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lifeofkaze · 3 years

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An Art of Balance #24

Orion Amari x MC

A/N: As always, KC belongs to my wonderful wifey @kc-needs-coffee

Word Count: ~ 2.400

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Chapter 24: A Question of Harmony

When Lizzie arrived at the Great Hall, it had already started emptying. The Hufflepuff table was still full and Lizzie could see a lot of her housemates looking as tired as she was. Most of the older students were staring at their plates with blank expressions.

The light filtering down from the enchanted ceiling was awfully bright, mirroring the sunny spring day outside. Usually, the prospect of sun and warmth would have made Lizzie buzzing with energy but today she wouldn’t have said no to a gloomy day full of rain. All she wanted to do was curl up under her blanket and not come out again for the rest of the day.

Rowan and Penny sat apart from their usual friend group today; Rowan was talking to Penny, looking rather pale, furiously stirring her bowl of porridge. The blond girl sat next to her with a sorrowful expression, nodding from time to time.

Bracing herself, Lizzie started off in their direction.

Penny noticed her first, nudging Rowan to make her aware. Judging by the contemptuous look her best friend gave her, Lizzie could as well have been dirt under her shoe. Before she could even reach them though, Rowan got off her seat and stalked out of the Great Hall without gracing her with so much as another glance. Penny quickly trailed behind, an awkward mixture of incredulity and discomfort in her eyes.

Lizzie’s shoulders slumped; she had hoped to be able to talk things out with Rowan as soon as possible, but apparently she wouldn’t get out of this as easily. Doing her best to remain composed, she passed the now empty seats of her friends until she reached the head of the table where Orion, Murphy and KC were sat. The Houses weren’t usually allowed to mix, but more often than not, the teachers were willing to let them mingle during the weekends.

Lizzie was glad for the Ravenclaw’s company; for one part, sitting with Orion and Murphy on her own would have felt awkward, but another perk that came with KC’s presence was currently sitting right in front of her.

Per default, the students only got tea for breakfast and KC being there meant a steaming pot of strong coffee, which was exactly what Lizzie needed right now.

“Look who finally crawled out of bed,” KC giggled before taking a huge sip of her French roast. “Murphy thought you wouldn’t show your face before lunch. Which means that I won,” she added with a satisfied grin.

Murphy shook his head and passed her a sickle. “The odds stood at 22,6 % she’d be in time for breakfast.”

Lizzie gave them an indignant look but didn’t reply as she slipped into a seat next to Orion. She reached for the silver can sitting in front of KC.

“May I?” she mumbled.

KC shrugged. “Sure, you look like you need it.”

Her smile faded from her lips, however, as Lizzie started heaping spoonful after spoonful of sugar into her cup. The Ravenclaw shuddered at the desecration of her favourite drink, but Lizzie didn’t care; the sweet taste brought a bit of life back into her.

She held the hot cup against her cheek and closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the warmth spreading on her face. It almost slipped out of her grasp as she felt Orion’s hand covering her own beneath the table; they were sat with their backs to the outer wall of the Great Hall, opposite KC and Murphy, so no one beside her knew what he was doing.

“How do you feel?” he asked quietly, his voice sympathetic. She looked at him briefly; despite everything, he was smiling at her, his expression slightly concerned at her tragic state.

Her heart beating furiously, Lizzie took his hand for the briefest moment, running her thumb over the back of his hand before letting go. Now wrapping both of her hands around her steaming cup, she shook her head.

“Not good,” she admitted, “but I’ve had worse hangovers.”

Murphy raised one eyebrow. “I don’t have the necessary data for a fool proof statistic, but on the top of my head, I’d say I’ve never seen you look worse before.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes at him. “I have no idea how you’ve come to that conclusion, Prince Charming,” she remarked sardonically.

Her annoyed tone was lost on McNully, however.

“Well, your voice is hoarse and a little bit deeper than usual,” he started backing his observations, “and even though you tried to hide it with much more makeup than usual, the circles under your eyes are clearly visible; every time you look up you wince at the light coming from the ceiling and you’ve been here for more than ten minutes now and haven’t even made an attempt to get something to eat, although I fear breakfast won’t be here much longer. You didn’t even bother sorting you hair out,” he added dismissively, a blunder that would have never happened to Murphy himself; he was notorious for making sure his blond hair lay perfectly at all times. “To sum it up, you look like you drank a whole bottle of Firewhiskey by yourself.”

“More like half of it,” Lizzie shrugged.

Murphy laughed out loud. “That explains a lot.”

The usually pleasant sound of his laugh was cutting through Lizzie’s eardrums and made her wince. “Are you done now?” she asked wryly.

As a means of comeback, she added a smug “Nice love bites by the way.” She was content to see a flush creep up Murphy’s cheeks. He fell silent and nestled with the collar of his white shirt.

KC snickered as she leaned her arm on Murphy’s shoulder. “He’s not the only one though.”

Lizzie was definitely not in the mood for any juicy stories right now; all she wanted was her cup of coffee and some peace and quiet.

“Please, spare me the details,” she groaned in response but KC’s chuckle only turned into full on laughter.

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about myself, Liz.”

Just like Murphy before, Lizzie felt the heat creep up her neck, spreading rapidly on her face. Before she could help it, her hand flew to her neckline, pulling the black fabric up over her collarbones. She had thought the neckline of her hoodie would cover the treacherous marks suitably, but apparently the loose cut had thwarted her efforts. Talking about scoring an own goal.

“There is a time suitable for teasing your friends and there is a time where be better keep our thoughts to ourselves, don’t you think?” Orion jumped to her rescue; Lizzie could make out the hint of strain in his voice.

Luckily, KC immediately caught on. “You have a point there, I guess.” She emptied her coffee and got up. “Come on Murphy, you wanted to tell me about that new Beater’s move you so conveniently kept from me.”

She watched Lizzie pouring herself another cup as she waited for McNully to get into his wheelchair. “If I see one more spoonful of sugar ruining my perfect roast, I’m going to scream anyway.”

With a wink at her friend, she and Murphy left the table.

Lizzie sighed in relief as soon as they were out of earshot. “Thanks for that,” she muttered, “another word and I might have died.”

Orion inclined his head in response. “Sometimes McNully doesn’t understand the beauty in the balance between talking and silence.”

Lizzie hummed in response and both of them fell silent, neither really knowing how to begin their conversation.

Before the silence could stretch out too long, Professor McGonagall approaching them spared Lizzie further embarrassment.

“Congratulations on your spectacular win yesterday,” the Transfiguration Professor greeted them with a subdued smile. It was no secret she held little love for the Slytherin team; no wonder she was content to see them so thoroughly crushed.

“No doubt you celebrated in an appropriatefashion,” McGonagall continued pointedly and Lizzie inadvertently straightened her spine. “I only hope the rush of victory hasn’t let you forget your responsibilities.”

Lizzie’s brow furrowed the slightest bit as she quickly raked her sluggish memory. Her eyes went wide as she remembered; she had promised Professor McGonagall to tutor a few of her second years today.

“No Professor, of course not,” she replied hastily. “I’m just finishing breakfast and then I’m off.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow at her. “You’d better be, Miss Jameson. I don’t want to see another walking pin cushion in my class.”

Lizzie buried her head in her hands as soon as McGonagall was out of sight; she had completely forgotten about tutoring. In her current state, she’d be surprised if she managed so much as to hit a porcupine with her spell.

“When do you have to be there?” Orion asked sympathetically.

She glanced at her watch. “Ten minutes,” she sighed.

“Come on then,” Orion got up and pulled her off her seat. “I’ll walk with you.”

Lizzie waited until they were well out of sight of the Great Hall before she returned Orion’s coat to its proper owner. She didn’t look into his face as she held it out to him, instead inspecting the worn tips of her sneakers.

“Thank you for letting me borrow it,” she mumbled, “sorry I forgot to return it to you yesterday.”

Much to her surprise, his voice was light as he answered. “Don’t worry, you had better use of it than me.” His tone grew more serious as he continued, “You shouldn’t have drunk so much; you looked pretty miserable there on that sofa.”

Lizzie shuffled her feet. “Well, can you blame me?”

She stopped as his words sank into her mind and she looked up at him with wide eyes. “Wait, you saw that?”

A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Of course I did; I couldn’t let you lie there looking positively freezing.”

She remembered the feeling of someone gently brushing the hair out of her face and covering her with a soft blanket. “So that wasn’t a dream that after all,” she said more to herself.

“Isn’t everything some kind of dream?” Orion responded in a detached voice, but Lizzie wasn’t in the mood for philosophical musings, not even when they were coming from him.

“Well, this dream is turning into more of a nightmare,” she answered bitterly. She only realised how her words must have come across when Orion remained silent; a slight frown had appeared on his forehead.

“Merlin no, that’s not what I meant,” she quickly clarified. “What happened yesterday was…” She was lacking the words to describe how the intense look in his eyes was enough to unsettle her even now, so she stopped herself before she could say anything pathetic.

“I can’t forget the look on Rowan’s face,” she said so quietly she wasn’t even sure Orion could hear her, “I broke her heart.”

They had almost reached the Transfiguration classroom. Orion stopped just out of sight of the chatting group of second-years who were waiting for Lizzie to appear.

“I can see how much what has happened pains you,” he told her softly. “My advice is, go and talk to her; the bond of your friendship is strong and has persisted for so many years. You will find a way back to each other.”

Orion hesitated for a moment and Lizzie was surprised to see something almost like uncertainty flicker over his features. “I know fixing your relationship with Rowan must be the most important thing for you right now, but I do have to ask; where does this leave us?”

The butterflies dancing in her stomach combined with her frail condition made her knees weak at his words. The thought of there even being the possibility of an ‘us’ with him warmed her from the inside. As relieved as she was, she couldn’t hide her astonishment.

“You’re not mad at me for lying to you?”

He tilted his head as he took in her expression, equally as stunned as it was relieved.

“I had a lot of time to think about it last night,” he told her, his brown eyes fixed on her blue ones. “While I can’t deny that I wish you would have trusted me with the truth, I know you didn’t lie out of bad intentions, but to help your friend.”

“I never wanted to hurt any of you,” Lizzie whispered, her throat tight with regret.

But when Orion took her hand and pulled her against him, she didn’t object. She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes as his arms wrapped around her comfortingly.

“Maybe we’ll find a way to trust each other like we did before.” She could feel his breath against her hair; a shiver ran down her spine.

He took a step back, raising his hand to her chin to make her look at him. His eyes were warm and gentle as he looked down at her, his smile, however, tinged with a hint of sadness.

“However much I want to be with you, you cannot share a harmony that you don’t feel in your own heart first.”

A trace of unease mixed into the warmth Lizzie felt, but it was quickly drowned out by the rush of her heartbeat as Orion leaned in and kissed her softly. It was totally different to last night, much sweeter and more innocent, but Lizzie lost herself in his touch all the same.

But somehow she couldn’t help the thought in the back of her mind that his kiss felt as much like a promise as a goodbye.

When he broke away from her, he wrapped his arms around her once more, his face buried in her hair, taking in the scent of jasmine and mint he had come to love so much. Lizzie could feel his lips close to her ear at his next words.

“Restore the balance in your heart, Chaser; then can we see where our paths are headed.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #quidditch #orion amari #murphy mcnully #lizzie jameson #katriona cassiopeia #aob #art of balance #the quidditch squad

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years

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The Art Of Remembrance (Part 29)

Edit made because I decided to make Azula’s discussion with Katara longer.

Azula is rather surprised to find that he is still holding her and more shocked to realize that she had managed to sleep at all. Albeit, a restless sleep. Several times she had woken with a feeling of dread and paranoia. Several times she found herself gripping a deeply slumbering and snoring Sokka tighter. It is a wonder that she hadn’t woken him with how firm her grip had grown.

She finds herself silently embarrassed that she was being so clingy and, dare she say, childish. In the back of her mind, she supposes that her fear is justified. Even still, she feels foolish for it. As the sunrises outside, she loosens her hold on him.

She waits until he stirs to pull herself from his grasp, but he doesn’t even begin to wake before something else startles her out of his arms. Her jerks awake when she bolts upright. Looking comically more horrified and mortified than the both of them combined, the third figure stands in the doorway.

“Zuzu…” She greets with an inward cringe.

“I’ve been looking for you.” He sputters through his embarrassment. “I was worried after…”

“You don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.” She shrugs, she finds herself hoping that, that isn’t a lie. In light of things, it sure feels like one.

“I do need to worry about you.” He insists. “You should have seen how you reacted last night when we…” he trails off at the look she fixes him with. It lies somewhere between hurt, anger, and shame. And she sees it on his face that it makes him uneasy. “I didn’t mean that.” He tries.

“Then what did you mean?” Really, she thinks that he can only mean one thing. That he thinks that she lacks control. That she can snap within a moment’s notice. “I’m not crazy. I…” Now she trails off as her eyes wander back to Sokka’s singed parka. “I just need to get out of here.”

“Yeah.” Zuko rubs the back of his head. “That’s all I meant.” He tries. “That this place isn’t good for you and that’s why I’m worried.”

“I have control.” She persists. “That was a...lapse in judgement.”

Zuko’s face softens and she feels bad all over again for inadvertently guilt tripping him while trying to justify herself. “I know.” He tries to smile. “That wasn’t you.”

Her heart seizes and her stomach drops; deep down it feels as though it was exactly her. That, that sort of lashing out is in her nature. That, that sort of thing had been routine in her life prior to this compound. “It was me.” She says quietly.

Sokka leans in almost annoyingly close. And just as childishly, though well meaning, he whispers in her ear--almost as if to imitate her own soft tone, “it isn’t anymore.”

Having been well and caught, he makes no attempts at subtlety when he wraps his arms around her waist. Like that she recalls having kissed him and her cheeks very nearly color. She isn’t sure what had possessed her to do it, but she doesn’t entirely regret it either.

She doesn’t regret it at all.

In the doorway, Zuko seems to grow more uncomfortable. “We’re going to be heading back to the village soon.”

“I’m sure that they’ll be eager to hear that we’ve all wasted our time.” She grumbles.

Zuko sighs but only briefly before a flicker of mischief lights his eyes. “Something tells me that it wasn’t a complete waste of time.”

This time, her face does color some and Sokka’s grows so red that one could assume that he’d been wandering the tundra for hours. She clears her throat, “we’ll see.”

.oOo.

He is reluctant to let Azula wander off on her own again but, all the same, Sokka knows that she won’t take well to him trying to stop her. Or worse, treating her like she is fragile and helpless. He just hopes that she doesn’t return to the lobby shaking and shouting again.

Sokka is fussing with his pack, trying to stuff his sleeping bag back into it. This is already eating up way too much time and he still has to figure out what to do about the gaping hole in his parka. He doesn’t even begin to consider his options when Zuko drops down next to him.

“You two didn’t…” he trails off. “Did you?”

Sokka’s face remains blank until his mind connects the dots. “What!? No! We just slept together!” His face turns a brighter red than it ever has before then. “I mean, not like that!” He falters. “I mean we slept next to each other but not with each other! And we had clothes on the whole time. It’s too cold to take them off anyways! I don’t think that your sister would have…”

“Sokka.” Zuko cuts his rambling off.

It is his turn to nervously rub the back of his head. “Look it was just a bit of cuddling.” And a kiss. He adds in his head. And a massage. He gnaws the inside of his cheek. “Okay and I gave her a little massage. Back at the Lake Fire institute, she got a massage from one of the doctors and it helped her relax. So I thought that…”

Zuko chuckles. “I get it, you were trying to help.” He pauses and his face goes frighteningly serious again. Almost like the look that their father had given Aang when Katara introduced him as the boyfriend. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Sometime today, but you walked in before I could.” He pauses. “It sort of just happened.”

“You mean that this is the first time you, uh...cuddled with my sister?”

“Well…” he starts. “Sort of. No. She’s been having trouble sleeping and she said that it helps her sleep better when she has company. But, this was the first time she kissed me.” He continues quickly, hoping to gloss over the kissing bit. “It started out with me just staying in the same room as her but then she asked me to lay down next to her and we had a pillow between us…” he is rambling again but it is just as well, if he adds in enough fluff, Zuko might miss the worst of the details.

“When did this start?” Sokka doesn’t know what to make of his friend’s tone. Is it angry? Surprised? Amused? Perhaps all three?

“Back at the palace, after our fight.” But no, he thinks that it began before that. Even if he hadn’t realized it he thinks that the spark had been there since he’d taken her to see the tundra lights. Though she hadn’t been able to enjoy the display, he thinks that the moment had been a tender one. “It helps her sleep…” he adds again, weakly. “I don’t think that she likes being alone.” He finishes rather lamely.

Of course she doesn’t like being alone.

No one likes being alone.

“Look, Sokka, I’m just happy that she’s got something to help her deal with everything.”

Sokka thinks of the screaming, impulsive woman who had come along with them to track Ursa down and thinks that Zuko pictures the same. “She didn’t really have anyone before, did she?”

Zuko gives a sad little head shake. “That’s why I’m not going to kick your ass.” Sokka can’t tell if this is a wisecrack or a serious statement. “But I question your taste in women.”

Sokka gives a sigh of relief. “Your girlfriend likes to stab things with pointy things.”

“And yours likes to conquer powerful nations.” Zuko points out.

But Sokka is still stuck on the implication, “she’s not my girlfriend.” He says right away. “I don’t think that she is...she never said…”

“But she kissed you?” Zuko asks. So he had caught that.

“Well, yeah but…” Sokka trails off. “I don’t know if it really meant anything.” He is scared to admit that it had to him. “Sometimes I think that it only happened because I just so happened to be the first person to warm up to her.”

Zuko seems to think it over. “I guess that you’ll have to ask her.”

But Sokka is almost certain that Azula isn’t even sure of exactly what she is doing this time around.

.oOo.

Azula purses her lips in frustration. “This is useless, completely useless.” She hisses more to herself than the imperial firebenders that have taken the initiative to accompany her. They trail behind her as she wanders down the hall. “There has to be something here…” she muses allowed. Anything.

She comes to the closet that she had stolen her parka from during her grand flight. At the very least, there better be a spare parka hanging around for Sokka’s use. Even if it is as bulky and big as her steal had been on her, he can always throw it over his own parka and be warmer still.

She tugs the door open and finds only one lonely parka, she snatches it up and makes her way back down the hall. In the back of her mind is a nagging desire to take off into a sprint as it conjures up images of shadowed figures peering from around the corner.

Azula grips the parka tighter; how pathetic will it be to let this place get to her for a third time. She draws in a breath and exhales it. The only people behind her are those that seek to accompany her out of this place. By the looks on their faces, she’d wager that the place discomforts them to a degree.

“I found something for you.” She shoves the parka into Sokka’s arms. She waits for a rather solid minute before muttering, “you’re welcome.”

“Sorry.” He mumbles back. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Clearly.” Azula agrees. “You’d be relieved and gracious if you had been. I didn’t have to find this for you.”

Sokka chuckles as he tugs the parka on. It is not the response that she had been hoping for. She hadn’t exactly anticipated him falling at her feet and thanking her for her generosity, but a small thank you wouldn’t have been too much to ask for. Her expression falls somewhere between a pout and an annoyed scowl.

He slings an arm around her. “It’s a little big.” Her frown deepens. “But it’ll work.”

“I hope that it does.” She replies.

“Thanks.” He says at last.

She supposes that she had no right to push him for a thank you considering that he wouldn’t have needed a new park at all if she hadn’t ruined his first one.

“I think that everyone is packed up.” Zuko announces. “We just need to find you a new…”

“Taken care of, Zuzu.” Azula pats the gaping hole that is now covered by a new parka.

“I guess that we’re set to go then.” She can hear the disappointment in his voice and is certain that it stems from no longer being able to delay their inevitable venture into the merciless pole weather.

When they finally do manage to get a distance from the vacant facility, conversation has died out to give way to concentration. The snow is significantly deeper now that a night’s worth of it has fallen. Azula tries to take her mind elsewhere, someone out of the cold. Somewhere warmer.

Warmer like within Sokka’s embrace.

Perhaps she should ask him if he will take her to see the lights again. Now that she isn’t wholly off put by the very notion of looking out into the tundra. He had mentioned that they relieve his stress, she thinks that it would be a good way to make up for burning him.

Azula’s mind wanders again, not particularly far though. She still thinks of Sokka. More specifically she dwells on the kiss. She wonders if and hopes that she hasn’t taken something perfectly good and made it awkward. She thinks that she is rather good at that. Yet she can’t say that she regrets it. It had felt rather right to do but he hadn’t returned the gesture.

She spares him a look and briefly wonders what he is thinking about.

.oOo.

It takes all of his will power to not laugh at either of the two fire siblings as they awkwardly shamble over the snowbanks. Azula is especially entertaining with her being so small. He can tell that she is growing tired, even if she is doing everything in her power to pretend like she isn’t. Part of him wants to offer her a piggyback ride to the village. He isn’t sure how she would take the offer so he holds his tongue. He opts to pretend like he hasn’t noticed any of her more clumsy strides. Likely, she will get used to trekking through deep snow. Zuko only fares better by experience.

An invasive thought passes through his train of thought and he shudders. With nothing else to picture, he visualizes Azula, younger and colder, seething at the notion that Zuko is doing something with more expertise than she.

The reassuring reality is much different. Zuko missteps bring him to an abrupt halt. Azula, either invested in a daydream or captured by a sheet of ice, collides with him. They both topple and Sokka can’t tell who makes which noise of distress. Azula is the first to rise, she shakes herself off and yanks Zuko to his feet with a harsh, “don’t stop so suddenly dum-dum.” The edge is taken by the chattering of her teeth.

“Watch where you’re walking.” He shoots back with shivers just as intense. “I think I’ve got snow in my underpants.”

“I think I’ve gotten some unwanted information in my ears.” Azula mutters.

Sokka bursts out laughing. “You guys are great.”

He’d never noticed how similar they look until they fix him with twin glares.

“I should have you carry me.” She grumbles.

It is all the permission that he needs. He bends slightly in front of her.

“What are you doing?” She crinkles her nose.

“Offering you a ride on my back.”

Azula ponders his offer. She takes a glimpse at the impression she and Zuko had left in the snow and wraps her legs around his trunk and drapes her arms over his shoulders. She feels her press her face against the hood of his parka as he resumes his stride.

She is so generously warm.

“Why don’t we just melt a path through all of this?” Zuko throws his hands up.

“Because, dum-dum, you’ll burn through your mittens.”

.oOo.

By the time they reach the village Azula is once again sniffling and her cheeks are a bright rosy hue. She slides down from Sokka’s back and hustles her way into his home. She finds herself the furs that they had wrapped her in on her first night and flops onto the sofa. She isn’t in any particular hurry to share how useless the endeavour proved to be. Regardless, there is no sense in attending any sort of meeting with a running nose and tingling hands. She has even less desire to stand in front of the imperial firebenders in such a tousled state.

She pulls her hood down and sets her mittens to the side so that she can light a fire in the small fireplace.

“Cozy?” Sokka asks.

“Not yet.” She replies.

“Zuko went to go let the others know that we’re back.”

Azula makes her way back to the sofa and has a seat next to him. “Alright.” She finds herself leaning into his arm. He doesn’t push her away. “Would you mind sharing that blanket?”

Azula stands, wraps the blanket around him, and takes a seat in his lap. She leans back and closes her eyes. She wants to offer him another kiss or perhaps curl her hand around his. But this time she doesn’t. This time, she wants him to make a move.

Some time passes and her stomach sinks. For the first time, she considers that she could be making him uncomfortable. She has an awareness that they’d been rivals before, she can’t blame him for being weary of getting too close to her. It dawns upon her that, even free of the memories that come with it, she can’t shake the past away. She bites the inside of her cheek. How can she when she keeps doing things that remind everyone of it?

“What are you thinking about?” He asks.

“You won’t tell them, will you?”

His brows furrow in confusion. She hovers her hand over his chest.

“I can’t exactly hide it.”

Azula swallows.

“It was an accident.” Sokka tries to be reassuring. But she gets no consolation at all.

“What was an accident?” Katara asks.

Azula is almost certain that her face has gone pale.

“Maybe you should tell her.” Sokka mumbles in her ear.

Wordlessly, she opens his parka to display the burn marks. “He was...we were going to ask you to heal it.”

“What happened?”

“He…” She trails off. “Took my by surprise when we were in that room. I thought that he was someone else.” She doesn’t know how to explain it. She doesn’t think that there is a way to do so that would make the waterbender stop looking at her like that. “I thought that they were going to take me again.”

“There’s a big difference between Sokka and whoever they are.” Katara replies.

“It didn’t feel like it.” Azula replies. “It…”

“Remember those soldiers we saw in the Earth Kingdom?” Sokka asks.

“What do they have to do with anything?”

“Some of them would get aggressive if they saw or heard something that reminded them of something that happened during the war.” He reminds. “They seemed like they were in two place at once…”

Yes, that is exactly it, Azula realizes. “Physically, they’re in the infirmary.” She adds quietly. “But their minds are somewhere else entirely. In a different time even.” She pauses. “It was like that.” She feels Sokka’s hold on her tighten.

Katara’s expression softens. “That happens to our dad’s friend Bato sometimes.”

“I guess that I finally have something to discuss with Dr. Yu-Kang.”

“That’s a start.” Katara replies. “Do you guys want some soup and jerky? Hakoda is heating it up.”

“Food sounds nice.” Sokka replies. "Let her heal you first." Azula scolds.

"Right." He laughs. He pulls his hands out of his borrowed parka and with them falls a few pieces of folded parchment.

Azula swipes them up while he peels layers of clothing off. Katara brings the healing water to his chest. "You're angry with me."

"You just burned my brother." Katara snaps.

"I didn't mean to...I just..."

"You like controlling people, maybe you can try to control yourself."

Azula opens her mouth, a quip at the ready.

"Please don't argue with her." Sokka groans.

"She is the one..." Azula starts.

"You are the one who throws fire at everything that bothers you."

"I haven't thrown any at you." She hisses.

"You guys..."

"What's stopping you?" Katara asks. "You've never hesitated before."

"Kat, I have a chest that needs healing."

"You wouldn't if someone could keep herself in check."

Azula flinches. This is going to end just as it had on their boat ride to the Fire Nation. Her face falls, perhaps she is simply meant to remain an outcast. It might be that they were all just waiting for her to hurt someone so that they'd have an excuse to begin hating and punishing her for the things that she can't remember. She stands abruptly, this time it is Katara who flinches. Azula can see her poising the water for a strike. It is hardly necessary, she bunches up the pieces of parchment and begins to make her way out of the shelter.

"Azula, don't go." Sokka tries. "Tell her that she can stay, Kat. I'm not angry with her, we've already talked about this. I told her that you'd understand."

"Clearly she's still dangerous."

"She's not." Sokka insists on her behalf. Azula stands rigidly, fighting an impulse to shift awkwardly. "She worried about you guys finding out about this. She feels bad about it."

Azula swallows, not entirely comfortable with him sharing her privet thoughts. In light of the situation she decides to give him a pass.

"It was a stressful situation. I shouldn't have caught her off guard."

Azula shakes her head. "It's my fault Sokka."

Again, Katara's expression grows sympathetic. "You're acknowledging that."

"I'll keep doing so if you acknowledge that I'm not some sort of twisted sadist." Decidedly she is at least a twisted, sure. Twisted and damaged and hard to reassure. But she has trouble seeing herself as a sadist.

"I guess that a sadist would look that upset about hurting someone." Katara admits.

Azula allows herself to relax if a little.

"See, was that so hard?" Sokka asks.

"Do you have to be so patronizing?" Katara rolls her eyes.

As she brings her focus back on healing him, Azula unfolds the papers. Katara is still muttering about Sokka's quip but Azula finds that her discovery takes precedence. They can resume their banter later. "Sokka…" she trails off. "This is a map." She skims the next one. "These are details on the whereabouts of their main facility."

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Fanfiction

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fuanteinasekai · 5 years

Text

Tanuma Kaname and the Anime Problem

A sweet—and significant—moment in the middle of “Unchanging Form” that redefined Natsume and Tanuma’s relationship. Anime version: not found.

A BRAZEN THEFT

There’s a moment in “The Time-Eater” when a de-aged, amnesiac Natsume is sitting alone in Tanuma’s house, watching Sensei totter off in search of a cure. His friends observe him with concern. Taki comments to Tanuma that while Natsume’s transformation is difficult to believe, his “un-childlike, wooden” expression is still recognizable. After a brief acknowledgment from Tanuma, she rambles on that it’s good Sensei found their help, but wonders what will happen to Natsume if he can’t turn back. Then she sees Tanuma’s face, and her tone changes abruptly: she apologizes to him, saying she’s sure Sensei will fix the problem, there’s just not much they can do themselves.

There’s little ambiguity in this sequence: the change in Taki’s tone is visually apparent in the style of speech bubbles—from the soft curves of “normal” speech to the more angular lines of emphatic speech. And the use of a “…” speech bubble makes it clear that Tanuma is responding with silence, not just listening from the outside. Even Taki’s body language supports this reading, her fist awkwardly balled up as if to say “oh crap, I screwed up.”

The effect is to create a contrast. Though Taki had shown concern at an earlier point in the story, she now demonstrates an ability to emotionally detach enough to speculate about undesirable results—she’s the kind yet tactless bookish friend. Tanuma, on the other hand, is too hurt by the thought to speak. The implication is that Tanuma is more invested in Natsume as someone he can emotionally relate to—not just a friend to take care of or have fun with, but a mental equal to share life with.

This theme continues, sometimes subtly, throughout the story. Whether it’s gently checking on a frightened Natsume while Taki giggles about how fun it was to chase him, or single-handedly dealing with Natsume’s fear of being hated by his caretakers, manga-Tanuma consistently demonstrates a higher level of attention and emotional intimacy. He’s even the one to beg Natsume to “come back,” a symbolically important role. The implied intimacy is not one-sided—Tanuma is the only character Natsume is unambiguously shown to regain memories of.

Yet when the anime adapted this scene, the dynamic is reversed. The visual staging and the progression of Taki’s tone of voice are changed to imply that she is, absurdly, apologizing to herself rather than Tanuma. The anime’s framing centers her and her stolen emotions, though it fails to do so for Tanuma later when it’s actually supposed to. Instead of reacting sadly to Taki’s rambling, Tanuma is shown observing with a blank expression at unrelated moments, looking as if he doesn’t understand why she’s upset.

The dialog remains exactly the same, simply recontextualized, and Tanuma is still shown reacting, merely at a different point; so it doesn’t save a millisecond of time or even art. The only practical reason for this change is to change the implication. In other words, the anime reversed the characterization of the manga in order to make the girl more sensitive than the boy. This continues throughout the episode: if a moment belongs to Taki, it’s Taki’s; if a moment belongs to Tanuma, he either shares it with Taki or gives it up entirely.

This is not an insignificant quibble. Taki and Tanuma’s personality differences and the way they relate to Natsume inform their roles in the broader story and the way their relationships with Natsume evolve. The anime erased one of the single most important aspects of this story.

Anime vs. Manga. [Remember that Japanese reads right to left.] The corruption of Taki’s “I screwed up” fist into an “I’m a delicate bird” fist is almost hilariously manipulative. Taki is feminine, but she’s anything but delicate—it’s one of her most admirable traits. And I could go on about the use of white space and merging shadows on the bottom left, but honestly the staging isn’t subtle. Natsume is talking to Tanuma, and Taki is watching. Any such implications preserved in the anime are so brief and unnoticeable as to be not worth crediting.

Prior to this episode, I had given the anime the benefit of the doubt, assuming that the numerous emotional scenes they cut from Tanuma repertoire were simply too long to fit. But there’s no such excuse here. Either (1) Taki’s lack of feminine intuition and Tanuma’s lack of masculine stoicism were unacceptable, or (2) the boy being more sensitive than the girl was too suggestive of queerness. Whether out of their own discomfort or to placate the audience, the anime has deliberately adapted the manga in a way that downplays Tanuma’s sensitivity and his emotional significance to Natsume. And while the above examples are among the most difficult to explain away, they are far from alone.

There’s a reason I’m bringing this up.

The popularity and availability of the anime mean that most people who’ve read the manga have also watched the anime—perhaps even seen the anime first—which means that their understanding of characterization and development is likely influenced by it. But Midorikawa-sensei isn’t using the anime to guide her writing, she’s using her own. (Little could be more obviously devil-may-care than making a story’s last minute reveal revolve around the color of something we’ve already seen. Have fun with that, anime!) And that means viewers (and readers) are being misled not only about what function characters play in the narrative, but also where the story is going.

DISTORTED LENS

For a look at the way a cynical, targeted heteronormative adaptation can influence characterization, themes, and even perception of the source material itself, there’s no better example than “The Other Side of the Glass,” a.k.a. the Omibashira Arc.

At first glance, the anime appears to have made a perfectly reasonable adaptation of the manga. When boiled down to plot points, it looks the same. And it’s still romantic enough, on Tanuma’s part, to make people uncomfortable (hat tip to the “fan” in the Crunchyroll comments complaining that Tanuma wasn’t Taki). Yet in reality, it’s a complete mess, with (in addition to a new cringe-inducing fake boy/girl scene) nearly the entire mansion sequence rewritten to change both the themes and characterization, spinning the emotional focus off its axis.

When I first read the manga, I was struck by two impressions: One, that it was much more delicate than the anime, with a painful, slow interplay between Tanuma and Natsume that spirals into emotional collapse for both. Two, that it was somehow also sloppy and inconsistent. At first I couldn’t put my finger on why, but then I realized, it was this:

Tanuma, looking supremely ungrateful, as Natori hands him the talisman stone.

What I perceived as “sloppiness” was actually the dissonance between the anime characterization and the manga. Because I had seen the anime first, I had subconsciously projected its version of the characters onto the manga, and thus found it jarring when, for example, the normally sweet manga-Tanuma continued to act petty and angry toward Natori long after the more assertive anime-Tanuma had shyly introduced himself.

Hmmmmm.

The anime’s replacement of manga themes with their own was too surgically precise to be unintentional. Once I recognized what they were doing, I started making accurate predictions about what else they would change. This is, without a doubt, a story revised to meet the anime’s priorities.

It would be impossible to list everything the anime changed without essentially transcribing the entire manga, so instead I will focus on three of the most important scenes.

Right to left, again!

First is the scene I mentioned above. This is where Natori apologizes to Natsume for not being able to get him out quickly, but also where Natori and Natsume treat Tanuma like a child—or worse, an object. Natori suggests splitting up and Natsume agrees, immediately charging Sensei with “following” Tanuma like he’s a wandering child, then with finding the exit. Tanuma is never addressed directly. Both Natori and Tanuma notice Natsume is in an agitated mental state, but it’s Tanuma who steps in and tries to provide emotional support, gently suggesting that they take a break. Natsume brushes him off, inadvertently rejecting Tanuma himself, and pretends to be okay. But in the next frame he’s mentally chiding himself not to “leave his heart unguarded” and “get led astray,” suggesting he’s afraid that his emotions for Tanuma will distract him and lead to disaster. Tanuma calls after him, but Natori interrupts with the talisman stone, snidely throwing his earlier rescue in Tanuma’s face: “Take this. It’s a protection stone. Since you’re no match for an ayakashi when it matters, are you?” Tanuma accepts with cold politeness, then gives up.

This is plainly intended to help set the groundwork for Tanuma’s emotional collapse. And it’s likely setting up his recklessness in dealing with Omibashira. The scene as a whole is a microcosm for the relationship issues that led to this point. Natsume relies on distance to maintain his equilibrium, pushing Tanuma away to “protect” him and calm his own mind, but also effectively rejecting Tanuma’s affection in the process. Though Tanuma tries to do something he’s actually good at, his rejection leads him to behave more recklessly so that he can be useful anyway—and perhaps earn Natsume’s respect. For his part, Natori is everything Tanuma thinks Natsume would prefer him to be: powerful, self-assured, with movie star looks. Perhaps worse, he speaks the judgmental opinions Tanuma is afraid Natsume holds, dismissing Tanuma as weak and useless. Natori takes Natsume’s side in pushing Tanuma away because it aligns with his cynicism: he, too, believes ordinary people must be rejected to be protected. That to make them “treasures” is to make himself “weak.”

In the anime, this becomes a scene where Natori does all the planning, where Natsume never pushes Tanuma away, where Tanuma insists on helping ineptly and Natsume is open about his fears. Instead of cruelly dismissive, Natori is silly with jokes about “not making a lady work.” Instead of distant and avoidant, explicitly trying to bottle up his emotions, Natsume is openly emotional, saying “If anything were to happen to you...” He’s far too articulate.

Thematic change #1: Instead of being emotionally repressed and struggling to adapt, Natsume becomes the Generic Hero, nobly worried about his foolish best friend who doesn’t know his own limits.

Second is this scene between Tanuma and Sensei. Here Tanuma fishes for validation from Sensei, pestering him incessantly about “that ‘Natori' guy” and “that ‘Reiko' girl.” He asks whether Natori can sense presences like they can, but Sensei brushes him off because sight is more important. He calls Natori “high pressure” but Sensei defends Natori, saying it’s a habit from having so many enemies. He’s about to interrogate Sensei about exorcists when Sensei finally snaps, saying “Don’t ask me, ask Natsume!” It’s a cruel, if not exactly intentional, reminder that Natsume never told Tanuma about Reiko or Natori or exorcists in general in the first place—yet another step closer to emotional collapse. Tanuma’s whole tone is clearly one of insecurity, digging for evidence that he’s better than Natori at something, however petty. Tanuma never lets go of this. Even at the end of the story, he’s making backhanded comments:

祓い屋って…やっぱり資格とか必要なんですか？ An “exorcist”.... Do you really need “qualifications” or whatever, after all?

This patent insecurity, framing Natori as a literal rival, evaporates in the anime adaptation. His exchange with Sensei about Natori is bastardized to make his opinion positive, with a laughably transparent “I think that ‘Natori’ exorcist might actually be a good person.” Instead of fishing for validation, Tanuma interrogates Sensei about how Natsume really felt about his involvement. As if he got involved out of bad judgment. As if it were not, instead, the emotional desperation of someone repeatedly shut out, repeatedly in the dark, finally having an opportunity to do something without being able to see Natsume tense up and try to escape. This reinvented scene is capped off with a wholly new comment from Sensei: “Someone weak like you will get eaten [in this world].”

Considering this scene was meant to be an illustration of Tanuma’s insecurities and his ineffective attempt to quell them, it’s almost comically cruel that the anime chooses to not only canonize Tanuma’s uselessness as a central theme, but to make their voice Sensei, the only character in the manga to give Tanuma any agency. Not only was Sensei the one who involved Tanuma in the first place (a fact the anime makes no attempt to explain), he’s also the one who trusted Tanuma with the task of freeing Natsume. The anime vaguely implies that Sensei and Tanuma worked up a plan together, but the manga was clear: Sensei more or less gives Tanuma a mask and kimono, slaps him on the back and says “you’re on your own.” Tanuma stumbled around interviewing dangerous yōkai by himself long enough to work up a sweat. The sake bottle gambit was all his.

(Though the above is mildly exaggerated for humor, it’s still more accurate than the anime.)

This scene doesn’t just miss the point, it flips it. Tanuma having good judgment is one of his central character traits. Natsume even says so in the same chapter, describing Tanuma as 思慮深い and 慎重, meaning that he is meticulously thoughtful, careful, and responsible. The problem, here, is not his lack of judgment. It’s that his judgment is overwhelmed by his emotions toward Natsume. Natsume, in his inexperience and emotional immaturity, has used the Natori-esque technique of outright avoiding people during yōkai problems. This leaves Tanuma with no outlet for his love and desire to support Natsume, a suppression and repression that eventually builds to the point of desperation. Natsume getting stuck in a bottle where Tanuma could not see or hear him was a crack in a wall that was already under a lot of pressure. As Tanuma says, blushing, at the end of the manga:

姿見えないから勢いで超キザなこと言った気がする… I have a feeling I got carried away when I couldn’t see you, and said something super-cheesy...

Thematic change #2: Instead of behaving uncharacteristically out of emotional vulnerability and insecurity, Tanuma is merely weak and foolish.

Third, we have the climax: Natsume’s emotional collapse when Tanuma finally gets hurt. Here, it’s the little details that really matter, like manga Natori showing up and utterly failing to acknowledge the collapsed boy at Natsume’s knees until Natsume falls apart. Anime Natori gets Sensei’s lines, reassuring Natsume as if he actually values Tanuma. Or the moment when Natori finally admits that Tanuma is important, which the anime gives soft-focus to emotionally center Natori instead of Natsume’s emotional needs. Or even the moment just afterward when Natsume—his and Omibashira’s eyes now open—regains his strength.

The manga has:

ぐずぐずするな夏目　あれを封じんとこいつもお前も帰れんぞ Sensei: Don’t dawdle, Natsume. Neither [you nor Tanuma] are going home if you don’t seal that guy. ああ　そうだな Natsume: Right!

The anime completely rewrites this:

夏目無理なら私が行くぞ Sensei: If you’re not up to it, I'll go. いや俺が行く俺が行きます Natsume: No, I’m going [to Sensei]. I’m going [to Natori].

Thereby making Sensei strangely soft, and Tanuma an emotional drain Natsume has to shake off, instead of someone Sensei recognizes as a motivator.

Again the anime misses the point of the original manga. Or, perhaps more likely, dislikes the point. Natori is not, as they would have it, here to be the knight in shining armor, saving the silly boys and wisely imposing emotional advice. Natori is usually wrong about emotions, and this has always been so.

Though he means well and tries his hardest to be a good mentor, it’s Natori who offered to take Natsume away from the Fujiwaras, and gave him a nightmare about it. It’s Natori who told Natsume he had to “choose a side” between yōkai and humans, directly contributing to the child god’s rejection of Natsume. It’s Natori who, on finally being told of the Book of Friends, said he’d rather just burn it. When they first met, Sensei described him as “full of hate” for yokai, and there’s no reason to believe he’s improved. Yorishima’s accusation that he’s becoming more like Matoba is in his second most recent appearance (as of the end of 2018).

This should be no surprise: he’s only 22 and on top of that lacks even 15/16-year-old Natsume’s experience with healthy emotional relationships. From a strictly logical perspective, he has no basis to be wise.

Furthermore, his given name 周一 (Shūichi) literally means “circuit one” or “lap one.” Though it’s typically used for a first-born son, here it has another meaning: Natori is the first version of Natsume himself. He was the powerful “good kid” (as Hiiragi called him, and as he called Natsume) who was turned bitter, isolated, and cynical by yokai trouble and emotional neglect. His attitude and his life reflect the direction Natsume was heading at the beginning of the series, when he says “I’d rather talk to [a yōkai exterminator] than to yōkai.” Natori is the little boy who “just wants to live alone,” all grown up and living alone.

In other words, Natori is what Natsume could have become without the unconditional love and acceptance of the Fujiwaras, and of Nishimura and Kitamoto; without the protective buffer of Nyanko-Sensei, and without the emotional pull of Tanuma. Perhaps without the cautionary tale of Taki: his inverted mirror in ability, desire for sight, and family life. (And gender.)

(Similarly, Reiko is the “avoided path” whose tragically short and lonely life is redeemed by the growth her “Book of Friends” forcibly imparts on her grandson—and she, too, makes an appearance here through Sensei.)

In fact, this is supported by, of all things, Natori’s paper bag mask. Besides being funny, it hides a bit of subtext. The marks are meaningless alone, but taken with the shape of the bag you get 肉. This is the word niku, meaning “meat,” but more importantly “flesh” as contrasted with “spirit.” Natori’s life, and his path, are preservative for the corporeal body, but spiritually sterile.

Natori is here not to be a hero, but to admit he is wrong and Tanuma is right. He is still Natsume’s best source for advice on human magic, and still the protective older brother figure, but he is utterly lacking in the kind of relationship experience that Natsume needs advice on. The best he can do is to say “it might be terribly difficult, but you need [what I threw away].”

This isn’t just a moment of realization for Natori—it’s a dramatic reversal. The boy he was so foolishly, cruelly dismissive of, believing him to be nothing but an intrusive, “reckless” child, is actually a desperately devoted key to Natsume’s happiness. In a sense, we’ve known this all along. The standard Japanese word for “necessary” [that Natori uses] is 必要 (hitsuyō), and it contains the same kanji as Tanuma’s given name 要 (Kaname). There’s good reason: Kaname literally means “the most important person or piece.” He is the lynchpin of Natsume’s emotional growth.

We see this just three stories earlier in “The Long Road Home” when Tanuma confronts Natsume for lying about his parents' photo, thereby setting his visit to his childhood home in motion. This visit makes Natsume feel “lighter” and helps him let go of the past so he can recognize the Fujiwaras as his (new) true home. Tanuma’s role is so important he gets an entire third of the arc. In other words, Tanuma is the anchor who steadies Natsume so he can have stronger relationships with ordinary people.

In downplaying Natori’s cynicism, the anime also erases the reversal, and with it the sense that Natori has been convinced of the impossible by Natsume’s loving (if unintentional) description of Tanuma’s devotion. This opens up the scene for a broader interpretation that's about ordinary relationships in general instead of Tanuma specifically.

Thematic change #3: From Natori the avatar of emotionally barren power conceding to Tanuma the avatar of love, to Natori the charming if a bit silly hero saving Tanuma from driving Natsume away.

These are not the only losses, though they are the largest thematic issues. The anime suffers continuously from a Natsume who is far too aware and open about his emotions, and a Tanuma who doesn’t get interrupted or sabotaged. The groundwork for their respective breakdowns is poor.

The result is a two-parter that satisfies as many fans as possible, at the cost of Tanuma’s (and Natori’s) symbolic role. Anime Natori is fluffed up for his fans, and anime Tanuma is sweet enough to satisfy his fans without threatening those who would be uncomfortable with his fundamental centrality. In other words, it’s a cynical, heteronormative adaptation that assumes there is no long-term purpose to Tanuma’s role—an assumption they may come to regret.

力になりたいと頑張ってもやはり出来ない・かなわないということはあって、前向きに行動をとればとる程それにぶちあたってしまう田沼。話したいけれど話すと、そいうジレンマに田沼がおちいるとだんだんわかってきた夏目。それを見て、それ見たことか！と言いたいけれどそうとも言ってしまえない不思議な可能性に、口から出る言葉が変わっていってしまう名取。と、それぞれの立場のズレあいが描けてとても楽しかったです。普段描けないような夏目の表情が描けた先生ナツメもワクワクしながら描けました。あらためて夏目は表情とぼしい奴だなと実感しました。

Tanuma, who wants to help, but can’t no matter how hard he tries. Who, having things he cannot handle, finds that the more positively he takes action, the more he runs into that problem.

Natsume, who wants to talk, but is gradually coming to understand it leads Tanuma into that dilemma.

Natori, who wants to say “See, I told you so!” but finds himself unable, a curious possibility escaping his mouth instead.

I enjoyed drawing the meeting of these incongruous positions. I was also excited about drawing expressions on Sensei-Natsume that I normally can’t. I felt a renewed sense that Natsume was a guy with few expressions.

In Part 2, I’ll be talking about the textual basis for canonical Tanuma-Natsume soulmates, and how this is downplayed by the anime.

#Tanuma Kaname #Natsume Takashi #Natsume's Book of Friends #natsume yuujinchou #田沼要 #夏目貴志 #夏目友人帳 #Let's be honest #this turns into #田夏 #eventually.#meta #a bit of Natori meta in here too #technically #Several large images behind the cut.#Sorry if you're on a bad connection!#anime vs manga

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stormtrprinstilettos · 5 years

Text

Chameleon - Chapter 6

Summary: Reader (that’s you!) moves to London, hoping to leave her past behind and find happiness. She makes friends with her new neighbors. (Guess who?) - So far we’ve established that Reader & Freddie are BFF, Reader & Brian are absolutely into each other (but he has a GF that Reader just had a pretty big argument with last chapter) and Reader & Roger have a bit of sexual tension that may be turning out to be a bit more than just that. (If you’re new to the story – there really is no proper summary. I have no idea where this is going and am always taking suggestions as to where you’d like to see it go.) 18+ please!

Words: ~6.7K+ || AO3 | Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3(1)(2), Ch 4*, Ch 5 (* = smut)

[A/N: Want to thank everyone again for reading! I’m posting this one today and I’ll probably be posting the next one in a few days. I don’t like to sit on chapters for too long because I end up changing them constantly. This one is fluffy as hell, until stuff happens. (Next one, not so much. *wink wink*) Time warping ahead a few weeks from the last chapter. I know y’all want some Deaky in here - I’m going to be making him more prominent. Just need to work out how. Also, sorry for the formatting. #MobileAppProblems]

Tagging: @chocolatealmondmilkshake & @thisjustfantasy (let me know if you want to be tagged)

The place was a complete disaster area when you woke up the next morning after your argument with Jane. You stepped over empty bottles and other assorted trash to get to the kitchen to make some coffee. You had no idea what the guys got up to after Brian and Jane left and you locked yourself in your room, but clearly it involved a lot of drinking after they quit trying to talk to you. The three of them were passed out, John on the sofa, Freddie in the chair and Roger on the floor. The kitchen was a disaster too, but you didn’t even bother cleaning up. You didn’t care. You just wanted your coffee. And after that night and seeing the state of the flat, you wanted to run away, so that’s what you did, just for the day, of course.

You wandered around the National Gallery, getting lost in the endless collection of art. It was the first time since you arrived in London you had nothing on your mind. You had no worries, no stresses, no one else to worry about – nothing. The colors and intricacies of the paintings brought your mind to another plane, gifting you with serenity. That’s all you wanted, for however long you could have it. You stayed there for hours, completely losing track of time. That day you made a promise to yourself that you would take a day at least once a week to get lost, either figuratively or literally. A new kind of therapy – self-care instead of self-destruction was a lot better.

Brian didn’t realize that he was inadvertently pushing you closer to Roger. Whenever Jane would be around, Roger would come over. Sometimes the night – or day, depending on when she was there – would end with sex, but most of the time it wouldn’t. Things may have started out to be just about sex with the two of you, but it wasn’t like that anymore. He was your safe space now. You’d usually end up cuddled together, giving you a feeling of comfort, which he was always more than happy to provide. It didn’t matter if you were watching television, listening to an album, discussing a book or the weather or anything of unimportance – you’d more than likely end up cuddled together. You enjoyed his company, and he yours, and the connection the two of you had shared started to become stronger. Freddie even had to joke about how wrong he was before. “I always thought that one would be the one to fuck you up,” he told you one afternoon after Roger left the flat. “But apparently, he’s the one that’s good for you.” Perhaps he was right, but you weren’t planning on opening your heart to feeling again, at least not any time soon.

Wanting to do something different today, you decide to visit the planetarium to see the stars – well, the fake stars, but they’ll suffice to help you do one of your favorite things. The show was boring, really. You already knew the constellations, but you stayed anyway, choosing to tune out the sound and pretend you were laying under the real night sky. As soon as you get comfortable, someone starts talking to you.

“Do you see her?” a voice whispers in your ear, startling you until you realized who it was.

You don’t turn around. You don’t need to. You don’t want to, hoping that if you ignore him, he’ll go away. But he won’t. You can hear his breathing. “Yeah, I see her.” You point up to her – Andromeda.

“She looks like she’s had better days,” the voice whispers.

“Yeah,” you reply. “She’s a little dim.”

“It’s a shame, really. She deserves to shine bright.” Brian crawls over the seat next to you, knowing very well his presence is probably unwanted, but he knew you wouldn’t cause a scene in front of everyone who was around. “Hey there,” he greets you, a smile on his face, genuinely happy to see you.

“Are you stalking me, Mr. May?” you somewhat jokingly ask, while raising an eyebrow. You want to ignore him. You want to be mad. You want to never speak to him again, but one look at him changes all of that. You can’t stay mad at him no matter how much you want to.

“Shhhhh!” the woman in front of you fusses. “Go outside if you want to talk!” You and Brian look at each other, make mocking facial expressions behind the woman’s back, and giggle as you walk outside.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, trying to make him think you’re mad with the sound of your voice, but failing miserably.

“I could ask you the same,” he replies, searching your face for any sign of upset, but finding none. He’s nervous. He was fully prepared for you to lash out at him, was even expecting it, or he thought you’d walk away, run away – anything to get away from him.

You sigh, slide down the wall and lean back against it. “I needed to get away.” You close your eyes and take a deep breath, unsure if you should tell him that he’s the reason your brain has been so cloudy these last few weeks.

“Me too.” He takes a seat next to you, not sure if you want to talk, but he wants to set the record straight. “Look, about the other night…”

“Stop,” you cut him off. “It’s not a big deal.” You’re lying. It is a big deal. You trusted him, and you feel like he betrayed you.

“That’s not true.” He starts to chuckle, which irritates you because this isn’t exactly a funny matter. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying,” you try to convince him, and yourself. “It’s really not that big of a deal.” No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, you didn’t believe it. Neither did he.

“Then why are you doing that thing where you play with your fingernail when you’re not telling the truth?” He smirked and points down to your hand, bringing it to your attention that you’re running your thumbnail between two of your fingers, something you never noticed you did before – but he clearly did.

You raise an eyebrow and stop fidgeting but let the comment you want to make about him paying that much attention to you pass. “It’s no big deal.”

“You’re doing it again. The fingernail thing.” He keeps smirking.

“Jane will have me guillotined if she finds out I’m talking to you right now.” You missed him. You really missed him and sitting here with him at this very moment felt so comfortable, but so wrong.

He starts to look around. “Jane isn’t here. And I’m not going to tell her.” He leans over and pretends to be suspicious with a whisper. “Are you?” You don’t answer, opting instead to give him a look, begging for him to drop it, but he can’t. “I hate this. I want it to go back to how it was before…” His voice trails off.

“It never had to be this way, Brian. But it is.” You start to stand up and walk away, but he pulls you back down.

“Talk to me, please.” You can see in his eyes that he’s sorry for whatever wrong he’s done and that he genuinely doesn’t know what he’s done to make you upset. It’s tearing him up inside.

You can’t let it go anymore. You’re upset, he’s upset and the only way to fix this is to talk to him. “You told Jane about my past, Brian. Really? Things I’ve told you about all of that was in confidence. I’ve told you things I never even told Freddie. If I wanted people to know about the bullshit I’ve done or been through I’d tell them myself.”

“I did not!” His voice is pleading for your forgiveness. “I told her you had it rough, and that you needed to get away from there for your own sake. I never gave her details. She wanted to know how you ended up here and that’s all I’ve ever told her.”

You want to believe him, and part of you does, but you can’t forget what she said. You can’t forget that she told you Brian said you were “a mess,” as she put it. That’s the part of the entire exchange that stood out to you. “She said you told her that I…”

He interrupts, quickly. “I never said a single negative thing about you to her or to anyone for that matter.” He grabs your hand and looks into your eyes, his tone lowering. “I don’t even know anything negative about you.”

No, you told yourself, don’t get locked in his gaze. “Just let me know when she’s going to be around so I don’t have to be there, okay?” You pull your hand away, stand up and grab your things. “I’m going home.”

“No, don’t.” He jumps up and stands in front of you, blocking your path. “The weather is nice for a change. Let’s go enjoy it.” He grabs your upper arms, trying to get you to look at him.

“Brian…” You sigh and throw your head back, trying to come across as annoyed, hoping that would get him to leave you alone.

“Come on,” he pleads. “Will you at least walk home with me?” You look at him, completely defeated in this battle, smile a half smile and start walking home.

Everything seemed to be back to normal between the two of you. You made small talk, chatted about random things, had some laughs – just like you always would. Instead of taking the sidewalks, you guided him through a small park area for a change of scenery. The sun was at a perfect angle to give a beautiful, scenic view that you insisted on stopping to sketch out. He sat in amazement, watching you intently take it all in, finding it fascinating how you put every little detail on the paper, taking great care not to miss a single thing. You didn’t realize how close he was sitting to you until he sneezed, causing you to fall out of the zone you were in.

“Bless you,” you giggle. He starts to put his hand to the back of his neck and you hurry and move it down. “Stop that, silly.”

“Sorry. I distracted you.”

“You’re sitting pretty close. Maybe you’re allergic to me.”

“Impossible. You’re the only remedy to my ailment…” His voice went lower as he finished the last word, staring deep into your eyes, wanting so bad to take you into his arms, kiss you, and forget about the world.

You feel yourself getting sucked back in, so you hurry and clear your throat, breaking the trance and turning back to your sketchbook. “I’m almost done, then we can go.” You both pretend that nothing had just happened and stay quiet, him continuing to watch you.

“What are you doing tonight? Anything planned?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Nope. Nothing going on.” You answer him, but your eyes don’t move from your book.

He adjusts his position, feeling a little bit anxious. “Come with me down to Headley,” he blurts out.

You start laughing. “Why in the world are you going there?” You had been there before and there was no reason you ever wanted to go back. “That is possibly the most boring place on the entire planet.”

“It’s a surprise.” You look over at him and he’s smiling mischievously.

You give a slight grin and look back to your drawing. “I never said I was going,” you tease.

“Come…” he pleads.

You give him a side-eyed glare. “I’m not really keen on being a third-wheel, Brian.”

“You won’t be. Jane isn’t coming. She’s visiting her mum for the week,” he shrugs. He can see in your eyes that you’re considering it. “It’ll be our secret. Come on.”

You give in. You can’t resist him, no matter how hard you try. “This better be a good surprise.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰ The car ride was about an hour. It didn't seem that long, not that you cared. You and Brian shared stories, cracked jokes, sang whatever was on the radio – pretty badly, on your part – enjoying every single second. It had been far too long since the two of you hung out together, and you missed it. Brian soon pulled over on the side of the road. There was nothing around but empty fields and the powerful light of the full moon.

“Well, here we are." He flashes you excited smile before rushing out of the car and opening the trunk.

You walk around to see what was going on, unsure of what was going on and why he was so excited about being in the middle of nowhere. "Do you need help?"

He hands you a couple of blankets with a huge smile on his face. "Carry these. I'll get the rest..." he pulls out his telescope. "Come on!” He tilts his head to the side, beckoning you to follow him, which you do somewhat hesitantly.

When you stop walking, you lay out the blankets, take a seat and start watching Brian fiddle around with the telescope. "Ah, there you are," you hear him eventually say, and you start giggling. He realizes he said that out loud and pulled his eye away from the telescope with a shy grin. "Well, come see." He motioned his hands and you crawl over. "Here - look through there." He put his hand on the small of your back as you bend over to look through the telescope.

"Oh my god, Brian, that's... Wow!" It was very small, but there it was. Saturn. "Look at that..." He remembered you telling him you had never seen it.

He moves over to the blanket and lays on his side, propped up on his arm. He watches you as you look through the lens and he can’t help but wonder if you are feeling the exact awe that he was feeling as he looked at you. When you looked up and saw him staring at you, you felt fluttering in your stomach. "Amazing, isn't it?" he asks as you looked back through the lens.

"I can't believe I'm seeing this. Thank you so much for showing me.” After looking for another minute or so, you crawl back on the blanket before laying down to gaze up to the sky. "First you show me Saturn and now I get to do one of my favorite things. You sure do know how to woo a girl,” you teased.

"Only when she deserves it." He lays down next to you, his arm touching yours. “Good thing we came when we did. It’s getting cloudy.” He kept making subtle moves so he could get closer to you, or touch you – anything to try to get your attention off of the sky and on to him, but you were resisting.

You laid there in silence for a long time, neither one of you sure what to talk about, or if you should talk at all. You couldn’t handle the quiet another second longer. “Are you happy with Jane?” you spit out. You don’t know why you asked him. It wasn’t your place to ask him.

He took a deep breath before answering. “Honestly? She’s… comfortable. Does that make sense?” You gave him a questioning look. “She’s not forever, though,” he quickly popped back. “I know she’s not.”

You thought about telling him about how incredibly stupid that reasoning was, in your opinion at least, but decided not to. You didn’t want to cause another argument. Instead, you offered apologies. “I’m sorry if my mouth caused you problems.”

“Absolutely not,” he told you. “You have nothing to apologize for. She shouldn’t have…” He took another deep breath, unsure if he should have offered up more information. “She’s intimidated by you.”

“Does she have any reason to be?” It was an innocent enough question, you thought, and, if anything, it would help you better understand where his mind was.

He chuffed. “It’s Friday night and I’m laying here with you and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be and no one else I’d rather be with. You tell me.”

You forget about the stars you were just looking at. You forget about Saturn. You forget about everything. You probably couldn’t even remember your name at this point. The way he was looking at you – he never looked at you like this before. You prop yourself up on your elbows, never taking your eyes off his that are looking at you with such an intensity that it makes your insides burn. You want to pounce, and you can tell he does too. No one is around, you think to yourself. No one would know except for us. … and it starts to rain. Fucking typical. You and Brian start to laugh. “Wow, this is almost as good as our first date when you made me work.”

“I tried to make our second date better. I’m sorry.” He’s a bit annoyed, but he can’t help but find the humor in the whole situation.

“No need to apologize,” you tell him. This one is pretty great.”

“Yeah, but what color?” he asks you, still finding your choices both intriguing and humorous.

“Hmm,” you thought for a moment. “Right now? Silver.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Out of the blue on the way back home, during an odd moment of quiet, he started talking about Jane. “It’s true. Everything you told her. She is a bitch and I can’t stand to be around her sometimes. She’s not always bad, Y/N, but she has her moments.”

“No. She’s always bad,” you sneer. “You can defend her all you want, but she’s the worst kind of person. All nice and sweet but really a raging bitch. That’s what Jane is.” He didn’t like what you were saying, but he understood why you feel the way you do. “I’m sorry, but she is. She’s horrible.”

He grabs the back of his neck with his hand. He’s embarrassed. Again. And his words start to stumble. “As I said, everything you told her was true.” He looks at you, hoping you understand what he’s trying to say, but you don’t. “Your name. I said your name one time.” He looks over at you, shame all over his face, hoping you understand what he’s saying so he doesn’t have to say more before hurrying to look away. You’re stunned. You said his name, too, that first night with Roger. Part of you wanted to tell him, but you didn’t dare. “That’s why she got so upset with you. She tried to keep it in, but she couldn’t help it. And when you told her what you did, about me saying your name, she thought I had told you about that.” You look at him and see the agony in his face, only you don’t know what he’s exactly agonizing about. You try to speak, but he won’t let you. “No! No talking. I probably shouldn’t have told you.” He sighed. “I’m just not happy with her right now.”

“Then why are you with her?” You want an actual answer, but he’s not giving you one. He’s not saying anything at all. “Right, because she’s comfortable.” You quickly decide to cut the seriousness of the conversation, not wanting to become frustrated and ruin the last few minutes of the ride, so you opt to start picking on him. “You’re afraid of change, aren’t you?”

He shrugs. “I like to have everything in order.”

“You will stay in a relationship just because if you don’t it would change things up a little?”

He rolls his eyes, feeling a bit embarrassed by the topic. “You make me sound so boring.”

“Come on, Brian. Break the monotony,” you try to encourage him, half teasing, half serious. “Do something spontaneous,” you crack.

He decided to start picking back at you. “What, like move to another country?”

“No don’t do that. That’s stupid.” You give him a sarcastic grin.

“Am I really that boring?” His question is genuine.

“You are not boring.” You can tell by the look on his face that he doesn’t believe you. “You’re not! Have you ever had a conversation with yourself? You’re not boring at all.”

He still doesn’t believe you, and he’s obviously in need of some encouragement. “But I act boring. I don’t do… spontaneous things.”

“We went to Headley.”

“That wasn’t spontaneous. That was planned.”

You have to laugh at his meticulousness. “Do you really plan everything?”

You can tell by the look on his face that he’s almost ashamed to answer that and starts to try to hold back a smile. “See? Boring.”

“I wish I had that kind of stability,” you sigh as you lean your head back on the seat.

“From the stories you’ve told me, you’ve had an exciting life so far. For you, stability would be… boring,” he smirks.

“Oh please, Brian, half of the shit I did was so stupid, not exciting. Do you really think it was smart for a 16-year-old girl to leave home with a 25-year-old who took her to San Francisco?” You look at each other for a second before the laughter catches up to you. “See? I need stability.”

“And maybe I need spontaneity.”

He starts to turn the car down the street to go home. “No!” you yell, startling him, which causes you to giggle. “Don’t go home yet.”

He stopped the car in the middle of the street, looking at you with an almost panic-stricken face. “Where am I supposed to go?”

“I don’t know. Be spontaneous!” He can see that you’re serious, but he has absolutely no idea where you want him to go. “Our clothes are dry. Our hair may be a mess but who cares. Be… spontaneous.” You give him an encouraging smile, so he doesn’t continue to the route back to the flat.

You spend the next couple of hours driving around, stopping at random places, grabbing a quick bite to eat, even ducking in to a club to listen to a band play. Everything was going great until he started running into people he knew. “This is my friend, Y/N,” he would introduce you as, which was fine – that’s all you were – until he saw Jane’s roommate. That’s when he introduced you as his “neighbor” who just so happened to be at the same place he was, and you didn’t appreciate that one bit. You understood why, but inside you were getting emotional, wishing that the two of you didn’t have to hide the fact that you were enjoying this night together from anyone.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” you tell the roommate, “but I must be going home now.” You stand and glare at Brian. “Guess I’ll see you around, neighbor,” you told him with a sigh of irritation. You walk out the door and Brian runs after you.

“Y/N! Wait!” he calls out before you stop and turn around waiting for him to catch up. “Where are you going?”

Your brows furrow, wondering why he doesn’t understand what just happened. “I’m going home.” You turned to walk away but he grabbed your arm and pulled you back. “Brian, if you can’t be honest about who I am…”

“I said you’re my friend. What’s dishonest about that?”

“Your neighbor. I’m just your neighbor. After everything, I’m your neighbor who you happened to run into.” You don’t know why it stung when you heard him introduce you like that, but it did, and as you thought about it again, the stinging came back. “If you must hide me, your friend, then maybe…”

“Don’t say it. Do not.” The worry started to grow on his face. “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to cause problems with…”

“With Jane, yeah, I get it,” you whispered as your eyes started to well up. “You’re not the first person who’s afraid to be seen with me.”

He grabs you into a hug, trying to console you, but you don’t hug him back. “I’m not afraid to be seen with you, Y/N.”

You push yourself away and speak through tears. “If you weren’t, then I wouldn’t just be your neighbor.” You wipe your eyes, clear your throat and look back at Brian. “I’ll see you around, Bri.” You flash a small smile and go home.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰ “Where the hell have you been?” Freddie yells at you when you walk in the door about an hour later, opting to take the long way back home. “I was worried about you!” He ran to you, grabbing you in his arms and picking you up as he hugged you like he hasn’t seen you in years.

“He was about to gather a search team to go look for you,” Roger joked from the sofa.

“I was with Brian,” you told them. Freddie looked relieved, but Roger’s smile fell off his face into a slightly heartbroken expression. “I ran into him at the planetarium earlier today.” You walk to the kitchen and they both follow you. “I thought it was time to end the tension,” you started to explain as you began to make a pot of coffee. “I think everything will be okay now. I’m sorry if any of the crap between Brian and I bothered you.” Your attention fell to Roger who was standing across the room, unsure how to register the look he’s giving you.

Freddie dramatically clears his throat to get your attention, so you turn to face him now that he’s standing next to you. “Well now that you’re home, I’m going to bed.” He grabs your face and gets close. “Don’t do that to me again.” He kisses your nose and goes off to his room. “No funny business in there, you two,” he yells out as he walks away. “And please, keep it down tonight. I’m exhausted!”

You roll your eyes and grin as you turn back look at Roger who still has the same look on his face. You walk over to him and tug on his jacket. “What’s wrong?” you quietly ask, searching his face for any sort of hint as to why he looks so upset.

He rests his arms on your shoulders, his expression not changing. “Nothing,” he whispered. “Did you have a good time?” He tried to sound interested, but you can tell that he’s a tiny bit jealous.

You wrap your arms around his waist and pull yourself into a hug, which he reciprocates, and rest your head on his chest. “I took a ride with him down to Headley to see Saturn. I thought it would give us a chance to talk through everything.” You don’t want to let him go, and you don’t want him to let you go. This hug is exactly what you needed and from exactly who you needed to give it to you. Your body relaxed, releasing a tension you didn’t even know you had. He felt it, and he pulled you in tighter.

“Did you get to see it?” he asked, quietly, feeling his jealousy leave.

“Yeah, I did,” you tell him as you lift your head to rest your chin on his chest so you could look up at him. “It was pretty neat.” You smiled, and he smiled back at you. “And I think things with Brian and I will be better. Not perfect, and not where they were, but better.”

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered as his smile grew bigger, his ocean blue eyes sparkling as they study every intricate detail of yours. He pushes your hair behind your ears. “I can’t figure you out,” he says quietly before he leans down and gives you a soft, gentle, sweet kiss, unlike any other kiss he’s ever given you while he runs a strand of your hair between his fingers.

“I’m not that complicated, Rog,” you giggle.

“No, you’re not. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He leans down and gives you another gentle kiss. “You put it all out there. You never hid who you are, and I’ve never felt like I had to hide who I am with you.” He holds his palm to your cheek. “You make it all so easy.” His smile has never left his face.

“That’s because it is easy, at least when I’m with you,” you whisper, recognizing that the two of you may be feeling a little bit more than just friends. He leans down to kiss you again, but the two of you are interrupted by someone clearing his throat.

“Oh, hey Bri,” Roger greets him. “Heard you two had a fun night.” The two of you separated from each other and tried to act like nothing was going on before you were interrupted. Freddie must have let him in before he went to bed.

Keeping his glaring eyes on you, Brian replies to him, “Yeah. We did. Just wanted to make sure she got home okay.” The look on his face was a mixture of dejection and anger and you can tell by his slurring he’s drunk.

“Coffee’s almost done. Would you like some?” you ask him, trying to break the awkwardness that’s permeating through the air. Brian’s face is turning angrier and you’re starting to get concerned. “Brian? What’s wrong?”

He starts to laugh, confusing you and Roger. “Nothing’s wrong, Y/N,” he says through his laughter. “It’s just amazing how you can go from crying with me earlier to this.” His laughter continues and you’re starting to feel the anger build up inside of you. “How do you do it, Y/N? How do you move on so easily?” He lowers his voice to almost a whisper as his eyes start to glare at you again and his laughter stops. “Must be something you’ve learned with all of those others you… you know. All the guys you’ve had.”

“It’s always easy to forget the assholes,” you say through gritted teeth, not sure if you’re furious or seriously hurt by what he’s saying. He starts to laugh again, harder than before and Roger is moving closer to him, getting inches away before you stop him from getting closer. “Go home, Brian. You’re drunk and don’t mean anything you’re saying.”

“You want me to go home so you can fuck him again,” Brian slurs out as he points to Roger. “You know Rog, the only reason you get to fuck her is because I didn’t…”

“That’s it,” Roger interrupts. “Let’s go home.” He grabs Brian’s arm, but can’t stop Brian’s mouth from moving.

“Did Y/N ever tell you about that threesome she had?” Brian asked Roger. “Maybe you can get her to do that again for you.” His laughter is uncontrollable at this point and you’re trying not to take any of this to heart, but you can’t help it. Your eyes start to tear up for the second time tonight because of Brian’s mouth. “What, you didn’t tell him?” Brian asks you. “And why are you crying again? I hate when you cry.” He tries to touch you consolingly, but you knock his hand away.

“Get him away from me. Please,” you calmly say as you walk out. You hear the front door close as you walk into your bedroom. There’s a million and one thoughts swimming in your head and you know it’s going to be a long, long night if you’re left alone with them. You know he’s tired, but you know there’s no way he’s sleeping yet, so you tap on Freddie’s door.

“Come on,” he mumbled from behind the closed door. “I was waiting for you.” When you opened the door, he was sitting on his bed, patting next to him for you to come sit next to him. “Aww,” he says with a chuckle as he sits next to you and wraps his arm around you. “Tell me all about it.”

You take a deep breath and sigh. “Brian. It’s always Brian,” you say as you look at Freddie with an annoyed glare. “We had a great day together. We went to the park. Then we went to Headley – he brought his telescope. We looked at the stars, we went get a bite to eat, heard some music. Everything was perfect. We were getting along so good and then we ran into Jane’s roommate.” You grunt and lay down, putting your head on his lap as he starts to play with your hair. “Then he comes here, drunk, sees me with Roger, and starts being a complete dick.”

“You need to do is stop letting men control you.” Your head pops up and you give him a look of befuddlement. “Come on, what do you think Brian is doing? He’s not doing it on purpose. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it. He’s so confused about his own feelings and he wants you to stick around while he figures them out and he found a way to keep you hanging on.” You lay your head back down on his lap. “Judging by stories you told me about your ex, you let him control you too. And your dad – he controlled you so much he got you thinking you deserved nothing good out of life.”

“You’re right,” you confessed.

“Of course I’m fucking right,” he said with mock astonishment. You both chuckled before he continued. “You can’t hide shit from me.”

“Since you know so much, how do I get him to stop controlling me?”

“Well, you need to stop being confused about your feelings. Once you accept them for what they really are then it’ll be impossible for him to control you.”

“Easier said than done…”

“Everything is, but if you pay attention, you already know exactly where you want to be, and it’s with blondie over there.” You pop up and look at Freddie with a raised eyebrow, which makes him start laughing. “Don’t even deny it.” He shoves you and you chuckle and playfully shove him back. “I’m just an outside observer here, but…” You start to talk but he covers your mouth with his hand. “I know what I see! You have that boy wrapped around your cute little finger, Princess, which is shocking because I’ve never seen him act this way with anyone else. And whether you want to admit it or not, he’s got you wrapped around his.”

You give Freddie a blank, unamused stare. “Two months ago, you just knew I was madly in love with Brian because of how we supposedly looked at each other, and now I’ve tamed the elusive lion you kept telling me was bad news and have him in a puddle at my feet.”

“Oh, darling, your feelings for Brian are clearly fleeting,” Freddie laughs as you continue to give him the unamused look. “Let him go, Y/N. You both need to let each other go. He’s not going to do it until you let him go.” You realize Freddie is right, at least about Brian. “If he really wanted you, he’d be with you and not that wretched beast.”

You lay your head on Freddie’s shoulder and he lays his on top of yours. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d fall apart.”

“I’d have lost my mind a long time ago and probably would probably be somewhere else.”

“Ooh does this make me your guru?”

“Goodnight, Freddie,” you giggle. You kiss him on the cheek and walk out. “Love you.”

“Love you, Princess.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰ The next morning you decide to take your sketchbook and have your coffee outside in the garden. The weather was nice again, the sun peeking through the trees, and you even heard some birds chirping. You were enjoying the peaceful atmosphere and became irritated when you heard footsteps approaching. You look up from your book and slam it shut. “Don’t talk to me right now, Brian.” He’s standing in front of you, looking like crap, probably because he was feeling a little hungover. He was the absolute last person you wanted to see right now.

He pulled out a chair from the small café table you were sitting at and invited himself to join you. Your jaw clinched, and you frowned, hoping he would get the hint and leave, but he didn’t. “I’m sorry about last night,” he said with sorrow in his voice, the same tone he would always give you when he was apologizing for being a complete jerk.

You snap. How dare he think this is going to make everything okay, you growled to yourself. “You’re always sorry. I’m tired of ‘I’m sorry.’ Please, go be happy with Jane and just…”

“Y/N…” He tries to interrupt you, but you turn it back around on him.

“No, Brian,” you grunt with force before turning your tone calmer, but still upset. “You know, last night, when you stood in my kitchen and basically called me a tramp, I think that told me exactly how you feel.”

“I didn’t mean any of that. I was drunk.” His words were falling over themselves and his face turned apologetic, and afraid of what you were going to tell him next.

“Alcohol tends to make the truth come out,” you inform him as you stand up from the table to get away from him. “So it’s clear to me you see me as some promiscuous bimbo, and that’s okay. I was at one time. But not anymore. Other people can let it go but you can’t.”

“You’re not a bimbo. At least you’re keeping it to just one guy now.”

“See? No matter how hard you try, that’s what you think about me!” You are absolutely furious. “I came here so I wouldn’t be judged anymore, and so people would stop looking at me like I was some kind of waste, and that’s what you do, every single time you look at me.” You are trying your hardest to hide the heartache. You don’t want him to know how much he’s hurting you. You want him to think you’re angry, which you are, but you think showing any kind of sensitivity right now is showing weakness.

“I’m not judging you, Y/N. I just…”

“You can’t help it. I get it.” He tries to say something, but you cut him off before the words can even vocalize. “Stop trying to make it better. Every time you try you just make it worse.” You turn and walk away, but you aren’t finished lashing out, so you turn back around and walk to where he’s seated. “Freddie never judged me. Neither has Roger. You… I didn’t expect you to.” Your eyes start to water, and it pisses you off because he’s the only one who has made you cry since you’ve been here and he’s the last person you ever thought would. “Of everyone, I didn’t expect it from you. Not the way you listened to me and seemed to understand everything I’ve ever told you about the shit I’ve been through.”

You turn and walk away, but he yells out to you. “You’re making a mistake!” His voice has a hint of concern, and you consider ignoring him, but your curiosity gets the best of you.

You roll your eyes, wipe your tears, and turn back around. “A mistake with what?”

“Roger…” he begins. “I know him. I know how he is!”

You walk up to Brian, who is still sitting down, and get in his face. “He’s never done anything or said anything to me to make me feel like a piece of shit, unlike someone else,” you seethe.

“You don’t think he’s just using you for what he wants?” He seethes at you in return.

“No, I don’t think that at all.” You calm your tone. “What I do think is that you don’t want me to be with him – or anyone else.” You start to walk away again.

“I want you to be happy, Y/N,” Brian mumbles, just loud enough for you to hear it, which makes you turn back around one more time.

“So then let me be happy. Please,” you plead with him. His eyes look down to the ground, and an expression of loss draws upon his face. Tears start to fall down your cheeks, a mixture of sadness and exasperation. “Goodbye, Brian,” you tell him as you walk away.

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commander-yinello · 6 years

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A New Missive (Vanderwood x Saeran)

This is the last chapter of my VandeRan series! I might write one-shots of this ship in the future if my energy is willing. Thank you so much for reading and your kind words. <3

The wooden walls were covered in photos and drawings. Arms, thighs, backs and chests proudly displaying their colorful or monochrome artworks, art forever embedded into their skin. Sketches of tattoos that may have yet to be drawn by a needle, but good enough for the artist to put them on display. Flowers and birds, skulls and animal prints, squares and circles, abstract to the point of madness or so realistic it might as well have been 3D printed. Every single tattoo more beautiful than that thing on his arm right now.

Saeran couldn’t sit still. His boot tapped the floor erratically and every second he scooted a little further off the chair until he teetered on the edge. A hand on his shoulder suddenly held him steady and his tapping stopped. To his right, Vanderwood, still standing, gave him a calm smile.

“It’s taking so long because she wants to give you the best tattoo possible,” the gentle giant said.

His gentle giant. Sometimes Saeran pinched himself mentally because he couldn’t believe it was real. For weeks he was able to call the taller man his boyfriend, and it was a word he had trouble uttering without becoming a blushy mess. Just like his face was already heating up from the way Vanderwood did his best to make him feel safe.

This had been his idea. The past was done, and he had survived. His body and mind were all his now. Mint Eye, Rika, no one, absolutely no one was allowed to control even the tiniest part of his body. In order to feel complete, in order to move on, he was going to burn the last bridge to the darkest part of his life. When he told Saeyoung, his brother actually started to cry and held him so tight he feared his ribs would break. For some reason, he had been waiting on a bad joke – just like the many of them he had heard when Saeyoung and MC found about him and Vanderwood – but the support of his brother helped him finalize this decision.

He rubbed the offending right arm, fingers tracing over the slight ridges in his skin that told him the tattoo was still there. He wore a tank top on purpose, but it made him feel horrible exposed. If it hadn’t been a long drive, he’d run home to cover himself in sweaters.

“What if she can’t cover it?” Saeran asked, anxiety laced in his voice. It was such a large, ugly black drawing. None of the drawings on the wall would be able to hide it, that was for sure.

Vanderwood grabbed a stool and sat down beside him, moving to wrap an arm around the redhead. “I’ve seen her cover much worse. I know her well, she’s very good at what she does.”

“Did she tattoo you?” Saeran couldn’t recall a single tattoo between the scars on his nude body, from the day he accidentally peeped on the former agent. Perhaps he had one somewhere properly hidden… Damn it me, this is not the time for those thoughts!

“No,” Vanderwood said so fast, Saeran raised his eyebrows. “Needles terrify me. But I know she’s helped some of my former friends, before we cut ties years ago.”

“Needles terrify you?”

“Yes. Saeyoung would not stop making fun of me for months when he found out.” Vanderwood frowned as Saeran got a wobbly smile. “Don’t you start.”

Saeran chuckled. “Sorry, I won’t, it’s just that I didn’t expect it.” The big bad agent scared of needles. It was such endearing imagery. Vanderwood’s checks tinted pink and Saeran couldn’t help feel proud that he was the one to do that.

Settling more into his boyfriend’s arm, Saeran realized he knew so little of Vanderwood’s past. Now that there was time, now that Vanderwood visited more for him than just to be a ‘maid’, he wanted to know. He wanted to know everything, and he would answer any questions the former agent had for him as well.

While Saeran made his silent vow, the door opened to reveal a short-haired woman with tattoos covering every inch of her skin, excluding her face. For most Koreans she was odd, but here in her own space, he and Vanderwood were the odd ones out. The two of them separated as she approached.

With a big smile she held her sketchbook out, noticing their anticipation. “So! Thank you for waiting. I was really inspired by how you said you wanted to start over, heal the wounds of the past and move on.”

Saeran nodded, wondering if he had been too vague with his story. He didn’t want to go into detail with his shady past.

“After a bit of research, I drew this for you.” She lifted the flap. On the white paper they saw a black bird, so detailed Saeran could see the gloss of the feathers and the shine in its eye. It stood proudly with its back towards its audience, head turned to look at them.

“A raven,” Saeran stated the obvious.

“Yes. It represents spiritual rebirth, and this will suitably cover up that weird pseudo-tribal tattoo. If you don’t like it, I can make you something else.”

It also represents mystery, Saeran thought. The tattoo artist must know that he’s hiding something. Somehow, he felt he’s told her his life story.

“What do you think?” Vanderwood asked.

I was going to ask you that. But then again, no, he had to want it. It was his choice to want to start again in life, to remove what still hurt him.

The raven kept staring back, an inanimate object waiting for his approval to be brought along for life. Saeyoung would have preferred something less… dark. But Saeran was nothing like his brother, and he had finally accepted that.

Saeran smiled. “It’s perfect.”

“Awesome!” the artist exclaimed, and she pointed towards the leather chair in the corner of the room. “You can get seated. It’s a big one so it’s going to take a while.”

Saeran looked to Vanderwood. “If you want, you can go home so you won’t have to wait.”

Vanderwood scoffed. “I’ve waited longer for the best things in my life, what’s a few hours?”

If Saeran wasn’t in a public space right now, he’d hug the former agent and tell him nothing could be better than him.

***

He couldn’t stop admiring his new tattoo in the mirror. It was an exact replica of what his artist had sketched on paper. The only thing stopping him from touching the glossy feathers was the thick layer of cream and the plastic she had wrapped around his arm to keep it protected. Surrounding the raven were parts of a tree she used to cover the pointy bits of his old tattoo. It was as if Mint Eye had never touched his skin.

“You probably know all this, but just in case: keep it out of the sun and out of the water for at least a few months, wash it with special soap once a day and don’t scratch it no matter how itchy it gets. Here, a pamphlet with everything I said and more.” She handed him a piece of paper with instructions, which Saeran knew Vanderwood was going to making him follow those to a tee. “And most importantly, enjoy,” she finished.

Saeran thanked her as often as he could before they left, Vanderwood merely nodding while he opened the door to the empty, warm evening streets. It hit the redhead that he had been so enamored with his new tattoo that he hadn’t heard his boyfriend utter a word.

“What do you think?” he asked, trying not to sound worried about the fact that perhaps the taller man didn’t like it at all.

He wasn’t prepared for Vanderwood to crack the biggest smile, nor the kiss that made him topple backwards. Vanderwood held him steady, inadvertently intensifying the kiss, sending Saeran reeling. “It’s fantastic,” Vanderwood said as they parted. “And you look fantastic with it. I have never been more proud of you.”

“I… Thank you.”

Saeran allowed himself to hug the taller man tightly, not caring for those passing by, having no words to show his happiness. Vanderwood trying to maneuver to hug him back without touching the tender skin made him laugh.

Soon they would be home and undoubtedly he’d hear what the rest of his family thinks of his tattoo. He wanted to try wearing shirts instead of sweaters in the summer. He wanted to know what it was like to be proud of himself alongside the people he loved, who tell him he should be.

He couldn’t wait.

#vanderan #vanderwood x saeran #mary vanderwood 3rd #saeran choi #mystic messenger #fanfic #fanfiction #mysme #tattoos #I'm happy to have finished a series :D #got a few more to do #<3333

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dantediscoversfic · 7 years

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Chapter 19: Fever Week

I made up my mind not to tell Ari about me possibly moving until my dad’s job offer was finalized. I figured that gave me about a week to work every possible angle to try and convince my parents against moving. Tactic 1: guilt. They knew moving here from California had been a tough transition for me; did they want to put me through a traumatic ordeal like that again? Did they want me to spend all of my penultimate year of high school friendless, depressed and lonely? Tactic 2: accusation. Wasn’t I a part of this family? Didn’t I have a right to voice my opinion and be part of the decision making process? Was this a democracy or a totalitarian dictatorship? Did they think I was still a small child that they could just uproot without so much as asking me if I even wanted to? Tactic 3: bargaining. What if I stayed with Ari while they moved to Chicago for the year? I’d be sixteen soon and people lived away from their parents by that age all the time. My parents listened but didn’t cave. They told me that we’d discuss all the details together as a family once my dad heard whether they’d decided to hire him or not. Tactic 4: silent treatment.

But I didn’t have a chance to not tell Ari, because he didn’t show up the next morning for our usual morning swim. We’d gotten into the habit of meeting up on the early side, around 10am, and swimming together before the pool got too crowded and the sun got too hot and high in the sky. Then we’d go to my house for lunch and after that ride the bus aimlessly or go to the movies or arcade, or we’d spend the afternoon reading in my room or coming up with whatever other ways we could think of to spend time together. 10am turned into 10:15am. I swam laps for half an hour. I got out of the pool and asked the lifeguard on duty if he’d seen Ari earlier that morning. Had I missed him?

“Who?” the lifeguard said blandly.

“Ari, the guy I’m usually here with every day? Have you seen him today?”

“You think I can tell any of you kids apart?”

“We’re not kids. And believe it or not, it’s actually part of your job description to pay attention, not to ogle at every girl in a bikini who walks by.”

I heard him mutter something rude under his breath as I walked off but I didn’t care. I swam more laps but had a nervous jittery feeling and couldn’t relax and focus into the rhythm of swimming like I usually could. After each lap I couldn’t resist looking around to see if he’d shown up. At noon I went home. I was confused, hurt, angry and worried. These were not emotions that sat well inside my body. They made my stomach hurt. He probably had a perfectly good reason for not coming to the pool today. Maybe he had to help his mom with something, like a shift at the food bank. Maybe he’d just forgotten to tell me yesterday because of everything that happened with the neighborhood kids killing the sparrow.

I spent the rest of the afternoon painting (very splatter-heavy Jackson Pollock-inspired abstract pieces good for expelling pent-up emotions). I barely spoke to my parents at dinner (see above re: silent treatment). I thought about looking up Ari’s number in the phone book and calling him to see where he’d been that morning and if we’d swim with each other the next day like he’d told me we would after we buried the sparrow together. But I thought better of it. I was too afraid that the reason he hadn’t showed up today had something to do with me crying so much yesterday. He wasn’t that type of person, though, was he?

My parents knew I was upset and assumed it was still just because of the job news. They suggested we eat ice cream and watch Cosmos together after dinner. I reluctantly agreed. Thinking about the universe made me feel better, as did the chocolate fudge sundaes. My parents must have known that would work, darn them. Before I went up to my room for bed, my mom put her hand on my knee and said quietly, “I’m sorry you’re upset about the move, Dante. We’ll talk it all through together as a family. We want what’s best for you and want you to be happy. But we also need to think of what’s best for your father’s career and for the family as a whole unit. We all have to make sacrifices sometimes, that’s what growing up and putting the people you love before yourself is all about. We love you, Dante.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

The next morning, Ari was a no show yet again. I finished up an hour of laps alone and got out of the pool. I was scanning the crowd for him when the same lifeguard from yesterday said, “What? Your boyfriend stood you up again for your date?” and I knew that if Ari were here he would have flipped him off (or worse). I didn’t say anything, but gave him my best icy stare and scratched my nose with my middle finger prominently. I thought maybe he’d ban me from the pool for life but I kept walking back into the locker room before he could say anything more. I’d never flipped anyone off before, and I have to say, it was an adrenaline rush. But I wasn’t planning to make a habit of it. I didn’t know how Ari could act so cool and tough without his stomach cramping.

At this point I was less angry with Ari and more worried that something awful had happened to him. His parents would have told me if something had happened to him, right? I didn’t need to worry; I was overreacting. It was probably a good thing he wasn’t around since my head was still wrapped up in thoughts of moving away from him. I’d be no fun to be around right now, anyway. I resisted the urge to walk over to his house. I went to the library and looked up books about Chicago and news articles on microfilm about Chicago’s terrible crime rate and history of mob and gangster violence, hoping to have an arsenal of scary statistics to strong arm my parents into letting us stay in El Paso (for my own safety and security, of course). It sort of backfired, though, since one of the books I found was all about the history of Chicago’s architecture and I have to say, it was pretty cool imagining myself living in an art deco city like Superman’s Metropolis.

I didn’t go to the pool on the third morning. I stayed in bed and read poetry by E.E. Cummings and W.S. Merwin (it crossed my mind that if Ari was a poet he might want to go by the moniker A.A. Men., like Amen, and then I was sad that he wasn’t here for me to tell him that to) and I tried not to feel too sorry for myself. I hoped Ari would come knocking on my door and ask where I’d been that morning and why wasn’t I at the pool like usual? But all that happened was my dad asking me if I was feeling sick or if something had happened with Ari. I told him the truth, Ari hadn’t met me at the pool all week and I hadn’t heard from him. We left it at that.

On the fourth morning I went back, just in case he was there. It was a mistake. The lifeguard I’d flipped the bird to called me a rude word in Spanish and said he’d have his eye on me. He watched me from his perch like he was the Eye of Sauron. It gave me the creeps, so I left after only a few laps.

I was getting desperate. I didn’t understand why Ari was ignoring me like this. I was surprised by how much his rejection stung, how much I’d let myself look forward to seeing him every day; not just look forward to it, but ration my own happiness knowing it would be sweeter and more expansive when we shared it, together. I told myself this was good thing, to know what this feels like now, since I’d most likely be gone from El Paso by September. This ache would be the new normal soon enough. He was inadvertently using the ‘rip the band-aid right off method’, and though it might hurt like hell in the moment it was better in the long run, wasn’t it? But I didn’t want him ripped out of my life. I wanted…I couldn’t verbalize it but it was the farthest thing from this empty hallow feeling inside my chest.

I looked up his number in the phone book. There were probably over 1,000 Mendozas in El Paso, but only one whose absence I felt the way I imagined an amputee felt about a phantom limb. I knew his dad’s name, Jaime. I knew the street he lived on. I found his number, but I didn’t call that night. I’m not sure why. I went to bed and dreamed of a labyrinthine maze of enormous hedges made of phone books. Ari and I were separated from each other in different areas of the maze, shouting and trying to direct ourselves out and back to each other, but there was a faceless psychopath chasing me with a chainsaw, a scene my brain lifted straight out of The Shining (which has given me a nearly infinite supply of nightmare imagery since I watched it without my parents’ permission with a group of my older cousins in LA when I was eleven).

I woke up from my dream with a start on the fifth morning. I’d slept in, knowing the night before I wouldn’t be going to the pool in the morning. I went downstairs to eat breakfast, though it was late enough to be lunchtime. I told myself enough was enough. I opened the phonebook back up to Ari’s number. Then the phone rang, and I knew before I even picked it up that it was him.

“You haven’t been going to the pool,” I said. It came out angrier than I thought it would.

“I’ve been in bed. I caught the flu. Mostly I’ve been sleeping, having really bad dreams, and eating chicken soup.”

Bad dreams? I thought of last night’s maze dream. I wondered what Ari’s nightmares looked like and I wondered what he looked like dreaming them. I imagined myself leaning over him in his bed while he slept, pressing a warm compress onto his forehead and telling him everything would be all right.

“Fever?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Achy bones?”

“Yeah.”

“Night sweats?”

“Yeah.”

“Bad stuff,” I said. And then, since I couldn’t contain my curiosity, “What were your dreams about?”

“I can’t talk about them.”

I expected as much.

“Can you come over? I promise not to cough on you?” he asked and I grabbed my things and was out the door in less than a minute.

#ari and dante fic

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breezy-cheezy · 7 years

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Some Mob Psycho 100 Gen Fics

So call me inspired by this post by @guttersnipequeen because I’m always overjoyed to be seeing gen works getting some appreciation, and I wanted to share a few of my favorites! :’D So here are a few (with an emphasis on Mob and Reigen or Dad!Reigen, since their dynamic is my favorite ;v; ) And sorry most of these are pretty short or oneshots, I tend to have a very short attention span;;;

Also heed the warnings on these fics! They’re not all pure fluff...no romance/sex/shipping or anything like that to be found in these fics though.

I’m just going to start on @sukikobold ‘s works, because she’s a wonderful writer and literally all of her works are beautiful gen. All of them. Some favorites include:

Thorns (one-shot)

The thorns that surrounded him were red and twisted. Every plant was so intertwined with the others, it was impossible to tell where one ended and the next one began. Or maybe they were all one plant. It didn’t make much difference.

(Such a beautifully symbolic piece for a beautifully symbolic picture, I’m extremely fond of them, oh my goodness...)

Hospital Flowers (one-shot)

It was bad enough for Ritsu knowing that his brother had been kidnapped. He didn't think finding him would be so much worse.

(It’s nice seeing how many people worry about Mob, and I also like seeing Ritsu learning to trust Reigen a bit more :’) )

One Afternoon (multi-chapter)

A possible answer to the question, "What would have happened if Mob had asked someone else for help with his powers?"

Aka: An AU where Mob and Reigen don't meet until the present day.

(Not finished yet, but it’s already plenty heartwarming and I’m very interested to see what this story is building up to!)

Now as for some other gems I’ve found in this awful mess of an AO3 tag:

Three by Ravenesta (multi-chapter)

The staff of Salt Middle School consider Kageyama Shigeo's third emergency contact.

(First gen fic I found and liked for this series! It’s really interesting seeing character studies from the outsider POV of a well written OC. Plus the ending is precious <3 )

99 by entrenched (two-shot, part of a series I haven’t made it all the way through yet but it is indeed all gen)

In which Mob & Reigen ask the same question: Will you forget me?

(Oh mannnn...really sweet but melancholic fic, this one breaks my heart in all the best ways ;~; )

Symbiosis by ruthwrites (multi-chapter)

In the aftermath of the night fighting Claw's 7th Division, Mob's powers return to him. However, something unknown is left behind with Reigen. Something that doesn't want to remain there. And someone begins to take notice of the strange psychic activity coming from the Spirits and Such Consultation Office.

(Or: in which Reigen is saddled with ???%, and things go poorly for all involved.)

(Woo, okay, REALLY COOL fic here, full of some interesting headcanons and theories (some horror too, be careful) The last few chapters kept me on the edge of my seat! I love the descriptions and characterizations soooo much, and I was also happy to get a sort of Psychonauts-ish vibe from the end scenes which I don’t wanna specify because spoilers lol)

On Glass Shoulders by NotHereForIt (two-shot)

Mob is not answering his phone.

And Reigen really does not want to be the one to tell the Kageyamas that he lost their kid while on an exorcism job.

(Admittedly, I was a liiittle iffy on the premise at first glance, but after reading...dang I think I’m in love with this one really. Wonderfully in character, protective Reigen, good fluff, the return of Reigen lecturing bad guys and being awesome in general...plus a surprise follow up chapter update recently to nicely wrap things up! What more could I ask for really? )

When You Need Me by SpiritusRex (multi-chapter)

Five times Mob hugged Reigen, and one time Reigen hugged Mob.

( Gosh this one’s so good and sweet, and I can see these happening in canon too! They actually fix/add a few scenes that I think should have happened; all very good, I’m always excited to see a new installment :’D Annnd I know it was already mentioned on the linked post, but @ghoststrawberries /SpiritusRex and @starsfadingbutilingeron /GlowingArrowsInTheSky also made the adorable A Cat Named Milk fic series, SO precious and pure, oh man...I had to put it here still, I had to ;v;)

Lysis by caratcake (one-shot)

The boy stared, his eyes holding the immeasurable depth of black holes, empty but all-encompassing. He lifted his hand, and the man tightened his grip on his charm. The boy did not reach for it. Instead, he splayed his hands palm up, eyes directed upwards -

“There is no rain.”

(Super short but super beautiful Serizawa-centric fic, I loved reading it!)

Influential by macrauchenia (multi-chapter)

Alternatively, "Five times Reigen inadvertently adopts an esper and the one time he actually realizes what he's gotten himself into."

(There’s only one chapter of this so far but it already looks very promising, so I’ll go ahead and put it here! :’D)

As for @phantomrose96 , I feel like her angst fics get talked about alot, and for good reason too (I’m sure you all have seen me yelling about A Breach of Trust at some point or another asdhureiregh), but I sometimes like to remind myself she can write some really good fluff when she wants to...this is one of those times. A compilation of my faves of her gen fluff ficlets (these are Tumblr links btw): The Butterfly Test , A Condensed Guide to Living With Psychics: by Arataka Reigen , Scribbled-Out Shopping Lists , Gold Stars , The Business of Telling Lies , Smoke

Chiasmus by fireflysummers (two-shot)

In the end, Mob can’t protect other people from himself. In the end it all comes to a head, and when he wakes up people have died. It doesn’t matter who they were or what they were trying to do. It doesn’t matter that his life, and the lives of those most important to him were at stake. All that matters is that he failed.

So, in his despair, he builds a cage and willingly walks into it. His vessel sleeps, and he knows that the others may mourn him for a while, in the end it’s better this way. The others, however, aren’t going to let that stand.

Even if they have to go in after him.

(Another tumblr link, it’s not on AO3, but I definitely felt like I should put it here; rather short, but very beautiful and extremely heartfelt. Also accompanied with amazing art!)

#breezy babbles #mp100 #fic rec #long post #LOTS OF FIC RECS #because there are alot of gross fics in this fandom's ao3 tag #and I've never been a big fan of romance #like #ever #so here #there are some quality gen works #even more in the post I linked at the beginning #I almost tacked this onto it but then I started rambling soooo #separate #there were some I almost put here but had to take off #because on another read through #I realized the author snuck in some shipping I didn't notice :T #I feel like the author was trying to imply some Shou Ritsu in 'Three' too #but it's only like one sentence while the rest is absolutely gen #so I'll leave it #may change my mind later we'll see;;;#I'm really fond of that one as one of the first I read ;v;#I have alot of respect and love for gen fic writers #thank you guys for all you do #also sending lots of love to my friend who wrote me amazing gen fics during a very very bad time in the AO3 tag #you know who you are girl I love you so much thank yoooou!!!! <333

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entergamingxp · 4 years

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Beyond a Steel Sky review

It’s the insidiousness of Spankles that bothers me at first.

It’s a small thing at first, of course. It almost always is. Even before you breach Union City’s walls, there’s a kiosk giving away free cans of the stuff – actually, there’s a lot of vending machines that give away the stuff. “Wow!”, you think, dispensing a can for gratis for the first time. “A benevolent government that gives away free refreshments? I’m in!”

Beyond a Steel Sky review

Developer: Revolution Software

Publisher: Revolution Software

Platform: Reviewed on PC

Availability: Out now on PC and iOS as part of Apple Arcade.

And then you’ll spot another ad. And then another. The Spankles mascot – a nightmarish hybrid of Ronald McDonald and the terrifying clown from Poltergeist that haunted my early years – leers at you from… well, everywhere. You start pondering why there are advertisements at all given they’re issuing cans for free, anyway. Later, you might realise the tagline – “Explodes your mind!” – is a tad sinister. You wonder why they’re pushing it so hard. A health scanner will eventually recommend it, and that’s when it becomes impossible to ignore the distant alarm bell chiming in the back of your head.

A dystopian cityscape is nothing new, of course. You’ll jog gently along, weaving between the unhurried folk with their multicoloured hairdos and futuristic fashions, camera flicked upward to take in the full majesty of this stylish metropolis and its neon lights, and there’s a jarring sense of deja vu here. Ryan’s Rapture. Comstock’s Columbia. Cyberpunk’s Nivalis. And now we’re in Beyond a Steel Sky’s Union City.

The Council wants you to think Union City is a clean, pure place where your comfort is always at the top of its priority list, but it sometimes feels like the buildings don’t stretch up as much as they glare down at you, heavy and imposing and watchful. Monopods flick all around you – the omnipresent whoosh as they pass by will buzz and irritate in your ears like digital mosquitoes – but you’ll never know who’s in them, or where they’re going. You start to wonder if the shiny veneer of this beautiful place is precisely that; a veneer – a fake front concealing something altogether darker in the undergrowth.

It doesn’t seem to bother the guy we’re playing as, though. This is my first venture with Robert Foster as I didn’t play the predecessor, Beneath a Steel Sky, and while he’s likeable enough in a superficial, forgettable kind of way, I didn’t particularly warm to him, despite his noble mission to locate the missing child, Milo.

It’s the same for the eclectic supporting cast, too. They’re all fine; nothing terrible, even if their accents occasionally are a little wobbly, but I don’t feel any emotional connection to anyone I encounter, either. Like the slow, oddly animated NPCs who idle past you along the piazza – or occasionally on top of your head when the collision mechanics go hilariously wrong – they’re all a touch shallow. A touch irritating. A touch over the top.

You’ll spend a lot of time in the company of those NPCs, though, whether you want to or not. Building upon its point-and-click foundation, Beyond a Steel Sky’s story is character-driven, and your progression is typically gated by one of two things – character interactions or a hacking mini-game. For the latter, this means you’ll spend much of the game darting from one character to the other to gather intel, or exploring the environment to glean clues. This can be anything from luring fowl away from truck doors to exploring an apartment to find out more about the man who lived there, and it’s to the developers’ credit that the tasks you take on are varied and usually, if not quite always, fall short of laborious.

Foster’s never in a rush, however, and his lack of urgency doesn’t half sap you of yours, too. The hour I spent to-ing and fro-ing outside the city walls felt endless at the time, and while there’s a good variety of dialogue options to help you tease information out of the folks nearby, the UI doesn’t automatically grey out options you’ve already taken. This means you might inadvertently initiate a conversation you’ve already had – ugh – or worse, miss or delay an interaction because even though you’ve already spoken to say, Pixel, and figured you’d asked everything you could, there are numerous conversations that can be triggered by the same word prompt but there’s no way for you to know that without trial and error.

Worst still, your companions have a tendency to wander off, so initiating conversations can be a lengthy, frustrating affair that will see you trail after them, desperately waiting for the button prompt that lets you converse with them to pop up again. There are certainly worse crimes than this, I know, but given so much of your progress here depends upon character interactions, it’s a shame those interactions aren’t more polished.

The hacking game, on the other hand, is a neat idea, and one that slides perfectly in to a narrative that requires you to exploit (or circumvent entirely) Union City’s borderline obsession of automation and AI. You use it to help the city’s AI do your biding – say, inverting the permissions of a door to open when your ID would typically lock you out, perhaps, or changing the route of a cleaning robot to aid in a rescue mission – and while the museum, particularly, outstayed its welcome with this mechanic, I can’t deny it’s not enjoyable… at least, when I finally figured out what I’m supposed to do, anyway.

Thankfully, Beyond a Steel Sky has a fabulous hint mechanic that drops a new clue every thirty seconds upon your request, starting with gentle tips and evidence that, eventually, become full blow-by-blow instructions. It’s a fantastic addition that should ensure you’ll never prematurely end a session simply because you don’t know what to do next.

And, oh, it’s beautiful here. Bright and bold and full of colour, Union City is a stunning backdrop to Foster’s story, and while there are perhaps fewer places than you might like to explore – you’ll revisit many places instead of visiting new ones – you can’t help but gaze up at the art deco motifs in awe. The Cel-shading isn’t as novel a style as it once was, of course, but Foster’s world is well-crafted and well-realised, ably accompanied by its score and good voice casting.

That said, it’s not faultless. NPCs slope by slowly and vacantly. Gang-gangs – the vicious wildlife often preventing you from simple tasks – slide across the ground, never mind the sky. Though admittedly amusing, it’s yet another indicator that perhaps another month or two of testing and polishing could’ve elevated Foster’s story from okay to outstanding.

Sadly, that’s not the only technical issue I encountered, either. There were plenty of quirks and glitches in my press build of Beyond a Steel Sky. Dialogue often stuttered or dropped out completely, and there was one instance where despite both the waypoint and Foster himself telling me I had completed the prerequisite investigation, it still wouldn’t give me the prompt to progress. Without a convenient save, I ended up losing several hours’ progress – which is a lot, given the game only lasts a dozen or so hours – by loading in a significantly older manual save. That time, I was able to proceed without a problem.

Which leads me to conclude that Beyond a Steel Sky is a pretty mixed bag, really. Despite lofty ambition, gorgeous visuals, and an intriguing premise, for every positive, there’s a negative, too. I loved Union City but couldn’t explore it as much as I wanted. I loved Foster’s sassy companion but found most characters a tad shallow, lacking nuance and personality. I loved digging into The Council but found hacking into MINOS a tedious, repetitive experience that rarely innovated.

That said, it’s an unhurried, intriguing adventure that will likely attract new fans as well as satisfy existing ones; it’s just such a shame it’s marred by uneven pacing, questionable UI choices, and just one too many performance issues.

And I’m still having nightmares about the Spankles clown.

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/07/beyond-a-steel-sky-review/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=beyond-a-steel-sky-review

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tinymixtapes · 6 years

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Music Review: Tune-Yards - I can feel you creep into my private life

Tune-Yards I can feel you creep into my private life [4AD; 2018] Rating: 2/5 You could listen to the album’s songs, you could listen to the man on the bench. You could listen to both: “I don’t shake hands anymore. What should I do?” What is there to do? I spin these doubting sounds (a voice, familiar but far off, “don’t trust me”), a shiver in this gristle; I can feel you creep into my private life and I don’t like you there. This I is influenza, all sneaking fevers, a contagious loneliness that can’t get out of its own body. Ever unrevealed, I feel lost in myself listening. I lie, listless. Connection could be myth. Communication might be fallacy. If I look at my hands, will I see things worth working? What hope is there in hands? A reminder, a mission: in doubt and loss, we turn to art, that most essential mechanism of relating tensions. Between inks and papers, sounds and ears, song and body, and hand and drum, our arts relate the space between individual maker and the community world that the maker exists in. An art of humanity proposes imaginary solutions to real-time crises. When we feel lost, it’s our hands that spark conduit, conduce artifacts to light homes out of our doubts. “We beg art to allow us to annex it into our lives in order to patch up our individual voids and our collective ones,” our own Adam Rothbarth wrote in reference to The National’s Sleep Well Beast. Like Adam’s words, like The National’s aching architectures of loss-renewing, art sketches not only our hopes, but a legend for how to hope. Tune-Yards, the pop project of Merril Garbus and longtime collaborator Nate Brenner, has largely existed as an able and energetic chronicler/challenger of that hope between void and annex. On 2009’s BiRd BrAiNs, they struck out in bold sharp lo-fi lines. “What if my own skin makes my skin crawl?” Garbus begs on “Fiya,” before admitting, with a heave, “You’re always on my mind.” Self- doubt/desire, a human body’s apprehensions, became a site for exploration, and 2011’s W H O K I L L was an incendiary, lighting it up and blowing it down, building on Tune-Yards’ percussive bass blasts but imbuing the project with a propulsive scale of self and community. On album-opener “My Country,” Garbus (with that voice) intones like Ginsberg before her, “My country ‘tis of thee, sweet land of liberty/ How come I cannot see my future within your arms?” It’s a devastating couplet with which to open an alternative pop LP, a mission statement for exploring the spaces between self and country and stick and surface: Tune-Yards promised percussion for introspection, a dancing for repair, not decadence. Sirens and gangs and Oakland woes and slick sax drops imbued W H O K I L L with immediacy and joy. And if Tune-Yards, they of mismatched fonts and painted faces, sometimes crafted sounds that bit hard on Afrobeat and Fela and all kinds of traditionally non-white sonic traditions, it was at least biting done for boldness, usually in honesty with personal visions and self-aspirations, culminating in 2014’s nikki nak, which, if weirder and unwieldy-er, hit harder and bit sharper. Tune-Yards had carved the room in all their influences for Garbus’s rapid vocal percussions and Brenner’s fuzzed bounce-bass. Everything got neon naked and eked absurdity like Pee-wee, more evidence of a high-stakes confidence and music for transforming self in worlds to: “When I see you changing, I believe that I could change too.” Change is something to believe in, a thing grand enough to believe in if you want to get out of bed in the morning, if you want to sleep at all in these nights. Change is the measure of the space between annex and void, between maker and canvass. Tune-Yards have lived by the trajectory of change, a tightening of drumheads and a narrowing of scrutiny that has, until this point, led them to increasingly fertile and exciting sounds. Their fourth release is called I can feel you creep into my private life. It changes the sounds of the band from the bombastic elastic to the crouched minor. It changes the hopes of the band from boundless to restrictive. It limps, self-conscious and careful: who has a hand in hope, anyway? “It’s nicer to hug anyways, and it’s more sanitary.” The story of the change is all over. The Tune-Yards project underwent severe self-atomization and analysis, and the ensuing life-work yield is awkward, wayward, and flat. I can feel you creep into my private life is postured as a piercing of white privilege, the result of its maker (Garbus, it feels, in the songs and promotions, is still the loudest voice here) undergoing months of guided meditation race-awareness training to craft a statement of pop whiteness in the heady cloud of 2018 sounds. “Honesty” promises the meditative (“Close your eyes/ Get in touch with the physical sensations coursing through your body”), and “Now as Then” self-questions (“Oh, don’t trust me/ That I won’t take all the money and run”), and “ABC 123” bold-faces (“I ask myself, ‘what should I do?’/ But all I know is white centrality”). “Colonizer” is a clompy sort of pastiche that snatches the beats and bumps of past Tune-Yards compositions and debases them: “I use my white woman’s voice to tell stories of travels with African men.” None of those songs crackle or sneer. There’s no joy in the drop of lead single “Heart Attack,” just a bored, stern reminder that things aren’t okay. There’s no specificity in “Look at Your Hands,” no admission that an American peoples’ history is of mistakes and misappropriations, that we don’t want sanctimonious confessional so much as we want engagement with the previously unengaged. Whiteness isn’t a default and can only exercise supremacy against an other; in the absence of that other, whiteness assumes a supremacy that no one else has agreed to acknowledge. That no black voices appear on an album full of white-on-white engagement with whiteness isn’t surprising, really. It is disappointing. I can feel you creep into my private life’s drums and rhythms are programmed and postured (likely the result of Garbus’s interest in learning to DJ), and the songs stretch and lay when they might be better served by snapping and cracking, like they do on “Bizness” or “Water Fountain.” An omission of self and stake, I can feel you creep into my private life lacks any self-skin in the game, claiming care but ending in the careful: in being careful to not to say too much, the songs spend too long saying nothing. In restricting her usually keen instinct for percussive word (the thing that hits) and voice in the world (the hit thing that resonates and echoes), Garbus and company have crafted a piece claiming grace that does not stick, by our ears or in our bones. Worse than that, I can feel you creep into my private life may actually fall victim to a-proportioned and appropriated evils it seeks to be supersensitive to. Like, shouldn’t an album hyper-engaged with white appropriation find some degree of trouble with calling a song “ABC 123” without ever admitting that the Jackson 5’s “ABC” exists already in the universe? Shouldn’t an album attuned to pop colonialism/white response find trouble with a despondent line like, “I ask myself, ‘What should I do?’/ But all I know is white centrality”? I can feel you creep into my private life doesn’t leave room for hope, suggesting that songs of pierced white privilege should remain segregated from the community they were written in light of. The sound ends with Garbus’s calls, “I’m free, I’m free; the end sounds with reminders, “Don’t tell me I’m free”, a careful hopelessness. A reminder, a mission: good people before good songs. By all accounts (and there are a lot of them; when self-improvement is subsumed in self-promotion, nobody feels good), Merril Garbus has undertaken a serious and severe attempt to chase what she views of essential self-work: she will see her white privilege at work, she will realize and re-realize the fullest extent of all her micro-biases, she will actually and really integrate her new consciousness into this world’s conversation. We the hoping and hopeless beautiful monstrous bodies on this spaceship Earth need more drive to self-awareness. An artist like Garbus’s restless voice and relentless self-pursuits remain essential in the year when Eminem and Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri remain the critical standard for white honesty. You can’t have care without being careful. But wow does the ensuing album strain and stain and scab the care. To claim any degree of “wokeness” will always risk presenting that woke consciousness boldly and triumphantly in place of the underrepresented. By re-contextualizing a crisis of racial identity wholly by tracking how that crisis impacts Tune-Yards’ white art, I can feel you creep into my private life inadvertently suggests that white voices merit and mandate (increased) attention and space. Self-re-assessment is a consistently essential tool for any privileged party; that Tune-Yards spend song after song dwelling on their own whiteness only enlivens the myth that white voices are the ones worth listening to, the stuff of celebrated pop LPs. “I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna/ Hear my voice, hear my voice,” “Private Life” swears, in the same voice its always heard and said with. Trevor Noah lights a generous grace: “Sometimes people can be so woke though, that they almost like, undermine what they were trying to undo in the first place by mistake.” “But it also has a lot of soul.” I think it will get better, for Merril Garbus, for Tune-Yards, for us. The ethos has been “find a new way.” Good people and good work are the good things, the matter that keeps the whole web of making creating taking misusing celebrating a strong and brilliant thing. An ethos of making without a focus on carefulness brings us into abuse. I’ve written too many words on this album probably: excess and time are part of my privilege, and like Merril Garbus, I’m trying to track that slippery vicious thing, trying to be human first and best. Should I can feel you creep into my private life have taken greater pains to use a heading of honesty over appropriation to address the as-yet unaddressed African influences of Tune-Yards’ white art? Maybe. “What if my own skin makes my skin crawl?” Is Garbus poaching Ladysmith Black Mambazo’s “Shaka Zulu” when she sings “reveal yourself, reveal yourself” on “Private Life”? Maybe it’s not “not where you take it from, where you take it to” and maybe it’s more “not where you take it from, but that you give it back.” Tune-Yards sound afraid to give themselves back to the world in these songs. But there’s so much fear already. We need embrace, boldness. The soul of art, the mechanism behind hope and the bridge between our depraved voids and exuberant annexes, is community. Between maker and canvass, between artist and audience, community is forged and reforged, our best weapon against hate and loss. I can feel you creep into my private life takes great pains to cut itself off from the community, focusing instead on two singulars: the white artist Garbus doesn’t want to be and the white artist Garbus can’t help but be. In the highlights from the piece (a slinking “Now as Then,” a messy but breaking-through “Free”), Garbus suggests that the white supremacy we exist in isn’t exclusively damning to people of color. That statement, like I can feel you creep into my private life, has a hard time getting beyond a status of being supreme already, but it’s a messy stab at humbleness, a stab at piercing the problem of our age, the institutionalized hate we have to deal with if there is to be hope and dancing and pop music. On “Heart Attack,” she cries a little: “I’m only human,” and if that’s the standard we hold everyone to equally, we might find a new way to be humans first and best. Look at your hands and hope on hopes. Wring your world and reveal your self. Ladysmith Black Mambazo, they know: “The sun rise and set forever, Almighty/ reveal yourself, Almighty.” http://j.mp/2BeJkiu

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seekerandthewizard88-blog · 6 years

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Taking it back to the 90's... the unplugging of my life.

By Ash Anderson

Two and a half years ago, when my brief marriage fell apart, I decided I needed to take some time and disconnect from the world. My initial reasoning for this was purely because I didn’t want to answer unsolicited questions from my Facebook acquaintances about the dissolution of my marriage. I did it because I wanted to take the time to heal myself before I felt bombarded with and obligated to, the curiousity. It was extremely eye-opening to say the least. Let me back up a bit. You see, technology and social media have been sort of insidious over the years. I am a child of the 80’s but my misspent youth was during the 90’s. My generation is the first and only generation to know what it was like to have zero social media and technology and to also fully understand and feel the immersion into the aforementioned things. I remember what it was like to go to school and see my friends, and then to come home to my family and to leave the pressure of the world behind, to fall into the safety of my home space. I was able to leave any conflict, judgement, reservations, fears, and all of the other stress that comes with middle school at school everyday. Over the years that changed with the introduction of the internet in the home. First it was AOL and we could all of a sudden talk to each other without our parents overhearing, we were careless and told complete strangers way too much information. I remember talking to a stranger in a chat room with my best friend one night when I was 13 and giving him my mom’s address. We shut off all of the lights and he and his friends actually drove by my mom’s house. I had no idea that was unsafe, it was new and we were naive. That is how is started, little by little, walls were removed and we waded into the pool of digital connection. Sometimes I feel like I woke up one day with a smartwatch on and realized it’s the fucking future. We are in the future. We never saw it happen, it’s just here now. We were desensitized to it little by little and we never even knew. I read some horrific statistic once a couple of years back that said the average american spends something like more than six hours a day recreationally on the internet. SIX HOURS A DAY?! Are you fucking kidding me? I have at one point, been one of those people.

When I stepped away from Facebook two plus years ago, I realized something, I waste so much time with nothing. What do we get from social media? Sure there is a laundry list of excuses that we tell ourselves such as, “Well Ash, this is how I stay in touch with my friends that live far away”, “Ash, this is how I keep up with my family”, or “But Ash, how will I know when my friend’s tiny person drools?”. I am guilty of telling myself these things as well so let’s just cut the shit for a minute okay? Social media is a way to numb out. You pick up your phone and the next thing you know, it’s two hours later and you’ve done nothing but watch 17 episodes of carpool karaoke and now it’s time for bed. You can’t actually sleep because the blue light has tricked your brain into thinking it’s still daytime so you lay awake and your solution is to turn on Netflix until you can fall asleep. This is also keeping you awake longer, interrupting your sleep cycle and inadvertently resetting your circadian rhythm. Then we wake up in the morning, exhausted, depressed and wondering why we can barely make it through our day just to come home, fall onto the couch and repeat the entire pattern again. We get lazy, our creativity goes by the wayside, and we don’t self-care.

This is only part of the reason I want to disconnect. I miss the fact that I used to have to pick up the phone and call my friends to speak to them. Have you noticed that you text someone before you call them now? If someone calls you and you don’t answer, you feel obligated to send an explanation text. When did this happen? We used to be independent souls that reached out to connect with each other and now we just scroll, scroll, scroll, and sleep. I don’t know about you but it’s making me a zombie and that is a version of myself I don’t like.

When I broke up with Facebook last time, it was hard in the beginning but it also allowed me the space to see how often I pick up my phone in moments when it’s so unnecessary. I decided in these moments, I would either sit with myself or find something self-caring or creative to do and you know what? It was fucking uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable not being able to utilize my phone to distract myself. That speaks volumes. It took two plus weeks for me to stop reaching for my phone all of the time and another week or so to figure out how to fill that space, space I used to know how to fill effortlessly. The following months were so creatively fulfilling for me, I am not actually sure why I went back to it, but I did and it still makes me feel yucky.

I am heartbroken when I see small children glued to the screens of electronics in stores or at restaurants. I am simultaneously grateful that I grew up in a time when that wasn’t available because as an only child, I can’t imagine how horrible that would have been. I fear for the social development of the generations that follow mine, I fear that the meaning of social development is changing on a radical level. What’s worse, is that kids no longer have a way to decompress. They can’t leave all of the pubescent, anxiety inducing, “end of the world” bullshit at school anymore. They are constantly connected to their friends thoughts and feelings about everything. They use seven different apps to connect with their peers constantly and most of those involve putting themselves out into the world thus facing judgement on a minute by minute basis. Social media is essentially the wrecking ball that is destroying the save haven of disconnection. We need time with ourselves, with our people, without the world weighing in on everything we do, see, feel, smell, taste, wear, think, and like. We need time to ground ourselves in the love and creativity we have as humans.

I do believe that good things come from social media as well. I am grateful that I have a platform to share my writing with the world in an easier way than I would have before it’s existence. I am grateful that people can share their art and find support for things that are important to them as well. There are many pluses here but there is also a line that I think we have lost sight of, I know I have. This is the reason I have decided to spend the next year as unplugged as possible. I have been fortunate enough to have a few people in my life that currently do this and watching the freedom they have in the way they walk through the world is something I want to check out for myself. I got rid of my second laptop and my ipad. I just listed my PS4 and my television for sale a couple of days ago. Putting my playstation up for sale was really hard to do because I love video games but they are another thing that I can disappear into instead of myself and because it felt hard, I know it’s the right thing to do. I am scared and excited to see how this feels for the first time since before all of this technology existed. I am always on the bandwagon to buy the latest iphone, and I am in a deep love affair with my Apple Watch. I have had a television in my room since I was eight. All of this must go. I am going back to a flip phone as soon as my most recent iphone is paid off at the first of the year. I will only keep my Macbook because it is how I run my blog and I want to be able to continue to share my writing with the world because it’s the thing that sets my soul on fire. My goal is to use my computer for my creative endeavors. I will not leave social media but I will not have access to it in a mobile capacity anymore and this thing promises to be very freeing.

We’re losing each other, we’re losing our creativity, our ability to look one another in the eyes, to go for a walk together, to have a meal of food together, to play a sport together, to enjoy the fresh air together and we’re doing it in the name of distraction. It’s not too late, we don’t have to let this happen, we can find this space of organic connection again and I for one, can’t wait.

Love and Light,

Ash

*The opinions shared in here are mine and don’t have to reflect anyone else's. This is just how it feels for me.

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