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ship-enthusiast · 4 years ago

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Prompt: Modern Destiel AU

Teacher!Castiel x Youtuber!Dean

3.2k words

TW: mild swearing

Castiel Novak was a socially inept introvert to those who personally knew him and just a quiet guy to those who didn’t. He never knew his mother and had an absent father throughout his childhood. Despite the terrible credentials, his father had adopted a boy before Castiel was born from Africa named Uriel. He also had an older half-sister named Anna whom he was closest to throughout his childhood.

Castiel and Uriel were terrible step-siblings with Uriel always bullying Cas into submission during their childhood. Since his home wasn’t a safe place, he would often find sanctuary at the local library and immersed himself in history and literature. He had a short-term girlfriend named Hester whom he dated for a few months as a teenager when he was under the pressure of his father to date girls. Not wanting to disappoint him further, Cas tried to court his dad’s business friend’s daughter but it ended up a mess since Cas was, well, gayer than a rainbow unicorn.

Due to his excellent grades, he was offered a full-ride scholarship to the University of Kansas. He accepted the offer because he wanted to get as far away from home as he could and got his bachelor’s degree in education before interning at a public school. Because he loved working at the high school so much, he decided to become a substitute teacher for the district.

While subbing for a variety of teachers, he worked for his master’s degree in American history and was offered a permanent teacher’s position when one of them retired. On the side of subbing for teachers, Castiel worked at a coffee shop in a neighboring city. Although he was still shy and reserved, he managed to make a friend named Meg who was a regular at the coffee shop. At that time he met a downcast Dean Winchester who had just lost his father. He would usually meet up with his brother, Sam, at Cas’s coffee shop since Sam attended the nearby university. Sometimes Dean would stay behind when his brother left and that’s when Castiel introduced himself and the two bonded over their love-hate relationships with their parental figures.

Dean always expressed how he felt like he was a failure for never going to college when Castiel encourages him to go for a job or start something he wants to do. Dean had a side hobby of making videos as a kid because his family would move around a lot so he liked to film entertaining short videos of him and Sam to stay in touch with old friends. The friendships never lasted and the hobby was discarded until he decided to take Castiel’s advice and began filming little videos and posting them on youtube under the name ‘Wayward Winchester.’

The two would introduce each other to their interests and new things like movies and/or music. One time Dean brought over his friend, Charlie Bradbury, and Castiel thought the two were dating. He was immediately confused because although the two hadn’t explicitly come out to each other, they knew in the short yet meaningful duration of their relationship. His worries were for nothing, though, when Charlie noticed the tension and just casually mentioned she was a lesbian.

Castiel was over the moon when Dean’s videos started gaining traction a few months later. He was scared at the same time because he didn’t know what Dean would do with the newfound fame but he wasn’t ready for him to leave his life forever, and neither was Dean. After one of Castiel’s midterm exams, Dean asked Cas to hang out with him at the coffee shop where they had met. By this time Castiel had almost graduated and had a position waiting for him at the public high school so things were finally going well for the two. Castiel was scared for the meeting, thinking it was goodbye, and almost had a panic attack before Dean asked him to be his boyfriend. Of course, Castiel then felt stupid, said yes, and Dean declared that day to be their first date. Two years later on the exact same date at the exact same spot, Dean Winchester got down on one knee and asked Castiel to marry him.

Dean was a bit surprised and flattered when his fans were thirsting over him in the comments of his newer youtube videos so he explicitly stated he was in a stable relationship with his fiancee. He never specified the gender or his sexuality which was a big topic about him because gay marriage was still only legalized the year before.

They were married in the summer of next year by Dean’s father figure, Bobby Singer. Uriel and Anna were both invited but only Anna came. Sam attended as the best man with his wife, Jessica, and their one-year-old daughter Mary. Cas had asked Charlie to be his maid of honor since the two had bonded immensely after their first initial meeting. The two’s dynamic was convenient since Charlie would talk to whoever approached them and since she was with a guy, she wouldn’t be harassed and sometimes he’d be her wingman when hooking up with other chicks.

As a teacher, he was everything a student could ask for. He assigned homework three times a week and one essay a month. He was also a bit lenient on the due dates because he knew life could get in the way and tried his best to accommodate all of his students’ needs into his lesson plans. Despite his awkward demeanor, new high schoolers feared him but they were easily quelled when they met him. It was cringy whenever an older teacher would try to talk in their generation slang but when Castiel did it it felt extra out of place since he was so awkward. He still continued to surprise students whenever he quoted or understood a popular meme to which he’d reply with a Mean Girls reference of “I’m not like other teachers, I’m a cool teacher.”

His students didn’t question his sexuality much because they were adamant he wasn’t straight. The man was stylish and had a million different sweater vests. His trenchcoat became his trademark since he always came to school wearing it and it was rarely seen not nearby him. His students liked to do their own gestures to let him know they were okay with his sexuality, whether it was speaking about social issues in class or wearing pride clothing.

Castiel would also incorporate a lot of modern issues into his lessons and made sure his students were all self-aware of the situations in the world in hopes that they could help those he could not. There was absolutely no Mr. Novak slander in the hallways—literally, every student loved him; even if they’ve never had him as a teacher. Sometimes he acted like a counselor to those who felt uncomfortable talking to their parents or guardians at home. Overall, he was the best teacher a student could ask for.

In the end, his students were still teenagers and would be caught watching youtube or Netflix in class so he would have to confiscate their phones for the rest of class. He always felt guilty if he kept it any longer so he would pass the phones to his co-worker, Jo Harvelle. Jo also happened to be the daughter of the principal and an avid fan of Wayward Winchester. Castiel would sometimes listen to her rant about how much she liked or disliked something in his husband’s videos during their breaks with minimum comments. If he liked anything she said, he would go home and tell Dean and the two would laugh over it.

It wasn’t until Jo began continuously talking about the theories regarding who Dean’s mystery lover could be and comments regarding his sexuality did Dean finally feel like he was ready to open up to his fans with his husband’s encouragement. Castiel was the one who filmed that video and it trended pretty quickly since only a small handful of popular YouTubers were in the LGBTQ+ community. The video did garner some hate but the reception, for the most part, was very positive. This finally led to Castiel revealing to his students that he had a husband whom he had been married to for eight years. He was only met with positive responses and felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. A year later, Castiel started an elective class that taught about historical LGBTQ+ figures, monuments, timelines, and etc. It also doubled as a “therapy group” as the students liked to call it since it was a safe space.

Even if Castiel dearly loved his job, he wanted nothing more than to go home to his husband, curl up on the couch and have a western movie marathon. Summer break was finally coming up and Cas was more than ready to take a break from grading tests and papers. He had a love-hate relationship with the end of the term because, on one hand, he had a lot of stressed-out students, high piles of ungraded homework, and barely any sleep. But on the other hand, he had the next three months just for him and Dean. Their 10th year anniversary was also coming up and he was fretting about what he should get his husband.

Castiel was snapped out of his thoughts as he heard faint giggling from the back of the classroom. He glances at the clock from the corner of his eye to see that there were still fifteen minutes left of class and students weren’t allowed on their phones until the last five minutes. Sighing, he stands up and walks to the back of the classroom where he sees a small group of girls huddled around a single phone. He walks behind them without any of them noticing, raising an eyebrow when he sees what they’re watching. Most of the time it’s that god-awful show called Riverdale but this time, it was one of Dean’s videos. His husband’s video.

He was a bit taken aback as he recognized the video being on Dean uploaded last week about this game he played with Sam and Jessica called “Never Have I Ever.” The part they were on was “never have I ever gotten a speeding ticket.” Castiel snorts to himself when Dean puts up the sign “I have.” On one of their dates, they were almost late to a musical Castiel had been waiting months to see so Dean was speeding and they were pulled over.

“I wonder what kind of car he drives,” the girl on the right whispers to the others.

“Do not ever get Dean Winchester started on his car,” Castiel finally spoke up, causing a few of the girls to jump in surprise. “He will never shut up.”

“I—” one of the girls blinks in confusion.

“Do you…?”

Before they could ask any questions, Castiel confiscates the phone and walks back to his desk with a smug smile. If only Dean could see him now. The two had decided on keeping Cas’s identity a secret because Dean was the one in the relationship who wanted attention and Cas was content in staying in the background. Dean had also progressively become even more famous throughout the years and Cas knew the fame was not for him. It also made it harder to go on dates without someone recognizing Dean.

There were a few times when they were grocery shopping where a fan spotted them and Cas introduced himself as Dean’s cousin. The two had spoken about whether or not to introduce Castiel to Dean’s channel except Cas was afraid if any of his students saw and began viewing him differently. That is if any of his students even watched Wayward Winchester which apparently, they did.

When the bell rang, Castiel promptly returned the student’s phone before joining Jo in the teacher’s lounge for lunch. After the video where Dean came out, Castiel felt it was time to tell Jo that he was Dean’s husband. Jo was extremely embarrassed and kept apologizing for talking about Dean that way but then was offended she wasn’t told sooner. She forgave him pretty quickly when Cas let her talk to him on the phone one day after school and gave her a signed t-shirt.

“You won’t believe what some students were watching in class today,” Castiel began as he sat down at their designated table.

“What?” Jo asks as she sets down her phone. “Also, I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it?” Cas asks as he opens his lunch bag.

“I have a date later this week so I was hoping you could help me find an outfit…?”

“Why don’t you ask your mom for help?”

“Ugh, you know how she is,” Jo groans into her sandwich. “She’ll shoot down everything and suggest I go in a turtleneck or something.”

“Turtlenecks are fashionable.”

“Not for this type of weather.”

“All right, I’ll help. Do you mean shopping or raiding your closet?”

“Maybe both if you can’t find anything suitable in my mess of a wardrobe.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“Oh, it is. It looks like it belongs to a thirteen-year-old Amish girl.”

“Poor thirteen-year-old Amish girls.”

“Oh, shut up. Anyways, what were you talking about earlier?”

“Hm? Oh! I caught some girls watching Dean’s video in class today.”

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’?”

“You didn’t know students watched your husband’s videos?” Jo shoves her face into her sandwich to keep from laughing. “You do know...that kids have worn his merchandise to school before, right?”

“Really?!”

“Yeah,” Jo lets out a chuckle. “For a while now. He became really popular after his coming out video.”

“How did I not know this…” Castiel sighs and rests his face in his hands.

“Why? What’s wrong with them knowing?”

“It just makes everything so much more complicated.”

Jo decided not to press any further and continued to eat her sandwich.

“So, who’s the poor chap?”

School ended that day painfully and Castiel was more than happy to come home to hear the shower running, guessing Dean just got back from the gym. He set his bag down and took his coat off before face-planting onto his bed. He stayed in the position for a few minutes before turning his body around as he heard the bathroom door open.

“Hey, huggy bear,” Dean smiles as he leans down to kiss Cas’s forehead. “How was work?”

“Turns out the whole school watches your videos.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Castiel says as he sits up. “But maybe I’m worrying over nothing. Maybe they won’t even care that I’m married to a famous YouTuber.”

“I wouldn’t say famous.”

“Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Dean wraps an arm around Cas’s shoulder and pulls him close. “We’ll figure it out.”

Castiel snuggles further into his husband’s embrace. “You’re still wet.”

“Just the way you like me.”

“And the moment’s ruined,” Castiel playfully pushes Dean away and stands up. “I’ll go get dinner started.”

“I love you!” Dean calls out.

“Yeah, I know,” Cas replies as he closes the door.

Castiel’s alarm clock blared loudly as he hit the off button and rubbed his eyes open. He sighed as he tapped Dean’s hands around his waist, trying to loosen his arms. Dean protested by whining and holding him closer. Castiel sighs and stays in the position for a few moments, basking in the peaceful quietness as he traced shapes on Dean’s left arm. His eyes began drooping when he looked back at his alarm clock to check how much time he had when he suddenly bolted out of bed.

“Come back to bed,” Dean whines sleepily as he makes grabby motions towards Cas’s side of the bed.

“I can’t,” Castiel says breathlessly as he began pulling on a shirt and pants. “I’m going to be late!”

“Hm?” Dean groans as he finally opens his eyes and glares at the alarm clock as Castiel rushes out of their bedroom. “This is your fault.”

He slumps his head back onto the pillow when he hears the front door shut and lies there for a few more minutes before finally sitting up and stretching. He looks around sleepily to see a few of Castiel’s shirts lying carelessly on the floor. Dean picks them up and throws them on the bed so Cas can hang them up later before putting on pants and heading to the kitchen. He’s about to make his coffee when he notices Castiel’s lunch bag lying on the counter.

“Oh, Cas. What am I going to do with you?”

After his first three cups of coffee and an hour of sitting and staring at the wall, Dean looks into the bag to see it still empty and decides to make a sandwich and pack some of the stuff he’s seen Cas put in it before checking the time. Cas’s second period would start in fifteen minutes so he had some time to give him his lunch. Dean shrugs on a jacket and starts the impala, careful to make sure the water bottle is secured tightly in Cas’s bag.

When he makes it to the school parking lot, he puts on a cap and sunglasses to hide his face before grabbing Castiel’s lunch bag and heading to the front office. He signs in at the front office and walks through the hallways, thinking back to the time when he was in high school which felt like eons ago. He had no idea why Castiel wanted to make a career out of teaching high school students—they were usually the moodiest bunch of kids but Castiel loved them.

A student is walking past him when he stops and gasps when he looks up at Dean.

“Oh my God, are you Dean Winchester?!”

“Yes I am, kid,” Dean says, not wanting to disappoint him.

“Oh, wow!” The kid’s eyes widened. “I’m a huge fan of your videos. Can I...maybe get a photo?”

“Sure, why not?” Dean takes off his sunglasses and leans down for a quick selfie when the bell rings and streams of children begin pouring out of their classes.

“Ah, shit,” Dean groans to himself.

Sure enough, a crowd accumulates around Dean as multiple students ask for photos and for him to sign their folders or homework assignments with sharpies and mechanical pencils. Dean chuckles at the students enthusiastic response to his presence that he forgets the reason why he was there in the first place until he felt eyes drill into the back of his head.

Dean straightens his posture and turns around, making eye contact with Castiel over the crowd of students. He strides over to his husband with a bright smile before planting a little kiss on his cheek, causing their audience to gasp and some students begin to scream.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel asks in confusion.

It seemed like the whole school was holding its breath.

“You forgot your lunch,” Dean says as he hands the bag over.

A few girls collectively sigh in the background.

“MR. NOVAK IS DATING THE DEAN WINCHESTER?!”

The students begin screaming again.

“Actually,” Dean clears his throat as the screaming subsides. “Mr. Novak is married to Dean Winchester.”

Castiel covers his bright red face with his hand as Dean grins at the chaos he had created.

“See you at home, angel,” he plants a chaste kiss on Cas’s lips before doing a salute and exiting the school, grinning the whole way back to the impala.

#destiel #deancas #supernatural #fluff #prompt #modern au #wholesome #fanfic #domestic fluff #i want them to be happy dammit #castiel #dean is bi #dean winchester

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polaristranslations · 4 years ago

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Shinobu Mustard Episode 5

036

In the end, Shinobu seemed to have given up on showing off, and thus Araragi Koyomi appeared to have lost the opportunity to show off his skills as an actor.

Once they actually met, such a contrived scheme would have been ridiculous—thinking about it, Suicidemaster was essentially sealed in the form of a little girl, too, so in terms of being a disgrace of a vampire, she was on the same level.

Incidentally, I was using vague wording like "seemed to" and "appeared to" because, along the way, the two little girls had put the humans (including the god that was formerly human) off to the side by beginning to speak in a foreign language—but what language was it, exactly?

Perhaps a language that had been used in one of the many countries that had been destroyed by "Princess Beauty"—regardless, we'd been completely left behind.

However, watching the two little girls act so cheerfully was such a pleasant sight that I couldn't get mad. It felt like the first time I was seeing Shinobu make such expressions, and from what I could tell, Suicidemaster seemed to be warmly greeting her old friend after such a long time. It was possible that some effect of the mummification remained, because she didn't seem to be able to pick herself up off of the rush mat, but her expressiveness made it clear that shew as truly glad to have reunited with Shinobu.

In a way, it was like our hard work had been rewarded—although, I suppose most of it was just me needlessly worrying.

Not to mention, you could say things had gone just as planned.

The interrogation. About the serial vampirism incident.

Assuming Shinobu hadn't forgotten about our original objective...

"They seem pretty happy, and the conversation seems to be going smoothly, so let's leave Hachikuji-chan to be the witness while we humans step away for a moment. Koyomin, come here."

"Huh? Um, no, but, Shinobu is tied to my shadow, so..."

"I set things up so that within the barrier, the two of you can act separately even while maintaining your pairing, so it's fine. Hachikuji-chan, I'll leave it to you."

"Yes, leave it to me!"

Hm? Putting aside the fact that Hachikuji had become a loyal subordinate to a person of power despite being a god, what did she mean?

We could act separately?

I wondered if I could do such a thing—wasn't it like the pairing between Shinobu and me was severed, even if it was in a limited area? And did that mean Gaen-san had anticipated from the beginning that their reunion would go well? To put up such a complex barrier—no, before that.

Regardless of whether it went well, had Gaen-san made plans for Shinobu and I to act separately from the beginning?

I didn't really understand her intentions—but, with Shinobu not introducing me to Suicidemaster as her slave, I couldn't exactly interrupt their conversation (the foreign language courses I chose were English and Spanish. Hola!), I guess I had no choice but to follow Gaen-san. Whatever Gaen-san was planning after recovering from the darkness, or mud, in the hearts of those high school girls, I had better hear about those plans—

"I would've liked it if she could have reunited with Shishirui Seishirou in the same way."

That was what Gaen-san murmured, with her words feeling more meaningful than just light conversation, as she led me through the house. And our destination ended up being Kanbaru's room—she sure knew her way around someone else's home. As expected of the onee-san who knew everything.

She was well aware of the location of her niece's room.

"If you know anything about architecture, you can pretty much tell the layout of the rooms from outside—but this is pretty awful. So, like my sister, Suruga's a messy girl, too."

However, it seemed she'd been surprised by the mess, giving her impressions in a shocked manner as she entered the room.

"I'm sorry. Normally I was supposed to have come and cleaned her room yesterday, but Higasa-chan was there, and if I went and started cleaning in front of her friend, Kanbaru would lose face."

"If that's true, then it's exceedingly mysterious why you would go out of your way to care for Suruga like that, Koyomin. Rather than just Suruga's senior, it's almost like you're her mom."

You're even more motherly than her actual mother, said Gaen-san.

I'd been described in many different ways before, but being described as motherly might be a first for me. But, being compared to the famous Gaen Tooe-san didn't exactly make me happy.

"So, what's the matter, Gaen-san? I know Hachikuji is watching over them, but Shinobu and Miss Suicidemaster—or should I say, Little Miss Suicidemaster? Well, it doesn't really matter, but I do feel a bit uneasy just leaving them on their own."

From the atmosphere around them, it didn't seem like it would suddenly turn into a scene of carnage with them saying "I came to eat you, Shinobu" and "I'll let you eat me" or anything, but I wasn't too optimistic—to get to the point, oddities were oddities because you couldn't predict what they might do in the next instant.

I wanted to return as soon as possible.

"I have two pieces of bad news," said Gaen-san.

With my life as it was, it wasn't too surprising to hear that there was no good news, but for there to be two pieces of bad news.

That was twice the sense of foreboding.

"I'll keep it short. The first is that the last missing member of the girls' basketball team, Kiseki Souwa-chan—her belongings were discovered."

"Her belongings... Just her belongings?"

"Yes. Not just her cell phone and school bag, but her school uniform, gym clothes, and basshoes. Ah, 'basshoes' means..."

"Basketball shoes. I've read 'Slam Dunk', too, so I know what it means. But... Finding only her belongings but not the girl herself...?"

I wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing that her mummy hadn't been discovered yet, but the fact that only her belongings were found was certainly bad news—or, perhaps not bad, but ominous.

In the same way you can't start a particularly pleasant story with a school bag being abandoned by the road—I could only assume that something had happened to Kiseki-chan.

"Where were they discovered? In her room, or...?"

Remembering that the second mummy, Honnou Aburi-chan, had been discovered in her room, I brought up the location that would be least discomforting for her belongings to be discovered.

"That's a good line of thought," said Gaen-san. "Where they were discovered was in the gymnasium of Naoetsu High, in a locker in the girls' locker room."

"The girls' locker room...?"

"Don't react to the thought of the girls' locker room. No need to worry, I had a female investigator perform the search."

"It wasn't like I was wondering why you hadn't sent me to perform that task."

Regardless of whether they were male or female, Gaen-san had already crossed a line at the moment she sent an outsider into the school—she was always this sort of person, I suppose.

Alternatively, perhaps there was a student currently attending Naoetsu High that held a connection to Gaen-san, like me last year—it was certainly a possibility.

"More precisely, it's the girls' locker room exclusively used by the girls' basketball team. Each member is provided with their own locker."

The girls' basketball team sure was treated favorably.

If there was stuff like that, I guess it could be pretty hard to quit.

It was all thanks to Kanbaru's achievements, and I couldn't deny that the rest of the athletic department was a bit sloppy—but, in that case, though it wasn't as good as her own room, her locker wasn't all that discomforting to find her belongings in, right?

"In the first place, even if your subordinate managed to invade the girls' locker room, how did they manage to unlock her personal locker?"

"Koyomin, the fact that you think of invading the girls' locker room as completely natural is something I love about you. The personal lockers have combination locks, you see. From the register of names that you borrowed from the previous captain—a treasure trove of personal information—I was able to deduce the combination."

Even if she didn't use her date of birth, it wasn't as important as a bank account password or anything, so I figured she'd use a number associated with her personal information—said Gaen-san, as if it was something obvious to her.

Leaking personal information was pretty scary.

"Using that same approach, I tried to crack the passwords of the cell phones owned by the first three mummies, but unfortunately, that didn't go as well."

"Well, it would certainly be more secure than a locker. Not to mention, if you get it wrong too many times, it could erase all the data inside—but, putting that aside, how should we evaluate this discovery? Isn't it normal to find one's uniform or gym clothes in their locker?"

"If it's 'uniform or gym clothes', then yes."

That was what Gaen-san said.

"But if it's 'uniform and gym clothes', then that's very strange indeed. Was Kiseki-chan going home naked when she went missing? It would be a big deal, even if she wasn't mummified."

A big deal...

Even if she revered Kanbaru, she probably wouldn't do anything like go streaking (not even Kanbaru had done that. She was all talk, no action).

"It seems unlikely she had a spare uniform or gym clothes, either. It wasn't as messy as this room, but the belongings had been stuffed in the locker pretty sloppily—as if they were getting in the way and thus disposed of."

It was possible that Kiseki-chan was just bad at keeping things in order, but there was another interpretation—the person responsible for attacking her had roughly crammed Kiseki-chan's belongings into her locker in order to hide the evidence.

Not the person responsible.

But perhaps—the demon responsible.

"Thanks to your reconnaissance, Koyomin, it ended up occurring in the opposite order, but if Kiseki Souwa-chan's mummy had been found first, stripped of all her belongings, it would have been quite an ordeal to try and identify her... In other words, it would have been quite an ordeal to try and resolve this case."

"Is it like how, in mystery novels, the culprit destroys the victim's face and fingerprints?"

When the victims were mummified, you couldn't tell the difference.

As long as there was no blood relation like with Shinobu and Suicidemaster... As long as there was no bond, unbreakable even over six hundred years.

"But it's a little strange. Why is it that they did such a shoddy cover-up job for only Kiseki-chan?"

"It wasn't shoddy, it was malicious. Her cell phone had, of course, been turned off—for items that were shoved in so roughly, the culprit was very attentive to detail. And the fact that a vampire was able to enter the school makes it extremely dangerous for the girls' basketball team."

"......"

That was true—it was an alarming situation.

Although I wasn't sure if that was something that the specialist that had entered the school in the same way should say.

"However, to do such a cover-up job, they wouldn't just need to enter the school—they'd need to be able to open Kiseki-chan's personal locker, right? It may be possible for another member of the girls' basketball team that shares the locker room with her, but I don't think an outsider vampire would have been able to open the locker, wouldn't you say?"

The suspicion on the remaining members of the girls' basketball team had already been cleared—how had that "attentive" vampire unlocked that locker?

A combination lock. A password.

How could you open and close that without breaking it?

Gaen-san's response was clear.

"They spoke with the locker's owner. They had to have heard it from her."

They had to have heard it from her.

There was no other way.

"And then, if I were to presume the reason that the cover-up job was only done for Kiseki-chan, I would arrive at a rather unpleasant conclusion, Koyomin. Basically, it would mean that the fact that we were using the mummies' belongings to identify them has been leaked."

"Ah."

"There's a high chance that our information is being exposed to the vampire."

Rather than bad news.

It was the worst possible news.

037

Despite my apprehensions about leaking the girls' personal information, there ended up being a high probability that information regarding our investigation had been leaked, which came as a shock—but the worst news was yet to come.

Earlier, I had likened the culprit's actions to destroying the victim's face or fingerprints in a mystery novel—but could you even take the fingerprints of a mummy? That was what came to mind, so I asked Gaen-san.

The response was a simple "no".

"It's just like how we can't distinguish between their faces. They're just skin and bones, after all. If we could accurately get their fingerprints, then we could've used them for cell phones with fingerprint locks, though."

That's right, in this day and age, fingerprints were also a mass of personal information in that sense, as well—however, coincidentally or otherwise, my question happened to connect to the second piece of bad news that Gaen-san wanted to convey to me by temporarily severing the pairing between Shinobu and me.

"Speaking of a mass of personal information, there's DNA analysis."

That was what Gaen-san said.

"However, we certainly wouldn't be able to do that—if we tried to analyze genes that had undergone vampirification in a hospital, that in itself would be considered a strange disease. It would turn into a panic."

"Yes, of course. That's why I've avoided going to hospitals and getting physical examinations."

"On the other hand, it doesn't mean that the analysis of vampire genes in itself is impossible. We've managed to analyze the DNA of the four mummies discovered so far, rough as it was."

"Hm? Um... What does that mean, exactly?"

"Originally, it was done for the sake of identifying whether all four of them were done in by the same culprit. Considering all the possibilities, it's not necessarily the case that the same vampire attacked all four high school girls, right? You could even come up with the theory that there were four, or perhaps even five, vampires that had visited this town."

What an insane theory.

Especially in this town, which had become overrun with monsters during the absence of a god.

"So, um, what were the results? Don't tell me..."

"Ah, to start with the conclusion, all four mummies had their blood sucked by the same vampire—they're all, so to speak, thralls of the same vampire."

It must be like a DNA test done to determine parentage.

Perhaps, as a result of corporate efforts, the world of oddities has also advanced.

Like Hitagi, who kept going to the hospital because of her symptoms from the omoshi-gani, perhaps one day oddity phenomena will end up being simply a rare disease capable of being treated.

"Then, there's no reason to change our plan of action, right?"

"Rather than not changing, at this rate we're going back to the starting point."

Gaen-san said as she folded her arms.

"The problem is that those vampire genes were a pretty close match to Suicidemaster's genes, which I collected last night."

A DNA test to determine parentage.

Gathering evidence based on corporate efforts.

"......"

That—was bad. No, it wasn't that bad, but the reason Deathtopia Virtuoso Suicidemaster had been listed as the prime suspect was primarily because of circumstantial evidence and process of elimination—the cryptic message that had been left at the scene of the crime, and the fact that she had come to this town with such perfect timing.

However, DNA analysis was a completely different beast in terms of evidence. In the modern judicial system, it was like the king of evidence, brought out as a trump card.

"That's a dangerous way of thinking about it. There are plenty of examples of DNA analysis having failed, and it's a field with plenty of room for development. Not to mention, human error is something that's unavoidable—treating it as the king of evidence could mean it ends up a hotbed for false accusations."

That was true. It was too early to decide.

Even Gaen-san had been careful enough to word it "a pretty close match"—and, even if Miss Suicidemaster and the four mummies' genes were a match, logically, the vampire genes of Shinobu or me would also be "a pretty close match".

A parent-child relationship—from Suicidemaster's perspective, I was essentially her "grandchild"... Although, right now, Shinobu and I didn't exactly have any bloodsucking abilities...

"Right, so, it's a fact that the suspicion on Suicidemaster has gotten stronger, so the implication of tonight's interrogation has changed—no matter what that little girl says, we're going to have to secure her. That's why I set up this special barrier, although I'd also like to avoid it turning into a battle if possible. Putting aside me being a pacifist, even if it may be easy to exterminate the starved, weakened Suicidemaster, I don't know how the now-cooperative Shinobu might react to that chain of events—and not knowing how Shinobu might react means not knowing how you might react, Koyomin."

"Um, I probably wouldn't—"

But I didn't exactly know myself well enough to speak at that moment. And last night, I had lost quite a lot of trust, so that would make what I said even less convincing.

"...Even if Suicidemaster, that anorexic vampire, let hunger get the better of her and started laying hands on every high school girl in the area... If we manage to return all the mummified girls back to normal, would she end up not being judged for this incident?"

In the first place, oddities couldn't be judged based on human laws. Even if I couldn't expect her to be certified harmless, couldn't we be flexible enough to let her go in secret...? Although that still left a problem that couldn't be ignored...

"Once a bear has gotten a taste of humans, you have no choice but to kill it—it depends on how much you subscribe to that opinion. In a way, Suicidemaster has been on a diet for six hundred years. Ever since you became a vampire, Koyomin, you've probably never needed to diet, but once you break a fast, you end up on an incredible rebound—you end up eating mountains and drinking oceans."

"But—"

"There's no need to rush, Koyomin. I may have started with the conclusion, but I don't want you to jump to conclusions. There's still evidence to negate the theory that Suicidemaster was responsible for the crime—even if we put aside how much of Shinobu-chan's testimony to believe, there's still the strange idea that an ancient vampire that had lived for a thousand years snuck into the girls' locker room and messed with the lockers. How probable would you say that is?"

It was as she said—and, in the same vein, the attempt to delay the discovery of the fourth mummy, Kanguu-chan, by submerging her in the reservoir was also a weird trick unbecoming of a traditional oddity.

And, under that theory (strange idea?), there was still no explanation for why Suicidemaster herself had turned into a mummy.

There was no logic to her cryptobiosis.

Nothing fit together.

While the suspicion grew stronger, the credibility faded.

In the end, the air of tension had abruptly increased, and there was still no change in the fact that we had to hear from the vampire herself—and it was as I thought that...

"My master."

From behind the sliding door that I'd closed earlier, Shinobu's voice spoke.

"Suicidemaster wants to speak with you. Will you talk with her?"

038

"I'm the death-prepared, death-inevitable, death-certain vampire, Deathtopia Virtuoso Suicidemaster. You may approach."

It seemed she'd managed to get up, for she was now sitting down on a stone in the rock garden of the Japanese mansion. She greeted me with quite the ghastly smile, not caring about the white clothing that had fallen open when she'd broken the seals earlier. I'd thought this earlier when they were exchanging their roar of laughter, but it seemed the characteristic smile of Shinobu, or Kissshot Acerolaorion Heartunderblade, was apparently something that was inherited from her progenitor who birthed and named her.

Or perhaps, since they were both golden-haired and golden-eyed, their impressions were similar... However, though they were both little girls, though they had the same expressions, it probably wasn't just my imagination that led me to feel that she didn't resemble Shinobu all that much.

Rather than not resembling Shinobu.

I suppose you could say she resembled Shinobu from the past.

That was how easygoing and worldly this vampire had become over the past year—and Suicidemaster must have felt it as well.

"N-nice to meet you. I am Araragi Koyomi. Erm..."

How was I supposed to introduce myself?

Even though I didn't have to pretend to be a slave, it didn't mean I should be honest and explain the situation as-is—it surely wasn't just putting on airs when Shinobu had feared that I might be blown to death if she learned of the situation in which Shinobu had been sealed in my shadow and turned into a slave.

How much of it had Shinobu explained in that foreign language of hers...? In the first place, did she understand it if I introduced myself in Japanese? Judging from her own introduction, she seemed pretty proficient at it...

"I didn't live such a long life for nothing. I've learned most languages by now."

Ooh.

That was something I wanted to tell Meniko about.

"Conversing with your food is one of the fundamentals of a good meal."

...I definitely couldn't tell her about that.

And please don't say something that made you even more suspicious—even though there was some distance, Gaen-san, the administrator of the specialists, was still over there, sitting on the porch of the mansion with Hachikuji.

The value system of food, huh?

Well, even though humans can live just fine on a vegetarian diet, they still go through the trouble of raising and eating meat not "to live" but "because it tastes good", so I couldn't exactly say anything haughtily.

Taking the wrong logic would probably lead us to the conclusion that plants, living on photosynthesis with sunlight and water, lead the most ethically noble lifestyle.

But, you know, something about her character seemed chic compared to her juvenile appearance. It was pretty dashing the way she wore her white clothing like a gown or a robe, and, well, at the age of six, she wasn't that different from a boy of the same age.

The genuine vampire, the ancient vampire.

What a dandy.

With that in mind, her open white clothing seemed more like a cape than a gown or robe—the little girl held a charisma that made me want to kneel, in a way different from how I felt with "Princess Acerola".

"No need to humble yourself. I won't bite you."

What a fancy figure of speech.

On top of that, the way she said "you [kisama]" was a nice touch. I wasn't offended at all—this little girl was like a cluster of dandyism. I'd thought of myself as an expert on little girls, but it seemed there was a type like this, too.

"I called you here to give you my thanks—well, not just that, but first, my thanks."

"Th-thanks...?"

"For several things. First off, for reviving me after I'd died—and, even before that, for reviving my former thrall, Kissshot Acerolaorion Heartunderblade."

I give you my thanks.

Said the little girl, bowing her head—even the way she lowered her head was cool. If she was like this in the form of a little girl, how much charisma could she have had in her heyday?

Or rather, if she so straightforwardly thanked me like this, then it felt like I was beaten to the punch—she'd splendidly gotten the drop on me.

Even though I'd approached this face-to-face meeting with suspicions in mind—and when I looked to Shinobu for help...

"Well, I've more or less told her everything."

That was her curt response.

No, rather than curt, Shinobu herself seemed to be a bit bewildered.

"However, it was a bit meaningless. I myself haven't exactly grasped the full extent of the situation. At this point, I figured it would be better to have you participate, my master, rather than just talking between us two."

At any rate, she's denied the suspicion of being the culprit behind the serial vampirism incidents, said Shinobu, as if tacking that on at the end—but was that something you should just tack on?

That's like the crux of the crux of things.

Despite my disorientation, Suicidemaster continued.

"Though she was a thrall, Princess Acerola—Kissshot—soon became manager of her own branch. She became independent from me. It's kind of uncool to come crashing in like this as if I were her guardian, but I couldn't stay in hiding when I heard a rumor that she had been exterminated in this country. I just wanted to make sure that she was okay—although she doesn't exactly look okay, but I'm glad she's still alive. In any case, I'm glad I could see her again."

"Uh-huh—"

After six hundred years of no communication, it seemed like a fitting reason for her to come see her at this timing—but with her answering my question before I could ask it, she'd beaten me to the punch again.

Two moves in a row.

That wasn't exactly fair, was it?

In any case, Suicidemaster said that she was worried about Shinobu's safety and came all the way to this country, beating her old bones, to see how she was doing.

It wasn't that she came to dine on Shinobu as gourmet food at all—

"Hmph. I'd thought you'd died, too."

Shinobu spoke bitterly, but she didn't seem all that mad about it.

If it was true that she became manager of her own branch (a phrase that surely sounded strange because she was forcing herself to use Japanese, although it probably wasn't a mistranslation), then it seemed likely that what existed between them wasn't a master-servant relationship, but a friendship.

Friends that could talk to each other and laugh together on equal terms.

Thanks to my relationship with Meniko, I can more or less understand how important that is—there's no room for doubt that I have friendships with Hanekawa, Hachikuji, and Kanbaru, but I couldn't help but feel that our friendships were tied down by love and hate, or by advantages and disadvantages, or out of the obligations of this transient world.

The best example of this would be my childhood friend, Oikura, but even if our friendship were to end, there would still be the sense that we were inextricably linked.

But the strange thing about human relations is that it's not really desirable to break off relations, like what happened with Sengoku.

"Well, that wasn't the only reason. Even though I'd learned Japanese, I had never actually been to Japan, see. So I wanted to get a look at Mount Fuji."

"What a blatant lie!"

Shinobu sounded as if she was amazed, but look—you told the same lie last year.

A parent-child relationship—a parent-child determination.

"......"

"So, I had a favor to ask of you, former thrall of the former Heartunderblade. I've already confirmed Kissshot's safety, and I'd like to go back to my hideout right about now, but I heard there's something fishy going on. So I was wondering, you think you can help me get out of this country?"

I wondered if she was thinking of the current situation as if she messed up the departure procedures for her destination. Well, that would be a pretty serious situation, too.

"'Specially since there seems to be this scary lady glaring at me," said Suicidemaster, glancing in Gaen-san's direction—but she wasn't a scary lady, but an onee-san that knew everything.

It made for quite the visualization of this interrogation.

"Oh yeah, speaking of scary ladies in this country—nah, that's not important right now. So, how about it? Former thrall of the former Heartunderblade?"

I wasn't sure about how she called me that.

I never thought that she would come ask me for help in fleeing the country... But if Gaen-san wasn't making any move to interrupt, did that mean we should continue with this clumsy conversation?

"I gotta say, I'm pretty happy. Since that 'Princess Beauty' ended up finding her ideal prince and getting her happy ending. But now that I'm here, I figured I'd take this chance to see what that prince can do—how about it? Won't you help me out for a bit?"

Won't you help me out?

Araragi-kun was weak to those words.

The tragedy of my high school years could be said to have all started with those words, and in the end, even Ougi-chan took advantage of them.

However, since then, I'd grown just a little bit (specifically, about a year)—I knew that there were things I could do and things I couldn't.

Even if my girlfriend called me a prince, I knew for sure that I wasn't one.

"Don't say something so embarrassing!"

Shinobu was acting bashful with an unusual level of excitement. What's with that casual language?

Where'd your usual character go off to?

"...A friend of Shinobu's is a friend of mine, so I'm willing to help—but before that, there's something I'd like to make clear. There's something that I absolutely need to make clear—"

She'd called it fishy, but she surely wasn't so uninvolved as to describe it like that—how should I ask this?

If she'd already denied the charges to Shinobu, then it would be pointless to ask her the same thing—should I change my approach, then?

She may have already talked to Shinobu about this, too...

"Suicidemaster. How did you end up turning into a mummy and getting buried in the dirt? An existence as great as yourself."

I didn't really know Suicidemaster well enough to describe her as a great existence (I'd only just heard of her yesterday), but as the progenitor who birthed and named the King of Oddities, it was enough to make me revere her.

Fundamentally...

"Ka ka. I can't say I know how I ended up in the dirt. I figure someone went and buried me on their own."

"Someone..."

"Turning into a mummy? That's a bit easier to explain. I haven't told Kissshot about that yet, either."

Was that so? I looked to Shinobu to confirm, and she responded, "Ah, yes, that's right." Maybe you'd gotten a bit too excited, but if you take such a lazy approach to this interrogation, which was the original goal, then that would be bothersome.

But, well, I guess it was to be expected.

As vampires, where death was a regular occurrence and life was of little importance, the question of "why were you dead" could possibly be too fundamental to be discussed.

Like her catchphrase, "Somehow or other, it seems I've died again"—or perhaps like the nickname, death-prepared, death-inevitable, death-certain vampire—for Suicidemaster, dying was not at all anything major.

That was how I understood it, but.

"Despite having lived for a thousand years, that may have been the first time I died like that, as far as I can remember."

I couldn't help but react to that comment—that was pretty major.

"Wh-what do you mean? What—what was the cause of death?"

Asking the victim directly about their cause of death was what you'd only see in spirit medium-like mysteries, but as I acted that out in real life, Suicidemaster responded pompously.

"Food poisoning."

"F—food poisoning?"

"Yeah. I ate something weird. Let's see, in Japanese..."

Said Suicidemaster.

"I guess you would call that type of food, a high school girl?"

039

"I guess it was like a week ago?

"The unit of time differs from region to region, and, as an ancient vampire, it's the same to me whether it's a week ago or a thousand years ago.

"So I dunno if it was a week ago or a thousand years ago—but anyway, a week ago.

"That was when I arrived at this town. The rumored Far East island country, Japan—huh, is 'Far East island country' not a compliment?

"Either way, I think it's a big deal when things are taken too far.

"I came to check on the safety of the legend I gave rise to, Kissshot Acerolaorion Heartunderblade, so it was pretty hilarious that I couldn't ensure my own safety as soon as I arrived.

"Since I failed to land and shattered.

"Somehow or other, it seemed I'd died again.

"But for me, there was something that shocked me more than the fact that I died—according to the god that came out to welcome me, there'd been some kind of barrier that'd been put up.

"A barrier to protect the town.

"They say, 'Devils out! Fortune in!' as part of the traditions of this country, right? Ka ka, 'Devils out', huh—that's a pretty tough greeting for a vampire.

"But that barrier wasn't the reason I'd broken into pieces, y'know? My certain death, my thousandth, millionth, billionth, or trillionth death was self-destruction from a failed landing.

"Happens pretty often.

"I dunno if that barrier set up by that god was something that she took over from someone or whatever, but it's not anything with any offensive power—just an interfering barrier that makes you lost.

"In a sense, it's a pretty nasty barrier compared to the aggressive type of barrier which is easier to understand, but the problem is that that nastiness didn't work on me at all.

"The security.

"The metal detector at the entry gate, if you will.

"Didn't respond at all to this Deathtopia Virtuoso Suicidemaster—in other words, it didn't even take me as a threat.

"Yeah.

"It wasn't like I came into this country by breaking through a strong barrier with my tremendous power—it was because I didn't have that tremendous power that I managed to slip into this country.

"Never thought I would end up being this weak.

"Growing old sucks, huh?

"I didn't even notice it right away. Kind of a bother that I couldn't really feel the symptoms—like some old man who doesn't realize he's old. Especially when that causes problems for others.

"As I was undergoing an immigration check by that god over there, I belatedly realized what I looked like.

"I've heard rumors that Japanese people have baby faces even as they age, but the gods of this country were really this young, was what I thought, excited beyond my years to experience the exotic cultural differences. But there was something wrong.

"Compared to the young god.

"I was even younger—the tough and cool me was shorter, with a thinner torso, smaller hands, thinner arms, shorter eggs, and a lighter body.

"If there was anything that was long, it would be my hair.

"So that's what it was.

"You don't notice changes in yourself until you talk to someone else, until you use them as a mirror—and I've been living in hiding for a long time.

"Not that vampires show up in mirrors. So that wasn't good, either.

"While I was dying uncontrollably and running from vicious vampire hunters, it seemed that I was driven to the point where I couldn't maintain my perfect body, even in appearance.

"Somehow or other, it seemed I'd regressed into a younger form.

"Before worrying about Kissshot, I needed to worry about myself, first—wasn't it like I was the one on the verge of death, here?

"According to the god's meaningful navigation instructions, the legendary vampire whom I named Kissshot Acerolaorion Heartunderblade was indeed in this town, but if I were to see her in this state, I would only end up worrying her instead of renewing our old friendship."

"I had a trauma.

"A trauma of letting my once beloved thrall die after making them worry—not to mention I was also in a young form at the time.

"Ka ka.

"It's ironic that an old vampire, who has stubbornly refused to kill herself, should take on a younger form after living for so long—no matter how many thousand years I live to see history repeat itself, I don't think I want to repeat my mistakes.

"That's just me being cool, though.

"To describe it using the words of this language, it would be 'putting on airs'.

"I held pride in having lived for a thousand years—I held pride in being a progenitor that birthed and named my thrall. Saying I didn't want to worry her was just a figure of speech.

"Basically.

"I wanted to put on airs.

"I didn't want to disappoint my bud that I'd reunited with after six hundred years—I didn't want her to think, 'she's changed', but I didn't want her to think, 'she's the same as ever'.

"I just wanted her to think this.

"'That's my friend for you.'

"That was what I wanted.

"Now that we've met like this and the punch line was that we'd both taken on young forms, it's obvious how unnecessary trial and error such a thing was, but I was very serious at the time.

"Tough, cool, and serious.

"Of course, I'm making it sound like it was a crazy long time ago, but it was just a week ago—a week ago indistinguishable from a thousand years ago.

"At the very least I thought I'd come in full dress for the occasion, at least on the surface level—even if I couldn't show up in a complete form, I thought I would at least try to dress up.

"That's why.

"I made a move on the local food here.

"I bared my fangs—at a high school girl."

040

Wasn't this different from what she said earlier? Hadn't Suicidemaster denied that she was the culprit in the serial vampirism incident?

Plus, didn't she suffer from anorexia, unable to take in any other "food" after being entranced by the taste of the food known as "Princess Beauty" six hundred years ago?

Wasn't it that she turned from a mature woman into a little girl because of malnutrition, not because she got older? —Those were the question marks running through my mind.

However, I couldn't say anything.

I couldn't interject into Suicidemaster's narration—and Shinobu stayed silent as well.

What was she thinking. What was she deciding?

To stick with humans, or to stick with oddities.

Was she thinking about that?

Or perhaps, was she still believing in her friend's innocence, even after such a grand confession?

So innocently?

Though it was natural that Hachikuji, a neutral and mediating god, did not interfere here, it was a bit surprising that Gaen-san remained seated on the porch, not moving—with this confession, you would think that it would confirm Suicidemaster's guilt and allow for concrete measures to be taken immediately.

In the end, although we considered various things like if she knew about prime numbers or if she would be able to cover up a crime, but the bottom line was that it was Occam's razor and that ancient vampire was the culprit—was that just the uninteresting truth?

No matter how many question marks danced through my mind, were there any major points of doubt left before the current confession that deserved special mention? Was it right to take the results of the DNA test and the "B777Q" message as they were?

She bared her fangs at a high school girl.

For the sake of putting on airs.

Suicidemaster's nonchalant attitude as she told me that was something that was familiar to me—needless to the say, it was the same attitude that Kissshot Acerolaorion Heartunderblade had during that hellish spring break that I spent.

The fact that they were both trying to make themselves look good for the other party made it sound like a fairy tale with a moral lesson, and I could see how that might be an example of like attracts like, but when it came to the similarity in their lack of guilt, it wasn't as funny.

During that spring break, that King of Oddities had no qualms about feeding on humans—she even thought that humans were born to be eaten by vampires.

The top of the food chain.

The apex, far above us.

Insensitive to the point that she didn't even consider unabashedly speaking like that insensitive—but as far as Suicidemaster was concerned, it would be not only insensitive but also suicidal to make a speech in front of us here, in the name of confession.

A suicidal act.

A vampire with suicidal tendencies.

That was also familiar to me.

It was memory fresh in my mind—it would never fade.

Even if a year or a thousand years passed, it would never fade.

Without guilt, without shame, but rather with pride—Suicidemaster continued.

041

"I went down the mountain where that god lived, and I set my sights on a high school girl walking alone at night—to be honest, anyone would do.

"They were emergency rations.

"Yeah, yeah, of course I know. That way of thinking was opportunistic—really, growing old sucks. I understand why you're silent here, Kissshot—were you disappointed at my way of thinking?

"If you ask me if I really wanted to bend my policy as a gourmet just to make myself look good, I can only say that I really did at the time.

"That's why I incurred a punishment.

"If I was going to throw away my policy anyway, I should have thrown it away completely, but I stubbornly clung to my pride as a gourmet.

"Because I still thought in my head that they were just rations for the sake of emergency, I failed to carefully inspect my food.

"I figured I'd eat noncommittally, halfheartedly, without being choosy—if I chose, it would make it seem like that food was 'special' to me, y'know?

"I didn't want that.

"But even though I didn't want that, I also didn't want to eat something reluctantly—the ideal scenario would be the food jumping in when I opened my mouth, so that I had an excuse to eat food not in accordance with my will, not measuring up to my level, and not consistent with my beliefs.

"Yes, former thrall of the former Heartunderblade. Just as you treated me to the soup from the Blood Pond Hell—I heard that's how you 'reverted' me, isn't that right? You have a complex expression on your face.

"Well, once you've tasted nectar like from six hundred years ago, you can't hope for anything better—no matter what you eat, it's bound to be tasteless.

"Once you know the best of the best, there's nothing you can do but settle for less—I knew that, but I couldn't help but still obsess over it.

"So, even it was for the sake of dressing up, if I went about choosing my food, I would inevitably compare it to 'Princess Beauty'.

"I guess it was also putting on airs to try and minimize the angle at which I bent my policy? I wonder if it's like getting old and trying to straighten out your bent back?

"Well, whatever it was, in hindsight, I didn't exactly have much respect for my food.

"In this country, you have table manners where you say 'Thanks for the meal' and 'It was delicious', right? I just don't really get those, y'see.

"There isn't a phrase that makes me less thankful than 'Thanks for the meal'... And saying 'It was delicious' is practically the opposite of delicious.

"That was what I thought.

"Just didn't understand feeling gratitude towards my food—or the idea that it's great to eat with gratitude, that it's impolite to leave leftovers, or that we shouldn't kill living things for reasons other than eating them.

"Originally, at its best, eating is supposed to be an act of toying with life—it's entertainment.

"So that's why, for me.

"Eating wasn't living.

"Eating was loving.

"At that time, I should have said 'Thanks for the meal'. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. That was what I should have done.

"Nevertheless, in an unprincipled way.

"I sank my teeth into a high school girl as if I was sampling food, like a dieter saying, 'This doesn't really count as eating, okay?'—and so I incurred a punishment.

"The result was food poisoning.

"Thanks to the poison of that high school girl.

"Somehow or other, it seemed I'd died again."

042

...Huh? What the heck?

Her story had ended so quickly that my comprehension couldn't keep up—to that heavily thematic and therefore weary downer of a story, what had the punch line been again?

Food poisoning?

Was she saying that the blood of Japanese high school girls wasn't suited to her constitution? Just like how travel guidebooks always have it written down somewhere whether or not you can drink water at your destination—whether it's soft water or hard water, unboiled water or drinking water...

Of course, there was also the simple fact that if you suddenly eat something right after starving yourself, you can get sick from it. There have been cases where people have suddenly eaten meat right after dieting, causing an upset stomach—or, in the worst-case scenario, stomach rupture—

Or perhaps.

The high school girls' poison. Mud. Murky.

Even Gaen-san, hardened by years of experience, had been brought down a notch by the murky depths of the girls' basketball team of Naoetsu High, but could that murkiness have come through in their blood, yet another mass of personal information? That's exactly what the Japanese would call, "affected by toxicity"—that murkiness.

Was it in their blood, too?

All of this was just conjecture, and it was probably a complication caused by a multitude of reasons—the explanation that should not be forgotten is that, no matter what country, what shape, what type of non-toxic food, blood or flesh, Suicidemaster's body simply could not accept any other human besides "Princess Beauty".

Rejection. Anorexia.

That in itself was fine.

That in itself, along with ethics, could be put aside for now—in that case, it would end up that Suicidemaster desiccated immediately after biting into a high school girl.

Falling into cryptobiosis.

It would end up that she turned into a mummy.

Though there was some embellishment in her talking about herself, it didn't seem like she was lying... But wasn't there something weird about that?

There were four, perhaps even five victims.

But if she turned into a mummy the very first time, then the serial nature gets cut off—the serial nature?

Serial nature?

Shinobu had said that Suicidemaster had denied being the culprit of the 'serial vampirism incidents', if I remembered correctly—but that would mean?

"...Oops. Even this onee-san that knows everything has lost her edge."

Gaen-san's voice came like a downer from where she sat.

"In this state, I won't be able to look good to my juniors. I swear I'll never call myself 'Gaen THE Know-It-All Izuko' again."

Er, it's not like you've ever called yourself by that bizarre name before.

What's with that 'THE'?

"If I was going to use as a basis the idea of turning into a mummy after failing to become a vampire, I should have kept in mind the possibility of turning into a mummy after performing the act of vampirism—I'd known about it, but examples of such are pretty valuable."

Basis [kichou] and valuable [kichou].

To that usage of homophones, our visitor from abroad raised her golden eyebrows curiously, but I felt similarly—what did she mean?

It didn't really help if you figured it out first.

Even if the cause of her mummification was food poisoning, didn't that just add to the number of mysteries?... What was going on?

At least, I understood the circumstances that led to her mummification.

There are two reasons why you want to eat something. Because you like it, and because you hate it—and there are two reasons why you don't want to eat something—because you like it, and because you hate it.

Both were wise sayings from Hachikuji Mayoi, but for that reason, that's why Suicidemaster went for whatever she could lay her hands on, without being particular or fussy about what she chose.

She went for whatever she could lay her hands on, in a manner quite unbefitting of a gourmet—not to mention, not counting her consumption as a "meal", like the wisdom of a dieter.

Well, you could say the moral to this story was that such cunning wisdom comes at a price, just like in dieting—however, the mystery of who buried Suicidemaster in the mountain after she fell victim to food poisoning and became mummified via cryptobiosis was never fully resolved.

Though I'm sure Suicidemaster herself felt like she wanted to climb into a hole, who was it that literally put that vampire that failed to suck blood underground?

Who was it that buried her alive?

"The high school girls that became mummified after failing to become vampires—the vampire that became mummified after failing in her vampirism—if I were to add one more pattern to this."

It would be a high school girl that succeeded in becoming a vampire.

That was what the administrator of the specialists said as she stood up.

"I finally understood the reason the series of crimes didn't seem to fit together—it wasn't just one vampire master. Along the way, the vampire was replaced by another."

"R—replaced?"

In mysteries—and this wasn't just limited to Ellery Queen—there were tricks that were considered fair... But I thought having multiple crimes was considered unfair?

And it wasn't like vampires were coming to this town in droves, not to mention there was the results of the DNA test that I'd just heard about—ah.

Late as it was, I finally arrived at understanding.

Upon realizing what the conclusion was, I realized it could only be that—a replacement, a substitution.

Until just the day before yesterday, I hadn't really thought about what would have happened if I had failed to become a vampire, and for some reason at some point, I had assumed that all vampirism had failed in this specific, unusual case—but of course, there was a case where that wasn't for certain.

The case where they succeeded.

The case where, even if the vampire master became a mummy as a result—the thrall was still alive and well.

In other words, if you consider that the high school girl, who was arbitrarily bitten by Suicidemaster the moment that they met, continued on to bite the other high school girls afterwards, then that resolves the strangeness of the crimes not fitting together.

It's no wonder that the DNA test resulted in a "pretty close match"—if it's a parent-child relationship or a descendant relationship, then of course the vampire genes would match.

Whether it was heaven or paradise, as a person who tasted Princess Acerola's saliva in that place, I had to say that it was extremely unnatural how lacking in etiquette it seemed for a gourmet vampire who had experienced the same taste to go on to target only the youth of Japan. But if it was a high school girl targeting other high school girls, it made perfect sense—no.

It wasn't just a high school girl targeting other high school girls.

If it was a member of the girls' basketball team targeting other members of the girls' basketball team—it made even more sense.

I could think of any number of motives—their murkiness.

Spartan training. Peer pressure. Frustration. Envy. Rivalry. Punishment. Disharmony. Collective responsibility. Discord. Suspicion. Paranoia. Injuries. Stress. Unease. Academic decline—

"Eh? But, wait just a moment, Araragi-san. Hasn't the suspicion on the girlsbas been cleared up already? Have you already forgotten my distinguished contribution as intermediary for your phone call?"

"Hachiku-jin, it would be troublesome if you went that far to take responsibility for acting as intermediary for my phone call."

True. That was true.

Using the list as a reference, Gaen-san had already confirmed the safety and innocence of every member of the girls' basketball team—on top of safeguarding each of the hundred members, they were also supervising them.

However.

There must really be something wrong with me, to not have realized until now that there was one member of the girls' basketball team that was not being supervised—Kiseki Souwa.

I'd more or less assumed that the "missing person", as Kanbaru had described it, had also fallen victim to the vampire, but even if that had been the truth.

That didn't necessarily mean that she'd been mummified.

Perhaps, she had succeeded in becoming a vampire—and perhaps, in the darkness of the night, she may be seeking revenge on her former human friends.

043

The ups and downs of realizing that the girl I'd been worried about was actually the vicious assailant of her teammates made for a bumpy ride for my weak mind, but if I were to give up everything now, I wouldn't be able to say I'd grown since my spring break at seventeen or Golden Week at eighteen.

For now, let's pretend that I'm a tough guy that can handle a full revolution on a roller coaster, and sort this out.

Kiseki Souwa.

If I remembered correctly, she was a second-year—of course, even though her name was on the list, she had already gone missing, so unlike the other members of the club, there was no confirmation of her safety. If anything, they were still out there looking for her mummy.

But they wouldn't be able to find it.

If that mummy didn't exist.

How do you account for the uniform, gym clothes, cell phone, and school bag stuffed into the personal locker in the girls' locker room of the Naoetsu High gymnasium?

If she was the one who stuffed everything into the locker herself, then breaking into the school and into the girls' locker room would be a piece of cake—she would use her own route and unlock her own door with her own hands.

If the information on our side of the investigation had been leaked, and if she knew that Gaen-san's team was out looking for Kiseki-chan's mummy, then she could have tried to disrupt the investigation by shoving those personal items into her own locker—even though there was no way to find the mummy itself because it wasn't there, by shoving the uniform and gym clothes in at the same time, the search target pretended as if the damage had already been done.

By fabricating the assumption that she had already become a mummy, she would be able to move as she pleased—and in that case, that would apply to the two living messages, or signatures, that I had asked Meniko to decipher.

"D/V/S". "F/C".

Deathtopia Virtuoso Suicidemaster, and Fan Club—those interpretations of the code were probably right on the mark, but in the end, they were just fakes set up by Kiseki-chan.

When Kiseki-chan had her blood sucked by Suicidemaster, not like a moth to a flame but a high school girl to a vampire's mouth, Suicidemaster would naturally have given her name—as she did to me, she would have given her name as "Deathtopia Virtuoso Suicidemaster".

In other words, Kiseki-chan remembered the name of the vampire that attacked her—and, assuming she was the one to bury and hide Suicidemaster's mummy in the mountains.

Her scheme was to blame her own vampiric activities on Suicidemaster.

Like a human.

As Shinobu was now, it seemed that being vampirified by Suicidemaster would lead you to "inherit" golden hair and golden eyes, so I could imagine that her appearance and atmosphere would have changed greatly from her human days.

When I was vampirified by Kissshot Acerolaorion Heartunderblade, I didn't gain golden hair and golden eyes, but my body had still become rather muscular even without any training.

We'd wondered whether or not the high school girl had left the school naked with both her uniform and gym clothes being stuffed into the locker, but if Kiseki-chan did in fact bury Suicidemaster's mummy in the mountain, then that could be explained without a hitch.

The naked little girl's mummy.

Hachikuji had said that the little girl's mummy hadn't been naked from the beginning.

When she was Suicidemaster, before becoming a mummy, she naturally had to have been wearing clothes—so where did those clothes go?

If they weren't buried with her, then someone might be wearing them right now, after an adjustment to the size—someone who had buried Suicidemaster.

Taking the name of the death-prepared, death-inevitable, death-certain vampire, pretending to be her, dressing up as her, and attacking her teammates—it was possible that Kuchimoto Kyoumi, who left that dying message on her flash cards, may have fallen for the fake and left the message "B777Q", not realizing that the vampire who attacked her had been her teammate.

Or perhaps the message itself was a fake left by Kiseki-chan for the criminal investigation squad—at the very least, "F/C" was certainly that.

I couldn't imagine how it happened, but when Kiseki-chan found out that suspicion was directed at the members of the girls' basketball team, she tried to make the investigators look in a different direction.

In other words, Kanbaru Suruga's fan club.

If she was a member of the girls' basketball team, which was strongly influenced by Kanbaru, then there was no way she didn't know about this organization—although it didn't seem like she knew that the group had been disbanded without a trace.

At any rate, she tried to hide herself, hide her crime, try to pin the blame on others, make up evidence, et cetera—

All of these things were things that vampires were not likely to do, and such unnaturalness, more novel than innovative, made sense if you considered that she had just become a vampire.

Destruction of evidence, creation of an alibi, fabrication, disturbance—it was a rather human-like crime, by a vampire filled with humanity.

With this, disregarding the mummification of Suicidemaster herself, the mummification of the high school girls may not even be a failure.

In fact, I couldn't help but think that it was Kiseki-chan's revenge to put them in a half-dead state, neither alive nor dead—she could have taken the texture of Suicidemaster's mummy as reference when she was burying it.

And if I wanted to, I could take it as a good sign that she didn't want to fully kill off her friends from when she was human...

"After unraveling all the confusing parts, the problem was just a matter of order. Just like how the second and third mummies were discovered were actually attacked by the vampire third and second, Kiseki Souwa, whom we'd assumed had become the fifth mummy, was actually the first victim—no, the zeroth victim."

In other words, like this.

The order in which the mummies were discovered was:

The first mummy——Harimaze Kie

The second mummy——Honnou Aburi

The third mummy——Kuchimoto Kyoumi

(The little girl's mummy——DVS)

The fourth mummy——Kanguu Misago

The fifth mummy (assumed)——Kiseki Souwa

However, the actual order of the victims was:

The zeroth victim——Kiseki Souwa (Culprit: DVS)

(The 0.5th victim——DVS (Food poisoning))

The first victim——Harimaze Kie (Culprit: Kiseki)

The second victim——Kuchimoto Kyoumi (Culprit: Kiseki)

The third victim——Honnou Aburi (Culprit: Kiseki)

The fourth victim——Kanguu Misago (Culprit: Kiseki)

That's how it was.

Since all of the mummies were vampire mummies, there wasn't anything like an estimated time of death, so it would be hard to ascertain the time of the mummification for Kanguu-chan, who'd been submerged in the reservoir... But this was the truth behind the serial vampirism incidents that had taken place from the night before last, to last night.

"Oho, is that so. You think of some pretty clever things, both you guys and that high school girl."

Suicidemaster spoke as if she was truly impressed—although it sounded, or at least seemed to sound, like she was making fun of me.

Well, to an ancient vampire who'd seen the fall of a country firsthand, was born in a castle called the "Castle of Corpses", and bore witness to numerous wars, a discussion about five members of a high school club may seem like manual labor on a tiny, millimeter scale to her...

Moreover, while Suicidemaster was not the culprit behind the serial vampirism, she did confess to having started it all—she was the one responsible for the first bloodsucking.

Once again, a progenitor of vampires.

Like a plea bargain, she'd asked for help with the process of exiting the country, but unfortunately, this was not enough for her to get off scot-free.

It wasn't enough—but what sort of verdict would be laid down in a case like this? I didn't have the slightest idea.

Kiseki-chan had been the victim in the beginning, but if she became the main culprit afterwards—a composition in which the victim becomes the perpetrator.

"It kind of resembles Sengoku-san's case, doesn't it?" said Hachikuji.

An unnecessary comment.

"The kanji for Sengoku [千石] and Kiseki [木石] are pretty similar, too."

That one was really unnecessary.

However, Sengoku's case was different.

It wasn't nearly as close as their kanji were.

A high school girl who unexpectedly acquires vampire superpowers makes full use of her power to relieve the anger of her "past life"—if anything, it was a more serious problem than the physiological phenomenon of vampire sucking blood, which was more similar to hunger.

If I had to say it, she was exerting the fury of a vampire while maintaining her human values... If she was careless, she could meet the conditions for the "Darkness".

"It ended up not being really clear whose fault it is, right?"

Hachikuji murmured as if troubled, but it was pretty vague to begin with—it wasn't something I could do anything about by taking on all the stigma myself, like I used to do in high school.

She was too much of a stranger for me to do that.

I wasn't a politician. I couldn't work that hard for someone I didn't know.

It's not easy to help a girl you've never met, never even brushed past—a girl you have no connection with.

"We can think about the rest later, but if there's anything you need to do now..."

And, as if the composition's polarity had been reversed, the one who brought up a plan of action to this deadlocked state was none other than Shinobu.

"Don't you need to stop that vampirified high school girl, a distant little sister in my eyes? Even if the composition has been turned over on its head, what you need to do hasn't changed much, I should say."

That was true—however, the way you searched for a dried-out mummy was quite different from the way you searched for a glorious vampire with golden hair and golden eyes.

"If the King of Oddities takes charge, I'll be put out of business. So, let's say that the personnel currently assigned to search for the mummy will be assigned to search for Kiseki-chan—who do you think she'll go after next, Koyomin?"

"Eh... Um, that's, well, one of the girls' basketball team members she had strife with... right? So, if we're trying to anticipate it—"

That wasn't it.

We'd already more or less anticipated everything—all of the members that were on the list were currently under protection.

There was no way that Kiseki-chan, who somehow got information about our investigation, didn't know about that—she wouldn't make the mistake of jumping into the web herself.

"What if she just gave up on the whole revenge thing and just went home to sleep? That's what I would do."

Suicidemaster made quite the crude statement with such a serious face—at this point, I had to wonder how I even suspected that this pompous little girl was actually a highly calculating criminal.

She was not highly calculating, just loud.

"Well, it's true that Kiseki-chan is trying to avoid us. The diversionary tactics and cover-ups are evidence of that—in that case, she probably wouldn't think of attacking a girls' basketball team member even through the surveillance. To begin with, it's pretty doubtful that there's enough resentment pent up in her that she'd want to make everyone a mummy—I'm sure she had some good friends like normal," said Gaen-san.

The four people that had been discovered as mummies were either the four people that she held the deepest resentment towards, or just the four people that were the easiest targets because they happened to be returning from school alone or had a lot of openings—was it possible she'd relieved all her frustration by attacking those four people?

But I couldn't be optimistic. Rather, as a member of the investigation team, I should assume that the crime would escalate—just as an unreasonable diet leads to rebound, a teenager forced to be stoic in her club suddenly obtained superpowers like in manga, so it should escalate like an escalator—

"! This is hella dangerous, Gaen-san!"

I used a tone of voice I'd never used before—but no matter. I continued.

"Tonight, Kanbaru is having a pajama party at Higasa-chan's house with her friends!"

I was making it sound as if Kanbaru's pajama party was unhealthy, immoral, and outright reprehensible, but that wasn't the point.

It was bad, however, that the retired third-year members of Naoetsu High's girls' basketball team, the OGs of the golden generation, were all in one place, as if they'd all been rounded up.

The golden generation that could even be called.

The mastermind behind the current state of club activities.

The most fitting prey—the main dish.

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what-is-your-plan-today · 5 years ago

Text

CSI: Rogers and Barnes- The Serious Cereal Serial Killer

Ch 6- Shots In The Dark Co-Written with @icanfeelastormbrewing

Episode Summary: Katie and Bucky head to the 99 to dig out some old case files that might help them on the case. Steve comes back to work, but he shouldn’t be there really, coz like he was banged up pretty bad. They go to a bar and there’s a fancy fireman called Johnny knocking around with the Nine-Nine crew. Steeby doesn’t like him…and it all kinda goes a bit wrong.

Episode Warnings: Bad Language words.

Episode Pairings: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark (Yeah, it’s nice and friendly now…)

Song for Episode: New Rules by Dua Lipa

A/N: This entire series contains dark humour (CSI + Brooklyn 99=CSI Steeb) Avengers and Stark Spangled Banner Easter Eggs and jokes. You don’t need to have read the SSB series to understand or enjoy this, but we’ve used the Universe to spin this off from so somethings might puzzle a few of you if you ain’t, but feel free to ask. Also, our knowledge of American Policing and Brooklyn is limited, so bear with us if we slip up, but at the end of the day this is a fiction so we’ll claim any mistakes as creative license!!

Enter the NINE-NINE! We’ve used a lot of quotes from the series, that we know are not in their original settings but just indulge us because dammnit, it made us laugh!!

As always we live for re-blogs and comments

CSI Rogers and Barnes Master List

Main Masterlist

“And the wanderer returns!” Jake Peralta greeted Katie warmly as he stepped out of the elevator to greet her at the front desk of the 99 Precinct Building. “Good to see you Jake!” She beamed, giving him a hug before she stepped back “This is Sergeant James Barnes, or Bucky.” “Pleased to meet you.” Bucky said, grasping his hand. “So how’s DC treating you?” Jake asked as they stepped into the elevator. “Not bad.” Katie shrugged “The work is good but, well it’s not home ya know?” Bucky shot her a side glance, that was the first time he had heard her admit that she missed Brooklyn, and he had a feeling that her reconciliation with Steve had something to do with it. “Well you know what they say?” Peralta smiled “You can take the girl outta Brooklyn” “And then bring her back” Bucky quipped, earning him a dig in his ribs. The elevator door opened and they stepped out into the open plan office and Bucky winced at the cacophony of noise that hit his ears. Katie grinned and hugged a smaller, short haired man before she moved on to an Auburn haired woman, and then smiled and fist bumped a taller, darker haired lady. “Hey Diaz.”

“Stark.” The woman’s face flickered into a grin as she pulled Katie into a hug “good to see you”

“Wait a minute. Are we hugging?” Katie pulled back “Have we ever done this before?”

“No,” Diaz replied “And if you tell anyone, I’ll slit your throat.”

Katie laughed. “Does Terry get a hug?” Bucky looked up to see an absolute unit of a man strolling towards them. The man was dressed in a normal shirt, with a tie and suspenders but Bucky couldn’t help but stare because, well, he was fucking huge. He was even bigger than Steve and that was saying something. “Oh Terry gets a hug!” Katie laughed, stepping forward again. “Good, coz Terry missed Katie…” “Does he always refer to himself in the 3rd person? Bucky turned to the shorter man. “Oh yes.” He nodded “I’m Boyle by the way” “Bucky.” He said, shaking his hand.

“So…” Jake turned to them “All the boxes and case notes are ready in the archive rooms down stairs. I would have brought them to you but my cars in the shop so I rode in on Rosa’s motorcycle. I guess you could say I’m a gear head now.” he nodded, clearly pleased with himself. “He held on to me so tight it was like a two-mile Heimlich.” Diaz shot back, where she was lounging in her chair, phone sandwiched between her ear and her shoulder “No I won’t hold…”

“Those things have no walls on them!” Jake hissed as he walked to his desk “Let me just grab my breakfast and we’ll head down…” “Are those gummy bears wrapped in a fruit roll-up?” Bucky looked at him in horror as he picked up the film wrapped item.

“Breakfast burrito, but yeah” Peralta shrugged as they headed to the elevator.

“I pity your dentist.” Bucky shook his head.

“Joke’s on you. I don’t have a dentist.” Jake shot back as they all headed towards the elevator.

“Not so fast…” a deep voice said, and Bucky spun round to see the 99’s commanding officer, Captain Holt striding across the floor. “I believe Sergeant Stark has one more person she needs to say hi to.”

Katie narrowed her eyes playfully “Why? Is Cheddar here?”

“Who’s Cheddar?” Bucky asked.

“Holt’s corgi.” Peralta supplied

Holt’s face twitched, into what Bucky supposed you could call a smile, maybe, as the man stuck his arm out and formally shook Katie’s hand.

“Good to see you again. Congratulations on the promotion.” Holt said “I knew you’d get your break eventually.” “Thank you sir.” she smiled.

He nodded at her and then turned to look out over the office. “Ok 99, I just had an email. Our monthly crime statistics are due. I want paperwork on all your closed cases by tomorrow. Scully, you can just write ‘I didn’t close any’ on a piece of paper.”

Bucky looked around to see two, rather large (and by large he meant fat) men sat at desks, both eating some form of wrap. One of them, the one with the strange hair cut that made him look like he had a lego doll head looked up.

“What? I’m confused…” he said slowly.

“Huh.” Holt raised an eyebrow “From your expression, I would have guessed constipated. Or chilly.”

Bucky heard Katie snigger besides him as a nasaly voice from the Auburn haired woman cut across the office.

“Hey, Craptain, you ready to get curb stomped?” “What?” Jeffords’ eyes shot up.

“At chess.” Gina looked at him.

“We have a weekly match. I’m teaching Gina to play. And she, in turn, is teaching me to trash talk.” Holt said, waving his hand in explanation before he turned to Gina “The hospital called. Your test results came back positive. You’re a stage five dumbass.”

Katie looked at Peralta before the pair of them burst out laughing as Gina stood there, nodding, like a proud sensei.

“Oh! You have come so far.”

Bucky simply stood there, mouth hanging open. What the fuck had Stark dragged him into. He dug her in the ribs with his elbow and as she turned to look at him, he shook his head “This…this is…” “The Nine-Nine.” Katie said, fondly “And you spent 5 years here?” Bucky looked at her in disbelief.

“Actually it was just over 6.” Katie said “I moved to the 101 a year after dad died when the opportunity came up to train as a Profiler. I do miss them all though, and their little quirks…which reminds me…Hey” She turned to Jeffords who was now sat at his desk. “Still writing Fan Fiction Terry?” “Fan Fiction…” Bucky dead panned.

“Well, shows and films leave Terry wanting more.” Sergeant Jeffords shrugged “I’m just filling in the gaps.”

Just when he didn’t think shit could get any weirder… Bucky blinked.

“So what grabbed your imagination this time?” Katie continued

“He’s actually writing an original piece.” Boyle smiled.

Terry grinned “Yeah, about a group of super heroes, who save New York from aliens…”

“Let me guess…” Bucky grumbled and they turned to face him “They all dress in lycra and have capes?”

“Not all of them.” Terry looked at him. “Only one has a cape and only one dresses in Lycra, the others are in leather apart from one who is a kind of beast when he gets angry and the other has a flying, metal suit and…”

“Why can’t anyone make super heroes normal people who wear normal clothes?” Bucky shook his head.

“They don’t sit on their couches in their superhero outfits.” Terry looked at him, frowning “They’re normal on their downtime…”

“What is it with you and superhero costumes?” Katie looked at him.

Bucky shrugged “It’s just all, oh I dunno, ostentatious…” “Says the man who owns a rhinestone encrusted denim jacket, yeah, I heard…Steve told me about it ages ago.”

Bucky smirked and shrugged “It’s from the 90s, it was the fashion when we were a kid.” “Hmmm.” Katie pondered, before she looked back at Terry “You’ll have to email me a copy when it’s done.” “Will do, Terry always likes feedback.” “And Katie likes to read, speaking of which…” she patted Buck’s chest with the back of her hand “We need to get digging into those files, Buck.”

He agreed and Katie turned to Peralta. “Lead the way…not that I don’t know where it is but…”

She was cut off by a loud squeal and she spun to see a dark haired uniformed woman, hair pulled back into a ponytail. Bucky just caught the name “Santiago” on her tag before Katie wrapped her in a hug.

“Oh my God!” Santiago smiled, “I knew you were back in town but…”

“I know I should have called…and I’m sorry Amy but, we got a lot to get through so I need to get to it. But, Romanoff suggested a night out. You too Diaz?”

“Drinks sound good” Diaz nodded.

“The Compound? This weekend?” Katie asked “Sure I can wrangle us the VIP treatment seeing as the owner is practically my sister in law.” ““I am sooo up for that!” Santiago grinned “There’s nothing better after a long shift than going to The Compound It’s like Cheers, where everybody knows your name”

Diaz looked at her “A place where everybody knows your name is hell. You’re describing hell.”

******

The doors of the elevator opened and Katie emerged from it followed by Bucky who was carrying a box with the files they had brought from the 99. Thankfully, out of the three boxes Peralta had provided on Rumlow’s case, they had been able to reduce the files with meaningful information to only one.

“Is Stevie’s office open, Wanda? Need to pop these files somewhere safe.” Katie said once they were close enough to the reception desk counter.

Bucky saw Wanda’s eyebrows squeeze together in a wrinkle and her mouth twist with annoyance at Katie’s use of Steve’s pet name. He could tell she was pissed. And to be honest, he was also surprised at the new situation. How Stark had gone from hating the Captain’s guts and going haywire at him calling her sweetheart, to easily referring to him as Stevie, and in public none the less, was something that he couldn’t quite grasp. But then again the dynamic between those two was unique, which was the polite way of putting it.

“Yeah, it’s open. He’s in there.” she answered trying to conceal her animosity.

“What?” Katie shrieked and Wanda shrugged. She turned to Bucky “Can you believe that?”

Bucky just shook his head and muttered “Punk” as both headed for the Captain’s office. They were about to barge in when the door suddenly opened. Steve, who was carrying a cardboard cup holder with two coffee cups, had to raise his right hand above his head to avoid scalding both detectives with the hot liquid.

“Whoooa, easy there!” his voice faltered at the end as his ribs complained at the sudden movement.

“What the fuck, Steve!” Katie shouted “You should be resting at home, you’re still healing.”

“She’s right, punk.” Bucky added as he made his way past Steve to leave the box on the desk. “What? You don’t think we can handle this without you?”

“That’s … that’s not…” he said turning and glaring at Bucky but stopped when he saw an amused expression on Bucky’s face “Enjoying yourself?” he asked and Bucky nodded and laughed.

Steve sighed and turned to Katie who was still at the door arm crossed and he smiled softly, his bruised face lighting up as he spoke.

“I’m ok, sweetheart. Just have to remember not to move like I’m a cheerleader.”

“Now, that’s an image I don’t want imprinted in my brain.” Bucky mused leaning on Steve desk as he prepared for the storm to unravel.

“What’s in the box?” Steve asked.

“Files from the 99.” Bucky said as he watched Katie who was still observing Steve with narrowed eyes.

“Well don’t leave them there, take them into the incident room.” Steve said, “It’s safe enough, we can lock it and-“

At that point Bucky saw Katie’s eyes flicker like a light bulb, the way they did when her brain was trying to spot the missing link and she interrupted him.

“Wait! How did you get here? You can’t have possibly driven yourself.” she said tilting her head, staring at him like he was the suspect of a petty theft. “Oh, you didn’t ride the bike, did you? Steven, tell me you didn’t ride that old, dusty piece of junk!” she carried on ranting.

“What bike?” Bucky inquired now curious while taking a packet of gummy bears Peralta had given him out of his jacket pocket.

“An old bike my father had. Tony doesn’t like bikes so he passed it on to Steve.” Katie explained “It’s a rattletrap…”

“It’s not a rattletrap.” Steve protested “And it’s unique, the handlebars are made from Vibranium. You should show more respect for Howard’s legacy.” he said pointing at her like she was a little brat.

“Whatever.” she said rolling her eyes. “Are you going to tell me how you got here?”

“Sam drove me. He called to tell me he had news on Ross report, he said he was in the area so I made him pick me up.”

Bucky saw Katie’s stance relax a bit with Steve’s explanation but suddenly her eyes darted to him, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit scared.

“Who did you say you had breakfast with before we went to the 99?” she asked Bucky with a sly glance.

“I didn’t say.” Bucky said, putting a bunch of gummy bears in his mouth before he diverted the conversation to Steve again.

“You shouldn’t be here, Steve. You’re convalescing”

Steve sighed, lowered his head for some seconds, a demeanour Bucky could read like the back of his hand. Steve felt tired and lost, he needed to go back to his natural element.

"Look” he said raising his head again, the hand that wasn’t holding the drinks dropped to his hip and he looked at Bucky “I’m tired of being at home doing nothing but watching TV and thinking. I can’t even go for my morning run or go to the gym to blow some steam against a punching bag. I know I should be more relaxed now than ever, but I’m not. Doing nothing is driving me crazy. Surely being in the station can’t be that physically demanding?”

Bucky felt a pang of guilt at his friend’s word. Steve was right. Bucky knew that Steve, for as long as he could remember, had always wanted to do what was right. Even if sometimes that meant a bunch of dumbass decisions. The Captain wasn’t one for sitting back and doing nothing. He even had bags under his eyes and Katie must have noticed too since she asked him

“Trouble sleeping?”

Steve turned to look at her with a huge smile on his face and a sparkle of something in his eyes, Bucky could tell from the way he was standing.

“You could say that.” he replied.

Katie returned the smile and they both simply stood looking at one another for what seemed like way more time than should be acceptable. Bucky suddenly felt like he was a fly on the wall, so trying not to step on the moment, he grabbed the box of files and made to leave the office.

“I will be in my desk if you…” he said when he walked past Katie but she wasn’t noticing him, she was still locked in eye contact with Steve.

“Whatever.” he mumbled and headed for his desk “I feel like I’m invisible. I’m turning into Steve when he was a skinny punk.”

“Now, you’re talking to yourself Barnes.” Natasha said walking from the kitchen followed by Sam, Clint and Wanda.

“Who are you, Regina George and her clique?” Bucky bit back while he dropped the box onto his desk and took off his jacket.

Steve chose that point to walk out into the office

“Sam, Barnes and Stark are back.” the Captain spoke striding towards Bucky’s desk, signalling the man over from where he was perched on the edge of Natasha’s desk. Katie headed to her own, and dropped her purse down, slinging her jacket over her chair. “Can you fill us on the new details about Ross’ PM report?”

“Can I go fetch a coffee first?” Katie pleaded as Sam stood up. “It’ll be real quick, promise.”

“Oh, shit, here” Steve said quietly handing her one of the take out coffee cups he had brought from his office and completely forgotten about “I got you your regular on the way. Your round tomorrow.”

In all honesty Steve had been a little nervous buying that coffee. It had been something they had always done, buying each other a drink on the way in, alternating on days. But since she had returned and they hadn’t been on good terms it had clearly fallen by the wayside. Since the air had cleared yesterday he’d decided to chance it and see how it was received but he needn’t have worried. Katie positively beamed at him before she blurted out “God, I love you.”

Steve felt his neck growing warm as all eyes turned to them and he saw Katie’s own cheeks flush and she sipped from the cup trying to hide her embarrassment “Suri’s Vanilla Lattes are the best.” she said in an over the top, dramatic voice “Oh, how I have missed them!”

"You’re welcome, I think.” Steve said, now full on blushing as he rubbing the back of his neck.

Bucky tried to divert the attention from the pair of dorks before Wanda choked on her own bile and Natasha or Clint made a snarky comment.

“I’m waiting. What, you didn’t bring one for me?” he asked and from the corner of his eye he saw Natasha shaking her head at him disapprovingly. He glanced at Steve who was now flushing even more and that was when he realized he had made it worse by drawing even more attention to the fact that Steve had, in effect, displayed favouritism, whether he meant to or not.

“You want in Barnes you can buy the next round then.” Katie quipped and he glanced at her as she perched on the edge of her desk.

“Fair enough…” he shrugged, and then his attention was taken by Sam who was looking at something on his desk with curiosity.

“You like cats?” Sam asked taking Dot and examining her.

“It’s not a cat. It’s a goat and it’s called Dot.” Bucky said with annoyance. How the fuck could anyone mistake a goat for a cat?

Steve groaned and urged Sam to start with the report details so they could move on with the investigation.

“What? Dude has a cat on his desk and you don’t want to know why?” Sam asked Steve. "Looks like a cat.“ he shrugged now looking at Bucky.

"I think it looks like a llama.” Katie quipped and Clint’s laugh could be heard all through the floor.

Steve groaned again rubbing his forehead but before he could make one of his famous pep talks, Sam interrupted him.

“All right, before Steve McQueen here’s head blows up…the hair we got on Ross’ trousers?” he offered, opening the folder he was carrying and examining the report.

“Yeah?” Steve asked.

“Funny enough, its goat.” the doctor explained.

Everyone went silent, looking at each other, before Katie let out a laugh and turned to Bucky.

“Maybe we should ask Dot if she knew Ross.”

“Fuck off Stark.” Bucky rolled his eyes, grinning.

“Oooh, maybe she did it…” Katie continued “I mean, do you know her whereabouts that night?”

“You’re hilarious.” Bucky deadpanned, shaking his head.

“Ok. Anything else?” Steve asked Sam, cutting across the pair of them.

“Nope. That’s all I’ve got so far. Got you a copy of the updated report.” he said handing the folder to Steve.

“Thanks, Sam” he said and the Doctor just nodded and patted Dot’s head with his index finger before heading away.

“Romanoff, Barton, start working on a link between Ross and …” Steve paused for a moment trying to sound as professional as possible “…a goat.“

Katie choked slightly and then coughed as Bucky looked at her, before they both started to snigger slightly. Steve rolled his eyes at the pair of them. They were like school kids.

"Right away, Cap.” Natasha nodded.

“It would be my genuine pleasure, Cap.” Clint added, nodding to his computer “Searching for goat farms as we speak. God I’d like to have a farm someday.”

“Buck, you and Katie start with those files. I’ve got a tele-conference with Fury to give him an update so I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

Bucky gave him a salute as he turned and started making his way towards his office.

“Stevie, I got your…” Wanda called out for him before he went away but she was cut off by Steve’s fiery look.

“It’s Steve, Wanda.” he said sternly.

“Yes. Sorry Steve” she said gulping “I just wanted to give you your mail.”

“Thanks.” Steve said, slightly less curtly but still with a slight edge to his voice as he took the items from her.

Bucky saw her walk as fast as she could towards the restroom and he shared a quick significant glance with Steve who just shook his head and turned towards his office. He then looked at Katie who simply stood and picked up the box from his desk as she headed towards the Incident Room. Finally he looked in Natasha’s direction who nodded at him as if confirming they were on the same page-Rogers and Stark were back on full speaking and, so it seemed, full flirting terms.

***** “So as Jake and I explained before the victim was a woman called Sara Klein.” Katie spoke as Bucky spread the papers across the large table. “She was walking home from a bar when she was dragged into an alley and raped.”

“And you think the perp was…this Rumlow guy?” Bucky asked, looking down at a mug shot of a man with dark hair and dark eyes. “Who was a Uniform in the 99?”

“Yeah.” Katie said

“So what made you suspect him?”

“When we took Klein to the Rape Centre for her forensic examination he was there, don’t ask me what for. When she came back from the examination room she heard him talking and literally stated shaking and became hysterical.” Katie paused for a moment “We got her back to the station, calmed her down and that was when she said she recognised his voice…”

At that point Steve walked into the room and they both looked at him, and he gestured for them to continue.

“Peralta and I went to speak to Captain Holt, you know, given the sensitivity of it. He told us to bring Rumlow in for questioning and that he would speak to Fury. Obviously he denied it, said she must have been mistaken bla bla bla but Peralta and I didn’t believe a word of it, I know he did it.”

She trailed off and Bucky looked at Steve who gently laid a hand on her shoulder “He knows.” he looked at her as her head snapped up and her eyes locked onto his “I told him what Rumlow did to you, I’m sorry but I was trying to explain the Sitwell situation and…” For a moment Steve feared she was going to blow up at him but she didn’t. Instead she sighed and shrugged “It’s not exactly a secret anyway…” she wiped at her eyes and Steve gently rubbed her back before she jumped off the desk and walked to the wall, looking at the various bits of notes and evidence.

“Long and short of it, Bucky, is that we had no forensics of any sort to link Rumlow to the rape, no DNA left behind, nothing that wasn’t circumstantial…and then up pops Sitwell to provide an alibi that we didn’t believe for a second. But before we had chance to discredit it, Sara turned up and said she wanted to withdraw her allegation. Said that she’d confided in someone, we never did find out who, and they’d given her all these statistics on how many rape cases actually ended in a conviction and that was it, she didn’t want to put herself through it. Nothing we said or did could convince her otherwise.”

“So Rumlow basically carried on like nothing had happened…” Bucky said, leaning back in his chair. “Well his reputation was in tatters, mud sticks…” Katie said, turning to look at him “He pretty much became a social pariah around the force. And then when he assaulted me he was kicked out, well, told to resign…”

Bucky stayed silent as Steve gently reached over to look at the paper work on the desk.

“So has anything turned up in any of this that can link Ross to Sitwell?” he asked, glancing up at them both.

“Not so far.” Bucky shook his head “But we haven’t even scratched the surface.”

“Well until we have anything concrete to go on it’s as good a train of thought as any.” Steve said. “Maybe it’s worth digging into Sitwell’s background a little more. Schools, Universities, dodgy handshake clubs, that kind of stuff, see if we can link him to Ross that way.”

“Say we do make a link…” Bucky said, leaning back in his chair, eyeing Katie “Gut feeling Stark, is this connected to the Rumlow case?”

“I dunno.” she shrugged “But one thing’s for sure, something stinks about all of this. And I don’t believe in co-incidences.”

“Me neither doll face.” Bucky mumbled, dodging the whiteboard pen she sent flying his way.

******

Three hours and a couple of sandwiches later Bucky and Katie had decided to call it a day. They had gone through Rumlow’s case again and needed a home cooked dinner and a good night’s sleep before they started digging on Sitwell’s school records the following day.

“Ok. My brain is fried. I’m heading home and praying for Tony not being there yet. Wish me luck.”

Bucky smiled at Katie over the screen of his computer. He saw her stand up from her chair and cross her fingers in the air before walking to the restroom. He was saving the documents on his computer and turning it off when he heard Steve.

“Anything significant?”

“Nope.” Bucky said leaning back on his chair and stretching his arms above his head. “Enough for today. And you too, Steve. Finish that coffee you’re drinking and I’ll drive us home.”

Steve nodded and turned around when he heard Katie’s voice from behind him.

“You shouldn’t even be here. Go home and rest, Stevie.” she said casually.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at Steve who rolled his eyes, but he turned to Katie when she let out a little squeal and saw her waving her phone in the air.

“Nat, Wanda come here! Got a message from Diaz!” she said excitedly “GIRL’S NIGHT OUT FRIDAY. How does that sound? She says Amy and Gina are coming too.”

“I’m in” Natasha said grinning at Bucky and turning to Wanda, who had also gathered around Katie’s desk, for confirmation.

“I don’t think I can… I’m sorry.” Wanda hesitated before adding “My cat is sick.”

“Your cat?” Nat asked her with sly eyes.

“Whatever…” Katie rolled her eyes and leant over her desk to switch off her computer “I’m only asking because I’m not petty enough to leave one person out” she muttered only for Bucky to hear.

“Leave it.” Bucky whispered back as he saw Wanda frown and open her mouth to retort to Katie’s initial eye roll and he gave Steve a warning look.

“Wanda.” Steve stepped in “Come to my office. There are some reports I want you to file before you go.” and he started walking away as she followed obediently.

“Ok. I’ll text Diaz saying we’re in Nat. Dinner and The Compound?” Katie asked while grabbing her jacket and purse.

“Perfect. And I’ll convince the little witch.” Nat nodded.

Katie just pursed her lips and nodded before waving everyone goodbye and walking away.

“Ok. All hands on deck. Clint come here!” Nat said her eyes shining with the excitement of plotting. “Barnes. Engage phase 2. We’re going out and we’ll be at the Compound after dinner, I’ll confirm our ETA as we go. You two bring Rogers and I’ll make sure Stark is a little bit intoxicated by then.” she said winking at Bucky.

“I’ll call Peralta, if Santiago is gonna be there, he’ll be up for it. See who else he can drag in.” Clint offered.

“Ok Buck, I’m ready. We can go now” Steve said and looked at them sensing he had stepped into something “Am I interrupting something here?”

“Nah. Nat was telling us the girls’ plans for Friday.” Bucky brushed him off.

“Oh, so you’re finally going out?” Steve smirked at Nat who rolled her eyes at his dig that it had taken her so long to organise something with Katie “But, you do know you and Stark are on call this weekend as Barton and Barnes have done the last two?”

“That we did.” Clint quipped

“It’s ok boss. We’ll behave.” Nat drawled as she spotted Wanda had returned to the reception desk. “Gotta go do something. See ya fellas.”

Steve sighed and shook his head at Bucky “Lets go, Buck. Bye Barton.”

******

“You’re a pain in the ass. No, you’re worse than a pain in the ass, you know that?” Bucky said while closing the car door after getting into the left back seat of Sam’s grey Mercedes Class C.

“What’s the deal?” Sam asked looking at Steve who was now fastening the seat belt of the passenger seat. Perks of being the Captain and still on recovery.

“He’s been grumpy all day. He didn’t want to come.” Bucky explained.

“I told you, I’m on duty this weekend.” Steve said turning his head to look at Bucky as Sam pulled away from the curb in front of Steve’s block.

And he was being truthful, he was the senior officer on call. It had been Holt’s turn last week, but as Bucky pointed out the chances of getting called in were low. Katie was the on duty Sergeant supported by Natasha and God forbid either of them would admit they couldn’t handle any possible situation and had to call their superior in.

“You have more chances of getting laid tonight than being called in tomorrow.” Clint deadpanned from the right back seat.

Steve groaned which made Sam chuckle and give a significant look to the men at the back through the rear-view mirror.

“Where are we going?” Steve asked trying to change the subject.

“We’re picking up Thor” Sam explained.

“And then?” Bucky asked “I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, what’s new? You’re always hungry.” Steve snorted.

“Tell me about it.” Clint scoffed. “I spent all day with him yesterday visiting goat farms upstate. Dude ate a donut dorito hot dog pizza all rolled up like a burrito! Can you believe it?” Clint asked leaning forward to speak to Steve and Sam.

“Hey, I was just optimizing my time.” Bucky shrugged and the three men shook their heads.

“We could stop at Grimaldi’s to have pizza and beers, feed the bastard. Then we’ll drop into the Compound.” Sam suggested.

Both Bucky and Sam nodded in agreement with the plan. Steve groaned again. He was worried about the case being in a deadlock. After two days of digging, they had nothing solid on Sitwell’s connection to Ross yet. Last thing he needed, if he was being honest, was taking care of a bunch of drunk friends and, what was more, he wasn’t gonna drive any of them home, it was Sam’s car after all, he had called designated driver. But then it dawned on him, they were going to the Compound and the girls would be there, wouldn’t they? Suddenly his spirits were lifted and a soft smile crossed his face. But he was snapped from his thoughts again by Bucky.

“Look, I know you’re pissed. You’re still sore from the accident, I get it.” Bucky started to scold him but was interrupted by Sam.

“We’re here. Can someone text him?” Sam announced pulling in a spot in front of Thor’s building.

“Got it.” Clint offered pulling out his phone.

He unclasped the car belt and moved closer to Bucky so as to leave space for Thor in the backseat while fiddling with his phone. Bucky stirred in his seat feeling suddenly trapped.

“Can you move your seat up?” he asked Sam

“No” Sam said without even flinching a muscle on his face.

“Asshole.” Bucky muttered.

He looked at Steve who seemed to be lost in his thoughts and then he turned to look at Clint who kept on texting on his phone.

“Ok. Peralta says he’s meeting us at the Compound. He’s having dinner with some video games buddies now but he’ll meet us later.” Clint informed the rest.

“Will Tony be there?” Steve asked suddenly.

“Of course he will” Clint snorted. “He clocks in day in and day out.”

“Yeah, Pepper has him wrapped around her finger.” Sam added nodding.

“Women.” Bucky sighed looking at his Captain who was looking at the front stoic as ever.

“Greetings, morons!”

Thor’s voice reverberated in the cabin of the car as he sat in the only free seat and closed the door grinning. Everyone greeted him back and Sam started the car again.

“Why are you carrying an umbrella?” Clint asked Thor “It isn’t even cloudy.”

“Oh! It’s my lucky charm.” he said happily. “My lucky umbrella, my father gave it to me when I was a kid.”

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Steve mused from the front seat.

“And a mistake. I mean are you gonna be attached to your lucky charm all night?” Sam asked, hands on the steering wheel.

“I make grave mistakes all the time, everything seems to work out in the end.” Thor shrugged and tapped Steve on the shoulder. “Captain, what are you doing here? I thought you were still recovering from your car crash. You should be sitting at home in your bathrobe, eating grapes.“

"Yeah, or plums.” Bucky added. “Don’t encourage him. He is enough grumpy as it is.”

“Yeah, not helping blondie.” Clint quipped.

“You’re so petty and tiny.” Thor scoffed.

They continued picking on one another for the rest of the journey and the time they spent at the pizza restaurant. Two hours later the five of them were at the main entrance to the Compound, one of the most popular clubs in Brooklyn in the last few years. The club was run by Pepper, Tony’s fiancé, so they were greeted warmly by Happy, the doorman, who let them in immediately after a short informal chat.

“Welcome, Gentlemen” Pepper greeted the group who had now approached the bar where she was chatting idly with Tony. “What a sight for sore eyes, Steve!” she added now kissing Steve on the cheek.

“Yeah, what brings you here Capsicle? Last time I checked you were in a hospital bed looking like shit.” Tony asked Steve.

“Yeah, Katie told us about it.” Pepper interjected signalling between her and Tony. “How are you now? Are you ok? Is there anything I can bring you?”

“I’m fine Pepper, honestly thank you, just a few cuts and bruises. And a glass of water would be great, thanks.”

“Water coming right up.” said Pepper gesturing for the barman to come and take their orders.

“Water, Rogers?” Tony mocked him. “Beers for all for starters. That’s on me and I’m buying a bottle of the best champagne we have so meet me in our private booth when you’re done.”

The group cheered happily at Tony’s offer and sat on the bar stools waiting for their drinks.

A pretty blonde waitress placed a glass of water and a beer bottle on the bar in front of Steve and winked at him, who obliviously took a painkiller from the blister and swallowed it with a bit of water. He didn’t want to take it but the constant bickering of his friends and the loud music and dim lights of the club were making his head pound.

He was sipping from his beer bottle when someone slapped his back causing him to wince at the pain.

“Hey, Rogers. Nice to see you man!” Peralta greeted.

“Hey, Jake. How you doin’?” Steve greeted back with a sincere smile while Peralta nodded and fist bumped Clint.

“Did you come alone?” Clint asked him.

“Yeah, but meeting a friend at some point tonight. He’s working until later.” Peralta answered as he shook hands with Bucky and Sam. “Barnes, good to see you again. Wilson?”

“Hey man.” Sam nodded, and Peralta looked beyond him towards Thor who was scanning the dance floor while moving his head and feet to the beat of the music.

“Oh, you brought Point Break.” Peralta quipped, turning to Clint.

“Yeah, you can’t get rid of him easily, especially if we’re talking about revels.” Clint commented.

“Revels?” Peralta asked frowning.

“A Party, that’s what he calls it.” Sam offered.

“Wow, and I thought Holt had a weird vocabulary.” Peralta muttered.

A little while later Thor had disappeared onto the dance floor and the rest were already on their second beer while chatting animatedly. Steve was beginning to regret having mixed alcohol and meds. Feeling a bit lightheaded, he was seriously considering calling a cab and going home when he heard Peralta whistle through his teeth and Bucky let out a breathy curse.

“Damned.”

“What?” he asked turning around to ask what was going on. They were both looking at the back of the Compound, towards the booths and that was when he noticed what had taken their attention. Katie was stood side on to them, talking to Tony. She was dressed in a dark blue short jumpsuit that sported a large white flowered pattern and a plunge neck line that dipped almost to her navel. Her shoes were high heeled black sandals with a silvery cuff round the ankle and as she turned to say something to Natasha, Steve saw that the back of the jumpsuit was bare bar where the fabric crossed across to each shoulder from the opposite hip.

God she looked gorgeous, scratch that, she looked more than gorgeous.

“Fuck!” Steve cursed when he noticed his beer had been dribbling down his front. He took a pair of cocktail napkins and tried to dry his shirt while Bucky, Peralta and Sam cackled at him. He groaned and continued wiping as Bucky put one arm over his shoulder.

“Keep it cool, man. It’s not like you don’t know what’s under those clothes.” he said in a low voice, winking at Steve.

“Shut up, Bucky.” Steve snapped but had to do as told as the girls were approaching the bar.

“Hey fellas.” Natasha drawled, “You coming over to join us?”

“Once Rogers has dried off, yeah.” Clint said.

Diaz looked at him, frowning. “Dried off.” “Yeah someone nudged me and I spilt…” he said, gesturing to the front of his shirt.

Katie shrugged “Can’t see anything, your shirt’s black.”

“It’s nice.” Wanda nodded, looking at Steve. He took a deep breath, thinking back to what Bucky had said and merely smiled at the woman politely. Behind Wanda he saw Diaz and Natasha exchange a smirk. Katie, however, was focussed on something else.

“Is that the one I bought you for your birthday last year?” Katie asked, reaching out to gently run her hand over the collar, and Steve nodded and didn’t miss the scowl on Wanda’s face. Totally oblivious to the daggers she was being given, Katie grinned “Wanda’s right, it looks good.”

He smiled at her and then turned politely to Wanda who had said something to him, and Bucky watched as Katie’s eyes lingered on them both for a little longer her eyebrow raised, almost in amusement at the other woman’s attempts to flirt with Steve fell flat.

“You want Stevie to go into cardiac arrest or something?” Buck leaned over to talk into her ear and she turned to look at him “The man is drugged and on alcohol and then you come along looking like that.”

“Fuck off Bucky.” Katie bit back “I wore this because it makes me feel good, you asshole, not for anyone else. And it’s not like I knew you were coming. Why are you guys even here anyway?”

“Boys’ night out” Bucky shrugged.

Katie raised an eyebrow at him “Yeah, of all the places you could pick to go you just…”

At that she stopped and her head cocked to one sided as she caught the first beats of a song playing.

“Oh, God!” she squealed. Bucky was just about to ask her what was going on but he was too late, she leaned towards Steve and gently grabbed his hand, turning his attention away from Wanda as she curled her hand round his.

“Stevie, listen.”

A big mischievous grin crossed Steve’s face when he heard the song and next thing he knew he was being dragged by Katie to the dance floor. Leaving Wanda slack jawed with frustration.

“What the fuck? Is he dancing?” Bucky asked Clint and Nat who were stood at the bar next to him, unable to keep his eyes from Katie and Steve dancing and laughing like crazy to I’ll be there for you by The Rembrandts.

“Yeah, they always dance to this, it’s like their song.” Clint answered before sipping from his beer bottle.

“Give him a minute, he will do his Joey.” Natasha told Bucky while keeping an eye on Wanda who had just sidled back into the booth and was now pouting and stabbing the bar with her cocktail umbrella. At that Steve launched into some kind of odd dance move, which he still manage to make look quite graceful “Oh, yep. There we go.”

“Unbelievable” Bucky mused shaking his head, happy to see his bestie cut loose. “She really brings out that kid from Brooklyn, doesn’t she?”

“You could say that.” Nat said with a side smile while Clint nodded in agreement. They all watched as one of Steve’s arms curled round Katie’s waist, his large hand splaying on her back as they continued to dance around to the upbeat music, Katie’s head tipped back in laughter and a huge grin spread across Steve’s face.

At that point Bucky heard Wanda snort and strut down the club to the restrooms bumping into people on her way.

“Ah leave her.” Natasha said with a sigh, draining her glass.

“So Rogers has two women fighting over him…” Peralta leaned back “Lucky bastard.” “He’s eyes for no one but Stark.” Bucky said, shrugging “So wouldn’t really call it a fight.” “Well, to be honest, I wouldn’t really want to get in a fight with Stark anyway…” Peralta nodded. “Damned she can be vicious.”

***** A few hours later they were all sat together in Tony’s private booth drinking champagne, except for Katie who had finished her drink and had gone dancing with Rosa and Gina, and Steve who had gone to the restroom.

"This bottle is empty.” Thor said shaking the bottle in the air.

“I’ll go fetch another one.” Tony said standing up ceremoniously.

“I don’t want that bubbly shit. Anyone in for some tequila shots?” Thor asked as he also stood up and went to the bar without waiting for an answer.

“Oh…my…God!” Natasha suddenly slurred nudging Clint who was beside her.

"This is better than we expected” Clint whispered, grinning.

“What? What’s happening” Bucky asked.

He looked at Natasha who didn’t answer but he followed her gaze only to spot a tall handsome brunette chatting with Peralta and Santiago.

“What is he doing here?” Nat hissed to Clint

“Don’t know. Must be the buddy Peralta said he was meeting.“ Clint answered Nat.

"Who is he?�� Bucky frowned.

“Storm” Wanda, who was nibbling a piece of lime, explained to Bucky “He’s a fireman and has the hots for Stark” she practically purred.

“Well, this is awkward.” Sam deadpanned.

“You know what? I’m gonna help Thor with the shots.” Wanda said to the group.

“Ok. I’m lost” Bucky said once Wanda was out of earshot.

“Phase 2, Barnes” Natasha’s eyes glinted “The plan was getting them drunk and leave them alone, wasn’t it? But, this is brilliant!” she clapped excitedly. “Steve’s gonna see him here, get all jealous and protective…”

“Ok, but someone needs to keep flash fire dude away from Stark until Captain Slow can make his move…” Sam warned looking as Steve was coming back from the restroom and was approaching the bar.

"Uh oh, too late” Bucky said moving his head towards Wanda who was talking to Johnny Storm and pointing at Katie’s direction before she gestured to their booth.

“Fuck.” Clint hissed.

“Should have seen that coming.” Natasha groaned.

“Can’t blame her, Witchy is only playing the cards she has left.” Clint chuckled.

“All right, Steve coming at your 9. Everybody play it cool. Let’s see how this unfolds.” Sam muttered.

It was only seconds after Steve had sat in the booth with another beer in his hands that Thor came carrying a tray with shots and a bottle of tequila, followed by Wanda and Johnny.

“Here, let me help you.” Wanda offered Thor.

“I told you I can handle this” he said placing the tray on the table “Fortunately, I am mighty.” he said casually tossing the bottle in the air and catching it expertly.

Bucky saw as Natasha gave a filthy look to Wanda who was now sitting between her and Steve.

“What? Wanda whispered.

"You know what.” Natasha muttered at her.

Steve’s eyes flickered up to the dark haired man and he did a double take. That was the Flash Fireman, the friend of Peralta’s that Katie had been talking to at the Christmas Party. He took a deep breath and felt his shoulders stiffen slightly as he looked around, spotting that Katie, Diaz and Gina were making their way over. He took a deep breath and his nostrils flared as Johnny blatantly looked Katie up and down as she made her way over.

“S’Up Fire Boy?” Diaz asked him “No kittens to rescue from a tree?”

“Off duty…” Johnny grinned “And stop pretending you’re not happy to see me Diaz.” “Yeah, that’s her happy face, just for clarity.” Gina nodded, folding her arms “Her angry face…well, no one who’s seen it has lived to tell the tale.”

There were a few chuckles from the table until Thor roared out that it was time for shots. Katie slid into the booth on the spare seat next to Johnny as Bucky and Steve both stood up to grab extra stools for Diaz and Gina. Once they were all seated Thor passed the shots around and Steve hastily slammed his down as he watched Katie leaning slightly into Johnny, the pair of them chatting. As Steve watched he held out his arm of his jacket and Katie smiled, reaching out to gently stroke it.

“You like it?” he asked looking at her “It’s a new material made by my sister, she’s an engineer.” he said sliding an arm around Katie’s shoulder “It keeps the hot stuff hot and the cool stuff cool.”

“Yeah, can’t have your brain overheating, can we?” Steve jabbed at him, rolling his eyes.

Bucky chuckled at Steve’s comment and Katie tried to hide her smile sipping from her glass.

“I’m not wearing a hat.” Johnny frowned earning a withering look from Steve and Katie choked on her Martini. At that point there was no hiding the grin spreading across her face and Bucky saw her glance at Steve, probably to share another one of those knowing, inside smiles, but her expression slipped. He looked over to see Wanda laugh at Steve’s joke and hold onto his left arm. And the Captain made no move to shrug her off. Instead, he turned into her, his arm moving only to drape round the back of the bench they were on.

Uh Oh.

“Are you ok, princess?” Bucky’s attention flicked back to Johnny who was looking at Katie. “Wanna dance?” he asked with his playful signature smile.

“Yeah, why not?” She said, shooting another glare at Steve. She stood up and flash fired dude slipped his arm round her, hand gripping at her hip as he steered her into the middle of the dancefloor

“I’m dancing too.” Natasha said standing up “And you’re all coming with me. This is a girl’s night after all…”she added dragging Wanda up out of the seat before she turned around and mouthed do something at Bucky.

Bucky looked at Clint and Sam for support, he wasn’t sure what it was that Natasha expected him to do. The situation was disastrous enough as it was.

The pretty blond waitress from the bar came to collect the tray and empty bottles scattered over the table and gave Steve an intense look.

"Want another drink or anything else, handsome? A dance maybe?”

“No thanks” Steve groaned. He stood up and simply said “Excuse me” before walking towards the bar.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked Bucky and Sam who were looking at her sympathetically.

“Don’t take it personally. He’s in love.” Bucky shrugged.

“Oh, so is he taken?” she asked apologetically.

“Not exactly…” Sam tried to explain.

“What? Is she blind or something?” the waitress said wiping the table with a rag.

“Something like that.” Clint scoffed.

Bucky sat back and tried to come up with a way to redirect the situation. Jealous and drunk Steve was not a good combination but now it was pointless trying to fix the disaster as he saw Steve perched on a stool by the bar, another beer in hand, looking at the dance floor like a wolf.

And then, it was almost like it was happening in slow motion. Wanda, who had slunk off the dancefloor made her way over to Steve where she draped herself, shamelessly over him. And before Bucky could even move to warn Steve, as he could see what was happening a mile off, she’d slipped her arms round his neck and pulled him down to kiss her.

Bucky let out a groan and he turned to the dancefloor to see Natasha stood there, hand over her mouth and she turned to look at him. He waved his hand over his throat furiously, in an attempt to get Natasha to sort it out but it was too late. Bucky’s eyes flickered to Katie whose attention was fully on Steve and her face fell.

“You left Wanda unleashed!” Bucky practically yelled, exaggerating his words so Natasha could see what he was saying, as he pointed in the direction of Steve and Wanda at the bar.

“Abort phase two. This is a disaster.” Clint groaned. Meanwhile, Thor laughed loudly and clapped.

“Matchmakers of the year, ladies and gentlemen!” he said.

“Where you even here?” Clint asked visibly annoyed.

In all fairness to Steve, he hadn’t been expecting Wanda to make a move like that. It took a while for his drunken brain to catch up with what was going on, but when he finally did he gently caught Wanda on the hips and pushed her away.

“Wanda…” he shook his head “I’m sorry, you’re a great girl and everything but…”

He stood up and looked around, and then he felt his heart sink. Katie and the Fancy Fireman were heading for the exit, hand in hand. Bucky was also watching the two of them leave, and his attention turned to Steve and the utter look of devastation the Captain wore.

Fuck.

@the-omni-princess @momobaby227 @geekofmanythings16 @angelofhell-666 @thewackywriter @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @asgardlover75 @jennmurawski13 @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie @navispalace @patzammit @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @icanfeelastormbrewing @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @disneylovingal @madzmilllz @sgtjaamesbaarnes @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @southerngracela @goldenfightergir @kellymat @official-and-unstable-satan @charmed-asylum

#csi rogers and barnes #csi au #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers #bucky barnes #clint barton #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #sam wilson #tony stark #thor odinson #brooklyn 99

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zackcollins · 5 years ago

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you gave me butterflies || tyson jost + carter hart

masterlist

Author’s Note: I was in the mood to write a fic for Tyson. So. I looked at my own request/prompt list and picked one of the options for the premise of this fic. I feel like it turned out really well. (I’ll explain Carter in the Additional section). GIF credits go to anzekopistar and uglygoalie!!

Warnings: There might be a small bit of anxiety so I’ll warn about that just in case. One can never be too careful. Other than that, I think it’s okay.

Word Count: 1.4k+

Title: Butterflies by Kacey Musgraves

Additional: Masculine reader this time! It’s been a hot minute since I’ve done one of those so I decided it was time to go back and write another one. As I said, I’d explain Carter here. He plays a part in this fic because Tyson’s dad mentions him as a way to prove a point. He also plays another role in this fic that you’re going to have to read to find out what it is. I had someone proofread this for me to check if it was alright. I intended this to be a one-shot but they told me it sounded like a set-up for a series. If you guys would like more of this, feel free to tell me because I’m willing to write more if you guys would like to read more. Carter Hart do be bringing out the series writer in me, I swear. Enough rambling. I sincerely hope you enjoy this!!

You had agreed to drive the rental car from the airport to Tyson’s parents’ house. It was obvious that you were the less nervous out of the two of you and had a lesser chance of having a traffic incident. As you loaded your suitcases into the car, Tyson thanked you for what felt like the twentieth time that day for agreeing to be the driver.

“Tyson, babe,” you said, placing your hand on his shoulder once the trunk was closed. “It’s fine. Seriously. There’s no need to thank me.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, bringing his hand up to cover yours. He ran his fingers along the top of your wrist which made you shiver a little.

“Yes,” you replied, leaning forward and kissing his cheek.

Tyson tensed underneath you, face contorting into a look of fear. That’s when you remembered the situation you were in. You were both men and the airport was an incredibly public place where Tyson could be recognized by the prying eyes of fans.

“Sorry. I forgot where we were for a second,” you said, your face falling with a guilty expression while you rubbed the back of your neck.

Smiling weakly, Tyson grabbed your hand and squeezed it. “I’m not mad, (Y/N). I just want you to be more careful.”

You nodded, squeezing Tyson’s hand in return. You looked at each other nervously for a moment before you dropped hands and walked to your respective sides of the car. You shared a small smile over the roof before you both opened the doors and slid into your seats.

Once your seatbelts were buckled and the doors were closed, Tyson turned the radio to his favourite station. You rolled your eyes, shook your head, and chuckled when you realized it was the country station. All Tyson did was stick his tongue out at you and giggle. You reached across the centre console and ruffled his hair. Tyson giggled some more and smiled at you.

As soon as you were out of the airport parking lot, Tyson placed his hand on top of the centre console. You briefly glanced down to it while still trying to maintain focus with the road. You took one of your hands from the steering wheel and grabbed Tyson’s hand, interlacing your fingers. To show his appreciation, Tyson gently squeezed your hand.

While you drove to his parents’ house, Tyson was singing along to some of the songs on the radio. Country music wasn’t even close to your favourite genre but listening to Tyson sing it made your heart swell. He didn’t have the greatest singing voice by any means but the passion and enthusiasm he was giving to each song were enough to keep you entertained and happy on what otherwise would’ve been a boring drive.

For the entirety of the drive, Tyson held your hand. Some of the songs had him gesturing along to the rhythm and lyrics but he continued to hold your hand through all that. He would squeeze your hand as he gestured his hand along to the music, presumably to thank you for not letting go.

You pulled into his parents’ driveway just as one of Tyson’s favourite songs was ending. When you turned off the car, Tyson turned to you and squeezed your hand. His face was plastered with a look of pure anxiousness. You squeezed his hand and brought your other hand over to his cheek to run your thumb across it soothingly.

“How much have you told them?” You asked, bringing your hand down and placing it on Tyson’s knee.

“I’ve told them that I’m bringing one of my buddies,” Tyson paused, letting out a shaky breath. “They don’t know that I’m bi and that my ‘buddy,’” Tyson made air-quotes around the word, “is actually my boyfriend.”

You rubbed Tyson’s knee soothingly. Tyson glanced down at his knee then up at you. Your facial expression was soft as you looked at Tyson. Tyson smiled weakly and leaned over to kiss you. The angle was awkward because you were in the front seats of a car but you made it work well enough. The kiss was short, sweet, and meaningful. When you pulled apart, Tyson’s anxiousness seemed to have softened a little.

“Ready?” He asked, squeezing your hand.

Nodding, you unbuckled your seatbelt and let go of Tyson’s hand. Tyson heaved a shaky breath while he unbuckled his own seatbelt. When you were out of the car and at front the door, Tyson was just about to reach onto his pocket to pull out his keys when the door swung open. Kacey was standing there, a smile on her face.

“Tyson, I thought you’d never come in,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Scoffing, Tyson stuck his tongue out at his sister. Kacey stuck hers out in return. She leaned against the doorframe, pointing at you.

“Is this the buddy you mentioned?”

“Yeah, I’m (Y/N),” you said, sticking your hand out for Kacey to shake. Kacey accepted, shaking your hand graciously. “You must be Tyson’s sister, Kacey.”

Kacey smiled, motioning behind her. “Come on in. Our parents are in the living room.” She turned heel and walked down the hallway.

You turned to Tyson who only shrugged. You chuckled as you walked into the house. Tyson kicked his shoes off so you followed suit, wanting to be the polite guest. After a moment to gather yourselves, Tyson directed you down the hallway and into the living room.

His parents were sitting on the couch, watching something on the television. It looked to be a Netflix show that you had been meaning to watch with Tyson but hadn’t gotten around to because of his busy season.

Tyson’s parents both smiled when they saw you. Tyson’s dad grabbed the remote and paused the television so he could focus his attention on you.

“Are you this buddy Tyson was mentioning?” Tyson’s dad asked, leaning on the back of the couch.

You nodded. “Yes, that would be me.”

Tyson cleared his throat which made everyone draw their attention toward him. You noticed that he looked as white as a ghost and scared out of his mind. Knowing what that meant made you want to rush over to comfort him. You resisted because you knew he had to say what he had to say first.

“Tys, honey,” Tyson’s mom started, looking concerned. “Are you alright? You don’t look so good.”

Instead of answering, Tyson walked over to you. He looked at you with a look that said ‘follow my lead.’ You gave your best non-verbal response that told Tyson you accepted his request. After taking a moment to gather himself, Tyson grabbed your face and leaned forward to kiss you. You hesitated for a brief moment before you brought your hands to Tyson’s waist to pull him in closer. The kiss was over much too soon for your liking. You would’ve liked to kiss Tyson until he was red-faced and swollen-lipped. You wanted to make it worth it. Instead, it was just something brief to prove a point.

Tyson stepped to your side and turned around, allowing you to see the expressions of his family. Kacey was grinning so widely you were afraid she was going to split her face open. Tyson’s mom had $20 in her hand which Tyson’s dad took from her with a cocky smile.

“Mom? Dad?” Tyson’s voice rose a couple of octaves as he spoke.

“Tyson,” Tyson’s dad said as he put the $20 in his wallet. “I’m not stupid. I knew you and Carter were more than just friends.”

You noticed that Tyson’s face turned a pretty shade of pink as he ducked his head onto your shoulder. You wrapped your arm around him and rubbed his upper arm gently. He relaxed a little and lifted his head to look at his parents.

“About that…” Tyson trailed off, looking at you nervously.

You opened your mouth to respond but the doorbell interrupted you. Tyson bolted toward the door, nearly tripping over your foot. You chuckled and rolled your eyes at him. Kacey and Tyson’s parents looked down the hallway after Tyson, wondering what was going on. You could only bite your lip nervously, knowing full well what was going to happen.

When Tyson returned a moment later, Carter Hart was following him. Kacey and Tyson’s parents blinked and looked between the three of you. Carter and Tyson walked over to you, each standing on one side. You slung an arm around both of them and they both kissed one of your cheeks. Carter and Tyson then leaned their heads in front of you and kissed each other quickly. Kacey gasped as did Tyson’s parents. Carter smiled as he turned to Tyson’s family.

“Surprise!”

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onestarromcoms · 4 years ago

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December 11: “Christmas in Paris” (Tubi)

Summary: A movie about Paris set in Montana?

FYI: This movie is absolutely terrible, so buckle up. I would say that it has Montana going for it, but it isn’t shot in Montana and post-production isn’t successful at convincing us we aren’t looking at mid-summer Ontario. Leading lady Rebecca Dalton delivers her lines like she’s in a yogurt commercial, and the French leading man’s accent doesn’t hide the fact that he can’t act. The biggest travesty is the atrocious storytelling, complete with a jarring change in geographic location for no reason and a handful of distracting, unnecessary plot devices that add nothing to the romance and intrigue.

The premise of this movie is that Lucas, a successful French playboy/entrepreneur, goes into business with a fragrance company based in… Montana? Where he goes to meet the company’s art director, Robin, who is designing the ad campaign for Lucas’s new fragrance. They get together in Montana, and halfway through the movie, he invites her back to Paris to spend Christmas with him and his mom. There’s also a whole plotline about how the ex-CEO of the fragrance company is Lucas’s estranged father who had an affair with Lucas’s mom.

The premise isn’t terrible, except that every step of the way the writers executed it terribly. First of all, why is the fragrance company based in Montana? I love Montana, but it’s not exactly the most accessible place. Flights cost a fortune and shipping perfume out of there has to as well. I get they want Robin to be an all-American country girl, but she can be that and meet Lucas in Paris. Instead, the writers have to contrive a reason for Lucas to fly to Montana, meet with the CEO of the company who is his estranged father’s sister, chill with Robin for long enough to “fall in love” with her (a grand total of three days, by my estimation) and then convince her she has to fly back to Paris with him. If the conflict in the story is supposed to be about Lucas and his father, why not set the story in Paris?

But fine, so we start in Montana for no reason. Lucas meets the fragrance CEO, the sister of the old CEO, who’s his dad. So this new CEO is Lucas’s aunt. But there’s no reason for this, she’s not in the story again. So Robin and Lucas meet and Lucas starts to flirt, but Robin is a consummate professional - only meeting him during working hours for professional meals to talk about her art directing of the new fragrance line. Lucas pulls a classic “Men Are Talking” by constantly crossing professional boundaries. He complains that Robin doesn’t know him well enough to design an ad campaign for him, so Robin finally caves and invites him out to ride in a sleigh with her.

They meet Robin’s dad and have dinner with him, which ends with an awkward conversation about Robin’s dead mom (again, this doesn’t matter and isn’t an integral part of the story or character development - just, “Hey, my mom’s dead.”) and a lot of conversation about how much Robin loves Paris. (WHY ISN’T THIS STORY SET IN PARIS). They kiss and then Robin wants to “call it a night,” which is understandable because this is day 2 of knowing Lucas and he’s saying things like “I’ve never met anyone like you before” in a French accent whilst languidly stroking her hair.

Here’s the thing about well-written fiction: every object, scene, and line of dialogue should be 100% meaningful and directly related to the story development. It’s like that quote about the rifle in Act 1 killing someone by Act 3 or whatever. So far in this movie, we have an unnecessary setting; an unnecessary CEO; several unnecessary scenes with the two of them; and an entire montage of them getting pictures with Santa WHILE OUT AT BREAKFAST THE DAY AFTER THEY MET.

Anyway, Day 3 rolls around and, in the fastest romance timeline I’ve ever seen in a movie, Lucas convinces Robin to come to Paris with him for Christmas. He doesn’t want to leave her but he promised his mom he’d be home for Christmas dinner. She agrees for some reason and they take off.

Once they’re in Paris, Robin becomes useless as a character, because almost immediately the story becomes about Lucas being contacted by his estranged father who, it’s revealed, actually never knew he existed because Lucas’s mom never told him she was pregnant. So now Lucas is reeling from learning this about his father and feels bad because he yelled at Robin about it earlier. He goes to meet his estranged father, but not before he has some sort of asthma attack that his mother treats by using her rescue inhaler on him (again, why? Why is that necessary?)

Long story short, Lucas and his father have a very tense conversation about their non-relationship before making amends. His dad is very proud of him and says he’s been proud of him and he’s sorry (but I thought his dad didn’t know he existed? I’m so confused). His dad gives him some advice about how to treat women right so Lucas can go after Robin, and gives him an heirloom engagement ring to use to propose to Robin after maybe a week of them knowing each other.

Robin unleashes her vision for the ad campaign for the fragrance company, everyone loves it, her dad convinces her to forgive Lucas. Lucas proposes, declares his love to her. Robin refuses at first because she doesn’t feel like he knows her well enough, but he keeps talking in a French accent until she gives in and accepts his proposal.

SPOILERS: They kiss in front of a Christmas tree and are presumably engaged. This is the most lukewarm couple ever and the most compressed romantic timeline of all time. Horrible story. One star.

#christmas in paris #christmasinparis #christmas #paris #hallmark #christmas movies #christmas romcom #christmas romantic comedy #christmas rom com #romcom #romance #romantic comedy #movie review #holiday movie #love #france #whatisthisstory #ithinkachildwrotethis

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newstfionline · 4 years ago

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Sunday, November 29, 2020

The global recession in democracy (The Economist) [In the wake of the election, there has been] a further partisan deterioration in American democracy. It is also part of a global democratic recession. The collapse of the Soviet Union led to a flourishing in the number and quality of liberal democracies, but the trend has now gone into reverse. Hungary and Poland are blocking the European Union budget because their governments refuse to bow to the rule of law. In the world’s largest democracy the Bharatiya Janata Party (bjp) under Narendra Modi is capturing institutions, including the courts, the police and now, it is feared, the election commission. The Economist Intelligence Unit (eiu), our sister organisation, has been compiling a democracy index since 2006. Last year’s score was the worst ever. Covid-19 has accelerated the decline. The threat is not from military coups but governments in power. Given time, unscrupulous leaders can hollow out democracy completely. Two decades ago Venezuela held meaningful elections; today it is about to eliminate the last kernel of opposition. But even in countries where such a calamity is unthinkable, the erosion of norms and institutions leads to worse government.

Los Angeles orders more restrictions as coronavirus surges (AP) Los Angeles County announced a new stay-home order Friday as coronavirus cases surged out of control in the nation’s most populous county, banning most gatherings but stopping short of a full shutdown on retail stores and other non-essential businesses. The three-week “safer at home” order takes effect Monday. It came as the county of 10 million residents confirmed 24 new deaths and 4,544 new confirmed cases of COVID-19. The order advises residents to stay home “as much as possible” and to wear a face covering when they go out. It bans people from gathering with others who aren’t in their households, whether publicly or privately. However, exceptions are made for church services and protests, “which are constitutionally protected rights,” the county Department of Public Health said in a statement.

El Salvador, Honduras, Guatemala stage mass raids in crackdown on MS-13, Barrio 18 (AP) The Central American countries of El Salvador, Guatemala and Honduras have rounded up hundreds of suspected street gang members as part of a U.S.-backed effort known as “Operation Regional Shield.” The attorney general’s office in El Salvador has taken the lead, reporting that it obtained arrest warrants for 1,152 suspects, of whom 572 had been arrested by Friday. The weeklong effort particularly targeted members of the Barrio 18 and MS-13 gangs, which operate in all three countries. Most of those arrested face charges ranging from extortion and kidnapping to murder.

Belarus’ Lukashenko says he will leave his post, state media reports (NBC News) Belarusian President Alexander Lukashenko said he would step down after a new constitution is adopted, the state-owned BelTA news agency cited him as saying on Friday. “I am not going to shape the constitution to suit my needs,” he is quoted as saying. “I am not going to be the president once the new constitution is in place.” Belarus has been rocked by months of anti-government protests ever since Lukashenko—often referred to as “Europe’s last dictator”—claimed victory in an Aug. 9 presidential election that his opponents say was rigged, a charge he denies. It remained unclear whether Lukashenko’s comments were sincere or whether he was just paying lip service to the prospect of him stepping aside. In any case, it is the first time he has publicly reflected on how the country will be governed when he is no longer president. Lukashenko has maintained his grasp on power in the former Soviet nation for the last 26 years.

Queues at barber shops as France eases coronavirus lockdown (Reuters) People eager to get a haircut stood in line outside barber shops and department stores selling gifts and Christmas decorations were busy on Saturday as France partially reopened following a month-long lockdown. Shops selling non-essential goods such as shoes, clothes and toys reopened in the first easing of a nationwide lockdown that started on Oct. 30 and will remain in place until Dec. 15. Bars and restaurants remain closed till Jan. 20.

Pope installs new cardinals, including first African-American (Reuters) Pope Francis on Saturday installed 13 new cardinals, including the first African-American to hold the high rank. Nine of the 13 are under 80 and eligible under Church law to enter a secret conclave to choose the next pope from among themselves after Francis dies or resigns. It was Francis’ seventh consistory since his election in 2013. He has now appointed 57% of the 128 cardinal electors, most of whom share his vision of a more inclusive and outward-looking Church. Thus far, he has appointed 18 cardinals from mostly far-flung countries that never had one, nearly all of them from the developing world. In Saturday’s consistory, Brunei and Rwanda got their first cardinals. In his homily, Francis told the men to keep their eyes on God, avoid all forms of corruption, and not succumb to a “worldly spirit” that can accompany the prestige and power of their new rank.

Hong Kong leader says she has ‘piles of cash at home,’ no bank account, due to U.S. sanctions (Washington Post) Hong Kong Chief Executive Carrie Lam keeps “piles of cash” at home and is unable to open a bank account after being targeted by U.S. sanctions, according to an interview the top official gave on Friday evening. “Sitting in front of you is a chief executive of the Hong Kong SAR [Special Administrative Region] who has no banking services made available to her. I’m using cash for all the things,” Lam told HKIBC, an English-language news channel based in Hong Kong. “I have piles of cash at home, the government is paying me cash for my salary because I don’t have a bank account,” Lam added. Lam is paid around 5.21 million Hong Kong dollars, roughly $672,000, a year, making her among the highest paid public officials in the world. Despite her bravado, Lam’s remarks were widely welcomed by her critics. Some activists noted that it appeared to suggest that even Chinese banks were complying with American financial restrictions.

Iran’s supreme leader vows revenge over slain scientist (AP) Iran’s supreme leader on Saturday called for the “definitive punishment” of those behind the killing of a scientist linked to Tehran’s disbanded military nuclear program, a slaying the Islamic Republic has blamed on Israel. Israel, long suspected of killing scientists a decade ago amid tensions over Tehran’s nuclear program, has yet to comment on the killing Friday of Mohsen Fakhrizadeh. However, the attack bore the hallmarks of a carefully planned, military-style ambush. The slaying threatens to renew tensions between the U.S. and Iran in the waning days of President Donald Trump’s term, just as President-elect Joe Biden has suggested his administration could return to Tehran’s nuclear deal with world powers from which Trump earlier withdrew. The Pentagon announced early Saturday that it sent the USS Nimitz aircraft carrier back into the Mideast.

Ethiopia says its military now controls the Tigray capital (AP) Ethiopia’s military has gained full control of the capital of the defiant Tigray region, the army announced Saturday after Tigray TV reported that the city of a half-million people was being “heavily bombarded” in the final push to arrest the region’s leaders. The army chief of staff, Gen. Birhanu Jula, made the comment about the military’s control of Mekele while speaking on an Ethiopian state broadcast. Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed said in a separate statement, “We have entered Mekele without innocent civilians being targets.” Neither mentioned the arrest of any of the leaders of the Tigray People’s Liberation Front, which runs the region. The Tigray leader could not be reached. With communications cut to the region of 6 million people, it is difficult to verify claims by the warring sides. Each government regards the other as illegal.

Dispel Lockdown Woes and Hectic Holidays With Simple Tips For Boosting Mood (Good News Network) Wintertime weather, holidays, and a pandemic lockdown can make routines difficult, but practicing mindfulness can offer a solution, and be done in very simple forms. The year has been a real humdinger for some and a tragedy for others, and using mindfulness—the direct mental effort to make yourself present in each passing moment, can help remind so many of us why the holidays are a favorite time of the year. Even though the thermometers are reading low, walking is not only a great way to practice mindfulness, but it gets you out of doors—which every psychologist worth their salt would explain is great for your mental health. 1. Reduced daylight hours lead to a reduction in the natural absorption of vitamin D from UV light. Vitamin D is one of the most important biochemicals for the immune system and fighting off viruses. 2. Exposure to cold increases the brain’s production of norepinephrine, a behavioral chemical that can make you feel elated and excited. 3. Exposure to trees, sky, the stars, and nature has been shown time and time again to help improve mental well-being. Studies have shown walking in forests or in close sight of trees has been shown to lower levels of stress and anxiety.

#headlines #news

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ballouheys · 5 years ago

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hey there , i’m libby ( or any of the other many nicknames that come w being named elizabeth ... we’re all pals here . call me what you want to ) and i just spent way too much time trying to write this intro . but this is way to long and way too all over the place ... .. so hit that little like button and i’ll slip n slide into your dms ( i’ll probably slip n slide into ur dms even if you don’t , what can i say ? i’m shameless ) to give you the low low on gigi so you don’t have to read this mess of an intro rip :/

𝐨𝐨𝟏. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 .

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: gentry thylane ballouhey . 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬: gigi ,gen . 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡: june 26 . 𝐳𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧: cancer . 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞: los angeles , california . 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧: los angeles , california . 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: bisexual ╱ biromantic . 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬: fluent in english and french . literate in spanish , but is unable to properly articulate the language despite several years of studies . 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐬: a sloppily drawn heart on the side of her right middle finger, a winking and now faded smiley face on the tip of her left index finger, but out of all the unfortunate markings, the most unfortunate of them all was her own signature in girlish print across the inside of her foot. or perhaps the license plate of her first car ( that she had driven through their fence four months after it had been gifted to her ) beneath her left breast. all of which had been inked into her skin by friends, all of which seemed like a much better idea when drunk . 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: three in tight succession on each earlobe . 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜: notes penned in red ink , each individual i dotted with its own tiny heart , scuffed and sullied balenciaga sneakers and ruffled ankle high socks , the cacophonous clink of bulky anklets against one another with each passing step , applying a full face of makeup only to remove it all minutes later , a far too large collection of scrunchies varying in pattern and texture lining the top drawer of her bedside table , a plethora of practiced accents , mascara and tears leaking down the swell of freckled cheeks as the credits to a romantic comedy she could quote word for word begin to roll , long bubble baths in a claw foot tub with a streetcar named desire playing on repeat in another room , sundays spent tangled up in an array of silken bed linens , a collection of shoes that could rival even carrie bradshaw’s , a signature practiced to perfection , hearts varying in size doodled on the palm of her hand , along the underside of her arm , romanticized idealizations , wearing her finest lingerie beneath sweatpants and the hacked hem of t-shirts she cropped herself , strands of hair sticking to overly glossed lips , unsmoked and pink ringed cigarette stubs dropped into an emptied flute of champagne , the wrong number scrawled on a napkin in pink ink to match the stain of puckered lips , unsubtle flirations , a personality akin to bubbling champagne , kisses planted anywhere but on the mouth , meaningful conversations with a stranger , and long nights spent searching for love in all the wrong places .

𝐨𝐨𝟐. 𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐇

perhaps the one thing worse than a charmed childhood spoiling with years passed, was a childhood that had been spoiled from the very start. and poor gentry ballouhey had been brought into this world swaddled in cotton and blushing bright pink, held loose within the arms of a mother who didn’t quite want her, as her father stared with disdain at the second little girl he hadn’t quite planned on having. the family of three had already been perfect, she was nothing more than a blemish, a mistake, a pretty, little bandaid doused in alcohol and placed atop a gaping wound ( utterly useless and entirely too painful ). yes, she had been born into the quintessential white-picket fence family, all bright and toothy grins ( perfectly straight, perfectly white ), in their matching white tennis outfits as their matching white poodles gallivanted across the perfectly manicured lawn, but no childhood could be charmed when one spent the entirety of it unloved.

the ballouhey’s outcast, conceived amongst a dreamlike haze of judgement clouded by a bottle of dom perignon shared beneath starlit parisian skies, had been burdened with the expectations to conform when her entire existence stood in stark contrast to their careful ideals. even her conception had been rash and unexpected, much unlike her sister who had been dreamt of from the very moment their parents had married, carefully crafted in a lab after several failed attempts. meryl was wanted, a charming girl who lived a charmed life, and gentry? well, she simply was not. the blonde and bubbling stain on an otherwise perfect family portrait, the odd duckling among long-necked and elegant swans, gentry had felt forced to force her own self into an almost unsettling obedience. another failed attempt to please, to garner but a mere fraction of the attention marlon and madeleine ballouhey smothered their first-born in.

she was a true oddity, in more ways than one. softness epitomized, all freckles and full cheeks, doe-eyes and blurred edges nestled several steps to the left of her sharp-eyed and sharp-lined family members. an airy spring breeze in comparison to her elder sister’s chilled winter evening. the littlest ballouhey that left all spectators befuddled for she was all her father with a little something else. yet despite marlon and madeleine’s best efforts to keep their youngest tucked away from the public eye by sending her to the most exclusive and private catholic schools, and leaving her at home with the nannies while the rest of the family attended awards shows ( claiming it was simply because she was too young to attend ), gentry was sought out by one of her father’s friends to star in a film at the age of fourteen. the first time she had ever been chosen before meryl, her short lived claim to fame. perhaps an acting career wasn’t truly her calling, but the adoration she had received was.

the attention she received in the years following her debut in the film industry, turned the girl desperate for love into a girl even more hungry for adoration. she began to spent her days striving for perfection to draw her parents coveted attention ( the only thing they had ever left her wanting for ) back to herself. each straight a report card had been put up on the fridge only to go unnoticed, the nanny chauffeured her to all her extracurricular activities and sat in her parents place for all her dance recitals. and when she told her father about her time spent volunteering at the animal shelter she’d been met with a dismissive nod and a clap on the shoulder that was meant to be congratulatory as he left in a hurry to tend to something on set. her parents immersed themselves in their work, in meryl, and gentry was pushed off to the side for the nannies to deal with even after she was well into her teens.

yet while she began to achieve the feigned perfection her family had always seemed to possess, their decline sputtered to life. at least within their home. she can still remember mornings spent splayed out on her plush queen-sized bed with her romantic comedies to drown out the noise , hair a mess and a pressed private school uniform on - all pink on pink on pink ( her pink cigarettes tucked beneath a pillow, mother’s faux lashes accentuating eyes made vacant by her pink and white pills, and the collar of daddy’s scotch soaked dress shirt stained by pillow lips painted an unfamiliar shade of pink ) as she used the edge of a polished finger to swipe the errant tear that had leaked from a trained tear duct, glossed lips once, twice, thrice before slipping out of their house ( it felt both all too large and far too small for the four of them ) unnoticed by her quarreling parents, glared at by her sister. others could see right through the act, witnessed the slammed doors rattling painting right off the walls, heard the boozy and biting insults, the tumblers hurled, scotch sloshing, ice clattering, glass shattering, and she knew that they knew. but when looks of pity, or rather discomfort, passed across their faces she’d simply smile that deep-dimpled barbie doll beam, and turn the television playing rom coms on repeat up several notches. love gone terribly awry stifled by the picturesque, perhaps that’s where it had come from … her love for love, or more specifically yearning and romance as depicted on the silver screen, when she had been raised in an environment so frosty it should have left her with a block of ice in place of her childish and sputtering heart .

𝐨𝐨𝟑. 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

not unlike her parents she loved obsessed in a way that exhausted ( far too much , far too fast ) . ashton had inherited her mother’s insecurities , strung her jealousy in a choke around her throat like an emerald necklace , and her father’s flighty heart that sputtered to life for all the wrong souls . it was no suprise that the two who had given new meaning to the term hopeless romantic would spawn a lovely daughter just as unlucky , if not more so , in love . but their hard , cold genes had been muddled together , creating something much worse . she loves love , or rather suffocating adoration , and will latch on to just about anyone who makes her feel a little less hollow . while gentry is what one would deem a movie buff, it would be difficult for someone to name a movie that she hasn’t seen at least once, she loves to read just as much. tucked away in the valley as her father traveled the world to attend award shows and charity galas, there was very little to do. so she often found herself flipping through novels as she tanned alongside the pool, always the odd one out as her friends gossiped about the boys from their brother school and flipped through gossip rags.

gentry has an extensive vocabulary, contrary to what most might think. its a product of her extensive reading and film viewing, but she always seems to get a weird glance when she drops a big word into her sentence littered with valley girl lingo.

while she certainly isn’t a ditz, she doesn’t necessarily dispute the assumption most people make when they glimpse the spacey look that her features take to a bit too often. perhaps she likes being underestimated, but she doesn’t typically do much to prove those who do underestimate her wrong.

gentry loves nothing more than spending all day in her pink silk pajamas, buried beneath sheets and duvet with her persian cat, holly golightly ( dubbed holly ) as she watches a rom-com she’s already seen at least ten times. she isn’t lazy per se, she just much prefers a night in with a bottle of champagne and her box of tissues ( if she’s planning on watching 13 going on 30 she has to be prepared for a few leaked tears ) to a night out.

gentry is almost a bastardized version of cher horowitz, plucked right from the screen and loosely translated to fit reality. she’s a bit selfish and undeniably herself, yet yearns for, needs if one were to be dramatic, admiration. any semblance of attention that strokes her large ego and keeps her confidence from wavering a much appreciated gesture. but despite being far too self absorbed for her own good, she gives off some guise of selflessness - though her ample acts of kindness always tend to benefit her in return. and while she’s often concerned with how people perceive her, desperately wanting for everyone to find her desirable, she’s a bit too idealistic, a bit too stubborn to simply settle for people. with a collection of romance novels and romantic comedies still lining the shelves of her room that hadn’t change much since girlhood, it’s no secret that she has an insatiable love for love.

#reputationintro #whew this is ~rough~ pls forgive :/#and the formatting is really ugly too i hate it here

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ashtray-girl · 5 years ago

Text

By Grand Central Station I Sat Down And Wept and its role in Morrissey’s lyricism

PLOT This is a short prose poetry novel in which author Elizabeth Smart recounts her love affair with married poet George Barker (even though she began writing it years before they met). Said affair lasted 18 years and she bore 4 of his 15 children, whom he had from several different women.

The novel is divided in 10 parts, so I’ll proceed by summing up each one of them while also highlighting the parts which I think are relevant to the Morrissey discourse.

DISCLAIMER: even though there isn’t much of a plot to spoil (the focus is placed almost entirely on the narrator’s feelings and in the way they’re expressed), I am gonna quote extensively from every chapter so keep that in mind if you intend to read the book for yourself.

PART I The protagonist is waiting at the bust station for the man she loves to collect her (she never names him btw) but when he finally comes he’s with his wife and it’s her that the protagonist sees first.

“But then it is her eyes that come forward out of the vulgar disembarkers to reassure me that the bus has not disgorged disaster: her madonna eyes, soft as the newly-born, trusting as the untempted. And, for a moment, at that gaze, I am happy to forego my future, and postpone indefinitely the miracle hanging fire. […] Behind her he for whom I have waited for so long, who has stalked so unbearably through my nightly dreams.”

It’s interesting to note the way she talks about her. Even though she’s wildly in love with this man, she never badmouths her. On the contrary, throughout the story she seems to have a good opinion of her.

“I see she can walk across the leering world and suffer injury only from the ones she loves. But I love her and her silence is propaganda for sainthood.”

You know what all of this reminds me of? The time Angie collected Morrissey at the station to take him to Johnny’s house, a few days after Johnny had knocked on Morrissey’s door and they’d talked about forming a band. Did he expect it would be Johnny who’d come and pick him up? Did he know he had a girlfriend?

“So we drive along the Californian coast singing together, and I entirely renounce him for only her peace of mind.”

I don’t know if the narrator shares Morrissey’s fascination with cars (I don’t even think the two things are necessarily related), but it’s worth pointing out how some of the most important and dramatic scenes of the book happen in a car.

“Why do I not jump off this cliff where I lie sickened by the moon? I know these days are offering me only murder for my future. It is not just the creeping fingers of the cold that dissuade me from action, and allow me to accept the hypocritical hope that there may be some solution. Like Macbeth, I keep remembering that I am their host. So it’s tomorrow’s breakfast rather than the future’s blood that dictates fatal forbearance. Nature, perpetual whore, distracts with the immediate.”

Look at this entire paragraph and tell me it isn’t the most Morrissey thing you’ve ever read. Also, does any part of it sound familiar? Well, let’s look at the lyrics for Shakespeare’s Sister:

Young bones groan, and the rocks below say “Throw your skinny body down, son"

But I'm going to meet the one I love So please don't stand in my way Because I'm going to meet the one I love No, mama, let me go

Young bones groan and the rocks below say "Throw your white body down"

But I'm going to meet the one I love At last, at last, at last! I'm going to meet the one I love

Then the protagonist gets to the couple’s house and her sudden proximity to the man she loves brings the feelings she’s been trying to repress right back to the surface:

“The Beginning lurks uncomfortably on the outskirts of the circle, like an unpopular person whom ignoring can keep away. The very silence, the very avoiding of any intimacy between us, when he, when he was only a word, was able to cause me sleepless nights and shivers of intimation, is the more dangerous. Our seeming detachment gathers strength. I sit back impersonally and say, I see human vanity, or feel myself full of gladness because there is a gentleness between him and her, or even feel irritation because he lets her do too much of the work, sits lolling whilst she chops wood for the stove.”

There’s an unmistakable feeling of impeding doom, as if she knows that even though nothing physical has happened between them yet, she’s sealed her own deal just by being there with him and it’s only a matter of time before the inevitable strikes.

“While we drive along the road in the evening, talking as impersonally as a radio discussion, he tells me: ‘A boy with green eyes and long lashes, whom I had never seen before, took me into the back of a printshop and made love to me, and for two weeks I went around remembering the numbers on bus conductors’ hats.’ ‘One should love beings whatever their sex’, I reply, but withdraw into the dark with my obstreperous shape of shame, offended with my own flesh which cannot metamorphose into a printshop boy with armpits like chalices.”

So there you have it: Meaningful Car Scene n°1. He confesses he had a homosexual experience (and he enjoyed it, or so it seems) and she’s jealous but not outraged or disgusted, which is quite a big deal if you think this book was first published in 1945. (It’s also worth noting that, in her later years, Elizabeth Smart had affairs with both men and women). Another thing I noticed as I was writing this is that sentence, “remembering the numbers on bus conductors’ hats”, which reminded me of that line in Phoney:

Who can make Hitler Seem like a bus conductor? You do, oh Phoney you do

It’s probably just a coincidence, but I found it funny nonetheless.

“He kissed my forehead driving along the coast in the evening, and now, wherever I go, like the sword of Damocles, that greater never-to-be-given kiss hangs above my doomed head. He took my hand between the two shabby front seats of the Ford, and it was dark, and I was looking the other way, but now that hand casts everywhere an octopus shadow from which I can never escape. The tremendous gentleness of that moment smothers me under; […] I stand on the edge of the cliff, but the future is already done.”

Meaningful Car Scene n°2. There’s a first attempt at physical contact and by now he seems to have realised she has feelings for him, so he’s trying to see how far he can push himself with her.

Now, I’m just gonna go ahead and say it: I feel like something very similar to this may have happened between Johnny and Morrissey. The reason why I decided to write this analysis is because, once I read the book, I fully realised the pervasiveness of its influence in many of the lyrics Morrissey wrote while he was in The Smiths (especially during the Meat Is Murder era) and in the first years of his solo career but, as much as people talked about it, I feel like they never went deep enough. The way I see it, Morrissey had every reason to relate to the protagonist, even though she’s a woman. Someone who falls deeply in love with a married man (with bisexual tendencies, it seems) and is quite concerned with the ethics of what she’s doing but at the same time is very certain of her feelings for him. The man, on the other hand, seems to have a much more ambiguous attitude, accepting her love but also wanting to keep a respectable façade by staying with his wife. If we assume that Morrissey did harbour romantic feelings for Johnny, it’s easy to see why he would choose this book as a way to sublimate them, especially if we consider how the queer factor would’ve made them even less acceptable in the eyes of society.

But going back to the book… what about the man’s wife?

“By day she obeys the voice of love as the stricken obey their god, and she walks with the light step of hope which only the naive and the saints know. […] He also is bent towards her in an attitude of solicitude. Can he hear his own heart while he listens for the tenderness of her sensibilities? Is there a way at all to avoid offending the lamb of god?”

As I said before, she doesn’t seem to be especially jealous of his wife, but that may be because at the moment she’s high on the secret attentions her husband is giving her, so it’s easy for her to feel sorry for this other woman who’s being cheated on right under her own roof.

I can’t help but think about how Morrissey and Angie had their own relationship and seemed to be quite close. I mean, that must have been a bit of a weird dynamic (for Moz at least), and I wonder how they worked it out.

“I never was in love with death before, nor felt grateful because the rocks below could promise certain death. But now the idea of dying violently becomes an act wrapped in attractive melancholy, and displayed with every blandishment. For there is no beauty in denying love, except perhaps by death, and towards love what way is there? To deny love, and deceive it meanly by pretending that what is unconsummated remains eternal, or that love sublimated reaches highest to heavenly love, is repulsive, as the hypocrite’s face is repulsive when placed too near the truth. […] I might be better fooled, but can I see the light of a match while burning in the arms of the sun?”

There’s another reference to dying by throwing herself off a cliff, but the really interesting part is what comes after. The narrator rejects the idea that spiritual love is the highest form of love, which is achieved by embracing its physical side instead. It’s not enough for her to have a platonic bond with the man she loves because she wants him in mind, body and soul.

While reading this, I couldn’t help but draw some parallels:

- “Dying violently becomes an act wrapped in attractive melancholy.” → “To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.” - “Can I see the light of a match while burning in the arms of the sun?” → “There is a light and it never goes out.”

And then, opening the penultimate paragraph of this first chapter:

“I have learned to smoke because I need something to hold on to. I dare not be without a cigarette in my hand.”

This is one of the most obvious one. If we look at the lyrics for What She Said (which is based almost entirely on this book), it’s pretty self-explanatory:

What she said: ‘I smoke ‘cause I’m hoping for a nearly death And I need to cling to something.’

PART II This part is mainly about the remorse the protagonist is feeling towards the man’s wife, who has now realised something happened between the two of them.

“Her eyes pierced all the veils that protected my imagination against ruinous knowledge. […] Is there no other channel of my deliverance except by her martyrdom?”

It’s quite interesting to note how the chapter opens with:

“God, come down […] and tell me who will drown in so much blood.”

And then, on the next page:

“I am blind, but blood, not love, blinded my eye. Love lifted the weapon but guided my crime.”

Both of these lines reminded me of the lyrics for Yes, I Am Blind:

Yes, I am blind No, I can't see The good things Just the bad things, oh...

Yes, I am blind No, I can't see There must be something Horribly wrong with me?

God, come down If you're really there Well, you're the one who claims to care

It then goes on:

“… she whom I have injured, and whose agony it is my penalty to watch, lies gasping, but still living, on the land.”

- “Gasping, but still living.” → “Gasping, but somehow still alive.” (Well I Wonder)

PART III The narrator spends most of this chapter gushing about how in love she is with this man, who in the meantime has followed her back home to spend some time with her (though it’s not clear whether he has left his wife for her or not.)

“Even the precise geometry of his hand, when I gaze at it, dissolves me into water and I flow away in a flood of love.”

(I have nothing to say about this line except that I like it and that I can’t help but imagine Morrissey staring at Johnny’s hands as he picks the chords of his guitar, thinking these exact same thoughts.)

“When the Ford rattles up to the door, five minutes (five years) late, and he walks across the lawn under the pepper-trees, I stand behind the gauze curtains, unable to move to meet him, or to speak, as I turn to liquid to invade his every orifice when he opens the door.”

Yet another reference to his car. Also yeah, you’re wet for him, we get it.

“And there is so much for me, I am suddenly so rich, and I have done nothing to deserve it, to be so overloaded. All after such a desert. All after I had learnt to say, I am nothing, and I deserve nothing. […] It has happened, the miracle has arrived, everything begins today, […] all the paraphernalia of existence, all my sad companions of these last twenty years, […] all the world solicits me with joy, leaps at me electrically, claiming its birth at last.”

I can’t help but think about how similarly Morrissey must have felt after Johnny knocked on his door, after having spent his last twenty years in much the same way the narrator had, feeling lonely and isolated.

I mean, he even said so himself:

“He appeared at a time when I was deeper than the depths, if you like. And he provided me with this massive energy boost. I could feel Johnny’s energy just seething inside of me.”

“I was there, dying, and he rescued me.”

The chapter ends with this sentence:

“Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm, for love is strong as death.”

Which kinda reminds me of that part in Rusholme Ruffians:

So scratch my name on your arm with a fountain pen (This means you really love me)

PART IV This is, in my opinion, the book’s most interesting chapter. What happens is, they get stopped as they’re crossing the Arizona border and once the cops realise they’re together but not married to each other, the take them to the police station, interrogate them for several hours about the nature of their relationship and then make them leave separately.

Once again, one of the most dramatic scenes takes place in a car.

I fully believe that Morrissey wrote both The Boy With The Thorn In His Side and later Late Night, Maudlin Street with this entire part in mind.

“They are taking me away in a police car […] They are prosecuting me for silence and for love […] They drove me away in a police car. […] For too much love, only for too much love. […] Are you not convinced, inspector? Do you not believe in love?”→ “They took you away in a police car / Inspector – don’t you know? Don’t you care? Don’t you know – about love?” (Late Night, Maudlin Street)

“They intercepted our love because of what was in our eyes. […] Did they see such flagrant proof and still not believe?” → “How can they see the love in our eyes and still they don’t believe us?” (The Boy With The Thorn In His Side)

I wonder who “they” were, though. I mean, we know that in the book, when she says: “They are prosecuting me for silence and for love” she clearly means the authorities, but what did Morrissey mean? Were “they” those same “people who are weaker/uglier than you and I” and those “evil people (who) prosper over the likes of you and me always”? And did he have some specific names in mind, or did he just mean society in general? As in: “They (the general public / the media / the music industry) can’t (don’t want to?) see we love each other because they’re not ready to accept that idea yet, but they’re more than happy to profit from us and our art, which is only made possible BECAUSE of that love.”

The penultimate paragraph before the end of the chapter feels especially relevant:

“All our wishes were private, we desired no more scope than ourselves. Could we corrupt the young by gazing into each other’s eyes? Would they leave their offices? Would big business suffer?”

PART V The protagonist comes back home feeling sorry for herself. Her family doesn’t approve of her relationship with a married man, but she refuses to apologise and spends most of her time contemplating nature and reminiscing about what happened.

Another quote which Morrissey probably used as inspiration for Late Night…

“Every yellow or scarlet leaf hangs like a flag waving me on.” → “Every hag waves me on / Secretly wishing me gone.”

PART VI The protagonist has an argument with her father, who’s worried about her state. Her mother doesn’t want to have anything to do with her anymore and even her brother is sceptical about the whole situation. She then reminisces about leaving Ottawa with him (she’s Canadian) and she talks at length about how they’re meant to be together no matter what. She also finds out she’s pregnant.

At the start, she mentions neighbours who warn her to stay away from him:

“The well-meaning matrons who, from their insulated living say, ‘My dear, I think you would would regret it afterwards if you broke up a marriage,’ ‘When you felt it about to happen the right thing would have been to have gone away at once.”

I wonder how many people around The Smiths were aware of Morrissey being in love with Johnny (because at this point, no one can convince me he wasn’t) and, if they were, how much did they know? Did they ever talked to him about it? Did they warn him about being cautious, about not revealing too much of his own feelings in his songs? And did they mention how bad it would look for him if he broke up a couple?

“The policeman grows fatter each day and rivals the new tanks. He blots out the doorway of the little café. A couple seeing him spills the milk at the counter, remembering what they did under the bridge last night. But the policeman is blind. He strikes only when he hears a loud noise. There are others, though, who have eyes like shifty hawks, and they prowl the streets searching for a face whereon an illegal kiss might be forming. No, there is no defence for love, and tears will only increase the crime.”

Here she’s talking about how, while in the midst of a war (the book is set in the 40s), the police (and society in general) seem to be concerned with futile things like arresting people who are doing nothing but love each other and it reminds me of a quote from Morrissey’s Autobiography:

“Men were draped with medals for killing other men yet imprisoned for loving one another.”

Later on, she makes a point of proclaiming herself ready to take their relationship as it is, without expecting much of a future.

“Though this is all there is […] I accept it without tomorrows and without any lilies of promise. It is enough, the now, and though it comes without anything, it gives me everything. […] But as long as the accessories are such now as to make me over-armed with weapons to combat the antagonistic world, even if a thousand programs go wrong, I won’t lament that past I was when I could see no future.”

She then tries to dissipate any doubts he might have about their relationship (because it looks as if he’s already starting to second-guess himself) by repeatedly reassuring him that she’s the one for him and that, as much as he tries, he can’t escape that fact.

“Remember I am not temptation to you, but everything is which inclines you away. Nor are you to me, but my entire goal. Sometimes you see this as clearly as I do now, for you say, ‘Do you think if I didn’t I could have…?’”.

I wonder… if Johnny hadn’t already been with Angie when he knocked on Morrissey’s door, would things have panned out differently for them? Would they have dared to take their relationship to the next level in spite of society’s backlash?

“Do you see me then as the too-successful one, like a colossus whose smug thighs rise obliviously out of sorrow? Or as the detestable all-female, who grabs and devours, invulnerable with greed? Alas, these are your sins, your garments of shame, and not the blond-sapling boys with blue eye-shadow leaning amorously towards you in the printshop.”

Leaving aside the fact that this man is garbage, she’s obviously anxious to reassure him that it’s not his bisexuality that saddens her, but the fact that he sees her as a threat.

Also that line, “grabs and devours”, will then be used by Morrissey in The Headmaster Ritual:

He grabs and devours He kicks me in the showers Kicks me in the showers And he grabs and devours

By the end of the chapter though, her words of comfort are starting to sound ominous:

“Only remember: I am not the ease, but the end. I am not to blind you but to find you. What you think is the sirens singing to lure you to your doom is only the voice of the inevitable, welcoming you after so long a wait. I was made only for you.”

PART VII The man has a breakdown and he’s interned in a psych facility. She tries to go and see him, but his wife is already there. He’d previously written her a letter, asking her to take him back. The protagonist leaves and when she comes back a few days later they leave together, but when she tries to confront him about the letter he refuses to listen to her. They have a fight and she ends up capitulating because he’s still ill and she wants to believe him when he tells her she’s the only one.

“My love, why did you leave me on Lexington Avenue in the Ford that had no breaks?” This line reminds me a bit of Break Up The Family, when Morrissey says:

Hailstones, driven home In a car – no breaks? I don’t mind

Which coincidentally is what’s happening in this chapter: the honeymoon phase is clearly over, he’s having troubles with his guilty conscience and he deals with them by distancing himself from her, even though she’s expecting his child.

PART VIII He and his wife move to London where the war is raging and, after a while, the protagonist follows them. She stays in a dingy hotel and he occasionally visits her to have sex with her, but by now it’s clear that he has no intention of leaving his wife for her, so they often fight and every day she’s getting more and more desperate and isolated.

The chapter opens with the line:

“His brother and his mother and his grandmother lie abandoned in death on the stones of the London Underground.”

This vaguely reminds me once again of Late Night…

You gran died And you mother died On Maudlin Street In pain and ashamed With never time to say Those special things

“Bombs are bigger, but the human brains they burst remain the same. It is the faces we once kissed that are being smashed in the English coastal towns, the hand we shook that are swept up with the debris […] and love still uproots the heart better than an imagined landmine.”

This paragraph makes me think of Ask:

Because if it’s not love Then it’s the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb The bomb, the bomb That will bring us together

In the meantime, their relationship is going sour and the protagonist feels they’re reaching a breaking point.

“When the ship cracks in the typhoon, we cover our heads and tell ourselves that all will resolve back to normal. But we are unbelieving. This time may not be like the other times that with time grew into cheerful anecdotes. […] O where does he stalk like a horse in pastures very far afield? I cannot hear him, and silence writes more terrible things than he can ever deny. Is there a suspicion the battle is lost? Certainly he killed me fourteen nights in succession.”

I can’t help but think about how Morrissey must have felt when Johnny told him he wanted to leave The Smiths. People around him (Stephen Street, Grant Showbiz) thought he was going to kill himself and the fact that Johnny then went on holiday and never made contact with him must have alarmed him even more. He’d first thought the situation could be repaired, but by then he must’ve realised the end was upon them.

“He did the one sin which Love will not allow. […] He did sin against Love, and though he says it was in Pity’s name, and that Pity was only fighting a losing battle with Love, he was useless to Pity, and in wavering, injured Love, which was, after all, what he staked all for, all he had, ungamblable.”

From what I gather, he went back to his wife because he felt sorry for her and the protagonist can’t accept that because in her eyes their love was everything that mattered and everything they had.

Now: as I said before, I think Morrissey was inspired by this book because he saw himself in it. I think he must’ve found many similarities between the protagonist’s situation and his own, both of them in love with a married man who doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. Johnny and Angie split for a brief period in 1983, when The Smiths went on their first USA tour, and I’ve seen a few people speculate that if something physical happened between Morrissey and Johnny, it may very well have happened then. Morrissey may have taken advantage of the fact that Johnny was free and overcame his fears by making the first move. Or maybe, Johnny was the one who, once aware of Morrissey’s feelings for him, decided to take the bull by its horns. I don’t know. Nobody does. What I wonder is… once Johnny went back to Angie, how did Morrissey feel? Because I don’t think he was all that thrilled. Did he think he did it out of pity, like the protagonist of the book did? If something had happened between them on that tour, did he feel used? Did he feel mildly outraged? Did he resign himself to consider it a one-night stand and nothing more, even though his feelings for Johnny clearly went deeper than that? It’s also worth noticing how the references to this book start to spring up in his lyrics from Meat Is Murder onwards, that is, after that tour in 1983.

“How can I put love up to my hopes so suicidal and wild-eyed when the matter is too simple and too plain: it is her tears he feels trickling over his breast each night; it is for her he feels the concern; and the pity, after all, not the love, fills his twenty-four hours. Perhaps I am his hope. But then she is his present. And if then she is his present, I am not his present. Therefore, I am not, and I wonder why no one has noticed I am dead and taken the trouble to bury me. […] For even if he loves me, he is in her arms. O the fact, the unalterable fact: it is she he is with: he is with her: he is not with me because he is sleeping with her.”

For me, this might be the most heartbreaking part of the book. The protagonist knows that no matter what she tells herself, when he’s done with her he comes home to his wife while she’s stuck in a hotel room in a country which is not her own.

That line, “I wonder why no one has noticed I am dead and taken the trouble to bury me”, also crops up right at the beginning of What She Said:

What she said: “How come someone hasn’t noticed that I’m dead And decided to bury me? God knows, I’m ready!”

Which makes me think Morrissey must have somehow related to this part. “He loves me, but he’s still with her.” “He has martyred me, but for no cause, nor has he any idea of the size and consequence of my wounds. Perhaps he will never know, for to say, You killed me daily and O most especially nightly, would imply blame. I do not blame, nor even say, You might have done this or this rather than that. I even say, You must do that, you have to do it, there is no alternative, urging my own murder. […] If ever again he lets those nights happen, or dallies with remorse for past sins to others while sinning most dangerously against me, I shall be unrevivable. I shall, whether I want to or not, be struck dead with the fact. And he may clothe it in all humanity’s most melting colours, and pity, and sympathy, and call on love to be kind, and I too shall pray, Let me be kind, but it will be no good.”

This entire thing reinforces my first thought, which is: Morrissey and Johnny at one point had a one-night stand (“It was a good lay, good lay...”), except for Morrissey there were much stronger feelings attached to it.

As hurt as she is, the protagonist doesn’t blame the man for going back to his wife and she even encourages him, because she recognises that, at the end of the day, it’s the best course of action for everyone involved. What she wishes wouldn’t happen again are those nights, coupled with him badmouthing her to others out of remorse for his own actions.

If we once again consider the queer factor in the relationship between Morrissey and Johnny, it wouldn’t surprise me if Morrissey followed the same reasoning when Johnny went back to Angie because, as much as Morrissey loved him, he wouldn’t be able to give him the stability of a straight relationship. (That isn’t to say Johnny didn’t love Angie, btw. I’m sure he loved her deeply and he still does, but I also think at the time some internal conflict was present because, on some level, he reciprocated Morrissey’s feelings.)

That last line, “… and call on love to be kind, and I too shall pray, Let me be kind” reminds me of I Know It’s Over:

It takes strength to be gentle and kind

This can be applied to many situations, but I feel like it becomes especially relevant in the context of the love of your life leaving you for someone else, who you also care about.

PART IX The protagonist goes back home to Canada and has to face the invasive questioning of neighbours who see her with a big belly but no wedding ring. After a while though, she realises she must see the man she loves and so she leaves to meet him once again.

“I am lonely. I cannot be a female saint. I want the one I want. He is the one I picked out from the world. I picked him out in cold deliberation. But the passion was not cold. It kindled me. It kindled the world. Love, love, give my heart ease, put your arms round me, give my heart ease. Feel the little bastard.”

- “I want the one I want.” → “I want the one I can’t have.” - “Put your arms round me.” → “All I ask of you is one thing that you never do / Would you put your arms around me? (I won’t tell anyone).” (Tomorrow)

PART X The final chapter opens with the line that gave the book its title: “By Grand Central Station I sat down and wept.” He didn’t come to collect her, so she has a breakdown right in the middle of the station. The ending is kind of confusing. It looks as if she resigns herself to go back to him just to have sex with him, and she tries to convince herself everything is fine, but it clearly isn’t.

Elizabeth Smart went back to George Barker time and time again, even though their relationship was dysfunctional to say the least and they were both very damaged, egotistical individuals. He cheated on her repeatedly but she loved him nonetheless, so I guess it would make sense for the book to end like this as well.

“They obey the glint in the middle of my glazed eye, for it is the fierce last stand of all I have.” → “Gasping - but somehow still alive / This is the fierce last stand of all I am.” (Well I Wonder)

“I wanted only one thing. I gave you the full instructions. The name, I spelt it out in letters as long as a continent, even the address, the address that makes waterfalls of my blood because it is also her address. I said quite plainly and loudly: This is what I want. I want this, and I don’t want any bonus. Just give me this and I’ll pay any price you ask. I made no reservations. You took advantage of this. I never grudged. But, Sir, so what I plead is just – what are you stalling for? There is no more to give.”

This entire paragraph reminds me of Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want.

“He hangs, damp with his impotent tears, nailed by one hand to Love and by the other one to Pity.”

This man is split between love and duty and can’t seem to be able to make a decision, with everyone suffering as a consequence, including him. That’s what the protagonist sees. What I see is a man who likes to have his ego stroked and doesn’t mind a bit of drama. It’s not that he’s unable to make a decision, he just doesn’t want to.

“Is it possible he cannot hear me when he lies so close, so lightly asleep? […] My dear, my darling, do you hear me when you sleep?”

These parts were clearly used by Morrissey as inspiration for the lyrics of Well I Wonder (which, like What She Said, was based almost entirely on this book – I even think they were written back to back.)

Well I wonder Do you hear me when you sleep?

“This is the very room he chose instead of Love. Let it be quiet and full of healing. […] It is the cursed comfort he preferred to my breast. The one who shares it weeps silently in corners, is tender unnoticed, and makes his necessary tea. ‘Have you seen my notebook, dear?’ ‘It is under the desk, my sweet.’ Give it to him, O my gentle usurper, whom I also have usurped, my enemy whom I have both killed and been killed by. […] He also is drowning in the blood of too much sacrifice. Lay aside the weapons, love, for all battles are lost.”

At last he’s made his choice and if we’ve learned something from history it’s that a man’s comfort will always be more important than a woman’s safety and peace of mind.

FINAL COMMENTS As I said before, one of the reasons I think Morrissey was inspired by this book is that he found its story to be relatable, but it’s not just that. The language, as you may have noticed by reading some of its quotes, is quite poetic, abstract and melodramatic, with a major focus on introspection and an underlying sense of pervasive melancholy. This is an artistic quality that both Morrissey and Johnny had in common, even though they expressed it differently: one through his lyrics, the other through his sound. Ultimately, I think Morrissey found By Grand Central Station… very useful creatively and personally. Creatively because it gave him the inspiration to write some of his best songs (also, here’s a reminder that both Moz and Johnny declared Well I Wonder as one of their favourite Smiths’ songs at some point), and personally because it provided him with an outlet to confront his feelings for Johnny, which I think must have been quite tumultuous. With a shortage of LGBT media which was even more prevalent in the 80s, queer people often had to read between the lines of straight stories to find something to relate to, and I feel like that’s what Morrissey did. Personally, after reading it I found myself surprised by the superficiality with which most people (biographers, reviewers etc.) talked about its role in Morrissey’s lyrics, because clearly there’s so much more to it than stealing a line here and there. It’s also about him feeling invested in a story because it spoke to him and it represented him, at least partially, in an era when anyone who didn’t fit in with society’s standards of what it meant to be a man or a woman might as well not have existed at all.

#the smiths #morrissey #johnny marr #marrissey #by grand central station i sat down and wept #elizabeth smart

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douxreviews · 6 years ago

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Star Trek: Discovery - ‘The Sound of Thunder’ Review

Saru: "Perhaps in being less like you were, you are becoming more like you are meant to be."

By nature I love brevity: Now that's what I call... a serviceable action story with a few plot holes and a few decent character moments. Some promise, and a twist I didn't see coming.

A while back, in my review for the Short Trek 'The Brightest Star,' I complained that the writers clearly had a lot that they wanted to do with Kaminar, the Kelpiens, and the Ba'ul, and that they'd tried to shove more into the episode than would really fit. As 'The Sound of Thunder' began, I steeled myself for a repeat of that; I wasn't sure that the writers would be able to rein in their excitement at the species and character that they had created enough to write a story that was manageable. It turns out I needn't have worried about that. The hour runtime was plenty to tell the story they wanted to tell and communicate the things they wanted to communicate.

The thing is, this episode made it abundantly clear to me just how little we needed 'The Brightest Star,' and just how unuseful the developments in it were. 'Thunder' contains a good deal of shots that were directly taken from 'Star,' and all of the major reveals about Saru and his people, as well as all of the plot developments, were reiterated here. Of course this is for the benefit of the people who haven't seen the Short Treks, but it rendered even the scant things that 'The Brighest Star' accomplished entirely moot.

'Thunder' is a fairly by-the-numbers action story. Its plot contains a few rather basic twists and reveals, and the suspense is built well. I like that the reigning - and most obvious - theory, that the Ba'ul are the evolved Kelpiens, turned out not to be the case at all. DIS has a pretty bad track record as far as keeping its plot developments secret goes, so a good surprise when the audience expects something else is nice to see.

The Ba'ul were a decently effective enemy; their appearance was pretty scary and their fear of the Kelpiens made for a believable motivation. They reminded me and the viewers I watched this with of Armus from TNG's 'Skin of Evil,' The major problem was that the Ba'ul voices, especially over subspace on the bridge, were nearly impossible to understand. I'm all for creepy atmosphere, but maybe run their voices through a lighter modulator next time.

I was rather pleased with Saru in this episode. I liked that he became emotionally unable to handle the situation, especially after the loss of his ganglia back in 'An Obol for Charon.' That sort of a change, especially when his ganglia have been shown to have a profound effect on his emotions in the past, would definitely alter his ability to control himself. I liked his interactions with his sister, which were of course well acted by Doug Jones and Hannah Spear. Saru and Siranna had a much deeper and more interesting relationship in this episode than it was in 'Star,' due to the added layer of Saru's departure. That's not a stock relationship, and the fact that Siranna took over for her father in the hopes that it might lead her back to him makes it emotionally deep.

There was a really great scene early on in the episode, with the newly rejuvenated Culber, Saru, and Stamets in sickbay. We got an insight, albeit a small one, into what it's like for Hugh to return after his consciousness spent so much time trapped in the mycelial network. He doesn't feel like the same man that he was when he died. His new body, identical to his old one but still completely different, reflects how he feels inside. Hugh can't reconcile his new self with the old, even though very little is actually different. Though Stamets truly wants to help and to support his partner, he can't do so tangibly because he has no clear idea what Hugh is going through. Saru, on the other hand, has in a way also been recently reborn. This gives them a connection that I didn't expect to see but was glad I did. This scene proves to me that the show is definitely going to explore Culber's return in a way that's meaningful to his character. I'm really happy about that because in the first season his character was only really used in ways that serviced Stamets'. If they give him his own arc here, I'll be very, very pleased. And of course, both he and Stamets are miles ahead of characters on other shows who are 'the gay guy' and nothing more.

I'm not so pleased with the resolution, specifically the use of the Red Angel in this episode. It was quite the deus ex machina - is it angelus ex machina here? - to have the Angel step in at the very end to stop the Ba'ul's plan and save the Kelpiens. Except it isn't even angelus ex machina, since the Angel is nothing even close to a supernatural being. After all this discussion and exploration of faith, the main symbol in this show of something people put their faith in is nothing more than a guy in a suit with some advanced technology? That's about as disappointing as this show has gotten. Despite my misgivings about how this show has handled faith and belief, I really have appreciated the fact that it did so. Besides, the way that it's handled these topics has been better than many shows, and the individual episodes have said some things worth saying even if the show as a whole has yet to settle on a particular approach. But this is a big let-down.

Strange New Worlds:

We've already been to Kaminar, in 'The Brightest Star,' but DIS in its main form hasn't visited it yet.

New Life and New Civilizations:

The Ba'ul are new to this show. I've already talked about most of my thoughts regarding them.

Pensees:

-Okay, enough with the tricky camera movements without purpose already. To direct well, you don't just have to know how to make flashy shots, you also have to understand when to do it and what it does to the scene when you do.

-They mentioned the Prime Directive, but it really didn't factor in as much as might have been appropriate. This show should start being a little more careful with the way it sidesteps the PD to tell its stories.

-Those Ba'ul ships were pretty dang intimidating, like something you'd see from the Borg.

-How did Saru transport himself to the planet when the ship was at Red Alert and the shields were up?

-Okay, so SuperSaru! was kind of cool. But he's quite lucky that the Ba'ul stronghold contained only about eight drones.

-I like Burnham's white t-shirt in this episode. How much you want to bet that shows up for sale on startrek.com within the week?

-Pike's slight peace offering to Tyler in Saru's report didn't feel earned. I haven't been invested in their conflict yet.

-The answer to fear is hope in this episode. I like that.

-Next week: SPOOOOOCK!

Quotes:

Saru: "We all come from somewhere. We bring that place with us wherever we go. That never leaves our hearts. Not entirely."

Pike: "We can stretch General Order One, but let's not break it in the process." Too late.

Saru: "For 18 years, I dreamt of returning to my village. It has not changed at all, but I see it quite differently now."

Siranna: "Return to the stars, Saru. There is no place for you here."

Siranna: "Your face is beautiful to me. Part of me hoped I would never see it again, because it might mean you were free."

Competent but not exceptional. 4 out of 6 heavily modulated voices.

Star Trek fandom runs very deep in CoramDeo's family.

#Star Trek #Star Trek Discovery #Michael Burnham #Saru #Sylvia Tilly #Paul Stamets #Hugh Culber #Christopher Pike #Ash Tyler #Disco #Star Trek Reviews #Doux Reviews #TV Reviews

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davidcoopermoore · 6 years ago

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Survival Literacy

I'm not sure what I think students "need" at a minimum level of competency to be considered to be "done" with school -- and my use of scare quotes here should give you a sense of the turmoil that I've been feeling around some very foundational beliefs I've long held about school itself, its fundamental purpose and role in students' lives. I've been teaching in an alternative high school for four years, a daily teacher with a full course load, but in an environment that is about as "loose" within the traditional strucutral confines of a public school as you can get. Sometimes this looseness is good -- the students like it here; we don't have any fights; we love our kids and help them on their first postsecondary steps. Sometimes it's not so good -- things are very messy, and there are lots of little fires to put out, many of our own making, trying to do things a little differently and creating new problems as a result. But I've come to realize how insufficient the professional norms of reading instruction (these norms are different from research-based best practices; by professional norms I only mean "what do districts and administrators and classroom teachers expect to happen in the classroom") are for the majority of our students, all of whom have become disconnected with their previous high school. Some students come to us with high standardized scores in literacy and numeracy and seem to gain little from the direct instruction we might provide in reading and math, say. Some students come to us with borderline learning disabilities that have gone undiagnosed. Most come to us with severe gaps in their knowledge and skills according to the general scope and sequence of what they should have learned between fourth and ninth grade. You can see these gaps in their diagnostic scores, and in math these gaps even tell a story of educational turbulence and, sometimes, trauma -- students who have poor grasp of numbers and operations but can do passably well at certain types of algebraic thinking, say, usually because they had a terrible elementary experience but a few good math teachers in middle or early high school. Part of my job has been to take in all of this information in consultation with students and teachers and work with them on an individualized plan for making progress in their classes -- an ad hoc academic support position that is not technically special education but tries to implement some just-in-time learning needed to be successful in a class. So I've become more and more interested in how you actually teach people how to read, and how you might translate what seems to work for young learners to adult literacy. (I've been reading a lot of Tim Shanahan lately.) There is much less liteature on teaching adult literacy than I expected; much of it essentially takes strategies for younger learners and applies them to adults more or less unmodified, or expands the concept of literacy to areas that may or may not improve reading ability. Research on adult literacy seems to have a good sense of how many adults can't read, who they are, and some of the reasons why, but from what I've found so far there is a lot less convincing information on what the best practices are for intervention. I've started thinking about rudimentary literacy a little differently from how I imagined it when I took a media literacy approach -- i.e., a holistic sense of what literacy is, including multiple symbolic forms. Although I still love media literacy, I think there is something categorically different about print literacy, both in how it works -- at a basic cognitive level -- and in how we are expected to actually use it in the world. (Maybe I'll write my post about reading as photosynthesis later.) The metaphor I'm circling right now is survival skills. I had a conversation the other day with my wife about swimming. Our oldest son not only can't swim but has a water phobia. In other cultures, swimming is part of the environment, a survival skill that children can learn at very young ages. I've read that babies naturally know how to hold their breath if put into the water in a particular way. Even my own sister, who insisted her sons learn to swim early, had them in the pool at age 2, fairly regularly. (I've also read that actually swimming is probably more like reading developmentally, and that you should probably start formal swimming instruction closer to six years old. Hang with me; it's just a metaphor.) The extent to which reading is a skill for survival depends on more complex social context than swimming does. "If you're near water a lot you should know how to swim" doesn't quite translate. Instead what I'm thinking about is the purpose for teaching survival skills versus the purpose for teaching for enrichment and enlightenment. We focus so much on a love of reading in school, and also subsequently conflate love with motivation (a topic for another post that I won't go into now), that I think we miss defining which aspects of reading are actually necessary for one's life as a "survival skill," and which develop more naturally after those basic skills have been mastered. The problem with reading is twofold: (1) many but certainly not most children become expert readers before they've had a lot of instruction in reading, let alone targeted literacy intervention, so it seems like their love and their ability are linked and (2) the students who don't "take" to reading are then often engaged at the level of motivation and ease -- trying to make reading a pleasurable experience, by "leveling down" reading to where they're comfortable -- while also getting certain reading interventions that are uncomfortable and involve a lot of practice. A lot of literacy instruction focuses on instilling motivation and appreciation in students, for understandable reasons -- it seems like master readers should want to read, and we also know that master readers are motivated to read independently. We had a long and unproductive program at our school trying to implement sustained silent reading at our school, which failed for both site-specific reasons (we didn't do it with much fidelity, too many distractions, etc.) but also, I think, failed to take into account the fact that our students struggled to do more basic reading than we really liked to admit, even when in guided instruction they showed that they could read. They didn't like reading, and we didn't really have the school culture to instill that basic affection and motivation. But they also didn't have some of the precursory skills you would need to enjoy reading. But I'm not sure that the primary job of literacy instruction should actually be to instill an affection for reading any more than I think that the primary job of swimming instruction should be to instill affection in swimming. Without basic skills -- in swimming or reading -- it is literally impossible to develop affection in any meaningful way. You can't be motivated to read independently if you can't read any more than you can be motivated to "swim for pleasure" if you can't swim. Add to this what I see in my students -- they have specific blocks to reading that resemble my son's water phobia. So on top of whatever technical instruction they need to get to the basic level of literacy motivation, they also need a different sort of motivation, a motivation to overcome what I would call something like a fear of reading -- more accurately, a combination of distrust, deflation, and past negative experience. They are discouraged about reading. The logic that we tend to use in school is that if you get kids encouraged about reading, they will read more. But we also underestimate the level of reading mastery it requires to actually feel a basic level of encouragement, and then, crucially, for this encouragement to translate into actually reading well. My son feels encouraged when he puts his face in the water. But he can't swim. He needs to be able to put his face in the water for his comfort, but it may not be a skill that he needs to practice and focus on intently to learn how to swim. It may be a way of filibustering, a way of avoiding the thing he actually needs to be able to do. In fact, it is possible that part of him learning to swim will be to be put in an environment where that kind of incremental thinking based on his own comfort vanishes altogether. Survival literacy cuts both ways. We also don't need to expect our students to love to read, maybe ever. This is a profound and destabilizing idea in English education in two ways. First, it shifts a lot of the kind of content we teach in English classes. Fewer books and novels; more short and non-fiction pieces. This was a controversial component of the Common Core standards that I happen to think is on the mark when you are considering students who already are far behind in their literacy ability. That is, for my students, exploration of a novel might have some value, but lots of practice with short, relevant pieces -- journalism articles, reports, etc. -- will be more likely to help them with specific goals they have for reading. But the most destabilizing thing about a survival literacy mindset is that I'm not sure that the classroom is the best place for it to happen at all, and I'm also not sure that "classroom" is the right space to imagine successful literacy acquisition. I'm starting to think of literacy, as a functional process of decoding and low-level comprehension, as something that one has to acquire by hook or by crook, often alone and with deliberative practice. That it can happen in a classroom doesn't mean that it should. All of this goes away when you reach a baseline competency, but I think that we have the bar too low for what that baseline is and how much rigorous literacy instruction you need to be able to read independently and contribute within a culture of print literacy (i.e., read independently and then talk about it). Again, these are baseline competencies. I'm not suggesting that I believe that there is no role for reading in a classroom! But that for interventions and the basic development of that baseline competency, the classroom environment that fosters a love of literacy isn't the right way to think about what learners really need. This has been hard for me to digest, and I'm not anywhere near done in my thinking -- in fact I'm returning to grad school soon, I think, to devote myself more fully to literacy -- print literacy -- as a component of understanding the world.

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maevefiction · 6 years ago

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Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 46

A little over an hour later, pleased I’d remembered that Tom and I needed to remove our rings before opening the room door, I was being escorted to the Hokulea Suite by Simon the Loud and Annoying, my hair still dripping wet, dressed in cut off sweat-shorts and my X-files T-shirt. He was gifting me the details of all the fun he’d had last night with Anne, gushing over her wit and demanding that we all head to New Orleans for Mardi Gras 2017 because he needed her to show him her favorite haunts IN PERSON or he’d never forgive himself or me until my stomach rumbled and I felt a rush of saliva in my mouth, wrinkling my nose at the queasiness that followed.

“We need to detour, dude. Bridezilla requires nourishment prior to prettification.”

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Really? Really? It’s already after one, and…”

I crossed my arms. “And…what? And you want me to dry heave my way through the vows?”

“Ewwww…Maude. So gross.”

“Whatever. Stress plus hunger is not a good combo for me, apparently. Not going to make the same mistake as yesterday. We’ll still have three hours or something, and if that’s not enough, you can just find me a veil somewhere and I’ll wear it all evening long. Problem solved, am I right?”

“Well, since I am, frankly, rather fearful of what will become of me if I dissent, oh yes, right you are.”

“Mmm hmm. And about that whole Mardi Gras business…have you forgotten that you’ll have two screaming, squalling, pooping machines in your midst by then? Sounds like a less than Ideal experience to me, especially the trans-Atlantic flight part.”

His hands flew up to cover his mouth briefly, then extended open, palms out, to either side of his face. “OH MY GOD YOU’RE RIGHT BABIIIEEEESSSSSS…” He inhaled, then exhaled deeply. “So you really don’t think we can just, you know, bring them with us?”

Shrugging, I took him by the arm and began walking toward the lounge. “Truthfully, I have no fucking idea, and though you obviously have vastly more experience in this department than I do, I’m reasonably sure that’s listed under ‘Super Mega Dumbass Scenarios’ in the parenting handbook.”

He stopped short, and when I turned to him the expression on his face was a mixture of jubilation and pure terror. “When Roland was a baby, I was working so much that Lisa handled…well, everything, essentially. Now I’m going to, like, BE LISA, and the question is, CAN I be Lisa? And with double the poop machines?”

I wrapped my arms around him, kissing each cheek in turn. “You don’t need to be anyone but you, Simon. Because you’re amazing, and you know what? If anyone can pull off bringing two infants across the ocean to do Mardi Gras with Anne Rice, it’s you.”

He squeezed me tightly. “Thank you, Nice Maude.”

“You’re welcome. But if we do end up going, you should know that I am absolutely, positively taking a different flight.”

Snorting, he let go of me and took two steps backward, waving. “Au revoir, Nice Maude.”

I was still snickering as we entered the lounge, wherein I voraciously inhaled two waffles laden with raspberry syrup and whipped cream, two scrambled eggs, four pieces of bacon, a toasted everything bagel with butter, half a melon, a tall glass of orange juice and two cups of Kona coffee, which, after trying it the very first time, I knew I never wanted to live without. A giant blech escaped me as I rose from the table, which struck Simon as so hilariously funny that I wound up sitting back down to wait for him to get a grip, and just as he was able to quasi-communicate it happened again, and then we both completely lost our shit. Those moments are some of life’s best, when the most ordinary thing suddenly becomes a source of incapacitating amusement, and when it turns infectious…even better.

It was going on two-thirty when we finally arrived at the Hokulea Suite, and I could hear the faint thumping bass of what I immediately recognized as Lady Gaga’s ‘Born This Way’ through the door. Veronica was a huge fan, attending every show she could manage, occasionally discussing her dream to somehow find herself as the Lady’s stylist, even if only for a single day. And in this particular instance, ‘occasionally’ meant every time one of Gaga’s songs came on. I couldn’t see Veronica when we first entered, but I could hear her singing, so as Simon headed one way toward his dressing area I followed the sonic trail and discovered her behind one of the far screens working on Anne’s makeup. The sight of Anne high up in the director’s chair, hair hidden beneath a shower cap, body wrapped in a black plastic cape and her bare feet tapping on the tiny rest made me smile widely. She’d been through so much in her own life, yet here she was, still going, still enjoying, still loving, still…living. I felt a pang of regret that I’d shut her out for so long…despite all our differences and disagreements, she was the closest thing to an actual mother I’d ever had. If it weren’t for her encouragement and support, I might have never started my own business, and if that hadn’t happened, my path and Tom’s might never have crossed. I blinked, noticing that both Anne and Veronica were staring at me. Anne reached out to pat my upper arm.

“Love ya, kiddo. Thanks for letting me be a part of all this…I always prayed you’d find someone who’d lift you up and…”

I interrupted her sentence with an embrace so strong I was afraid I might crush her. “Thank you for that. I did. He does. I love you too.”

She chuckled, and as I pulled back the smirk on her face alerted me to what was coming next. “Maude Gallagher, has my sense of hearing failed me or did you just thank me for praying?’

I pointed my index finger first at her, then at Veronica. “Never speak of this again, either of you.” I paused for dramatic effect. “So, anyway…where would you have me go, fine friend and Chief Beautification Enforcer?”

Veronica snorted. “To your designated private but not really private at all temporary staging area. I’ll be done with this one’s makeup in a few minutes, then I’ll come get to work on you. Everyone else is done…well, not me, but that won’t take long.”

“Because you’re naturally gorgeous.”

She smiled. “Born This Way.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’d quote a meaningful Gaga lyric back at you but the only thing that comes to mind right now is p-p-p-p poker face and that always makes me think of poke HER face and…yeah. I’m gonna walk away now. Bye.”

The director’s chair taunted me, all tall and spindly, begging me to climb in so it could tip itself over and dump my ass out onto the ground. If I were a director, I’d demand something leather and cushy with wheels so my personal assistant could push me around the set. Sighing, I checked the mechanisms responsible for holding it open, making sure they were on the up-and-up before I slipped off my Birkis and clambered aboard. It wasn’t as bad as I expected, though I forced myself to remain as still as possible, just in case. A few minutes later Veronica arrived, Telephone now cranking at an unreasonable volume. I removed my T-shirt so she could cape-drape me, and while she worked on my eyelids I nodded off for a few seconds. The short spell was broken by her sternly warning me that if she had to start the process all over again because I’d been up late doing god knows what she’d make me look like one of the Kardashian sisters and that was the end of Maude’s Naptime Session. After makeup came hair, which was going to be all drawn up in a large bun that rested just above the nape of my neck, enclosed in a silver wire cage that was fastened in place with six large silver bobby pins. I couldn’t actually see anything other than the components as they came together, though, because Veronica insisted that I wait until I was fully dressed before looking at myself in the mirror. I managed to remove myself from the chair without incident after Veronica took off my cape, and then followed her instructions to strip down the rest of the way. We’d discussed underwear previously, deciding that a thong would be best, so I’d put a white silk one on this morning, not giving a single thought to the fact that my ass might bear bruises that were unmistakably the marks left by grabbing hands. I let my shorts fall to the floor, hoping there was nothing to see, but her snort as she looked my way after hanging the cape on its hook caused me to instantaneously abandon said hope.

“Well, well, well…you WERE up late doing god knows what, weren’t you?” She drew closer for a better look, emitted a low whistle, and I could feel my cheeks flush. “Honey, your man has some huge hands on him. Oy, I feel like I should cross myself or something for where my mind went next. Anyway. Let’s hope they don’t show through the fabric.”

“Oh my GOD do you really think…” I craned my neck in order to see her face, saw a wide smirk upon it, and realized that she was totally fucking with me. “Dude. Not cool. NOT. COOL.”

She grinned. “I know. I also know I should be sorry, but I’m not. Take that bra off while I get your gown out of its bag, please and thank you.”

My phone chirped, and I bent down to fish it out of the left front pocket of my shorts. It chirped three more times before I stood up and unlocked it, and for a moment my heart fluttered, wondering if another bout of ugliness awaited me. Thankfully, what I found were four messages from Melanie.

The Big Day is finally here! – Melanie

Everything is in place and just as it should be. Two videos to follow. See you soon! – Melanie

The first was of the ceremony site, white chairs on either side of the purple carpet facing the ocean and the arbor. We didn’t want an arch so we’d chosen a more minimalist, almost Oriental-style construct. It was rectangular, four thick, squared poles forming the bottom, connected at the top by two flush pieces at the sides, two extended beams across the front and the back. All had been painted white, the front and back beams wrapped with alternating purple and green fabric that draped down the sides. Large square glass containers had been fastened to the front poles using three strips of burnished silver sheet metal and filled with purple orchids, lady’s mantle, and flowering comfrey. More purple carpet lined the bottom of the structure, and she’d started filming at the far end and walked up the aisle and, of course, waterworks once again loomed. I closed my eyes, breathed in, then out, then again and again until I calmed down because, makeup. The second video was of the Paddle Room, and it was…perfect. Exactly as I’d specified, right down to the books specifically chosen for each table. Another message came through, and I exited the file to view it.

PS - don’t be concerned if you notice the cake isn’t included. That needs to be a surprise. – Melanie

I typed out a reply, my shaky hands making it extra challenging.

It’s all perfect. Totally perfect. Thank you so much for doing this. Amazing. Surreal. Everything. – Maude

Another chirp.

You are very, very welcome. So happy you’re happy! – Melanie

I put my phone away, bra still in place when Veronica returned. She rolled her eyes at me, and I undid the hooks and tossed it onto the chair. The mini-dress came first, followed by the silver gladiator sandals, then the maxi-skirt. Veronica sighed heavily, smiling.

“Maude, you are…breathtaking.”

My left eyebrow rose. “In a good way, or in a Seinfeld you’ve-got-to-see-the-baaaaaaaby way?”

“Come see for yourself, why don’t you?” She held out her left hand. “You have to close your eyes until we’re there so you get the full effect. I’ll lead you.”

“M’kay.” I reached for her, closing my eyes once I’d established a firm grip, silently hoping that this was indeed a simple walk to the mirror and not an instance of ‘surprise the bride’ because I was in no condition to handle that sort of fuckery.

After navigating what I assumed was the center area of the room Veronica stopped me, let go of my hand and turned me around, speaking only a single word.

“Open.”

I tilted my head downward and let my eyelids slowly lift until I was staring down into my own cleavage. Exhaling, I began to raise my head, higher and higher, and then…there I was. Maude Gallagher on her wedding day in her wedding dress ready for her wedding ceremony and wedding reception. She was me, but…not me. The woman in the mirror appeared to have just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine spread, and I found myself reaching out to touch her because that woman couldn’t be me, wearer of ancient T-shirts who sniffed items of clothing found on the floor to judge by scent if they were acceptable to wear just one more time before washing them. My fingers connected with the surface of the mirror and I gasped.

“It IS me. Holy. Fucking. Shit.” I heard laughter, but I was too busy studying my reflection to acknowledge it. Veronica had dressed me for my dinner at Daniel with Tom, and there had been some serious wow factor then for sure but this…she’d coordinated my eye shadow with the bridesmaid dresses, a gradient from purple to green starting at eyebrow level with a faint overlay of silver. The liner was black, and my lashes were darkened with black mascara, impossibly long and thick, yet somehow still appearing natural. On my lips was a shade of deep maroon-purple, again matching a component of the bridesmaid dresses, thinly lined with a dark green which should have looked awful but…didn’t. It worked, and worked well. Paired with the style dress I’d chosen and the silver-crowned bun, the overall effect made me feel like I could absolutely, positively land a role in the next Star Wars film as Leia’s progeny and that was right off the fucking charts, man. Right. Off. I turned to the woman with limitless talent next to me, shaking my head back and forth slowly.

“Veronica. VERONICA. VER. ON. ICA. You’re like…you’re a fucking SORCERESS. For real. Really. I can’t…I just…thank you. Thank you.”

She grinned, pointing her index finger at me. “You’re very welcome, dear darling Maude. Now don’t fuck it up before we go out there, okay?”

I snorted. “Listen, I’ll do my best, but you know the face probably won’t last through the ceremony and the dress is doomed to be destroyed at cake time, if not before. Better get some pics for your portfolio while you can, my friend.”

“I will. But first I have to make myself presentable.” She turned to Emma, Sarah, Trudy and Anne, all of whom had gathered behind me. “Ladies, please keep the bride out of trouble while I’m gone.” They laughed, nodding, and Veronica disappeared behind one of the screens just as Simon emerged from behind his own. He screeched at the sight of me, hands raised to shoulder height, palms facing me, fingers spread widely.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH! OH MY GOD LOOK AT YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU! MAAAUUUUUUUUUUUDEEEEEEE! SPACE PRINCESSSSSSSSSSS!”

I screeched in return. “I KNOOWWWWWWWWWW! AND LOOK AT YOUUUUUUUU!”

He smirked as he spun in a circle. “I. AM. FABULOUS.”

“YOU ARE! SHOULD WE STOP SHOUTING?”

“PROBABLY!”

He air-kissed my cheek. “Poor Tom. I don’t think he’s prepared for this level of gorgeousis spectacularity.”

The thought that I’d soon be walking down the aisle with Simon at my side, seeing for myself just how prepared Tom was, took its place front and center in my mind, and as I assessed whether or not I’d be able to cope with such a thing, the realization that my father was absent in all of this slammed into me, and hard. My gaze turned toward the floor, and I closed my eyes tightly to shut out everything around me. He’d been gone for so long, and while I thought of him often, it was always briefly, the moment tinged with fondness for a memory, a touch of sadness, and a wish that he’d found peace. This time, it was fury, and a longing so intense it was physically painful. He’d left me alone in this world with a mother who had no love for me whatsoever, and he’d never know me as I was now, the woman I’d become, the things I’d accomplished, and on this day when I was celebrating the love I’d found, he was a corpse in a crypt in New Orleans when he should have been here, giving me away, sharing a father-daughter dance. He’d never know Tom, never know our children…and they’d never know him. I understood the why of what he’d done, but the fact that it, to me, his child, his ONLY child, felt like such a wasteful, selfish act was inescapable. He’d chosen himself over all else, including me, and here I was on my wedding day, with his death on my mind and threatening to override my happiness. Which I was NOT going to permit…too many moments had been stolen from me already. This was MY time now. And my life. And my god, what an amazing, beautiful life it had become. I swallowed, inhaled, exhaled, and then swallowed again, beating the sorrow and rage into submission. I felt hands grasp my forearms and I opened my eyes to find Simon staring at me, his own eyes full of worry, and when I smiled his face changed and he breathed a sigh of relief, his voice soft and low as he spoke.

“Want to talk about it?”

My head shook back and forth slowly. “Ghosts. I’m over it. Thank you.” I twisted my wrists so my hands could clutch his forearms, linking us like a snake eating its own tail. “Thank you for being willing to walk me down the aisle, Simon. It means so much to me, more than words can say. I love you. Like, a whole lot.”

He nodded, acknowledging that he understood, knowing me so well that what I’d been thinking about was perfectly clear to him. “You’re very welcome. I love you too. And bitch, if I cry and get droplet marks all over this very fine suit and ruin your wedding photos, that’s all on YOU.”

We both giggled, and just as I opened my mouth to explain to the women standing around me Melanie walked through the door and announced that we were fifteen minutes from go time.

****************************************

A row of white screens had been set up to one side of the ceremony site in order to block any possible viewing of me prior to my grand entrance. No one had seen the bridesmaid dresses yet either, but apparently no one was concerned about ruining that surprise because they were all allowed to peek around the barrier and comment on how incredibly handsome Tom looked, and also how he was fidgeting more than a kindergartener who needed to use the bathroom but didn’t want to miss story time. As part of his sound system, Sammy had set up a microphone at the far end of the site and outdoor speakers throughout, and I could hear strains of native Hawaiian music, though it was muted by the pounding of my own heart in my ears. Instead of using the traditional walk-in song, I’d decided to go with a version of Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy’ that I’d seen on YouTube…any version moved me to tears, but this one made me sob like a baby. Which, in hindsight, might not have been the wisest choice…but it was so beautiful, and the timing was perfect. It was an orchestral performance in a town square, starting with one lone bass player, with additional groupings being added as the piece progressed. The faces of the crowd were full of enchantment and wonder in the video, experiencing the sound of notes put together by someone long ago in the present and amongst other humans, all feeling…well, just FEELING. That was the point. In the moment, in harmony, so ALIVE. As Melanie signaled for everyone to line up, the Hawaiian music stopped, and in the silence that followed I tried to imprint the moment, the quiet, the before…and then the sound of the bass began to resonate, and it was really, truly go time. The wedding party would have the duration of the instrumental portion to reach their places, and Simon and I would start our walk when the soft chorus began, hopefully reaching Tom and Luke, whom we’d decided should remain at Tom’s side since Simon would be with me, just in time for the pause point before the escalating chorus and finale began. Ken and Anne were first, followed by Ben and Veronica, Chris and Trudy, Guillermo and Sarah, then Hugh and Emma. Simon proffered his right arm for me to hold, and I shifted the bouquet of purple orchids and lady’s mantle to my right hand in order to take his arm with my left. We rounded the corner just as the singing began, and all of our guests rose from their seats as I took my first step forward, then froze in place as I witnessed Tom’s knees buckle at the sight of me, Luke grabbing him by the elbow in an attempt to steady him. Simon tilted his head sideways in order to whisper in my ear.

“Don’t freak out, honey. You can do this. Keep. Moving.”

And I did. I don’t know HOW, but I did. Everything and everyone other than Tom was a blur, our guests, the wedding party lined up, Tom’s chosen people on the left, mine on the right, the judge, all of it…except for my husband, who was already my husband, but not yet my husband as far as anyone else was concerned. There he was, in his black suit and white dress shirt with a purple waistcoat I knew I’d see more of later when he ditched the jacket to dance, his silver pocket square jutting out in a perfect triangular point, black patent shoes practically glowing in the sun. I watched him shake his head and mouth the words ‘oh my god’ over and over before he smiled at me, the tears in his eyes threatening to spill over, followed by a hand across his mouth, then a silent ‘I love you’ and a grin that grew ever wider as I drew nearer. And then there I was, with Simon releasing my arm and Tom taking my hand in his, not even noticing that my bouquet had somehow gone missing when I raised my right hand to wave like a child at my beautiful man and managed to squeak out a single word.

“Hi.”

He waved back, voice cracking as he returned the greeting. “Hi.”

I heard a whooshing sound and briefly thought I was dying, then realized the noise had been everyone sitting back down in their chairs. The judge cleared his throat, and we turned to face him, backs to our guests. Today he was wearing a proper suit, which startled me because my addled brain had been expecting the tuxedo T-shirt. It was dark green linen, with a white shirt and bow-tie, and I wondered if it was a coincidence that he coordinated with our color scheme or if Melanie had requested that he do so. He smiled at us, then began speaking.

“We gather today in this place of sea and sky and sand and sun to join the couple who stand before me in matrimony. That word, it’s a significant word, an important word, but what it represents is most meaningful…two individuals who feel a profound connection between them, both physically and spiritually, a connection from which stems a deep and abiding love so powerful that the two seek to become one. To become… a family, not to which they’re born, but one which they choose to create.” He paused briefly, then continued. “Thomas William Hiddleston and Maude Gallagher, is it your wish to marry each other on this day, June 29th, 2016?”

We nodded, speaking in unison. “Yes.” The urge to say ‘absofuckingloutely’ had been overwhelming, and I was super proud of myself for exercising some self-control.

“Then let us proceed. It is my understanding that you’ve prepared your own vows?” Another nod from both of us. “Please turn and face each other. May I have the rings?”

After panicking for several very long seconds because I had no idea how we were handling that bit for this ceremony, I spotted Luke stepping forward and passing them to the judge, who in turn gave Tom’s to me. I sighed in relief, having hoped that’s how it would play out this time around as well. I reached for Tom’s left hand, which I’d released as we’d turned, and grasped it with my own, pretending to wipe sweat from my brow with my right hand.

“Well thank the universe for small favors…I SO didn’t want to have to try and come up with something after this one had a chance to speak. “ I hooked my right thumb in his direction, noting the soft chuckles that emanated from our friends and family as I met Tom’s gaze. “One year ago, I drove out to Talk Story because I, book nerd that I am, couldn’t resist the prospect of maybe, just maybe, finding that long-sought first edition of The Gunslinger. I didn’t…not that time, anyway…but I did find One Hundred Years of Solitude. Which, looking back, is so over the top ridiculous, because…that’s what the life I’d lived before that day feels like since you appeared in those stacks, trying to go all incognito and using a certain bullwhip-toting archeology professor’s name as your alias. Up until then, to me, you were that incredibly talented actor whose social media accounts I used as an example of what NOT to do in my lectures. But in your presence, seeing you, then and there…gotta be honest, I kinda lost the plot for a few seconds.” A round of laughter from our guests ensued. “Which was, you know, totally unacceptable. No thank you, hard pass, Maude is better off alone. But then you followed me outside, and then you KNELT on the sidewalk in front of me…deep down, I knew I was a goner when I let you have one of my Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup peanut butter cookies, but my jadedness persisted. For like, a few hours. And that night, in my hotel room…which is now OUR hotel room…when you tucked me into bed and spent the night…when you stayed…that was that. There you were, the other half of my soul, and finally, I’d been made whole.” I’d managed to not cry, but tears were running freely down his cheeks. “So, Dr. Jones…are you ready for the life-long adventure of being my husband? I don’t have an Ark or a Holy Grail, but I’m pretty good in bed, and I promise to love you with all that I am and all that I’ll ever be.”

He nodded, wiping away tears with his free hand. “I do love a grand adventure…and I’ve never been more ready for something in all my days.”

I turned his left hand over, opened my right one, then slipped the band onto his left ring finger. “Well then, with this ring, I thee wed. Off we go!”

Tom let go of my hand in order to hold his up high, grinning proudly as he moved it slowly back and forth to show off his new accessory to the crowd before turning his attention back to me, taking hold of my left hand, then bringing it to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on my knuckles. The judge placed my ring in Tom’s open right palm, his fingers closing tightly around it as he stared into my eyes, and I knew the vows he’d planned on using had gone right out the window, because he was re-writing them right then, crafting with his heart and soul words that would likely echo my sentiments. Following a slight nod that indicated he was satisfied, he began to speak.

“One year ago, I drove out to Talk Story to pick up a book I hoped would assist me in playing a role. I was in a rush, as Luke had scheduled a meeting I wasn’t expecting. In an attempt to avoid being recognized, which would have slowed me down and made me late for, as I’m sure Luke will confirm, the millionth time, I donned a baseball cap and Hawaiian print shirt as a rather crude disguise. When I walked through the door and saw the staff wearing Loki shirts, I panicked…and then, I saw you. And, like you, I lost the plot. It was as if the heavens had opened up and the sun shone on you and you alone, lighting my way. I followed the path, finding myself standing behind you, thoroughly unable to form words as I watched you choose your books so very carefully. When you spun around I thought you might slap me, but instead, you recognized me, understood my plight, and solved my problem. When you called me Indy…well, how could I NOT follow you outside and beg for your number?” I snorted. “I was completely bent out of shape that I had to leave in order to make that damn meeting, which I had no desire to attend in the first place, because all I wanted to do was be near you, to talk to you, to get to know you. The entire ride back to this side of the island all I thought about was you, and I was telling Luke that this was it, you were THAT woman, MY woman, as we walked into Kauai Pasta and…there you were. You were the person Luke had set up the meeting with. Of all the people in this world, it was you. Over the next few hours, I fell in love with you at least a hundred times, each instance pulling me deeper and deeper until we parted company and…I couldn’t bear it, so I turned up at your door practically in the middle of the night with tea and truffles. And later, when I stayed…I knew I never, ever wanted to leave. In seeking out something to help me play a make-believe role I’d already been cast in, through some miraculous alignment within the universe, here I am stepping into the real-world role of a lifetime, the one I was born for…that of being husband to you.” I’d managed to swallow back my sobs, but hot tears were dripping down and off my nose. “So, Ms. Gallagher…are you ready for the life-long adventure of being my wife? I’ve no Sankara stones or crystal skull, but I’ll always have truffles at the ready, and I promise to love you with all that I am and all that I’ll ever be.”

I nodded. “You had me at truffles. Plus, you’re really good in bed. Sign me up and let’s roll, baby.”

He turned my left hand over, opened his right one, then slipped the band onto my left ring finger, absent of my engagement ring, which was currently residing on my right hand. “Well then, with this ring, I thee wed. Off we go!”

We looked to the judge, who had placed both hands in front of his chest, palms together. “By the power vested in me by the state of Hawaii, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

There was no waiting for permission…our lips were locked before he even finished his sentence, and if it weren’t for Simon poking me in the ribs we would have missed our exit cue. Ode to Joy’s divinely loud chorale had begun, and Tom and I started upon our first official walk as husband and wife, our guests all on their feet, applauding, cheering, and whistling as we worked our way to the white screen, where we waited for the rest of the wedding party to join us. When the tempo sped up, they ran towards us, and Tom picked me up by my waist and spun me around…it was such an incredible moment, a happy moment, the kind you want to freeze frame and go back to again and again, one you wouldn’t mind having as your very final thought on this earth. And then, it was over in a flash as I desperately signaled for him to put me down, making my way behind the screen just in time to barf on the impeccably groomed green grass.

Just as it had the day before, my stomach purged itself until it was empty, and afterward I felt perfectly fine. Tom surrendered his pocket square so I could wipe my mouth, and while I dabbed at my lips I noticed no one else was around. He placed a hand on my bare back, smiling softly.

“I shooed them back around the screen. Figured you wouldn’t want an audience.”

“Thank you. That was…bizarre. Have I reached that age where spinning makes you puke? But I wasn’t spinning yesterday, that was stress…so, is EVERYTHING going to make me puke now? Or is it a stomach virus? Because I was really queasy earlier before I ate.” I looked down at my dress, and the mess I’d left on the ground. “Well that’s disgusting. Sheese. But, the dress appears to be unscathed so, commence picture time. Though I’d kinda like to bush my teeth or at least rinse, and I guess I could use some more lipstick…”

“Why don’t we go back to your dressing area so you can freshen up?” His smile was still the same, which struck me as odd, and I felt my mind wander into ‘oh my god is there something really wrong with me and I’m the only one who doesn’t know it’ territory. I nodded, and he kissed my cheek. “I’ll go let everyone know we’ll be back in a bit – they can head in to the Paddle Room with the guests, then come back out when we’re ready to do group shots before our session with the media.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

When he returned from around the screen I could discern from his expression that something was absolutely up, which made me freak out even more. He took my hand and we walked the short distance to the Hokulea suite in silence. After we were inside, he went into the kitchen, grabbed a Coke from the fridge, then sat on the sofa to our left and motioned for me to sit down next to him. I did so, as carefully as possible, suddenly dying of thirst and wanting what was in that can more than anything else I could think of. He popped the top and passed it to me, and I drank three-quarters of it a few long, loud gulps then wiped my lips with the back of my hand.

“This is so COLD and so GOOD. Mmmmm.”

Tom’s hand came to rest on my knee, his eyes first staring downward, then lifting to meet mine. “Maude, I’ve…over the past month or so…I...I’ve observed some…changes…in your behavior, and now, over the past two days, there’s been a physical manifestation…” The world started to dim around me, and I could feel my internal temperature rising as panic washed over me. “I just…I didn’t know how to broach the subject, so I haven’t and I still don’t know but…I think need to ask you a question and…well…have you been…are you…you know…late?”

My brow crinkled as my head tilted to the left. “Late? I don’t…what does that…late with, like, what? Or do you mean slow on the uptake or something, to which I’d respond with a resounding yes but I thought it was all the pressure but do you think I have dementia or a brain tumor or something? It’s okay, just say it…”

“Oh no. No, no, no.” He slid closer to me so our legs were touching. “Your period. Have you been late with your period. I know you’ve been expecting it, and it hasn’t arrived, and when I thought back, I don’t recall you having it for quite some time, so…”

Shaking my head, I put my Coke down on the floor. “By a few days, maybe. But my cycle’s been wacky since I went off the pill. Christ, you scared the SHIT out of me.”

He swallowed, wondering, I imagined, how to proceed because he obviously thought differently. I counted to ten silently, because for some reason I was fast on my way to becoming pissed off, then put my hand over his.

“Tom, I know, I can’t stand waiting for it to happen either, but it’s on my calendar and everything. I’ll go get my phone.” I stood, then walked back to where my shorts were bunched up on the floor and dug the device out of my left front pocket. As I sat back down on the couch, I pulled up my calendar and swiped back to May. “Yep, there it is. May 27th. So yeah, I’m technically late but I went 21 days in March and then 32 in April or something, so…” And then I swiped back to April. And then I swiped back to March, then back to April. Then to May, then back to April. And then, my jaw dropped open and I REALLY started to freak the fuck out. He just sat there, expressionless, while I tried to wrap my head around what I was seeing.

“I…I…I can’t believe this. April. There’s nothing there. No data. Not. There. I think…I think I…now that I’m like, really THINKING about it, it does seem like it’s been a while since I bought pads and I think maybe I put April’s dates on the May grid and that means May was period-less and that means…I’m late. Like late…enough. Wow. WOW. This is CRAZY. Tom. TOM. I thought you were hallucinating or whatever and here I am trying to prove you wrong but you’re like, not wrong, I don’t think. Okay. We can’t be sure until I take a test, right? And I don’t think I can wait until after the reception to know. I need to know. Oh my god. CRAZY. Can I sneak out of here in this outfit and go to the drug store around the corner without anyone recognizing me, do you think?”

He shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly. “No, I don’t think that’s possible. Honestly, I don’t know how we’re even going to send Luke or Simon or someone else we’re comfortable discussing this with to purchase a pregnancy test what with the media lurking all over. Even if they’re dressed in casual clothing.”

We were interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by Melanie Hale’s voice, inquiring softly.

“Maude? Tom? Is everything all right?”

Tom and I looked at each other, and I gave him a double thumbs up. She was a local, not as overly-adorned as the rest of us, and the press had no clue who she was yet since we hadn’t mentioned her on social media as part of our effort to keep the wedding details under wraps. And, since she’d not mentioned a blessed thing either, I had complete faith in her ability to keep a secret. I shouted for her to come in, and when she saw us sitting down she placed one hand over her heart and said some seriously magic words.

“If there’s something I can do to help, anything…please, feel free to ask.”

My face scrunched up as I spoke. “Weeellll…now that you’ve mentioned it, there is this one thing…”

****************************************

After hunting down the lipstick shade Veronica had applied earlier and giving myself a fresh coat, I texted Simon and told him we were ready to have the bridesmaids and groomsmen join us back at the ceremony site for photos. Focusing on the task at hand was nearly impossible, my mind preoccupied with images of Melanie walking into a store, choosing a pregnancy test, paying for it, driving back to the hotel, then sneaking up to our room, using the key we’d given her to enter, and leaving it behind along with what she’d purchased as we’d planned. I attempted to estimate how many more shots the photographer would likely require before this session was declared complete and we were permitted to move on to the next one, all the while attempting to portray myself as a woman who’d just wed the love of her life, which I was…but now I was ALSO a woman who might be carrying his child, and trying to disguise the fact that the anticipation of confirming such a thing was driving me insane turned out to be a wickedly difficult challenge. Finally, it was over, and Tom and I headed to the same room the press conference had been held in yesterday to pose for the media outlets, all of whom had complied with our requests. A large backdrop had been positioned at the front of the room, a medium-grey gradient that was typically the first choice whenever someone specified ‘not the blue one’. They’d structured their positioning and rotation on their own, so all Tom and I had to do was smile and shift around to add some variety. One photog yelled ‘dip her!’ and I held my breath during the act, hoping I wouldn’t throw up at such an inopportune time. I didn’t, and even managed to spin around a little in order to make my skirt flare out without any repercussions. Tom had set his phone alarm, and when it went off, we thanked the group for respecting our wishes, then exited via the side door, closed it behind us, and held hands as we walked to the stairwell and up to our room. He released me to slide the keycard, and I followed him inside, then pushed past him to get to the gift bag on the bed. There was a card attached, written in Melanie’s overly-rounded cursive.

“Got you a few different kinds – that’s what I’ve always done. Fingers crossed for you!”

Melanie’s definition of ‘a few’ was six, apparently, because that’s how many there were, along with three plastic shot-glass sized cups. That she’d thought to use a gift bag to bring it all into the hotel was a testament to her thoroughness, and I stopped to seriously consider offering to pay the entirety of their college tuition for her kids, then decided that if Tom and I got and kept her name out there she wouldn’t need any help with that. At all. Tom’s arms slipped around my waist from behind, and I leaned back into him.

“Maude, I hope you won’t be upset with me if…”

“I won’t be. I’ll be disappointed…BEYOND disappointed…but I’m glad you brought it up. I had no clue. None. It might have been another month or two before I noticed, and this way, if I’m not pregnant and something else is going on, we can address it sooner as opposed to later. That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway. Let’s do this. I hope I can use those cups to pee in, because the odds of me landing any on the actual sticks are slim to none.”

Four of the tests were supposed to show results in three minutes, the other two in five minutes. And yes, cup dipping was an acceptable substitute for stream-to-stick. Even still, I took off the maxi-skirt and hiked up my dress as far as possible before I went into the bathroom in order to avoid any unpleasantries…as any woman who’s ever endured a urine specimen collection will attest to, at best, you’ll wind up with a little on your hands. At worst, there will be none in the cup when you’re done and you’re back at square one. I was really grateful for that Coke and the length of time that had gone by since I chugged it, because I filled those cups like a fucking champ, handing them one by one to Tom, who placed them ever-so-gently on the counter. I finished my business, washed my hands, and we each dipped three tests, one in each cup, placed them on the other side of the counter in a tidy little row, then went out into the main area to wait. Neither of us spoke as we stood watching the countdown timer on Tom’s phone he’d set for five minutes click off the seconds, and when it reached the two minute marker I reached for his hand, my own shaking so badly I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hold on to him. He grabbed, then squeezed as he exhaled heavily.

“Are you ready?”

“HA – no, dude. No I am not. But I think they can give false results if you wait too long so…”

He nodded, and since we couldn’t fit through the door side by side, we closed our eyes until we were both inside the bathroom. His voice echoed off the walls as he spoke.

“All right, open on the count of three, then…one, two…THREE.”

I counted two sets of pink vertical lines, two sets of blue vertical lines, one grey plus sign, and one ‘pregnant’ that I’d later insist blazed in neon purple showing through the little plastic window. Six tests, six positives. I counted once more to be sure, blurting out the very first thing that came to mind.

“Oh my fucking god, Hiddleston. You did it. You knocked me UP.” I turned to take stock of his reaction, but his face wasn’t where it was supposed to be so I tipped my head downward and discovered that he’d sunk to his knees and was white as a sheet. My jaw dropped, and I put my hands on his shoulders. “Babe, are you okay? You don’t look okay. Talk to me.” His head lifted slowly, eyes blinking rapidly as he started at me, his mouth hanging halfway open, still silent. “Tom?”

He reached out and wrapped his arms around my hips, then pulled me close, resting his head on my lower belly. In which I was growing a tiny human. I felt my body go cold, and as I began to shudder Tom rose, shifted the tests to the side, then picked me up and plopped me on the counter top. He placed his hands on the sides of my face, leaning in so his forehead touched mine.

“You’re pregnant.”

I nodded, his head moving with the motion as well. “I’m…pregnant. Pregnant. Is this real? How can this be real? Who finds out they’re pregnant in the middle of their wedding? Seriously. I mean…I’m pregnant. I…I can’t believe it. I really didn’t think it would happen, you know? And it happened and it’s like one miracle on top of another and I just…” I began to sob, full-body, noisy, grateful sobs. Tom leaned back and gently pressed my head to his chest, smoothing my hair, and I could feel his body heaving as he sobbed right along with me. As much as I needed to be as close as possible to him right then, the desire to see him was greater, so I leaned back and grabbed his lapels, still weeping as I spoke. “We’re having a BABY.”

“Yes. Yes we are.” He smiled through his tears and began to sing. “You’re havin’ my baby…what a lovely way…”

I screeched and covered my ears. “NO OH MY GOD NO TOM NO I HATE THAT SONG…”

He laughed, which made me laugh as well…at least until I remembered we had a reception to attend, and pondered if we should keep this news to ourselves, and, if we went that route, precisely how we were going to do such a thing while surrounded by all the people we’d be dying to tell.

#your light in the mist #chapter 46

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raethedreamer · 3 years ago

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Short Meaningful Sister Quotes That Will Make You Want to Call Her Right Now

You fight. You play together. You “borrow” every other’s clothes. You tease every other. You get into your mom’s makeup. Growing up with a sister can be awesome, however it can additionally be annoying—like residing with a BFF and the type imply female all at once. Having a short meaningful sister quotes is probable the largest love/hate relationship you’ll ever experience.

When our parents got married, we're the ones who got a wedding gift: each other.

Step-sister, you are the sister of my soul.

Some kinds of sister-love are stronger than blood.

Sister, we've made our own family, and I'm so lucky to have you in it.

Sister, you may not share my DNA, but you share my heart.

#Short Meaningful Sister Quotes That Will Make You Want to Call Her Right Now

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alia-turin · 7 years ago

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#72. "You fainted, straight into my arms. You know if you wanted my attention you didn't have to go to such extremes" with Gladio (I love how you write sweet, tender Gladio)

Fic Title: The PremierRating: G Couple: Gladio x ReaderNotes: I was trying to make something cute and meaningful, not sure if it worked well, but I hope you like it.If you guys want to support my writing: Ko-Fi

Tagging: @birdsandivory @jojopitcher @lazarustrashpit @yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy @amicitonia @ladychocoberry @kairakara101 @theyearofdiamonddogs @themissimmortal @akiza-hades-rose @a-manville-meow

It was your first time at an event like that and honestlyyou were feeling more than anxious. It was a big day, probably the biggest inyour life so far. Your new book being published, and not just being publishedbut receiving such massive attention. There were at least two hundred people atthis party and you were told that the interest was way bigger, just thebookstore couldn’t fit more than two hundred. It was exciting. One of theyoungest best-selling authors in Insomnia, your own formal book presentation…

…and somehow none of that was reaching you. Of course, youwere excited and of course you were happy, but you still couldn’t believe it.You were here, and still it felt like a dream. People were talking to you,congratulating you about your success, asking you about your next book, ifthere is a next book coming. You were too anxious to engage in a conversationwith any of them. You just nodded, answered as politely as you could with asfewer words as you could.

“Can I ask you to sign my copy?” somebody asked behind youand you had to turn around. It was the first request for the evening, strangelyenough. The bookstore was selling signed copies tonight and you figured thatmost people already bought one. All these thoughts were interrupted once yousaw the stranger who made the request. He was…gorgeous. Tall, handsome and youcould see the muscles showing under his black shirt.

“S-sure…” You grabbed the book he was holding and placed iton a table nearby. “What’s your name?”

“You can just write Gladio. Sounds more personal than myfull name.” he gave you a charming smile and you had to do your best to keep itcool. The people who usually read your books were women. Not that you thoughtmen didn’t read them, it was just men seemed to be a bit shy about admitting toread romance novels. Something about romance novels being for girls and othermade up excuses about manliness. Your editor had made a survey and turned outthat almost equal amount of men and women had read your books, but while womenalmost always said they bought the books, men usually said they borrowed itfrom their girlfriends or sisters or similar.

“You bought that here today?” you asked since you realizedyou were taking too long to steady your hand to write on the book. You were anauthor, you couldn’t sign that book like a kid in first grade.

“Actually, no. I have had it for about a week and alreadyread it.” He moved next to you, pressing the back of his legs against the tablewhere you were signing at the moment. You turned your head away from the bookto look at him and your eyes were at his abs level. When did he find time toread books and build body like that? Because even under the shirt you could seehe was in perfect shape. Maybe he read it while doing sit ups?

“How did you get it a week early?” even you had hard timefinding copy for your own collection since they were all being distributed tovarious bookstores for the big day. You had to call your editor ten timeswithin three days to ask for your copy.

“I have my ways.” He gave you another charming smile and youfelt completely week I the knees. You weren’t used to this sort of attention.It was movie stars and signers that had fans like that, not you. “How about wego to the bar and have a drink and I might tell you about that. After you signmy book of course. If you still want to sign it.”

“Right your book. I mean your book. The book.” You turnedthe title page and scrabbled your name as neatly as you could. Then you wrote ‘ToGladio with love’ and realized how boring that was and that probably you shouldhave first written the text, then sign it. Too late now, you already made afool of yourself. “I’m sorry I’m afraid I’m terrible at signing…never learnedhow to do it without embarrassing myself. How about I buy you a drink?”

“I think it’s perfect. Makes it more personal.” He waslooking at your scrabbles over your shoulder. “Come on time to enjoy thisparty, you seem like the only person who is not enjoying it.”

He grabbed your hand and his book and pulled you towards thebar. Although you had said you’d buy the drinks he didn’t want to hear aboutit. He asked you what you want and then ordered for both of you ignoring yourrequest that you owe him a drink.

“You are one of my favourite writers!” he argued. “I’m notletting you buy me a drink and sign my book. I need to show that I’m grateful.”

“You were going to tell me how you got a copy earlier. EvenI couldn’t and I wrote the thing.” You decided not to protest any longer. Notevery day a handsome man like him would buy you a drink.

“My father works with the king. Let’s say people find ituseful to do small favours to people around the king.” He didn’t seem proud ofthe fact he used his father’s position to get the book, but you could sense hisexcitement over the fact that he did in fact get the book.

“Wait…what’s your full name?” were you supposed to know whohe was and you somehow missed that?

“Gladiolus Amicitia.” He admitted a bit sheepishly whilescratching the back of his head.

“Your father is the king’s shield! And you are the youngprince’s shield!” you couldn’t believe that. The prince’s shield was readingyour books. “I can’t believe it…someone like you reading my books.”

“What you thought the prince’s shield is mass of muscle andno brains?” he sounded a bit wounded by your words but that was not how youmeant it.

“No, not that. I mean, I never expect someone famous to bereading my books. To be completely honest, I’m surprised anyone at all reads mybooks, I’m not even sure how my editor found two hundred people to come to thatparty. I see the numbers and I see the sales, but I don’t know they seemunreal. As if someone is making them up to make me feel better. Having someonelike you, someone that everybody knows actually read my books and ask for anautograph is…so strange.” You felt like you were blabbing and not making lotsof sense so you just finished your drink quickly hoping that will help yourelax and not say anything stupid.

“You must be joking!” he saw that your glass was empty andordered again. “You are amazing. I got in trouble because of your book. I wasreading one morning in bed and got so sucked into the plot that I didn’trealize I was late for practice. Cor, my mentor, he wasn’t pleased with me. Ican’t believe you think so little of your skill and ability to tell stories.”

You had no idea what to say to that. It was a very honestcompliment on his end, you were just not used to these. You were rescued byyour editor who gave you a sign to come to her, it was time for a speech. Youhated that part of the presentations, but it was necessary something aboutselling more books and pleasing the audience if you were to quote your editor.

After a short applause you were invited to the improvised stageand given a microphone. Your anxiety hit you even harder, talking to peoplewasn’t your thing, public speaking was real nightmare. You took a deep breath,that was not your first time doing it, but it felt like it. Every time feltlike a first time.

“Good evening everyone.” You stared, trying your best not tohave your voice shake. “It’s real pleasure having you all here. Thank you forjoining me and my publishers in celebrating the publishing of my newest book.” Wordswere coming hard out of your mouth and you felt dizzy. You were stressed, youhaven’t eaten all day and you had two drinks way faster than you should have.You told yourself that whatever happened you shouldn’t faint on the stage. “Asyou might have noticed there are still some signed copies for sale here, besure to purchase yours. There will be more events like this planned later inthe month, I hope to see you there as well.” You smiled as charmingly as youcould and walked off the stage, very mindful of your steps.

As you walked down the stairs constantly remind yourselfwhich leg to move you felt very dizzy and lost your balance. That was it, nowyou were going to fall in front of everyone and break a leg. The newspaperwould talk how you were drunk not about your new book.

Couple of minutes later you came to your senses. You weren’tat the party, you were in what seemed like a storage room, surrounded by boxes…

“What happened?” the question was mostly directed toyourself since you thought you were alone but for your surprise there was ananswer.

“You fainted, straight into my arms. You know if youwanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes” Gladio smiledat you and gave you a glass of water.

“Thank you…” you took the glass and could feel yourselfblushing. “Did everyone laugh?”

“No, most of them didn’t notice. Only your editor. Everyoneelse was too busy drinking and talking. Brought here because it was quiet andnobody else is around.” He touched your forehead with the back of his hand. “Areyou feeling okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just…anxiety. I’m really terrible with eventslike that and I haven’t eaten all day.” You explained and felt a bit sillyabout the whole thing. What kind of person just doesn’t eat all day?

“Though that might be the case.” He reached somewhere behindyou and presented you with a tray filled with sandwiches. “Wasn’t sure whichone you like so I grabbed two of each.”

You stared at him your mouth half open. That was probablythe sweetest thing a stranger has ever done for you.

“Thank you…” you said as you grabbed a sandwich at randomand bit into it. The sandwich itself probably was terrible but right now wasthe best thing you had ever eaten.

“I might be crossing a line here, but would you go out withme some time? I realize I approached you as fan and probably seems a bit creepyfrom your point of view, but…I think you are a very sweet and beautiful, somaybe we can have a breakfast tomorrow morning?”

You stopped chewing and just looked at him. Did the prince’sshield just asked you out? Probably one of the most handsome men in Insomniaasked you out? Just after you fainted and made absolute idiot out of yourself?

“I just fainted, made a fool out of myself, signed your booklike illiterate first grader and you are asking me out?” you were blinking inabsolute surprise.

“You need someone to make sure you had good breakfast andlunch before your next premier so you don’t faint again, thought it might beme.” He gave you a charming smile that you just couldn’t refuse.

#gladio #gladio amicitia #gladio x reader #gladio/reader #my writing

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darpok · 7 years ago

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Blog Post: On Fan Fiction and Other Storytelling Traditions

When I was twelve or thirteen years old, and even our family finally had DSL internet, I discovered the joys of fan fiction. In case you haven’t been living under the same rock as I have, allow me to explain. “Fan fiction” refers to stories written by enthusiasts of a particular book, TV show, or other creative work. While most “fics” – as my friends and I would call them – take place within the particular universe of the original story, others take known characters and put them in an entirely new setting. (That’s how 50 Shades of Grey was born.) There’s also fan fiction that doesn’t deliberately draw on any work but revolves around real, famous people in imagined situations. (See Graham Norton and Daniel Radcliffe discuss this type on the former’s show.)

The stories that interested me ranged from shorter “one shots” to multi-chapter epics, but most were placed in the Harry Potter universe and nearly all were tales of romance – if you could call it that.

The pairings I read about (and often ‘shipped’ – a verb that comes from the ‘ship’ in ‘relationship’ and means “hoped would bang”) – whether true to canon (i.e. the original books), such as Lily and James Potter, or wildly inventive, such as Hermione and a Tom Riddle to whom she has traveled back in time – usually engaged in the kind of love/hate banter that sends real couples to therapy. The pair would glare at and insult each other (often employing strangely American turns of phrase for a pair of ostensible Brits), their apparent mutual disgust hiding a deeper attraction. For my friends and I, it was riveting stuff.

While I was mainly a Lily/James shipper myself, you can’t talk about Harry Potter fan fiction and not mention Dramione. The fan-invented romance between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger was a tale of forbidden passion, a defiance of Hogwarts housing norms and the mandates of Potter canon itself. Draco did need to be less of a whiny loser to be a deserving match for Hermione, but this could be arranged without too much trouble. In the fan fiction world, Draco was dark and brooding, and he didn’t bring his dad up in conversation quite as often as in the books. Hermione was clever and empathetic, and although she was rarely depicted with less than Yule Ball-level beauty, her looks were not her main characteristic.

Sometimes fan fiction Draco and Hermione fell for each other while at Hogwarts. In other fics, they met again under changed circumstances years after the fall of Voldemort. Then there were the AU fics in which a brilliant young paralegal named Hermione Granger begins work at the firm where successful lawyer Draco Malfoy practices. You get the idea.

Photoshop creations starring Tom Felton and Emma Watson (no credit belongs to me). The purple one in particular has stayed in my memory for years, and brings on a familiar feeling of excitement at all the great content to peruse in the world. It was the banner for a website that allowed fans to nominate and vote for their favorite Dramione fics.

A particularly sexy iteration of the Draco/Hermione story was called Water by kissherdraco. In it, Draco and Hermione are Head Boy and Girl at Hogwarts. Of course, this means that they must live sequestered in their own dormitory, with its own entrance, common room and adjoining bathroom that ensure they see each other in a state of partial undress when the story demands it.

Water was held by many to be the pinnacle of the genre. It had lust and angst in equal measure, executed with a liberal dose of swear words and aggression. Moreover, Water took the common flaws of the Dramione world’s characters and actually explored them, allowing character to drive plot. In the story, Draco is brooding and cruel as ever, but these traits are linked to vicious abuse at the hands of Lucius. This backstory is not seen as an excuse for Draco’s behavior and he is forced to grow and change as the story progresses (although not quite enough, tbh).

I never finished the story, perhaps because my young brain was alarmed by all the hate-sex, but I revisited it with curiosity for this piece. Here is a relatively benign excerpt from the text, although please skip if you’d rather avoid themes of physical dominance:

“You’re crying,” growled Draco, leaning in and flicking his tongue onto her cheek. He tasted salt.

She struggled then, and he brought his hands to her shoulders to hold her still. “Don’t, Granger,” he warned. “I fucking need this. I can’t fucking…” He trailed off.

He never would have noticed before. Not like he did now, at least. Her lips were wet. They were red and moist and magnificently ripened for him. So full of blood. Hot, heated, sullied blood. He couldn’t take his eyes off them.

Other fics situated romance within a larger plot about the politics of the wizarding world. Prelude to Destiny by AnotherDreamer took place in the Marauder era (i.e. the time of Harry’s parents) and focused on the coming-of-age of Lily Evans and her role in the battle against evil. It begins, “Two cultures and a thousand miles from you, there is a castle on a hill…”

Another fave began life under the title Ancient and Most Noble and is now called Druella Black’s Guide to Womanhood. It is about the diverging lives of the three Black sisters — Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa — in the early years of Voldemort’s power. The sisters confront the crumbling of the their easy closeness as they make different choices in a changing world.

”It’ll be a laugh, you’ll see,” Bellatrix whispered into her ear, her breath sweet and thick from wine. They were curled in the cool grass, tangled in the layers upon layers of lace and satin that were their dress robes; it had taken them an hour to get them on right and just ten minutes to unsettle them. Andromeda’s head was spinning: from the liquor, from the heat, from far too much dancing. “It’ll all be just like this,” Bella was murmuring, her lips brushing against her ear. Stars whirled by overhead, maybe close enough to touch. Close enough to try.

“Always just like this.”

—

Andromeda swore as she stepped off the train. From inside the nicely cool travel car, summer had looked so charming, green and bright and gloriously school-free…

I was most interested in these fics, the ones that revolved around the generations before Harry’s. There was something compelling about the knowledge of forthcoming tragedy for many of the characters…Plucked away from the happy ending of the books, these fics became an exploration of why life is meaningful even in its flawed and finite scope.

I look back on my fan fiction experiences as belonging to a beautiful time when the internet was less like Janet from The Good Place* (if Janet were selling everything she knew about us to profit-hungry corporations and belligerent, militarized governments), and more like a library you went to when you felt like checking out a book. Nobody knew what I ate and where I went every minute of the day, because I didn’t put that stuff online, nor did I (to my knowledge) carry a tracking device with me when I went downstairs to play with my friends. At 5 pm, our moms would have to call each friend’s landline to reach us and remind us to stop home for our daily glass of milk or what-have-you.

*Janet is a humanoid presence in the afterlife who holds all knowledge in the universe and can create objects out of the void.

Fan fiction was a commerce-free creative space – devoid of ad revenue and the quick accumulation of likes. Since there was neither money nor social capital to be gained, everyone who participated did so out of pure interest. One did have the hope of raking in reviews from other community members, but these were about more than validation; reviews allowed people to have conversations about a shared passion and often included constructive criticism along with praise. There was little need for bitterness – if a fic was well-written, everybody won, since it meant they got to read it.

Below are some examples from the reviews section of Prelude to Destiny. It’s certainly no Twitter.

Written by rach on chapter #13. (March 28th 2009, 5am) Hey,

So I’ve read your whole story before, and now I’m reading it again, because I saw it spotlighted on the site. And this chapter is amazing. I love the end…I’ve never (well, before I read this the first time) compared Lily to Mrs Crouch. But it’s so true. They both gave their lives for their sons and…this chapter is phenomenal. Just thought I’d let you know

Rach

Written by Smith on chapter #26. (April 29th 2008, 11am)

…If I am to find any fault in the story, then I should say that Remus was rather dull. Not that it was completely out of character, but I imagine him being funnier and also good Lily’s friend. Their friendship is mentioned by Lupin in the third film and, I should think, in the book as well, though I don’t have a copy right now and thus can’t provide a quote. Pity, that. [Given my extensive knowledge of canon, I can tell you that the reviewer is mistaken on this last point.]

Thank you very much for writing this story. Reading it was an enjoyable experience that I might repeat in the future. You’re brilliant, to put it short.

Author Response: Thanks for the review!Yeah, Remus was a bit dull. Actually, I didn’t intend for Lily to be friends with any of the marauders besides James. I just wanted them out of the way. But I know what you mean. After Sirius entered the story, Remus was even duller in comparison. Plus, I wanted to make Peter seem like he fit in, and Remus just fell by the wayside, you know?I’m enjoying writing Gertrude again after taking over a story from my friend who used my characters. Anyway, thanks again!Miranda

For me, too, fandom was a more than a casual hobby. Since I was only allowed an hour of internet use a day, I would spend the time copying and pasting chapter after chapter of fan fiction onto Microsoft Word, allowing me to read all I wanted later. (As you might imagine, Water was not stored on the family computer.) I remember scouring for new fics on fanfiction.net and clicking through page after page of fan art on deviantart.com (both of which retain their early-2000s layouts, unlike Mugglenet or JK Rowling’s official site), very differently from how I scroll through Instagram today. I admired works of fandom the way one appreciates springtime’s first flower, or the décor of a friend’s bedroom – I admired the stamp of individuality they bore and that inspired me to create something myself, to express my joys and sorrows, to be a part of the world.

RIP old websites

When I did put Harry Potter-inspired art out there, somewhere around age fourteen, it was of course in the form of fan fiction, writing being my weapon of choice. I wrote two one-shot pieces, one funny and the other sad — or such were my intentions, though perhaps the results were inverted. While some friends wrote longer stories, I never felt talented or inspired enough to commit, which is a typical self-doubting move of the kind I am trying to leave behind. (I now plan to write no matter how untalented and uninspired I may be.)

One piece was about a character of my own invention, a Slytherin guy with the requisite pure-blood, Dark magic-loving family, and a perky, ponytailed Huffelpuff girl on whom he develops an obsessive crush. It was intended to be a BBC-inspired mockery of the character, taking all the gloomy sexiness of the Dramione universe and making it ridiculous. It was also a thorough exploration of really wanting to make out with somebody sitting in the same classroom as you, not that I’d know anything about that myself.

The other short story was a sincere ode to the books and an exploration of some of their core questions on death and loss. It followed Harry in an imagined scene that takes place (SPOILER ALERT lol) after Dumbledore’s death in the Half-Blood Prince. Harry is climbing the steps to the Owlery with a package in his hand, thinking over his relationship with Dumbledore. As I wrote, I found that I absolutely had to include excerpts from a fairly unexpected source, a chapter in the first and most overlooked of the Harry Potter books. The chapter is “The Mirror of Erised,” whose titular object reveals to the onlooker their deepest desire.

“Professor Dumbledore. Can I ask you something?”

“Obviously, you’ve just done so,” Dumbledore smiled. “You may ask me one more thing, however.”

“What do you see when you look in the mirror?”

“I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks.” Harry stared. “One can never have enough socks,” said Dumbledore. “Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.”

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful.

In my story, Harry gazes out at the Forbidden Forest for a little while, wondering who Dumbledore had been behind the mask of calm wisdom and pondering the burden of those left alive and grieving. Harry then ties the package he’s been holding to Hedwig’s arm and sends her off, chuckling a little through tears. In the last line it is revealed that – OMG – he has just sent off a pair of thick, woolen SOCKS. To DUMBLEDORE. Even though Dumbledore is DEAD. Isn’t that profound?

Two years later, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released, and to my complete surprise, it delved deep into some of the questions about Dumbledore that had tumbled out of me, stream-of-consciousness-like, in the story I wrote. The text even includes part of the above excerpt from “The Mirror of Erised”. At the outset of Deathly Hallows, Harry learns that Dumbledore’s childhood was a difficult one, the true details of which remain murky and contested by his admirers and critics. Harry regrets never having asked Dumbledore about his past, but recalls that, after all, the one personal question he had asked Dumbledore was not answered honestly…

While writing my story, I had imagined Harry’s pain and longing to know Dumbledore better. Because fan fiction allowed me to externalize my interpretation of the text, the questions in my mind took on concrete form. Their answers, when the next book presented them, became all the more striking and emotionally impactful. It was as though I had written a letter to the series of books that had shaped me and received, in a way, a gentle but meaningful response.

In 2004, JK Rowling released a statement about the phenomenon of fan fiction. She was flattered by fans’ desire to write about her characters, and her only caveats were that fan fiction should remain suitable for children (unfortunately that ship had already sailed, and Water was truly the least of it), as well as a non-commercial activity so that fans’ creative pursuits would remain unexploited. Other authors have not been as accepting, and have asked for fan fiction based on their work to be removed from popular websites. After all, in our current world, a story is classified as property. A sentence, a verse, a character’s name, can belong to someone the same way as the furniture in their house and the dollar figure in their bank account.

In the long history of storytelling, however, ownership is a relatively recent idea. Bear with me while I make an analogy – in pre-industrial Britain, every town had a commons, an area of land where anyone could gather firewood, take their cattle to graze, or hunt and fish to supplement a year of poor harvest. Storytelling has historically functioned as a kind of commons of ideas, one that anyone could pull from when the time came to tell a tale. Want to warn your kid against going near a well? Tell them about the hungry demon that lives in it. Were you hired to entertain a crowd at a wedding? Maybe you dust off an old poem about a prince and princess who meet one evening in the forest but spend years apart, not knowing each others’ true identity until it turns out they were betrothed all along.

Nobody invented well-dwelling monsters or estranged lovers for the first time – they simply existed in a shared cultural space, available when needed (or when it was particularly enjoyable to use them), ready to be shaped into something new and old at the same time. Even today, no one questions the use of familiar tropes in books and movies; we know that all storytelling involves a certain amount of borrowing and repetition, and we deem this acceptable as long as the storyteller has put an adequately original spin on the themes they utilize. The legal line is drawn once you get to the particulars – character names, or sentences and dialogue. These must be brand spanking new if you want to avoid a lawsuit and getting dropped by your publishers. (Does anyone else remember How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life?)

But for thousands of years, people told and re-told stories of beloved and familiar characters, not just unnamed archetypes – characters like Odysseus and Arjuna, Gilgamesh and King Arthur. The Sanskrit Mahabharata (Maha-BHA-rata) an epicly long, genre-defying story from South Asia, especially challenges the idea of a single, canonical text (much like other ancient story traditions from the subcontinent). It was told so many times by so many people that modern-day folks are not always able to agree on what the Mahabharata even is. The story is like a vast ocean — recognizable to all, but appears different depending on where you happen to be standing.

In the 20th century, some scholars collected Mahabharata manuscripts from all over the subcontinent, extracted the most commonly occurring parts to form a text, and detailed the many variations of each verse in footnotes that turned out longer than the text itself. No one can quite agree whether to treat this resulting (multi-volume) “Critical Edition” as the essential Sanskrit Mahabharata tradition, or as some kind of strange, post-colonial Mahabharata scrapbook. All this so that whenever somebody wrote an essay about the story, there was a single text, pieced together as it was, to use as a point of reference. (My Bachelor’s thesis was one of the lesser works of this scholarly genre.)

The plot of the Mahabharata goes like this: The five Pandava brothers, namely the prone-to-gambling leader Yudhishthira, morally-conflicted archer Arjuna, lovable beefcake Bhima, and something-to-do-with-horses twins Nakula and Sachdeva, along with their badass wife Draupadi, are exiled from their kingdom and forced into a year of disguise after a rigged dice game that Yudhishthira loses, and in which Draupadi is stripped and humiliated before a hall full of men. Eventually the Pandavas regain what they lost through a bloody war that leaves both sides devastated and questioning the point of all this conflict. The End.

Does my summary reflect my biases a little bit? For somebody else, the Pandavas might be perfect heroes, Draupadi a whiny ungrateful shrew who won’t stop yelling at them. To me, she is the moral backbone of the Pandavas, unafraid to call for what she feels is right even as everyone around her takes the coward’s way out of trouble.

Interpretations of Draupadi from various traditions

But it’s not just me who has a take on the story: the Mahabharata itself reflects a range of interacting and conflicting views, which might indicate that people from various backgrounds heard it and were able, in some way, to influence it. For example, although the text generally upholds hierarchies of caste and gender, it also pulls at the listener’s heartstrings with stories of characters who must confront these oppressive norms.

There’s Amba, who is stolen from her future-husband at her wedding and rejected by him when she manages to return; she later chooses to be re-born as a man in order to kill her kidnapper in battle. There’s Ekalavya, the talented archer from a forest tribe who trains with the Pandavas in youth and asks to prove his devotion to his archery guru any way he can; the guru, who favors the upper-caste prince Arjuna, asks Ekalavya to cut off his right thumb. There’s Kunti, who finds herself pregnant after an illicit affair with a god and places her baby, Karna, in a river; Karna is adopted by a lower-caste charioteer couple and goes on to fight against Kunti’s legitimate sons in the great battle that destroys the universe. And there’s Satyavati, whose husband/baby daddy pretends not to recognize her in front of his kingly court but gets completely schooled on how not to be an asshole.

“You know very well [who I am], your majesty; why do you say that you don’t, lying like a common man? Your heart knows the truth, and knows your lie. A man who does something wrong thinks, ‘No one knows me,’ but the gods know. If you do not do what I ask, your head will burst into a hundred pieces.” She discoursed at length on the reasons why a man should honor his wife, quoting the dharma texts.

(from The Ring of Truth: And Other Myths of Sex and Jewelry by Wendy Doniger)

Perhaps, among the traveling bards and indulgent grandmas who told the Mahabharata over centuries, there were some who identified or empathized with the pain of oppression and through whom otherwise-marginalized voices could ring out into the millennia.

The many Mahabharatas, along with the many conversations inside the Mahabharata, illustrate how the human imagination is prolific and messy, not content with merely absorbing information but impelled to remake, to take inspiration, to create, create, create. Isn’t that what happens when we read? We see the world we are reading about in our own way. We make up something in our own head as we go along, and that’s where the entertainment lies. The book itself is but a wonderful tool.

Perhaps if I had a right-wing patron who paid me to tell stories, I would tell the Mahabharata a little differently from how I do here, focusing on how the Pandavas were self-made men or how the ethnic minorities they killed were thieving encroachers. Or if I were telling the story to children, I might leave out anything particularly frightening. In the telling of a story, the will and whims of the teller have influence, as do those of the listener (or reader) and the financial benefactor (or publishing house).

What remains inevitable, however, is that rarely is a story told the same way twice. Even in our post-printing press, post-internet world, where stories are replicated identically again and again, we continue to dissect, analyze, and change them, whether it be through everyday conversations, online forums, or the prestige lens of a critic’s review. (A perfect example is the adaptation of works from one medium into another, be it from literature to film or from film to theater.) Sometimes the authors themselves continue to tweak and interpret their work – Virginia Wolf was known to make changes to her books prior to reprinting, and we all know that JK Rowling can’t leave the Potter universe well enough alone (love you Jo!).

For me, fan fiction is a grand storytelling and textual tradition not entirely unlike the Mahabharata. Fan fiction not only illustrates the malleable, generative nature of stories, it also provides a rare space, in our capitalist global economy, for storytelling to be that malleable, generative thing it has always been. It allows for democratic engagement in the storytelling traditions of our time, free from the boxes of profit and ownership. It lets us expand the possibilities of our collective imagination. Importantly, it allows voices from the margins into the story, where our canonical texts routinely fail us.

I’m also thankful to fan fiction for being a rare space, outside overpriced college English classes, where literary discussion can thrive. When I say discussion, I don’t mean mere binary criticism – like book reviews, or the Goodreads star rating-aggregates that help determine book sales. I mean questions about how a text makes you feel, what it reflects or critiques about our world, the things that literary characters, beloved and abhorred, may teach us about our shared humanity and flawed choices. And yes, some of these conversations involve Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy as co-Heads of Hogwarts, using the same bathroom.

Are you a reader or writer of fan fiction? Have you you dabbled in fan art? Or do you engage in a non-online form of fandom, like a book club? Please share!

Thanks for reading.

#fan fiction #writing #storytelling #early internet #dramione #mugglenet #mahabharata #harry potter #feminism #romance #indian history #draupadi #longform #long post

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