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the-evisceration-station · 4 years ago

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What do you think book!addy’s feelings are towards beth? Even tho addy is the protagonist I still find her very hard to read. Which makes her interesting I guess Bc she’s very mysterious. I love and hate that a lot of the story is subtext haha

That’s a very interesting question and I’m sure everybody probably has a different answer for it, as Addy is such an ambiguous character and intentionally so, because she lies to readers as well as herself. Particularly book!Addy, who I do not believe is quite identical to TV!Addy, even if I do think the most important beats of her character remain the same. I’m going to answer this under the cut both because of potential spoilers and because this is probably going to get long.

In this essay, I will…

Well, I think much of the way Addy describes Beth is some of the way Addy genuinely sees her, rather than an entire farce. Beth being something almost goddess like, someone who knows all and always has some kind of agenda. I don’t think Addy’s actually lying to us when she describes viewing Beth in those ways, I think there is a major part of her that does see Beth as some kind of nearly divine entity.

I think she feels this way partially because Beth is something of a spooky kid, she’s violently protective of Addy to the point where “protective” crosses over into “possessive” territory. I also think Beth projects a powerful persona on purpose. Beth very carefully guards her vulnerabilities and she is, after all, Top Girl, the thing that Addy secretly wants to be. And that’s where I think Addy kind of confuses Beth with what Beth has, and what she thinks it means to have that. She thinks Beth is more powerful than she actually is, because Beth has the thing Addy wants and she believes she’d be more powerful herself, if she had it.

However, do I think Addy sometimes exaggerates about how powerful she sees Beth as?

Absolutely. Because Addy also reveals she knows Beth has vulnerabilities. She knows that laughing is Beth’s way of crying. She is fully aware of how detrimental and unhappy Beth’s home life is, another vulnerability. When she wants Beth to give her one more day before going to the cops, and asks her for it, she pleads, “for me,” because Addy knows that she, herself, is one of Beth’s weaknesses. So if Addy knows where the chinks in the armor are, chances are she doesn’t always see Beth as infallible as she acts like she does.

The fact that Addy knows she can get Beth to do what she wants with a “for me,” also implies that she’s aware that she’s the one who actually has more control in the relationship, which diminishes how godlike she constantly describes Beth as.

Look, I have seen some takes that describe the Addy/Beth relationship as “Addy has All The Power behind the scenes and Beth is just her pawn,” as well as “Beth has All The Power outright until Addy stands up for herself” and personally I don’t agree with either. I understand why people would come away with such interpretations, but I personally don’t think it’s either. I think Beth and Addy both have power in that relationship, and that there is push and pull between them. I actually feel that to insist one has all and one has none is to cheapen the complexity between them, the depths of the layers of this twisted relationship they’ve woven together like a tapestry.

However, I DO believe Addy has the lion’s share of the power. Not that Beth has none. I certainly think she has some, and she’s too aware of what Addy is like under the surface to ever be described as her pawn. But that I do feel that Addy has MOST of the power. Because Beth has more exploitable vulnerabilities in places Addy doesn’t. Because Beth will do anything for Addy, and Addy knows it, and Addy knows she can use it when she has to. Because when Beth goes too far, Addy can assert her quiet control and reel her back in line. Some of the other girls notice this much. They point it out more frequently in the show, but it’s book!Tacy who point-blank tells Addy that she’s more afraid of Addy than she is of Beth.

Hence, given that Addy has the lion’s share of the power, I think she has a tenancy to exaggerate how all-powerful she sees Beth as, because if she has to, she can control Beth’s power by proxy. Beth’s power isn’t an inevitability for her. Quite often, it’s even her asset.

What I do think almost feels like an inevitability for her, is her and Beth’s relationship. I actually think Addy has more internal conflict about this than she lets on. She is an unreliable narrator. She doesn’t tell us everything. What she does tell us, is what she wants us to know, and it’s dyed by how she wants us to see it. But I think it’s very interesting that after the fight at cheer camp, and the other girls think they’ll never be friends again, Addy’s just…of the mindset that well, of course they would. Because coming back together, being together is just what they are. Like it’s some force of nature, not a conscious choice. Like it is what it is, the same way gravity exists because it exists and when something is dropped, you can count on it to fall to the ground. Because gravity exists and things do not simply float away, it is not good, it is not bad, it is not fair nor unfair, it just fucking is. And Addy dismisses the other girls’ thoughts, because she thinks they could never understand. Well, I don’t think Addy really understands it either!

I think at this point in the book, Addy truly felt like what she and Beth had was an inevitability of a sort. I don’t think she wanted it to be. I think she genuinely wanted to move away from Beth already, but on this point, I don’t think she was lying to us. Relationships are complicated, codependent relationships specifically can feel very contradictory and confusing. And I think she failed to elaborate more on it, specifically because such feelings were confusing and contradictory, and she didn’t want to think about it any more than she had to. She didn’t want to look at it. There are many things Addy doesn’t like to look at.

Major YMMV on this one because it’s left incredibly ambiguous, but I personally do believe there was a point in time when Addy was in love with Beth. Addy is the one who kissed Beth. Addy is the one who initiated their borderline (or even, some people think it went that far, I personally don’t) sexual encounter.

“I started it, but I don’t even remember why or how,” is her input on her motivation. But when is Addy ever honest about her motives? Almost never, not even to herself.

Also, the hamsa bracelet. The story behind the little charm is that it’s the Hand of Fatima. Fatima was stirring a pot when her husband came home with a new wife, let the ladel slip from her fingers, stirred with her own hand, and didn’t even notice the pain because of how brokenhearted she was. Or, at least, that’s the version of the story presented in the book. The one I know of IRL is different, but for the purpose of discussing Dare Me book canon, I am using the symbolism of the version of the Hand of Fatima lore presented to us in the book.

Beth is Fatima in this story. Addy is the husband. The new wife is Colette. Fatima was the first wife. The husband married his first wife, chances are, he loved her at some point.

I think three things play into Addy no longer being in love with Beth.

1) Beth’s possessive behavior began to feel suffocating and drive Addy away.

2) Addy prioritizes ambition over love and accomplishing her goals wins out over any romance, at the end of the day.

3) Addy represses her sexuality and probably even holds some (unfair) resentment toward Beth for feeling attracted to Beth.

My gray faced friendo, I am going to repeat that: this is all just my take. I think in a subtext loaded book like Dare Me, people are bound to come away with over a hundred different interpretations. I am not the authority on Dare Me. That’s Megan Abbott. I’m not here to crap on anyone else’s interpretation if they feel different.

All of this is what I personally took away from the book and since you asked, that’s what I’m describing. I’ve been giving my own personal take throughout the entirety of this answer, of course, but what I’m going to describe going forward is a lot of me reading in between the lines with my magnifying glass, and may seem less coherent than the above. Okay, here we go.

Point #1: I feel like Beth’s possessive behavior began to drive Addy away, because it’s a lot to deal with. Beth gets dog leashes for all the girls on the squad at one point, but goes as far as to have Addy’s name embroidered on hers. Addy goes to another girl’s birthday party and when she gets home, low and behold, Beth is waiting at her house. RiRi outright refers to Addy as “Beth’s girl,” as if Addy belongs to Beth.

I think Addy even begins to feel like she does belong to Beth, in some ways, and becomes comfortable feeling that way. But eventually, she doesn’t want to feel that way anymore. Their relationship is extremely codependent, okay. I think in both the book and the show, it’s more obvious from Beth’s side, because we’ve reached the point in that relationship where Addy is beginning to pull away. Beth reflexively seems to cling on even tighter, because she feels it happening. But it’s absolutely codependent from Addy’s side too.

Throughout the book, there are many moments (I’m not going to comb for all of them, sorry dude, it’s almost 300 pages) where Addy behaves like she and Beth are an entity unto their own. Even as she’s moving away from her as she develops her bond with Colette, there are instances where Addy will describe sensing things inside Beth. There is even a moment where Addy thinks Beth is touching her ear (the ear Addy scarred, mind you) only to discover, no, she’s touching her own ear!

Plus, Addy feels like she needs others to verbalize her thoughts/feelings for her and for a long time, this person is Beth. Implying that not only does Addy rely on Beth to do such a thing for her, but she believes that Beth can know her thoughts accurately enough to do so.

Point #2: I think ambition outranks love for Addy, because her goals are her endgame. Addy is patient, Addy is deceptive. Addy likes the way power feels and I think it’s one of the reasons she gets so high on her relationship with Colette (even if it is an inappropriate and eventually damaging one). Colette makes Addy feel powerful, probably more powerful than she actually is. I’m going to repeat myself a bit here and even copy/paste some of my thoughts about this from a reply I left to a comment on Ao3 (that poor person, I went into a full on Addy rant) because I feel like what I said previously is relevant here.

*deep breath* When we begin the book/series, I personally believe like on some level, Addy does still have feelings for Beth. However, I do NOT think those feelings are as strong as they once were, and I don’t think they are feelings Addy wants to have. I think the remaining feelings Addy does have for Beth are mostly there because they’ve been in a codependent relationship for so long, one that consumes her identity, and in a relationship like that, even if you don’t want those feelings anymore, they’re difficult to move away from. Because at some point, you don’t really know who you are not just without that person, but without those feelings, even if you want to, even if wanting to is part of the reason you want to get rid of those feelings. Codependency is a strange animal, my friend.

Although Addy’s relationship with Colette was never mutually romantic nor canonically sexual, I do believe there was a part of Addy that was ‘killing’ her remaining feelings for Beth through that relationship. “Love is a kind of killing,” is one of the oft repeated lines of the book, and I’d even say it’s one of the themes. It is Beth who says it, and we see that she feels it too, her love for Addy is killing her. She nearly kills herself out of it (though I’d say other things impacted Beth enough to put her in such a state that suicide felt worth it, even if her feelings for Addy were the primary motive, again YMMV).

The Matt/Colette/Will dynamic is another example of love becoming a kind of killing. Matt kills Will for Colette. If we believe what she tells Addy, then he acted on his own in doing so and it was an accident. If we don’t believe her, she might’ve even been the little worm in Matt’s ear who told him to do it. Either way, he killed for love. None of the audience really cares for their hetero nonsense, because Matt is sexist and both Colette and Will are predatory people, but nonetheless, their debacle largely impacts the story. And it supports the idea that “love is a kind of killing.”

I believe love as a kind of killing is something Addy weaponizes for her own development. To her own detriment as well, because it ends up taking her to dangerous places. Even so, I think Addy had/has some lingering feelings for Beth she uses forming a bond with Colette to metaphorically ‘kill’ inside herself. Like finishing off an already mortally wounded animal, if you will. This would also support “love is a kind of killing” as a recurring theme.

Addy’s relationship with Colette gave her a crutch and a new outlet, and Colette’s encouragement (while the audience knows its manipulation) also gave Addy affirmation for the way she was already feeling about Beth— that she wanted to distance herself from her and come into her own. In addition, Colette seemed to be ‘safer’ because Addy doesn’t have to compete with Colette.

The presence of specifically female socialization is very palatable in the book. The way the girls slut-shame each other. The way other people see them, the feminine appeal of cheerleading. Others take the glitz and the glam of it at face value without understanding the more masculinely-coded things that go into it, like dedication and athleticism. Colette is a villain, no doubt, but you have to give the devil her due, and her circumstances are as miserable and empty as they are because she finds herself boxed into traditional feminine roles she isn’t suited for. Although the show is not the book, and I will maintain that I don’t feel they are identical entities, I do think Willa had a lot of interesting input on this in her Build interview, alongside Taveeta and Abbott. Check it out if you have the time—

Wait, where was I?

Right, right, female socialization in Dare Me. Okay, continuing on.

I feel that female socialization also plays an important role in the relationships between the characters, namely the Beth/Addy/Colette dynamic. We live in a culture where women are socialized to tear each other down and compete with each other even outside of the athletic arena. Combine that with the athletic, cutthroat world of cheerleading and you’ve got yourself a powder keg of an environment where those competitive feelings are going to come out full force. Addy, wanting what she wants, is inevitably going to have to view Beth as a rival, romantic feelings or otherwise aside.

Colette feels like a ‘safer’ object of attraction because her cheerleading days are over.

Colette does not pose a threat to Addy’s thirst for power, she can only help her achieve it. I definitely think the lack of Colette posing a threat to Addy’s goals plays into how comfortable she feels with her. I also think, to a teenager with dreams of grandeur already feeling suffocated in a relationship with her peer, this is where the age gap appeals to Addy even as it disturbs us readers.

Again, Addy doesn’t have to compete with Colette, because Colette has aged out of ‘cheerleader’ and into ‘coach.’ Colette is a seemingly self-sufficient adult (initially) who doesn’t spin out the way Beth does, and depend on Addy as heavily as Beth does. Colette represents the agency Addy covets, and feels nearer to when with her.

I mean, we all know things change once a dead body is brought into that dynamic and we all know that Colette is emotionally manipulating Addy for her own purposes. But I’m not talking about Colette’s perspective, I’m talking about Addy’s before all the crime scene hullabaloo. What happens after the night with Will changes things, but up until that point, I think this is much of what Addy got out of her bond with Colette, no matter how inappropriate a bond it was. No matter how much it shouldn’t have been happening.

I will say, I don’t believe Addy ever fully realizes the extent to which Colette was manipulating her, although it’s clear as the book goes on, she realizes some of it. She picks up on things that don’t add up, acknowledges some red flags she initially ignored, and refers to her as a liar at one point.

Wait JJ, why are you talking about Addy and Colette? The question was about Addy and Beth!

Yes, but I think you cannot always separate the two. Because I think many of the developments that occur in the book between Addy and Beth, and the way in which they occur, play out as they do because of Colette’s entry into the story. Abbott said herself that Dare Me is a love triangle. A triangle is connected by all three sides, okay, continuing on…

I think there are things Addy deliberately sought out in her relationship with Colette— I will repeat this because again, I personally view this as part of the theme and part of the answer to your question— including ‘killing’ what remained of her feelings for Beth. I think it’s also very clear that she thinks Colette is the key to getting what she wants and accomplishing her own goals.

But I would go the extra mile and say she projects some of her feelings for Beth onto Colette. I’ve brought this up before, but I will elaborate more about that now.

I think Addy is earnestly attracted to Colette, just as Colette. Yes, even book!Addy. It’s more subtle in the book, but contrast the way she describes Jordy to the way she describes Colette. Her fascination with the way Colette looks when Will is fucking her. It speaks of attraction and that’s perfectly fine. It’s normal when teens have crushes on adults, what isn’t normal is when adults indulge those crushes. When adults pick up on the cues Colette does, and choose to fan the flames instead of snuffing them out. That’s the part that’s fucking scary.

But I also think she projects her feelings for Beth onto Colette and I think that helps explain why Addy latched onto Colette so quickly. When Addy messes around with Jordy, she does it because Colette points him out. And when she tells Colette about it later and Colette doesn’t even seem to remember him, Addy is taken aback, almost offended… and yet, just a couple of pages later, she’s disparaging the girls who do similar things for Beth.

“…hitching jeans low and flashing thongs at security guards. Beth likes to make these girls run.”

Colette and Beth also share some notable similarities. Both can be cold, cutthroat, have calculating thought processes. Colette even looks like Beth in the book. Addy also sort of tries to recreate a ‘better’ version of the bond she had with Beth, with Colette and this is where I stop and I’m like, man, what a weird freakin’ kid. Addy, smh. But you see it, right?

Addy flips for her coach like she flips for her captain. Ties the same bracelet Beth once tied on her wrist onto Colette’s wrist. Does the thing with Jordy very comparable to the things other girls do when they’re trying to impress Beth. Uses Colette specifically when she wants to become her own person, but can’t quite do so yet, because she’s so used to her lifelong codependence with Beth.

And you know how earlier I mentioned that Addy can control Beth when she has to? How the control Addy has over Beth is a quiet, deceptive thing?

Well I think that’s something that Addy projects onto Colette too. Addy is so used to being able to assert that quiet control and maintain the relational power (which is not the same kind of power Addy is seeking endgame) with Beth, that when she begins using Colette as Beth’s substitute, she doesn’t realize she doesn’t have it anymore. I think that’s one of the things that gets her into hot water later, because she absently assumes she’s going to be ‘safe’ with Colette the way she is with Beth, have that ability that she does with Beth to reel things back before they go too far…but she doesn’t.

Addy uses Colette as Beth substitute. But Colette is not Beth. Beth is spooky. Addy is scary. Colette is terrifying. Addy can’t take control of Colette the way she can of Beth. Colette is an adept master manipulator, an adult who has years of experience that Addy lacks. Colette is better at her game than Addy is at hers, and Addy gets in deep shit partly because she doesn’t recognize that.

I would actually compare the Colette/Addy situation a bit to the Kurtz/Beth situation in the show. There are things Beth wants out of Kurtz, she talks to him because she plans to use him, and it inevitably has devastating consequences for her. Kurtz is a predator. And he’s better at his game than Beth is at hers.

The situations are not identical. The consequences are not the same. But both are exemplary of teens being naive fools and thinking they have some control in situations they definitely do not, with people they couldn’t hope to.

Addy gets what she thinks she wants in the end. I’ve addressed why I think this isn’t as cracked up to be as she thinks it is in another post, but that’s not really relevant here. Addy chooses to pursue having her own power above all, and it’s Beth who winds up giving it to her, not Colette. But I think Addy needed to eliminate her feelings for Beth to actually get there, or even if she didn’t actually, it’s what she felt she had to do and most of those feelings were deteriorating already because of Beth’s possessive behavior.

Point #3: I personally believe Addy represses her sexuality. And I do think that plays into how she views Beth, both when she had feelings for her, and when those feelings began to die. I feel Addy harbors some subconscious resentment toward Beth along the lines of a “I don’t want to be like this, but you make me feel this way, and I hold it against you” type deal. However, again, I think that’s a subconscious feeling rather than something Addy is cognitively aware of, and actually, I don’t think it’s separate from how she’s fed up of Beth suffocating her. I believe it only feeds into that feeling and makes it stronger, enhancing her frustration.

Addy is often very cruel when she describes Beth. I think there’s a bit more to it than the inevitability of viewing Beth as a rival outside her control and somewhat within it, the possessive behavior Beth suffocates her with.

I think forgetting that she and Beth had a borderline sexual encounter was repression on her part. I also think this line;

“…and who need to talk of such wonders? We nestle them away, deep in the fury at the center of us, where things can be held tightly, protected, and secretly cherished as a special notion we once held, and then had to stow away,”

wasn’t just about Beth. I think it was about Beth and just like, pursuing girls in general. At least openly. I’d go out on a limb and say another one of the things that drew Addy to Colette was because Colette was a ‘safer’ objection of attraction in the sense that the likelihood of something happening between them was very low. Fantasize safely from the closet, kinda deal. But maybe Addy’s less aware of her sexuality, or at least confronting it than I’m giving her credit for. I mean, she looked up RiRi’s skirt and was all like, “why are other girl’s panties more interesting than your own?”

Addy. Addy, baby. Why do you think.

Oh, and I think Addy kissed RiRi without telling us! At the marines’ party, Addy and RiRi are hanging and then this scene happens.

“She’s fumbling with her phone, trying to send a text. Because it’s all okay because these are Will’s men and nothing bad could ever happen, one of them is pressing our heads together, wanting us to kiss.

“Always ready,” he says. “Always there.””

Then RiRi hugs Addy and starts in about how she couldn’t be close to Addy before, because of Beth. But that’s the thing. It just has that creepy ass adult man trying to make these teen girls kiss, then goes into some dialogue, Addy never actually explains what happens in that moment. If the guy made them kiss or if he let go of them. If either of them protested or just went along with it.

I personally believe they did kiss and I believe Addy doesn’t mention it for two reasons.

1) She’s trying to convince herself and us readers that Will is safe to be around, ergo his men must be too. But some grown ass dude physically trying to force teen girls to kiss each other is obviously a fucking creeper. Will is also a fucking creeper.

2) She enjoyed kissing RiRi and doesn’t care to elaborate on what enjoying that was like, because doing so would mean confronting her sexuality. Her sexuality being one of the many things Addy doesn’t really confront.

Wow, that was a long ass essay. In this essay, I done did. So that is my interpretation of Addy’s feelings for Beth. Feel free to take ‘em or leave ‘em, maybe we don’t feel the same way and that’s totally cool. But you asked, so I answered. That is what I feel is going on with all that mess there.

This essay probably has a shit ton of typos and for that I apologize, but I can’t comb through all this now. This long as hell and I’m hungry, I need to go eat.

#dare me #addy hanlon #addy hanlon meta #beth cassidy #colette french #anonymous

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the-sweetest-dragon · 4 years ago

Text

Things Can Only Get Better - Chapter One

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Stiles Stilinksi x OC (Evangeline Monroe)

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: allusions to trauma, me explaining things, anxiety, an extremely slow burn

AN: Hi... I am alive, barely. I honestly don’t know if anyone really wants this, but I’m posting it because @nerdsarebetter told me to <3. This is purely self indulgent but I’m actually kinda proud of it so uh..... yeah. Sorry this isn’t my IT fic but this has been making me really happy so you’re just gonna have to deal with it. Oh, the dots symbolize a change in point of view, just so everyone is aware

__________________________________________

“The wolves in the woods have sharp teeth and long claws, but it’s the wolf inside that will tear you apart.” -Jennifer Donnelly

Mom and I drove through many different states during our drive from Kansas to California. We watched the sun set in New Mexico and the sun rise in Arizona. None of them compared to Kansas, but we’d learn to deal. Mom and I paused to rest when we reached California, since we had been driving for what felt like forever.

The move was necessary; we all needed a bit of a fresh start. We were returning to Mom’s old home, Beacon Hills, where my aunt and cousin still lived. Now, you may be wondering why we were living in Kansas when we could have been living in California the entire time. My parents met at the University of Kansas; she was an art history major and he was a law student. It was instant chemistry and after they were married, they just never saw a reason to leave Kansas. Until Dad got this job offer and decided that we all needed a change of scenery.

Was that partially my fault? Yeah, kinda. Last winter was rough for all of us, and I knew it was one of the reasons Dad accepted this new position. I also knew he wouldn’t ever insinuate that it was fully my fault, even though it definitely was. Mom assured me that Dad wanted this job anyways, and I tried to believe her.

We settled down for the night in a cheap motel just inside the California border. I took the time to relax and update my cousin and Dad about our travels. Dad sent me a picture of the new house, with him smiling in front of it. I couldn’t help but smile; he looked so happy already. Lydia, my cousin, gave me details about the high school that would be starting the day after we arrived. She told me about her life, the classes and teachers we would have, how excited she was to see us.

I knew having Lydia Martin as a cousin would help me find friends, but she was insistent that I would have to have a boyfriend. Now, I wasn’t going to think too hard on that one, especially since I knew that with Lydia around, finding a boyfriend or even a guy that was interested in me would be practically impossible.

Lydia looked a lot like me, in a lot of ways. We shared the same red hair and our faces were very similar. When we were little, people would confuse us for sisters when we would visit her and her parents. The small differences between us weren’t necessarily in looks, but in our personalities. Lydia had always been bossy and confident, and remained that way. I have always been more of a classical bookworm; I would sit alone and read during recess, I never had many friends, and I wasn’t the prettiest. Despite sharing similar faces, Lydia didn’t have to struggle with her weight. I had… issues, that came to a head last winter.

We started the drive back up again early this morning. It was only another two hours in the car and then we were in Beacon Hills. I watched in awe as the city sprawled out in front of us. We drove down several streets, Mom exploring her old home that she would be able to share fully with her family. Soon we were turning onto the street to our house.

As we pull into the driveway for our new house, I can’t help but admire it. Dad had found probably the prettiest house I could have ever imagined. It’s painted a deep blue color, with ivy crawling up the sides. The front porch held an old picnic table and a few boxes from Dad moving a few things in. It’s pushed up against the woods, the tall trees embracing the back half of it.

I pull myself from the leather seats and stretch before getting out of the car. Mom smiles over at me before doing the same. I can see her mind working on how to improve the house, where she can plant her garden and let it blossom. Distracted by the house, I don’t hear another car pull up behind our own.

“Evie!”

At the sound of my name I quickly turn to find Lydia standing near the parked U-HAUL Dad drove up here a day before. I let out an ungodly squeal and run towards her, catching her in a hug before she can tell me to stop. She let out a soft sound of discomfort before I let her go.

“Sorry,” I say with a smile. “Wasn’t expecting you to be here already.” I tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear and readjust my glasses to sit more comfortably on my nose. “Are you here to help me or…?”

Lydia laughs softly and shakes her head, strawberry curls bouncing slightly at the movement. The light caught her green eyes, making them sparkle like emeralds. Not for the first time, I wish I had inherited green eyes instead of my father’s dark brown ones.

“I’m here to tell you about my party that you’re the guest of honor this Friday.” I let out a soft groan; parties were one of my least favorite activities. “No, I will not hear any of that. You are my cousin, you have to be introduced to the public in the grandest way possible. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning, ok?” I nod, agreeing silently. Arguing with Lydia was not something I wanted to do, ever. She would win and it’s much easier to just agree with her.

Lydia left with a pat on my arm, leaving us to move in on our own. She stopped to hug my parents before getting into her car and driving back to her own house, in a much more expensive part of town.

Moving all my boxes into the house took longer than I originally expected. By the time I had gotten everything into my new room it was dark outside. Instead of unpacking, I decided to take a short walk into the woods, just to explore a little. The air had turned chilly, so I grabbed a hoodie and changed into more comfortable shoes.

“Don’t forget a flashlight!” Dad says before I head out into the dark. He hands me one with a smile. He was used to me sitting at the edge of the woods at our old house, reading a book against a tree.

As I enter the dark of the woods, I can immediately sense something off. The woods in Kansas never felt like this, never felt so… sinister, like something was watching me. I shake the feeling off, knowing I only felt this way because it was new.

I walk for maybe twenty minutes before I trip on a tree trunk. I wince, hands and knees scraped and bloody from the fall. I wipe the blood from my hands off on my jeans when I hear a howl in the distance. I fix my glasses and tilt my head, making sure I heard it correctly before continuing. The sounds of animals were familiar and not threatening, but it was still spooky. I make it another few feet when I get the sense that something is following me. I check over both shoulders and see nothing but the feeling doesn’t go away. I turn back towards the house and quicken my step, refusing to run quite yet.

The feeling continues and I’m so distracted by it that I trip again. I land hard on my already cut knees, my flashlight disappearing into the brush. Biting my lip so hard, I taste blood, but refusing to let out a sound of pain to alert whatever was following me that I was injured. I fumble, trying to pick it back up when I feel something close around my ankle.

Before I can scream, I’m being dragged backwards, farther into the woods. I try to kick at whatever is holding me, when I feel wickedly sharp teeth latch into the fleshy part of my calf. I scream, both in frustration and pain as I double my efforts to get free. Nothing I do seems to make it let me go. The pain becomes secondary to the panic that fills me. What happens if I can’t get free? Will anyone come to find me? What will be left of me to find? I feel immense anger take over me; I did not come all this way just to be taken out by some anonymous thing. Letting the rage fuel me, I kick my attacker so hard that I hear a bark of pain and the teeth let go. The moment I feel it release my leg I’m up and sprinting back to the house.

I run until I can see the light of the house and I’m out of the woods. I check over my shoulder to see if anything follows me but the only thing I see is darkness. Collapsing on the front porch, the pain finally hits me. The reek of my blood fills the air and the sight of my own blood leaking out of me makes me want to vomit. I press a hand to my calf to check the damage, feeling the bite marks that it left there. A sob escapes me and that's the moment Mom decides to open the door.

“Honey! What’s wrong? Where’d all this blood come from? Are you hurt?” she questions in rapid fire succession. Instead of answering, I break down in tears. Mom pulls me inside where Dad is waiting with a first aid kit. He calmly applies pressure to the bite mark, asking quiet questions about what happened. I give a quick version of the story, including my thought that it was a wolf that bit me. Dad nods but Mom looks like she may argue with me. Thankfully, she doesn’t.

Dad cleans out my various wounds with alcohol and I wince softly. He apologizes and puts bandages on my hands and knees, then wraps my calf in gauze and tapes the edges with medical tape. The wound still bled a little.

“Can you stand?” Dad asks gently. I nod and he pulls me up carefully.

“We should take her to the hospital Danny! She could be seriously injured!” Mom exclaims, her panic evident in her voice. Dad turns a level look at her, one hand resting on her shoulder.

“The marks aren’t deep enough for stitches, Mandy,” he says calmly. “We cleaned them out really well, so there shouldn’t be any infection. We’ll keep an eye on it, okay?” Mom nods, wiping at a tear that had fallen. Dad helps me up the stairs to my bedroom.

After he deposits me into bed, Mom sits down beside me with a glass of water and a few painkillers. She runs a hand over my uninjured leg and smiles at me.

“I remember when I was little, your grandma always warned me to stay out of the woods. She said bad things lingered there.” She sighs, a frown forming on her face. “I never understood the warning, but I do now. Please, don’t go back into those woods. I know you like to read in secluded spots but from now on, the woods are off limits, especially at night. Do you understand Evie?”

“Yes, Mom. I understand.” She nods, a sigh coming from deep within her. “I think it’s for the best anyways. They kind of freak me out. It’s nothing like the woods in Kansas.” Mom laughs softly, shaking her head.

“You got that right kiddo.” She sighs. “Well, try to get some rest babe. Lydia will be here bright and early I’m sure.”

I nod and she gets up off my bed, walking to the door and leaving my room. I drift off sometime around one in the morning, Persephone, my cat, curled up next to me. I, surprisingly, have no dreams, not even with the horrific events of the night plaguing my waking thoughts.

My alarm goes off at six and I groan before getting up. My hands and knees still ache from my falls in the woods, but the bite had stopped bleeding sometime in the night. I would have to get Dad to replace the bandages anyways, just to be safe. I carefully remove the gauze from my calf, checking it out in the mirror before turning on the hot water. The marks themselves weren’t big but they went deep into the muscle of my calf. I take a quick shower and sit patiently on the toilet seat for Dad to rebandage my leg. He does it without complaint, even giving me a smile before patting my thigh and returning to his own morning routine.

I dress quickly, in an outfit I had planned on the drive here. The loose fitting plain pants paired with a white button down, the shirt half tucked in and I unbutton a few buttons then roll up my sleeves past my elbows. I put on a gold locket I got as a present from Nana before leaving Kansas and admire the way in glints in the light. I finish the outfit off with a thick black belt before rushing to do my hair and makeup. I keep my makeup light and pull my short hair into a half ponytail, letting my bangs fall slightly in my eyes before putting my glasses back on. A honk from outside makes me rush to put in earrings and I grab my shoes and bag before rushing out the door to Lydia’s waiting car. I wince as I get into the car, my wounds still aching. Lydia lets out a wolf whistle, admiring my outfit. She’s dressed rather nicely too, though that is her default. Dressing nicely gives her confidence, and Lydia has always had a great sense of style. I smile, showing off my outfit for her, her expert eye noting all the little details and gives me a nod of approval.

“Great first day outfit Evie. It’s almost perfect.” I laugh as I buckle my seat belt, leaning down to roll the cuffs of my pants a few times and slipping on my boots, accidentally flashing my bandage at her. “Woah what happened to your leg?”

I retell my story to her, leaving out some of the scarier details to not freak her out as badly. As I tell her, Lydia’s eyebrows retreat further and further into her hair, her eyes going wide at the mention of feeling like I was being stalked. I show her the bandages on my hands as well, laughing about how clumsy I was right before I was bit.

“That’s so weird. We’ve never had animal attacks before,” she says. After a pause, she continues. “Well, just stay out of the woods, Evie, and we won’t have an issue.” I laugh softly as she turns the ignition and we drive in comfortable silence to school. Once there, she turns to me, her curls moving with her. “So, I’ll introduce you to Jackson when we get inside. I’m sure he’ll love you.” She smiles, giving me confidence. Having Lydia’s vote of confidence meant the world to me.

“I’ll do my best to make a good impression.” I shoot her a lopsided grin, my glasses perched precariously on my nose. Lydia gently pushes them back up and boops my nose before getting out of the car, making me laugh. I unbuckle my seat and grab my bag before doing the same.

I follow her through the main doors of the school, ignoring two boys talking on the sidewalk. One was taller than the other, with fluffy hair and an uneven jaw; I vaguely recognized him. Maybe I had seen him on the street yesterday? The other had a buzzcut and whiskey brown eyes. They’re discussing some body the police found in the woods last night and I feel a surge of panic fill me. My stomach turned sour and I’m suddenly glad I hadn’t eaten yet. That body could have easily been me. It had been found ripped in half, by an animal they thought. Their conversation stops as we walk by.

“Hey Lydia! You look… like you’re going to ignore me,” the buzzcut one says. I turn and shoot him a soft smile in apology and hurry along with Lydia. Poor boy is probably in love with her, like most boys are. Jackson is a real lucky guy if Lydia chose him out of the millions of guys prancing around trying to impress her.

The feeling of panic settles in my gut, and I suddenly remember that I hadn’t stopped to take my medication before leaving the house. All eyes fall on us, making Lydia smile as she struts down the hallway to her locker, but I frown pausing slightly. She definitely didn’t prepare me for this. A boy quickly joins her side and I hurry to catch up, trying to forget about the panic lacing my body. I check my bag for my antidepressants, but realize they aren’t there quickly. I quietly curse, hoping no one heard me as I race to catch up to Lydia before the bell rings.

I bounce on the balls on my feet, a smile flashing across my face at the boy, who I assume is Jackson. His face is handsome but seems to be set in a permanent scowl. He gives me a quick nod and turns back to Lydia. They have a soft conversation right before the bell rings. I wince, the sound too loud in my ears. Lydia gives you a worried look before taking me to the principal's office for a tour.

She leaves me with a smile and a promise to meet me at lunch. I walk in and have a short conversation with the secretary, giving her the files from my old school that I had put in my bag, the one important thing I had remembered to take with me today. The tour is short, mostly going through where my classes were going to be before she drops me off at my English class, where another new girl is being introduced.

“Class, these are our new students Allison Argent and Evangeline Monroe. Please do your best to make them feel welcome.” The other new girl is pretty, with dark curls and pretty dark eyes. I shoot her a smile before heading towards one of the only open seats, coincidentally near the boys from earlier. Allison does the same, sitting behind the one with fluffy hair. I watch as he turns to hand her a pen, a grin plastered on his face. The other one turns to look at me and I catch a whiff of his cologne, which is far too strong for a Wednesday morning.

I gag slightly at the smell and he makes a face at me before turning his attention back to the teacher. God, I had never had such a strong sense of smell before. Maybe I’m coming down with something? Trying to quell the panic before it sets in, I push my glasses back up onto my nose to distract me, and try to concentrate on the lesson and not the awful smell radiating from the boy next to me.

He smelled of the woods and death on top of his strong cologne. Now that I thought about it, so did the other boy. He had the reek of blood lingering on him as well. I’m so focused on the smell that I drop my pen. As I reach for it, so does buzzcut and we hit our heads on each other.

“Ow,” he says rather loudly. I mouth sorry and he hands me my pen, grimacing slightly.

“Stiles, if you have something to share with the class, maybe you should stand up.” The boy, Stiles, shakes his head and the teacher continues with his lesson. I readjust my pony tail and continue to take notes quietly.

The next half of the day passes quickly and soon it’s lunch time. I search for Lydia in the cafeteria and spot her sitting with Jackson, having a heated conversation about something. I pause after getting my food and feel the ache in my leg start to lessen. I smile to myself, happy that it’s started to hurt less. Lydia spots me and waves me over to her table, where the other new girl, Allison, is also sitting. I walk over quickly and sit down next to Lydia.

“Evie, please help me convince Allison that she has to come to our party.” I make eye contact with Allison, who shakes her head slightly, making me laugh slightly. “She says she has a family thing but we all know that’s a load of bull.”

“If she doesn’t want to come, that’s her business Lydia.” I smile and extend my hand to Allison. “I’m Evie by the way, Lydia’s cousin. You just moved here right?” She nods and the conversation flows easily after that. We compare schedules and find out that we share three classes with each other in the afternoon: PE, chemistry, and math.

Apparently, PE is used as an extra practice for the lacrosse team, which I won’t complain about. I hate mandatory physical exertion. However, as Lydia explains the game to Allison and I, I’m lost within five minutes and Allison seems just as confused as I am. Lydia gives us all the details on the guys on the team, mostly in relation to which ones she thinks we should date. She completely skips over 24 and 11, deeming them undateable by not mentioning them. Allison and I share a look, already wondering who the two could be.

“Who’s number eleven?” Allison asks. I raise an eyebrow, turning to Lydia to hear her answer. Lydia purses her lips, an unreadable expression on her face.

“I’m not sure,” she says after a slight pause. “A freshman maybe?” I laugh softly, shaking my head. It’s just like my cousin to not know the boys that don’t catch her eye. We watch both boys take off their helmets to get a drink and their identities are revealed quickly.

“Oh, it’s those boys from English class,” I say with a flick of my hand. Lydia laughs, Allison joining in soon after but quieter. I lean forward, balancing my chin on my hand. “They’re kinda cute, in a nerdy kind of way.” Allison nods and Lydia’s face pulls into a frown.

“Out of all the guys, you think they’re cute? Them? Seriously?” The confusion on her face makes me want to laugh, though I refrain from doing so. “Evie, I can understand. The boys at your old school were atrocious to look at, all weak jawlines and colorless eyes. Not sure about you Allison, but you have to have better taste than that. You’ve been all around, surely there’s better guys than those two?” I shrug, turning my attention back to the boys running on the field.

“It’s not just about looks Lydia, it's about personality. I much prefer someone with a sense of humor over someone with perfect cheekbones,” Allison says with a smile. I nod, agreeing. I notice how she watches McCall and already I know she’s interested in him.

“Personally, I don’t really care about gender either. If they have a good personality, what should it matter what they look like?” I say. Lydia just shakes her head and turns her attention back to the field to watch Jackson practice. I nudge Allison and lean in close to whisper in her ear. “That got her to shut up, huh?”

Allison laughs and bumps me with her shoulder. The rest of the period passes in relative silence. At one point, I pull out a book and start reading, the pages fluttering in the slight breeze. McCall apparently has improved immensely over the summer according to Coach. However, every time the ball was caught a shiver ran up my spine at the sound. It hurt my ears to hear, like nails on a chalkboard but not nearly as bad. It got to the point that the sound was making my head throb in pain. I rub my temple and dig through my bag until I find the bottle of ibuprofen I had stashed in there. I take three and take a swig of water out of Lydia’s bottle. I pat her leg before going inside at the sound of the bell.

“See you after school?”

She nods, dismissing me with a wave of her hand. I grab my bag and hurry to my next class. The rest of the day passes quickly and I meet Lydia back at her car. Jackson and her are making out quite ferociously on her side of the car, making me roll my eyes. I sigh and go to find another ride. Maybe Allison could give me a ride.

As I walk back towards the school, I get body slammed by some guy, sending me tumbling to the ground. My books fly everywhere and the other person makes a loud sound of pain.

“I am so sor- oh it’s you.” The guy sighs, and overs a hand to help me up. “You really need to learn to watch where you’re going.” It’s the guy from English, Stiles I believe, that I had bonked heads with earlier. He hauls me up to my feet and picks up my sprawled books while I dust myself off. The cuts on my knees are screaming, but the pain is quick to fade after a few seconds.

“Thanks,” I say with a smile, happy to reconcile. I hold out a hand. “I’m Evie, by the way. Stiles, right? I’m really sorry about earlier.” The boy blinks in surprise, not used to female attention. He takes my hand and shakes it. I tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear, taking my bag back from him. Stiles looks over my shoulder, realizing without me saying anything why I was walking away from Lydia’s car. “Would you mind giving me a lift home? My ride’s kinda busy.” He gets a funny grin on his face before nodding.

I follow him back to his car, an older Jeep that I instantly fall in love with. Jeeps have always been my favorite car, and I was saving up for one before… well, before last winter. I can feel my face breaking trying to contain my smile. Stiles raises an eyebrow and opens my door for me. The inside of the Jeep is messy, as if he kind of lives in it.

“So, Evie. How’re you related to Lydia?” he asks as I climb into the car. I throw my bag in the back and buckle my seat belt.

“She’s my cousin, our mothers are sisters. I just moved here from Kansas.” Stiles frowns, as if Kansas is an insult to him personally. He turns the ignition and we drive silently after I give him my address. I wince only once, when we hit a pothole in the road that reminds me that my calf is not ok. I lean down to check the bandage, but there’s no new blood. Stiles looks over at me at that moment.

“What happened there?” he asks.

“Oh, I got bit by some animal last night in the woods,” I say with a wave of my hand, like it’s no big deal that I probably should have gotten a rabies shot. He slams the brakes, shooting me forwards in my seat and hitting my head on his dash. “Ow!” I rub my forehead, with an indignant look on my face. “What is your obsession with hurting me today?” He turns towards me quickly, one arm flinging itself over the back of my seat.

“You got bit in the woods last night?” he asks.

“Yes, what part of that did you not understand?”

“My friend Scott was bit last night too! Why were you in the woods? Did you hear about the body that was found?” he says in rapid fire. “I wonder if it was the same animal… Can I see the bite?” My eyebrows scrunch together in confusion but show him the wound only to discover that it has fully healed. His eyes go wide and I hear him mutter, “oh fuck.”

“I - I don’t understand. It was bloody this morning…” Stiles looks panicked, and honestly I’m on the precipice of a panic attack myself. “I promise! I had to change the bandage this morning because it had bled through the first one. I have no reason to lie to you.”

“I don’t understand then. You don’t even have a scar.” I sigh and lean my head onto the dash. Could this day get any weirder? Stiles sits up straighter in his seat, as if an idea came over him. “Have you been having hearing and light sensitivity? Scott said earlier that the lights were hurting his eyes and that he had heard someone’s phone call from outside.” I nod, narrowing my eyes at him.

“I’ve also had a sensitivity to certain smells. Like earlier, you smelled awful.” A hurt look crosses his face, and I try to quickly amend. “You smell fine now, but earlier you reeked of death…” I pause. “Maybe that was Scott. I apologize for saying you smelled bad.” He shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

“You’re forgiven.” The smile falls when he realizes how close the symptoms were to each other. To be honest, it was kind of freaking me out as well. Before I know it, the Jeep is in motion again but the opposite way from my house.

“Where are we going?”

“My house, we need to do some research.” At the word research, a smile floods my face, despite the panic still racing through me. I adore research. Stiles turns to me, a frown on his face. “We have to figure this out. You and Scott could be in serious trouble if we don’t find out what the hell is going on.”

……………………………………………………………………………………..

We researched for hours, her chair pulled directly next to mine as we poured over any information on werewolves and the supernatural that we could find. Every once in a while I would look over at her, still astounded by how much she looked like Lydia. They could almost be twins, if you didn’t look too long at them. Evie must have gotten her dad’s eyes because they were a deep brown, darker than even Scott’s eyes, while Lydia had green eyes that reminded me of spring grass.

Everytime Evie scooted her chair closer to mine, I moved away slightly. Not because I didn’t like her, but because she kind of scared me, and not in a fun way. If she and Scott are what I think they are, they could be really dangerous. As we collected evidence, the more worried Evie became. I watched as her eyebrows scrunched together with every new piece of information.

“So, if I am a werewolf, when’s the next full moon?” she asks suddenly. I do a quick search and look back at her, finding that her eyes had gone wide, the pupil completely taking over the brown in her eyes. The next full moon was this Friday, coincidentally the same night as Lydia’s party. “Oh this is bad… this is very, very bad.”

“Why? It won’t be that hard to just not go.” She shakes her head, running her fingers through her already messed up hair. It had come down from her small ponytail about an hour into our research.

“The whole reason she’s even having a party is because of me. It’s my introduction into Beacon Hills.” Evie sighs, tugging on her hair once more, as if it was a nervous tick that she couldn’t control. “She’ll be pissed if I don’t show up.” She turns to me, worry shining in her eyes. “I’m a pretty calm person. Do you think I’d be ok?”

I pondered the question. Evie did seem pretty laid back and generally pretty calm. I didn’t know her that well, but if the hours we had spent pouring over information wasn’t an indicator of how calm she was, I didn’t know what would be. But with all the information we had found, I wasn’t sure she’d be able to stay calm, especially in a party setting. The lights, the music, the drinking. It was a lot to handle, even for a normal person.

“I have more confidence in you than I do Scott, but I still don’t think it would be a good idea.” She nods, a sad look crossing her face and I instantly feel bad. I lay a hand on her shoulder and squeeze gently. Then, an idea pops into my head. “What if I went with you to the party?” She raised an eyebrow.

“As what, my date?” I blink a few times, not having considered the possibility that people would think we could be dating.

“I mean, it would be easier to explain than the actual reason. And, I don’t think I’d be invited unless you personally invited me anyways,” I say. Evie considers it for a moment, thinking through all the possible scenarios and how it could go wrong if she didn’t have someone with her to calm her down if the change was too powerful. “Before you decide, I really should call Scott and tell him about what we’ve found. I don’t think he’ll be as accepting of this fate as you are.” She nods.

“Do I need to find a ride home or do I need to be a part of this? What would you like me to do?” she asks and I balk at the question. I had just assumed she’d stay, not really understanding that she may need to go home to her family. It was weird how comfortable I was around her already, despite our rocky start. I consider her question for a moment, before deciding Scott would probably be more willing to hear it from a stranger than me.

“I think you staying would be a good idea. Scott isn’t the most perceptive guy, usually needs a helping hand to understand things. Maybe if you’re here to help me explain, he’ll be more apt to not do something stupid.” She laughs, a bright happy sound. I notice that we haven’t eaten yet, and it’s getting to be kinda late. “Hey, I’m going to go call Scott and then order a pizza, anything in particular you want?” I ask, hoping she doesn’t say something dumb like pineapple. She taps her chin, considering all the options.

“Do they have meat lovers?” she asks. I nod and go off to take care of my calls, leaving her in my room alone. The one to Scott goes immediately to voicemail, as usual. Placing the order to the pizza parlor was a lot easier and quicker than I thought it would be, considering the time. I walk back into my room, only to find that Evie has made herself comfortable on my bed and is doing homework. She looks up and says, “What? I have math homework.” I just shake my head, a small smile on my face.

We work on our homework in relative silence, Evie only talking when she has a question about a math problem. The pizza arrives and I finally get a hold of Scott, who’s at my house in less than ten minutes. The call was filled with him gushing about asking Allison to the party on Friday, though I’m not sure how he pulled that off. He’s at my house in less than ten minutes, a knock at the door announcing his presence.

I watch Evie shake out her shoulders, as if preparing herself for battle. She’s not entirely wrong. Opening the door for Scott and ushering him in takes all of five seconds and he’s heading up to my room before the door is even shut. I hurry after him, only for me to run into his back. Hard. He had paused in the doorway, blocking me from entering.

“OW! Dude you can’t just stop in the middle of a doorway!” Scott turns to look at me, a confused look on his face.

“Sorry, wasn’t expecting you to have a girl in your room!” I snort, a bit impressed with myself at the realization that I did have a girl in my room, and push past him into my room, where Evie is sitting cross legged on my bed. She waves, a piece of pizza in hand. Scott looks back at me with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. I huff out a sigh, already knowing what he’s thinking.

“It’s not what it looks like… I mean, it may look like what it looks like, depending on what you think it looks like but it’s not…” I drift off, earning a snort from Evie. I glare at her, but she just shrugs and nervously starts picking at her eyebrows. “Not helping.”

“So what’s she doing here then? Is this a date? Am I interrupting or…?” Scott asks. Evie just laughs, shaking her head. I glare at her again, she’s really not helping my case at all.

“No, you’re not interrupting, but we do have some things to share with you,” she says. She meets Scott’s eyes, not an ounce of fear in her body. “We have the same problem. Both of us were bit by an animal last night in the woods that half a dead body was found in. I can’t be sure that it was the same animal, but my bite has disappeared, and I’m assuming yours has as well.” Scott looks at me, confusion written plainly on his face.

Evie just sighs, already distraught. “We’re werewolves. The light and sound sensitivity, the heightened smell, the quick healing. All signs point to lycanthropy.” Her eyes drop to her hands, which had moved from messing with her eyebrow to messing with the ends of her pant leg. With a sigh, she pulls the pant leg up, showing Scott where her bite mark had been. Evie runs a finger over it, as if checking to see if there was anything left of the wound. “This morning I was bleeding and now there isn’t even a scar. I know it’s a lot to take in but we have to be careful from now on. We’re dangerous,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Scott looks at me, and I nod, confirming what she had said. He shakes his head, either not believing it or not wanting to believe it. I open my mouth to explain more, but he’s out the door before the time the words can form. I exchange a look with Evie and hurry after him, hoping to catch him before he goes completely loco. I catch up, winded and with a racing heart.

“Dude, you have to believe us. This isn’t some prank. You have to be careful, especially on Friday.” Scott turns quickly to look at me, making me backpedal a few feet so I don’t get run over, again. Confusion is written plainly on his face. I mentally kick myself; of course Scott wouldn’t know what Friday meant in werewolf terms.

“Why? What happens Friday?” he asks.

“Friday’s the full moon, man. That’s when your bloodlust will be at its strongest. You won’t be able to control yourself, especially around Allison.” His eyes flash yellow, something I hadn’t seen Evie’s do yet. I don’t back down, even though I really should have. Anger radiates from him, and I put my hands up in surrender. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you gotta believe me. I’ve seen the way Allison affects you, it’ll be easy to lose control, especially at the party. You have to cancel.”

“I can’t do that! This may be my one shot with her! Nothing will get in the way of that!” he yells. I stop, not used to being yelled at by Scott. He turns away from me, returning to his fast pace and I let him leave. Knowing he won’t come back, I turn back towards my house

Once inside, I raced up the stairs to see that Evie was packing up her homework, her back turned towards me. She turns when she hears me at the door, a sad smile on her face. Evie tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and pushes her glasses up her nose before speaking.

“So, he took that rather well huh?” I let out a strangled laugh and collapsed on my bed. I feel, rather than see, her sit down beside me. “Hey, if nothing else we’ll know where he’ll be Friday. We can keep an eye on him.” She smiles down at me and I smile back, before a thought hits me.

“We should have told Scott that we were dating. Would have made Friday so much easier.” She snorts, flopping back on the bed.

“May have made it easier, but I have a feeling he’s going to ignore us like the plague.” She sits back up with a huff. “Well, I guess you better get me home. I had told my parents that I was studying with a friend but after last night it wouldn’t surprise me if they gave me a tighter curfew.” With a groan, I sit up as well. It was well past ten, we had been here for at least seven hours.

The drive to her house was quick and mostly silent. I could tell that all of this weighed heavily on Evie; her shoulders had drooped and her eyes were dull. As I pull into her driveway, she turns towards me, putting a hand on my arm and squeezing lightly.

“My dad is standing outside. He’s going to say some really dumb things,” she says. I nod, not fully understanding but agreeing nonetheless. “Pick me up tomorrow morning? I don’t know if Lydia planned to pick me up or not and I’m not allowed to drive.” I scrunch my eyebrows together, confused. Evie just shrugs. “I’m not… a safe driver.”

I hop out to help her out, still pretending her leg hurt even though it had healed over. I grab her bag for her, a tight smile pulling across her face. Handing it to her, I look towards where her father lingered on the porch. I wave and he starts coming closer to say hi, I guess. Evie stands there nervously, unsure to how her father will react. He meets us at the Jeep and we shake hands. I make sure to keep a smile on my face, though his grip feels like he’s going to break my knuckles.

“Thanks for bringin’ her home, it’s much appreciated.” I nod, trying to seem as non threatening as possible. He claps me on the back. “Now then, was this a date or just studying?”

“Dad!” Evie exclaims. Her dad just holds his hands up in surrender and smiles at his daughter. “No, it wasn’t a date. Stiles was helping me with math, right Stiles?” I gulp and force a smile.

“Yes sir, just math.” Evie smiles at me before pushing her dads towards the house.

“See you tomorrow!” she calls over her shoulder, her dad’s laugher catching on the wind. I smile as I get back into the Jeep. Maybe, just maybe, this will all work out okay.

………………………………………………………………………………………

My sleep that night was less than restful. I had dreams where I had claws and fangs and I ran through the woods naked. I woke up to my mom yelling my name from downstairs. I groan, dragging myself out of bed to get dressed quickly. I pull on a patterned green sweater with a black skirt and grab my boots from downstairs, not bothering with makeup or trying to make my hair look better. I ran my fingers through it and called it a day. Grabbing a granola bar and my bag, I was out the door and hurtling for my ride within ten minutes. I skid to a stop when I see not only Lydia’s car, but also Stiles’ Jeep waiting for me.

“Well this won’t end well,” I say under my breath. Lydia gets out of her car and reaches me first, a confused look on her face. I smile at her, hoping that she won’t be angry.

“What is he doing here? I thought I was your ride to school!” she says with a stomp of her foot. I look over her shoulder and make eye contact with Stiles, hoping he understands that he needs to get his ass out of the car now.

“He gave me a lift yesterday,,” I say as Stiles hops out of the Jeep and rushes towards us. “Stiles offered to pick me up today, since I hadn’t heard from you.” I smile apologetically at my cousin, watching her eyes narrow at the two of us. Stiles throws an arm over my shoulders, giving me a small smile. Something must click for Lydia because her face quickly changes.

“I said to get a guy on the lacrosse team!” she exclaims, surprising me slightly.

“You play lacrosse right?” I ask, actually unsure if I had dreamed that part of the day or not. He looks back and forth from Lydia to me before nodding. I turn back to Lydia, a smile on my face. “You never said that he had to play, just that he had to be on the lacrosse team.”

“Be careful with my cousin,” she says before getting into her car and speeding off.

“Let’s get going.” Stiles opens my door for me, yet again. “Thanks, but you really don’t have to do that.” He just shrugs and I get into the car with a sigh. The ride to school was relatively quiet, mostly filled with our combined anxious sounds. Stiles wouldn’t stop drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and my leg wouldn’t stop bouncing.

“So, how are we planning to make people think we’re going out?” he asks. I sigh, a headache already forming.

“Lydia already assumes we either hooked up or something. She’ll spread that like wildfire. We won’t have to do anything,” I say softly, pulling at my eyebrows in nervousness. Stiles just nods and opens my door for me, yet again. We walk into school together and immediately people start staring. Stiles and I hurry towards English, with moments to spare.

The stares don’t stop there. I’m not sure if it’s out of confusion or jealousy, but either way I’m not a fan. It follows me the entire day, only stopping when I get to lunch and a different scandal has happened, taking the heat from Stiles and I.

After grabbing my tray, I search for his shaved head, already deciding that I would rather sit with him and Scott than deal with Lydia’s angry eyes that had been following me all day. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long. Almost instantly, Lydia is there, Jackson and Allison in tow. Jackson plops down, a scowl on his face. I really don’t get a good vibe from him, but that’s a conversation for another day.

“We are going shopping after school today,” Lydia states. I make eye contact with Allison, who was sitting very closely to Scott. I raise an eyebrow at her, somehow already knowing that she won’t want to go.

“Is there a reason why?” I ask. Lydia flips her hair over one shoulder, hitting Stiles in the face. I hold in a laugh, knowing that would set her off. Allison shakes her head at me, desperate to get out of this endeavor. I turn towards Lydia, a frown settling on my face.

“You both need new outfits for the party,” she states matter of factly. I sigh, already knowing we won’t win this argument. “Evie’s closet is totally void of any party clothes and I know Allison’s is pretty much the same.” Lydia pointedly looks at both Scott and Stiles. “Since my friends refuse to find acceptable dates, everyone’s outfits will have to be perfect. Especially you, Biles.”

“It’s actually…” he starts, then Lydia glares at him. “You know what, Biles is fine.” I laugh softly, gaining a frown from Stiles.

“If I agree, do I get to pick out my own dress?” Allison asks. I shake my head, already knowing the answer. Lydia would not relinquish that particular thing. If she couldn’t pick our dates, she sure as hell would pick what we wore.

“Of course not, I already have them picked out. We just have to go pick them up.” Allison and I make eye contact, shrugging. What could go wrong? It was just shopping.

The shopping actually didn’t take too long. She really had picked the outfits out already. Lydia refused to let us see them, but insisted they would fit perfectly. I hated to doubt her, but I was pretty sure she didn’t quite understand I wasn’t a size four. So, I made sure to check at least the size of the dress was correct. Shockingly, it was and I was insanely grateful that she hadn’t tried to stuff me into something too small.

We dropped Allison off first, her house not too far from my own but much larger. Her family must have money out the ass to afford it. After exchanging goodbyes (and numbers since I had basically no one's information), Allison hops out and leaves Lydia and I alone in the car. I decide to take the plunge and apologize for this morning.

“I didn’t mean to upset you this morning. I didn’t know you’d show up to give me a ride,” I say softly. Lydia shakes her head, waving a hand to dispel any hard feelings.

“I was more confused than upset. I wasn’t expecting you to get a guy so fast.” She nudges me with her shoulder, getting me to laugh. “While I still don’t get why him, I won’t question your choice too much, as long as he keeps you happy. You deserve to be happy after everything.” I smile sadly and she grabs my hand, squeezing twice. I grab all my stuff from the backseat and head inside.

I work on homework for a few hours and take a break to answer texts and eat dinner. Around ten, I hear my phone ring and Stiles' name pops up on my phone. I answer, a smile on my face.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask quietly, fully aware of my parents sleeping in the room over from my own. I close my door, hoping that keeps the noise to a minimum.

“I have a lot to talk about, are you home?” I furrow my brows. His voice is echoey and filled with anxiety, making me wonder what he’s found.

“Yeah…” I say cautiously.

“Okay, great! I’ll be there in a few.”

I wait for a few minutes and then I hear rocks hitting my window. I open it, seeing Stiles standing not too far away with a handful of pebbles. Racing downstairs, I let him in and hold a finger to my mouth to signal that he would have to be quiet. We’re up the stairs in record time and I softly shut my bedroom door behind us. I watch Stiles take in the mess that is my room, and I rush around to pick it up a little to make it look less like I just moved in, even though I had. Stiles watches me with a grin on his face, all anxiety from the call dissipating from his face.

“So, what happened?” I ask, keeping my voice low. He takes a deep breath, readying himself before launching into his story.

“Me and Scott were in the woods, trying to find the other half of the body that was found because he said he saw it before he got bit. We didn’t find the body, but we did see Derek Hale, who was being extra spooky in the woods for apparently no reason and-” I hold my hand up for him to pause and he stops mid sentence.

“Hold up. Who’s Derek Hale?” I ask.

“Oh, I totally forgot you just moved here. Of course you don’t know. Duh Stiles.” He hits himself on the head, making me laugh a little. “Six years ago there was a fire at the Hale house, and lots of the family died. Only a few survived, one of which being Derek. Everyone thought he left after the fire, but apparently he’s come back.” I nod, now somewhat caught up. “Anyways, he was in the woods being creepy and threw Scott’s inhaler back to him. We think he may be behind the murder and you guys being bitten but we aren’t sure and have no definite proof.” At the mention of the bite, I start to pace. Stiles sits on my bed, picking at my bed spread.

“So, if he’s the one that bit both me and Scott, what does that mean? Is he the alpha?” I ask. Stiles shrugs, unsure. He seems to be more occupied with looking around my room. I sigh, deciding to sit down next to him, forgetting that I was already in my pajamas. With a boy in my room. The urge to pull the blanket over my head was getting stronger by the minute. Lydia would skin me alive when she found out that I had Stiles in my room and didn’t make out with him. I laugh softly and turn myself towards him.

“What?” he asks, his whiskey brown eyes searching my face. I just smile, knowing he may not like my answer.

“Lydia will be so disappointed in me,” I say with a sigh. His eyebrows furrowed together, making me laugh again. “I have a boy in my room, with no intentions to make out with him.” He laughs, shaking his head. I pat his knee. “Well, anything else you need to tell me?” I ask.

“How’re you doing, with all of this?” he asks. I sigh, running my fingers through my hair, contemplating how much to share. This was just one more problem in my life that couldn’t be fixed, and I had a lot of practice with such things so I wasn’t nearly as freaked out as someone else would be. I settle for a nicer version of the truth, knowing that while I felt comfortable around Stiles, he didn’t need to know all the dirty details of my life right now.

“To be honest, not well. Every little sound is amplified tenfold and certain smells make me want to vomit. Heightened senses are not the superpower I wanted,” I say with a slight smile.

“You’re handling it all really well, a lot better than Scott is. You just seem so…” he pauses, searching for the right word. I raise an eyebrow as he settles on the word that everyone uses to describe me. “Calm. If I were you, I’d be freaking out.” I shrug, stretching my legs out on my bed.

“My constant state is freaking out. I was diagnosed with anxiety in middle school and I take antidepressants that even me out a lot. I haven’t had an attack since last year,” I say, hoping he won’t ask me to elaborate. Thankfully, he does not. Stiles just nods, as if understanding without me having to say anything. “This whole werewolf thing may be good for me, maybe the healing factor will seep into my brain and repair the pathways that make me anxious.” He laughs.

“Well, it did fix Scott’s asthma.” He pauses, pondering something. “Have you tested the extent of your reflexes? Scott got weirdly good at lacrosse right after he got bit, catching every ball that was thrown at him. I wonder if yours have gotten better too.” I shrug, unsure if I really wanted to know or not. I was never good at sports before, what would be the point in trying out for them now?

“I’m not really an athletic person,” I say, gesturing towards my body. Stiles rolls his eyes, a funny look on his face.

“Oh please. Every time I turned around today some new guy was staring at you. Every guy on the team thinks you’re an absolute babe,” he states. The compliment catches me off guard, though not totally unwelcome. It had been a long time since someone noticed the way I looked, without being creepy about it. Stiles pats my bare thigh, not noticing the way I tense up as he does so, and stands up. “Well, I’d better get going before your dad threatens to kill me.” I laugh, shaking my head. “See you bright and early tomorrow morning?”

“Sure thing,” I say with a smile. He starts to walk out, but pauses in the doorway. Stiles turns to look at me, a weird glint in his eyes.

“Oh, and by the way. I meant what I said. You’re a total knockout.” He leaves with a smirk, my mouth hanging open like a fish. I stay like that for a good amount of time, trying to decipher if he was flirting or just being nice.

It takes a while, but I finally settle myself down enough to sleep and for once, I don’t have any nightmares or dreams.

I woke up on time for a change and took time to look nice. I showered, removing the bandage and deciding that I wouldn’t put another on. The people who knew wouldn’t notice and it was a waste of gauze. I select a cream colored button down sweater, a pair of brown trousers, and a pair of ballet flats. I curl my hair a little and add minimal makeup along with my necklace and a few rings. Shockingly, I even have time to eat an actual breakfast before I hear the Jeep pull into the drive.

I kiss my mom’s cheek on the way out, grabbing my bag and heading out. Stiles opens my door for me and I smile up at him. We chat on the way to school about nothing in particular and our day goes much the same way as yesterday. We eat lunch together, Allison and Lydia joining us once again. Jackson is there too, but he doesn’t talk much; he mostly just glares and looks moody. I sincerely don’t know what Lydia sees in him, I can’t detect any sort of a personality coming from him.

Lydia drives me home after school, our conversation filled with talk of the party. She seemed confident in my abilities to get there myself, not offering me a ride or anything. Getting ready by myself feels like a monumental task, especially since tonight was not only the party but also the full moon. My first full moon as a werewolf, and I was going to a party. Honestly, how dumb am I?

I pick nervously at my cuticles as I pull the outfit we decided on out of it’s bag. I let out a soft gasp; Lydia had picked out a deep green dress with a corset-esque bodice and long lace sleeves. It was short and made of a satin material, which would hug my curves nicely without feeling clingy. If I was being honest, the dress kind of scared me. I’m not used to showing so much skin, especially since I would be in front of so many people.

I slip the dress on, skipping looking in the mirror just yet and heading towards the bathroom to do a more dramatic makeup look. My version of dramatic is just a heavier blush and a slight winged liner. I refresh my curls from this morning, making a few frame my face. I also make sure I put in contacts, though I have noticed my eyesight getting better. I slap on a little lip gloss and hurry to put on the heels that Lydia had chosen.

Remembering that tonight may not go so well, I pack a small bag with extra comfortable clothes, just in case I wolf out and end up naked somewhere. I pat Persephone on the head as I grab a pair of sneakers to throw into my bag when I hear Stiles’ Jeep pull up to the house.

He gets out to help me get myself out to the car, somehow knowing I’m worthless at walking in heels. I notice that he’s gotten very dressed up for a party. He’s paired a light pink dress shirt with a black tie and grey suit jacket with skinny jeans. I raise an eyebrow, wondering if he got dressed in the dark but not really caring too much. I have come to appreciate his weird sense of style, with his many layers of shirts and odd pairings of colors.

When he finally looks at me, his mouth drops, making me laugh loudly. I can’t say I was expecting that kind of reaction but I won’t say no to it.

“You look… wow!” I shake my head at him, a smile crossing my face.

“Yeah?” I do a little spin for him, just to get the full effect. Stiles laughs and helps me into the Jeep. I watch him rush to his side and get in the car.

“So, I’ve got some things prepared in case you feel like you may lose control.” He pulls a duffle bag out of the back seat and hands it to me gently. “I have rope, cuffs, and if it comes to it, chains. You said Lydia had a basement, right?” I nod and he continues. “If we have to, we can keep you down there away from everyone.” Something on my face must have betrayed my thoughts of worry, because he quickly adds, “not that I think you’ll have too much of an issue with it. You seem pretty in control right now.”

I smile, but something must have changed in my face because Stiles’ eyes lock onto my own. Fear leaks out of him, the smell of it hitting me quickly.

“What? What’s wrong?” I ask, immediately worried.

“Your eyes were yellow for a second. I hadn’t seen them do that yet.” His fingers start drumming on the wheel, an anxious tick of his that I nearly duplicated by bouncing my leg.

“Oh. Is that bad or…?” I gnawed on my lip, hoping that my eyes changing color wasn’t a bad omen of what was to come.

“I don’t think so. You weren’t doing that on purpose right?” I shake my head. “Maybe it was triggered by feeling anxious. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” He smiles, but the reek of fear lingers.

The party goes off without a hitch. Lydia really does throw great parties, though I barely see her or Allison the entire time, though I try to periodically check on them, just to make sure. Allison seems to be having a really good time with Scott, and Lydia is off with Jackson somewhere almost constantly disappearing into dark corners to make out.

I stick with Stiles most of the time, his hand on my arm a constant comfort. We drink a little, but I mainly try to stay away from the alcohol. The lights outside hurt my eyes, so we stayed inside. He barely leaves my side, only leaving for a few minutes to check Lydia’s basement. Stiles is back within moments, finding me in the same place he had left me. We dance a little, his moves goofy and catching me off guard. I genuinely started having a good time, the worry that had consumed me for the past few days slowly leaking out of me.

However, sometime around ten, Stiles rushes out to follow Scott out of the party and leaves me on my own, without much of an explanation.

“I’ll be right back!” he yells before disappearing. I try to keep to myself after that, not wanting to risk anything. Not long after he leaves, I realize that I haven’t seen Allison in a long time and go to find her.

“Hey have you seen Allison?” I yell over the music to Lydia. She shakes her head, and continues to dance with Jackson. I sigh, irritation crawling its way up my spine. It couldn’t be that hard to know where one girl went, right? I quickly crush the irritation, knowing that won’t help me find anyone.

I head towards the bathroom, deciding that would be the quietest place to make a call. I call Stiles, he doesn’t pick up. Then I try to call Allison, no answer there either. Frustration and anger fill me, nearly overtaking the anxiety of the situation. I grip the sink and watch my fingers lengthen and grow sharp claws. Looking up, I watch my face transform slowly; the space between my brows becomes flatter, my eyes turn a bright shade of yellow, and two pairs of fangs rip through my gums. I groan, realizing how painful having extra teeth in my mouth was.

I try to take deep breaths, to find my center but nothing works. God, Lydia will kill me if I mess up this stupid bathroom. My face stays the same and at that moment I’m glad Stiles left to trail after Scott. I don’t think I’d want him to see me like this. Shockingly, at the thought of Stiles my claws slowly start retreating. I watch as my hands return to normal in a few moments and the pain in my gums recedes slowly.

Closing my eyes, I try to think more about Stiles and the way he calms me down. I think about how his hand on my arm kept me stable tonight and my eyes return to their usual dark color. Focusing on the image of him dancing in my head, I can feel my face settle back into its normal position. I sigh, letting go of the sink and stare into the mirror to make sure everything is back to normal.

Once I’ve assured myself I’m back to being myself, I smile at my reflection. A sense of pride overcomes me, making my smile turn into a grin. I didn’t hurt anyone. A weight is slowly taken off my shoulders and I feel as if I can finally breathe again. I made it through my first full moon without doing anything stupid, I wasn’t naked in the woods, no one was dead. I could handle this. I could do this.

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #dylan o'brien #new oc #werewolf #i have too much time on my hands #things can only get better #teen wolf season one

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venalier · 4 years ago

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— SKILLS ANALYSIS.

sword

lance ( BOON. )

axe

bow ( BUDDING TALENT. » BOON. )

gauntlet

reason ( BANE. )

faith ( BANE. )

authority ( BOON. )

heavy armor

riding

flying ( BOON. )

a well-rounded individual, caeldori is someone who canonically excels in a lot of areas and, in the areas where she doesn’t excel, is always working to make up for those shortcomings. as a result, many of these skill areas ( sword, axe, gauntlet, heavy armor, riding ) are neither boons nor banes simply by virtue of her natural adaptability and her work ethic. enough hard work put into any area, she believes, and eventually you’ll get to a point where you at least don’t suck at it.

that being said, it’s worth a slightly closer look at some of the other places.

— LANCE. obviously caeldori’s natural and most preferred weapon. she has a notable preference for the hoshidan naginata over the nohrian ( / every other fe land’s ) traditional spear or lance. this is mostly due to her having been trained with the naginata since she was very young, and also partially out of wanting, in every way she can, to emulate her father. the appreciator of aesthetic in her also prefers the natural grace of the naginata as well, and the hoshidan tradition of emphasizing the naginata not just as a tool for war, but also wielding it as an art in itself. there’s are many hoshidan dances that feature naginatas, and caeldori thinks of the weapon very much not only as something for the battlefield, but as an extension of her self-expression.

in a strictly combat sense, however, she also prefers it for its relative flexibility; its longer blade and curved single edge makes it capable of both cutting and thrusting like spears, but also better for slashing maneuvers as well as capable of hooking the opponent.

through tsubaki, the naginata has been part of her blood for many generations, as his family has served as guards for members of the hoshidan royal family for as long as anyone can remember. caeldori’s family name, amayari ( spear of heaven ), is as much a title as it is a name, and it’s expected that, though royal guards are preferably well-versed in many different types of martial skill, that the emphasis still remains on the symbolic naginata.

— SWORD. while caeldori doesn’t have a boon in swords, it’s worth noting that her two inherited alternate classes from tsubaki are samurai and master of arms, so while i don’t think she necessarily excels in swordplay, she’s probably a bit above average, and would become quite good if she directed her focus there.

— BOW. as illustrated in her kisaragi support, caeldori has some natural talent with a bow, enough to beat him at his own bet, though she admits that she’s never had any particular interest in training her skill at archery and so isn’t as strong in it as someone who both possesses the talent for it and uses it daily. she also possesses kinshi knight as one of her possible promoted classes off of sky knight, and also inherits bow knight from her ( hc’d for now unless rescinded by a future severa ) mother as another class option.

— REASON / FAITH. although i do think that caeldori’s propensity for magic is naturally weaker than her physical combat ability, i think that if she worked hard enough at it, she could become a decent caster, well enough to hold her own at least. caeldori’s magic casting ability is poor; physical weapon prowess and riding ability has always excelled in her family, but not so much magic. some of this could be remedied depending on if she ever establishes a toa!canon mother, but at base, caeldori naturally possesses low natural potential and low skill ceiling in terms of magic overall.

her bane in faith, additionally, comes ultimately from a lack of exactly that — faith. caeldori believes much more in skill and careful planning in both battle and day to day life, and ( as seen from her ignatius support ) looks down on faith, luck, and chance as too weak and uncertain to be relied on. after all, if you’re relying on luck or a god’s strength in order to win, doesn’t that say something about your own ability leaving much to be desired?

i think this also translates to a general shortcoming of caeldori’s, which is that she can be pretty near-sighted about her views and come off arrogant or disparaging towards others who see things differently or have different experiences. similarly, she’s kind and generally nice, but a lack of the others-before-oneself altruism commonly seen in white magic users might also contribute to a weakness in this area.

that being said, one of the classes i really like for her is basara, which she gets from S-supporting shiro ( part of it is because i enjoy the pairing, it’s true ). i think it’s both aesthetically nice on her as well as kind of thematically appropriate as a heavily offensive mixed attacking class. it’d be interesting to see if she might ever reach a point in her character development re: her opinions on faith where that might be feasible, if we ever add basara to toa hahaha.

— AUTHORITY. one of caeldori’s skills that she demonstrates amply in canon throughout her paralogue and several supports. she’s highly adept at planning and executing efficiently, and in directing others in a clear and succinct way. she’s usually a step or two ahead of the moment and has probably laid out a few contingency plans as well for herself and anyone involved. she’s good at assessing a given situation and determining what needs to be done, who best to do it, and how.

it should be noted though that despite this, caeldori isn’t really a leader, though she is capable of stepping up to it if she perceives an otherwise chaotic situation. she’s equally as happy to follow someone else’s instructions, but her quick and effective problem-solving and willingness to take action often means she’s one of the first to jump in when it’s needed.

— FLYING. from both tsubaki on her paternal side and cordelia from her maternal side, caeldori’s inherited an affiliation for pegasi. while i don’t think her patrilineal line has been traditionally all sky knights, i think that probably a decent number of them were, since tsubaki seems to have ample experience with them outside of his own career. caeldori also mentions in her support with shiro that she really likes animals and would consider a livelihood caring for them if she didn’t have expectations on her already.

that being said, i don’t actually think that caeldori is a naturally gifted flier ( and i don’t think tsubaki is either ); for both of them, it comes from a place of many, many long hours and a lot of dedication. for all of her appreciation for animals, i wouldn’t consider her to have an innate affinity for them. this is further evidenced by her support with shigure where she attests that leisure flights are pointless since flying is a combat skill, and reflects back in my hc’s in that she doesn’t have a riding boon despite being a sky knight.

#╰ ･:･ ♡ // hc › ❛ i could show you where the fissures are.#the last time i did one of these was i think jan. or feb. bdfhgh

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trinuviel · 6 years ago

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A Bad Fit. Some thoughts on Daenerys Targaryen’s white costume in season 8 (part 1)

I’m a big fan of Michele Clapton’s work on Game of Thrones and I’m always excited when we get a first look at the costumes for a new season - so in light of the recent season 8 teaser, I want to present my initial thoughts on Daenerys Targaryen’s new costume.

(GIF by @athimbleful)

At first look, this costume looks almost identical to the show-stopping white fur coat that she wore in the penultimate episode of season 7 when she flew beyond the Wall to rescue Jon’s company on the suicide mission she had sent them on. However, this is a NEW costume and it includes a number of interesting details.

Michele Clapton has a particular pattern when it comes to the use of costumes to create continuity between the seasons. At the beginning of a new season she often dresses a character in a costume that they wore at the end of the previous season, but with a few new details or alterations - this is a strategy that she has used with both Margaery Tyrell and Sansa Stark.

The situation with Dany is a bit different here. It is a new costume but it looks almost identical to the season 7 fur coat at first glance. However, when you look closer you can see that the grey stripes of the season 7 coat has been replaced with a deep red colour, bleeding through the white like blood on snow.

Another interesting detail is the fact that the new coat is lined with red fur.

Even her gloves have gone from grey to red.

Red and black are the heraldic colours of House Targaryen and while Dany wore black in season 6, Clapton only started to introduce small touches of red into Dany’s costumes in season 7 in order to signal that she is now starting to fully embrace her Targaryen heritage as she begins her conquest of Westeros.

It was a conscious choice of Clapton to withhold the use of red in Dany’s costumes until then - and that makes the introduction of the colour that more powerful when it was finally used.

People always say, “Why don’t you have this, why can’t you add that?,” and it’s like, “Well, sometimes you have to wait for that — you have to wait for the journey and for them to seek it out. With Dany in particular, finally we’re getting the [Targaryen] red. She was a confused woman, she was wandering … trying to seek something. And now she’s finally got her armor, she’s finally got everything, and she can finally echo the style of her brother with the extended shoulders and the red and the symbolism. He always had the big Targaryen [sigil] on his chest and now she’s got the big chain with the dragon’s heads on it.” (Michele Clapton to the Insider)

However, clapton still used the red very sparingly in the season 7 costumes. Red embroidery as a discrete accent to the edges of Dany’s power “suits” as well as the more conspicuous cape of pleated silk that invokes dragon scales. Dany’s season 7 costumes were generally dark, in shades from black to dark grey. The white fur coat was in many ways a radical departure from the rest of the costumes though had the same silhouette with the wide, pointed shoulders.

The white fur coat represents something new in Dany’s season 7 arc - something that interferes with her quest for the Iron Throne in the form of the threat of the White Walkers as well as her growing attraction to Jon snow.

I felt that there should be a definite shift in her look as she embarks on the mission of aiding Jon’s team trapped north of the Wall. I think it’s the first time that she has really been to the aid of another individual—let’s face it, she’s not going because of the Hound!—and she is putting herself at risk. (Michele Clapton to Vanity Fair)

While the coat is also connected to the loss of her dragon Viserion through the cream and bronze scale pattern on the back (which makes me very curious as to how the back looks at Dany’s new red and white coat), the white coat is very much to her feelings for Jon Snow. So it makes sense that she arrives in Winterfell wearing a variation of the coat now that they have become lovers.

What is especially intriguing is that she’s obviously toned down the overt Targaryen symbols. She’s still wearing her Three-Headed Dragon chain but her hair has been spread over the front of her coat, obscuring this ultimate symbol of her Targaryen identity.

Incidentally, she had a similar hairstyle at her first, hostile, meeting with Jon at Dragonstone - but her hair was styled so that her symbol of identity and authority was clearly visible despite the loose locks of hair that falls down the front of her outfit.

Now this symbol is partially obscured - and you get a sense that she’s trying not to look intimidating when she’s meeting her lover’s family and her new Northern allies. Yet her costume still retains small details that is associated with her Targaryen identity- most notably all the dark red details. She is now wearing much more red than she did in the previous season. The wide shoulders are also retained and though it is a bit difficult to see, the shoulders are embellished with embroidery that mimics dragon scales, which is a feature that has characterized her costumes since season 3.

However, even here the look is softened by the materials, first and foremost the white fur but also by the use of what I suspect are silver Tila beads, which have softer corners than the shiny, sharp-edged black sequins that were used for her season 7 costume.

When it comes to Clapton’s costume designs, even the smallest detail is important because it carries meaning, it says something about the character.

I always try to make the clothes visually tell something. (FIDM Museum Blog)

I always try to tell that story — the costumes for me are narrative and you should be able to look at them [the characters] and understand where they are mentally in their journey. (Insider)

So all of these new details in Dany’s costumes are meaningful, they tell something about her character in relation to where she is in her narrative arc - and in the beginning of season 7, Dany is in completely new territory and in a new situation for her since she wants to make a good impression. She’s in the home of her lover, meeting his family - and she is also there trying to win over a people who has had a bad history with her family. They don’t trust a Targaryen, so it makes sense for Dany to try not only to tone down her Targaryen identity in her costume but also trying to affect a Northern style.

In past seasons, Clapton has used Dany’s costumes to signal either her embracing or her rejecting a culture. During her marriage to Khal Drogo, she wears traditional Dothraki costume whereas she wears white in Meereen (season 5) to signal her rejection and mental removal from their culture.

”[The white] signifies her mental removal from some of the scenes that she has to be in — like in the fight pit. She doesn’t actually want to be there, so we wanted to show visually that she was removed. It was chaotic and bloody and colorful, and there was supposed to be this purity in the middle. She was visually removing herself from the things that she disagreed with.“ (x)

Once again, Dany wears white - and while her white fur matches the snow on the ground, it doesn’t match anyone else. Visually, she stands out like a sore thumb among all the dark-clad Northerners. So how does this relate to my claim that she’s trying to fit in? Well, some of the new details in her costume are rather telling.

Firstly, in the new teaser Daenerys wears a red neck cloth - and that is significant. Now it is cold in the North and she wants to keep warm - so a neck cloth is not unreasonable in this scenario - from a Watsonian perspective. However, all details have meaning in Clapton’s work and it is worth noting that Dany didn’t wear any kind of neck cloth when she flew North in season 7. That means that this new detail is significant.

I’ve seen a number of people say that it looks a bit like the high-necked undershirts that Northern women wear under their dresses, especially Catelyn Stark. There is indeed a resemblance but also notable differences. Dany’s red neck-cloth is not only made of silk but it is also tied in an ascot know whereas the high-necked undershirts that Catelyn and Sansa wear are in neutral linens and cinched at the neck with a string. The material itself is also wrong - the silk is too extravagant for Northern dress where it is the intricate embroidery that signals status and wealth, not fancy fabrics. So if this detail is meant to signify Dany’s attempt at Northern dress, it signals that she’s getting it wrong!

Secondly, in the EW cover photo Dany wears a variation of the red-white fur coat that we see in the teaser, only now another new element has been added - a white fur mantle across her shoulders.

This is a much more overt reference to Northern dress since fur-covered shoulders has been an element of Northern dress, and specifically Stark dress, since the very beginning of the story. This would be yet another example of Dany trying to signal her attempt to be close to the North, or rather Jon in particular. However, once again this costume element is close but no cigar - so to speak. It is placed directly on her coat and not attached to a long cloak like we see with Jon and Sansa. Thus, both in colour and silhouette, Dany doesn’t match Jon at all - creating a dissonant cord when she stands next to him.

Another aspect is the fact that Dany’s fur is all wrong when compared to the Northern cloaks - not just in colour but in the silhouette and texture of the fur as well. Dany’s white fur is longer and looks more wispy than the fur that the Starks wear. Furthermore, the fur cloaks of the Starks feature the whole animal (their heraldic wolf) from which the fur comes..

Once again, there’s a superficial resemblance that is actually undercut by small but significant details. It is like she’s trying to affect a type of dress that she’s unfamiliar with and getting it wrong. This is, in essence, Dany trying to cosplay a Northern aesthetic and still managing to look like an outsider.

Interestingly enough, Dany’s new shoulder fur does look similar to a couple of other costumes: Sansa’s white wedding dress in season 5 and one of Cersei’s black costumes in season 7. I’m not quite sure yet of what to make of this marked resemblance - other than Cersei is not a Stark and Sansa’s wedding dress was for an event that was not only horrible for her but it was also designed to make her a Bolton, to strip her of her Stark identity whilst using her claim to usurp the Starks as Lords of Winterfell.

There’s another interesting detail on the EW cover. If you pay attention, you can see that Dany also wears a red silk half-cape, similar to the ones she wore in season 7.

However, whereas these capes looked natural with her season 7 costumes, it now looks like an odd fit with a heavy fur coat. This is not unsurprising since Dany’s season 7 costumes were inspired by the costumes her brother Viserys wore in season 1, which is a very conscious choice of Clapton:

“The silhouette,” [Clapton] explains, “purposely echoes that of the Targaryen style that her brother wore in Season 1.” (Michele Clapton to Vanity Fair)

“I think it’s quite interesting that we finally see her embracing her brother’s ambition,” Clapton says. “What does that say? You’re seeing the beginning of something. We’re not at the end yet and I think it’s very important at this moment that we start seeing who she is.” (Michele Clapton to Uproxx)

This isn’t really that surprising. She is after all, now trying to achieve her brother’s ambition of re-taking the Iron Throne. However, the combination of a silk half-cape with a winter coat that already has a shoulder fur just looks plain silly and impractical! The silk is flimsy when seen next to the fur, it is impractical and it is overkill. The red silk half-cape is part of Dany’s Targaryen style - especially as it matches what her brother wore.

However, this silk cape clashes with her “Northern” costume - she’s trying to be something she’s not because of her feelings for Jon (since the white fur coat is explicitly tied to her infatuation with him). This clash of different costume elements is rather interesting in the context of the politics of the story since the Northern Lords are vehemently opposed to any Targaryen, they value their hard-won independence and Dany is determined to rule all of Westeros, including the North. Thus, the costume reflect this uneasy alliance - written on Dany’s body. Despite her toning down the overt Targaryen style and attempting something that looks somewhat Northern, the red still bleeds through - she is a Targaryen conqueror who takes what she wants with Fire and Blood - even if she’s dressed like an innocent-looking white lamb.

A lot of people has also noticed how Dany’s new fur coat seems rather ill-fitting in the new teaser. She’s looks more bulky than when she wore the season 6 version of this costume. This doesn’t necessarily mean that Clapton and her team made a mistake.

“I don’t think any costume should be looked at in isolation, rather, through the arc of the character. Each thing will tell a story. It might look like a costume is wrong, but actually it’s supposed to look like that. It’s telling you something about the character at the time.” (Winter is Coming)

Putting Dany in an ill-fitting costume just as she enters a new political situation, which is complicated by her emotional entanglement with Jon - it actually makes sense story-wise to put her in a costume that doesn’t really fit her subtly conveys that she is ill at ease.

She’s now in a very unfamiliar situation in that she cannot just threaten people into submission because she’s infatuated with Jon and wants him to like her. She has to play a game of courtesy, which was never her strong suit. Even when she came begging for support in Qarth, she was never polite - instead rather threw a temper tantrum and screamed that she would take what was hers with fire and blood. As her dragons and armies grew, she never had the need to be a diplomat and be polite to the people she negotiated with because she had all the hard power and she wasn’t averse to using it.

She isn’t her usual confident self, feeling like an outsider, which all the little details in her costume signals as I’ve outlined in this post. This outsider status is even underscored by the visual framing and blocking of the scene.

Dany is literally framed by Jon and Sansa who stand side by side as a united front. She looks small and she almost looks like she’s the one who’s the petitioner as she approaches the ruling pair of the North. It is also a shot that is eerily similar to the opening shot of Jon and Sansa’s parley with Ramsay before the Battle of the Bastards.

It is the same framing and blocking, only now it takes place in a much more confined space. Now the crucial difference is that the Winterfell scene is a scene of welcome but the visual framing imbue the scene with an interesting subtext that comes off as slightly adversarial, which fits well with Sansa’s cool welcome and Dany being visibly uncomfortable.

This is a case of the dialogue saying one thing but the visual language implying another, which is a strategy that the show used a lot in season 7. You have to keep in mind that the visual language (framing, blocking, costumes, non-verbal cues) constitutes half of the story - so a good way to create tension and subtext is to have the dialogue subtly clash with the visual language - and this is certainly the case here, both through the framing of the shot, the blocking of the actors and this is also embedded in Dany’s costume as I’ve laid out in this post.

#game of thrones #daenerys targaryen #costume analysis #michele clapton #long post

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apparitionism · 6 years ago

Text

Helicobacter 17

Previously on Helicobacter, everything was right ridiculous. Regardless of whether the long and undisciplined unwinding of twists here has been entertaining, I’ve enjoyed the practice of putting it together. Free-associating was great; getting from that initial hellscape—poor JK!—to the koans to the raccoons. Et cetera. In sixteen prior installments! No actual pies were injured in the making of this story, which I think shows laudable restraint on my part. Oh, I did finally figure out how to get that one troublesome shoutout in, though you may find it a bit of a shoehorn. And there’s that one additional little backgroundy twisty twist near the end, one that calls back, in a whisper, to an earlier thing... anyway, it won’t be too long before I put some more words up; I’m working on a part of an older unfinished piece and may also float a couple trial balloons for new things. Stay tuned.

Helicobacter 17

“Are you sure you want me to put my shirt on?” Helena heard Myka ask. She had turned her back to allow Myka to change out of the hospital gown and back into her clothes—to enable Myka to do it, really, because Helena was in the end only human, and their physical relationship had not reached a point at which any sort of unclothing could be casually received—and now Helena was reminded of being in her kitchen, of listening to Myka’s disembodied voice explaining the plan, of having no effective way to respond to what was being said. “Trousers are next,” Myka went on, “but feel free to stop me anytime.”

“I am terrible at being good,” Helena said, resolutely not turning her head, “and so the universe gave me you. To test me, over and over again.”

Myka laughed. “Just so you fail every now and then. You can turn back around; all that’s left are my shoes.” Helena did then turn around, on some level expecting Myka to be naked, as one of those perpetual tests. Instead, she was in fact fully dressed, pulling a boot onto her right foot. Helena couldn’t hold back a little sigh of disappointment, and Myka laughed again. “What should I say in the note I leave my mom tonight?”

“What is so appealing to you about sneaking out? Is it the thrill of the forbidden? Should I worry that you’ll lose interest when both your mother and the overall prohibition are gone?”

“My honest answer about whether you should worry is, ‘how should I know?’ My hopeful answer is, ‘of course not.’ As for the sneaking out, it’s mostly for my mom’s benefit at this point. She doesn’t want to have to show how pleased she is to have the place—a place—to herself. Once in a while.”

Puzzling. “I thought your father took many fishing trips.”

“It’s only when Mom’s gone, really. He doesn’t say much about it, but he’s happiest when they’re together.” She finished with her boots, stood up, and began to tidy the bed. She looked over her shoulder at Helena. “Maybe you’ll want to go fishing only when I’m out of town.”

“I don’t know how to fish,” Helena said. She added a silent And now I don’t want to learn. But why keep silent? Why was her first instinct to censor such words? So she said, “And now I don’t want to learn.”

Myka turned back to the bed. She said a warm “Good.”

“Your father did invite me, however.”

A chuckle. “You should go, and Skype and Facetime and text and DM me every chance you get, on lots of different devices. Send me emails too. He’ll lose his mind.”

“What if I tell him about the aquatic abilities of raccoons?”

Myka spun around again, her mouth open in comic protestation. “I’ll never forgive you! I want to annoy him, not give him a heart attack. Besides, you should bear in mind that he’s the one who bought a very significant textbook lot.”

“My gratitude is stipulated.”

“Plus, and I realize this matters to me more than to us, he got me Georgeliot.”

“Under duress,” Helena noted.

Myka nodded. “Sometimes it takes a little duress for people to do the exactly-right thing.”

“So if I happen to come home some evening and am greeted not by you but by a large gaze of raccoons, I should assume there’s some right course of action I’ve failed to take?”

Myka pulled her into a half-embrace and bestowed a swift kiss, recalling the tactility of the rehearsal dinner. “I really like that you just said ‘come home.’”

Helena resolved to say “come home” far more often. “And not even under duress,” she said.

Another swift kiss. “I also really like that you know the collective noun for raccoons.”

“I like that you like that I know it.”

“I like that too.” Myka’s expression changed from affectionate to sly. “Want to sneak out of the hospital?”

“No.”

Myka pouted. “You are no fun at all.”

Rolling her eyes at the pout—which managed to be annoying and attractive at the same time—Helena said, “To test me, over and over again. And I’d like to add that that’s a ‘no’ in perpetuity, because—”

“No fun.”

“Will you let me finish? In perpetuity, because I don’t want to be in any hospital so as to have occasion to sneak out of it.”

The pout dissolved. “Oh. That’s reasonable.”

“Now call your mother back in here,” Helena said, “so we can get on with leaving, so we can get on with working—”

“And back to no fun,” Myka interrupted, herself back to the pout.

“And back to, will you let me finish? So we can get on with working, so the day can get on with ending, so you can then get on with sneaking out.”

Now the pout became a familiarly brilliant smile. “Oh. That’s even better than reasonable.”

The half-embrace became full.

****

When Helena opened her door to Myka after the promised, and much-anticipated, sneaking out, it was the hospital room again: no one lunged. Instead they looked.

One beat, two. Unhurried because there was at last no hurry? Or were they waiting for something?

Then Myka said, “This is different than before. Both times. Me standing here.”

“This is different than before,” Helena agreed. She glanced down at the ring on her finger, as if it might itself be the explanation.... it glittered back, wise and clear. A symbol, but not the cause, of everything that stood differently around them, how they stood differently before each other.

Myka spoke again. “Belief is a good look on you.” She took a slow breath. “Then again, I think just about everything’s a good look on you.”

On that, Helena’s memory barked a shin. “Wait. How do you know what I look like in a hardhat?”

“I have a vivid imagination,” Myka said. She stepped inside and kicked the door closed.

The kick was strong and deliberate, but not overpowering; Helena was able to respond, somewhat calmly, “While I know that’s true, I don’t believe it represents a truthful answer to my question.”

Myka’s mouth shaped into a languid smile. It was even more deliberate than the kick. “You really want to know? Fine. One morning Abigail was giving me grief about how she was going to be meeting you at the neighborhood site. This was right after the committee was formed, and I thought that maybe Steve would come with you, and that that would mean the whole committee was there, and I could pinpoint, and you’d be there too, so... you see how I thought the plan was going to come together. But as it turned out, no Steve.”

“So no pinpoint.”

“No pinpoint, and so I felt really silly, lurking around a corner like I was part of some pathetic, busted sting operation, ready with my camera and telephoto lens, but then there wasn’t a drug deal after all. Then again, I did get to hyperventilate about how irresistible you were in that hardhat.”

“But not irresistible.”

“No, seriously.”

“Perhaps seriously, but not literally. You resisted, did you not? Remained out of sight, around the corner?”

Myka paused. “Fine. You win.” She paused again. “But only in the short term.”

“I win only in the short term?”

“I resisted only in the short term. I mean, look at me.”

Helena obliged, and Myka wrapped her arm around Helena in her now-familiar loop, this time as a clear prelude to what would come next. “You do not appear to be the picture of resistance,” Helena acknowledged.

“Good. But obviously resistance was never really on the table. Case in point: that disaster with Ben, the guy in Accounting, happened right after my attempted ring bust.”

“The PTA-meeting fellow. The dressing-down.”

“Which was supposed to put the fear of god, or just shame and unemployment, squarely into all of us.”

“Instead you called me,” Helena said.

“See? I couldn’t resist. I remember you practically ripped my head off.”

“Abigail had made very clear to me that the situation was no longer abstract or humorous. given how you would react to such a public mortification... will you be all right with the consequences of the ‘truth’ about us becoming known now? Whatever those consequences may be?” Helena asked, out of genuine curiosity.

To her surprise, Myka laughed at that. “Given that a lot of the people I work with have both seen you and heard you, I might just get high fives rather than any metaphorical pies to the face.” She turned serious. “But regardless, even if I have to cringe my way through some of it, I’m going to remember that the real consequence is that our situation, yours and mine, doesn’t have to be abstract anymore.”

“Humorous, surely,” Helena said, pressing herself close into that bodily loop.

Myka smiled. “I hope so. But Abigail did try to make the gravity clear to me too. She shoved the ring at me, told me to take it and return it. I almost agreed to.”

“But?”

“But I realized that if it was in my possession again, I was going to track you down. Partially because you were so on fire to keep me out of trouble, and that was... well, irresistible.” She placed her lips softly against Helena’s temple: a gesture of proof. “I have to believe there’s a way out of any box, if you’re willing to work hard enough to find it. Even though that box, then, seemed to be collapsing on us.”

“Like a poorly constructed architectural model,” Helena said, but she thought of that sturdy little community center, flanked by those valiant trees. “You are persistent.”

“Maybe it was because I’d heard the word ‘cancer,’ but I knew what I wanted. Who I wanted. Really, at long last. It was such a relief.”

And Helena considered that Myka wasn’t wrong, not at all. She herself had received no such mortality shock, yet it was still a relief to know with such seeming clarity: this. It was also a relief, now, to be able to act on that knowledge unencumbered. “And at last we can—”

“Wait,” Myka said. “Grapefruit.”

“All right. Turnabout. I see. Interestingly, or not, it also involves a grief-giving from Abigail. It was when she and Steve koaned me. I don’t believe they were yet a committee...” The half-embrace was turning full again; Myka’s ‘wait’ was clearly not intended as any sort of prohibition, but Helena continued, “Abigail was having fun, asked what I liked for breakfast, rubbing in the fact that you and I did not, and would not, share it. ‘There is no grapefruit’ was said, to make me feel terrible.”

Helena realized she’d drawn her expression into severity only when Myka began kissing it gentle. “My poor baby,” she murmured.

The addition of “my.” Entirely right, yet entirely a surprise in its rightness. How could anything so apparently destined be composed of so many pieces that Helena did not expect? “I was wearing a hardhat at the time,” she told Myka. Then she pushed. “Can you imagine? Perhaps you can...”

“Now you’re just showboating,” Myka said, but her hands moved in a way that suggested “just showboating” meant “issuing clear instructions.”

Whatever instructions Helena had inadvertently given, they were exactly the right ones. “Mm,” she said. “Trying to hold your interest.”

Myka said, her words another decisive door-kick, “Irresistible. In the long term.”

****

Early in the morning, a bit baffled by the morning (“It’s only Tuesday? We can do this again tonight and it will then be only Wednesday?”), they went to Myka’s apartment for breakfast.

“I thought your mother liked having the place—a place—to herself,” Helena objected.

“This morning I think she’ll like making maternal noises,” Myka said. She insisted they stop and buy grapefruit and Pop-Tarts, “because symbolism is important.” Helena considered objecting but then reckoned that this stood as one of many lessons, and that her life going forward would be easier if she absorbed those lessons as they presented themselves.

“Three,” Jeannie greeted them.

Helena winced: “Please don’t keep count.” Still so small, that number. What would change as the tally increased?

“I read up on that third Emperor Napoleon,” Jeannie informed her, with a Myka-esque innocent blink. “He instituted several much-needed reforms. So on a scale...”

“Oh. Then please carry on.”

“Actually I’d find that a little weird,” Myka said, with a wince of her own.

“That. That’s what you’d find weird. In addition to my family, of course.”

“A little.”

“You could name my first grandchild Napoleon,” Jeannie suggested.

“Really?” Helena said. Not the worst of names. But also: children. Charles and Jane had been talking of having a child, and Helena had thought that when they succeeded in doing so, that would be that, childwise, for the Wells family. And yet... Napoleon?

“Not really,” Myka said. She frowned at her mother.

A thought struck Helena. “Donovan.”

“What?” Now Myka swung her frown toward Helena.

“First there is a mountain.”

Jeannie said, “I remember that song.”

Myka’s face softened. “I don’t hate it.”

“The song, or the name?” Helena asked.

“I’ve never heard the song. I think. But the name is nice.”

“I can’t wait to tell your father,” Jeannie said. “He’s been terrified you’d name your first after the dog.”

“The author, you mean,” Myka said, and the frown was back.

“No, the dog. The one-word version.”

“Why wouldn’t he like that?”

“For a little girl’s dog, it was charming. An actual human?”

“We’ll name her Emilywilson,” Myka declared. “How about that?”

“Sweetheart, your father’s the one you have to reassure about the name. I just want a grandchild. Name it Child One if you want to.”

Helena, hoping to inject a bit of levity, asked, “But then how will little Two feel?”

Myka raised her eyebrows. “More than one? Really?”

Helena had meant it in jest, but... more than one? “We’ll need to talk about it,” she said.

“We will. The things we get to talk about now!” Myka seemed to glow at the very idea.

Helena had a strange and wonderful presentiment of their doing exactly that: talking about things. Coming to real agreement when an issue was essential, reaching détente when it was not. All while the tally grew: Four. Five. Six. Seven. In some universe, surely there were uncountably many Emperors Napoleon, each bettering the previous.

Aloud, Helena instructed herself. Take this lesson from Myka: speak it all aloud. “Uncountably many Emperors Napoleon,” she said.

“Forget Maine,” Myka countered. “We’ll move to Florida and buy a grapefruit orchard.”

“Most likely more profitable than refusing to fish for lobsters,” Helena said. “One and Two will need college funds.”

“Three?” Jeannie suggested.

“I don’t know how much money there really is in citrus, particularly if this cheapskate raids the grove every morning for breakfast. Three might have to be one of those pretty never-children,” Myka told her. Then she turned to Helena. “But we’ll need to talk about it.”

“We will,” Helena agreed. The things we get to talk about now... Helena was reasonably certain she was glowing too.

****

Once Myka’s mother and the overall prohibition were gone, Myka did not seem to lose interest. And she and Helena did talk about things. Helena was becoming accustomed to the idea that she would never become accustomed to what Myka would say... happiness pushed up against surprise, always, to make a double bed.

“Here’s a funny thing,” Myka said one morning, standing in Helena’s kitchen, holding a cup of coffee, just as Helena had hoped she might but despaired that she would never.

“Oh god,” Helena responded, because while she was of course thankful for the circumstance under which Myka was speaking, she was still not quite fully thankful for never knowing what she would speak about.

Myka laughed, as she always did. “No, no. It’s just a question; what’s funny is that I never thought to ask you. Why’d you come to the U.S.?”

It was true, though not very surprising, that the topic had not yet come up. Many practical, reality-related issues hadn’t yet come up, perhaps in part due to temperament but mainly due to time. Helena could still easily count their nights... then again she might always keep that count, reflexively. Joyfully? Myka was looking at her, so Helena said, “Sorry. Preoccupied by a number—”

“Thirty-six?”

“That’s the one.”

“We should give each other cards for significant ones. Maybe the primes?”

“Tomorrow, then. I’ll bring you flowers as well... no, I’ll have them sent to you at City Hall.”

At work, Myka had in fact been high-fived more than she had received pies to the face. Apparently most people’s hearts weren’t made of stone, and it was true that Myka was porous when it came to the extent of her happiness. Not to mention, her illness had banked her some goodwill... but it was most likely Myka herself, being herself, that led to the indulgent responses.

“You’re trying to distract me,” Myka accused, but not seriously. “You, to the U.S., why?”

“It isn’t a very interesting story,” Helena said. “Not nearly as interesting as your gratifyingly enthusiastic response to receiving flowers. But since you ask: my mother was fascinated with America, and Americans, when she was young. She instilled it in me, I suppose, and so when I was deciding where to study...”

“I thought that kind of fascination usually went the other way—Americans love the British. The accent, the royal family. Scones. I know my mom did, and I guess she instilled that in me, if we take you as evidence. But so why did your mother—”

“She had an American penfriend.”

“A pen pal?”

“Yes, that. I heard about her my entire childhood, not least because I was nearly named after her.”

“I can’t imagine you not being ‘Helena.’ What was it you were nearly named? And why weren’t you?”

“Jeannette,” Helena said promptly. “Or, as my mother always called her, ‘American Jeannette,’ and in fact that might have been my name, but my father prevailed, because my mother had been the one to name Charles. Although now that I think about it, I don’t know why she wanted his name to be Charles. It isn’t a family name, not that I’m aware, and his ears were of perfectly average size, thus no connection to the prince, so I—”

“I’m going to take a wild stab here,” Myka said. She had set her cup down and crossed her arms, and she was regarding Helena with what was, even for her, an enigmatic expression.

“Are you? At what?”

“Your mom’s name is Sarah.”

Nonplussed, Helena said, “That stab wasn’t wild at all. It was in fact... wait.” No.

“Okay,” Myka said.

“No. Oh no. No.”

“Always with the same bad argument.” Myka’s smile. As if she had always known... but she couldn’t have. So: her smile, as if she had always been—would always be—willing to believe.

“I don’t understand,” Helena said. She didn’t. At no turn had she understood.

Myka said, “Well, me neither.” But she moved across the wide space of the kitchen; she put her arms around Helena, and that was something Helena did understand.

A kiss, a long one, and she understood that too. “Words about destiny,” she said, when she could.

Myka said, familiarly, against Helena’s neck, “Does it really even matter why?”

“I don’t enjoy being set up.”

“You were set up with me.” Still familiar, still against her neck.

“That improves the situation,” Helena conceded. “Marginally.”

“I’m going to make you regret that addition.”

“Are you?” Now it was Helena’s turn to put lips where they would be familiar. And persuasive.

Myka chuckled. “Depends on how you thought you’d be spending the next several decades.”

Helena determined to take this literally. She leaned back and moved her left hand in front of Myka’s face. “I have a ring, my acceptance of which indicates that ‘married to you’ is my thinking in the matter. More-detailed projections are your job.” This was true: speculating about the gamut of possibilities, from fantastical citrus groves to children, real or never-, delighted Myka.

“Speaking of projections,” Myka said, “I don’t think it’s too crazy to predict, based on this new information, that the wedding—which was already going to be fantastic!—just got that much better. My mom always wondered what happened to her pen pal from England.”

“Is there any prediction that you would consider ‘too crazy’? But my mother wondered too.”

“Both busy raising daughters destined for each other.” This Myka emphasized with a kiss, but...

...so chancy, all of it. “What if it hadn’t happened?” Helena demanded, as if Myka would be able to say. “What if something in this Rube-Goldberg destiny had gone wrong?”

“What if it had? Well, what if it already did? For all you know, this is destiny’s backup plan. She tried a ton of other ways, but then finally threw her hands in the air and said ‘Go forth and matchmake, Helicobacter pylori!’”

Speaking of throwing one’s hands in the air: Helena didn’t perform the action, but, “I give up,” she said. “You win: it’s H. pylori’s fault.”

“Bank on it,” Myka said, her words accompanied by a bright-eyed smile that spoke equally to their past, their present, their future. She followed that with a kiss that was soft and sure, a word about the short term, a promise of the long. “But better yet, bank on me.”

END

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fox-and-benedict · 6 years ago

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[Fanfic, 100% Orange Juice] The Fanservice Episode, Frankly

Series: 100% OJ / Suguri Words: 3855 Characters: Suguri, Hime, Kae, Nanako Originally posted: February 27, 2017 (blogspot version) A/N: I remember being proud of this when I wrote it; I’m usually better at short stuff, to the extent that longer chapters sap my energy a lot. (A little better at it nowadays, I guess...) Of course, nobody read it. I took the title from a Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid episode. Somewhat risque, and with a hurried ending.

Suguri was not, particularly, a fan of the ocean. The raw power of her body was enough to dissuade concerns about breathing, and even the thousands of atmospheres worth of pressure to a certain extent, but she was all too aware that in the Great War, humanity had been rather more focused on how to litter the sea with mines than with how to get them back out again. Even with her abilities, clean up had been a long, dangerous process, and more still might be lurking in the dark, unknown pockets of the deep. There was no way to know. As a result, she wasn't quite as enthused by the idea of a summer beach trip as Hime had been. There were upsides, of course. The sea breeze was one of Suguri's favourite things; part of her believed that she had been a seagull in her past life. She was also partial to the building and subsequent destruction of elaborate sandcastles, to symbolise the artifices of man returning to the bosom of the ocean. There was, however, an additional factor in Suguri's decision to attend the beach day, although she had every intention of denying it when it inevitably came up. A week prior she had spotted Hime sneaking into the house in the earlier hours, armed with a two-piece bikini that was a shade below scandalous but still firmly in the daring category. She hadn't been able to get a good look at it, but she was fairly sure it was frilly, and a Hime with frills was relevant to her interests to say the least. Also relevant to Suguri's interests, in no particular order, were: Hime running barefoot along the sands and giggling; Hime standing waist-deep in the ocean with sunlit golden hair and her beautiful wings reflected against the rolling waves; and hitting watermelons with sticks. (Some pleasures were too simple to be denied). Upon reaching the beach, the pair had retired to the changing rooms, and Suguri had shrugged on her own swimsuit. It wasn't too flattering, although it wasn't as though she had much to flatter; Suguri was built for speed, with lean, defined muscles in her shoulders and her back. Her long hair did, however, mean she could get away with a halter top without anybody staring too much, and all she needed after that was a pair of shorts. Shorts, mercifully, were easy to shop for; usually, shopping for swimwear ranked at number six in the top ten list of Suguri's Biggest Waking Nightmares. She just had very defined tastes, and nobody seemed to appreciate grey swimsuits with a single stripe on them as much as she did. Having changed much faster than Hime (as usual), Suguri looked out at the fine, pale sands and resolved that before the day was over, she would achieve her life's ambition of making a sand castle that she could fit inside. But the day was long, and she was fast; there would be time for castle-building later. Now was the time of garishly striped towels and beach umbrellas that consistently threatened to fall over, and she wasted no time in installing hers in the middle of the beach. By the time the others arrived, Suguri had already acquired flip flops, novelty sunglasses and the beginnings of a tan, and was busy lying face down on her beach towel like a fried egg with a grey, fluffy yolk. “Hey, shortie. You didn't bring your luggage with you?” Suguri tilted her head upwards and saw Nanako, who was hefting a beach bag almost as big as she was. As always, she seemed a touch bitter; Suguri sometimes had problems getting along with her, although Hime was of the opinion that Nana just enjoyed grousing as a way to vent stress, “Ah, you've arrived. If by 'luggage' you meant Hime, she's still changing,” Suguri replied peacefully, looking Nana up and down. The diminutive soldier had gone for a violet one-piece that was more cute than it was dignified, although Suguri guessed that there weren't that many alluring outfits available for somebody of Nanako's size. Some impish part of her decided to push that button a little. “...I was sure you'd be wearing a school swimsuit, though.” “I don't care what you idiots say. I'm not in ninth grade! I am a professional soldier with a number of completed campaigns –” “And a record of losing to me in sword fights.” “– and a record of losing to you in sword fights because you cheat by having such long arms –” “I can't control how long my arms are.” “I can't control how tall I am! I looked everywhere for a nice, mature-looking swimsuit but I got landed with this frilly, cutesy mess while Kae, Kae looks like she's trying to dam the Victoria Falls with a picket fence, just spilling out everywhere and argh!” Nanako threw herself on the sand in frustration, before rolling over and affixing Suguri with a dangerous, steely glare. “You and me, we should form an alliance. Did you know that being short used to make you a sex symbol? It's true! I dug out some old music from before that stupid war you guys had, and all they ever sing about is shorties. 'Shortie, you so hot! Shortie, get low! Shortie got me spending the benjamins!' All stuff like that. We could rule together.” Suguri arranged her face into a peaceful, innocent smile. “I'll form an alliance with you. But you have to accept me as the leader.” “...What would your first order be?” Nanako asked, eyes narrowing. “To go and explain to Kae why, in detail, you've been staring at her chest for long enough to construct similes about it.” “Tch. No dice,” the girl said, and rolled over to face the other way. “I hate arguing with you. It always makes me so tired. I just wanna sit down and relax afterwards.” Suguri sighed, and very gently patted Nanako on the head, expecting her to jerk her head away at any moment. Her hair was surprisingly soft and healthy; evidently she took good care of it. “...Your swimsuit doesn't look awful. Tell me where you got it next time,” Nana said after a while. “Yes, yes.” Perhaps, in an alternative world, the moment would have continued. The sounds of the waves against the shores, of seagulls chattering overhead, would have lulled Nanako into an easy sleep. She would have awoken hours later, sunburnt on the side of her that was peeking out from Suguri's lopsided beach umbrella, and her absolute incandescent rage would have been mollified by memories of Suguri gently fussing with her hair. Alas, this would have had to been an alternative world where Kae did not exist and was not the greatest source of noise on the beach. She charged along, a beach umbrella under one arm, kicking up a stream of flying sand with her footsteps, yelling at the top of her voice – and the top of her voice was taller than some mountains. Suguri took a glance in her direction and immediately regretted it; Nanako had not been joking when she talked about spillage. She looked just long enough to feel vaguely jealous before turning away, which was just as well, because the next thing Kae did was launch herself through the air in a beautiful parabolic arc toward their location. She hit with the force of a small explosive, planting her beach umbrella into the ground like a sword and distributing a fine layer of sand over the face and body of every person in a 100 metre radius. “Safe!” the redhead yelled, flashing a peace signal to her two friends. Suguri, drawing on over 10,000 years of life experience, had wisely made the decision to close her eyes and mouth. Nanako had not, and was in the delicate process of trying to make death threats while excavating roughly a tenth of the beach from her lungs. She was having little success with either, but this made no difference to Kae, who had already thrown herself at Suguri for a full-body hug. After a relatively minor but confusing scuffle, they came to a rest with Kae's warm cheek pressed gently against Suguri's navel. “Ahahahaha! It's been so long since I saw you, Sugi! What are you doing lying around? You should be playing volleyball! Summer is all about friendly competition!” Suguri had come to two conclusions, neither of which was about volleyball. The first was that Kae was part puppy, and had to express that by nuzzling people to death. The second was that Kae's swimsuit had more in common with a coat of paint on a car than with an actual piece of fabric designed for human beings. Bravely extricating herself from Kae's embrace, Suguri put on her responsible adult voice. “Ah... I think if we played volleyball, one of us would have a malfunction.” Kae gave a thumbs up. She often gestured as she spoke, with enough ferocity to put any angry waiter to shame. “Don't worry, don't worry! This body was built to last!” “I'll play volleyball with you, Kae,” Nanako seethed, her eyes flashing pure murderous intent. “But I get to use my bits as well, since you're so tall, and, and, buxom. And if I win, you have to be quiet for one hour for every point I won by.” “Uuuu... That doesn't seem fair. But I don't ever see Nana this fired up. What to do...? Aha! I know! If I win, I get to dress Nana up however I want for the rest of the day!” Both girls looked at Suguri, who sighed and nodded. “Alright. I've witnessed the conditions of the bet. Play fair, you two. Or mostly fair, anyway.” Almost before she had finished speaking the two were away, trading verbal jabs and actual lasers with impunity. Suguri watched them become dots in the sky, and wondered how exactly they intended to play volleyball without a net. It didn't matter, she supposed; Nanako was spoiling for a fight more than anything, and Kae would be more than willing to give her one. “Oh, my. Are those two at it already? I don't know if they get along badly or a bit too well,” a voice remarked from behind Suguri's shoulder. It was warm, cheerful, as clear as song. Hime. “I'm also disappointed in you, Suguri. I look away for mere moments and another woman has captured your belly-button for herself.” Suguri tilted her head back to take a long, upside-down look at Hime and her swimsuit. There were ruffles. There was a black and gold high neck bikini top and a black sarong cut just low enough to show the delicate lines leading down from the hips. There was a dry smile on Hime's face which probably meant Suguri was being a little too obvious. “Aha. Well, you were changing for quite a while,” she said, clearing her throat. “True enough. No matter. I shall just have to win back your heart with delicious ice cream,” Hime replied, leaning down to hand Suguri a scoop. Had she been carrying ice cream cones, Suguri wondered? Her eyes had definitely been elsewhere. “It's a shame that Saki, Iru and Kyoko couldn't make it.” “Mm,” Suguri nodded. Especially since those three were generally much less erratic than Nanako and Kae were. “Well, I was more worried about Nana and Kae in the first place. The others have spread out a little and started to explore, but I don't think those two have found what they really want from this planet yet...” Suguri frowned. This was one of those moments that seemed to demand a sensitive, emotional response, and she didn't have one ready. The words always seemed to elude her, as surely as she eluded bullets and lasers. “We can take care of them for a while longer,” she replied. It wasn't quite the response she had wanted to give, but it was the one she had to settle for. “I suppose I should stop being a mother hen. Speaking of, are you wearing sunscreen?” “Was that why you took so long changing? You were putting on sunscreen?” “Very good! Gold star for Suguri,” Hime said with a grin, and sat down beside her on the sand. “My skin is so pale from being in the spaceship all those years that I have to be careful with it. You didn't answer my question, though.” “I don't really need it. My skin never tans or burns. And I have no intention of leaving this umbrella, anyway.” “Oh, that's ridiculous. I'm sure you'll want to play in the sun at some point. Here, roll over and I'll do your back for you,” Hime said, with an expression of perfect innocence that guaranteed she was up to something. “Don't worry. I can do it myself.” “Oh my, how impressive. How flexible and dexterous you must be!” Hime replied, with a gleam in her eye. “Incidentally, how good are you at rope escape?” Suguri sighed. The answer, of course, was 'not good enough to get out of Binding Chains'. She grunted and rolled over in deference to Hime's passionate advocacy of responsible skincare. With a satisfied giggle, Hime scooted across and sat on her. “Hime? You're sitting on my butt.” “Yes, I'm quite aware.” “Is there any reason?” “You sit on it all the time. It seemed the obvious place.” The logic was flawless, and Suguri couldn't refute it. Instead, she just closed her eyes and appreciated the breeze rolling in from the sea. Hime, meanwhile, busied herself with scooping up armfuls of long, silver hair and moving it away from Suguri's back. “Ooh. Nice definition,” Hime murmured as she began to work damp fingertips around the muscles of Suguri's shoulders. Suguri said nothing, and was trying very hard to think nothing as well; for all her efforts to approximate a plank of wood, she wasn't having much luck. She tried closing her eyes and allowing the sound of the waves to fill her mind. “Hey.” Suguri was surprised to hear her own voice. She hadn't particularly planned to say anything. “Mm?” “Why is this so important to you?” Hime tilted her head a little in thought, but her hands continued to insinuate themselves against Suguri's muscles like the ocean licking at the sands. “Oh, well. A few reasons. It's part of the beach experience, I suppose, to rub sunscreen on somebody's back. Spaceships, in general, are not equipped with beach facilities, and water is a precious resource. We never got sun tans. We never wore swimsuits. Hm... How do I put it? For you, Suguri, this might not be a special occasion, but for me, and for Kae and Nanako as well, it has the taste of a kind of life we were never allowed by circumstance to lead.” “I see.” The sound of the waves seemed to blend with the words and give them a strange, mystical texture. Hime's hands crept down the plains of her back and then returned to her shoulders, in a long, sinuous pattern. “Another reason is that you've been so patient with us, Suguri, and with me in particular. To have had you here to welcome us to this strange, wide-open world has meant more than I can say. Sometimes I just want to spoil you a little in return. This doesn't feel bad, right?” The only response Suguri could conjure was a non-committal but vaguely embarrassed little sound from the back of her throat; Hime met it with a sparkling laugh. “Of course, that's a third reason. You're quite fun to tease, Suguri. You're so very serious all the time, and you always try not to react but do anyway.” “And is that why you tease me so much?” Hime took a moment to to coat her hands with a little more lotion. “Would you prefer a short and fun answer, or a long and serious one?” “Well,” Suguri replied dryly, “Since I'm such a serious person, I'll take the serious answer.” “I thought as much.” Hime's hands had drifted as low as Suguri's waist; her movements were slower, lingering, and her words matched. “I've lived for ten thousand years, Suguri. You know how long that is. But for the vast majority of that time, I've lived in the same, tiny place. The same days, the same faces, endlessly repeating. Oh, Suguri. I used to look at those travellers who we brought to Earth, and I could take apart their faces and say what belonged to their great, great grandfathers, where the family trees had crossed, that kind of thing. In a restricted pool like that, there are only so many genes you can have, you know? Only so many faces, so many combinations.” Suguri said nothing. If there was one thing she was good at, it was that. “Well, at any rate, if you live for too long like that, time starts to... blend together, just a touch. More than a touch. For a long, long while, it felt like I was living the same day over and over. Like time had stopped, for me. Just for me. But then we saw Earth on our horizons, with that horrible man at the helm. The only reason I didn't stop him earlier was because I assumed he would die of old age before he got the chance to do any real damage, but... Anyway. Things started moving again. Now every day is different. There are so many people to meet, with so many faces I've never seen or dreamt of before. This world, this Earth of yours, is constantly spinning. In motion. I feel like that's so important.” “It's your Earth, too. Mm. That feels nice.” Hime was tracing circles with her thumbs across the edges of Suguri's hips; she gave a satisfied little sigh and applied herself to the task with more gusto. “I suppose it is, at that. But, Suguri. Sometimes when I look at you, I feel... I feel like your time stopped somewhere on the way, too. Some days you wake up, and you wear the same face all day. It's... Well, I don't think it's good to do that. And anyway, I'm childish and selfish. I want to see all the different faces you can make, Suguri, not just the one you use all the time. That's why I tease you from time to time. To stop the moments from blending. I'm hoping that one day, I won't even have to tease you; you'll just wake up and smile, and blush, and laugh by yourself instead of keeping that same face.” “And what will you do then?” Suguri asked. Her voice was sleepy. Her body was sleepy. She felt like she was talking in a dream. “Well... I'll probably keep teasing you. But perhaps I won't be joking about it. Your back is done, by the way,” Hime replied, and stood up. “Of course, I could always do your front for you, if you'd like.” Suguri didn't need to look to know that Hime was wearing a devious grin. But she stood up and looked anyway. After all the talk of keeping the same face, she realised that perhaps she hadn't been paying enough attention to Hime's. “If I said yes, would you do it?” Hime blinked, and for a moment a flash of colour spread into her pale cheeks; but it was just for a moment. “You could always take your chances and find out.” “I'll pass.” “Oh, boo. It's rude to raise a lady's hopes and then dash them.” Suguri found, as she had always found, that there were moments in life when it was necessary to trust one's body over one's brain. Decisions could not always be taken with a full set of information on which to base rationale, and anyway, there were sometimes sensations that the brain filtered out of conscious experience but still registered on a smaller level, and those could be as indicative of oncoming danger as any larger portents. She couldn't quite tell what prompted her to move as she did, but in that moment she was absolutely sure that the correct course of action was to launch herself towards Hime, scoop up her friend in her arms, and clear the next six feet of ground as soon as possible. She had cleared the first three feet when Kae and Nanako barrelled out of an empty sky at a speed that beggared belief and crashed into the beach, sending a plume of sand skyward. “One, two, three, four, I win the THUUUMB WAAAAAR!” Kae howled, lifting Nanako into the air by one arm like a referee lifting a boxer's arm in victory. “Hey, hey, Big Sis Hime! Do you think Nana would look better as a punk rocker, or with cat ears?” “Go with whatever your heart tells you, Kae,” Hime said indulgently. “But remember: when it comes to cat ears, proper etiquette demands a tail as well.” Nana, although her eyes were more inclined to look in different directions to one another in that moment in time, still had the wherewithal to look at Hime lounging in Suguri's arms and ask, in a very groggy voice, “Am we... Was I... Is we... Inter'pting somethink?” “Oh, nothing that we can't continue later,” Hime said with a wink, climbing down. “She means 'no, nothing',” Suguri deadpanned. “I don't suppose you two would like to put the beach back where it belongs?” “Nope!” Kae said proudly, conspicuously not looking at giant crater she had left. Suguri sighed. “I suppose we'll pick a different beach next year. It's about time to split the watermelon. Would you go and fetch it?” Kae had vanished before the sentence was finished. Hitting things with sticks was very much a Kae thing, and she dragged Nanako along in her wake. Suguri didn't expect her to come back with one watermelon; rather, she expected to see her juggling three. As the two departed, Hime gave Suguri a nudge. “Next year, hm? I don't recall discussing a second trip.” “Well, it hasn't been a bad day. I want to make a sandcastle next time.” “Oh, yes. There's still things the beach has to offer us. I was planning to bury you up to your neck in the sand and then poke your cheeks.” “...Don't make me change my mind.” A year, Suguri thought, had always been such a short time. That was the problem. Time didn't freeze, as Hime said; it just went faster and faster while you weren't looking, and for all her speed Suguri had never been able to catch up with it. You blinked, and the Earth had come to the same spot again, and all that had changed was the year. But here, today, she blinked: the Earth remained where it was, and the year was the same, but her friends were wearing different expressions. It hadn't been a bad day, here at the beach. It hadn't been a bad day at all.

#fanfic #100% orange juice #suguri #hime #kae #nanako #innuendo #beach #Suguri (series)

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zephfair · 6 years ago

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Day 30 THE END Pantheon AU

This is my last story for the 30-Day AU Challenge, and it’s only 13 days late.

Day 18: Pantheon of Gods AU

This evolved into … something. It’s different. Definitely not my usual style, but consider it a failed experiment. It’s something I can see so clearly in my head, but I just couldn’t make it cooperate on the page. *: ･ﾟ✧ヽ(ﾟДﾟ)ﾉ

NOTE: Shinigami is translated “God of Death,” so of course Ichigo is Death. Grimmjow is obviously the God of Destruction.

WARNING: lots of mention of Death and some of blood, war etc.

In the beginning, there is only one deity. For when that very first life evolves, briefly lives, and ends, there is only the need for one deity. There is only one belief and it is that the life will end. So he is born out of the first loss and he is named—Death.

For every single life, there has to be a death. Some things live longer than others, but no one and no thing could ever outwit Death. He is there for each one—never causing the end of life, never choking off the final last breath, but there to take the soul, to mark the passing of the life.

As humankind becomes aware, so they realize that Death is all around them. Death is often swift and painful. All too common. Death is constantly seen all around them, in the natural world and the people alike. He comes silently and violently and too, too often.

When they whisper of Death, when they sketch a dimly imagined shape with shaking hands, Death is masked and horned like a hulking, hollowed beast. Because while they understand the inevitability of Death, it’s easier to picture him as a foreign entity and attribute to it the characteristics of a beast rather than embrace it as another human that could be so cold and uncaring.

There is no pantheon, only a few beliefs that are revered and eventually become gods—the Mother fertility, the Spring renewal, the Harvest to celebrate the scant bounty. All things cycle and humankind begins to catch on to the harmonious rhythm.

Destruction pads into their lives on silent paws. He is fearless and ruthless and bloodthirsty. He is the giant monster in the dark that doesn’t have to be imagined because its foul bloodthirsty breath is already behind you. He is the predator turning on the hunter. The starvation that strikes in famine. He is the uncontrollable flood drowning everything in its wake.

Destruction looks at the huge hulking figure silently ushering away the souls he’s killed. His tail lashes in anger at someone else taking his hard won prey and kills. But Destruction comes to realize the god of death doesn’t actually kill, he only collects. He seeks him out and watches and waits.

And Destruction learns that he can enjoy the thrill of the hunt, the rise of the blood lust and leave the rest to the only other god he will acknowledge.

This is all that matters.

Destruction will always win. He cannot be tamed. Death never fails. He is always there at the end.

XVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVX

As civilizations grow and humankind tries to not only survive but begin to thrive and organize, the pantheon grows immensely.

Gods are seen as part man—what can be understood and corralled—and part beast—that which is wild and unsubdued—and Destruction walks that line with perfect aplomb, all the grace and elegance of an animal with insatiable hunger, but the cunning and wiles of mankind and the desire and lust for destruction and war.

The gods rule the earth but leave the daily rituals to the priests who pretend to speak for them. There is the sun, often the chief god, who brings light to the darkness.

But not to Death.

Death is still masked fully with bone white and inhuman black and gold eyes. He is the one the people pray to be spared from; they live to outwit him and taste immortality. He holds not the scythe or flail, leaving that to the rulers, but carries a sword, the symbol of war.

Destruction takes a more traditional form as part giant cat and part man. Both parts an abomination. Destruction is a near daily occurrence in most lives since life is hard and short, any injury or illness resulting in drawing the inevitable attention of the one deity whom Destruction finds himself more and more drawn to.

As humans continue to grow and spread out seeking the best territories and goods, Destruction becomes also the god of War with a fanged grin. Any time two humans are together, there is a chance for him to reign. War grows to encompass not just men but entire nations as they send their loved ones out, never to return, offered up to Death.

He takes on the name Grimmjow and stalks after Death, still jealous of him, wanting to fight. Planning his battles for maximum bloodshed so that Death will be forced to appear and he can jeer and challenge him to a fight himself.

But although men call upon the gods and so name them because it is easier to make their prayers and pleas heard, Death chooses himself a name that reflects protection. For although he never does the killing, he can only offer some final haven to the lost and hopeless, some ultimate relief to those suffering.

And so Death names himself Ichigo, but it doesn’t matter because to men he is only ever something to fight against, the last one they ever want to see, but the one they surely will see in the last.

And he turns the eye of Destruction who finds that his growing pleasure is to feed the god of Death.

Grimmjow roars at him every time they meet on the battlefield, on the sea, at the natural disaster, challenging him for supremacy, goading him to fight, jeering and prodding.

But Ichigo only does his terrible job, fulfills his duty, and escorts away the souls that Destruction leaves in his bloody wake, leaving Grimmjow ever hungry for more.

XVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVX

For all that it is a time of learning, reason, discovery, philosophy and so many important advancements they will resonate for millennia, it is also a time that is overrun with gods.

Gods and goddesses of wisdom, love, wine, the sea, the hunt, the hearth—they all hold court and take worship as their due. The worship ebbs and flow as they bicker and take turns being the supreme god. There are a multitude of temples which are palaces to the deities, each outshining the next in splendor.

The gods are petty and disturbingly human-like in their lusts and appetites.

But Death doesn’t walk among the gods. Ichigo shows his form as a tall youthful man with long dark hair, clad only in flowing black trousers with bandages wrapped around his torso and obscuring the bottom half of his face. He is wrapped like the undead carrying his sword that slices the thread of life.

Destruction, too, doesn’t live in gilded comfort of whatever halls the other gods fatten and become drunk in. Grimmjow pads the earth stirring up trouble, causing battles, giving power to one faction and encouraging the enemy to attack. But like the other gods, he appears now fully human, only the details giving hint to his wild animal heritage.

He doesn’t care about the squabbles in the pantheon because he ignores them all. He only has eyes for one god, the only one he grudgingly worships.

For as Destruction has watched Death, as Grimmjow has stalked Ichigo, all thoughts of divinity fall away.

And the god of Destruction begins to realize that he offers sacrifices to the god of Death every time he leads an army into the field or shakes the ground, opening fissures beneath houses.

First he corners Ichigo in the deserted, empty streets of a city overtaken by ash and lava from a volcano’s horrific eruption.

“I will fight Death and live forever,” he sneers.

“You are already eternal,” Ichigo points out. “In the wild of the land, the devastation of nature, the fighting of the people, destruction will always be here.”

Grimmjow thinks about this until he lures Death in again into a walled city now decimated after a long siege.

“Don’t expect me to revere you,” he tells Ichigo pointedly.

“I don’t,” Ichigo sighs. “I don’t need anyone to worship me. I already have the unwavering belief of every single human being because they all know I will visit them one day.”

Grimmjow swaggers up until they are face to face. “I don’t care if you’re visiting all of them, I just want to fight you. You’re the only god nearly as strong as me.”

“Oh, Grimmjow. You know I’m so much stronger,” and it is the first time Grimmjow ever sees Death smile, a tiny quirk of his lips as he makes the teasing challenge.

Destruction begins to realize that he doesn’t want to fight Death—he wants to embrace him.

But it’s doomed to be a one-sided love because Death is courted by too many, his attentions divided among the entire world.

XVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVX

The world enters a time of extreme dichotomy, the East maintaining and growing knowledge while the West loses even what it learned in antiquity and struggles for survival.

The other gods are old, and some leave, stepping down from their thrones in the pantheon never to return. There are some new gods, some offshoots from the old that strip down and hone away their more dangerous edges. More and more humans believe in One but with different veneers. In more ways religion begins to rule and take over every aspect of human life.

Death—now fully humanoid with white armor over his legs and torso, only a partial mask striping his face—is never bothered by the changing faces of the pantheon. It matters not to him. He has his path and he walks it, followed and following, entwined and twining with Destruction.

For Destruction is also ever growing and adapting and making his eager sacrifices to his god, offering up flesh and blood pouring over the altars of kingdoms to Death.

Death does not come with a scythe and sickle, silent and dark. Death comes in shouts and explosions of battle. The cries and tears of the birthing room. The pained gasps and muffled torments of the plague.

Death is not merciful, not gracious; he does not join the mourners neither does he offer divine comfort.

Destruction roams the earth spreading even as humans disperse like pestilence over the globe. He is on the ships, egging on the invasions, stirring up the defenders, taking all the casualties as gains for his worship. He leaves the world on fire.

Ichigo stands quietly as always, watching Grimmjow take what he considers his due. Covered in blood, eyes gleaming from the reflections of the pyres, Grimmjow turns to him.

“This is my altar,” he brags. “Are you jealous that you don’t have a cathedral or a temple devoted to you? With rich sacrifices and worshipers singing their devotion? Hymns and paeans and all that shit?”

Ichigo shakes his head no. “I have no need for any of that. It doesn’t matter what they would offer me. None can escape me.”

“I bathe in the blood of the fallen, and I offer their souls up to you,” Grimmjow says. This isn’t the first time he has courted Death and tried to trip him into his bed. Ichigo only wonders why.

“Come with me,” Grimmjow invites, his nearly human teeth exposed by the curl of his lips, and Death hesitates then follows. Their coupling is violent and savage, unforgettable and legendary, and the world trembles when they become one.

Death becomes the only god worshiped fully by another.

As Destruction sleeps, sated for the moment, Death leaves to continue his inescapable duty.

XVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVX

The world grows rigid, somehow large and smaller all at the same time.

Human life seems worthless, valueless; or as those in command believe, some are without value and some are without worth, while the rest deserve all the wealth and riches.

No matter how wise they grow, no matter how much about the natural world they discover, no matter how they try to investigate and give a name to everything, Death still visits each and every one.

Ichigo looks more human than ever, appearing with short bright hair and warm brown eyes, dressed in black with a long fitted coat that makes him as proper as the strictest authority

It matters not to him that the air is older and thicker and now he is older and wiser. He is in the birthing room and the operating theater. He visits universities and poets and travels to the ends of the world which is now fully sprawled open to all. He drifts through the nurseries and sits the vigils with the elderly.

The pantheon has all but vanished, disappeared into legends and fairy tales that are told to children as warning tales and to poets as creative inspiration. No one actually worships the watered-down stories, so the old gods shrivel and wither into oblivion.

Destruction doesn’t care about any of that. He doesn’t have any trouble keeping people believing in him, and he leads Death on a merry chase around the globe. Whether for land or religion or lines on a map, he cares not. He stirs the tension, the racial divides, the class issues, Destruction shouts and pommels and leads them into battle whether right or not, on the moral side or no, he fights.

And he lays his soldiers in a line for the one he loves above all, the one god a god himself worships, waiting for his slow step and slower perusal of everything he’s done in his god’s name.

He looks into the eyes of Death and sees no pity, no mourning, no comfort, no mercy. Death is only ever efficient and terrible, awesome in the oldest sense of the word—one inspiring that profound reverent terror or wonder.

“Someday I’ll bring them all to you,” Grimmjow vows.

“Oh Grimmjow, is that what you imagine would please me? Bringing me more death?” Ichigo sighs. “I who am but Death? Don’t you think that only makes me more appreciate life, to see what I can never have, to enjoy what I can never know?”

“I would bathe you in the blood poured out for my blessing,” Grimmjow swears.

“There is enough blood. There’s been too much blood,” Ichigo says and wearily gives in when Grimmjow opens his arms.

XVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVX

There are no gods anymore, most humans believe. Even the ones who sit in churches and pretend to follow a religion don’t have the belief of anything but their own selves and what they can see and touch.

The comforting embrace of Death comes now with the sweet face of a young man, face set in a serene expression, but something in the eyes seeing far beyond what is visible. He is there at the hospital bed, the nursing home, the sick room. He is a passenger in the car before the crash. He is the only other person in the water. He reaches out and his touch is the last thing they feel. His is the gentle smile that comes out serenely, a scowl forming only when the end comes unjustly at someone else’s hand.

Destruction waits for him on a street corner, sleek and well fed and groomed. He looks flashy and loud and his very bearing demands that someone fight him. He is busy all the time not just on the battlefields that still dot the world but in every online spat and mass fight. With more and easier ways of killing, devastation is too easy and life seems more worthless. He feeds off the irritation and anger and gets a hallelujah every time someone takes a life.

“I still want you. Tell me you’ll fight me,” Grimmjow says, his arm going around the slim young man as he leans down to whisper it heavily in his ear.

“Why should I fight you? You’re busy enough these days, with war and conflict everywhere,” but Ichigo doesn’t push him away.

Grimmjow shrugs. “You know these corruptible humans, I barely have to try any more. Just point one in any direction and let them go, hardly need to offer power or temptation any more. The world is a powder keg and I only have to make a spark. It lights itself.” He snaps his fingers and promises again, “Someday I’ll bring them all to you.”

“Who will worship you then?” Ichigo asks.

“You will,” Grimmjow smirks. “And your other job will finally be over and we can be together forever.”

“You want to be with me forever?”

“You always leave me,” Grimmjow says, remembering the frustration of waking up every time expecting Ichigo to be in his bed.

“I’m always needed,” Ichigo reminds him. But Grimmjow can see the tired look in his eyes, the weariness on his thin shoulders. “You’ve already given me too much.”

“All these aeons, it’s always been for you,” Grimmjow says.

“All these ages, I couldn’t help but accept your sacrifices.”

“You enjoyed the adoration, the reverence,” Grimmjow says, carding his fingers through Ichigo’s hair. “With no priests or temples, no hymns or alms, you always had me.”

“I never needed the faith or belief of any one. I’m always a cold, hard certainty.”

“You’re always a certain good fight,” Grimmjow says, leering down at him. “Now come on, fight me, it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

His hands in his pockets, face tipped up into the rain, Ichigo reminds him, “You can try forever but you’ll never win.”

“Then we’ll keep doing this,” Grimmjow says. “I’ll keep offering them up to you and you’ll keep taking.” Grimmjow takes Ichigo’s mouth then and Death is not cold as he somehow always expects or tastes of ashes like he would assume. He is instead warm and willing and so, so understanding.

“I take them all, in the end,” Ichigo murmurs against his lips.

“So long as I keep them remembering you’re real.”

“Of course I’m real,” Ichigo tells him. “I’m the only thing everyone believes in. I’m the inevitable.”

“And I’m the one who will be with you until the end, providing you sustenance and anything you need. And together we’ll face down the end,” Grimmjow says.

Death kisses him back and holds him close and they melt away together, dissolving into the colors and oil-slick of a splashed puddle until the very end when even time would fall to Death’s hand.

#my 30 days #my fic #whew it's done #i give up #ugh #my writing sucks

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badsithnocookie · 7 years ago

Text

Unification (8/?)

Acina's throne room, back on Kaas, had been everything that Eirn expected it would be, and she'd never been entirely certain how to feel about that.

It had been a lighter, brighter room than the Council Chambers on Korriban, and endlessly closer to the populace than the Throne that Malgus had stolen - a room with a spectacular view, wall-length windows affording a view from the peak of the Citadel across Kaas City and into the jungles that surrounded it, and - distantly, but distinctly there - the Dark Temple, once one of Vitiate's most prized hidey-holes, now sealed away by command of the Sith Empire's new Empress.

(The tower block that Eirn had once had an apartment in could be seen, from there; some other Sith called that place home now, and when she'd visited this throne room in the flesh Eirn had wondered, then, if Malavai had ever continued to call it home, after her disappearance - or if he'd moved on as completely as his silence seemed to imply)

The differences stopped there, though; that Acina's throne room lacked the gloom of the Korriban chambers simply meant that there were fewer shadows to be cast by dramatically waved lightsabers. The room was just as severe, the thrones the Council sat upon just as tall, the statuary just as imposing. It was locked just as much away from the populace as Vitiate's had been, too - beyond security checkpoints and shuttle bays, with every entrance and exit monitored and every traveller interrogated as to their business, not simply in the discreet way of the necessities of security but the overt way of the Empire - a reminder, every time, that this was not a place where visitors were allowed to belong.

Acina was stood at one of those windows, dressed in her most formal regal garb - looking out over the city, her city, hands clasped behind her back. When Eirn glanced down at herself, it was to see that she, too, had been redressed by the vision - she wore the same almost-ceremonial armour she'd worn at Darth Marr's heel, a symbol of the leash the Dark Council had forced her to accept around her neck. She'd resented it just for that - and hadn't once felt bad about abandoning most of it in some lost, forgotten corner of a Zakuulan swamp. Perhaps in a thousand years some archaeologist would stumble over it and wonder how Sith armour came to be in such a place, but Eirn knew this was a fantasy reliant on the idea that, in a thousand years, anyone would even remember the Sith had once existed.

'I must hand it to you, Wrath,' Acina began - jerking Eirn's focus back to the Empress, 'You are nothing if not tenacious.'

'Acina,' Eirn started - taking first one step towards Acina, then another, 'Please, listen to me. I-'

Eirn paused, though, as she reached the windows - as she finally looked at the view, and realised that this throneroom was not the same one that she had seen on Kaas. It overlooked not the Sith capitol, but Iokath - viewed through the Force, pulsing faintly with the lifebeat of creation. Its flow, here as in reality, was not natural; was guided and directed, piped and channelled. The Force itself, bridled and brought to heel, an idea which unsettled Eirn deeply.

'Beautiful,' Acina breathed, 'Is it not, Wrath?'

'I am not the Wrath,' Eirn replied - shooting a glare at Acina, whose gaze was fixed on the vision of Iokath. 'Not yours, and not his. I left that behind when-'

When Ziost had turned to dust; when she'd woken up on Kaas, a month later, her head full of Force-suppressants and her body limp and weak from sleep it hadn't needed. When she'd sworn that oath, on Korriban - forced to her knees in front of the Dark Council, and taken a new name, a new title - Meliora, a promise and a prayer that she would not, could not, let the darkness drag her down.

'When you failed the Empire,' Acina finished, every millimetre as judgemental as she had been in that chamber. Eirn had hoped it was at least partially an exaggeration, then; an attempt to distance herself from a traitor that she'd once called an ally. Now, though, she wasn't so sure that Acina hadn't changed her mind about Eirn entirely.

'When it demanded things of me,' Eirn replied - old fear knotting up around her throat, all the same, 'That I was no longer willing to give.'

Acina turned her gaze to Eirn, at that - finally looking at her, her expression sharp and her eyes, yellowed by the Force, far more piercing than they'd ever been when they were blue. Acina didn't rise to that bait, though - just glared, before turning that glare back to Iokath.

'What do you want, Meliora? And don't give me a speech,' she added, her gaze flicking back to Iokath.

'You know what I want,' Eirn replied. 'What I've always wanted. For there to be some- sanity in the Empire. For the Sith not to- continually pick wars they can't win.'

'You are Sith,' Acina retorted, 'Even if you have turned on the rest of us.'

'I haven't turned on you, Acina,' Eirn interrupted. 'But you won't- listen. All you see in this place is- weaponry, conquest. Dreams of an Empire that you'll never have.'

'I have an Empire,' Acina hissed - snarled, defensively, bristling like a cornered, wounded cat, claws out and teeth bared.

'No you don't,' Eirn retorted - not on firm ground in the slightest, but pushing forward anyway. 'If you did, you'd be there, ruling it, instead of trying to distract the few worlds you do have with the prospect of more war they can't afford. You called my position weak,' she added, jabbing an accusatory finger, 'But here you are, gambling what you don't have on something you can't control.'

Acina just snorted to that, though. 'Jealousy,' she replied, 'Does not become you, Meliora. I understand Iokath more than you know. The people who built this place,' she added, 'Failed for the same reasons people always fail. They were weak, short sighted.'

'You are being short-sighted,' Eirn interrupted, not letting her finish. 'The data you were working from was incomplete. It-'

'And how, Meliora, would you know that?' It was Acina's turn to interrupt - with a question, at that, which was at least as much an accusation.

That wasn't a question that Eirn wanted to answer, not least because it would be taken as the hostile act it had been. 'Lana broke into your network when we met to speak. I-'

'I should have known,' Acina snorted. 'You are your Master's student, Meliora, I'll grant you that much. Though even Baras wouldn't have-'

'We don't have time for this, Acina,' Eirn snapped, interrupting her again. 'Whoever fed you that information,' she added, not waiting for Acina to respond, 'Sent the same, incomplete, data to us and the Republic. They wanted us all here, at the same time. They want a war, which none of us can afford and which you are going to start if you don't- shut up, and-' - and she paused at that, finally - looked around the vision of Acina's throne room, before gesturing at it helplessly - '-shut down whatever- this is.'

'And I'm supposed to believe this? From you?' To say that Acina did not believe her was an understatement; if anything, the Empress actually found the proposition laughable, given the way her face split into a joyless smile.

'It would be nice,' Eirn replied, though, utterly exasperated, 'Yes.'

'It would be, wouldn't it,' Acina mused - smiling playfully to herself, as inspiration apparently struck her. 'Having done all the ground work to get an interface with Iokath's systems created, I simply... step aside. Perhaps to let someone else take charge. You,' she finished, 'Or perhaps Lord Beniko,' - her emphasis on Lana's own title as snide, in that moment, as Eirn's use of it was.

'What?' Eirn replied - managed, before adding, 'No, Acina, I-'

That was as far as she got, though, before she realised Acina had drawn her lightsaber - hadn't just drawn it, but lit it, her own blade the same bright, cold, artificial purple that Eirn's had once been - hadn't just lit it but struck at Eirn, taking her entirely by surprise, plunging it into the younger Sith before extinguishing it again just as abruptly.

It wasn't the first time that Eirn had been on the receiving end of a lightsaber blow; it wasn't even the first time she'd taken one to the gut, though that didn't make it any easier to handle. She crumpled, too much in pain to do anything else - staggered unevenly as her body sagged under its own weight, before eventually ending up collapsed gracelessly on the floor, gasping in pain and grabbing at whatever she could manage to try and- (do what, exactly?) and only succeeding in blinking out surprised, pained tears.

(This is just a vision, she tried to tell herself, it's not real, the pain isn't real- push past it, Illte-

-but all she could think about was Asylum; Arcann's taunts in her ear and the wind in her hair and Vitiate, ever-present, sneering at her weakness)

'To think,' Acina murmured, 'I once admired you, Wrath.'

How do you walk away from such power?

(Dzwol shâsot-, Eirn repeated, to herself - closing her eyes to help her focus, biting her tongue- not that this helped, -jontû châtsatul-)

[DO NOT INSULT US SO]

For a long moment, Eirn wasn't sure she hadn't misheard something - a voice that ground along the base of her skull, echoing like shouted whispers in the Valley of the Dead, equal parts fear and misheard terror conspiring to create something that had no basis in reality. The pain, though, was numbing - still there, still pinning her to the spot on the ground she'd crumpled to, but- distant, all the same, an echo of the wound that Arcann had once dealt her. Her body still bore the scar from that one; a reminder from her once-Emperor that he could end her life as easily as he could save it, a promise and a threat all at once. Like all her scars, though, it was more than that - it was proof not just of the power that others had once had over her, but that she had, despite it, survived.

'What?' Acina was looking around - her saber out and lit, again, but her focus was not on Eirn. 'Who's there? Show yourself!'

[YOU SPEAK OF WRATH] that voice intoned, and Eirn couldn't help but instinctively bristle at the word. [YET ALL YOU POSSESS IS FEAR.]

It reminded Eirn unpleasantly of an entity the Dread Masters had attempted to enthrall - of the- thing they'd fought on Belsavis, malevolence puppeting corpses and which hadn't been defeated so much as- chased away, a not-quite-ending in that tale that she'd never been alright with. It spoke with that same sort of ancient, arrogant malevolence - an impersonal hatred of any being that tried to wield it, and the standards to which no mortal - or immortal - could ever hope to measure up.

'I said,' Acina repeated - her voice starting to take a turn for the frantic, 'Show yourself-'

(Outside the window, Iokath was starting to fracture; the vision blurring and darkening, light fading in a way that it never did on that world)

'Acina,' Eirn started, croaking a little as she tried to pull herself together - wincing as she tried to move, the real-unreal pain in her gut flaring for a moment as her lizard-brain remembered it was there, 'Iokath can't be controlled. It needs to be shut down. Now-'

[IOKATH IS TO BE CLEANSED OF THE UNWORTHY] the echoing voice interrupted - making her pain flare, again, as she cringed at the alien sensations.

'No,' Acina interrupted - shrieked, almost, 'Iokath is to be cleansed of the Republic-'

Acina's throne room abruptly fell away at that, though - her control of this place apparently abruptly ceasing altogether, replaced with some kind of alien cathedral that Eirn had no frame of reference for - a grand throne room, yes, but nothing like any she'd walked before. What got her attention, though, were the statues; they had to be ancient, if they were a part of this place, but they had a familiarity about them that nagged at her unpleasantly, as though she'd seen them in some other place before this.

[ALL ARE AS UNWORTHY] the voice intoned - echoing about this chamber, claws dragging along the stone floor -

(an attitude that reminded Eirn, dimly, of the Intelligence that they'd encountered here before; a machine, though she'd never managed to puzzle out if it too was as imbued with the Force as so much else here seemed to be, and she wondered for a moment if this was some remnant of that-)

- [AND WE BEGIN THE CLEANSE WITH YOU]

#swtor #war for iokath #sith warrior #ficlet: unification #my writing #outlander!eirn #empress acina

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xtruss · 4 years ago

Text

Manhattan Faces a Reckoning if Working From Home Becomes the Norm

— May 12, 2020 | DNYUZ.COM

Before the coronavirus crisis, three of New York City’s largest commercial tenants — Barclays, JP Morgan Chase and Morgan Stanley — had tens of thousands of workers in towers across Manhattan. Now, as the city wrestles with when and how to reopen, executives at all three firms have decided that it is highly unlikely that all their workers will ever return to those buildings.

The research firm Nielsen has arrived at a similar conclusion. Even after the crisis has passed, its 3,000 workers in the city will no longer need to be in the office full-time and can instead work from home most of the week.

The real estate company Halstead has 32 branches across the city and region. But its chief executive, who now conducts business over video calls, is mulling reducing its footprint.

Manhattan has the largest business district in the country, and its office towers have long been a symbol of the city’s global dominance. With hundreds of thousands of office workers, the commercial tenants have given rise to a vast ecosystem, from public transit to restaurants to shops. They have also funneled huge amounts of taxes into state and city coffers.

But now, as the pandemic eases its grip, companies are considering not just how to safely bring back employees, but whether all of them need to come back at all. They were forced by the crisis to figure out how to function productively with workers operating from home — and realized unexpectedly that it was not all bad.

If that’s the case, they are now wondering whether it’s worth continuing to spend as much money on Manhattan’s exorbitant commercial rents. They are also mindful that public health considerations might make the packed workplaces of the recent past less viable.

“Is it really necessary?” said Diane M. Ramirez, the chief executive of Halstead, which has more than a thousand agents in the New York region. “I’m thinking long and hard about it. Looking forward, are people going to want to crowd into offices?’’

Of course, the demise of the Manhattan office market has been predicted for decades, especially after the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks.

Owners of office towers, including two of the largest landlords in the city, Vornado Realty Trust and Empire State Realty Trust, said they were confident that after this crisis, companies would value in-person communication more than ever. That’s especially the case given how isolated some workers have felt since the shutdown began in March, the landlords said.

The number of workers who actually prefer to be in an office because of the opportunity for social interaction is an unknown factor.

Still, when the dust settles, New York City could face a real estate reckoning.

David Kenny, the chief executive at Nielsen, said the company plans to convert its New York offices to team meeting spaces where workers gather maybe once or twice a week.

“If you are coming and working at your desk, you certainly could do that from home,” Mr. Kenny said. “We have leases that are coming due, and it’s absolutely driving those kinds of decisions.’’

“I have done an about-face on this,” he added.

Barclays, JP Morgan Chase and Morgan Stanley are part of a banking industry that has long been a pillar of the city’s economy, with more than 20,000 employees. Collectively, they lease more than 10 million square feet in New York — roughly all the office space in downtown Nashville.

Jes Staley, the chief executive of Barclays, the British bank, said that “the notion of putting 7,000 people in a building may be a thing of the past.”

The company is studying jobs that would be most adaptable to working remotely, a spokesman said, and some employees could be required to show up in person only on an as-needed basis.

James Gorman, the Morgan Stanley chief executive, declined a request for an interview. But he told Bloomberg that the company had “proven we can operate with no footprint. That tells you an enormous amount about where people need to be physically.”

In a recent email to employees, JP Morgan Chase, which until last year had been the largest office tenant in New York City, said the company was reviewing how many people would be allowed to return. More than 180,000 Chase employees have been working from home.

Other major companies, including Facebook and Google, have extended work-from-home policies through the end of the year, raising the prospect that some may never return to the office. Twitter, which has hundreds of employees in its New York office in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan, told all its employees on Tuesday that they could work remotely forever if they want to and if their position allows for it.

Warren Buffett, the chairman of Berkshire Hathaway and one of the country’s most prominent corporate leaders, predicted that the pandemic would lead many companies to embrace remote working arrangements. “A lot of people have learned that they can work at home,” Mr. Buffet said recently during his annually investors meeting.

New York City has withstood and emerged stronger from a number of catastrophes and setbacks — the 1918 Spanish Flu, the Great Depression, the 1970s financial crisis and the 2001 terrorist attacks. Each time, people proclaimed the city would forever change — after 9/11, who would want to work or live in Lower Manhattan? — but each time the prognostications fizzled.

But this moment feels substantially different, according to some corporate executives.

The economy is in a sustained nosedive, with unemployment reaching levels not seen since the Great Depression. Many companies are in financial trouble and may look to shrink their real estate as a way to cut expenses.

More fundamentally, if social distancing remains a key to public health, how can companies safely ask every worker to come back?

“If you got two and a half million people in Brooklyn, why is it rational or efficient for all those people to schlep into Manhattan and work every day?” said Jed Walentas, who runs the real estate company Two Trees Management. “That’s how we used to do it yesterday. It’s not rational now.”

Still, workers do much more than fill cubicles.

Entire economies were molded around the vast flow of people to and from offices, from the rush-hour schedules of subways, buses and commuter rails to the construction of new buildings to the survival of corner bodegas. Restaurants, bars, grocery stores and shops depend on workers for their survival.

Real estate taxes provide about a third of New York’s revenue, helping pay for basic services like the police, trash pickup and street repairs. Falling tax revenue would worsen the city’s financial crisis and hinder its recovery.

“I get worried that the less money that is coming in, then we can pay less in taxes and less in services, and it becomes a vicious cycle,” said Brian Steinwurtzel, the co-chief executive at GFP Real Estate, the largest owner and manager of small tenant office and retail buildings in the city.

Chinatown in Manhattan typifies the bond between office workers and surrounding neighborhoods. While Chinatown attracts tourists, many restaurants and stores rely just as much if not more on workers that typically pour in every day from the Financial District and nearby courthouses and municipal buildings.

“It is not dramatic to say that we don’t know if Chinatown is going to be here when we come out of this,” said Jan Lee, 54, who owns two mixed-use buildings in the neighborhood, including one that his grandfather bought in 1924.

One of his three commercial tenants, a makeup store, has not paid rent since January. None of them, including two formerly busy restaurants, have paid May rent. Mr. Lee has a roughly $250,000 property tax bill due on July 1 that he cannot afford to pay.

“We have lost millions of dollars,’’ he said, “and millions of trips that people were taking to spend their lunch hour here.”

At Aux Epices, a Malaysian and French bistro in Chinatown, Mei Cahu, the chef and owner, used to serve up to 50 people at lunch, mostly workers from nearby office buildings.

On Friday, she reopened the restaurant for takeout lunch. No one showed up.

“I have had a hard time, and I know I’ll have a hard time,” Ms. Cahu said.

Landlords, developers and business owners were hopeful just a few weeks ago that the economy could largely reopen in June.

But the reality, they now concede, is that late summer or early fall seems more realistic for a partial reopening, while a true reopening — something that might resemble a bustling New York — will not surface until there is a vaccine or effective therapeutics.

Still, some developers are dubious that the sudden shift in work environments will become permanent in any significant way.

Anthony E. Malkin, the chief executive of Empire State Realty Trust, the owner of the Empire State Building and eight other properties in Manhattan, said New York’s appeal — a diverse and educated work force and large industries, including a fast-growing technology sector — would drive an economic rebound and a desire for office space.

“The absence of social contact through which people are living today is not sustainable,” Mr. Malkin said. “Can you pay the bills from home? Can you process things from home? Yes. But can you work as a team from home? Very challenging.”

Mary Ann Tighe, the chief executive of CBRE’s New York Tri-State Region, the commercial real estate firm, said offices will undoubtedly change, with a mix of employees working remotely. But workers will still want to interact face to face.

“This isn’t the nature of office work,” Ms. Tighe said, referring to work-from-home arrangements.

Steven Roth, chairman of Vornado Realty Trust, one of the largest commercial landlords in the city, said on a company earnings call this month, “We do not believe working from home will become a trend that will impair office demand and property values. The socialization and collaboration of the traditional office is the winning ticket.”

But driven by safety or financial considerations — or both — many companies, big and small, are rethinking the future of work.

Small Planet, a small software developer in Brooklyn, said about half its work force is likely to continue working remotely even after the city reopens.

“The world is going to be different when we come out of quarantine, and our habits and how we use office space will absolutely be different,” said Gavin Fraser, the company’s chief executive. “It really took the lockdown, if you will, to accelerate those trends.”

The post Manhattan Faces a Reckoning if Working From Home Becomes the Norm appeared first on New York Times.

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arcanakrp-blog · 7 years ago

Photo

LEE YURA – THE MAGICIAN. AGENT 01.

[ FILE TYPE: CLASSIFIED ]

//: LOADING PROFILE: LEE YURA ...

international age: 22 birthplace: ansan, south korea arcana: the magician team number: two

//: LOADING MUTATION: CHAOS MAGIC ...

application one: magical energy manipulation — Above her other facets of power, this the subset that is most largely without definition - albeit all of Yura’s power defies convention explanation - as the manifestation of energy manipulation is so wide and varied, it has no convenient terminology. Through concentrated mental efforts, Yura is able to harness the undectable but ever-present magical energy that exists without detection by the average human, and apply it in ways that are directly correlated to what can be called chaos - making her a black cat, a bad omen, an overturned shaker of salt when her powers are called upon. It has been described by Yura as having a spiritual aspect, often leaving her feeling as though she is sapping from an esoteric power in order to utilize it to her own needs. Manifestations of this are things like doors lucking suddenly, walls deconstructing and toppling, even bones breaking; duly, raw energy can be utilized in offensive, impactful blasts. More recently, Yura has been working on “infecting” the preexisting magical energy surrounding any individual or being with her will, lending to what could be called a layman’s “curse” or “hex” - essentially, casting bad luck on a person, or driving their actions by way of directing the energy flowing through them.

application two: magical energy constructs — A more obvious expression of her magic, given that constructs created from this application are generally physically present and obvious to the naked eye. Yura often forges weapons or objects pertaining to the situation at hand, whose underlying magical property can be a large asset: hammers, arrows, anything physical, is often forged impossibly strong - yet both the tensile strength of the object and tangibility can regress and entirely fade as she runs out of mental and physical steam. Due to a whimsical, creative mind, Yura applies constructs in nontraditional manners on the days her control is secure enough to do so: a net of steel falling from the sky, an anvil tied to a mans ankle, etc. Somewhere between her “manipulation” and “construction” of chaos magic she is able to produce forcefield-like shields, though they are extremely weak to repeated attack.

application three: symbol/rune guided magic — The aspect Yura is most fascinated by, though perhaps the least applicable as an offensive move due to the preparation aspect of this subdivision, and the weakest in actual battle. Requiring study, trial, and error (most usually the latter), Yura is able to summon more concentrated, but specific aspects of magic via written symbols or runes. These designs can be implemented on anything, so long as the image does not fade entirely – paper, walls, ceilings, her own flesh. Any one specific rune can only manifest one power, and it is rare that Yura can anticipate which will be the most helpful in any given mission. The actual symbols tied to different effects are forged by Yura’s own construction, or taken from existing languages.

overall strengths and weaknesses:

— Like a dark rose twining itself around Yura’s lungs, magic and Yura are forced to cohabitate as one entity. Even when not in battle or training, she feels it inside her with every breath she takes. Unlike many of the other Arcana’s powers, this is one that is not exclusively her own, and as such is not as reliable or easily controlled by the user. Her destructive power is nigh unmatchable amongst the other agents, but with that superlative comes the weariness of her inability to make distinctions of good and bad guy in these scenarios – she can overturn a car, but not entirely ensure the kidnapped persons within it remain safe while the criminals perish. Use is more soul-draining than anything else in terms of what magic actually does to Yura, but as it is through her unmitigated emotions that it can most effectively manifest, her mental capacity is usually the first to overload. Contrary to assumption, it is largely easier for Yura to affect things on a larger scale than control details - that is to say, she would potentially have an easier time forcing all the locks of every door in a building to simultaneously fall off than to manifest a perfect key to pick one. This is due to the coexistence and only partial-ownership she has over magic, which is rarely pliable and never consolatory. She has taken to always carrying charcoal and a small notebook with her to best practice her runes, and prepare for incoming “visions” that may bring with them new symbols.

//: LOADING HISTORY ..

PRE-MUTATION

i. you are born

everything is red. the walls, the low-hanging canvas sky, the place she is leaving. lee yura carved her mother’s womb into a bloody and torn place, and it is here that she first learned bitterness. she is born unlucky. the fourth day of the fourth month, and she is marked. this is how it was always meant to be. her mother doesn’t care about it, but her father does. her father doesn’t care about her, but her mother does. she is their circus rite, a performance ritual: conceived as if by magic, the result of a one-night-only two-for-one ticket to a beautiful dance. she has her mother’s name because her father will not give her his, but what a greedy, greedy thing she is even now – and she steals his eyes and the slant of his jaw anyway.

she does not even ask permission. she just takes.

ii. you are three weeks old

they will tell her that she was a noisy child, always wailing, greedy and loud, a pale bundle of noise and need. be not ashamed of this, child. it is your right to demand the world upright.

iii. you are stretching into the shape of your father’s shadow

she is his child and they all know it, and she knows it, but the bastard of a star is worse still than the bastard of no one: a stain on his honour, night sky across his shine. he walks by her with nothing in his eyes and nothing on his face and she feels everything. and the rest of them are silent.

the rest of them are not so cruel when there is no audience: they pet her hair and palm over honey cakes, watching how she climbs the silks like she was born in their chrysalis, then telling her where to better place your feet so as to climb farther. she holds their words like precious stones, placing the collection in a satchel and tying it around her neck. there are other children, but she is the most of them. she is the circus’s magic as well as its dregs; the shine of spotlight and the bloody knuckles. watching from in the rafters, somewhere between angel and rat, sleeping under the theatre seats because mother cannot afford a babysitter. this tent, these people, they raise her. she twirls plates on sticks when she is bored and stretches with the acrobats. this is the first kind of love she learns how to accumulate, handing out the correct slices of herself to each of them, becoming a daughter twelve times over. she is the daughter of this madness, and oh it becomes her.

but he still does not look at her. he is her father, but she is not his.

iv. you are eight, and it is time

but she is his, and to see her is to know it. precocious and stubborn and demanding, taking his silhouette now, ignoring the warnings and chastising to climb defiantly higher and move quicker. she learns his tricks, studying with the many aunts and uncles that have adopted her – still slower than him yet, but she is young, and even the elders stop to watch when you start moving.

when she climbs on his stage, it is with feet placed apart and elbows out. she is taking up space. ready to be held, ready to be hit.

he does hit her, later. but it is in the privacy of his own room, and she has won.

she is going to be a great, too.

v. you are nine, and it is not love

it will never be love, but he watches her now. younger than her are performers made here, and this art is as much hereditary as it is practice. his talent and ferocity is in her. they play noughts and crosses at night, and he does not let her win. three strikes, you’re out. he gives no second chances, no turned blind eye for age or temperance. she wins, she loses, but most often it is a loss. she will think this is because he wants to remind her that he will always win, but she’s wrong. he is teaching how to bruise and stand.

vi. you are ten, and the curtain drops

the world gets smaller as she cross it on the magic carpet of that towering red tent. she sees it all. weaned on the wonders of her own traditions, they are no longer special. then, somewhere along a cold coast with too much fog, you see a man make things out of thin air, and you know what real magic is.

vii. you are thirteen, and you do what they ask of you

and they ask everything. she becomes the embellishments, the minor roles, the gaps and the sick spaces. and in the dark, she makes her own courses and studies.

viii. you are sixteen, and with your body you do wonders but with your mind you work miracles.

she is a star now, full and bright and brimming with magick. she takes the shapes no one else can, willing her body into art. no longer the filler, she is the marbled meat.

before the shows, after the shows, it does not matter: she lives on stages across the world in her mind’s eye, craving new angles and newer ideas. she wants the world in a way that is not quite hungry but all the way starving; desperate, longing, hoping. she thinks there is something waiting for her just beyond the horizon, hidden under the tongue of the sky like a melting candy.

but every time, the answer is no. you belong here.

viiii. you are seventeen, and you petition for your right to glory

i will be the first, she says, and that should appeal to him – the first of anything is always something. she knows she is good enough; better than that, even. she has the world’s best secrets inside you, collected over the years from every place imaginable, and they are wriggling like bees at the ends of her fingers.

silence, he tells her. ‘daughter’ leaves his teeth for the first time, so in shock she tries to be one. duty. honour. respect.

she swallows the blood from biting her tongue and waits.

x. you are eighteen.

it doesn’t last long.

father hits her and calls her daughter. disobedient daughter.

you swallow your blood again and wait.

wait.

the audience is hushed.

xi. you are eighteen, and leave in fire

the real kind. no more goddamn poetry. mother catches her playing with matchsticks and weep tears that turn to gasoline on the floor. she smokes out their tents and leaves.

riotous applause.

xii. you are nineteen, and you do what you are made for

she works in the spaces too delicate for anyone else, making new names and taking new stories with each passing month. becoming their wives (lives) for a day, dream for a weekend, a month. they love her, and she loves them.

no one with correct knowledge would dare call it thievery. it’s not even a lie. it’s something far more grand. the only criminality about this is the way she pockets their watches when they aren’t looking, but that’s only for the thrill, not the shine. the warmth she bestows, the joy - it’s sleight of hand, grand plans and escapades. it’s making use of the only truth she’s ever known: gilt lies. magic.

she is no longer a girl, and you never took the shape of a woman. she is something else, and she is beautiful.

xiii. you are nineteen, and you meet a man who knows how to cheat death.

maybe that is an exaggeration, but he cheated her, so maybe not. he is tall and handsome and has fast hands and a slow smile. when you try to take his wallet, he catches your hand. fox-girl, he calls her. and then she’s kissed.

xiv. you are in love. fuck.

he says he’s good with cards, but that’s not all of it. what he means is: he’s good with his fingers, his instincts, and his lies, but he’s even better with everyone else’s – including hers. two ends of the same snake, they chase one another in circles, waiting to make the other lose while forgetting what winning feels like.

so she sleeps in his bed a little and wear his gifts and tries to make him lose, but mostly they just kiss. and it’s not so bad. you are a beautiful team. a two-person empire.

he gives her a ring and says she’s the most beautiful stranger he’s ever met.

xv. you are twenty, and you love him. you do. but.

but there is a wedding in two months, and the games are slowing down because he wants to take care of her, and her fingers ache from lack of use, and she are not made for this. she is too young; has no desire for a throne, she wants to melt it down and barter with its bars. so when the dream calls, with a message she doesn’t remember and a proposition she could refuse, she doesn’t. like all circus girls, she takes it as a sign.

and she waits.

POST-MUTATION

xvi. you are twenty, and they come for you.

it doesn’t take much to die in this town, especially not in her and her lover’s court. yura and yeo take the wrong game, put their hand in the wrong pot, and suddenly it’s all plata o plomo without the choice. because it can only be lead, will only ever be lead. and she may want to leave him, but she still loves him. so as he leaps cover her body from bullets, she brings the house down around them. they’ll say it’s a miracle you both survived. but maybe it’s something else entirely. like a dark cloud, like rain water, like a promise, they come. marya morevna’s ravens falling outside the window, and one day she opens the door looking for a familiar face and finding someone else entirely. they talk, she opens the door wider. when she invites them in for tea they stutter in surprise but come anyway. (your kindness in the face of danger is surprising, girl).

she does not take much convincing, but that’s because a girl that knows herself as intimately as she knows herself does not look to others for validation. they are only telling her what’s she’s long been expecting - been hoping for.

this is a reckoning.

a coming home.

xvii. you leave

with a note, but no explanation. she loves him, but that is not enough.

xviii. you arrive

among the first in these hallowed halls, she decides to bleed colour, sing warmth into the white spaces: mark everything with her fingerprints, give it humanity. it’s not what they expect, this angular approach to acceptance, to bringing other people in, but it works. the more people that arrive the stronger she grows, fed by genuine emotion and the relationships meant to build.

she’s never been happier. this is not the circus, not the city, not the man. this is adventures waiting to happen and something unexpected at every corner.

xxix. you live

welcome to the story of the girl who lived.

this is going to be her greatest act yet.

#arc.app #arc.magician #fc.bae suji #( arcana switch )

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anditjustmadeherkind · 8 years ago

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Normal has always been the watchword: character growth, resistance to change, and 'Veronica Mars'.

Comment to author of meta on the following link:

http://cadhla.livejournal.com/969717.html

Normal has always been the watchword: character growth, resistance to change, and 'Veronica Mars'.Today's essay contains references to and spoilers for all of season one of 'Veronica Mars', as well as the first part of season two, focusing primarily on 'Normal Is the Watchword' and 'Driver's Ed'. There are no spoilers for unaired episodes of 'Veronica Mars', or spoiler-based speculation on where the series is going, although there is some thematic speculation relating to and tied into the way Rob Thomas tends to treat character growth and resistance to change. 1. Are you content with where this story ends? / There was a time when all of us were friends. You can call the end of the first season of 'Veronica Mars' a lot of things -- shocking, satisfying, jarring, unfair, visceral, too much, not enough -- but you can't really call it a happy ending. Veronica got what she thought she always wanted; she uncovered Lilly's killer, and saw to it that justice would be done, her father's name would be cleared, and her life could return to something resembling what it was before -- in short, to a state she could call 'normal'. We see Veronica's isolation throughout the season, along with her association of the loss of everything from her life-with-Lilly to the solving of Lilly's murder. Find out who killed Lilly Kane, and her father can have his position in the community back. People will stop blaming her for backing him. Possibly, the mystery of why Duncan left her will finally be resolved. In short, finding out who killed Lilly will actually restore Lilly: find her killer, and Lilly comes home. This isn't an uncommon sort of reaction in someone grieving deeply for a loved one, especially not when that loved one died under unusual or extreme circumstances. 'Lazarus, come forth' becomes a very tempting phrase. If you find the hit and run driver who killed your son, everything will be repaired. If you find the flaw in the fabric of the world that allowed this impossible thing to happen, God may take it back. A great number of public service organizations have been founded on the irrational, unspoken belief that if something can be rendered impossible, it will somehow be retroactively repaired; it will be taken back. The first season of 'Veronica Mars' is, in a way, a year-long attempt on Veronica's part to get Lilly Kane back where she belongs, and thus get herself back where she belongs. Prove that it shouldn't have happened, and perhaps the universe will finally repair itself. There are two major issues with this plan. First, and most glaringly, the dead don't come back just because you say the magic words and unmake the accident. (Not unless you're in a Stephen King novel, and sometimes, dead is better.) So the subconcious 'I can fix everything that has been broken' that was very likely a motivator is something that can never, unfortunately, play out. Second, and more insidiously, the reason that they say 'you can't go home again' is that it's true, because things change and are changed by the forces that act upon them. Through the very act of trying to fix what has been broken, Veronica has changed. Before Lilly's death, the loss of her mother, the loss of Duncan, and the effective loss of her innocence, Veronica was a very different person -- something pointed out not only by the living, but by Lilly herself, both through flashbacks and through dream sequences. Veronica becomes more Lilly-like through her actions, but always lacks both the thoughtlessness and the willingness to play with the hearts of the people around her that Lilly displayed. If anything, Veronica has managed to become a synthesis of the two, taking on many of the best -- and worst -- aspects of both personalities. Can you see the reasonably meek, demure Veronica Mars who played lily-maid to Lilly Kane pulling off some of the setups our current Veronica has gone for? Before she was forced to learn to be Lilly, such actions simply weren't taken. (Please note that I am not canonizing Veronica, who has, as I noted above, also taken on many of the negative aspects of both personalities -- while she lacks Lilly's thoughtlessness, she does have a strong degree of 'I matter, because I am doing right, and you do not, because you're in my way' self-righteousness that can arguably be attributed either to the influence of our dear Miss Kane, or to her own natural inclinations, inherited from her father. In this world, after all, nature tends to trump nurture. Veronica is flawed, yes, but that is not the topic we are addressing today.) So Veronica's 'home', symbolized in the form of Lilly Kane, is gone forever, and cannot be reclaimed, no matter how much she might wish that it were otherwise; furthermore, Veronica herself has been so transformed by her time away from home that, even were she to somehow go back, she would be unable to stay. Consider, if you would, the case of one Miss Dorothy Gale, a little Kansas girl who -- when she was swept away from home by a force of nature as sudden and unexpected as the death of a beloved friend -- wanted nothing more than to go back, to go home again. And, if we leave her after a single story, she achieves what she claims to want; she gets back to Kansas. If, however, we return for the later books in the series, we find that Dorothy has been so transformed by her time in Oz, by what she's seen and done and been forced to do, that Kansas can't contain her anymore. Eventually, after several attempts to normalcy, she gives up, and returns to Oz forever. Veronica, like Dorothy, has been to see the Wizard, and has been transformed by the things she's seen, done, and caused to happen. She can go back to Kansas if she likes, embrace the monochrome as much as she wants, but the only chance she had at getting her normal life and a normal ending wasn't a chance at all; it was closing the book after the first story, and that's not so much 'the end' as 'I refuse to let the rest of the tale unfold'. For Veronica, the state of 'normal' has changed. She just doesn't know it yet. 2. Come and be normal with me. For Veronica, in a pre-Lilly's-death world, normal was at least partially defined by a certain level of playing the follower. She followed Lilly with devotion, and while she wasn't slavishly devoted to her desires (she refused the velvet dress, after all, until it became a symbolic part of her transformation into a more Lilly-like role), she was more inclined to take the easy road, and obey. She followed Duncan with all the passivity of a stereotypical teenage girl indulging in her first love. (I am aware that not all teenage girls are sheep just because they have boyfriends, having been a deeply stubborn teenager; Veronica, however, seemed to believe that being in love with Duncan meant being a character out of a stereotypical YA romance novel, all doves and flowers and flowing draperies.) She followed orders from the adults around her, and had very little reason to exercise a moral code, even though she clearly had one. She was, in short, exactly the sort of girl who hangs with the popular crowd in every high school, but is forgotten ten minutes after graduation, because they were just hangers-on. It thus makes sense that a return to normalcy would involve a return to a more passive role, at least for someone whose standards for 'normal' were originally set the way Veronica's were. Her trading Logan for Duncan isn't just a matter of 'one of them is being batshit crazy and the other one is actively wooing me'; it's trading the active for the passive. How did Logan win her? By punching a man, by racing to her defense in forum after forum, by actively attempting to keep her from harm, and by initiating acts of physical affection. How did Duncan win her? Through passivity. He comes to the coffee shop, he presents himself as harmless, he gives her gifts, and he slowly nudges the world around to where their actual reunion is an anti-climax. By picking Duncan, Veronica picked both a return to the past, and a return to the passive. Life with Logan may not be any better or any worse, but it would be undeniably active, and finding Lilly's killer means that she has the right to turn her back on the future, at least in her own eyes, at least for now. Duncan's relatively heartless-seeming exchange of Meg for Veronica can be directly rooted into this same syndrome. Meg was, after all, in many ways his substitute for pre-Lilly's death (shortened from here on out as 'pre-LD', because I'm lazy) Veronica: she was popular, pretty, not from one of the better-to-do families in town, on the pep squad, and reasonably willing to be a follower instead of a leader. Her evident devotion to Duncan was enough to allow her to fill the Veronica role to at least enough of an extent to make it worth trying. When Veronica seemed to be returning to 'his' Veronica, however, the urge to return to a more peaceful time made her seem like the more appropriate choice, and so he fled back to her, looking for a girl that no longer existed. His discomfort with this exchange becomes evident fairly quickly, as Veronica is rather clearly playing a part that she's no longer any good at, but too much has been disrupted in his life; too many pieces have been knocked out, and won't be coming back, no matter what he does. Giving up Veronica, even after the disturbing changes that have been made in her by the past year, would be too much like giving up on Lilly completely. Let me note that I am not questioning whether Duncan and Veronica love each other, or whether they did love each other at one time: it is quite possible to love someone based entirely on a person that they no longer are. I don't think that Duncan has changed all that much; really, I think the emotional stasis that he's forced himself into is a great deal of the problem. Duncan is a constant state of 'is', with no option for change, because he won't allow it. Duncan is in love with Veronica. Never mind that she's become a stranger; he knows that he is in love with her, and he can't let that be false, because to allow it to be false would be to admit that he's different now, and that's the last thing he wants to do. So he remains in love with someone he can't fully comprehend, and things just keep getting worse between them. Veronica, meanwhile, is someone who is in love with Duncan Kane, and moreover, can see fairly clearly that he really hasn't changed. Ergo, since she's back to normal, back to her pre-LD life, and she hasn't changed, she must still be in love with Duncan. It's not negotiable. Logan is also suffering from this urge to return to the norm, although to lesser degree than the others. Veronica is, after all, a Lilly cognate by the end of season one, and while I do feel that Logan, having witnessed this change with clearer eyes than either Duncan or Veronica herself, is genuinely in love with who Veronica is, the fact that she doesn't know that person means that their relationship is fairly doomed, and that much of Logan's attraction, at least initially, is very likely founded on her similarities to Lilly. Unlike the others involved in this little circuit, however, he's more aware of it, and thus has more of a shot at still loving Veronica once she's found out who she is...and once he learns that fact for himself. 3. Once you become a Queen Bee, you can't go back to being a worker. Oddly, it's the character of Jackie that throws the changes in Veronica into the sharpest, and most undeniable, light. Jackie is, after all, arrogant, bitchy, pushy, and utterly convinced that she's going to get her own way in all things. She's an alpha female, very much like Lilly was, and it's only the undeniable affection felt towards Lilly by most of the cast that saved her from being as unlikable a character as many have found Jackie. (Well, that, and the fact that we really see Lilly only at her best, through flashbacks. We never actually see Lilly being as heartless as her position in the local social structure would have sometimes -- often, even -- forced her to be.) Given Veronica's pre-LD position in the social structure, she should have welcomed Jackie with open arms, and gladly changed positions to follow her. That is, after all, what she's claiming to want. Only she doesn't do it. While protesting that she's just another drone in the great hive of Neptune High, Veronica sets herself up to face off against Jackie as only another Queen Bee would dare to do, questioning her choices, undermining her embryonic authority within the circle that, under natural circumstances, she would eventually come to rule. Veronica is, in short, resenting a new Queen coming to town -- not just because Jackie would be taking Lilly's place in the social structure, but because Veronica, on some level, has lost the ability to follow. The changes she has made in herself run too deeply, and her rejection of Jackie shows that her vaunted normalcy is really just a veneer slapped over the surface of the 'true' Veronica. Veronica's apparent selfishness is also supported by this contradiction. In her pre-LD life, she would have had Lilly to check and balance her -- basically, to tell her 'no' and set firm limitations. With Lilly gone, all those limitations were lifted in a way that didn't seem all that bad; they had been lifted by Lilly, in leaving, and because they had been lifted, she could do what was required to get Lilly back. Solving the mystery would, in some way, return the limitations, because it was going to make everything exactly the way that it used to be. Only it didn't quite work out that way; Lilly didn't return, and the only person actually setting limits on her -- Keith -- is someone whose limits she spent the last year learning to ignore. Duncan doesn't expect Veronica to need limits, because he always associated with her in tandem with Lilly, who limited her naturally. Wallace and Mac have never been in a position to put those limits down. The two characters most likely to act as a functional limiting factor on Veronica, given the social constraints that already exist, are Weevil and Logan. Weevil because he's outside the social hierarchy, and has no qualms about questioning her actions or blind acceptance of 'the way things are'; Logan because, despite his own dependence on the past, he has previously lived with and been in a position to place some limitations upon a full-blown Lilly. Even in her Queen Bee state, Veronica's selfishness and tendency to demand her own way has nothing on the behaviours we've seen from and heard attributed to the late, lamented Lilly Kane. People have questioned the reasons for including Jackie, a character who didn't really seem to have a role, in the cast. I say that her role was a very simple one. Just as Meg represented Veronica's original, innocent state, Jackie represented the darker parts of being Lilly, and of following a Lilly. Veronica, for all her protests of normalcy, can't be fully devoted to either of them. She can neither become Meg, nor embrace Jackie. The world has moved on, and the only people trying to pretend that it hasn't are Veronica, and Duncan. They're the ones trying to freeze themselves in time and space, and are thus, inevitably, the ones that are going to fail. 4. Where do we go from here? The lie of normalcy -- the illusion the normal is the ideal, and is something that can be achieved just by trying hard enough -- is one that, like all lies in the world of Neptune, is inevitably doomed to failure. We can see the cracks forming well before we hit the climactic events of 'Driver's Ed'; they're present every time someone reminds Veronica that for the past year, she wasn't normal, and every time we see her trying to force herself back into a role that she has, quite frankly, outgrown. For the moment, however, it remains a necessary role, because lies only die in Neptune when you prove that they're not the truth. If Veronica walked away from 'normal' right here and right now, before proving to herself that it no longer worked, she'd never get over it, just like Duncan couldn't get over her without getting her back, and no one could get over Lilly without closure. Right here and now, Veronica is in an abusive relationship, and the name of her partner is 'The Status Quo'. But just like the death of a loved one can deify them and make them impossible to move beyond, the way she lost her original, normal state has been romanticized to such a degree that the only way to say 'y'know, maybe it's better off gone' is to get back together, play through the emotional abuse, and finally come to the breakup on her own terms. The breakup is coming. It's coming fast, and it's coming hard, because Veronica is starting to understand the limits of her chosen place in society. It's not going to take that much more to make her realize that while she doesn't have to be Lilly, the Veronica she's pretending to be died, quietly, in her sleep, at some point over the last year. And really, that's for the best.

#vm mera #veronica mars #fave

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erumodoki · 8 years ago

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Zodiacs

Ascendant: Capricorn

Often the Ascendant persona is the one that was forced upon us by family conditioning. For example, parents may label their Libra Ascendant child the “nice” one; their Aries Ascendant child the “independent” one; and their Pisces Ascendant child is generally the space cadet of the family. We adopt these roles as familiar ones, and often carry them with us as our defense mechanisms, in some way or another, for the rest of our lives. In the case of Capricorn Ascendants, these were the children who were considered the responsible ones. Sometimes, it was they themselves who looked around them and felt the need to be the structured, dependable, and responsible members of the family. So, often, Capricorn rising people adopted a strong sense of tradition, family, and responsibility at a very young age.

Capricorn rising people are generally big on family, and forever worry about security–for themselves and their dependents. They come across to others as hard-working, competent, and dependable people. What others may not see under that cool, even suave, exterior, is an inner struggle: they often ask themselves, “Am I doing enough?”, “Do I deserve all of this?”, “How can I make things better?” They worry a lot about the future.

If success seemed to have come easy to these folks, it hasn’t. They just made it look that way with a patient, hard-working, driven personality. Some Capricorn rising people practice some form of self-denial. They know how to do away with the frivolous.

More often than not, Capricorn rising individuals are success stories. Their childhoods may have been difficult, but they slowly but surely turn their lives around. Saturn rules this Ascendant, and this generally means a kind of backwards way of living–as children, they are serious and bear a lot of responsibility; and as they grow up, they age beautifully, learning how to loosen up.

Hardheaded realism, earthly pragmatism and a concern for outward form or reputation colors your entire life expression. You are ruled by Saturn, planet of time, old age, and maturity, as well as of pruning, discipline, and restriction, the archetype of the Crone or the Seney, the old man. Thus, you possess the impersonal detachment and worldly understanding of an elder, even in youth. You will have to cultivate flexibility and moisture (in your body as well as in your thinking) in order to offset your natural tendency toward dryness and/or rigidity and stiffness. (Since you are Saturn-ruled, the section on this planet later in the report is especially relevant to you).

Moon: Sagittarius

Sagittarius Moon is happy-go-lucky and free-spirited as long as they aren't cooped up. They need space and personal freedom to be happy. They love to be physically active. Travel, sports, socializing it doesn't matter what it is as long as it is active. They love open spaces, indoors and out. Optimistic and cheerful, Sagittarius Moon is always upbeat, even when they've disappointed you for the third time because they once again forgot the lunch date you had planned.

They are competitive and love the outdoors. They are usually natural athletes, or if not, they appreciate athleticism in others. They abhor routine, and feel the need to escape. If things get tough, you better lock the door, because they will be looking for the fastest road out of town.

Moon Sign Sagittarius is impatient. They don't like to spend the time that may be required to develop a relationship or any other benefit. They can be too candid, especially at times when they really need to use some tact.

Power and status impresses Sagittarius Moon. They also like to leave an impression on others, and may resort to boasting or exaggerating to do so. They are creative and talented; many go into the arts or design.

They have a dual personality, so they can appear to be two very different people. They may appear independent, and at the same time, they may seem irresponsible. This dual nature also causes them extreme highs and lows. One minute they may be the life of the party, the next they are utterly despondent. They are highly driven, and can often be very successful, especially at professions that allow them freedom and travel opportunities. They love to learn, and will be restless intellectually if they are not stimulated by their activities. They are always searching for something.

These natural adventurers are impulsive and enthusiastic. This is partially why they are so great at teaching they are enthusiastic about sharing their passions and are good at explaining what makes the subjects so fascinating for them. Unlike some of the other Moon signs, the Sagittarius Moon Sign is not really materialistic. They prefer having an incredible experience, even though it is fleeting. They tend to wax philosophical at times, and are naturals with language. When needed, they are a champion of justice if someone dear to them is affected it will become their new mission to make sure the end result is fair.

Sun: Aries

Aries is the first sign of the zodiac, and that's pretty much how those born under this sign see themselves: first. Aries are the leaders of the pack, first in line to get things going. Whether or not everything gets done is another question altogether, for an Aries prefers to initiate rather than to complete. Do you have a project needing a kick-start? Call an Aries, by all means. The leadership displayed by Aries is most impressive, so don't be surprised if they can rally the troops against seemingly insurmountable odds -- they have that kind of personal magnetism. An Aries won't shy away from new ground, either. Those born under this sign are often called the pioneers of the zodiac, and it's their fearless trek into the unknown that often wins the day. Aries is a bundle of energy and dynamism, kind of like a Pied Piper, leading people along with its charm and charisma. The dawning of a new day -- and all of its possibilities -- is pure bliss to an Aries. The symbol of Aries is the Ram, and that's both good and bad news. Impulsive Aries might be tempted to ram their ideas down everyone's throats without even bothering to ask if they want to know. It's these times when you may wish Aries' symbol were a more subdued creature, more lamb than ram perhaps. You're not likely to convince the Ram to soften up; these folks are blunt and to the point. Along with those qualities comes the sheer force of the Aries nature, a force that can actually accomplish a great deal. Much of Aries' drive to compete and to win comes from its Cardinal Quality. Cardinal Signs love to get things going, and Aries exemplifies this even better than Cancer, Libra or Capricorn. Aries is ruled by Mars. Taking a peek at Roman mythology, we find that Mars was the God of War. Our man Mars was unafraid to do battle, and much the same can be said for Aries. These folks are bold, aggressive and courageous. They can summon up the inner strength required to take on most anyone, and they'll probably win. Aries do not lack energy or vitality, and they can stay in the game longer than most anyone else. Now that's a winning edge. Rams are also, for the most part, independent and well aware of their own interests in a given situation. This sometimes myopic view may not be for everyone, but it does help Aries get things going. Further, their competitive natures ensure that they will play the game with zeal and vigor. At times, their approach may be construed as arrogant and domineering, but it takes a lot of focus to be a leader (or so an Aries would say). Sadly, Aries won't usually be around for the final victory (defeat? never). These folks will more than likely have bolted to the next project before the first one is done. The element associated with Aries is Fire. Think action, enthusiasm and a burning desire to play the game. Aries love physicality, so they won't sit on the sidelines for long, if at all. They'll jump into the fray full force and will contribute much in the process. Talk about eager beavers! Sure, some of their decisions may later prove to have been hasty, but you'll never find an Aries who regretted taking a shot.

#△ ´ * 。 . ᴀʀsᴏɴɪsᴛ's ʟᴜʟʟᴀʙʏ. 「 about. 」#it's really long so i just shoved it under a read more #but man #man oh man oh man oh man is this too much for me

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johnchiarello · 6 years ago

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Corinthians 13-14

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1ST CORINTHIANS 13:1 ‘THOUGH I SPEAK WITH THE TONGUES OF MEN AND OF ANGELS, AND HAVE NOT LOVE, I AM BECOME AS SOUNDING BRASS OR A TINKLING SYMBOL’ Over the years I have seen how the church can ‘have a voice-make noise’ without actually effecting change. Last night I watched some Martin Luther King stuff. Without ‘sucking up for political purposes’ I must admit that Martin is at the top of my list of personal heroes. Martin spoke with a revolutionary purpose in mind, he was not ‘delivering sermons’. One time I spoke at a friends church, I only spoke for around 15 minutes [much like my radio show] and the pastor said ‘no wonder John doesn’t have a church/ preach regularly, you have to at least speak for 45 minutes’ [something like that]. Though after the message I had good comments from the people, the sincere pastor felt like we didn’t ‘put the time in’ in order to fulfill the Sunday morning practice of ‘church’. Were did we get our modern sermon from? [The actual format]. If you go to Bible College you can take a course called ‘homiletics’ this course will teach you the structure of speaking and putting a message together. If you study Greek rhetoric you will find that this science existed in the Greek intellectual world before Christians embraced it [the actual format and structure taught in homiletics comes right out of the Greek system of rhetoric, to the tee!]. I find it funny how many modern pastors seem to measure a persons degree of ‘being scriptural’ by this measuring rod. ‘Well brother, didn’t they preach in scripture’ you bet they did. We see Jesus reading from the scroll in the synagogue. Paul and Peter were master ‘preachers’ if you will [though Paul himself was no ‘golden tongue’] basically the biblical concept of preaching/teaching was more of a spontaneous thing. It’s certainly not wrong to borrow the sermon from the Greeks [which we did do] but we don’t want to fall into some mindset that sees modern ministry [pastoral] as being a professional speaker. Here Paul says there is a danger of believers becoming like ‘sounding brass and tinkling symbols’ we can lose the reality of simple communication. We also can lose the prophetic edge of speaking into society over issues of justice. If we become too mundane and ‘professional’ then the world simply views us as another program to simply pass over when clicking the remote. Both Martin Luther King and Charles Finney were known for their social activism. One of the charges [actually true] made against them was that they held to liberal theological positions. Finney was effected by the higher criticism of his day [the trend in the universities to deny the supernatural elements of scripture] he embraced certain doctrines that could be viewed as heretical [things on the atonement and mans sinful nature]. King’s critics make note of the fact that he also accepted certain types of bible interpretation that viewed some of the miraculous stories as ‘myth’ [not fake, but simple allegorical stories that were not literal but simply meant to convey a spiritual theme]. Things like Jonah and the whale, or Ballams talking donkey [or the talking snake in the garden!] Some intellectual brothers view these stories this way. Is there any validity to these views? Actually yes. I personally hold the ‘literal’ view with stuff like this, but ‘literal’ does not mean the bible does not contain different styles of writing. You do have poetry, allegory, symbol and other types or forms of grammar in scripture. Even the strong literal brothers will contradict themselves when they fully accept the ‘Lamb on the throne’ as not being a literal Lamb! [or when they interpret the scorpion like demons in Revelation as Black Hawk helicopters] So scripture does use allegory and symbol. But why did Luther and Finney associate with the more liberal trends in theology? I feel it was because of the strong anti social gospel that the fundamentalists embraced. The more conservative thinkers who rejected the liberal trends in teaching, would also reject social activism. Luther and Finney simply gravitated towards those who were like minded in their concern to speak into society. Basically they didn’t just want to be theologically correct [though they might have been in some of there views] but they wanted to be able to effect change in society. They wanted to be more than just a tinkling symbol that could tickle your ears.

(1002)1ST CORINTHIANS 13: 2-3 ‘and though I have the gift of prophecy [Pentecostal, prophetic expressions] and understand all mysteries and all knowledge [Orthodox, Reformed, intellectual creedal churches] and though I have all faith that I could remove mountains [the Faith camp] and have not charity [Agape- love] I am nothing’. Whew! Thank God us mission/outreach type guys are not in there. ‘And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor [ouch] and have not love it profits nothing’. I love the various expressions of the church, I feed from the Reformed brothers teaching, Love reading and studying Orthodoxy and Catholicism. I of course favor the outreach/hands on type ministries, but according to this text we can have all these things and still be missing the mark. Our intellectual type brothers are engaging the culture and defending the faith, but without love we don’t even put a dent in the culture. The apologists are great at refuting the new atheists, to be honest about it the Christian intellectuals are head and shoulders above the atheists [Craig Lane and men like him] but I have noticed that we don’t really change that many minds even when all the proof is on our side. And I cant tell you how many well meaning missions and soup kitchens I have been too, but often times there is a disconnect between the people being served and the ‘servers’. You get the feeling sometimes that the well meaning helpers are simply punching a time card. We all need to reevaluate our motives. People can tell when we are in ‘ministry’ for the love of the business. Or for the self glory and adulation that comes with our service. Jesus rebuked the Pharisees because they truly were in it for the recognition of men. They wanted others to see that they were ‘successful in the ministry’ so they could receive recognition in public. Paul tells the Romans ‘he that shows mercy, let him do it with love [cheerfully]’. It’s easy to fall into a rut and simply be functioning out of a sense of duty. Now duty can be a good thing, there are times where we just need people to report for duty! [The harvest is plenteous, but the workers are few] but we need to examine ourselves and make sure we are functioning out of the Love of God. Often times the various ministries and expressions of the church are simply God ordained ‘places’ where we can connect with people. As we interact with the lost world, lets do our best to win the arguments, give proof for the legitimacy of Christianity. Combat false ideas and mindsets that are imbedded in our culture, but lets leave room for the other side to get in with us. Understand that they have a ‘missing piece’ [Augustine’s hole in the heart] and we are the only ones that can show them how to fill it.

(1003)CORINTHIANS 13:4-10 Okay, what exactly is this love that we need? Paul has told us that all religious activity apart from it is vain. Paul here simply gives us a picture of the way it acts. You can read this section and substitute your name for the word love ‘love puts up with stuff and is kind’ ‘John puts up with stuff and is kind’ [ouch] ‘It does not boast or show off’. ‘It does not seek its own benefit’ a ‘what’s in it for me’ type mentality. Love is being just like Jesus. James tells us ‘if you fulfill the royal law of scripture, you do well’. The law is to love thy neighbor as yourself. Paul also shows us why love outshines the other gifts of tongues and prophesy and knowledge. He says ‘we know in part, prophesy in part. But when we are made perfect and mature at the appearing of Christ the partial gifts will no longer be distinguishable. Only love will rule’ [my paraphrase] I find it interesting that Paul says knowledge itself will cease. Will actual knowledge cease? What exactly is ‘knowledge’? When we use this term in society what we usually mean is the degree of ones learning/education compared to someone else. If you have a masters and I have a high school diploma, we see a difference. We measure knowledge by the amount we have as compared to others. Now, at Christ’s appearing when we all ‘shall know, even as we are known’ this fine distinction will ‘pass away’. We still will have knowledge, but as a tool that we use to measure one another, it will cease. It wont make a difference how much of the ‘knowledge pie’ [know in part] you possess, at that time everyone one will have ‘all pie’. Knowledge is a funny thing, our understanding of it has developed thru the centuries. During the enlightenment era the concept of ‘what does it even mean to know’ was tackled. One of the famous sayings was ‘I know/think, therefore I am’ [Descartes? Hey, I forget sometimes] the study of ‘how we learn/know things’ is called epistemology. The enlightenment produced a way to approach knowledge that can be called ‘modernism’ mans modern way of knowing stuff. In essence, there exists real truth that a person can know and learn. There is/was a challenge to this mode of thought. Many in the Emergent church movement would grasp on to another theory of ‘knowing’ loosely defined as being in the category of ‘post modernism’. Some challenged the actual ability to know a thing. The emphasis is on who is actually viewing/learning the thing. The terms ‘metta- narrative’ are sometimes used to describe this dynamic. There is some truth to the fact that our context, who we are and where we are coming from, can shape the actual stuff learned. But the question is ‘does our perspective actually change the thing, make it real or not’. Some in the field of Cosmology have grasped on to this post modern theory and have surmised that the very act of human beings studying and examining a thing can in and of itself cause the thing ‘to be’. You can see how this theory would be helpful to the atheist. ‘Where did every thing come from?’ ‘it is a result of human kind’s thoughts and inquiry’ [Ouch]. This sounds a lot like the metaphysical cults that espouse that reality is a product of what you think, confess. That man has the power to create reality simply by the act of studying a thing. Well this is of course a challenge to the truth of God. Jesus and the Cross aren’t ‘real’ because men ‘put their mind to them’. They are real whether or not man ever thought about them. ‘Let God be true, but every man a liar’ Romans. Paul tells us that all these varying degrees of knowledge will some day ‘pass away’. We will all stand before a self existent God and give an account of our lives. This day is coming whether you ‘think about it or not’.

(1004)CORINTHIANS 13:11-13 WHEN I WAS A CHILD I UNDERSTOOD AND THOUGHT AND SPOKE LIKE A CHILD, BUT WHEN I GREW UP I PUT THOSE THINGS BEHIND ME- Paul shows us that we presently see and understand things thru ‘a glass’. God gives us insight and glimpses into Divine truth, but we need mercy because we all have limited sight. Over the years I know I have ruffled some feathers. Whether it be our teaching on what the church is, tithing, end times stuff. How New Testament believers should view the nationalistic promises made to Israel under the Old Covenant. I have found that the problem usually isn’t solved by simply proving something from scripture. For instance someone might become convinced by an ‘avalanche’ of information, they might actually see what I am saying. They can even articulate it to a degree [sometimes better than me!] but at the end of the day the answer to the problem is we all need to ‘grow up’. We need an overall change in the way we view things thru a legalistic lens. For instance, the tithe issue. Over the years I have taught the concept that believers are not under this law. Those of you who have read this site for any length of time know this. But I have also taught that it is fine to put 10% of your money into the offering on Sunday. It’s okay to support those who ‘labor among us’. But there are also many examples in the New Testament warning Gods leaders to not be in it for the money. Now, if we took seriously the mandate in Malachi to tithe. If we want to actually bind the believer’s conscience in this way ‘how are you robbing God? By not bringing in the tithes!’ Then we need to also look at the context. Israel as a nation was mandated to ‘tithe’ of their goods [not money] in three ways. They gave to support the Levites, also for the poor, and then they gave a tithe for religious feasts. In essence this ‘tithe’ was a total of around 30 % of their annual income, not 10%! [This by the way is right around what I spend on a monthly basis for the ministry stuff I do]. So, if we were telling people ‘you are going to be cursed if you don’t pay 10%’ we are actually misreading this verse. Also, how many believers think they are going to be cursed if they don’t ‘tithe to the poor’? Most modern preaching on the tithe simply puts it in the category of the Sunday offering. Most of this type of giving goes to support salaries, building upkeep, light bills, insurance for staff. I could go on and on. A very minute portion of this money [in general] goes to the poor. Certainly not a third! Also the portion that went to the Levites could not be used to purchase anything that would be owned by the Levite. They were forbidden to own any type of personal inheritance as Levitical priests. How often does the modern concept of tithing include this? The whole point is if we are going to bind peoples consciences in this way [which we shouldn’t] then we need to make sure we are at least teaching it right! Why bring this up? This is simply a good example of what Paul is saying. ‘When I understood in a limited way, I spoke and acted in a limited way’. The answer to the problem is simply ‘becoming mature in our thinking and speaking’. Recently I read an article from a U.S. congressman, he was speaking about the situation between Israel and Palestine. He sided with a military interpretation of the Old Testament promise to Abraham to ‘posses the land’ and used that to influence his political activism for war. How ‘mature’ is this type of thinking? Did any of the JEWISH apostles do this? No. So instead of trying to ‘crisis manage’ every single doctrinal problem, we really need to mature on an overall basis and view these doctrines thru the paradigm of Jesus and his life and work. Are we imitating his ethos when we do these things? Was this the primary message and life of Jesus when he walked the earth? How did he respond to Roman oppression and unjust govt.? Did he advocate military action in defense of the promises of God made to the nation of Israel? If we as the 21st century church do not ‘rightly divide’ these things, then we are of all men ‘most miserable’ [1st Corinthians 15].

(1006)CORINTHIANS 14:1-20 Lets deal a little with ‘Tongues’. I have written before on the various ways believers view this gift. Much has been taught over the years that can be seen as extreme from both camps [the Pentecostals and the non charismatics]. Is Paul speaking about the same gift as seen in Acts 2? If not, then does that mean the only legitimate ‘tongues’ are the Acts 2 expression? If a distinction is made, then Paul obviously put his stamp of approval on the second type of tongues by actually writing about it here! Ecstatic utterance was not exclusive to the early church. Paul earlier taught that the pagans engaged in this type of speech when worshipping false idols. This does not mean that true spiritual worship has no ecstatic type elements to it. The gifts themselves are seen as divinely inspired speech [the speaking ones]. Isaiah 8:1 says ‘TAKE A LARGE SCROLL AND WRITE ON IT WITH THE PEN OF A MAN’. God was telling Isaiah that he would use his actual writings as inspired instruments from him. Scripture also speaks of ‘the tongue of a ready writer’ we are called ‘living letters’ by Paul himself. Paul doesn’t challenge the legitimacy of this type of gift, but he does stress the importance of approaching all the gifts from a standpoint of unselfishness. If when the believers are gathered, they are all functioning in self edifying gifts, then they are making the same mistake that Paul rebuked earlier with the Lords table. The purpose of the gathering and gifts are for the building up of others and not for self gain. So Paul warns them of the selfish use of the gifts. He says it’s better to use Prophecy or Teaching because others can learn and grow. Some Pentecostal groups make a distinction between the prayer time and the ministry time. They practice tongues during corporate prayer and then treat ‘a tongue uttered’ during the service as something that needs interpretation. I see some merit to his, but it should be noted that here Paul does say ‘when you bless with the Spirit’ [prayer over a meal or something like it] that your prayer is fine, but still the other person doesn’t benefit. So Paul actually includes both ‘prayer tongues’ and ‘a word in tongues’ as needing to be tamped down during the public gathering. Of course we will see the teaching on private tongues as being fine, the point I am making is Paul includes ‘prayer tongues’ along with the other type. The main thrust of Paul’s teaching on Tongues is that the gift itself is legitimate [definitions of the gift vary!] but that all the gifts of the Spirit should be used unselfishly. ‘Well brother, Paul himself says it’s fine to pray in tongues to build yourself up! Got you now!’ well actually you don’t! ‘Building ones self up’ in a private setting can be considered beneficial to the overall corporate group. I just prayed/mediated for around an hour before writing, this was personal ‘self building’ for the purpose of corporate teaching. No matter where you personally come down on the various gifts of the Spirit, it is important to do all things with the benefit of others in mind. I hate to stick this example in here, but heck I just came up with it! Last night I was watching the news. I channel surf from CNN, MSNBC, FOX and even hit the PBS station every now and again [plus the big 3 networks]. Its still the first week of President Obama’s presidency and I couldn’t help but notice the unbelievable amount of ‘slobbering’ [yes, I borrowed it from Bernie Goldberg] that was taking place. I actually clicked the channel from Hannity to CNN. Hannity just finished talking about the embarrassing amount of gushing that the media were doing over Obama. As I clicked to Anderson Cooper, they were showing clips from the first media interview that Obama has given since being in office. It was a very good interview to an Arab language station. As Cooper was asking the reporters on their first thoughts of the interview, one actually said ‘it is so unbelievably outstanding that I am actually ‘giddy’. Now, I don’t subscribe to the Hannity/Limbaugh stuff 100%, but this really was too much. The media are putting such a high expectation on the poor man that no human being could possibly fulfill their image of the man. It was also reported that George [Stephanopoulos-?] actually cried during the inauguration. Of course Chris Matthews will go down in history for describing a ‘feeling going up his leg’ during coverage of an Obama speech. What’s wrong with this picture? I understand that the average white man feels self affirmed when he engages in public displays of support for Black advancement. I too like our President and do pray regularly for him. Not too long ago I met a black homeless friend, he actually has a little apartment but he was at the free mission so I sometimes refer to all these brothers as homeless. He was under the impression that I ran some type of ministry that took in money [I never take any offerings, for radio or anything else] so as I offered to by him some groceries and stuff, he kinda went a little overboard. I really didn’t have any ‘extra money’ but I bought it any way. I didn’t get mad or feel bad about it. I still see the brother every now and then and am still willing to help him. Now, is it better to show your love for the black man by publicly crying and gushing and describing sexual type feelings when listening to the new president speak, or to actually go out and find some black person in need and meet the need? I don’t want to get into the whole political scene at all, sometimes it gets me mad. I have actually ‘cussed’ [yes, I admit it] at the screen at times. [Little curse words, not the big ones!] The point being we all need to heed the admonition in scripture to show our love by our deeds and actions. To simply put on a public display for the world means very little.

(1007)CORINTHIANS 14:20-33 Paul instructs the church that when they are gathered together they should do things ‘decently and in order’. God is not the author of confusion. Notice the ‘order’ of the early church meeting. It is participatory in nature, those who give a word should take turns, those who give ‘a tongue’ need to let someone interpret. But there is no sense of ‘a pastoral speaking gift’ in this mix. Some teach that here Paul was giving directions to ‘the home group’ but they still had a regular ‘church service at the building’. This of course has no support at all from scripture or 1st century church history. Paul was simply telling ‘the church’ how to act when they met. I don’t see any hard and fast rules in which Paul is dictating some type of mandatory liturgy to the people. He is giving them some basic guidelines that are in keeping with the idea that God’s people are ‘a body’. He encourages open participation in the group. He shows how someone could be sharing and another who is ‘sitting by’ can also have a revelation. The idea is people grow and mature when they function. People become co-dependant when they simply observe. The modern church service for the most part has believers as spectators while one person speaks. While there are times where one person speaking/teaching is fine, what we have done is exalted this very limited format of ‘church’ and made it the criteria of what church is supposed to be. Note how Paul does allow for the gift of tongues to be used in the gathering, but only when there is an interpreter. He even ‘lifts’ an obscure verse from Isaiah that says God used ‘the languages of foreigners’ as a sign of judgment against unbelief. This verse has been used by the strong anti charismatic crowd to kind of say that the whole tongues thing is ‘of the devil’. Basically Paul was applying this Old Testament verse to show that when languages are spoken that people don’t understand, then unbelievers and judgment can be present. In Acts 2 there were those who said ‘what is this strange thing [tongues] are they drunk or what’. Yet others heard the ‘wonderful works of God’ in their native tongue. The lack of spiritual discernment among those who thought they were drunk was a sign showing their ignorance of Gods Spirit at work. Grant it, you could hardly blame them for thinking this, but the point Paul is making is that unknown languages being used in a setting where unbelievers can walk in does act as a sign of judgment. Paul wasn’t teaching that the gift of tongues was itself a false gift. I think this chapter is important for the present day because very few places in scripture actually deal with the way believers should meet. This chapter gives some of the basic guidelines of what our meetings should look like. I think we could all learn from the Corinthian experience.

(1008) CORINTHIANS 14:34-40 ‘Let your women keep silent in the gathering, for it is not permitted for them to speak. If they have any questions let them ask their husbands at home’. As a practical matter, when me and my wife attend church, I bring one of those little note pads with me. You never know when your wife has a question! [This is a Joke! But now you can see why I don’t take offerings]. What is Paul saying here? In chapter 11, verse 5, he also told the women not to ‘prophesy’ with uncovered heads. Some think Paul is forbidding women to operate in the speaking gifts, specifically tongues. Here he seems to be addressing a specific issue at Corinth. He says ‘if they have questions let them ask their husbands’. It’s possible that the wives were interrupting the meetings, or taking an authoritative role that was beyond their calling. I already discussed how Corinth had a form of idolatry that incorporated ‘temple prostitution’. Paul did not want the churches to go the way of the culture at Corinth! Paul is not forbidding women in general to never ‘talk in church’. He closes this chapter with the admonition to do all things decently and in order. Paul has a special relationship with these believers. He spent quite a long time in their city [18 months] he launched another very effective ministry while at Corinth. Do you know what that was? He began his ‘writing ministry’ while at Corinth. He wrote his first 2 letters to the Thessalonians from the city. Paul was very hard on this church, but he did not yet challenge their basic identity as believers because of all their misgivings, he still treated them as Gods holy people. In the next chapter he will question whether or not ‘they are in the faith’. He will challenge them on their unbelief in the resurrection of Christ.

VERSES-

1Corinthians 13:1 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.

1Corinthians 13:2 And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.

1Corinthians 13:3 And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

1Corinthians 13:4 Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,

1Corinthians 13:5 Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;

1Corinthians 13:6 Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;

1Corinthians 13:7 Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

1Corinthians 13:8 Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.

1Corinthians 13:9 For we know in part, and we prophesy in part.

1Corinthians 13:10 But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.

1Corinthians 13:11 When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

1Corinthians 13:12 For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

1Corinthians 13:13 And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.

1Corinthians 14:1 Follow after charity, and desire spiritual gifts, but rather that ye may prophesy.

1Corinthians 14:2 For he that speaketh in an unknown tongue speaketh not unto men, but unto God: for no man understandeth him; howbeit in the spirit he speaketh mysteries.

1Corinthians 14:3 But he that prophesieth speaketh unto men to edification, and exhortation, and comfort.

1Corinthians 14:4 He that speaketh in an unknown tongue edifieth himself; but he that prophesieth edifieth the church.

1Corinthians 14:5 I would that ye all spake with tongues but rather that ye prophesied: for greater is he that prophesieth than he that speaketh with tongues, except he interpret, that the church may receive edifying.

1Corinthians 14:6 Now, brethren, if I come unto you speaking with tongues, what shall I profit you, except I shall speak to you either by revelation, or by knowledge, or by prophesying, or by doctrine?

1Corinthians 14:7 And even things without life giving sound, whether pipe or harp, except they give a distinction in the sounds, how shall it be known what is piped or harped?

1Corinthians 14:8 For if the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle?

1Corinthians 14:9 So likewise ye, except ye utter by the tongue words easy to be understood, how shall it be known what is spoken? for ye shall speak into the air.

1Corinthians 14:10 There are, it may be, so many kinds of voices in the world, and none of them is without signification.

1Corinthians 14:11 Therefore if I know not the meaning of the voice, I shall be unto him that speaketh a barbarian, and he that speaketh shall be a barbarian unto me.

1Corinthians 14:12 Even so ye, forasmuch as ye are zealous of spiritual gifts, seek that ye may excel to the edifying of the church.

1Corinthians 14:13 Wherefore let him that speaketh in an unknown tongue pray that he may interpret.

1Corinthians 14:14 For if I pray in an unknown tongue, my spirit prayeth, but my understanding is unfruitful.

1Corinthians 14:15 What is it then? I will pray with the spirit, and I will pray with the understanding also: I will sing with the spirit, and I will sing with the understanding also.

1Corinthians 14:16 Else when thou shalt bless with the spirit, how shall he that occupieth the room of the unlearned say Amen at thy giving of thanks, seeing he understandeth not what thou sayest?

1Corinthians 14:17 For thou verily givest thanks well, but the other is not edified.

1Corinthians 14:18 I thank my God, I speak with tongues more than ye all:

1Corinthians 14:19 Yet in the church I had rather speak five words with my understanding, that by my voice I might teach others also, than ten thousand words in an unknown tongue.

1Corinthians 14:20 Brethren, be not children in understanding: howbeit in malice be ye children, but in understanding be men.

1Corinthians 14:21 In the law it is written, With men of other tongues and other lips will I speak unto this people; and yet for all that will they not hear me, saith the Lord.

1Corinthians 14:22 Wherefore tongues are for a sign, not to them that believe, but to them that believe not: but prophesying serveth not for them that believe not, but for them which believe.

1Corinthians 14:23 If therefore the whole church be come together into one place, and all speak with tongues, and there come in those that are unlearned, or unbelievers, will they not say that ye are mad?

1Corinthians 14:24 But if all prophesy, and there come in one that believeth not, or one unlearned, he is convinced of all, he is judged of all:

1Corinthians 14:25 And thus are the secrets of his heart made manifest; and so falling down on his face he will worship God, and report that God is in you of a truth.

1Corinthians 14:26 How is it then, brethren? when ye come together, every one of you hath a psalm, hath a doctrine, hath a tongue, hath a revelation, hath an interpretation. Let all things be done unto edifying.

1Corinthians 14:27 If any man speak in an unknown tongue, let it be by two, or at the most by three, and that by course; and let one interpret.

1Corinthians 14:28 But if there be no interpreter, let him keep silence in the church; and let him speak to himself, and to God.

1Corinthians 14:29 Let the prophets speak two or three, and let the other judge.

1Corinthians 14:30 If any thing be revealed to another that sitteth by, let the first hold his peace.

1Corinthians 14:31 For ye may all prophesy one by one, that all may learn, and all may be comforted.

1Corinthians 14:32 And the spirits of the prophets are subject to the prophets.

1Corinthians 14:33 For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace, as in all churches of the saints.

1Corinthians 14:34 Let your women keep silence in the churches: for it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they are commanded to be under obedience as also saith the law.

1Corinthians 14:35 And if they will learn any thing, let them ask their husbands at home: for it is a shame for women to speak in the church.

1Corinthians 14:36 What? came the word of God out from you? or came it unto you only?

1Corinthians 14:37 If any man think himself to be a prophet, or spiritual, let him acknowledge that the things that I write unto you are the commandments of the Lord.

1Corinthians 14:38 But if any man be ignorant, let him be ignorant.

1Corinthians 14:39 Wherefore, brethren, covet to prophesy, and forbid not to speak with tongues.

1Corinthians 14:40 Let all things be done decently and in order.

MY SITES

Active sites-

www.corpuschristioutreachministries.blogspot.com [Main site]

https://www.facebook.com/john.chiarello.5?ref=bookmarks

https://www.facebook.com/ccoutreach1/?ref=aymt_homepage_panel&eid=ARCo7sBBI_1fHMUwrHJbFUGf73C6FmpZxtgTcWET2gVwpdHCKmXSGxs6wyeA-qGCnbsr2ILaXqpd4ACt [my page]

https://ccoutreach87.com/

https://plus.google.com/108013627259688810902/posts

http://johnchiarello.tumblr.com/

http://ccoutreach.over-blog.com/

https://ccoutreach87.jimdo.com/

http://ccoutreach87.webstarts.com/__blog.html?r=20171009095200

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Link sharing sites-

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https://trello.com/b/swhF9Vr8/ccoutreach87com

http://corpuschristioutreachministries.blogspot.com/p/one-link_18.html [Link to past teaching]

Inactive- work in progress

http://ccoutreach87.webs.com/

https://sites.google.com/yahoo.com/ccoutreach87/home

http://johnchiarello.doodlekit.com/

http://corpus-christijohnchiarello.simplesite.com/

https://spark.adobe.com/page/6INKwX1tFT7WA/

Video sites [Can download my videos free of charge]

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCxWXKfaFDZrfNUzloSqg8Kg?view_as=subscriber beta

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCYlLmUkKiB6VoWE9CB1UQew?view_as=subscriber ccoutreach87

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https://www.dailymotion.com/ccoutreach87/videos

https://bit.tube/ccoutreach87

https://www.bitchute.com/channel/jsS961GkXUSn/

https://d.tube/c/ccoutreach

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1QJ3MSF6ZqJpYS9Vzeg9ni5dP-yMcj3A7?usp=sharing

https://1drv.ms/f/s!Aocp2PkNEAGMg0G_aInmCi8XUC-C

https://my.pcloud.com/publink/show?code=kZ1sXP7ZardKGRUxFByiFYi667jeup7MD1Sy

https://mega.nz/#F!7WQCSIJR!-4v9-zUQRq4MIQbBfI2n4A

https://www.dropbox.com/sh/d43nhtrgysqg493/AAAlCszxZXJoRtk8UudtuR9ma?dl=0

https://ln.sync.com/dl/3e1f4c5e0/tcnm9p32-xiwe4nbu-zjbkitqj-4fvemf6m

https://1drv.ms/f/s!Aocp2PkNEAGMg0MwmUCJ1XM3q9ui [Upload- unzipped- all teaching videos to 12-18 here]

https://www.facebook.com/john.chiarello.5/videos?lst=1779330793%3A1779330793%3A1546906912 [My Facebook videos]

https://www.instagram.com/john.chiarello/channel/

https://icedrive.net/dashboard/#/cloud

I no longer upload videos to this site- but there are many links to download here as well-

https://ccoutreach87.com/

Cloud sites- https://ccoutreach87.com/cloud-links-12-2018/

Note- Please do me a favor, those who read/like the posts- re-post them on other sites as well as the site you read them on- Copy text- download video links- make complete copies of my books/studies and posts- everything is copyrighted by me- I give permission for all to copy and share as much as you like- I just ask that nothing be sold. We live in an online world- yet- there is only one internet- meaning if it ever goes down- the only access to the teachings are what others have copied or downloaded- so feel free to copy and download as much as you want- it’s all free-

Note- I have many web sites- at times some question whether I’m a ‘bot’ because I do post a lot.

I am not a ‘bot’- I’m John- so please- if you are on the verge of deleting something- my contact email is [email protected] - contact me first- thank you- John

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