she still couldn’t believe whose house she found herself in -, already adorned in his usual soft sweater and trousers combo. The still-wet strands of his hair did not help the weird, unidentifiable feeling rising in Norah’s stomach at the sight of Harry whizzing around his kitchen. Not knowing how else to signal her presence, she cleared her throat, although she quickly figured that he must have heard her footsteps descending his wooden stairs only a handful of moments previously.

“G’morning. Sleep well?”

As hard as Harry tried to sound nonchalant, Norah saw right through his shaky-at-best facade. He was experiencing the same thing as her in that moment: a horrifying degree of awkwardness and uneasiness. Nothing between the two of them was easy or comfortable - especially not after his little fit in the café kitchen a while ago. He had apologised and she had accepted his exclamation, but forgetting about the incident was a task Norah had not yet completed. But in order for this encounter to go over a little more smoothly, she wouldn’t necessarily mind pretending.

“I actually did, thank you once again for… letting me crash.” Nora took a few tentative steps forward and rested against one of the unoccupied counters in the kitchen. Not knowing what else to do with them, she decided to cross her arms in front of her torso. Nonchalance didn’t seem to be her strong suit either, at the moment.

“It’s alright… You hungry?”

About a minute later the two of them sat across from each other at Harry’s small dining table, quietly munching away at the plates of french toast he had prepared for them. Norah wasn’t really sure how to instigate any kind of small talk. The silence just stretched over their figures, dangerously close to actually nestling and finding a home for itself.

And then Harry spoke up, dispersing the cold, heavy feeling of silence with his utterance of a few words. In between some mouthfuls of breakfast foods, he addresses her. “Actually been thinking of adding this recipe to the menu at the café… What d’ya think?”

Norah was grateful for his conversation starter. She took her next few bites with more consideration, trying to actually discern the flavours and textures. His meal tasted good, no doubt about it, but she couldn’t help feeling a little unenthusiastic about the recipe. “It’s really good! Just… maybe… I guess you could try adding some different flavours? Standard french toast is nice, for sure, but… everyone’s got it, don’t they? I really like making them with eggnog for example. Those actually delicious.”

The only reaction Harry provided her with was a small shrug of his broad shoulders, before he let silence simmer once again and went back to finishing his plate. Norah wasn’t really sure what to do with that lack of response. The only thing she was fairly sure of at the moment was that she somehow couldn’t really wait to step onto the train and complete this little side-adventure her life had programmed for her.

The days passed by and everything in Norah’s life seemingly returned back to normal. Her interactions with Harry returned to a seemingly non-existent amount after he dropped her off at the station once they had completed munching on breakfast. She even managed to catch all her trains on time - although this had probably something to do with the new scheduling system, in which she never had to work a closing shift in complete solitude.

Midway through the month of April Harry had informed his employees that he was planning a little renovation for The Brewing Pot. In the team meeting he had described it as “nothing big, just a fresh layer of paint and maybe some new furniture. We’ll also do a little rearranging of the book section and see which ones are left over that we’d like to donate.” Norah was thrilled by the prospect of giving the space a fresh look. There was something about interior design and decorating that soothed her soul immensely. The idea of giving the little shop a makeover just in time for summer brightened her mood immensely.

All of the possibilities of how to transform the space currently swirled through her thoughts, much to the dismay of Adam. “Earth to Norah. Earth to Norah!” A little disoriented, her gaze finally focused on his exasperated facial expression. This was her break for goodness sake, why did he feel the need to pull her out of daydreams involving paints and carpets and plants and…

“Can you taste this please? Harry wants to switch the menu up as part of the renovation and I’m trying to get this recipe down. The last few times I tried it Margot said it sucked and I’m scared he’ll fire me if I can’t figure this shit out.” With those words, Adam slid a plate right under Norah’s nose and if he thought this would be a successful attempt at rousing her from any mind excursions than he was sorely mistaken.

Because now Norah stared down upon Adam’s version of a perfectly decorated french toast and if her thoughts weren’t running overtime before then they surely were now. She had not mentioned her little sleepover at her boss’ house to anymore, least of all Adam. Quite frankly, Norah was a little nervous this information would have set the rumour mill in motion and that Harry’s annoyance with her would’ve returned. She was in no place to lose her employment, especially because she finally started to feel familiar with the store and her colleagues.

So even though she had not been able to completely suppress the little fantasies that crept into her mind on certain extremely lonely nights - because, let’s face it: witnessing Harry Styles stood in his kitchen, wet strands of hair dangling in front of his face and looking incredibly soft and sleepy, yet still sternly serious, was not an easy memory to keep at bay -, Norah had kept all the details to herself. This led her to sometimes feel a little delirious, debating the possibility of the whole encounter being a fever dream, a figment of her imagination, something that had never actually occurred.

Yet, the deliciously sweet-smelling breakfast food that now graced the counter of The Brewing Pot’s deserted kitchen (Adam and Norah had decided to arrive a little bit earlier so they would be able to squeeze in a little gossip session before opening) was a gut-wrenching reminder that Norah hadn’t imagined anything at all. Harry had, indeed, been debating over adding french toast to the menu of his café, and he had asked her for advice. She wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but it sparked a little emergence of warmth in the belly.

To not agitate her friend any further, Norah took hold of the fork that rested next to the plate and shoved a mouthful between her lips. She knew Harry’s recipe already, seeing as he had made it for her himself, but she tried to put on a good show for Adam. Initially slowly chewing and trying to figure out if Adam had done a good enough job on his attempt, Norah quickly grasped at straws to remain nonchalant.

“I’ve actually never made french toast like this, but I think it’s quite interesting isn’t it?” Adam continued going on a rampage about his thoughts on the recipe, explaining to her which ingredients he usually added and how many times a week he actually makes it. But Norah could not bring herself to intently listen to him, rather taking a few more bites of the dish and trying to find her voice.

Luckily, she didn’t need to keep the facade up for much longer as her phone alarm notified her that it was time to open the doors of The Brewing Pot. Adam grabbed the nearly empty plate, searching Norah’s face for any kind of indication of what she thought of his cooking skills. She stood upright and managed to look him straight in the eyes. “I think you did a wonderful job. It tastes great!”

Then, with a small smile gracing her lips and a certain flavour profile resting on her tastebuds, Norah got to work.

Preparations for the renovations were in full swing, with The Brewing Pot being open for its last week before the doors would be closed for two weeks. Norah was looking forward to the breath of fresh air, not only through giving the new look the café would experience but maybe even more through the process of actually renovating the space.

Norah and Adam had offered their services for the paint job that needed to be done and were both excited to ruin some old clothes in the process. Harry had chosen a lovely cream colour in order to get rid of the darker tones currently tracing the walls of the café, which she believed would do the trick in creating a more friendly atmosphere quite nicely.

In the lead up to the renovation, Harry had been a more present boss than before. He’d tried to figure out what the customers and employees cherished about the place as well as which parts could be improved upon. He had even placed a jar on the counter, urging anyone present to recommend some tunes which would create a more comfortable ambience. And Norah would not be Norah had she not made use of this opportunity, filling out multiple little slips of paper with some of her favourite songs which she believed would please workers and clientele alike.

Her recommendations included a range of songs by Paul Simon, Talking Heads, Joni Mitchell and Carole King. Norah figured that oldies would suit the place quite nicely - she could far too easily imagine her boss perusing the four walls of his own store, lightly bopping his head to the rhythms, watering the abundance of flowers present and checking up on the stock of the bookshelves. Needless to say, her little daydreams had not subsided.

It seemed as though Norah’s fantasies weren’t far from reality, though. After completing her temporary last shift, she lingered around the employee break room for a little while longer, trying to pass the time before her train journey. She hadn’t expected anyone to enter the room, seeing as all other present colleagues were in the middle of their shifts. When the door flung open a little bit too suddenly, she couldn’t help but jump out of her skin a little bit.

Norah had not experienced another one-on-one interaction with Harry in the past weeks, nor had she really aimed for it. Sure, he hadn’t really left her mind, but the awkwardness that being around him brought to daylight was enough for her to distance herself if it proved to be necessary. And based on the expression portrayed on his face, Harry had not expected a run-in with this exact employee either.

“Sorry for… bursting in. I was actually looking for Karen but I guess she’s… not in here. Sorry.”

And Norah believe that was that. The encounter was over, she would have magically been spared another memorable encounter - even if those seemed to be exactly that for all of the wrong reasons. She didn’t even try to come up with a way to reply to his flow of words. To her, this interaction seemed completed.

Yet, Harry must not have reciprocated that feeling, because before his figure distanced itself through the doorway it had emerged from, he left her with some parting words. “‘I Feel The Earth Move’... Nice choice. One of my personal favourites. Maybe I’ll put you in charge of the music from now on, seems like you know your way around a playlist.”

It took Norah a few moments to gather her wits before exiting The Brewing Pot and beginning her commute home. Truthfully, her thoughts were all over the place once more. Recently she felt as though she had entered some form of alternate reality. A warped version of the day-to-day routine she had become accustomed to.

On the surface nothing had really changed. She put a lot of work into all domains of her life; academic, professional and social. But she could not, by any means, successfully analyse Harry’s behaviour towards her, which proved to create a little tornado of chaos in her mind and soul. She had been attracted to him on a purely physical level ever since her job interview - there was no way to deny this blatantly obvious fact - but his distant attitude and ghost-like presence had been incredibly helpful to not get caught up in the fantasy world which crushes could create.

But she couldn’t help noticing Harry’s behavioural shift which had recently occured. It was subtle, sure, yet Norah was unable to deny that a wind of change had swept through their relationship - however it could be defined. Harry tried his hardest to make an effort to reverse the damage his outburst had caused, in his own special way. And while trying to avoid a headache leaning her head against the vibrating train window, Norah figured that her hardest task to date would not consist out of juggling university, job and the few friends she had managed to accumulate in her circle.

Rather, she would need to place all her energy into keeping feelings, which were simmering on low heat in her belly, from overflowing and spilling out into all crevices of her being.

The task she had set for herself seemed ridiculously harder to fulfill as time went on, much to Norah’s dismay. During the renovation period of The Brewing Pot Harry had not exactly helped matters. He offered her a handful of tentative smiles, gave her control over the music as promised, and even complimented her and Adam’s painting skills.

A week along, here she found herself; at the re-opening celebration, tending to the drinks station and marvelling at the amount of people that had actually showed up. She didn’t really know anyone apart from a few regulars that had visited the café during her shifts, but it seemed as though all her colleagues were much too preoccupied chatting away with a variety of different folk rather than completing their tasks.

The only figure her eyes could not distinguish in the weavings of the crowd was Harry’s. Him not being present and socialising during this special occasion seemed incredibly odd. But there was not enough time to dwell on his whereabouts, seeing as all the glasses available to her had run out and Adam - who was supposed to take care of all possible dishwashing needs for the evening - was stood in the corner seemingly trying to entertain his girlfriend. This situation forced Norah to abandon her station, grasp as many of the abandoned glasses she could locate and quickly duck into the kitchen.

Her goal to enter and exit as quickly as possible vanished the second Norah laid eyes on Harry’s back. And for only the second time since she’s known him, he seemed all but calm and collected. Yet, she had never seen him like this. She deeply wished Harry would be rude to her again. That he would get a little angry for no apparent reason at all and put her in her place. Because, quite frankly, seeing Harry visibly upset - his shaking frame was enough indication - made her lose the little grasp on reality that she would previously have claimed to possess.

She wanted so badly to do… anything. To speak up and ask what had bothered him to this extent, but her voice had been left in the main room of The Brewing Pot. Norah felt incredibly vulnerable, and she wasn’t sure how that was even possible when she had her gaze fixed on someone who was clearly in worse shape than her. So, of course, because it was just her luck, the building sweat on the palm of her hands caused two glasses to slip out of her grasp and shatter on the floor. “Shit. Fuck. Shit. Sorry. I’m.. so sorry. Fuck!”

With his wide eyes, dishevelled hair, trembling statue and blanched skin, Harry looked like he’d seen a ghost. Norah’s surprise entrance definitely had not helped matters to calm his frenzied mind down in the slightest. She wasn’t really sure how to proceed. There was absolutely no need to ask the standard question of ‘are you alright?’ because a denial from him was clear as day, even without any utterance of words. Deciding to take things step by step, Norah gingerly placed the remaining classes on the nearest counter and rushed back towards the entrance door to the kitchen. And then she locked it.

Even though he probably did not yearn for any company at this point in time, she figured that making sure nobody else barging in was a necessary step of damage control. She had already seen him, there was no need to deny that she hadn’t. Grabbing the little dustpan and brush set out of a cupboard, she cleaned up the mess she had created mere seconds ago and finally dared to look towards her worse-for-wear-looking boss again.

Without saying a word - she had a feeling Harry wasn’t really in a conversational mood anyway - Norah started her dishwashing task. Apparently someone had done at least part of their job for the evening, because she had an array of dirty glasses to clean. After she nearly burnt a layer of skin off her hands, she adjusted the temperature and attempted to skin her hands into the soapy water for a second time, just to hiss once more and .

As Harry gently pushed her to the side and wordlessly demoted her to the drying portion of dishwashing, she couldn’t help but feel elated. If he was still able to assume his role of neurotic boss, then all hope wasn’t lost. And if his following quietly muttered exclamation was anything to go by, then maybe staying around to offer Harry some company was not as bad of an idea as Norah had suspected.

“It’s… someone I used to go out with. I didn’t invite him but I guess that wasn’t enough of a hint. Do you... remember that wedding a while ago? Y’know, when… When I behaved like a total prick to you?”

Of course she did. Norah wasn’t sure she would ever be able to completely forget how she just aimed at making light conversation with her boss during the preparation of a wedding-sized order of cupcakes. But whereas she previously struggled to at least fully forgive, there was now no doubt in her mind that she understood his outburst that day more than she ever thought possible. Not really wanting to disturb his well-needed moment of release, Norah simply hummed and tried way too hard to keep her focus on the dish towel in her hand.

“I’m not really gonna… go into it or anything. It’s personal, you know? But… The things is, I don’t even know why I reacted like this. The relationship ended so long ago. I went to their freaking wedding. But then he shows up here with his wife and I get all freaked out and have to hide in the kitchen like a loser.” Harry swallowed harshly.

She believed him. There was no need not to. She could feel how frustrated he was that there was no rational explanation for his reaction. The man who cherished sanity found it impossible to wrap his head around the confusing and disorienting feelings of a love lost. Even when that love had fizzled out a long while back. But, as a self-proclaimed romantic, Norah wasn’t surprised.

“Listen, I’m not going to pretend like I can… fully understand what you’re going through, right? I really don’t know what it must feel like. And you might not even be interested to hear my take on this. Nonetheless, I think your reaction isn’t crazy. I might even call it absolutely normal.” Harry did not make any attempt to disrupt her flow of words, so Norah continued, growing a little more fervent in her proclamation. “It must just be weird, seeing someone who was a close part of your life now sharing someone else’s, even if you’re not into that person anymore. But it seems as though you were just… genuinely surprised. You’re not a loser, you simply weren’t... prepared for the situation.”

For a while, the kitchen of The Brewing Pot filled with silence. Yet, unlike the encounter the two of them had shared in the kitchen of his house, the situation was anything but awkward. Harry seemed pensive, appreciative even, of the few words of support she had offered him. Both of them seemed to be aware that this interaction marked a shift in their relationship, and neither of them would object.

“Thank you Norah.”

Stood side by side, the two of them continued cleaning up the filthy glasses. All the while, Norah couldn’t help but face the damning realisation that if the warm feeling coursing through her whole body was anything to go by, she was absolutely, utterly fucked.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry #styles #fanfiction #i'm too lazy to tag this as anything else right now i'm so sorry #if you're reading this #thank you #i love you

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rachelthompsonauthor · 5 years

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Thrilled to have my good friend and #SexAbuseChat co-host, Judith Staff, here today to discuss boundaries. Excellent tips here, my friends.

An online friend contacted me recently, her therapist was going on vacation and she would not have a session for an extended period, a number of weeks. She was very upset about this and in need of reassurance. I reminded her that I and a few others she chats with online, would be around as support. Her reply was “Yes, though…I don’t want to seem a burden.”

For some reason, I didn’t feel either pressured to help, nor weighed down by her distress, and felt able to provide the extra bit of support she needed. This raised my curiosity. I care and, having been in the same situation, I could completely empathize. So why did I not feel burdened? Was it a question of capacity at that time? Or was it something else?

*********

Whose Burden Is It?

“I don’t want to burden you….”

“I hate to be a burden, but….”

How many times have you heard this? As a survivor of abuse, how many times have you said it? Or even just thought it? Have you ever considered whether it is even possible to burden someone else? Is it just assumed that what we feel burdened by will burden others if we tell them about it?

Some people still have this antiquated view that we are meant to weather life with strength and resilience, overcoming whatever comes our way, when in actuality, we now know that asking for help when we need emotional support is actually the strongest thing we can do. It takes much courage to share our inner pain and strife with another, and in doing so, could begin to heal a hurt part of us. Even so, there is still a notion that people are “burdening” others with their woes when those others already have their own lives/families/troubles to worry about.

Let’s talk about burdening. When unpacking a word, even though I know what it means, I like to start with a dictionary definition (a hangover from a primary school education).

Burden – as a noun, it is defined as a difficult or heavy load. The verb form of the word “burden” is carrying this difficult or heavy load.

As for carrying it, traumatic experiences get inside our cells and can feel weighty to drag around. We may even feel shackled to them if they relate to our childhood and we have carried them over many years and decades. When we share our difficult or heavy emotional loads, we are not imposing a burden on the other person, we are looking for support.

By that same token, if they choose to support us, help us, they are not accepting a burden, they are simply caring, as those close to us hopefully would. As well, the burden is our interpretation of the issue. It may not weigh as heavy in their arms/heart.

The professional roles of therapists and counselors are directly related to helping us with what we feel burdened by in our lives. They are there to listen, give guidance and help us find ways to carry our burden more safely, or even find strategies to get rid of it. This is their paid job-role.

They also have (if good practice is valued) support in place in the form of supervision or counseling to cope with the emotional toll of secondary trauma or vicarious trauma, and ensure their boundaries, both emotional and professional, are firmly anchored providing a strong basis for their practice.

Also, carrying it in different ways can help. If we are carrying the burden and it feels super heavy, it could be the way we are holding it, and the other person may, in fact, have a better way of carrying the emotional weight which is more balanced and feels less cumbersome…. So, less burdensome.

Boundaries

One major area closely linked to this idea of burdening others is the concept of boundaries. Our boundaries, their boundaries and the boundaries of those we both interact with, personal/social/emotional/physical. According to the dictionary, boundaries are lines which define the limits of an area, or a dividing line.

A lack of boundaries or boundaries which are not securely in place can create a situation where a sharing their story can become a burden, or at least feel like one for the recipient when actually, it doesn’t need to be if they’ve put boundaries in place and maintain them responsibly. In relation to sharing our emotional and/or traumatic truths, let’s look at boundaries for a moment and the role they play in protecting us from added burdens.

My Boundaries

Carrying personal strife alone can feel isolating. It can cause at the very least, difficulty concentrating, feelings of preoccupation, sleeplessness and more. At the deeper end, it can cause depression, anxiety, and urges to self-harm or engage in harmful behaviors to cope with the ‘burden’, whatever it is that we feel weighed down by. Sharing with someone can help with this.

I say “can” because although the potential for it to be of benefit is huge, it depends on the context, the way we share, who we share with, and what happens after. This is where my/our boundaries play a role.

Choosing to share something we feel unsettled by or concerned about is a big decision. Once shared, it can’t be unshared. A friend once used the analogy of trying to get toothpaste back into the tube; it doesn’t go back in the way it came out. Because of this, it is very important that we give due consideration prior to sharing a personal story or piece of information.

Making a decision to share, especially if it pertains to a painful secret we have carried, such as a story of our abuse or neglect, can itself weigh heavy. Once we have decided to share, it may feel slightly lighter, which could be a good indication that we will benefit from sharing, if we choose the right person, place and time. This is an example of reviewing our boundaries, in relation to letting someone in on our secret or ‘burden.’

The next step is deciding who. Bear in mind that sometimes, depending on the size and gravity of the issue we share, it can alter the dynamic of the relationship in a number of ways.

Once, when I spent a summer hanging out with a teenage friend, I’d met through a summer job, she told me in confidence that she had secretly had an abortion. She shared this as she had been unable to share her secret with anybody prior to that day. Her family and indeed her school friends were Catholic.

She felt an enormous sense of shame at both becoming pregnant as a teenager, and also at choosing to have the pregnancy terminated. Her parents had prominent job roles and she felt pressured, particularly as an only child, to present herself as a “good girl” at all times.

I know now that is was a big deal for her to share that with me. She asked me not to tell anyone else. I sensed she was relieved at having shared it and comforted by my compassionate response. I did not judge her, merely felt sorry she had undergone such a scary experience alone and was living with the uneasiness of both what she had done and the fear that she might be found out and what people would think or say if they knew.

Although this friend had undergone a traumatic time, finding herself pregnant and then seeking a way to terminate the pregnancy without her parents knowing, she had kept her boundaries safe and chose to share the story with me only when she felt safe enough in our relationship to do so. By allowing herself to share, it lifted some of the immense weight she was carrying with the secret and gave her some reassurance that she did what she thought was best at the time.

Their Boundaries

It is up to us to set our own boundaries because only we know where they feel comfortable and only we have the power to guard them. In the same vein, it is up to everyone else to set and maintain theirs. This is why we can never truly “burden” someone. It becomes a burden to them, or for them, when their own boundaries are either misplaced, absent or not being protected adequately.

If our friends and close ones have their boundaries secure, they are not at risk of feeling burdened by anything we or others share with them. They may feel affected and have an emotional response, but that is different from feeling burdened, or obligated to carry our pain for/with us.

If someone in our close inner circle, whom we choose to share with, has not got their boundaries in place and guarded, then they will be at risk of feeling the responsibility of what we share, weighing on their heart. At this point, our hurt becomes a burden for them.

People who are known as empaths are particularly at risk for not having safe and secure boundaries. They care too much for others and cannot bear to see others in discomfort, which provokes them to try and carry others burdens for them. An impossibility, for obvious reasons. The world would be a much sadder place if not for empaths, however, they need support to keep their boundaries in place, so they don’t fall prey to carrying the weight of the world, or at least their close friends and family, on their shoulders.

Sometimes, those with unsafe boundaries can seem so kind and caring, but they are easily overwhelmed and for that reason can be unreliable confidants, purely for the reason they are often burned out themselves from all the caring they offer others.

Managing Triggers

So, once we have our boundaries clearly set and feel able to be there for those who may need our support and input with something that might be burdening them, we need to take a moment to think about triggers. Our triggers. What triggers us?

Thinking of what we find triggering can help us to be a little more prepared for going into situations and making sure we are in fact the best person to help. We cannot sidestep every trigger, but we can identify our common ones and make sure we manage them, steering clear of situations we may find emotionally intolerable.

I knew an acquaintance who seemed to be struggling. Despite myself and others trying to help her and listening to her problems, she did not seem to make progress, just always seemed in distress over one thing or another. One morning, she arrived late at a sports competition with her child.

The rest of us were already there with our children ready. She was full of drama and about how she was late and had no sleep, having been out late with a friend the night before.

She was rough with the child and told them to hurry up and change their clothes. The child quietly began to cry, and I felt something rise up in me. I managed to control my voice, gave the mother some money and firmly suggested she leave the child with me and to go get herself a coffee and take five. The mother was grateful. So was I when she left the room. I comforted the child, distracted her and put her hair up ready for the competition.

Later that day, back at home, I revisited the scenario at the sports competition and thought about what specifically had been the gut-punch for me.

Suddenly, it was clear. She was exactly like my own mother had been when I was growing up. My mother had borderline personality disorder and was very self-absorbed and volatile.

The more I thought about this woman and her behavior, the more I realized that I found her interactions with the child exceedingly jarring, and I found the woman herself rather triggering, as my mother’s complex parenting had a lasting traumatic impact on me.

Once I had worked this out for myself, I could make sure that I avoided the woman’s presence, though was there for the child as needed. The woman had a circle of support around her and by withdrawing from that, I was not putting her in isolation or impacting on the level of help she had access to. As well, this informed my boundaries in that relationship, as it was very obvious that I would be sacrificing my own well-being by having her in my social circle.

Healthy Boundaries

Boundaries which are firm, consistent and confidently maintained are the healthiest. If people have the strength and energy to keep their boundaries in place and not fall prey to pressure, manipulation or even inadvertent guilt, they are much less likely to feel burdened by anyone else’s issues.

Owning our own issues and being clear about issues which belong to others is a great way for us to be there for people. Keeping emotional stability in place while supporting a friend or loved one is a way of using our boundaries to protect us.

This is not to be confused with being cold. We will still feel empathy and compassion, but we will not feel responsible for sorting out their issue or fixing their pain. We may even feel a range of emotions ourselves.

Recently, I helped my daughter through the death of her friend’s mother. It was sudden and a shock and was the first time our daughter had faced such a loss. She needed guidance and direction to support her young friend. By keeping my own boundaries in place, I was able to manage my own emotion around the child’s grief and loss, while being available to my own daughter as she was supporting the other child.

Final Thoughts

This is a lot to think about, but to simplify it, here are a few tips. As a caring friend, these are just a few things that help me to keep my boundaries fixed in place, and make sure I don’t feel burdened by anyone’s journey.

If holding firm to your boundaries is difficult, have a support champion – a sister, close friend or partner who can help you to stick fast when you feel yourself wavering.

Develop a growing awareness of what you find upsetting, in the news or in books/films; these could be issues that although they are not triggering, they may cause you to over-identify which will compromise your ability to remain objective when supporting a friend.

You are not Atlas. You are not…. Atlas. If you need to use this as a mantra, go ahead. You do not have to take on the weight of the whole world. I have raised my children with the phrase “If you can help, help.” This is because it is important for me to have compassionate, kind children. But a friend recently pointed out gently that helping needs to not be at the expense of our own safety or sacrificing our well-being. Good point well made.

Finally, you probably saw this one coming: Self-care. At all times, be compassionate with yourself. That old cliché about always putting on your own oxygen mask before helping others rings true for a reason. You are no good to anyone if you are not being gentle and nurturing to yourself. And remember, concrete boundaries are a great form of self-care!

So, make yourself available to those who need your love and understanding, by all means. Just make sure that you don’t end up feeling burdened. If you do, check your boundaries, and prioritize your own well-being for your benefit and theirs. If you don’t have the capacity to help just now, respect that; there will be someone else out there who does.

~ Judith Staff

Judith Staff is a teacher in early years with a background in safeguarding and child trauma. She teaches part-time and also delivers training across various sectors including education, police, social care and the voluntary sector. Judith writes in her spare time, and her work can be found at www.judithstaffmusings.com.

She also has had work published at Feminine Collective, Our Frontcover, Heart, and Humanity, and Say It Forward. A number of pieces of her writing and poetry focus on sexual assault and related trauma. Professionally, she has written several commissioned articles for Optimus Education.

Judith is married to an artist, and lives in Northamptonshire England, just north of London, with her husband, three children, and two cats.

Read more about Rachel’s experiences in the award-winning book, Broken Pieces.

She goes into more detail about living with PTSD and realizing the effects of how being a survivor affected her life in

Broken Places, available in print everywhere!

The post How Boundaries Can Help Us Avoid Burdens by guest Judith Staff @jcstaff_ appeared first on Rachel Thompson.

via Rachel Thompson

#IFTTT #Rachel Thompson

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friking-awsom-kitten · 5 years

Text

Breaking bones and traffic laws IASA Chapter 2

The crowd cheered when the jet retreated.

"That's right!" A man yelled, holding up a shoe. "You better run!"

Sam, however, sprinted over to her best friend. His parents were kneeling next to him, trying to rejuvenate him.

"Someone call an ambulance!!" Was shouted among the crowd.

Sam kneeled next to the Fentons and flinched at the sight of her friend. It had been her turn to check on Danny, so she had skipped a lesson and had ran in only to see him surrounded and shot down. Now he lay here covered in bruises, pale and burned, probably because of the GIW's gun, not to mention unconscious.

His parents were not taking this well. His mom was crying and trying desperately to wipe the green tinted blood away. This wouldn't help Danny in any way but she seemed focused on cleaning him from any evidence that he was hurt.

His dad was muttering under his breath. His eyes wide as he held his limp kid.

About three ambulances pulled up, having been called by several people. There were also some police cars and the distant roar of an emergency helicopter.

The policemen pushed people away to make way for the medics. Two medics squatted down next to Danny and quickly started working on his worst injuries.

Sam couldn't see much past the policeman blocking her sight but she could tell they were stopping the bleeding. Especially from the injury on his head. She knew head wounds blead fast (thanks to Danny) but this looked bad.

Meanwhile his parents were shouting out things.

"Please help him!" Maddie begged. "That's my son. Save him!"

They were in a panic. The whole place was chaos. People were crowding around and shouting and camera crews going awol because of this breaking news and the Fentons kept trying to get to their son.

The medics put the halfa on a stretcher and directed him to the ambulance as quick as they could.

One of them stopped Jack from getting in too. "Wait at the hospital. Don't worry, Mr. Fenton. We'll take good care of your son."

"But he's a ghost!" Jack said frantically. "We can help you with that."

The medic froze and sent his comrade a questioning look.

The other called through a telephone that was attached to the vehicle and his eyes widened. "It's true," he said when he hang up. "It seems we have Danny Phantom on our stretcher."

The medic's eyes got huge and he eyed the boy that was being taken care of by the third doctor. He glanced back to see both of the parents watching him hopefully. "Do you know how to heal a ghost? Or whatever this kid is?"

Maddie hesitated but she knew her knowledge would be valuable to her boy. "We've studied ghosts and how they work for years. Please let us help."

The medic gave the other medics a glance before nodding. "Only one, though."

They both stepped in before pausing. Jack smiled sadly. "I'll go with the RV."

"Thank you, Jack." Maddie sighed in relief and stepped in. The doors closed, leaving Jack and Sam outside. They watched the ambulance take off with the siren on, people rushing out of the way and waving them good luck.

Jack sighed but he turned on his heel and sprinted to the RV. Sam followed quickly.

He got in and turned on the engine. The door of the other seat opened and he saw Sam stepping in.

"I'm coming too," she said with a determined glint.

Jack honestly couldn't care so he grabbed the wheel tightly. "Hold on."

Sam barely had time to grab onto the seat when Jack took off.

They sped through the streets in a way that would make the roadrunner jealous. Everything went by in a flash, but Jack only had eye for the hospital at the end of the road. He faintly remembered another time he had been setting a new speed record for his injured son.

Jack peeked at the back seat to confirm his son wasn't laying there, dripping green liquid and covered in scorch marks, barely breathing.

No. This time he was in an ambulance, which was honestly worse. Was he still alive? Was he still breathing? Has he run out of blood?

The panicked screams of Danny's friends had been barely noticeable above the loud rumbling of the house, which the Fenton parents later found out was the powerful start of the Ghost Portal.

Maddie had dropped the bag of groceries she had been carrying and sprinted past her husband to the basement.

They had opened the door to see Danny half dead on the ground and his friends freaking out, not able to get a coherent sentence out.

Jack now realized much more had happened back then than just a bad shock.

Jack screeched on the brakes and scrambled out of the RV, leaving it occupying three lanes because of his horizontal parking.

Him and Sam sprinted to the main entrance, bursting through the doors and scanning the lobby for the receptionist. There she was. A short woman, her dark brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail and her fingers messing around with different papers.

Jack slammed his hands on the desk, making the woman jump. "Where is my son?!" he cried.

The receptionist blinked in surprise and Jack called out again. "My son, Danny! Is he ok? How is he doing?!"

The woman held up a finger. "Just a second." She typed something on the computer next to her and frowned. "Danny Fenton?" she asked. She knew Jack, or at least, she knew his last name (who didn't know Fenton Works. That sign over their house was visible halfway across town). However she didn't know much about their family and kids, much less their names.

Jack nodded furiously and the woman raised an eyebrow. "The ambulance taking him hasn't arrived yet." She gave him a suspicious glance, probably suspecting all of the traffic laws he must have broken. "Please take a seat in the waiting room and I will call you up when he will be ready for visitors."

"Please," Sam interjected. "Can you tell us how he's doing?"

The receptionist pursed her lips. She glanced at the screen of her computer and back at the distraught people in front of her. "I will keep you posted on how he's doing." She smiled at them reassuringly before she was interrupted by the phone.

Jack and Sam dejectedly started walking towards the waiting room, but paused when the receptionist let out a small panicked sound and started writing something down. "Of course," she was saying, "I'll make sure they're ready to take him in." She hanged up and looked at Jack with wide eyes.

"What," Jack frowned. "What happened."

"There has been some complications during the ride, but they're back on track. They will be arriving here shortly."

"What kind of complications?" Sam wrung her hands together nervously.

The receptionist ruffled with a few papers and gave a tired sigh. "I'm not completely sure myself. However, Danny might need some special attention. Excuse me, I need to take care of somethings so we can be prepared for his arrival."

Jack seemed to realize they weren't getting anything more out of her so he slowly guided the distressed Sam to the waiting room. The chair creaked as the big man sat down on it and Sam plopped down next to him.

The goth looked around. The waiting room was big. Many people were scuttling around, some nervously talking to their companions, some by the coffee machines, some staring off into nothingness deep in thought. Sam wondered what it would be like, having a normal life. She rarely thought about this. The thought usually just popped into her head when either Danny, Tucker or herself were injured badly. As they tried patching each other up she would wonder how it would be like to have a normal life, with normal problems. Not that she wished she had a normal life. She loved this. The thrill and sensation and feeling like she was actually doing something with her teenage life.

However she couldn't help but wonder. If they had a normal life, Danny wouldn't be there, bleeding out in an ambulance, his death status being brought up a few notches.

But Sam guessed he was never destined to have a normal life. None of them were. Not Danny for having such ghost loving parents. Not her for constantly wanting to be different and looking for new and adventurous things. Not even Tucker for the simple fact that he chose Danny and Sam as his best friends (of course being such a Tucker wouldn't be normal either).

Sam's eyes teared, but she smiled through the tears. Her life wasn't normal and she loved it. And she knew Tucker and Danny loved it too. For the most part. But every roller coaster that climbed up, had to fall down sometime. No matter how thrilling it was, there were risks. And Danny just happened to be sitting on the front seat of the ride.

The worst thing wasn't even that he was injured. He had gotten worse, she knew. It was that everyone else knew about him. The moment he woke in a hospital he would be waking up to his living nightmare.

With a start Sam realized these people here in the hospital didn't know about the blown secret yet. She looked around again. Taking in their faces. None of them had any idea. It was an unsettling thought that within a couple of hours most of Amity Park would find out. She faintly wondered if the rest of the world would know, or even care. They didn't know Danny as personally as the people in Amity did, but the town was famous for being as haunted as it was and a half ghost kid would surely spike their interest.

Sam let the thought go. She would just have to wait and see. It's not like they had another Reality Gaunlet to erase everyone's memories. All she could do was care for Danny as she knew Tucker would too.

Sam's head snapped up. Tucker! He didn't know yet. He couldn't have. He was still at school as were most teens. But he had his PDA and this was sure to be on the news by now. However, she checked her messages to find it empty, he would have called her by now if he did know. Should she call him now? This would also be a big shock for him and he would most likely freak out that his friend was being taken to his number one nightmare. Before she could make up her mind, Mr. Fenton's phone rang instead, blasting out the Ghost Busters theme in the waiting room.

Jack fumbled with the phone in a panic until he managed to pick up the call. He held it to his ear, unsure whether to feel hope or dread. "Mads?"

Sam's wide eyes inspected the bigger man's expression, searching for any information it could give her.

Jack nodded and his brow creased. "Yes. I'm at the waiting room. How is he?" A pause. "Ectoplasm? Are you sure? And the Fenton analyzer. Of course." He stood up and started speed walking to the door. Sam scrambled behind him in confusion.

"Anything else?" Jack running a hand through his hair. "Alright. I'll get them." He hang up and glanced at Sam briefly. "I'll be right back."

"What?"

They passed the doors and walked by the receptionist, who called out saying something about Danny arriving at the hospital.

Jack didn't falter as he walked out and towards the RV. He kept muttering words under his breath and counting on his fingers. "Two cans of ectoplasm. No three. Just in case. Fenton analyzer. The ecto-sector."

Sam frowned. "Where are you going?"

"To pick up some things from the house." He stepped in and turned on the engine. "Be right back."

Sam was left standing in the driveway as the RV screeched away. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She shivered despite of the sun and decided to walk back in. As she walked through the lobby she noticed there were more people in there than before. Most were clustered around the secretary while others talked to each other, watching something on their phones and pointing it out.

She raised an eyebrow but didn't think much of it until one of them spoke to the secretary. "Can you at least tell us if he's gonna make it?? Is he a ghost??"

Sam froze. She turned in time to see the woman behind the desk smile uncertainly, though apologetically, at them. "I am sorry. I'm not allowed to disclose information about a patient with no one other than his family and friends."

Sam sprang forward, suddenly remembering how she had told her and Mr. Fenton that Danny's ambulance had arrived. She pushed past the few people in between her and the secretary and looked at her with wide eyes. "How is he?"

The woman opened her mouth to deny an answer again when she recognized the girl. "You are his friend?"

Sam nodded furiously. "He's like my brother. You said the ambulance got here and his dad just went to get things for him and I'm worried. Is he alright?! What happened?"

The woman smiled reassuringly. "The ambulance stopped because his heartrate was out of the normal and his bleeding was too fast. They had to make sure it stopped before he ran out."

"His heartrate is usually faster than the one of a normal human." Sam nodded.

The woman's eyes widened in surprise that this girl knew that and referred to her friend as if he weren't a human but her expression turned to a frown. "That is worrisome. His heartbeat was slow." She quickly glanced to the screen to confirm her facts when the girl began to panic. "But it accelerated. That is why they stopped the ambulance."

Sam breathed a small sigh of relief but didn't relax. "The bleeding stopped?"

The woman nodded, which made the other people relax as well. "For the most part. He's in the emergency room at the moment. I haven't been updated on any other injuries or complications." She turned to the small crowd questionably. "May I ask who you are?"

"We're worried." A middle-aged man didn't answer the question. "We want to make sure the boy is ok."

Sam was touched. These people didn't even know Danny, yet here they were, worried and panicked for his sake. She considered it was a logical reaction given how he was the ghost that had protected them for so long and had been beaten up to the hospital. But they could have just followed the news from their houses. Instead they came all the way to the hospital.

She couldn't understand the receptionist's confusion until she realized the woman didn't know about Danny's special status yet. She guessed she would be getting this reaction a lot at first. "Danny is half ghost." Sam decided to enlighten the woman. She glanced to the woman's name tag to see her name was Erica. "He's Danny Phantom." She was almost not able to say that simple phrase. She'd never said it before.

Erica only managed to look more surprised. "Excuse me?"

"You don't know?" The man next to Sam said it as if he had been insulted. "It's all over the news! The ghost boy is the Fenton's son!!"

Sam sighed and left them alone. She didn't need this right now. She entered the waiting room, thankful no one here had heard the exclamation from the lobby. She didn't want anyone to recognize her as his best friend and bombard her with questions. Those people by the receptionist better not try.

She sat down, hunched over and placed her head in her hands. She couldn't do this alone. She needed to tell him. She couldn't care less if he freaked out. She couldn't bear knowing this while he didn't.

The depressed goth girl pulled out her bat themed phone and scrolled down the contacts to find 'Tucknology' popping up as one of the first ones. She tapped it and held it close to her ear as she waited, still hunched over.

The call traveled out of the hospital, a few blocks down, to the school Casper High. In a social studies class, three seats away from the front, in a beat up backpack a high tech phone rang with the same call. Tucker jumped when 'Dead girl walking' sang from his front pocket. He frowned, confused and slightly panicked. That was Sam's ringtone. Sam never called in the middle of class unless it was something she couldn't handle, so it must be bad.

He ignored the snickers coming from the other students and picked his phone out. He glanced at it and turned to the teacher with pleading eyes. "I just...I have to take this I'm sorry."

The teacher sighed and waved her hand. "Do whatever you must to turn that horrible music off."

Tucker didn't waste anytime and held it close to his ear. "Sam?"

"Tucker. It's Danny."

The boy immediately straightened. Danny wasn't the only one protective of his friends. "What did he do?"

There was a faint chuckle from the other side. The standard question concerning Danny. "He umm...he's got it bad. The GIW shot him down."

"They did what?!" Tucker half sat up, ready to tear the GIW's headquarters open with his bare hands and get Danny out of their undeserving claws.

"They didn't get him." Sam reassured him quickly. "He's at the hospital."

"He's where?!?"

By now the rest of the class was getting nervous. The teacher leaned forward in slight worry.

Tucker gripped his desk, tense. "Why is he there?" Not 'What happened to get him there'. Danny did lots of things that should get him in the hospital, as did Sam and Tucker. But what made this time different?

"They know, Tuck. Ever-one knows..." Her voice cracked. Tucker was really panicking now. "They...they shot him down and he- wouldn't move. Everyone saw him. I don't know what to..."

"Calm down, Sam." Tucker's own voice trembled slightly, although he didn't know what got his friend breaking down like this.

His classmates gasped. Sam had to calm down?? What had happend to make the tough goth who never let emotions show unless it was anger freak out like this?

Tucker continued. "Where are you? I'll come to you."

"I'm at- the hospital."

That made him pause. Both his friends at the hospital. He hated that place so much. Being at the hospital never meant anything good. It meant pain and suffering. Tucker heard another un-Samly sniffle and broke. He took a deep breath. "Which hospital?"

He ignored the collective gasp of his classmates as he threw his stuff into his backpack. He had learned to always be prepared, especially in a crisis.

"Honor Grave Hospital."

Tucker nodded. "Be right there. Don't move."

She mumbled a bye and hung up. Tucker slung his backpack over his shoulder and shoved his phone in one of his many pant pockets. He didn't say anything as he passed his teacher and opened the door, ignoring his fellow peers' questions.

Tucker ran out of the school and to his motorbike that was chained to a tree next to the school. The chain was only decoration really. He yanked it off and typed in a password after pressing his thumb and scanning it. He quickly jumped on and revved the motor, starting up and away towards the hospital.

He was at the hospital in a blink.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #ghosts #ghost zone #amnesiac!Danny #chapter two #sam manson #tucker foley #jack fenton #maddie fenton #jazz fenton

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nightfayre · 5 years

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hi im the anon ! i dont remember what i said >

and I’m alarmed by the fandom mentality. Maybe HT means good - but how would we know? we don’t have access to his thoughts - but we must judge his actions, and his actions are for the least very troubling. It’s always abt coercing Mo and not respecting his boundaries. I see the trope “when she says no, she means yes” here and once again, the fact the fandom swallows it uncritically (bc HT is a poor, hot tortured boy) is alarming. Forcing Mo to wear his gift stinks of “this is my possession, don’t mess wt him” 2/5

Maybe im pessimistic n its actually to protect him by distance, but once again he totally disregards Mo’s will. What if he doesnt want to be protected ? what if he doesnt want to be an object to be pass around between self-entitled psychos ? The first step to protect and help someone is by listening to them. I hope Mo will react strongly and will tell HT that by saying this, he’s no different from She Li. And i hope that would provoke HT to self-reflect a lot - smth he lacks tremendously. 3/5

That being said i love HT and tianshan! And what i love is how realistic and flawed they are. Theyre both hyper violent, distrustful, and severly lacking in communication skills. Im thrilled to see how theyre going to evolve -for the better or the worse, both is good for me. But i’m very disappointed by the fandom reaction like “ooh how cute hes possessive it means love!” or “actually its not bad doing HT doing that bc his intentions are good”. 4/5

And I will be vry, vry disappointed if OX decides to follow this trend and to not show how this kind of actions is detrimental to their reliationship and use the tired and dangerous trope of “being violent means that you care”. I trust them to be more nuanced than that bc until now they are great at drawing grey relationship. So yea i hope next chapter, tianshan plunges (before being better). Anw sry for the rant, and plz continue the good work !! 5/5

phew. there’s a lot to unpack here – but I agree wholeheartedly with you. since this post is already kinda long, I will put my answer/explanation under the cut!

the parts that I bolded in your asks are what I intend to focus on in this answer. strap in, because this is going to be a long one.

before anything, let me put a disclaimer: I love He Tian. I love Guan Shan. I love Old Xian. I love tianshan, and I love where they are headed in the manhua. does that mean I also love where tianshan are right now? no, it doesn’t. and I’m here to explain why I look forward to their potential rather than their current relationship’s dynamics.

one of the hardest parts about being in a fandom is being able to separate fiction, reality, and morality. this is especially hard when a fandom is as old and endearing as 19 Days, and when you fall in love with & are rooting for all the characters. furthermore, 19 Days is not a tragedy. of course, when Jian Yi disappears, it will be tragic. but otherwise the majority of the manhua is a comical, romantic slice-of-life plot. as such, it’s easier for what would usually be seen as blaring issues/problems in tragedies to be disregarded for comedy or, in some cases, romance in a comedic, romantic slice-of-life.

this is exactly the case with tianshan. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: He Tian’s current relationship with Guan Shan is not healthy. he doesn’t listen to Guan Shan. he doesn’t respect his personal space. he doesn’t know where to draw the line. he doesn’t know how to properly communicate with him, and thus resorts to violence or threats. tianshan just have a problem with communication. and, sure, maybe it can be chalked up to the fact that they’re young and stressed and don’t know any better. but that excuse is almost as bad as the “boys will be boys” excuse, and that doesn’t make it any better nor does it justify their actions.

He Tian’s idea of relationships is so twisted, and as I talked about in a previous answer, it can probably be stemmed back to his trauma with the puppy Cheng took away from him. I won’t get too deep into that since I explained it in detail in that answer, but keep this in mind nonetheless: He Tian grew up in a family of violence, distance, miscommunication, and lies. it’s all he’s ever known, and that’s what he’s applying to his relationship with Guan Shan. does that make it right? no, absolutely not. but he’s learning.

when Guan Shan had a panic attack at the restaurant, He Tian learned that people aren’t robots/pawns to use at his disposal and rather have their own strong emotions/backgrounds that shape them. thus, he brought Guan Shan home without a word. when he had his night terror and woke up to Guan Shan holding his hands, He Tian realized that there are parts of Guan Shan he still doesn’t know and, potentially, an aspect of their relationship that they’ve only started to uncover. thus, he thanked him without preamble and with a bowed head.

what I’m trying to say is that He Tian does have good intentions at times, but not always. he’s learning as he goes, because god knows he didn’t have a family to teach him how healthy relationships should be. there probably is a part of He Tian that only wants to protect Guan Shan against She Li, but he certainly doesn’t show it in the right way. he acts possessive because he knows that if he doesn’t, he’ll lose what he loves (*insert flashback to the puppy*). again, does that make it right? hell no. jealousy and possessiveness are not cute and are entirely unhealthy in a relationship. the fandom should view them as such, but should also keep an open mind when considering He Tian’s background.

and honestly, the reason why I’m focusing so much on He Tian right now rather than Guan Shan is because if it were up to Guan Shan, he would’ve dropped He Tian within the first few days (maybe even hours) of meeting him. but because of He Tian’s persistence, Guan Shan has no choice but to be involved with him and retaliate when He Tian verbally/physically/emotionally attacks him. nonetheless, Guan Shan has tried to walk away from He Tian on multiple occasions when He Tian’s teasing became too much, and on those occasions, He Tian has given in. (ex. I can’t find the exact chapter, but there is a chapter in which Guan Shan refuses to use He Tian’s fork to eat He Tian’s leftovers, and he gets up and says, “I’m going home,” to which He Tian replies, “Fine, fine, I’ll buy you new food.”)

so yes – tianshan certainly have flaws. He Tian holds too much power, and Guan Shan can’t catch a break. the fandom romanticizes their interactions, but if you take a moment to think realistically and recognize that character flaws are essentially bad but also critical for character development, then there is an even balance in the readers’ relationship with the manhua. don’t support He Tian’s violent interactions with Guan Shan and claim “omg He Tian loves Guan Shan sooooo much when he forces Guan Shan to do XYZ,” but rather support the fact that he hasn’t physically manhandled/harmed Guan Shan in many chapters. support and celebrate He Tian’s development, not his flaws.

and as for what you said about Guan Shan telling He Tian that he’s “no better than She Li”? while I don’t think He Tian is truly as bad as She Li, I actually think that would be a painful, great, and pivotal moment in their relationship. after all, the most consequential scene in tianshan’s relationship thus far has been the kiss. at that moment, Guan Shan had told He Tian outright that he disgusted him and to leave him alone. since then, I don’t think He Tian has ever looked so… taken aback. unsettled.

and guess what? their relationship has only gotten better since then, and He Tian hasn’t touched him like that again.

I don’t know, anon. it’s a tough call. I think tianshan have a lot more chapters ahead of them, and I don’t think Old Xian will allow them to end on bad terms. actually, I don’t think Old Xian will allow them to end on the terms that they’re on right now. they can only improve from here on out, but how Old Xian will go about showing that improvement is unknown to us. there are many paths this story can take, but rather than worrying about what might happen, let’s focus on the here and now. let’s focus on the problems at hand, and let’s focus on the development the characters are undergoing.

don’t ignore the wrongness/cruelty of characters’ actions, but don’t romanticize them either. if you do, you’re only doing a disservice to the character’s personality, existence, and the author’s intentions.

(and as for this newest chapter specifically: I see why people can get excited about He Tian telling Guan Shan to wear the earrings. He Tian wants to verify to both himself and She Li that Guan Shan is with him now. that Guan Shan is no longer under She Li’s control. who doesn’t love a little verification of their OTP’s relationship, especially when it involves an enemy?

but at the same time, it’s unhealthy. Guan Shan doesn’t have a say. he’s being handed around like an object. I don’t think this is pessimistic thinking; I think it’s the truth that no one wants to acknowledge/hear. but I’m not saying that tianshan is wrong in this chapter; I’m saying that He Tian has good intentions, but he’s not showing them correctly. and there will be a chapter in which he does show them correctly, but we must travel this rocky road before we get to that point. patience is key, and I cannot wait until He Tian and Guan Shan reach that moment of clarity. you can’t have light without the dark.)

#19 days #tianshan #mailbox #anon

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bountyofbeads · 5 years

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https://www.thecut.com/amp/2019/08/trump-baby-photo-el-paso-shooting.html?__twitter_impression=true

Please take a few minutes to read this brilliant piece. It perfectly summarizes the Gothic (REVOLTING & DISGUSTING ) nature of this first family and administration.

Surrogate Angels of Death

What to make of the First Lady holding the motherless child and youngest survivor of the El Paso massacre.

By Rhonda Garelick | Published August 10, 2019 | The Cut | Posted August 11, 2019 6:36 PM ET |

Imagine this: A shooter has entered a public place, where you are walking with your family. You have but a minute to realize you can save your 2-month-old by using your own body to shield him from the bullets raining down around you. Mere days later, your baby, the youngest survivor of the El Paso massacre, will appear on television with the very man who inspired the terrorist who killed both you and your husband. A photograph is taken, for posterity.

In the photo, your baby wears a bowtie and tiny jacket; someone has dressed him up for this occasion. He gazes off to the side (toward his aunt, who stands beside First Lady Melania Trump), his body stiff, his face solemn. He is not at ease in this strange lady’s arms. How could he be? Your child has just gotten out of the hospital, where he was treated for broken bones incurred when you desperately threw yourself over his little body and took the bullets that seconds later orphaned him and his two siblings.

Neither the president nor Melania so much as glances at Baby Paul. Oblivious (as ever) to the solemnity of their occasion, they smile broadly, matching veneers on full beam. Your husband came from a family of Trump supporters. Perhaps, in a different world, you might even have wanted to meet Donald Trump, or take a photo with him as he gave one of his signature thumbs-up gestures — everything is A-OK here.

Imagine this, then look at this photo again.

Babies make excellent political props — so useful for a quick kiss and cuddle during campaign stops, instant humanizers of even the stiffest politicians. But the Trumps are different. We rarely see them with babies. They are the least “familial” First Family in our lifetimes, despite (or perhaps because of) having created the most family-centered, nepotistic, mob-dynasty-style administration in history. We detect no family warmth from this president (save his unsettling attachment to Ivanka). No spousal affection. But also so little acknowledgment of any of his other children, of the fact of being a father (and grandfather) at all. Where is Barron, for example? We never see him or receive even the most anodyne updates about him — his progress in school, his favorite sports team. Where are the grandkids? Nothing. And certainly, Melania is the least publicly maternal First Lady we’ve ever had. She doesn’t even pretend to care.

No, in Trumpville, the emotional texture and familial feeling usually modeled by a First Family has been replaced with the enthusiasm of anonymous crowds, with the mass hysteria whipped up at Nuremberg-style rallies led by the President, where people seek the thrill of connection conjured by ritualistic chants of racism and misogyny (“Lock her up!” “Build that wall!” “Send them back!”). Donald Trump seems to experience love only in such soulless settings, with their underlying threat of violence — and he encourages his followers to do the same.

Those fascistic ceremonies lie at the root of the El Paso massacre, and that’s what makes this photo especially galling. Motherless Baby Paul is the latest victim of the hatred those rallies gin up. For Trump then to create uncharacteristically this faux portrait of familial love, to play-act a kind of happy Daddy, Mommy, and Baby — by borrowing THIS baby — is an abomination. In this simulacrum of a family portrait, the centerpiece is a direct evocation of the massacre that rendered him available for “adoption” in this photo in the first place. And since the picture blithely replaces the baby’s slaughtered parents — murdered for the family’s Latinx ethnicity — with two unconcerned, smiling white people, it performs a kind of symbolic kidnapping, cruelly appropriating someone else’s child for personal gain. (Note also the marginalized positions of the two Anchondo relatives.)

The abuse and kidnapping of children of color are recurrent themes in this administration. Consider the children of the 680 Mississippi food workers cruelly arrested this week, who returned from their first day at school to find their parents vanished. They are the victims of child abuse, if not outright psychological torture. Ditto for the many children who lost parents and other relatives in three, largely racially inflected gun massacres in the past two weeks. Not to mention the children who were themselves killed in those shootings (including a 6-year-old Latino boy in Gilroy, CA). As for the thousands of migrant children ripped from their parents’ arms and held in subhuman, lethal conditions (with no plans in place for family reunification) they are unmistakably the victims of ongoing mass-scale, state-sponsored de facto kidnapping.

There is, furthermore, strong evidence that some of those migrant children have now been forcibly adopted out to white American families via “Bethany Christian Services,” an anti-choice adoption agency known for its coercive practices and run by Brian DeVos, a cousin-by-marriage of Education Secretary Betsy DeVos. This amounts to kidnapping on top of kidnapping — and probably represents the end of any hope that these children might ever reunite with their own families.

All of these ghastly truths make themselves felt in this single photo of the vacuous and smug Trumps masquerading as kindly hospital visitors, seeking to comfort the El Paso survivors. Posing for this photograph, the Trumps remove any last doubt about their dead-eyed cruelty and transactional view of life. Smiling emptily above this wounded little boy, whose life was shattered before he could take his first step, the president and his wife call to mind those famous safari photos taken by Trump’s sons, Eric and Don Jr. — in which they, like their father, smile brightly over the victims of their own heedless cruelty and violence. To Donald Trump, this baby is little more than a hunting trophy in his own brutal race war (which explains his triumphant thumbs up).

Injured, confused, squirming away from Melania’s brittle embrace, and straining toward what’s left of his family, Baby Paul now stands in for all the children — indeed, all human beings — who, like him, have been harmed and are being held against their will by a white supremacist president.

Of course, Trump would have liked to include many more of the survivors in his photo op, but he met with none of the others. Of eight survivors in the hospital, five outright refused to meet with the president. As speaking, sentient adults, they were able to withhold their consent. (According to the hospital, the absence of other survivors was due to their injuries or the Spanish-language barrier.) But Baby Paul was too young to say no. When he learns later about what happened to his infant self, about the day when both his parents, as well as the peace of his childhood, were stolen from him, how will he feel about this photograph then? How would you feel?

This post has been updated to correct the age of the child killed in the mass shooting at the Gilroy Garlic Festival (he was six, not two), and to correct Brian DeVos’s relationship to Betsy DeVos (he is her cousin by marriage, not her brother.)

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kittensartswriting · 5 years

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Writing Questions Tag

@shewhowalksbehindthewheels tagged me, thank you! :)

1. Describe the plot in one sentence.

The Empress tries to wipe out a noble family, but four of their children manage to survive and when 13 years later they are adults they fight back.

2. Pick one sight, smell, sound, feel, and taste to describe the aesthetic of your novel.

Weary castle behind a misty field, smell of gunpowder, accelerating pound of a steam locomotive, softness of a fine silk, taste of your own blood

3. Which 3+ songs would make up a playlist for the novel?

Beethoven - Moonlight Sonata Erik Satie - Gnossienne, nro. 4 Hans Zimmer - “Mountains” from Interstellar Auri - Night 13 CMX - Kuoleman Risteyksestä Kolme Virstaa Pohjoiseen (English: “From the crossing of death three miles towards north”) Mokoma - Sydänjuuret (English: “The roots of hearth”)

Sorry, I couldn’t keep it shorter but I could have add a lot more songs :D

4. What’s the time period and location in which the novel takes place.

It takes place in a fantasy world that is inspired from several different times and places, but the world is going through industrialization. The main setting, Angusian Empire, is inspired mostly from Roman Empire and 19th century Europe, but it’s a very heterogeneous Empire, so different areas are inspired from different places. For example Cabalusia is inspired kinda from Scotland and Celts. Then there is the secondary setting, Dir’ahin, which is inspired from the Sami people, Japan and Ainu people who were from Japan too. And then there is Manoa, which is also a big kindom and has many influences. It’s mostly inspired by Imperial Russia, Mongolia and China. It’s a whole continent so a lot of different cultures fit there.

6. Are there any former titles you’ve considered but discarded?

Actually no. The whole thing didn’t have a title for the longest time. It could still change though if I come up with something better.

7. What’s the first line of your novel?

“In year 495 on the first autumn morning of frost begun the Fall of cor Mantgamias, who had ruled Cabalusia for a millennia.”

8. What’s a dialogue you’re particularly proud of?

I’ve posted this earlier and it might not be the best dialogue I’ve written, but I think it’s funny :D For context Valeri and cor Faélin just had a drunken fight.

Valeri reeled of his feet, but cor Faélin took hold of his armpit before he fell on the ground.

“And you’re supposedly an heir to an ancient royal family?” Cor Faélin rolled his eyes.

“I still trashed you. I would mind you that”, Valeri said.

“Yes, yes. It was quite shameful.”

They headed towards the inn. Valeri’s stomach was unsettled. He hoped he could keep it’s insides where it belonged, inside. “You weren’t wrong though. My reasons for being here are pretty selfish. I joined the army was to escape jail. My little brother was a child back then, and I would have left him in the streets completely alone. He deserved better.” He leaned on a streetlight for a while. Dizziness come over him in waves and forced him to swallow down vomit. Damn, he hated vomiting. Please not now. Some pain too creeped down his hip, but he continued forward.

“My eldest brother died there too. At Bear Castle, that is. He had just graduated from the academy. The cor Faélin was there.”

“I know.” Before he could say anything else, penetrating pain paralyzed his side. He leaned on the railing of the bridge crossing the cove. Of course the knife had hit him in the burned side.

“As I said earlier, you shouldn’t reveal so easily your secrets to your enemies.” A crooked smile curled on cor Faélin’s lips. Or at least there was an attempt for that. His face didn’t seem to work properly.

“Oh, shut up”, Valeri hissed in pain. He brushed his side. It felt wet. He lifted the hand on the level of his eyes, but even in the glow of streetlights, it took him a while to focus his eyes on the hand. It was bloodied. “How deep did you stab me?”

“Clearly not deep enough.”

9. Which line from the novel most represents it as a whole?

I don’t really know, too many lines. Maybe this one: “Let’s just say it’s my sacrifice for the better future.”

10. Who are your character faceclaims?

I have only one faceclaim and it’s for Cassia. Faceclaims are hard to find especially as I’ve drawn them all. But Cassia’s faceclaim is Eva Green because even before I drew her, I thought about her as Eva Green.

11. Sort your characters into Harry Potter houses!

Valeri: Huffelpuff (The hat would give him opportunity to choose between Huffelpuff and Gryffindor and he would choose Huffelpuff) Faerathos: Ravenclaw Fiolew: Slytherin Cassia: Slytherin (The hat would give her opportunity to choose between Ravenclaw and Slytherin and she would choose Slytherin) Agrippa: Gryffindor

Some side characters (because this is fun) Marcus: Gryffindor Augustus: Huffelpuff cor Faélin: Ravenclaw Gid’alon: Ravenclaw Alexis: Slytherin Julie: Gryffindor

12. Which character’s name do you like the most?

I like most Agrippa’s given name, Gal’eivil. In Ahinian (for which I have come up with some dictionary) ‘gal’ is daughter or princess and ‘eivil’ is red. In the royal family of Dir’ahin the heir is named always named “Gal’(something)”. Colors are pretty common parts of names and Agrippa had bright red hair even when she was born so there comes the ‘eivil’.

13. Describe each character’s daily outfit.

Faerathos: Tail coat, vest, leather boots and scholar’s blue cloak. His clothes are usually dark and cold toned or light gray. They are provided him by the court so they are usually pretty good quality. In public he uses his silver beech laurel wreath, that is the sign of his doctorate. Cassia: Silk dresses with flowing cloths tied with ornate brooches, long gloves, jewelry, diadem and white fur coat. Her clothes are usually green or dark red. Fiolew: Tail coat, vest, leather boots and top hat. His clothes are usually blue or black and they are tailored but pretty modest and simple. Valeri: He has usually his uniform; black tail coat, breastplate, riding boots, leg plates and captain’s red cape. Other than that he uses quite standard male clothes usually in brow and red earthly colors. Agrippa: flowing silk dresses with puffy hem, not much jewelry, golden diadem, cloths tied and is barefooted when it’s possible. Her dresses are ornate and made from expensive materials, they sometimes have gems or glass stitched in them. She prefers red, orange, yellow, gold and light blue.

14. Do any characters have distinctive birthmarks/scars?

Agrippa has a lot, I mean A LOT, of freckles. Her face is packed with them and they are all over her body. Half of Valeri’s back is covered in burns. He also has a scar that reaches from the corner of his eye across his face to his upper lip and some minor scars too. Fiolew has long scars in his left arm.

15. Which character most fits a character trope?

I don’t think none of them fit perfectly any trope, but maybe Gid’alon fits best to the “eccentric scientist” trope.

16. Which character is the best writer? Worst?

Julie and Faerathos are probably best writers, though they have very different writing styles. Faerathos writes poetry and has that beautiful kind of style. Julie on the other hand writer prose and has very forward and very engaging writing style. Her novels are exiting and thrilling.

17. Which character is the best liar? Worst?

Fiolew and Alexis (Agrippa’s adoptive father) fight for the first place. Fiolew is compulsive liar and believes into his own lies. Alexis is more subtle. He doesn’t really lie, he just slightly manipulates truth very effectively.

18. Which character swears the most? Least?

Fiolew probably swears the most at least from the main cast. Julie doesn’t swear at all.

19. Which character has the best handwriting? Worst?

I think Cassia has very beautiful and elegant hand and even though Agrippa is the artist her handwriting is very sloppy in noble standards. But Fiolew has the worst handwriting. He learned to write as late as age 10, so he haven’t had a lot of practice.

20. Which character is most like you? Least like you?

Faerathos is probably most like me and I’d say that Valeri is the least like me.

21. Which character would you most like to be?

None of them :D Like pretty bad shit is happening to all of them and none of them are exactly the perfect role models. I do admire some aspects of them, but I wouldn’t want to be them really.

Tagging @madmoonink, @kainablue, @midnightstreetwanderings, @violet-clouds-and-skies and @hell-yeah-fantasy!

#tagged #tag game

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beardyallen · 5 years

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Picking Up Where I Left Off

Hello again! Oh boy....the title of this is going to be a bit misleading, because I want to share what happened last night before the details get hazy.

So, after my first class on Monday (Day 7), I planned to go for a pint at the only place I’ve found nearby that serves draft beer. I invited my officemate, AL, but he had apparently fallen asleep while lesson-planning. It was 9pm when class let out, so I don’t judge him too much. :P

Order a pint was a little tricky, but we got it sorted out, and the beer itself was quite tasty. The price range for pints there were from like 30-60 yuan, so like $5-$9. Pretty average prices in the States, and I have the say the beer holds up. Or at least the two that I’ve tried...

Anyway, the place itself is just a small space, seating no more than 20 people away from the bar if people ignore the need for personal space. The bar itself sets 7 to a side, but the place was pretty much empty. At least the first night, it was.

AL felt bad for missing out on Monday night, so we made plans for Wednesday night, and I invited ML and her friend M who is apparently just visiting for a short time. After class let out, we meandered over to the bar and chatted about our students, how peculiar their prior knowledge seems to be. Mine, for instance, have never been exposed to the idea of “different sizes of infinity,” but are completely comfortable with the idea of infinitesimal numbers, those with absolute value greater than 0 but smaller than any real positive number. I’m barely acquainted with these outside of their role in the foundations of calculus. Anyway, the topic of conversation ranged from our students, to these two ideas, all the way out to the shape and size of the universe, and how mathematicians deal with what we call the Continuum Hypothesis. So far, it was a pretty dope night.

Then we get to the bar, and it’s somewhat more crowded than before. No biggie. Some of the other patrons made a point to acknowledge us and smile widely, and I think generally indicate their approval of our arrival. It was nice, but a little unsettling. We ordered our drinks, and a rather drunk individual (who I will from now on refer to as The One, as this is WeChat handle) came over to chat with AL and me.

He expounded on how thrilled he was that we were here, through a somewhat thick accent, made more thick by the 7-10 pints he must have consumed. We were both polite, and nodded along while he told us briefly how he’d visited the US only once to see Los Angeles, and how he’d been to Europe more than fifty times, which later became “more than sixty!” ML and M had gone in search of food, only to come back with two small items from a bakery that was just closing. (The establishment itself is housed in a “24-Hour Living Space,” which uses a rather loose definition of “24-Hour.”) We made our way to our table, and The One decided to join us...

All told, I think he sat there yammering on about whatever he was trying to say for a good 25 minutes. Both AL and I had finished our beers, and the only reason I was still being patient with The One was that he had vaguely hinted at the idea of buying us drinks. You know me, I’m loathe to turn down free beer! But then he made a sweeping gesture in front of us and almost knocked over the fixture in the middle of the table, repeating something about his daughter while expressing how beautiful ML is, and it just got altogether cumbersome to pretend like his behavior was acceptable.

Polite attempts were made to communicate that we would like to be left alone, but The One always had “One small item!” that he wanted to say first, which usually just involved more statements about how he likes us all a lot and the confusing bit about his daughter and ML. This is about when he started patting us on our backs. If you know me, I’m not a fan of being touched by strangers. At all. During one of his attempts to pat AL, AL somehow managed to start hugging The One and basically pulled him away from the table.

This didn’t stick.

Now The One was confused.

After a couple more minutes, it became clear that he wasn’t going to take a hint, so AL took one for the team and asked The One for directions to the bathroom. The One decided to show him.

As AL tells it, The One led him to the bathroom, waited outside and then they headed back to the table. Prior to sitting down, AL conveyed to The One that we needed time alone and that we would talk to him later.

Peace, at last!

It’s strange how, in the moment, it was rather undesirable, but now the four of us have a very tight bond that I doubt would have manifested had it not been for The One. For that reason, I’m somewhat grateful.

For other reasons...I’m not.

We enjoyed ourselves through another pint before The One meandered back to the table. We pointedly ignored him, but he seemed impervious to indirect suggestions in his current state. We should have known. When he kept interjecting into the conversation to no avail, and he became a cumbersome distraction, we discussed in front of him the fact that I have beer in my fridge back at the Guest House and that we could just hang out in the third floor lounge.

This seemed like the best plan so far, so we went to pay. And of course The One joined us, assuring us that he’d pay, he’d pay, he’d pay! A guy can only take so much before free beer + The One becomes so very much not worth it. That time had passed awhile ago. As his pestering was making the transactions more difficult, I did the only thing I could think of.

I asked The One if he could show me where the bathrooms were.

...*sigh...

This was a mistake. It worked, in that he did, in fact, show me where the bathrooms were, but he did so with his arm around me. Now, The One is probably about 5′4″, and I stand a questionable 6′0″, which means the pressure he had on my right shoulder while is arm was draped over me could have either been due to his sense of camaraderie, his drunkenness, or gravity. Or all of them. Regardless, I was uncomfortable. Especially since he kept repeating, “Relax! Relax!”

We get to the bathroom, I head in...and he follows. At this point, he had already dropped his arm from my shoulder and patted me on the back...and then lower on my back....and then not on my back anymore. The fact that I was in a foreign country was the only thing keeping me check.

Fortunately nothing happened in the bathroom, because at least there, there were no cameras. The thought crossed my mind. I could probably get away with knocking him out if need be. Not that I’m any sort of fighter, but at least my BAC wasn’t floating dangerously close to 0.2.

Anyway, the trip back to the bar was uneventful, my friends had all paid, and we left as quickly as we could, laughing as we went. All told, the bar itself was great. But now I know what baggage it might come with...and I think it would be too much to hope that The One doesn’t remember the three white guys and “the most beautiful woman” who is somehow connected to his daughter? #ohwell #definitelygoingbackforanotherpint

OH! Aaaaaaand....They carry Founders!!!

The only one I think I could justify buying is KBS...but even that would run me $18/bottle. What does it say about me that I’m still seriously considering it?

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Alright. So now it’s time to actually go back to where I left off!

So it’s time for pictures...

Here we have a nearly failed attempt at a selfie while walking through the caves...followed by two people who clearly seem far more capable at taking such pictures.

Below, you can see the entrance to the cave. Fun fact, the lion statues are a female (left) and male (right). I learned that you can always tell which is the female as she always(?) stands where her baby, whereas the male stands on a ball. In the background, you can see the Phoenix Nest that we visited, too!

Above, you can see the whole group. The guy in the blue shirt was a damn riot! He kicked things off at the entrance of the cave, a small door about 5 feet into the mountain, with a spot-on impression of Igor, beckoning us on!

Below is a just a pic of the four of us, NR on the top left, S on the bottom left, and ML on the bottom right.

Alright, so the picture of the stairs hardly does it justice, but whoever took this picture was only about halfway up this particular set of stairs, which was only one of several equally long staircases. It just kept turning and continuing...seemingly forever.

And below we have me, walking in a tunnel that’s barely tall enough for me stand up straight, having my picture taken. I’m not sure which of those two things made me more uncomfortable. But RN seems to be enjoying herself!

As I described in the previous post, we finally made our way out of the cave, rested, then hiked up a rather small mountain. It’s more aptly described as a hill with a big ego...But the view was stellar!

Here we are entering the Phoenix Nest at the “top” of the mountain, and you can see the ceiling of it below.

One of the Daniels in our group was kind enough to get a video of us sitting up inside that nest, which I think might give you a sense of what the view was actually like.

youtube

Below, I’m sharing some pictures of the ancient village. You can see on the first one a placard of sorts describing the building. Most structures in the area had these sorts of signs, both in Chinese (Mandarin, I assume) and English. The translations were quite entertaining; I’m guess either they were missing a native English speaker to sign off on the...well...signs, or else they just had a wicked sense of humor!

You can see in the pictures below the tiers cut into the mountains. In fact, this pictures, if I’m not mistaken, was taken from a tier that use to farm small trees.

I’m not terribly certain I know what the guy in the above pictures was doing, but NR seemed to think he was doing something with honey. I didn’t want to pry too much...

These things were all over the ancient city. Apparently it was used to ground up rice and other grains. And when I say all over, I mean basically every house had one out front. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the subsistence farmers in the area still use them.

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Once we got back to Beijing, our group of four parted ways with the other groups to go visit the Olympic Greens! So cool! I mean, we have an Olympic Gymnasium on campus, which is already really cool (even though I haven’t gone inside yet), but it’s nothing compared to the Birdnest and its neighbors.

When we got there, S had to use the bathroom, so the other three of us waited outside the shopping mall there watching a bunch of high schoolers on....well, I don’t exactly know what to call them. But imagine two platforms about 4inx6in, each with two wheels oriented in a line. The kids were skating on those. And they were really good. Or at least seemed really good, seeing as nobody fell and they were doing flip tricks and shit. A fascinating way to spend the 10 minutes that we had to wait for S to do his business. He claims “there was a line!”

The mall itself was akin to a condensed Mall of America, there’s a Burger King right between the Olympic Torch monument and the Birdnest, and apparently we can go wonder around the Birdnest and even get up on the roof! We put a real big pin in that particular adventure, so I’m sure I’ll have pictures of the Greens sometime soon.

I don’t want to spend too much time talking about this as I would just be describing what I saw, and future pictures can do that much better, but I will say that there was a group of about 30 women in traditional dancing garbs from...I think Nepal? I’d have to ask NR again. They had a boombox and it seemed they were going to put on a show in the square!

Until security came...We had spent 5-10 minutes watching these women take pictures of themselves while their manager(?) griped that they could take pictures afterwards, only for security to claim that they were blocking the flow of foot-traffic.

The dancers moved on, and so did we, but NR kept our heads on a swivel to see if they would start up again. Eventually they did, but we were far enough away, and the humor of watching them for 10 minutes without seeing them dance struck me as a better story, so we only caught glimpses of their dance. Looked impressive enough. *shrug*

We eventually walked back into the shopping center to find some food and made ourselves comfortable in a Shanghai Hot Pot restaurant that specialized in fish-based cuisine. It was soooooo good, even though I haven’t figured out a delicate way of extracting the fishbones. Apparently its acceptable to plop a hunk of meat in your mouth, suck the meat of the bones, and spit the bones back out. (So many opportunities for inappropriate jokes in that sentence! Aren’t you glad I didn’t go for any of them?) God, I loved having that meat in my mouth! (Okay, so I went for one...)

All told, we had been out and about for 15 hours that day, and on our feet for more than 10 of them!

So I don’t feel bad at all for how I spent Day 6: feet up, sitting 5 feet from my TV playing Kingdom Hearts 3, sucking back beer after beer! It was quite glorious.

Day 7 rolled around, and work began. I don’t have too much to share on that score, but it turns out getting packages delivered here from the US is somewhat tricky. Especially when you don’t realize that the address provided in the Welcome Handbook didn’t even include a street address! My Kindle eventually got here in one piece, thanks to the exceptional generosity of one RS. It even came with a note and an image of Owen Wilson saying “Wow!” So that inside joke played on repeat in my head for a good hour after picking up the package.

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The workweek has been mostly accounted for above, excepting a trip to buy shoes, which was somewhat more involved than it had any reason to be...And apparently my feet are large enough for shoe dealers to not bother carrying my size. *shrug*

I have plans to visit the National Museum on Saturday with NR, and then the ICB faculty are taking a trip Northeast next weekend to visit a beautiful little town near the Great Wall. It’s only a day trip, but I’m going to look into the possibility of splitting a hotel room to see the Great Wall and the town lit up at night! Seems worthwhile, if you ask me. Especially since I don’t have rent payments for several months! Booyah!

Alright, it’s officially quitting time (whatever that means), so I’m heading back to my room for a pint or two and the company of my comic book collection.

Sláinte,

BeardyAllen

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seventyfiveapples · 6 years

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Shaken

CHAPTER EIGHT

Bright / Nick Jakoby x OFC

Previous Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven.

Story Summary: Nick receives an unexpected invitation from a charming middle school teacher with a mysterious past.

Billie took a gulp of the stale diesel fuel the hospital was passing off as coffee and sat up straighter in the scratchy waiting room chair, attempting to will herself awake as she waited for any news about Lucy or Gilda.

For the last two days, Billie was either at work or at this hospital, waiting and drinking this shitty coffee.

Lucy was going to be okay, at least. The plaster had cracked into smaller pieces before hitting her, resulting in mostly surface injuries: a head wound that bled profusely but that was easily stitched, a concussion, a broken shin, and numerous cuts and bruises. Remarkably, she did not require surgery and would most likely be released in another day after a bit more observation. She was in and out of consciousness, but Billie was grateful she would pull through.

Gilda was another story. Her injuries were far more severe and she hadn’t yet opened her eyes since the earthquake.

Billie had insisted on riding in the police car as Nick drove to the ER, applying pressure to Lucy’s wounds as they rode so that she wouldn’t bleed out on the way, and trying to keep both as still as possible.

At the ER, one of the intake nurses asked for Gilda’s next of kin... and Billie was gutted as to realize that Gilda didn’t have a single name to enter. She’d lied and given her own name, saying she was an aunt. No one questioned her.

Since then, she’d kind of thought of herself that way, and since Lucy was more or less stable at this point she was glued to Gilda’s bedside. Every few minutes she looked up to scan the child for a sign - any sign - of movement. Nothing so far. She sank back into her chair and resolved to wait as long as needed.

Her heart broke at the possibility of Gilda waking up in her hospital room completely alone. How could such a good-natured kid have no one to look out for her?

It broke her heart even more to think she might never wake up.

Like most orcs, family was everything for Billie. She grew up idolizing her two older brothers, hoping to become a Fogteeth member herself someday.

When she was Gilda’s age, Billie was a real tomboy and was often treated as “one of the guys,” or at least like one of the guys’ little brothers. They used her as a "lookout" for some of their small-scale robberies and she was ashamed to remember feeling proud about that. As a kid, she saw her brothers as The Good Guys, no matter what, and the rest of the world - humans, elves, etc. - were villains. She'd justified some of their criminal activities by the idea that anything that benefited orcs and hurt humans was somehow righting the injustices she saw around her.

As she go a bit older, she started to understand that the world didn't work in absolutes. The more she understood about the world outside of her neighborhood, the more all the stories she told herself grew cracks, and those cracks spiderwebbed out, connecting facts and shattering long-held assumptions. Maybe, she was forced to admit, maybe her brothers weren't The Good Guys.

The first time she wondered who, exactly, her brothers really were was the first time she saw them actually hurt someone, punching and kicking a shop owner they were robbing. He hadn't done anything to draw their attention, he just happened to run a convenience store. The second time, the time she really pulled back, was when her first girlfriend had been shot in the leg by a stray bullet. The third time was the final straw. She was serving as a lookout for another convenience store robbery, and a small human child - no older than 6 or 7 - came up to her and asked who the men were who were talking to her daddy. Billie knew the child couldn't hear the sick thuds of body blows that her orcish ears detected, and she just stared at the child, unable to speak.

She went home that night and cried harder than she'd ever cried in her life, feeling guilty, torn, and trapped in a life she was finally starting to understand and resent.

Oddly, it was through the encouragement of a human teacher in high school that Billie built up the courage to confront her brothers. Her teacher saw real promise in Billie and encouraged her to apply for college, something no one else in her family had done. She passed along scholarship opportunities and articles about how to strengthen college applications. She asked her every week about her plans. Without that teacher, Billie didn't know if she could envision a different life than the one that was slowly taking hold of her.

Because of that teacher, Billie had made it her life's mission to be a positive influence on others, especially other orcs. She knew the impact that a teacher could have and teaching became her goal.

For their part, her brothers supported her in her decision not to follow in their footsteps, even though she never hid how she felt about their criminal activities. It was an uneasy version of "agreeing to disagree" that seemed to somehow work: Billie drew clear boundaries and her brothers respected them. The three of them had enough love and devotion to keep that commitment... at least, that’s what Billie hoped.

Nick walked into the hospital after his shift with arms full: flowers for Lucy and Gilda and a cup of what he hoped was “some decent fucking coffee,” per Billie’s request.

He walked in Gilda’s room and held out the coffee to Billie.

“Sweet Jirak, thank you,” she told him, shaking her head to wake herself.

"You’re welcome. Any news?”

"Lucy's been awake, off and on all day. She'll be thrilled to see you. No change for Gilda."

"And you? Have you been here all-"

"I'm not leaving," she snapped. It sounded harsher than she meant it. Nick didn't take her response personally. He placed Gilda's flowers - a small pot of violets - on the windowsill.

"If you want," he said in a soft voice, "I can come in here after I visit with Lucy so you can take a break, get a bite to eat or something."

Billie nodded but said nothing. Nick patted her shoulder gently before leaving the room.

To his delight, Lucy was awake when he came in, and all smiles.

"Hey, cutie!" she greeted him.

"Hey, yourself! These are for you," he said, placing a large flower arrangement on the counter facing her.

"They're beautiful! Come here and kiss me so I can thank you!" Nick happily obliged. "The doctors said I might get to go home tomorrow. Are you free? Maybe I could make you some dinner or something." He smiled as he relaxed into a chair by her bedside. Seeing her covered in bruises and cuts was torture, but he knew she wouldn't want his pity, so he tried not to stare.

"That would be nice. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, you know, like a building fell on me," she smirked. He reached out a hand for hers and slowly brought it to his mouth, kissing it. If he had sustained the kind of injuries she had, he'd already be back at work, thanks to orcs' healing abilities. Then again, if the debris had fallen on his head, as it appeared it would, he wouldn't be here at all. He couldn't believe she had risked her life for him.

"Well, do me a favor and try not to leap in front of any more falling debris."

She shrugged. "I can't make any promises. Hey, at least when I'm in here, there's people everywhere. I don't have to worry about Dave for a few days." She looked at him and tried to affect a casual tone as she asked, "Any news on that front, by the way? My car is back at the house - anyone get close to it?" They'd decided to leave the GPS tracker in place on her car now that they knew about it, in the hopes that they could use it against him at some point.

He just shook his head. All of their leads seemed to evaporate, and he felt like he was letting her down, time after time.

Worrying about Dave was both terrifying and exhausting for them both. She thought of ways to change the subject. She started to wonder how Nick would react if she pulled him down into the hospital bed and started a vigorous make out session...

Some commotion from the hall stopped her from finding out.

“GUYS!” cried Billie from several doors down. “It’s Gilda- she’s awake. She’s awake!”

A day later, and Dave was ready to make his move. He’d already spent more time on this than he’d thought possible, and he was more than just angry, now. He wanted to be sure that bitch paid for it. He prepared two syringes full of sedatives, wrapped up a knife for good measure, and headed to the hospital in order to arrive before the orc cop’s shift ended.

He looked in a mirror: his disguise wasn’t perfect but it didn’t have to be. The plan was to be in the hospital for five minutes, tops.

This bullshit would end today.

Sunshine!

It felt so good, Gilda thought, raising her face to the sky and breathing in deeply. She was outside for the first time in three days, and she was trying to enjoy every second. Ms. Billie would be here any moment and Gilda wanted to surprise her by casually sitting on the bench outside, although the nurse was anxious to get her back in.

”FIVE more minutes, please?” Gilda pleaded, then pulled an over-dramatic face. “I almost died.”

The nurse rolled his eyes but smiled and relented. Gilda smiled and got ready to relax on the bench again, when suddenly - BAM.

A man rushing past had crashed right into Gilda, knocking her on the ground. He was tall, with a lean frame, and he didn't even pause to apologize as he rushed in. He was dressed in scrubs, but they didn't smell like they'd been inside this hospital before, ever. In fact, the smell lingering after him was altogether... peculiar to Gilda.

“Hey asshole, watch where you’re going!” Called the nurse, helping Gilda up. Gilda wasn't hurt but she felt unsettled. The man radiated hostility and anger. He wanted to hurt someone, she thought, but she didn't know why.

Sniffing her arm where he had bumped right into her, she sensed an odd combination of smells. First, the ocean. She could smell seaweed and the kinds of fish that swam close to the shores. Next were the smells of fuel and creosote: odd chemical smells orcs could spot a mile away. Hovering just behind those, however, was something else that seemed completely out of place. Maybe she was mistaken? The last smell was something... sweet. Cookies? Pies?

She forgot about it as the nurse helped her back inside to her room.

"What do you fucking mean, someone knocked her over?!" Gilda heard Billie shout on the other side of the door. She'd been out there for a while, at first talking to Gilda's social worker, and now yelling at the hospital staff. "Aren't you guys supposed to help her get better, not get her more fucking injured? You know that girl's a goddamn hero, right?!"

Gilda's heart swelled as Billie yelled. She was almost able to stop wondering what Billie and the social worker had been talking about. The dormitories at Saint Emydius were nice, and there were a few other students who stayed there, but she loved being in this hospital. There were so many people around all the time, and they all seemed to care about her.

Especially Ms. Billie. She was funny and even though she cussed a lot, and brought her homework - seriously, homework in the hospital, Ms. Billie? - Gilda knew she really cared about her. She tried to remember if this was what it was like living with her orc family...

After a few minutes, Billie came in. She walked right up to the bed with an excited expression that made her face look like it was lit from behind. She tried to talk in a serious was.

"Gilda, the doctors say you are almost ready to leave the hospital. What do you think about that?"

Gilda's heart fell. She knew Billie was expecting her to be happy about this, and forced a smile.

"Oh... good news!"

"Well, the bad news is... the dormitories at school took some damage from the quake, and it will take at least a month to fix. I talked to your social worker, and she says - if it's all right with you, and if I pass a home inspection - and of course if you want to, you could come and stay with me and Miss Harris for a while." Billie looked nervous as she spoke.

Gilda had never seen Billie nervous before, she thought she was pretty much fearless. It touched her to realize how much she was hoping for Gilda to say yes. "What do you think?"

Gilda's eyes filled with tears and she couldn't speak. This was the best news she could have imagined. She sat up straight and pulled Billie into a tight hug.

"Yes! Yes! I want to stay with you, Ms. Billie!"

Only a quick moment later, Billie burst into Lucy's room, beaming, and ran right up to her bedside. She was so excited that she didn't even notice the stricken look on Lucy's face.

"Lucy, honey, guess what? Gilda's going to stay with us for a couple of weeks!"

Lucy opened and closed her mouth, seemingly in shock.

"I know, I know. I should have talked to you about it first. Aw crap, is this a problem? What are you-" Suddenly, her heightened orcish senses realized that something was very wrong in this room, and it had nothing to do with her news.

She realized Lucy was trying to draw her attention to someone or something behind her.

Billie tried to turn around slowly, casually, but this small movement was all it took for the strange man in scrubs to leap towards her and plunge a syringe into her neck. Lucy tried to scream as her friend slumped to the ground but Dave’s hand was already covering her mouth. He had another syringe in his hand, pointed towards her.

"Miss me, Jennie? Or should I call you Lucy now?" Before she could respond, Dave plunged the syringe in her neck and deposited her unconscious body into a hospital wheelchair. He tucked the orc's body behind the hospital bed and pulled the door mostly shut, then, as casually as possible, he wheeled Lucy down to the elevator and piled her in his car.

Nick had requested to leave a little early that afternoon, and he headed to the hospital. Lucy was getting discharged that day. He wanted to drive her home himself, and spend a little time together. It was a gorgeous, sunny day, with no sign of cloud or - he sniffed the air - earthquakes. He strolled onto the hall where Lucy's room was and noticed that her door was shut. He rapped a few times and waited for a response.

"Hmmm..." came a sound from the room. The voice sounded female, but it didn't sound like Lucy. His brow furrowed as it became more clear. "Heh- help. HELP!"

Nick flung the door open and saw Billie's hand waving from behind Lucy's hospital bed as she struggled to stand. "HELP! SOMEBODY!"

Lucy's bed was empty.

@beastlybfs @bonnietakesnosh-t @cinnamonroll-issues @abigfanofyours @fantasticauthoroafzonk

#bright netflix #bright #bright fanfiction #nick jakoby #nick jakoby x oc #nick jakoby fanfiction #orc #orc boyfriend

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jestbee · 7 years

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Ships that pass in the night (Chapter Fourteen)

#my fics #myfics #fanfiction #fanfic #phanfic #phanfiction #phan #dnp #dan and phil

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shsl-shipper-gamer-fangirl · 7 years

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Dangan Thieves AU - The Circus of a First Palace

A/N Finally! An actual fic for the dangan thieves AU. I think it’s a good 6k draft (I’m a bit rusty, sorry!) Also please take note that I’m going to skip the tutorial and awakening scenes so we can jump right into the first palace! But first! Gotta thank these awesome people for inspiring me! Send them lots of love please!

[concept art Palace Ruler Chisa 1] [2] @ministarfruit

[first summary] @annsparksthegmr

Beloved Teacher and Ringmistress

“Chisa Yukizome. Hope’s Peak Academy. Circus.”

“Commencing navigation.”

All it takes are three keywords and a mysterious app to see just how despairing someone’s heart can be.

Once the dull throb inside their heads subside, so does all form of rationality. What once was the school is now replaced by a circus tent. Spotlights surrounded it, making it hard to miss among the drab concrete buildings. There aren’t even cognitive students loitering around, after all they are most probably the performers inside the tent. From afar, a crowd cheers, over what they’re not sure. If there’s anything they are certain of it’s that this is no dream.

This is reality. This is the reality as seen through their teacher’s eyes. This is a despairing palace.

This is Miss Yukizome’s Palace.

“No matter how many times I see it, it’s still… sad,” Chiaki— Bonnie says with a dejected sigh. She’s already transformed into her Dangan Thief outfit, prepared but not as enthusiastic. “To think that someone like Miss Yukizome has a palace… It’s a plot twist but I don’t like it one bit.”

“Me neither. But this is what we’re up against,” Hajime— Ace says with a face that isn’t exactly thrilled about this either. He readjusts his gloves out of nervous habit. “I don’t like the idea of confronting her like this but this is only way that might get through her at this point.”

“I don’t want to hurt her but… I don’t like how she’s hurting the others. I just want our old teacher back,” She contemplates morosely. If she was still the same Chiaki then maybe she wouldn’t have done anything. But she’s different now. She won’t let herself be a helpless npc. This time she’s going to be the best playable character. “Let’s go talk some sense into her, Ace.”

They enter the circus tent shortly after and explore until they eventually reunite with Monomi at a safe room.

“Uwawa! You came back!” Monomi cries as she hurls herself at them, only Bonnie catches her though she doesn’t seem to mind the cold shoulder from Ace.

“Not like we had a choice. Us coming back has nothing to do with you though,” Ace comments it goes ignored.

“Were you lonely, Monomi?” Bonnie affectionately pets the bunny mascot.

“Just a bit!” Monomi pulls back, she wipes off the tears from her button eyes and puts on a sweet smile. “But I’m okay now that you two are here! Are you going to steal the treasure?”

“No, we just came here to visit you,” Ace says sarcastically.

“Is that so? Ehehe, that makes me so happy!” Monomi blushes and shuffles her feet shyly.

“…” Ace doesn’t react at first. He doesn’t know how to react to this. So he doesn’t. At all. “Anyways, we’re going to look for this treasure now.”

“Oh! Oh! Let me help!” Monomi excitedly hops towards him with her arms raised in volunteer.

“No offense but we don’t even know what you are, much less what you can do,” He shot her down.

“It’s alright. Let her help,” Bonnie counters him with a smile that was more reassuring than the third party in question.

“What.” Ace shoots her an incredulous look. “Why? You can’t tell me that she isn’t suspicious. Besides, I don’t think we can afford to babysit her.”

“You don’t need to worry about me! I can defend myself pretty well!” Monomi puffs proudly at first but then shrinks back to awkwardly shuffling her feet. “Actually, the shadows don’t attack me for some weird reason… So! I definitely won’t hold you down since I won’t need defending!”

He points at her in accusation. “Okay first of all, that sounds suspicious as hell.”

“Or convenient for us,” Bonnie amends. She’s taking this new information too well that it has Ace concerned. Did that seriously not raise any alarms? She sure didn’t look that alarmed though. Then again, this is the same girl who sleeps through alarms that could save her life. She’s too complacent around alarms apparently. “She won’t hold us back and that’s all that matters. For now, shouldn’t it be fine?”

No, it definitely wasn’t fine. But Ace feels like he couldn’t win this argument anyways, at least not without a worse headache than this. They’ve already wasted enough time as it is. Might as well just go along with it just to get it over with and hope this won’t be their downfall. “Fine. But we’re not going to wait for you if you get left behind.”

Bonnie mouths a ‘thank you’ at him and then she turns to their guest party member. “You hear that, Monomi? You’re coming with us, probably.”

Monomi jumps, overjoyed. “Yay! I pwomise you, I won’t be a pwoblem!”

They’re Dangan Thieves trying to steal from the ringmistress of this circus filled with shadows out to kill them. Ace thinks that a walking stuffed toy is the least of their problems.

Well at least Monomi was somewhat helpful. She was able to find a map so there’s that. Ace had to hold back a comment about how any of them could have found it, it just so happened that Monomi was walking in front so she’d see it first. Bonnie was encouraging Monomi too much.

They traversed through the circus according to the map. There were four main levels and upon exploration, they were able to discern the specific themes for each level. There was a clown level aka nightmare fuel level, they never talk about it. There was a human performer level which would have been amazing if only they didn’t recognize some of the faces of the cognitions. There was even an animal level, those shadows were more brutal than cute.

Perhaps even more bizarre than the levels themselves, was the main mode of transportation.

“I’m not afraid of heights but I’m starting to reconsider,” Ace comments as slowly walks on a tightrope with his heart hammering in his chest. He can never be too careful since one misstep could land him dead. Meanwhile Bonnie just speedwalks right ahead of him. How does she even do that? Does she have a cheat code or something? “How are you so calm on these?”

“Why shouldn’t I be calm?” Bonnie asks without a single tremble in her voice, as if they aren’t walking on a trapeze wire that’s above a god knows how deep chasm. He had a feeling that if he wasn’t on the wire, she’d be jumping across it instead. “I’ve played lots of games with tightropes so I’ve gotten the hang of it… I think.”

“Bonnie, I know you’re into games and all but that is not how this works,” He tries to correct her thinking, he tries so hard.

There is no doubt in his mind that videogame skills do NOT transfer in real life, especially tightrope skills. Why does she make it sound like it makes so much sense when it doesn’t?

She even says it so innocently that it physically pulls a deep sigh from him. Maybe it’s because this is a cognitive world. Her ignorance transforms into unprecedented skill here. Yeah, right. “I mean, aren’t you the least bit scared of falling?”

“But I’ve never fallen in videogames?” She replies, honestly confused at what he was getting at.

“That’s not— Ack!” He loses his balance and for a moment, he thinks he sees his life flash before his eyes. He snaps out of his reverie through pure spite at the fact that his life was boring. He recovers his foothold with some effort on his part. Then there’s Bonnie, already at the end, watching him with curious eyes. He gives up. “You know what, forget it. Why do I even ask?”

“Ah. There’s a cannon here we can use.”

“That better shoot us to a safety net because I’m still pissed at the shadow trap the last one shot us into.”

It did land them on a safety net but as they were about to find out, it was just a false sense of security.

“Another cannon? What the hell?”

They landed on a glowing safety net but surrounding them was pitch black. There was no floor or tightrope to walk on, just darkness. However once they climbed that net, they found four cannons at the top, one for each corner. Each cannon was aiming at a different direction, at what exactly they couldn’t tell. It was far too dark to see anything other than the glowing safety net.

Until there was fire. Several fires actually.

“Seriously? Rings of fire?” Ace asks, already dreading where this was going.

“This feels very Zelda-esque. I think these cannons will lead to more cannons but there’s only one true path,” Bonnie analyzes at the top of her head. She claps her hands in appreciation. “Amazing! I’ve always wanted to try solving this kind of puzzles outside of videogames!”

Ace however, didn’t share her enthusiasm. “Didn’t we already meet our quota for puzzles at that house of mirrors?”

That puzzle in particular was more confusing than it should have been. Ace still feels a hole where his pride used to be since Bonnie knew how to solve it at a glance while he just wasted half an hour in there. How was he supposed to know that he had to look at the backgrounds that the mirrors reflected? He was too preoccupied comparing his own actual reflections which looking back, was obviously a lost cause. Anywhere he looked, his reflection was warped in some way.

Hell, there was even this one mirror which he was sure was broken since it wasn’t reflecting him at all. It was reflecting some dude with long black hair and red eyes. That was just plain unsettling.

“Only lazy dungeons have one type of puzzles. You got to give our teacher credit for creativity,” She shouldn’t be praising this torture palace but that’s what it sounded like. At least someone was enjoying this. She turns to him with expectant eyes. “So how should we do this? Should we split or stick together?”

“Let’s just take turns shooting each other I guess.”

Eventually they solve the puzzle with ease but not without grudge. And here Ace thought he hated trapeze wires but it doesn’t come quite close to his animosity towards cannons. How many times did he get blasted off them? Too many in one lifetime. At least this puzzle was pretty straightforward so he couldn’t complain, as much. He can still hear ringing in his ears.

Not long after that, they finally arrive at the Treasure Room. It’s more anti-climactic than it sounds.

“This is the treasure? Doesn’t look much of a treasure to me,” Ace comments on the floating blur in front of them. The only hint that it was some sort of treasure was that it was the last room and by default, it should be the treasure. That and sometimes it sparkles or at least he thinks so if he squints hard enough.

He is not impressed. “Don’t tell me this is another puzzle.”

“Hmm… Not a puzzle but maybe it’s a locked key item?” Bonnie suggests thoughtfully. “Maybe there’s a certain condition we need to clear first before we can get it.”

“That’s right!” Monomi suddenly pipes in. “Right now, the treasure is distorted just like everything else here. To steal it, we need to transform it into something physical.”

“How exactly do we do that?” Ace asks with his usual skepticism.

“By having the Palace Ruler conscious that her treasure’s about to be stolen!” Monomi says it matter-of-factly.

“Doesn’t the Shadow Chisa already know that we’re going to steal it though?”

“No, not that one. The one you should target is the Miss Chisa in your world,” Monomi corrects and then adds on, “This world is built from the real world. Remember how you two had ambushed her in her office and how that opened a level here? It’s the same principle.”

“I see. So if we tell the real Miss Yukizome that we’re going to steal her treasure then she’ll be conscious about it enough to actually have the treasure manifest here… or so I think,” Bonnie concludes with honed logic.

“That’s exactly it! Good job!” Monomi flails her arms in cheer. She’s proud that her students learn fast.

“So what? We just tell her something vague like, 'we’ll steal your treasure’, just like that?” Ace holds his chin, contemplating. His lips form a straight line. He doesn’t like this plan at all. “I don’t know about this. It feels like an express ticket to expulsion.”

“Don’t worry! You don’t have to actually do it yourselves. Or rather, you don’t need to reveal your identities!” Monomi cheerfully reassures them. “As long as 'someone’ is out to get it then the effect should be the same.”

“Got it. Leave this to me.” Bonnie raises her hand enthusiastically. Her face is determined but also just barely hiding her excitement. “I’ve always wanted to try something like this.”

“Wait, what something? What exactly do you plan to do?” He asks in concern but she just smiles coyly.

“It’s a surprise.”

Sending a calling card was definitely a last surprise.

Not just one calling card but several in fact. They practically littered the school. They were scattered on the ground outside, and on the floor inside, some were posted on the walls. They were hard to miss. How did she even get to print this many without getting caught? How did she post them all without getting caught?

And yet here was Chiaki, playing nonchalantly, still not caught.

He walks towards her and whispers discreetly, “Hey, isn’t this a little bit overboard? Shouldn’t one calling card to her desk be enough?”

“Maybe… if we were already famous.” She shrugs. She doesn’t pause the game but she continues the conversation, “If it were you and only you got this card, what would you have thought?”

“Someone has too much free time on their hands?”

“Exactly. It’ll come off as a prank and it’s easier to contain it into a private incident. Something she can control.” She stops talking when a few students pass them by and then whispers in a low voice, “But this? This is public humiliation. This will at least cause a panic and an outrage at most.”

“I see… Posting on the whole school level does make it look high priority.” He has to admit, this was a well thought out plan. Impractical as it may seem at first glance, the reasoning behind it was on point. There’s just one concern left. “Do you think it worked though?”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to answer.

Because someone else makes the answer known for them.

“What rotten oranges! The most rotten of all fruits!” They turn around and see Miss Yukizome shouting furiously, already sweeping a pile of calling cards. “To think that someone would go so far? I don’t think they understand just who they are messing with! I will find the brats behind this. After all, rotten oranges should be either thrown or buried.”

And while Hajime was sweating bullets from that obvious death threat, Chiaki seemed to take the news better.

“It looks like we have a treasure to steal,” She states with a triumphant look.

—

Dear Ringmistress Yukizome

Your despairing desires have turned this school into a circus. You no longer treat students as they should be, instead you educate them mercilessly. This distasteful show has gone long enough. We have come for you to repent and so we are going to steal your heart.

Sincerely, The Dangan Thieves of Hope

“Did you really think you could steal my treasure?

This school is my circus and I am its ringmistress! You rotten oranges are nothing more than stage performers who jump at my command! Petty thieves have no place in my circus!

I’ll make sure to have you jump through fates worse than rings of fire!”

—

Just as Chiaki had said, when they returned to the Treasure Room, the treasure had manifested. Instead of the indiscernible blurred blob, an extravagant top hat floats before them. Even at a glance, the material woven with is of high quality and the buttons glimmer with a shine similar to polished gems. Truly for a hat, it could be hailed as a treasure.

“A fancy top hat, huh. I was kind of expecting a whip honestly,” Ace comments as he admires it from afar, almost mesmerized.

“I guess you would think that. But it’s actually the top hat that’s the true status symbol, I think,” Bonnie adds on, just one of those trivias she picked up from videogames.

“The top hat is prettier too!” Monomi practically coos from the side.

“Well it doesn’t matter. Either way, we’re stealing it.” What’s important is that they’re taking this treasure with them regardless of their preferences. He tentatively reaches out for it—

Only to be pushed away by Bonnie.

“Ace, watch out!” She shouts and tackles him just in time before flames errupt from where he once stood.

“What the hell?” He coughs, accidentally having inhaled smoke. Suddenly the room felt all too hot.

Just as soon as the flames burst, they die out in an instant— along with the room’s lights. Suddenly, darkness swallows them.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” The voice of Shadow Chisa creeps upon them. In the darkness, she could have well speaking through a megaphone beside them. “Do you think the way I treat my performers is cruel?” She chuckles eeriely and her hollow laughter echoes in the dark. “Well then let me show you how I treat thieves!”

With a snap of her fingers, the spotlights are on again.

Gone was the backstage room they were in. Now they were out in the performer’s ring, surrounded by bleachers filled with a crowd seemingly materialized out of nowhere. Shadow Chisa flicks her wrist and her whip cracks. The sharp sound summons a savage shadow that could pass off as a monstrous tiger. She sits on it as if it was her throne. It was a dangerous sight to behold. That was the least of their concerns at the moment. After all, the treasure was now beyond reach, and on top of Shadow Chisa’s head.

“My top hat is not some pretty thing to be simply stolen. It is a right to be earned. An honor that I earned,” She boasts high and mighty from her perch, looking down on them. “Only those who can perform the best shows have the right to wear this!”

She cracks her whip numerous times, each time a shadow comes forth.

“Watch and learn just how inexperienced you truly are without my guidance!”

Naturally they wouldn’t be able to take the treasure without a fight. This much they expected. They even managed to sweep off the first batch of shadows in just a few turns. But every time they defeat a shadow, Shadow Chisa simply cracks her whip and summons another, sometimes even more. They knew that in order to win this, they had to attack Shadow Chisa but she remains beyond the shield of shadows and out of reach. But that’s not even all of her tricks.

“Ugh!” Bonnie grits her teeth when a critical hit lands on her. She’s down on her knees, gasping.

The crowd roars. It isn’t just for show either since the enemies get buffs while the two of them get debuffs.

“Sorry… they got me off guard,” She slurs, already feeling her speed lowered.

“It happens. Just take care,” He answers curtly.

This isn’t working out. At this pace, they’ll end up exhausted and out of items before long. They have to change strategy, maybe aim elsewhere. Ace tries a different tactic and pulls out his dual pistols.

He fires at Shadow Chisa but she dodges with a flamboyant flip, mocking him. “Dammit!”

The crowd’s roar is even louder this time. The effects are instantaneous, perhaps even stronger.

“What the hell? Isn’t this a little unfair?!” He shouts in frustration as he feels his attack power leeched from him. He can barely hold his weapon with what little strength left in him.

“What did you expect when battling in this ring? We are all performers here. It’s our job to please the crowd, is it not?” Shadow Chisa taunts them with a malicious grin.

“Just give us the freaking hat already!” He barks at her as he narrowly dodges a shadow’s swipe. It’s sloppy and he knows that he can barely dodge another. These debuffs were hurting them more than the actual attacks.

“Wait, Ace. Maybe we’ve been doing this wrong,” Bonnie suddenly brings up when they were cornered.

“What? Did you figure something out?” He shoots her a desperate yet hopeful look.

She doesn’t disappoint. “It’s just as she said. Even though we are fighting, we’re also in the middle of a performance.” She gestures towards the crowd surrounding them. “Don’t you think we should show off our showmanship a bit more?”

…Show off?

Something clicked in the back of his head. That makes sense. That could actually work. That could turn the tables for them. “Oh… I think I get it now.” He nods at her, placing his full trust to her idea. “Alright, Bonnie. Show them how it’s done.”

“Blast off, Galaga!” She summons her persona but rather than using it to attack, she uses it in an improvised routine.

Bonnie latches on it and lets it take her to the highest point where she stays there for one dramatic moment longer. She lets go and falls head first. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her face is as peaceful as ever with her eyes closed. The crowd gasps at her bold move. She plummets fast towards the ground. Even Ace has to hold his breath. Just when there’s only several feet left, her eyes open. She flips herself upright and Galaga swoops in from beneath. She lands tall and proud.

The crowd goes wild. It has never been this loud and this time they were cheering for them.

“Alright! It looks like now’s our chance!” Ace triumphantly shouts, he feels stronger than ever.

From there, they regain their momentum. Aside from sending out Bonnie to do tricks, Ace found out that pulling off flashy moves or dodges had that same effect. For most part of the battle, they were the ones buffed rather than the shadows. It didn’t take long until Shadow Chisa finally ran out of shadow performers to summon.

“Enough!” Shadow Chisa growls at them. “You think that those cheap tricks are enough to best me? Truly the folly of amateurs. I’ll show you just how entertaining a performance should be!”

With another snap of her fingers, the spotlights converge towards Shadow Chisa, the light so intense that she could not be seen. From the blinding light, she bursts through transformed. Dark skin seething with fire, pointed horns portruding her head, and three pairs of arms each holding a flaming whip.

The crowd’s cheers are deafening.

“See? This is how you excite the crowd!” She gloats at them and the crowd goes ballistic. She looks down on them from her high perch and challenges them, “Now let me see how you top this!”

Her attacks were brutal. Six hands meant six attacks per turn and then there was that special tiger move. There’s also that annoying fact that she can do a trick before every turn of hers so all of her attacks are strengthened. But with Chiaki’s performance, they managed to get by somehow. She keeps coming up with impromptu routines that steal the show. Literally stealing the whips certainly helped, that was Ace’s favorite trick of hers.

All of them were exhausted at this point however against all odds, they were winning.

And it pissed off Shadow Chisa.

“You insolent brats. How dare you ruin my performance!”

“Give it up! You’re already out of tricks!” Ace jeers.

“The crowd loves us more so this is our win!” Bonnie shouts and as if on cue, the cognitive crowd cheers.

Shadow Chisa is not taking any of this.

“What kind of a ringmistress do you think I am? Of course I always save the best for last!” She barks, unwilling to accept defeat. She narrows her eyes at them. “Your last that is.”

They did not like the foreboding feeling that sentence held.

“Didn’t I tell you before that I’d make you jump through fates worse than rings of fire?” Six hands snap consecutively. Six large rings of fire encircle the two thieves from top to bottom. There’s no room for them to escape. “I like to call this one, Orange Flambete.”

She extends all of her arms and then swiftly brings them towards three pairs of claps.

Time slowed down at that point. Ace realized with all too much certainty what was happening. As her hands were getting closer and closer to contact, so were the flaming rings growing smaller and smaller around them. At some point they will undoubtedly get trapped and burned alive. No reflex or persona could save them. He chances a final glance at Bonnie, he recognizes the dreadful realization on her face. The same inescapable realization that mirrored his.

They were going to die.

He didn’t want to die.

He didn’t want her to die.

He didn’t sign up for this just to die.

Dying like this… Dying like this is…

Boring.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” He clutches his head which feels like it was just set on fire. The pain scorches along his skull and his screams burn scars along his throat. He panics when he thinks that the flames have already gotten to him. Everything burns. Everything hurts. Everything dies. He doesn’t want to die. Not like this. Not a boring death like this.

But Ace eventually dies.

And so Blackjack is born.

Whatever remnant of Ace was had combusted into dark flames and replaced with someone else. His short brown spiky hair was now long ebony locks. His suit was replaced with a trench coat, his bowtie with a cravat, and his gloves were now dipped in red. His mask held a long beak and large clear lenses cover his eyes that glow red through. It was eerie, how different he carried himself. There was something unsettling about every fiber of this being.

Whereas Ace seemed full of life, Blackjack felt like death incarnate.

With a flick of his wrist, the flames instantly die out and in the next moment, the rings instantaneously crumble into dust. He didn’t even need to summon a persona. It’s as if he has complete control over everything simply by existing. If the Reaper exists then surely this person was Death himself.

The room falls into a reverant hush, even the crowd is uncharacteristically silent.

“What just happened?” Shadow Chisa asks, shocked but mostly annoyed.

His head slowly turns towards her, his eyes glow menacingly. Red is the color of blood.

Do shadows bleed?

Shadow Chisa feels her blood leave her body. She instantly fears for her life.

She doesn’t even get the chance to put her fear into action. She doesn’t even see what’s coming. In one swift movement, Blackjack has disarmed her of her weapons and her arms bend at all the wrong angles. “AAARGH!” She crumples helplessly with barely enough life left.

He calmly walks toward her as she tries to crawl away.

“G-Get back! Go away!” She shouts at him. She tries to snap her fingers but even those were broken without her knowing. She doesn’t bleed, not externally at least. But she doesn’t need to see the blood to know that she is dying.

And she will be killed faster.

So she pours what little remains of her life into desperate panic. She tries, and squirms, and crawls harder, as harder as her broken body can go.

Unfortunately for her, she doesn’t go that much farther. At least not enough to get away from the encroaching death.

He doesn’t hasten his walk, he doesn’t need to. In just a few languid strides, he reaches her. He stomps a foot on her chest, halting her movements. It weighs heavily on her like judgement. His heel digs into her, as if digging for a grave, her grave. Two guns are aimed at her head, loaded and ready to fire.

Two bullets, one for the kill and another for pity in case she survives the first one.

His expression is unshifting, unreadable, unfeeling.

He has yet to even say a single word.

It all happened so quickly that it had Bonnie reeling. She feels as if she was just watching some show, not really something happening in front of her. It was all too surreal. But the sight of Shadow Chisa on her dying breath snaps her right out of her reverie. Hajime or whoever that person is— is about to kill Shadow Chisa.

They came here to steal the treasure, not to kill the palace ruler.

She recovers on her feet and rushes towrds them. She thinks she sees him from her peripheral vision, curiously watching her every movement. But even so, he does not stop her. Not even when she was rushing in with desperate hurried steps. Not even when she abruptly pushes the guns away with trembling hands. Not even when she looked at him with a dead set determination.

He does not stop her. Instead he simply observes.

“That’s enough,” She starts off sternly. She may be out of breath but her resolve barely wavers. His face is still impassive but hers softens. As much as she wants to stop him, she also wants to show her gratitude. And so despite the situation, she smiles warmly. "Thank you for saving me… us.”

“…” He observes.

“But I think we can handle it from here.“ She stands her ground even as he quietly regards her. There is no movement from him, not even the slightest twitch of fingers on the triggers. She holds her breath, her eyes never leaving his.

He is done observing.

”…“ There is the faintest flicker in his eyes or maybe that’s just the glint from the lenses. When he speaks, his voice is as empty as his eyes. "Hmph. How boring…”

She wanted to ask him what he meant by that. Boring? What exactly did he find boring? And who was he in the first place? How is he related to Hajime? What happened to Hajime? How did he even appear? And why… why do his eyes look so empty? These were only a few of the questions she had wanted to ask. She wanted to ask him but she never did get the chance.

Dark flames errupt from nowhere and consume him whole.

When the flames die, so does Blackjack.

And so Ace comes back.

He clutches his head which strangely felt like it had just been set on fire. He couldn’t tell if it was a migraine or a hangover or both. Probably both. Or maybe just something worse. Just what the hell hit him? Hot white flashes of pain scorch along his skull as he groans weakly, “Ugh, I can’t… Did I get a critical hit to the head or something?”

“I’ll explain later,” She calmly reassures him. “For now, let’s deal with this first.”

Shadow Chisa is already on her knees, face towards the floor, and begging. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far. I just wanted what’s best for my students. But somewhere along the way, I forgot what’s important.” Her body shakes as she cries. It’s hard to imagine that this was the same shadow that was hellbent on killing them before. But it’s easy to remember the sincerity their teacher used to show. “Please forgive me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I think there are others who deserve to hear that apology more than us,” Bonnie says as she gently pats her by the shoulders.

“Yeah, so long as you reflect on what you’ve done, there’s always hope for you.” Ace snatches the top hat from her, she doesn’t even fight for it.

With the treasure gone, the palace crumbles and so does her despairing desires.

“We’ll see your change of heart on the other side.”

That wasn’t the only thing they saw on the other side.

“What the?”

“What is it, Hajime?”

“Remember what Miss Yukizome’s treasure was?”

“A top hat… right?”

“Yeah, well about that…” He sucks in a breath, readying himself for delivering the news. “I can’t seem to find it.”

She tilts her head. “Did we drop it on our way out?”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was in here all the time and the zipper was closed so there was no way I could have dropped it.” He goes through the loot bag again but grumbles when he still can’t find it.

“Maybe I should look at it instead?” She offers.

“Okay. But be careful—”

She unceremoniously pours out the contents.

He sighs, tired. “Nevermind. Just go do your thing.”

She sifts through the various valuables they collected and makes a note of each one in her mind. Nothing else seems to be out of place, all the other loot is still here. Except for the top hat. But there was something there that wasn’t there before. “Huh? What’s this doing here?”

She holds up the strangely misplaced item.

“Hey, isn’t that your class picture?” Hajime comments as he looks over her shoulder.

“Yeah, it is,” She confirms with a fond expression.

“I wonder, how did that get in there?”

“Maybe this was the treasure all along…” She whispers.

“Huh?”

“I think that Miss Yukizome, in her own way, was just trying to protect everyone.” She examines the photo closely and takes note of its pristine condition, as if it had been conscientiously cared for. This only confirms her suspicions. “After all, this was her treasure, right? Her intention was good but somewhere along the way, her methods turned bad.”

“I guess so. I mean she’s a kind person at heart.” He almost winces at his choice of words considering she also possessed a despairing heart. But they both knew what he meant. Their teacher was truly a kind and caring person. “That’s why it was so shocking at how despairing her desires were. It didn’t feel right. Especially not with her.”

“I get the same feeling too. Her methods were too extreme. And it’s not like her to think such dark thoughts.” She places the photo down as she contemplates further. “What if… What if someone else had implanted them?”

He raises an eyebrow at the idea. “You think so?”

“I’m not sure… It’s just a theory,” She falters.

“It’s… plausible I guess.” He nods as he develops it further. “I mean if we could go into the cognitive world and change hearts then who’s to say that there isn’t someone else out there distorting other people’s hearts?”

“It’s certainly better to think that Miss Yukizome’s actions were caused by someone else but…” She hesitates a bit for she concludes, “That would imply that there is someone else out there.”

“And that person is still out there,” He finishes.

It’s not a happy theory.

But it’s something that they can’t look away from.

“If there is such a person then I want to find them,” Chiaki announces with a face set with determination. “We can’t just let them wreak havoc. All they’re doing is spreading suffering. We have to stop them.”

“I agree. Besides, who knows who else they might have changed hearts? Depending on the person, we could be facing a crisis if we don’t do anything about this,” Hajime seconds her conviction. “We have to make sure. Once we know, we will find them. And we will steal their despairing heart as well.”

They may have stolen the despairing heart of their teacher but this was just the first of the many heists of The Dangan Thieves of Hope.

#dangan thieves AU #chisa yukizome #chiaki nanami #hajime hinata #dangan ronpa #danganronpa #izuru kamukura #hinanami #sdr2 #dr3 #dr3 despair #gotta love those two tumblr pips #I honestly do

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