#nobody dies but it's a near thing and brings up some interesting complications

[kinsale42-blog]

Excerpt: Amplification

The sequel to “Illumination” (PG-13 for some violence)

Khadgar/Kinsale, also starring Kalec, Thalyssra, Silgryn, & Oculeth, among others seen during the campaign for Suramar

 A mild breeze was blowing in off the sea, making the awnings and pennants in the city of Suramar flutter gracefully. The scraggy clifftop cypress tree in which the lone raven perched shifted from side to side. His overlook was too good to abandon for a more stable perch, so he merely dug his talons a little deeper into the branch.

 Khadgar had a dozen or so of these watchposts around the perimeter of the city. He generally used them to keep an eye on the level of demonic activity as the Burning Legion patrolled the streets and abused the citizens. He dared not enter the city himself just yet. Too much had yet to be done before he risked getting too close to where he was sure Gul'dan was waiting.

 Thus he was reduced to surveillance, forced to send others out to help build the resistance with the Nightborne exiles. Life had almost been simpler when he could be in the midst of the battle himself, where his primary decisions involved which orc to strike and how much magic he could safely use and still remain alive. He knew some members of the Kirin Tor were truly in their element in this sort of environment, but it wasn't his game. Khadgar had always been driven to acquire knowledge, and to know what was going on around him, but he was too straightforward for political maneuvering and meddling in the affairs of kingdoms. Espionage and intrigue frustrated him, and he knew that dealing in secrets only fed the belief that wizards were masterminds bent on shaping the world to their will.

 The breeze ruffled his raven feathers again. He couldn't stay much longer here, watching. There were other things that needed his attention, other things that troubled him about this war and the paths that had been hastily chosen to protect and defend his home world.

 He peered down into the Waning Crescent district. Fel flames still licked the corpses of civilians that had fallen when Elisande and her Legion allies had attempted to destroy the urban hub of the resistance. From his vantage point, he had a clear view of the bridge into Evermoon Market, and the citizens and patrolling guards that crossed it. As he watched, he thought he saw a flash of light as a face turned in his direction, a face with the pale violet skin of a Nightborne elf but with a faint shimmer that suggested the outline of an illusion. Even with his magically-enhanced vision, he could not be entirely certain he saw what he thought he saw, but the warmth that filled his raven breast was all he needed to be sure. He released his grip on the tree branch and sailed back to the spires of Dalaran.

 ***

 Khadgar took a deep breath as he felt the vision world coalesce around him. It had been a long time since his last foray into the past but the sensation of displacement was still all too familiar. The mountain air chilled him and frost was already hardening on the ground as the Alterac midnight took shape. A great spruce tree towered over him, draping him in deep shadow. The farmhouse and workshop that stood in a clearing before him were dark and silent in the moonlight, yet it seemed from the order in the yard that the residents had only stepped away a moment before.

 Had he timed this right? There had been a certain amount of guesswork involved in pinpointing the exact moment in question, even though he was in possession of enough of the key details to enable a defined target. A stealthy movement at the edge of the clearing caught his eye, and he saw two slight figures, one a little larger than the other, emerge from the shadows and race across the yard to the house. Yes, this was what he had hoped to see. He stood beneath his tree and waited for the figures to re-emerge.

 There was the glow of a spark and then the steady dim light of a candle flame shone through the front windows. It only lasted a few minutes, just long enough for the children to locate what they sought in the darkness of the abandoned homestead. The flame vanished, and Khadgar kept his eyes on the door. It opened soundlessly and the taller figure, who Khadgar knew to be a boy of fifteen, stepped out carrying a long narrow object. The moonlight glinted off the hilt of a sword. The smaller figure, though still tall for her twelve years, followed her brother out and closed the door behind her. She clutched something to her chest.

 The boy pointed off towards the woods in the direction they had come. Together they began to move that way, but as they reached the gate that stood open to the western forest, the boy paused and looked around. Khadgar heard muffled hoofbeats behind him and turned to see two mounted men approaching the stead from the south, keeping to the grassy verge of the road to stay quiet in the still night air.

 "Over here!" the boy cried out and waved his arm at the horsemen. The girl stopped like a startled deer, halfway to the shelter of the trees. As the riders passed Khadgar's vantage point, they picked up speed. Their dark leather armor and face masks hid their identities but the daggers they carried revealed their purpose. One of the riders went for the boy with the sword, reaching down and hauling him up onto the horse. The other pulled out something dark and apparently heavy from beneath his cloak and swung it at the girl as he swept by. Khadgar could hear the sickening thud as it made contact with her skull and she flew backwards to land in a twisted heap. He felt his heart wrench inside him, though he knew the outcome of this night would not be as tragic as it appeared.

 The dark riders vanished into the forest behind the buildings and the clearing fell silent and still once more. The shade that was Khadgar's vision form ran over to where twelve-year-old Kinsale lay in the frozen grass, and knelt at her side. Yes, her chest was still moving and the warmth of her breath was still just visible in the cold air. Her grandfather's libram, his holy prayer book, had fallen from her as she was knocked back, but her arm had been flung in that direction as well, and her fingertips just rested upon its edge. As he watched, a subdued glimmer appeared at that point of contact. For a moment he thought his eyes were playing tricks, that the moonlight was reflecting off the tooled and embossed cover of the tome. The light gathered strength, though, and soon the entire libram was aglow, and then the slender arm of the girl. Then her entire body was wrapped in the warmth of holy light, and a narrow but radiant pillar rose up from her into the sky above.

 Even as one who had spent years in the company of the na'aru, Khadgar felt awe at the power of the blessing he was witnessing. Then, in the reverse of how the vision had begun, the world began to disintegrate around him and he was back in his own time, in his private workroom in Dalaran. The image of the girl in the pillar of light remained burned in his mind.

 He had gotten the answers he'd wanted, which almost surprised him. His skill at targeting intentional visions had improved immensely over the years, but it was still an unpredictable process, and it was never certain that even seeing what he wanted to see would give him the information he needed. He sat down at his work table and closed his eyes, going over the scene one more time to be sure he hadn't missed any detail. Then he raised his hand and sent a finding spell to retrieve a record from his bookshelves. It wasn't even a minute before the tome he needed slid off the shelf and landed in his hand.

 Khadgar's eyes opened, the blue of his irises intensely bright as he began thumbing through the pages of      A History Of The Syndicate, As Reported By One Who Was There In The Beginning    . In his mind he could hear Kinsale's voice as he remembered the conversation that had started him on this quest for knowledge.

     "I miss my grandfather the most, the knight who became a healer, even though I was very small when he died," she said. "That's why we went back for his things, my brother and I...at least, that was my reason. Sometimes I'm not so sure about my brother."  

     "What do you mean? Why not?"  

     Kinsale replied, "Sometimes I have this dream, and it's that night. I remember feeling very cold except where I was carrying Grandfather's libram. And I hear my brother call out, 'Over here!' so I turn to run to him and then something hits me. That's when I wake up, every time." She paused. "But a few years ago, I thought, what if it wasn't me he was calling to? He had wanted Grandfather's sword so badly and I never understood why. And he'd been so angry since our father had rebelled against Perenolde and been executed for it. I just wonder... Was he running away?"  

 She had looked away, but Khadgar had seen the tears forming in her eyes. He'd heard the unspoken question. If her brother had left her intentionally, why had he left her for dead?

 His eyes caught the name he was watching for as he scanned the pages of the history: Andrik, recruited to the "cause" as a boy, not long after the founding of the organization. He only seemed to be mentioned at all because of the fine sword he had brought with him, a sword that had belonged to a knight of Lordaeron. Interestingly enough, the name of the knight had been recorded as well: Tursten of Tirisfal.

 Khadgar reached for a fresh leaf of the inexpensive and quickly-produced paper that he had shipped into Dalaran by the boatload from Pandaria, and rapidly filled it with notes on references and ideas for further research. He wished he didn't have to break away just now, but he was due at a meeting with Archmage Senach and the Tirisgarde regarding a crucial investigation, so he could not be late. He slid the sheet of notes into the history of the Syndicate and closed the cover, resolving to return to it as soon as he was able.

 ***

 As night descended upon Suramar, and the lamps and lanterns of the city began to glow, Kinsale slipped into a tiny confectioner's shop tucked away in a narrow alley. She nodded at the proprietor and climbed the stairs to the loft above. It was a only a matter of minutes before her Dusk Lily contact joined her.

 In a low voice, he gave her the instructions he had been sent to give her regarding her mission. "There is a round building at the very southeastern tip of Evermoon Terrace. At the base of it, you will find a translocation pad that will transport you to the top floor. You will receive more detailed information there."

 Kinsale nodded at the elf. "I know the area. I will find it. Thank you."

 "And take care," he cautioned. "The patrols are numerous tonight." He waited as she left the building, making sure no attention was drawn to the shop for the sake of the proprietor.

 Kinsale carefully threaded her way through the district, alert for the vigilant guards who would see through the illusion that disguised her as one of the common folk of Suramar. They did not take kindly to outlanders wandering their streets, especially since the grip of the Legion had taken hold. It was a strong enough spell to ensure her safe passage among those who did not look too closely, and she did not fear for her safety in most of the western part of the city. Still, she was cautious enough to prefer darkness to illumination and to put market stalls or shrubbery between her and patrolling guards whenever possible.

 At last, the short round tower she sought came into view, the translocation pad in front just visible by its blue glow against the stone paving. Two elite guards stood nearby, animatedly discussing something that Kinsale could not hear. The minutes ticked by as she waited just around the corner of the building on the north side of the small plaza, a conical cypress tree casting its protective shadow over her. She considered her target and the obstacles before her. She could just walk purposefully over to the translocation pad and hope that the guards didn't notice or didn't find her to be unusual in any way, but the plaza was well lit, and she didn't want to risk the safety of the house or the people inside by drawing too much attention or causing suspicion. Her lips pressed together in a thin line as she waited, frustrated by her lack of options.

 After another few minutes, the guards appeared to reach some sort of agreement, and moved away in separate directions. Kinsale held her breath as one approached her location but then passed her by at a safe distance, without a glance in her direction. When she judged they were both at last far enough away, she made for the translocator and teleported up into the building to find Silgryn waiting for her.

 He set aside the parchment he had been reading, and turned to greet her. "Good evening to you, Highlord," he said. "I have some news from our friends outside the city. Your presence is requested there -- Thalyssra herself has an important mission for you." Silgryn shifted a decorative screen to reveal a channeled portal and the device that was maintaining it. "And Oculeth has provided for your transportation."

 "Thank you, Silgryn," said Kinsale. "Light go with you always." Silgryn nodded in acknowledgement, and she stepped through the portal to find herself in the underground refuge of Shal'Aran.

finish the story at http://archiveofourown.org/works/9674912

#Khadgar #Khadgar/OC #Kinsale #Suramar #Warcraft #adventure! #espionage! #Khadgar taking risks and making assumptions as he is wont to do #he's so cuddly though #nobody dies but it's a near thing and brings up some interesting complications #excerpt from Amplification

[itslieutenanthawkeye]

Heatstroke

Mikasa Ackerman asks Jean about his reasons to offer himself as the one to inherit Eren's titan in her stead.

AO3

Jean dragged his feet towards the showers at the far end of their camp, yawning every couple of minutes. His muscles were stiff, and there was a bit of a pounding in his head that was thanks to the hours and hours of working under the sun.

There were hints of red in the sky still, even after the sun had fallen behind the horizon, bloody stains that vaticinated what was to come in Marley. But Jean didn’t want to think the worst. Not now, when things had not been decided yet. The future wasn’t written in stone, and he didn’t want to think their best efforts could amount to nothing to change the war to come.

Enough people had died. Enough things had been lost. Enough things and people would be lost in the future, even in the cheeriest of situations. Eren and Armin were part of that group who would inevitably succumb to the titan curse, and then Historia’s offspring would be condemned to keep reproducing just to keep that line of defense alive.

Not thinking on the worst would be for the best, at least for now.

“Hey, Jean,” Sasha called, running up to him. She jumped and wrapped her arm around his shoulder, almost making him lose his balance. “What are you doing, walking in that direction? The hizurans brought their fancy waggon meat.”

“It’s wagyu,” Jean corrected.

“That,” Sasha agreed with a snort. “Come on. It’s going to run out if you stop by a shower first.”

“I’m not going to go like this, Sasha. We smell,” Jean replied. Despite the breeze from the train ride, Jean could still feel the sweat lingering on his skin. “Besides, there are a bunch of diplomats in there, and military officials. You should think about showering.”

Sasha gave herself a sniff. “You’re just trying to be fancy like those folk. But you’re not, Jean, you’re as much of a peasant as I am. The only two royals here are Historia and Mikasa, now, I guess, if you count the whole Hizuru thing,” she laughed, pulling his arm towards the dining hall. “Come on. You’ll sit with Connie and me, it’s not like you’re gonna sit with the hot hizuran ladies.”

“It’s not like I want to!” Jean exclaimed. The hizuran ladies Kiyomi had brought on this visit were rather lovely, with their long dark hair and fancy way of speaking. But Jean wasn’t interested in them, at least not in the way some of the other members of the military were. He enjoyed seeing them perform their music instruments, and hear them talk about art and paintings, but that was about it.

“Oh, I forgot,” Sasha teased, stepping closer to him to whisper complicity, winking as she did so. “It’s just one hizuran lady that you want, isn’t it?”

Jean stepped back, heat rushing to his cheeks. “What the hell are you saying, potato girl?” He snapped, looking behind his shoulder, hoping nobody else had overheard Sasha. “I-I can smell you from here!”

Sasha smiled, unbothered by his taunt, and folded her arms over his chest. “I can see through your mask, Kirstein,” she said, proudly. “You’re just blushing because you’re in love with—”

“You know, he’s right,” Mikasa said, walking up to the two from their dormitories, a bucket and towel in hand. Jean and Sasha turned to look at her, suddenly silent: Sasha because she knew she’d almost slipped a detail a little too loud, a little too near Mikasa, a detail a little too intimate for Jean’s liking.

Jean, on the other hand, simply fell silent because she looked beautiful in the fading sunlight. “Sasha, you need to shower before we go to the dining hall,” she said to their friend.

“Mikasa, the food…you saw what the hizurans make with fish. It’s so fantastic and delicious,” Sasha said, like a child pleading to their mother for a couple more hours to play outside. “And the meat they bring? Everyone loved it. It’s so fancy. It’s too fancy, and we only get a few portions each. If we don’t hurry—”

“I asked Niccolo to save you some,” Mikasa said, giving Sasha a pointed look. She outstretched her hand to her, offering Sasha her towel and the bucket with the soap and shampoo. “But you need to wash first.”

Sasha gave her an awkward smile as she took the towel and the bucket. “B-but these are your washing things—”

“I have a spare,” Mikasa replied.

“But, this is your favorite soap,” Sasha replied, rummaging the contents of the bucket. “Y-you know, the ones Jean’s mom sent us all last month? The one that smells like honey?”

Mikasa exchanged a quick look with Jean. “Jean’s mom can send us more. Right, Jean?”

“Right.” Jean stammered in agreement. His mother had kept sending little presents for him and his friends for a few months now. Snacks, soothing lotions for the muscles, towels, soap, handknitted socks…it was stupid, but he guessed a little pride came with the fact that his mom had made her favorite.

“Besides, I got a hold of the one Eren got,” Mikasa added, arching an eyebrow. “So, I’ve got a spare soap, too.”

“No surprise that bastard doesn’t like soap,” Jean muttered under his breath.

Sasha slouched her shoulders and gave her an awkward, defeated smile. “Do you promise he’ll save us some? Did you make it swear?” Sasha asked. “If you make it swear on his honor as a marleyan, he does anything you ask him to.”

Mikasa gave Sasha a tiny little smile. “He’ll do it. I told him it was for you.” She said, narrowing her eyes slightly immediately afterwards. “You still need to hurry, though. He can only do so much.”

Sasha’s smile wavered a bit. “Can’t I—”

“Shower, Sasha,” Mikasa said with that motherly tone of voice she so often used to boss everyone in their squad around. “I won’t let you stink up our room.”

It seemed like Sasha would’ve protested further, but it only took for Mikasa to raise her eyebrows and look in the direction of the showers for Sasha to drop her stance, groan, and begin her march away from the dining hall. Jean watched her walk, feeling a little pity in his chest; she really did love that wagyu steak from Hizuru, and if it ran out…

Mikasa took a couple of steps to stand next to him. His heart began to beat faster at that, but that rational side of his mind told Jean was also sure she was just doing it to get a better view and make sure Sasha entered the showers. He gave her a quick sideways glance; there were hairs clinging to her forehead due to the sweat, but there was something about the way she carried herself despite the tiredness that didn’t make her seem disheveled. It was fantastic, the way she moved through life with such quiet elegance.

Or maybe he was just head over heels for her.

No, that couldn’t be it. He could see her flaws alright; most annoyed him, yes, and he could see them clear as day…and said flaws took nothing away from the quiet, strong beauty that was her.

“I already saved her some meat,” Mikasa said casually, her voice low and tired.

“You saved steak for her?” Jean asked, surprised.

Mikasa made an affirmative noise. “I snuck some out while no one was noticing,” she said, pausing for a second before looking at him. “Don’t tell her, please.”

Jean felt the corners of his mouth going upwards in a complicit smile. “You want it to be a surprise?”

“Yes, I think so,” Mikasa said, looking away from him.

A silence followed her words, but it wasn’t an awkward one. Silences were common with Mikasa Ackerman, they were to be expected. And while he’d overheard some saying she could be boring to be around, Jean enjoyed her silences. Too many people were too loud lately, including himself at times. With her, the world seemed to slow down a little bit. Her presence was soothing like that.

“Jean?”

“Yeah?”

“Earlier today…” she lowered her face, almost as if she were looking to hide it inside her scarf as she so often did. But she’d taken off the scarf in the morning, like each time they were sent to work on the railroads. When she didn’t find the familiar fabric around her neck, her eyebrows shot up and her mouth fell open, as if she’d just recalled her scarf wasn’t there.

Despite her serious face, the gesture was utterly adorable.

“Why are you smiling?” Mikasa asked suddenly. Not angry, but curious.

“Nothing,” Jean said, looking away from her. He cleared his throat; he didn’t like staring at her, or doing anything that would make her remotely uncomfortable. Most of his glances were stolen glances. But sometimes, she looked too pretty to not be admired, and those times he did look intently, he hated himself a little bit.

She doesn’t like you at all, you dumbass, he told himself¸ don’t make her feel weird.

“What was it that you were saying?” Jean asked.

“What were the reasons?”

“Huh?”

“You said I can’t take Eren’s titan,” Mikasa began, taking a breath before continuing. Jean turned to look at her again, but Mikasa had her eyes firmly set on the ground. “You said there were a ton of reasons why it couldn’t be me, apart from me being an Ackerman and half hizuran.”

Jean smiled, scratching the back of his head. “I guess I did say that, didn’t I?”

He’d spoken in sudden panic, panic he’d carefully masked as indifferent, logical thinking. In truth, the idea of Mikasa shortening her lifespan filled him with dread. The idea of her closing her eyes, disappearing from this world…it frightened him. And he didn’t know why.

No. He did know why. He just would never say it out loud.

“I’m asking you now,” Mikasa said, pulling him out of his reverie. “What are those reasons?”

The world became very quiet in his ears. The distant chatter from the dining room, the violins playing to welcome the hizurans, even the birds in the sky became muted. How was he supposed to tell her that the very idea of her dying broke his heart? How was he supposed to say that all those other reasons were stupid and selfish and all based on the fact that he loved her too much to allow her to sacrifice her life for a stupid war.

“Why are you asking?” Jean was able to say, despite the sudden dryness in his throat.

Mikasa gave him a quick sideways glance. Thankfully, the sun had hidden behind the horizon, and the lights outside were barely being turned on. Maybe this way she wouldn’t see his cheeks.

“I thought, they must be important,” Mikasa began, speaking slowly, as if choosing her words with care. “These reasons you didn’t say out loud. They are important, aren’t they? If they’re important, I want to know them.”

Jean wiped the sweat off his brow. She was a person of few words, but the little words she used had become more and more poignant as the years went by.

“Why do you think they are?” Jean asked with a chuckle, trying to hide how nervous he felt (and perhaps failing miserably).

“Because you offered to take the titan in my stead and shorten your lifetime first, before anyone,” Mikasa replied quickly, turning to look at him just as he turned to look at her. “I want to know what those reasons were.”

They were facing each other now, Jean realized. Since killing all the titans and opening the island to the world, it had been a while since the last time he’d had a proper conversation with her, without Eren, Armin, Sasha, Connie or Levi hovering around. In fact, if he thought about it, it was the first time in several months that he’d been alone with her and without the threat of imminent death hovering above them.

“Jean?” She asked, her voice inviting in his ears. She probably had no idea that, had she asked him to bring down the moon or a star down to her, he would’ve found a way to do it gladly. “Are you going to tell me?”

How could he tell her he loved her, though? He knew where her heart lied, Jean already knew who Mikasa loved. And it was not him. And now that Eren’s lifespan was quickly reaching its end, Jean knew it would only seem like he was taking an advantage of the situation, he would be nothing but a bird of prey in her eyes.

He’d seen her after they’d broken the news to them about Armin and Eren’s shortened lifespan; he knew how much that certainty of a young death for her dearest friends (and the one boy she loved) had damaged her.

“Jean, tell me,” she repeated, almost in a whisper now.

He couldn’t tell her about his feelings. He could never, ever do that. And that was okay. He’d come to terms with it. But how could he deny her the truth when she asked so sweetly? How could he deny her when she looked so lovely?

“Jean?” Mikasa asked, her hand hovering over his arm, her voice growing concerned with each word she pronounced. “Jean, are you okay?”

No, he was not at all okay. His brain felt like it was boiling, and the sole presence of her had caused his breathing to become shallow. She had no idea what she’d done to him with her question, how all the bottled up feelings had come rushing into his brain all at once: the fear of losing her, the grief of never telling her how he felt, the love he’d never get to share with her, the hurt for her losing the two most important people for her. It was all there.

Mikasa put both hands on his arm, keeping him from falling. “Jean, I’m sorry, are you—”

“Oi!” Eren’s voice called from afar. “What are you two doing there, Mikasa?! The food is gonna run out if you don’t hurry!”

Jean held a hand to the neck of his shirt and unbuttoned it, his breathing quick and shallow, as if he’d just swam for a great deal of time. “Do you need to sit?” Mikasa asked him, moving to stand before. “Do you need water?”

“Didn’t you guys hear me?” Eren shouted again, this time sounding irritated. “What is horse face doing that’s so interesting?”

“I need water,” Jean told her, fixating his eyes on her. “Heatstroke.”

“Oi!” Eren shouted, jogging to stand next to the two. “Aren’t you guys even listening?”

“I’ll get you water,” Mikasa said, helping him sit on the ground, then turned to speak to Eren, who was most likely heading their way. “Jean has a heatstroke. We need to give him water. Call Levi and Armin so they can take him to the showers.”

“I thought horses could go on for a while without water,” Eren said, giving Jean a little smirk that inevitably brought a smile to his face.

“And I thought idiots could take orders from better soldiers,” he snapped back, not looking at him. If he looked at him right in the face, he would just feel his chest twisting further in pain. Jean cursed himself; he was such a baby.

“Stop,” Mikasa commanded. “You two, stop fighting just now. Jean, stay quiet. Eren, get me Armin and Levi.”

“Can’t you and I take him to the showers?” Eren asked.

“If we take him into the showers…” Mikasa stopped a moment. Jean looked up for a moment and even in the dark, Jean could see the blush in her cheeks. “I’d have to see him naked. I won’t make him uncomfortable.”

Ah, that idea did nothing to calm his panic attack. In fact, it made Jean even breathe quicker. Jean buried his head between his arms, the panic attack washing over him in full force. “Eren, we need to hurry,”

___________________________________________

Mikasa watched Jean nibble on a piece of meat while sitting next to the window; his hair was wet after the shower, and his arms were a bit bruised from Levi and Eren helping him reach the showers. He’d been rather quiet after they’d calmed him down, and Mikasa didn’t dare to speak much and make him strain himself.

Levi had told them to watch over him while he went to get a physician for Jean, but Eren was outside, talking to Armin about the things the hizurans had brought over in this visit to the island. He’d left her alone again, but that didn’t matter, because the constant chatter from outside between him and Armin reassured her he was still there, he was still alive.

She was sorry about Jean, though. It had been a while since the last time she’d spent time alone with Jean, a long while. She couldn’t have been good company. Not to him; she saw how he was with Sasha and Connie. Those three, much like Armin and Eren, were a constant stream of conversation, stream of conversation usually lead by Jean himself. Mikasa was too shy, too quiet to keep him comfortable while keeping him company.

“Thank you,” Jean said, sliding the plate over to her. “Sasha will be angry I ate her stuff.”

“I saved plenty for her.” Mikasa replied, taking the plate in her hands.

Jean arched an eyebrow. “Thief.”

Mikasa lowered her head, realizing he’d almost elicited a chuckle out of her. “I’m—”

“I was just playing,” Jean replied, smiling slightly despite her awkward reaction to his joke.

“I’m sorry,”

“For what?”

“I’m too quiet.” Mikasa said, looking outside the window to avoid his gaze.

“I like quiet. Quiet is good nowadays,” Jean replied. From the corner of her eye, she noticed he’d shrugged. It was weird, how his words sounded so sincere. She could tell people got bored with her presence quickly; even Eren, she’d seen his urge to find Armin whenever they found themselves alone. But Jean didn’t look bored. He wasn’t like Sasha, who spoke constantly and nonstop and helped fill the gaps in their conversations caused by herself. He looked…strangely at peace, almost at home in her silence.

Which only urged her to want to fill that strange gap with words.

“I-I kept asking you while you were having that heatstroke,” Mikasa continued. “I’m sorry for that.”

“Those reasons—”

“Rest,” Mikasa said, interrupting him. For some reason, all her curiosity had disappeared the moment she’d seen him on the verge of passing out back there. “I’m the strongest of all. I’m more useful without a titan, and I know it would be troublesome to lose your best soldier after only thirteen years.”

“No,” Jean said firmly, his voice so firm, so adult sounding that Mikasa had to turn to look at him. “Those reasons…you’re not a soldier. And those reasons go beyond just keeping you alive for fighting.”

“What?”

“Maybe I just want to see you live a long life too and that’s that,” Jean replied, looking away from her, staring at the window. “As for the rest of it, maybe I don’t want to tell you just yet.”

Mikasa looked at him for a long while, trying to figure out what he’d meant. Of course, they all wanted to see each other live long lives. But, much like his comfort in her silence, his words felt different. If she’d heard them from Sasha, or Connie or even Armin, they would’ve sounded much different, for some reason she didn’t understand.

She frowned, not quite comprehending the situation, not quite comprehending why he didn’t want to look at her. She wasn’t good at things related to social interactions, and this situation wasn’t the exception. What was he trying to tell her? Why did she want to figure it out so intently?

“Or maybe it was just the heatstroke speaking,” Jean added, with a shrug.

Mikasa looked back at him. He hadn’t meant that last part, and she knew that by just looking at him. But it seemed like a good little excuse to diffuse the sudden tension between them. “Maybe it was.”

Jean offered her a smile she returned in what she felt was a stiff gesture. “I’m too awkward.”

“No, you’re not,” Jean replied, snorting. “You’re great as you are.”

Mikasa turned to look at him again, but Jean was no longer looking at him. Thosewords he had meant. And she found herself smiling a little more naturally this time. “Thank you, Jean.”

#Jeankasa #JeanMika #Jean x Mikasa #Jean Kirstein #Mikasa Ackerman #Jeankasa fanfic #fanfic #shingeki no kyojin #Jean Kirstein and Mikasa Ackerman #jean kirschtien

[maxwell-grant]

I hope you don't mind me dropping asks on you every day? Anyways, a general question on modern-day attempts at using existing Pulp Heroes; do you think there is value in setting such tales in the modern day, rather than being period pieces? And if one does do so, do you think the best approach is to go full setting update, or to somehow translate the characters into the modern day, or to go the Legacy route?

I eagerly look forward to answering all kinds of questions, so don’t hesitate to send any my way!. Any feedback or excuse I get to go off on a subject is extremely appreciated. 

Okay so on to your question: 

...Man, that really seems like the billion dollar question when it comes to the pulp heroes, isn’t it? The one at least that every conversation regarding adapting these characters, giving them reboots or new stories, seems to inevitably get stuck on: Should these characters be left as is, or modernized? Is there any point to trying to modernize them when often, at least in the public view, the only thing that separates them from being diet superheroes is their time period? Can these characters even survive as anything other than historical footnotes if they don’t move past the trappings of time holding them back? I’ve been very firmly on both sides of the question at different points and I think every answer inevitably brings up solutions and problems of it’s own. 

For the moment, I’m going to start by saying that it’s something of a case by case basis. For example, The Scarlet Pimpernel is a timeless archetype, but one who’s specific characterization and history is so tied up to it’s time period that it’s far better to just reimagine the Pimpernel into a different character set in a different time, than to try and remove the Blakeneys from their time period, likewise with characters who cross into historical fantasy like Conan or western characters, where they have such strongly defined settings and playgrounds that you’d be losing much by removing them from it. 

But on the other hand, you have characters like The Phantom, or The Avenger, who very clearly could exist at just about any point in time and don’t have any specific complications holding them to the 30s (in fact The Phantom was arguably designed for this, being he kickstarted the whole legacy superhero concept). A lot of the times, people seem to think or insist that certain pulp characters cannot be separated from their time periods, even when they were well on their way to doing so before some unfortunate cancellation. The Shadow, for example. Gibson had no problems updating the character’s adventures to the 60s for the Belmont series, and if The Shadow had maintained the kind of continuous publication that Batman and Superman had, I have no doubt whatsoever that nobody would even peg him as a character that belongs to the 30s and the 30s only, even if a lot of important aspects of his character are tied up in 30s America and The Great War and whatnot. 

To try and streamline this response into something more general, I’m going to state that, yes, I do think it’s a case by case basis where some characters don’t work as well outside their time periods, and others should have left them ages ago, but in general? I think most of the pulp heroes would stand to benefit much more from being set, not just in modern times, but outside of time. Or at least, outside of a specific time period being something that defines and entraps them. Pretty much none of these characters, outside of historical fantasy examples like Conan or characters whose genres are locked into specific past time periods like cowboys, were intended to be period pieces, and yet that’s what they became, because time has been extremely cruel to the pulp heroes in many ways. 

To bring up superheroes briefly, while I maintain that I think the real secret to making pulp heroes work and achieve success again is to distance them from superheroes, or at least the popular blockbuster superheroes, as much as possible, the superheroes have been around running the show for a while now and experimenting a lot as an inescapable facet of pop culture that's worked out monstrously well so far,nso clearly there’s a lot to learn there. The superheroes by and large belong in shared universes held tight by copyright where the weight of accumulating timelines inevitably forces them to either undergo reboots every couple of years, or endure constant quiet retcons snipping away at continuity so the cohesive “Superhero Universes” can function. But there’s no such thing as some big “Pulp Hero Universe” existing anywhere near the same capacity, there’s works gesturing to the idea like the Wold Newton Universe and LOEG and Dynamite’s shared author works largely scrapped together from separate sources all drifting apart, and most of these characters have largely fallen through the cracks of copyright law and into outright non-existence, or are halfway there. Very few modern instances of "cinematic universes" outside of the MCU work, so what we do instead is go the opposite route, closer to DC's "throw anything at the wall to see what sticks" approach.

What I’m getting to is, I could flip through the pages of Jess Nevins’s Encyclopedia of Pulp Heroes, pick about 3 or 5 random characters, put them in a story regardless of whatever time period they used to be a part of, and make something out of it, without anyone stopping to question “Hey, hold up, why is Joel Saber not on Victorian England? Why are Uirassu and Tom Shark in a loving relationship when they don’t even belong in the same decade? Why did you turn Allan Crystal into a talking sparrow? You are betraying the source material, these characters don’t work outside of it”. Because nobody has any idea who those guys are, they might as well be just original names I made up (I didn't, btw), and nobody has any reason to care, they will only care if they read good, engaging stories with strong characterizations that give them a reason to be invested. And if achieving that requires ditching adherence to the source material (which doesn’t even exist anymore for at least a third of these characters), I cannot see that as a bad thing. 

He's nowhere near the ballpark of pulp heroes but I'm going to bring up King Arthur as an example because he’s been on my mind today. 

All of these, and countless others, are King Arthur. I’m no expert in Arthuriana, but from what I’ve gathered, I’d make a pretty good guess that one of the main reasons why King Arthur has been able to endure so strongly, and have so many variations that we have an entire area of study dedicated just to untangling those messes we call Arthuriana, has less to do with his historical or mythological importance (you hardly see that many stories about Cú Chulainn), but because the lore and imagery and events surrounding King Arthur have so utterly transcended the source material that people still dispute what the source material even was, or if he was a real person, or if he was created by the Welsh and stolen by Brits, and etc, and because he's completely free for any writers and artists to mold and use to anything they see fit.

King Arthur is not so much a character as much as he’s a sandbox that literally anyone can play in and reshape as they see fit, with no shortage of existing events and characters and magical items that you can treat as either essential staples, or guidelines and suggestions at best. I have three separate ideas for King Arthur as a big shark man in a greaser outfit who yields an oversized hair comb with fishhooks attached as Excalibur, one where he’s a monstrous dragon who sleeps in the ruin of his former kingdom guarding the only remaining memory of Guinevere left, and one where he’s a disembodied consciousness inside a giant mechanical bear. I could pick any of these and make a story out of them, or insert these into a story, any time I want, and nobody could stop me.

Point is, I think a lot, even most, of the pulp heroes would benefit from having some kind of “no-holds-barred, just do anything you want out of whatever you find interesting about the original” approach, a lot more so than the superheroes already do, because if there’s a single group of characters nowadays that best embodies an “anything goes” approach, a group that is almost entirely in public domain nowadays save for it’s biggest icons and therefore is already available for people to take and spin any way they want, it’s the pulp heroes. These characters have been in stasis for so long, or all but faded into nothingbbut mere footnotes in encyclopedia or records in libraries not even available online, and sometimes not even that. Most of their fanbases have largely died off and they are nowhere near close to gaining new ones, and our changing media tastes call for contrasts as much as it calls for profit. No sensible person would invest in most of these properties as they stand now, which is precisely what ultimately gives them the freedom to be anything at the conceptual stage. The only thing that really, really holds them back is time, which, again, has really not been kind to them. So why adhere to it? Screw time and whatever power it’s long held over these characters, let’s get weird with it. 

So if I have to choose between “full setting update, translating the characters to modern day, or the Legacy route”, all three of which are perfectly viable depending on the character, I think the best option, generally speaking, is full setting update, if only because the setting should never be the main priority in the first place. The setting, like everything else, is there to serve the story and the author’s needs and wants, and I’m of the opinion that the setting should always primarily exist in service of the characters, as my writing and my favorite writings are all character centered above all else.

I think putting the pulp heroes in radically different time periods and settings could even yield interesting results. Genndy Tartakovsky’s Primal stars a caveman Conan/Tarzan type protagonist interacting with dinosaurs, Alan Moore’s V for Vendetta is a Shadow-esque character set loose in a dystopian future, Grendel is the Fantomas of 1980s New York, and so on. The precedent is there and I think it can be taken much further.

Really I think a lot of the problems and arguments that have arisen over the years in regards to adapting the pulp heroes often result of people overthinking things, lord knows I do enough of that all the time. I really think it’s just something that only seems impossible because it hasn’t really been done yet. Of course, in regards to The Shadow I obviously have a whole different text as to whether I’d want him to be adapted or not, but in general, my ultimate response to what you asked is just do whatever you think is gonna make the story better and the characters more interesting. A.K.A, do whatever you want. 

[overheardatthecontinental]

Talk Chapter 14

AO3 LINK

The moment John reaches the city line, he turns on his phone. Yet again, he is met with a cacophony of vibrations as his phone loads with the unread messages that have accumulated over the past twelve or so hours.

He waits until the barrage has ended before hitting the speed dial option that will bring him directly to the Continental. He orders a day room to set up shop, as well as a request for the technician to start researching DeLuca’s mother.

He’s transferred to Winston long enough to find out the name of Mateo’s mother. Winston barely gets a sentence out before John has said a goodbye.

When he is done, he dials Sofia.

It’s already evening in Morocco and he can hear loud music in the background when she answers.

“You’re lucky I’m picking up considering you don’t answer any of your texts.” She says loudly, over the pulsing rhythm.

John feels his lips twitch at the annoyance in her tone. “Been busy.”

“So I’ve heard.” The background noise gets quieter and he hears the sound of a door closing. “Rumor has it, you’re killing anybody even considering taking the Kingston contract.”

Good. While he doesn’t have the time to actually go ahead and kill every person seeking out Helen, he wants anybody considering her contract to think twice.

“Hearing many rumors in Casablanca?”

“Oh, you went global , John. Everybody everywhere is talking about it.”

John sighs at that and shakes his head, “Is there really nothing more interesting happening anywhere?”

“I’ll break it down for you because I know you’ve had a lot of head injuries: everybody looks at you like a monk. You don’t date. You don’t fuck around. Everybody just kind of assumed you were celibate. I've even heard rumors that you made a deal with the devil to be powerful at the cost of giving up sex.”

“Then, a contract goes wide. Some woman no one’s ever heard of. Never set foot in the Underworld yet seems to have a connection to John Wick. Everybody waits for a response. Only you disappear off the map for twenty-four hours. And nobody can actually find Helen Kingston.”

“Then, you resurface and start killing anyone who’s even looked at the Kingston contract. So, no, John. There really isn’t anything more interesting happening anywhere.”

John lets out a breath.

This, he realizes, is quickly becoming his newest fear. That even if, somehow, he can get them both out alive, he’s going to have to face the rest of the Underworld.

He’d warned Helen before he left that he still had enemies. Ones far worse than DeLuca. The Syndicate heir was ambitious, but DeLuca truly didn’t care whether Helen lived or died. Others would. Others would make it their mission to make her suffer just to see how John would react.

She was already trapped in ways she couldn’t possibly understand and that terrified him.

“But I take it you’re not calling to find out what the rumor mill is pelting in Casablanca.”

“No, I’m not.” John says, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he waits for the pedestrians to cross in front of him. “I need a favor. There’s a bottle of Romanee-Conti ’72 in it for you. Plus expenses.” He’s more than willing to give her a marker if that’s what this takes, but he has a feeling that the rare vintage plus the intrigue of it all will be enough to capture her attention.

“Color me intrigued. What’s the job?”

“The man who’s hired the hit on Helen is Mateo DeLuca of Syndicate. I have reason to believe his mother, Isabella DeLuca, is the one who is actually calling the shots. Only problem, she’s in Rome.”

Sofia hums, “Is she well-guarded?”

“I don’t know.” John answers honestly, “But I need her in New York yesterday.”

“An exchange. His mother for your girl?”

John drives on, inclining his head at the question, “I’m certain it won’t be that simple. But yes.”

Sofia hums and, again, he can hear her moving. The background noise increases slightly, “I can be to Rome in five hours.”

“Perfect. If you can get her when she’s going to bed—”

“No one will be the wiser until morning. This isn’t my first extraction, John.”

He nods to himself because of course it isn’t .

He isn’t a micromanager. He never has been, but the stakes have never been quite like this before.

“You care if she’s bruised?”

John considers it.

He typically liked to keep things as clean as possible. He didn’t do extractions or espionage or anything else that called for more tact and forethought than a bullet to the head.

But Isabella DeLuca was the force behind Mateo. Arguably, the force behind Helen’s abduction.

“Not in the slightest.” He says finally, “Although I don’t expect she’ll put up much of a fight. She’s a bureaucrat.”

Sofia groans, “I prefer it when they fight. Bureaucrats just whine.”

“I get it. I’ve spent more time dealing with politics the past few days than I have in my entire life.”

“Never thought I’d see the day where John Wick had to talk nice to people. Then again, never thought you were going to get your v-card punched, either.”

John rolls his eyes at Sofia’s ongoing joke. There wasn’t much else she could get on him but his decision to be largely celibate fascinated his friend. Truthfully, John didn’t think too much about sex or carnal pleasures. He didn’t prioritize fleeting experiences.

But then, the assassin’s voice softens, “How is she? Your girl. Does she understand what’s going on?”

John nods before remembering that Sofia can’t see him. “Yeah, she gets it. And she’s…” unbelievable. Ridiculous. Brave and clever and tougher than he ever gave her credit for, “In the past week, she’s been kidnapped, held hostage, and forced to go into hiding because half of New York is out to kill her. And despite all that, her biggest concern is that something could happen to me .”

It still boggles his mind.

“How long have you been together?”

He isn’t entirely sure how to answer that and there’s far too much to explain over the phone. He decides on, “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?” She asks and John is glad that she isn’t going to chastise him for not knowing better. “Hang on.” He hears her switch languages to Arabic. While John isn’t fluent in that particular language, he knows enough to hear the word ‘airplane’. After a minute of back and forth, she is back on the phone, “I’m headed to the airport now. The concierge is finding a pilot as we speak.”

“Perfect.” John says with a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Where am I taking her once I have her?”

He thinks, quickly. There were too many eyes in New York for him to chance it getting back to DeLuca. Likewise, he was certain his house was being watched. Even though it technically wasn’t under his name, enough people knew about his residence in Jersey for it to get around. And there was no way in hell he was bringing Isabella anywhere near Helen.

“There’s a private airstrip just outside of Newark with an adjacent motel. Keep her there. If I don’t talk to you before then, I’ll plan on meeting you there tomorrow, at noon. I’ll probably be offline when you land.”

“I’ll get her there.”

“Thank you, Sof.”

He hangs up and concentrates on the road ahead, even as his thoughts spin. He hates having to depend on anybody. That said, he does trust Sofia to get the job done. To take care of it and troubleshoot any unforeseen problems on her own. That knowledge helps with the distaste he feels for needing help. It was easier to accept the help, too, knowing it would benefit Helen.

John makes it to the Continental and leaves his car with the valet. Walking into the lobby, he spots Verdugo sitting in an armchair by the fire, reading the newspaper. He imagines the assassin is likely still the number one contender targeting Helen, considering John hadn’t been able to touch him the day before.

He feels his hand already itching for his gun but he knows the rule.

He recites the rule, to himself, again and again as he passes by.

No business conducted on Continental grounds.

He can’t falter on that, not here. The moment Verdugo sets foot outside the hotel, he’s fair game. But not here.

Charon already has a key card placed on the counter when John reaches the counter. John places a coin down and they make a quick exchange.

“Mister Dexter sent you a fax and the Technician has compiled the information you asked for. I’ve taken the liberty of sending it all to your room.”

“Thank you.” John says, thinking back over the past few days. For everything that the Continental staff had helped him with. “For everything, this week.”

“Of course.” The Concierge replies with ease. John takes his key and starts to walk off when Charon calls to him, “And Mister Wick?” He waits until John turns, “I wish you the best of luck with your… task.”

John nods his thanks and proceeds down the hall and up the stairs. The day room was almost identical to the one he had stayed in while waiting for news of Helen just days ago. Two folders layfolders lay on the table when John walks in.

The first is much smaller. John flips it open and finds only two sheets of paper, reporting the updated odds. In large capital letters, it advertises Kingston Contract Odds .

John forces himself to swallow as he reads through it.

Verdugo remains the top contender, but the rest of the list is very different than the one he had seen yesterday morning.

Fuck, he thinks, was it really only yesterday?

He sighs, reviewing the changes. While he had eliminated a great deal of the assassins targeting Helen, even more had dropped out of their own accord, it would seem.

Good.

But more would always come, as evidenced by the papers in his hands.

More names he didn’t recognize. Junior assassins and street kids looking to make a name for themselves.

He’d try to make time to eliminate more. Keep reminding people exactly who they were messing with by going after a woman they knew to be his.

John takes out his cell phone, again, ignoring the dozens of text messages that would be left unread until he had the time to deal with them. He finds Santino and drafts a new message.

J: Need to talk. Today.

He reads it over after and sends. Before he can even set it down, it vibrates in his hand.

S: Intriguing. You know where I live.

John turns off the screen, setting the device to the side as he opens the second folder.

Pictures of Isabella DeLuca on the arm of her late husband at scores of different events over the years. A birth announcement of their son. A copy of a marriage certificate. A degree from Sapienza University of Rome in business sciences and another in political science. A transcript, providing proof of excellent marks and scores.

She was bright, it seems, adding to Helen’s theory that Isabella was the true brain behind Syndicate.

He continues going back into her history, but he doesn’t make the connection until he sees her birth certificate.

Isabella Carlotta Giovinco.

Daughter of Stefano Giovinco and Valentina D’Antonio.

He whips out his phone and dials Winston speedily.

“Hello again, Jonathan. Have you—”

“Valentina D’Antonio.” John says quickly, “What’s her relationship to Lorenzo?”

“Valentina?” Winston repeats, “She was his older sister. The eldest child of Claudia and Enzo D’Antonio.”

“And that would make Isabella DeLuca his niece?”

“Yes.”

John closes his eyes, “And you didn’t think that was pertinent information to share when DeLuca asked me to kill the D’Antonio’s?”

“Killing family is not an unusual practice, Jonathan. But, honestly, it slipped my mind. When Isabella was never, herself, a D’Antonio.”

“But her mother was.” He shakes his head, “And in those days, everything was patrilineal. Heir’s weren’t chosen based on age or conviction; they automatically went to the oldest male.”

“Which, in Valentina’s case was her brother, Lorenzo. She married one of her father’s lieutenants, if I remember correctly. They had several children, one of which being Isabella. It was quite the scandalous thing when Isabella married Dante. She had to renounce the Camorra at her own wedding to be accepted into Syndicate.”

“A lesser gang.”

“But one that quickly rose to prominence. It’s second only behind the Camorra in Italy.”

John pinches the bridge of his nose. He fucking hates this bullshit.

There’s a knock on the door and a beeping as the door unlocks. Winston enters and John lowers his phone, shutting it off.

“So, before Isabella, Syndicate was just another Italian crime family trying to be great.” John assesses, “Her family probably thought she was crazy for leaving the safety of the Camorra, but there was no advancement there. In the Camorra, she was just the daughter of a soldier and a has-been princess. But in Syndicate, she was a queen.”

“You think Isabella was the driving force behind Syndicate’s rise?” Winston synthesizes, looking unsure.

John nods, “I do. Helen told me that DeLuca wasn’t smart enough to be doing this on his own and I didn’t listen. Fuck .” He exhales, “I almost missed it.”

He’d kick himself if he could. If he had just listened to her from the beginning… no. He can’t focus on should have’s.

This is good.

Any doubt that Lorenzo D’Antonio will turn down his request fades from his mind.

Because it’s personal now. For them, at least.

It’s been personal for John since they started stalking the woman he loved.

“Unbelievable.” He mutters.

“I take it Mateo demanded the same last night as when he first took your beloved.”

John nods again, “Yes. And I’ve spent the last few days trying to figure out how I can get us both out of this alive. I can’t believe I almost missed it.”

John exhales and it feels like a weight is lifted from his shoulders.

It’s far from over but he can feel everything start to come together. There’s a light at the end of a tunnel that once seemed endless.

He breathes easy.

He wishes that Helen weren’t hours away so he could take her into his arms and hug her as the relief courses through him, overwhelming the guilt that he had missed something so crucial.

“It’s unsurprising that you missed it.” Winston says, “You’ve never had a political mind. You prefer the simplicity of being told where to point and shoot.”

True enough, John thinks.

“There’s something else you should know.” Winston adds, his voice softening in a way that tells John that whatever comes next won’t be good. He nods and Winston says, “There’s a missing person’s out for Helen Kingston. I’m not sure if it was someone in the Underworld trying to draw her out of hiding or if it was someone from her work, but the police were at her house this morning.”

If it wasn’t one thing, it was another.

John shakes his head, “Do you know if Charlie was able to clean the scene before the police got there?”

Winston nods, “Yes. I have someone watching the investigation. The police are under the assumption that she ran away since both her cell phones and her laptop are nowhere to be found but her family is pushing, saying Helen wouldn’t just disappear without telling them.”

“Alright.” John sighs, “Thank you for letting me know.

“Of course.”

“I have to meet with Santino.” John says, closing the folder and handing it to Winston, “Could you pass these along to the Technician? I need them scanned and emailed to Sofia Al-Azwar.”

Winston accepts the folder, inclining his head, “I’d ask what you were planning, Jonathan, except I feel it’s better that I don’t know.”

“You’re probably right.” John agrees.

“That said, I will be watching with complete and utter fascination.” The Manager continues, “Good luck.”

John nods, pocketing the key in case he needs to come back, and leaving the rest behind. Without a goodbye, he hurries back down the hall. He descends the stairs only to meet Verdugo walking up. The other assassin gives him a smile.

“You’re a hard man to find, John Wick.”

John stops and reminds himself again, of the mandate.

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

While John was more than willing to argue that this isn’t business, it was personal , he was certain that argument wouldn’t fly with Winston or the High Table.

“Am I?” He asks, instead.

“Very. But every now and then, you pop up. Seemingly out of nowhere. If only Helen Kingston was privy to doing the same.”

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

“It would be in your best interest,” John manages to bite out, “To forget her name.”

“But it is such a pretty name. Fitting, really. There was a war over her namesake as well.”

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

“One where thousands died,” John agrees, aware that they’ve caught the attention of several onlookers just off the lobby, “Yet another reason it would be wise of you to drop the contract.”

Verdugo inclines his head, “You can’t keep her hidden forever. You do know that, don’t you? If it’s not me, it’ll be someone else.”

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

“It won’t be you.”

“Why are you making this so much harder on yourself?” There is genuine curiosity dripping from Verdugo’s words. A confusion, of sorts, as if he can’t understand why John Wick is putting off the inevitable.

Kate had been similarly curious, although hers had been riddled with amusement. Now she was dead.

But every assassin thought themselves invincible, to a degree. Yes, they were far more aware of mortality than the average person having watched the life drain from countless eyes. But the older assassins in particular, who had brushed with death regularly, often seemed to forget that.

John, himself, was guilty of that. He thinks to the tie that does not hang from his neck, which instead, he had left with Helen. He might never wear one again in his promise to her to not let anyone have a chance at defeating him.

“Make it easier on yourself and let her go.” The other assassin pauses, “I’ll make sure it’s quick. Painless.”

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

“Would you like to take this outside?” John asks, hoping against hope that Verdugo is stupid or confident enough to make a mistake.

Verdugo inclines his head, “You forget, Mister Wick. You’re not the one with the multi-million-dollar bounty… Consider my offer. Others’ targeting the Boogeyman’s woman will be far more malicious.” He starts to ascend back up the stairs, “Be seeing you, Mister Wick.”

John repeats the rule one last time before forcing himself to turn away. Until Verdugo leaves the Continental, John can’t do shit.

That said, he’d be extra wary of tails on his way home. Just in case.

He’s almost tempted to let the assassin tail him. Take him to the middle of nowhere and pummel him to death.

His focus has never been so chaotic. He’s typically good at ignoring the smack talk. At walking away from those seeking to push him or make him lose his resolve.

John needs to stick to the plan.

Helen is safe. Protected.

Marcus won’t let anything happen to her.

He needs to do his part.

He nods to Charon as he leaves, ignoring the countless sets of eyes watching him as he strides through the lobby with purpose. The valet is gone when he reaches the stairs and John takes a moment to breathe. To go over the plan.

Santino will still be his point of contact. The easiest of the D’Antonio’s to convince to go along with his plan. But now he has leverage to use with Lorenzo, which makes it significantly easier to breathe.

He just needs to get the bounty removed. Then he can deal with the rest—the other enemies who might target Helen, the missing persons’ case being explored, and the countless unresolved feelings that had been flowing between them.

In a way, he’s relieved that the deadline is only two days away because he’s not sure how much more he can take.

The valet pulls up to the curb with his car and John hands him a tip as he walks by. Santino’s penthouse condo wasn’t too far away, just over the bridge and into Manhattan.

John is waved into the garage by security and he parks next to one of Santino’s many, but mostly unused, sports cars, before heading to the elevator.

When he arrives, a few members of Santino’s entourage were relaxing around his penthouse.

Ares plays a video game with a few of her co-bodyguards. She throws him a smirk as John is wanded down by another member of Santino’s protection.

Her hands move in a blur as she signs you still alive, old man?

John rolls his eyes and signs back Respect your elders.

Ares only grins wider I’d rather respect your girlfriend. I’ve seen the pictures. She has a nice ass .

Not knowing how to respond to that, John just shakes his head and moves further into the penthouse suite. Santino appears at the balcony, always one to make an entrance, and descends down the stairs.

“John! Always a pleasure. Café?”

John nods, “Si. Gratzi.”

Santino motions with a hand and leads John to a kitchen where two more of his men were sitting. Both regard John with interest but he ignores their stares. Santino barks an order in Italian and one of them stands to make the espresso.

“You’ll have to forgive the mess,” Santino says, although John has noticed no mess to speak of, “My father and sister are visiting.”

John hums, “Are they here?”

“No, no. Gianna doesn’t travel often and prefers to use the advantages of the Continental whenever she does. My father is staying with a business associate.”

John didn’t understand much of politics, but he was well aware that business associate meant mistress in this case. He says nothing as Santino’s henchman hands them each a small cup.

“Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Santino asks.

John glances around not so subtly and Santino gives another order. The men vacate the room and John can hear them passing on to others outside the kitchen that it is time to leave.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors going around.”

“Ah, but I never believe such fickle things.”

That was a lie, but John let it slide. He didn’t come here to argue with the Italian mafiaso after all. He can hear the swing of the door and he glances back. Ares has come in.

“I hope you don’t mind, John, but I do prefer to keep my head of security close at all times.”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes but nods, signing as he speaks, for Ares benefit, “Of course.”

Santino offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and John finds himself doubting that this is a good idea.

Remember your promise , he thinks. He will come home.

“Now, please,” Santino says, “Enlighten me with the truth.”

“The rumors,” John admits, “are largely true.”

“But not entirely?” Santino leans forward.

“Is anything entirely true?” John evades with a practiced ease.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“We’ve never technically put such a label on our relationship.” Not technically a lie, John thinks. “But for all intents and purposes, she is mine .”

Santino grins broadly, already rapt by the drama of it all. John will never understand the Mafioso’s fascination with such things. Truthfully, John isn’t certain why anybody gives a damn about the lives of people they don’t care about but that’s another matter entirely.

“Mio Dio, John. I did not think you had it in you.”

He barely withholds another eyeroll.

“And now what? You destroy New York piece by piece, until there’s no one left to harm her?”

“That’s plan B.”

“And plan A?”

John swallows down the espresso, keeping an eye on Ares as he prepares to explain.

“Mateo DeLuca holds the hit over Helen. I’m sure you’re familiar with him.”

“We’ve never actually met.” Santino says, “But he is my cousin.”

John nods once, “And of his mother?”

“Isabella. My dear aunt Valentina’s daughter. Until she disowned and dishonored her family to marry that scoundrel, Dante. Quite the tragic affair, although I was too young to remember.”

“She remembers you.” John says, “She’s ordered your death, along with that of your father and sister, in exchange for the release of Helen’s contract.”

Ares moves fast but John is faster. He grabs a cutting board from the island and uses it to catch the two knives she throws at him before he discards it, throwing it to the floor.

“Relax!” He says as he signs, before turning back to Santino, “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have offered you an explanation. I’d have killed you the moment you walked in.”

Santino looks to his guard, quietly ordering her to stand down, before looking back at John. “Go on.”

“They want the Camorra.” John says before taunting, “And it would be easy enough to give them. Except I don’t trust them. Nor do I like the idea of the High Table coming after me while DeLuca takes Rome, free of consequence.”

“I take it you have a plan?”

“It would require your cooperation, as well as that of your father and sister.”

“How so?” There is a glint of excitement in Santino’s eyes that John really doesn’t understand but he isn’t going to complain if it means the mafiaso is willing to help.

John glances to Ares, who has her arms crossed and is still watching him with suspicion. “We’ll need to stage your death. I’ll take photographic evidence to give to DeLuca. Once he exchanges his end of the bargain, you can present the DeLuca’s to the High Table to be tried for treason.”

“And you walk away with the girl.” Santino hums, shaking his shoulders as he considers it, “How exciting! How would you like to fake my death? Strangle me? Pretend to cut me open, hmm?”

Unbelievable. It takes him a moment to even remember to speak, “I was thinking fake a bullet to the head. It doesn’t leave much room for questioning.”

“Are we to do this now?” Santino is practically bouncing.

Again, John is tempted to just yell what the fuck but withholds with a shake of his head.

“I was hoping to speak with your father, first. But yes, it would be today. If I’m seen coming and going while you are obviously alive, DeLuca might suspect that I’ve tipped you off.”

“Wonderful!”

“You’d have to stay in hiding for two days.” John says, “And no one can know. Not even your entourage or security. Save Ares.”

“Yes, yes!” Santino nods, “They will mourn their loss only for me to rise, like Christo.”

He swears he catches Ares rolling her eyes while Santino considers how to best spin faking his death. Not that she’d ever admit it. She was too loyal. A rare quality in the Underworld, but one John respected nonetheless.

“Can you get a hold of your father remotely?” John asks, “Over video call?”

“Of course!” Santino gives instructions to Ares. She nods and leaves the room, “New video conferencing on top-of-the-line laptop. Just released from Geneva. It’s untraceable, unhackable.”

The other assassin returns with the laptop and sets it up for Santino. The heir calls his father while John closes his eyes. The youngest D’Antonio had been an easy sell—willing to play dead for the shock value and entertainment factors alone. And while John was certain Lorenzo would be swayed by Isabella’s involvement, he was aware that Lorenzo might take a bit more pushing.

The call is picked up by one of Lorenzo’s bodyguards.

John is aware that high-ranking members of the Underworld kept hired guns, and particularly members of the High Table required guarding, but it still throws him.

John, who can barely stand the presence of friends, cannot understand the appeal of such things. Or the inability to take care of one’s self.

After a few minutes, Lorenzo is brought to the computer. He settles down in front of it, peering at the camera. A rush of Italian parts from his lips and John finds himself code-switching quickly, trying to change the language his brain would accept.

“I told you, I would see you Friday before I left—” Lorenzo was saying, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Yes, father, but I have John Wick here to speak with you.”

Santino turns the camera towards John.

“John!” Lorenzo says in surprise, “I was hoping to see you on my visit. When I heard about your… conundrum, I assumed you would be too busy.”

“Lorenzo,” John steps closer to the camera, “It’s about that matter I wish to speak with you.”

And it all comes out.

The involvement of the DeLuca’s. Isabella’s slow, careful takeover of the Syndicate. Playing kingmaker to her son and murdering her husband, all in quest of taking back the Camorra.

The contract on Helen’s life.

How, despite the contract, John doesn’t trust the Syndicate crime family.

“That whore .” Lorenzo spits out, when John has finished, “She gets that from her mother. Being a princess in the Camorra was not enough.” The old man shakes his head, “Her ambition is her downfall.”

“You can have them tried at the High Table for their treason.” John nudges.

Lorenzo certainly perks up at that. What a display that could be. The Camorra annihilating its number one competitor, publicly.

“I’ll testify for the High Table.” He continues, “All I ask is a few hours of your time. And that of your children.”

“I don’t like the idea of playing a dead man.” Lorenzo replies uncertainly, “It would look weak.”

“Only for you to rise from the grave, seizing what has fallen in DeLuca’s absence. Syndicate could be yours.”

Lorenzo considers it, a smile breaking upon his face. “Alright, John. Tell me your plan.”

....

thanks to @meetmeinthematinee​ for reviewing it before I posted this :)

#john wick #john wick talk #john wick fanfiction #helen wick #santino d'antonio #john x helen wick #helen x john wick #ares (john wick) #overheard at the continental #the matrix had queue #john wick fanfic #john wiction

[365days365movies]

April 10, 2021: The Graduate (1967) (Recap: Part One)

Some Like it Hot got Oscar-stiffed. So did this film!

This film got seven nominations at the 1968 Oscars, and took home Best Director and NOTHING else. It was nominated for Best Picture, Actor, Actress, Supporting Actress, Adapted Screenplay, and Cinematography, and got NONE of them. Hot damn! That surprises me, because this film is RIDICULOUSLY iconic.

I mean, hell, The Simpsons has homaged it at least twice, which I know from the above GIF and the following GIF. And in that one, the teacher in the background is Dustin Hoffman, HOMAGING HIMSELF

There’s been a stage adaptation, AFI called it the 17th best movie of all time in 2007, while also putting it on 5 other lists, and but it on the Movie Quotes list TWICE! Leonard Maltin’s seen it before he dies, the Library of Congress has it in their collection, and it launched Dustin Hoffman’s career into the goddamn atmosphere!  And that’s not even mentioning the one thing I’m looking forward to the most:

The music.

Look, I’m not exactly a big music nerd, by ANY means. I’ve heard songs, but can rarely identify the band or person playing them. I was in an acapella group, a steel band, and chamber orchestra, so I’m no foreigner to music. I’m just...not a big music nerd. But I DO know Simon and Garfunkel, and the more I hear of them, the more I like them.

Scarborough Fair/Canticle, Bridge Over Troubled Water, Mrs. Robinson, Cecilia, I Am a Rock, ALL of them are good classic folk rock songs that are easy to remember. AND I KNOW IT’S LAME TO LIKE FOLK ROCK I DO NOT CARE SUE ME IF YOU MUST. Oh, and I didn’t even mention the most famous of their songs, whose fame was aided by this film’s success. But, uh...I’ll hold onto it for now.

In fact, for now, let’s just jump into the film in and of itself! The Graduate is a classic, and it’s been on my list for a while. It’s more of a romantic comedy, but it’s primarily a comedy (from my understanding), so it’s fitting that I throw it in here. Let’s go!

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

We start on a plane as it lands, joining Benjamin Braddock (Dustin Hoffman), as he leaves the plane and walks through the airport. We also start right away with a BANGER, and the most iconic song on this film’s soundtrack: The Sound of Silence.

Classic. CLASSIC! One of their best! Not my favorite, but one of their best for sure! But OK, after that, we get to know Benjamin a bit more. He’s a recent college graduate and in a state of melancholy, not quite knowing what to do or how to feel about his new situation. This is to the confusion of his father, Mr. Braddock (William Daniels) and his mother, Mrs. Braddock (Elizabeth Wilson).

Urged to attend the party in his honor, he reluctantly goes downstairs, where he’s absolutely accosted (nearly assaulted) by all of his parents’ friends. One of these friends, Mr. Maguire (Walter Brooke), somewhat awkwardly pulls him to the side, and brings him out side. He wants to say one word to him. Just one word.

After that...interaction, Ben takes the opportunity to escape, as all of his accomplishments are being read out loud to the throngs. And I have to say, you can feel just how overwhelming all of this is for him. It’s a palpable anxiety. He goes back to his room to get away from everybody and just look at his fish tank. Just a celebration of the introvert’s experience right here, and I can dig it.

But this private reverie is interrupted by the barging in of one Mrs. Robinson (Katharine Ross), who pretends to have mistaken his room for the bathroom, but sits down and smokes anyway, despite his protests. She asks what making him upset, and notes that’s it’s more of a general feeling than a specific one. She understands and readies herself to leave, but not before asking him to give her a ride home. He reluctantly accepts, and takes her home. She invites him in through some subtle manipulation and...well, you know where this is headed.

An absolutely classic line and classic exchange, and I’m kind of surprised that it happens this soon into the movie, to be honest! She denies the accusation...kind of, and he asks her apology. But she brushes it off, and asks if he’d like to see the portrait of her daughter Elaine, which he’s quite enthusiastic about. But while there, in her room, things continue to get awkward as she basically undresses in front of him.

Mrs. Robinson continues to deny that she’s trying to seduce him, but it’s all basically gaslighting to get him to admit that he wants to be seduced. Damn, Mrs. Robinson, what the fuck? And it’s actually made WAY FUCKING WORSE when she tricks him into getting into a sealed room, where she traps him and tells him that she’s interested in sleeping with him, whenever he wants to. Ben is OBVIOUSLY frazzled as fuck, especially considering the basically near-rape situation he’s currently in.

Thankfully (maybe), the sound of Mr. Robinson’s car pulling up allows enough distraction (and adrenaline rush) for Ben to GET THE FUCK OUT of there, and he runs into Mr. Robinson (Murray Hamilton) in the process. Noticing how frazzled he seems to be, Mr. Robinson tells Ben to relax in his youth, and having a few flings with the ladies while he can. He brushes off all of this, and gets out as soon as he can.

Soon after, summer begins, and not really in Ben’s favor. He’s used again as a prop for his parents and their friends, as his father got him a SCUBA suit that he demonstrates in their pool, despite his protests and wish to be heard. And people...people don’t listen to Ben, huh? I genuinely feel bad for the kid, because it really does seem like nobody attempts to listen to what he wants for how he feels, his parents included. But he seems to get the solitude he’s been seeking as he sits beneath the pool. But that’s overlaid with the realization that Ben actually WAS seduced by Mrs. Robinson, and he gives her a call to meet soon afterwards.

They meet at the Taft Hotel, where Ben is his typical nervous and awkward self, and goes to get a room for the two of them. And it’s now that I should mention that this dude is EXTREMELY twitchy, like goddamn. I know they were saying that he’s “the kind of guy who was to fight them off”, but I DO NOT see it, not gonna lie. 

After a bit more awkwardness, they meet in a room at the hotel, where the clearly still quite nervous Ben struggles with the whole affair (pun intended), including the fact that she is one of his parent’s friends, and that this is a fast start to their relationship. But, Mrs. Robinson being Mrs. Robinson, she once again manipulates him into just getting on with it...and it works.

Once again, The Sound of Silence plays, as summer passes on and he lazes about the pool during the days, then goes to sleep with Mrs. Robinson in the nights. But he doesn’t seem to enjoy any of it, as the two halves of his life are so separate, and he separates them in his mind. And that’s done by some very clever camera work and production design, honestly.

This transitions into a version of the folk rock duo that I hadn’t heard before: April Come She Will, as the affair continues forth. This is interrupted by the frustrations of Ben’s father, who asks what he’s going to do after his collegiate career, tired of his lazing about and doing nothing for...a few weeks. Really? JESUS, DAD, LET ME RELAX!

His time with Mrs. Robinson is also a bit awkward, as he’s craving some sort of relationship outside of specifically sex, and she’s entirely uninterested in that kind of relationship with him. As he tries to start any form of conversation, she reluctantly enters one, which reveals some parts of her relationship with her husband. Specifically, they don’t really love each other, and were forced to marry because she became pregnant with Elaine. It also reveals that Mrs. Robinson is a somewhat broken woman, emotionally.

It’s also revealed during this conversation that Mrs. Robinson DOES FUCKING NOT want him to take Elaine out on a date, but won’t explain her reasons for that. After prying, she says that she doesn’t believe he’s good enough for her (although I don’t quite believe that, personally). This makes him upset, and leads to an argument that almost causes him to leave. But still, she forbids him to go out with Elaine.

That’s made even MORE complicated by the fact that Benjamin’s parents force him to ask her out on a date, and he does so reluctantly, which makes Mrs. Robinson VERY upset. And I gotta say...I don’t think I like anybody in this movie. Like...at all. I only kind of like Ben, although I really only feel bad for him because he has no agency in his life. Not a big fan of Mrs. Robinson, who’s upset by a situation she’s entirely responsible for, and is cheating on her husband. Ben’s parents are annoying, and Mr. Robinson...I dunno, sort of puts off these sleazy vibes, but that’s just a feeling I’m getting.

Elaine seems nice, though, as the two go on a date together. But in order to please Mrs. Robinson, Ben does his absolute damndest to sabotage the date. Starts off with reckless driving, then transitions into ignoring her almost entirely, and then takes her out to a strip club for the date. Which is all understandably extremely upsetting; again, it’s not exactly endearing me to Ben, and it’s not working on Elaine either, who’s convinced that Ben is doing this to punish her specifically, and I don’t fucking blame her!

She runs off crying, and he goes after her, realizing that he’s been a dick and that he really doesn’t want to be. They go get food at the A&W, which is making me both hungry AND nostalgic now...fuck, I really want some food from A&W. But with that, they actually have a good time when he opens up to her about how he’s felt since college ended, and she does something nobody else has: she listens to him.

OK, I’mma get some food, but this is a good place to pause for now! See you later for Part Two!

#the graduate #the graduate 1967 #mike nichols #charles webb #anne bancroft #dustin hoffman #katharine ross #william daniels #murray hamilton #elizabeth wilson #comedy april #user365 #365days365movies #365 movie challenge #365 movies 365 days #365 Days 365 Movies #365 movies a year

[a-swines-baptism]

🎂 -midnight-radio-host

{Let’s dial in to this recently passed Blight season for a little treat for @midnight-radio-host​, how about?}

Jude wouldn’t normally say that there was such a thing as too much time with Amanda, but this was the one exception to that rule. He shifted uncomfortably in his spot on the concrete floor, wincing as the shackle fixed tight around one wrist tugs at raw skin. How long had it been since she’d chained him up? It’s hard to say, easily days’ worth, but beyond that time really didn’t have meaning in Gideon. All he knew is that she was there, watching him. Always keeping at least half an eye on her Jude, making sure he stayed safe and by her side as she prowled and babbled to herself in those low, drowned tones. It’s hard to look at her, warped and diseased by the Blight that infected her. Sometimes she gets up close, forcing the intercoms in the room to speak for her in their garbled voice and repeating his name over and over as she makes him look at her distorted mask, grip only getting rougher and more distraught when he tries to look away. It’s not his girlfriend, right now... it’s something else. The lights are on in Amanda’s head but nobody’s home.

Not that there’s anything he can do about all this, chained up as he is to the bed in one of the alcoves in her control room. She took his ring, the gift given to him by the Bastard that was supposed to keep him safe. Whatever part of her brain still worked understood that it could free him, get him away from her. He tried that, while he still had it-- you can’t blame him for it, he was scared-- but she’d seen, and got to him quickly. Freaked out, and gave him a nasty knife to the throat. He was lucky that none of that glowing stuff had got in him, but it turns out that without the Entities to resurrect you, you just wake up right where you died anyways. Same body, too, barely healed. That had been a rough day. He’d had to plea with her once hunger started to kick in, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Were the survivors all this cut off from the Entities right now, or was it something about being near her? She knows to bring the ring back to him every so many hours, at least, though she keeps her knife right at his neck as he uses it to summon food for himself, or clean himself up. Then it goes back on her desk.

She’s brought him other things too, random stuff to keep him entertained. It’s like she thinks he’s a housepet in need of enrichment or something, but there’s not really much more he can do aside from waiting for her to get better, or for something to change, so he fiddles with the random things to pass the time. Apparently she’s found something else for him to play with, the killer dropping to her hands and knees (it seems to hurt her less than walking around) and pulling herself over to him.

“Jude-- jude- jude, jude, jude--” the speakers in the room fade and fail as her scattered thoughts filter through and she scoots her hideous form right up in front of him, roughly grabbing his shoulder and shaking it to get his attention.

“Yeah? I’m looking, I’m looking, what is it?” He can’t keep the mental and physical exhaustion out of his voice, but he knows she doesn’t hear it. She’s already pressing the new toy into his hands-- it’s the steel puzzle box she gave him a while ago. He’s only gotten so far into solving it, she’s refused to help him each time he asked for a hint. “You want me to work on this?” He sighs, trying to scoot a little further away from the not-Amanda and nodding sluggishly. “Sure, okay. Fine.” That seems to appease her, and with a few more garbled  “jude”s she leans in to give him a painfully tight embrace before pulling back and going to her desk to do... whatever foul mimicry of her usual actions she’s trying this time. Maybe she’ll go play with whoever she lured here again, he could have sworn the yelling and begging sounded like Samuel that one time. Either way, she leaves him alone as he starts to work slowly at the box, managing to actually make some headway by the time his energy flags and she returns to put the rough sack over his head (apparently this is how the blighted brain understands ‘let me sleep’, instead of, oh, turning off the lights?).

The next day he works at it some more. Then a little more the next day... It’s interesting, at least. Amanda clearly put a lot of work into it, each step solved primes another lock with a different solution to any of the ones before. It’s fun, if frustratingly hard. But he keeps at it for a good few hours each day, until finally, on day whatever of his captivity-- there’s a ‘click’. The mechanism he just solved slides back and fixes itself in position, and suddenly the lid isn’t as resistant as it was. It’s open. And so, after taking a second to bask in his little victory, he opens the lid to find--

There’s a little drawstring pouch sitting inside, nestled in little space of the box. On top of it sits a little slip of paper with Amanda’s tight, hurried handwriting.

‘Jude,

You know I’m kind of shit at romantic stuff, but hopefully you can forgive me on this one. I really can’t figure out how to keep shit simple, huh?

There was a point to this, though. I’m not gonna get too depressing here, but you know how my brain is. I’m a worrier. So here we are, I guess you could call this my solution. If you’ve stuck around long enough to actually solve the box and open it to read this... I guess you must be really serious about us. So, uh... this is the part where I show that I am, too.

Love you, buddy.

--Your messed-up girlfriend’

Jude’s brow furrows as he reads. It’s sweet, and needlessly complicated-- that’s definitely not unusual for anytime Amanda ever tries to talk about her feelings-- but what is all this? Glancing at the pouch, then to the feral Blight wearing her girlfriend’s body and sitting at her workdesk, then back to the pouch. He starts to put an idea together... but it couldn’t be, right? Probably not, he’ll just check and make sure--

And he removes a simple ring. Simple, made of hammered copper, no gems or anything fancy, clearly handmade, but a ring nonetheless. A ring and some words from someone who’s not quite there right now, but clearly meant it then.

{I would write more, but I think we should leave Jude to process his feelings in peace. Hope you enjoyed this little moment.}

#[the pig speaks] #[ham radio] #midnight-radio-host #blighted amanda #{you thought I'd forgot about you sending this didn't you :3} #Anonymous

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Aladdin queen fic; John Deacon x reader Chap.1

*Author’s note*

So here we are with the first chapter of our Aladdin Queen fic, I hope everyone enjoyed the introduction but here we get to the real serious part, the introduction of our characters and a little bit of the roles each of them will play, or at least our main two characters you, and our beloved Deacy and of course Roger too :) Hopefully soon I can get around to doing the next chapter and getting more characters in but for now I hope you all enjoy these two parts and just have fun with it :)

Taglist:

@psychosupernatural

@plethora-of-things

@ixchel-9275

@waddles03

@geek-and-proud

@mexifangorl

@queendeakyy

@coolcxt

Chapter 1; Marketplace mischief and a chance encounter

___________________________________________________________

People never understand just how hard it is for us to make an honest living.  You’re always having to resort to stealing in order to get a meal, guards everywhere are always looking for an excuse to arrest someone and it doesn’t matter the gender either.  Life here in India is a struggle.

And it seemed to get more complicated especially since the kingdom that has allied itself with us, the three English Kingdoms of London, Leicester and Norfolk have come to marry off the three Princes to some of India’s well known Princesses, but every time the Princesses are denied and rejected.

Oh guess I’m getting a little too ahead of myself; the name is (y/n).  I’ve lived here in this village district of Agrabah just outside of the main capital of Calcutta.  I’ve lived on my own ever since I was about 8 years old when both my parents died of natural causes.  Both within a year of each other first my mother and then my father.

Ever since then I had to live on my wits and become street wise.  To this village I’m known either as a street mouse or cunning monkey because I can easily pick-pocket you before you can even blink.  But sometimes it does take a team effort, that’s where my trusty sidekick Abu comes into play.

He’s real charming when he needs to be which is makes him real popular with the ladies giving me the chance to swipe a necklace or bracelet in order to sell it.

Currently Abu and I were looking at some brass pots, pans, bowls, cups anything you can think of when a girl around my age came up and she asked me.

“Aww your monkey is so adorable, what’s his name?” I turned to her and answered.

“Abu.”

“And where did you find him?”

“Well…..” Abu hopped onto her shoulder and walked across it acting his playful and adorable self, keeping the girl distracted as an elder woman probably her mother came up and I reached out and grabbed the cup the woman just purchased and I said. “Ohh sorry ma’am accidentally dropped this, thank you for catching it.”

The mother grabbed her daughter as Abu leapt back onto my shoulder and I bid the two of them a good day.  However it was short lived when I noticed the mom talk to a guard and the two of them turned towards me.

“Uh-oh.” Abu then took off towards the building making his escape while I made my own.  I passed and ducked through people and hopped over carriages carrying people’s marketed goods.  I even had some people yelling at me as I would bump into them telling me to watch where I was going.

I soon met up with Abu as he hopped back onto my shoulder and the two of us jumped over a wall onto a different pathway. I adjusted my shirt and I said as I looked around for any guards.

“How’d we do Abu?” he then revealed the girl’s golden necklace.  I pocketed it away and scratched behind his head.  “Good monkey.”

We then took our findings over to Madam Azula, the local dealer for our food for the week.  Her shop was crowded with people looking for an honest trade of what they had to offer.  But as soon as she saw me, she said not even looking at me.

“Whatever it is you have stolen for me (y/n), I am not interested in!”

“Whoa, whoa what? Steal me? Never. C’mon Azula you owe me what can I get with this? It was my grandmother’s necklace.”

“I give you a bag of dates. Nothing more.”

“No Azula we both know this is at least worth three—”

“Take your bag of dates and get out of my face. Next!” People shouted at me to move and get out.  I sighed heavily and grabbed the bag she had tossed at me and walked out in a huff.

One measly bag of dates, this’ll hardly last us a day.  I reached into the small bag and pulled out a date for Abu.

“Well hard living ehh Abu?” he took the date and immediately began eating it.  I leaned up against the wall but before I could take a date out for myself, I looked down to see a mother and her two young children sitting there.

The young boy looked up at me and I immediately knew how he felt.  I turned to Abu and he just placed his meal underneath his tony fez.  I looked down at the bag and knew this wouldn’t help me but—it could help someone else.

I knelt down and handed the boy my bag and he smiled at me and took it from my hand.  I winked at him and playfully shushed at him to be quiet and then walked away.

Just because most of these people would rather live and fend for themselves, doesn’t mean that I’m willing to turn a blind eye to someone even worse off than me.  I would rather let a child eat and survive another day than to let them die when they barely got to live their lives.  I didn’t want them to go through what I went through.

*3rd Person POV*

Along the same stretch where (y/n) had disappeared off two.  Two young men in royal robes covering their faces walked through the condensed marketplace.

They definitely weren’t some of the locals because one thing they were both white skinned and if you could see through the hood, they both had long brown and blonde hair while many of the Indian people had black hair that went past their shoulders.

They walked through the markets as merchants proclaimed out their deals.

“Buy a pot! No finer pots in brass or silver!”

“Sugar dates, sugar dates and figs. Sugar dates and pistachios!”

“Excuse me sir, would you like to buy a necklace for your lovely lady friend?” the brown haired boy turned and turned to his blonde friend and the two of them shook their heads no.

“God why must everyone confuse me with a woman!?” the blonde hissed.

“To be honest Roger with your features and long blonde hair you’d make a convincing woman. Remember that time in Paris?”

“I thought I told you never to bring that up John!” the man known as Roger threatened.  “Besides you’re one to talk spaniel. Remember that Spanish princess who kept comparing you to her cocker spaniel?”

“Touché Roger.” It was then John saw a young girl around 4-5, she was covered with dust and dirt and she looked so malnourished for someone her age.  But what broke John’s heart was that no one had come to help this poor girl.

“Poor little lamb. It sickens me that some people can just ignore a hungry child like this. It’s just like back home.” Roger said. John soon took the plunge and he walked up towards her.

When she noticed a shadow standing over her, she turned around and shielded away.  John knelt down so that he wouldn’t be as intimidating to her and he removed his hood and he gave her a soft smile.

“Hello love, what’s your name?”

“Xara.”

“Xara, that’s a beautiful name. Are you hungry Xara?” She nodded shyly and John smiled warmly down at her.  He then took one of the bread rolls and gave it to her. “Here you go.” She smiled and suddenly hugged him.

John was startled at first but he accepted it and gently hugged her back before she took off running.  As John stood up, Roger came up to him and he said.

“I swear Deacy out of the three of us, you need to become a father first. You’re a natural born father.”

“Yeah, but I would rather have a child born out of love, not because of a civic duty to produce an heir.”

“C’mon I saw some fine jewelry over there.” But just before they left, the merchant running the bread cart spoke up to them seeing John merely give the bread away without paying.

“You’d better be able to pay for that.” The two men turned back towards the Indian man.  He went up to John and gripped his arm tightly and snarled, “Nobody steals from my cart!”

“I’m sorry sir, I—I don’t have any money.” John said trying to calm the man down.

“THIEF!!” the man exclaimed as he dragged John towards his cart.

“Wait hold on pal listen, if you just let us go to the palace we can get some from the kings of England!” Roger called out trying to set John free from the man’s grip.

“Keep out of this woman!” the cart owner hissed as he shoved Roger aside and two assistant workers held Roger back.  “Do you know what the penalty is for stealing!?” the merchant said to John as he slammed his arm down and raised his sword up.

“No! No please!” John pleaded.  Roger tried to get free but the two men had an iron grip on him.  Just before John thought he was about to have his arm cut off, a hand stopped the merchant in his place.

*My POV*

I had heard of a commotion going on near Jamal’s cart.  There I saw a boy around my age standing before Jamal, his arm being held down forcefully and Jamal was about to cut his arm off.

This crazy old coot was always focused on the old ways of punishment, steal his bread, lost a limb.  I quickly raced over and stopped Jamal just before he could lower his sword any further.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa Jamal calm down. He didn’t know any better I’ve been trying to teach these guys the way things are done around here.”

“You know this boy (y/n)?” I turned towards the boy as he managed to get his arm free from Jamal’s grip.

“Sadly yes. He’s my fiancé, and that is his cousin over there. They’re kinda—you know.” I twirled my finger around my head doing the crazy signal.  I heard a scoff behind me.  As Jamal freed himself from my grip and put his sword back to his hip he sneered out.

“That one claimed to know the English kings!”

“English kings? Ha! They think the monkey is the Sultan.” I laughed out gesturing towards Abu.  Abu looked at me confused and that’s when the blonde one suddenly claimed out.

“Ohhh wise Sultan!” He fell to his knees in a bow and it was then the brunette fell to his knees following his friend’s plan and he said as he too bowed before Abu.

“How may we serve thee!” Abu then chattered away almost regally as he hopped onto the brunette’s shoulder and patted on his head.

“Tragic I know Jamal, but that’s love for you.” I walked away from him and helped the blonde up first.  “Up you go cousin in law, and you my love. Time for you both to go see the Doctor again.” I had both my arms wrapped around each of their shoulders.

“What are you doing?” asked the brunette.

“Just trust me okay?” Abu then snuck something into my hand and I quickly turned towards Jamal holding a silver ring with an onyx black jewel at the center and I said. “Here for the bread payment.”

“What? No wait that’s my—”

“And an apple for your troubles Jamal, good day!”

“No! No! No I’m not leaving….”

“Come along you two.”

“No!” I dragged them both and that’s when the brunette hissed at me. “I won’t leave without my ring!”

“You mean this ring?” I said as I showed him his ring back that was now along my tall finger.

“Whoa how did you—” the blonde asked me.  But we were soon caught as Jamal cried out my name and the chatter of guards coming after us.

Play video

“Are we in trouble?” asked the brunette.

“Only if you get caught.” I said cockily. “Both of you go down that ally. Monkey knows the way.” Abu looked at me annoyed.  “Abu!” I scowled him.  He hopped onto the blonde’s shoulder and he pointed to his butt as he raspberried gesturing to them.  “You both will be fine.” They then took off and I walked on ahead grinning.

I spun around and raised my hand in the air showing off the man’s ring that I had swiped back as I exclaimed before taking off running.

“Looking for this Jamal?”

“(Y/n) you street mouse!” I heard Jamal cry out as some guards came after me.

As two guards came at me from either side of me, I slide underneath the legs of one of them and headed down towards an alley leaving the two guards to try and get back up after colliding with each other. I raced down the alley till I came to Alecia’s cart, I used her cart as extra leverage to get up onto the poles that were up a few feet.

I grinned down at the guards as they called out my name and swung from pole to pole before reaching the end.  Then using my head and my feet, I supported my body and slowly spun down till I touched down on the ground and took off running to meet up with the two boys.

All the while having a little fun with the guards, ducking under pillars, sliding down poles and jumping carts like a skillful cat while they kept crashing into things like an elephant in a china shop.

*Me*

Gotta keep one jump ahead of the breadline One swing ahead of the sword I steal only what I can't afford And that's everything

One jump ahead of the lawmen That's all, and that's no joke These guys don't appreciate I'm broke

*Guards*

Riff raff! Street rat! Scoundrel!

*Me* Take that!

I met up with the guys and pointed for them to go that way.  It was then I noticed the blonde’s dagger which I quickly swiped as I gripped onto a rope nearby.  I cut the rope which allowed the sacks of sand to plummet down while my end of the rope went up towards the building beside us.

I taunted the guys as I put the dagger away in my pouch as I leaned up against the red door of the building.  Suddenly it opened up and I rolled inside.  Turned out this was my old school that I was forced to attend for women.  I had quite a rep but that’s a different story for another time.

But let’s just say the other girls look up to me like a hero, doing things that no other Indian woman has had the courage to do, however our teacher Mrs. Dalia didn’t agree, and took every opportunity to ‘whip’ me into shape with that ruler of hers. *Me*

Try a different tac', guys

*Guards*

Rip her open 'Round the back guys

*Me* I can take a hint, gotta face the facts Could really use a friend or two

*School girls*

Oh, it's sad, (y/n)'s hit the bottom She's become a one-woman rise in crime *Teacher*

I'd blame parents, 'cept she hasn't got 'em *Me*

Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat Tell you all about it when I got the time

I dodged Mrs. Dalia’s attempts to whip my butt (and I mean that literally) as well as the guards that soon barged in. I ducked out of the window and hopped onto one of the blanket roofs allowing the guard that came after me to fall down towards the ground.  While I had bounced back into the room and stood back to back with the Captain.

The two of us spun around each other till I grabbed his dagger and held it out as I crouched along the window.  

He turned towards me but I held his own weapon against him and lunged it forward which he dodged but I leaned back and began hopping from blanket to blanket roof till I landed on top of a cart before landing right to the ground.

“You know you could’ve used the stairs right?” asked the brunette as he and his friend helped me up.

“Where’s the fun in that?” We casually walked along till we reached the street and I held my arm out till a cart came right by us and I gripped the brunette’s hand and like a whip, he and his friend followed me lead as the three of us hitched a ride down along the road.

*Me*

One jump ahead of the slowpokes One skip ahead of my doom Next time gonna use a nom de plume One jump ahead of the hitmen One hit ahead of the flock I think I'll take a stroll around the block

        We got off the cart and headed down another alleyway with the guards chasing after us.  We ducked past people before finally reaching a stairway that would lead us up to a roof. I first allowed the boys to go up first then I followed and thanks to old man Qassim for blocking our path, we were allowed some extra time.

*Guards*

Stop, thief! *Amara*

Vandal! *Me*

Abu! Scandal!

*Me*

Let's not be too hasty *Qassim*

Still I think she's rather tasty *Me*

Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat Otherwise we'd get along

*Guards*

Wrong!

As the guards began to withdraw their swords, I pushed the platform with my foot and they went falling backwards right into the flower shop.  I saluted them and I went over to the boys as I stood along a platform plank.

“Together on three.” I told them.

“Together on three.” Repeated the blonde.

“We jump.” I continued.

“We jump!?” answered the brunette in shock.

“Why are you both repeating everything I say? The pole both of you use it.” They stepped back as did I and I began to count us down.  And as I said, on three, the three of us raced towards the edge and I took the leap of faith towards the other building just below us.

I rolled along the blankets and bags and I saw the blonde land shortly beside me.

“Wait where’s your friend?” we both looked and saw that he was still standing on the roof of the previous building.

“Mate what the hell!?”

“Sorry!” he apologized.  Okay, okay now we’re gonna have to improvise since the polls long gone now.

“Here, follow my steps.” I helped him up along the roof and he climbed up as best he could while I stayed on the ground and looked towards the brunette. “Hey, look at me okay!” He turned and looked right at me. “You can do this. If he can, you can too.”

He nodded and backed up and he suddenly took off running because the guards suddenly appeared up onto the roof and just like me, he took a quick leap of faith like a black buck leaping over a creek. He rolled over along the ground and I helped him onto his feet.

“Nice leap.” I commented.

“Thanks.” He exhaled.

“C’mon onto the roof.”  His friend helped us up onto the roof and I quickly thought of another plan as a sure fire way to get them to not follow us.  I grabbed a rolled up carpet and pointed in the direction of some crates, pots and old boxes for them to hide in.

I grabbed a rope and quickly ran over the side of the building and dropped the carpet down into the shop below while I swung into the open window of the building I had just jumped off of.

*Me*

One jump ahead of the hoofbeats One hop ahead of the hump One trick ahead of disaster They're quick, but I'm much faster Here goes Better throw my hand in,

Wish me happy landin All I gotta do is jump!

*3rd Person POV*

The guards as well as some of the villagers all gathered around to see the cloud of dust erupt from the building where they thought (y/n) had fallen into.  The guards from the roof looked at each other and just walked away.

From below the people began to disburse and back on the roof John and Roger peeked out as soon as they saw the two guards leave. They looked towards the edge to see the girl’s monkey go up along the edge looking worriedly.

“Oh my god I think she’s dead.” Roger whispered. Suddenly a hand was thrown over the side of the building.  They both gasped before calming down and soon pulling herself up was (y/n) alive and unharmed.  Abu jumped in joy chattering away and that’s when (y/n) said.

“C’mon. I know a place where we can hide till all goes quiet.”

#bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagines #bohemian rhapsody movie #bohemian rhapsody imagine #bohemian rhapsody x reader #queen #queen fanfic #queen fanfiction #queen imagine #queen imagines #john deacon #John deacon imagine #john deacon imagines #john deacon x reader #joe mazzello!john deacon x reader #joe mazzello!john deacon #roger taylor #brian may #freddie mercury #aladdin #aladdin style fic #queen au #au!queen fanfic #au!queen imagine

[mikami]

Death Note Audio Drama 07

Disc 7: Double Agents  - a summary / partial translation

Prior translations / an explanation as to what the fuck this is.

Honestly, not much new happens in this part, but there is some funny banter between Matsuda and Ivor (Aiber); and between Light and L.

_______

Ivor calls Shimura under the Coil name. Coil hints that L will soon discover Yotsuba as Kira as a ‘friendly warning’ type of thing. Shimura here is extremely generic and not anxious like normal Shimura at all.

_______

TITLE MUSIC

_______

A Yotsuba meeting. They discuss hiring Misa for image girl.They also brush over Hatori’s death by saying that they assume everyone will send ‘appropriate letters of condolence’ (Shimura asks what is ‘appropriate’ in this case, but is brushed off instantly).

Takahashi seems confused and eventually brings up that he thought at least one person would speak up against the murders. (Someone: “You want to agree with an opinion that nobody actually brought up?”) Takahashi, flustered, changes track to point out that it’s strange that nobody is really talking about Hatori’s death. (Someone: “Mr. Hatori’s death is something we are all painfully aware of. Appropriate letters of condolence, like was said.”)

They then agree that Kira is the one who killed Hatori and then wonder how Kira found out that Hatori wanted out. 

_______

Matsuda wants to arrest all Yotsubas on basis of these tapes, but L points out they don’t know who of them is Kira and Soichiro points out the video is not admissible in court.

Light and Soichiro don’t want to just let the murders happen. Light thus suggests contacting Namikawa to stop them.

______

NAMIKAWA: Knew I’d find you here, Kyousuke. 

HIGUCHI: I’m a refugee. A refugee for nicotine. 

NAMIKAWA: You got fire?

Cigarette lighting noises.

HIGUCHI: Better smoke fast, we’re almost at real estate and finances.

NAMIKAWA: Takahashi finally got his job done?

HIGUCHI: He’s apparently got a few numbers. Both of us can only guess what tethers them to reality.

Phone ringing. Namikawa picks up. It’s Light as L. The deal is pretty much the same as in the manga.

______

Takahashi and Mido supported the delay in killings, as we learn in an L and Watari conversation. L suddenly directs his suspicions to Light again, after Light was the one to find Yotsuba and take initiative here.

Watari accuses L of being envious of Light’s success, but L denies this and names Light a perfect successor candidate.

______

L comes to Misa’s room, Light is already in it with Misa. Light claims he interrupted them getting comfortable as far as possible in HQ. The rest of the conversation is just about L convincing Misa to help the investigation. Highlight is Misa calling Light her ‘cuddlebunny’. 

Though it’s funny because the way the job is described, Misa just sums it up like “So.... I need to let them give me presents. Support my career. Pay me.” :)

________

Higuchi points out that Rem has been uncharacteristically quiet last meeting. They then chat about hiring Misa to find L. Higuchi figures out that Misa was the friend Rem was talking about and that she was Kira II. He then decides to marry Misa.

________

Rehearsals for Misa’s job interview. She’s bad at acting and doesn’t actually want to be an actress, just a star. Ivor and Wendy help her rehearse, especially since Ivor (as ‘John Wallace’) is also going to be one of the interviewers. Wendy and Ivor try to explain to her that she and Ivor are double agents now, leading Misa to point out Namikawa is ALSO a double agent and present. “Will there also be people who aren’t doube agents?” she asks, and in this context, honestly it feels like a legit question.

There’s going to be Ooi, Shimura and Higuchi at the meeting as well though.

________

The actual interview. Wendy and L are listening. Wendy brings up that Misa has to adjust her female charms to the desire of all the older guys specifically, to be what they want, manipulate them. L does not believe in that stuff, Wendy basically verbally eyerolls at him for it.

The interview itself is uninteresting as far as new content is concerned.

________

Wendy is still annoyed at L not understanding women. (L: “Nobody understands women.”) She explains to Light how she taught Misa to manipulate men.

________

Misa throws up from nervousness during the interview break. As she comes back out into the main room of the bathroom, Rem is waiting for her. 

________

The Yotsuba executives like Misa as an idea for an image girl. They also like that Misa can lead them to L. Higuchi mostly wants to fuck her tho.

________

Rem explains the situation to Misa. 

________

MATSUDA: Mr. Wallace. How’s the meeting with Misa Amane going? It wouldn’t have hurt to invite me to it as well. I’m her manager after all.

IVOR (whispering): Don’t talk to me!  You’re gonna blow our cover!

MATSUDA (whispering): I am Misa’s manager and you’re the guy handing her the contract. You can be pretty darn certain I’ll talk to you. 

MATSUDA (loud): Here’s my business card.

IVOR: I don’t want your card. 

MATSUDA (quiet): Oh yes you do, Ivor.

MATSUDA (very loud): Here’s my card, Mr. Wallace. I truly hope we can cooperate towards mutual benefit.

IVOR: Right. Thank you.

MATSUDA: And, what’s the current state of affairs?

IVOR: We’re interviewing your client, Mr. Matsui, and I think her chances are very good. 

MATSUDA: I actually meant the operation.

IVOR: We’ll contact you on the details later.

MATSUDA: Huh. Well, I just asked.

IVOR: Just let me do my job, man.

MATSUDA: I’m the overbearing manager. No reason to get all shirty.

IVOR: Interesting choice of words.

MATSUDA: What’s your problem with my shirt? 

IVOR: You look ridiculous.

MATSUDA: I’m adjusting to the situation. I’m the cocky media guy.

IVOR: It attracts attention. The trick is to not do that.

MATSUDA: Is that what you tried doing when you were convicted of fraud?

IVOR (furious): Do we really need to talk about this now?!

MATSUDA: I’m just saying. Now don’t forget, you’re the cool suave guy from marketing. 

IVOR (still furious): And maybe that guy also has a black belt.

MATSUDA: Oh, piss off.

IVOR: You piss off!

______

Rem continues explaining to Misa.

______

After the interview, Misa makes Matsuda drop her off at the mall (by claiming it’s a ‘woman thing’), instead of going straight back.

______

MISA’S MAILBOX MESSAGE: Hello. This is Misa-Misa. For a fun and sexy message. Here’s the beep. See you!

Misa has 5 new messages. Wendy is leaving a message for her to call. L and Light also left messages. Higuchi messages to agree on a meeting at the mall. Matsuda then calls twice to figure where the fuck Misa went now.

_______

Misa and Higuchi meet up. Misa near-immediately reveals herself as willing to date Kira.

_______

Soichiro informs Matsuda that the specific mall does sell mostly jewelry (he knows because of Sayu), which means Misa lied by implying to shop for period products. Wohoo. L is super frustrated with Misa.

_______

Misa agrees to kill Ginzo Kaneboshi to prove she’s Kira. Higuchi first has to convince her that he’s a bad person (animal testing, illegal human testing) though. Misa doesn’t even pretend to write here, which makes Higuchi wonder if she has a different Kira ability from him. Misa also dictates that Kaneboshi texts Higuchi before dying.

_______

Kaneboshi is in the opera. Rem personally shows up there to force him to write the message?? Though she has written it into the notebook as well, so really, what’s the point??

Either way, he dies as dictated.

_______

Higuchi gets the announced text, still confused Misa hasn’t written anything.

Since he doesn’t have the notebook with him and Misa doesn’t want to come to his house out of reservations that he’s up to something sexual. Thus they settle on him not killing anyone for proof.

_______

Misa shows the task force a recording of this.

_______

Higuchi confronts Rem on how Misa might have figured out he’s Kira / how she killed Kaneboshi without writing. He wants this ability too. (”What else can it be but an ability? She just says it and a madly in love god of death does her a favor??”)

________

Matsuda triumphs that they got Kira now, L points out they only know one Kira and not how he kills.

Meanwhile Wendy has placed bugs all over the building and also into the private homes of the executives. Mido, Namikawa and Higuchi have special security, which is a hindrance in her operations.

Higuchi’s house is too complicated to bug, so instead they bug his six cars.

_________

Door opening.

LIGHT: L?

L: Question: do you remember killing all those people?

LIGHT: Oh, piss off.

Door closing.

LIGHT: Go away! I’ve had enough of your paranoia!

L (muffled through door): Let me in. I’m trying to find something out.

LIGHT: Try starting with the reason nobody likes you.

L: Let me in.

LIGHT: I’m not Kira. You need to stop accusing me every time you don’t know what to do.

L: I need your intellect. You need to answer as if you were Kira.

Light sighs. Door opening.

LIGHT: What would Kira do....

L: Exactly. What would he do?

LIGHT: Alright. Let’s go through it.

L: Can you remember killing these people?

LIGHT: No.

L: Why not?

LIGHT: Because I didn’t do it, idiot. And now get out of here!

L: But... what if it was you after all?

LIGHT: It was not. 

L: Let’s just pretend it was.

They go through the idea of Light forgetting something and why now. They come to believe that Light losing his memory would have been his own decision, in case it happened. They begin thinking of the Kira skill as something like a contract with different packages. Premium (eyes) vs basic.

________

Matsuda watching TV, as L and Light approach him. They suggest the scheme of Matsuda showing up on TV together. Matsuda is creeped out by them being in sync for once. The reason they think Higuchi will recognize Matsuda immediately despite an obscured face is his.... tacky shirt.

________

Namikawa is hosting Shimura and Mido at his home, he invited them. They have a similar meeting to the manga, except in this verse Mido approached Shimura instead of the other way around.

They also assume Higuchi is Kira. Namikawa also confesses that L has contacted him and also suspects Higuchi. They agree to wait it out until L caught Kira and their troubles simply disappear.

_______

Advertisement for the TV show on Sakura TV, highly overproduced with a lot of echo effects.

_______

The task force prepares to start the scheme. It is set up the same way as in the manga.

_______

Namikawa calls Higuchi to watch Sakura TV. Higuchi tries to kill Matsuda with the fake name, then is shocked when it doesn’t work.

_______

Higuchi leaves stressed messages on Misa’s voice mail. They start of simple and friendly and then deteriorate anger and culminate in: “Start running, whore.”

_______

L and Light are amused at Higuchi’s growing despair. Everyone from Yotsuba keeps calling Higuchi about the TV program. In these phone calls Higuchi actually talks about himself with regards to killing but that’s not really addressed, so I cannot tell if it’s a writing mistake or a sign of Higuchi becoming careless.

Higuchi finally resolves to go to the studio in person. Wendy tails him on her bike. 

________

In the car, Higuchi talks to Rem. Higuchi is hell-bent on simply killing Matsuda and everyone in the TV station.

#death note #light yagami #l lawliet #kyousuke higuchi #audio drama translations

[impracticaldemon]

A Famiglia Affair ~ Fairy Tail Fanfiction (Prompt: Mafia)

by impracticaldemon for @gsut (j’espère que tu l’aimeras!) FFnet | AO3  Words: ~ 2200

~ imp edits ~

Note: This is a gift fic for a woman who is intelligent, sassy, kind to others, and above all not afraid to carpe that diem. I once promised to try my hand at writing a story for her favourite Fairy Tail pair, and this is what happened. I hope you enjoy it!

~ Impracticaldemon

A Famiglia Affair Prompt: Mafia AU [Vera’s Prompt Challenge, March 8]

It's dangerous to be the new guy in town, especially when the town's at least partly run by the mob and you haven't yet established any local cred. Hell, he still didn't know which cops were on the take and which were clean. Gajeel smiled at the thought. You'd think he'd be pissed about having to start over—again—but actually, it was good. If he didn't know them, maybe they didn't know him.

He'd run a long way this time, right across the continent. New country, new fake ID, no rep. Well, probably no rep—he hadn't had his face fixed like Lily had suggested, so it was always possible that some hero would recognize his face from studying whatever international copy the law favoured around here for keeping new bad guys off their turf. But chances were good that he wouldn't be made. Gajeel was planning to stay, and this time he wouldn't be letting down his guard for a silly little girl who dreamed of making the world—and him—a whole lot better than it was right now.

"Nope, not goin' there," he muttered aloud. "She's gone, an' so's the bastard who shot her just because she told him the truth an' he didn't like it." Too bad it was her dad; too bad she'd cared enough about him to want him to stop being an asshole.

Gajeel honestly didn't balk at much, and rarely bothered to judge the man paying him, but he had some odd notions about how people should treat each other if they were partners, or married, or family. It was one thing for a hired thug like him to beat up a woman to make a point to her husband—that was just business—but nobody should lay hands on their wife or child. The girl had told him that a person shouldn't hurt or kill other people no matter who they were, but that had never really made sense to Gajeel. To stay alive, and free to get a little fun out of life, it was best to neither trust, nor care about other people too much. And yet, for some reason, his own personal code was that if you didmake the mistake of caring about another person, or got stuck being responsible for them… well, then you did your best by them. He often wondered where that kink in his system had come from, but he wasn't a punk kid anymore, so he'd decided to just accept it and move on.

He'd more or less grown up in the mob, with only a vague memory of the metal-working father who'd loved putting turn-of-the-century cars together too much for the health of his business. When the loan sharks and their bully boys had moved in, his dad had simply moved out—without leaving a forwarding address for his kid. Such was life. The mob wasn't that bad, once he'd established that he was smart, and getting stronger every day.

Then again, his last boss—his second—had beaten his own girl to death because she was too smart, and too determined, to fill the role he'd planned for her. She'd been slipping away from him, and trying to take Gajeel with her. Since she was his kid, and Gajeel his top enforcer, there'd been no compromising. In the end, Gajeel had felt the same way about the no-compromise thing. The boss was a tough guy, but no match for Gajeel's uncanny strength and reflexes. The man's bodyguards hadn't even tried to stop him when he'd handed in his resignation by crushing his boss' throat. Gajeel had taken two bullets in the shoulder, and hadn't even noticed. He'd then cleaned out the safe and lit out, leaving Rome to burn behind him—he suspected that the carrion were still fighting over the carcass of the operation even now.

Gajeel was brought back to the present by the clatter of high heels striking the pavement behind him. He didn't react, but he did turn a little, bringing up an unlit cigarette and a lighter for camouflage. His care was in vain, though. Years spent perfecting both detachment and cynicism among some truly scary people failed to prevent his eyes from widening, or his jaw from dropping—just a fraction—and he found himself straightening abruptly to his full height.

The woman coming toward him had a body to make Michelangelo weep, and a presence like an oncoming hurricane. Her face was an alabaster mask set with ruby lips and glittering dark eyes, and crowned with two elaborate knots of silken black hair. Gajeel was a man who knew and appreciated the niceties of power and intimidation, and he felt utterly outclassed. For a moment.

With stubborn pride, he allowed his stance to relax into a slouch, and lit the cigarette. He adjusted his expression from slight shock to faintly dismissive cynicism—a mask easily donned—and saw the woman's almond eyes narrow, whether in interest or irritation he couldn't say.

She slowed as she neared, and he took note of the bodyguards a little distance behind her—just muscle, as far as he could tell, but probably packing and not to be underestimated when he didn't have back-up. His own favourite piece was in a shoulder holster under his jacket, but most of the time he didn't need to use it.

The clacking stopped; the elegantly shod feet were now level with his on the suddenly empty sidewalk. It had been moderately busy before. He approved of her perfume—soft and musky and unlike the overpowering floral stuff with which most women drenched themselves. With deliberate care, he let his eyes travel up from her classy heels to her beautiful, arrogant face, taking in her silk-stockinged legs and clinging , Schiaparelli dress on the way. Over the years, he'd learned to feign respectful admiration, and offensive lust, and all the combinations in between—this time he kept his expression neutral and his posture just the right side of insolent. He lowered the cigarette from his lips, letting the faint smoke curl around his fingers, and tipped his hat.

"Somethin' I can help you with, ma'am?"

Her eyes were somewhere between rich olive green and very dark grey, he decided. The colour probably varied along with her immaculate eye-makeup. He figured she could handle the scrutiny, since she was taking her time studying him—no doubt wondering about the tailored suit, expensive hat, and good shoes, which he knew didn't tally with his craggy face and unruly, coal black hair. He wore his hair unfashionably long, too, since he didn't like the way it bristled outward like a hedgehog when it was short.

"Maybe you can…" She'd finished her initial appraisal, and a faint smile caressed her lips. "I'd heard you're a competent man, Mr. Redfox, but the photos we had wired to us don't do you justice. Apparently you had the brains to have some savings to travel on."

Gajeel fought to keep surprise off his face at her use of his name. He reminded himself that news traveled a lot faster within the mob than it did through law enforcement channels. Plus, he'd killed his boss, which was a sure-fire way to get famous quick, though it didn't always lead to a long life—La Famiglia expected loyalty from subordinates, even if the guy you offed was the competition. Well, it was time to make an educated guess of his own, and get some good out of the dough he'd spent on information about his new home.

"Thank you for the compliments, Miss Orlando, but don't strain yourself. I came here to work, not to spend time with the ladies—especially a princess like yourself."

To a woman like this, those were fighting words. Gajeel had thought her reputation was exaggerated, but he'd changed his mind the instant he'd realized her probable identity. In his experience, Mafia princesses—the daughters of the capos—were spoiled rich girls who'd learned from a young age that as long as they were pretty, frivolous, and loyal, they could do as they pleased. The only exception had been the girl who'd died, which pretty much said it all. Until now. Miss Minerva Orlando was far beyond pretty, and she was reputed to be fanatically loyal, but she wasn't frivolous.

Her gloved hand flashed out, aimed at his cheek. He'd been expecting something and was still caught partly off-guard. There'd been no speeches, no whining, no telegraphed movements—just the slap. He would've been even more impressed by a punch to the throat, or solar plexus, but you couldn't have it all. He seized her wrist just before she connected, his own movements lethally fast and intended to impress.

"Not with me, Miss Orlando, though I concede that you're the fastest dame I've ever met."

"You're playing games with the wrong person, Mr. Redfox."

Her left hand caught him under the rib cage, and he learned an important bit of information—Minerva Orlando was strong, as well as fast. He felt the air leave his lungs, and if he'd been just a little weaker, or less experienced, he would've released her right wrist. Fortunately, he'd already seen the glint of silver against the black palm of her glove, and guessed at a hidden needle. She'd slapped him because she'd wanted to strike bare skin. Knowing that, he focussed everything on keeping a tight grip on the wrist and not doubling over.

The click of guns behind him made the situation a little dicier than he usually liked it. On the other hand, it had been a while since he'd been in a good brawl. Without warning, he yanked the brunette into his chest, and pulled in enough oxygen to speak.

"They gonna shoot through you ta get ta me, princess?" He'd meant the term derisively the first time, but suddenly realized that some part of him meant it. Though she was really more of a queen.

"They might," she responded, dismissively. "Those are Daddy's boys, not mine, and things are a bit complicated around here right now. They'll hesitate, though—isn't that nice? Anyway, I could still take you out if I wanted, but I've seen enough. I want to hire you, Mr. Redfox."

"That's goin' a little fast for me, ma'am. You were tryin' ta poison me a minute ago—still are, as far as I know." He ignored her assertion that she could still take him out.

"You weren't going to be much good to me if you'd let me connect with that little slap, and I like to clean up after myself."

Gajeel felt unexpectedly amused, though he didn't smile and didn't let go. "That's a hell of job interview, Miss Orlando—pass or die."

She shrugged. "I have no use for the weak in the first place, Mr. Redfox, and the job I have in mind for you requires strength and skill at least somewhat comparable to my own. I suggest that you accept my offer. You came here to work, so why not work for me?"

"Time ta move, your highness." Gajeel quickly moved sideways, pulling his dangerous captive with him. Behind him, he heard the muscle shout for him to stop.

"Does this mean you'll work for me?" Her voice was still perfectly composed. She wasn't struggling, he noticed.

"Maybe. Tell me where to meet you and we'll talk."

"Fine. Six o'clock tonight at The Zinc. It won't be open, but nobody will be surprised to see me—I often drop by to check on things."

"Be serious." Gajeel was still alive at thirty—that made him an old man in the hired thugs game. He wasn't going to walk into some trap a baby could see a mile away.

"Fine. You name it, I'll be there."

"Same time, sandwich place two blocks down this street. I'll buy you a coffee."

"Shall I wear Chanel or Vonnet?" she demanded ironically.

"Surprise me. And leave the boys outside—you don't need 'em."

The 'boys' in question turned into the alley at that moment, clearly ready to shoot. Gajeel decided to take off, but Minerva had other ideas. She leaned into Gajeel and pulled his head down by one ear. It was disturbing how easily she managed it. He was going to have to think about that.

"You're annoying me, Mr. Redfox," she murmured, her breath warm against his skin. "But you're the only one who survived the interview." Then she pressed a soft kiss against his lips and stepped back, glancing pointedly at her captive wrist. Over her shoulder she called, "Put those things away, children—you aren't scaring anyone here but yourselves."

Very wary—all the more so for being unexpectedly turned on—Gajeel opened his hand, and Minerva turned and walked away, back straight and head high. She paused when she reached her so-called bodyguards and gave Gajeel one last, slow, measuring look. Then she was gone, and the muscle hurried after her.

Gajeel shook his head. This was going to be interesting. He hoped he survived.

[END]

A/N: There is a sequel to this story in my head. I mean, I know what Minerva wants Gajeel to do, and roughly how that will work out and how things will work out between them. Power dynamics, a lot of steamy heat, and moments of real tenderness. Please let me know what you think of this story, which for now is a one-shot.

Tags:  @sassyhazelowl @sanguine-fairy  @miss-zei  @shell-senji  @nalufever  @canadiangaap  @eliz1369  @hakuyamazakisensei  @cherryb0mb79  @hidetheremote  @sabinasanfanfic  @strawberrysweetlove35  @ftfanfics

#fairy tail #mineel #ficsforvera #minerva orlando #gajeel redfox #mafia au #impracticaldemon #imp writes

[someobscurereference]

Would you recommend listening to critical role? I’ve been a long time fan of taz and I’ve heard a lot of people refer to it as the lesser version of taz, which I’m 99% sure is just people trash talking it because it is similar. I’d like to hear your opinion and what’s the story building like? Is it taz like where they get really invested into their characters and the plot or more pure shenanigans and random plot lines?

I’ll first preface this by saying that I only listened to like the first 10 or so episodes or Critical Role’s old campaign, not because I didn’t like it, but because there were already so many episodes out by the time I found it that it became daunting to get into. However, I’ve listened to all the episodes in the new campaign that just started (except episode 5 because I need to wait until Monday for it to come out because I didn’t catch the livestream), and with both campaigns I’ve enjoyed myself a lot. 

I’ve never heard anybody call Critical Role a lesser version of TAZ. That seems really rude and kind of senseless, actually, because they’re both D&D podcasts but they run kinda differently.

I think one of the key differences between Critical Role and TAZ is that DM Matt Mercer sticks to the rules more than Griffin did. Like that train scene in Murder on the Rockport Limited. Griffin let Travis do that and Magnus would have died if he’d made a bad role, but even though it was kinda silly and almost impossible to pull off, he let Travis do it. DM Matt from Critical Role, on the other hand, probably would have made the player do about four different rolls to see if they could manage it, and they probably would have had disadvantage on most of them because flinging yourself out a train window while the train is running super fast and then expecting to fling yourself around to the back totally uninjured is both unrealistic and dangerous. And there’s a good chance they might have failed pulling off a move so risky and died just like Griffin warned that Magnus could have. This may not sound very different from TAZ, but making sure a move like that succeeded in CR probably would have been more complicated and difficult than Griffin’s version of it. (Also, the worlds Matt uses are much less steampunk than Griffin’s. I don’t think there ever would be a train in the first place, though there are occasional airships or large boats and the like. But you get the idea.) 

In other words, the rules don’t get bent as much. This allows allows the CR campaigns to take on a kind of more realistic (though still fantasy) feel, and some actions that might not have been as weighty in TAZ are a little weightier in CR. The CR crew has to regularly pay attention to how much money they have, whether they’re doing something suspicious that will get them arrested, whether they’re a high enough level to pull something off because being a low level and really trying your luck has a strong possibility of getting you killed. Not that Matt is overly mean at all! He’s not working with the intent to kill all the players, and remaking a new character is a lot of work, so he very much doesn’t want that to happen. He really only throws events and enemies at his players that he knows they can handle, so long as they’re smart about it. So he’s not making a “Take one wrong step and you die” type of game at all! But if you don’t pay attention or get a really bad roll, there is the possibility of bringing something bad upon yourself because you chose to be risky.

There are a few home-brew elements that get brought in occasionally as well. For example, in the first campaign, one of the player’s weapons was a gun. But overall, because Matt is working within the confines and rules of what D&D allows, the world and what can happen in it is pretty understandable. You can scale up the side of the building if you want and because you’re a rogue maybe you’ll have advantage on being stealthy about it, but hey, if you fall four stories up because you get caught, that’s gonna be bad for your health. Maybe that doesn’t sound very different from TAZ at all, but I think if you listened to a few scenes of CR, the way the world and scenes feel different from that of TAZ would become clear.

I want to make it clear that any of the above is not a deterrent or negative to me at all. CR is different from the slightly looser way Griffin runs TAZ, but it’s very fun and the pictures it paints of the world is very clear. And I do mean clear! DM Matt is a brilliant storyteller, and the NPCs and the worlds he paints are very descriptive. You can very much see them in your mind’s eye. Because the DM and the players are all professional voice actors as well, the character voices are very well done too! The voices are all distinct, and you get an idea of how a character’s personality feels pretty quick. 

Again, I want to make it clear that I mention these things not because CR does these things better than TAZ in some way (or to imply that TAZ doesn’t have good storytelling or voice acting), but only to note that they are done well in a way that is different from TAZ.

Okay, on the character and story building stuff.

Just like TAZ, the CR crew get really invested in their characters. They put a lot of time and effort and feeling into them, and in the first campaign, they’d been playing those characters for quite a while before they show started. There are tears sometimes! The players are very invested in their characters and their storylines and their friends, and the idea that something bad could happen to them is treated seriously! They get torn up about it! The male players cry when they emotional occasionally too; nobody is above getting emotional or sad. On the flipside, good things are celebrated too. On particularly good roles, the whole table cheers. They laugh together. A lot of emotions are had, and the CR crew loves their characters and each other the same way the TAZ crew does. It’s a serious game, but nobody is above having fun with it. 

Though the world is a little more realistic in CR like I said, there are a lot of goofs too! The exchanges in and out of character are funny, and sometimes events go wrong in very funny ways! One time it took three characters ten minutes, two spells, and several failed attempts to open a very, very simply locked door. Sometimes characters shave each other’s faces while they sleep. Some NPCs are very eccentric. There are a couple one-off episodes where someone replaces Matt as DM or something and often those episodes are very funny too. The plotlines aren’t often too random for the sake of being random, but one-offs like that can be fun. Usually there’s some kind of goal the players are trying to reach though.

Story building is a bit different too. TAZ: Balance functioned as a “collect 7 items and save the world” type story with a plot that was clear early on. (When they met the BoB, I mean, most listeners realized it was going to function as a collect the artifacts type game.) With CR, the focus is a little more on the characters. This is not to say there are not overarching villains like TAZ, because there are, but if you listen to CR’s first campaign, you realize that some arcs are more focused on certain characters than others (Not with anyone getting ignored! Just as a result of where and when the characters are in the story. For instance, the Character A may get a bit more of a focus if they’re near Character A’s hometown, but that’s just for the arc plot. Everybody else is getting attention too.)

All the characters in CR have a type of backstory that haunts them or a goal they are trying to achieve, so when I say “character arc”, I mean the arc is then shaped around helping that character fulfill that desire. Usually through a lot of fighting, because nothing is ever easy. But it becomes less “gotta collect this item and save the world” and more “I’m going to kill the monsters that murdered my family and live on our land” or “I’m going to prove to my clan that I’m worthy of succeeding my mother as leader.” Things like that. And then there are less character focused arcs in between! It’s not always “time for Vex’s story” or “Time for Grog’s story.” There are times where it’s like, hey. There’s a dragon. Or a swamp monster. Or for some reason the children and elderly in this village are going missing. Time to solve this mystery and save these people or unravel a bigger mystery behind it. So it varies a lot too! 

The episodes are very long and there are a lot of them, so the story can sometimes move a little slower than you’re used to in TAZ. That’s something to keep in mind too. But it’s also a benefit if you’re interested in stories being very detailed and fleshed out as well.

If you’re interested in listening or watching at all, the new campaign just started! It takes place about 20 years after the first campaign and on another continent as well, so new listeners have an easy time of jumping in. New characters too! Episodes livestream on Geek and Sundry website on Thursdays, and archived episodes appear on Monday on YouTube. I think they appear in podcast form at that same time too, but you may want to look that up to be sure. The first episode of the new campaign is on YT here. The last campaign is fully archived in video and podcast format!

tl;dr Like TAZ, CR has some goofs, a lot of character building, a lot of world building, and really interesting stories are told. CR goes about these things differently than TAZ and is thematically different as well, but so long as you can enjoy a good story and aren’t too worried about all the D&D podcasts you listen to being told the exact same way, you’ll probably have a good time with it! The episodes are longer than TAZ’s for sure, but it’s easy to listen on the go or play in the background while you do other work. 

tl:dr 2: I would definitely recommend giving it a try! Maybe listen to the first episode of the new campaign first to see if you can get into that sort of style (because everyone has new characters and so they’re learning again just like you), and then maybe go back to the first campaign if you like it! And if you don’t like it in the end, that’s okay too. Some things appeal to different people.

I hope this helps!

#my text #asks #taz #critical role #long post

[orbemnews]

Heads Up! A Used Chinese Rocket Is Tumbling Back to Earth This Weekend. No, you are almost certainly not going to be hit by a 10-story, 23-ton piece of a rocket hurtling back to Earth. That said, the chances are not zero. Part of China’s largest rocket, the Long March 5B, is tumbling out of control in orbit after launching a section of the country’s new space station last week. The rocket is expected to fall to Earth in what is called “an uncontrolled re-entry” sometime on Saturday or Sunday. Whether it splashes harmlessly in the ocean or impacts land where people live, why China’s space program let this happen — again — remains unclear. And given China’s planned schedule of launches, more such uncontrolled rocket re-entries in the years to come are possible. The country’s space program has executed a series of major achievements in spaceflight in the past six months, including returning rocks from the moon and putting a spacecraft in orbit around Mars. Yet it continues to create danger, however small, for people all over the planet by failing to control the paths of rockets it launches. “I think it’s negligent of them,” said Jonathan McDowell, an astrophysicist at the Center for Astrophysics in Cambridge, Mass., who tracks the comings and goings of objects in space. “I think it’s irresponsible.” The piece that will be dropping out of the sky somewhere is the core booster stage of the Long March 5B, which was designed to lift the big, heavy pieces of the space station. For most rockets, the lower stages usually drop back to Earth immediately after launch. Upper stages that reach orbit usually fire the engine again after releasing their payloads, guiding them toward re-entry in an unoccupied area like the middle of an ocean. Over the past three decades, only China has lifted rocket stages this big to orbit and left them to fall somewhere at random, Dr. McDowell said. For the Long March 5B booster, that could be anywhere between 41.5 degrees north latitude and 41.5 degrees south latitude. That means Chicago, located a fraction of a degree farther north, is safe, but major cities like New York could be hit by debris. At present, the Aerospace Corporation, a nonprofit largely financed by the federal government that performs research and analysis, predicts re-entry will occur on Saturday evening Eastern time. If that is accurate, the debris will shower down over the Indian Ocean, off the coast of Australia. “That looks like it would be a good time to come in,” Ted J. Muelhaupt, principal director of Aerospace’s Center for Orbital and Re-entry Debris Studies. If the re-entry occurs a little later, there is still little danger to people on the ground as much of that orbit passes over a large swath of the Pacific. But Mr. Muelhaupt noted, “I was talking to someone in Australia who’s not quite so confident about that.” That prediction is far from certain. It depends, for instance, on the sun. A rise in the intensity of the solar wind — charged particles spewed out by the sun — would puff out Earth’s atmosphere, increasing atmospheric drag on the rocket booster and speeding its fall. The tumbling of the rocket stage also complicates calculations. The United States Space Command and Russia’s space agency are both tracking the rocket core. The Russian statement noted that the re-entry would not “affect the territory of the Russian Federation.” The Space Command promised regular updates ahead of a potential re-entry. Because the booster is traveling at 18,000 miles per hour, a change of minutes shifts the debris by hundreds or thousands of miles. It is only a few hours before re-entry that the predictions become more precise. “It’s an engineering decision based on probabilities,” Dr. McDowell said. He said the Chinese engineers could have designed the trajectory to remain suborbital, falling back to Earth right after launch, or they could have planned an additional engine firing to drop it out of orbit in a way that posed no possible danger. “It’s not a trivial thing to design something for a deliberate re-entry, but it’s nevertheless something that the world as a whole has moved to because we needed to,” Mr. Muelhaupt said. China plans many more launches in the coming months as it completes construction of the country’s third space station, called Tiangong, or “heavenly palace.” That will require additional flights of the mammoth rocket and the possibility of more uncontrolled re-entries that people on the ground will watch nervously, even if the risk from any single rocket stage is tiny. “It’s in the shared interests of all nations to act responsibly in space to ensure the safety, stability, security and long-term sustainability of outer space activities,” Jen Psaki, the White House press secretary, said on Wednesday, adding that the United States hoped to promote “responsible space behaviors.” Falling debris has long bedeviled spaceflight. In March, a rocket stage from a SpaceX Falcon 9 lit up the night skies over Seattle and later dropped debris over a farm in Washington State when a planned firing of the engine of the second stage to bring it down safely did not occur as planned. China, by contrast, has a long history of letting pieces of its space equipment come down where they may. Rockets from one of China’s principal launch sites, the Xichang Satellite Launch Center in Sichuan Province, routinely fell on rural areas downrange, occasionally causing damage. China has since moved many of its launches, including last week’s, to a new site in Wenchang, a city on Hainan, an island off the southeastern coast. From there rocket stages can fall harmlessly into the sea. In this case, though, the rocket core that carried the module for China’s new space station also made it into orbit and has since been slowly dragged back toward Earth’s atmosphere. Last year, the first launch of a Long March 5B rocket lifted a prototype of China’s crewed space capsule. The booster from that rocket also made an uncontrolled re-entry, with some debris raining down on a village in the Ivory Coast. That prompted a rebuke from the administrator of NASA at the time, Jim Bridenstine. “It could have been extremely dangerous,” he said. “We’re really fortunate in the sense that it doesn’t appear to have hurt anybody.” China’s first space station, called Tiangong-1 and launched in 2011, also fell back to Earth in an uncontrolled descent in 2018 before ultimately crashing harmlessly in the South Pacific. The following year, China’s space administration successfully steered the second station out of orbit and into the Pacific. The booster stage this time is by itself more than twice as massive as the first two Tiangong space stations. The United States, too, struggled during its first space station’s return to Earth. Skylab, which operated in 1973 and 1974, broke up as NASA scientists tried to guide its descent in 1979. The 77-ton station mostly broke up over the Indian Ocean, but debris scattered across Western Australia. President Carter apologized. In 2011, the Upper Atmosphere Research Satellite, or UARS, a defunct NASA satellite about the size of a school bus, also fell back to Earth. NASA calculated a 1-in-3,200 chance that UARS, a bit smaller than Tiangong-1 or Tiangong-2, would hurt anyone on the ground. Dr. McDowell said he thought the threat posed by the Long March 5B booster debris was likely comparable — unlikely but high enough to be of concern. Because the Chinese have not provided design details of the rocket, it is hard to predict how much material will reach the surface. Mr. Muelhaupt said it could be 10 tons spread over hundreds of miles. “Think about three pickup trucks’ worth of debris,” he said. The largest cascade of space debris onto the surface occurred when the space shuttle Columbia disintegrated over Texas in 2003 as it re-entered the atmosphere en route to a landing in Florida. The seven astronauts aboard died, but no one on the ground was hurt as 85,000 pounds of debris fell on sparsely populated areas. But had the disaster occurred a few minutes earlier, heavy pieces of the spacecraft like the engines could have hit the ground near Dallas at hundreds of miles per hour. China’s new space station is intended as an alternative to the International Space Station. The current orbiting outpost, jointly built by NASA, Russia and other partners, has kept humans continually in space for more than two decades now. But Chinese astronauts have been excluded by a U.S. law prohibiting cooperation with China in space. After the launch of what will be the station’s main living quarters on April 29, China’s leader, Xi Jinping, called it “an important pilot project in the building of a powerful nation in both technology and space,” according to the state television network, CCTV. Chinese space officials have not publicly addressed the uncontrolled re-entry since then, despite attention and worry around the world. The Global Times, a newspaper controlled by the Chinese Communist Party, on Wednesday quoted scientists and experts saying that there was little danger and that the space administration had “carefully considered” the prospect of falling debris. The newspaper, which often reflects the views of more hawkish officials, said the concern and criticism reflected Western efforts to discredit China’s space program. More launches of the Long March 5B are coming, and unless there is a change to how China operates it, the odds that someone will be hurt by a piece of a falling booster will grow. “The odds that you will win the lottery today are tiny — and I bet my paycheck that you won’t — but the odds that nobody wins the lottery is a whole different bet,” Mr. Muelhaupt said. “And that’s the thing. The risk to an individual is minuscule. But the risk to all individuals is not.” Last week’s launch was the first of 11 planned over the next year and a half to erect the Tiangong. In June, three astronauts could fly to the station aboard a Shenzhou spacecraft, which would be China’s first crewed mission since 2016. If all goes as planned, the space station will be fully up and running by the end of 2022. Qiqing Lin and Claire Fu contributed research. Source link Orbem News #Chinese #Earth #heads #rocket #tumbling #Weekend

[aion-rsa]

Jacob’s Ladder: How LSD, Tibetan Buddhism and Tim Robbins Combined to Create a Cult Classic

https://ift.tt/2IoUKpW

Screenwriter Bruce Joel Rubin still recalls one viewer’s reaction to Jacob’s Ladder.  

“I was stood outside the theatre on the very first day it opened in LA, waiting for the crowds to come out to see how they responded,” Rubin recalls. “As the credits started rolling this guy ran out, probably five feet from me, and yelled at nobody in particular: ‘If I ever meet the guy that wrote that movie, I’ll kill him.’”  

It was  an extraordinary reaction but, then again, Jacob’s Ladder is an extraordinary movie.  

Released on November 2, 1990, the film was only a modest success at the box office, debuting at number one in the US before being knocked off the top spot by Child’s Play 2 just a week later.  But while plastic dolls reigned supreme on the big screen, Jacob’s Ladder would have its day on home video, where it garnered a cult following in the decades that followed. 

It wasn’t difficult to see why; Jacob’s Ladder was the perfect film for the burgeoning format, a multi-layered tale both thematically complex and utterly terrifying. While the film’s main scares were worthy of pausing and rewinding, the fact was that Jacob’s Ladder demanded multiple viewings.

For director Adrian Lyne, that proved crucial to the film’s enduring popularity.

“You probably needed to see the movie twice to sort of understand it. You probably would’ve enjoyed it better the second time,” he told ComingSoon.

Not that his remarks were meant as a criticism – there was just a lot to unpack, in particular that ending.

Set in a grimy 1970s New York, the film ostensibly follows the story of Jacob Singer, a postal worker haunted by his experiences in Vietnam and the death of his young son (an uncredited Macaulay Culkin). Jacob’s damaged existence is shattered further when he becomes increasingly plagued by vivid hallucinations of demon-like creatures and otherworldly realms.

Divorced and living with girlfriend Jezzie (Elizabeth Peña), as Jacob journeys further down the rabbit hole he learns he and his fellow G.I.’s may have been test subjects for an experimental drug known as Jacob’s Ladder.  However, with his haunting visions intensifying, Jacob soon finds himself caught between questioning the very basis of his existence and desperately seeking the truth of his condition with the help of his chiropractor Louie (Danny Aiello).

Featuring standout supporting turns from Peña and Aiello, Jacob’s Ladder is notable for handing Tim Robbins his first major dramatic role. Up until that point Robbins had been better known for comedic turns in films like Tapeheads, Bull Durham, and Howard The Duck. The role of Jacob Singer arguably changed his life.

Yet what makes the movie so unique is that while it is both thriller and psychological horror, Jacob’s Ladder ultimately transcends both to emerge as something spiritual and transformative. It’s in the final denouement that audiences discover everything they have been watching has been playing out in Jacob’s imagination as he lies dying in a makeshift Vietnam hospital (something hinted at in a series of brief flashbacks).

A metaphysical trip of a movie, the idea for Jacob’s Ladder was born out of an altogether different kind of trip Rubin went on while studying screenwriting alongside the likes of Martin Scorsese and Brian De Palma at NYU.

“I guess the seed formed for most of my writing during an LSD trip in 1965,” he tells Den of Geek. “My roommate at the time was a very good friend of Timothy Leary [an American psychologist and writer known for his strong advocacy of psychedelic drugs] and he gave me a tablet of LSD. He said it was strong and that I should take it whenever I felt it was right. So I kept it in my wallet for about six months.”

The day eventually came. 

“The day I decided to take it, a man arrived at our apartment,” Rubin says. “He was bringing a jar of lysergic acid (pure liquid LSD) with him from some laboratories in Switzerland. He asked if he could leave it in our refrigerator before going up to Millbrook, New York, which is where Leary and his guys were all devoting their time to ‘experimentation’.”   

Rubin’s trip began with a common mistake many have made with hallucinogens.

“That night I took the tablet that had been sitting in my wallet and nothing happened,” he says. “My roommate said, ‘well, we have  this pure lysergic acid sitting in the refrigerator, why don’t I get an eyedropper and I’ll give you a drop?’ I said ‘OK’. So he went to give me a drop from the eyedropper and by mistake squeezed thousands of micrograms of LSD down my throat.”    

The subsequent LSD trip Rubin experienced changed his outlook on life, death and spirituality.

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“What came out of that was a mystical experience so profound, but I could find nothing in Western teaching that talked about it,” he says. “But I did find teachings in Eastern religions like Tibetan Buddhism. I decided that I needed to go to places like India and Nepal and meet with teachers to get an understanding of what it was that happened because I entered a world  so much bigger than the world we know experientially, so much more vast and internal, if you will, that I needed some direction.”

Despite bagging a job as an assistant film editor with NBC upon graduation, Rubin had been changed by his LSD experience. Ditching the job, he spent time in Greece before hitchhiking through Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan en route to the east and further enlightenment.

Rubin spent time in ashrams in India, a Tibetan monastery in Kathmandu, a Buddhist temple in Bangkok, and a Sikh temple in Singapore as part of a journey that saw him encounter multiple faiths and cultures.

Yet it wasn’t until he returned to New York and met Albert Rudolph, aka Swami Rudrananda, a spiritual teacher who specialised in yoga and meditation, that he began to find the answers he sought.

A jobbing writer in Hollywood, the idea for Jacob’s Ladder came to him one night in a nightmare that began on a near-deserted late night New York subway train.

“I had a dream where I get off the train and end up trapped in a subway station with no exits,” he says. “I realize the only way out is down through the dark tunnel of the subway into some kind of awful hell. But I have to make that journey, because ultimately it’s the journey to my own liberation.”

From there Rubin began to piece together the film’s plot, recalling an Ambrose Bierce short story that had a profound impact on him.

“I had this recollection of  ‘An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge’ which is the story of what goes on in the mind of a man who’s about to be hung,” he says. “He imagines the rope snaps and he get away. He meets a woman and he’s been running back to find her and just as they embrace he feels a huge pull on his neck and he’s hung off the bridge.”

Rubin was fascinated by the idea of a film that fused that narrative with the Tibetan Book of the Dead and the concept of an after-death experience that offers an individual the chance to achieve peace and closure with what they leave behind.

“It’s the idea of what happens inside the mind of a man as he dies,” he says. “Working out all the things they never addressed when they were alive. It is a confusing, complicated state of consciousness. Time is subjective, so that years could be experienced in a matter of milliseconds. Rather than running away from the problem, it’s about embracing it. For Jacob, that moment comes with his son. He learns that it’s only though the biggest losses and the greatest pain and the most broken heart, that you discover your way to liberation.”

Rubin began work as far back as 1980 on the script for Jacob’s Ladder and even began working on the initial treatment for another film, which would go on to become the Oscar-winning Patrick Swayze favourite Ghost.

“Both films shared a certain kind of storytelling idea, one being more frightening and more horror and the other something more popularized,” he says. “But both were trying to convey this idea that death is not what you think is.”

However, after moving his family to LA to focus on becoming a successful screenwriter, Rubin was dumped by his agent, who told him his work was “too metaphysical and nobody wanted to make movies about ghosts.”

His fortunes would soon change though when the script for Jacob’s Ladder was named on a list published by American Film magazine of the best unproduced scripts in Hollywood.

It was in good company alongside the scripts for films like The Princess Bride and Total Recall with the article stating how it was “one of the very few screenplays. . . with the power to consistently raise hackles in broad daylight.”

Even so, it would take a few more years to get Jacob’s Ladder off the ground with Rubin determined to stay as true to his original script as possible. That required a significant budget and a director with a significant amount of commercial clout.

Ridley Scott, Michael Apted, and Sidney Lumet all expressed an interest but it was Lyne who took a leap of faith describing it as “one of the best scripts I’ve ever read”.

It proved a shrewd move for all involved with Lyne turning down the chance to adapt Tom Wolfe’s satirical novel The Bonfire of the Vanities in favor of Jacob’s Ladder.

“He’s a great artist. He brought a great vision,” Rubin says of Lyne. “If he hadn’t made Fatal Attraction before, it probably wouldn’t have gotten the green light.”

Meanwhile Rubin’s old NYU friend, De Palma, would go on to direct what became one of the most notorious flops in movie history with Bonfire of the Vanities.

With Jacob’s Ladder, Lyne sought to move away from the old testament-like demons that torment Jacob  in the original script, preferring something that would further blur the line between dream and reality.

“He didn’t want the spiritual iconography, horns and tails and things like that, that represent demons and angels, wings and things,” Rubin says. “Instead he wanted to play around with nodules and growths coming out of people’s heads. Some kind of human and disturbing. It sounded great and ended up being quite terrifying. Characters could be both demonic and human at the same time.”   

Read more

Movies

How Arachnophobia Became the Perfect Creepy Crawly Horror Comedy

By Jack Beresford

Another area they disagreed on was the film’s ending. Rubin originally envisioned a more Biblical conclusion in which Jacob was set on fire by girlfriend Jezzie before ascending to Heaven on the Jacob’s Ladder that features in the book of Genesis.

“Jacob would be burned to a crisp. Louie the chiropractor (Aiello) finds him and comes over to this shell of a person and he looks at this ash in the form of Jacob and then Jacob’s eyes open,” he says. “And Louie says ‘Jacob your body can’t hold you anymore’ and  pulls at the ash surrounding him and beams of light pour out and you realise he is nothing but light. Then he starts walking up the ladder and disappears. That was the original version. I don’t know if it’s any better, but I always loved it and it never got made. But, you know, in Hollywood you rarely get to see the movie you wrote.”

Opting against any post-production special effects, Lyne preferred to offer only glimpses of the horrors Jacob faces, flashes and disturbing moments inspired by the art of Francis Bacon and H.R. Giger and the photography of Diane Arbus and Joel-Peter Witkin and filmed against the backdrop of a Gothic-tinged vision of New York that chimed with Rubin’s script.

Lyne’s eye for experimentation and “less is more approach” proved crucial in shaping the nightmare world of Jacob’s reality. In one neat bit of camera trickery, actors were recorded shaking their head at a low frame rate which, when played back in fast motion, created the nightmarish faceless vibrating figures that feature in the film. Lyne further hinted at the film’s shock ending by having helicopter sounds played over the effect.

For all the visuals deployed, the film might have fallen flat without Robbins’s affecting performance. Coming several years before The Shawshank Redemption, the casting represented a gamble for all involved, given Robbins’s status as a comedic supporting star up until that point.

Handed the role after first choice Tom Hanks opted to star in the regrettable Bonfire of the Vanities, Robbins was determined to make the most of his opportunity.

“I’m always looking for something that takes a left turn, and this was a great opportunity to go in a different direction,” Robbins told the New York Times. “I love doing comedy, but I know I can do other things as well.”

Even so, Rubin recalls that Robbins took a little convincing, having taken a fancy to the other film he was working on at the time.

“He didn’t want to do Jacob’s Ladder. Tim wanted to star in Ghost but he was the wrong kind of actor. He was perfect for Jacob’s Ladder. It took a lot of convincing to get him to say yes to Jacob’s Ladder but I think now he’s happy that he did it.”

Read more

Movies

Katharine Isabelle on How Ginger Snaps Explored the Horror of Womanhood

By Rosie Fletcher

30 years on, Robbins can have few regrets about starring in the film, which continues to find new fans and spark repeated viewings and debate among fans thanks to that unique ending which not only served up a major twist but, with it, a sense of awakening to the idea of a plain of existence beyond the mortal coil.

“I think it’s the fact that you don’t know what’s going on. You’re scared,” Rubin says. “What’s happening makes no sense. The fact that you’re so engaged by Jacob’s relationship with Jezzie to then discover that he has a wife and children. Then having no idea how these things come together and seeing snippets of these scenes of Vietnam.  In your mind, you are watching the film knowing something is drastically wrong and wanting to resolve it. And then in the final moments, they pronounce him dead and there’s this kind of shock of ‘oh my God, that was the answer’. It’s designed to be a big wake up call.”

The screenwriter also finds it fitting that many come to the film in much the same way he came to the idea back in 1965.

“I have heard it’s a rite of passage for sophomores in some US colleges to get stoned often for the first time – or, you know, not the first time – and watch Jacob’s Ladder,” he says. “It’s like the perfect stoner movie, it really is, because getting stoned is like a little glimpse into LSD. Marijuana is a kindergarten step into the graduate degree of LSD.”

Ghost may have ended up bagging Rubin the Oscar for best original screenplay but he’ll always have a soft spot for Jacob’s Ladder.

“I remain very proud of it and I think without Adrian Lyne directing it would never have been what it is,” Rubin says. “So many films just disappear into the ether. But certain films stay with you. Jacob’s Ladder speaks to the human condition. I tried very hard to make movies that offered different perspectives. There’s a lot to talk about in their world and it’s hard to get Hollywood to make those movies. I’m very grateful. I got to speak to the world.”

The post Jacob’s Ladder: How LSD, Tibetan Buddhism and Tim Robbins Combined to Create a Cult Classic appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/32uTBDV

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[randomidiocyncrazies]

Future Foundation: Danganronpa -IF-

lmao i’m wading back into the Danganronpa fandom after literal years, and i just crave fic of the DR1 kids interacting with Future Foundation after the events of Danganronpa IF? I kinda assume they get picked up by the FF shortly after getting out? iirc Kizakura was in a squad on the front lines trying to rescue them. idk if ppl would know to mount a rescue at HPA w/o the killing game actually happening, but since Jin Kirigiri still gets executed I think a rescue attempt makes sense.

(this follows Mukuro’s characterization from Danganronpa IF, in which she’s a lot more sympathetic than her portrayal in DR3. spoilers for Danganronpa, Danganronpa IF, and Danganronpa 3)

So since FF was camped out near Hope's Peak, Mukuro would have to run before she gets apprehended by the FF—like sure, she’s prepared to accept her punishment for causing The Tragedy, but she also wants to take Junko down with her own hands...  and the FF radical faction will definitely execute her w/o a trial on the spot if they get a hold of her, especially since she’s dressed up as Junko. 

Even if FF agents believe she’s not actually Junko, since Yukizome’s still brainwashed, the manipulation of Munakata (and by extension Sakakura, not that he needs much encouragement) to take extreme violent action will be a major obstacle here. As much as I want drama between the class 74 trio and class 78 regarding Mukuro’s possible fate, I think reasons for Mukuro’s capture instead of immediate death are pretty weak? I’d wager that even the moderate faction in FF thinks she should be killed immediately, being the former right-hand woman to the mastermind thus too dangerous to keep alive. (Again: SHE’S DRESSED UP AS JUNKO WHEN THEY LEAVE THE SCHOOL.) In order to take Junko down in what was implied to be a mutually assured destruction maneuver, Mukuro probably separates from class 78 immediately after leaving the school grounds and stalks keeps an eye on them from a distance, Naegi especially, between working out a plan to confront Junko.

(like, i guess class 78/the moderates could argue that as Junko’s right-hand woman, Mukuro has insight into the mastermind’s plans that nobody else has? but I’m not sure if the radical faction is willing to listen, esp since there’s no way to ensure she’s not feeding them false info... maybe a combination of Kimura’s truth serum and the reassurance from the moderates that she’ll be executed as soon as they got the necessary info out of her would stay the radical faction’s hand for now???  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

I can see Yukizome letting Mukuro go if FF has custody of her, assuming she thinks Mukuro is still loyal to Ultimate Despair and foiling the class 78 killing game is part of a long con, with the added benefit of pushing Munakata further along an extremist stance and further destabilizing FF leadership. if she thinks Mukuro had truly defected to the side of hope, i think she’d 1) try to kill Mukuro, or more likely 2) commit suicide/grievous self-harm and frame Mukuro for it, thus ensuring Munakata & Sakakura would devote their resources to wipe out Mukuro and anyone associated with her. Also, independent of what Yukizome planned, Sakakura would want the job of personally ending Mukuro, but he’d be fine with waiting until her interrogation is complete as long as that’s what Munakata wants.)

OKAY YOU KNOW WHAT, the potential interaction between Mukuro & Yukizome was too good to pass up, considering Mukuro was the one who helped brainwashed Yukizome into Despair in the first place... if there’s a way for Yukizometo be saved and cured of brainwashing, it’d probably have to come from Mukuro, since there’s no reason to suspect Yukizome otherwise (which means she wouldn’t get found out/cured). does Munakata change his tune re: rehabilitation once Yukizome was proven to be a Remnant? or does he break from the knowledge that he never once suspected the woman he loves is an agent of Despair (the real Yukizome essentially ‘died’ ~a year ago, the thing wearing her body is, for all purposes, a stranger)? For Sakakura, he has to contend with the fact that he didn’t notice anything wrong with one of his (very few) best friends, and he’d see it as his fault that the real Chisa is ‘gone’, b/c he let Junko go (nevermind that Junko would’ve killed/brainwashed him and/or Munakata instead if he refused to comply)

like, Yukizome had only been brainwashed for a little more than a year (2 years at most) by this point, so she had less time to manipulate Munakata and Tengen, and Munakata seemed fairly reasonable in Despair Arc... so maybe it won’t be that hard to convince him to give the Neo World Program a try, as an attempt to cure her. (on the other hand, think of all the drama if Munakata snapped and decides that Yukizome must die since she’s an agent of Despair, regardless of how she got that way, and Sakakura is visibly conflicted about this order because there’s hope for rehabilitation, but ultimately moves in for the kill as per Munakata’s orders... the class 74 trio makes me sad haha)

(either way Mukuro does not make it out of this version of events alive, if she’s apprehended by FF—best scenario she takes out Junko and goes down with her, but she’s more likely executed by FF for crimes against humanity after her interrogation, or killed by individuals bearing a grudge. i guess there’s a version of this where FF believes she had atoned sufficiently to warrant life-long imprisonment instead of execution, so she has a chance of survival, but it’s a very very very long shot imo. Best way to make sure Mukuro remains in play is to have her leave class 78 before they encounter FF.)

Now for the other DR1 kids...

the IF timeline had Makoto regain his memories and tell the others, but Kirigiri’s memories were tampered with even more extensively than the rest, though at least Mukuro had told her what her talent is—Kizakura has to deal with the realization that Kyouko 1) is still angry at her father because their reconciliation had been wiped from her memory and 2) she has no idea who Kizakura is. I think Kirigiri would join the FF and work in Kizakura’s branch at his insistence so he can keep and eye on her for Jin, eventually winding up in the special investigations unit under Sakakura (lmao). 

(on a happier note, at least the DR1 kids and FF know it’s possible to regain their memories—maybe a variation of the Neo World Program could help with that too? kinda slow going since they don’t have Matsuda’s knowledge tho)

Assuming all the DR1 kids join up with the Future Foundation (FF would actively try to recruit them, both because they’re symbols of hope but also because they want to keep an eye on them to find out more about the mastermind): 

Naegi: since he’s the one who regained his memory and convinced Mukuro to switch sides, he’d be a person of interest for sure. the conflict between him and the radical faction is on some level still about their methods and ideologies about hope, but there’s also the fact that they find him incredibly suspicious (esp with Yukizome’s subtle encouragement). Why is he the only one who regained his memories? How did he convince Mukuro, the second-in-command, to betray Junko? How do they know he’s not Junko’s spy, etc etc. most likely in FF custody as an intern, assigned to 14th division (public relations) after he’s been thoroughly vetted

Ishimaru: enthusiastic to join, because helping to restore peace and order is 100% his thing! likely to be assigned to 2nd division (day-to-day operations of FF, peacekeeping, facilities etc) imo. the one to deal with Mondo for facility plans. his goal is to get into the 1st division (overall direction and leadership of FF)

Fukawa: extremely reluctant, and it didn’t take long for FF to discover Syo, which complicates matters. she’s technically in FF custody as an intern because of Syo’s unpredictability and the danger she presents. as Fukawa she would’ve been placed in the 10th division (education and culture revival), but as Syo she’s most likely involved as a field agent for 14th or tester for the 9th (weapons R&D)

Sayaka: initially only joins up because FF promised to help her look for her idol friends and keep them safe, tho she later sees her position as an important one to bring hope and happiness to people (which was part of her goal to be an idol). assigned to the 14th division and involved in certain projects from the 10th as well

Leon: i think he’s a little reluctant in the beginning. probably requests to be assigned to the 14th with Sayaka—because the division more or less serves as the public face of FF for the general populace (path to achieving stardom/popularity), and he wants to protect Sayaka (tho i can see it being awkward when she confesses to plotting his murder in the killing game), plus his athleticism could come in handy for field missions imo. if his relationship with Sayaka is too strained following her confession, I can also see him in a division that interacts with the general populace like the 13th (front-line aid and relief)

Yamada: the relative security and prestige of being in FF appeals to him. assigned to the 10th division due to his extensive knowledge in different entertainment media. clashes with Mitarai on individual opinions, but they have similar worldviews and are in sync with each other when push comes to shove

Asahina: given her personality i think she’d be eager to help rebuilding the world. probably joins the 13th division like in canon, and worries about Sakura (who’s in the 6th and encounters supporters of Despair often).

Chihiro: would be willing to join, especially once they know how much their expertise could help the world, and especially if approached by Gekkougahara to help class 78 regain their memories via another take on the Neo World Program. there’s also the mystery of why Monokuma’s system looks like their work... 7th division (tech & software security and development) is perfect for them

Kirigiri: as mentioned above, i think began her career under Kizakura in 3rd division (HR and recruitment) but joins 6th division (policing, investigative force) in the special investigations unit afterwards. she’d be interested to join FF and conduct her own investigations pretty much right off the bat imo. 

Mondo: reluctant, but willing to join if FF can locate the Crazy Diamonds/keep them safe. assigned to the 6th for his brawling skills and willingness to engage in violence, but later requests to be placed in 12th division (infrastructure restoration) because he’s tired of destroying shit, and it’s a huge problem for him when he had to go up against female Remnants/despair junkies during his time with the 6th. the one who primarily deals with Ishimaru when 12th and 2nd division interact for plans to expand FF facilities

Sakura: assuming Monokuma already approached her to be the mole before the DR1 kids escaped in IF, she’d want to tell the FF what she knows about the mastermind and make up for accepting the offer back then. probably joins 6th division (specifically, the policing unit) under Sakakura (y’know how Sakakura loathes Naegi for being the one to defeat Junko in canon? he’s probably envious of Sakura for ultimately being able to defy her while he couldn’t. but because Junko is still alive as a target to be taken down here, i think don’t he's quite as resentful of Sakura, tho still incredibly petty. also i just think the Sakakura-Sakura connection of being physical powerhouses who were blackmailed by the big bad really neat! both also had/have difficulty with romantic love—Sakura thought it was embarrassing for her as a fighter to have tender feelings before her LI convinced her otherwise, while Sakakura is dealing with homophobia and the fact that the guy he’s in love with is already involved with his other best friend, who he cares a lot about as well)

Togami: I can see him joining in order to use FF resources to rebuild the Togami conglomerate after he finds out it had been taken over + destroyed by the impostor, so from Togami’s PoV it’s a business arrangement. most likely joins 14th (like Sayaka he knows how to work a crowd) but i can see him in 3rd as well, though probably not when they need to make nice with potential recruits

Hagakure: he’d stay as long as it looks like FF is the safest place to be... assigned to 14th, same as canon?

Celes: being a member of FF comes with its own prestige, but even then it takes a lot of negotiation to convince her to stay. I think she’d be intrigued by the 5th division (intelligence and espionage), which puts her in contact with brainwashed!Branch leader Yukizome... 

#danganronpa #danganronpa 3 #dangan ronpa #dangan ronpa 3 #DR spoilers #DR3 spoilers #DR3 #DR1 #Future Foundation: Daganronpa -IF- AU #pls... i want all the DR1 kids to interact with the Future Foundation... #(i want the DR1 kids to survive) #(i want Yukizome be not be brainwashed anymore........) #ric writes #FFDRIF #long post

[theyoilibrary]

University/College Au Masterlist

#latteart - imagines

Tiger House looks like it can’t decide if it’s an English pub, a used book store, or a bakery. The only sign that it actually sells coffee is the smell of freshly-roasted beans that hits Otabek when he pushes open the door, a little bell jangling above him. There’s nobody here but a bored-looking barista leaning on the counter by the register. “Can I help you?” the barista says, in a tone that heavily implies he would rather do no such thing.

100 Ways to Say 'I Love You' - Kelly_J_Jackson

Every day for the first 100 days of the New Year, I will be posting a drabble for each writing prompt that tumblr p0ck3tf0x created on their list "'100 Ways to Say I Love You'." It will be mostly Victuuri with some Yurio (and possibly Otabek). It's going to be a challenge, but I'm going to try my best to update daily. OR They're a bunch of dorks, really.

admiration in falling asleep - calliopinaround

Rooming with Otabek is fine. It really is—they’re best friends, Otabek is the perfect roommate, and there’s nothing about each other that they don’t already know to make it weird. (Except Yuri hadn’t known that Otabek walks around only in his pajama bottoms in the morning, or what he smells like right out of the shower, or that he likes his coffee with two sugars and nothing else, or that he has a knack for losing the television remote regardless of where he puts it, or that he keeps his keys on his nightstand and nowhere else, or that he opens the blinds half-way first thing in the morning to let the sunrise in…) So it’s fine. It really is. Yuri likes this arrangement, and no matter how many looks Mila gives him, that’s the truth. He just wishes it sounded like all of the truth.

A Gays guide to Surviving College. - CoffeeAndDesperation

Yuuri katsuki, a young mathematics major starting his 2nd year of college, finds himself rooming with an illegally hot Russian linguistics major. While across the hall things heat up between Yuri plisetsky, and his interesting roommate who has a deep passion for writing.

a glass heart, and all its parts - AliFyre

Katsuki Yuuri comes to study in America with the hope that a change of environment will give his mental health the break he needs to finally write that book he's always wanted. Viktor Nikiforov ended up in America a long time ago and stays there because he can't think of anywhere better to be, sitting on a novel draft with zero inspiration to finish it. This is the story of how they struggle with themselves and their stories, and how they maybe find love in the process.

All the Warmth of the Sun - pythaglorious

Yuuri wasn’t sure if he could call it a date, but Phichit had set them up, and they were alone. In a bar. And, if Yuuri should consider this a date, there was worse company to be had than Viktor Nikiforov, with his shining silver hair and a baby blue stare that somehow held all the warmth of the sun.

Anatomical Accuracy - Fayina (Dayea)

Yuri has a secret talent in drawing, and he'd be damned if Otabek finds out about his shameful collection of the Kazakh's portraits. Oh and his skype call with Mila and Sara is getting out of hand.

An eternal bee buzzes in my ear - mozaikmage

AU where the russian characters are international students studying in NYC, and otabek the kazakh guy is the hot waiter at that one russian restaurant they go to every weekend, and anyway don't look at me 

artistry - lilium_parvum

"The city lights always called to Yuuri. Even as a boy, he dreamed of the neon glow on his face and riding fast, fast, fast down the busy roads. Maybe in a sports car. Or a motorcycle. Perhaps he would just run. He hadn’t worked out the details on that yet. Yuuri dreamed of a whirlwind love, the kind of person with cold eyes and a dark smile, a troubled person with a kind heart. " In which Phichit's Instagram leads to Yuuri and Viktor meeting.

A Yellow Highlighter - henriqua

Otayuri Week 2017 Day 7: Soulmates | Too bad Otabek is a people watcher, not a people meeter, and on top of that he's convinced he would probably live a happier life without meeting a soulmate whose first words to him are rude ones.

Behind Locked Doors - dia_dove

College student Yuuri Katsuki is in love with his professor, Viktor Nikiforov. A love he plans on keeping to himself, until one drunken mistake leads him to a world of pleasure.

centripetal force - braveten

Victor speaks seven languages. (Physics isn't one of them.) Luckily, though, he ends up rooming with his antithesis: a shy, black-haired boy who just so happens to be a physics major.

Close Quarters - i_like_my_eggs_benedict

Yuri moved thousands of miles away from home in Russia to attend a prestigious performing arts university in the States, gambling that his stupid former rink mate Victor (who also attends) wouldn't be anywhere near him. Otabek also took a chance by coming to this university so far away from the security of life back home, hoping his future and career will go somewhere. They were both slightly worried about who their roommate would be, but it seems like the guy they were put with just seems to...fit.

Cold Light of Morning - kepitto 

do you believe in soulmates? - foreverhalo

A drabble about Yuri and Otabek in college.

Fragile Hearts - aksnowchild

*Title and Story are subject to change as this is an ongoing story* AU where Yuuri Katsuki is a Japanese college student going to school in America. He studies to become a vet while working at Ice Pets Adoption, which is owned by his friends the Nishigori family. He keeps his life fairly simple, but one day a mysteriously beautiful Russian waltzes into Yuuri's life and suddenly he experiences something he never has before: attraction.

It Doesn't Have to be a Lie - Recesskup

Yuuri is not outgoing. That’s why when Phichit supplies Viktor as his fake boyfriend he’s bringing home for Christmas he nearly dies on the spot. And in all Honesty, he’s not quite sure how he managed to convince Viktor Nikiforov to play the role of his pretend boyfriend. And he’s even more at a loss for words when he remembers he has to go along with this for two weeks. Or- The pretend relationship AU where Yuuri is a shy Dance Major and Viktor is the attractive, outgoing Art/Photography Major and Phichit is the worst wingman ever.

Legendary Lovers - rjk122

Leave it to Yuri Plisetsky to humiliate himself and then have the only person on campus that he wanted to avoid also end up being the only person who he sees all the time. And also who never does anything but stare at him. Like, seriously, why is this dude always staring at him? College AU based on a prompt by theappleppielifestyle on tumblr!

Love Like You'll Never Be Hurt - OurMidnightMuse

(College AU) In high school Yuri Plisetsky was the end of many pranks by his fellow classmates, being a slight in stature ballet dancer. One in particular resulted in Yuri being forably outed as a homosexual in a most humiliating way, causing a rift in who he felt he could trust. Now in college, Yuri is trying to move past all of the things that bothered him in the past, however, they keep on cropping up. At a college party that he was coaxed into attending, Yuri meets the most unlikely of friend; a former ballet classmate whom he had not seen in many years named Otabek Altin. As the two grow closer, Yuri discovers something troubling about his new friend. Could the two possibly help each other through their past and present troubles, or will the blockades in the road cause them to fall apart before they even begin to come together? (TWs will preface each chapter in the beginning notes as they come.)

Match Made By Phichit - SociallyAwkwardFox (Maze_Runner_Fae)

Five times Phichit plays matchmaker for his friends and the one time they play matchmaker for him.

Music of Love - mechatitan

"Otabek felt pure panic course through him. What did he do now? He was accidentally intruding on an extremely private moment for this beautiful man he didn’t even know. How did one even address this. Maybe the best thing would be to just leave as quietly as he could. Otabek watched as the man leaned forward and onto his knees and crumpled in on himself. He knew he couldn’t just leave now." Or the story in which Otabek accidentally witnesses Yuri dealing with a tragic loss and kinda fucks up.

Never Content - silvershrubbery, Sukiyaki_Rut

"If you look for perfection, you'll never be content." Or: Mila and Sara end up as roommates their sophomore year of college, but there's a problematic division among the international dance students that puts them on opposite sides of a war. Despite that Sara can't deny her crush on Mila, and Mila has a growing appreciation for the quiet but free-spirited Italian. When a scandal ensues, things become more complicated for everyone involved. Alternates between Mila's and Sara's perspectives each written by one of us, but you'll catch on. Also, the ages have been adjusted so Mila and Sara are the same year in college; everything else is pretty much based on canon.

Oh the world is okay - mozaikmage

now with more characters and everyone being friends, yay

On Love: Voice - Pigfarts23

Au where Otabek and Yuri have to collaborate and they compose Agape together. The unholy music/college AU you didn't ask for but got anyway

poly-A tail - owlinaminor

poly-A tail: a long string of RNA containing only adenine bases, added to the 3' end of a pre-mRNA transcript to protect it from degradation as it travels through the cytoplasm. when depicted in textbooks, the structure is written as simply a long string of A's. (or: in which yulia plisetskaya forms a study group, makes a friend, and learns that finals week is about more than taking tests.)

Shape of You - Forestfish

Yuri wants to sleep but his neighbour keeps remixing into the wee hours of the morning. (in this AU they're studying in England and living in the same halls of residence)

Taste of Paradise - Spicenee

With another successful house party under their belt, Yuri wanted to keep the party going with his roommates/boyfriends which wouldn't be too hard to do. “We were wondering how much we made tonight.” Otabek said. He wrapped an arm around Yuri's waist, pulling him closer to his chest. “Oh. Right, the money.” Yuri got up, turning so that both Otabek and JJ had a good look at his ass. Yuri reached back in to his back pocket, making sure to stick his ass out. He smirked when he noticed how JJ's pupils dilated when he ran his hand down the curve of his ass. He slowly pulled out money from one of his back pockets before running his hand along his ass to the other back pocket.

Three Cheers and you Lose. - Goddess_Of_Profanity

Yavok Feltsman, a retired NHL coach, is forced into teaching a team of useless, enthusiastic college students. As the hockey team grows closer together, problems develop, and relationships evolve. Will the group be able to hold everything together, or will it all fall apart?

wannabe rockstars and prima ballerinas - thehearsesong

au in which yuuri and viktor both attend columbia college in chicago. viktor is a music major and in a band and yuuri is a ballerina studying at the joffrey ballet academy as well as majoring in dance at columbia. they get paired up together for a project in class and viktor wants to be yuuri's friend, dammit but yuuri has crippling anxiety basically yuuri gets bullied into supporting vitya's band, there's some ballet, phichit is the ultimate wingman as usual, and there's fluff and college student hijinks

who you gonna call? - apollothyme

“Who would win in a fight between a giant pigeon and Iron Man?” “Yura, it’s four in the morning.”

You Must Be The Roomie - kaitlynsmth

AU where Yuri Plisetsky is a 19 year old social media star/dancer and is at college, and his roommate is in a band with Otabek Altin, who Yuri can’t help but pine over. 

#yuri on ice #yoi #masterlist #otayuri #victuuri #saramila #college au #college au masterlist

[lunuanaki]

VERY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY.

RULES. repost; do not reblog! tag 10! good luck! TAGGED BY: NO ONE. NO ONE TAGGED ME. FEEL THE BURN OF GUILT IN YOUR VERY WATERS. what? i wasn’t here? oh-- TAGGING: I THINK everyone has either done it or been tagged, but if you haven’t, then @ you.

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Meri. If she absolutely has to use a surname, she borrows Cid Kramer’s, as she’s really his ward as a Garden student. Her records say Kramer. But she doesn’t know her real surname, if she even has one. She’s thought about picking one, but not knowing her own ethnicity for sure, it feels wrong. She might pick entirely the wrong region.  NICKNAME/S: Hyne help you. AGE: 20 BIRTHDAY: Doesn’t have one - doesn’t know it. can’t remember what day it was celebrated on, but roughly estimates her age based how old she thinks she was when she came to Garden, may in fact be a year or two off. ETHNIC GROUP:  ??? She’s definitely something mixed with something, but doesn’t know what. Her best guess is Galbadian/Estharan. NATIONALITY:  ^^^^ No idea. LANGUAGE/S: Common, some Estharan, but not particularly interested in languages unless there’s a clear aim to learning one. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Asexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Probably biromantic if that were ever a thing that presented itself to her ha hA RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single, always CLASS: White Mage/SeeD Captain specialising in healing - junctions Alexander for Med Data on healing items. HOMETOWN / AREA: ??? CURRENT HOME: Balamb. PROFESSION: Again, SeeD Captain - after refusing a promotion that would have made her uncomfortably notable, she was pretty much forcibly retired and teaches junior magic classes and a few undergrad ones when she’s not picking up after Kadowaki (please note those are her words, not mine - she spends so much time messing about with grat guts, she’s nowhere near Kadowaki’s level as a doctor). Technically she is still squad captain, but her squad are usually deployed one or two at a time as part of others, and it’s unlikely that she’ll be sent on big missions again.

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Brown, slightly lighter and mousier than you’d expect from someone so obviously part Estharan-continent.  EYES: Brown.  NOSE: Small. FACE: Almost-heart-shaped. LIPS: Pretty average, usually arranged in an apprehensive sort of way, pinkish.  COMPLEXION: Tan, but unnaturally lightened some by lack of exposure to sunlight.  BLEMISHES: Scar below her ribcage, burned fingers here and there. TATTOOS: None. HEIGHT: 5′7″. Never wears heels. WEIGHT: I’m not good at estimating this. BUILD: Thin; notoriously poor in physical training. Her posture is pretty bad, and though she’s not very tall, she looks taller because she’s always at such a loss as to what to do with her limbs; always seems to be slightly uncomfortable with the amount of space she’s taking up. ALLERGIES: Pet hair makes her sneeze, but that’s all.  USUAL HAIRSTYLE: Long, cut to keep it neat rather than to style it. Loose, but if needed she’ll tie it back while she works. Starts of center-parted but usually ends up elsewhere once she’s spent twelve hours running her hands through it in frustration. USUAL EXPRESSION: Blank, in all honesty, as if she’s waiting for you to fuck up. Distracted.  USUAL CLOTHING: Blue, white, oversized sweaters, not a fan of dresses or skirts at all. Her SeeD uniform requires it, so she wears shorts underneath that you can clearly see she’s wearing. There’s some debate among faculty about whether it’s really okay to make your female students wear mini skirts in this day and age, so no one has said anything about it. Flat lace up boots with her uniform (the knee-height type your laces can’t trip you so easy in) with her uniform, plain white tennis shoes any other time. That one time at @dolletian‘s party she wore heels and still hasn’t gotten over it. 

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Failure. Imperfection. Much as she tries to find answers to anything and everything, she fears some of the possible outcomes.  ASPIRATION/S: Doesn’t really have any. She assumes she’ll be in Garden academia until she dies; no one has ever really asked (they don’t tend to at Garden - nobody lives long enough to have Big Dreams, unless you’re Almasy, and we all know how that went). Her only immediate goal is to clear up her own memory blanks - she won’t admit to it, but she thinks if she can do that, it might give her some direction. POSITIVE TRAITS: Diligent, considerate, perceptive, honest, loyal. NEGATIVE TRAITS: Stubborn, jealous, comes off as unfriendly, prone to flashes of sudden, strong impatience if things don’t go her way (see: the time she was all business until Helena locked the filing cabinet so she broke the lock off in front of Auron). Doesn’t know when to let it go. MBTI: INTJ/A ZODIAC: I have a feel she’s Aquarius, but I need @summoners-path to concur. TEMPERAMENT: Phlegmatic, not far off sanguine.  SOUL TYPE/S: Tied Caregiver/Performer, but I don’t think much to this, honestly. ANIMAL: A chinchilla. A large grey thing with judgy eyes. VICE/S: Does her own pride count? In some areas she isn’t sure of herself at all, but challenge her in a professional setting and she’ll really enjoy making a display of your incompetence. It might well come down to insecurity - you’d be trying to fight her on the only thing she really has. FAITH: None. No real belief in any Hyne Tales, doesn’t find it too likely that a giant magician is hiding in women and that’s the source of all humanity’s ills. GHOSTS? Not sure. In some capacity, maybe.  AFTERLIFE? She’d like to think so, but honestly? No. REINCARNATION? Seems more likely than the above, but not something she’d dwell on.  ALIENS? Fairly sure she does believe in those; it seems arrogant to think their planet is the only inhabited one in the universe, after all. And there were all those sightings of the little blue gummy man. POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Not allowed one. Wouldn’t have one anyway. Everyone is as bad as each other. ECONOMIC PREFERENCE: Not considered. She doesn’t really have any economic sense; she’s paid pretty well and doesn’t need the money, since she doesn’t have family or do anything. She’s Garden research staff, so it’s not like she even pays rent. SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION: It’d be very nice if everyone could stop being shits to one another so she can get on in peace. EDUCATION LEVEL: High; equivalent to maybe midway through a PhD in irl terms, but it’d be one of those design-your-own programs that not everyone takes seriously...

FAMILY.

FATHER: Unknown. Seems like he was probably nice. Can’t see his face in her hypnotherapy sessions, likely because the memory of it just doesn’t exist. MOTHER: Died during childbirth; no clues about her at all. EXTENDED FAMILY: She knows she has an aunt who doesn’t speak the Gaian common language unless she has to. Other than that, she thinks there’s probably an uncle somewhere in there, but it’s all hazy. SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S): None.  NAME MEANING/S:  Trabian word for sea. Chosen almost at random; she remembers her father calling her “Ri”, but doesn’t know what that was short for, if it was short for anything, so she chose anything with that sound in it. HISTORICAL CONNECTION: Who knows? She does seem to have a similar source magic ability to Almasy, albeit much weaker. Hyne forbid she’s his long lost sister or something, she’d rather eat a funguar.

FAVORITES.

BOOK: Non fiction, textbooks, other people’s research papers whether they know it or not (but secretly loves a lot of fantasy type stuff, though her favourite irl book would be Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland).  MOVIE: ??? Never really been to see any... this is a “normal people hobby” she tried out once, she went to see that godawful movie about the knight and the sorceress... never again. DEITY:  Cheating because there aren’t really any besides Hyne - Eir. MONTH: March. Not-quite-warm. SEASON: Spring. PLACE: Rinauld Coast. WEATHER: Dry, warm enough that it doesn’t matter when she inevitably forgets a coat, but not too warm. SOUND: Ocean, silence, water, Alexander’s twin orbital laser cannons SCENT/S: Clean linen, sea air - plain stuff. She’s not one for perfumes. TASTE/S: Salt, specific candy, tea, most vegetables, especially crunchy ones. FEEL/S: Wind, ocean water, being warm in bed, being able to wear slippers in the clinic when the students are on break and bothering someone else-- ANIMAL/S: Fish, calm animals that won’t injure her or break. NUMBER: 6 COLOR: Blue, white, grey.

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Healing, convincing people of completely false information because they can’t tell she’s joking, avoiding almost anything, she’s actually very good at listening to people when they need it. BAD AT: Social situations, sometimes bad at hiding her thoughts - not necessarily her feelings, those are held closer, but she’s a bad liar and you can generally tell what she thinks of you even if you can’t tell what feeling that results in for her. Surprisingly not the best at spelling sometimes - appalling handwriting.  TURN-ONS: I don’t think she has any in the usual sense, but transparency and self-confidence will go a long way to not putting her off you in the first place. She respects things like dedication and sincerity - exemplary performance as a SeeD, for example, will catch her attention, but not if you’re doing it for girls’ attention.  TURN-OFFS: Over familiarity, condescension - and I don’t know how to word this well, but if you casually ask if she wants to, y’know, go out sometime, without properly befriending her first, she’ll always say no. If you didn’t even bother finding out her name, she may never acknowledge your existence again.  HOBBIES: Reading, studying, writing and re-writing plans for work related and non-work related projects, drawing (she’s pretty good at replicating the innards of a geezard with a ballpoint now), performing unauthorised human experimentation on herself and possibly on Quinlan sometime, that might be fun. TROPES: I’ve got no idea without spending sixty years scouring TV Tropes and I really honestly have a totally irrational yet passionate hatred for the whole thing so I think I’ll skip this one if you don’t mind. AESTHETIC TAGS: c l i c k i t f o o l

#about ;; meri #god that was longer than you expect #[distant yu yevon voice] PHRASING

[egregiousderp]

When you see this post an excerpt from a WIP!

Fuck. Okay. I saw this through @unicornsandbutane . Uh. So. Remember that Spiritassassin past life dreaming AU I was talking about? It. Uh. Goes something like this.

(Sorry this is huge. This was going to be a chapter. They didn’t say how long the excerpt had to be and I don’t know when I’ll next get to this because I’m…well…me.)

Context: force sensitive people in one life dream about their past lives. Baze and Chirrut dream about one another. Baze denies this. Heavily. That some new age shit.

He meets Chirrut for the first time after dreaming about him dying in his arms.

Chirrut has retinitis pigmentosa. He can still see but is in the process of becoming fully blind. Baze doesn’t know.

Okay. I- Uhm…

/VAGUE PRESENTING GESTURES ——– ——–

The client can smile as much as he wants as long as he pays is a personal rule.

Baze is starting to question that rule.

He is hours in and halfway through being swallowed by the innards of a sink that probably hasn’t been replaced or altered in more than fifty years, and still can’t make head or tail out of what the client actually wants him to do.

“If,” the man says, still smiling like the sun, “if I wanted to make the house safe for a blind person, how would it be modified?”

Baze grunts something about the stairs and keeping a clear floor. None of which particularly requires an interior contractor. He sees no reason to lie about the difficulty of his work when the man is probably just looking to sell a house.

“If I wished to install disabled ramping what would I do?“

Baze grunts again.

Not enough space for ramping. Install a chair lift like everyone else.

“If I-”

“Pipes and wiring,” Baze interrupts, his patience narrowing.

“Come again?”

The tilt of the other man’s head is birdlike, cheerful. The nightmare from the night before has unsettled Baze too much to be easily shaken. He rubs his forehead to clear it, feeling the start of a headache.

“Old house, old wiring,” Baze grunts.

“And…what does that mean?”

Baze sighs through his nose, and pulls his glasses back on. He dislikes doing so. Dislikes the looks of amusement he gets while holding documents at arms-length and studying layouts even more.

He hates old manses. The owners are either stingy or gullible, and rarely know what needs to be done.

If this guy wants a pretty interior job he should have called Jyn first, gutted all the beautiful wood paneling, the antique tiling of the floors and remade with a modern interior, calling him up when they were done. Baze chews on the end of his pen in distaste.

“Means the house came first. Electricity came later.” He thinks of the trio of children he saw giggling together on the trolley, barely six years old, watching a video on their parent’s phone. “And usage has gone up. You want that done first."

The owner just gazes at him, eyebrows lifted.

He has no idea what he is talking about, obviously.

Baze taps the sink in the kitchen on the print.

“Is this an original?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea,” the other man laughs.

He comes uncomfortably close to see the print, then turns his head to look at Baze. He is grinning at the beaded chain for his glasses. Librarian comments incoming, no doubt.

Baze’s mother would have knocked his knees out from under him with a volume of the Britannica, and she was barely five feet tall, with a limited grasp of English–-a textbook example on why quiet wasn’t the same as peaceful and neither were librarians.

Baze foregoes the commentary by folding the print back under his arm.

Might as well take a look.

Judging by the sink fixtures, the kitchen had a rehaul during the sixties. He wrinkles his nose as he opens the cabinet, pulling out bottles.

He half-expects to find a bag of weed somewhere under the sink. Keeps his nose out for the stink of it.

The client’s perpetual smile makes him seem the type.

He half-expects protests, the defensiveness of a dealer.

The stillness and the slight creeping sensation down his spine makes him crane his head back to find said client instead matter-of-fairly checking out his ass.

Baze snorts.

Well. That’s this city for you.

Nobody has much to look at in steel-toed work boots and tan coveralls. And Baze has even less to look at these days. He’d once been a trim man. Now he��s just a sad forty-year-old nearsighted divorcee checking the nuts of an S-pipe as a favor to a brilliant young architect who’d found him at random by looking up welders in the phone book.

Jyn Erso is twenty-two, driven, and all business. Something more than a client. A grudging friend. He’d done all-night work with her in near-silence together for her grad display. You don’t pull rush jobs like that for just anyone.

They meet once a week for drinks. They aren’t what he’d think of as particularly close friends because Jyn has a guardedness to her that tells you it isn’t a date, and if you try anything she’d crack your nose and leave you in the hospital. Not that Baze would try anything. But there is something particularly depressing about meeting up with an attractive and intelligent young woman who talks shop, having a nice evening, and then going home alone to your own unfinished house.

When Jyn had said her best friend needed to have his house looked at for renovations, Baze had had the sinking feeling that that was it, that he was being couched into approving of some future boyfriend, herded headlong into some sort of fatherly role.

He did not expect Chirrut Îmwe, answering the door before he could knock.

“You’re the inside man?“

Baze had blinked.

“Something like that.”

“Chirrut. Chirrut Îmwe.”

His handshake had been firm, vigorous, his hands as calloused as Baze’s.

“You’re…Blaze Malbus?”

“Baze,” Baze corrected with the long patience of a lifetime with an unusual name.

He’d kept clean-shaven and his hair close-cropped for years to try to cut down on the drug dealer jokes. He’d been a child during the Haight-Ashbury days, and still had never taken a hit. Straight A student. Good future.

Then his father had died when he was seventeen, and someone needed to bring in money for the house.

He knows all about how being good at something doesn’t cancel out bad luck, how the unexpected normally goes hand-in-hand with ‘unpleasant’.

In fact, Chirrut is unexpected in a lot of ways.

Trim black turtleneck. Woven bag. Loose pants and sandals. A red wrap around his waist that’s got an interesting and subtle woven texture to it. Clean-shaven. Close-haired. Chinese, like him, which had been another surprise. And definitely older than fresh-faced Jyn, though he has the peculiar agelessness to him that comes with a heavy fitness lifestyle. Probably another fucking righteous vegan, Baze thinks.

He thinks again of his dream, the details all blurred together, just a lingering sense of unease, of loss. Something that makes him want to wipe his fingernails on his coverall and expect to be talked down to by another idiot who doesn’t know which way a screw turns but makes more money than him and believes that’s because he’s lazy. Unintelligent.

The bad dream seems to be leaking into his sense of the man. He’s seen plenty of people like Chirrut. Has been checked out by far more intimidating-looking ones.

Baze wonders with a snort if he’s being set up, if Jyn has made some assumptions. Unlikely. Jyn usually keeps her head down when it comes to the affairs of others.

“I’m not that kind of plumber,” Baze says, too tired to keep any real heat in his voice.

Chirrut gives a bark of laughter that’s completely unselfconscious, a smile that’s much too even not to have been set that way as a child, with plenty of complicated orthodonture. Money, Baze thinks a little bitterly. Something he doesn’t have much of even before the ex-wife remarried, stopped demanding alimony in advance, and filed a totally unnecessary restraining order.

“Aah, well, you never know,” Chirrut breezes.

He is so blithe even Baze has to snort.

“Try turning the water on,” Baze mutters.

Chirrut steps over to the sink and Baze listens to the pipes, squints with his little penlight tucked behind his ear, the red beads of the chain clinking on pipe.

“Pour a glass for me. I want to check the clarity. Something transparent.”

Chirrut shuffles slightly above him.

“Don’t worry. There’s beer in the refrigerator if you get thirsty.”

“Beer,” Baze repeats.

Chirrut gives a noncommittal noise.

The only thing that’s thirsty here is you, Baze thinks a little uncharitably, making his way gingerly out from under the sink and unbending slowly, and with a wince.

“You don’t seem the type.”

Chirrut’s face shifts into comic dismay.

“My feelings are grievously injured and I rescind the offer of my specialty homebrew. You can drink out of the sink.”

Baze laughs, despite himself.

“That your business?”

“A hobby.”

Something odd has passed into the man’s face, the smile sagging at the corners.

Baze doesn’t ask.

Somehow it doesn’t surprise him that Jyn befriended a microbrewer.

“It was once women’s work, you know, the making of beer,” Chirrut calls.

His voice is a little too loud and bright in the low space.

Baze considers this tidbit, and how he’s probably supposed to react to it. What might be hinted and what might not be.

“Don’t tell that to Jyn,” he decides on.

Chirrut rips out another laugh, this one with a wicked edge.

He has a great laugh, Baze thinks absently. He must have caused plenty of trouble in his time. This too doesn’t surprise him in terms of Jyn’s choice of friends.

Against his better instincts he finds himself oddly okay with being watched by this hovering fellow. Always asking questions about what he’s doing, why he’s doing it. It should be annoying. Somehow it isn’t, comforting to talk about tangible things with that lingering dream hanging over top of him. The sense of incoming, inevitable failure and loss.

Baze often dreams of failure.

“How did you meet?“ Chirrut asks out of the blue, after hip-checking a table by accident.

Clumsy, Baze notes. Like anything that isn’t directly in front of him isn’t there.

"Hm?”

“You and Jyn.”

Baze is surprised at the heavy, intent look on the other man’s face. Blinks as he realizes.

Oh.

“Phone book.” Baze grunts, “Under ‘Welders’.”

Nothing weird, he wants to add. Doesn’t, since he’s sure somehow that would make it worse.

…Is he actually going to be given the shovel talk by a Five-foot-Eight beatnik?

Baze doesn’t know whether to be flattered or concerned. Jyn is a very pretty girl, with a good head on her shoulders. Nice tits, too, if he’s completely honest. She could do a lot better than him for sure. He hopes, in a blaze of worry, that she knows it. Good God does he hope it.

He blinks.

The rising, tight tilt of the other man’s chin is very much like Jyn’s.

“You?” Baze asks, trying to keep the uneasy frown off his face.

“Destiny,” the other says.

Baze laughs before considering whether he’s supposed to. A dry noise.

“Really.”

The corners of Chirrut’s mouth go mercifully up. He leans back against the counter.

“I wandered into the grad installations by accident and she almost murdered me with a power sander.”

He makes it sound like the most casual and reasonable thing in the world. Baze swallows down another laugh.

“Get out.”

“That’s what she said,” Chirrut deadpans back, dislodging Baze’s laugh from his throat despite himself. Despite how utterly cheesy it is. Chirrut, he notices, turns his whole face like a cat when he peers at him. A flicker of surprise.

“…Have we met before?” Chirrut asks faintly, something uncertain in his features.

Baze snorts, shaking his head.

“Definitely not.“

Chirrut frowns but goes on with a shrug.

"Anyway, my Tai Chi was completely ruined, I offered her free self-defense lessons to compensate her for the fright, and we’ve gotten along famously ever since.”

Baze makes a listening noise.

The thought of anyone weaponizing Jyn Erso’s anger is completely terrifying. He’s half-convinced Jyn’s lambent rage is its own renewable energy source.

“You give her your beers?”

Chirrut gives him a look of practiced disdain his mother would have been impressed by.

“Forget I asked.” Baze mutters, shrugging.

“Have you met Galen Erso?”

Chirrut’s dark eyes are narrow, intent. Without the easy smile his whole face is narrow and long, proud-looking somehow. Something in the combination of lips and chin and brow.

Baze searches his memory for the name. Finds nothing with a slow shake of his head.

“Who?”

“The father,” Chirrut’s chin tilts up again, a slow fury in his dark eyes.

Baze frowns, guessing.

“…Alcoholic?”

“Mm,” Chirrut agrees, his chin set and stubborn like a little fist, “The quiet kind.”

Baze considers this more carefully, a slow frown settling. Next Thursday he’ll relocate them to a cafe, he thinks. Cut down on the girl’s intake. Someone has to take care of her.

“You try talking to her?”

Chirrut gives a sharp laugh again.

“Have you tried stopping Jyn from doing something before?”

Baze thinks. Chirrut’s already grinning, shaking his head, utterly fond.

“When Jyn Erso rebels, the whole world follows,” the man says.

Baze frowns. He’s starting to realize why a thirty-something-looking bohemian fitness freak of a man in a Bill Gates turtleneck is Jyn’s best friend.

“I have Thursdays,” Baze says stubbornly.

“Are you serious?” Chirrut laughs.

“Your day must be either Tuesday or Wednesday–”

“It’s Friday, actually,” Chirrut cuts him off, the laughter still in his eyes. He looks utterly unintimidated. Amused, even, arms folded across his stomach.

“Then if she matters to you–”

“Good God, you’re like an old woman,” Chirrut interrupts, laughing.

Baze’s fingers tighten. He’s a big man, and he knows it.

Chirrut is not, and still meets his look without an ounce of fear, a blasé arrogance. Baze notes suddenly the outline of his shoulders. The trimness of his waist, remembers he’d said self defense classes.

“Jyn’s an adult. She does her work and does it well. Life doesn’t end because of a bit of Black Porter on a Friday Night,” Chirrut says, shaking his head slightly.

Baze’s disapproval sits heavy in his belly, welling up in frustration. A great weight of words he can’t say to a stranger, a friend of a friend.

“I can see why you and Jyn are friends,” he settles for, leadening it with the full force of his disapproval.

Chirrut shrugs, a manic glitter in his eye.

“I like a straightman with me when I cause my trouble,” he pauses, inclines his head with a smile, “Or woman.”

Baze lets out a breath in disgust.

He bets it’s the same bar on Friday. He has half a mind to make the time to fish them both out. A growing protectiveness.

“Don’t drag Jyn down with you in whatever trouble you get into.”

Chirrut makes a rude noise, his dark brows knitting irritably, ”Yes, mother hen. Will that be all?”

It comes so sharply, so abruptly Baze just stands there for a moment, realizing how far he’s overstepped.

He almost wants to apologize. Feels the sting instead of the comparison. Dismissal.

Baze bits down his words.

“…I’ll send you an estimate.”

“Well, good. You stay right there and estimate,” Chirrut drawls, bumping the same table, catching the same vase, “while I get you a crate.”

Baze blinks.

“A…what?”

“You need a drink!” Chirrut hollers down the hall, “You need about five drinks!”

“I don’t need anything!” Baze yells back.

He winces at the sound of his own voice.

Chirrut Îmwe has apparently gone selectively deaf.

“I don’t accept drinks from strange men,” Baze mutters, a little hot around the ears when he realizes the other man is indeed bringing up a loose crate filled with dark bottles.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m a painfully ordinary man cursed with spectacular beauty,” Chirrut replies back, making a face, “and not at all strange.”

Baze doesn’t laugh. Can’t. Caught by a strange sense of panic.

Chirrut taps a finger against the little barrel, something challenging in his dark eyes.

“Stardust Ale. Last year’s vintage. It’ll give you something to talk about with my friend.”

“I…can’t accept this,” Baze says quietly.

Chirrut is waving him off with a noise of irritation, shoving the thing into his hands.

“Go on. Get lost. Make your estimates. Come back when this,” he taps the crate, “is gone. Get drunk with some friends. This is my number,” he’s scrawling something large and loose on the side of the wood.

Baze gives him one last, exasperated look as he does so, as he’s manhandled to the door by prodding and pushing hands.

“And wear something different next time,” Chirrut adds, calling after him down the steps to the tilted street, “You look like a Ghostbuster!“

#skuun does memes #spiritassassin #spiritassassin AU #long post #I liked how this turned out but I write out of order so you know.... #tw: alcohol #sorry. Galen is a quiet drunk with a weird home situation I promise #I'm sorry to make him sound like that #I swear Chirrut is just hella judgmental about some things #also I know nothing about beer brewing #And very little about San Francisco. #I know it's sourdough country. can you even beer there?