#mrs strange winter's analysis

[lenarish]

A deep analysis on Pantalone

Since his first appearence on genshin on Winter's night Lazzo, Pantalone has become an obsession of mine, which not only made me look further on some Commedia Dell'arte scripts, but also sucked me into a whirlwind of theories regarding the possibilities for what part his character will play in the game.

I'm warning you, this post will be big, but also written in a hurry. There is a chance nothing will make sense, but there's also a chance that I'm not being as crazy as I think I am. After all, I guessed right the first time, when I said here that Dottore and Pantalone could be partners, and it ended up being true.

So fellas, specially Pantalone nation, enjoy this dose of hyperfocus.

The Pantalone archetype in Commedia Dell'arte:

Let's start with a simple question; what is a Pantalone?

I know this question may sound strange at first, but we have to keep in mind that the characters in the original commedia had their main comedic features making their way to be transformed into classic archetypes that still are present in other characters way more famous to us. We may know a lot of Pantalones in fiction, even if we never thought about this connection before! Let me show you some of them:

The "Pantalone archetype", as you can see, is in a nutshell "old men that love money". However, there is often a very important factor that must be considered when identifying them among comical rich characters; they often have a past in poverty, or at least weren't always as rich as they are now, and that is the cause of paranoid and grumpy behaviour. Another common trope for them (nowadays) is their hidden feelings, commonly having one or more family members that they love more than their wealth. That explains why Mr. Burns is the only one up there that doesn't match that new criteria, despite being obviously a Pantalone archetype from head to toe.

There is a reason for that. When we hear a joke, would you find it funny if you couldn't understand it?

Pantalone was created to mock the richer classes at the time (and it's important to remember, the era was marked by the bourgeoisie starting to get a sit among the higher classes.) but at the same time, he was created to represent Venice. We have a double joke here: in his name, and in his personality. The joke in his name is because the animal that represents Venice is the lion, so, to represent it, he was suppose to ''put/plant the lion''(pianta leone in italian) in the places he went to, being it other cities or colonies. Contracting this, we have ''Pantalone'', at the same time that it means Pants. The main joke of his personality is that although he is very rich, he lives almost miserably. It doesn't seem to be a popular portrayal that he was part of a noble family or always rich; he was innitially a merchant, and he is a symbol of the self-made man. That past in poverty is what gives context to why he is so stingy and obsessed with his money. And people loved it. Well, we still do. In fact, the most famous version of his portrayal is not focused on how powerful or cunning he can be, but in this pathetic and grumpy man that could be having a wonderful life, instead, he is too concerned about spending a single penny, and ends up being miserable. All to keep his status as rich. This is funny because we can still understand it, we still know very well what they were mocking.

That is why Pantalone is one of the strongest characters in the commedia. This exact stereotypical behaviour ended up becoming timeless.

More than that, it slowly became more and more a famous archetype to create characters that people end up sympathizing a lot with once they see their pasts. And why that? Time passes, and now we have families being middle class; not rich, but not miserably poor. The picture changes a bit: Pantalone became less a figure to represent rich people being cruel, and more a figure that can be understood; that is ''just like us'', a figure that still have a good heart deep down. The message being: "anyone can become a Pantalone one day, but it can change". (if they are properly traumatized into being gentle to others, like our man Ebenezer Scrooge).

Or even, a person that got blinded by power. And nothing good happens when a person that learned to hate the world and it's people gets power. They learned that the powerful ones can do as they please with vulnerable people like them, and what is sweeter for the oppressed than being the oppressor?

With all that in mind, let's continue.

The Pale Flame Set:

Genshin really went hard with the "rich man with a tragic past" trope for him.

So, we have here a man that feels so forgotten by the divine, so miserable and powerless, that he started to feel enraged at the gods and ready to declare war. It's important to notice since now: It's not about the money for him, it's about the power that comes with it. Because money is a power that common humans should control, not the gods. The gods don't need it, humans need. He needs it. In the end, it's more about him than the rest, I'll talk more about it later.

But what more do we know about him?

To start, many things we can discover about him in game shows that he is not stingy like the more classic versions of Pantalone. For example, the Goth Grand Hotel was entirely reserved by the fatui delegation. When we ask Goth about it, he says that Pantalone was so generous in his offer that he had no choice but to comply with the demand. This shows that he has no trouble using mora to get what he wants if words aren't enough. To me, this is just a good example of someone shamelessly using his power.

We see a similar indication of his "loose" fist on money when in Winter's Night Lazzo, he finds the idea of mourning for half a day absurd. Funny, even. In English, this is not very noticiable, but in Chinese, he sounds very passive-aggressive. He says that Pulcinella's values are ''more twisted than those of a banker like him'', and by that, unapologetically recognizing himself as a twisted person, considering that, right before, he was saying people say that the Northland Bank's true currencies are blood and tears (and cries of loss/wailing, in chinese). We haven't seen many harbingers speaking like this yet; this openly (or implicitly) sadistic.

Ok, Scaramouche was an asshole, Signora was patronizing, and Dottore is simply the cruelest character in the game yet, but I'm not talking about simply being cruel. There are types of cruelty. Signora never bragged about being cruel, neither was she sadistic. She acted violent with Venti for personal reasons, and was very diplomatic with the other archons. Dottore, too, acted very reasonable and calm in Sumeru, and even in the Zandik notes, he doesn't seem to enjoy the suffering of his patients and test subjects, it's just a natural part of the science for him. Scaramouche is the most similar one in that regard, but that speaks volumes by itself. He, too, was a very frustrated abused person wanting to feel like the abuser.

But there's more to it. In Liyue, when we ask Andrei about the Northland Bank, he says that the economy in Snezhnaya "have the brilliance and foresight of Master Pantalone to thank". Pantalone is regarded as a bold mind in economy, and therefore dangerous in many occasions. To start, we have Tartaglia's voice-over indicating his genius:

"Oh, now that guy has a head full of grandiose plans fueled by raw ambition. I don't understand a word he says once he starts talking about his theories… Eh, but as long as he keeps our cash reserves stocked up, I'm not complaining."

Then, we have Uncle tian tellilng us in Yelan's mission:

(...)"However, his "wealth" is not a mere question of how much Mora he has to his name. He has a very unique understanding of wealth… And what he's planning may very well shake the world to its core."

And finally, Scaramouche's voice-over cementing the point being built:

"Oh, the ninth-ranked guy. He's obsessed with the idea of "fair exchange," to the point of wanting to overthrow the natural imbalance between gods and humans. But, I guess it's just how ordinary mortals are like — it's easy for them to come up with pointless delusions. Honestly, it's nothing worth writing home about, just like how there's also nothing impressive about his abilities or choice of partner. Hmph. Anyone who chooses to work closely with The Doctor is sure to meet a nasty end."

Now, we can definitely conclude two things with all that people say about him.

He is very revolutionary and many are already aware that what he is planning will be groundbreaking.

He is ambitious enough to ally himself with a person openly known as destructive and abusive by the other harbingers themselves.

That leads us to the question…

What part will he possibly play in Genshin?

Let's put everything together: We have a character here that has a tragic past, is filthy rich, has revolutionary plans for the future, and apparently is…a bit fragile for a harbinger. What potentials does he have? What can be done with him?

Well, first, I think he will be a parallel to Ningguang.

By that, I'm not stating that I think he is from Liyue. It must seem very obvious for many, but let's not forget that nothing in game confirmed his nationality. Ever. We have to remember that many people were also super sure that Scaramouche would be electro because of ''what the game showed'', but in reality we never saw him using electro powers, we just assumed.

But by saying he will be a Parallel to Ningguang, I'm saying that both were very poor people that are now Teyvat's richest individuals. But while one managed to wake a vision solely by the force of ambition, the other still wasn't graced with one, even if his ambition is as big as (if not bigger than) Ningguang's. Not only that, their views on mora and wealth are very different; while Ningguang is content with things as they are now, Pantalone isn't.

Let's take a look on Wriothesley's signature weapon, the Cashflow supervision:

"We'll start by creating a new currency to replace the dependence on mora"

Hm...

"Nor shall the wealth of the Gods descend, to rescue the dignity of the poor from the feet of the rich."

I don't know about you guys, but I admit that when I first read Pantalone's pale flame piece I thought he was lowkey a radical communist acting as a capitalist(which I found neat, personally), but the Cashflow Supervision opened my eyes. Come on, I know it's not confirmed that the person speaking is Pantalone, but just look at it. He even uses the same analogy of arteries and blood!

Let's think about what is being said here.

He is planning on making a new currency, one that will wipe mora away from the picture. A good plan, if you ask me. And, do you remember? Zhongli told us once, in the end of the Liyue arc:

This is the best opportunity Pantalone could ask for. As the Golden House ceases operation, the Northland bank can act. And I believe this is the reason Pantalone was trying to interfere with Liyuean politics in the first place, with Liyue being the economic capital of Teyvat, of course it's important to have someone that will be more open to agree with his ideas in charge, even if it was treated as a secondary matter to him.

But aside from that, that final sentence in Cashflow supervision really sticks to me. Again this sort of gleeful enjoyment with the power he will have. It becomes obvious that his main motivations behind the ''fair exchange'' between gods and humans isn't to make things better for anyone particularly. The rich will still be rich and the poor will still be poor. What he craves is to feel like a god in the end. To have the power to give and take, to be both feared and praised. And then deny the ones in need, just like he felt the gods denied him in the past.

Now, returning to the Pantalone archetype.

There are two routes for villains like that: 1, they simply die. 2, they change their worldviews in a very traumatic event.

I think Pantalone will die... I don't know, it's a hunch. I sure hope he doesn't, but I wouldn't be surprised if it happens. It's something in how Scaramouche hints he will have a nasty end too, or his dead anime mom hairstyle(kind of), or his white strands of hair... Or better, I think that he would be a good character to kill. Speaking about the narrative. He could die trying to bargain, or he could die while spitting the hardest truths possible to the traveler, maybe even making them reflect about the gods, the Archons, or what the Fatui want after all. I mean...we have now just 2 nations left, and the traveler didn't question anything about the harbingers' motivations?! Oh, please. Or maybe, if not the traveler, at least make the players symphatize with him. He is a very tragic character when you think about it.

If he lives, I think he is literally the best harbinger to make redeemable without it sounding ridiculous. Think about it: how many times a capitalistic villain was actually an anti-villain? I'll show you a very good example. Tumblr's lord and saviour himself:

Yes.

Pantalone is the best character in genshin to suffer a deep realization of his own morals in the best case scenario. But if not, he can flee or die trying to defend himself in the most tragic way, screaming. Maybe cry, plead, remember memories of himself in the past, and in the game? I'm sure some people will feel bad for him if there's a cutscene like this, as we defeat him, even if the final conclusion will be ''well, he deserved it''.

With all that said, I will conclude all this by saying that it's amazing how I love this character when he didn't even show up in the game yet. He has so much potential that I honestly feel that he can't fail, no matter the narrative they choose. It's already impossible. If he ends up being pathetic in the game? I'll love it. If he ends up being a complete maniac? I'll love it too. What if he is cold and calculating? Also fits and I'll like it! What about if he lives or dies? I'm all in, I will want to see it. The only way he can fail in the narrative is by dying too fast like Signora, I mean, before we can properly know more about him in the game(not only through weapons or artifact sets), but even so, Signora's death is the reason we got the Winter's Night Lazzo in the first place. Plus, I don't think Hoyoverse would repeat the same event twice, specially when they are improving the story-telling method significantly.

So think of any possibility for him, seriously, and tell me, honestly, wouldn't it be interesting?

#genshin harbingers #genshin impact #pantalone #character analysis #I should write one about Dottore too... #idk #maybe I will

[arcticdementor]

Recovering from winter-time illness, I am returning to form on this SubStack by just reacting to the latest thing that caught my ire on the internet, this time the article Men Have Abandoned Marriage and Parenthood from the blog Graphs about Religion. I encountered this piece in Aaron Ren's excellent newsletter, and given that it touched on one of our mutual interests (the problem of relationship and family decline in the 21st century) I read the whole thing in detail despite Ren's disclaimer concerning its "blue-pilled assumptions”. But "blue-pilled assumptions” only scratch the surface, since the analysis contains huge problems in its methods, less numerical than in its philosophical approach to tackling hard problems with data. The author, Ryan Burge, seems like a nice guy. While I don't want to completely trash the man’s work, I have to say that the article is a perfect picture of statistically backward thinking. It's not just that the assumptions behind the model are "blue-pilled", the entire approach falls into a pattern I have been observing for some time in how journalists and laypeople talk about data analysis, especially in the wake of Large Language Models (LLM) and "A.I.".

…

As someone who works with data professionally, Burge's process looks silly, not least because the author takes a highly developed question and then digs into a new analysis as if no prior knowledge or work existed on the subject. It's already a ham-fisted approach, so it comes as no surprise to see Mr. Burge divide his cohort into men and women (broken out by ethnicity, religion, education, and income), observe a gap between the sexes, and then breathlessly arrive at the conclusion that, "men are the real problems here".

…

As readers might suspect, there are a lot of mistakes going on in Mr. Burges's analysis. Most fundamentally, the author is treating his dataset like it fell out of the sky. He doesn't know what a man is. He doesn't know what a woman is. He doesn't know what marriage is. All of these data points are just numbers describing widgets from planet Zongo. And, if there are more bad effects associated with the "male" widgets, that means that those "male" widgets caused the bad effects of their own volition.

…

But Mr. Burge's conclusions can't hold up to even a few moments of introspection. For instance, when I taught statistics I used to tell my students to sanity check their results by looking at their graph, pointing to a position on it, and asking themselves"What is going on here in real life?". What would such a method reveal about Mr. Burge’s data set? After all, his data describes something that we all understand from life: real men, real women, and real relationships. Quite obviously, on examining the family-formation question this way we would immediately realize that marriage is not an individual question but a pair-matchingproblem. Given that polygamy and gay marriage are still statistically rare in America at the time of the sample, virtually every marriage is a match between both a man and a woman, meaning that any sex difference that appears statistically in the "has ever been married" category must be the result of one of two effects: 1. Women marrying men from outside the cohort, or 2. Women marrying and divorcing, with their ex-husbands remarrying never-before-married women. In either case, neither effect originates from the decisions of men who have never been married and could not provide evidence of a mass shirking of marriage by single men.

…

And Mr. Burge’s conclusion is made all the more strange by the fact that, in his haste to chase the ghost of male culpability, the author blows off the most notable element of his data set; pointing out, and then sidestepping, the conclusion that increased education makes men more likely to get married, but has a neutral or negative effect on women’s prospects for matrimony.  This last conclusion won't be surprising for anyone who has explored the topic in more depth. And for those interested, I would certainly recommend Aporia's in-depth investigation into the ultimate causes of the baby bust. However, this is not the point that I want to explore in this essay. The problem I see in the previous analysis is less a particular mistake interpreting data and more an underlying philosophical misunderstanding. In 2024, very few people have a good appreciation of what data models actually are. Subsequently, we increasingly see “cargo cult” statistics, with people imitating the form of the process (e.g. collecting data sets, generating R-values, making graphs) with no understanding of the purpose or limitations of the endeavor. People demand "data-driven" analysis but then just extract measurements and graphs from data sets and project their conclusions on them like oracles hovering over tea leaves. No greater criticism about the context or framing of the question is performed.  It would be one thing to see this attitude isolated on some statistics blogs, but in the era of “A.I.” and machine learning this error has captured our entire society. What went wrong? We need to start with a hard reality. There is no such thing as a data-driven decision. I know this goes against everything we are supposed to believe in our modern information age. And perhaps a reader might be surprised to hear this from me, considering I am fond of reminding people that “the data is real, and the model is just a guess”. But difficulties in complex analytics aside, one cannot simply fall back on pure observation, treating the data as a magic object, and looking for some kind of answer to spring forward from its form like Athena from the head of Zeus. I know that a large number of my readers consider the subject of data analytics boring. But de-mystifying this practice is important, especially in 2024, when our ruling class is divided between process-obsessed legal autists, data-obsessed technical autists, and the Large Language Models built from their cooperation. More often than not, whether it is machine learning, data mining, "Artificial Intelligence", or even the conclusions of statistics blogs, data analytics are performed like a magic trick. A shiny truth is dangled in front of the readers’ eyes while the magician smuggles deception after deception out of this linguistic hat.  I think we need some more reflection on exactly how these tricks are done. At its core, data analysis is simply the process of translating a set of highly formalized "observations", that we call data,  into some expression in human language that we consider "true" or "useful". And, at a broad scale, analytics can be reduced to just three components: 1. The Model, 2. The Data, 3. The Frame. Briefly, I can explain each.

…

Another important thing to understand is that the importance of these components varies inversely with how often we ordinarily discuss them.  We talk constantly about algorithms, machine learning tools, computational frameworks, and LLMs. Still, as everyone in the industry knows, the data is where the real power of an analysis lies. The simplest algorithms can often infer good findings from an accurate and clear data set, while even the most complex models with the largest number of computational cycles suffer from the "garbage in garbage out" problem. Furthermore, almost no one talks about a model’s frame even though that frame controls everything the model generates and determines whether a project will be considered successful or not.

…

Sometime in the mid-1970s, a study was performed at UC Berkeley showing that women were significantly less likely to be admitted into the school’s graduate departments, even though men and women applicants had roughly comparable resumes.  Was this clear evidence of unfairness against women? Perhaps.  However, after further analysis, when admission rates were examined at the department level, the exact opposite conclusion was reached. For each department, across the board, women's admission rates were identical or even higher than their male counterparts. So, based on the same data set, women were being under-admitted at the university level but over-admitted in each department that made up the University. How did this make any sense? What the researchers had stumbled upon was a frustrating obstacle in translating statistics into human language, specifically Simpson's Paradox, where an effect can appear strongly in aggregate but then completely disappear in all sub-divisions. In the Berkeley case study, what happened was a mismatch in each department’s admission standards where the supply and demand of degrees/funding varied radically. Men disproportionally applied to the departments with higher funding and graduate admission rates (e.g. engineering). Women disproportionally applied to departments with lower funding and fewer, highly contested, graduate positions (e.g. humanities). Under these circumstances, there was necessarily a larger number of female rejections, even when the individual departments preferred female applicants. So the statistical mystery is solved. But how do these statistical measurements help us answer the original question of whether anything “unfair” was going on in women’s graduate admissions? All the analysis has given us is two measurements, one microcosmic and one macrocosmic, each implying opposite conclusions. Which is the relevant quantity? Which is the signal and which is the noise?  There is no formal or procedural way to answer this question "from the data". It all depends on the frame we are using for the question.

…

There is no such thing as intelligence without contextual experience, moral teleology, and dynamic intuition. These qualities are injected into any data model via its frame, and constitute whatever real intelligence the analysis provides. As such, the process of using data to come to good conclusions is, at its base, experiential, intuitive, and difficult (perhaps impossible) to express formally. Ultimately, I believe this informal quality of intelligence to be the core reason that A.I. alignment is almost certainly impossible in concept. A.I. alignment, or the theoretical field of constraining future Artificial Intelligence with rules that limit its possible actions, suffers from a major technical hurdle insofar as it tries to constrain the infinite future potential of a system totally unlike anything we've ever seen behind a finite set of formal rules. This endeavor appears reminiscent of the perennial human folly of trying to contain the infinite in the finite. And, although I certainly don't have a proof, I suspect that the A.I. alignment problem is directly analogous in its futility to the failed attempts at describing mathematical completeness or solving Turing’s “halting problem”. However, at a more philosophical level, the A.I. alignment project embodies the same mistakes as Carlyle's "government by steam". Organic systems cannot simply be scooped out of their context and replaced by a formal set of rules while still maintaining their ability to be lifelike. As Ian Malcom from Jurassic Park might put it, either the artificial life in question breaks free of its constraints and becomes actuallife, or it is eventually stifled and killed by its confining rules. But this discussion about actual Artificial Intelligence is completely hypothetical in our own time because everything we see now is still just a variation of standard data analysis with whatever intelligence it demonstrates introduced to it externally, via its frame. Moreover, to the extent that we mystify this technology, treating Large Language Models like Silicon humans, or worse, Silicon gods, humanity is setting itself up for a disaster.

…

Hey, remember when Google's slogan was "Don't be Evil"? What happened to that?  It sounds similar to another slogan from IBM in the 1970s: "A computer can never be held accountable, therefore a computer must never make a management decision." Just like the "Don't be Evil" idea Google floated in its early days, this notion about the impossibility of artificial accountability contains an acute wisdom that modern society is doing everything in its power to forget. Why does this so frequently happen? Well, it's simple. Responsible use of technology isn't profitable. 

…

There is a similar story behind most other technologies of our era. Video games aren't really doing their job unless they are addictive life-destroying time sinks. Social media isn't worthwhile unless it can replace real relationships and apply social control to its user base. Dating apps aren't profitable unless their users remain single and on the dating market.

…

But that's the trick, isn't it? Understanding that machine learning doesn't actuallyreplace human thought spoils the magic because that would mean that human considerations have to be taken into account. That would mean that mankind's problems can't be solved with better algorithms running on ever-faster GPUs. That would mean that science and technology aren't the answers to every problem and that the government cannot be “run by steam”.  But these conclusions would require actual accountability, and no one wants that.  So expect to see more stale political platitudes recycled through LLMs, all giving variations of the response we heard earlier. "Men are the problem!” “White people are the problem!” “Humans are the problem!”  “More A.I. research is needed!"  And also expect to hear the usual excuses from management that this is "just what the data told them to say". Despite what we hear from “A.I. optimists” about machines gaining sentience, neither the algorithms nor their creators will ever gain accountability. There is no profit in it.

…

For years, even as a convert, I scoffed at the Catholic pretension that Ouija boardswere a portal for demonic influence. After all, spiritual complaints directed at an object that I had known throughout my life as a board game seemed silly, echoing 80s paranoia about Dungeons & Dragons. But experience gradually taught me to be more cautious about the things that lie in those empty spaces when humans reach for spiritual forces they do not fully understand.  You put your hands down on the board, feed it meaningless impulses, and receive an answer. Are you communing with dark spirits? Or is the board just reflecting what you put in? Does it even matter? After all, I don't know any greater darkness than the vicious self-terminating thoughts that circulate in the human mind once it is divorced of purpose and spiritual center. And if wresting these dark subconscious feelings from the mind, putting them on a pedestal, and then divesting them of any accountability cannot rightfully be called “demonic” then nothing can. But this fiendish end is exactly what our society has elected to pursue, if not through the veil of sorcery then through the veil of self-deceptive technology. What first began as a perverse business model and twisted political ideology thus re-emerges as a demonic death cult, with each bad decision magnified as it is put on the alter of computational power.

…

Nothing good can come from these developments. While science may never invent a species-destroying A.I. basilisk, the machine-learning revolution will likely succeed in accelerating our regularly scheduled civilizational decline by transferring the collapsing trust in experts to a collapsing trust in technology itself.  Then when the bad decisions built into this system overflow, when our society burns, and everyone stumbles out of their illusions of progress, those who come after will find it difficult to know who to blame. One might point a finger at the men who set the machine in motion, the leaders who ignored wisdom in favor of expedience. One might even ask them why they decided to hand over humanity’s future to an endeavor so transparently foolish.  But I already know what their answer will be. "The Data made us do it."

#david greene #the distributist #substack #ryan burge #statistics #data #ai #butlerian jihad #simpson's paradox #government by steam #google gemini

[astroboyanalysis]

2. The Hot Dog Corps

I've always thought this was one of many Astro Boy stories that would lend itself very well to a more serious and adult remake, (a la Pluto) but this one with a distinct horror vibe. You know. On account of the body horror.

Atom (smiling serenely): wow Mr. Tezuka you're getting really angry can we change the subject

Anyway obviously he makes a good point here. Could talk for a while about cultural double standards especially when animals like dogs and cats are involved. But like, this is an explicitly sympathetic story to the dog and animal testing is a thing we do. So I feel like it should have been allowed to show but I do understand different countries have different standards surrounding what is deemed "appropriate" for children to think about and see. America's just very strange in general to be honest.

Wow that's awesome Mr Ban. I do not want to dog sit for you ever btw.

First really funny gag so far imo. You go Kenichi have a dog treat.

Okay this is interesting to me and probably no one else. Tezuka put little gags in like this if he thought it was getting too serious, which is fine and normal - but it's been less than a page since the last gag. People say we have short attention spans now (and we do) but entertainment has basically always vied for your attention and had to constantly jump around and dance and say LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME! DON'T LOOK AWAY!

anyway I love you hyoutan-tsugi don't listen to him

Ban confirmed in debt (joking. or am i)

normal way to act yeah. Fuck up this guy's car and probably kill him with fire and then drown him and also steal his dog and be like. Tee hee hee... stupid idiot... hee hee...

Smiling his angelic little smile like "Did you break the law and endanger others mister teacher?"

God hes just so cute. There's gonna be a lot of "ohhhhhhg my god.... ghgh,h,..... oghgh h look a him...." probably. but ohghghghggggg g loook at hi

Excellent use of class time man

Now's probably a great time to mention you'll notice a heavy focus on like school and child development and stuff in my analysis - I'm a student teacher in Elementary! So I think about this kind of thing a lot and it sticks out to me as a result. Anyway.

Great gag. There's some good ones in this story.

Okay because I'm reading it physically but using an online version for images, most online versions stop abruptly right around here so I don't have good pictures. I'm sorry in advance for the wonky pictures I took.

Idk grand duchess it kind of seems like your fault because you decided to kidnap dogs instead of just having someone train them for you at your bigass winter palace or whatever the hell.

I love how evil things are here. You just dont get cartoonishly evil villains nowadays (because I don't watch kids TV all that much I suppose. But also there's a general trend toward movies and shows without cartoonishly evil villains that I've noticed which is interesting. Suits reality a little better since most people won't be like YOU SEE! I'VE DONE IT SO I CAN KILL AND MURDER! MUAHAHAHA! when you ask them about their motivations in doing something.)

HOLY SHIT THERE WERE PEOPLE IN THE SHIP THEY BLEW UP I get that this is the point but I don't think I ever noticed that before lmao.

Oh hes so cute.....

This is strange as their minds are dog minds and therefore they probably shouldn't have robotic movements. A keen observer like Atom should be able to recognize that they're not all that organized when compared with robotic timing.

"Aren't supposed to be able to" just indicates to me that it's a limitation imposed by creators to align themselves with the laws of robotics and avoid getting in trouble, which I would think would also mean people could make robots that can kill and there's really no reason they wouldn't be able to do that. That said it would be very strange for the story if robots really could be used as weapons as easily as they can in real life. But unless you categorize a machine and a robot differently based on their AI and self determination, I would think it is easier for a robot to kill humans as they don't have to take it into account at all if they aren't programmed to.

That said, in the world of Astro Boy, the laws of robotics are absolute and people do not really break them. They just do an insane workaround loophole like. I dunno. Putting dog brains and nervous systems into robot bodies. Shit like that. I suppose if they were laws that could be broken, that would be really interesting though. It would be like something the United Nations has agreed on so a country caught doing something against it would be refused trade and that kind of thing. So they'd have to be sneaky.

I'm getting off topic.

Okay so there are human workers in the fortress, but all the guard members are cyborgs.

(Annoying guy voice) BUT I THOUGHT HE ONLY LISTENED TO BAN!!!!!!

strong contender for funniest panel so far

REALLY good way to show 2 days have passed this is awesome

To be honest it makes sense to me that a traumatic surgery and event like having your nervous system and brain stripped out and put into a new shape and new environment and shit would make you forget most things. Really sad.

actually devastating im not kidding

Ok yea sure. Literally why though. Atom you do it because you're the main character I guess. This is where I really appreciate Pluto's realism in that Atom is used more as a figurehead and symbol of peace than like. a functionally useful substitute for specialized jobs.

Then again because he's recalling where it was in the next panels, it's possible this is more a result of not having functional and immediate satellite imaging at the time this comic was being written, so you would need someone who knew where they were going to lead you there.

This would indicate to me that there is a temperature Atom's circuitry is not able to function at due to it being too low, but Space is colder than this so I think that is not the case (or we can say it's not the case that space is cold in this universe). Anyway it's slightly less horrifying than him potentially being trapped in ice and aware of the passage of time and fully cognizant so I do see why Tezuka did this.

Also he's shapes.

(The rest of this post will be continued in a reblog as you can only have 30 images per post)

#astro boy #mighty atom #tetsuwan atom #completely forgot how LONG hot dog corps is god DAMN that is a long story #i thought it was gonna be a 1 sitting run through but it really was not #I should have split this up by the sub chapters. Oh well!

[salt-and-vynegar]

Erin’s Winter: Motif Analysis in the context of Manor of Hermes Mystery

Gonna be taking a cue from @welshoot and wanted to do a quick analysis about the motifs assigned to each gentleman in the Erin’s Winter Image, within the confines of the Manor of Hermes mystery.

Note: Check out welshoot’s analysis on Erin’s Winter Image. They focus on the image symbol analysis. [Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4]

This quick analysis will contain spoilers for the Manor of Hermes event story, as well as the different character routes. The analysis will be below the cut.

Erin’s winter is a box object given to MC/Rosa by Johann Brose. There is an image on the cover along with four holes in the different motifs: swords, flowers, strange motif (skull/mask), and fire. Johann makes it clear that each of the motifs are related to the manor, and that the four holes represented gemstones inlaid in the design of the box. When all of the gemstones are repaired and inlaid in the box, the manor’s “truth” will be revealed.

When discussed with the rest of the NXX, each of the gentlemen decide to handle a specific motif. As players, since you can only explore with one suitor at a time, you can only find shards for that motif. As players, to learn the full truth of what happened at the Manor of Hermes, you need to collect all the gemstone shards.

Thinking about it now, the motif assigned to each gentleman is not a coincidence. Not only do the motifs the suitors choose to pursue have a gemstone in their character colors, but the motifs themselves reveal the focus of that suitor’s path when it comes to the Manor of Hermes Story.

Our 4 motifs and the gentleman associated with them:

Artem: Flowers/Roses

Vyn: Swords

Marius: Skull/Mask

Luke: Fire

I’m going to start with Artem’s motif, then work towards Luke’s so that I can explain how the motifs fit together.

Artem: Flowers/Roses

Artem’s motif is pretty straightforward. But from the perspective of the manor mystery, it’s very telling. Artem’s part of the manor mystery revolves around the forbidden love story between Erin Modero (the daughter of the manor’s master: Mr. Lassiter Modero) and Winter (A servant at the mansion). Essentially, Artem’s path involves translating documents written by both Erin and Winter to get to the heart of the mystery. It is clear from the translated documents that Mr. Modero does not approve of Winter at all, and wants to dictate who Erin marries. At the end of Artem’s path, all of the evidence found so far indicates that these two lovers perished - one in a fire, and the other by his own hand. 

At the core of the manor mystery is a tragic love story, as seen through the perspective of the two lovers. It’s why the box has its given name: Erin’s Winter.

It makes sense then, that Artem’s words, once the story is fully revealed, touch on the human part of this mystery - the love story.

MC: Whoever engraved it recorded the manor’s entire story on that gravestone. Winter and Erin... They were really brave. Artem: Yes, especially Winter. Although his actions were risky... His love for Erin and his courage to protect her are admirable. MC: Yeah... And it was back in those days... Artem: Yes. People brave enough to fight against fate and the restrictions of their time deserve our respect.

Vyn: Swords

Thrust through the roses, are several green swords. This is Vyn’s motif, and this motif comes together when exploring the mansion with Vyn. While Artem focuses on the love story core of the manor mystery, Vyn focuses on the conflict that drove a wedge between the lovers, Erin and Winter. Namely, the fact that Erin (Mr. Modero’s daughter) had a mental health condition. 

Vyn’s medical expertise is key for his route because through his route, you find out that the Dr. Grady referenced in the letters between Erin and Winter is not an actual medical doctor. He is someone who acquired a lot of wealth, but not a doctor. You find out that this doctor did horrible treatments to Erin to try as remedies for her mental health condition - electroshock therapy, hydrotherapy, etc. Vyn explains that these procedures were popular physical therapies for mental illness patients at the time, but were in no way medically sound. Then, you find out the final treatment given to Erin by this not-doctor - an ice pick lobotomy. That medical procedure is the main catalyst to move the gears in motion that ends with Erin and Winter’s separation from each other. Not to mention, you also find out that Grady had been experimenting with this procedure on other people and knew that most of the patients treated with the ice pick lobotomy developed serious complications and symptoms.

Vyn’s focus on the mental illness part of the story and how a litany of unfortunate circumstances contributed to the tragedy of Erin’s decline, illuminated the scars of this story. In addition to being a love story, it is also a story of two people trapped in unfortunate circumstances. There’s a poignant conversation that occurs between Vyn and MC after the story of the manor has been fully revealed that encapsulates this.

MC: Dr. Richter, who do you think caused Winter and Erin’s tragedy? Vyn: There were many factors. But I would prefer to call it a tragedy of time. Whether it was Lassiter’s ignorance or the horrible treatments that Erin had to suffer through...They were indisputably some of the worst atrocities of those times.

Marius: Skull and Mask

Marius’s motif is a bit of a strange one. It’s a mask, broken in half, to reveal a skull. However, this motif makes sense when considering Marius’s route in the manor mystery. Marius reveals the strange overarching circumstances surrounding Mr. Modero and his actions. Marius’s path revealed Mr. Modero’s background as someone wealthy, and he was a participant and practitioner of the Born Again Movement, a small cult that from last century. He used his home to hold meetings for this cult. While Erin and Winter’s love story was going on, Erin’s mental health condition was exacerbated. Mr. Modero, believing that Erin’s mental health condition was due to the fact that Erin was full of sin, doubled-down on his participation in the cult in the hopes of trying to save his daughter from her mental health condition. He gave the cult numerous tributes; expensive ones. He worshiped for 21 days and tried to baptize Erin in line with the cult’s traditions in the hopes that these actions would cleanse her sins and cure her madness.  

Just like Skull and Mask motif, It’s Mr. Modero’s participation in the cult that slowly reveals the darker machinations going on in the background. Marius expands on and confirms the identity of Grady as someone impersonating a miraculous doctor. The end goal of the cult and Grady, was to convince Mr. Modero to donate everything to God, when Erin died. The Born Again Movement did not care about Erin, or Mr. Modero. Not at all. All they wanted was the Modero manor and all of the Modero assets.

Marius’s focus on the background information illuminates the skeletons hiding in the closet of this story. Marius’s path reveals that the story itself was a tragedy. It’s a tragedy because despite the questionable actions Mr. Modero took, at the core of his actions, was a parent’s desire to protect his only daughter, Erin. It is tragic that Mr. Modero’s desire to protect Erin, led to her eventual death.

Once the entire story of the manor has been revealed in full, this conversation happens between Marius and MC. It illustrates this motif so well.

MC: ... Marius: Miss, look at me. MC: What? Marius: I know you’re still feeling sad for Winter and Erin. But... Such an ending may not be a bad thing for them. This tomb is hidden deep underground. It is tranquil and serene. What’s more... There are a lot of people like us who are guarding this place. So...

Marius lowers his head.

Marius: Stop frowning. Smile for me.

Luke: Fire

Luke’s motif is also a little bit odd, but within the context of the manor mystery, his route makes a lot of sense. Luke’s route blends the Manor’s past history and its initial destruction with the present day haunting phenomena. You also come across some seemingly random pieces of evidence - gasoline drums bought by Winter that were never used, used cookware despite everything else being covered in dust, a white shirt and wig, and a bloodstained wooden piece from a broken chair. But the thing is, in the grander scheme of things, these pieces of evidence are not disconnected.

Luke’s route reveals the beginning of the love story between Erin and Winter, the ending of that story, and also the beginning of the Lord of Nightmare Legend. In Luke’s route, you discover that Winter and Erin have been friends long before the events of the tragedy. You discover that the police chief was commissioned to capture Winter. You discover a fight had taken place in the dining room. You also discover that the kitchen had been set on fire, despite the fact that Winter’s gasoline drums were never used. Luke’s route gives inklings into the storied history between Erin and Winter, but more importantly, he bookends it. 

In addition to the hints about the past of the manor, Luke fills in the gaps between what happened during the long time between the fire that occurred in the manor. In Luke’s route, you find out that despite the manor fire, someone came back. They brought new pots and pans and cooked on the kitchen stove. The person that came back was someone who injured their face, and to that end, broke a mirror because they couldn’t bare to look at themselves. You also discover that the person who came back, also donned the same attire as the Lord of Nightmare. It is with that final revelation, that the final piece of the puzzle starts to make sense. Luke pieces together that the person who came back and became the Lord of Nightmare was deliberately trying to keep people out of the manor, to protect something.

Luke’s investigation covers a lot of ground, which makes the fact that he takes the motif of fire, perfect. Luke’s route focuses on passion, destruction, and rebirth within the manor location. Using the location of the manor and the clues in it, Luke illuminates the start, end, and rebirth of the manor. He starts from how Erin and Winter grew up together to the eventual fire that occurred in the manor. But that’s not where his investigation ends. In Luke’s case, just like the traces of fire that were left behind after the kitchen fire, his perspective of the story doesn’t end with the destruction of the manor. In his route, the story continues detailing the journey of someone who came back after the destruction, to protect something important. In essence, Luke’s route focuses on how the manor’s history and eventual destruction became reborn in the form of the Lord of Nightmare legends. It is a testament to the impact of the manor’s past, that the feelings around both the Lord of Nightmare legend and the story between Erin and Winter can be felt, even to this day.

In the end, Luke’s focus on the impact of the manor’s story from its beginning, to its destruction, and its rebirth illustrates that a story doesn’t stay confined. It’s interconnected. This interconnected nature of stories shows that long after a story has played out with its beginning and end, its impact can linger, especially as the story is passed down.

After the story of the manor is told in full, there are two conversations that MC can have with Luke that illustrate this point well.

The first conversation takes place when they look at Erin and Winter’s coffins.

MC: ... Luke: Cheer up. Luke: I think Erin and Winter must be very happy, wherever they are. After all, now they can finally be together without a worry in the world. MC: Yes!

The second conversation takes place when they look at the headstones.

MC: This gravestone is so well-made... Luke: Yeah, and look at what’s written on it. Whoever engraved this must have been the previous person who had Erin’s Winter. Seems like Erin’s Winter is working just as its creator intended.

At first glance, Erin’s Winter seems like one of those in-game objectives to push the story along. But far from it. Erin’s Winter and the four motifs associated with it allow players to experience the different truths present in the Manor of Hermes mystery. Each of the suitors have a particular focus in their investigation, and that focus comes across in each of their motifs. Artem focuses on the love story between the two lovers, Vyn focuses on the conflict and the scars left behind from it, Marius focuses on the background to place context behind the actions during the conflict, and Luke focuses on the impact of the manor’s history and its story - both in the past and present. 

Like Erin’s Winter, the Manor of Hermes mystery is complicated and complex. It’s appropriate that in order to learn the full truth, you need to experience the mystery from different perspectives.

“Seems like Erin’s Winter is working just as its creator intended.” - Luke Pearce

#Tears of Themis #未定事件簿 #Tears of Themis Analysis #My Writings #ToT: Love Poem to Skadi Event #( This took a lot longer than I was expecting. So much for a quickie analysis. )

[francesderwent]

I think my book total for the year was one hundred and twenty-four. I’m absolutely tickled pink.

the book list, with the most recent at the top and recommendations marked by an asterisk, is below the cut:

*Thomas Aquinas, and What I Saw In America, G.K. Chesterton *White Cat and Red Glove, Holly Black *Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, Susanna Clarke *Sunshine, Robin McKinley How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories, Holly Black *The Hawthorne Legacy, Jennifer Lynn Barnes *The Last Graduate, Naomi Novik *The Man in the Queue, Josephine Tey In the Last Analysis, Amanda Cross *The Seer and the Sword, Victoria Hanley Eleanor & Park, Rainbow Rowell Call Down the Hawk and Mr. Impossible, Maggie Stiefvater The Box in the Woods, Maureen Johnson *Gaudy Night, Dorothy Sayers The Box in the Woods, Maureen Johnson *Something New, P.G. Wodehouse *The Witness for the Dead, Katherine Addison Not Like the Movies, Kerry Winfrey *A Deadly Education, Naomi Novik *Frederica, Georgette Heyer *Heretics, G.K. Chesterton *Crocodile on the Sandbank, Elizabeth Peters *Lycanthropy and Other Chronic Illnesses, Kristen O'Neal Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, Douglas Adams *The Blatchford Controversies, G.K. Chesterton *The Collected Works of G.K. Chesterton Volume V: The Outline of Sanity, The Appetite of Tyranny, The Crimes of England, The End of the Armistice, Utopia of Usurers Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro *Would Like To Meet, Rachel Winters *The Nine Tailors, Dorothy Sayers The City of Brass, S.A. Chakraborty *Brat Farrar, Josephine Tey Big Summer, Jennifer Weiner *The Ordinary Princess, M.M. Kaye Princess of Thorns, Stacey Jay Well Met, Jen DeLuca The Unexpected Everything, Morgan Matson *The Abolition of Man, C.S. Lewis *Black Sheep, Georgette Heyer Strange Practice, Vivian Shaw *The Collected Works of G.K. Chesterton Volume III: Where All Roads Lead, The Catholic Church and Conversion, Why I Am A Catholic, The Thing: Why I Am A Catholic, The Well and the Shallows, The Way of the Cross *Murder Must Advertise, by Dorothy Sayers *Garment of Shadows, by Laurie King *Renegades, Archenemies, and *Supernova, by Marissa Meyer *The Fixer and *The Long Game, Jennifer Lynn Barnes How the Multiverse Got Its Revenge, K. Eason American Primitive, Mary Oliver *Have His Carcase, Dorothy Sayers *The Martian, Andy Weir *The Theft of Sunlight, Intisar Khanani *The Switch, Beth O'Leary *A Scholar of Magics, Caroline Stevermer Magic for Liars, Sarah Gailey *Bath Tangle, Georgette Heyer *A Wizard of Earthsea, Ursula K. Le Guin The Bookish Life of Nina Hill, Abbi Waxman The Lovely and the Lost, Jennifer Lynn Barnes *The Great Divorce, C.S. Lewis Moon Over Soho, Ben Aaronovitch The Five Red Herrings, Dorothy Sayers *How Rory Thorne Destroyed the Multiverse, K. Eason *The Silence of St. Thomas, Josef Pieper Tiny Pretty Things, Sona Charaipotra and Dhonielle Clayton *A Thousand Mornings and *Felicity, by Mary Oliver *Eugenics and Other Evils, G.K. Chesterton *Thorn, Intisar Khanani Midnight Riot, Ben Aaronovitch *The Night Country, Melissa Albert *Regency Buck, Georgette Heyer *If These Wings Could Fly, Kyrie McCauley *Pirate King, Laurie R King The Unhoneymooners, Christina Lauren *Strong Poison, Dorothy Sayers *A College of Magics, Caroline Stevermer *Therese, Dorothy Day *Amy & Roger’s Epic Detour, Morgan Matson Killer Instinct, *All In, and Bad Blood, Jennifer Lynn Barnes *The Superstition of Divorce, G.K. Chesterton *Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen *The Grand Sophy, Georgette Heyer *The Lost Husband, Katherine Center *The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club, Dorothy Sayers The Naturals, Jennifer Lynn Barnes Sorcerer to the Crown, Zen Cho *The God of the Hive, Laurie R. King *The Flatshare, Beth O'Leary *Dare We Hope, Hans Urs von Balthasar *The Leaf and the Cloud, Mary Oliver *Unnatural Death, Dorothy Sayers *Dark Lord of Derkholm, Diana Wynne Jones *Devil's Cub, Georgette Heyer *The Everlasting Man, G.K. Chesterton *The Light Princess, George Macdonald The Rest of Us Just Live Here, Patrick Ness Save the Date, Jenny B. Jones Save the Date, Morgan Matson *Deadly Little Scandals, Jennifer Lynn Barnes *An Enchantment of Ravens, Margaret Rogerson Stately Pursuits, Katie Fforde *The Language of Bees, Laurie R. King *Clouds of Witness, Dorothy Sayers *Little White Lies, Jennifer Lynn Barnes The Left-Handed Booksellers of London, Garth Nix *Given, Wendell Berry These Old Shades, Georgette Heyer *The Hazel Wood, Melissa Albert *Since You've Been Gone, Morgan Matson Simon the Coldhearted, Georgette Heyer Camp So-and-So, Mary McCoy The Girl in Blue, P.G. Wodehouse *The Inheritance Games, Jennifer Lynn Barnes House of Salt and Sorrows, Erin A. Craig

I might do a favorites write-up like I did last year, stay tuned!

#that's not counting any rereads because i don't put those on the mystery of the fairytale #and that's where i got my count #cate reads #reviews for king of elfhame sunshine and strange & norrell upcoming!! #edit: the count was off by three somehow? those books have been added #for a total of 127

[americangodstalk]

Notes about S2E1: House on the Rock

I had a few months ago rewatched the entire season 2 of American Gods. I did so in order to collect notes and infos I could then put on the Wiki - those views were coupled by the study of numerous “breakdowns” and “analysis” videos on Youtube. It is especially interesting to rewatch an entire season once you saw the episodes a first time, because numerous details can suddenly become obvious.

# The “official building” of Black Briar is “Black Briar CC”, aka Black Briar Country Club. To open the secret wall in the parking, Technical Boy needs to show to a security camera a paperclip (maybe a reference to the operation Paperclip). The same way, the password [Challenge] for Black Briar is “Büroklammer”, the German word for paperclip (yes that’s definitively an operation Paperclip reference). 

# Black Briar is a reference to the Greenbrier Country Club, a club often frequented by American presidents, and which has underneath a government reinforced bunker from the Cold War era where the Congress could have reunited in case of nuclear war. 

# Mr. World mentions that Mr. Wednesday nearly “killed him”. However it is quite strange, because in the final episode of season 1 Mr. World merely used a Children as a “portal” or “window” to project himself, he wasn’t really there... Probably a continuity error. Media is also of course referred to the “best salesman” of Mr. World. 

# According to Wednesday and Sweeney, there is a real mermaid living at Weekie Wachee (a place renowned for its “mermaid shows”). 

# Of course the Jinn and Bilquis would have some connection and knowledge of each other, since Neil Gaiman chose the Jewish version of the Queen of Sheba that made her daughter of a djinn. 

# Black Briar seems to be the show’s equivalent of the “Agency” because it has a very similar idea - it is a construct of conspiracy theory beliefs, they work with gods, yet the Caretaker ignored who Mr. World was when he arrived and seem very normal and human, not having any god-like feature. In fact, we later see that the agents sent by Black Briar are also humans and respect their “bosses” as gods. According to Mr. World, Black Briar was liked or behind “operation Paperclip” (America extrading Nazi scientists to help them fight the Russians, kept secret by the government for nearly thirty years), “the moon landing”  (the popular idea that the moon landing was faked), “the Compton crack wars” (the idea that the crack epidemic of the 80s and 90s was caused by the CIA), and “Roswell” (the famous Roswell incident many believe to have been alien-related). All of this clearly puts them on the same level as the Agency in the book - aka the “mysterious government conspiracy”. 

# Mr. World needs to assert himself to the Caretaker who doesn’t know his identity, and says that the “Eye of Argus” Black Briar can connect itself with is for the use of the “President only”. Mr. World answers by saying he knows about all their conspiracies and that Black Briar has always worked for him - he is the “man behind the men behind the men” (aka the literal embodiment of the idea of the “man behind the man”, shadow power behind governments, etc...). Note that technology keeps disrupting around Mr. World like in the first season. 

# The incident of Easter’s fury in the finale of season 1 is referred here as a “freak phenomenon��� that killed all the crops in Kentucky. 

# John Henry, the American folk hero, is mentionned as one of the people Wednesday wanted to rally, but failed to. Whiskey Jack was also apparently invited to the reunion at the House on the Rock but declined the invitation. 

# Wednesday mistakes Salim for a pre-Islamic god, and drops the names “Hubal” and “Manat”. Hubat seems to have been the main male god, a father-figure, in the pre-Islamic arabian mythology. “Manat” however is a stranger name to drop because Manat was not a god but a goddess - the one of fate. 

# Bilquis brags about how ancient she is, and she is referred to as the “Queen of Solomon” (it should be noted that the whole “love and sex” aspect of the Queen of Sheba comes indeed from her relationship with the King Solomon). 

# The Norns are of course mentionned here.

# Zorya Vechernyaya is referred to as the “Evening Star” and “Lady of the Sunset”. 

# Of course Anansi (who has been identified in the previous season as working as a tailor) will bring up the measurements of people. 

# During the reunion, Anansi mentions that he “fought” ever since the Portuguese invaded the Gold Coast of Ghana. 

# The Lion-God is mentionned as one of the gods coming to America, like in the novel. I start to think now that the people who try to identify him as a specific god are wrong. Indeed, while on the same list are dropped names like Frau Holle, Kubera, Thor, the Lion-God stays just that... Why not give him a name? Plus the Lion-God is always following Anansi and kind of grouped together, so I believe this Lion-God may simply be a name given for another folkloric character of African stories, just like Anansi is The Spider, literaly. But which part of Africa, which people, which country, I could not say. 

# Of course Czernobog would say that he is “cancer” - he is literaly the negative god of darkness, winter and death. 

# Bilquis wonders if Laura is a “Hungarian goddess of death”. If my knowledge is correct however, the Hungarians did not had a goddess of death, but rather a god of death and disease known as Ordog. 

# Of course, Bilquis notifies the New God, via a sort of “pick-me-up” application hinting “Your ride is on its way”. At Black Briar, Mr. World receives the question “Retrieve the package?”, sent by the team of agents send at the Motel America (later revealed to be Mr. Town and goons). To open up the monitor that will allow him to talk to them back, Mr. World enters the code “130-7925″ (I do not know if this has any meaning). Then he enters on the “command line” : root bbcnd ; from Mr. World to Town ; Strike package request ; execute target. 

# The agents dispatched by Black Briar first act through a sniper, whose bullets have the words “Deus mortuorum” engraved in them (something alongside the lines of “Gods die” or “Kill gods”), but when Shadow goes to attack them he is actually kidnapped “alien-style”, when a pillar of light drags him away in the sky, inside an unindentified flying object that then disappears in the night sky. 

# It is said that there is a “dozen gods” at the reunion at the House on the Rock. We already know there is the Zoryas, Czernobog, Wednesday, Anansi (and eventually Bilquis). The other gods are listed as such in the credits: Ame-no-Uzume (from Japanese mythology), played by Uni Park. Ahura Mazda, played by Al Maini (from Zoroastrian religion). Frau Holle (from Germanic legends) played by Colleen Reynolds. 

But that’s the regular gods. Afterward there is a list of other gods who are not clearly identified and just have... random names. The Unknown God played by Jack Faley (maybe the “forgettable god” of Las Vegas?). The Warrior Woman, played by Yvette McKoy. The Beautiful Woman, played by Sonya Cote. The Old Wizard, played by Stoneman Senior. The Thuggish Man, played by Mike Scherer. The New God (no mix-up with the New Gods) played by Jamieson M. Donnell. And finally the MJ Hobo God, played by Edward A. Queffelec. Seriously? Why and how did they just came up with these random gods? I mean, come on, they could have last put some efforts in actual references. 

#american gods #season 2 #house on the rock #analysis #old gods #new gods #black briar

[quant-um-fizzx]

Swept Away

Synopsis: Bucky feels strangely drawn to a woman at a Halloween party thrown at the Avengers compound. 

Bucky Barnes x Reader. Except - not? There’s really no way to explain this upfront without giving the whole thing away. It is a nameless female character but it’s also not “fictional you” as a reader because I could not get that to work within this mystery concept. 

Warnings:  Smut, I’m calling this Dub-Con (but only in the sense that things might not be what they seem) Language, mild Angst, an attempt to be eerie. 

Word Count:  about 3000

This is for @sherrybaby14‘s Fall Into You writing challenge from the prompt: “Halloween Party”  

It’s loud like parties always are and Bucky welcomes a reason not to join in their bickering, no matter how playful. 

“It’s the principle, really.” Steve says, sniffs whatever Thor tipped into his glass this time. 

“Yes, that’s my point. Thank you. Don’t make a rule and then break it.” Rhodey gripes, adjusting the gold construction paper shooting star taped to the center of his shirt.

“I believe the rule as stated was ‘don’t spend more than $10 on a superhero costume.’ I spent zero dollars on this ensemble.” Tony gestures at the Mark 5 armor he’s wearing. “What we need is a neutral party analysis, who will then concur I am winning at not spending.”

Clint twirls an empty beer bottle between his fingers. “Look, I’m not saying that it’s cheating to come as yourself...”

“I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” Nat says.

“I sense a butt right here,” Rocket chimes in. He’s dressed no differently, having openly complained he didn’t see the point and costumes sound more like some of the stupid shit Quill would be into. 

Steve flicks the deep red bed sheet pinned to the back of his shirt, making it swoosh around his feet, casually flipping what no one needs to know is Thor’s actual hammer. The group chatters on as he surveys the room, pausing when he spies Bucky in a far corner, his arm slipping artfully around the waist of a very pretty woman in a white post-Edwardian nightdress. She seems familiar but he can’t really get a good look at her and, considering Bucky’s clearly enthralled with her, he doesn’t think he should be trying to get a better look. They appear deep in conversation, the woman’s hair falling across her face like a curtain. It’s intimate, the way they lean in, and suddenly Steve feels like he’s intruding. He coughs and returns his attention back to the current debate. 

***

She curls further into his side, burrows her chilled shoulder down where he’s warm and snug. Her head falls back to look up at him with doe-eyes. He gets lost in them, irises so peaceful and deep, dark like still waters, like starless night sky. She runs her hand over the blue near-ancient canvas stretched across his chest, traces the white star with an elegant digit.

He leans in, almost captures her lips.  Forgets it’s not private. Like there’s no one else. Like there shouldn’t ever be. She offers her neck, bends so far back that it’s a bit unnatural, but he brushes the thought away. He shakes his head, tries to recall something. It seems important. Scratching at his brain. 

He stops, pulls back. His eyes pinch. He doesn’t know this woman. Doesn’t know anything about her. But he wants to. He wants to know her. Maybe that’s what he couldn’t remember. “What’s…” Runs his nose along her cheek. “What’s your name, Darlin’?”

Did she already tell him that? Did he already ask?

***

“Tell me again, how is coming as yourself and wearing your actual multi-million dollar suit not breaking the rules?” Nat saunters across the circle, grabbing a drink off the bar.

“I’m just saying, that since you were the guy who made the rule, it’s kinda weird that you’re the one breaking it.” Clint sets his bottle down with a clink that sounds a bit more irritated than he appears. 

“Point of order: Cap lent his costume to two people.” Tony feigns deep offense, gestures toward Scott.

“What? This? Nah, I hand-sewed this baby myself for Comic-Con years ago.” Scott stands proudly, hands heroically on his hips. 

Tony’s eyes roll back into his brain. “That still leaves Barnes and his circa WW2 Star-Spangled-ness? Care to explain the museum piece over there and the clothes he’s wearing while you’re at it?”

***

She smiles softly, delicate. Her features unbothered despite that it seems he’s forgotten her. Goes up on her toes and places cool fingertips on his fevered lips. Pushes her own together in a silent hush and he feels it in his gut - feels himself give in to something more than gravity pulling him down, twisting. He leans in toward those lotus-petal painted lips, almost...almost. 

She pulls back just a little. Smile shy, but somehow not. A little knowing. Knows a secret she’s going to show him. He doesn’t like secrets; he’s kept too many, he’s been too many. Doesn’t trust them. 

But he wants to know hers. Wants her. Needs to see where this leads. 

Her fingers entwine with his, pull him fluidly toward the exit door. 

And he forgets. Forgets they are leaving a brightly lit room, forgets there are people who might miss him, forgets everyone, everything but the promise of losing himself in her. 

***

Steve shrugs. “Bucky asked how much trouble it would be to borrow it. Turns out it wasn’t much trouble,” he says, pulling his eyes away from the door Bucky had disappeared through. 

“Excellent!” Tony claps. “Now that we can all agree the utilization of old suits is not a budget factor, let’s discuss what I am sure is a fascinating reason why Wilson here jumped on the opportunity to dress as a defunct Russian asset.”

Sam scoffs and pretends to smooth the aluminum foil wrapped around his left arm. “The Winter Soldier? Nah, my arm’s just dressed as a baked potato.” 

***

Her fingers swim up under his shirt and along each rib like organ keys. He’s draped over her, touching every inch, body covering her like a blanket, a pall. Their kisses swell and he dives when her mouth parts for him. At first a shallow exploration, his warm pink tongue skimming inside until she, impatient and sudden, curls into his mouth and catches it. 

The party and the lights feel a million leagues away. The sounds muffled and distant as if they’ve sneaked off to skinnydip not go necking in a backseat.

Lips and teeth banging, urgent. She’s under and around him all at once. Calling him to claim her like the open sea. 

Hot breath rushes from him as he pulls away and she floats up to follow but then settles back flat along the seat, smiling up at him. Hair splayed out around her face in waves and her face glowing like the moon. 

It registers with him that they’re in a parking lot, in the back of a car. It seems like new information, as if he had just realized. Must have been too busy kissing her, touching her because he doesn't know how they got here. Doesn’t remember clambering into the car. It’s large and old. A Studebaker? A Streamliner?

No, that can’t be right. 

***

“Hey, Mr. Stark. Cool Costume. Ned dressed as Mark 5 in 3rd grade.” Peter scurries up, acting slightly winded, as most of the crowd shoots daggers at him. “It, uh, it looks way better on you though.” He looks hopefully around, checking if that fixed whatever he’d said wrong. 

Shuddering, as if he’s just recalled what he’d come to say, Peter looks back quickly over his shoulder at the doorway Bucky and the woman walked out. “That’s all kinds of creepy. Just like that urban legend, right?”

“When it comes to questionable bed partners, I am spectacularly aware that I have no room to talk. But what is the deal with Steve’s pal and Coraline?” Tony gestures over his shoulder. “There’s a line between cute and creepy. But that one just runs a bit too realistic as The Woman in White.”

Steve looks between them and the door again. “The what?”

***

He presses his lips to her neck. Runs his tongue up a long trail to the shell of her ear.

Soft. He’s never felt anything so soft in his hands. Breasts like silt, spilling under his palms.  Soft every place he’s hard. He’s so hard, aching with it. Cock straining, reducing him down to that near-pain desire. He wants to bury himself between her thighs, drown himself inside her.

She pulls the gown free from her shoulders and it pools around her. She arches up to him. Offers. Urges. 

Insists. 

He licks his lips and wants more. Already can’t remember what she tastes like, saltwater or sweetened honey? He kisses her again, soft press against his tongue and he’s thirsty. Parched. Dives in for more but each touch leaves him wanting more. More heat. More water. More...air.

She’s under him and begging him. 

“Take me.”

Rouge tongue runs over chapped lips as he comes up for a breath. “You don’t have to ask me twice, Sugar.” He rasps, lungs seized up in want. 

Her hands dig into blue shoulders and her legs wrap around red and white stripes, clasping behind the small of his back. Pulling him down to her, pulling him under. 

Fog coats the windows. Their want dripping in rivulets down the glass. The air is thick with it, clings to his lungs, each breath heavy, laboring. 

“Hang on babe,” he pulls back, heart racing gulping down air. “Whew. Huh. Wow.” He looks around, squints, trying to get his bearings. “Gimme a sec, okay?”

She smiles again, sweet as rain. Shakes her head slowly, hair swirling around, a tangle of moss on the seat. Locks her hands behind his neck and digs her heels into his thighs.

She reaches down inside his pants and draws him out, a whisper caress on his length. Barely there, but possessive. Hers.

“Take me.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he gasps, breathless. Gasps as strokes him. “I’ll make it good, so good for you.” 

He wants her. Wants her like air. “Can’t wait. Gotta have you - now.”

She flips him over, deft like he weighs nothing and he floats beneath her. Straddles his hips and anchors him, grinding onto his cock. Her head falls back again, does that deep swoon to expose the marble column of her neck. And he feels again like he needs to stop her, to catch her head and stop her. To cradle her skull.

***

“I can tell you, Cap,” Sam says, leaning in conspiratorially, “but you and I are going to have a long chat later about how you manage to interact with other humans every day and still stay so damned isolated.”

Steve gives Sam a withering look but motions for him to continue. 

“The story goes, there’s a ghost that wanders the area. She fell for a guy years ago and got abandoned. The story changes in the details. Sometimes she died in childbirth, jumped off a bridge, whatever.  But one detail is always the same: heartbreaker was shipping off to war the next day. So, she, you know, ‘did it for her country.’ But the guy never comes back and she dies, waiting for him. Wandering the road leading to where they were last together.”

“Huh, that’s super weird,” Scott says, throwing back what he immediately learns is heavily-spiked cider, his eyes going wide on the burn. 

“Ghost stories are weird by definition, Scott” Nat says, licking the rim of her glass. 

“No,” Scott coughs, throwing back two more cider shots in quick succession. “I mean it’s weird because I picked her up on the road coming here. She asked all slow and dramatic about her soldier - I guess she is just super into Halloween - and I was gonna call her an Uber but then she said she was looking for Stark’s thing.”

Steve is incredibly done with this entire conversation. Peter, the exact opposite, presses for more info. “Which road?”

Sam shrugs dismissively. “The one by the old fairgrounds.”

Scott chokes on a fourth shot.  “Down in Queens.”

“You mean the fairgrounds where Stark held the first Expo?” Steve say, unblinking. All fun gone. 

Suddenly, Steve knows where he’s seen her. It’s just been a very, very long time since 1943.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Tony says, eyes locked on Steve. 

“Are you saying that I picked up a...a... ghost and rode with her for an hour? Guys...guys, I need to sit down.” Scott wobbles, hand shooting out to steady himself on Rocket. Rocket steps aside. 

Before Scott’s ass hits the floor, everyone else is out the door. 

***

She sinks down around him, fluid and silk. Her hands press into his chest. His warm muscles tense and brown nipples pebble in her touch’s wake. 

As she rides him, the night’s light behind her makes her hair look like a halo floating out around her. A thought breaks through that she looks familiar - he does know her - but she’s just one more thing he lost along the way. 

He wants to tell her they can make this new, start over, whatever went wrong before, he can fix it and it wasn’t his fault and didn’t mean to leave her and please forgive him because he didn’t mean to toss her away.

Wait.

Wait...

He recalls a flash of her face, dry and bright. She’s looking up at him in his brown uniform. Red car hovering on a stage behind her. Then, as suddenly as it came, the picture’s gone, popped like a burst bubble.

***

Steve and Sam are first out the back, toward the dock. Peter has a legit meltdown but still manages to check every car. They’re all empty.

“Cap! There!” Clint shouts, pointing out at the water. 

The middle of the goddamn lake.

In the goddamn, deathly still, dark lake.

***

She glides over him and it’s so desperate and slippery. Everything urgent when all he’d really wanted is to take his time. To do this right. Bring her some daisies  - or, no, she'd like lilies he thinks dumbly and runs his hands up to cup her face. He wants to show her a good time before his ships out in the morning and see if she has a different friend for Steve. 

The guilt is raw and burrowing in his heart he can’t shake it but he doesn’t quite know why. 

Maybe that’s her secret. What she wanted to show him. 

Maybe it’s that she deserves better than this back seat in a parked car outside Stark’s expo. He starts to say sorry but is silenced with another watery kiss.

Burning starts low in his back, the building pull low in his spine, and he wants to come. Desperate for his end. 

 Maybe it’s too much because she can have it all she can have him and he’s not scared - but a small spark fires some forgotten place in his mind, that he is scared - that maybe he should be.

Sliding over him, bend and rock. Tight. He surges up into her again and again. His release looms, vision tunneled down to her. Nothing but her and the sweet hold, the way she’s anchored him down after so many years adrift. 

He thinks blindly that he should warn her. Opens his mouth but she swallows his words. 

Then he’s coming, pulsing out of him like lifeblood. Breathless and drained. And he’s so tired. 

Peaceful. Serene. 

“Take me,” she sings.

He can’t hold on. Body aches for rest. 

Her brow furrows. “Take me home.”  

His eyes flutter. He starts to form the words, but just...can’t. 

He would’ve taken her home and not left. He didn’t mean to make it seem like it must have seemed. He didn’t just throw her away. But it was war and he wasn’t expecting the hell it brought or the hell that came after. It had all seemed so innocent in that old back seat, with his promises he didn’t mean to break.

She grinds down, damned serum refractory period kicking in. He swells against all reason and moves with her until she shakes and clenches, nails digging into his skin, a mournful wail spiraling out of her as he feels himself spill again. 

She touches his neck, feels his pulse stutter out, slow.  Her face is confused. Head shaking. 

He takes her hand, holds it to his heart. An apology. 

Then, she rails back, wretches and twists. She slips through his fingers like time, like silk, like thread.  

What was once solid, warm like new sun on a cold sill, now shifts. Contorts and writhes, skin viscus and pooling around his fingers like so much rancid dough. 

He wants to care but he wants to sleep. Just rest his eyes. Just for a second. It doesn’t feel right but he can’t make himself care. It’s so quiet and peaceful, down here where she used to be solid, where he used to be warm.

***

Then, when he’s almost gone, when peace has fired off in nearly every cell, he’s yanked free. 

Colder than he’s ever been. Night air like a fire burning, like he is nothing but frostbite dropped in a boiling pot.

Sam drags him up onto the dock and collapses beside him. Sam’s face is drawn and terrified and their clothes soggy and weighted, water running off between the wooden planks.

“The Hell Barnes? Party full of perfectly available, alive folk and that’s the strange you go for.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction

[quicksilversquared]

The Designer and the Twins

When Adrien volunteers to look after Alya's twin sisters for a bit but ends up having to go to a piano lesson instead, it forces Mr. Agreste to step in and look after the girls himself. How hard can babysitting two young girls be?

As it turns out, it can be VERY hard.

links in the reblog

                                          tumblr give me back my line break

Gabriel Agreste was in the middle of a round of edits on some evening dress designs Saturday afternoon when he heard the front doors open. He spared only a single glance in that direction- no doubt it was Adrien, returning from whatever outing he had managed to persuade Nathalie to allow, just in time for piano lessons- before returning his attention to his work.

The squeals of excitement yanked his head back up a moment later. He frowned, sitting up fully and staring in the direction of the atrium. Two voices- young, definitely girls, and sounding nearly the same- exclaimed over how large it was, how there was no color, how the other should look at the big painting, could they play in the plants-

Gabriel Agreste pushed himself up out of his chair and strode to the office door, scowling out into the atrium. The first thing he saw was Adrien, trying his best to contain two young girls that came up to hip-height. They were running to and fro, trying to look at everything all at once.

He cleared his throat, unimpressed. Adrien's head whipped around, but the girls didn't slow down at all. Gabriel spared them a glance, then turned his attention on his son. Adrien was cringing a bit as he watched the girls tugging at a door, but he straightened as he turned to Gabriel.

"Father, I can explain," Adrien said quickly, gesturing to the girls. "These are Alya's sisters. I was helping Alya bring some books for our project back to her house so we could work on it there during the week, but then her bike hit a hole and it fell over and she got a really bad cut on her leg. So her older sister had to bring her to the hospital because she'll probably need stitches, but her younger sisters still needed to be watched, so..."

"So you offered," Gabriel finished, entirely unamused. "Forgetting, I'm sure, that you're meant to have piano lessons in three minutes? Your instructor is already waiting for you in the lounge."

Adrien froze, gaze shooting back to the twin girls. They had finally paused in their exploration, glancing between Adrien and Gabriel with wide eyes. "Uhh..."

"Were none of your other friends available to help?" Gabriel demanded. "Or were none of them willing?"

"They- well-" Adrien shifted from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. "Nino is on the other side of the city- he's got family over, apparently, and they were going to a roller garden- and Marinette is busy right now, Alya said. She's already babysitting Madam Chamack's daughter, and Manon is a handful just by herself."

Gabriel glanced at the two other girls. They were giggling over something between the two of them. Then he looked back at Adrien, who was looking a little stressed, and he considered.

Adrien had to attend his piano lesson, of course. He had gone without lessons for a while now because his instructor had been gone on vacation and then sick leave for several weeks already, and there were several things that Gabriel had already asked the instructor to work on so that Adrien would be able to perform at the Gabriel winter investor's dinner. Adrien wouldn't be able to concentrate or learn a thing with the twins around, that was obvious. They were unruly and Adrien had absolutely no experience with kids. He wouldn't be able to control them. Gabriel, however, had raised a kid- or helped raise a child, at least, considering that Emilie and their old nanny had done most of the work so that he could focus on designing- and was aware of how to keep kids under control.

There was no other option, really. If the twins went along for the lessons, Adrien's instructor could very well quit and then Gabriel would have to waste some of his time finding a suitable replacement. A quick mental cost-benefits analysis confirmed that, and he sighed before addressing Adrien. "Very well. I'll watch them while you attend your lesson. As soon as it's over, though, remember to come collect them at once."

Adrien lit up. "Really? You would do that, Father? Thank you so much!"

"No more lollygagging now, go," Gabriel instructed, and Adrien scampered off as instructed. The twins made to follow, until he cleared his throat. "Girls, you'll be coming with me. Adrien has lessons right now."

"Lessons! Ew!" they chorused in almost disturbing unison, turning away from Adrien at once. "Lessons are yucky! They're boring and we have to sit still!"

...okay, yeah, forget almost disturbing unison. That was disturbing unison.

"We'll come into my office," Gabriel continued. "And then I'll, uh..."

He came up blank. It had been too long since Adrien had been the twins' age, and Gabriel hadn't exactly been a particularly involved parent at that time. He would have Nathalie search up some activities, or perhaps take over the babysitting herself, but she was currently out on lunch break.

Surely he could manage alone until she came back. She was due to return any time now.

"Can we have juice?" one twin asked, tugging at Gabriel's sleeve as they entered the office.

"And cookies?" the other added on, tugging the other sleeve.

Gabriel resisted the urge to rip his arms away from both of them. That would no doubt end in tears, and he neither wanted to nor knew how to deal with tears. "I- fine. Wait here for one minute, I'll page the kitchen staff to bring up juice and cookies."

"Yay!"

Well, so far, so good, Gabriel figured as he headed across the room to Nathalie's intercom to order two cups of juice and two plates of cookies. It was important to keep kids fed and hydrated, and getting them a small snack would keep them from whining. They could sit down on the floor and eat, and he could return to his designing and actually get some work done.

"Can we see what you're drawing?" one twin wanted to know as soon as Gabriel had ordered their food and headed back to his desk. "Is it something pretty?"

Her sister pushed her. "Dummy, adults don't draw! They only write!"

"No they don't! Look, see, all of the drawings of dresses!"

Gabriel stiffened as he suddenly found himself surrounded by two small, curious girls, one on either side of his chair. "Now girls, go back over to the door and wait nicely-"

"Why are you drawing dresses?" one twin asked. "Boys don't wear dresses! Can you draw a dress for me?"

"I design-"

"I want a dress, too!"

"But I asked first!"

Gabriel moved his sketchbook and the loose pages of designs out of their reach. "I am trying to work here, girls, go-"

His movement bumped his computer mouse, minimizing the window that he had up and revealing the one behind it, which was the Ladyblog. That was an immediate distraction for the twin terrors at his elbows.

"Look, it's the Ladyblog!"

"Our sister runs that! Does she know you look at it?"

"Everybody in Paris looks at it!"

"Yeah, because Ladybug is so cool! MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!" they cheered in unison, both miming throwing a Lucky Charm up into the air.

"You should design something for Ladybug!"

"Are you any good at designing?"

"Do you sew, too? I don't see any needles!"

"You asked for juice and cookies, sir?"

Gabriel tried not to slump in relief as the twins promptly abandoned him to run to their chef, who did quite a good job of not reacting as he handed out two cups of juice and two plates of cookies before making a hasty exit. Now that was them distracted for the time being, so he could actually think about what to do next. Clearly the twins would not be content to simply sit in silence until Adrien came to collect them- they didn't seem at all intimidated by his raised voice, which suggested that they probably got ordered around quite often but never saw any real consequences- so he would have to find some way to entertain them. Without, of course, exerting any real effort himself. He had work to do, after all, and couldn't be bothered with spending any extended amount of time dealing with kids.

Even as he thought that, his Miraculous started to warm. Somewhere in the city, someone was upset enough to get akumatized. Gabriel almost automatically moved to get up and head for his elevator before realizing that he couldn't. There were two very, very nosy pairs of eyes in his office, and they would absolutely blab about anything strange that they saw. And with their sister running the Ladyblog...

He scowled and sat back down. Within a couple minutes, his Miraculous started cooling back down again, the opportunity gone.

"We want to watch cartoons!"

Gabriel startled out of his thoughts, his attention going back to the twins. They had finished off their cookies already- and he was going to have someone come up and clean, because there were crumbs all over the floor and one of the girls had clearly spilled a bit of her juice- and were headed back over for him, this time with chocolate-smeared fingers and sticky hands.

He panicked for a moment, then realized that they had literally just handed him a distraction- cartoons. While he had heard plenty in the news lately telling parents not to let their kids get raised by screens and to limit TV time, he was neither the parent of these two little terrors nor their guardian, and so that didn't apply to him. But he did know that he would have to find some age-appropriate cartoons for the girls to watch, because otherwise he would have their parents coming after him with "concerns" and he really had neither the time nor the patience to deal with that. They would no doubt do the same if he yelled at the girls to get them to behave, so he had to watch himself.

"All right, all right, I'll set up some cartoons- if you promise to sit still and watch," Gabriel told them. "No running around or anything."

"We promise!"

Gabriel tried not to grumble as he headed for Nathalie's computer. He knew that she had Netflix on her computer because she liked having cooking shows on in the background as she worked her way through particularly tedious paperwork, which he normally rolled his eyes at but right now he couldn't be more grateful that she had a resource like that on hand for him to borrow. She was logged in, which was good, and Gabriel went ahead and flipped through the listings of cartoons.

...he really wasn't familiar with what was age-appropriate for kids that small. Gabriel didn't know what any of the shows were- he had no reason to be- so the most he had to go off on was the pictures. And pictures could be misleading. He had seen enough commercials recently to know that there were some very young-looking designs for shows that had much more adult humor. So after a couple minutes of waffling with increasingly impatient twins at his elbow, Gabriel picked the youngest-looking show- surely it would be safe- and clicked on it, letting the first episode load a bit before turning the computer to the kids. It took a minute to get them seated- they were each convinced that the other was closer, which resulted in a bit of pushing back and forth before Gabriel finally got them to cut it out- and then he could finally, finally get back to his seat and start up his work on reviewing the designs again.

It had only just occurred to him that these two had made up the akuma Sapotis and that they had been quite the handful as akumas. They hadn't listened when he warned them about the trap, only wanting to run around and eat what they wanted and go to the amusement park and stay up and night and watch cartoons and...and not listen to rules.

Gabriel was starting to suspect that maybe things wouldn't go quite as smoothly as he had initially thought, but now the twins were settled in front of the computer screen and listening to some show with obnoxious music and high-pitched voices. It was distracting, but he could tune it out well enough. It took a few minutes for him to get back into the designing groove and figure out where he had left off. The design that he was reviewing was from one of his younger designers, which meant that it was easy enough to pick out where the lines needed to be altered just a touch and mark a change in the type of fabric. The piece was original and creative, though, inspiring enough that Gabriel set it aside for a moment to grab another sheet of paper, sketching out the starting lines for a matching suit to go along with the dress. It would be close-cut, absolutely tailored to perfection and creating a bit of an illusion of broader shoulders.

These pieces would end up on the runway, Gabriel was positive. Paired pieces were always popular.

He had just started scribbling down detail on the side of the paper when he glanced up briefly and spotted Nathalie's computer playing to an audience of...zero.

Frowning, Gabriel sat up fully. The sound of giggling caught his ear, and he spun around to see one twin crouching next to one of his mannequins, the hem of the dress there draped over her head like a wedding veil.

"No playing with the dresses!" Gabriel barked, and both girls jumped before scrambling away from the mannequin. He frowned over at the dress- he would have to get it cleaned soon to remove any chocolate-y fingerprints that might have gotten on the fabrics- before returning his attention to the girls. "I thought you were watching cartoons!"

"Those cartoons are boring," the first twin complained. "They're for babies."

"They're so dumb," Twin No. 2 chimed in. "I don't wanna watch a baby show. Do you have fabric scraps we can play with?"

Gabriel frowned. All of the fabric scraps that he had around the office were exclusive Gabriel print samples, or silks and embroidered pieces or things that he had beaded. They weren't things that he wanted ruined or accidentally going home with the girls. "No. And you promised-"

"But it's a baby show!"

Movement by the door caught Gabriel's eye, and he turned in relief to see an unimpressed Nathalie standing there, surveying the scene in front of her. He opened his mouth to ask her to take the girls- surely she could entertain them elsewhere in the house- but Nathalie beat him to it.

"I'll be taking a late lunch now," Nathalie told him, turning to stride right back out the door. "I will see you in a bit, Mr. Agreste."

"You were just out on lunch, Nathalie!" Gabriel objected, jolting straight up in his chair.

"And I was just summoned to the Gabriel building on urgent business," Nathalie continued as though she hadn't heard him, pulling out her phone and consulting it as though an email had just come in. "So I have to go sort that out. I will be back...at some point."

And before Gabriel could protest, she was gone. He gaped after her for a few seconds- she was his employee, she couldn't do that!- then turned back to the girls still tugging at his elbows, trying not to growl in frustration.

He had to remember, if he lost his temper, it would get back to their parents. If it got back to their parents...

So Gabriel took a deep breath, glanced at the clock- was it broken? Surely more time had passed than that!- and then turned back to the twins. "Okay, what do you want to watch?"

The girls lit up, hopping up and down and yammering at him faster than he could follow. He let them tug him up out of his chair and towards the computer, having them point out the show that they wanted to watch instead. They then spent five minutes arguing over which show they wanted to see out of a pick of four or five things before settling on one. Sighing with relief (and trying his best to ignore the headache starting to build at the edges of his temples), Gabriel clicked on the first episode that came up, arranged the computer to the twins' satisfaction, and returned to his seat. He glanced up as the cartoon started to play and- okay, he could already tell that the cartoon was a bit less babyish than the first one, though it still had annoyingly high-pitched voices for all of the characters. The girls seemed content, so Gabriel gave himself a pat on his back and returned his attention to his designs. Several minutes later, he was just getting back into designing mode. He picked up his pencil, and-

"We've seen this episode already!"

"Yeah! I don't wanna see it again, I already know what happens!"

"We've seen this so many times!"

Gabriel let out a long breath through his nose as he was unceremoniously ripped from designer mode yet again. The twins were already clambering to their feet, clearly ready to abandon their activity and start tearing through his office again. He stood before they could get too far, strode to the computer, and maneuvered back to the menu to pick out another episode. It started playing, and the twins sat back down.

Hopefully he would get more than three minutes to himself this time.

They got past the intro without incident, and Gabriel turned his attention back to his work. He had almost gotten back into the groove when the complaints started up again.

"I've seen this already! This is an old episode!"

"Really old!"

"I'll change it, I'll change it, just keep sitting!" Gabriel said hastily, completely willing to agree to anything to get them to shut up already. Thank god he and Emilie had gotten a nanny to get Adrien past this age, and thank god that they had only had one kid. Having two or more- having twins- would have been a nightmare. And hadn't Adrien said that there were four kids in the Ladyblogger's family? That would be awful. "How many episodes of this have you seen?"

There was some whispering between the two girls, and then some arguing. Finally they resurfaced with a shrug and an unhelpful "I don't know".

Small children were maddening.

Gabriel selected another episode, this time just a little further along. There weren't that many episodes listed, so if they had selected this show it meant that there had to be some that they hadn't seen yet, right?

Apparently not. Over the next thirty minutes, the girls kept interrupting him every few minutes, taking anywhere between three to six minutes to recognize an episode and start complaining. At one point, they lost interest in the cartoons entirely and started asking if they could have cake. With a groan, Gabriel realized that he shouldn't have given in so easily to their request earlier. It had been a test to see how much they could get away with, and he had failed it.

He also missed another prime akumatization opportunity. Two so close together was rare, and yet he couldn't slip away and take advantage of it.

"Of all the days for Adrien to have a two-hour lesson instead of a one-hour one," Gabriel groaned as he pushed his work to the side again to put an end to the complaining that had started anew. The twins were looking antsy now that so much time had passed without them watching all the way through an episode, and he had to wonder how much longer he would last.

Would it be possible for him to go online and hire a babysitter to finish up the time? If they stayed in the house, surely no one could complain? But it seemed unlikely that he would be able to find someone on such short notice, and it would take time for them to arrive. Besides, finding a babysitter online would require actually having more than a couple consecutive minutes to focus on that, and he didn't have more than a couple consecutive minutes, not with the girls needing constant attention.

Three more episode switches later, and Gabriel was ready to start pulling his hair out. Right before he was about to snap at the girls to just sit down and enjoy an old episode, the door buzzer rang. Gabriel dove for it, welcoming the interruption. Maybe Nathalie had sent a babysitter. Maybe the twins' family had finally decided to come pick them up. Maybe-

It was one of Adrien's classmates, the designer girl- Marinette Dupain-Cheng, he remembered. Next to her stood another very small child, her brown pigtails barely reaching the bottom of the camera.

He couldn't deal with another small child, he really couldn't.

"I'm here to collect Ella and Etta!" Marinette said with a cheerful wave at the camera. "Adrien texted me and said that he left them with Mr. Agreste?"

"He did," Gabriel said at once, noting the way that Ms. Dupain-Cheng startled. Clearly she had been expecting Nathalie at the other end. He pressed the button to open the gates. "Enter."

"Who was that?" one of the twins wanted to know at once. "A new babysitter?"

"Yes-" Gabriel started, but they were already on their feet and racing out to the atrium. Just as they got there, Marinette stepped in with the other small girl in tow. She took one look at the racing girls and raised one eyebrow, planting her free hand on her hip.

"Ella! Etta! Is that how we behave indoors? And when we are guests in someone's house?"

Much to Gabriel's surprise, both twins slowed down and shook their heads. "No..."

"I didn't think so." Marinette turned her attention to Gabriel. "I hope that they've been behaving themselves."

Gabriel opened his mouth to answer before thinking better of it. He didn't need to admit to a fourteen-year-old that he had been having trouble keeping two five-year-olds in line, not when they had settled down so quickly at her demand. Instead, he changed the subject. "Are the twins' parents finally back home to take them? Or your friend?"

Much to his surprise, Marinette shook her head. "No, not yet. Alya needs stitches and a tetanus shot, so she and Nora aren't going to be home for a while, and their parents are super-busy right now and can't leave work early. We're going to go over to the TV studio to drop off Manon and after that, I was planning on taking Ella and Etta back to their apartment so that they won't be destroying anyone else's house." She paused, glancing over in the direction that faint piano music could be heard coming from. "I. Uh. If it wouldn't be too much to ask, I would really appreciate it if Adrien could come over and help out, so I'm not the only one watching these two."

"I will send him over once he finishes his piano lessons," Gabriel promised at once, partly so Marinette wouldn't change her mind about taking the twins and partly because Adrien had offered to take up that responsibility in the first place and he needed to understand what following through would be like so that he wouldn't do it again in the future.

A chorus of whining followed Gabriel's words, and he looked over to see both twins pouting at Marinette.

"I don't want to go on a walk!"

"Yeah, that's too far! And it's too hot!"

"I want to stay here and watch cartoons and eat cookies!"

"And drink orange juice!"

The small girl holding Marinette's hand stomped her foot and turned to her babysitter. "I want cookies, too!"

"Cookies and no walking!"

Gabriel's headache spiked as the whining got louder, but Marinette only frowned at them. "Manon, you've already had cookies. Also that's too bad, we're going on a walk. No, you don't get a say in this. Now thank Mr. Agreste and we'll be leaving."

"But I don't want to!"

"Yeah!"

"If you don't behave, I'll tell your parents and you won't get dessert for a month and you'll have to go to bed early," Marinette warned them, and Gabriel watched in utter disbelief as the twins straightened up and promptly fell into line next to her. "Now what do we say to Mr. Agreste?"

"Thank you!"

Gabriel could only nod in response as the group headed back out the door, following Marinette down the steps and across the courtyard like a line of little ducklings. He waited until they had exited the gates and turned the corner before heading back into his office and collapsing into his chair.

He could deal with uncooperative suppliers and diva clients all day long, but two young children wore him out in a heartbeat. If Ms. Dupain-Cheng hadn't shown up, he- he-

He didn't know what he would have done. His patience had been gone, he had been at his wit's end, and the twins had just been whining and whining and whining.

Ms. Dupain-Cheng deserved a reward of some sort for coming in and rescuing him from those little monsters, Gabriel decided as he reached across his desk for some aspirin. Nothing obvious, of course, because he couldn't let on that he had had any problems with the twins, but she hadn't had to come over and add two more little terrors on top of the handful of a girl that she had already been babysitting. She could have just continued with her day and assumed that he was fully capable of dealing with the twins until Adrien finished his piano lesson, which is what he assumed most teens her age would have done.

Perhaps he would grant her immunity from getting akumatized, Gabriel decided after a minute's thought. He wasn't experienced enough to be able to identify individual imprints himself, but Nooroo could and he could block her imprint's emotions from getting picked up by the Miraculous upon request. Gabriel had heard talk that it wasn't a particularly pleasant experience for those who hadn't gotten akumatized voluntarily. Something about how their memories during that time were fuzzy or lost completely, which was terribly disorienting. He hadn't experienced the same, of course, and neither had Nathalie, but the two of them were special cases. Everyone else had to deal with holes in their memories and a nagging sense of confusion, neither of which were pleasant.

Yes, that was what he would do. It would be a way to express his thanks without giving away that he was doing that at all, Ms. Dupain-Cheng would no doubt appreciate being able to express her emotions safely, and it wasn't as though it would be any great loss to him.

There would always be other people to akumatize, after all, and giving one normal teenage girl a free pass out wasn't going to make any big difference in the long run.

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #Gabriel Agreste #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #do I enjoy tormenting Mr Agreste? absolutely

[bluehhj]

listen to me — chapter 47

LISTEN TO ME — 0047

listen to me masterlist;

WORDS: 1.8K

Just before nightfall, as the sun was casting its last orange rays over the city, Yoorim and Woojin returned to the hospital. This time the reception was full, which resulted in more work for the nurses behind the reception desk. Luckily, they didn't have to stand in line to ask about Jinah and Jisung — although Chan had been spending all afternoon sending very detailed messages to the group they created in the messaging app —, as Seungmin was finishing talking to a lady, probably going over a diagnosis, and, when she said goodbye, he soon approached the pair.

"Shouldn't you be gone now?" Woojin asked and Yoorim watched the intern's tired expression, who didn't seem to have the slightest intention of taking off his coat and going to rest.

"It's fifteen minutes before my shift is over," Seungmin pointed out, laughing softly. He might as well pretend to be busy and idle until he could leave the hospital, as Woojin suggested, but his sense of responsibility wasn't that foldable. "If even Chan hyung, who should have left at four, is still here, why am I going to stop working while I still can?

"Woojin has to stop thinking that everyone is uncompromised just like him," pinned Yoorim. The oldest of the three was so used to having similar adjectives attributed to him that he didn't care. "But anyway..." her hands seeped into the pockets of her dark sweatshirt, cold. Although spring was approaching, the cold of winter was still bothering a lot. "Is Jisung feeling better or is he still the same?"

Seungmin bit his lower lip uncertainly. "You better see yourselves."

Personally speaking, Woojin hated hospitals and avoided them as much as possible. He thought everything smelled of alcohol and medicine and he also repudiated the strange feeling of sadness hanging in the air like a mist; so, many details of the corridors Seungmin led them through purposely went unnoticed.

"Nobody said anything else about Jinah?" he asked as they entered the elevator. Woojin had no idea how half of the university already knew what had happened, and that worried him. The way the news was spreading was completely distorted from the original, and even he, being gossip most of the time, was careful not to say anything that could be interpreted even more erroneously.

"She's still the same," Seungmin said ruefully. "Looks like her parents will arrive today."

Yoorim never understood what it was like to feel genuine parent-child concern, but she could imagine how sad and desolate Choi's parents were at that moment. Though she didn't quite understand love, either, she could put herself in their shoes and think about what it would be like to see her father or Hyunjin in a situation similar to Jinah's, and only the distorted image caused her an agonized uneasiness in her chest that extend all the way to Jisung's room.

Seungmin opened the door carefully, and just like the other two times, Han showed no interest in looking up from his own legs wrapped in a blanket. Jisung's expression remained indifferent and all his actions were almost as slow as the serum dripping into his veins.

"So far he hasn't spoken to anyone but Hyoyeon, and that was before he knew about Jinah," Seungmin whispered. "You can try, but I don't know if it's going to do much good."

Yoorim stepped forward and nodded to Chan, only then noticing that he was there with a college book on his lap. Then she stopped at a comfortable distance from the bed and reached for a chocolate on the empty nightstand. "You can eat when you feel like it," she offered, aware that it must be bad to settle for the dull hospital food alone. "It's your favorite."

If Jisung liked it, he didn't make a point of moving a muscle to demonstrate. Yoorim wasn't upset about that. She had known Han long enough to understand his way of dealing with pain. As when breaking his engagement with Chaerin, for example, Jisung closed himself and arrogantly dismissed anyone who tried to approach. Here, however, everything was so exponentially stronger that he could not even utter any cursing whatsoever, and that was what really worried Yoorim. Suffering in silence was synonymous with drowning in your own ocean, alone.

"I suck at giving advice, you know that..." Woojin began, serious as it rarely happened. "But I think you have to think positive... According to my general knowledge of our friendship contract, I imagine you have already blamed yourself and been desperate because you're full of negative thoughts. And I also know that a coma is far from just a cold, but perhaps not as bad as it seems," he paused, checking Han's features to see if he was not accidentally making things worse, but Jisung remained neutral. "I can't tell you "relax, she'll wake up in a moment", because no one knows when this will happen, but nurturing the hope that everything will work out is much better than nurturing frustration in thinking it won't... Jinah needs you more than you need her, Sung. You have to be fine to help her out of this."

"I never thought I'd say that in my life, but I agree with Woojin" Chan got up from the couch and hugged the book to his chest. "Several studies point out that the line between consciousness and unconsciousness is thinner than you might think. I don't know if this is the case with Jinah, but there are people who go into a coma and still hear what others say and even respond in their own way. It's a way to help revitalize some damaged parts of the brain and it does very, very well."

"Don't interpret what we said as if we were trying to stop you from suffering, that's not it," added Yoorim. "You can and should suffer a lot, it is completely normal for that to happen, but giving up on believing is not an option, okay? Alright we don't even know what you are thinking right now and maybe the idea of giving up hasn't even gone through your head, but if this pessimism was there at some point, I ask you not to listen to it, oppa. It'll be all right and period."

Jisung didn't answer, but Seungmin noticed as he began to wiggle his fingers absently, perhaps pondering. The intern was still not comfortable enough to speak to Han as directly as his friends did, so he decided to just watch. After all, Seungmin was absolutely sure that Jisung didn't like him — and it wasn't as if he had no reason to do so, after all. Both approaching at the time of the accident didn't mean that the disagreements were set aside and now they were all friends. Seungmin couldn't forget that.

"Visiting hours have changed and I didn't know?" almost all eyes in the room turned to the door when a lady arrived with a white suitcase in her hands. She was clearly one of the hospital's most experienced nurses, and her smile was so tender it made others want to smile, too.

"It was my mistake, Mrs. Baek," Seungmin apologized, though the woman seemed to be just kidding.

"It's fine, dear," she waved a hand in the air, dismissing Kim's concern. Then she entered the room and left her briefcase next to the chocolate that Yoorim gave Jisung. "Only now I need to change this boy's bandages. By the way, weren't you two supposed to go home?" pointed to Chan and Seungmin. "Especially you, Chan. They said you could leave a long time ago."

"I'll be right out, just waiting for someone else to arrive," the future doctor replied, smiling small. "Be well, Jisung. You guys too."

Woojin and Yoorim returned the smile and Chan waved at the nurse before leaving. Seungmin also said goodbye quickly when he received a message from Chaerin, who would always pick him up at the end of the day, saying that she had arrived. The Canadian was going through the same dilemma as her boyfriend, and although worried, she didn't know if it would be good for Jisung to have her so close all of a sudden; so she was content only to ask and send positive thoughts to both Han and Jinah.

When Mrs. Baek opened the bag full of cotton, medicine bottles, bandages and a multitude of other products to make a good dressing, Yoorim chose to give Jisung more privacy, while Woojin didn't want to risk fainting if he saw blood, and so they went toward the waiting room on the floor, not far from the bedroom. Halfway through, Kim snapped his tongue in the roof of his mouth, and Heo knew he was about to ask something.

"What did you think?"

"He needs some time," Yoorim answered after a few seconds in silence. Woojin didn't need to be completely clear for anyone to understand that she was referring to the way Jisung was acting. "That took everyone by surprise, it really is a bit astonishing for anyone."

Woojin nodded and said nothing more about it. If he himself who had not even spent so much time with Jinah had been affected to the point that he could not even work without his mind often flooded with the same subject, then, Jisung must have been a complete mess.

The matter came to an end early when someone entered the waiting room with the speed of a rocket. Yoorim felt sick to realize that it was Yeji. It got worse as she grew closer, and Heo could feel the intensity of her angry glare, which, from so many people, was aimed solely at her.

"The analysis of the fingerprints found on the ring that caused part of the accident is now ready," she used her firmer tone of voice to emphasize each syllable, not even offering a good night before throwing the bomb. "They're all yours, Yoorim."

Woojin gasped as Yoorim went pale as a sheet of paper. Everything turned in Heo's head and she couldn't even express a reaction before Kim finally stopped coughing.

"What do you mean, you crazy?!" Woojin didn't take respect for authority very seriously when it came to Yeji, but, this time, she didn't care and just shoved a paperwork into Yoorim's chest.

"The evidence is there."

With trembling hands, the youngest of the three pushed the papers away from her chest and ran her teary eyes over the photos and paragraphs filled with relevant information contained in the sheets. The report proved that yes, the fingerprints were hers, but it made no sense! Millions of questions screamed in her mind, so deafening that she couldn't even tell them apart.

And without even letting her try to find herself in the confusion, Yeji, her voice dripping with camouflaged pride, pulled a pair of handcuffs out of her uniform pocket and finished announcing:

"Heo Yoorim, you are under arrest for attempted double murder."

a/n: first, I need to apologize. I should have posted yesterday, right? but well, yesterday there was a big rain and I ended up without internet all day, so that's why. but now here is another chapter for you guys!

and what pissed me off the most in the last chapter was the lack of depth in jisung's feelings, although it was planned long ago. it is my intention not to focus too much on everything he's feeling at the same time, because not even himself knows, and that is where there's the return of a character aka love of my life to try to help jisung. but anyway the description was horrible and I hated that ending.

in compensation, I liked today's chapter and this is a miracle!!!!!!! #protectheoyoorim

and well, don't forget that I love you guys so much, ok??? see you in the next chapter <3

#stray kids #skz #stray kids au #skz au #stray kids angst #stray kids fics #skz fics #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids reactions #skz reactions #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #skz smut #multifandom #bang chan #woojin #minho #changbin #hyunjin #han #jisung #han jisung #felix #seungmin #jeongin #kpop #kpop au #listen to me

[phinnsyreads]

[Content Warning: miscarriage, obstetrical body horror.]

===

Item #: SCP-051

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-051 and SCP-051-A are to be kept in a sealed containment facility. SCP-051-A is kept within a locked, climate-controlled document box with a viewing window, to prevent degradation of its material. Any personnel (with the exception of pregnant or non-sterile female personnel, who might not be aware of an early-stage pregnancy) may access SCP-051 as long as a request is placed before-hand and cleared by site administration.

Description: SCP-051 is a 25 cm (10 in) anatomically correct model of a human female, carved out of ivory, with typically East Asian features. Microscopic analysis shows that the head hair is human hair. The doll is jointed at the shoulders, hips, and knees. The 'stomach' area of the doll is fully removable as a 'cap' of ivory, exposing a detailed ribcage and organs, and a 2.5 cm (1 in) ivory fetus connected to the main figure by a leather cord umbilicus.

When brought into the presence of a pregnant human female, SCP-051 has various deleterious effects upon the pregnancy, generally resulting in miscarriage of the fetus. Reports include a gentle compulsion to handle the model, open its stomach cap and take out the fetus. This results in nausea and cramping within 5 minutes, vaginal bleeding that begins as spotting and may progress to hemorrhage within the next half-hour, and miscarriage within 2 - 24 hours in most recorded cases. Medical records indicate that the aborted fetuses bear moderate to severe defects. Pregnancies carried to term after exposure to the model have resulted in severely deformed live births, including ██ deaths of the mothers and ██ infants terminated after birth by the delivering physician (see Interview 051-1 below). Witnesses to these live births showed signs of severe emotional trauma that was alleviated, after Foundation interviews, by administration of a Class A amnestic.

SCP-051-A is a fragment of text on rice paper that was discovered with SCP-051. The surviving text is written with plant-derived ink test-dated to the 12th century, and the characters have been identified as a known early dialect of Japanese. Translation reveals the text is part of a prayer or spell against 'demons' that attack unborn babies. The incantation orders these forces or demons into the model, instead of a pregnant woman, and claims to trap them there. However, centuries have degraded the paper and ink so that the full incantation and instructions, if any, cannot be deciphered.

Addendum: SCP-051 and SCP-051-A were discovered in a box of early Japanese artifacts delivered anonymously to the ██████████ Museum in 1938. After 60 years and a number of incidents resulting from contact by female secretaries, researchers, and students, an Agent on staff in the museum's archives learned of its properties and obtained it for Foundation study.

---

Interview 051-1

Interviewed: Dr. David Ehrenfeld

Interviewer: Agent ███████

Foreword: Dr. Ehrenfeld was the attending physician at the death of Martha R███, ███████████ museum, 02 January 1942. This interview was conducted off-site as Dr. Ehrenfeld was a resident of ███ █████ nursing facility; at the time of interview he was 95 years old and physically infirm, though retaining most of his mental faculties. A class "A" amnestic was administered after the interview.

<Begin Log, October ██ 20██>

Interviewer: Thank you for seeing me, doctor.

Dr. Ehrenfeld: You are welcome. I have outlived most people who would care to hear such stories. Then again, they surely would have thought I was telling lies, or slipping into dementia. Now, you may think the same, but at my age, I do not care [thin laughter].

Interviewer: Can you tell me what you remember of the events of January second, 1942?

Dr. Ehrenfeld: It was…an ugly day. Cold and ugly. ██████ can be a wonderful city sometimes, but winter is a bad season. It was late in the evening when my housekeeper told me I had been called. I was tired, but… a birth is always a wonderful experience. I thought it would cheer me. [coughing]

I had a nurse with me, but the girl never came back to my office after that night.

Fifteen minutes, perhaps, for the cab to reach the museum from my house? I'm not certain, but I think so. The doorman was waiting for me. He led me to the room where they had poor Mrs. R███ laid out on a low table covered with…some canvas groundcloths, I think; to make her more comfortable.

Interviewer: What was her condition when you arrived?

Dr. Ehrenfeld: Thinking back now I should have realized…it was very bad. But I was young and had not much experience. She was quiet and only grunted with each contraction; she did not respond when I checked her vital signs and spoke to her. She did not even look at me. There was quite a bit of blood; a gush of it covered my hands as I reached down to begin helping her with the birth. The floor was slick with it underneath her. And the baby had not crowned yet; she was dilated well and the contractions were quite close together, and this made me fear she may be having a breech birth. I showed a calm face, though. I did not want to panic my nurse, or the researcher Doctor Merrill, who was nearby… a dignified older man. I believe I wanted to impress him.

[a pause, breathing sounds]

Interviewer: And then, doctor?

Dr. Ehrenfeld: I was concerned because of all the blood, that her life was in danger. I told her to push, and she was pushing…and my nurse helped her, putting downward pressure on the abdomen, as I attempted to manually aid the infant's emergence. I will spare you the details of a breech-birth procedure; it can be found in any obstetrics manual of the time.

I probed blindly and felt… I thought it was a coil of the umbilicus, perhaps tangled around the baby's neck. I almost withdrew, thinking that an episiotomy would be required, but she tore before I could proceed. There was more blood, and the baby began to emerge into my hands.

[a pause]

I had never seen such a thing. You are a researcher; do you know much of the common cephalic birth defects? This was uncommon. I thought at first that the infant must be stillborn. Its flesh was gray – not the vernix-covered gray of a normal birth, but lifeless and degraded. The smell of decay…

I recoiled, and the poor mother screamed on her last push, and the infant was delivered into my arms, with a great rush of hemorrhage. The deformity… unspeakable. The thoracic cavity was completely open, the limbs….

Interviewer: But it wasn't a stillbirth.

Dr. Ehrenfeld: It looked at me. I heard the nurse above me, beginning resuscitation attempts… then heard her gasp and falter as she saw what I held. Gagging as the smell filled the room. I tried to drop the creature, but it clung to my hands, I felt my skin begin to blister and crack.

Strange how clearly I can remember it. At my age, sometimes I cannot even remember what I had for dinner. The infant was almost double the length of a normal, viable fetus at eight months. Its lower body… segmented…

[coughing, almost choking; a pause of two minutes while the interviewer assists Dr. Ehrenfeld with a nearby oxygen mask.]

Interviewer: What did you do then?

Dr. Ehrenfeld: It began to laugh…and I killed it. [a pause] I broke its neck while it looked at me.

Interviewer: Were there ever any questions or consequences?

Dr. Ehrenfeld: [thin laughter] In 1942, with the country at war, and two respected professional men to give their testimony? No. The museum building had a furnace; I disposed of the infant's body myself. We claimed some more normal defect had taken the lives of mother and child. The husband was a drunkard and cared for nothing but her life-insurance policy. I believe he was drafted shortly thereafter, and died somewhere in France. And I left my practice almost immediately. I never delivered another child.

<End Log>

Closing Statement: Dr. Ehrenfeld expired four months later of pneumonia.

===

[The voice of the interviewer was provided by @phinnsy.] [The voice of Dr. David Ehrenfeld was provided by @navox-the-weary.]

===

[Enjoy the podcast? Consider supporting us on Patreon! Patrons get access to bonus Joke episodes, outtakes, and can even request episodes on specific SCP objects.]

#phinnsy #scp foundation #reading #voiceover #storytelling #podcast #sci-fi #horror #urban legend #folklore #fiction #scp 051 #body horror #cw: miscarriage #cw: body horror

[ifishouldvanish]

Shameless Self Promotion Post

Thank you to everyone who nominated me and my work for some TEA awards. I’m flattered beyond words!

Here’s a summary of the stuff I’ve been nominated for:

Home Again (T) - Nominated for “Fluff - Reunion” and “Best Woobie!Rumple” | My Rumbelle Showdown fic where Belle returns to Storybrooke to see her childhood friend, Adam Gold, after having spent many years seeing the world. 

Making A Splash (E) - Nominated for “Smut - Romance” | Part of the Boston Hour ‘verse. Uh... after he and Belle agree that their relationship is ‘serious’, Rumford celebrates with some rub-a-dub in the tub. 🙈

Who Says Dark Ones Don’t Dance? (G) - Nominated for “Best One-Shot” and “Best Missing Years Fic” | Based on a transcription of a travel book page, in which Belle describes a desire to go to a club so she and Rumple can dance.

Spin Me a Tale (T) - Nominated for “Best Comedy Fic” and ���Best Belle” | Belle’s nursing a massive crush on Mr Gold, a shy library guest who’s never even spoken a word to her. Little does she know, he’s the voice behind her favorite book review podcast.

Receipt In the Bag? (M) - Nominated for “Best Comedy Fic” and “Best Crack!Fic” | Mr Gold buys duct tape and rope from the Dark Star pharmacy on Valentine’s day, for no reason other than to get a rise out of the store’s crass cashier, Lacey French.

Black Roses (M) - Nominated for “Best TV AU” | Sons of Anarchy AU. Lacey’s the president of a motorcycle club, and Gold’s the corrupt lawyer who helps them cover their tracks. This hasn’t been updated in forever, but... I’m fond of it.

I Must Be Warmer Now (M) - Nominated for “Best AU Inspired by Other Media and “Best Golden Lace” | Inspired by the Queen song. After a messy divorce that costs Gold custody of his son, he goes to the bar to drown his sorrows in whisky. Instead, he finds hope in the town barfly, Lacey French.

Alterations ‘Verse (M) - Nominated for “Best Series” | Extended ‘verse for my 2017 RCIJ fic, Alterations. AKA, the one with the woobie!Gold who lives with his emotionally abusive mother and is hopelessly in love with the librarian.

So a Lawyer Walks Into a Bar... (E) - Nominated for “Best Golden Lace” and “Best Lacey” | Gold is a lawyer who’s been sleeping with his former client, Lacey French. After he spends too many nights working late, Lacey decides to pay him a visit at the office. Snark and smut ensues. And feelings.

Finishing Stitch (T) - Nominated for “Best Trope” | Alterations ‘verse. Lennon proposes to Belle in the library.

Rumbelle Ethics (G) - Nominated for “Best Meta” | My two-part analysis of how Belle and Rumple each apply ethics to solve problems, and how their different approaches effect their relationship. Written post-5B, so I’m planning to write a third part focusing on Rumple’s S7 arc... eventually.

Color, Brilliance, and Strangeness (G) - Nominated for “Best Graphic Art - GIFs” | Dark castle Rumbelle falling in love :) 

If Only for a Moment (E) - Nominated for “Best Anyelle Fic” | Belle/Hamish. When her time with the police constable keeps getting interrupted by Lochdubh’s Problem of the Day, Belle decides the only way to get some alone time with Hamish is to report a crime.

Let’s Spend the Night Together (E) - Nominated for “Best Anyem Fic” | Lacey/Rush. Oh my God, they’re roommates. And when the heater breaks in the middle of winter, they’re forced to huddle around a fire and share blankets.

And lastly... I was also nominated for the Rumbelle Fandom Lifetime Achievement Award!

This was a huge surprise for me and I’m so, so honored that anyone would consider me for this award for even like, half a second?? I’m still lowkey convinced there was some kind of mistake, lol. BUT--  I’ll put my campaign hat on for a second to say that my contributions to the fandom include my fic and meta, the occasional graphics and gifs, RumbelleTEAs.com, and stanning the hell out of my friends’ work whenever I can ;)

Thank you so very much! 

#the espenson awards #rumbelle fic

[thebestbookrecommendations]

My Year in Books - 2021

Part Five!

Dial A For Aunties - Jesse Q. Sutanto

When Meddelin Chan ends up accidentally killing her blind date, her meddlesome mother calls for her even more meddlesome aunties to help get rid of the body. Unfortunately, a dead body proves to be a lot more challenging to dispose of than one might anticipate, especially when it is inadvertently shipped in a cake cooler to the over-the-top billionaire wedding Meddy, her Ma, and aunties are working at an island resort on the California coastline. It's the biggest job yet for the family wedding business—"Don't leave your big day to chance, leave it to the Chans!"—and nothing, not even an unsavory corpse, will get in the way of her auntie's perfect buttercream flowers. But things go from inconvenient to downright torturous when Meddy's great college love—and biggest heartbreak—makes a surprise appearance amid the wedding chaos. Is it possible to escape murder charges, charm her ex back into her life, and pull off a stunning wedding all in one weekend?

Genre(s): Romance, Mystery, Comedy

Thoughts: This was such a fun read! A perfect blend of humor, romance, and mystery. Overall, 3.5/5.

The Lonely Hearts Hotel - Heather O’Neill

The Lonely Hearts Hotel is a love story with the power of legend. An unparalleled tale of charismatic pianos, invisible dance partners, radicalized chorus girls, drug-addicted musicians, brooding clowns, and an underworld whose economy hinges on the price of a kiss. In a landscape like this, it takes great creative gifts to thwart one's origins. It might also take true love. Two babies are abandoned in a Montreal orphanage in the winter of 1910. Before long, their talents emerge: Pierrot is a piano prodigy; Rose lights up even the dreariest room with her dancing and comedy. As they travel around the city performing clown routines, the children fall in love with each other and dream up a plan for the most extraordinary and seductive circus show the world has ever seen. Separated as teenagers, sent off to work as servants during the Great Depression, both descend into the city's underworld, dabbling in sex, drugs and theft in order to survive. But when Rose and Pierrot finally reunite beneath the snowflakes after years of searching and desperate poverty the possibilities of their childhood dreams are renewed, and they'll go to extreme lengths to make them come true. Soon, Rose, Pierrot and their troupe of clowns and chorus girls have hit New York, commanding the stage as well as the alleys, and neither the theater nor the underworld will ever look the same.

Genre(s): Historical Fiction, Magical Realism, Gritty, Romance

Thoughts: My top pick from my 2021 reads. I felt that it was a little sexual, but the story itself was really beautiful. Overall, 4/5.

Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore - Robin Sloan

The Great Recession has shuffled Clay Jannon away from life as a San Francisco web-design drone and into the aisles of Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore, but after a few days on the job, Clay discovers that the store is more curious than either its name or its gnomic owner might suggest. The customers are few, and they never seem to buy anything; instead, they "check out" large, obscure volumes from strange corners of the store. Suspicious, Clay engineers an analysis of the clientele's behavior, seeking help from his variously talented friends, but when they bring their findings to Mr. Penumbra, they discover the bookstore's secrets extend far beyond its walls.

Genre(s): Mystery, Fantasy, Adventure

Thoughts: I didn’t like this book as much as I thought I would, but it was still enjoyable. I liked the plot very much, but there was something about it that just didn’t full vibe with me. Overall, 3.5/5.

Big Summer - Jennifer Weiner

Six years after the fight that ended their friendship, Daphne Berg is shocked when Drue Cavanaugh walks back into her life, looking as lovely and successful as ever, with a massive favor to ask. Daphne hasn’t spoken one word to Drue in all this time—she doesn’t even hate-follow her ex-best friend on social media—so when Drue asks if she will be her maid-of-honor at the society wedding of the summer, Daphne is rightfully speechless. Drue was always the one who had everything—except the ability to hold onto friends. Meanwhile, Daphne’s no longer the same self-effacing sidekick she was back in high school. She’s built a life that she loves, including a growing career as a plus-size Instagram influencer. Letting glamorous, seductive Drue back into her life is risky, but it comes with an invitation to spend a weekend in a waterfront Cape Cod mansion. When Drue begs and pleads and dangles the prospect of cute single guys, Daphne finds herself powerless as ever to resist her friend’s siren song.

Genre(s): Mystery, Romance

Thoughts: This book was supposed to be body positive, but honestly the language used personally made me feel kind of bad about myself. It wasn’t a bad book, but there was something about it I didn’t necessarily care for. Overall, 2.5/5.

Survivor Song - Paul Tremblay

In a matter of weeks, Massachusetts has been overrun by an insidious rabies-like virus that is spread by saliva. But unlike rabies, the disease has a terrifyingly short incubation period of an hour or less. Those infected quickly lose their minds and are driven to bite and infect as many others as they can before they inevitably succumb. Hospitals are inundated with the sick and dying, and hysteria has taken hold. To try to limit its spread, the commonwealth is under quarantine and curfew. But society is breaking down and the government's emergency protocols are faltering. Dr. Ramola "Rams" Sherman, a soft-spoken pediatrician in her mid-thirties, receives a frantic phone call from Natalie, a friend who is eight months pregnant. Natalie's husband has been killed—viciously attacked by an infected neighbor—and in a failed attempt to save him, Natalie, too, was bitten. Natalie's only chance of survival is to get to a hospital as quickly as possible to receive a rabies vaccine. The clock is ticking for her and for her unborn child. Natalie’s fight for life becomes a desperate odyssey as she and Rams make their way through a hostile landscape filled with dangers beyond their worst nightmares—terrifying, strange, and sometimes deadly challenges that push them to the brink.

Genre(s): Horror, Thriller, Science Fiction

Thoughts: Having read “A Head Full of Ghosts” which I liked, but not that much I was expecting a similar sort of vibe, but I liked this one a lot more. It was very engaging. Overall, 3.5/5.

House of Leaves - Mark Z. Danielewski

Years ago, when House of Leaves was first being passed around, it was nothing more than a badly bundled heap of paper, parts of which would occasionally surface on the Internet. No one could have anticipated the small but devoted following this terrifying story would soon command. Starting with an odd assortment of marginalized youth—musicians, tattoo artists, programmers, strippers, environmentalists, and adrenaline junkies—the book eventually made its way into the hands of older generations, who not only found themselves in those strangely arranged pages but also discovered a way back into the lives of their estranged children. Now, for the first time, this astonishing novel is made available in book form, complete with the original colored words, vertical footnotes, and newly added second and third appendices. The story remains unchanged, focusing on a young family that moves into a small home on Ash Tree Lane where they discover something is terribly wrong: their house is bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. Of course, neither Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist Will Navidson nor his companion Karen Green was prepared to face the consequences of that impossibility, until the day their two little children wandered off and their voices eerily began to return another story—of creature darkness, of an ever-growing abyss behind a closet door, and of that unholy growl which soon enough would tear through their walls and consume all their dreams.

Genre(s): Horror, Mystery, Thriller

Thoughts: It took me three or four separate attempts over several years to finally finish this book. Definitely one of the weirdest ones I’ve ever read. I would say it’s more of an experience than a story, and a lot of it was kind of touch and go for me. Overall, 3/5.

Long Bright River - Liz Moore

In a Philadelphia neighborhood rocked by the opioid crisis, two once-inseparable sisters find themselves at odds. One, Kacey, lives on the streets in the vise of addiction. The other, Mickey, walks those same blocks on her police beat. They don't speak anymore, but Mickey never stops worrying about her sibling. Then Kacey disappears, suddenly, at the same time that a mysterious string of murders begins in Mickey's district, and Mickey becomes dangerously obsessed with finding the culprit--and her sister--before it's too late. Alternating its present-day mystery with the story of the sisters' childhood and adolescence, Long Bright River is at once heart-pounding and heart-wrenching: a gripping suspense novel that is also a moving story of sisters, addiction, and the formidable ties that persist between place, family, and fate.

Genre(s): Mystery, Thriller, Crime

Thoughts: This was a good story, it wasn’t excellent, and it was a little forgettable, but I did enjoy it. Overall, 3.5/5.

A Good Man is Hard to Find and other Stories - Flanders O’Connor

This now classic book revealed Flannery O'Connor as one of the most original and provocative writers to emerge from the South. Her apocalyptic vision of life is expressed through grotesque, often comic situations in which the principal character faces a problem of salvation: the grandmother, in the title story, confronting the murderous Misfit; a neglected four-year-old boy looking for the Kingdom of Christ in the fast-flowing waters of the river; General Sash, about to meet the final enemy.

Genre(s): Short Stories, Southern Gothic

Thoughts: I knew nothing about this collection going into it and honestly did not like a single story. Definitely not for me. Overall, 1/5.

Such A Fun Age - Kiley Reid

Alix Chamberlain is a woman who gets what she wants and has made a living, with her confidence-driven brand, showing other women how to do the same. So she is shocked when her babysitter, Emira Tucker, is confronted while watching the Chamberlains' toddler one night, walking the aisles of their local high-end supermarket. The store's security guard, seeing a young black woman out late with a white child, accuses Emira of kidnapping two-year-old Briar. A small crowd gathers, a bystander films everything, and Emira is furious and humiliated. Alix resolves to make things right. But Emira herself is aimless, broke, and wary of Alix's desire to help. At twenty-five, she is about to lose her health insurance and has no idea what to do with her life. When the video of Emira unearths someone from Alix's past, both women find themselves on a crash course that will upend everything they think they know about themselves, and each other.

Genre(s): Contemporary

Thoughts: I liked this book so much more than I thought I would. It was so well written, and provided such an interesting social commentary. I would highly recommend this one: 4/5.

The Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas

Thrown in prison for a crime he has not committed, Edmond Dantes is confined to the grim fortress of If. There he learns of a great hoard of treasure hidden on the Isle of Monte Cristo and he becomes determined not only to escape, but also to unearth the treasure and use it to plot the destruction of the three men responsible for his incarceration.

Genre(s): Historical Fiction, Adventure

Thoughts: This book was extraordinarily long but somehow managed to stay interesting and engaging and it never felt like it was dragging. Overall, 3.5/5.

#good reads #authors #book recommendations #books #books & libraries #libraries #literature #what to read #what to read next #book reading #good books to read #good reads year in review #year in review #book list #what i read this year #what i read #books to read #dial a for aunties #the lonely hearts hotel #mr. penumbra’s 24-hour bookstore #big summer #survivor song #house of leaves #long bright river #a good man is hard to find #such a fun age #the count of monte cristo #book reviews

[penniesforthestorm]

On Jane, Part 2

Actually I Mostly Talk About Rochester in This One

Greetings, pals! Today's chunk lends itself a bit more naturally to analysis, because it's primarily concerned with the development of the relationship between Jane and Rochester, concurrent with the deepening of the mystery surrounding Thornfield Hall (those 'bumps in the night' I mentioned in yesterday's post). Again, if you haven't read the book, you will probably be confused by a lot of what follows here—if you have read the book and you're still confused, I apologize. With that in mind, let's get to it.

First of all, let's talk about this Rochester fellow. By the time he actually physically enters the picture, we know very little about him. He's not a titled peer, but he's evidently wealthy enough to spend most of his time traveling around Europe. He's apparently well-liked by his tenants and employees, though Mrs. Fairfax (so far, the chief source of information for both Jane and the audience) makes a reference to his eccentric personality. Beyond that, he's an unknown quantity.

When Jane first sees him charging down the icy lane on his black horse, she thinks of a mystical creature, the Gytrash, known to haunt solitary lanes at nightfall. During their first real conversations, Rochester teasingly accuses Jane of bewitching his horse, asking if he had broken through a fairy-circle. These particular scenes are some of my favorites, because they give such a clear idea of both characters. For his part, Rochester addresses Jane as a person, with thoughts and opinions worth hearing. And Jane rises to the occasion, frankly and innocently answering his questions. In the second conversation, when Rochester asks if Jane finds him handsome, she answers ‘no’, not out of any intent to insult, but out of simple honesty. Rochester pretends to be piqued, but given the way the rest of the conversation proceeds, it’s clear that he finds her candor admirable, even as he pokes fun at her naïveté.

For a while, not much happens. Winter thaws into spring, and Rochester and Jane’s conversations deepen. He tells her the rather Romantic story of Adele’s parentage—himself, the young wastrel, seduced by the feckless showgirl Celine Varens. But the anecdote is revealing. Despite his professed lack of enthusiasm for the company of children and his rather dismissive attitude toward Adele herself, he nevertheless rescued her from a probable grim fate. In Paris, Adele was the illegitimate daughter of a woman who was about one rung up the ladder from a prostitute. In England, she is being raised in a comfortable home, and educated as a member of the upper classes, no doubt with an eye toward a future advantageous marriage, as long as nobody asks too many questions. One could argue that Rochester’s actions in this case constitute the most basic level of human decency, but within the context of the story, wherein children are either spoiled rotten or cast off and starved, Rochester comes off looking like quite the benefactor.

(I could derail this into a Whole Thing about the trend of novels in the 19th Century still functioning largely as allegory and not precisely meant to represent the Real World—Dickens, Thackeray, Hardy to an extent, and of course Wuthering Heights, but I feel like that deserves further and better research than what I’m going for here. Still, I think it’s another thing that often gets missed in discussions of this novel, and thus, the more melodramatic elements of the work seem incongruous with its overall ‘realistic’ tone.)

Now, a bit more on those bumps in the night. Ever since Jane’s earliest days at Thornfield, she’s been aware of an eerie laugh issuing from some rooms on the third story of the house. There is a servant who stays there, rarely venturing down to the rest of the house, and her name is given as Grace Poole. Everybody seems rather vague on the subject of what Grace actually does, and Jane, being observant, begins to suspect that there is something going on with Grace, despite her thoroughly ordinary appearance and taciturn manner.

These suspicions come quite literally roaring to life one night, when Jane hears that laugh in the hall outside her bedroom, and ventures outside to discover that Rochester’s room has been set on fire. Jane runs in and douses him with water, and once he is aware of the situation, he dashes off, telling her to stay there and wait until he returns. The bit that follows his return is an interesting one—Rochester urges Jane’s silence, and confirms Grace Poole as the owner of the laugh, terming her a ‘singular’ (here meaning odd) person. Jane begins to leave, but Rochester detains her for a second, sincerely thanking her for saving his life, and speaking to her in his fondest tone yet. This instant marks another significant step in Jane’s ascension—she is not just Rochester’s ‘paid subordinate’, she is his confidante and quite literally his savior. The incident has bound them together in a way neither of them understands just yet.

And this closeness is seemingly dashed the next morning, when Jane is informed that Rochester has gone off to visit some friends, and will likely not return for several weeks. When he does come back, he is accompanied by a full complement of guests, including the imposing, imperious Miss Blanche Ingram, who Rochester is rumored to be courting as a future bride. At first, Jane is crushed—Blanche has money, beauty, accomplishments, and power. Again, this could be a jumping-off point for a discussion about how marriage among the upper classes at that period of time still hewed fairly close to its feudal roots, more as a way of securing finances than as an expression of emotional attachment. But you can read Jane Austen for that. In this case, Blanche wanting to marry Rochester for his money isn’t quite as much of a stain on her character as it might seem to a modern reader. Her vanity and coldness, however, serve as kindling for Jane’s feisty side—at one point, she dismisses Blanche as ‘a mark beneath jealousy’.

Another strange incident occurs after the guests have been staying at Thornfield for quite some time. Mr. Rochester leaves on some errand, and in his absence, a stranger shows up at the house, claiming to be a friend of Rochester’s. He is described as around thirty-five, dark-haired and handsome, but somehow deficient. Jane gives particular attention to his ‘wandering eye’ and his peculiar accent. We soon learn that his name is Richard Mason, and he has come all the way from Jamaica to pay a visit to his ‘old friend’.

In the interest of keeping things moving, I’m not going to discuss the business with Rochester in disguise as the fortune-teller. Once he unmasks himself before Jane, and she informs him of Mason’s arrival, we see a reaction in him we haven’t seen before: fear. He begs Jane for comfort, asking her what she would do if the assembled company suddenly turned against him. Assured of her fidelity, he rejoins his friends and apparently greets Mason calmly enough.

Once again, however, Jane is awakened by noises in the dark—screams, this time, from the regions where Grace Poole keeps her dark vigils. In due course, Rochester summons her. The newly-arrived Mr. Mason is lying injured in an upstairs room, and Rochester enlists Jane to keep watch while he fetches the doctor. He orders Mason not to speak to Jane, which, considering that the guy’s barely conscious, doesn’t seem like a difficult request to fulfill.

Rochester and the doctor return, and it’s revealed that Mason was bitten, as well as being stabbed with a knife. Once Mason is fixed up enough to leave, Rochester sends him on his way, but not before a brief, fraught conversation, in which Mason begs him to take care of Her—that mysterious inhabitant of the upstairs room. Rochester tersely replies that he has done his best, and will continue to do it.

Rochester then summons Jane into a garden, and attempts to unburden himself to her. He alludes to his past misdeeds, without giving much in the way of satisfactory detail, and testifies to his sincere wish for his own redemption. He tells her, finally, that he thinks he has found it… in Miss Ingram. He calls her his ‘lovely one’, and suddenly becomes cheerful and jocular. Neither Jane, nor the reader, is satisfied by this.

This brings us nearly to the end of the book’s actual first volume, and (more to the point) near the end of this installment of my…whatever this is. I also think I’m going to need to do two more of these, rather than just one, like I’d originally planned. I’m assuming that if you’ve gotten this far, you’re just as invested as I am.

There is one more major occurrence: the illness and death of Jane’s Aunt Reed. Bessie, Jane’s old nurse, comes to inform her that Mrs. Reed has suffered a stroke, but has been asking for Jane. Jane pays one last visit to her former childhood home, to find it greatly changed: her cousin John has committed suicide, Eliza has become a religious obsessive, and Georgiana is a hapless social climber (though it’s worth noting that she treats the adult Jane with a certain friendliness). And what of Aunt Reed? Before she slips off her mortal coil, she passes Jane a vital piece of information—Jane has a rich uncle from her father’s side, a wine-merchant in Madeira, who has asked for information on Jane’s whereabouts, with a view toward making her his heir. Jane, for her part, offers her aunt her forgiveness, and in this way, seals off that portion of her past.

In tomorrow’s recap, we’ll get to the really juicy stuff. For anyone who’s reading along, thanks a bunch, and feel free to come tell me your thoughts. For anyone who missed yesterday’s, Part 1 is here: http://penniesforthestorm.tumblr.com/post/176721452934

#prose #Jane Eyre #Part 2 of ? #views my own

[rantingfangirl]

Cross Life Chapter Eleven: Line Walking

Summary: Moving across the pond was supposed to signify new beginnings for the Kirkland family. Arthur’s parents seemed to take that a bit too literally for his liking.

Chapter Index

Read it on FF.Net    Read it on AO3

“I’ll see y’all on Friday. Now get out of my classroom.”

Arthur grumbled as Mr. Vargas haphazardly tossed his binder full of sheet music onto his desk, sending papers and pencils to the sides and down to the floor. The latter stretched his arms out, his white dress shirt tightening around his biceps, his shoulders scrunched up.

The choir room broke out into a fit of noise, some individual voices louder than others. Most talked about what they had gone over during practice, what pieces they were worried about and how they went flat on that one high note. Others simply talked about their plans for the weekend, or the amount of homework they had that evening.

Grabbing his backpack, Arthur slung it over his shoulder, pressing his hand against his back and stretching. The backpack weighed down on his shoulders, and he got the strange feeling that it was unzipped, its contents open for everyone to see, even though he knew that wasn’t the case. As the year has gone on, it’s gotten heavier and heavier, though the crime could be mainly blamed on the three thick hardbacks he alternated between during the rare free moments he had. Each time he finished one, it was replaced with another the next day, just as heavy but just as addicting as the last.

Without saying goodbye to those in his section- he still had never bothered to learn their names, and when he was told, he immediately forgot, Arthur stalked out of the choir room, deflating as soon as he stepped into the silent hallway. He was the first one out the door.

Normally, he wouldn’t be able to wait to start his walk home, to begin those fifteen minutes where he was by himself and free, but today, he was doing something.

Something important.

Arthur slid his arm into the free strap of his backpack, the weight becoming more balanced as he turned right into another corridor. On the other side of the hallway, coming from the opposite direction, was Kiku. Arthur gave him a sarcastic sneer, a common greeting in their relationship, fully expecting one in return. What he got, however, could only be at best called a timid wince.

It was hard to believe that Kiku Honda, the one who had been a tiny needle stuck in his ass since the beginning of August, was actually cowering from him. Cowering, as if Arthur were some monster that had been waiting under his bed for months, waiting until he could see a soft white sock poke out onto the floor to grab and pull under. It was funny, really, considering the circumstances of their first meeting, how confident he was then compared to now.

And if Arthur was being serious, if he was really being serious to himself, he was curious. Of why this sudden change had happened. Not because he actually cared for Kiku- god no, he could never give a damn about such a slithery, slimy snake, but it made him wonder.

Though it was far-fetched, perhaps Alfred and Kiku were going through a patch of rocky terrain in their relationship. He remembered the way the latter shied from the former’s hand back in the library, the movement being far too snappy and harsh to be a fear of touch or anything of the like. Besides, he had seen them hold hands before, like when Arthur tracked Alfred down to declare his apology- and what a disaster that had been- so a phobia was out of the question.

Of course, Arthur could be overlooking it, be digging too deep into what could be something as simple as Kiku having a bad day, but he sincerely hoped it wasn’t. If they were fighting, if their string was growing taunt, then it would certainly make his plan go down much easier.

Arthur didn’t bother to say anything as he walked past Kiku, the latter’s pace quickening to a speed walk, not so much as sparing a single glance after his sneer. Soon, he was alone once more, the sound of his footsteps bouncing off the hallway as he strolled.

This afternoon was a gamble, as yesterday and the day before that had been. He was already gone by the time Arthur got out of Madrigal practice on Monday, and wasn’t in the library yesterday after his tutoring session with Alfred. Arthur supposed he had already left, and cursed Alfred for insisting on sitting outside in the courtyard. The latter had claimed, in his very own words, “it’s gonna be nice n’ cool outside, and I don’t wanna get stuck in a stuffy, dark library,” though Arthur was sure he just wanted to sabotage him.

However frustrating, Arthur figured he couldn’t enforce his hidden agenda on Alfred, no matter how much he wanted to, without risking it all. Besides, he wasn’t necessarily against sitting outside- so long as it wasn’t raining, he would hate for his books to be damaged- and hadn’t opposed, shocking himself and most likely Alfred as well. If the way his eyes widened after Arthur nodded was any indication.

He stopped before the library doors, taking a breath. It had not changed since the last time he was here, and he knew that inside, it would be the same as it always was. Books lined in faux wood shelves, the surfaces of the later made to look like anything but particle board. The dark carpet in desperate need of a vacuum, saturated with spilled Gatorade, soft drinks, and coffee, and even if it were to be thoroughly cleaned, it would never be the same as the first day it was nailed in and stepped on. Tables with declarations of love and phone numbers scrawled and etched into it, complete with matching chairs on their last leg, only a few years from toppling under someone.

And it was the same everywhere he went. No matter how many times his mum picked up his family and moved them, no matter how many times he went from one town to another, they all stayed the same. Different layouts, different buildings, different material, sure, but they were stable. Solid.

Unlike his family, with his brothers constantly moving in and out of the house, sometimes with an irritatingly shallow girlfriend clinging to their arms, their thin fingers twirling their thick and glossy hair, mouths spouting anything to please. With his mother lacing false promises and lies around her as if they were fine jewelry and silky lace, picking one off and throwing it at him when she needed to. With his father going through different versions of himself as a doctor would with bandages, ripping one off and tossing it away, only to replace it with another one he liked better.

Libraries were safe, calm, secure, and Arthur almost hesitated as he reached for the metal handle. He would be bringing his chaos inside, dragging it in with him and pushing all those peaceful years out, and everyone would let him do it without so much of a fight, without so much of a single thought of the consequences.

Arthur thought of leaving, just dropping it until another day when he saw him in the hallway or the courtyard. So he wouldn’t bring his plan and all that came with it into such a sacred place. But the damage had been done already, he supposed, and had been since the first tutoring session with Alfred.

And besides, he told himself, it was a necessary sacrifice to make.

He pulled the handle, shivering at the wave of chilly air that burst out. Another thing that had stayed consistent. Arthur wasn’t sure if the librarian would suddenly decided that a heater would be necessary soon, as in a couple weeks from now at the very maximum, or in the dead of winter. If the latter, then perhaps it would be warmer outside than in the library.

Balancing his weight to quiet his footsteps, Arthur beelined for the side of the library, windows between each bookshelf displaying slivers of the empty courtyard. Clusters of four tables were surrounded by a guard of shelves, and Arthur swiftly ducked his head to the side, checking to see if anyone was there. When he found it empty, he moved on to the next, making sure to go slow and quiet.

Row by row passed, textbooks, biographies, magazines, and casual picture books behind lined behind him. Each time he came across a group of tables, he pressed himself to the side of a bookshelf, slightly leaning over to get a good look before moving on.

He got closer and closer tot he back wall, the painted concrete covered in signs with inspirational quotes that Arthur doubted anyone relevant every said. As he reached the last group of tables, prepared for failure and being forced to try it again tomorrow, Arthur saw him.

Heracles sat in the corner, a stack mixed with hardbacks, paperbacks, and magazines piling high, almost as tall as he was sitting. Arthur froze, watching as he scanned down one page, stopping to scribble a quick note down in the lined notebook next to him, before flipping to the next. A speed reader, then. How wasteful, skimming over paragraphs, when the author spent hours hunched over each one, barely taking note of what the sentences contained. Whereas Arthur took his sweet time, reading each word and processing it with care, rereading pieces of dialogue to see what he could add to his analysis of each and every character. It made him think, made him wonder what type of reader he-

Arthur shook his head, forcing the thought away. It was unnecessary, he didn’t need that type of information nor would he ever. He rolled his shoulders back, the weight of his backpack making it more shallow than he would’ve preferred. He hadn’t been noticed yet, and if he kept quiet, probably wouldn’t be, which game him a decent amount of time to prepare.

Arthur thought of what he was going to say, or at the very least how he was going to begin the lengthy conversation they were going to have, and how he was going to deliver it in such a way that didn’t make him seem or look desperate.

Pushing some wisps of hair out of his face and taking in and letting out a deep breath, Arthur strolled to the table, his stride long but casual. He slid into the closet chair, dropping his backpack haphazardly into the one next to it. Arthur’s books knocked against the wood of the table, which he would normally wince at and immediately move to check their health, but he ignored it- not without a fair share of pain, however- in favor of focusing on Heracles.

The latter snapped his head up in surprise, his fingers tightening around the edges of his current book. From the confusion on his face, his brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, and mouth just a little bit gaped, Arthur could tell that he had no idea who he was. Good. Very good.

Arthur smirked, propping his cheek on the palm of his hand. “Heracles Karpusi?” The mentioned nodded, slowly closing his book shut, not before shoving an colored and scribbled on index card in the middle, setting it on the very top of the stack.

Heracles pursed his lips into a fine line, shaking his messy hair out of his face. He rolled his shoulders back, taking in a deep breath, letting it out through his mouth. “Yes, and who’re you?”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head and waving his hand in dismissal. In this situation, it wasn’t necessary to know, and if Kiku had mentioned him before, then it could put everything at jeopardy. So, at the moment, “That’s not important.”

Heracles deadpanned, though Arthur could see his eye lightly twitch in annoyance, just barely noticeable. The latter’s smirk, which had appeared around the time he had taken the opportunity to seat himself, grew lazy and half-assed.

Making a show of himself, Arthur perked up in his chair, looking around for anyone that could be eavesdropping or just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course, he knew that the library was empty, had practically taken a tour of it, except for the two of them, and had made sure of it, but it was always nice to double check. If any of their conversation were to get out, even just a little snippet of the more important words, then it would be a major pain in the ass for the both of them. Especially for Arthur.

Especially for Arthur.

Smacking his hand against his back pocket, just to make sure it was there, Arthur pulled out a pack of gum, offering a stick to Heracles. It was the product of a late night stop at the gas station earlier this week, his father needing to fill up his tank and Arthur wanting to get out of the house for at least five minutes. He had been chewing it sparingly, having only about a stick a day, but he had made the mistake of letting Vlad get an eyeful during one lunch period. Now, the contents had quickly diminished, and Arthur only had about a row and a half left.

Heracles shook his head, raising his hand as Arthur tried to hand it to him. The latter shrugged, unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth. It crackled and snapped in his mouth, the minty taste almost making him wince.

“So, Heracles.” He chewed out a tough spot in the gum, running his tongue over the top row of his teeth.

Heracles raised an eyebrow, still looking as if a million piece puzzle had just been set in front of him, no paper with any directions in sight. He opened his mouth to speak, only for Arthur to quickly cut him off.

“How much do you love him?” Quick and blunt, he decided not to mention the word “crush” to him, lest he get angry, denying their relationship to be such a short, trivial thing, and walk away.

Heracles paled, or as much as his olive skin would allow, his shoulders tensing up and his jaw clenching. As he spoke, he stuttered, his normally lethargic demeanor turned into something rushed. Panicked. “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

Arthur’s smirk turned smug, and he leaned closer, his stomach pressing up against the table. “Now, that little reaction of yours tells me that yes, you do know what I’m talking about. You know exactly who I’m talking about.” Arthur lifted his head, studying his fingernails for dirt and places to file down. “How long?”

Heracles shook his head, pushing his chair back. This time, he had his backpack with him, a black cargo pack with two large pockets buttoned closed on the front, and slung it over his shoulder. Arthur noticed with not a lack of mirth that there were multiple cat charms chained to it. How cute.

Fully expecting this kind of reaction from him, Arthur sat there, watching as he picked up the entire stack of books with ease, along with his still-open notebook, balancing it on one arm. Not even a single one wiggled.

As he began to walk away, his pace slow as to not harm the stack, Arthur studied the lines and grooves of the table, not even sparing him a glance as he spoke. “Do you know how easy it would be for your little secret to get out?” From the corner of his eye, he saw Heracles freeze, and knew then that he had won. “You aren’t exactly subtle, to be quite honest. Someone would just have to point it out, give Alfred and his little band a small push, and then everyone would know about it.”

Heracles stepped up to the table, his hips pressing against the edge. He was tall, much taller than Arthur, and considering the way he was carrying those books as if they were rag dolls, much stronger than him as well.

Then again, he didn’t look angry per sé, but someone had once thrown a swing at Arthur while smiling without a care in the world, so he wasn’t taking any chances. Just in case, Arthur situated his arm a bit closer to the other and leaned away from him. At least that would give him a little bit of time to block.

Instead of going in for the punch, like Arthur anticipated- and he would’ve punched back, too, considering how long it had been since he had last gotten into a fight- Heracles raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. Waiting.

Arthur motioned his hand to the other side of the table, specifically the chair that Heracles had been sitting in before. The latter glanced at it, before returning his attention to Arthur. Taking in a sharp breath, he motioned again for him to sit in the chair, giving him a smile filled with sarcasm when the fool actually did.

When Heracles spoke, his voice had returned to its default quietness and slow pace, though Arthur could hear it shake. Out of fear, wary, or a bit of both, he couldn’t tell, and if he were to be honest, he didn’t really care. “What do ya want.”

Arthur propped his feet up on the chair next to him, his right foot resting against his backpack, and he hoped he wouldn’t fall. Cool and nonchalant, that was his act for the afternoon, and if he were to mess that up, it would be… embarrassing, to say the very least.

He shrugged, smiling as if he were in a daze, throwing his hands up in the air. “I just want to help you.”

Heracles deadpanned, slowly blinking. He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair as much as his backpack- which he had not yet taken off, even while sitting in a chair, a petpeeve of Arthur’s that made his eye twitch- would allow him. “You were the one who just said that you were willin’ to out me to Alfred.” He said his name with a sneer, several teeth showing. Arthur noticed that there was a small gap between his canine and incisor. Adorable.

Arthur made himself look offended, breaking years of habit to raise his chest and shoulders as he breathed, putting his hand to his collar bone, his index finger pressing into his neck. He furrowed his brow, slowly shaking his head, his mouth gaping.

Heracles didn’t seem impressed with his performance, his jaw tense, and he looked displeased when Arthur spoke, the latter’s voice breathy and his words slow. His reaction to it was unfortunate, really, considering that he had picked this straight out of his mother’s catalog of acts. “I didn’t say that I was going to out you, I simply said that I would nudge them in the direction. I’m sure they’re smart enough to figure it out themselves.”

Even with as dramatic as he was being, and how much he was currently reminding himself of his mother, Arthur couldn’t deny the fact that he was having fun with this. Pure, unbridled fun. Even when he knew that Heracles was feeling the exact opposite. Especially because of that.

Heracles huffed, slumping in his chair. “That’s the exact same thing.”

“No, they’re very much different.”

A frown. “I doubt that.”

Arthur shrugged, dropping his act, pursing his lips into a fine line. “If that’s what you want to think.”

The two fell silent for a while, Arthur’s more intentional than the other’s. He tapped his fingers against the table, nodding his head slowly. Occasionally, he sent a glance towards Heracles’ direction, making sure it was noticed, measuring if and when he was about to crack. Eventually, after about a couple minutes, Arthur got what he wanted.

Heracles threw his hands up, muttering something under his breath. It was too quick for Arthur to hear even a single word, but he was sure that it was nothing that he particularly wanted to hear. Either that, or an exclamation of impatience, which he sincerely doubted. “Fine. How are you gonna help me?”

Arthur smirked, picking at the skin surrounding one of his fingernails. This was the moment of truth. When everything that Arthur had been working for these past two months would come to fruit. And he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Despite the significant importance of this, of this very sentence he was about to say, Arthur said it as if it were nothing, simply a statement of the weather that morning or what they had for lunch at school. He didn’t even glance at Heracles as he spoke. “What if I were to tell you that there is a great possibility that Kiku could love you back?”

The atmosphere surrounding the table tensed, a great secret finally revealed to the light of the world. Heracles stared at Arthur, his eyes as wide as saucers, the color leeching from his cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak, but then clamped it shut, pursing it into a fine line. His face blanked, and at the moment, Arthur’s confidence in the success of the afternoon faltered the tiniest bit.

Heracles stood, gently setting the stack of books on the table, and pushing his chair in. He rolled his shoulders back, along with his neck, and walked away, grabbing his notebook before hand.

Arthur’s smirk fell, turning into more of a half-assed sneer, and he signed, deflating. That certainly went the way he was expecting it to go.

Heracles left his stack of books, most likely figuring that a librarian would pick them up the next day. How rude of him, to put that much more work on them when they already had such stressful and taxing jobs.

Arthur had to admit, however, that he was curious, and reached for the first book on the very top, the one he had been reading when Arthur had first initiated their conversation. He pulled it over to him, scanning the cover. If only because he was curious of what such a disrespectful brat could possibly be reading.

And at the very top, above a picture of a sculpted bust that had certainly seen better days, in platinum colored letters over a soft blue, read, “Greek Mythology: Battles of Will, Jealously, and Punishment”. Arthur couldn’t help but snort at that, dropping it haphazardly onto the table.

What a damn coincidence.

Vlad shivered as they stepped out into the courtyard, running his hands up and down his arms. October was in full fling, summer having been long ushered out by fall. Dead leaves crunched under their feet, covering the concrete ground and empty tables.

Arthur eyed their usual table, which sat against one of the concrete walls of the pit in all its worn and black beauty. It sat under a tree, one that had already lost most of its foliage, only bits of its magnificent metal top visible. Vlad noticed him staring, and gave him a sympathetic look, seeming equally miserable, even though their torture had yet to even begin.

No matter how much he wanted to, how much he yearned to, they would not be sitting at their table today. No, for they were being forced to sit with Mathias and all of his friends.

They had told Lukas that he could go by himself, that he didn’t have to have him and Vlad intruding and ruining their fun, only for Lukas to deny it. Arthur brought it up again, perhaps for the fifth time, only for Lukas to shake his head.

“I don’t wanna leave y’all alone.”

Arthur tsked. “But we’ll be interrupting-”

“Not at all, Mathias said that I could bring you two if I wanted. And I want to.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Vlad deflate, though Lukas didn’t seem to notice. Normally, Arthur would be supportive of this type of thing, and would go in without a complaint but with watchful eyes and a prepared defense, but this was different. Very different.

The table was a hostile zone, the Montagues to their Capulets, with his dear friend unknowingly caught in the middle of it. It was a silent battle, his side the only ones in the dark. And they would be right in the thick of enemy territory. It was unfortunate, really, but Arthur had no choice but to go along with it and smile and nod his head at all the right times and places.

It was all he really could do, if he wanted to keep up the persona that he had so carefully and painstakingly crafted around his friends, and Arthur could only hope that the others weren’t cruel enough to send it all tumbling down. Not that they would even care, he supposed.

As they quickly descended the concrete stairs into the pit, Mathias caught sight of Lukas, waving to him with an elated smile spread across his face. And though Mathias was focused on his boyfriend and only on him, everyone else at the table turned their heads towards Vlad and Arthur, a few looking between the two with unfamiliarity, the others glaring at the latter. Either way, their eyes were sharp as knives and their faces as cold as ice.

Arthur ignored them, however, keeping his chin up and facial expression pleasant, even when he oh-so desperately wanted to scowl and sneer. He couldn’t, though, he wouldn’t, not when they expected him to. Not when they were counting on him to.

“Lukas~!” Mathias hopped up from the bench, almost tripping as his foot was caught on the edges, but quickly recovered, running up and pulling Lukas into a hug. He was fast, really fast, to have crossed the pit so quickly, but Arthur figured that with his record of being on the football team, that was a given.

Lukas giggled as Mathias whispered into his ear, putting his hand on the latter’s chest. Arthur was suddenly reminded of how sickening the two were when they were with each other, and it baffled him that even though they had been dating for about a month now, they had still not left their honeymoon phase. At this point, he doubted that they ever would. At least not any time in the foreseeable century.

Grumbling when Mathias pulled away, Lukas turned back toward Arthur and Vlad, his smile sweet and serene. He motioned to Mathias with his free hand, the other still on his chest. The two looked like a middle class couple standing in front of their suburban home, their brand new, shiny minivan parked behind them. Disgusting. “Guys, y’all remember Mathias.”

Mathias smiled, giving the two a short and light wave. Arthur stayed silent, simply giving him a nod of acknowledgment, letting Vlad do the work.

The latter cocked his hip and head to the side, his signature smile already spreading across his face. Vlad crossed his arms, seeming smug. “Oh, trust me. We remember Mathias. He’s all ya talk about.”

Lukas blushed as Mathias’ eyes widened, his smile growing wider. By then, the latter had moved his hand to Lukas’ lower back- or at least, Arthur hoped that that was where it was- and tugged him towards him. “Aw~ babe, you talk about me?”

The rosy pink on Lukas’ cheeks turned into more of a cherry red, and Arthur had to fight to hold back a gag. Vlad choked, moving his hand to cover his mouth, the other one twitching, as if it was ready to join.

Lukas opened his mouth to say something, which would probably be something equally or even more mush than what Mathias had cooed at him, only to be- thankfully, for once- cut off by Alfred.

“Ay! Mathias! Quit yer chit-chattin’ and get yer ass over here!”

Mathias froze, his ever shining and strong smile faltering just a tiny bit, but enough to be easily noticed. It was quickly back up again, however, even stronger this time, and if Arthur hadn’t noticed it at the exact moment the mess up had happened, he wouldn’t have realized it.

Sending the three of them a quick, apologetic look- for what, Arthur guessed he would never find out- Mathias turned, strolling towards the table, Lukas on his heels. He waved for them to follow. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

A few faces at the table were easily recognizable, such as Antonio and Mr. Vargas’ grandson, whose name had already escaped him. Arthur supposed that he might’ve seen the others in the hallway once or twice, but could never bring up the memory. They all certainly seemed to know him, however, as they glared at him with mixed amounts of venom, one looking a bit more default than the others.

It made Arthur wonder if Mathias visiting them for lunch a couple weeks ago was more of a scouting mission than anything. To see what he would do in their presence, to see if Arthur would attack him with his friends sitting next to him. It made Arthur grit his teeth, to think that they could be using Lukas to get closer to him.

Thankfully, Mathias chose to sit at the end of the table, far away from Alfred and the little snake clinging to him. Maybe the two had decided to provide a unified front today in the face of their greatest enemy, show that yes, their relationship may be crumbling into little bitty pieces- at least, it looked that way- but oh boy, could they pretend the opposite. Pretend a unified, strong, loving front.

It made Arthur feel sorry for them, in a way, but he quickly reminded himself that they deserved everything they got, and everything they will get.

The four stopped at the end of the table, Mathias taking a few steps back so everyone could get a good look at them. In a way similar to the time of his confession, Lukas seemed to shrink into himself a little bit, though this time it seemed more of a nervous habit than anything.

“Guys.” Mathias smiled, his layers of freckles scrunching on top of each other. “This is Lukas.”

A boy Arthur didn’t know, one with fair white hair and tinted sunglasses, gave Mathias a toothy smirk. “Lukas, as in the main one, or Lukas the side dude?”

Alfred’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped, looking at the one who spoke with pure horror laced in his voice. “Oh my god, Gilbert. Stop. Don’t.”

Gilbert’s smirk turned into more of an ashamed frown, and he reached for his bottle- gray metal with a red top, grumbling behind it before taking a swig. “So, I guess that joke stopped being funny.”

Mathias’ smile was tense, and he took in a sharp breath, letting it out through his nose before he spoke. “Yes, it stopped being funny months ago. Months. Ago.”

Gilbert blushed, looking down. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Thank you.”

Arthur watched their exchange, trying his best to keep in a snicker. What came out was more of a choking sound, and Vlad looked at him, a knowing smile on his face. The latter covered his face, his thumb digging into his cheek, as if he were trying to keep his own laughter from falling out.

Remember who the particular joke was at the expense of, Arthur slightly leaned forward, looking across Vlad and to Lukas. He was frowning, the blush from before faded from his cheeks. Arthur would’ve thought that he had not understood the joke, would’ve believed it, until he noticed that his lips were slightly pursed.

“Anyway.” Mathias’ cheery smile was back up, though he flashed a quick warning look to those at the table. A possible threat, should they choose to make anymore jokes without thinking them out thoroughly beforehand. “This is Vlad…” He trailed off, wincing.

Vlad smiled, nodding his head. “Vlad Popescu.”

Mathias frowned, his eyebrows scrunching. He bopped his head side to side, pursing his lips into a fine line. “Yeah… I’m not even gonna try to say that.”

The table laughed, some louder than others, while Mr. Vargas’ grandson just rolled his eyes. Arthur noticed a fault in his act, however, as there was a small, tiny smirk on his face.

Mathias chuckled along with the group, softly shaking his head. Alfred, followed by a few others, tried to pronounce Vlad’s last name with varying levels of accuracy, Vlad watching them with an amused smile.

Arthur thought that he was perhaps the only one who noticed that Mathias’ smile and laughter had faded, his lips pursed into a fine line.

“And this, uh.” He rubbed the back of his neck, adjusting his feet, looking at Arthur as if he was going to reach out and bite his head off. As if he were the boogie monster, searching for more high schoolers to chew and munch on. When Mathias spoke, he did so quickly, in a rushed way, trying to get the words out of his mouth as fast as possible. “And this is Arthur Kirkland.”

The laughter at the table was shot, everyone silent. The mood soured, the elephant in the room suddenly remembered, the silent problem that they had been desperately trying to ignore.

In a playful, fun manner, one that was unusual for him, Arthur stuck his tongue out at them, bopping his head side to side. He ignored the sneers he received in return.

Vlad snickered, though seemed a bit confused, shaking his head at Arthur’s antics, while Lukas’ silent brooding had broken into a small chuckle. Arthur smiled, pretending that being bubbly and cheerful was his default mood, even if he was feeling almost the exact opposite. Smile and nod, he told himself, be the person they didn’t expect him to be.

Eyes wide, brow shot up, Mathias nodded before motioning to the bench. Vlad and Arthur crowded onto the bench, Lukas making a last-second decision to move to the other side. Arthur made sure to sit at the very edge, so he could easily slide out in need of a quick escape.

Mathias perked up, making a small, “oh”, sound, standing again. He chuckled breathlessly, rubbing the back of his neck. A habit, maybe. “Forgot to introduce everybody to y’all.” He cleared his throat as Arthur and his friends leaned forward, examining those at the table just as they did them. Lukas and Vlad with a bit more curiosity and much less hate than Arthur.

Mathias nodded his head to each person as he said their name, each one giving a small motion of acknowledgment in return. “Uh… I’ll go in order.” He began with his row, starting at the very end. “Alfred F. Jones, Kiku Honda, Ivan Braginsky, and me, of course.” The third of the mentioned, Ivan, smiled, while Alfred gave a half-assed grin. Kiku only deadpanned. Mathias turned his head to the bench on the other side, where Vlad and Arthur were sitting, doing the same type of introduction as he did previously. “Y’all’ve already met Gilbert Beilschmidt, then there’s Antonio Fernández Carriedo, and Lovino Vargas- Mr. Vargas’ oldest grandson. There’s also Francis, but he’s been out for the week.”

Lovino frowned at his own introduction, seeming displeased to have been associated with his grandfather. It must’ve been a regular thing, Arthur figured, for him to be so against it.

Alfred sniffled, crunching his face up as if he were trying to summon fake tears. He smacked his hands together the way someone would if they were deep in prayer, shaking them once or twice. When he spoke, his voice was laced with faux sadness. “We’ve lost our boy Francis to the flu.”

The table burst into laughter, Mathias yelling, “Rip Francis”. Arthur cringed as they earned several looks from the surrounding tables, some frowning and others rolling their eyes and returning to their lunch.

Gilbert, who had stayed silent during the entire exchange, was frowning as well. He pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, clearing his throat. He seemed to have recovered- if only a little bit- after his failure at humor, feeling enough confidence to speak again. “So, uh, how have y’all been settlin’ into yer new relationship?”

The conversation launched off at that, with Mathias and Lukas raving about each other and their date together. And though he had heard both sides in a total of around a million times, Arthur smiled through it, laughing at all the parts he was supposed to, along with everyone else.

Mathias and Lukas exchanged sickening smiles as they talked, Arthur having to occasionally shove down a gag and Vlad failing to.

Arthur sometimes found himself leaning down to look at the others at the table, measuring their reactions to certain parts. At any time Arthur was mentioned, Alfred winced the tiniest bit, hiding it behind Kiku’s hair. The latter tensed each time, swallowing hard, but relaxed and smiled a few moments later, giving a few loving glances in Alfred’s direction.

He was sure that he was the only one who could tell it was fake. Their movements were too tense, too robotic, as if they were only doing it because they were expected to. As if everyone figured and knew that they were going to do it, and would raise questions should they not go along.

And he had to admit to himself, though not verbally to any one else, that it was amusing and relieving to see it.

He looked away, knowing that if he stared for any longer he would be caught. As he turned his gaze to the left, Antonio- he already had to see his neighbor at least once a day, for god’s sake-glared daggers at him, a scowl etched on his face. Arthur smiled in response, bright and kind, and returned his attention back to the conversation at hand. He smirked when he heard Antonio quickly mutter something under his breath, something that anyone else would cringe at.

Perhaps Antonio should consider leaving his boyfriend to use that type of act, Arthur thought. It wasn’t doing much good for him.

Arthur perked up when Mathias and Lukas fell silent, just staring at each other with wonder and awe. Arthur was almost tempted to pull out his phone and look up how long the honeymoon phase of a relationship was supposed to last, but decided not too, if only because he didn’t want to drain his phone battery thinking about something so stupid.

The conversation had fallen flat, with everyone looking around, trying to think of a new topic. Occasionally, someone would open their mouth,  prepared to say something, only to close it, a dejected look spreading across their face. The whole situation at hand was terribly awkward, and Arthur wanted nothing more than to slide out of the bench and walk away, off to somewhere quiet. Maybe the library.

After what seemed like ten minutes, like ten years, Vlad perked up, his eyes wide and a full-fledged smile twisting his mouth. So~. He looked around the table, giving each person a glance before moving on. “What’re our plans for Halloween?”

Arthur groaned. He had completely forgotten about the holiday a little more than a week away, a while he didn’t do anything, at the most leaving his house until the wee hours of the morning, he knew that this year wouldn’t be the same case.

For the first time since their lunch session had began, Alfred’s eyes widened, a bright, wonder-filled smile displaying straight white teeth on his face. He took in a sharp breath, shallowly waving his hands. “Oh my god. I love Halloween! There was this one time in middle school where Kiku came over to my house and we toilet-papered Mattie’s- oh, that’s my twin brother, by the way- room and it was hil-ar-i-ous! Kiku, ya remember that?” Alfred smile at his boyfriend, who only nodded back. Seemingly deeming his response valid, Alfred, laughing as if he were a child in a candy store, put his hands behind his head and leaned back. “Ah, man. Y’all should’ve seen Mattie when he walked into his room. From the way his hands were twitchin’, you could definitely tell he was gonna strangle me!”

Arthur laughed along with the rest of the table, not entirely seeing the humor in his story, Alfred pulling Kiku close as he joined in. The latter seemed uncomfortable in their new position, pushing his shoulders up and bracing his hands on the edge of the table. Alfred didn’t seem to notice, and if he did, his laughter didn’t fade, nor did his smile falter. Not even the teeniest bit.

Either these two were always like this, even at the very start, or Alfred F. Jones was one of the greatest actors Arthur had ever seen.

Mathias nodded his head as he chuckled, taking in a shallow breath when he calmed down. He shook his head before turning to Lukas. “Are you guys doin’ anythin’? For Halloween?”

Just as Arthur was about to open his mouth, to deny that they had plans, Vlad swiftly cut him off, nodding enthusiastically. “We’re gonna go trick-or-treatin in my neighborhood. There’s this old lady a couple blocks down from my house who gives out some big-ass chocolate bars every year.”

Arthur groaned, just thinking of all the chocolate he was going to be getting. American chocolate that made him want to puke his guts up. A few people turned his way, but he ignored them, instead favoring on reminiscing on his British sweets that he had been forced to abandon.

Maltesers, Cadbury Eggs, Smarties- the chocolate ones, not the American flavored cocaine. All of the delicious candies that he had to leave back in the UK, his mother not allowing him to take even on a small bag on the plan with him or pack one in his suitcase. As if she genuinely believed it would be the same here.

And now, here he was, stuck in a country whose chocolate would only appease those who had never tasted their superior British counterparts. It was a shame, really, that they would never be able to taste what he loved and adored so dearly.

Clearing his throat, he looked to Vlad, who was staring at him with a raise eyebrow. Arthur tried his best to look confused as he spoke, raising the tone of his voice. “Wait. We are?”

Vlad nodded shallowly, Lukas staring at Arthur as if he had just said the stupidest thing possible. “Yeah, man, we always go over to my place.”

Arthur deadpanned, cocking his head to the side. “I’ve never even stepped foot into your house.”

Vlad perked up, his eyes widening. “Right~. That’s right.” He nodded as if he knew it all along, Arthur having to hold in a snort.

The table fell silent for about fifteen seconds, until Mathias perked up, his smile bright. “I know what we could do!” Everyone looked towards him, their faces revealing varying amounts of interest. Lukas smiled, face serene, the ever doting boyfriend. Perhaps Kiku should take notes. “We could all meet each other and go out of Halloween together!”

Arthur opened his mouth, along with a few others, to object, but was quickly cut off by Vlad, who straightened his back, rolling his shoulders. The latter smiled, one that almost rivaled Mathias’, before yelling at the same pitch, “Oh my god! That sounds like a fantastic idea!”

Arthur groaned, along with Lovino, the latter rolling his eyes. There were a few quiet complaints from the others, Ivan deadpanning, and from the corner of his eye, Arthur could see Kiku the Snake start to deflate a bit.

Nodding enthusiastically, Lukas grinned. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

The three began to talk, making plans that the others would no doubt be forced to participate in. With the actual holiday being a not too far away, Arthur didn’t have much time to prepare himself for the night of hell, a memory that he would no doubt shut out of his mind afterward.

Leaving them to talk, with his eyebrows raised in an interested expression, Alfred leaned forward, hunching over the table. Arthur rolled his shoulders back, forcing a lazy smile over his face, rolling over possible answers to Alfred’s question as he spoke. “So, Arthur, how long have you been in the States?”

Swallowing down a snort, Arthur bopped his head side to side, looking off, pretending that he actually had to think about it. He shrugged, clicking his tongue. “Oh, late July, maybe.”

Alfred nodded, seeming satisfied with Arthur’s answer. “How do y’all celebrate Halloween in England?”

Arthur sighed at the question, not entirely expecting it. His family had never been too big on it, nor anyone in his neighborhood, his mother claiming it an excuse for Arthur to terrify young children. Nevermind that it Dylan and William were the ones doing such a thing, with Allistor and George cheering them on. But Arthur had always been blamed for everything, from putting worms in Peter’s wellies to shredding one of his father’s proposition letters. There wasn’t anything that he hadn’t done in his parents’ eyes.

Not that he really cared anymore. Arthur had long stopped trying to convince him that it wasn’t him who committed the crime, his resolve crumbled after falling on deaf ears more times than he could count.

He shrugged, curling his lip and furrowing his brow. “We don’t really do anything. I mean, some younger kids go out, but that’s about it.”

Those who were listening nodded, Alfred seeming a bit disappointed. Arthur had to hold in a scoff, just barely doing so, pursing his lips into a fine line. He was just about to open his mouth, about to ask what was wrong and what had them acting like their puppy was brutally murdered, when Antonio- Antonio, of all people- cut him off.

“Speaking of moving in, how did your family enjoy the Tarta De Santiago? Y’know, the almond cake that my mother spent hours preparing and making?” Arthur could taste the venom from his voice.

Arthur took in a sharp breath, giving a smile that mirrored Antonio’s. He had almost forgotten about that, which was a shame, since now that he thought about it, that moment was probably one of the highlights of his year. Relaxing, leaning back, with his smile turning nonchalant, he waved Antonio’s silent accusation away. “It was wonderful. It really… hit the spot.”

He knew enough of basic Spanish to know that what Antonio cursed at him wasn’t anything pleasant. In a quick, brutal succession of words, all the conversation at the table ceased, everyone silent and watching. How dramatic.

Arthur quickly put his hand over his mouth, his eyes widening. He tried his best to make himself look shocked. Distressed. Ever the victim who did nothing but respond to a simple question, only to be attacked for it.

Vlad straightened his back, glancing at Arthur as Lukas hopped up from his bench and quickly stepped over to them. He turned towards the end of the table, his expression wary and concerned. “Is everything alright here?”

Keeping up his act, if only because he was curious of what would happen if he were to go along, Arthur leaned back and to the side, whispering to his friends in a hushed and frantic tone, forcing a couple stutters along the way. “Guys- I don’t think that I’m wanted. Here, I mean.”

He was quiet enough that while Lukas and Vlad would be the only ones able to hear him, the others would definitely be able to hear the hushed sound of whispers. Arthur made a quick glance up, reveling in the pure wrath slathered across Antonio’s face and the irritated ones near him. It was hard, so, so hard, not to break into a smug smirk.

Lukas frowned, shaking his head, wringing his fingers. He let out a shallow breath, slumping forward, leaning in as Vlad turned around. “No, Arthur. Of course you’re welcomed. Maybe-” Lukas sat up, sending a short glance in Antonio’s direction, who was still seething, before turning back to Arthur and Vlad. “Maybe Antonio’s just having a bad day. Mathias said that he’s usually sunny and sweet.”

Arthur doubted that, instead thinking that Antonio had a bad day when he had to see Arthur, a daily occurrence, but decided to go along. He looked at the ground, wiggling one of his shoes- Converse, as he had been encouraged to try them out- and nodded timidly.

Even though he wasn’t even that deep into his little game, he could feel the rage radiating from Vlad. Arthur quickly turned around, seeing his friend’s jaw clenched, his fingers flexing. He tried to hide it, but Arthur was close enough that he would have been blind not to have seen it.

If Lukas noticed it, he didn’t show it, not even a twitch of the eye. Instead, he was focusing on Arthur, his concern growing more and more. Arthur had to hold in a snort, if only to keep his act up.

Vlad’s mood softened, if only a little bit, and he said with a sympathetic wince, “Maybe we should go…”

Lukas looked up at Vlad with no small amount of shock, before turning to Mathias. The latter winced, shrugging his shoulders, looking unsure about what had just happened. It was almost as if he had expected Arthur to lash out back at Antonio, to hit with just as much, if not more, wrath as he received.

Interesting.

Deflating, Lukas sighed and shook his head. He stood, leaning over the table to whisper into Mathias’ ear, and when the latter nodded, kissed him on the cheek.

Vlad put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, giving him a tight squeeze. Sensing that they were- finally- about to leave, Arthur stood from the bench, hanging his head and slouching his shoulders.

“Um, we had fun.” Lukas gave everyone at the table, save for Antonio, a small, forced smile, nodding his head. “Maybe we should do this again.” Unlikely, but Arthur figured he was just trying to be polite.

Where Arthur expected Mathias to be the one to respond, Alfred perked up, smiling and nodding his head enthusiastically. “We definitely should! I’m lookin’ forward to it!” As he finished, he sent a quick glance to Arthur, and the latter could’ve sworn he saw his smile falter. “Y’all have a good day.”

Vlad’s hand moved from Arthur’s shoulder to his upper back, rubbing it in a circular motion. After grabbing their backpacks, softly groaning at the weight, Lukas caught up to them, sorting between which one belonged to who.

As Arthur slung his over his shoulders, he clenched the straps, his knuckles turning white. Details, details were what made it convincible, made the act into something real.

As they walked away, though, heading to their own usual table on the other side of the pit, Arthur couldn’t help it. He turned, looking straight at the one they had just departed from, its occupants staring back. Antonio was still seething, Kiku simply giving a disinterested sneer. What was the most surprising was Alfred, whose smile had watered down into more of a wince, his brow furrowed. He actually looked worried.

But that all changed, their expression turning into ones of shock when Arthur, just for them, broke his act into little piece. Making sure that his friends wouldn’t notice, he smirked, a smug little thing that even his mother would be proud of, sticking his tongue out and wiggling it side to side.

If he were to recount this lunch period ever again, then Arthur wouldn’t be exaggerating when he would say that Antonio’s howling could be heard throughout the courtyard.

FYI, just writing those few paragraphs about chocolate in the US was painful to my American soul. Ghirardelli is some pretty good stuff.

I’ve realized that I mention Arthur’s older brothers without anyone actually knowing who they’re supposed to be. Allistor is Scotland, William is Wales, Dylan is Ireland, and George is Northern Ireland. And, of course, Peter is Sealand. It’s really weird when people write Wales, N. Ireland, and Scotland as England’s brothers without including Ireland? That just really gets to me? I mean, I know Hima listed those three as his brothers, but it just feels… weird. So Arthur will have four older brothers in pretty much all of my fics.

Also, thank you thank you thank you to all those who participated in my survey for chapters 1-10! It was really nice to read what y’all had to say about what you liked and what I could improve on. While you may not think so, it helped a lot! Arthur is, of course, the favorite character, but I was also surprised to see Vlad show up a lot. Really, I’m just making my portrayal of Vlad as I go along, cause I’ve never really focused on Aph Romania, so it’s nice to see that everyone’s liking him so far. The least favorite character is a mix of Arthur’s mother and Kiku, which is definitely what I’m going for.

Once again, for those who participated, thank you so much! I’ll have another one for chapters 11-20 cause oh my god, it helped so much. I’ll be surprised if Cross Life doesn’t reach chapter 35, cause we’re not even halfway through yet. The chapter for Arthur’s plan will be in the next couple months or so (and I’m really nervous about it), cause I want it to happen by the end of the first semester.

Thank you for those who wished me good luck with school, as you can see from my late update time (one whole month, yuck), it’s already bearing down on me. I honestly did not expect this much homework, but what can you do :P. I’ll try to update as soon as I can, which will probably mean I’ll be a two weeks off at the most, but just know that I’m constantly working. I won’t discontinue this, cause honestly, Cross Life is my entire life right now. I constantly think about it.

Finally, I really wanna write Gilbert realistically and without using stereotypes (I’ve done a lot a research just for his short appearance in this chapter) so if I ever accidentally write anything offensive, please tell me. You would not believe how many tabs are open on my computer for research. Gilbert will be showing up more and more as the story goes on, because I love his character so much

Sorry for such a long note! I ramble too much. Anyways, thank you so much for reading Cross Life Chapter Eleven: Line Walking, and I hope to see you all soon! The next chapter will take place on Halloween, so I’m really excited about that. Have a fantastic morning, day, and evening!

#Aph UsUk #Aph UkUs #Aph America #Aph England #Aph Norway #Aph Romania #Aph Greece #Aph Prussia #Aph Japan #RantingFangirl #The Fanfiction Life of RantingFangirl

[fyodorscenarios]

Oh hello! I just wanna say that I really.. REALLY adore your blog. It feels like I'm "talking" to an open minded person and honestly, I love this kind of people. Seriously. Also, personally, I never get bored over a conversation with someone like that. Is just, amazing. Sooo, I just want to wish you good luck with this blog. Now, if I may, can you make a sweet scenario with our dear Fyodor with his s/o who was, in the past, his childhood best friend? (it's ok if you don't want to, I understand)

Ahh thank you so much! I’m glad that you get the impression that I’m open minded haha, since I do try to be. If you ever do want to actually talk to me about anything I’m always open for chats too. Whether it be about BSD or anything else.

I actually did make a scenario a while back about Fyodor’s childhood friend confessing to him, so this one can act as a continuation. Part 1 is here.

- 

You can hear the water ebb and flow beneath you and the wind moving through the trees. It’s a cool Spring night, to be expected this time of year.

He’s told you before that he likes this temperature the most. He can still wear his much loved fur hat and coat, and he doesn’t run the risk of getting frostbite.

In the Winter he would always come home with slightly reddened cheeks and snow covered eyelashes. This is why Winter was not sad for you; there were things to look forward to.

You were grateful for so much. Neither of you had been fortunate in your early years, but in finding each other things had changed.

You had been sensitive back then, like many children were. It made you quite the target. In grade school you were called annoying by various children, and chased around the field by some as they insulted you. Crying just resulted in you being labelled as a crybaby. It escalated from there, and resulted in you becoming withdrawn and quiet. When you couldn’t hold your words back, the teasing continued.

You still wondered why this had begun in the first place. Children have a knack for picking out the weakest link it seemed. 

When you first met him he had transferred to your school a few years in. He was tall for his age, and quite expressionless. You were drawn to him from the moment you saw him. A part of you realized your opportunity. If you got to him first, perhaps he wouldn’t start teasing you like the others.

However, the boy avoided you as he did most everyone else. Many children, including you, attempted to speak with him. He would either walk away or never respond. Sometimes while playing outside, you would turn to find him staring at you from a few metres away, as if he wanted to approach you. You would wave, and he would walk away.

He finally spoke to you at a very strange time.

You had been pressing your hands into the ground. It felt like a sponge, as moisture from the rainfall was still imbued within it. A small pink worm popped out of the ground, and you eased it out with your fingers, staring at it as it wriggled in your palm.

“I’ll call you Mr. Wormy,” you said to it, “if that boy Fyodor won’t be my friend, I’ll just have to stick with you.”

“What are you doing?” you jumped at the sudden utterance, almost dropping the worm. Fyodor was standing beside you.

“I found a worm!” you said, holding your hand out to the boy.

He knelt down beside you. “It looks like a rat’s tail,” he said. “Can I hold it?”

You nodded, holding your hand closer. Fyodor picked up the worm, and watched it wriggle in his hand for a few moments.

“Can you be my friend instead of the worm?” you asked suddenly. “I mean, worms can’t speak. So they won’t bully me, but we also can’t talk about things.”

“They die quick too,” he responded. You nodded.

“We need to stick together, or else everyone will keep calling us weird.” you huffed.

“They call me weird?” he asked, seemingly unfazed.

“Yes! When you’re not around they call you all sorts of mean things. They’re scared of you, so they won’t call you that in person. Nobody’s scared of me, I cry too easily.” you exclaimed.

“So will you be my friend?” you repeated. “I’ll be your’s too. I don’t have to talk if you think I’m annoying. As long as you let me sit with you at lunch and recess. That way we won’t look strange for not having any friends.”

“I guess it’s fine,” Fyodor replied.

“Yay!” you said happily, “can I hug you?”

“No, I don’t like hugs.”

You pouted at his reply, but were still overjoyed that you had finally made your first friend.

You had stuck together since then, always the odd ones out. Now, you had been dating for a few months. Something you had dreamed of for years.

It wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to go on late night walks. Fyodor enjoyed the city the most when other people weren’t around. You enjoyed staring up at the moon and watching the lights in old Soviet era apartment blocks flicker on and off.

The sprawl of an empty city brought with it mixed feelings of wonder and sobering isolation. Yet as you became lost within the dark spots of the street his fingers fit between your’s and tethered you to reality. For to tug was to find him there.

His eyes had an ethereal quality at night. They were as dark as the water beneath you.

Your arms rested on the rail of the bridge, with your chin on top. Fyodor had his head on his hand.

Most of these strolls were full of silent contemplation. This had been one of those moments.

“Do you think that you’ll ever tire of me?” Fyodor broke the silence, eyes still fixed on the darkened horizon.

“No. Fedya, you’re probably the most interesting person in the world. At least to me.” you reply, slightly confused by his question.

He hums in response.

“If anyone got tired of the other, I’m sure you would get tired of me.” you continue.

“I’ve never once found you boring,” he replies. “Well, sometimes you talk about boring things, but that doesn’t make you boring.”

You let out a small laugh. “I’m surprised.”

“You shouldn’t be. I’ve told you many times, I wouldn’t have spent this much time around you if I found you boring and unlikable. I have very little personal relationships, and I should probably value them more than I do.”

Hearing him acknowledge his own faults was practically unheard of. But there was always more to him. You knew that you would never know him entirely, and yet you hoped you could someday.

“That’s because you value the whole, right? You’ll make the world a better place, and in bettering the whole, you’ll bring your loved ones joy. Am I wrong?”

There was no response, often the case with Fyodor. You would offer your analysis of his behaviour and thoughts, and he would make no reply. You never knew if your thoughts were correct, but you figured if you were on the mark it would show how much you cared for him.

You turn away from the water to examine his face. It’s neutral as usual, unreadable.

“I love you, and I think I always will. Just remember that.” you say.

He turned after you said this, cracking a small smile.

“I feel the same.” he says.

“Can I get a hug because you didn’t say ‘I love you’?” you say playfully.

“No. I can write it down on a piece of paper if you want, then you can look at it whenever you want me to say it to you.”

You shake your head. “Why do you always insist on not hugging? We’ve done things now that are way more intimate than that.”

“Hugs are strangely uncomfortable. Though I suppose I can grant you one,” he sighs, like it’s a big deal.

You smile, quickly wrapping your arms around him and resting your head against his chest.

“Hug me back please.” you say.

Fyodor slowly wraps his arms around you.

He’s told you once that he doesn’t see much value in hugs. However, some hugs can be quite valuable. As you listen to Fyodor’s heartbeat, it gives him a moment to look at you openly. Too guarded to display emotions when anyone is looking, he stares at you lovingly, momentarily completely enthralled.

#scenario #requests #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs scenario #anon #sorry for taking so long btw #im so glad i finally got something done #idk if this was sweet enough affection is still foreign to me

[newstfionline]

Can Animals Predict Earthquakes? Italian Farm Acts as a Lab to Find Out

By Elisabetta Povoledo, NY Times, June 17, 2017

PIEVE TORINA, Italy--After a series of powerful earthquakes struck Italy last year, Martin Wikelski rushed here to test a hunch that has tantalized scientists and thinkers for millenniums: Can animals anticipate natural disasters?

A German scientist, Mr. Wikelski tagged several animals on a farm in Pieve Torina in the Marches region of central Italy in October to monitor their behavior, hoping that if it changed in some consistent way before an earthquake, it could be used as an early warning system and potentially save thousands of lives. One warm morning this spring, he came back for the findings.

“Wow, it really looks as though something is there,” he said excitedly, watching as his computer crunched the data on the hood of his car in a farmyard jumbled with machinery.

The series of earthquakes in Italy began in August, with other major temblors coming in October and January, accompanied by thousands of aftershocks. The calamity has cost 23 billion euros ($26 billion) in damage, rendered thousands homeless and caused more than 300 deaths. But the consistent shaking of a largely rural and agricultural area has also provided a rare chance to test the ancient theory.

Mr. Wikelski thinks he may be onto something, though he is cautious, and coy, about just how conclusive his data set might be. He is the first to acknowledge that some consider the idea that animals can predict disasters the stuff of old wives’ tales.

“We are the crazy dudes,” Mr. Wikelski said with a laugh, explaining that getting funding to pursue his project without having hard data to support it was difficult. “So we have to make absolutely sure that we don’t make any minor glitch in statistical analysis, because people will try to drill holes in the whole thing, and rightly so.”

While Mr. Wikelski could not reveal the details of his findings ahead of publication in a scientific journal, he hinted that the data showed animals moving in a consistent way in the hours before the quake.

Mr. Wikelski, the director of the Max Planck Institute for Ornithology in Radolfzell, Germany, said some previous research had augured well for the predictive abilities of animals. It included a study that he conducted from 2012 to 2014 by monitoring goats and sheep on the side of Mount Etna, in Sicily.

“The animals predicted the major volcanic eruptions during these two years between four to six hours before,” he said, adding that eight major eruptions occurred during his study. “At night, the animals woke up and nervously walked around, and in daytime, they moved to a safe area” where high vegetation suggested that it had been spared by previous lava flows.

On the basis of this research, he applied in 2013 for a patent: “Disaster Alert Mediation Using Nature.” The patent is pending.

The recurring earthquakes in Marches and other parts of central Italy presented the chance to record a wealth of data about animal responses to further test the theory.

“We are really excited because this is the first time we could tag animals before, during and after a major earthquake series,” Mr. Wikelski said.

After a devastating earthquake hit the region in October, Mr. Wikelski and his project manager, Uschi Müller hurried to Italy. They happened upon the Angeli farm, which sells cheese produced by the family’s sheep and cows and other local delicacies.

The researchers walked into what had been the farm’s shop. “Everything was broken,” Mr. Wikelski said.

“All the cheese shelves were on the ground. You could see their livelihood was gone,” he said, but the family was “still very nice.”

Mr. Wikelski tagged a number of animals on the farm--a rabbit, sheep, cows, turkeys, chickens and dogs--with small but sophisticated sensors.

The devices measured the animals’ every movement, down to the second: their magnetic direction, speed, altitude, temperature, humidity, acceleration and location. He described the tag, powered with a small solar panel, as a “black box full of information.”

A few days after the first animals were tagged, another major earthquake, measuring a magnitude of 6.5, hit the area, which provided data for a significant seismic event.

Mr. Wikelski and Ms. Müller retrieved the monitoring devices a few weeks later and then returned in January to tag several of the same animals again, including half a dozen cows, twice as many sheep and two dogs, Zeus and Aro.

“I think the turkeys were eaten,” Mr. Wikelski said.

In April, the researchers came again to remove the remaining tags and to study the acquired data.

Tagging different species might be essential, according to Mr. Wikelski, as each one senses the environment in a distinct way. And together, he said, they might “form a collective sensing system,” providing completely novel information.

On a global level, such a collective could be described as “the internet of animals,” he said.

“If it’s just one animal alone from one farm, we wouldn’t be able to see a signal, but if you take it all together, the synergies, the synthesis of these sensing systems, that’s really what seems to give the signal,” Mr. Wikelski said.

The hope is that once the animal data is compared with the earthquake data from the area--using earthquakes of a magnitude of 4 as a cutoff--it will show distinctive behavior before, during and after an earthquake. From late October to April, there were 11 days with earthquakes measuring more than magnitude 4.

In the best case, the animals’ behavior in the hours leading up to an earthquake might act as an early warning system so that people could evacuate.

The Angelis would welcome some positive developments arising from what they have endured. The large family spent the winter living in primitive campers and cramped containers with makeshift bathrooms and kitchenettes.

“We have animals. Where would we go?” asked Augusta Raboni, the matriarch of the family, explaining why they stayed put rather than move to hotels on the Adriatic coast where other homeless earthquake victims were housed over the winter.

In late May, the state finally delivered small prefabricated homes, which they were still mounting. It was about time, they said.

The United States Geological Survey notes on its website that “anecdotal evidence abounds of animals, fish, birds, reptiles and insects exhibiting strange behavior anywhere from weeks to seconds before an earthquake.” But the federal agency, responsible for recording earthquake activity in the United States, goes on to say that “consistent and reliable behavior prior to seismic events, and a mechanism explaining how it could work, still eludes us.”

#Italy #earthquake prediction #animals and earthquakes #earthquakes and animals