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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years

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The Ends of Hallways (Proxies X F!Reader)

The Ends of Hallways

[Proxies X F!Reader]

[Warnings: slight language]

[AN: Y'all are just gonna have to thank Eris for always sending me the best requests. I don't have favorites,,, but Reader, I have favorites. Also no Kate sorry :( ]

Your face was practically squished against the glass of the car Hoodie had stolen as the four of you pull into the parking lot of woods that brim with the Operator’s energy. You’ve never seen these woods in person - only in dreams. You’ve never even really seen your master in person, once again, like these woods, he too has been confined to your dreams. But you hear him, and often. His voice falls down on your ears like gentle rains that fall from the heavens. He is everything and more. That is why it is so exciting for you to finally be here, so close to him, and to his presence.

“You excited?” You hear your group leader ask.

You nod and press harder up against the glass. “Are we going now?” You’re ready to bounce out of the car and everyone can see that.

He chuckles in response. “What do you think Hood? Time to go?”

The hazel eyed man behind him shoots the driver a look. “Masky, just look at her, she’s gonna break the window if we don’t.” There’s a slight playfulness in his tone that tells you the right hand really isn’t annoyed with you.

“Fair enough,” Masky smiles. He then reaches behind his seat, hand slapping at who used to be the runt’s knee. “Tobes? Tob-Tobes, get up.”

Toby’s eyes shoot open as he lurches forward. “I’m u-u-up, I-I’m u-up,” he yawns as his hands rub tiredly at his eyes. “Are w-w-we here a-alaready?” He asks, the exhaustion still clear in his tone.

Both of the men in the front seats nod. “C’mon, let’s get going,” Hoodie says as he pulls up the lock on his car door before sliding out.

You wait impatiently for Masky to unlock the car then zip out like a bat from hell. You’re immediately at the edge of one of the forest’s many trails and taking in the sights and sounds of your boss’s woods. They’re beautiful, really. The autumn colors bathe the woods in fiery oranges and passionate reds with threads of gold to interlock it all together. The sky is just the slightest shade of blue as clouds cover the sun. There weren’t any people here either - not under the little structures, not exploring, not anyone but you and your comrades.

“Wrong one,” Hoodie says as he closes the trunk to the car before tossing a backpack to Toby, who catches it like second nature.

You whip your head around to see that Masky, Hoodie and Toby are smiling at how excited you are before silently asking you to follow them. “Where are we going?” You ask, eyes wide as you jog up to them.

“Across the field. There’s this cool tunnel of trees we think you’ll appreciate,” Masky replies as he leads his group across the grass. It crunches slightly as the four of you move, like it hasn’t been watered in a long time.

“R-Really?” Toby hums as he puts his hands in his pockets. “You s-s-sure we’re n-not gonna be l-late?” The young proxy gives a slight look to his group leader, eyebrow raised as if he’s sure the Operator is okay with them possibly being tardy.

Masky shakes his head before tapping his temple with his free hand, “he told me it’s okay.”

“He did?” You ask as stars cloud your eyes. The Operator, as you’ve heard so far, is to be feared and respected. He’s like a father you can look at but never touch. He seems so out of your range, like he’s not even visible - not even if you squint your eyes. You wonder what makes you so… interesting… in his eyes. You really don’t think you’re worth all the fuss. Clearly he does.

Masky chuckles before ruffling your hair with his hand, “yeah. I think he finds your enthusiasm endearing.” Masky’s not entirely incorrect. When they first got Toby, the Operator was strangely favorable towards the young proxy as well - maybe because he was hand plucked, special, and therefore deemed worthy of his time. You were similar to Toby, albeit, you accidentally got involved with the Operator. He liked you, chose you, then kept you.

Hoodie whistles slightly as the four of you step into the trees, his gloved hand reaching up to tear off a branch from one of the low hanging trees then swing it aimlessly as his side. “Seems pretty obvious in my opinion,” he whacks Toby lightly with the stick making said proxy laugh. “Looks like Toby isn’t the only golden child anymore.”

“P-Probably not,” Toby hums, a slight melancholy coming into his tone. “Think I-I’ve been losing f-f-favor with h-hin for a w-while.” He glances over his shoulder and smiles at you.

You frown slightly and place your hand on his shoulder, “I don’t think so,” you say. “Just means he has two golden child-s now.”

Toby beams.

You do too.

The group continues to move through the trees, mostly silent save for Masky and Hoodie pointing out little memories from time to time. Things such as some guy named ‘Alex’ chasing them through here, Masky’s waking up with no memory, Hoodie’s nature shots, and everything in between. You learn a lot about the hands of your group from when they were just scared film students to the things they’ve done as proxies here. It’s kind of nice as you’ve never really spoken to them this way before.

When you first came into this life and were placed in this group, the hazing process kicked in like wildfire. Almost every day was a mentally or physically, sometimes both, a draining task and a bonding agent. Authority was not to be questioned and they made that more than clear. Eventually, the hazing grew lighter and lighter until it just… didn’t exist. That was how it went - you were no longer considered naive and starry eyed. Still, authority was not to be questioned, and it’s why you and your comrades have never really talked on this specific level before.

It’s why it’s such a treat that you get to talk to them like this now.

Eventually, the four of you make it to an odd stretch of trees. They tunnel over each other, a lot like a thorny funnel, but they frame the sky so well.

“If the sun was setting,” Masky starts. “It would look like a cradle.”

You take a step back and observe the tunnel of trees, trying to imagine the setting sun. The mental image is pretty. “Will we ever be back here to see it?”

“Oh definitely,” Masky continues. “But uh, the business we’re here for today? Don’t know if that’s meant for anyone but me and maybe Hoodie.”

You look on instinct to Hoodie who nods. “Is that normal?”

“Sure is,” Hoodie says as he takes in the scent of the cooling autumn woods. He knows the group is almost to the limits of the Operator’s realm. “Tell me what you feel right now, Reader,” he says in passing as he flicks the stick somewhere off the given trail.

With a glance around at your surroundings, you attempt to get a feel for the area you’re in. It’s cold, much colder, but the atmosphere still feels a little thick. The further you go into the woods (and by extension the Operator’s bounds to which you don’t even know exist yet), you get that odd feeling in your legs that feels like they’ve fallen asleep. It’s like the physical sensation of static. You try to explain it in words, but they fail. Instead, you allow Hoodie into your thoughts.

“Nice,” he smiles. “Alright, try to ask for permission in.”

“I need to ask for permission?”

“E-Everytime,” Toby begins as he and the others pause. They’re right on the edge of the bubble and can feel it so much stronger than you can. “It’s t-to ensure n-normal humans c-can’t come in,” Toby begins to explain as you gaze around your surroundings, wondering how you’ll even begin to ask. “T-Though, their f-feelings sometimes k-kick into o-overdrive and they e-end up p-piercing through the v-veil on a-a-accident.” He chuckles softly and you know exactly what he’s referring to - you’ve heard tales of the people who get stuck wandering where they shouldn’t: always ends in someone strung up in the pines. “W-We’ve all learned t-to ask p-permission like b-breathing.”

You shoot your comrade a confused glance, wondering what that will mean for you. “I just ask?”

“Kind o-of,” Toby says. “Just l-let your f-f-feelings guide you. She’ll t-t-tell you whether you’re a-a-allowed in or not.”

You close your eyes and begin to hone in on whatever your heart is telling you. It’s a cold feeling, mostly like vines that slip up and down your limbs as they grow upwards and then inwards towards your heart. It’s an odd feeling. Once the static vines pierce through your heart, you physically see a fog roll into the forest around you. It consumes you and your comrades before you remember Toby mentioned ‘she.’ The fog thickens. “Wait, she?” You say as the static begins to leave your system. It feels like you’re tearing through roots as you walk forward.

“He didn’t mean it,” Masky quickly replies as he begins to pull you through the fog. “Good job on asking though. Strong response,” he says as gestures to the fog, his hand swimming through the billowy clouds. “Wives’ tale is the stronger the fog, the more genuine you were in response.”

You wade your fingers through the thick fog as you and the others walk forward, deeper and deeper into the darkness where there was none. “Must’ve had a really genuine response, huh?” You mumble to yourself. The fog doesn’t even feel like normal fog - it feels thick and heavy and leaves slight dew on your clothing as you walk. How interesting.

‘Head talk from here on out,’ Hoodie says as the four of you reach a stretch of woods that feels slightly dangerous.

‘Did you feel it too?’ Toby asks, his hand at his hatchet.

Hoodie nods slightly, his eyes narrowing as he slows his pace so he’s guarding the back. He gives you a slightly concerned look as the fog evens out. Everyone but you knows that they’re in perhaps one of the most dangerous parts of the veil. The Operator’s mere presence is usually enough to deter the things like the Rake from his grounds, but that often means they get trapped here - in the in-between - and lash out on the first thing they sense. The sooner the four of you get out of this dangerous spot, the better.

‘What do you sense?’ You ask, cutting mentally through the rough silence, your own hand moving to your blade.

Hoodie looks like he’s about to answer you before he holds his fist up and the other three of you duck down instantly, dipping below the fog. Just then, some deer begin walking past.

‘Deer?’ You say in a questioning tone.

‘Not just any deer,’ Hoodie begins as the deer slowly nibbles on the leaves and other things. ‘Take a good look at their bodies. They look normal to you?’

You narrow your eyes slightly and get used to peering through the fog as the deer pass. Eventually, you’re able to look at their coats. There’s something off about them, something wrong. Something you can’t quite place. The longer you watch them as they move in front of you, the stronger that off feeling gets. They have every physical part of the deer down but it’s just not right. It’s like their joints don’t fit well beneath their skin. And their eyes… Their eyes are completely hollow.

‘You see it?’ Masky asks as the last of the deer passes by. He glances over his shoulder briefly to see you nod. ‘We’re lucky they didn’t change this time,’ he mumbles, slowly inching forward while crouched against the earth.

‘What would’ve happened if they changed?’ You inquire, moving quietly alongside your comrades.

‘Nightmare fuel,’ Toby finally pipes in. ‘Nothing about them looks right. Big mouths full of sharp teeth, black eyes, too many limbs, like a messed up centipede,’ he finishes, a slight shudder coming into his mental tone.

You notice the other two of your group members nodding in agreement before finally deeming it safe enough to stand up and finally exit the in-between of the veil.

You’re greeted to the sight of a beautiful, rustic looking Germanic mansion surrounded by iron gates that hold honeycomb patterns that trail skywards only to end on sharp peaks that you’re almost certain your boss has spiked people on plenty of times. There’s also flowers of every kind in the front gardens that catch your eyes the moment you step through the grand gates. There’s fountains and topiaires, statues and benches that tell you the Operator drips with style and elegance.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Masky smiles.

You nod, “it’s gorgeous.” The air smells slightly expensive, but mostly sweet. How is it that a place like this can even possibly exist? Around the mansion are autumnal trees, mostly maple, some sycamore and other birch. Scattered on the front lawn are other proxies and some independents, mostly catching up and talking before leaving through the same gates you entered from. Some of them smile and wave as they pass you, others grunt and turn their nose up at you upon realizing you’re the youngest. This place sings with the Operator’s overwhelming presence.

Your comrades continue to watch your amused expression as they lead you to the front doors of the mansion. They’re large and stained glass, slightly gothic in woodwork and tower over you.

“Go ahead,” Hoodie chuckles as he nods for you to open the doors.

You glance back to him, then at the large doors before tentatively placing your hands on their surface. With a small breath, you push them open and find yourself greeted to the most exquisite foyer you’ve ever seen. Large chandeliers hang from the ceiling, sapphires and rubies drip from the fixtures and shine the light beautifully across the marble floors. Gold leaf adorns almost everything that juts out while the huge staircase in front of you beckons you forward.

“Doesn’t seem like he needs us yet,” Masky says as he checks his watch. “Got here earlier than expected, huh?” He lightly ribs Hoodie who rolls his eyes in response. “C’mon, let’s go to the sun room. Don’t wanna wait around in here.” He nods for the three of you to follow.

Toby clears his throat slightly as if to remind the two in charge that you’re still very much here and new.

“Oh, right,” Masky says. “Reader, this is super important, so listen up,” your group leader begins as he turns on his heels to eventually rest his hands on your shoulders.

You raise a brow at his sudden contact. Masky normally didn’t touch you unless what he had to say was important - which really, really didn’t happen often.

“This mansion likes to play off your thoughts, feelings, and logic,” he says, his hand gesturing to the staircase that’s slowly moving directions. You didn’t even hear it begin to shift. “The Operator usually keeps things in line for when he summons you, it’s almost a guaranteed path you’ll make it to him, but,” his eyes go serious. “If it’s just you and you’re moving around, you need to have a place in mind or it’ll accidentally spit you out somewhere totally random. We’ve had people get lost in here because the mansion is slightly playful and weirdly baneful depending on the individual walking around.”

“The Operator has a playful side?”

Masky stifles a laugh before shaking you lightly. “I legitimately mean it, you need to have a place in mind or you’re gonna get lost and the Operator isn’t gonna be happy. By extension, I won’t be happy because I need to come get you.”

“Mhm,” Hoodie nods in agreement. “And you can’t have the thought in passing either, it’s gotta be on your mind until it’s in sight.” After Hoodie’s words leave his mouth, Masky lets you go.

You take all the information in and wonder just what makes the place run. It’s like it has its own personality - it’s playful and baneful? You have to ask it permission to even enter its grounds and it deems whether you’re worthy or not? What kind of power does the Operator even have and why on earth would he even care about that kind of stuff? If he truly wanted his proxies to access him, he’d do it with no hesitation. The humans that would wander into his rooms would just end up tasting someone’s blade.

“Sun room?” Hoodie reminds Masky.

Your entire walk to the sun room you try to conjure a mental image in your head. They say it’s doubtful you’ll get lost so long as you’re with them, but you consider it good practice. When you finally make it to the sun room, you’re pleased to see it’s relatively empty save for a few groups interspersed in the large, window adorned room overlooking a silver lake. There’s a few independents walking around with carts holding different tea time finger-foods and waiting tea sets on every table. Maasky leads you over to one of the tables nearest to the view of the lake.

“So, what business exactly are we here for today?” You ask as you waste no time in pouring yourself some tea.

Masky shrugs, “no idea. He said he just wanted us to come.”

“T-Think he r-really only n-needs an audience w-with them though,” Toby adds before silently thanking you for pouring him some tea as well. “L-Leaves us some t-t-time to chat. Y’know, t-the thing H-Hood hates us d-doing,” he lightly jokes.

Hoodie scoffs and feigns being annoyed, “I only hate you two chatting when we’re in the middle of tearing out some guy’s entrails.”

“Y-Yeah, which is a-all the time,” Toby giggles.

You laugh as well.

The four of you are in a heated argument about something relatively stupid when static overtakes Masky and Hoodie’s hearing. They visibly pause, as if they’re trying to key into something you can’t understand when it suddenly stops.

“Have t-to go?” Toby inquires before taking a strawberry tart and popping it into his mouth.

Both Masky and Hoodie nod.

“Yeah. Keep an eye on Reader, please? We won’t be too long,” Masky replies with a small, tired smile.

Toby flashes the two a thumbs up before the both of you watch them leave, a clear destination on their minds.

It’s not long until Toby gets distracted by some other independents that stroll into the mansion. You recognize the two of them as relatively minor legends - well, maybe not the one with the smile. His name is Jeff.

“So, this is your fresh meat, huh?” Jeff chuckles as he lightly pushes Toby’s shoulder. “She looks a little scrawny. Are you feeding her right?”

Toby laughs and nods, “Masky w-w-would lose his m-mind if you s-s-said that.”

Jeff’s chest rumbles as he laughs. “I’m joking,” he holds his hand up as a sign of truce. “Hope you know you’re running with one of the only decent groups out there, Reader,” he says before picking up his tea cup. It looks slightly comical as he brings it to his lips.

You offer him a smile and nod, “yeah, I know.”

The man to Jeff’s left nods in agreement, “Masky’s really good at what he does. Got one of the best.”

Toby immediately fights the notion (playfully) and the three engage in conversation that’s lively and vibrant all the same. You listen to the three verbally duke it out before you find yourself bored. You can’t just leave though, but you want to move at the same time.

“Toby?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I excuse myself?”

“W-Where to?”

“Washroom,” you reply.

“Do y-you need m-me to a-accompany y-y-you?”

Both Eyeless Jack and Jeff scoff.

“She’s a big girl, let her go,” Jeff says as he nods his own approval for you to go. ��You told her about the mindset thing?”

Toby nods.

“Yeah, then she’s good to go,” Eyeless Jack agrees.

You flash the men at your table a smile before getting up. You push in your chair and then make it to the entrance of the sunroom, leading into the halls. You don’t have a set destination in mind. The moment you step out of the sunroom, you feel the air change. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s different. On instinct, you turn your gaze over your shoulder to see the sunroom is gone. It’s just hall and lining the hall are doors upon doors.

Alright, you can work with that! A small smile comes to your face as you begin to walk forwards, allowing your curiosity to bloom. The first door you decide to open is one that’s honestly not that exciting. It was just a storage unit. Another was a study. Then it was someone’s room. Another room. And another. How many residence rooms are there?

You close yet another door and then feel a thought come into your head, taking a seat on your train of thought like a butterfly sunbathes on a flower. She - Toby had mentioned it. And you wondered. You let the thought stay. Before you know it, you’re walking through the halls guided by forces you don’t quite understand, and the further you get into the mansion, the stranger the atmosphere becomes. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s not a normal feeling either. You watch as the light fixtures change from something relatively modern and regress into something more vintage. The dust begins to kick up. Irish lace begins to pepper the ceiling. You notice how the doors change style as well. How strange.

Eventually, you reach a dead end stretch of hall. At the very end of this hall is a singular door that looks weathered, as if it was sunbleached and painted over in oils. There’s an elegance to it you can’t quite place, and like a siren song, you find yourself being beckoned to it. Your proxy instincts kick in like second nature the closer you draw to it. You feel your breathing lighten, your steps as well, and you move towards it with a silence that is unmatched - as if you’re floating on air. You draw closer and closer to the door. It’s so magnetic, and you can’t quite explain why/ But closer still you must be to it.

Your hand tenderly grasps the doorknob - it feels like ice - and you twist it open. You wonder if you should be doing this. A part of you feels like you shouldn’t be doing this, but another part of you says this is what you were meant to see. You push the door open ever so slightly, just enough to be able to see inside, but the door is heavy, almost as if it doesn’t want you to. Like it’s trying to protect you from something further. You wonder if it just wishes to keep its secrets.

It’s gorgeous, it truly is. It puts the rest of the mansion to shame. It looks old - perhaps from 16th century Germany and fit for royalty. Plants of all kinds line the walls. They look like emeralds as light shines through their leaves. The sunlight kisses the flowers that sprout from the stalks. Beautiful woodwork surrounds the windows that are covered in fairytale-esque stained glass pieces. The scent is of something much, much sweeter and warmer than the rest of the mansion. Your eyes then draw to the center of the room, where an ornate table sits. There’s gold leaf decorating its legs followed by symbols you can’t really pin down. A tablecloth that looks like it was weaved from the stars above is the only thing that separates a delicate tea set from the precious mahogany table. The tea smells heavenly from where you stand.

Before you can press into the room, you pause upon seeing slender, pale hands take hold of the tea pot. Your eyes follow upwards to the owner of the hands only to see a woman so much more beautiful than the moon in twilight and the sun in the morning. Falling from her shoulders was golden hair that looked like a sea of amber as it cascaded down near the floor. Flowers were woven into it - mostly snowdrops, baby’s breath and queen Anne’s lace. She’s dressed in something from medieval Europe, and never once does her sleeve touch the table. She begins to pour herself some tea, a honey like hum coming from her being as she pours the sweet liquid. Her eyes flick upwards for but a moment when she hears a bird chirping outside. Her eyes are so dark, there exists no white sclera. They’re so dark, like black holes that hide in the depths of space, but you feel as if she holds the universe inside of them. She’s so beautiful, you’re not sure she’s real. A cat has jumped up onto the table, purring at her. When she smiles, your heart sings.

You want to say hello to her and spend time in her presence when you attempt to open the door some more. It creaks slightly. The hinges are ancient. Before you can say anything, the door is slammed shut, sending you flying backwards. You let out a sound of shock before seeing Toby reaching down to get you.

“What t-the hell a-a-are you thinking?” He hisses as he picks you up, grabbing your bicep and beginning to drag you away from the door that still holds your attention. “You r-really just w-wandered off l-like that?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, attempting to get free of his grasp as he continues to pull you along. No matter how hard you smack at him, he doesn’t let go.

“M-Masky said it’s not s-safe for y-y-you to wander o-off. A-And without m-me? D-D-Did you have a-any cognitive t-t-thought when you w-went out on a l-limb like t-that?” He sounds so heated.

You find he’s bringing you back to the sunroom, undoubtedly going to tell Masky and Hoodie about your misbehavior. “Why are you being so weird?” You retort as you attempt to wriggle out of his grasp. “It’s just a room!” You cry out in an exasperated tone.

Toby only reprimands you louder. It’s a losing game.

You eventually find yourself back in the sunroom. Only, instead of Eyeless Jack and Jeff, you see the deeply concerned and slightly pissed off faces of Masky and Hoodie. They’re not happy to see you, and you’re not exactly thrilled to see you either.

“Take a s-s-seat,” Toby says in a harsh tone as he thrusts you back into your seat.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Masky asks, not even attempting to mask his voice because that’s the privilege of being a proxy. You’re able to reprimand your proxies without anyone giving a care.

“You can’t just go off like that,” Hoodie continues as he furrows his brows. “You could’ve gotten-”

“Hurt? This is the Operator’s mansion, what the fuck is gonna hurt me in here other than himself or you two?”

“That’s it,” Masky points out. “He can seriously hurt you if you snoop where you shouldn’t!” His hands grips at your wrist, tightening to a point of pain.

When you feel tears prick your eyes, Hoodie sighs and puts his hand on Masky’s shoulder, “stop it.”

Masky hesitantly lets you go.

“What did you see?” Hoodie asks with a deep sigh, his posture tensing. He’s really hoping you didn’t see the Operator’s trophy room.

You give your comrades a concerned look, not sure whether you should answer or not when Hoodie raises a slight brow. Damn it. You’re emotionally compromised. He’s seeing what he needs to without your permission.

“That’s… Odd…” He says.

Masky glances to Hoodie. “No.”

“Unfortunately, I think yeah,” Hoodie says with a growing frown. He glances to Toby for confirmation, and upon seeing Toby’s nod, says “yeah,” again.

Masky groans and puts his face into his hands, finding comfort in being buried into himself.

You hold your wrist in your hand and lean back in your chair. “Just… What is it you guys aren’t telling me?” You question, hoping they’d just bite the bullet and tell you.

The group shares a look, debating whether they should even say it or not. When no one says anything, you press them again.

“Come on,” you sigh. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It really could be,” Masky says as he finally releases his face from his hands. “No one knows what seeing it does.”

Your eyes widen before you bark a laugh. “What?”

“No, he’s serious,” Hoodie picks up. “Seeing that door is rare, like, rainbow pikachu rare. Proxies think it’s an omen or a bad luck thing. To see it means a group’s eventual demise.”

You briefly scoff at the thought of proxies being superstitious before you remember some of you can actually cast portals. It’s really not that out of pocket.

“N-No one has e-e-ever found o-out though,” Toby shrugs. “W-We just know t-that the g-groups that h-h-have n-normally e-end in death.” He looks a little uncomfortable as he says the words, like there’s a legitimate truth to what he’s saying even though he’d rather it be utter BS.

“To be fair, we thought it was a rumor prior to you sneaking off,” Hoodie says as he tries to calm down his group.

You take in this information with a small frown. How could something that beautiful be that evil or a harbinger of doom? The thought of it left you perplexed as your comrades continued to lecture you on not wandering off until Masky and Hoodie were called away.

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable leaving Reader here with-”

Toby rolls his eyes, “you c-cant just s-say you want m-me to come with i-instead. N-Not need to insult m-my competence a-a-as a babysitter,” he mumbles before glancing down to his hatchets.

Masky sighs and nods for Toby to follow him out. Looks like it’s just you and Hoodie.

“So,” you awkwardly begin, not really sure what to do or what to say.

“So,” Hoodie hums back. “Anywhere you wanted to go?” When he sees the glint in your eyes, he shakes his head. “Like, a normal place. We’re gonna be here for a while while those two are out,” he chuckles, watching as you visibly deflate.

You allow the question to bang around in your head until you nod with a thought in mind. “The library. I’d like to go to the library.”

Hoodie smiles at that suggestion and finishes the rest of his tea before standing up. He stretches for a moment, then leads you to the hallway your original snooping began. You noticed as his thoughts immediately became clouded with the word and vision of ‘library’ as the two of you trekked the halls. As you walked, you barely recognized any of the doors you passed. They weren’t on your radar, which was odd in your opinion as you had opened a lot of door you probably shouldn’t have.

Eventually, you reach two large oak doors. Hoodie pushes them open and you’re greeted to the sight of a beautiful library. It’s impossibly huge - how could such a place exist in the mansion? You’re well aware it’s a huge place, but the fact that all of this is here… It’s bigger than a downtown city library you visited when passing through Chicago a few months ago. The Operator’s influence is beautiful, isn’t it?

“I’m gonna be in the sci-fi section,” Hoodie says as he nods over to the right wing of the library. “It’s on the second floor.” You notice the spiral staircase that leads to what appears to be a balcony - it must stretch backwards forever. “Check in with me in about 15 minutes. Don’t do anything stupid.” It’s surprising how relaxed he’s being with you. You would have expected someone like Hoodie to be a lot angerier and more observational.

Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, you nod and flash him a thumb’s up before bounding over to the left wing of the library. Nothing is properly labeled, but you get a strong bout of intuition where everything is. Right now, you’re on the hunt for history.

The aisle that holds the history books looks just as old as you would have expected it to. The books here aren’t any you’ve ever seen in stores either - they’re largely from the time period they’re to be representing. Some are more modern, but you get the feeling that they don’t exist anywhere else but under the Operator’s influence. You find a few books that talk about the early history of proxies, some on independents, but nothing to inform you on what you had found.

It’s honestly a little maddening. You check in with Hoodie when you have to - he asks you to list the spines of the books you’re currently looking at - and then you’re back to your fruitless search. You run up and down the halls of the history section looking for anything when you hear static begin to buzz in your heads. The feeling travels upwards like the vines you felt earlier from your heels to your chest. When they claw deep into your heart, you feel a pull. And once again, like a sailor beckoned to the rocks due to a siren’s song, you follow it.

It twists and turns you through the shelves, making you zip past the few proxies and independents that are currently visiting this wing of the library before you’re drawn to a rotunda. You look backwards and see in the distance the front doors of the library. When did this place get a middle wing? It was just straight shelves and a wall with large windows overlooking the rolling hills of the woods. You turn your attention upwards to the ceiling of the rotunda. There’s a large skylight that allows sunlight to cascade down. Around that are gems you don’t even know the name of that weave a mosaic of something positively divine. You allow your gaze to follow the shaft of warm sunlight down, and there, sitting at a table with a book in hand (it looks like a journal) is the Operator himself.

“S-Sir!” You manage to squeak out as you find yourself startled to be in his presence, Heat rises to your cheeks when he looks up from his book to turn his attention to you.

“How did you get here?” He asks, confusion etching his body as he curiously tilts his head.

Your breath hitches. “I’m so sorry,” you apologize, bowing your head almost immediately. “I don’t know how I got here. It just felt like a pull and suddenly I was here? I was in the left wing and looking over history books and I-” you continue to rattle off until the Operator holds up his hand, silently signaling you to stop. You do so as soon as he asks.

“I-. It’s no matter,” he waves off. “Come, sit down beside me.” An inky black tendril sprouts from his back as he pulls the chair in front of him out, allowing you to sit in his presence.

You will your stone-like legs forward and attempt to gracefully take a seat in front of him. It’s a slightly awkward silence before he speaks again.

“How have you been, Miss Reader?”

“I’m alright,” you reply, voice no higher than a whisper.

The Operator hums. “Good.”

Another pregnant pause.

“Child, where is your book?”

“I uh, didn’t grab one?” You answer softly. You can tell the Operator is looking at you with what he can convey to his fullest as confusion. “When I was pulled here I just.. Followed,” you attempt to explain. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

“And what have you done today?” He asks, giving his passing attention to you like a father would.

You bite your lip before steering the conversation towards the room you saw. “I think I met someone.”

“You did, did you?”There’s a passing interest as if he’s saying ‘that’s nice, honey.’

You nod. “She was in a tea room-”

He pauses.

“I found her by accident-”

He makes sure he’s hearing you correctly.

“Her hair was golden-”

He looks up.

“She had plants-”

He’s sitting upright now.

“She had a cat-”

He leans forward.

“Her smile rivaled the stars-”

He’s focusing so intently on you now.

“Her voice was like honey-”

He entirely focused on you.

“She was beautiful.”

The Operator’s ichor pauses for just a moment as he takes in the description of the woman you described. It makes a part of him sing and another part of him sob. He hasn’t heard of her in so, so long.

When you look up, you see the Operator practically leaned halfway over the table and entirely focused on you. It makes you jump. “I’m sorry,” you apologize sheepishly, thinking you saw something you shouldn’t have. “I wasn’t thinking and I uh, think the mansion led me to her?”

The Operator wordlessly nods. “Was she pouring tea?” He asked, voice so much gentler than anything you could ever expect him to conjure up.

You slowly nod. “She was.”

The Operator suddenly slumps down, making you jolt. You rise on instinct to help him when he waves you back down. “Do you realize who you’ve come into contact with?” He asks.

You shake your head. “I’m afraid not, Sir,” you say with slight remorse.

The Operator chuckles deeply - it rumbles his chest and in your head. “You found her.” He could smile, you were sure it would be from ear to ear if he had the correct facial features. “All these years later and you found her.” He emphasizes you like a bittersweet affirmation.

“Who is she?” You ask softly.

Your boss sits back up again. “Someone who loves me,” his tendril sprouts once again from his back and moves towards you. “Someone who loves you,” it taps your nose. “Someone who loves us.” The tendril makes a grand, sweeping gesture.

You take in the words and nod, still not knowing what they mean. Upon seeing your confusion, he decides to elaborate.

“A long, long time ago, in a realm you could not begin to fathom, there was light and there was dark,” he begins, his voice slipping into something akin to someone saying a bedtime story. “I was the light, and that cur we call Zalgo was the dark.”

You scrunch your nose at the sound of his name.

“The dark and the light were born from nothing, and she was beautiful.” His audible smile is actually endearing to hear. “Throughout the years, the light and the dark fought, constantly at each other's throats. It was woven in the threads of history, it had been our birthright. When we came to this place, this planet after being cast from our home - a palace amongst all palaces, a kingdom that rose far above any other, the nothingness came with us. She called herself Liebevolle Frau. She loved her children.” By this point in the story, the Operator has taken the liquids from the coffee cup he drinks from and animated them into the characters for this story.

You watch with stars in your eyes.

“But no guardian is without its favorites, and I happened to be hers.” Liebevolle Frau’s figure was shown sheltering the Operator’s much smaller one. “And this caused a rift that could not be mended through the light and dark. Eventually, the dark waged war on the light.”

It’s a war you’re still fighting to this day.

“In the 1500s, long after this mansion had been built and my power continued to grow, Zalgo had almost wiped us off the face of the earth to splatter out remains across all the five realms. Liebevolle Frau, thought caught off guard,” that would explain the tea, “sheltered me and protected this place and all who resided in it. At the time,” the Operator looks at you. “Independents and proxies had lived here much more commonly than they do now.”

You smile softly.

“Liebevolle Frau’s power had been pushed to its limit in holding back her first born son, and mind, as well as her heart, broke because of it. In her remaining moments of lucidity, she imbued herself, her soul,” the liquids take the form of something fluttering and soft, like a bird, “her everything, and became the place I hold jurisdiction over today.”

Your eyes widen as you think back to the odd feelings you’ve had coming here for today - and Toby’s slip-up.

“I have not been able to find her since the late 1500s,” The Operator explains as the liquids dance back into the coffee mug, the figure of Liebevolle Frau taking a hair longer than the rest. “She lives in everything.”

You’re honestly speechless over everything the Operator has said because it’s so… It’s strangely heartfelt. You’ve never even spoken face to face with your boss and when you do, it’s because some force is guiding you to do so. But if that force felt so alive, it must have meant she wanted you to know.

“Her physical form,” you finally manage to wisp out. “She wanted to be at peace, didn’t she?”

The Operator chuckles deeply. “I would assume so.”

Before you can respond to anything or even come up with another response, you hear both Masky AND Hoodie yelling for you in your head. The jarring difference between your boss’s gentle voice and Masky and Hoodie crying out for blood is enough to make you jump (once again).

Upon seeing your sudden switch in atmosphere, the Operator hushes the voices in your head and calls them to his side.

Toby is the first to show up though, and quickly trailing after him is Masky and Hoodie. They both look ready to reprimand you but upon seeing you sitting with the Operator, nothing but reverence crosses their minds and bodies.

“Good evening, Sir,” Masky says as he bows his head. “Are you well?”

“Thoughtful, aren't you, Timothy?” There’s no animosity or anger in the Operator’s tone, but it makes Masky blush all the same.

A pregnant pause passes.

“I was just speaking with your newest member, Miss Reader,” a pale hand gestures to you. “Come, join us. I could use the company.”

You watch as confused glances get shared between your three comrades before they take a seat beside you.

A pleasant silence passes through the air before a gentle humming that’s sweeter than honey overtakes it like a passing breeze.

#masky #hoodie #ticci toby #masky x reader #hoodie x reader #ticci toby x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #marble hornets #marble hornets x reader #mh #reader insert #x reader #slender man #the operator #slender man x reader

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memorything · 2 years

Photo

Talia & Anthony Edits 2/???

Tony: I know ‘ve been a shit dad, I’m sorry. I love ya kid Talia: You haven’t been a shit dad, it’s not your fault. I love you Dad

[ Small/Long drabble under that is crap ]

Taskmaster was no household name, the alias was meant to strike fear in those who heard it. The name is famous for dangerous acts, for bloodshed and death without remorse with not a trace left behind. Those who came looking had trouble finding him until recently when the mercenary decided to halt his work as a freelance hitman for hire and become a teacher at his very own academy; The Taskmaster Academy or better known as Solomon Institute for the Criminally Insane. That’s where most of his time was spent, that’s where SHE found him.

Taskmaster didn’t take note of her, not at first. Trained her with the rest of the students; step by step, in a group with no personal lessons or contact. It wasn’t until she showed promise and skill that interest in her grew. He began one on one personal lessons at her request. The young woman seemed to share similar photographic flexes as his own. From movements she made, to mimicking even the ones he had yet to teach. This entertained him, more than it should but it brought him close to the younger. Seeing dollar signs in their future when he would send her off to work for high paying organizations. Things quickly changed for Taskmaster when she finally confessed the reason for really being at the Institute. When she called him by his name. A name he only heard from those who were close to him.

A daughter. Taskmaster –no Anthony Masters had a daughter he couldn’t remember. Who he KNEW about, who he was made aware of. Had a picture with but simply couldn’t recall having a child. It was his curse, the rest his brain did when he remembered a new move. It had been years since either had seen each other. Like meeting a whole new person for the both of them. Despite being estranged, Anthony was open. The two bonded and despite what she feared he managed to retain the memory of her. The key was not making any new movement memories. This was something Anthony was used to doing when he got close to people but eventually he always forgot.

Now, the two sat high on the roof of the high rise building, Taskmaster sat carelessly on the edge. Feet dangled over the side of the building as the visor of his helmet scanned the building across. Silence his best friend at the moment as his mind calculates the next moves. “ This is exciting. How do you do this all the time? ” the younger voice came behind him causing the facial expression of the merc to drop under his mask. “ Eh, ain’t nothing. all I know. Literally. ” Tony voiced slightly annoyed. “ Oh right. Sorry Anthony ” she continued leaning her back against his as arms folded over his chest. Emerald hues glanced up at the sky. Tony managed to smile under the skull mask of his feeling his daughter got comfortable enough to lean in closer to him. In the last few months they’d been trying and she couldn’t even give him a hug let alone call him ‘Dad’ yet.

“ It’s alrigh’ Talia. It is somethin’ ya really never get used to ” It was a short moment of bliss that he grew used to in a short amount of time. Somewhere inside he knew this is what he always wanted. A daughter. He always wondered about the life the woman he was legally bound to had and if maybe they had a daughter together. From investigating and the stories Talia told him, her mother was not the one he knew before his accident. It didn’t mean he loved his kid any less. Without much of a word he quickly rose to his feet catching her before she fell back from the absence of his person to lean on. “ Where movin’ ” he finally said, shooting the grappling hook and sliding down to the next building. Talia followed after she was trained well enough to know to simply move when he did and not ask questions.

“ You are faster on the job than on the sparring field and for an old man ” Talia chuckled zooming into the room as Taskmaster cleared it rather easily. He shook his head not really talking much as he moved down the high tower towards their targeted location. He moved and she moved with his movement at ease. Taking down security and henchmen here and there without much of a problem. This was easy, too easy. That didn’t sit well with the merc.

“ Stay on your toes, somethin’ not righ’ here. ” His voice always came out a little deeper and unfamiliar with the voice changer and it always made the younger chuckle like she was talking to ‘Darth Vader’ so she says. With a soft laugh she nodded, not making much of a ‘wrong’ movement in the eyes of the Taskmaster. They moved in unison as if they’d been fighting together for years. It wasn’t until they got to the loading dock that suddenly their movement was off and he pushed her out of the way holding his shield up. A grenade bounced off it, shaking the building and blowing a hole in the wall. A heavy huff fell from his lips looking back at the younger. “ This ‘bout ta get a lot harder, buckle up. ”

Kicking up from where she pushed over, she gave a nod. More serious now as brow narrowed and green eyes focused. Guards came in quick and a big burly man who clearly was in charge. Men fell easy, Tony killing them without a thought. Talia knocked them out one by one, still yet to actually take a life. Stumbling back, Talia found herself in front of several trained men and the man in charge. Their movements were different. New. Talia watched but moving too fast she couldn’t keep up. Taskmaster stood in front. Looking behind him for a moment. “ Talia. We are in a tough situation here. ’m sorry. ”

Silence for a moment. Then it sank in. Anthony tried so hard not to watch the movement of the men, of anyone really. Keeping the memory of Talia Masters up front and present. A hard act for him specifically. “ Tony, don’t. I can take them. We can do this together. It will be okay. ” There was a sadness in her voice as she rose standing behind him. A soft inaudible exhale as a chuckle left his lips, shaking his head. “ Na, backup is comin’ for them. Ya have to get outta here. I know ‘ve been a shit dad. Can’t even ‘member my own kid but I ain’t about to let ya get hurt. If I havetta forget ya to make sure ya get out of here safe then so be it. I love ya kid ’ His attention turned back to the company. They had arms crossed his chest and the adamantium claws came from his fingertips.

Green eyes filled with tears listening to the man she called her father speak. Unsure what else to say she closed the distance between them. Arms wrapped around him hugging him from behind as her face pressed into his back. “ You are not a shit dad. It’s not your fault. Thank you for trying your best. I love you dad, thank you. ”

#*/ Edits #*/ Drabble

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ampleappleamble · 3 years

Text

—

Axa could feel them watching her as they settled into their room at the Goose and Fox that night, could feel them wanting to know her. Not only so they could understand why she had done what she had with Purnisc and Kaenra, but also so they could (no doubt) uncover and examine all the painful, humiliating life experiences behind her every decision, all her successes and failures, and then judge her accordingly. Like kith will, she thought, of course. That’s normal and healthy to think.

Genuine concern mingled with morbid curiosity, hung palpably over the group like a scythe posed to reap as everyone sat in awkward silence and waited for Axa to break the silence. So she drained her goblet, got out her pipe and her whiteleaf, and with a grim sense of determination, she told them about it.

About the career she'd built back in Ixamitl, where she had lucked into a scholarship to one of her hometown's more prestigious lore colleges, bestowed on her by a generous politician acquainted with her father. Because she'd always loved to learn and hear stories about kith from around the world, she had chosen to put her good fortune to good use and study to become a naturalist, concerning herself with the cultures and languages and histories that constituted the kith population of Eora.

While most of her colleagues had decided to specialize in Vailian– a popular choice for the political or business-oriented crowd– Axa fancied herself an intellectual, and so she had challenged herself with mastering Ordhjóma: the exotic, mysterious language of the Glamfellen, separated for 10,000 years from their tropical Sceltrfolc cousins in the far-flung, frozen south, in The White that Wends. She had thrown herself into her studies, blowing through massive tomes and ancient scrolls like a hurricane, outperforming her peers with ease. Within four years, Axa had risen like a Dawnstar to the top of her class.

And then the field work had begun.

"It's one thing to read about a people, learn their language from books and study up on their culture," Axa explained, stuffing her pipe slowly, taking her time. "It's quite another to visit their homeland, speak with them, live among them. I was barely seventeen, I'd never even been out of the city..."

Kana winced, painful recognition in his black eyes. "Culture shock can be particularly difficult for younger scholars. We have certain expectations after all our years of academic study, and to find out that the genuine article doesn't quite measure up after all that work can feel disorienting and disappointing. There's not only the shock, there's anger at the natives, and then the guilt over said anger..."

Axa accepted Aloth's proffered light while Kana trailed off– it always delighted her, using arcane flame for something so trivial as a smoke– and sighed. "That's what was really odd about it. I did experience some culture shock, but ultimately the problem wasn't me. It was them. I know it sounds like I'm just being bitter, but... honestly, for whatever reason, the whole village really was actively freezing me out."

"Nice," Edér chuckled, grinning at the unintentional pun until Aloth's glare chastised him back into solemnity.

"No one wanted to talk to me," Axa continued. "Oh, I tried, incessantly, but they just... kept turning away, or answering with nonsense or... or riddles. My colleagues had little difficulty integrating, but I felt like I was just barely tolerated by the villagers. I tried asking the other students about it, but they either feigned ignorance really well or they honestly couldn't tell what these Glamfellen had against me."

"Some sort of... racial prejudice, perhaps?" Aloth looked as uncomfortable as he sounded, but at least the topic was finally broached. Axa shrugged.

"I don't think so, but I honestly have no idea. The other three scholars with me weren't orlans, but they weren't Glamfellen either. And no one ever specifically said anything about my being an orlan."

Sagani nodded. "In my experience, while most Glamfellen tend to be as standoffish as any elf– no offense, Aloth– they don't usually have specific prejudices like that."

"Right? Ordinarily, unity and hospitality are taken very seriously in the frozen south; to support one another is indispensable to survival. Nevertheless, I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong by them, and it was driving me out of my gods damned mind. I was supposed to be studying local accents, dialects, and colloquialisms, but that's somewhat difficult when nobody will actually speak with you. So I ended up spending a lot of time eavesdropping on people, mostly outside, by myself."

Sagani shook her head, drawing her whetstone across her hunting knife. "Bad idea to go it alone out there in the White. All kinds of dangers hiding in the snow."

The orlan barked a sharp, sardonic laugh. "You're telling me. That's how I met Vaargys."

As soon as his name was out of her mouth, Axa could feel her entire demeanor transform, and the atmosphere in the room with her. It was the first time she'd said his name since she'd left home, and even though she knew they'd already been listening, her little audience really seemed to be listening now. She felt her face get warm and her eyes sting from the impending tears, so she turned to the window, trying hard to focus on the streets outside and not at her own reflection in the glass.

Come on, girl. You’ve run far enough. It's time you faced this.

"I spotted him from afar one day at dusk: a dark, distant, shaggy figure out there among the rocks, shambling around just beyond the village's borders. It took me a few minutes to even realize he was kith. My colleagues noticed me watching him eventually, warned me away from him: the 'wild man' the locals called the 'Cursed Vagabond,' the 'Exiled Priest.' And he was out there all alone, struggling to survive because nobody wanted him around, and no one could say why..."

"You had a lot in common," Aloth murmured gravely. It wasn't difficult to see where this story was going. And he couldn't help but think it sounded similar, thematically, to one he knew quite well.

"And kith will paint a face on a rock with their own blood if it means they can have someone to talk to," Sagani sighed sadly, sympathy heavy in her chest. She could see where this was going too, and she dug her fingers into the thick fur on the back of Itumaak's neck for comfort. He grunted in appreciation.

"So I introduced myself, like you do. He was... cautious, but receptive. It helped that I'd brought gifts." Axa exhaled, and blue smoke curled up before her, walling her off. "We got to know one another, and over time we became fond of each other. We started sharing meals and stories about ourselves, our lives. He told me he was a priest of Wael, self-taught, and exiled from his clan for venerating the Eyeless Face instead of the Beast of Winter... He let me get close to him, cut his hair, tend to his wounds..." The tears spilled over at last, and she paused for a moment, hid her face.

"And you fell in love," Sagani finished for her. Classic. Tale as old as time.

Axa smiled again even as she brushed her tears away, dragging her little fist across her golden brown cheeks. "And I fell hard. I was his first real friend, gave him his first kiss. And very soon, I became his first lover." This made the men blush and look away. Axa and Sagani paid them no heed.

"I was fascinated by him, and he adored me. We made our own little world together there in the caves, in the snow. And we lived there, separate from everyone and everything else. Until I had to return to Ixamitl, of course. But I had a plan: Before I could talk myself out of it, I asked him to marry me– the very night before I was to return to the Eastern Reach. ...Gods, I had known him for only five months."

"And... wait, how old were you?" Edér spoke up for the first time since Axa had started her story, confusion clear on his face.

"I– Seventeen, almost eighteen by the time I went back home," she clarified, miffed at the interruption. "I'm twenty-two, now."

The blond man held his hands out in front of him, squinting at his fingers, baffled. "And... and how old were you when you left home? Hey, how old was he?"

Kana sighed and leaned over, patting him on the shoulder with one huge hand and confiscating the man's pipe with the other. "Erh– Never mind that now, my friend. Please, Axa, continue." He smiled that big, toothy smile at the little woman, and she blinked very slowly.

"...I brought him home to meet my family and colleagues, to assist me in my studies since all I'd really brought back from the Land was him, and ultimately, hopefully, to become my husband. In the interest of brevity– albeit somewhat belated– here’s how all that turned out: my family and colleagues hated and distrusted him, and after I had defended him so fiercely I'd alienated myself from most of my peers, I found out that about three-quarters of everything he'd ever told me about his home and his language was complete horseshit and all of our work together was complete bunkum. So! I burned it all in a big bonfire behind our house before telling him to leave and never come back." She ticked her misfortunes off on her fingers as she described them, her hands trembling, and then gesticulated fiercely before letting her fists fall to the small tabletop before her. "And then... I left, too. And now, here I am."

...Gods, that was easy. Much easier than I thought it'd be. Why was it so–

She rambled on before she could lose her nerve. "So. That's why I... wanted to do that for Kaenra. My fiancé lied to me and fucked up my life, too, and I can't just ignore that kind of shit when I see it anymore." She sighed, turning to the window again with her pipe still burning away in her hand. "Vaargys is the reason I had to leave my home and everything I've ever known, because his lies ruined my career and my academic standing and my reputation. How could I just stand by and watch as it happened to someone else?"

"Yet, you advised Kaenra to forgive Purnisc?" Aloth twisted his fingers together in his lap, staring at them rather than looking at Axa as he spoke. "After... all he'd done?"

Sagani glanced at him, narrowing her eyes as he reached up to smooth his hair– and wipe away a stray bead of sweat in the process. Is it my imagination, or is he...?

Axa kept her gaze fixed on the street below. "Yeah, that sort of surprised me too, to be honest." She spotted a stray soul, its violet wisps of essence drifting slowly amongst the city goers, and she squeezed her eyes shut, felt them burn behind her eyelids. "I suppose... I just got the feeling that it wasn't too late for them, that what they had for each other wasn't so broken it couldn't be repaired. Vaargys and me... not so. There was no coming back from what he'd done, and we both knew it."

"Whatever became of him? Of Vaargys?" Kana leaned forward eagerly, his eyes shining with compassion. For once, he actually wasn't taking notes on the conversation, and Sagani noticed that, too.

Axa opened her eyes, and saw the lost soul on the street no more. She shuddered. "After I confronted him, Vaargys simply... left. Vanished into the horizon, just as abruptly as he'd first appeared to me. And then, I got to clean up after him– after us– all alone. I wasn't up to the task; wasn't really up to the task of anything but hiding in bed and regretting my entire life. I could really only scrape together the wherewithal every now and then to go out and sell off or give away all the ridiculous trinkets and baubles we'd accumulated together. A few of the things I tried to get rid of turned out to be stolen, of course– big surprise, Axa, he's a thief and a liar– which did my already brutalized image no favors. Nor my purse, when I was obliged to pay out of my pocket for his chicanery."

"Villain," Kana spat, shaking his head slowly. "Scoundrel! ...Oh, how dastardly, to sow discord between the woman he loves and her neighbors and colleagues, then to abscond, completely free of reproach!" His sorrowful frown was as huge and expressive as his smiles always were, almost theatrically so.

Sagani just barely looked over in time to spot Aloth surreptitiously roll his eyes, and she couldn't suppress her grin. I thought so. Ondra's Lure, they're pretty obvious now that I think of it...

The elf cleared his throat and took the reins. "Shall we assume, then, that your family and friends were unable or unwilling to aid you in your time of need?"

Axa scoffed. "My little brother was sympathetic, but ultimately powerless to help me. He's stuck too far under our mother's thumb. He's a Godlike, and it's made things... difficult, for both of them. He feels obligated to her. As for our mother, she blamed me for my own misfortunes, for 'shacking up' with a man like Vaargys in the first place. So... that sort of says it all about our relationship. My father hasn't been in the picture since I was 13, and any non-academic friends I hadn't already traded for school, I ended up trading for Vaargys. I'd made him my whole world, and he–" She stopped herself, puffed on her pipe. "I don't... really make new friends easily. Never have."

Kana laughed good-naturedly. "With all due respect, present company seems to indicate quite the contrary."

"Ha! Since becoming a Watcher with her own castle who offers to help everyone she meets solve all their problems, I do seem to be quite popular, yes," the orlan agreed with a wry smirk. "...I jest, of course. In any case, the friends I do make, I tend to keep. And cherish." She smiled at Kana earnestly, and now he averted his eyes and went ruddy in the face.

Sagani and Aloth surprised one another, simultaneously faking coughing fits to cover their derisive snorts. Kana went even redder, but still managed a sheepish smile as Axa quickly redirected back to the topic at hand.

"In any case, it was my mother who gave me the idea to relocate to the Dyrwood. She brought back the notice advertising the caravan from the marketplace, threw it at me as I lay in my little nest of quilts and despair, and told me I had better either try and do something to rebuild my life or I may as well just return my soul to the Wheel to start a new one, save it some time and trouble."

"So... in response to your fiancé sabotaging your career and your reputation in your own home community, your own mother told you to... choose between self-exile and suicide?" Aloth spoke very quietly, very carefully. When Axa nodded and shrugged, puffing nonchalantly on her pipe, he couldn't quite come up with anything to say to that.

"As harsh as it sounds," she pressed on as she rose and crossed the room to stand before the hearth, "I agreed with her. I still do. Mama grew up a slave and only finally earned her freedom by running away, so maybe she's biased, but... I was never going to be able to move on like that, lying around like I was dead already, surrounded by bad memories. I had to do something, get up and get out. And wouldn’t it be my luck, she dropped a nice, pre-packaged escape plan in my lap, just like that. Nicest thing she'd done for me in a good long while. ...So. That's what lead me to the Dyrwood."

"And then it lead you to the bîaŵac, the Engwithan ruins, the machine," Kana murmured, rubbing his chin and studying the little woman. "Perchance, did you ever pray to Wael that you might live an interesting life? Because if so, you've had your wish granted many times over!"

"It's funny," Axa sighed as she bent and tapped her pipe against the bricks of the fireplace, "you'd think I'd hold a grudge against Wael, allowing Their priest to make a fool of me like that. But in the end, I had to admit that although he betrayed my trust and wrecked my life, Vaargys hadn't actually ever violated any of Wael's tenets. ...Made me rethink the gods, a bit. Maybe he was a true servant of Wael after all, sent to guide me here for some reason. And I do still pray to Wael for guidance, on occasion."

The aumaua sat up in his chair, beaming. "Ah! Shall we go to the Hall of Revealed Mysteries tomorrow after all, then? We can ask the scriveners' opinion!"

"Gods! I spill my guts to you, and you're still thinking about going to the library?" Axa shook her head and chuckled. "You're a mystery, Kana."

"Wait, so... you were gonna marry a pale elf?" Edér mumbled into his pillow, half asleep and trying to kick his boots off. "But you're an orlan. Would that... how would that work?"

The little woman threw the sheets back on her bed, using a little more force than she'd meant to. "Another mystery, Edér," she snapped, rolling her eyes. "Mysteries abound."

The other two men winced as Sagani laid a gentle, steady hand on the orlan's shoulder. "Hey. ...Hel of a day for all of us. Let's call it a night, yeah?"

So they did.

—

#poe anthem infinitum #watcher axa #well! didn't think i'd be including that backstory in this chapter!#but that's how it shook out #next portion should be the last in ch. 9 i hope i hope i hope #story why are you so long but also somehow not descriptive enough #pillars of eternity

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Tanana.”

This was super fun to write this morning. A little bit funny, and I always enjoy hurting Adam a little, accept in a fun way this time no angst.

Hope you guys like it :)

Just a little bit closer.

The small creature looks on innocently munching on a crop of moss. It has four large eyes, two on either side of it’s head, six legs and is about the size of a small to medium-sized dog. It has really long ears, and if it stays still long enough, it’s going to be my dinner.

I scoot closer over the rock arm raised to the low ready, the spear clutched tight in my right hand.

The creature lifts its head.

Shit, it must have heard me. In my panic, I make a decision out of haste and throw the spear. It goes wild and clatters across the stone. The Drev rabbit takes off, and I am left standing stupidly in the middle of the open field weaponless and looking like a jackass.

“Tsa din dasdarish darat?”

I nearly leap out of my skin, turning around to find Hijan standing a few meters behind me near a coiltree.

“Shit, hijan, do you really have to sneak up on me like that.”

The old drev looks at me in amusement. I Know she doesn't understand most of what I am saying, but somehow I think she still gets it.

“Zha deengan.” I say, one of the first phrases I learned how to use. Being able to say I’m hungry is very important in any foreign language.

She tilts her old wizened head at me, “tsa tin danehanish ee dengish?” You were going to kill and eat that?

I shrugged, “Yid zha deengan.”

She crosses her arms, a habit she’s picked up from me, “ene tsa deengan datadish zha dadee sa deeng datahaik.” IF you were hungry I would have given you food.

I sigh, she wouldn’t get it, but still she walks over and hands me a miss twist. I call them that because of their distinct shape, kind of purple and in a strange sort of spiral. When you dry them out they are crunchy like chips though not particularly salty.

I munch absently on the weird plant? Fungus? And she absently plays with my hair. I try to shrug her off, but she’s a lot like my mother in the way that she won't let me be. I am about 100% sure she thinks I am one of her Drevlings. Which has caused a bunch of interesting changes in my life as of recently, not one of which was her decision that I wasn’t colorful enough.

Apparently Drev see humans a lot differently than we do. They can see the way the UV light interacts with our skin. She describes thousands of little spots which turn into swirling stripes. When I asked her to describe the color she said it was similar to turquoise or blue, though I obviously can’t imagine it.

Makes me jealous as hell though.

However, she said my “Carapace” wasn’t colorful enough. When I asked her what she was on about she clearly meant my hair and my nails, which are made up of similar stuff to the Drev carapace.

Long story short, I now have green hair and nails.

Yeah yeah, laugh all you want, but whatever the hell she put in my hair is not coming out. And when I say green, I am not talking like a nice moss green or forest green. I am talking like the color you paint your new Lamborghini kind of electric green.

Not to say that I haven't had my nails painted before, but never this color, and never in tandem with bright flaming green hair. Don’t know why everyone associates me with the color green. I would say it was only my second or third favorite color. Either way, I look super weird as of late, green hair green nails, no shirt, no shoes, and a slowly expanding five-o-clock shadow.

You know I am not a big fan of beards, mostly not a big fan of them on me, but I forgot to bring a razor, so in that department I am kind of fucked.

I mildly wonder if she is going to make me dye my beard green when it finally grows in.

She makes me grab my spear, grabs me by the hand and drags me back towards the village. She doesn’t let go of my hand. I don’t try to fight her, she is stupidly strong, and despite being a grown ass adult, I am apparently her child now.

The other drev find her adopting me very, very funny, but at least now that she has they don’t call me dazhit anymore. The last time someone called me a bitch in front of her, she kicked the crap out of them. I thought it was pretty funny personally. They danced around the circle like a loon expecting her to be weak in her old age, and she just stood there then jabbed them in the throat with the butt-end of her spear when they weren’t expecting it.

I laughed so hard I cried.

Ever since, they have treated me with a little more respect.

We make it to the village, and with one hand she pushes me off towards the training grounds as if to say, “Go join the other kids.”

I sigh and roll my eyes but go.

The last time I tried to skip out she almost had my hide.

I go at her bidding meeting up with the others who are around my height. Hijan watches sometimes, and she has made it very clear that the kids deserve to get the shit beaten out of them. I don’t like it much, but these kids don’t seem bothered when you knock them around. In fact, most of them like it.

I think our trainer is a bit mad that I can actually fight.

I smile to myself

Now that I do fight, I am at the top of the class.

The kids think I cheat, difference is I have different training than they do, and a lot more experience in combat despite what the Drev seem to think.

“Tanana! Naktan ts adon.” Tanana, my nickname, or my drev name I guess means alien. Hijan doesn’t like the name much, so she calls me tsata which means gift. Personally I am pretty flattered she thinks that about me.

I walk into the circle at our leader's orders and Dark ‘the other kid’ steps into the circle across from me. He’s an ugly little shit, and I’m not just saying that. He’s a dick to me on most occasions. When our teacher isn’t looking sometimes I make fun of his coloring, that usually shuts him up. I should probably feel bad for making fun of a kid, but I really don’t. He's a dick and everyone knows it.

Problem is now he has a bit of a vendetta against me, and is pretty hell-bent on putting his spear through my throat.

Good thing we only fight in hand-to-hand combat these days.

“Aleeshazh!”

The kid does not wait till the end of go before he is charging at me hands wide Some of these kids are under the impression that guarding your center is like…. Dishonorable or something. They would be wrong because even Drev now it’s stupid to come in arms wide open. However, at this point I’ll take what I can get.

I dodge past two sets of arms and come in sharply towards hims middle. He has reach on me, so I go in close and brutally aim for what I am hoping is his liver, if Drev have them. My single punch has him staggering back across the circle gasping.

The teacher does not look happy.

I feel kind of smug.

Of course the little brat won’t give up, I’ll give him that, he isn’t a quitter, and charges for me again.

He’s making this too easy,

I wouldn’t call myself a martial arts master or anything in the slightest, but before he knows what’s happening, he’s on the ground with my legs across his chest. I pin his lower arms with my right leg squeezing his upper arm between both. I have tight hold of his wrist, and just as he begins to squirm, I slowly place upward pressure on his elbow by arching my hips upward.

If I wanted to I could snap the joint.

Damn I love a good arm-bar.

He squirms and squeals for a couple of minutes as I continue to apply pressure until the teacher eventually tells me to knock it off.

I let go and he frowns at me. He doesn’t approve, but there isn’t uch he can do. My move wasn’t against the rules or anything.

He looks at me for a long moment eyes narrowing at my unconcealed expression of pride, and a hint of smugness.

I can see he wants to wipe the look off my face, “zha jasti tsa jej atatchan teeya dzhalakat.”

I grin, “Of course I am too skillful for children. Surprised it took you so long to see that.”

He does the drev equivalent of a frown. I know he can understand most of what I am saying, unlike others, but I think it still annoys him when I speak English.

Tough luck bro, my mouth goes way faster than my brain, its one of my worst qualities. If it didn’t I’d speak Drev More, but for now it was going to take practice.

“Ene tsa ditan atatchan juhkee tsa tehish zheengat s dzhal.”

Well shit.

His if you are so skillful than you can fight with the adults was not an encouraging statement.

I honestly hadn’t meant that to come out as dickish as it did, but now I was definitely already regretting my decision to be a smug bitch.

Guess that is what karma does to you.

I see Hijan at a distance, watching as I am dragged over to the next training field. The Drevlings follow at a distance chirping to themselves excited to see me get my ass beat.

We come up over the rise just as one of the training circle is in session.

Two Drev go at each other with spears so hard sparks are flying. Their feet cut tears in the moss as they push each other across the stone. As we come up one of them is hit in the head so hard they are knocked completely out of the circle.

“Dazhit.” I mutter

Our teacher and their teacher stop to speak at each other. I can see them staring at me pointing and speaking quietly with each other.

The older class adjusts themselves and looks on in great interest.

I don’t know these guys well, but I am pretty sure I am about to know the butt of their spears pretty well.

I sigh and shoulder my own spear, which…. Is significantly shorter than everyone else’s.

I’m not self-conscious.

“Tanana daeen hajish.”

I walk over as ordered my spear still over one shoulder.

“Tsak nantan tarik.” Your new teacher

I lower my head, “Tarik”

She seems amused and motions towards the circle, “Tanana ts adon. Zha nin tsa tehish darat zhegingi jastat.” get in the circle, I want to see what you can do.

Oh, great.

I do as told stepping into the circle as she calls one of her students forward. She’s a light colored Drev, the color of cream/orange rose petals. I am pretty sure the Drev would consider her pretty…. Did I mention that she’s at least two feet taller than me?

Well she is.

She rams her spear butt into the dirt, and I swallow hard.

The Tarik waves a hand and we begin to circle.

I hold my spear like they taught me, though I am much better at hand-to-hand combat. We test each other for a minute moving forward and back, watching each other’s guard. Of course, she strikes first though.

I dodge out of the way quickly, expecting to come in and wrap her across the back of the knees, but she spends around and blocks me at the last moment. We connect together so hard that my hands go almost immediately numb.

She brings the butt of her spear around, and I am just barely able to duck under it. She comes at me again, and I step back as the spearhead slices past my chest.

My eyes go wide as I stare at my almost evisceration.

I barely look up in time to block her fro the side.

The hit makes my bones hurt.

I flick my spear up trying to catch her in the face, but she knocks me away with impunity.

She has me backed against the edge of the circle.

She doesn’t expect me to make it out. Too bad I have seen way more action movies than she has. As she cuts over me, I slide under the cu on my knees skidding over the rock and past her into the center of the circle.

She turns to find me and barley blocks my strike.

I’m doing pretty good.

This isn’t so bad.

That’s when the kid gloves come off, and she strikes me so hard and fast I can barely raise my spear to block her. A vicious second later she comes in with the killing blow, or the crippling one.

Did you know you can knock someone out by hitting them hard enough in the liver?

Yeah I didn’t know that either, apparently the body sense major trauma and is just like nah fam I am not about that life. The vagus nerve gets activated too.

So there I am lying on the moss and the dirt curled up in a ball trying not to vomit or pass out.

I can hear that little gremlin Naktan laughing in the background.

God I hate him.

And I am in SOOO much pain. I am pretty sure my liver has been ruptured pretty sure I am going to die right here on the face of the planet.

I groan, “Hijan… help…. hijan .”

Yeah yeah practically crying for my mother like a wuss. I know no need to point it out

But guys, I am dying. Or at least I am pretty sure I am.

Luckily for me she shows up and eventually the others leave. I can feel her running a hand through my hair, which would be nice if I wasn’t pretty sure I was dying

Turns out though, I wasn’t dying, I am just pathetic

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anikkis-fantasirealities · 3 years

Text

“The Banquet Rooms of the Grandeur Campus”

③ Human Interest Story ┊ ʸᵒᵘ ʷʰᵒ ʸᵉᵃʳⁿˢ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵘᶦᵈᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʸᵒᵘᵗʰ···ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉⁿᵗˡʸ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵉ ʸᵒᵘⁿᵍ ᵍᵉⁿᵘᶦˢᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵍʳᵃⁿᵗ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿˢ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵍᵒᵒᵈʷᶦˡˡ·

꒰⁺˚₊·₍₍loading...₎₎ ✎...۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪ -ˏˋ 📨 ˊˎ-

༘✶ ㊉㈦〘 ⅯⅯ 〙⋆｡˚𓆟 ༉ ║ Posted : ０６/１５/２１° ｡༄ ‧₊˚ ๑ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ •ଓ.° ｡❍ ㈩㊇

- - ——— ꒰ An article by Nicole “Nikki” Elaine S. Chua ꒱

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ ࿐ྂ—͙❬₊° ᶦ ᵃᵐ ᵃ ᵇˡᵒᵍᵍᵉʳ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵃˡˡ·“= ‹⸙͎

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┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

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┊ ┊ ︎✧

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┊ . ˚ ˚✩

On a scorching afternoon where the shouting of children, chasing each other after classes have concluded, and the chattering adults have started to lock up the messy rooms, there was not one place that was quiet. I, on the other hand, had a quest to fulfill under a time limit! The red ballpen flung onto my chair desk when white sheets of paper were clenced by my thin palms. I ran outside past our broken doorstep to our class, over the pastures, and on top of stone-edged floors. Time is ticking... 4, 3, 2, and those squeaky black dull shoes made it! In opening the slim door to the right side of the room, they were like glorifying gates that screeched wide open—awaiting for my arrival. Well, it wasn’t that dramatic, but I was perspired out of sprinting under the gleaming sun. My short legs wobbling for a tiny second. The beads dripping on my worried face were shaken when I entered the room at around the size of a studio-type residence.

It was normal for me to be an errand girl who assists her class and obey her teachers with respect, no matter what school my identification card is designated to. I grew up with that kind of personality: helpful, caring, kind, diligent, and patient. Hence, these exhausted shoes have travelled to many places across gymnasiums, libraries, storage rooms, and laboratories. Though, sometimes, my mind still can’t get used to such a huge room, like that of the faculty rooms. I still become staggered over the hectic aura of the space, where long tables sat in rows, and people in pink & blue uniforms kindling the noise from the outside within. I would look around to see piles of examination papers, rolls of cartolina squeezed into a box, and scattered gadgets for teaching being charged to full energy. This is an article featuring the 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝙀𝙧𝙖 𝙐𝙣𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙮: 𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙎𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙡.

Throughout the years I’ve walked on those narrow corridors, and climbed up stairs to different floors of the vintage buildings, I also meet ways with many generations. One generation was younger than me—that of clumsy children innocently playing in the fields endlessly. The other was of my age, those who exist with me, as they attempt to finish their studies without tilting their heads to nudges of distraction. Then, there was this generation who were much similar to us—like students in a classroom laughing and sharing stories with each other. They had the knowledge of the world in their hands. In their arms, they carry heavier packages to unbox. Though, unlike the previous generations I meet who simply stepped up and down the stairs, the prudent grown-up smiled back to me, walking slowly pass my agitated shoulder.

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ㅤㅤ ❝ That room that I remember the most, ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ was under construction before the pandemic began. ❞

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I had the desire to help them lift their troubles by standing by their side, but they refuse because it is the role they signed up for, and my position had no power to be elevated to their level. Though, through these words, I know I would be able to do something to display their everyday lives behind teaching the New Era youth, giving the best advice, and serving the school with unconditional love. I was given the chance to be closer to the people who inspired me to present the compassionate self with the direction, ambition, and deduction to offer my best contribution to the world I belong to.

At the back of those generalized comforting grins and caring embraces, come their different fairytales that make the generation a community of teachers—young or old, millennial or Gen X, whatever gender and status they may have. They were a social generation, with hundred of stories to unfold and share to the youth. That was one thing I admired about them the most.

Well, I have encountered many teachers in my life since entering school, but the memory that always stick to my mind is my experiences with the teachers of New Era University: Integrated School. For some, they would cover their face when they recognize their teachers riding on a public vehicle rushing to its detination. Others simply ignore their respected educators when they spot them being at school even if the sun has already tucked in for the day.

However, I was one of those students who waves and greets them with my two-front teeth sticking out in happiness—trekking my way to school, riding shiny metallic jeepneys, and walking through scrapped walls that used to be fully painted. The inspiration flows out when I’m with them—a witness of their trials and ever-changing biographies in their very own home, the school, itself. Yes, the school becomes their shelter, figuratively, because that is how passionate they are in the path they’ve chosen to wander upon.

Then, there’s this vague image that I always remember—a banquet room where teachers eat together side-by-side during lunch breaks. The clanging of plates and utensils compliments the happy vibe of the room. The meals packed in transparent plastic bags from the canteen look fancy because of the optimistic mood all throughout the proximity in between me and the busy adults. Oh, and how could I not forget to mention the signature pancakes by New Era University: Integrated School that some teachers indulge in the most?

The giggles never end when I hear their jokes from afar, while I am walking through their room to return the checked papers I’ve finished to my Filipino teacher in Grade 10. Everyone was like workers in a castle of royalty—busy and preoccupied with their own duties, yet working towards one united purpose, that together creates a vibrant mix of emotions in the great hall. The harmonized melody it produces once the sweat and tears has finally been paid off, truly, the lunch breaks are what makes the banquet more lively. It’s a feast to behold!

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ㅤㅤ❝ Whenever I catch my name, I return it, ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤwith my good-natured, ‘Hi po, Sir and Ma’am!’ ❞

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On one side were the lockers, where old and new student’s projects filled the barren storage with interesting information. There are multiple brown wooden tables overlapped with colorful designs where groups of teachers sit together. The masters of Science sat at the bench to the wall at the right, while the experts in English stay behind a counter adjacent to the door on the right. People who speak of Filipino, Math, Computer, and MAPEH had benches next to each other in the middle of the bustling hall that was their faculty room. They are not divided, literally, for their workplaces are not distanced from one another. Each part of the table has a customized area per teacher, whose pictures of blood-related family and schedules are inserted under transparent cover—giving them motivation to carry on their sworn responsibility. However, just like BFFs who stick together, some teachers transfer to other tables to enjoy the rest of the day with their close co-faculty members.

They would talk about their personal lives, their interests, and at times, the students & problems they encounter in classes. Some gave glee, but of course, there were also those that gave headaches. That’s why whenever I am presented with a new subject teacher per grade level, I can understand if the they know me well from the narrations of the teachers who’ve handled me. They are aware of my struggles, efforts, and kindness as a pupil of New Era. They are familiarized with this face, the expression, and its body language.

Though, I am still proud that they recognize my batchmates dedication, too. Each teacher imparted values to all their children equally. There was no favoritism, and everyone gets a chance to participate. When we make mistakes, we are still accepted and loved. All this, even though they are humans who are aroused by intense feelings? No matter how impressive, or lowly we are, it is that chance to be better that we are most thankful about in this palace of high education.

All the pictures you’ve seen so far contain significant beings in my life as a student-soon-to-be-adult. That’s the magic of being someone not so known in society or history, but will remain a treasured person in your life—a special connection only you and that person understands, and not everyone else does. Even though I tend to stutter and zip my mouth when I am often in the loud banquet when I do not want to disturb the delightful get-alongs by our educators, eventually I am noticed and asked, “What are you doing here, Nicole Chua?” It’s the admiration that regardless if I was hidden or completely revealing of myself, they help me to speak out and be more confident with the adults. That is something that I also want to influence my classmates with, because these teachers outside lessons and activities are not so intimidating & looming at all!

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ㅤㅤ ㅤ❝ I can recall the cooked dishes and the grades for judging, and I cherish them knowing you cannot taste them again. ❞

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They are friendly, approachable, and absolutely considerate of the many kids they manage from Mondays to Fridays. Off campus is a different story that I can’t personally share for the privacy of their lives, though I would say it’s rough. It’s rough to come back home—to take care of your very own children while finishing school records, bringing along the stress from work into their real dwelling. They are not just mothers and fathers of the campus that caters hundreds of beautiful princes and princesses. They are also parents worried of their own children’s future.

The sicknesses, the loans, the quarrels, and the trickling hourglass—all this is what they must face in the cold, dry evenings. They are vulnerable to all these things that makes them a part of reality, and not just some fantasy with no flaws. It didn’t matter if they were in the coordinator’s office, the cookery laboratory, the office in the second floor, or that special place on the fourth floor. I was there to hear their encounters with their rude children, or the sweet marriage they had. If I clean harder, dart quicker, and volunteer even more, I can appreciate them who were not supernatural beings veiled in fiction. They sacrifice for that hope, that they will teach the next generations how to educate those after them, and those before them. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙤𝙨 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺.

One time, I was holding onto the dream of being a part of the school’s newspaper—it was my “𝗛𝗨𝗗𝗬𝗔𝗧” to fulfill the vision, reflected by that tender link I had with that story. The tension was still on me when I came to the opening. I had no clue why I felt that way, even if I’ve entered too many banquet halls at that point. Though, I was determined to open that door and introduce myself with the passion I had. She was someone I did not know so much back then, but now, I’m writing this article because of her instruction. Her proficient Filipino words, and the lectures she offered to us. There was the excitement, the uplifting compliments, and the will to keep on writing. This may be the last time that we will be coupled for education, but I’m hoping to see our names as staff on the front page. Am I too much, or was that a mysterious ending?

Teachers in general only want the best for their learners, for influencing their lives is the greatest fulfillment. They can be strict or relatable, but together, they spend the rest of the day in the banquet room, merrily toasting for a job well done. In this monumental learning institution, many important people shall rise and do their part in society, away from the fairytales and fictional playtime. Perhaps, next time, if you can also observe your own school’s faculty room, you can hear their stories—the sounds of a feast, and assist them in preparing for the afternoon festivities.

I hope you were able to see the beautiful reality of the teachers of New Era University: Integrated School with my own eyes. Do greet them hello, or help them in your tiny acts the next time you see them, and it will definitely brighten their day. Thank you for reading their ordinary tales! Come back again in another blog where my fantasies become realities! A Nikki reminder: let’s help one another to rise up to success, instead of degrading one another to failure!

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ❝ It’s the ultimate desire, and yet I felt so anxious, ㅤㅤ ㅤbut now we’re so close, yet so far between screens. ❞

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· * ✫ * ⊹ * ˚ . . 　　· ⋆ * . * . . · . · . * · . · · + . ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ· ** ˚ . . + 　　· ⋆ * . * . . · . · . *

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ. . + 　· ⋆ * . * . . · . · .˚ ⊹ · * ✧ ⋆ · * . · . · · .. . .

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ· + ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ· * ✫ * ⊹ * ˚

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ · ** ˚ . . + ㅤㅤ　· ⋆ * . * . . · . · .˚ ⊹ · * ✧

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ��ㅤ⋆ · * . · ㅤㅤ . · · .. . . · + .

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ. · + . *

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⋆ * . * . .

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ . · ·

ㅤㅤ﹙dedication. ﹚ ୨˚୧ ˚ ༘♡.↳ ₊˚‧

This blog is dedicated to “I am a Teacher,” for her patience, remarks, rainbow scarfs, adorable dogs, and wonderful words given to me. You are My Most Precious Treasure in this writing journey, from blandness to vividness.

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹋﹋﹌﹌﹌「 🧁 」﹌﹌﹌﹋﹋

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ┊彡 Credits

➥ Cover Edit

➫ Ma’am JB

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➫ Sir Leo

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➫ Ma'am Eva

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➥ Third Blog Divider

➫ Sir Prince

➥ Fourth Blog Divider

➫ Sir Prince

➥ Fifth Blog Divider

➫ Teacher Med

➥ Source of Information

➫ The author’s encounters

➫ Briefly shared stories by her teachers

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faelune-home · 4 years

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FFXIV Write 2020 #22: Argy-bargy

(A/N: Good god what was this prompt. XD I managed to scrape something together at least.

Nothing notable to mention here - that I can think of while posting. Set during 5.1-.2 era Some downtime between it all while everyone’s chilling at the Crystarium.

Also catch me trying to use Urianger in my fics but also not having him talk as much as he could cos what is his dialogue style, I don’t trust myself with that. :’D halp

Word Count: 1452

@ffxiv-writers)

“I am an only child.” Fufu chuckled at Alisaie’s exaggerated groan into the table, having just entered the Wandering Stairs after a peruse at the market stalls.

“Hmm, I’m pretty sure you had a brother last I checked.”

“If he continues being an embarrassment, he’s disowned,” the girl huffed, finally sitting up properly. And with a nod of her head toward the garden outside the Pendants, the miqo’te bit back another giggle at the sight.

Alphinaud and Urianger appeared to be in the midst of a very vigorous discussion, one that seemed to have generated a small crowd near the fringes of the area - by the entrance to the inn, milling around the market stairs, lingering at the gate to the Exedra plaza. All eagerly curious, yet warily keeping their distance. And in amidst it all, Ryne sat unperturbed at the foot of a tree, giving scritches to a very content looking Moonstone Carbuncle sitting on her lap, while an Amber Carbuncle slept beside her.

“Oh, it’s been a while since I’ve seen Urianger’s carbuncle,” Fufu noted, as though blind to the rest of the scene. She bit back a smile at Alisaie’s puffed up cheeks.

“That’s not the point here and you know it. The two of them are rambling on and on about all sorts of academic nonsense, and no doubt everyone here is curious about what they’re talking about, but not a soul here seems to want to even talk to ‘the vaunted Warriors of Darkness’.” She rolled her eyes.

Fufu’s ear flicked and she shrugged. “I can see why people here might be curious about the topic. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone perform arcanima or any similar abilities while we’ve been here. Your brother aside of course.”

“Of course,” the elezen grumbled. Then with an exasperated sigh, throwing her head back, she added, “I’d just rather that they either took this somewhere private where people wouldn’t be ogling, or they acknowledge their little audience and maybe...I don’t know, offer to teach? Although I can’t imagine either of them being able to simplify it enough for unfamiliar folk to understand.”

Fufu gave the girl a pat on the shoulder, saying, “Well, while you wallow over this, I’ll go see Ryne, find out how this happened and how we can steer it into something useful other than just them taking up floor space.”

Descending the stairs into the garden area and slipping unnoticed past the chattering scholars, Fufu spared a wave and a smile to a portion of the crowd. A few young children waved back eagerly, however the adults were more hesitant to return the gesture.

She finally joined the young hume at the tree, sitting alongside her with a smile, giving Moonstone a scratch under the chin, making it purr. Amber roused briefly to peek over the younger girl’s lap, however opted to curl up tighter and keep sleeping at the sight of the miqo’te.

“So what happened?” Fufu asked. Ryne gave a bemused smile as she said, “I asked Alphianud how carbuncles worked, in terms of summoning and behaviours, since I’ve never seen them before. He got Urianger to help with explaining, but it got a bit off track. I couldn’t follow after a while.”

“Don’t worry, I understand the feeling. But I do think we should have them break this up now or take it somewhere else. They’ve attracted a crowd and I don’t think they’ve realised, but Alisaie has and she’s a bit put off by it.” As Ryne giggled, Fufu got to her feet, her tail flicking on Moonstone’s nose and earning a chirp in response, before walking over to the elezen duo.

“--the caster’s aether would carry all the finer points of the construct’s makeup, including any semblance of personality or habit--”

“--And I’m not arguing against that,” the younger boy interrupted, “All I’m saying is that there has to be more to any learned behaviour, unless the one creating the summon is unconsciously including additional behaviours in their equations.”

A clap from the approaching Warrior silenced whatever response Urianger was preparing, taking them both aback at the intrusion. She smiled. “This all sounds pretty neat, I’m not gonna lie, but I think you both got a little off topic. Or at least didn’t notice your audience getting a little curious.” They both looked self-conscious as they finally noticed the throng around them, even with the people beginning to disperse as the discussion was brought to an end. Some few lingered still, casting glances at the group while whispering amongst themselves.

“How exactly did this all start?” Fufu inquired.

Alphinaud was the one to answer first. “Ryne asked as to the finer points about Carbuncles, so I tried to explain. I managed to cover the basic duties one would perform, then to formation and summoning. Basic equations any beginner could accomplish, if she were so curious to try, then I decided to include Urianger in the demonstration as an example of something more personal alongside mine own.”

“Tis unfortunate then that as our conference would alienate others less versed in the field of arcanima as we two dove deeper into the makings and formulations of such creatures,” the older man added, followed by a frown from Alphinaud as he finished, “And even more so that we ended up debating over a summon’s behaviour and whether it is learned or imprinted during the summoning.”

Fufu hummed, tapping her cheek in thought. “Soooo, like if a Carbuncle would like scritches or not? Whether they’d learn that on their own or if their summoner would deliberately put that information into them?”

With an amused smile, Urianger nodded. “Aye, that would be a suitable example.”

“Well, I’m not gonna question either of you two, but whichever ‘academic answer’ you would reach, I’d argue both your own Carbuncles are a bit partial to a friendly hand giving pets,” the woman chuckled, and both scholars turned their attentions to Ryne by the tree, giving both summons scratches by the ears.

Noticing the stares, Ryne stood and joined them, both carbuncles trotting along beside her before sitting obediently by their own masters. The girl bowed her head, wearing a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t paying much attention,” she said with a bow.

“Not at all, I do understand that we may have been talking above a beginner’s understanding. Tis our own fault really,” the boy responded, a hand on her shoulder.

“Mayhap twould be best to start anew, to teach a proper lesson instead of making use of overwrought studies unavailable to the citizens of this star.”

The younger ones nodded at Urianger’s suggestion, while Fufu added, her ears upright, “That sounds like a good idea. And while you’re at it, you can include some others in the Crystarium if they’re interested. I know the ones over there still look pretty fascinated.” She gestured to a small collective by the Pendants, all of them suddenly looking away as attentions were drawn their way.

“An excellent proposition. I’ll go and extend the offer to them, and perhaps perform a sweep of the Crystarium for any other curious folk.” Alphinaud wandered off to the nervous group, while Urianger volunteered to prepare a study plan for any keen students the scholars would amass, carbuncles going with their respective summoners, leaving Fufu and Ryne alone at the garden.

They reentered the Wandering Stairs, finding a more relaxed Alisaie sipping on some water at the table.

“I sorted it,” Fufu announced, while the girl smiled, “I noticed. My thanks.”

“I’ll be interested to learn about this,” Ryne said, “Even if I can’t take to it entirely well, even having basic knowledge would be handy.” With her eyes shining at the miqo’te woman, she added, “I’d like to follow your example with this. Widening my repertoire for the future.”

Fufu’s ear flicked, a blush spreading across her cheeks. “I appreciate that, but you don’t need to credit me for the idea.”

“Oh don’t listen to her,” Alisaie huffed, waving a hand at Fufu’s comment, “You couldn’t have picked a better role model. Maybe better teachers, but they’re the only ones here that know anything about arcanima. But you let me know if they go too fast for you or anyone else here, and I’ll give them a talking to.”

“I will, thank you,” Ryne nodded.

“And besides,” fufu added, smile broadening, “if you wanted to try any other trades, feel free to ask. I’m sure Alisaie here wouldn’t mind teaching a little bit.”

The elezen shrugged, smiling all the same. “Perhaps I might.”

Ryne gawped at the offer, her eyes sparkling. She nodded. “Then whatever you can teach me, I’m ready and willing!”

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxivwrite #alisaie leveilleur #alphinaud leveilleur #urianger augurelt #ryne #carbuncles #keeper of the moon miqo'te #my wol #fufu faelune #my writing #crystarium #shadowbringers #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv

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luvdsc · 4 years

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hey!! it’s 🧋 anon!! i hope you’re doing well! thank you!! ive got 11 more exams this coming week so i’m a lil 🥲 and then 3 more maybe the week after? exactly! i was so paranoid in the exam like “am i suddenly smart or a grade a idiot?” but it’s comforting to know that others feel the same about tests in general 😅. i’m learning python! i know there are better languages but ehhhh it’s just high school sjdnndn. and thank you about my bias choice sjsjndn. oh no not the 10th floor 😭 i’ve heard horror stories 🤧 i just can’t get over how sweet, funny and gentle he seemed in the jolly interview 🥺. thank you!! for letting me claim 🧋! and i wish i could say the same about not knowing that it was released but i’ve legit been checking since pre-quarantine for a boba emoji bc emojipedia said it would be coming out 😭 i had to start claiming it soon bc i’m NOT letting someone take it from me 😠 (but also! look how cute these are: 🦤🦭🐻‍❄️🐈‍⬛ ). as for my regular boba order, i’m still a lil new to the boba world bc i first (finally) tried it like 2 weeks before quarantine 😭. so everytime i go to this boba place (which is hardly ever for obvious reasons) i try to get something different! bc it all seems so cool!! the place i go to has popping bubbles in different flavours! so i always try to get a different drink with different popping bubbles and regular boba. i think my favourite so far is any drink (maybe mango?) with apple popping bubbles and boba!! but i’ve also been making boba at home for agessss and i usually just make regular tea or green tea with it! 💗

awww 😭 thank you ma’am sksndjdj. i mean, you do give off very motherly energy so i’ll happily accept being a baby 🥺 awww you think my accent is cute? ms cat i’m blushing 😭🥺 oof yeah the exams are not fun™️. but like you said, it does kinda prepare us for them more but the stresssssss is 🥲😭 okay so i’ll answer these in order if that’s okay?

do you still have class going on in between these exams? i assume you mean specifically when we have exams? so unfortunately yeah😭 it depends on the teacher as to wether they’ll let us revise in lesson or if we have to do regular work

do the gcse’s determine your college field of study afterwards? kinda? i mean, colleges have a minimum enterance requrement for courses. although it varies course to course, it’s usually somewhere around the 4-5 (high c-low b) mark. but you can do any course you want at college as long as you have passes in most subjects (usually an emphasis on core subjects (english, maths and science)). (so like, if you didn’t do history in high school, but you wanted to do it in college, then you could do the course as long as you meet the courses’ gcse grade requirements).

is college different from uni? yeah! college is for 2 years and straight after high school. in england you legally have to be in education until you’re 18, so all education is free until then, meaning that college is free! (unless you want to go back to do something else later in life). uni is after college and is optional. that’s where you get things like a bachelor’s, masters and doctoral degree. usually it’s for 3 years although it can vary and you have to pay! we have a student loan system too!

don’t worry about the questions! i enjoy the differences too sjdbbdd. and oooo! here, high school is 11-16/year 7-11, then college is (usually) 16-18/year 12-13 (although we don’t tend to refer to them by years) and uni is (usually) 19-22! (although you tend to go back to that for higher qualifications).

ansnsekndj i’m sorry ms cat 😭 and for me college will start in september of next year! we finish year 11 really early compared to the other years (usually we finish in july (my birthday month!!) but in year 11 we finish the day our last exam happens! which is usually around the end of may to the start of june!) so the holiday is the longest we’ll ever have 😭. that’s one of the reasons i envy americans because the summer breaks are SO long 😭 here, they’re 6 weeks sksndn.

i hope i answered all of your questions ms cat! ily! 🐈‍⬛💗~🧋

hi, lovebug!!! 💓 i’m going to put my answers under the cut since they got pretty long 🤧

i’m doing good!! i got soo much sleep over the weekend and am well rested, so this means tomorrow’s 6 am meeting won’t be too bad 🤧 YOU HAVE ELEVEN EXAMS THIS WEEK???? what on earth 😭 that’s like 2 per day and one day has 3 aksjlhflajkdfaskdjf why don’t they spread them out??? and three more the following week 💀💀 this sounds absolutely brutal, i’m so sorry, lovebug. have you been studying for all of them? LOL yeah, i feel like something is wrong if i can just breeze through a test akjdlhsflask python is a good start and easy to understand! honestly, most codes are pretty similar tbh, so once you get a good grasp of one, it’s easy to learn the other ones :’) do you enjoy cs? 💕 aldskjfaslk yeah, jaehyun does seem like the perfect boyfriend, doesn’t he? 🤧💘 LOL i heard there would be a boba emoji, but i didn’t know if it was true or not, but woooo it’s good to know it’s finally here!! 🥳 and omg the dodo bird and seal emojis 🥺💗 those are all sooo cute!!! aslhfdlkjasd first time trying boba, i just gasped out loud 😦 i’m so happy to hear that you enjoyed it once you tried it though! 💜 omg the popping bubbles are really yummy! and i LOVE mango!!! 🤩 that’s one of my favorite fruits :’) same with apple!! omg you’re making boba at home asdjhfas i’m so jealous 🤧 i haven’t had any boba ever since quarantine started in march 😭 aaaah i loooove green tea and black tea ones :’) have you tried the cheese boba tea before? i thought it wasn’t going to be that good, but i was pleasantly surprised with the taste, like it wasn’t that bad actually. cloud tea is also really nice, too ☁️💞

akjashdlfkja you are the absolute cutest omg 🥺💖 the british accent is sooo nice like wow, you can just be reading me your grocery lists and i’m like 🤩 amazing, perfect, wonderful, never been done before. meanwhile, i’m here with some kind of american valley girl accent LOL 🤧 you shouldn’t be having that much stress at 15 what the heck 😭 i wish they would cut down on the number of exams for you because having 11 in one week is not okay at all ): and oh my goodness, thank you sooo much for giving me such thorough answers to all my questions, honey bee 🥺💛💛✨

ah, we also have classes going on during exams too, so i can relate unfortunately. it really sucks when the teachers continue to teach new material, instead of helping you prepare for the big exams /:

ooo i see!! i think it’s really cool that colleges actually show minimum requirements for acceptance. here, there’s no set criteria at all, so it’s kind of a shot in the dark. they do post the averages of past students’ grades/scores and whatnot, so we have a vague idea of what each school wants, but some schools are weird af, like my friend with a lower gpa and less extracurriculars got into stanford university, meanwhile my one friend who won essentially the youth’s version of the nobel prize and was even acknowledged by obama during his presidency was waitlisted 😬

oh wow, i wish it was like that here :o education is so expensive in the US, like student debt is the norm. do you still have general education classes in college, or is this where you can choose a specific field of study? and university is only 3 years oh my gosh wow, only three years of tuition to pay!! the US could never /: it’s like 70k/year for private universities, 5k-15k/year for public schools in state, and 15k-35k/year for public schools if you’re out of state 💀

the words “college” and “university” are pretty much interchangeable here in the US, so that’s really cool to know! years 6-8 / ages 11-13 (i think that’s the age range?) is considered middle school here, so it’s interesting to see that some of those years are considered high school for you :o

ooo ok, that’s when my school years ended too back in high school! i ended in may and started school again in august. but in uni, i started in september and ended mid june :’) ah yes, our summers are around 2-3 months, and i really miss having that now that i’m out of school 😭 only 6 weeks??? that’s so short omg i’m so sorry ): do you have anything fun planned for your summer? also, do you have prom there? 💕

thank you soooo so much, sweetpea, you answered all of my questions so nicely, and i appreciate you so much 💝💝 ily too, and i hope you have a good week ahead, angel!!! 💖🌷

#asks #anonymous #🧋 anon

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isagrimorie · 4 years

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@glompcat

replied to your post

“I was listening to “Talking Who to You” and their review of Diary of...”

They sometimes almost seem to have a hint of an interesting idea to explore with her in that regard, but then since they refuse to actually examine these things just abandon it. Like in Legacy of Time, when Benny started to question what River really *means* when she talks about being married. Or in Eight of March's Emancipation where River expressed envy for two seconds that Leela lived on Gallifrey with her Time Lord husband. Which also opened up the fascinating whole subject of how much River really knows/understands. She studied the Doctor, she learned about them and their friends from academic texts and third and fourth hand accounts. She clearly doesn't actually *know* most things, and I wish we could see more of her coming up against the fact she doesn't actually understand everything, that she is clinging to these assured ideas and yet the reality of the situation still surprises her etc

Instead of like... constantly needing to write stories where River's odd view is affirmed as right. Like in Emancipation she comments that she understands Time Lords just as well as Leela, and that just... continues to stick out to me. Because obs Leela didn't challenge that as she had no idea who River was, which meant that just went on by without comment and just... confused the shit out of me. She isn't a first hand expert and authority on everything. She's an academic, an archaeologist. She's still never met any Time Lords other than the Doctor and the Master, and most of what she knows is based on a lifetime of academic study. That *could* lead to hilarious misunderstanding/vulnerability in her stories when she does have to meet up with the Doctor.

Oh man. Yes, those two stories!

I was especially disappointed with the Legacy of Time story with Benny when it suddenly became ALL about Eight. Here are two awesome women, who are so similar to each other and all the writers could think about was put Eight into the story.

And then doesn’t even delve deeper into it. I figure Benny’s expression the whole time was mildly confused and ‘seriously?.

And you bring up a good point! For the longest time all River knew about the Doctor is what Madam Kovarian taught her, she is an academic! Also, of all people to say she knows Time Lords as much as Leela... who has lived with Time Lords, and not just one outlier renegade Time Lord.

I was also pretty annoyed with majority of the story until the last part but man, I really need a writer to really push more into River’s story and dig deeper. They could go for a more comedic effect with it too!

It certainly would be a more interesting thing to explore than jokes about how because she's married to the Doctor it is magically ok for her to strip them naked and have her way with them when they're unconscious, like we got in the boxset where she met Five. Which was just... such a rollercoaster for me as it is the one where she gets to confront Kevorkian!

Oh. God. That boxset.

I know what you mean. I was so uncomfortable, and clearly Five didn’t know what was going on nor did he want to participate with anything River was trying to initiate.

It also goes to my point of -- just because The Doctor married her, doesn’t mean it travels back to the Doctor’s other lives. I can maybe accept this up until Eight because he straddles the line of Pre- and during Time War, the catalyst that changed the Doctor into the person River fell in love with.

Moffat might be all into the Time Traveler’s Wife story but I’m a firm believer of ‘right time, right place’. The Doctor pre-Time War isn’t the exact same person that becomes the post-Time War Doctor/Post-almost recovery Doctor who falls in love with River. Pre-Time War Doctor isn’t ready to fall in love with River, the Doctor has a whole life before River, a whole family before River. Just as much as she should and does have her own life outside of the Doctor, the Doctor had a whole history before River.

Yet even there, when Kevorkian is there and they are literally inside a copy of River's childhood bedroom there was no real grappling with what it means that River studied the Doctor-as-monster her whole youth long that she was training to kill them literally every day of her childhood, and yes, somewhere along the way things changed, so what happened, when did she start to see the Doctor differently, and what misconceptions does she still carry with her from her earlier studies and how do they inform how she sees the Doctor's actions/their relationship now?

I can only nod here, because like I mentioned in the post, I wanted to know when exactly did River really fall in love with the Doctor and not just the idea of the Doctor or the things she knew about him? When was the first moment that didn’t have to do with any of those things did she realize she’s in love with him, for realsies?

When she meets these people who knew the Doctor like Benny or Leela (or Susan or Ian or Barbara etc except I haven't heard that box set of Diaries yet unlike the others) how do their impressions contrast with her own?

Not to harp on about that one off story too much, but it stood out to me due to its obvious positioning as both written and directed by women, but I do think about things like how in The Eighth of March Emancipation she kept insinuating that the Doctor mainly kept Leela around for eye candy and how that showed this MASSIVE lack of understanding of Four and what he was about and it really fascinates me, like what does it mean for an Academic to literally fall in love with the subject of her studies? Particularly an Archaeologist whose field is built on piecing together desperate remnants to create an incomplete idea of a whole? Like if her stories must all culminate in being about the Doctor (which based on some things said in Vortex I think may have been part of what Moffat told them to do with her)

‘Like if her stories must all culminate about being about the Doctor’ AUGH. This is so frustrating. Especially the part about what River’s insinuating about Leela, who is awesome and fantastic. I mean, isn’t enough she still gets called Savage in Gallifrey? And River has to pile that on top too. Thankfully this rolls off of Leela, but honestly, that was uncalled for.

why not actually explore how and why she reached the conclusions she did in Husbands of River Song, which is of course always in her future? It's set after all of these adventures we listen to, so why not - if a Doctor plot is needed - focus on how she reached the conclusions she did there if that speech was sincere?

THIS THIS THIS.

IDK. There is so much they could explore with her but they just don't seem willing to challenge her... authority? In a way that ultimately undercuts her, because she is constantly positioned in a mold that removes any actual work needed to gain information/the upper hand/her level of skill. So rather than being the result of hard work and effort, it's just... how it is. Which de-powers her. IDK, I kept trying with Diaries I really did, but it actually was the one with Tom Baker in it that made me give up.

“they just don't seem willing to challenge her... authority? In a way that ultimately undercuts her, because she is constantly positioned in a mold that removes any actual work needed to gain information/the upper hand/her level of skill.“

Yes, this, exactly! It’s like the writers are way too afraid to handle River with anything but reverence and care. And for a story to work, characters shouldn’t be handled like they’re made of glass!

In the end, what happens is, it feels like the stories are all telling not showing.

The start of it (Diary of River Song boxset with Four), long before the story with the Doctor in it, had people who knew her as students at Luna University in it, and the way the story dealt with them and their relationship to River, it was honestly insulting, not just to the characters but to anyone who has ever been in graduate school. Like they kept fundamentally refusing to either understand or care to understand what being in an Academic institute means. By claiming it was all so easy for River and removing the effort and skill needed, they are de-powering her PhD. By making the other students all so incompetent in comparison to her, they are again... - her PhD. Hell, now that they've established Benny was her tutor, they're depowering Benny (ED: emphasis mine) in the process. And that is not even starting to touch on the dynamic of having the other academic in that story ultimately hating River because her Husband had been in love with River and asked her out one time in Grad school before River rejected him and he is still hung up on River? Like who thought that was a good dynamic?

...

Which is I guess a lot of words to essentially say that Big Finish often refuses to take River off this strange pedestal of hyper-competent perfection, where she is always the most clever person in the room, always knows the answer, and even in her fucks ups and failures is still ~the expert~ in full. But in so doing the value in her expertise, the hard work, the real strength it took for her to get to where she is... well to be deemphasized it has to even be a factor which it never is, as it just doesn't seem to exist for them at all. She just knows everything until the plot demand she doesn't so things can move along, and when she knows it she knows it best, and if you question this in any way she'll respond with a joking quip and won't you look silly than, and that is that.

☝️☝️☝️

Whole heartedly agree, Big Finish isn’t doing the work they should be doing to really explore her character, and we know from other stories that they can actually deepen a character’s back story and add more insight to them too!

I mean, my favorite BF Doctors (other than Eight) are Six and Five with Peri and Erimem!

BF has had so many opportunities to do better by River but they always end up going the easy way instead of doing the hard work to explore a) who River is outside of her programming, how much it’s affected her and b) make River face up to questions about her feelings for the Doctor.

c) Also, just like with Kate Stewart in UNIT, I don’t want to hear the Brig’s name uttered in the presence of and around Kate. I don’t want River to run into the Doctor in the next couple of boxsets.

#reply #glompcat #discussion: big finish #big finish is not doing river any favors #DO RIGHT BY RIVER BIG FINISH

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precuredaily · 4 years

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Precure Day 162

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 14 - “Karen, The Troubled Student Council President” Date watched: 3 December 2019 Original air date: 6 May 2007 Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/ZVrof8Y Project info and master list of posts: http://tinyurl.com/PCDabout

Karen has a big think

It’s Karen’s turn to hold the character development conch. This time, we get to see how she handles pressure from all directions! We also find out a little secret about Otaka-san and the school’s leadership. Good stuff, so let’s dive in!

The Plot

Various clubs approach Karen, aggressively requesting budget increases. The futsal club can’t afford new balls, the drama club can’t afford costumes, the judo club can’t afford new weights, the list goes on. Karen is taken aback and tries to explain the complexities of the situation to the students, but they are insistent. After trying to come up with a solution, she approaches the Vice Principal and explains her situation, requesting a budget increase for all the clubs. He is reluctant to change the budget that’s already been agreed upon for the year, but because he respects her decision to approach him, he will take it up with the principal. The VP goes to the Principal, revealed (to the audience) to actually be Otaka-san the lunch lady, but she insists that she doesn’t believe they need a budget increase, and there are still solutions the clubs haven’t yet come up with to resolve their budget woes. Komachi talks with Karen, commending her willingness to work hard for the clubs where before she probably would have simply said that the budget was already decided and they had to make do with what they had. The influence of their determined young friends is rubbing off on them.

Coincidentally, Nightmare is also having budget issues of a sort. Although they aren’t in a pinch, Kawarino is scolding Bunbee for blowing a lot of money without producing any results, and implies that his subordinates are useless and the whole department could get restructured. Bunbee decides to go fight the girls himself to get some results.

Back at school, Karen is still being hounded by the clubs, and her attempts at de-escalation aren’t working, so Otaka almost steps in, but Komachi is actually the one to put her foot down, startling everyone. She reminds the club leaders that they agreed to their annual budgets before the proposal was sent to the school administration, and that Karen alone cannot solve everything. With help from Nozomi, she gets them all to line up and explain their problems, to see if they can work together and figure out alternative solutions within their existing budgets.

The biggest offender is the drama club, which is going way over budget because they’ve picked a play with lots of extravagant costumes. However, Komachi gets them to work with the sewing club, who were looking for a platform to display their work, and the two split costs in this mutually beneficial agreement. The Judo club couldn’t afford to buy new weights AND new uniforms, but they also got the sewing club to patch up their uniforms so they could buy heavier weights, and donated their older ones to the futsal club. Now that she doesn’t need to buy weights, Rin can afford new balls, and donates the old ones to the art club, who find their shape and texture very inspirational.

I’d like to point out that the dumbbell Nozomi is struggling to lift is only 5 KG, that’s about 11 lbs.

With everyone’s issues resolved, the girls enjoy a moment of peace as Rin takes her new dumbbells to her club space, but on the way, Bunbee shows up to cause trouble. He turns the dumbbells into a Kowaina and taunts the girls about his own superiority. They transform and fight back, but he is pretty strong. When Mint shields one of the monster’s attacks, he launches a missile that breaks the shield, and he easily dodges when Rouge and Aqua try to fight him in the air. Dream and Lemonade have no luck fighting the Kowaina and they’re all left on the ground, defeated. Bunbee boasts about how much easier it is to do everything himself, and Aqua scoffs. She says she used to feel that way, but now she knows they’d never win if they did that, and the team springs into action. Bunbee tries to missile them again, and again Mint uses her shield, but this time Aqua also blocks it with Aqua Stream and this weakens it enough to bounce off the shield. Dream and Rouge restrain the Kowaina while Lemonade attacks it with Lemonade Flash, then the two throw it and perform their finishers. The Kowaina is destroyed and Bunbee retreats, self-justifying the day by saying you have to spend money to make money.

Back at the lunch table, Nozomi observes that Komachi might actually be stronger than Karen, which gives them all pause. Otaka comes over with a basket full of yakisoba bread, claiming the principal told her how they avoided a budget crisis, and suddenly people from all the other clubs appear, all vying for some of the free bread. Nozomi cries because the crowd beat her to the stuff she really wanted, and that’s the ending card.

The Analysis

What a fun episode. Karen’s commitment to the students is really earnest and inspiring. You can see why she’s the president, and even how much progress she’s made since the start of the show. Old Karen just cared about order, new Karen has the best interests of the students in mind and wants to meet them where they’re at. She fields the ire of the various clubs like a champ, trying not to get overwhelmed, and explaining the delicate balance that is adjusting budgets: since the budget has already been agreed upon, for her to allocate more to one group than previously agreed means the money has to come out of somewhere else, and that could put the other party in a pinch. Important financial lesson for the kids in the audience, too. And when her advice isn’t sufficient for them, she goes to bat for them by requesting assistance from the VP. My only criticism is that she probably should have asked why they needed more money first to see where their funds were tied up at, but honestly I would probably do the same thing, jumping straight to “let me get them what they say they need” and not “let me look into the situation more”.

When they get to the drama club and find out the reason they’re so over budget is because they decided to produce an expensive-ass play, I about died. LOOK AT THIS OUTFIT.

gosh I wonder why

There’s a lesson in here somewhere about working within your limitations. Urara suggests they do a simpler show like Kintarou, which would have costumes and props they could reuse in other shows, but from the club president’s response I get the impression they’ve done far too many shows like that and are sick of it. Also can’t fault them for doing something different. I remember in my junior year (11th grade), my school put on a production of “High School Musical” (this was when that was still a pretty fresh and hot property) and it sold like crazy, so the next year they were able to perform “Little Shop of Horrors”, renting the Audrey II puppets from somewhere. It’s okay to dream big, but you gotta make sure you can afford it. (inb4 ok boomer) However, working with the sewing club was a very good compromise. They get a platform to showcase their work, the drama club gets good costumes for cheaper, and they split the costs. Some of the other deals are a bit more one-sided but as long as everyone’s happy, it works.

By the way, Komachi’s restraint when the club president goes “oh yeah we spent all our budget on that one outfit and we need a bunch more” is remarkable. (I looked it up and I see similarities to Les Miserables: it’s a famous story that takes place over multiple generations and features LOTS of recurring characters) Komachi is, thankfully, very good at keeping herself in check, but if you manage to set her off, she is downright scary. That’s a common attribute for shield-based Cures, and it started here.

For reasons that aren’t entirely clear, since they only have a few of the costumes done, the drama club president is only ever seen in-costume, looking like a prince with a pencil mustache drawn onto her face. If we take the bold assumption that this all occurs in one day, even one lunch period, then this makes sense enough, but it’s still kind of silly.

The first half of this episode is so good, and tells a pretty complete story, that both times I watched it I forgot what kind of show it was because I was so absorbed in the antics of the clubs, so I thought the resolution was just going to be sorting out their budgets, when that was actually only the halfway point. The fight with Bunbee in the second half, while good, feels incomplete. I’m not sure if something got lost in translation for the subtitles, because he seems to indicate he spent money on a better Kowaina mask but the subs don’t reflect him saying this, only the girls’ response that it looks the same as normal. I do like them switching up their fighting style, and it comes with one of the strangest calls to action I’ve ever seen:

previously unsaid sentences in human history

The context is that, earlier in the episode, Nozomi and Urara traded lunch items, and now Karen is reminding them all to trade opponents and work together to beat the monster. Hilariously, even though Nozomi was the one who wanted to trade in the first place, she’s the last one to get this coded message, after Rin explains it to her.

She is special.

The elephant in the room here is that Otaka-san, the humble lunch lady who always adds a million onto every order, who appears a little disheveled, is in fact the school’s principal. Books and covers, ya know. I don’t recall if the girls every learn her secret, but it’s revealed to the audience here. I assume she serves as the lunch lady in order to get close to the students and understand what’s going on without calling attention to her position of authority. That’s the thing about power, even if you act relatable, if someone knows you’re way above them on the totem pole, they’re going to act differently, so she has put herself on the level of students. It’s like Undercover Boss except she never reveals the ruse. And honestly, it’s a very good ruse. She is approachable to the students and they all love her, so she can listen to their problems and make sure that the school is running well from the ground level. Also, as the lunch lady, she wears plain clothes, an apron, and flat shoes. Her only accessory is her trademark silver brooch. As the principal, she wears a suit, her hair is more tamed, she wears lipstick and earrings. She even speaks differently between her roles, sounding more raspy in her disguise, while she adopts a more formal and stern tone while acting as the principal. It’s impressive. I know she appears in this role at least one more time in the show, so I look forward to seeing that.

As usual there were some great moments of comedy, wonderful facial expressions, and you can see those chronicled in the gallery.

Next time, in Precure Daily, Nozomi’s mom is sick, so she has to do the housework! How badly will this end?

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 0 kettei!

#Precure #Pretty Cure #Yes! Precure 5 #YPC514 #PCD162

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theculturedmarxist · 4 years

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The New York Times is literally a propaganda outlet and Timothy Egan is a deceitful chode. His every word drips with the anxious desperation of the Democrats who know their goose is cooked.

Watching “Succession,” the HBO show about the most despicable plutocrats to seize the public imagination since the Trumps were forced on us, made me want to tax the ultrarich into a homeless shelter. And it almost made a Bernie Bro of me.

That’s the thing about class loathing: It feels good, a moral high with its own endorphins, but is ultimately self-defeating. A Bernie Sanders rally is a hit from the same pipe: Screw those greedy billionaire bastards!

Sanders has passion going for him. He has authenticity. He certainly has consistency: His bumper-sticker sloganeering hasn’t changed for half a century. He was, “even as a young man, an old man,” as Time magazine said.

But he cannot beat Donald Trump, for the same reason people do not translate their hatred of the odious rich into pitchfork brigades against walled estates.

Because powerful oligarchs that own their government murder them with impunity when they do.

>March 7 was a bitterly cold day in Detroit, and a crowd estimated at between 3,000 and 5,000 gathered near the Dearborn city limits, about a mile from the Ford plant. The Detroit Times called it "one of the coldest days of the winter, with a frigid gale whooping out of the northwest". Marchers carried banners reading "Give Us Work, "We Want Bread Not Crumbs", and "Tax the Rich and Feed the Poor". Albert Goetz gave a speech, asking that the marchers avoid violence. The march proceeded peacefully along the streets of Detroit until it reached the Dearborn city limits.

>There, the Dearborn police attempted to stop the march by firing tear gas into the crowd and began hitting marchers with clubs. One officer fired a gun at the marchers. The unarmed crowd scattered into a field covered with stones, picked them up, and began throwing stones at the police. The angry marchers regrouped and advanced nearly a mile toward the plant. There, two fire engines began spraying cold water onto the marchers from an overpass. The police were joined by Ford security guards and began shooting into the crowd. Marchers Joe York, Coleman Leny and Joe DeBlasio were killed, and at least 22 others were wounded by gunfire.

>The leaders decided to call off the march at that point and began an orderly retreat. Harry Bennett, head of Ford security, drove up in a car, opened a window, and fired a pistol into the crowd. Immediately, the car was pelted with rocks, and Bennett was injured. He got out of the car and continued firing at the retreating marchers. Dearborn police and Ford security men opened fire with machine guns on the retreating marchers. Joe Bussell, 16 years old, was killed, and dozens more men were wounded. Bennett was hospitalized for his injury.

> All of the seriously wounded marchers were arrested, and the police chained many to their hospital beds after they were admitted for treatment. A nationwide search was conducted for William Z. Foster, but he was not arrested. No law enforcement or Ford security officer was arrested, although all reliable reports showed that they had engaged in all the gunfire, resulting in deaths, injuries and property damage. The New York Times reported that "Dearborn streets were stained with blood, streets were littered with broken glass and the wreckage of bullet-riddled automobiles, and nearly every window in the Ford plant's employment building had been broken".

The United States has never been a socialist country, even when it most likely should have been one, during the robber baron tyranny of the Gilded Age or the desperation of the Great Depression, and it never will be. Which isn’t to say that American capitalism is working; it needs Teddy Roosevelt-style trustbusting and restructuring. We’re coming for you, Facebook.

Yeah, just look how well that’s worked out, you fucking idiot.

The next month presents the last chance for serious scrutiny of Sanders, who is leading in both Iowa and New Hampshire. After that, Republicans will rip the bark off him. When they’re done, you will not recognize the aging, mouth-frothing, business-destroying commie from Ben and Jerry’s dystopian dairy. Demagogy is what Republicans do best. And Sanders is ripe for caricature.

The same Republicans that got their breakfast ate by the dottering windbag cheetoman? The same Republicans that are unpopular with over half the fucking country? The same Republicans which have shown majority support for Sanders’s policies in the past? Those are the Republicans you’re talking about, right, Timothy, you fucking asshole?

I’m not worried about the Russian stuff — Bernie’s self-described “very strange honeymoon” to the totalitarian hell of the Soviet Union in 1988, and his kind words for similar regimes. Compared with a president who is a willing stooge for the Russian strongman Vladimir Putin, a little vodka-induced dancing with the red bear is peanuts.

Nor am I worried about the legitimate questions concerning the candidate’s wife, Jane Sanders, who ran a Vermont college into the ground. Again, Trump’s family of grifters — from Ivanka securing her patents from China while Daddy made other promises to Beijing, to Don Jr.’s using the White House to leverage the family brand — give Democrats more than enough ammunition to return the fire.

This is fun. Due to a complete lack of incriminating conduct, little Timmy has to invent wrongdoing to libel Jane Sanders. I suppose he’s relying on his readers being too stupid to read the article that he himself links, another NYT hitpiece that desperately tries to paint Ms Sanders as a shady character without anything in the way of tangible proof.

>Federal prosecutors have not spoken publicly about their investigation, though late last year, Ms. Sanders’s lead lawyer said he had been told it had been closed. And while doubts remain about the contribution pledges claimed by the college, the lawyer has said that neither Ms. Sanders nor her husband was even questioned by investigators, indicating a lack of significant evidence of a crime.

>After Ms. Sanders’s ouster, the college’s troubles worsened. It abandoned a promising effort she had undertaken to sell some of its new land to improve its finances, interviews show. A few years later, when it did begin selling, it was to a consortium that secretly included at least one member of its board, raising conflict-of-interest questions.

>There is little question that the college’s 2016 demise can be traced to Ms. Sanders’s decision to champion an aggressive — critics say reckless — plan to buy the land. But with potential students put off by the lack of a campus, and with many such colleges struggling at the time, her move was the academic equivalent of a Hail Mary. Her allies said she never had a chance to fulfill her vision.

>“Jane made an audacious gambit to save the college,” said Genevieve Jacobs, a former faculty member. “It seemed to be a moment of ‘change or die.’”

>In interviews and emails, Ms. Sanders expressed frustration at her dismissal and the college’s failure to continue her rescue plan.

>“They went a completely different direction in every way than what we had proposed and decided upon as a board — with the bank, with the diocese, the bonding agency,” she said. “They didn’t carry out any of the plan. It was very confusing and upsetting at the time.”

The TL;DR seems to be: Jane Sanders tried to save a struggling school with an audacious but risky plan that ended up being aborted when she was let go by by a board, some of the members of which may have had a stake in seeing it fail. At the very least, a much more complex situation than the aspersion of “running it into the ground.”

Trump bragged about sexual assault, paid off a porn star and ran a fraudulent university. He sucks up to dictators and tells a half-dozen lies before he puts his socks on in the morning. A weird column about a rape fantasy from 1972 is not going to sink Bernie when Trump has debased all public discourse.

No, what will get the Trump demagogue factory working at full throttle is the central message of the Sanders campaign: that the United States needs a political revolution. It may very well need one. But most people don’t think so, as Barack Obama has argued. And getting two million new progressive votes in the usual area codes is not going to change that.

“Ah jeez, ah fuck, he has no sexual indiscretions that I can dredge up and his Feminist polemic against pornography and the rape culture that it engenders is old news, and if I actually reported on it honestly people might actually read it and support his ideas. Oh, well, you see, despite the incredible groundswell of support for just such a thing, Barack Obama, the man that gave the banks trillions of dollars and then allowed the state apparatus to function as their gestapo-cum-storm troopers, says we don’t need one!”

Timothy Egan wants to dismiss “two million new progressive votes” after doing a little gaslighting. His Democrat masters don’t want people to remember that it was Obama’s promises of Hope and Change after 8 years of Republican tyranny that generated a record breaking voter turnout. They would also like you to forget that 2016 was a 20-year low in voter turnout. Do you think those things are related, Mr Egan? Do you think that there might be some connection between Obama taking advantage of the desperation of millions of people, betraying them, and then those people not fucking showing up next time, causing your party to lose to the dimwit that they themselves boosted to the position?

Give Sanders credit for moving public opinion along on a living wage, higher taxes on the rich and the need for immediate action to stem the immolation of the planet. Most great ideas start on the fringe and move to the middle.

But some of his other ideas are stillborn, or never get beyond the fringe. Socialism, despite its flavor-of-the-month appeal to young people, is not popular with the general public. Just 39 percent of Americans view socialism positively, a bare uptick from 2010, compared with 87 percent who have a positive view of free enterprise, Gallup found last fall.

“Just” 39 percent of Americans, up 4% from 2016. This is ignoring for the moment that due to Americans’ piss-poor education system they have no idea what “Socialism” means aside from “more government.” Looking at the breakdown of results, it seems as though they just asked people off the top of their head what they thought about X, no definition or elaboration given. Unsurprisingly, when you look at the actual numbers on specific issues, you can see exactly why Egan has to play this deceptive bullshit: of respondents 18-34, 52% have a favorable view of “Socialism,” as opposed to 47% supporting “Capitalism.” This is in sharp contrast to the 35-54 and 55+ cohorts. 65% of Democrats have a favorable view of “Socialism.” Those with a “Liberal” ideology are even more in favor at 74%, Timothy Egan, you massive shithead.

What’s more, American confidence in the economy is now at the highest level in nearly two decades. That’s hardly the best condition for overthrowing the system.

"The highest level in nearly two decades.” That’s faint fucking praise right there.

You can see the tremendous fucking crater caused by the crash in 2007/8, a reversal of a whopping -81 points from the previous year. With many economists forecasting recession beginning either this year or the next, we’ll see how long the confidence lasts.

So-called Medicare for all, once people understand that it involves eliminating all private insurance, polls at barely above 40 percent in some surveys, versus the 70 percent who favor the option of Medicare for all who want it. Other polls show majority support. But cost is a huge concern. And even Sanders cannot give a price tag for nationalizing more than one-sixth of the economy.

A ban on fracking is a poison pill in a must-win state like Pennsylvania, which Democrats lost by just over 44,000 votes in 2016. Eliminating Immigration and Customs Enforcement, another Sanders plan, is hugely unpopular with the general public.

“Medicare for all is really unpopular, except when it isn’t.”

Hmm, you know? Hmmm.

As for fracking, from his own link:

>A November poll conducted by the Kaiser Family Foundation and the Cook Political Report found that only 39 percent of Pennsylvania swing voters saw a fracking ban as a good idea, even as nearly 7 in 10 of those same voters said they supported the idea of a “Green New Deal” for the environment.

Democrats are whinging on the jobs “lost” to a fracking ban as though it exists in isolation. 39% might support a fracking ban, but 70% support the GND, which could potentially offset the “job loss” with industry that has the potential not to leave their state as a fucking environmentally ruined horror show. I haven’t run the numbers on this, but not living in a cesspool of polluted air and water tends to be pretty popular, Timbo.

More shellgames from Mr Egan regarding abolishing ICE.

> Only 1 in 4 voters in the poll, 25 percent, believe the federal government should get rid of ICE. The majority, 54 percent, think the government should keep ICE. Twenty-one percent of voters are undecided.

That sounds bad. Maybe it’s not such a good ide

>But a plurality of Democratic voters do support abolishing ICE, the poll shows. Among Democrats, 43 percent say the government should get rid of ICE, while only 34 percent say it should keep ICE.

Oh.

Sanders is a rigid man, and he projects grumpy-old-man rigidity, with his policy prescriptions frozen in failed Marxist pipe dreams. He’s unlikely to change. I sort of like that about his character, in the same way I like that he didn’t cave to the politically correct bullies who went after him for accepting the support of the influential podcaster Joe Rogan.

Democrats win with broad-vision optimists who still shake up the system — Franklin Roosevelt, of course, but also Obama. The D’s flipped 40 House seats in 2018 without using any of Sanders’s stringent medicine. If they stick to that elixir they’ll oust Trump, the goal of a majority of Americans.

Democrats lose with fire-and-brimstone fundamentalists. Three times, the party nominated William Jennings Bryan, the quirky progressive with great oratorical pipes, and three times they were trounced. Look him up, kids. Your grandchildren will do a similar search for Bernie Sanders when they wonder how Donald Trump won a second term.

“Failed Marxist pipe dreams.” Aaaaay lmao. You should also have an inkling something is wrong when you have to go all the way back to FDR to find someone that supports your point. Talk about “poison pills,” Obama proved himself to be as much of a snake as the rest, and the effects of that resonated in 2016 when the Dems ran on a platform of “that’s a nice country you have there, you wouldn’t want Trump to get elected, would you?” How did that work out? You ran one of the most unpopular politicians in the country—after very blatantly rigging the primaries against Sanders to do so—against one of the most unpopular capitalists in the country, and lost, dipshit!

Ironically, I think Timbob’s closing statement will prove true, though not in the way his clown ass intends. Shills like Egan are doing everything they can to try and poison public perception against Sanders and his policies, who only proves increasingly popular as time goes on, so much so in fact that the DNC is already biting its nails and muttering to itself about ways it can try and cheat his supporters again.

In conversations on the sidelines of a DNC executive committee meeting and in telephone calls and texts in recent days, about a half-dozen members have discussed the possibility of a policy reversal to ensure that so-called superdelegates can vote on the first ballot at the party’s national convention. Such a move would increase the influence of DNC members, members of Congress and other top party officials, who now must wait until the second ballot to have their say if the convention is contested.

They deny it in the article, claim that changing the rules would be “bad sportsmanship,” but one would be a fool to believe them. If anything, their ambivalence towards relying on Superdelegates would make me even more nervous at this stage. Politico wants it to seem like the DNC is bent on playing fair, but more likely than not they have no intention of changing the convention rules because they believe there’s no need. With Warren’s flagging support and the luke-warm response to Biden, I doubt they’re overcome with optimism of beating Sanders in an honest primary. With all the shenanigans from last time’s primaries in mind, it’s likely that the machinery to rig the results their way is already in place—the primary could already be over before it even begins.

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azvolrien · 4 years

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Five Vignettes about Asta in Stormhaven - Workshop

Talkin’ ’bout constructs.

~~~

“I just – I don’t understand what the problem is!” Galen said, quickly leafing through his notes. “It’s not a mechanical issue – I’ve tested all of the joints and they move just fine. The crystal is the proper size for a construct this big. It’s some of my neatest rune work ever. And it just – won’t – move!” His voice rose to a wail on the last word.

“All right, take a step back and go get a glass of water,” said Calburn. “We can sort this out, but you need to get your head in the right place first. Believe me, I know from experience that you make more mistakes when you get worked up.”

Galen took a deep, steadying breath, closed his eyes, and ran the fingers of both hands back through his hair. “Yes. All right. Back in a minute.”

To Galen’s visible dismay, his work had gained an extra observer when he returned. One of Master Gwen’s assistants was peering around the door with great interest.

“Right, let’s have another look at this,” said Calburn. “And – sorry, can we help you?”

The woman at the door started and edged around the door into the construct workshop. “Yes, Master Gwen sent me down to get the latest materials inventory.”

“In the office,” said Calburn, pointing. “The blue folder on the desk.”

She nodded and hurried over to collect it. “Is something the matter?” she asked on the way back out.

“My new construct won’t activate,” said Galen morosely.

“Maybe… Maybe I could have a look?” she suggested. “Get a fresh pair of eyes on the problem.”

“I don’t need critique from someone who isn’t even a mage,” muttered Galen.

“Don’t be an arse, Galen,” said Calburn sharply. “Like she says, it can’t hurt to get a fresh look at it.” He stepped aside, clearing the woman’s path, and gestured at the construct.

The woman nodded and walked in a thoughtful circle around the construct, still immobile on its supporting frame. “The metalwork is beautiful,” she commented. “Some very elegant machining on the front legs there, and in the support for the power crystal. The use of the smoky quartz is a nice touch aesthetically, and that crystal’s certainly big enough. So what is the problem?” She knelt down to peer at the runes inscribed on the chest plate and inside the casing along the back of the construct’s neck. “Ah-ha! I see – it’s a simple runic issue.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my runes,” said Galen, folding his arms defensively.

The woman held up a hand in what was probably meant to be a soothing gesture. “See, in the activation array on the chest, you’ve used this rune?” She took a notebook from one pocket and drew the symbol in question.

“That’s a perfectly standard power rune,” said Galen.

“Yes – but it’s intended for much smaller constructs. Guard dogs, messengers and similar. By itself it can’t channel enough power to properly activate a construct of this size.”

Calburn leant in for a closer look, comparing the image in the notebook to the one on the construct’s chest. “…She’s right, Galen.”

Galen made an indignant spluttering sound best transcribed as “!?”

“There’s an easy solution, though,” she assured him. “Either you can sand out the original and replace it with this one,” she drew a second rune in her notebook, “or you can add some amplifier marks around the original so it can handle the greater power requirements.” This, too, was added to her notes, and she held up the pad for Galen to see the new diagram. He looked from the paper to the construct and back again a couple of times, and left the workshop without another word.

Calburn sighed. “Sorry about him,” he said. “Senior apprentice – he’s at that stage in his education where he knows just enough to think he knows everything. He’ll come back once he’s salved his bruised ego.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Nah, you’re fine. I figure they learn more from their mistakes than from their triumphs. I didn’t catch that rune problem, though – well done with that!” Calburn looked at her thoughtfully. She hunched her shoulders slightly, her eyes uncertain, and he took what he hoped were a few reassuring steps back to give her more space. “I haven’t seen you around much.”

She nodded. “I just started helping in Master Gwen’s office earlier this week.”

“That explains it, then. M’name’s Calburn – or Master Calburn Sayer of the School of Constructs, to use my full title.”

“Asta zeDamar. Just… just Asta, usually.”

Calburn nodded. “How d’you know about activation arrays?” he asked. “That’s fairly advanced stuff, to know what each specific rune does.”

“Oh, I’ve always been interested in constructs. I’ve probably read most of the available literature – Rathlean’s The Making of Constructs is the seminal work of the modern age, of course, but Magnussen’s treatise on the integration of traditional rune magic is vital reading as well when dealing with built constructs like this, and anyone interested in grown constructs really needs to look at the works of wizards like Pritchard and MacAskill, firstly to understand how the technique originated and then to look at what can really be done with it today. Hassan’s Revenants of Kemet is interesting if you want to look into the deeper historical background, too.”

Calburn blinked.

“Sorry,” said Asta sheepishly. “My parents always used to say I could get very wordy when I got onto the topic of constructs.”

“And you never thought of going into the field yourself?” asked Calburn.

“Well… I would have loved to, but like your student said – I’m not a mage.”

Calburn nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, that is a bit of a stumbling block. I suppose you could still have had a role as a designer.”

“I looked into it,” said Asta sadly. “None of the relevant courses accepted non-mage students. I do have a construct, though,” she added more happily, taking a polished oval of black granite from an inside pocket.

“May I see? There’s-” Calburn looked around. “Yes, there’s enough room over there for materialisation.”

Asta held up the stone and stepped back to let her construct materialise around it. Lines of light stretched out from the hovering stone, sketching out a tall, four-legged form before, with a final bright flash, the construct solidified. Calburn covered his mouth with both hands. Asta’s construct looked more like a giant panther than anything else, with sleek black fur with the ghosts of spots like patterns on watered silk. The head, too, was feline, with neat rounded ears, the dark stone embedded in its forehead, and the pupilless yellow eyes typical of a grown construct, while a pair of horns shaped a bit like a ram’s but with a smooth surface more like a cow’s curled out and down from the back of its skull. Proportionally it stood a little taller than a leopard would have, closer to the build of a wolf though more muscular, and the long tail sported a broad, fan-like fringe of wiry hair near the end, but the velvety black paws were pure cat.

“Oh, she is beautiful,” said Calburn, leaning in to see the patterns impressed into the leather of the harness.

“Thank you, but – ‘she’?”

“Oh, you don’t do that? Most people I know use the same pronouns as themselves for their constructs.”

Asta shrugged. “I never got into the habit. Its name is Pardus.”

“I can see why. Out of the Grishin workshop in the Imperial City, yeah? I recognise the detailing on the harness.”

“Not just from the workshop; it was Alexei Grishin himself.”

Calburn whistled, impressed. “His work doesn’t come cheap, either.”

“It wasn’t,” said Asta. “It was a graduation present – my parents saved up for years for it.”

“They must be very proud of you,” said Calburn, smiling.

Asta sighed and looked at the floor. “I… hope they would be.”

“You – oh. Oh, gods. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.”

“It – it’s fine. I don’t… really talk about it much.” She ran her fingers over the fine, soft fur on Pardus’s muzzle.

“So… How fast can it run?”

Asta smiled for the distraction. “It can manage a sustained top speed of forty miles an hour over good ground, and a little more in short bursts. It’s very sure-footed, too, so even over rough ground it isn’t slowed down too much.”

“Not bad!” said Calburn. “My Mostol is built more for strength – he can hit thirty flat-out, but his usual speed isn’t much more than twenty – but I’ve clocked Vrand at sixty.”

“Sixty?”

“That’s in level flight, of course,” said Calburn. “On the ground he can barely hit ten – not really made for walking, bless him.” He took the fist-sized summoning stone on its string from inside his tunic. “D’you want to see him?” he asked, gesturing to the door out into the College grounds.

“That’s a very big stone for a simple messenger construct,” said Asta. “Wait – are you saying you’ve made a flying construct big enough to ride?” Calburn nodded. “Then yes, I want to see him!”

Outside, when the gigantic construct had fully materialised and folded his near-hundred-and-fifty-foot wingspan, Asta had to sit down for a moment.

“So you’re telling me,” she said faintly, “that for your masterpiece construct… You made a dragon.”

“Well, he’s a bit more mammalian,” said Calburn. “But essentially… Yeah.”

“You’re a demented genius, Calburn Sayer.”

“I’ve always thought so,” said Calburn with a grin, “but you’re the first to say it out loud.”

“Great gods above. I mean, I’d seen Narwhal, but this…” Asta shook her head, smiling. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“And that’s why they made me a Master,” said Calburn, still grinning. “Listen – d’you want to come out for a drink after work?”

“Oh. Um. Uh. That’s very flattering, but I – I’m not interested in men. Romantically.”

“Duly noted for future reference,” said Calburn. “But I didn’t mean romantically – I honestly just wanted to chat some more about constructs.”

Asta considered him in silence for a few seconds.

“I could ask my pal Rhona to come along too if it’d make you more comfortable,” offered Calburn.

“Well, m- Sorry, your pal what?”

“Rhona Carnwennan. You’ve probably seen her around – she’s one of the Healers.”

“Oh. Well… All right, then.”

“Great! Shall we say five o’clock at the Fox and Hare?”

Asta nodded and got to her feet. “That’s the one just down the road, right? Yes, that works – I’ll meet you there at five. Now…” She smiled and held up her satchel. “I really do need to get this inventory back to Master Gwen.”

~~~

Asta got the job on her own merits - Ari didn’t drop a word in Master Gwen’s ear or anything. She did point Asta in the direction of the vacancy, though.

#az writes stories

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mrsrcbinscn · 5 years

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BDRPWriMo Task #28 - Closet

BDRPWriMo Task #28: Your character’s closet! Or, 15 iconic Franny Robinson outfits

1-4. Franny’s (four) wedding dresses

Cornelius and Franny’s wedding was heavily influenced by Cambodian wedding traditions. [read here and here, later I’ll post a full HC post about what Khmer traditions they followed and how, and which ones they forwent - like obviously Neil didn’t pay a dowry for Franny]

A traditional Cambodian wedding is comprised of many ceremonies, music, meals, gifts, and guests lasting for three days and three nights. Cambodians choose the number three because of its relation to “three jewels” of Buddhism: the Buddha, the Sangha, and the Dhamma. So Neil and Franny’s wedding ceremonies lasted three days, only family and close friends were invited to the majority of the ceremonies, with the Actual Wedding and reception happening on day three.

Neil paid for all of her mother’s surviving (post Khmer Rogue years) siblings and extended family to fly in from Cambodia if they’d remained there, or from the other countries they’d been resettled as refugees to. For some of her siblings and cousins, the lead up to the 2002 wedding was the first time Sophea “Sophie” had seen them since before the fall of Phnom Penh in April 1975.

They wore traditional Khmer wedding costume for all three days, but Franny changed into a Western style dress shortly after the first dance.

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3 - The Actual Wedding

Apart from her wedding, she has four aesthetics:

Stage

#vintage

Professional pencil skirts and pantsuits

Dress to DEPRESS

5. Nature Dress

Franny wore this nature scene dress when she accepted her most recent Grammy award.

6. “Who’s This Farmer’s-Wife-Lookin’ Girl?”

... was the first thought Atlanta Jazz Festival 2005 festival goers had when Franny Robinson stepped onstage in a dress and boots straight from her closet.

“I didn’t have things like stylists or sponsored outfits back then,” said Robinson in a 2014 interview. “I’d already made a bit of splash as far as songwriting went; by then I’d had full or partial credit for writing and-or composing twenty-two songs. Mind you, I’d only graduated from NYU with my Bachelors’ in ‘02, and finished my Masters’ in England in ‘04. But as a singer, I had only released an EP and featured on other singers’ tracks. I wasn’t, you know, Franny Robinson yet. The 2005 Atlanta Jazz Festival was the first in a series of test runs.”

When asked why the Atlanta Jazz Festival when she was already living in England at the time, Robinson answered, “Atlanta is my home. The jazz festival was one of my favorite things about growin’ up here, so I wanted to launch my music career here.”

To this day, the outfit remains one of the most iconic Franny Robinson looks. Instagram captions of fans wearing similar outfits often read “channeling my inner Franny Robinson today.”

7. Baby Pink Cherries

In 2009, Franny and her lifelong friend and song-writing partner, bluegrass and folk singer and multi-instrumentalist Daniel Maitland (fc: Martin Sensmeier), formed the duo Dara & Danny.

From an article:

Robinson and Maitland have known each other since middle school, when Maitland moved to her small town outside of Atlanta from Alaska. They started out as fiercely competitive rivals before Maitland proposed they marry their talents and begin playing music together. It was a match made in music heaven.

Even when Franny went to NYU and Daniel went to East Tennessee State [the only university with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Bluegrass, Old Time, and Country Music Studies, which he holds], they remained in steady contact and spent their summers at home playing and writing together. The first few years of their music careers were spent breaking into their respective primary fields - jazz music for Franny, bluegrass and folk for Daniel - and coming together to write music and lyrics for each other.

It was again Maitland who proposed they perform together, this time, professionally.

Dara & Danny, a duo made up of jazz musician and bluegrass musician, flirts with jazz music but is primarily influenced by bluegrass, folk, and indie rock a la Rilo Kiley.

“Dara & Danny is where I get to explore the music besides jazz that made me. I grew up in rural Georgia, bluegrass, country, folk music, that was all around me. And I loved it. I love all music,” Robinson said. “Like, I love hip-hop. My husband got a crash course in Outkast and the rest of the Atlanta hip-hop legends when we started seeing each other.”

The pink cherries dress was worn at the 2010 CMAs when Dara & Danny performed. They weren’t nominated for anything that year, but were super jazzed to have been invited to perform.

Dara & Danny, funnily enough, has been Franny’s most commercially successful project. Meaning, tracks have featured in movies, tv, and its what gets the most radio play. Her work in jazz is more highly critically acclaimed, and she is much more prolific with composing jazz music than anything else, but there are more people who first discover her through Dara & Danny that then find out she’s a world class jazz musician than the other way around.

8. Met Gala 2018

You know, the Catholic-themed one. She wore a dress depicting Adam and Eve.

9. National BIcon Franny Robinson

Franny is known for not changing gender pronouns when she sings songs originally performed by men. Prior to her coming out as bisexual in 2017, Franny dodged the questions by simply saying, “That’s how the song was written.”

In 2018 she appeared in a 1940s aesthetic music video for a song by her friend, fellow jazz singer, and out lesbian Lora Lopez. Franny starred as her love interest. There was seduction, there was making out, there was stealing from men. It was so gay.

The ‘Making Of’ video is hilarious because Lora kept laughing every time she grabbed Franny and kissed her because the first time she grabbed Franny she was like “oh my god I’m sorry, was that too rough?” and without thinking Franny went “you’re good, I like it rough, you can make it real kinky and slap me if you want.” Because that’s the kind of jokes Franny makes. And for like five takes Lora could not stop laughing when she grabbed her and kissed her.

10. Seoul Hanoi’d at Glastonbury 2016

Franny’s second most active music project - apart from her constant solo work - after Dara & Danny is Seoul Hanoi’d, the best pun I have ever made in my life. She is a founding member and co-lead singer of the band. Seoul Hanoi’d is a genre-bending performance group entirely made up of Asian-diaspora singers and musicians whose main careers are in various genres.

[I’ll make a full hc post about Seoul Hanoi’d later, too!]

The name, a pun on ‘so annoyed’ comes from the capital of South Korea and a city in Vietnam. Seoul Hanoi’d currently consists ethnic Korean, Vietnamese, Cambodian, Malaysian, Indonesian, Mongolian, Kazakh, Chinese, Nepalese, and Thai diaspora who rotate out for live shows as their schedules permit. The "core” members are almost all at every performance. Of the core members, Franny is absent the most however, because of her wildly busy schedule. She has a hand in composing almost every original song, arranging most of the covers, writing a huge chunk of their lyrics, and is the common thread between most of the other musicians, so she is considered the leader of the group.

Franny wore this outfit during their set at Glastonbury 2016, their first year performing there.

11. Swynlake Adult Prom 2019

The Gatsby-themed one? That was Franny’s JAM. She killed it with her art deco dress!

12. Postmodern Jukebox

Franny’s been featured in a Postmodern Jukebox video, and wore this green velvet dress.

13. Twinning Pink Ao Dai at a Vietnamese Festival with a Vietnamese Friend

The co-lead singer of Seoul Hanoi’d is a Vietnamese-American named Vanessa Pham. Franny and Vanessa met when they were students at NYU through their involvement with the university’s Asian Student Union. Franny, a jazz studies and musical theater performance double major from Georgia, and Vanessa, an engineering student from Texas, found that they had a lot in common.

They were both the only daughters of war refugees who came to the United States in the 1970s. They were both from the South. Franny even spoke Vietnamese almost as well as Vanessa, as she spent her first four years living with her mother in the home of a Vietnamese couple who’d taken her mother in when she was pregnant with her. In both Franny’s hometown in Georgia and Vanessa’s in Texas, the small Vietnamese and Cambodian diaspora groups were very interconnected, so each other’s culture was almost as familiar to them as their own.

They both liked to put bacon in their cheesy grits and put hot sauce on their rice when their moms weren’t looking. They both loved authentic Chinese food as much as the next self-respectin’ first-generation gal, but they also could put away some crab rangoons because cream cheese was truly king. They both could absolutely destroy their older brothers in a fight. They both knew all the worlds to every Dolly, Tanya Tucker, and Dixie Chicks song, but also found their parents’ old Khmer or Vietnamese music comforting.

Franny could count on one hand the number of other Cambodian students she’d met in her time at NYU, so even meeting Vietnamese Vanessa who knew how to order in hesitant, broken Khmer at the Cambodian restaurant they found was exciting. More than that, Vanessa was hilarious! And smart! And such a good, loyal friend. She had a hidden talent as a singer and wanted to do music like Franny, but her parents made her go into STEM for ‘job security.’

Vanessa graduated with her engineering degree and went on to get her masters’, but after working as an engineer for four years she quit to pursue music. It was shortly after she took the leap that Franny approached her to form Seoul Hanoi’d.

On Franny’s Instagram, there’s a picture of her and Vanessa wearing matching pink ao dai at a Vietnamese culture festival earlier in 2019 with the caption, “Thank you for sharing your beautiful voice, laughter, and culture with me for twenty years and counting!”

“What I love the most about Asian cultures is just how many of them there are.” Robinson said in a 2019 interview. “I love when my Desi friends are like ‘hey! be my plus one at this wedding!’ and they invite me to wear their traditional clothing while celebrating with them. I love learning new Vietnamese phrases from my friends. I’m always so honored when I’m invited to participate in my friends’ cultures, because I know when I invite somebody to Cambodian New Year events, or a traditional wedding, its because I trust them to appreciate this important part of me and participate respectfully. Our cultures are so diverse, and beautiful, and vibrant!”

There’s a similar picture of Vanessa and Franny together at a Cambodian New Year celebration, where Vanessa’s wearing traditional Khmer clothing with Franny.

14. Plaid Dress

Franny wore and performed in this dress at the 2011 International Bluegrass Music Awards when Dara & Danny won the New Artist of the Year, and Song of The Year.

15. That Kickass Outfit

Franny wore this outfit when she attended and performed at the 2015 BRIT Awards, and won Best International Female Solo Artist.

#bdrpwrimomckala #&&...hc

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