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fastenwick · 2 years

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Earth 15 Alien Contact

(Any inaccuracies I'm blaming on how Universe 15 functions. Different than IRL, I'm too lazy to research for this. This features @tallest-blue-nerd and @aik-membrane, with mentions of @invader-d1b, @tak-e-over and @zim-exe.)

"We're coming at you live from the studio with today's biggest headline." The transmission started with a news reporter wearing big glasses, speaking quickly and with confidence. "I'm sure I don't even need to mention it, because at this point, everyone is buzzing about the recent discovery of alien life. Mere days ago, the new head of Membrane Labs, Aik Membrane, came forward with possibly the greatest discovery in the history of mankind. Of course, the motives of these new creatures are yet to be seen. Friend or foe? Ally or enemy? Who knows! But the alien race is establishing contact at this very moment. Aik Membrane as well as several politicians are talking with the alien Empress Miyuki." A list of political names appeared on the screen. The reporter put a hand on their ear as if they were listening to someone speak in their earpiece. "Er, Tallest Miyuki. Okay then. We're bringing the call to you live. Don't forget to call the number on your screen to tell us your own experience with aliens."

The reporter vanished from the screen, replaced by six individual video feeds, two rows of three. On the bottom middle feed, Aik Membrane was displayed. On the four side feeds, various other humans wearing medals and labels. On the top middle feed, Miyuki herself. Each feed was displayed with a name.

The group seemed to have been talking for a little bit already, waiting for the broadcast to the rest of Earth to start.

"And we are live," Aik confirmed.

"Ah, at last," one of the politicians said. They were some kind of ambassador for the U.S. Government, named Ali Holter.

"Greetings to all tuning in," another politician spoke. This one was a billionaire and a scientist, similar to Membrane himself. Their name was Andrew Stocks.

"Yes, hello," Miyuki added. "This is a most special event for both humans and Irkens alike."

"Quite so," Aik agreed.

"Well, Miss Tallest," a rather prestigious looking member of the feed spoke. They seemed to be some sort of army general, named Sah Took. "I personally would like to know your reasons for hiding for so long. You've had access to our planet and its resources for years, while we were kept in the dark. It was only thanks to Aik Membrane that you all revealed yourselves at all."

"I merely wanted to protect my people and my family. I had no guarantee that Earth would react favorably to our presence and I would have preferred to wait until I could reveal ourselves in a more peaceful manner," Miyuki explained.

"That's understandable," Holter said.

"But also suspicious," Took debated.

"What makes you say that, Commander Took?" Aik quizzes.

"These Irkens have already proved to have many dangerous capabilities that we were simply unaware of for years. What kind of damage could they have caused? What kind of damage will the continue to cause?" Took huffed.

"It is no secret of mine that an Irken by the name of Tak did seek to harm your planet," Miyuki pointed out. "She worked alone, but she did cause damage. You speak as if this is something we continue to hide. Now that you know of us, I think transparent and honesty is the best way to ensure we have a peaceful future."

"An honorable goal," Holter agreed. "I personally hope we can reach this as well. Of course, there are many things to consider."

"And many things to discuss," Miyuki added. "But I am willing to. Eventually, I would like to broaden these discussions so that you can speak to more than just me. We have our own ambassador with your planet, but I will not involve him so early in these procedures."

"His work focused more on helping Irkens connect with other species anyway, being the middle man between human and Irken discussions is not something he's currently prepared for," Aik confirmed.

"You speak of the clone boy?" Stocks asked with slight disdain.

Miyuki narrowed her eyes slightly. "I speak of D1b Membrane."

"He's not just a clone boy, you would do well to refer to that term lightly, if it all," Aik warned.

"Hmm. But he is a clone, is he not? As are you, Professor Membrane," Stocks replied.

Aik narrowed his eyes.

"How they were created matters little, for they are still human and they both have been working on your side," Miyuki interjected.

Stocks huffed. "I'll be the judge of that."

"Doctor Stocks, you're take on this matter is not helpful. It is not the point to these discussions," Holter argued.

Took nodded. "I agree."

"Then let us get back to the main topic," the final member of the call spoke. They were the U.S. President, named Mane Barkley. "Tallest Miyuki, I understand that this whole situation was done without your knowledge."

"That is mostly correct. I was aware of Aik Membrane's goals, however it did not have my approval and was done behind my back," Miyuki explained. "I wasn't particularly pleased with the methods used either."

"Seems like a lovely way to institute a peaceful start, eh Membrane?" Barkley prodded.

Aik huffed.

"No matter, it is done now. And I would prefer to fight for peace despite it. All of my people do," Miyuki continued.

"What do you already know about our planet?" Holter asked.

"I don't know much about your politics. I know you are divided amongst yourself into countries. I do not fully understand why, so I have very little to say on that," Miyuki said.

"Do your people not have seperate countries?" Barkley asked.

"We do not, in fact I believe humans are the first species I've ever seen that do," Miyuki answered.

"Would you call that foolish? Are you going to lecture us for it?" Took quizzed.

"Of course not. As I said, I do not understand why you do it. So who am I to say whether you should all bind yourselves under the same leader. It is your planet, your government, your people. I do not wish to conform you to our way of politics," Miyuki said.

"How progressive of you," Stocks said sarcastically.

"If that's your way of saying you don't believe her, then you should learn to be more straight forward," Aik reprimanded.

"Fine, I don't believe her," Stocks huffed.

"That is your choice. But I speak the truth," Miyuki said.

"I can confirm that as well," Aik agreed.

"You're the one that exposed aliens to protect Earth from threats," Took pointed out. "The fact that you're taking her side is surprising to me. I thought you would be the one up in arms against her."

"You thought wrong. She is not the the threat. But there are other threats that she has no control over," Aik explained.

"You do not control your own people?" Barkley asked.

"My people have free will, but we also are not the only other species in existence. There are hundreds if not thousands of others," Miyuki explained.

"Fascinating," Stocks replied.

"Quite so," Aik agreed. "And as such, I thought an alliance with the Irkens would be beneficial for us."

"I would have protected this planet whether or not they knew of my existence," Miyuki said to Aik. "After all, the Membrane family has been important to me ever since I've met them. And after what Tak did to you all, I am not about to allow a repeat."

"We've all heard about Tak, but we know very little about her and the damage she caused. Care to elaborate?" Took questioned.

Aik pulled up something on the screen. A list of mysterious attacks, labeled as terrorist attacks. "These were all her. We as society blamed them on our own species. When in reality, it came from an angry cast-away Irken." He closed the list.

"If that was all just Tak, what else has been caused by alien interference? How do you expect us to trust these things?" Took huffed.

"I've already confirmed that I do not control everything in this universe. There are many creatures that would search to harm you. And it is true that some of them may have effected Earth before. Tak is the only Irken that ever has. And she is dead," Miyuki explained.

"Did you kill her?" Took prodded.

"She wasn't killed by my hand directly, her death came at the hand of a very close ally and friend." Miyuki smiled softly at the screen at that point, as if she expects Zirus to be watching.

"What else do you know about our planet?" Holter asked.

Miyuki thought for a moment. "Well, your sunsets are very nice to look at. They're more colorful than the ones I've seen at home. You can see the stars better there too. You have many creatures and plants that call your planet home, it might be one of the most diverse collections of life in the universe."

Holter tilts their head. "Is that so?"

"That I've seen anyway," Miyuki confirmed. "And as a whole, humans are fascinating. You all are so different from each other."

"What about your planet and your people? What's that like?" Barkley asked.

"My home is very different from Earth," Miyuki started off. "There are no oceans, or beaches. Our plants are different, we like to walk a lot when we're on the planet. We don't really have anything like cars or roads, but we do have something similar to parks and apartment buildings. We don't really have any other creatures living on our planet, aside from bugs and plants. We don't have animals like what you have. My people are loyal, protective, some of them a little rough around the edges. We were only allowed to have emotions about 200 years ago."

"Ah yes, this is something we also heard about," Stocks interjected. "You all seemed to have a problem with some sort of slave driver."

"The Control Brains, yes," Miyuki confirmed. "But they are gone now, I have repaired almost all of their damage."

"That sounds suspicious," Took mumbled.

"Commander Took, an actual debate instead of backhanded comments would be most appreciated," Aik huffed.

Took does not reply.

"I have a question." Stocks raises a hand. "Your biology. I heard that you reproduce through cloning."

"We do," Miyuki confirmed. "There are many things we do differently than you in our every day life. But I still believe we can be powerful allies nonetheless."

"What can you offer Earth?" Barkley asked.

"I can offer my assistance if any alien threat should arise again. I can offer resources and education in expanding your horizons and preparing you for other forms of life. But of course, I would need some kind of confirmation that you won't use this against us," Miyuki said.

"Of course you would, that can be discussed in greater detail in another call," Barkley said. "The purpose of this one is mainly education and establishing trust, highly sensitive details can be hammered out in a more private call or discussion."

"I agree," Miyuki said.

"Then would you say you're all satisfied with how this went? I understand we're just about out of time for today," Aik interjected.

"I am satisfied for today," Barkley confirmed.

"Then I suppose this is farewell," Stocks said with a grin.

"Until next time," Holter said with a nod.

"I look forward to our next chat," Miyuki added.

The seperate feeds vanished and the reporter from before came back on the screen. "Fascinating stuff folks. And thank you for all your calls. We got a lot of feedback, which we'll review in more detail tomorrow at 6. Up next, the Sports section of our show, but first, a word from our sponsor."

#invader zim #oc rp #roleplay #tallest miyuki #iz dib #open rp #tallest blue nerd #invader d1b #zim exe #aik membrane #tak e over

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jasontoddiefor · 3 years

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I have zero clue anything about TG but your essay rants ate always fun so i would absolutely love to hear your spicy takes

@before-it-kills-me: What are your Spicy Takes™?

Oh, BOI, am I glad you asked and I get to rant. For my spicy takes we have to take two things into consideration first:

Tokyo Ghoul tries to tell the story of a person, who's had it slighly worse than most and suddenly experiences a tragedy that was not his fault. He then has to re-learn the extent of his new agency.

The worldbuilding of Tokyo Ghoul is centered around this tragedy and does not stand on its own.

The second thing is the important one. To put it bluntly, the worldbuilding is second to the plot, which is fine technically speaking. It is, however, not what I prefer.

I like stories where the worldbuilding gives you a plot. And when you tackle TG from that angle, you end up with a lot of Spicy Takes™. So here they are.

Ghouls as Monsters

The idea of a second hidden society of ghouls is absolutely believable. The issue is kind of the way that humans, who are not part of that society, interact with that knowledge. In canon, there are still people that don't believe in them. Of course, even irl we have people that will deny the most obvious things as well, but ghouls, low as their numbers as predators must be compared to their food source, have existed for centuries. It stands to reason that they are a known danger. So obviously humans would want to exterminate this danger. However, especially with the current advances in sciences, it is utterly ridiculous to think there wouldn't be more humans fighting for ghoul rights.

Ghoul & Human Societies

It would also make sense if in the past you had a village where they actually kept a ghoul around as protection against attacks from outsiders. A village with no graveyards but good protection. Ghoul children taken from their families and raised as soldiers in an army. The idea that humans wouldn't have taken advantage of ghouls yet is just strange. And with that, of course, comes people advocating for their rights. Doing the math how many natural deaths could feed a so-and-so large ghoul population. And with cloning? You're telling me there are not hundreds of scientists studying how to cure ROS and learning more about ghoul physiology along the way?

And, from a monetary POV, we have people selling their organs or donating blood even now. You think we wouldn't have desperate people signing up to regularly donate blood to ghouls, becoming "kept" humans in exchange for financial stability? Rich ghoul families like the Tsukiyama could have human servants they've been supporting for decades in exchange for blood donations and the bodies of their deceased. People who sign their bodies over to ghouls when they die in exchange for money now. People, who never have to pay for groceries because their ghoul patrons determine what exactly they ought to eat until their demise. People with incurable diseases signing away their bodies or suicide victims.

There should be people advocating for ghoul rights because their livelihood depends on it. In turn, there are humans, who make extra cash with ghouls. Morticians, who sell people they’re supposed to burn. It’s such a waste after all. And that’s not even touching upon the people who fall in love with ghouls. You think they wouldn’t want to move heaven and hell for their loved ones?

Accordingly, there should be various types of human sympathizers. Those who are just discussing ghoul rights, then active supporters who help ghouls “pass” and disappear - basically a human version of Anteiku, then radicals who’re willing to outright fight the CCG to get their point across and finally those who believe ghouls are the next step of evolution.

The CCG

Ah, yes. Them. I love the idea of whole investigator families. However, I think the CCG should be stricter tied to the government than it looks like. I’m personally not a fan of “actually a hidden ghoul family leads them” because it feels very “we need a common enemy uwu” and also it would just make sense for the CCG to exist in such a world. So give them more power, make them even more militant. Let them pay for college tuition in exchange for service.

The Wards

Ah, my favorite. We barely have any information on how the wards operate, which is a disappointment. So I’ll just touch upon the most important details.

It makes sense that the wards the closest to the CCG headquarters are those with the least amount of ghoul activity. The 23rd with Cochlea is similarly strictly guarded. The 7th housing the ghoul restaurant should also not have a lot of open ghoul activity, but lots of covered action with many human disappearances. The wards controlled by Aogiri are those where you’re advised not to go out at night and peaceful ghouls flee from. 21st houses the Tsukiyama family and should accordingly, be relatively peaceful around their territory. The 20th ward probably takes in a lot of refugees from the Aogiri wards and it is not just Anteiku maintaining the peace. Plainly speaking, the ghoul society from the 20th probably isolates itself and keeps harsh borders to the other wards to maintain its peace. And then there is the 24th, which is the most underutilized ward. Underground ghoul society and we barely get more than a few glimpses into a place where only the poorest of humans live - or those who chose to live there for the sake of their partners. So much illegal gang activity must be going on in there. If Mustafar is where Jedi go to die, the 24th ward is where Investigators go to die. Even though the gangs within all hate each other, the 24th is their kingdom.

And this is basically what you get when you try to tackle worldbuilding before plot. What I’m gonna do in my fanfic, is toss Kaneki in a world that is just one messy operation away from full blown revolution and war. Kaneki doesn’t need to decide to change shit, his mere existence alone is already enough to be a catalyst for change.

#Tokyo ghoul #tg #worldbuilding fix it au #ask #epicmusic42 #before it kills me

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ffakc · 3 years

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Isn’t She Lovely? - a Jeffrey Dean Morgan fanfiction

Let me preface this by saying I have ZERO desire to have kids IRL, but the thought of Jeff being a loving, doting birth partner makes me feel warm and fuzzy. He’s also such an amazing Daddy, I just had to... fluff galore! @negans-attagirl @happysgal @iluvneganandjamie

It was my final shift as a manager at the adorable Rhinebeck coffee shop that was my home for the past year. My regulars and coworkers teased me, asking why I still had a job despite being married to one of the top grossing actors on The Walking Dead, but working kept my mind busy during the times my Jeffrey was away. I was also three days overdue with our daughter. My midwife told me to rest, but it’s hard to rest when people call in sick!

“Baby!” I step out from behind the counter and greet my husband with a kiss. He places his large hand on my stomach.

“Look how cute my gal is with her apron and her big ol’ belly,” Jeff gushes.

“Why do you have to say it like that?” I laugh. Jeff scoffs and kisses me.

“Shut up, you’re gorgeous,” he smiles. “You about ready to go, doll?”

“If I don’t see you tomorrow, congratulations! You’re going to be a great mom!” my regular Josh tips his cup.

“Bye Josh!” I turn back to Jeffrey, “Yeah, I’m ready whenever you are. I just need to clock out for the last time.”

“We’ll miss you, Boss Lady!” my lead barista Kayla hugs me.

“I’ll miss you too!” I reply, “Bye, everyone!” I call back to the kitchen. Various voices yell back kind words. Kayla wipes a tear away.

“Aww, don’t cry!” I say, tears welling up, “You know I’ll come visit! I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“It’s been wonderful getting to know you, Kayla,” Jeff hugs her as well.

I take my husband by the hand and we make our way to his truck.

“Do you think tonight will be the night?” Jeff remarks.

“I sure hope so. I’m so achy and I feel like my stomach is going to split open,” I laugh.

“Poor thing,” Jeff pouts his lip and rubs my belly. “What do you want for dinner, sweet girl?”

“I’ve been craving sushi all damn day. Cooked, of course,” I reply. I make a quick call to Osaka, our favorite local Japanese place. I hang up the phone and sigh lovingly, “You’re going to be such a good Daddy.”

“And you’ll be the best Mama. I love you so much,” my husband plants a quick kiss on my lips.

***

I wipe the tears away as the music swells. We were watching Phantom of the Opera, one of my favorites. I let out and annoyed groan and Jeff cackles.

“Why are you crying now?!” my husband laughs, “It’s not even sad!” I shove a piece of sushi in my mouth.

“I don’t know!” I giggle, “Stupid pregnancy hormones.” Jeff places his hand on top of the bulge on my side.

“It’s like I’m holding her hand,” Jeff kisses around my navel, “I love my girls.” His kisses make their way up my chest, his hand makes its way through my hair and he sucks my neck.

“We love you too, Daddy,” I moan. Jeff climbs on top of me and I kiss him deeply, gripping onto the neck of his hoodie.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this, might induce labor,” my husband smirks and rests his forehead against mine.

“I’ve heard that’s a myth. I want you so bad, Jeffrey,” I lick my lips and run my fingers through his gray hair. Jeff rasps my name, unbuttoning his jeans. I feel a surge of energy in my lower half as Jeff buries his face in my chest. My eyes widen as clear liquid begins pooling between my thighs. I realize immediately what’s happening.

“Jeff...”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“JEFFREY!” I exclaim and gesture downwards.

“Wha- OH! Oh my god! Baby... baby! We’re having a baby!” he stammers, climbing off of me and adjusts my shirt. “What do I do?!” I attempt to calm him, even though I’m quite panicked myself.

“Go get the bag and start the truck!” I breathe heavily. Jeff puts on his glasses and grabs my large black backpack, slinging it over his shoulder.

“I’m so excited! It’s real! It’s happening!” Jeff laughs. He helps me off the couch and we hustle to the truck. Jeff calls my mom as he lays a towel on the passenger seat.

“Hey Ma!”

“Hey Jeff, how are you? Any baby updates?”

“Well... You’re going to be a grandma probably within the next 24 hours!”

“Oh my god!” my mom sounded just like her mother when she said that. I squeeze Jeff’s hand as he speeds down the road.

“Let me see here,” Jeff pulls up flights on the touch screen on the dashboard.

“Eyes on the road, Daddy, please!” I exclaim, “Hi, Mom! Sorry!” I hear both my parents laugh at me, causing me to laugh too. I sounded like a nervous wreck.

“Hi! Are you feeling okay? Any contractions yet?”

“Not yet, from what I looked up... woah! I felt a little cramping there.”

“I see a five hour flight that leaves in three hours. Do you think y’all can manage that?” Jeff says, “I will pay, don’t you worry.”

“Anything for my first grandbaby,” my mom says. “I can’t guarantee we’ll be there for the birth, but we will be there! See you guys soon, okay?”

“Bye!” Jeff and I say in unison.

***

Four in the morning. I hadn’t slept a wink. Labor so far felt like the worst period cramps I’ve ever had. I was only two centimeters, a hell of a long way from ten.

“Jeffrey,” I whimper, my voice cracking, “It hurts.”

“I know, baby, I know. What can I do to help?” Jeff gets close to my face and kisses my forehead, rubbing my hand.

“Something cold would be wonderful. Ice chips, a popsicle. Anything.”

“How about a coffee?” a familiar voice comes from the door.

“You made it,” I smile weakly at my mom.

“No baby, huh? We DID make it!” my dad smiles and pumps his arm in a “YES!” hand gesture. He hugs his son in law and hands him a large Starbucks cup. He hugs me, kissing my forehead.

“Good, Mr. C. Real good,” my husband smiles, sipping the hot coffee.

“Don’t worry, I asked and she said it was fine,” I sit up in bed and hug my mom. She hands me a large iced beverage, “It’s a decaf americano with some Splenda, just something to sip on. I know you like a little bit of coffee with your cream, but you can’t have that right now.”

“Thank you so much,” I take a long drink. “That’s so good... God damn it!” I grit my teeth.

“Another one?” Jeff sits next to me on the bed. “I think they’re close to five minutes apart,” he says to my parents. I rest my head on his chest and groan loudly, “That’s it, pretty girl. Let it out. Scream if you have to. Break my fucking hand if you have to. You’re doing amazing so far.”

“This is the longest thirty sec- ah! Jeffrey!” I grip onto his thigh for dear life. He shushes me softly and rests his chin on my forehead, “I hate my mom and dad seeing me like this.” My mom reassures me that it’s nothing to be embarrassed about and her and my dad go to the waiting room. I try my best to remember the breathing techniques our midwife taught me, but failing miserably. This was going to be a long day.

***

Eight o’ clock. The rays of sun came flooding through the curtain. I close my eyes for a moment as another contraction squeezes me tight.

“Don’t say you’re tired. Come on, Jeff. She’s having your kid and you’re worried about being ti-“ Jeff mumbles to himself.

“You know you’re allowed to be tired too,” I laugh and look at him through slitted eyelids. Jeff smiles and kisses my cheek, rubbing my hand lovingly.

“Hello!” our midwife Lynn pokes her head in.

“Please tell me I’m ready to push,” I let out a deep breath.

“Well, let’s see, shall we?” Lynn checks me out. “Don’t hit me,” she chuckles. “You’re only at four centimeters.”

“Oh, Jesus. Just give me the damn drugs.” I glance over at my husband who is drifting off.

“I have to let you know that it will make your contractions stronger and more intense, and I know you’ve expressed being in a great deal of pain already.” Jeff opens his eyes.

“Fuck it, I’ll just sit on the ball for a bit. Daddy?” I turn to Jeff. He grabs the exercise ball.

“I’ll be back soon. Hopefully things will be progressing nicely!”

***

Six in the evening. There’s no possible way I had been in labor for twenty-four hours.

“You’re getting so close, doll,” Jeff whispers and pets my hair. “You’re so strong, Mama, you’re so damn strong. You’re a beautiful, incredible, powerful woman,” Lynn does a brief examination.

“That’s the kind of coaching we like to hear, Jeff! Good vibes only!” Lynn says, “Look at that. You are at a ten, my dear!” I fan my face and a single tear trickles down Jeff’s bearded cheek. I kiss him deeply. I place my feet in the stirrups. “Jeff, are you still okay with catching her? I know you said you wanted to, but sometimes dads back out at the last minute,” Lynn teases.

“Absolutely,” Jeff chuckles.

“All right, sweetheart. On your next contraction, I want you to push hard, okay?” she was so gentle with her words. I nod and exhale. Jeff grips my hand.

“You’ve got this, babe,” my husband kisses me.

The next forty-five minutes fly by and seem to go in slow motion all at the same time. I felt like I had run a thousand marathons.

“I can see her head!” Jeff says excitedly. “You’re almost there, darlin’, you’re so close!” I can’t find the words, the pain is getting to be unbearable.

“I’m going to pass out,” I moan.

“Come on, doll, you’ve got this. You’re doing incredible,” my husband glances between my thighs. “Oh my, she has your wavy hair,” tears stain his cheeks.

“I’m going to guess three more biiiig pushes and you’ll have a baby!” Lynn says.

“You’re so incredible, you’re a fucking warrior, you know that? These are the last few moments we have as just a couple, that’s so wild. After today, we are three. You’re never looked more beautiful, you are glowing. Kiss me, my gorgeous wife,” I feebly press my lips to his.

“Yeah...” I pant, “Oh my fucking god!” I cry out as my face reddens as I push with everything I have in me.

“That’s it! Jeff, quickly, the shoulders are coming!” My husband plants a kiss on my cheek and sits on a stool next to Lynn.

“One... two... three! Push! Come on, girlfriend! Every ounce of energy you have! Good job!” Lynn psyches me up. She mumbles instructions to Jeffrey.

Jeff begins to sob uncontrollably, “She’s so beautiful, you have no idea.” He gasps in awe. Suddenly, a rush of euphoria overtakes my whole body and a loud cry echoes through the room. I rest my head against the pillow and begin crying my eyes out. She’s here! Jeff holds our tiny daughter in his large hands.

“Just place her right there,” Lynn beams with pride. “You did it! Happy birthday, little girl!” She grabs some blankets as our little angel wails. I wrap my arms around her and Jeff bends down next to me.

“You’re so amazing, Mama. She’s so perfect. I love her, I love you. You are such a badass, I’m so proud of you,” Jeff whispers.

“I love you too, Jeffrey. Daddy, she’s all ours,” I kissed him over and over again, “I love you so, so, so much.” I had never felt more connected to my husband than this exact moment. After cleaning her off and doing all the routine checks, I finally get to hold our girl.

“Hi there, little bean,” I kiss the top of her head, my voice shot from crying and screaming, “I’m your Mommy,” I hold her tiny hand, “You look just like your Daddy. And you smell so good!”

“I’ve heard of new car smell, but new baby smell?” Jeff giggles.

“Do we have a name?” Lynn asks.

“Evelyn,” Jeff sniffs and kisses the crown of her head, “Evelyn Alice Morgan.”

#denny duquette #fanfic #fanfiction #greys anatomy #jeffrey dean morgan #negan #the walking dead #older man younger woman #john winchester #supernatural #fluff

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indianamoonshine · 4 years

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solo’s copilot ♡︎ chapter two / “all women should”

summary: “Then you realize...it's because he's starved. Starved of affection himself. Of adoration. Of touch. He'd been Kylo Ren for years, dwelling in solitude with no one to hold him, no one to make love to, no one to cry for. You realize then that he craved closeness and he wanted it with you."

rating: M for suggestive content

AN: hi friends! it's me - mikaela - your local ben simp. i should be working on my screenplay, but i can't get this story out of my head. i actually had a lot of fun writing this chapter! the thing that tasha did to reader - you know the one. the vagina thing? yeah. i actually had a friend do this to me irl.

Tasha's nails clink impatiently against her glass of mither. She's been itching to say it for the past hour - you know she has.

"So..." she begins ominously. You prepare for her greatest performance. What were best friends for? "Big night for Ben, huh?"

The two of you stand at the bar of The Water Hole, a local cantina, and watch as Ben (along with some other Resistance fighters) aggressively chug their ales. He looks wild and, truthfully, on his way to being fried. You can't help but laugh when he spills on himself, brow arching in confusion, and then grumbling when he sees the mess he's made. He pretends like no one saw, but you did; you always see him. The way that particular strand of his hair dangles over his forehead had you biting your lip as he laughed, completely unaware of how fucking hot he was. Sometimes you hated him for that.

You turn to Tasha, pretending not to catch onto what she's implying, but she's grinning wickedly at you.

"Yep," you say half-heartedly, continuing to observe the room.

It's dim, but bright enough so that you're able to distinguish faces from one another. Lance, a blonde man with an unfortunate amount of sweat stains, converses animatedly with Ben. Then there's Bella, a witty and stunningly beautiful woman with emerald hair who cozies up with her boyfriend. You didn't recognize all the faces here. Some of them were bounty hunters or smugglers passing through, but the ones you did know where notorious party animals. You had a feeling you'd be nursing a hangover in the morning.

Tasha swirls her drink with a slender finger. "Could be a big night for you, too."

Bingo. Took her long enough.

Still, you pretend it takes you off guard, and pretend to choke on your drink. "What?"

Your friend rolls her eyes. She means well, just as she always has, ever since the two of you were toddlers. Growing up with her should've made more of a rebellious impact on you but it didn't. Not to say you didn't enjoy drinking and being with friends - you did, just not every night like Tasha. And that was fine; she was good at it. Sometimes you wished you were as talented as socializing as she was; you might be predisposed to make the kind of money she did. Tasha, in addition to being a Resistance fighter, was also the center of many wealthy men and women's lives.

"Ah, don't play coy." She slaps you in jest, but her strength causes a sting.

You stick out your tongue like a child eating something sour. "Boys have cooties," you joke. You know very well Ben did not have cooties.

Tasha rolls her eyes and smirks, holding the straw to her mouth before continuing. "Even a blushing virgin knows what success does to a man." She takes a long sip while wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "It builds their ego..."

She takes a look at Ben from across the room. You do too. And despite how much Tasha adores you - how willing she would be to step in front of a blaster for you - she can't help but drink in the sight of the scoundrel who so handsomely laughs with friends. He's warm. He's kind.

He is absolutely perfect in every way. You don't blame her for the lust.

"Though, I don't think he needs much help with that." Her eyes fall lower and she does obviously enough so that you see where she's looking.

Tasha tears her eyes from Ben's - unquestionably - well endowed bulge. "You sure you can handle that?" she asks you with a wink.

You weren't the jealous type. Really. But everyone made their desire for him so loud; it was hard not to be jealous in some way or another. All the women (and men) on base who were gorgeous, intelligent, and very single were surely competent enough to take him from you.

But he hadn't left. Not in the five months you've been seeing one another; it's what you kept you from clawing peoples' eyes out.

"You're insatiable," you tell her. "Now you want him too?"

Tasha gives you an incredulous and pointed look. "You know I love you...but you also know that everyone on base wants him." She scoffs. "Don't pretend like you don't know that. You're so goddamned lucky."

You take a quiet slurp of your drink, eyes locked onto the way he concentrates to what Lance is saying. His eyebrows furrow and he nods, sucking the inside of his cheek and it makes his jawline more prominent. You feel a heat bloom in your body and know how lucky you are. For fuck's sake, you still can't believe it.

"He could be bad at it," you say then, though you know the idea is ridiculous.

Tasha shakes her head and light bounces off her pretty, blonde pin curls. "I wouldn't count on it. He has a reputation...just like his dad..." she says dreamily, as though she knew Han Solo personally.

There's a silence between the two of you before she says, "Are you prepared?" like she already knows the answer.

You shrug. "Can you ever be prepared for something like this?"

Tasha looks at you like you're not serious. Maybe she was expecting another answer.

"For sex?" Yes," she says simply. "God, you're the mature one, too."

"I have an implant if that's what you're wondering." You lift up your forearm to the light and see the outline of a very small, very faint chip embedded beneath your skin. It wasn't required in the Resistance - not anymore. But once you and Ben started dating, the idea of an accident seemed more plausible than what you'd like to imagine.

She looks thoughtfully at a space above your head. "Okay, yes, that's very important. But have you shaved?"

There's a pang of fear that lights up your abdomen. Shit.

"I didn't exactly plan on this happening tonight!" you argue under your breath.

She doesn't take a breath. "What are you wearing?" Damn woman, cut me some slack, you think.

You blink a few times, trying to process her question, and crinkle your nose when you come up short. "Is that a trick question?"

Your dear friend looks exasperated and maybe even a little disappointed. After all these years of confiding in you about her various sexual endeavors, you surely could've picked up on the basics. Weren't you listening when she told you about the crotch-less underwear she wore for Mike in transmissions? Did you forget about the time she showered before a hook-up, swiped a finger in her vagina, and held it to your nose before asking, "Be honest...do I smell?" (No. You hadn't forgotten that - as much as you wanted to - but for the record: she didn't.)

"You don't have any lingerie?" she asks, dumbfounded.

"Why would I have lingerie?" you whisper heatedly and a little too quickly.

A man with a false eye turns his neck to glance at you, perplexed by the dialogue, but intrigued nonetheless. You glare at him and scoot farther away.

"Maybe because you're in a relationship with possibly the sexiest man in the galaxy, that's why!" she responds, throwing her free hand in the air for dramatics - she was always very good at that.

Tasha rubs her right temple as you cross your arms in defense, waiting for her to say something else. And then she does. An idea pops into her head, a lightbulb practically manifesting to gleam over her.

"T-shirt," she decides.

"Huh?"

"Holy fuck, are you this naive?" she asks, but she's hiding laughter. "Men go nuts when we do that. They like knowing we're smaller than them..." she cocks an eyebrow in amusement. "Though, that's never really been the case for me."

Tasha is tall. Six feet and two inches tall. You try to imagine her drowning in a man's shirt but couldn't possibly conjure up someone big enough to give her something to disappear in. Chewbacca, maybe.

You try to shake the thought away, to imagine one of Ben's plain tees hanging just below your shaking knees. How you could possibly work with that solely because you knew how much bigger he was than you. Throw on a little lip gloss, maybe. Mascara? Blush? No. No blush; he'll be getting you red enough.

Oh. The thought makes you clench.

But what if he preferred a woman who was natural? You wore makeup in front of him when he took you on your first date, honestly just for an excuse to dress in something other than your uniform. But because of the way his pupils expanded when he saw you, you decided to dress up more often. Did it matter? If he was worth it, he'd like you any way. And you knew Ben was worth it. Still, all these questions and all these rules for sex were overwhelming for someone who hadn't even given a blow-job. You take another drink of your liquid courage as your head spins with possibilities. They were endless.

Tasha watches with an enigmatic smile as you fix your hair to frame it the way Ben likes. "Okay," you say, but you're really only talking to yourself. "I'm going in."

-----------------------------

A wide smile forms on Ben's face when you arrive at the table.

You're shaking, but doing your best to hide it, hoping that the façade of alcohol might camouflage your trembling fingers. Ben reaches his arms out to you and you accept his invitation to sit snuggly on his lap. You fit in it perfectly, especially when your head leans back against the curvature of his shoulder. He caresses your arm and you notice how his fingers trace over the indentation of your birth control. For some reason, that triggers a primal instinct, and you press your face into his neck.

"Did you get anything to drink?" Ben asks, lifting your chin with his index finger.

You nod, eyes sparkling when they meet his. You can feel the nervousness slowly dissolve in your body, but it could be because of the alcohol inoculating through your veins. "I did, thank you."

"Why didn't you let me pay for it? I would've." He kisses your cheek softly and then the other. "How many have you had?"

You shrug. "Just one." You lean into his touch, relishing in the electricity that burns your insides. It feels so good. "Nothing I can't handle."

He smirks, but behind it there's something you can't quite put your finger on. It's wicked, but tempting. Licentious, but adoring. It makes you blush, especially by the way he so openly touches your face with such softness. You never expected Ben to be so unstirred by potential reactions from others. Who knew Ben was so into public displays of affection?

Then you realize...it's because he's starved. Starved of affection himself. Of adoration. Of touch. He'd been Kylo Ren for years, dwelling in solitude with no one to hold him, no one to make love to, no one to cry for. You realize then that he craved closeness and he wanted it with you.

For fuck's sake, it's bringing tears to your eyes. You try to stop them by burying your face in his collarbone again but it doesn't work. His beating heart, his breathing, his warmth makes you even more emotional. You want to wrap yourself around him until the two of you become one - until you can pass on whatever it was that he needed from your own spirit. Whatever he needed, he'd get from you.

Gods...did you...did you love him?

No. No, it's too early, you tell yourself. You can't love him. It could end just as easily as it began, even if he did love you back. Something would eventually happen - he could die, you could die, the spark could burn out after the honeymoon phase ended. This is what you've convinced yourself, not only with Ben, but with other men too. And they always did end up leaving, even if you begged them to stay.

"You okay, baby?" he mumbles in your hair.

His voice brings you back to life. He'd never called you baby before. You're surprised to find how much you like it.

You lift your head and watch as his irises seem to turn another shade of mahogany. "Yep," you smile, running your fingers through his hair. You begin to slowly run your fingers across his scalp as though to mend a wound that wasn't there. Not in the bone, anyway. His conscious; you'd try to mend his psyche, and maybe it was an unintentional move from your own subconscious. But you allowed it.

Ben hums from your gentle touch, forgetting about the drink in his hand. He sets it down and leans back against the booth, eyes shut, and smiling as you play with his locks, twirling them around your fingers. You admire the way it shines in the dim lighting - he took care of himself well. That means he could take care of you, too. The idea makes you shiver in his arms.

The group of friends talk with one another in loud, jubilant conversation. When Ben doesn't say anything after some time, Lance pipes up.

"How you doin' over there, Solo?" He's chuckling by the way Ben's loosened his limps while savoring your embrace.

It must be a sight to see. Ben's almost slumped over in his seat with only a couple of drinks in his system as a girl half his size twiddles with his hair. Solo didn't relax much - he was always on the move, so to see him in this state was probably more reliving than humorous.

Ben just lifts a hand, eyes still closed, enjoying your fingers as they dance around his face. You count the small moles on his skin his under your breath and trace the slope of his nose. Eck. What had you become? PDA hadn't ever tickled your fancy before, so why are you all of a sudden so fuckin' cringeworthy?

Then you realize you didn't care. Ben Solo was practically purring against you as you squirmed in his lap. And you knew by the way he snaps open his eyes, some kind of fire raging behind them, and grabs ahold of your hips:

That he.

Was going.

To fuckin'.

Wreck you.

You'd let him. And he knows that too by the way you squeal when he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder. He gives you a light swat on your butt as he stands and you burst into laughter, not giving a single shit about who thinks what anymore.

"Alright, Petals. I think it's time to go now," he announces and bobs you back into place against him.

Lance lets out a whistle that implies what everyone was thinking. "Have fun, you two!" he shouts from across the cantina.

And as you hoot with laughter - the kind of laughter you know is genuine - you spot Tasha at the bar. She holds up her drink and nods her head as though to say:

"As all women should."

#ben solo x reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #mw1 #ben solo headcanons #kylo ren headcanons

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kotofvi · 4 years

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THE MEGA RP PLOTTING SHEET / MEME.

First and foremost, recall that no one is perfect, we all have witnessed some plotting once which did not went too well, be it because of us or our partner. So here have this, which may help for future plotting. It’s a lot! Yes, but perhaps give your partners some insight? Anyway BOLD what fully applies, italicize if only somewhat.

Mun Name: Leo Age: 27 Contact: IM, Inbox, Disco

Character(s) I rp: Canon: Shiro, Sebastian, Dirk, Kyoya, Kurama, Nelliel, Maka, Dwicky. OCs: Hades, Google, Emogene, Dominic, Seirios, Iso, Felix, Reeves, Nyx, Zeru, Ren, Charlie, Dakota, Nemo, Bluejay, Koko, BD, Raven, Cora, Sammie, Lucie, Poppie, Ollie, Alphie, Bambi, Abbigail, Hiraeth, Bonnie, Rei, Rory. Which muse(s) inspires you the most atm?(for MM): Nelliel, Shiro, Rei, Bonnie, Hiraeth. Current Fandom(s): Bleach, V/LD, Naruto. (I’m not deeply involved in the fandoms themselves anymore.) Fandom(s) you have an AU for: Uhhhhh.. I basically have an AU for any fandom if I know it well and am asked for it. My language(s): English. (I’m learning other languages but I don’t RP in them unless it’s just a sentence or two.) Themes I’m interested in for rp: Fantasy / Science fiction / Horror / Western / Romance / Thriller / Mystery / Dystopia / Adventure / Modern / Erotic / Crime / Mythology / Classic / History / Renaissance / Medieval / Ancient / War / Family / Politics / Religion / School / Adulthood / Childhood / Apocalyptic / Gods / Sport / Music / Science / Fights / Angst / Smut / Drama / etc. Themes/Genres you have an AU for: Modern, Mythology, Medieval.

Preferred Thread length: one-liner / 1 para / 2 para / 3+ / novella. (I legit love all lengths, tbh, it’s more so with one-liners I tend to lose interest if there’s no substance to further it.) Asks can be send by: Mutuals / Non-Mutuals / Personals / Anons. Can Asks be continued?: YES / NO only by Mutuals?: YES / NO. Preferred thread type: crack / casual nothing too deep / serious / deep as heck. Is realism / research important for you in certain themes?: YES / NO. Are you atm open for new plots?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. (I’ve admittedly been v busy, so if you’re fine with me takin’ forever-- YES) Do you handle your draft / ask - count well?: YES / NO / SOMEWHAT. How long do you usually take to reply?: 24h / 1 week / 2 weeks / 3+ / months / years. I’m okay with interacting: original characters / a relative of my character (an oc) (It really depends here.) / duplicates / my fandom / crossovers / multi-muses / self-inserts / people with no AU verse for my fandom / canon-divergent portrayals / au-versions (as main or only verse). Do you post more ic or occ?: IC / OOC.(I post more IC, but the gaps between IC and OOC make it seem like there’s more OOC at times???) Are you selective with following others?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. (This is entirely because half the fandoms some of my muses come from are absolute shit so I have to be careful.)

Best ways to approach you for rp/plotting: IM or Inbox-- tbh, Just kick my inbox in and screech that you wanna plot/rp with me so long as you’re a mutual. I’m honestly so laid back?? Sure, it might take me a minute but this is entirely because IRL things and not because I’m putting anyone off.

What expectations do you hold towards your plotting partner: Having fun? Having ideas? I guess, just, mutual interest? I mean, I’m here to write! I’m here to have fun! If you’re not interested in that much alone then?? I guess bye?? ‘Cause I’ll become very annoying to anyone who doesn’t have an interest purely because I’ll randomly ambush my partners with excitement and ideas.

When you notice the plotting is rather one-sided, what do you do?: Oh I’ll just straight up ask if they want to continue the thread or start a new one! I mean, I get it, you can lose interest or otherwise just not feel it anymore and that’s fine! If you’re not interested in that particular thread, then no worries, we can always start more! If you’re just being one-sided in general, however?? I’m not gonna be interested at all and I’ll likely tell you as such.

How do you usually plot with others, do you give input or leave most work towards your partner?: Normally it’ll just happen? I’ll do my “Hey what if they ___” thing and then a rapid bombardment of inquiries and excitement later, there is a thread. It’s usually mutual, the involvement of creating this plot, but sometimes it’s just me being excited and them being excited and then suddenly BAM THERE BE THREADS. S’all good over here!

When a partner drops the thread, do you wish to know?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. - And why?: I mean?? I’d like to know, yes! But I get that sometimes it’s incredibly anxiety ridden trying to tell someone that you’ve lost interest in a thread. It’s alright if you don’t tell me, but if you can muster up the courage to do so I’d appreciate it! I’m not gonna be upset at you for losing interest/muse in a thread! If I cared deeply about the story, I might poke at you and then you can tell me?? Either way it’s fine and tbh, I don’t mind. However, please let it be known that you can take forever on a reply as well so don’t worry about just hoarding a draft too! Tbh, I had someone reply to a thread literally a year later and I was still excited for it! - What should your partner do when dropping a thread?: Just shoot me an IM or hell, make a list of threads you’re dropping and tag me in it??? Which ever! Or don’t even tell me at all, whatever works for you sugar!

What could possibly lead you to drop a thread?: Hmn, being overwhelmed-- I tend to accumulate a lot of drafts and 90% of them are long so sometimes I’ll drop a thread or two to help myself get by. Also lack of muse/interest is a factor. I won’t drop a thread purely out of being overwhelmed unless I just can’t muster up the muse to respond to it. - Will you tell your partner?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. Sometimes I get overwhelmed myself and I’ll drop a thread, forget to tell my partner, etc. Other times I’ll tell them before I even delete the draft!

Is communication in the rpc important to you? YES / NO. - And why?: Yes and no~ Yes primarily! I get that others can take a minute to muster up the courage to talk to others and would just prefer to keep things to a few sentences at first! However, I can and will ambush you with conversation and interest nonetheless. Because communication is important. If you’ve got something you wanna say to me, say it! I’m here for it! - Are you okay with absolute honesty, even if it may means hearing something negative about you and/or portrayal?: Yup! If you’ve got an issue or something that might come across as criticism to say, say it! Civil discussion is absolutely wanted here and I would like to work out any issues you may have with me or my portrayal. - Do you think you can handle such situation in a mature way? YES / NO.

Why do you rp again, is there a goal?: To write and have fun! To explore in depth the characters I create or take on! I mean, c’mon, lbr here-- my gremlin ass muses require some more in depth speculation and investigation into their characters! I love the creativity, the world building, the constant drive to do better and to make others feel something from words alone. The capability to rend emotion from another living being simply from reading and reacting to something I created is amazing and I want to make others cry, laugh, smile and think. I want to create.

Wishlist, be it plots or scenarios: Oh man, there’s an endless supply of things I’d like to do! I want to explore the depths of my muses’ histories more?? Like Shiro, I want to write out the things he must’ve seen, felt, experienced. How Nelliel was when she was alive, how Shiro fared in the Arena when he wasn’t fighting, Seb’s life torn between the various throws of data and reality-- there’s so much! And ALL THE AU’s!!!! All of them!!!

Themes I won’t ever rp / explore: Sure, I work with a lot of darker themes like torture, gore, etc-- but I will not write Rape, sexual abuse, nor will I write child loss.

What Type of Starters do you prefer / dislike, can’t work with?: I can work with most starters! However, if I’m randomly given a starter that I can’t work with for the muse selected, I’ll inform the person who wrote it! I appreciate the effort given but don’t expect me to be able to reply to every random starter given! Sometimes, they don’t even show up in my tag.

What type of characters catch your interest the most?: Okay, I’m a sucker for the underdogs, aggressive folks and the villains. I’m not even going to try and lie and say I don’t immediately look at the Aizens and Kenpachis and go ah yes, those fucking gremlins, give me ten. I also love the background characters? The side characters in a show that seem so unimportant but have a crucial role? I love characters that have such an obscure involvement that you have to stop and ask why and how their involvement was crucial. I also love the soft beans? The ones who are so hyped with positivity and gleaming interest that they just can’t be ignored?? But then turn around and whoop some poor sap’s ass with that sparkle sparkle smile. Also love the upstanding moral types that also acknowledge that some things can’t be avoided and that morality is a grey area dependent on the perceptions of the individuals themselves.

What type of characters catch your interest the least?: Hmn-- I guess the kind that don’t seem to have much substance to them? The ones that are just uncharacteristically too kind. Yes, I love the overwhelmingly positive types but?? Also?? The ones that are too kind and without flaw just?? Don’t strike me as interesting. Also the ones that are just cruel for some obscure reason just to give them a reason to be villains. I mean I understand but also?? Villains don’t have to have a reason?? They can be cruel just to be cruel. Idk that’s always just been a thing with me.

What are your strong aspects as rp partner?: I guess that I’m fairly laid back? I don’t mind if you take 10 years to reply, I’m going to get excited if you message me with some random idea, I’m not going to be bothered by any ideas you suggest?? I can also sometimes give u doodles?? I don’t have time to doodle a lot but sometimes, once in a blue moon, you’ll get a random offering of doodled booty for ur blessing. Also gonna hit you up with random HCs, ideas, threads, etc?? Always?? Idk, I’m not too good at thinking about positive aspects of myself lmfao.

What are your weak aspects as rp partner?: Hnnn, I’m too laid back at times. I take too long to reply and I’m busy af IRL. I’m often goaded into being irritated by some asshole or another so I can come off aggro af too when I don’t mean to be. Sometimes I can get overwhelmed and disappear for a week, other times I can end up overwhelming someone else by being too excited? I tend to watch how much I do and say because I feel like I might come off as smothering and am too used to being shut down and told to shut up so I just don’t?? Do anything sometimes. I’m also not very good at initiating contact sometimes so I tend to go days and weeks without speaking to others.

Do you rp smut?: YES / NO. Do you prefer to go into detail?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. Are you okay with black curtain?: YES / NO. - When do you rp smut? More out of fun or character development?: Usually only if it’s developmental for the characters involved. Sometimes it’s just fun to do! It really depends on the characters involved + if I have any muse in general for it. - Anything you would not want to rp there?: ???? Kinda vague, Idk? I mean if I don’t wanna rp somethin’ I’ll say so.

Are ships important to you?: YES / NO. Would you say your blog is ship-focused?: YES / NO. Do you use read more?: YES / NO / SOMETIMES. Are you: Multi-Ship / Single-Ship / Dual-Ship — Multiverse / Singleverse. - What do you love to explore the most in your ships?: The relationship, the depth of two muses who can be wildly different or even similar. The multifaceted involvement of others to that relationship, the angst, the arguments, the sad moments along with all the happy things and how hard one might try while the other is cold-- etc. I don’t just want happy dates and sunshine, that’s not how relationships work after all! - What is your smut tag?: Kettledrums

Are you okay with pre-established relationships?: YES / NO. - And what kind of ones?: I like a lot of pre-established relationships! However, I can be a tad wary of child muses? Aka: The ones who are children of one of my muses. Reason being, sometimes even I don’t know how they’d raise a child so the muse in question would be off putting to me because it’s out of my realm. Beyond that, I’m down for just about everything!

► SECTION ABOUT YOUR MUSE.

- What could possibly make your Muse interesting towards others, why should they rp with this particular character of yours now, what possible plots do they offer?: Since I have so many damn muses, I’mma just go with Shiro for all of this-- I suppose what they could find interesting is his very multifaceted dynamic as a soldier, human, technical non-human (Zombae), war worn, space exploring person. He can be rainbows and sunshine but also can suddenly become incredibly aggressive and cold. He’s not one or the other, he’s all and everything that he’s learned and encompassed while still remaining fragile and human in the end. Writing with him can be inspiring and can be soul wrenching, depending on the thread. As for plots, dude your character could be in space in one thread if the otherwise couldn’t be. There’s so many ways to go about writing with him?? He’s such an amazing character and the plots he can be instilled in are almost limitless with just his main verse.

- With what type of Muses do you usually struggle to rp with?: Hmn-- I guess the main one I have issues injecting him into place with would be the ones who are strictly non-tech oriented?? I mean, I can still have him there but getting him to fit is just?? Really difficult. Also with people who RP villains of his fandom and expect him not to be volatile. I’m sorry, but if you’re writing a S.endak or a Z.arkon-- you’re not going to get roses and butterflies with Shiro, plain and simple. If that’s something you can’t accept then don’t approach him with those muses. - With what type of Muses do they usually work well with?: He works really well with most anyone! So long as one goes into it knowing he can be hostile with soldiers, Galra, etc; then he can be used no matter what. He’s one of my most capable muses that doesn’t have much of an issue when it comes to responding.

- What interests your Muse(s) in general: Space, mechanics, biomedical engineering, people, freedom, fighting for a cause, flowers, his mother, violin, cats, sparring, getting stronger, constellations, nebulae, engineering, literature, alien languages, cooking. - What do they desire, is their goal?: The safety of others, the freedom of others, the ability to choose, hope-- he wants to make sure those he cares for and all others are free and safe from the Galra take over. - What catches their interest first when meeting someone new?: How they look at him. If they show signs of pity, of fear, he tends to walk away from any possible meeting with them. Otherwise, their appearance is what first catches his eye. How they dress, how they respond to him, how they talk and if he can make them crack a smile with an awkward joke. - What do they value in a person?: Hope, Strength, Loyalty, Purpose, Honesty, Patience. - What themes do they like talking about?: Shiro’s more of a listener than a talker, but honestly he’ll talk about anything of interest and question anyone’s as well to get them to talk about it. It’s what makes conversation with him easygoing most of the time. - Which themes bore them?: Himself. He’ll try to avert any conversation about himself if it’s too personal or too close to something. It’s not so much that it bores him but that type of talk is reserved for those insanely close to him. Also talk of command bores the FUCK out of him. He’s never been one to really like rank.

- Did they ever went through something traumatic?: So. Fucking. Much. Between being a prisoner of a war he was never involved with to being told he was a leader of a rebellion for said war, being a prisoner in the Arena and forced to fight and kill others, being held down and sedated as he tried to warn the others, DYING-- this boy has been thru too much. - What could possibly trigger them?: Certain noises, textures, Galra, medical equipment, certain lighting. - What could set them off, enrage them?: Galra, someone protecting him. - What could lead to an instant kill?: Any bloodlust towards him or those he cares for. Most of the time, he has this under control and tries to be merciful, give them a chance; but sometimes, especially during an episode; there’s no stopping him from gunning for someone’s throat if they had any intent to harm another or himself.

- Is there someone /-thing they hate?: Z.arkon, S.endak, L.otor, H.aggar, Druids, himself a lot of the time. - Is there someone /-thing they love?: The paladins, space fam in general, his mother, his friends, people in general.

Is your Muse easy to approach?: YES / NO. - Best ways to approach them?: Just approach him? Honestly, Shiro’s one of the easiest persons to converse with and get near. That doesn’t mean his guard is dropped, but he’s very easy going a lot of the time outside of battle. So long as you have a reason to approach him (even simpler ones like: his appearance, his arm, etc) then you’re set. - Where are they usually to find?: Oof, honestly? Anywhere. Space, Earth, other places-- he’s constantly on the move. If you want a set place, just say somewhere on Earth and I can work with that.

Something you may still want to point out about your muse?: Shiro is certainly easy to get along with, but he is not without flaw or issue. He has a plethora of issues even after the fall of the Galra Empire. He’s not without his scars, physical and otherwise. Approaching him is easy but getting close to him is not. Don’t expect him to be an open book. Just because he can talk about war, battle, fighting with a straight face doesn’t mean he wasn’t effected by it. He has suffered greatly and it will show the closer you get to him.

CONGRATS!!! You managed it, now tag your mutuals! ♥

Tagged by: @skyvar [ <3 ] Tagging: IF YOU WANNA PARTAKE IN THIS INSANITY, PLEASE DO AND TAG ME IN IT SO I CAN READ IT!!!

#Thx Snow I'm dying now #I think I just filled my word quota that I didn't even have #Dash Games;#Long post //#Shiro;#Shiro Tidbits;#But tbh this was fun to do!!

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komahinasecretexchange · 5 years

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Title: Kicking Roses, Folding Cranes

Author: @zombiekittiez

For: @irl-miu-fuckin-iruma / @miu-has-commoncold

Rating/Warnings: Teen, Language, Suggestiveness, Unhealthy Relationships

Prompt: 1) some cuddles 2) soft kisses 3) anything angsty

Author’s notes: Heyyyy it’s, uh, like really way longer than I meant and is way more 3) 2) 1) but then it was due so like… I hope you like it!

It starts, probably, when they find the pallet of triple-wrapped boxes at the back of the warehouse. It takes some maneuvering to uncover what was so carefully preserved, so the whole class ends up making a day of it. While Nidai leads a veritable army of Minimarus to the challenge, Imposter takes bets on the contents, writing each name and guess and wager in neat, even strokes. Mostly, Hajime thinks, the bets are centered more on wishful thinking than any concrete proof. It is highly improbable that Saionji will find a “fuck ton of gummies” or that Souda will stumble across a “disassembled liquid fuel cryogenic J-2 engine,” but he supposes that they are having fun and that is what counts.

While Nidai and Sonia eagerly attack the plastic sheeting, Hajime becomes aware of Komaeda, standing two steps back and to the right. It’s a habit he’s developed, since waking up, deferential hovering like some lady-in-waiting. It annoys Hajime, who has learned better than to confront Komaeda directly about things like equality. Rather, he takes a perverse sort of pleasure in thwarting Komaeda indirectly whenever possible.

Hajime takes the book from Imposter and makes a show of frowning at the page. “Komaeda,” he calls. He holds the page so closely that Komaeda must lean in, long hair falling in his face, to follow his line zig-zagging down the columns, scarcely any space at all between them. “I don’t see your bet.”

Komaeda laughs softly. “Wouldn’t that be rigging the game?”

“Depends on your guess.” Hajime points out. “There is a certain amount of logic involved in gambling, one reason you’re so good at it.”

“Logical… is that how you see me?” Komaeda asks, bemused. “I suppose I could make an educated guess.”

“Humor me.”

“Something totally impractical, most likely.” Komaeda hums a little to himself, turning to face Haime fully, his back to the unboxing. Souda and Nida work the crowbars at the top of the crate. “So much wrapping means it’s probably easily ruined by wet weather…”

The crate is open. Owari looks inside and gives a loud snort of disgust. Can’t be edible.

“Stationary? No, that’s too general…” Mioda picks up a something small and square and colorful. She gives it a shake.

“Origami paper,” Komaeda says brightly, smacking a fist against his open palm just as Mioda drops the packet, small perfect squares of colorful paper scattering across the floor. Collectively, class 77B groans.

Souda leads the charge, ignoring Komaeda’s protests with “it counts, it totally counts!” so Komaeda leaves weighed down with various odds and ends according to the bet book- konpeito, a seashell in the shape of a dinosaur, a seaweed based health tonic, pictures of a particularly cute dog, an alarm clock that sprays the sleeper with water, a set of mostly unbroken watercolor pencils, a peach cobbler, a tarnished silver pendant in the shape of a rabbit, slightly squashy strawberry chocolates and several hundred sheets of origami paper. Hajime, as instigator, is voluntold to help carry the items back to the first island cottages.

“For your services,” Komaeda announces at the door, dumping the candy and pastries into Hajime’s arms.

“And because you don’t like sweet things.” Hajime sighs. “You don’t have to keep all their junk, you know, Komaeda. We can find some use for the paper. It probably burns well.”

“No,” Komaeda says firmly, and while he generally does what he pleases, he is rarely so confident affirming it. “That would be a waste.” Hajime blinks.

“Oh.” He makes a note to tell the others to leave the remaining paper alone. It’s not like it’s hurting anyone. It’s nice, he decides, for Komaeda to show interest in something. Whatever reality he was living in when dead and buried under layers of code, it left him subdued. Without the fanatical desperation of his looming luck or the drive of despair, he seems a little empty. With his white hair and his pale face and his fading smile, he has become something like Hajime’s personal ghost, only scarcely glimpsed in mirrors or around corners of buildings. Hajime half expects to wake to see Komaeda in his cottage in the middle of the night, looming over the bed. He wonders why that thought is less disturbing than it should be and chalks it up to a Kamukura thing.

Komaeda tends to work salvage shifts in the library with Sonia who reads thirty-two languages, though, she admits, her Hindi is abysmal. He sorts and cleans wonderfully, and, Sonia assures Souda regularly, is a perfect gentleman.

Two days after what Mioda dubbed The Origami Incident of ‘85 for no discernible reason, Sonia distributes tiny metal cards to everyone at breakfast. Each is embossed with a name and a tiny scanner.

“Library cards,” she explains. “The library committee has decided to allow checking out up to three items at a time.”

“You just scan the book’s UPC code like this-” Souda aims his card at a book in Sonia’s arms titled Baphomet and You! Occult Leanings in 19th Century France. The card gives a little beep, a light on the side blinking green. “Blammo! You got two weeks.”

“What happens if you keep them past the due date?” Hajime wonders, holding his card up to the light. When he lowers it again, everyone in the room is staring at him in disgust.

“I know that conditions are different than what we have, in the civilized world,” Sonia says very slowly, as though talking to a child. “But we are not animals, Hinata.”

Hajime rolls his eyes, unable to summon the patience or the interest to defend himself. “Where’s Komada’s?”

“It was his idea, so, of course, he had first choice.” Sonia explains.

Komaeda, sitting at the table by the window, drinks his blackened coffee and flips through a copy of Origami for Beginners.

“Huh.” Hajime puts his card into his pocket and gets up. It’s his turn for dish duty.

Later, Hajime finds the origami penguin in the downstairs lobby, balanced on the bar top across from the arcade machines. The lines are a little uneven so it stands lopsided on one end, like it’s hunched over protectively from the invisible cold. He picks it up and looks it over before setting it gently back into place.

An origami fox sits on the library shelf above the DIY section. Its ears were creased in the wrong direction at first so they curl under a little, giving it a hangdog sort of expression. Hajime picks up a book on water purification systems. He scans the book jacket with his library card until he hears an approving sort of beep. Sonia waves goodbye when he leaves. She is the only one he sees.

When Hajime goes up for lunch, the bar penguin has a friend. The second penguin is a little crisper and neater.

“I haven’t seen Komaeda around much today,” he brings up to Souda over curry rice. He tries to make it seem off-handed.

“It’s probably that thing,” Souda says unhelpfully.

“That thing.” Hajime echoes.

“The paper thing.” Souda gestures with his spoon. “He’s getting pretty good. Those invitation whatevers turned out kind of neat.”

“Invitations.”

“Yeah, how they opened up like flowers? Koizumi put mine back together for me after I couldn’t cause I’m clumsy. I put it on the mirror in my room. Maybe that’s girly, I dunno.”

“Invitation to what, Souda?”

“That origami meet up on Thursdays,” Souda says like it’s obvious. “It was on the invite, man.”

“I didn’t get an invite, Souda,” Hajime explains with what feels like infinite patience.

“Oh.” Souda pauses. Hums. Takes another bite and a swig of banana milk. “Probably he just didn’t want to bother you,” he decides.

After lunch, Hajime pauses on the stairs, seeing movement. Down below, Komaeda folds a half sheet of paper, eyes narrowed in concentration, adding to his Arctic tableau. After a few minutes of careful creasing, a half-sized penguin nestles between the two bigger penguins in a little penguin family.

“Can I try?” Hajime asks and Komaeda startles.

“Ah… yes, of course.” Komaeda hands him a sheet and steps to the side, cradling the How-to book to his chest. He doesn’t offer to show Hajime the diagram and Hajime doesn’t need it. He folds a crisp and perfect penguin without even trying. He hardly ever feels like he’s trying, when it’s not people.

“Here,” he says, handing it to Komaeda, who looks over its flawlessly symmetrical lines with a neutral expression. He walks to the end of the bar top and puts it down, far away from the messy loving penguin family.

“Don’t you think they’d want to stick together?” Hajime asks lamely, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Like… don’t you think he wants to be friends?”

“He’ll be happier over there,” Komaeda says with finality, stepping back to admire his work. If he moved the penguin any further away, it would fall off the counter.

Hajime sighs again. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

On Thursday, Hajime decides to sort through the junk bins in Electric Avenue like he’s been avoiding for the past couple of weeks. It’s better to do this sort of thing alone, he reasons. It is tedious, automatic work, and by the end he has a solid organization system going. He sets a couple of things aside, bundling them into his bag and bringing them back across to the main island via schooner.

The kitchen is dark. The meeting must still be on. Hajime makes himself a sandwich and eats it with his feet in the pool, which Koizumi hates because she’s worried about crumbs. It’s nice, in a childish sort of way.

It’s not like he’s waiting, exactly, he reasons. He just happens to be out here, aimlessly footing around. He plays some Gala-Omega. He plays some Pac-Man. He peeks outside periodically, feeling like a creep. Souda is the first one coming around the bend and that might be his luck working because this is probably the best possible solution.

“Hey, c’mere a second.” Hajime gestures him into the downstairs lobby.

“What’s up, soul friend?” Souda grins at him cheekily.

“Here.” Hajime shoves two bundles at him. Souda pulls open the first.

“Heck yeah, you found me one! I thought if you had your luck you might.” He pokes at the Liox Li-air battery pack with obvious glee. “What’s this other stuff?”

“Komaeda needs it for the prosthetic upgrade.” Hajime clears his throat. “Can you do that?”

“You want me to work on his robo-arm? You wouldn’t let me near it during development, like it was your damn baby. What gives?”

Hajime’s eyes focus off in the distance, toward the bar top. “I’m just… busy right now.”

“Busy.” Souda looks at Hajime, bare footed with the cuffs of his pants rolled up, still a little damp around the bottom. He then looks pointedly at the new row of top scores on their two working arcade machines.

“Really busy,” Hajime insists.

“Hey, man, if this is about-”

“Ultimate Mechanic,” Hajime interrupts. “I bet you want to do all kinds of upgrades.”

Souda shuts up, eyes gleaming at the thought. “What about-”

“Not a rocket launcher. Not with his luck,” Hajime admonishes.

“You never let me have any fun,” Souda gripes, taking the parts and heading back outside.

Hajime takes his perfect penguin back to his cottage. He thinks about crumpling it up, but Komaeda is right. It would be a waste. He puts it on his desk, the single ornament in a plain and boring room for a plain and boring person.

“Yeah,” he says to no one in particular, and he goes to bed. Even after resting, he has a hard time focusing.

“Are…. a-are you doing okay?” Tsumiki asks hesitantly during inventory at the pharmacy. They’re in the back with all the really strong stuff, checking expiration dates and carting what’s salvageable to the hospital dispensary.

“Yes. The Ultimate Pharmacist talent is an easier one,” Hajime assures her, flipping through the steroids. The Prednisone is still properly sealed. He shakes the box a little and then puts it into the usable pile.

“T-that’s not what I meant,” Tsumiki murmurs. There’s a bright green origami rabbit peeking out from her apron pocket. “You haven’t been coming around much, and w-we were worrying-”

“If no one asks me for help, it’s because they don’t need it. If they don’t talk to me, they don’t need to talk to me.” Hajime discards several thoroughly crushed blister packs of allergy medicine. “I’m helping you, aren’t I? Because you asked. If someone asks me, I’ll help them.”

“W-what if Komaeda asks?” Tsumiki asks timidly.

Hajime snorts. “Komaeda is never going to ask me for anything,” he says with finality and after that they work in silence.

Nagito is in the back practicing penguins like usual when Hinata next comes to visit the library. He stays out of sight, but the open door lets him listen in as he presses folds into blue and white paper.

“Your mortal shell lacks vigor,” Tanaka notes from behind the counter where he is helping Sonia remove the unsightly relics of time lost past- his phrasing for wiping the dust jackets free of dirt and pollen. Hinata’s returned the book on electrical system hybridization, so Nagito supposes that the rewiring has gone off well. Lately, Hinata’s productivity has been at a record high. It is abominably conceited for one such as himself to take even the slightest credit for such an endeavor, but he can’t help feeling a little personal pride.

Hasn’t he kept his distance beautifully? Hasn’t he distracted the others and kept them entertained so as to not disturb Hinata’s most important work?

Origami Thursdays are a terrific success, he decides. Perhaps he’ll ask Mioda about a Karaoke Friday or something.

“We have not seen you for breakfast recently,” Sonia tells Hinata worriedly.

“I’ve been getting an early start,” Hinata says.Nagito chances glancing up as he leans over to pick up a fresh sheet of paper off the pile. Hinata has not noticed him, or is ignoring him, perhaps. His eyes are fixed on the high shelf behind the counter. There’s a little fox family there now, too. Three little kits. They are a disgrace. The Papa Fox has to be discreetly propped up using the corner of a children’s book. Hinata should not have to look upon such trash. Nagito’s fingers fairly itch to hide them away.

“Do you like them?” Sonia asks, noticing Hinata’s gaze. “They are so very cute! Komada has been putting them around. We’ve been helping.”

“The ice-visages in the den of inequity are particularly enchanting,” Tanaka agrees.

“I do so love penguins! Though I thought I saw four, earlier. There’s only three now.” Sonia says thoughtfully.

“You must have miscounted,” Hinata shrugs.

On his way to lunch, Nagito checks.

Hinata’s penguin is gone.

Well. That’s fine.

Hinata’s origami was so obviously superior. Ultimate Handicrafts, probably, or something of that nature. To put his creation alongside Nagito’s amateurish mess was an insult. It probably had a much better place to live now. Perhaps he should check.

When Hinata goes for a run by his lonesome after dinner, along the sandy beach, Nagito takes a quick look inside his cabin. It’s not hard to jimmy the lock, with a hairpin and a bit of luck. The penguin sits on Hinata’s desk and Nagito feels a small swell of pride at that too, though undeserved. It was his paper, his past-time, perhaps even his influence. He picks it up and looks it over, admiring its perfect creases. He gives it a tiny kiss on its little beak, feeling a bit foolish and lovelorn and yet… it’s nice. Hinata made it, after all.

He locks the cabin and leaves without disturbing anything. It might be a bit creepy, but then Nagito is perfectly aware of his own glaring faults. Besides, it’s not as though he breaks into Hinata’s cabin often.

Once or twice a week, at most.

Rarely when he’s sleeping.

The thing is, Hajime isn’t without sympathy. This used to be what it was like for him, wasn’t it? Komaeda.People just putting up with you. Of course they like Hajime, of course they do. He saved them. It’s just- he’s kind of creepy, right? And even when someone talks to him, he’s not great at it. No Ultimate Conversationalist skill, ha-ha!

It’s only fair, he reasons. Ultimate Sociologist totally gets it. Pack dynamics. Social identity approach. Secondary Interpersonal attraction. These terms apply to class 77-B, with shared history and loss and recovery. This current hierarchy, with him perched along the top, is different altogether. The Ultimate Despairs are an emergent response group. Temporary bonds formed according to external trauma. And now they are dissolving.

Because Komaeda has memories with them, memories of before, memories with Nanami. All Hajime has is shared Despair.

Hajime is helpful. He knows he’s helpful. He’s a human multitool, for crying out loud. And he keeps them in line, mostly. Keeps them from breaking anything too important. It had been annoying, all the hovering and fluttering but now it’s gone. Respect. Reverence. Not love.

But maybe that’s not good enough. Not when you’re looking for reasons to stay.

It isn’t like he sat down and planned it out, his leaving. It’s just that he looked up during dinner, in the middle of a table, in the midst of conversations that do not invite him in and realizes he is an empty chair. This would be the same either way, and wherever he goes, he will be just as hollow.

“I haven’t seen you smile like that before,” Komaeda says quietly, when he picks up Hajime’s dishes. He’s on clean up duty tonight. Hajime shrugs. It was a smile of relief. Once a problem is identified, it can be corrected.

Physical work always helps his mind clear, so it’s a few days later when Hajime takes a break from ripping the piping out of the walls outside the factory, the sweat running down his face and soaking his shirt. It’s too hot for this, just a little past noon, but he doesn’t want to sit still. Busy, he decides, is better.

He pulls off his shirt and uses it to wipe his face. When he looks up, Komaeda and Saionji have stopped where they were coming down the middle of the path. Komaeda stares.

“What?” Hajime asks, annoyed.

Komaeda turns on his heels and heads to the warehouse.

“Good talk,” Hajime mutters, throwing his shirt to the side of the path.

“He’s probably just really grossed out,” Saionji says, voice syrupy sweet. “You’re pretty disgusting right now, bro.”

“What are you two doing out here anyway?”

“More origami paper,” Saionji grins. “I’m giving private lessons.”

“Gross,” Hajime says with feeling.

“Are you jelly? Lime green jelly?” Saionji crows. “I’m a master of Japanese arts, you know!” She smirks up at him and Hajime just feels exhausted.

“So go get your paper and leave me alone,” he mutters.

“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Saionji sings, disappearing from view.

By the time Hajime finishes converting his irritation into manual labor, he’s got a sky-high pile of copper pipes and two pulled muscles in his back. He hobbles into the warehouse, looking for something to use as a walking stick till he can get to Nidai’s healing hands and sees the open crate, still ridiculously full of paper. On top, haphazardly discarded, is a single paper crane.

Komaeda’s paper crane. He can tell by the way the edges overlap slightly to the right. It must be particularly hard to do, with one robot hand. He imagines Komaeda unfolding and refolding, unfolding and refolding, mouth twisted to one side in concentration, wonders what it would be like to mess that up for him, to touch that expression.

He folds one. Two. Ten. Twenty. Fifty. By the time he gets to one hundred, his breath is even and his back hardly throbs. Speedy recovery and all that. He puts them in an empty box and slides it behind the crate.

When he gets to the dining hall, the chaos is in full swing but he still feels calm and centered. Souda notices him in the doorway after a bit and waves him over to try and make room, but Hajime just grabs an orange juice and waves.

“I need a shower, I’ll eat later.” Komaeda’s eyes follow him out of the doorway.

He can’t remember the last time he was in such a clear thinking mood. Ten days, he decides. Ten times one hundred is one thousand. Ten days is plenty of time. He will prioritize the repairs, focus on the ones that require varied talents, and then he will leave a thousand paper cranes and this island behind.

Nagito is suspicious.

Ever since he’d caught that peculiar smile on Hinata’s face, he’s been suspicious. Nagito is not particularly clever or capable or even useful, but he does have a head for delicate tasks like cleaning or folding origami and he is the resident expert on Hajime Hinata.

Of course the others had noticed and asked and of course he had answered them vaguely, with a reassuring smile but underneath it all, Nagito watched as he always did and waited and thought.

It was so hard to maintain distance, sometimes.

Hinata, sweat slicked and muscles stark as he worked outside in the unforgiving sun.

“Put your tongue back in your fucking mouth,” Saionji had sneered once she’d found him in the warehouse after their run in, hugging his own arms tightly and blinking brightly at the wall, overloading on the memory. She threw a piece of paper at him and he had caught it and folded a perfect white crane. The motions calmed him back to normalcy and he left it on the top of the crate, whimsically.

But he doesn’t like how hard Hinata is working. Like there’s a kind of deadline approaching. He goes for a walk, letting his feet carry him along. With his luck, he’ll figure it out in no time. It takes a day or two to figure out where in the warehouse his luck is telling him to look.

One hundred paper cranes.

“I-I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Tsumiki says happily as Hinata closes the panel of the MRI, the light on the side glowing a sudden reassuring green.

Two hundred paper cranes.

“Ibuki is totally gonna write a song about this!” Mioda crows when the lights flicker on properly backstage at the Titty Typhoon and the fog machine whirs to life.

Three hundred paper cranes.

“I thank you for your dedication,” Imposter murmurs imperiously as Hinata brings the diner oven to a steady, even flame. Imposter has a basket of oysters under one arm, ready to roast. He might be drooling a little.

Four hundred paper cranes.

“Fuckin’ unbelievable,” Kuzuryu blinks when Hinata makes the adjustment and then his bionic eye flares to life. “I feel like a goddamn superhero.”

Komaeda checks nightly and sees the number growing and growing, strung together in long strands. What is it for? What does it mean? Every crane is so perfect and Hinata is working so very hard. He sets up Koizumi’s dark room. He works on the desalination station. The greenhouse. The atmospheric purifier. Communication encryption.

Five hundred, six hundred, seven hundred, eight hundred.

“You look tired,” Nagito says nervously, running into Hinata in the the storage room accidentally-on-purpose. He takes two large steps backward.

“I’ll take a break soon,” Hinata explains, shutting down the back up generator now that it is running smoothly. “Then I’ll sleep for a week.”

“We will take pains not to disturb you, then.” Nagito assures him and Hinata just smiles vaguely in response. Nagito loves Hinata’s smiles. Not that one, though.

Nagito’s luck had fizzled out that morning during dish duty and caused a power outage for two hours, just long enough to collapse the delicate souffles Hanamura had planned for a special dinner treat. He decides that it’s better to keep his distance for now, in case there is more bad luck on the way. Nagito heads to the warehouse, to drag out the crate from under the worktables and to count the paper cranes. It’s wonderfully soothing. He wonders what will happen when Hinata reaches one thousand. Something wonderful, he bets.

In the crate, there are nine hundred perfect paper cranes. Beside the crate is a knapsack. It has dried rations, a portable water purifier, a multi-tool and a stun-gun. Crumpled in the pocket is a draft of a note. To him. To all of them.

By the time you are reading this…

Nagito takes a deep deep breath. His mouth twists up on one side.

What terrible luck.

After Hajime finishes the last of the essential repairs, he decides to head back to his cottage to shower up and to try writing his farewell note again. All the eloquence of the Ultimate Literary Genius, unable to write a short and sweet goodbye. Pathetic. After dinner, he’ll slip over to the warehouse and finish the last hundred cranes. His one small bag is already packed and waiting there. The shower he takes is a long one, and very hot. He enjoys it- it may be the last hot shower he has for a while, the world being what it is out there. He’s still toweling his hair roughly when he walks back into his bedroom and sees it- a single, perfect crane on his bed. White.The same crane he’d first seen in the warehouse, he realizes, picking it up.

Then someone clamps a rag around his nose and mouth from behind and everything goes black.

It is some time later when Hajime wakes up in bed. It is soft and he is comfortable. Someone has tucked him in on all sides, something he can’t remember ever experiencing before, even as a child. He blinks sleepily. Someone is banging on the door. It’s very annoying but he can ignore it, if he likes, so he does. There’s yelling now, too. What is it they’re saying… Fire? Someone is yelling Fire, Fire, how cliche.

He’s nearly asleep again when he recognizes Souda’s voice.

“YO!” Souda screams. “Get the fuck up, Komaeda set the warehouse on fire!”

Hajime blinks. He sits up.

“…Again?”

Nagito whistles tunelessly as he watches the building burn. As an after thought, he pulls the origami penguins from his pocket. One, two, three from the lobby, one from Hinata’s cottage, liberated during what he likes to think of as the Sleepytime Phase. Mioda had been less than amused by that, actually. She’s over with the others, staring at him and the fire and him and the fire as though something will change. It will not. He wanders closer to the building and they shy away. Nagito drops all the penguins into the fire together.

“If you’re going to burn, better to burn together,” Nagito murmurs, smiling.

He’s not crazy. He isn’t.

Probably.

“Wow.” Hajime crosses his arms, watching the Minimarus fighting the flames. It is both adorable and futile. The rest of their classmates huddle in a little group on the other side- as far away from Komeda as they can manage.

“The accelerant was a bit more potent in real life, I’m afraid,” Komaeda smiles cheerfully, two careful steps behind.

“Komaeda?”

“Yes, Hinata?”

“… why did you set the warehouse on fire?”

“You only had a hundred left,” Komaeda says, like it’s obvious. “You had to be stopped.”

“You set the warehouse on fire because of paper cranes?” Hajime wonders sometimes if he’s actually just having some kind of aneurysm and this is all some long, drawn out hallucination sequence.

“No, Hinata,” Komaeda says very slowly and Hajime swallows back the urge to hit him in the mouth. “I set the warehouse on fire because you were leaving.”

Hajime blinks.

“I knew you were up to something when you started working yourself to death. That list,by the way, the one you keep in your desk? Not the order I would have put those tasks in, but I’m sure someone as talented as you had your reasons. When I saw you had already packed your bag last night, I knew I had to act quickly-”

“Wait, when did you-”

“When you were sleeping, obviously,” Komaeda continues, as though this is the least important detail, “But I think you were really quite unfair, you know. I’m not sure what else I could have done. I was trying to be considerate, distract the others to let you have some breathing room, and then you go and do a thing like that. Honestly, I’m disappointed, if that’s as far as your hope can take you.“

“Can we go back like… to step three? Or something? Because…” Hajime trails off.

“The point is that you’re not allowed to leave the islands.” Komaeda shrugs carelessly. “Sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”

“I’m not allowed?”

“Nope.” Komaeda smiles again. “No more cranes, no more leaving.”

“The two aren’t… I mean, I could just… make more paper cranes.” Hajime says, bewildered.

“Most of the origami paper was lost in the fire. Turns out it does burn well! You’re so clever, to have known that. But if you find more or you make more, that’s okay. I’ll just burn those too.” Komaeda’s face settles into a peculiar expression. “But there’s no need for that. Someone as important as you has to be here! I can help. I can stay further back, if you like? Three… no,five steps? I can stop speaking to you directly, if the sound of my voice is too unpleasant to bear. Maybe I could only come out during the night, once everyone is asleep, so no one has to see trash like me? Those are just suggestions, please feel free to direct me how you please-”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hajime runs a hand down his face in utter exasperation. With his free hand, he grabs Komaeda by the wrist and drags him over to the others.

“Tell them you’re sorry,” Hajime orders.

“I am very sorry you must all co-exist with such a garbage human being,” Komaeda chirps.

“About the fire!”

“Oh. Did you want me to lie, Hinata? That doesn’t seem very nice.” Komaeda temporizes, tilting his head to the side.

“You are such a freak,” Saionji sneers.

“Crazy son-of-a-” Souda clutches at the front of his jumper, gritting his teeth.

“Somebody oughta put you down,” Kuzuryu says darkly and Pekoyama puts one hand on her bamboo sword.

Komaeda nods and nods. “But it was necessary, you know! For hope. And now our hope will stay.” Komaeda turns huge adoring eyes on Hajime. So does everyone else.

“Wait… what is he talking about?” Koizumi asks suspiciously.

“You were gonna leave?!” Owari bellows.

“Where the hell d’you think you’re going, punk? Too good for us now, is that it?” Kuzuryu turns on him and Pekoyama puts her hand back on her bamboo sword.

Hajime holds up a hand. “No. Stop. Look. I thought… and I was… it doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving,” he says. “Anymore,” he adds. They look thoroughly unimpressed. And there’s Komaeda, looking friendly and gentle and sooty and only maybe one tenth as insane as he actually is, but. Also. Didn’t it… wasn’t it… sort of… working?

He isn’t leaving, is he?

“Fuck, I’m tired.” He groans, almost to himself.

“Chloroform does that to people,” Komaeda agrees in a knowing sort of way.

“I need to lay down.” Hajime says after a solid thirty sixty seconds where he just covers his face and breathes heavily. “Now that the fire is contained, I need to lay down.”

Komaeda nods sagely but is then suddenly dragged up and along the path back to the bridge and the first island.

“Hinata?”

Hajime increases the pace. He can feel something building up inside of himself, as inexorably as the ocean. He just needs to get inside. If he can get back to his cabin he can sleep.

“I can see that you’re upset with me. Completely understandable! I’m imposing upon you with my presence. The very air that I breathe is like poison around you. It would be best if I stopped my disgusting voice altogether-”

Hajime grabs Komaeda by the shoulders. “Shut up,” he orders, but the buzzing in his head is so thunderously loud that he can’t be sure the words are coming out at all. Komaeda’s mouth is still moving. Words are still pouring out.

Hajime shuts him up. He puts a hand against Komaeda’s mouth and holds it there. “Stop,” he begs. “Stop holding back. Stop putting me to the side. Stop ignoring me. Stop whatever you’re doing to make them ignore me too, Komaeda… I can’t do this. I can’t take this.” Tears of frustration are escaping but he doesn’t care. They’re still in front of the ranch, haven’t even made it back yet, but Hajime just wants to lie down in the dirt. “Pay attention to me. Be around me. Be normal, okay? Be your normal, be your regular weird fuck self, I-” his voice breaks.

Nagito reaches up with his free hand and pulls Hinata’s hand off his face. He turns it around, till the fingers curl up toward the sky. He looks at Hinata impassively.

Had he always been so weak and soft? A little space and he doubts their love already. Utterly faithless. Utterly disappointing.

Nagito loves that part of him too.

He presses a kiss into Hajime’s fingers. The knuckles. The wrist. Each is a soft and reverent thing.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” He asks, between kisses. “Poor Hinata. You must be so tired.”

Hinata lets go of Nagito’s wrist and reaches up to scrub angrily at his face. Nagito takes that hand too. They’re standing in the middle of the path where anyone can see them, but if Hinata isn’t going to kick him into the dirt over it, he can’t be bothered to care what the inferior talents will think or feel. It’s Hinata’s decision, so if he chooses to have such appalling foresight as to allow Nagito free reign, well. Nagito won’t be the one to tell him he’s making poor life choices.

Komaeda leads, this time, their fingers laced together, and they go back to Hinata’s cottage. He makes no move to open the door; likely as not, he’d forgotten the keys in his haste. Nagito knows that fires tend to do that to even the best of people. Luckily, he has a hairpin.

“You’re too good at that,” Hinata sniffs warily.

“Thanks!” Nagito grins as he pushes open the door. He locks the door behind them. Hinata shucks his shoes and his shirt on the floor, which is a bit messy, but Hinata has had a rough day, so Nagito will let it slide this time. He tucks Hinata in on all sides and leans against the foot of the bed, head resting on his elbow, watching with a contented smile.

“You’re so goddamn creepy,” Hinata complains, throwing an arm over his eyes to keep from seeing him. “And embarrassing. And awful.” Nagito nods along. “Get off the floor,” he orders.

“The floor is too good for someone like me, but surely you don’t want to leave me unsupervised?” Nagito suggests. Hinata hauls him up by the elbow.

“Get in the fucking bed,” he says, and Nagito does, sliding happily between the sheets. He’s so warm, this steady physical presences that dips the mattress so they lay close together on the tiny bed. Nagito traces the path from Hinata’s shoulder down to his hip.

“You smell wonderful,” Nagito sighs, face buried against Hinata’s shoulder, curled into the shape of his body from the back. He smells a little sweaty from the run, but clean and quick, and still a little like shampoo. He nuzzles the back of Hinata’s neck and Hinata shivers.

“You smell like smoke,” Hinata says flatly. “Take your clothes off.”

Hajime would like to tell himself that he didn’t mean those words to come out that way. That this, like the thing about the origami, like the thing about leaving the island, was just a big mistake. It’s just that when Nagito slides back into bed, warm, soft, completely naked, and starts kissing the back of his neck with those same slow, even, deliberate kisses, he doesn’t want him to stop.

Komaeda’s hair still smells like smoke.

Hajime rolls over to face him anyway.

“You’re so fucking crazy.” Hajime murmurs, pulling him close. He holds Komaeda properly, holds him close to his chest like Komaeda might dissolve if he doesn’t. He might slip right through Hajime’s fingers and into the mattress and into the dirt. He might slip off in the night and set something else on fire. He might hurl himself off a cliff. Hajime kisses Komaeda’s cheek. His ear. The side of his nose. The corner of his mouth. “I can’t leave you alone. What the hell would you do?” He doesn’t let Komaeda answer, pressing his mouth against Komaeda’s and leaving it there, just breathing the same air. Occupying the same space. Komaeda kisses him back, gently. The wet slide of lips. Languid. Sleepy. Loving.

“You brought me back,” Komaeda reminds him, slipping his arms around Hajime too, dragging fingers down his broad back gently, making Hajime squirm. “Take responsibility.”

Hajime does.

#fanfiction #komahina #komahina secret exchange

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aspected-benefic · 5 years

Text

Prompt #10: Foster

and we open up with a shot of the house just like a sitcom

wc: 2,825 (putting word count total here as a warning)

((This is a headcanon I had way back during the great server shuffle. Though my main characters are currently on Sargatanas, I also consider Faerie my second home. I have a private free company there (thanks to @abeat who signed the petition for me :D~) and a cottage in Mist. At some point, long before server merges were announced, I had the idea to make an alt on Siren to take advantage of the Road to 60 buff, level said alt's crafters, then move said alt to Faerie. The first one was Apple, but for various reasons, I stayed off of Apple for a month and missed the Road to 60 buff window to level all the crafters. D'oh! Sometime later, I made Yet Another Alt - Azrael - to accomplish the same thing. Thanks to @abeat again (she is such a sweetie, I swear...) I created another FC to pass items between Apple and Az. Apple created levekit items, Az leveled very quickly, especially thanks to Road to 60, and he succeeded to get all his crafters to 60.

That's the IRL backstory. This is the headcanon I had in regards to moving the Siren characters to Faerie, the novelty of the One Lone Boy, and said One Lone Boy's social anxiety.))

[1]

The xaela, Xiaoning Shou, drummed her large stack of papers on the table until they stacked together evenly. "That about covers this meeting's topics--oh! No, wait. One more thing!"

A green-haired viera, Alto Aria, and a pink-haired lalafell, Princess Kneesaa, tilted their heads to the side in perfect synch.

"Concerning the upcoming, ah, move incentives, and the subsequent pending of three new members to our tiny free company, Vermilion Forest, I have some good news, some bad news, and some interesting news. Which news did you all want to hear first?"

Alto took a long sip of her tea. "Bad news? Oh dear. Let me finish this cup first."

Kneesaa folded her hands together on the table as a princess would when bracing herself for unpleasant news. "Please to tell us all the bad news firstly. Get it out of our way."

"Well, I got ahold of Apple Gardenia, our contact in the, um, other realm, and she said she couldn't get the amount of skill level required for the free company recruit message. Which, as a reminder, was to get all of her disciples of hand to a high enough standard." Xiaoning held up her hand to the other two before they had anything to add. "However! She raised an apprentice who can make us guildleve kits! And has mastered every disciple of the hand to a high enough level! Even beyond what we asked for! That's the good news. Now here comes the interesting news."

Alto and Kneesaa leaned in.

"It's..."

Alto and Kneesaa leaned in further.

"... a boy."

Alto and Kneesaa fell over.

"A boy?!" Alto clenched her hands together.

"In our all-girl free company?" Kneesaa chimed in.

"Vermilion Forest just happened to be all-girl by coincidence..." Xiaoning started but was promptly cut off as Alto and Kneesaa stood to their full heights and slammed their hands on the table.

"Oh gods, do we have to allot a separate bathroom for him?" Alto asked.

"Our bathrooms are gender neutral, just like my inn--"

"What's his name?" Kneesaa asked.

"Azrael Megid, I think--"

"Race?"

"Au Ra Xaela, like me--"

"Personality?"

"Quiet? Apple says he's very shy, but a hard worker and a good person overall." Xiaoning pressed on before the other two had anything else to add. "And you know the other best part of this good news is?"

"What's that?" the other two asked in unison.

"He's a PALADIN!"

Alto and Kneesaa clasped their hands together as their starry eyes envisioned a tall au ra man clad in head-to-toe armor. "Ooohhh...!"

The last point in case was the last push their excitement meter needed. For Xiaoning and Alto, a Red Mage and Composer respectively, a tank could escort them into dangerous areas quickly. For Kneesaa, a White Mage or Scholar depending on her mood, she could have a reliable escort into dangerous areas. This proposition seemed full of win.

Soon, any pretenses of formality melted in a gaggle of flails and squeals.

"Still! A boy in the free company! A boy! So exciting!"

"Imagine, having a boy around! a boy in the house! In chat!"

Outside the free company house, the squeals of excited girls rang throughout the entire ward.

Meanwhile, on the aforementioned realm, smoke billowed out the chimney of a small blacksmith forge. Inside, among other things, a rack of impeccably crafted greatswords laid on the wall. Untouched. Unmoving.

Until one hinge at the far end unceremoniously snapped.

In the blink of an eye, the sword barely began its descent downwards when a blur skidded into the vicinity and caught the blade in his hands. Once stopped, the blur revealed itself to be a red-haired au ra in a crouched position.

"Phew."

The au ra, Azrael Megid, stared at his works. He looked up to see the broken hinge in question. He had just built that rack himself. There was no way that anything short of bad luck could have broken it.

Unless... it was a bad omen.

Azrael furrowed his brow. "Somehow, I have a bad feeling..."

[2]

Since Apple first taught him the ropes of crafting, she had warned him that eventually they would move to a new free company. That he was getting recruited for the specific task of making guildleve items. No big deal. Azrael liked to help out. Before he came to Eorzea, he had been a blacksmith by trade in the first place, both as a cover story and an actual trade. He loved creating more than destroying. Points for that. He'll have a place to stay, revenue, and a cover story. Check.

The problem? Imminent social interaction.

Even though he could speak to his free company mates Apple Gardenia and Haruka Kinome now, before he found himself at a loss for words.

What do I say? What do I say...?

That night, Azrael tossed and turned in his sleep. His thoughts of carrying a conversation - a regular old fashioned oh yes let's talk about harmless topics for hours and this and that - continued to haunt his dreams.

Eight pairs of hands raised in front of him. "Make us all the things, Azrael!"

Azrael in his dream tried to speak but nothing came out except for a few awkward noises.

Those same eight pairs of hands raised in front of him again. "Escort us through the dungeons, Azrael!" chirped the plethora of DPS and healers.

And him as the only tank in the entire free company.

"A-all at once? Today?" Azrael stuttered in his nightmare.

Azrael woke up in a cold sweat. He shot up and pressed a hand to his chest. Perhaps one day he would warm up to the idea of saying hello. That day wouldn't be moving day.

[3]

The fated moving day. According to a letter from Apple, the transfer papers went through without any problems and the trio were on their way. While Xiaoning could have just invited all three to the free company and day over; go home, what fun was that? Instead, Xiaoning also decided to host a small welcoming party.

A large banner saying Welcome, Sirenites! hung on the overhead partition facing the front door. On the counters laid various baked goods and other snacks and tidbits. Xiaoning, Kneessaa and Alto positioned themselves to be immediately visible as soon as the new people walked through the door. All three girls hopped in place and looked at each other with anxious, bright smiles. Neither of them could wait to see the new people!

The doorknob rattled. The trio perked up. "Here they come. Here they come!"

The door burst open. In strode a miqo'te like she had just returned home from a long day's work at the farm. Her brown, braided pigtails fell on both sides of her muscular shoulders and her face was covered in freckles. She wasn't particularly pretty, but her broad smile made everyone feel warm and welcome in her presence.

"Hey, y'all! We finally made it! Nice t'finally meet'cha'll in person!" Apple said in her unique Lominsan drawl.

"Apple! So glad you could make it! I'm so happy to see you!"

Xiaoning bounded over to Apple and wrapped her arms around the miqo'te in a giant hug. Apple returned the hug with equal force. Apple lifted Xiaoning up. Xiaoning lifted Apple up. Alto and Kneesaa came over to share the hug as well.

"Hey, everyone, this is Apple Gardenia." Xiaoning gestured to the brown-haired miqo'te. "We've maintained contact ever since she first sent her recruitment letter. She's really friendly!"

Apple laughed. "As they say back at the farm, ya wanna keep everyone happy, ya gotta feed 'em, and kindness and love are nourishment for the soul. But ya ain't gotta tell me twice to be nice. I love people! Gimme another hug!"

More group hugs. More group lifting. Except in Kneesaa's case where she gently petted everyone's knees.

A knock on the door momentarily stopped the joyous union. Unlike before, where Apple most likely rattled the door knob just to see if she had to kick a locked door down or not, this knock came as polite, yet firm. Deliberate. Like someone polite but of authority.

Xiaoning popped her head from out of the crowd. "The door's open!"

"Excuse me," said a female voice in the same gentle, yet firm manner.

The door closed behind her. There stood a beautiful female hyur with reddish-pink hair that fell into curls on her shoulders. She held her hands in front of her white attire - a garment that could only be politely called a dress, and truthfully called lingerie.

"My true name is Princess Weyll, but you, like, know me on the register as Haruka Kinome. Like, a pleasure to meet you all." The hyur known as Haruka curtsied.

The trio of Vermilion Forest stared at Haruka in awe. "Oh wow, she's so beautiful." "She looks just like a real princess!" "Look at that flawless skin!"

Xiaoning returned the bow. "A pleasure to meet you."

Kneesaa looked up in awe. "Another princess! Kneesaa had yet to meet another like her! Princesses must have pink hair!"

Haruka held a hand to her mouth in a dainty laugh. She curtsied to Kneesaa and smiled. "Yes. Like, a pleasure to make your acquaintance!"

The house quickly filled up with chatter and laughter. So excited the Vermillion Forest trio were to have new members into their small free company - and meet two new people in general - that they had completely forgotten their other point of anticipation and excitement. That was, until Kneesaa spoke up.

"Was there not one more to walk through the door?" the lalafell asked.

Apple and Haruka looked at each other. Both raised their eyebrows and smiled a combination of sheepish and awkward before turning to the trio with the same expressions.

"Y'all mean Azrael?" Apple asked. "He, uh, well..."

Haruka giggled again. "He's very shy. You could say he's not, like, properly acclimated to people."

"No kiddin'. On the battlefield, the kid fights like a primal incarnate, but anywhere else, you say anything more than hi to him and he folds over like a shrinkin' violet. Knowin' him, he'll show up long after everyone's gone to bed. Dun worry. Just do what I did when I first met 'im and leave some notes."

Xiaoning nodded. "I guess that will have to do for now."

Kneesaa bowed her head. "While it would have been nice to see our imminent one body come to the free company, we shall respect these wishes."

Alto smiled and raised her conductor's baton. "For now, though, how about a little music to kick off this celebration? We have food! Help yourself!"

Apple clasped her hands together. "Oh boy! Food! Man, I'm sure starvin'! All that hikin' from one land to another's gotten me beat!"

"Well, like, don't mind if I do. Thank you for setting this all up!" Without hesitation, Haruka took a cookie.

The joyous festivities lasted well into the night. The music and chatter could be heard deep into the ward. Only after the sun began to rise in the horizon did the lights finally go out.

[4]

Another day, another morning. An hour after everyone had cleared out of the free company house, the door opened with a decisive turn of the knob and a pushing of the door. Azrael peered into the building through the top of the door. Inside looked like a bazaar - yes, this was definitely the correct house. A little cramped for someone of his height, but well spaced for someone shorter. Not one was there to greet him, not even a mender or a vendor often employed in housing wards. So far so good. He closed the door behind him. Time to check out the place.

Immediately, one item caught his eye: a piece of paper with his name on it pinned to the wall. He bent over bring his face eye level to the parchment.

To Azrael,

Hello and welcome to Vermilion Forest! On behalf of everyone here, I hope you enjoy your stay. Thank you for answering our recruitment call for a levekit crafter. If it's not too much trouble, do you mind getting started as soon as you can? Here are a list of things to make. Please place the items in the third slot of the free company chest. Speaking of which, you are free to use any mats in there to help you out. But don't take everything and run! We know who you are and where you live! Anyway, thank you very much! -Xiaoning.

Xiaoning's warning made Azrael chuckle. Such honesty. And on top of that, someone - most likely Apple - must have told Xiaoning to leave a note for him, rather than scold him to become more sociable. He appreciated that.

The items Xiaoning listed were guildleve items. Azrael rolled up his sleeve. Time to get to work.

[5]

Xiaoning didn't awake until well into the afternoon. She yawned and smoothed down her long, black hair as she entered the free company home. "Good morning, everyone..." she mumbled into the special linkpearl created for the free company.

"Good morning, Xiaoning.." muttered a few equally tired voices.

A quick glance to the wall showed that the note Xiaoning had pinned there earlier that morning had gone. Did someone move it? Was Xiaoning just dreaming in thinking she had made a note?

Or did the one lone boy come to the free company after all?

Xiaoning looked at the free company roster. No, his name was there, just like the other newcomers. Azrael Megid.

Did that mean he had seen the note? Curiously, Xiaoning peered into the free company chest, slot three.

All of the items Xiaoning had asked for laid neatly in each compartment.

Xiaoning removed one of said items: an Iron Celata. She held the helmet in front of her head, turning it every which way to inspect in the light. Just as Apple had said, Azrael's craftsmanship was careful, precise and impeccable. Exactly what Xiaoning was recruiting for.

Tucked into the helm was parchment. Seemed too deliberately placed to have been Xiaoning's old note rolled up and put away. Sure enough, the note had been addressed to her. Or whoever saw it in general.

Thank you for having me. I'll do my best. -Az.

Xiaoning smiled and tucked the parchment away in her personal satchel. She had a feeling that the one lone boy would get along in the free company just fine.

[Epilogue]

"Everyone, quick! Come to the inn." Xiaoning whispered into the free company chat. "A visitor named Azrael Megid had checked himself in earlier this evening. It could be the very same one lone boy of our free company!"

Soon, the stairwell of the Ruby Phoenix Inn leading downstairs to the actual in area became crowded. Alto and Kneesaa arrived first, dying of curiosity. Apple and Haruka also arrived, though more curious than anything to see how this event played out.

Lead by Xiaoning, the group tip-toed downstairs into the inn area. The inn rooms themselves had no doors, but carefully placed partitions so people couldn't immediately see who or what was inside. Which meant they couldn't catch a glimpse of this mysterious lone boy of the free company beforehand. Although certainly a male presence had made its way here - the further along the group moved, the louder the breathing noises became. At the end of the hall, Xiaoning gestured to the group. With Alto's head on the top, Xiaoning's in the middle and Kneesaa's on the bottom, the trio peered in the room.

Lying on his back too deep in sleep to notice anything but his own slumber, was Azrael Megid, the fabled lone boy of the free company.

"Oh, there he is. So that's what he looks like." said Alto. "Au ra standards must be different, but to me, he looks so young."

"He is young. The less scales they have, the younger they are." Xiaoning whispered. "He's a xaela, just like me."

"He is so tall!" Kneesaa cooed in a whisper. "He is also very muscular. They look even bigger than yours, Xiaoning."

"What? Really? ... well what do you know..."

Azrael, completely asleep and unaware of his visitors, stirred in his sleep. His soft moan acted like a needle to burst Xiaoning, Kneesaa and Alto's collective contained excitement. The novelty! The difference! Squealing like a bunch of schoolgirls, they ran up the stairs. Apple and Haruka moved out of the way to let them pass, then smiled and shrugged to each other.

"Such a lively group." said Haruka.

"You could say that again." chuckled Apple.

#ffxiv #FFxivWrite2019 #lazy tag

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multiversal-archive · 5 years

Text

((Hello guys, I have some hot fuckin’ tea, and it’s about Yamcha. Come join the tea party and take a sip, babes.

Alright, so for context, there was conversation on @dragon-ball-meta [sorry if you think it’s weird to be tagged in a random rp blog’s post I will delete it from the post if you want me to-] about the potential of a pairing between Android Eighteen and Yamcha, the majority agreeing that the pairing really didn’t make a lot of sense. No big deal, right?

Then comes one user, I will not name them because I don’t want to turn this into a witch hunt, who basically argued “IT DOESN’T WORK BECAUSE YAMCHA IS SEXIST TRASH”

And it. Really annoyed me, you know? Especially since there seems to be this trend of shitting on Yamcha for dumb or made up reasons.

And if you know me, you know that I can’t stand people shitting on him and Krillin.

Now, Dragon Ball Meta has done a good job in rebutting against their arguments, but I wish to make a response of my own, since this character assassination has been going on for years, and I think it’s time to stop.

Fuck your memes, the only valid Yamcha meme anymore is Yamcha juggling turtle shells.

Now before I start, I’d like to preface a few things.

First, no, I do not ship Eighteen and Yamcha. Not only because of the context that Dragon Ball Meta has pointed out, but because their general characters would really make the ship make no sense. Yamcha’s fear of girls would really not mesh well with Eighteen’s ‘spit it out’ kinda attitude. Not to mention, as much as I like Bulcha, Bulma is proof that bossy women just aren’t the best match for Yamcha. He’s too passive to make the relationship work. Yamcha is so afraid of getting dumped that he just nervously accepts that she’s right, and sometimes your partner needs to be told that they’re wrong. And while Eighteen is quieter, she’s kinda bossy too. So no, I don’t see this ship working, with or without Krillin.

Second, just so there’s no mistake, no, this is not me arguing against Dragon Ball Meta. I might elaborate, or even correct him on a few things on the subject, but in general, I agree with his assessment of Yamcha’s character. This is a response to one of the users that reblogged his post. Please do not think for a second I’m trying to start beef or anything.

Also, the person will not be name dropped because one, again, no witch hunt, and two, this is unfortunately an opinion of Yamcha that the majority of the fanbase seems to hold. So I will be arguing them all to fuck.

And if you find out who it is by going to DBM’s blog, do not, I repeat, do not harass them. If you do, I will block you. No exceptions! I don’t care if you’re following me, I don’t care if you like my writing and my characterization, I don’t even care if we’re mutuals. If you harass someone over works of fiction, you’re fucking dead to me.

Third, I know that being a Yamcha roleplayer might make me biased, but believe me, in order to write for this character, I had to do a fuck ton of research, especially since I’m actually relatively new to the series [I fuckin started binge watching it last year from Dragon Ball to Dragon Ball Super, still debating on watching GT], reading up on anything that I missed so that I can stay as true to his character as possible.

That being said, the research I’ve done on this series and this character is why I think the notion of Yamcha being sexist, a cheater, etc. is erroneous.

Now, Let’s begin.

You really don’t bring up a lot of points, your main ones being one, he sees girls as objects and not people, and two, he cheated on Bulma [ah that classic misconception among fans], So I will shoot them down one at a time.

One; You claim that Yamcha is sexist, that he sees girls as objects and things to be exploited.

... When?

No, I mean it, give me one fucking example. You made the claim, the burden of proof is on you, as the one making the argument. I’ll even provide links that let you view the mangas and animes for free so you can point me to one manga panel, one episode with the time that it happens. Give me one example, and I might, might, take that claim seriously.

You also say that he feels justified in his fear and distrust of women, so he’s sexist.

Uhm....? No??? You’re right that he’s afraid of women, but distrustful??? The fuck did that come from?

Oh, but you might zone in on the fear and be like, “That’s proof enough that he’s sexist!”

Uuuuuhhhhh no.

See, fear can mean different things depending on what it’s bred by. With things such as homophobia, transphobia, and, yes, sexism, those are fears bred by hate.

In Yamcha’s case, it’s clear that that’s not his case of fear. Not only does he express his want to get over his fear so he can talk to a girl without freezing up or being a blabbering mess, hence his motivation for trying to steal the Dragon Balls from Goku and the others, but the other characters’ outright point out that he’s shy. On numerous occasions. Usually by Bulma, but still.

Not to mention that usually his reactions to being around a girl or being flirted with by one, it’s usually very anxious, leaving me to believe that he’s got some sort of social anxiety going on.

If you need proof, look no further than episode six of Dragon Ball “Keep an Eye on the Dragon Balls”, where it shows various instances of Yamcha going into panic attacks over Bulma, even going into an outright catatonic state when he realizes he accidentally grabbed Bulma’s boob. [which also discredits the notion of Yamcha seeing girls like objects, as he’s constantly horrified of seeing and touching a naked girl. If he saw girls as objects, he would have been creeping on her all to hell.]

The only reason he got over his fear with Bulma is because her safety was in jeopardy, and he had to put his fear aside to protect her. Once again, this discredits the idea of him seeing women as beneath him, as well as your other point, which I will get to in a while.

“But why is he only like that with girls?” you might ask. Well, not only is there several real life examples of boys being too shy around girls and feeling more at home with talking to boys, Yamcha has expressed wanting to get married one day. And as someone with social anxiety myself, I do find it very hard to approach people IRL because I’m afraid of being judged, if it makes sense. So it’s very easy to argue that the same could apply to Yamcha, just with girls his age.

Two; Your argument is that he cheated on Bulma and that in general, any ship with him would be abusive.

Uhm??? The only source for the cheating issue was Trunks, who got it from his mother... Who’s known to misunderstand situations Yamcha finds himself in as him cheating. Who’s known to get jealous if a girl shows interest in him, not him showing interest in the girl, but the girl showing interest in him.

Not to mention, does this look like someone that’s willing to cheat?

Because to me this looks more like someone that takes his relationship with Bulma seriously and wants to take it further. And remember, the only prompting was Goku telling Bulma to “take care of the baby” with no context.

Oh, also here’s the link to the manga page so you know I’m not bullshitting.

Oh, what’s that? You’re going to bring up the episode in Dragon Ball Z where it shows him as a baseball player? Where not only were they broken up at the time when he asked someone to go on a date with him and was talking with another girl, but the entire episode was also filler? Once again, think back to his shyness. Even Toriyama confirmed that it’s always going to be there.

“Oh but then you’ll have to say all the fun stuff like Chichi making Goku learn to drive and Yamcha, Tien, and Chiaotzu kicking the Ginyu Force’s ass.” you may say.

I mean. Yeah. It’s not canon. But unless it’s deconfirmed by Toriyama himself or doesn’t contradict established characterization, then we can still imagine that they happened. Most of the filler are things happening during timeskips anyways, or just don’t happen during the main story, so it’s really up to the imagination what all happened, and Toei did just that.

You also claim that Yamcha behaves like a fuckboi, to which I have to say bitch where?

Yeah, he was a bit annoyed that Bulma had Vegeta’s child, but that was never, I repeat, never directed at Bulma, or Trunks for that matter. In fact, by the looks of it, he was helping Bulma take care of him. It’s quite clearly directed at Vegeta.

Why?

Simply put, Yamcha’s ultimate goal was to settle down and start a family. And not only does Vegeta do that, with his ex no less, but he also just... Completely ignores them.

Can you imagine how infuriating that is, not even flaunting something they have that you don’t, but completely ignoring it like it’s nothing.

Vegeta had started this family, the family that could have been Yamcha’s, and he wasn’t even willing to take responsibility for it.

Now I’m not trying to imply that Yamcha was owed anything or that Bulma owed anyone anything. Hell, I don’t think Yamcha thought that either. I’m just trying to illustrate his mindset.

And you know what? After the Cell Games Saga, he stopped being cross with Vegeta. He’s still friendly with Bulma and Trunks, and he’s even friendly with Vegeta. Hell, when Bulla was born, he was excited to meet her.

Pretty sure if he were a fuckboy, he’d be trying to win Bulma back.

But no, he’s content with being friends with Bulma and her family. Because, at least I think, he cares about what she wants and what makes her happy. I think so long as she’s happy with what she has, then he’s happy too.

Does that sound like a fuckboy to you?

“Well then why did they break up? Are you saying Bulma did something wrong?”

No.

Just like in real life, sometimes break ups don’t happen because one slighted the other.

Sometimes things just don’t work out.

Think about it, throughout the series, up until the Android Arc, their relationship has been on and off, usually Bulma accusing him of cheating. And like I pointed out earlier in the post, Yamcha is just too passive to make the relationship work. If he were more assertive and willing to stand his ground and assure her that no, he’s not cheating, then maybe it would have had a better chance of working.

I think at this point, the healthiest thing for them was that they stopped being in this relationship. For good.

And if their break up was really the result of one of them wronging each other, they would not still be friends.

So, can we end this character assassination? It’s been going on for yeas, and it needs to stop. Same with Krillin’s character assassination.

The memes may have been funny once upon a time, but they’re getting old now. And people are starting to view them as canon.

And that’s it for my tea. If you have something you wish to add or to correct me on, please be sure to share your thoughts. I’d love to know. ^^

Sorry that this is so long and probably all over the place holy fuck-))

#OOC #yamcha #long post #tea

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imkindanerdforlanguages · 5 years

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aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh啊啊啊啊啊啊啊啊啊啊啊!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I was actually right about everything about my crush and her maybe girlfriend! Full story below and some will be repeat if anyone’s actually been keeping up with this. Skip to the third to last paragraph if you only wanna hear what happened today and not all the back story. I wrote this mainly so I could look at it later and remember and it turned out wayyyy longer than expected

Ok so I’ve like this girl a long time and we’ve been friends never questioned too much of she liked girls or not so that was never really a problem. So cut to football season 2017. We’re both in marching band and that’s how we became friends that year. We ended up both being in the same English class that school year and I become good friends with some of her other friends, including her maybe gf. (Shout out to those friends they’re super great). Since I have a massive crush on her (it’s 2018 by now) I pay more attention to her and stuff and I kinda notice how she acted with maybe gf. Like paying attention to maybe gf like I payed attention to her, looking at her lips, always mentioning her, stuff like that. So I think “oh she likes her, oh well, I wish her the best.” I’m quite shy irl so I wasn’t gonna make a move or anything and I was content what it was, though hopeful that she’ll maybe like me someday. I hate if people come on too strong myself and kinda believe that feelings are just gonna be what they are, rather than things that can swung heavily (idk if that makes sense but whatever)

So summer break happens then we’re at marching band 2018 still got my crush, still hopeful but not expecting much bc I still notice things between my crush and maybe gf. I think maybe gf is straight (I know, I know I’m not for assuming people’s sexuality but it was what it was) maybe it was my feelings making me think that maybe gf would never reciprocate but anyways I mainly feel bad for my crush bc it looks she really likes this girl and I can relate lol. So homecoming comes and I really wanna slow dance with her but I miss my fucking chance bc I go to the bathroom. Oh well. She did grind on me at one point but all the girls in our group were so whatever it was nice but didn’t really mean anything. And I actually worked up the nerve to text her that she looked gorgeous at homecoming (which she did) and I’m still proud of myself for that

One day shortly after, we’re at a band competition in the warmup room chilling bc we’re waiting for the rain to stop so we can go on. We’re talking in a group and someone ends up asking her if she has a crush on maybe gf, and she quickly denies (and I think yeah right lol) but then they ask if she has a crush on me and she stutters our her denial. The way she did it made me think that maybe I had a chance (there were other things too of course like the occasional look, etc). So the next day I muster up all the courage I have and text her asking if she has a crush on me, she says no, and I confess that I like her to get it off my chest. I thank god that we still remained great friends after that. We actually haven’t brought it up since.

Then the next football game she’s asked if she’s ever kissed a girl and she says yes and I’m like ah ha! I bet they are actually dating. (Side note that I kinda came out to like have the band that night cause someone asked if I was straight and I said no). I get a text from maybe gf the next day asking for relationship advice (she had never mentioned that she was in a relationship before) or something (I can’t really remember anymore). She’s playing the pronoun game so I figure that it’s a girl she’s dating and she’s says so later and tells me she’s bi. I told her I was bi too and we bonded over that and stuff it was nice and brought us closer etc. She says she doesn’t wanna tell me who it is and I respected that but I kinda figured that it was my crush. I think oh well that sucks for me but I’m happy for them. For things like this I largely live by just flowing with life and seeing where it takes you. If I didn’t I’d probably literally explode from stress lmao

Over then next couple months she tells me various things about her relationship which went through ups and downs. She felt trapped and pressured to come out and like nobody else could ever love her (which I always denied). There was a rough patch where she overloaded me with emotional stuff (which I am not prepared to handle) but it’s not too relevant to the story other than that a lot of the things she said made me more sure that my crush was her gf bc it just sounded like how she would act (note that after this she pretty much stopped texting me about her gf so I didn’t really get anymore info)

Sidenote: I’m not too sure how healthy their relationship actually was and since I only ever got one side of it I’m still not too sure how much of what I was told was truthful vs exaggerated since maybe gf was going through a rough patch. There were things like her panicking bc her gf was talking about marriage (yikes) and coming out and stuff. But she also talked about how it was easy to not cheat bc there was no one else in our town and she would kiss other girls as like a shock factor thing at parties and be like “my gf shouldn’t get mad bc it’s not like fr” (also yikes). I’ve pretty much come to the conclusion that both of them had things that weren’t the best but we’re teenagers and this was probably both of their first relationships so I’m not labeling them as bad people or anything. The biggest clue tho that my crush was her gf was that she said that her gf was the only person who knew all the terrible things about her/her life and since my crush was probably the closest to her I sorta assumed

Sidenote 2: some other things that made me sure of their relationship: my crush once got jealous of me in the group chat (she jokingly told me no to something, idk what anymore, and my crush was like what about me??? Lol), maybe gf kinda tripped and my crushes hand went to her waist in an intimate way to stabilize her, they were always each other’s lock screens, my crush would always give in to maybe gf (which sometimes I didn’t like bc I felt like she had to give into some things she shouldn’t have— not like really bad things but just kinda :/ and she’d have to apologize for playful insults even tho maybe gf said like the same level of insult), the eye contact when our teacher mentioned interracial sex lol, also the constant FaceTiming and calling that lowkey got on my nerves (nyc trip was the worst but really wasn’t that bad. It was mostly the jealousy that made it suck)

Sidenote 3: prom happened somewhere in here and we cuddled on the couch a bit but not like what your thinking, more like sat really close but it was nice. At one point she was like completely on top of me bc she was fighting with someone playfully

Anyways moving on to the end of the school year, I’m like 90% sure they’re dating, and I notice things seem tense between them. My crush would put her head down a lot and they would playfully insult each other with a bit more bite. They didn’t hang around each other as much as they used to, etc. I was just really picking up on some vibes. Eventually things seem to settle down a bit buts it’s the end of the year already and they’re graduating and stuff.

All three of us ended up doing this program at a university that lets kids work with scientists and learn about stem etc. we each work in different labs so we don’t see each other everyday but the group gets together like 1-2 times a week. During these, I notice that they just don’t seem as close, like they didn’t sit next to each other, phone lock screens aren’t each other, crush’s name in maybe gfs phone is her full name not nick name (though this could have always been that, I’m not sure), my crush no longer apologizes or cares as much if maybe gf gets a little mad (which she gets easily). Taking this with the tension before school got out into consideration, I figure that they must have broken up. Cool cool, maybe I have a chance but also she’s moving across the state for college in a month so :/

That brings us to the grand finale: today. So I have no idea really if they have broken up or if they were even together in the first place. But then maybe gf mentions that she is now dating this guy (which I approve of, he’s super sweet). I kinda suspected bc a picture of him was her lock screen, they had been hanging out a lot, initials in insta bios (which Ik should be a dead give away but she once said that she hates how people assumed that her and this other guy were together when she was dating her gf do I didn’t wanna assume anything) and I was like ah ha! At lest Ik that they aren’t dating now if they ever did in the first place. She invites me to come hang out with her, her bf and another couple that I’m good friends with tomorrow. So after I get home, partly bc I don’t wanna be the only single person there, partly bc I wanna see if I can weasel out the truth, and partly bc I may have day dreamed about us being all coupley too and maybe a kiss (oh how I wish). I text her and ask if my crush can come too so I’m not the only single person there. She texts back saying that it would be a good idea. So I figure it’s now or never so I ask if it’s bc they dated. She originally says no but then says admits that yes they dated but she broke up with her and they are still friends.

She basically says that she broke up with her bc she’s not ready to be out bc she doesn’t wanna lose some of her friends, wants to be normal, etc. she’s always been insecure, so it’s not too surprising for me. I sincerely hope that one day she reaches a place where she can be herself and not worry. I also feel bad for my crush bc I have a feeling that she’s probably still pretty hurt over it and I wish her the best too. I’m not gonna try to like make a move or anything bc a. I have no idea how long it’s been since the breakup and how she feels about it b. I’ve already expressed feelings so I don’t wanna be that person who keeps pusing after they’re rejected c. She’s moving like 6 hours away in a month

All in all I’m super surprised that I actually picked up on the fact that they were dating and had broken up bc I’m am not very emotionally intelligent at all. Honestly I doubt I would have picked up on much if I was paying such close attention bc of my crush. I spent like an hour+ writing this I can’t believe I actually had so much to say and it makes my life seem much more dramatic that it is. Thank you if you actually read all this or have kept up with my woes in the slightest bye

#i was gonna stufy chinese but i wrote this novel instead #me

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listoriented · 5 years

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Burnout: Paradise

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1. Burnout. Spinning wheels without moving. Antipodean slang. The smell of burned rubber.

The blank word document is another rounded bend. A few cars here and there loaded in. Driving these virtual streets is seeing ideas, tangents, discourse, thoughts spill off. In front is always nothingness. An inability to grasp on to anything coherent. Yes this is synecdoche, yes this is consumerism, a shiny shell of petromodernity – an actual critical theory term that I now take seriously - yes this is me, my life, my phd in miniature, the imperfect totalising open-world game, or yes this is a microcosm of the entirety of trying to play through the letter “B” of my steam library, stop-start, hopeful then despairing, takes longer than it should, yes this game is a magnum opus and I wish so hard to fill my lungs and release until my fingers are pinching some inflated balloon perfectly full of a graspable idea, or yes this game is fundamentally empty, a comment on a comment; at the bottom of all searches for purpose we find searches for purpose, etc.

So I start and I start and I start again. I drive I drive I drive. Event after event ticks down, my license goes from learner to D to B to A and then I hit my goal, “Burnout license”, and still I don’t know what I’ll write. Something about driving, in general; driving as notionally relaxing, driving while thinking about other things. How do people write? Write things? My PhD is in pieces on the floor and in the computer and in my head. I drive around Paradise City and terrible emo from the mid-noughties plays, interspersed with long bouts of classical. Days pass, and in the game the day turns into night and back again, and I adjust the clock to make this happen slower, and the weather changes in Paradise City, a little – cycles of rain and cloud and sun - and here in Melbourne the weather changes too. It was the tail end of summer when I started, and we’ve been through the surprising highs and lows of autumn, now settling into winter, doing it all again. There are no roads leading in or out of Paradise City, and it’s a long drive back from the hills.

2. Burnout. A series of arcade-style racers made for various platforms by Criterion Games [official site] between 2001 and 2011.

It’s a little uncanny, this pocket of 2008. It just looks real good to my rusty, unfussy eyes, like in visual terms it hasn’t aged in ways other games from that year age (though my friend James vehemently disagreed). It does the trick. It does lots of tricks. And it seems rare too, to say of a 2008 game that it’s a masterpiece, that it’s the best of its class, though of Paradise this is surely true, if all reports are to be believed with regards to all other open-world arcade driving games that have come since, including everything else made by Criterion.

Any doubts about its age are firmly put to bed by the soundtrack, though, which despite prominently featuring that Guns N’ Roses song from 1987 just screams mid-2000s at me, abundant “rock” guitars, masc whine and all, very of its time, salvaged by one timeless Avril Lavigne banger, a chunk of classical, and (to a certain extent) personal nostalgia for a time when this sort of soundtrack just seemed vaguely synonymous with “driving game”. There’s also the dated blemish of inane unmutable advice-slider DJ A(u)tomica, who at least has the good grace to (somehow) avoid repeating himself, even after seventeen hours of driving, at a clip of one quip every few minutes or so. There’s also the very 2008 nod to renewable energy via Paradise’s wind farm, harking back to that post- An Inconvenient Truth moment of progressive euphoria when we really all believed we could build towards a sustainable future that would also accommodate our oily desires, before another decade of resource-industry funded filibustering hadn’t proven this, again, impossible.

And yet Paradise stands up in ways that surpass the non-ironic soundtrack of fragile masculinity and the very 00’s DJ Atomica, despite or because of the people-less world, the flat and drab urban interior, the hardly even tokenistic ways of engaging with the city as function rather than form. I particularly like how B:P has not even the faintest hint of story, how even in terms of progression it purely becomes a game of exploration, winning events, checking boxes. It melds (excuse me for a second) form and function and manages not to get in the way of itself – the story is what the player does in the game, where the player goes. It’s kind of breathtaking, rare for any game before or since. (Hopefully it’s clear that I’m not advocating for the dissolution of narrative in games, only that the lack of narrative pretence here is very suited to this particular game, and very preferable to the kinds of irrelevant and bloated narratives that are thrown over e.g. other driving games).

Ah, 2008. It was just there! And yet so far. I played Burnout Paradise for a running total of seventeen hours over nearly three months. During this time, I also played forty-two hours of Tetris99. Everything in its place. Criterion recently announced they’ll shut down the Burnout Paradise’s online servers in August, though Paradise lives on in Remastered (2018) glory, Origin only.

3. Burnout. The act of refuelling the boost capacity of an engine by running out of boost.

Despite the time I’ve spent with it, the fact that I managed to complete its main in-game objective, and the running thoughts on time and place and representation of cultural norms, I feel I’m struggling to say much of definition about Paradise that fits easily into the scrapbook nature of this blog. Perhaps in some ways it's too close to life; a series of arbitrary checklists through which feeling happens (nebulously) around. I "liked" it but do not feel moved to thought, and I'm aware that that is the point – it’s a game that allows you to drive, endlessly, if you want to, think and do whatever. It won’t get in the way (barring DJ Automica butting in every couple of minutes – he literally cannot be switched off).

I do not drive much these days. Last year when Lauren and I moved to Canberra, we drove nearly 4000 kilometres across the country. The landscapes wound by, at the time fleetingly, but they piled on and left deep rivulets in my head, and though it was just five days and nothing really happened – we leant on the accelerator, stopped every hour, listened to music, stayed in nothing-motels quite literally hundreds of kms from anywhere else and ate forgettable takeaway - it feels immense, now. Driving is funny like that - you are never quite in a place, separated from it by machine noise and windows and infrastructure, the one activity you can do to facilitate thinking about something else. Still, impressions, motion, the sense of having moved, of having journeyed. Here in Australia, the fossil fuel lobby has won its third straight election in a row. Hope is eroding into nothing.

Probably my favourite hour or two in Paradise City was spent mucking around in the online section with Roy and James, trying to check off a few of the game's multiplayer challenges. These involved such serious exercises as trying to do barrel a series of barrel rolls, or try and land on top of each other, or smash into each in mid-air, or drive on top of a parking lot to jump a ramp onto a shopping centre. It was very good, if a little eerie and dystopic, strewn with outdated real-and-paid-for advertising billboards, branded vehicles, quaint echoes of paused time and uncanny dilapidation.

The mill of the game I could never quite settle on - I “liked” it, I think, but it wasn’t without problems. I found the single-player events to be mindlessly enjoyable, ploughing other cars into crash barriers, or effortlessly holding down "boost" to accelerate down a straight and into a finish line, celebratory cutaway shot ensuing. Sometimes I crashed into too many grey girders that my eyes hadn't picked out and got frustrated, or sometimes I missed a critical turnoff and got frustrated. Sometimes they just felt like chores, and it was certainly sometimes annoying to not be able to restart events that I had botched, and it took me ten hours to learn you could opt out of races, stunt runs etc just by letting the car idle for a few seconds. And knowing this probably would have saved me a lot of time in the early game, because like I said it’s a long way back from the hills, where like three out of eight events end up at, and committing to staying in a race which after a couple of botched turns and unseen barriers you’re definitely not going to win, whose distant finish line is going to land you a long way from the nearest event (once you finally get there) can feel pretty dire, really, though there was also part of me that admired how Burnout refused to let you jump around the map, forced you to drive, take your time, see the city, see the sights.

I did appreciate the cracky coloured collectms of Paradise City, how they brought the city to life, sort of, or gave it the impression of being a well designed and thought-through playground, though I never got too completionist about them, the core exercise of the whole thing. Both John Walker of RPS and Chris Donlan of Eurogamer have written about Paradise’s fluoro crash gates, the impulse to reinstall the game every year and knock them all down from scratch. Along the way to getting my “Burnout license” I unlocked 36 of the 75 vehicles, jumped 35 of the 50 super jumps, broke 79 of 120 neon red billboards, and smashed through 353 of 400 aforementioned glowing yellow crash barriers. The game puts me at 55% completed. No steam achievements (woulda been nice, perhaps, given that Burnout Paradise is fundamentally a collectmup; nothing but metres and percentages). I’ve driven a little over 1000 miles, supposedly, which is certainly more than I’ve IRL driven over the past few months.

4. Burnout. noun Physical and emotional exhaustion; breakdown caused by overwork. Commonly associated with “crunch”, “the video game industry”.

But here there is also pure hesitation. Procrastination. The fear of moving on, even at the end of this little step of what has ballooned into an impossible project. I can see the next letter waiting there, a new chapter, a chance for renewal. The one disappearing behind us has drawn out so far, encompassed a few years and a fair bit of change, and now almost petered into nothing at the final gate. I want to hit the ground running but I'm not sure I'm ready, and in the meantime various other deadlines swirl around, make it difficult to see the clear path ahead that I crave. And so it is that the temptation has been there to keep driving the streets of Paradise, its anonymous suburbs and abstract goals, continue delaying the inevitable, or the nearly inevitable, or the not-inevitable-at-all of writing this post and moving on to the next chapter, because it turns out this is a project I once made a choice to begin, and could at one point choose to stop.

There are nagging questions, of course. Who blogs, anymore? Who reads blogs anymore? How does one find a blog they like and then continue to follow it for the span of its natural life? Does anyone use “bookmarks”? What’s an RSS feed? I'm not even sure, in a broader sense, that I know where to find the kinds of writing about games that I want to read at the moment, at least not reliably, outside of say the occasional check-through of Critical Distance or Unwinnable. I look at the slate of games coming out and find it hard to be excited by anything much, the hype and the saturation. It is bountiful until it is not. The guilt element of playing games – something inherited from childhood that I’ve never been entirely able to dissociate - has become more and more prominent. I've increasingly used games as a tool for procrastination and a coping mechanism, a distraction from various (work/study and other) anxieties. I've also been aware of myself doing this, and in turn the kinds of gaming experiences I've relied on have been more focused on short term, low-investment distraction (hence the sudden unyielding devotion to Tetris, which really was just filling the hole left by an earlier act of self-discipline AKA uninstalling Rocket League; more recently, as I’ve managed to put the Switch away for longer periods, I’ve turned back to another simple but deceptive time-filler in Mini Metro. Choose your poison, basically). For a while it seemed Burnout would not only fill this role but do it responsibly: it seemed great for dropping into in short bursts - win a race or two, unlock a new car maybe – without quite the same dangerously addictive pull for me as those other games. But then I heard the GnR song "Paradise City" one too many times (it's mandatory with startup), or got sick of the menu loading times, and it lost this specific part of its appeal.

And then there's the subjective nature of this particular Sisyphean project - the knowledge that here I am pushing a rock up a mountain of my own making, one that exists only for me, entirely built out of and defined by the games and bundles I chose and continue to choose to buy, the rules I chose to set. Life is short, this task is absurd, and at the moment it's not even a joke I feel particularly happy about sharing. Sometimes I get to play great games here, games I may never have gotten around to; at other times I am playing shit games for this blog, and in the process there are inevitably other things I'm not doing. One choice erases another. Increasingly it feels like an isolated pursuit - playing games in general, not just the writing and making of this here blog. It seems like I know fewer people who play games these days, between falling out of touch with friends, seeing lots of other old friends give up games in one way or another, and playing games less frequently with those who I still know. I’ve accidentally become something of a game hermit. For years I've loved the camaraderie and easy familiarity of social gaming experiences even when I haven't loved the games that conduct them - the feeling of being connected to people even in a transient, shallow, goal-oriented sense, but even these I'm not sure I believe in anymore, or I find myself less and less willing to invest in the "right" titles to facilitate it.

I’m into my thirties now, and maybe this is just a feeling of age, life, I dunno, priorities finally shifting to where people told me they should’ve years ago. One of my oldest friends is about to have a baby, though he more or less quit video games over a year ago now. I'm extremely happy for him. Two of my younger cousins just had children, several hours away by plane – my uncle, a new grandfather to two babies, makes posts on facebook claiming climate change is a socialist hoax, and I can’t help but think of the kind of world his grandchildren are going to inherit. I'm mulling over a missed deadline that's been a thorn in my brain now for months, the single-largest hitherto unsaid reason why this post has taken so long to dig its way to the surface. This month marks the five year anniversary of another cousin’s sudden/unexpected passing; he was five years older than me, and though I’ll never be able to make sense of it, I feel like I get that there’s something sort of vulnerable about this age, when the things you want don’t quite work out, or when you’re a bit aimless and stuck in your patterns and feel like things aren’t going to change. He was so kind and gentle, a beautiful soul and a terrible Zerg, and I miss him so much. And one year ago I drove from Canberra to Melbourne and slept on the floor of this house I now call home while I waited for a truck with rest of my stuff to arrive. I’m very aware of the calendar, of change and inertia, of patterns and decay, of newness sprouting underfoot, but I don’t know how games fit at the moment, or I’ve lost the thread of feeling like they’re actually important, or why, amongst all the noise.

Burnout: Paradise is at the start, in the middle, and right at the end of all these things. It's a great game, part of me feels, or wants to say I feel. Playful, irreverent, childishly violent, simultaneously full of stuff and empty of matter. I'm happy I've played it, happy I can say that I've played it, happy to understand on an experiential level most of what it offers, happy I'll be able to remember it later, nod in some hypothetical conversation where someone brings up Burnout: Paradise and say I know what they mean, yeah. I get it. When we were playing it online together briefly, a couple of months back now, Roy told me that Burnout Paradise is the only game he ever one hundred percented twice - once on 360, once on PC - and that it was almost three times, because the first time he was almost done with it, someone broke into his house and stole his Xbox and all his games, and that Paradise was the only game that he re-bought with the insurance money, so determined he was to tick every box the game left open to tick, even if it meant doing it all again.

But maybe – counterpoint - I don’t get it. I’m finding it harder and harder to make good sense of this kind of experience, or feel like this kind of thing is (in some arbitrary way) a net positive, or that it’s okay to keep glossing over the emulation of destruction that games of so many different kinds fundamentally rely on. Outside there is so much suffering, so much to be upset about, and I no longer feel like there is time enough to sink into mindless (rather than meaningful, perhaps?) distraction. Or I’m finding it harder to get beyond the thought that this is an extension of the distraction/avoidance behaviour that I realised might actually be a problem in my life.

“Burnout” is, you’ll know, here in the great mess of the year 2019, a buzz word, particularly in the games industry. Games company employees have perpetually been expected to work unsustainable hours out of some sort of devotion to the industry, creating a cycle of talent depletion and toxic work cultures. But as is often the case with games, it’s a tip-off of what happens elsewhere, across the board. The mass casualisation of careers across all industries, the gig economy, pressures caused by un- and under- employment, the dissipation of viable faith, social-media and political stresses: all of these are leading to burnout, everyone has burnout, we are inundated with burnout. There is something ripe about the words or the idea of Burnout: Paradise, the very conceptual juxtaposition that seems to be two sides of the same coin, that feels very reflective of this moment, what we are all experiencing versus what we were promised. But what does this have to do with Burnout: Paradise, the game in which you pretend drive fake person-less cars around a virtual city, have horrific, visceral crashes from which you immediately respawn and “beat” by achieving a long series of arbitrary victories, collecting all there is to collect? Something, nothing, I don’t know.

“Burnout” means a lot of things, and the meaning of “burnout” the game adopts isn’t the other ones I’d associate with cars – a burnt out engine, or the smell of burning rubber - but one that exists only for the series, so far as I can tell: getting to keep using your boost because you’ve been continually using your boost. Keep going at all cylinders or bust, basically – except not, because the consequences for interrupting the boost are slim even on the relative scale of things that can go right or wrong, in this game where there is never really all that much on the line for the player anyway.

Paradise. n. Heaven. A place to await judgement. An enclosed park. Eden.

In Paradise City the grass is trim; the girls (all humans actually) are non-existent, unless you happen to be riding a motorcycle, presumably because a motorcycle without a rider would look very weird.

In Paradise City the cars are peopleless and drive themselves, so maybe it is an early vision of the tech bro version of Paradise. Or maybe the cars are driven by people who can only exist on the outside of the world of Paradise City, looking in across the matrix. Or maybe in Paradise City the people are the cars. This is Cars, the movie, sans dialogue.

In Paradise City all the cars emulate brands and models that exist in "the real world" but are called by names that exist only in the Burnout franchise.

In Paradise City all the cars ostensibly run on petrol, which is infinite but unnecessary, because going through a petrol station merely refills the car's boost capacity, whatever that is, rather than imply that your car would stop running if you at some point failed to “fill up”. It's very important that you know, though, that the cars run on petrol, because otherwise it wouldn't be a realistic representation of cars. Even in Paradise.

In Paradise City cars exist and then don't exist.

In Paradise City a lot more cars suddenly exists if someone decides they want to flip their car over and see how much monetary damage they can cause.

In Paradise City cars crash and crumple in a hyper-realistic way, but it's okay because the cars have no drivers and anyway all cars are all miraculously fine again after a few moments.

In Paradise City the railway has been shut down to give cars more places to hang out.

In Paradise City the whole city runs on wind energy, because it's important to care about the environment too, because you can have both, promises the radio, though seeing as there's nobody there in all of Paradise's buildings it's unclear, anyway, what such energy would actually be running.

onward to Caesar 3

#game70 #burnout: paradise #burnout #criterion games #EA #cars #open world #humble origin bundle #2008 #petrol

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crescentmoonrider · 6 years

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Ah, Coco is a reaper who runs a irl money store in the mobile ports. If Death has a bf then my guess is Nao, and if fire & destruction are immature then Shooter and Yammer? As for love I have no clue (but it did prompt me to open my game, I'm jelly farming at this very moment). I love the idea of Ken Doi being a former assassin!! Along with Sho and Yodai working there! Also I am v exited for the next post involving Beat and rhyme!!!!

[about this post]

ohh thanks ! but yeah since i don’t know shit about Coco she isn’t in this AU ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

anyway, yes ! Nao is ! the goddess of Death !

like i said in another post, her wish is to be of help to all people and not just those of Shibu. to her, Shibu is the exception that should become the rule

unlike the other gods, her temples do not teach magic - death magic can only be learned by Reapers. or well, technically it could be learned by anyone but she put this rule as a way to protect mortals from themselves

she has a habit of getting mortal boyfriends every once in a while (though it is really always the same Soul in another skin but she is the only one to know that). currently, she is going out with Sota, an assassin who used to work with Neku from time to time. because of the amount of work she has, she is almost always very late to their dates (sometimes she manages to only be slightly late)

her work is, in theory, simple. gather the Souls her children reaped and then send them into life-filled bodies (literally the only work Life does now). but she insists on taking care of every single Soul, especially the ones that suffered during their previous life. so it takes more time than it could, but honestly ? Nao doesn’t care about time, she only cares about being just and kind

now i’m going to take some time to talk about Reaper anatomy because i think some things need to be said. mainly that they don’t have internal organs - their uhhh “stomach” (even though they don’t have one but i can’t find a better word hhhhh) is filled by the Souls they reap, then empties again when they give these Souls to their mother

this has the side-effect of rendering them immune to lots of stabby stuff. seriously about the only way to kill them would be to cut their head off. and unlike Josh who is always the exception, they are demi-gods, meaning they /could/ get killed by a very talented mortal - if mortals didn’t tend to always use the same strategy of “let’s run this sword through this guy’s stoma- oh shit”

now for the twin dragon gods of Fire and Destruction - yup !! that’s Shooter and Yammer !!

(yes this name is unnecessarily long and flashy. yes they insist on being called that All The Fucking Time)

they are Always together and are basically the trouble kids of the gods. they don’t really care about that whole war thing, they just want to break stuff - and Konishi lets them do just that. actually scratch that. Konishi /wants/ them to break stuff. so obviously they’re on her side. so long as it’s fun. if they get hurt then it won’t be fun anymore and they will quit (of course, being gods, hurting them is sort of really hard)

i don’t really have that much on them aside from how they will fall, but i’m keeping that one for a flashy drawing i’m planning

as for Love (since i did say that i would reveal her in this post whether you guessed her or not) - she is Aily !! my favorite shopkeeper !!

reasons for her being the goddess of Love : her name is Aily (ai-ly. ily. also ai=love. yes im reaching). she has a heart piercing on her belly. i just find her really cute please save my little bi heart

while she is usually associated with romantic love, she is actually the goddess of all forms of love - friendship, familial, romantic, agape… people see her as a guide, someone who will lead them to find the people they will love (which she actually does, if you’ll remember how Eri and Shiki met…)

her temples don’t really look like other temples - here, caring is key. there isn’t a lot of rituals or rules or hierarchy, because these are places of charity and helping those who need it. the magic taught in these places is magic to help people, not to serve one’s own interests. what is taught isn’t a “love magic” so much as using various branches of magic for those you care for (fire magic to keep them warm, life magic to heal them), as well as learning to show you care (and say it too)

to her, Shibu is a place where she can help. she doesn’t take a side in this new war, just like she remained neutral in the previous one - it is only through the intervention of Nao that she will join the “gods in the middle” team

anyway, thank you so much for being that interested in this AU !! also i don’t know if you’ve seen it, but The Big Summary is now posted

#twewy #twewy fantasy #yumi got asked stuff #composeregg #ramen-don being like a weird foster-home is one of the things im really proud of in this AU haha #ken doi is like. the ultimate dad to everyone. sanae who ?#but yeah i just love that his past always seems to be like this Big Mystery in canon and i wanted to play with that #also another day gave us sho being his student and it made me Live #also good luck with your jelly farming these are little shits that never give you the pins you want and never mutate when you want them to #(me bitter ? yes absolutely but jellies are nothing compared to the Fucking Absolute Monsters that are the elephants/mammoths)#(im slightly bitter about jellies. elephants ? i fucKING HATE THEM SO MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA ARRGHGHGHHHH)#(another day was a very rough waking up slap in my noise chasing career)

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rubyastari · 5 years

Text

His Almost Twin

Sometimes God works in peculiar ways. There are times when God simply plays the Universe to direct you where to go. Other times, that happens just to clarify what has been going on in your mind lately.

A couple of days before that Saturday, a friend asked you to go to a karaoke night party with her. She said she’d been stressed out lately, so she needed to blow off some steam. You realised you’d been feeling the same way too, so you agreed to go.

Hours before the karaoke night, you’d read your best friend’s post on his timeline and was immediately worried. It had been ages since you both really talked to each other. When his caption said something about ‘...facing challenges ahead...”, you couldn’t resist asking him what had been going on with him lately.

Since you have been best friends for so long, his answer wasn’t that surprising. Obviously, he wasn’t ready to talk about it, so you decided to wait. Still, you couldn’t get that off your mind.

So, how was the karaoke night?

You had to admit, it had gone well. People were having fun, so were you...that your original plan to leave early had been completely forgotten. It didn’t matter that your friend had to leave early. Somehow, you felt like still sticking around for another moment.

Then there he was, standing tall at the corner of the venue, talking to some other girl. The girl was sporty-looking with her fisherman’s hat, well-fitted tee, a checkered shirt tied to her waist, skinny jeans, and trainers. Her hair was dyed in a slight reddish ombre. The guy...you couldn’t believe your eyes at first.

He was almost the dead ringer of your big brotherly, hazel-eyed best friend! The greyish hair, stubble, rather fair complexion, and he was even wearing the same checkered shirt your best friend also has.

That was when your mood suddenly turned a bit darker. If it had been your best friend, you might have already rushed there just to give him a hug and ask him what had been going on. Instead, you carried on singing when somebody handed you the microphone.

The girl in a hat had dragged him to the centre of the venue when somebody urged the rest to gather for a selfie group shots. He bumped into you and you both exchanged looks. He smiled at you, so you returned the same smile. Then the group separated and you went back to your seat again.

So, what had made you guys finally talked to each other?

As the night wore on, more people left the venue. You decided to stand in the corner, since you’d been sitting practically almost all night. When you noticed him standing a bit farther from you, something inside you made you inch closer.

No, this is not one of those rare chicklit / chickflick moments, you silently told yourself. In fact, what you felt that night was far from that. You were still thinking about your best friend and he just looked so much like him. You felt something choke your throat inside.

He noticed you and smiled again. God, he had a really sweet smile that sparked warmth in his brown eyes (not hazel like your best friend’s). You automatically smiled back at him, because his smile was indeed infectious.

“Do you own this place?” No idea why that dumb question suddenly popped out of your mouth. Perhaps you were already so tired. You should’ve returned home by then. That random question had cracked him up laughing, though.

“What?” He had a distinctive accent, which was obviously not American, British, or Australian. Having been in the language business for quite some time, you immediately noticed that it was not a European accent as well – despite his looks. “What made you think I do?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed but not defeated by it. You were about to bail, when he suddenly asked you:

“Come here often?”

“No, this is my first time here,” you told him truthfully. “You?”

“The same.” Then he gave you that sweet, infectious smile again. “Nice voice, by the way. You’re a good singer.”

“Thank you.” That had warmed your heart. Then you ended up chatting. He wondered if you had come to such events more often and you said no. You told him that IRL, you were more like a very boring person. Now he was genuinely curious.

“Really? Like, how?”

“I love staying home, reading a book, or watching TV shows,” you explained. “Or writing.”

“Oh, that’s really good,” he seemed impressed. “Do you know Netflix?”

“Of course.”

“So, what do you write?” To your surprise, the conversation rolled over naturally. He told you his name and you told him yours. It was as if the two of you had been friends for quite a while. He was nice and friendly, not just handsome. He was also smart, working as an engineer. You weren’t too surprised when he also told you he was from one of the countries in the Middle East. His features were quite a dead giveaway.

Your conversation was interrupted when another girl handed you the microphone, asking you to sing again. He beckoned to you to carry on, so you belted out the lyrics on the screen. Despite the sadness of missing your best friend and worrying about him, you still managed to have fun that night.

After that, you went back to your conversation with him. He told you that, when he was not hanging out like that, he usually stayed home to watch Netflix or went to the gym.

Suddenly, you felt like blurting out:

“Okay, I have a really weird confession.”

He turned to you, looking interested. You held your breath for a while, before saying:

“You remind me of my best friend.”

He didn’t expect that, obviously. His smile widened as he clasped both hands together, as if praying.

“Aww, thank you. Thank you so much.”

“No, really,” you persisted. “You really do look like him.” You pointed at the checkered shirt he was wearing. “I mean, he even has the same shirt – exactly like this.”

“Really?” His smile faded, his big brown eyes radiating more curiousity now. “Do you have his picture?”

“One moment.” You reached for your bag and took out your tablet. Once you found his pictures, you showed them to him. His brown eyes widened in awe.

“Oh, my God!” he gasped. You let him trace his fingers on your tablet screen, swiping pictures. Then he touched his own forehead. “I also have those lines here. The perks of being an engineer.”

You cracked up laughing. You realised that you were beginning to like this guy. He had a sense of humour.

“How old is he?”

“He’s 42.”

“Ah.” Then, completely out of the blue, that guy turned to you with a mischievous grin. “How old do you think I am?”

“Uh...the same?” You cringed, hoping not to offend him. You usually played that game and enjoyed people’s various reactions when they guessed your age wrong. “Like, in your early 40’s?”

He laughed. “I’m 33,” he finally admitted. He pointed at his chin. “It’s probably my beard.”

“I’m sorry.” And no, I have zero problem with your beard, you were tempted to add. You love beards, but you didn’t want to scare him off. That might have sounded too creepy.

“Nah, it’s okay.” He shook his head, still smiling. “I get that a lot. I’m kind of used to it.”

To be fair, you decided to reveal your age. Still, you couldn’t resist being a little too honest by saying: “Some people have thought I must have been in my late 20’s or early 30’s.”

“More like, in your early 30’s,” he stated, which was fine for you. Then he asked again, “Your best friend. Where did you guys meet?”

You memorised each fact like the back of your hand. Some years ago, at a workplace. You mentioned his name, his origin, and how you two ended up becoming best friends. You even talked about how your mother was also fond of him, that she allowed him to call her like a son calling his mother.

“Basically, he’s like a big brother to me,” you went on proudly. “I’ve always wanted one.”

“He seems like a nice guy.” The guy’s brown eyes softened as he smiled at you. Again, you felt that familiar warmth. You agreed.

“He is.” Then you sighed and looked ahead where the crowd were still singing and cheering before them. “I miss him so much.”

“Then keep in touch with him,” he suggested kindly. “Have you contacted him again lately? Where is he, by the way?”

“I have, a few hours before this event,” you told him. “He’s back home now, but he used to live here for about seven years.”

“Maybe I can be your big brother too,” he offered kindly. You giggled.

“No.” He was clearly amused and so were you. “You’re younger.”

You both laughed. The conversation went on. He asked if you liked singing karaoke style and you confidently said: “I’m a huge karaoke fan!”

“A huge fan, huh?” He smiled again. “Maybe next time we can hang out singing with the other guys and girls.”

“Sure thing.” You exchanged phone numbers. Since his name was pretty generic, you asked for his full name. He was grinning when he said it:

“My last name means ‘wrong’ in Indonesian and ‘right in Arabic.”

You gazed at him with your mouth open. “Like that football player?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “It’s a common name back home.”

“Wow.” At first, you let him type his phone number on your tablet. Then, when you typed his full name, you joked a little: “If the guys I know see your name here, I’ll have to tell them: ‘No, this is not that football player’.”

He laughed.

It was past midnight when both of you stood waiting outside for your ride shares. You noticed that he was now smoking, which dampened your spirit a little. He noticed your expression and grinned, gesturing at the well-lit cigarette in his hand.

“I know,” he said, as if reading your mind. “My lifestyle is shit. I also go to the gym regularly, but I’m still fat.”

“No, you’re not.” Besides, it doesn’t matter, you wanted to add. Still, you chose to keep your mouth shut.

“Yes, I am.” He shrugged again. “I can’t be like that football player you mentioned.”

You smiled. “It’s okay.”

When his ride share arrived first, he looked at her and smiled for one last time that night. He said: “Nice to meet you. Be home safely.”

“Likewise.” You smiled back. “Take care.”

That night in your room, you replayed that moment and realised one thing before you finally fell asleep:

You’re still missing your best friend and worried about him...

Hopefully he is alright...

#writer@work #life #karaoke #night #nightlife

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runwildwithme · 7 years

Text

Feathers, Part 3 - An Elsewhere University Tale

Hello again!! As always, many, MANY thanks (or should I say much appreciation? ^_~ ) to @charminglyantiquated for the use of her @elsewhereuniversity setting. This place is so much fun to play in!!

(Also. you guys. you guys. I am Bad at Tumblr, so I haven’t like. responded to anyone. BUT! I have read every single tag and comment y’all have left on parts 1 & 2. Much hand-flapping was had. as was bragging. i have bragged Quite A Lot to various irl friends.)

And I’m now here with part 3 of Feathers for your viewing pleasure. ;D (Part 1 is here, and part 2 is here.)

Previously:

‘Call me Thirteen.’

You take it all back. This stupid, stupid boy. He’s going to get you all killed. Heavy on your shoulder, Barnes laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs.

Part 3

You lead them back to your dorm, keeping on eye on Thirteen. The campus is deserted, and he's exactly the sort of idiot to keep looking back on the cusp of an adventure.

When you get to Dorm 5, you usher the others in.

Not-Jenna stays outside.

You look at her in askance, and she shuffles, abashed.

Oh. Right. She tried to steal you, and instead she ended up following you. The balance of power has shifted between the two of you.

‘Be welcome in my hall,’ you tell her, and she executes a perfect curtsy, even in skinny jeans. Barnes chortles and preens at your hair before pushing off your shoulder.

You let Not-Jenna pass through the doorway, and when you close it you lay down a line of salt.

‘This abode is closed,’ You tell the door firmly.

When you turn to join the others, you find Thirteen watching you.

‘You're the Crow Girl, aren't you?’ He asks.

The Crow Girl. You like that. You aren't the only one who's made friends with the crows, but you specifically apparently well known.

‘Girl Who Sings to Crows’ Barnes caws at him. He goes wide-eyed.

‘Even the crows from outside can learn human words. Elsewhere crows aren't so strange.’ You tell him.

Cat-Eyes, already going through cupboards in the kitchen, snorts.

‘That's a dirty lie, Crow Girl.’ She says, and pops a pretzel in her mouth.

‘Ah, but it's comforting to hear, isn't it?’ you quip, and she and Not-Jenna both give you an appreciative chuckle.

‘...I'm missing something,’ Thirteen decides.

‘The Fair Folk can't lie, and since I can, I'm not one of the Gentry.’ You explain, and then add, a little louder and carefully enunciated, ‘Not that I would ever claim to be.’

He looks doubtful, so you wave at Not-Jenna.

‘Feathers is right,’ she tells him. ‘We can trick, and deceive, omit certain truths, twist and bend others until they break all on their own, but we cannot lie.’

Thirteen does the thing with his jaw men do when they're uncomfortable and don't want to show it.

‘You said ‘we’..?’

Oh. Right. Freshman.

You point at Not-Jenna, tell him , ‘That's not Jenna. We call her Not-Jenna.’ You give him a minute to work out the grammar, then add ‘Original-Jenna is Away.’

He just goes ‘oh’.

Cat-Eyes, entire torso in a cabinet, mutters ‘oh, he says.’

‘Well, what's your name, then?’ He snaps.

She stands up, a mesh netting of pixie oranges in her hands (you are... not sure where those came from).

‘I'm called Cat-Eyes. From Dorm 3.’

He's very clearly heard of her. His soft ‘oh,’ from earlier makes a reappearance.

Cat-Eyes rolls her eyes, and goes back to raiding your cabinets. (Oh, you get it. It's Tuesday, she's raiding. Of course she’s going to find all sorts of good stuff.)

Later, when you've salted all the window sills, laid out a bowl of cream for Cat-Eye’s cats (the cats Cat-Eyes belongs to, maybe?), a larger-than-usual portion of whipped cream vodka for the Dorm 5 Brownie, and consolidated all of the bedding in the living room, Thirteen finally asks you where everyone else is.

‘If they're smart, they never came back from break. I'm sure most people have just ...forgotten about Elsewhere. Of the people who didn't, it's possible some people got lucky and made it to the library, or the science center. The chemistry and bio majors are probably all fine, but that doesn't mean they'll be any kind of help. The fair folk tend to leave them alone, and the science department might not be willing to risk that treaty. Especially since Names have been stolen. There’s maybe a few other groups like ours in pockets around campus, but maybe not. A lot of people will have been stolen today.’

He nods, thinking. He tells you, slowly, ‘The rules are changing.’

You hum. ‘Maybe, maybe not. There’s a long and storied history here of people being stolen, and there's precedent for stealing back what's stolen. If we’re very brave, and very clever, we stand a chance of putting things right.’

He looks at you like he thinks you're lying again.

You turn so you're facing him, grab and hold his face in your hands to make him listen.

‘Be brave, be clever, be quick. There is no time for caution, for regrets. Be reckless. When you play Their games, bargain nothing you cannot afford to lose. Be respectful. Never say thank you or sorry or please. Do not eat or drink anything They give you. Watch your words, for they can be binding. Promise nothing. When there comes a time you forsake this advice, be very sure it's worth it.’ You tell him, and there are centuries in your words.

‘These are the rules. These have been the rules for as long as the Fair Folk have been around. The rules of Elsewhere may be changing, but these rules are not.’ You hold his face a moment longer before you let him go. He's pale, but a little less shaken.

‘Be brave, be clever, be quick,’ he murmurs.

From the other side of the room, Not-Jenna hums, and Cat-Eyes tells him, ‘Just so.’

---

When you wake up the next morning, the first thing you do is check the salt lines, and then exchange the empty glass of vodka for a full cup of milk.

When you’ve finished making your rounds, you settle back down in the pile of blankets to dig up your phone. Emergency of the Underhill variety or not, your parents are expecting to hear from you, and you do not need them sniffing around Elsewhere.

You have to roll Not-Jenna over to get at your phone, but she just grumbles sleepily at you. (Right when you start to think she’s been in the human world too long, she does something other to remind you that no, actually, this is not a someone, this is a something. The sounds that she makes definitely aren't reproducible with a human throat. Or recordable with human technology, for that matter.)

You open your phone, type in your password, and then immediately close it. You reopen it. Stare at the date.

‘Cat-Eyes. Cat-Eyes, wake up and check your phone.’

The only sign she's even remotely aware is the solitary finger that extends upwards in your direction.

‘Cat-Eyes, get up.’ You hiss.

Her head shoots up, your tone of alarm finally enough to rouse her.

‘Who's dying?’ She's not even joking a little bit.

You waggle your phone at her.

‘Check your phone.’

‘Oh my god fuck offffffff-’ she groans, all alertness gone. She starts fumbling for her phone all the same, though, which is good for her. You’d have started throwing things, otherwise.

‘It's day fucking two of the fucking fairy apocalypse, six-fucking-thirty on a Wednesday fucking morn-’ her grousing cuts off as soon as she sees it.

‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Yeah, ok, waking me up was fair. Three for three?’

You nod. She sits up, looks around, and lobs her pillow -hard- at the tufts of short brown hair emerging from a pile of blankets to her right.

Thirteen comes awake with a yell, arms flailing.

‘Oi, freshie. Check your phone.’

By the time Thirteen has also confirmed that his phone still thinks it's Tuesday, Not-Jenna has woken up as well.

You discuss it as you and Cat-Eyes put together breakfast, and then as Not-Jenna and Thirteen take care of the dishes.

You all decide that it's possible that's it's still Tuesday because the Powers That Be of Elsewhere consider Dorm 5 to be your Domain now, and you've always been at your best and brightest on Tuesdays.

More likely, though, you all agree, is that the Powers That Be are no more happy at the prospect of the rules changing than the humans are, and now all of Elsewhere waits with baited breath to see how things shake out.

This presumption (presumption, not assumption, because to just presume you are the heroes of this story is arrogance, sheer arrogance of the highest order, and yet-) the presumption is supported when you venture briefly out of Dorm 5, and the rest of Elsewhere U still appears as though Tuesday has not yet passed.

(You sung Barnes down from another tree, asked it, ‘What day is it, Barnes?’ and got ‘Thieving day!’ in response. Still Tuesday.)

You and Cat-Eyes are both supremely uncomfortable at this, Not-Jenna is not saying anything so carefully that you can't help but be sure that she knows more than the rest of you do and either cannot or will not tell you.

Thirteen is blasé, because he's applying logic your situation.

‘Well, I mean, it was Tuesday when the theft occurred, and Tuesday when we realized our Names were stolen, so shouldn't it be Tuesday when we steal them back?’

Which. Yes. Rule of three and all that, but this is big magic. Also, why you? Just because the three humans of you are fae-touched? There are many others (were, anyways) who are fae-touched. Because you were almost stolen away? But that's not right either- you're at least eighty percent sure whatever it is that likes Cat-Eyes so well didn't attempt to take her, and anyways, Not-Jenna certainly wasn’t stolen away.

(except for how she was, just a little bit, by you, but that wouldn't count, not by the Court’s reckoning. She tried to steal you and failed and followed you back anyway- that she's yours now, a little bit, is ...weregild is the closest concept humans have for it, you think. Just Desserts, maybe.)

Maybe that you all have something ...not watching over, but watching you, certainly. But even that isn't quite right, because the fae that wanted Thirteen wanted him for a snack, and that's a different sort of watchful.

(One might think Not-Jenna wouldn't fit here, either, but Original Jenna has been Away so long that you'd be very surprised indeed if she wasn't more fae than human, now; it would be very stupid of her if she didn't keep track of the thing living her former life. The continued presence of Original Jenna on the missing lists the Administration Building keeps, not the deceased list, indicates she isn't stupid at all.)

You and Cat-Eyes gaze at each other uneasily.

‘The library?’ You offer. The librarians are a host unto themselves.

(This has always been true, but certain podcasts have certainly not helped.)

Cat-Eyes nods at you, and even Thirteen, willfully ignorant as he is, makes agreeable noises. Not-Jenna looks nervous, which she should (Librarians: host unto themselves), but you're going to need her knowledge, her instincts.

‘The librarians know you,’ You tell her.

‘I know.’ She mutters. From her hunched shoulders, that's apparently part of the problem.

You shrug at her.

‘Sometimes things suck, and we still have to do them.’ Unsaid is that this is part of being (or at least pretending to be) human.

She gets her bag.

---

The Library looks like it's expecting a war, which is ..probably fair, you acknowledge. Inconvenient in the meantime, though.

Still, that's a lot of barbed wire. You don't need to turn around to know Not-Jenna's frowning impressively hard.

You all drift to a stop about five feet before the mess of wire.

‘It sorta reminds me of Sleeping Beauty,’ Thirteen says. ‘With thorns and all? All the library needs is a dragon on the roof.’

‘Yes,’ Cat-Eyes drawls, ‘please, give the librarians ideas on how to be scarier, that's exactly what we need. We're in luck, though- we don't need a sword to cut down these vines.’

‘That's good, considering they aren't really vines,’

‘Well, Thirteen, this isn't really barbed wire, either.’

Cat-Eyes has glasses on (cat eye in style, of course) when you look at her, and her eyes glint strangely through the distortion of the lens.

She walks up to the barbed wire, hops to the left on one foot, and walks straight into it.

You eyes supply a vision of blood and torn flesh and a face screwed up in rictus-pain, and then she steps back, completely unharmed. Next to you, Thirteen is gone pale as you are.

‘Ayup, grade-A nasty fuckin’ glamour, that is,’ she supplies, and oh. Of course. The Court wouldn't tolerate that much metal, even in the hands of the librarians.

(That much metal- weaponized metal- would be an invitation, more than any sort of prevention.)

‘Monkey see, monkey do?’ You guess, because Cat-Eyes is brazen and bold, but not stupid, so you doubt that she has three extra pairs of glasses on her. Also, even if she did, neither you nor Thirteen have any practice at seeing through glamours. You wouldn't be able to read the twists of magic, of intent, to know where to step to avoid traps.

She nods, starts forward again, but you catch her shoulder.

‘Cat-Eyes, wait. Are you dressed right?’ You ask, and what you mean is this: you can't see anything that's inside-out, and you're reasonably sure her underwear aren't either.

She stops, looks down at herself, tugs her shirt off, and drags it back over her head inside-out. Thirteen makes a small, strangled noise.

‘What about you guys?’ She asks.

‘Not-Jenna’s fine, and I’m always dressed right on Tuesdays,’ you tell her as you pluck at a bra strap.

‘Thirteen, you need to be wearing something inside-out. It keeps you from being pixie-led.’ Not-Jenna tells him.

He stares, visibly decides now is not the time to ask, and then his shirt goes the same way as Cat-Eyes’.

‘I’ll take you all through one at a time. There's a lot of tricky bits,’ Cat-Eyes tells you.

After a brief discussion, it's decided that she will take you first, then Thirteen, and then Not-Jenna.

(This requires extracting a Promise from Not-Jenna to neither steal nor allow Thirteen to be stolen whilst you and Cat-Eyes are away. Much rules-lawyering occurs, as well as the agreement to procure a Nokia phone at earliest convenience after the current adventure for Not-Jenna to mess around with. You predict explosions.)

And then you're off, and you feel like you are playing the most elaborate, high stakes game of hopscotch you have ever heard of. (Considering where you are, this is saying something.)

You hop, duck, weave, twirl, crouch, bounce, backtrack, curtsy, and tiptoe through the glamour. There were some spots that even you could see the glow of a glamour about, and you resolutely do not wonder what awful bit of magic the librarians have set for unwary travelers.

On the other side, Cat-Eyes rests for half a moment, and then she's headed back to get Thirteen.

You stay as close to the wire as you can. You know that the librarians probably have people on watch, and you don't want them deciding you're a threat. That would be ...bad.

It takes nearly half an hour for Cat-Eyes to get you all through, and she's sweaty, squinty-eyed, and panting by the end. Your little bottle of painkillers makes a reappearance.

You wait a few mints more to let her catch her breath and rest her eyes, and then you approach the library.

Slowly. You approach the library slowly.

Thirty feet from the doors, a voice rings out from a second floor window.

‘Be you friend, or be you foe? Announce yourselves!’ The voice demands.

Jeez. They're really going for tradition.

You yell back, ‘I am called Feathers, sometimes Crow Girl, and we come as friends!’

The glass doors of the library swing open, and you stifle a snort as Cat-Eyes swats Thirteen when he takes a step forward.

After a beat of silence, you call up, ‘We seek knowledge. Will you welcome us into your hall?’

You detect movement from inside, and then a librarian is standing just inside the threshold.

‘So long as you neither mean nor offer harm to me or mine,’ the man says, ‘Be welcome in my hall.’

The tension goes out of your little group. Well, Thirteen still looks tense, but that's because he's spent his first semester being totally ignorant of everything even remotely important. Honestly. Hospitality rules aren't even an exclusively Elsewhere thing.

(Hospitality rules aren't even an exclusively fae thing- there are plenty of cultures that have stories of such rules.) (that have such monsters, really.)

You lead your group in, Not-Jenna bringing up the rear. She really is nervous about the librarians.

You think you might actually have trouble when the librarian catches sight of her. He tenses, and immediately puts himself in front of you all, blocking the second set of doors that lead into the library proper.

‘Why,’ he starts, quiet but thunderous, ‘Would you think it a bright idea to bring her here?’

‘We come- as friends- seeking knowledge.’ You repeat. ‘Do you retract your offer of Hospitality?’ You ask, voice slow and even for the first sentence, sharp as screams in the dark for the second.

If this man retracts Hospitality, there will be consequences, and you won't even have to stick around to see them enforced. You know this. He knows this.

As things stand, if you left now- even without violence- there'd be even odds on unfortunate things happening here, especially with both sides of Elsewhere as on edge as they are. You'd rather be allowed in, though. You weren't lying when you said you you came seeking, and you don't actually want the deaths of how ever many people are here for sanctuary on your hands. (You're not that fae-touched yet, at least.)

Slowly, slowly, he steps aside. You wave your group though the doors, nod as he makes the ‘I'm watching you’ gesture (you'd expect nothing less), and step through.

#elsewhere university #feathers #my writing #charminglyantiquated's sandbox #faeries #fae #the fair folk

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dawnover-dusk · 7 years

Text

Friends (Woozi)

genre: idol Woozi x lyricist reader, fluff, implied crushes

word count: 1,374

summary: “Why would I meet up with my friends? I want to hang out with you.” heavily taken from ailee x woozi’s phone call

series: 23 things a girlfriend wants to hear, based off of this

so, i can’t imagine Woozi saying this irl ever so this happened

Jihoon was nervous. Today was the day where he had his first solo radio interview, and although he was plenty grateful for the opportunity to further promote Seventeen’s new album, he felt uncertain. He had to be about the most boring person in the industry! Why did Seokmin or Seungkwan just happen to have conflicting schedules? The other two had a natural affinity for diffusing silence or awkward situations.

Jihoon took a few deep breaths in the recording room, the provided headphones heavy around his neck. The radio host was a member of a male group which debuted a handful of years ago, and he smiled amusedly at the younger boy, who kept reading and re-reading the script provided.

After receiving the “on-air” cue and getting the standard greetings out of the way, each song on “Going Seventeen” was introduced, played, and discussed. Jihoon felt the anxiety melt away as he settled into his element. With a passion and fervor incongruent with his young age, he shared the stories and environments from which these songs were birthed, with emphasis on lyrical technicalities and composition elements.

When “I Don’t Know” finished playing, the radio host had a mischievous glint in his eye as he brought up an unfamiliar name in the writing credits – yours. Although Jihoon knew that this segment was coming (everything was scripted, after all), his heart still beat a little faster at the mention of your name, especially in such a public setting as an interview.

Jihoon didn’t even know what you looked like until he was a year into producing and writing his own songs. After expressing his interest to his entertainment company, Bumzu began training him on which software was used and various lyrical tones and styles. His company also put him in touch with a mysterious lyricist working remotely, and your relationship began over emails with periodically attached song demos.

You had walked into Jihoon’s studio, and formally, into Jihoon’s life, wearing an oversized sweater and holding a coffee holder with two iced Americanos. Jihoon had his headphones on and saw you enter from the corner of his vision, but he didn’t have the time or patience to pause his work flow. His debut date kept getting pushed back, and he wanted to prove that his group was ready – that he was ready – to share their music and choreographies with the world.

He had figured that you were an intern on a coffee run, and had gotten lost.

You knew he had saw you, and was a bit off-put by this small boy who you had supposedly been corresponding with for over a year.

Jihoon’s fingers stilled over the keyboard when you set one of the iced Americanos down onto his desk. He clicked to save his work and slid the headphones down around his neck, finally turning to face you.

You introduced yourself, and upon hearing your name, his eyes widened as he stumbled to stand, bowing deeply. You chuckled at his sudden change in demeanor and waved off the formalities. “It’s been a year already, right?” You asked. “Besides, I don’t think I’m that much older than you.”

Jihoon smiled as he pulled up a chair for you to sit in. “Why couldn’t you come into the studio until now?” he asked bluntly, not one to beat around the bush.

“I’ve actually been abroad! But now, I’m here to help you guys debut.”

Jihoon felt his heart swell with hope as he grabbed a spare pair of headphones and hooked it up to the second audio jack. As you put them on, he turned back to the large monitor in front of him and snapped his fingers.

“Well, let’s get to work,” he muttered, and clicked play.

“Ah, yes,” Jihoon murmured, recalling the many late nights spent and cheap takeout eaten with you and Bumzu over the course of Seventeen’s career. “She’s a very talented lyricist in my company, and originally from the U.S. I had the melody of ‘I Don’t Know’ down, but had a lot of trouble with the flow of the words. She helped me a lot with word choice while still keeping true to the emotions I wanted to portray. She also proofreads any English words we use in our songs, just in case it could be awkward.”

“Well, speaking of this lyricist,” the radio host responded, “We have a special mission for you to complete! I’ll let you make the phone call, and you have to get her to say a certain phrase.” He held up a rolled piece of printer paper.

Jihoon licked his lips as he waited for his call to go through. He half-heartedly hoped that you wouldn’t answer, but after the many years spent working together, he knew that you would. After all, you fielded calls from him at 3 A.M., at times when he was too tired to even form coherent sentences.

“Hello? Jihoonie?” Your voice crackled over the speakerphone as a sudden timer effect was overlaid onto the radio audio. The radio host unfurled the piece of printer paper to reveal the phrase, black letters contrasted against white: “Stop being like this.”

Jihoon could feel himself panicking slightly as he stuttered on the phone, filler words escaping his mouth. “Um…how do I do this? Uh—”

“What’s up? I was actually working on editing that verse you sent me—”

This time, Jihoon cut you off, afraid that you would unwittingly spoil new songs to the public. The gears turned in his head as he defaulted to his serious, no fun, composer personality: “I’m sorry, that was trash. Don’t waste your time on it.”

On the other end of the line, your brow furrowed as you felt a weight drop on your chest. People say that late night conversations were where you bared your truest selves, and you and Jihoon were no exception. In between fitting words to melodies and brainstorming song ideas, Jihoon had let his insecurities slip. He would accidentally mention the stress of being “the producer” of the group, or how he felt responsible for the success or failure of twelve other people. You let his burden drive you to work harder, too, but you were afraid to mention how his worries reflected onto you. You didn’t want him to bottle it up.

So as much as you wanted to give him a pep talk, you settled with, “But I worked on it for half an hour already! Too late, mister.”

You heard faint laughter in the background and you grew even more confused. Jihoon never really initiated conversation outside of work. Why was he doing so now?

“Are you with your friends right now? Do you want me to call you back later or something?”

Jihoon smacked his forehead with an open palm. Well, he thought, I guess it’s time to do the despicable—time to act cute.

With as much enthusiasm and sweetness as he could muster, he said, “Why would I meet up with my friends? I want to hang out with you.”

The timer buzzed as the radio host howled in laughter, his hands making curled up fists in the air. Jihoon groaned as he also curled up into himself, unable to accept that he had just said that on air, and for nothing! A staff member from the radio station adjusted the microphone as the host caught his breath and greeted you, explaining what the mission was.

“Everyone, I’m sorry that this isn’t viewable radio, but Jihoon’s face is incredibly red right now.”

You apologized. “I’ll treat you to something nice, Jihoon. I want to hang out with you, too.” With a final laugh, you said your goodbyes and hung up.

Both the radio host and Jihoon sat for a moment in stunned silence. The host quickly got back on track, joking, “Wow, I can see where all of Seventeen’s clever lyrics come from now! Let’s introduce the next song…”

Jihoon made a sound of agreement as he regained his composure, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. On the inside, though, he hoped that the booming in his chest would stay a secret, an unfortunate biological rhythm triggered by the thought of seeing you soon.

#seventeen scenarios #woozi scenarios #woozi #jihoon scenarios #seventeen #seventeen imagines #woozi imagines #jihoon imagines #jihoon #lee jihoon

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kaikeidou-backstage-blog · 7 years

Text

Record of Kaikeidou Servants (excerpts 11 through 15)

Excerpt from the Sea God Bookstore's "Record of Kaikeidou Servants:" a text whose author and editor are both unknown.

Negoro: CHEEERS! Sarasa: Cheeers!

Negoro: Man, I'm totally beat. I mean, geeze, I had to fight through a volley of danmaku every time just to ask them a few questions.

Sarasa: Wha~a? Are you telling me you didn't get permission from them?

Negoro: C'mon, that'd be such a pain in the butt. Talking back and forth, writing all those formal letters... it's way better to just get up in their face like "tell me about such-and-such if I win this fight," isn't it?

Sarasa: Is THAT why everyone was making those suspicious faces? C'mo~on, the Sea God Bookstore is gonna get su~uch bad reviews for this...

Negoro: Eh, not my problem.

Sarasa: Miss Kaidou's gonna get so~o mad at us again...

Negoro: What are you talking about? We're Kaidous too, aren't we?

Sarasa: Bringing out the old wordplay again, I se~ee.

Negoro: Hey, speaking of which-- let's do that thing again! It's been forever!

Sarasa: Huh? Who would we even be addressing, tho~ough?

***

Negoro: The people's gossip lasts for 75 days-- and stretches to 75 fathoms below!

Sarasa: We hold all the wonders of those depths in our very hands!

Negoro: We are scholars who pursue both the written and divine word!

Sarasa: A publishing company that births a vast sea of printed type!

Both: Together, we are...! The Sea God Bookstore's Kaidou branch!!

***

Negoro: We said it! We said our signature lines, Sarasa!

The Sea God Bookstore's Berliner Lady Negoro Kaidou (海堂ねごろ)

Sarasa: C'mo~on, quit hugging me so tightly! You're making it hard to breathe!

The Sea God Bookstore's Blanket Girl Sarasa Kaidou (海堂さらさ)

Negoro: Y'know, though. That last one we interviewed, uh... Miss Owari, right? The other sisters clammed right up when it came to her.

Sarasa: Oh, abo~out that. Miss Hananishiki, the next youngest, told me why. They were worried that their Eldest Sister would, like, punish them or something if they said too much, so they were all trying to avoid making any inconvenient comments~.

Negoro: Ah, that explains why they were all so cagey. I guess she's kind of intimidating, being the oldest and all, huh?

Sarasa: Both of us are ba~asically only children, so I guess we wouldn't really know. When you think about it, having nine whole sisters would be pretty amazing even for humans, right? Let alone mermaids.

Negoro: Oh, speaking of humans. I just remembered that some time ago, the Kaikeidou tried to invite some humans in so that they could make a bigger name for themselves. According to Lady Mikoto and Megumi and the like.

Sarasa: They said that our ocean isn't a place people visit very often, so at the rate things were go~oing, the whole ocean itself would disappear from Gensokyo.

Negoro: Wait, doesn't that mean we were in some pretty big trouble, too?!

Sarasa: Miss Kaidou didn't seem very panicked about it, though. When she was giving me the manuscript for the article, I asked her abo~out it, but she just said "nah, does that really matter?".

Negoro: Uh, Miss Kaidou's definitely not that laid-back?!

Sarasa: Whenever I go to talk to her about work, she's aa~allways casual.

Negoro: Whenever I send in my reports, she sends them back totally covered in red pen...

Sarasa: Anywa~ay, getting back on topi~ic...

Negoro: Sarasa, you can be real cold sometimes.

Sarasa: Miss Hananishiki was the one who said that all the sisters' abilities were the same, except for Miss Owari's.

Negoro: Oh, yeah. In the first place, Miss Owari was born as Lady Mikoto's immediate daughter, and all the other sisters were-- at least on paper-- born from Miss Owari. When you think about it, that would normally make Miss Owari the other nine sisters' mother...

Sarasa: But both Miss Owari and the other nine sisters were born from foam by Lady Miko~oto, so all ten of them are effectively siblings.

Negoro: Apparently, the sisters from Hananishiki on down were originally meant to be created as 'second attempts' if Owari failed, so they would've been born with divine powers like hers too. But since Owari learned how to wield her divine nature right off the bat, they just made her a bunch of regular sisters with no divinity instead.

Sarasa: Miss Kasumi the clam youkai knew a lo~ot about that part. She was the very first guardian of the Kaikeidou's front door, after all.

Negoro: And so, the nine other sisters aren't equipped with any special powers. They've got the same capabilities as average mermaids like us.

Sarasa: If I had to think of any bi~ig difference, I guess Miss Hananishiki is re~eally good at cooking? This one time, she let me have ju~ust a few of these green sturgeon eggs she whipped up.

Negoro: BWH-- Oh my god, why didn't I hear about that...?! WHY DIDN'T SHE INVITE ME TOOOOO?!

Negoro: Hey, now that I think about it... if the goddess of the entire sea came to Gensokyo, is the outside world, like, doing okay?

Sarasa: Oh, yeah, they're doing fi~ine. I heard a~all about it from Lady Mikoto.

Negoro: Huh? When, exactly?!

Sarasa: Lady Mikoto sa~aid that she's just one descendant of the sea gods from ancient lege~ends, and there's plenty of others besides her, so it's still okay out the~ere.

Negoro: Huh!

Sarasa: Y'see, Lady Mikoto used to be a sea goddess who lived in a bi~ig lake, with that special power of hers that can create life. But with just lakewater, she couldn't support all the creatures she'd created.

Negoro: 'Cause it was fresh water, yeah.

Sarasa: And as she was worrying about that, this one gi~irl-- the one named Lady Otohime, who were interviewing toda~ay-- she helped Lady Mikoto turn the lakewater into a fountain of life that could support a~all the sea creatures.

Negoro: And that's how this little "ocean" that we live in was born.

Sarasa: Ye~ep. But then, since they made the lake wa~ay too big in the process, Gensokyo was about to like, burst at the seams...! So that one lady-- the Hakurei shrine maiden, I think? She came down here and told them to stop.

Negoro: Aaaah! I remember that part! I was THERE for it!

Sarasa: Huh? Did something happe~en?

Negoro: Not just SOMETHING! That Hakurei maiden or whatever slapped me right outta the water on her way down!

Sarasa: ...Oh~h, yeah, you did have that big bump on your head that one ti~ime.

Negoro: See, all of a sudden it sounded like there was this big commotion up on the surface, right? And I was like "ooh what's happening...?" and I went on up to look, right? When suddenly, BAM! Some what's-her-face cannonballs down in here, and as soon as she sees me, she starts hurling amulets and whacking me with a giant ritual rod! ...And then, later, someone else started throwing weird stars that tasted like candy, a-and, and shooting huge lasers and stuff... *snf* a-and... *sniff* and on t-top of everything else... there, there were! There were these, like, nuclear kaboom things, a-and... *gross sobbing*

Sarasa: Oh~h, there, there. You did your best out there, Negoro. I know it must have been re~eally scary...

Negoro: *snrf.* .....And then, like, a little after that is when the ocean shrank back down and stuff. Was that 'cause of-- what did you call her? The Hack-and-Slash shrine maiden?

Sarasa: Hakurei shrine maiden.

Negoro: Yeah, her. ...Okay, wow, we're getting off-topic. So, basically, the reason we, Miss Kaidou and the Bookstore, and the Kaikeidou itself are all here, is because of Lady Mikoto and that Lady Otohime you mentioned?

Sarasa: Yep, that's basically it. When we head over there next time to give them a finished copy of the book, maybe we should give them something to show our thanks?

Negoro: Hm. What kind of present can we even give them...? Like, they're gods, but we're just youkai, y'know?

Sarasa: How about we bring them some of our scales?

Negoro: Uh. That seems kind of... blood sacrificey.

Negoro: Although, the Kaikeidou and its sea being created are what led to us and the Sea God Bookstore existing, so I guess just writing this book is a thank-you in its own way?

Sarasa: Yeah, you could put it like that.

Negoro: We can't dance or fight like the Kai sisters, either. I'm so jealous of all those cool games they get to play...

Sarasa: Negoro, you want to fight?

Negoro: Well, I wanna play-fight.

Sarasa: Why not play-fight with Miss Kaidou, the~en?

Negoro: You really think she'd deign to play with us? Plus, there's her ability to worry about too... even if we had a proper match, it'd probably end with her reading every single one of my moves.

Sarasa: Then... how about me?

Negoro: You're way too slow. It wouldn't even be a competition.

Sarasa: Aww...

Negoro: Hey, now that I think about it. When I went to do interviews at the Kaikeidou this one other time, there was this kind of weirdly dramatic atmosphere, right? And everyone was in such a hurry that I couldn't get any info out of them at all. I think they said there was an intruder there...

Sarasa: Really~?

Negoro: I never met whoever it was, but apparently some super-strong youkai broke in, and Minamo and Suzuri were all sprawled out on the ground...

Sarasa: Sounds really dangerous.

Negoro: Well, I got as far as the entry hall and then high-tailed it outta there. What do you think it was, though?

Sarasa: I wo~onder... Maybe it was, like, a really big-name youkai~? Y'know, like the ones we've heard rumours about lately.

Negoro: A really big one... well, you've got your nurarihyons, your orochis... oh, not to mention the kuda--

Sarasa: Hey, Miss Kaidou's back!

Negoro: Miss Kaidou...!

Production:

Sea God Bookstore: "Kaidou" ・A bookstore that produces books detailing key events in the deep seas of fantasy. Deep, deep down, at depths that humans can't hope to reach, they keep a quiet collection of books found nowhere else; records of mysteries more distant than the stars. The only ones who know whether these events are fantasy or reality are the various "studios" lined up within the Bookstore's walls.

・"Kaidou" is one of the studios within the Sea God Bookstore, run by one of the Bookstore's managers, Minogiku Kaidou. Its employees all receive the surname "Kaidou," based on Minogiku's studio name. The other studios mainly do archival work, but "Kaidou" is one of the few that publish books and magazines. They serialize magazines, journals and tabloids, compile, edit and publish full-fledged books, and so on.

Authors:

Sarasa Kaidou (海堂さらさ) ・A journalist employed at "Kaidou" in the Sea God Bookstore. She is Minogiku Kaidou's direct subordinate, and in this book, she conducted the interviews for the six elder Kai sisters. One of the mermaids native to the ocean surrounding the Kaikeidou; after coming into existence in Gensokyo due to certain particular circumstances, she was adopted by Minogiku Kaidou. It seems she has some past connection to the outside world...?

Negoro Kaidou (海堂ねごろ) ・A journalist employed at "Kaidou" in the Sea God Bookstore. She came to work at the Bookstore with Sarasa's help, and is currently employed as one of Minogiku Kaidou's subordinates. She conducted the interviews for the four youngest Kai sisters. Hails from the ocean surrounding the Kaikeidou; were it not for her job at the Bookstore, she would be like any other mermaid who swims carefree in the sea.

etc...

Editor:

Minogiku Kaidou (海堂水乃菊) ・The administrator of the Sea God Bookstore's "Kaidou" studio; within the studio itself, she serves as the chief editor. She's a mermaid with a keen sense for information, which she makes full use of to produce the various serial publications she oversees. On top of her deep craving for information, she makes a strong habit of guessing what people are thinking, so she's often mistaken for a satori; however, she's 100% mermaid. As can be inferred from how she gives the Kaidou studio name to all her direct subordinates, she's deeply possessive in addition to knowledge-hungry. If you're foolish enough to spark her interest in you, she may very well steal all the information you have. Prepare thyself.

#touhou kaikeidou #record of kaikeidou servants #story translation

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