#and i think it's evident that he does like elizabeth's sense of humor once he figures it out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

royriza · 4 years ago

Text

Royai Horoscope

A Roy and Riza Character and Relationship Analysis based on their Zodiac signs

Image Source: Fullmetal Alchemist Playing Cards

Disclaimer: I am not suggesting horoscopes are scientific means of analyzing personality nor that it is accurate. This is just for fun!

Roy Mustang

Birthday: 06/01/1885 (on basis of Roy’s Day and his actual birthyear)

Zodiac Sign: Gemini - the Twins

Element Sign: Air

We may think he’s more suited in being a Fire sign, but if you take a closer look with how Roy creates fire, it all makes sense. Hiromu Arakawa shares in one omake that Roy creates fire by controlling the amount of oxygen in the air. I believe Flame Alchemy is based on the concept of control. We only notice the times Roy has lost control, but we fail to appreciate all the times he maintainted it. He’s not what he seems from the surface, and this is why we think he’s always not what he appears on the surface. Which leads us too conclude that he may appear two-faced.

Traits:

two-faced - like most Geminis, Roy tends to have a reputation of being two-faced. His personality depends on how others treat him, and how he views them. He loves to stir rumors and gossips, creating an impression that is completely different from who he actually is (E14, FMAB) (I’m making a more in-depth character analysis about this, but one that is based on psychology)

(this is a long post, so if you want to keep reading, be my guest!)

social chameleon - being the life of the party, Roy knows how to socialize with different types of people. He can easily read the room and know exactly what other people want to hear from him, as with most Geminis. This makes him extremely popular among townsfolk and political leaders.

flirtatious - and of course, Roy is popular with women, as stated by Team Mustang (FMA 03, E37). He’s naturally flirtatious, whether he does it on purpose or not. Like most Geminis, Roy jumps from one date to another. But we see him go to dates to collect information before tackling a conflict, another trait of Geminis. He asks Olivier for dinner as a disguise to relay information and planning (FMAB, E42-46 im not sure which one). Again, every action he does isn’t what it appears on the surface. And of course, he deliberately makes people believe he’s a womanizer. He shares his reason for being Führer was to let female officers wear miniskirts (FMA 03, E13), but later on we see it’s because he wanted to protect people (FMAB, E10). This leads us too concluding that he’s...

intelligent - most Geminis don’t appear to be smart at first, but when taken a closer look, they’re rather cunning and have remarkable wit. As seen with how he strategizes plans, Roy’s intellect is unquestionable. He even competes with Maes Hughes during their military academy days (FMAB Special E04). Aside from that, he is also emotionally intelligent, as in most Geminis. In another iconic scene, Roy immediately knows something is wrong upon talking to Riza on the phone (FMAB, E38)

optimistic - in general, Geminis are the kind of people who look forward to the future rather than attempting to change the past. Roy is actually optimistic. We never see him falter or mope around, he’s always the one who says “we can do better next time.” He tells Ed to stand up and have a chance on getting their bodies back rather than sulk about what had happened (FMAB, E2).

impulsive - due to Gemini’s adaptability and versatility, they never stay in one place. We see Roy move from one date to another and procrastinate on paperwork (FMA 03, E37). Riza frequently tells him not to be reckless, (FMAB E01, E05 - encounter with Scar, E19 - coming to the scene). When Roy had offered her flowers, he reasoned that he got “too drunk” and ended up buying a carload of flowers (FMAB, E38). Another one of his two-facedness. Although it was an excuse, Riza paid no attention to it. Maybe because she was that used to his impulsiveness lololololol. But we see this trait heighten when he was consumed with anger and vengeance on Envy (E53-54).

Riza Hawkeye

Birthday: 09/01/ 1887-1889 (based on Riza’s day and age range)

Zodiac Sign: Virgo - The Virgin

Element Sign: Earth

Earth signs are always grounded. We see how Riza always keeps her calm in situations (except when she thought Roy died lol). It’s no wonder how she holds Team Mustang together and keeps their sanity. Sometimes I wonder how she puts up with them lol.

Traits:

perfectionist - like in most Virgos, we see Riza always striving for the best. This is most evident in her specialty: accurate gunshots. When a military officer complimented her for striking the bull’s eye in the firing range, she told him “I still have a long way to go.” (FMA manga, Volume 6). Kimblee even taunts her, “Doesn’t it make you feel satisfied when you hit the target on one shot?”, whose words hit Riza like her own on-point bullets (FMAB, E30). In FMA 03, we see her blame herself for not being there on time. Roy replies by saying the world isn’t perfect, but that makes it beautiful (FMA 03, E51).

hardworking and organized - she gets things done stat. She does Roy’s paperwork and always reminds him to do them. Aside from that, she is very dedicated on work, she even delivers paperwork to the Führer’s residence late at night (FMAB, E37). Her dedication for work is most evident when she stood up all night while Roy was in a meeting in Central HQ (FMAB, E25). Other than that, she is obedient, she never fails to comply any order as long as it is within her morale. Even on the verge of death, she told the gold-toothed doctor she won’t die since she is “under strict orders not to die.” (FMAB, E58)

stubborn and uptight - in line with the previous trait, most Virgos are stubborn and uptight. Once they set their mind on a plan, they want it followed pronto! Roy even comments that Riza is stubborn (FMAB, E24) when she insists she will wait until Roy’s meeting is finished. Because of this, Riza may appear uptight. She bosses around Team Mustang, basically. For this reason, co-workers regard her as Roy’s babysitter (FMAB, E17). She tends to follow an everyday routine, as seen on how she and Black Hayate spends their mornings (FMA 03, E37).

reserved and untrusting - for some reason, we see Riza as reserved. I can’t pinpoint an exact moment where she’s shy, but I guess we assume she is because she rarely speaks. Riza isn’t an open book, and Virgos tend to have trouble trusting other people. This is evident since Riza holds the secrets of Flame Alchemy on her back. As an independent person, she may find it hard to rely on someone. It might have been hard for Riza to choose to trust Roy, and doing so might have caused a whole lot of consideration. That is, until she finally asks Roy, “Can I entrust you my father’s research?” Well, we see how much trust she gives to him since we never once saw her complain about anything— except with Roy.

honest - Riza is known to have a dry humor, and she never holds back on any comment she has. It’s seen on how she makes jokes with Rebecca Catalina (FMAB, E46). She’s blunt with her words— even calling Roy, her superior, an idiot or is useless (FMA 03 E15; FMAB E01, E05, E19, E53). She even asks Fuhrer Bradley a personal question, “Is that even called a family?” (FMAB, E42). Riza also declined Pride’s offer to join their forces, even in the face of threat (FMAB, E37).

patient and observant - aside from dealing with Team Mustang on a daily basis, her patience is very apparent on her character. In order to take a shot, she waits for the perfect timing. She’s also very observant, especially on the things Roy fail to communicate verbally. Whenever they visited Hughes’ grave, it was shown that Riza can sense Roy’s grief, and knows something is up (FMAB E10, E50)

intelligent - other than all the aforementioned reasons, we see Riza’s intelligence as she was able to count and remember the steps from Laboratory 5 to the door. And they figured out it was between the Fuhrer’s residence and Central HQ. (FMAB, E21). A more iconic scene was when she was able to figure out who Pride is (FMAB, E37).

kind - We see Riza as empathetic, especially to the young. She is in good terms with Winry (FMAB, E02; FMA Star of Milos) and Ed and Al (FMAB, E30). We see her voluntarily adopt Black Hayate (FMA 03, E13). Roy even admits it, “She may appear like that, but the Lieutenant is really kind.” (FMA manga, somewhere sksjskdjsks idk what volume)

Roy and Riza Compatibility

(based on their signs)

Both of them are polar opposites, like Roy is outgoing and Riza is shy. These might create conflict or it might also complement their flaws. Roy’s spontaneity helps with Riza’s rigidity. Just as Riza helps him stay on track with his work, Roy lets her lossen up a bit (FMAB E17-E19, where Riza is disguised as Elizabeth).

Riza’s critical untrusting judgement and Roy’s two-facedness may create conflict between them. Plus, Roy being easily bored might not work well with what Riza wants, which is routine and constancy. There might also be a problem with Roy’s flirtiness, which might ignite Riza’s doubtfulness.

Fortunately, they have both lessened these problems since they have laid their relationship on trust. Riza has entrused her back to Roy, along with the secrets of Flame Alchemy. Roy, on the other hand, has also entrusted his back to her (and his life, as she is free to take it if he will stray away from the right path). We see this on FMAB E54, when Riza stopped Roy from being consumed by revenge. In that scene, we also saw how Roy’s impulsiveness was balanced out by Riza’s strict compliance to rules and routine.

Aside from their differences, they also share many similarities. With their high emotional and intellectual compatibility, they entertain themselves in witty banters (well we often observe that). They share the same realistic attitude, and goals towards life (creating a better world even through a muddy path, FMAB E30).

They also share a negative trait of not being able to express their feelings easily. They may have trouble putting their feelings into words. Good thing they both learned to communicate nonverbally— and this is seen on another iconic moment when Riza’s glance saved them both from threat (FMAB, E54). After all, they’ve “known each other for quite some time.”

Again, this is all for fun! It’s fun to read horoscopes and get writing prompts from there wahaha here are some of my references: Gemini, Virgo, Gemini and Virgo compatibility

I’ll be making a proper character analysis soon right on my fma analysis blog @fullmetalanalyst !

126 notes · View notes

amlovelies · 4 years ago

Text

Savor

Here at long last is my @loveinwayhaven gift for @brightningstar I hope you enjoy it!

It no longer struck Elizabeth as strange. At first, there was a certain discomfort to evenings like this. It had felt like a lapse in manners, her plate piled high while his placemat remained empty, only a glass of wine and her companionship to sustain him.

It had been a long day, the promise of this dinner the only thing getting her through the last few hours of her shift. When the mayor had darkened her doorstep with only a half hour left, she had wanted to scream. Every minute in his company felt like hours, but that didn’t matter now.

Her apartment looks different in the candlelight. Softer, dreamy, as if they are in a world removed. In a way they are, these evening that they have carved out for themselves. A few hours in which the troubles of Wayhaven and the Agency can’t touch them.

The flickering light dances over the angular planes of Adam’s face, down the bridge of his nose, and she finds herself entranced by the stain the wine has left on his lips.

“Is something wrong, detective? You seem a bit distracted?” He asks humor evident in his voice.

“Not at all, commanding agent.” She says with a smile. She is happy to pay him back for calling her detective. There was time when it would have driven her crazy, back when every moment between them was followed by his pulling away, but not anymore.

“I was just wondering about the wine,” she reaches out to gently grasp the delicate stem of her glass. The liquid inside looks almost black, but as she lifts it the candlelight transforms it into a jeweled red, garnet perhaps.

“Developed a sudden interest in oenology?” he asks with an arched brow clearly not falling for her attempt to cover her staring.

“Maybe, thought it seems like an expensive hobby. How much did this one set you back?” she asks as she gestures to bottle.

“This particular bottle?” he asks picking up the bottle to examine the label, “I cannot recall, but probably around $70.”

“Why would you waste that much money? It tastes the same as a $5 bottle?” she takes a sip to test. It isn’t exactly the same as the cheap bottles she usually buys a little smoother perhaps, but not different enough to warrant the $65 extra.

“It does not.”

“We don’t all have super senses like you Adam,” she softly chides.

“Even a human—” his lip raises slightly in a sneer, but it’s softer than it would have been a few months ago “—can develop their palette. I can give you some instructions if you’d like.”

She nods, and is rewarded with a wide smile. One that is wide enough for the dimples to appear in his cheeks.

It’s the type of smile she saves in a safe corner of her heart. It’s a tally she keeps of moments of happiness. Moments she never wants to lose.

“Once you know what to look for, a wine can tell you many things. It can tell you where it is from and how it was made,” he says as he rises from his chair and makes his way into her kitchen.

“Not unlike people I guess,” she says as she watches his movements with curiosity. “It’s not a perfect science, but you’ll be surprised what people will tell you without telling you.”

He finds what he’s looking for and rejoins her at the table.

“Do you have a sudden need for caffeine?” she asks as she gestures to the coffee can that looks dwarfed in his large hands.

“It’s to cleanse your palette,” he replies as he opens it and offers it to her. “Most of what you think is taste is actually smell. It can be a powerful tool.”

The familiar scent is overwhelming and feels out of place in the moment. It conjures up thoughts of morning routines and long shifts at the police station.

“Now what?”

“Now close your eyes.”

She obeys feeling strangely vulnerable as she hears him round the table and come to stand behind her.

She can feel his breath ghosting over her neck as he leans down to almost whisper into her ear, “now I want you to take a deep breath, inhale, and see if you can differentiate any particular scents.”

It feels a little silly, but she trusts him.

At first it just smells like wine, like alcohol and the memory or grapes, but then she inhales deeper.

Raspberry, a hint like the memory of summer time indulgence. Tobacco, warm and earthy.

A small sound of surprise and delight escapes her.

“Now, drink.” His words cause a shiver to run down her spine as she feels the cool edge of the glass against her bottom lip.

The raspberry is even more intense now; how had she not noticed it before?

Adam removes the glass and she hears a gentle clink as it is replaced on the table. Then his hand is on her chin, brushing along the bottom edge of her lip, “open your eyes, Elizabeth.”

Green eyes meet her hazel, and she feels lost in them. When he kisses her, she can taste the wine still on his lips. Raspberries will never taste the same again.

#the wayhaven chronicles #loveinwayhaven #hope you like it!#I've never written deep romance a before #twc adam #lovelieswrites

24 notes · View notes

spiffyspuffy · 4 years ago

Text

My Mystic Messenger Opinions

(That no one asked for)

Zen

Character: 8/10 I know a lot of people think Zens annoying but I find him endearing. One of the best things about this game is the complexity of the characters and I love that Zen’s cockiness is actually how he hides his insecurities. Even though he’s egotistical about himself, he’s never shallow with MC. He says multiple times that he doesn’t care about MC’s looks. He loves her for who she is and shows this in how he makes an effort to get to know her and be her cheerleader everyday. An underrated thing about Zen is how emotionally intelligent he is. He’s great at helping the RFA members when they need emotional support (Yoosung’s grief over loosing Rika, Jaehee crying from the stress of her job and MC’s shock at almost being kidnapped).

Route: 2/10 Zen is a great character and he deserves a better route. The false rape accusation plot is horrible and offensive. Also, his route functions as an introduction to the game’s plot, so it’s exposition heavy and lacks action. The creators said that the lesson of his route is that when our insecurities are handled in a healthy way, they can push us to be better people. I love this message and I wish it had been highlighted more in his route.

Romantic Potential: 9/10 Zen is arguably the most dateable of all the characters. He’s a bad boy without being sketchy. He’s protective without being possessive. He’s kind without being a pushover and he’s smart without being pretentious. His biggest drawbacks are his overconfidence and and how busy he is with working. There aren’t any glaring red flags.

~ More under the cut ~

Jeahee

Character: 7/10 I love this adorable theater nerd! She comes across as formal and stuffy at first, but reveals herself to be passionate and funny the more you get to know her. I gave her a lower score because she does have a strong personality that rubs me the wrong way sometimes (her jealousy of MC in Zen’s route, her lack of sympathy towards Jumin in her own route and her general rudeness towards Yoosung). She is the most mature of the RFA though, so her exasperation is warranted. Being mature and grounded also makes Jaehee the least complex Mysme character. I’ve got a lot of respect for her though!

Route: 5/10 Getting to engage in discourse about capitalism and the patriarchy? Amazing and hands down the best part of her route. It’s really inspiring to see Jaehee stand up for herself and choose to follow her dreams. I think it’s important for every young person to hear that they should have a positive work/life balance and demand that their employer supports that. Other highlights are Seven helping Jaehee by making the Power Point presentation for Jumin’s cat project, getting to fangirl with Jaehee over Zen and the creepy stalker plot. I thoroughly enjoy her route and the only reason the score is so low is because some of the other routes are seriously incredible.

Romantic Potential: 8/10 Jeahee doesn’t have any red flags either. I think she’s perfectly capable of having a healthy, romantic relationship with MC. The biggest issue standing in their way is Korea’s bias against lesbian relationships. As a fellow coffee lover and theater enthusiast though, I could definitely see myself or someone similar having a happy life with her, even if it might have to be in secret.

Yoosung

Character: 6/10 I can’t stand people who aren’t competent. Yoosung is a terrible cook, he barely cleans and he doesn’t pay attention to his studies. On top of that, 80% of his personality is that he’s a gamer AND he’s in love with his “dead” adopted cousin. Yuck. ~ But ~ I understand that he’s depressed and depression can seriously effect someone’s executive functioning. Taking all of those negatives away, we’re left with a young man who’s trying to his best to be taken seriously, which is something I can relate to. It’s nice to see imposter syndrome represented and I admire his loyalty to his friends.

Route: 8/10 This route is sooo good! Who can forget the night when the RFA starts being aggressively stalked by Minty Eye? And the pic Zen takes of a believer looking at him through his apartment window...chills. His route only gets better from there when he infiltrates Mint Eye with Seven. This is the first time we get to see the twins interact and damn, is it confusing. But in a good way!! The biggest drawback is that MC is stuck in Rika’s apartment and doesn’t play much of an active role in the story.

Romantic Potential: 7/10 Despite all the negatives I listed about Yoosung, I do think he’s capable of have a healthy, romantic relationship with MC. Yoosung is also the only true sub of the RFA men, which is a definite plus for some players. Yoosung’s yandere side is a huge red flag though. MC better watch out if she doesn’t dote on him as much as he wants. Once he falls for her, he’s all in.

Jumin

Character: 5/10 Unpopular opinion, but I hate Jumin. I understand that he’s some people’s guilty pleasure though. Jumin’s good aspects are that he’s intensely loyal, an animal lover and has a dry sense of humor. I appreciate how devoted he is to the RFA and it’s members. He offers to help Zen multiple times (albeit rejected), sends everyone body guards in his route and pays the hospital in the SE to keep Saeran’s identity top secret. What I’m not a fan of is the way he obsesses over MC and traps her in his house. This isn’t the first time he’s shown obsessive tendencies either. Seven explicitly states that Jumin acted this way with Rika in the past. Huuuge red flag.

Route: 3/10 His entire route is fraught with rich people problems. I’m supposed to sympathize with him for an arranged marriage? All he had to do was say no. His father couldn’t force him. He’s possessive of MC because women have only ever wanted to be with him for his money? Not an excuse. Elizabeth going missing was a vaguely interesting story line, but Jumin’s relationship with his cat was cringey enough to overshadow the drama of it for me.

Romantic Potential: 3/10 Jumin has some serious issues. He’s never had a good female role model which has given him a deep seeded hatred of women. Remember when he tells MC that respecting women goes against his core beliefs? Yikes. Then, after meeting a woman who respects him and he actually likes, he locks her up and tries to change everything about her (cutting her hair, buying her a new wardrobe, teaching her the ‘proper’ way to walk, etc). We’re supposed to believe Jumin learns to be better by the end of his route, but he still proposes to MC after only a week of knowing her! I’m having a hard time picturing Jumin in a healthy relationship.

Saeyoung

Character: 10/10 I’m not saying Saeyoung is a good person. Far from it actually. But he IS very well written and extremely interesting. In the other routes, Saeyoung is energetic and funny, bringing much needed humor to heavy moments. It’s always a joy being in a chatroom with him. Then you have the reveal that he actually hates his job and that he was faking his personality, all to a sad and slowed down version of his theme song. This plot twist shook me to my core. What makes him so well written is that the devs did a good job dropping hints to his real personality in the other routes that players might not notice during their first play through.

Route: 9/10 This route is a wild ride from start to finish. This is when the plot threads from the other routes come together and start make sense. This route has secret agents, assassins, a deadly bomb, kidnapping, an evil twin, a powerful cult... It’s action heavy while still carrying enough emotional weight to make me cry every time. Saeyoung’s route is heavy and emotional and sooo worth playing.

Romantic Potential: 6/10 Saeyoung has a shady job and a complicated past. Choosing to be with him means putting your life in danger every day. If you’re okay with that, he’d be a decent romantic partner. He’s a little rough around the edges, but I do think he has potential to become more like his ideal self (God Seven) after reading his AE. He’ll always have that mean and serious side to him, but I don’t think he’s hopeless.

Character: 4/10 He’s low-key the worst. I sympathize with his trauma from being abused by Rika, but I don’t understand why he feels the need to fix everything by himself. Rika might be the source of most problems in this game, but V is partially responsible for standing by and letting her get away with everything.

My first issue with him comes from encouraging Saeyoung to join the agency. I know Saeyoung didn’t have many options, but how was encouraging him to train to become a hacker and assassin the best option?! On top of that, he stalked Zen per Rika’s request and took creeper photos of him, failed miserably at protecting Saeran and don’t get me started on how he loves Rika unconditionally. V has some good characteristics but I really don’t care about those when he’s so terrible otherwise.

Route: 10/10 This route is *chef’s kiss* the BEST. I wouldn’t call it a romance since Vs barely in it but damn is it riveting. Saeran is the perfect amount of loving and unhinged, MC get’s to know Rika on a personal level and V finally gets to be active instead of just reactive like he is in all the other routes. It’s also satisfying to find out how much V has been keeping secret and to get a glimpse into Rika’s psyche. But what really makes V’s route stand out among the rest is that there are spy action scenes like in Saeyoung’s route, but the player also gets to spend time in Mint Eye.

Romantic Potential: 7/10 I’ll be honest. I don’t think V will ever be able to move on from Rika. He’ll always love her, as evidence in his AE. Besides that drawback, I do think he’d be a good romantic partner for MC. V was never the issue in his past relationship with Rika. She was the abusive one and he was 100% the victim. I think he would treat MC just as well in their relationship as he treated Rika.

Saeran

Character: 7/10 I know I’m not the only one who loved the suave and cunning Saeran of the main routes who, after getting the therapy he needed, became an adorably shy and awkward man. Sadly, that’s not the character we got in AS. Instead, we met Ray, the split personality of Saeran’s psyche. Ray is charming and sweet as well as possessive and manipulative...which is something I’m into. But it’s not for everyone. Saeran’s real personality in AS is revealed to be angry and abusive and not at all similar to who he was in the main routes. I’ll give Cheritz props for writing a fairly accurate portrayal of disassociative identity disorder, but I think Saeran’s characterization is inconsistent. I get the impression Ray was an afterthought when creating AS.

Route: 7/10 A mixed bag for me. I really enjoy any chatroom/scene with Ray. He’s undeniably creepy, but those scenes were entertaining in a dark romance kind of way. On the other hand, the Saeran scenes had a lot of unrealized potential. Abuse is never cool. All his route needed to fix this was a scene where Saeran explained to MC that he was pretending to hate her to appease Rika and the other believers. While this fake hatred is implied, I think it needed to be outright stated. It’s also hard to believe that Saeran overcame his DID in the course of one night. I know all routes are limited to 11 days, but this one needed more. Highlights of this route are Saeyoung being kidnapped by his father and of course, dark Yoosung with Elizabun.

Romantic Potential: 7/10 I truly do believe that Saeran could go on and live a happy life in any of the endings where he escapes Mint Eye and receives therapy. While we only get a glimpse of what an emotionally stable Searan looks like, we know that he was kind and attentive with MC. Saeran is a giver and would do anything to make MC happy. Red flags are that Searan is still clingy at the end of his route. Yoosung makes a comment that he’s always holding MC’s hand when he sees them together. Also, his DID is something that will occasionally return and that’s something MC has to go into their relationship knowing.

71 notes · View notes

mylittleredgirl · 5 years ago

Note

Fic promp: We were together. I forget the rest.

yeah so turns out i’m no longer capable of flashfic, so six hours later have this long angsty but hopeful fix-it-y thing instead!

John wakes up in the infirmary, gasping, like he’s been held underwater, and he doesn’t remember.

Someone calls for a doctor (Rodney, he knows that voice, it sounds like Rodney), there are warm hands holding him down, Teyla’s voice: “Remain calm. You are in Atlantis. You will be all right.”

His senses start to kick in: the beep of a heart monitor, his own harsh breathing, the infirmary blanket gripped in his hands and pain, and the feeling of something like electricity fizzing along his skin. He can’t—

A light flashes in his eyes (a pen-light, possible concussion) and Keller is talking, telling him to breathe normally.

He tries to, and he sags against the pillows, blinks away the spots. His team is all there—a sign whatever happened to him is bad enough to hold an audience—and he doesn’t—

Ronon asks, “Sheppard, do you remember what happened?”

He doesn’t, he doesn’t, and there’s someone missing—

The first word he gets out is: “Elizabeth.”

Keller says, “Just relax, Colonel, don’t try to talk. Your body’s been through a lot. It’ll take a while to—”

But Elizabeth was with him, the last time he was conscious. He doesn’t remember where he was or how he got there or anything else, but he knows they were together. He still feels shocks along his skin, not unpleasant but strange, something familiar and again he can’t remember, and he manages to say, “Where’s Elizabeth?”

They all exchange looks, Keller with Rodney, Ronon with Teyla, and John realizes there’s something he’s missing.

Teyla’s hand squeezes his shoulder. She asks, far too gently: “John, do you not remember?”

And then, with the sick, sinking feeling that’s been with him for almost two years: he does.

This is what they tell him: There was an accident with the Stargate, an explosion. They knew only he would have rematerialized through a random Stargate at high velocity, and they had no way to know where. They never would have found him if they hadn’t received an incoming wormhole from the planet five days later—no IDC, but nine small strikes against the gate-shield, in a rhythm that Rodney taps out on the hospital table next to John’s bed: dit-dit-dit dah-dah-dah dit-dit-dit.

They found him almost thirty meters from the Stargate, lying out in the open in an arid landscape, unconscious, alive, with no other evidence of human life anywhere on the planet. His body shows evidence of a break across his spine that would have paralyzed him for life if the nerves hadn’t somehow remained intact, internal injuries that should have killed him long before he was rescued. Keller calls his potential for full recovery “astoundingly lucky.”

This is what he remembers: He was dying, slowly, alone, and then he wasn’t.

This is what he knows: Somehow, Elizabeth’s alive, and she saved him.

He also knows it’s crazy, of course. So does everyone else. Rodney calls it a hallucination, brought on by blood loss or head trauma. Ronon tells him that his mind gave him something to hold on to, a reason to fight through his injuries for a while longer.

Teyla says, “It is not uncommon near the point of death to be… visited, by loved ones,” and John turns over, rolling away from her, because he’d get up and leave if he wasn’t trapped in bed. Everything they’re saying is right, but it’s wrong and he can’t stand to listen to it.

He remembers: Elizabeth’s hand resting on his chest, real and warm, and the crushing pain lifted enough for him to breathe. Her voice—here, John, drink this—pouring cool water from somewhere between his parched lips. The night desert air was cold but she was warm, and he never had enough clarity to ask her how she got there, but he knows he’d never have survived five days on that planet in the shape he was in. He’d certainly never have made it to the DHD. Certainly would never have crawled back from the DHD to where Rodney says they found him.

Ronon says, “So maybe there was someone else on the planet, and they left before we got there.”

“There was,” John says, frustrated, because he knows how he sounds but she’s the only thing he remembers clearly. Someone else might have been there, but he was barely conscious enough to speak—he wouldn’t have been able to draw out a Stargate address, let alone explain Morse code to someone who didn’t already know it.

He wonders if he’s crazy—if he isn’t, he wonders where she went.

He remembers her saying, on the planet: I wish I could do more.

He remembers her saying, on Atlantis: You don’t get to die alone, John. Even if—we’re still with you, you know that.

Sometime after her first brush with nanites, after he nearly died in Kolya’s Wraith torture chamber, after neither of them had slept right in weeks, they found each other on the same lonely pier. They spent six hours talking, sitting side by side, looking out at the black ocean. She told him what happened to her, in a voice so raw he held his breath. He told her things too, dozens of sentences starting with I never thought I’d tell anyone, like there was a spell over both of them, like they were bound together out of time. He told her he wasn’t afraid to die, but he was afraid to die alone.

He remembers how she hugged him, how he wrapped his arms around her and promised himself he wouldn’t close up again, wouldn’t let her close up, because the last time he’d felt anything like this with someone—exposed, but safe—he’d married her. It was different with Elizabeth, of course. Their lives wouldn’t permit romance as anything but an occasional fantasy, but there was always something intimate between them. Elizabeth knew him. She trusted him. She stood by him, and she kept him honest. She made him feel whole.

And he hasn’t felt that, not once since he left her behind on the Asuran planet, until a Stargate explosion broke his spine and she was there, kneeling next to him with tears in her eyes, saving his life and saying I wish I could do more.

He’s finally released from the infirmary. It’s happened a few times since coming to Atlantis—too many—that he’s been away from his own room long enough that the first steps in feel surreal. A t-shirt over the back of a chair, a half-finished book he barely remembers on his nightstand—he’s changed so much since leaving those there that it feels like his room is lying in state, a monument to the John Sheppard he was the last time he got dressed here.

The feeing reminds him most sharply of the Cloister, of the time he spent six whole months angry and lonely and abandoned and then returned home the same day he left to a piece of chocolate cake from last night’s mess hall dinner wrapped up on the top of his dresser, still fresh.

He stops three steps inside his bedroom doorway, remembering the energy that crackled along his skin when he woke up in the infirmary, remembering—

He reaches for his earpiece, his radio, before remembering he’s still off-duty and not wearing it, rummages around until he finds—

“Rodney,” he says, and his hands are shaking. “She ascended.”

This time, John tells them everything he remembers, no matter how crazy it makes him seem, because it all makes sense now: how she looked like herself again, how he knew it was her, how she touched him and healed enough of his injuries to keep him alive, how she knew where to find him. How she disappeared afterward, without a trace.

She’s dead, but she’s free, and grief and relief are mashed up together. He thinks he’d walk through an exploding Stargate again right now if it meant he could hold her hand.

“I don’t get it,” Ronon says. “If these ascended people can do anything, why didn’t she heal you all the way?”

Teyla chimes in: “If Doctor Weir were aware of us with the power to intervene, would she not have done so before now?”

“The Others wouldn’t let her,” Rodney says, sounding annoyed the way he always does when he’s answering what he considers remedial questions. “Ascended beings aren’t supposed to meddle. She didn’t want to get caught. But if she helped you, maybe that means she’ll find other ways to help us—surely they wouldn’t notice if she happened to leave us a note? With the locations of a ZPN or two?”

“Rodney.”

“I’m just saying!”

“Wait,” Teyla says. “You said she would not want to get caught.”

Rodney crosses his arms. “Yes, I said that.”

“What would happen to her if she was?”

There’s a pause, then Rodney says, “Daniel Jackson had to interfere with a galactic war before the ascended Ancients in the Milky Way kicked him out. Saving one life might not even get her a slap on the wrist. She’ll be fine.”

Six days later, John wakes up in the middle of the night, and he knows.

He’s still not cleared for off-world duty and there are pressing emergencies requiring Atlantis’s resources, but John argues and badgers and sits in Woolsey’s office calling in every favor he can think of because he can’t let this be put on a mission schedule for next week or next month or when-we-have-time, what-evidence-do-you-have, wait-until-you’re-back-on-your-feet, even-if-you’re-right-you-don’t-even-know-where-she-is when he knows, he knows, he knows.

It’s Keller who ultimately turns the tide, telling Woolsey, “I think he needs to put this behind him.”

John doesn’t care what the rationale is, doesn’t care that the others are humoring him, because he gears up for the first time in six weeks.

The planet where he didn’t die is calm and quiet and looks familiar, even though he was barely conscious the last time he was here and there are no real landmarks to speak of. It’s empty, dusty and rocky, with only sparse low scrub for plant life and no water to speak of. John feels a chill go through him like—well, like he’s walking over what was almost his grave.

“Sheppard!” Rodney holds up his life-signs detector, and John picks up his own, and he forgets that his body is still knitting itself back together and he runs.

“Stay back,” he tells the others when he catches sight of something pale, huddled on the ground. Teyla hands him a blanket, and he tucks it under his arm as he approaches.

He can’t see her face, only pale skin and dark hair, and his heart is pounding. When he says her name it’s barely more than a whisper: “Elizabeth?”

She stirs, shifts until he can see her face, and he remembers, remembers everything about her he hasn’t been able to live without. He hears Rodney behind him—Sheppard, is it her?—but he can’t tear himself away long enough to answer, can’t do anything but cover her body with a blanket and sink to his knees, can’t do anything but feel. “Elizabeth—” He touches her cheek, real, real, real. “—can you hear me?”

Her eyelids flutter and slowly blink open. “Who…?”

“I’m John,” he says. “You’re going to be okay. You’re not alone.”

She whispers, “I don’t remember.”

He swears to himself that every day, every day, he’ll make it up to her. For leaving her, for all the years and pieces of her life she lost, for the afterlife she gave up to save him, for coming back. “It’s okay,” he promises. “You will.”

*end*

#john x elizabeth #mai fic #i'll tidy it up and post it to ao3 at some point because I Do That Now!#thanks for the epic prompt babe!#nhawk-1 #chatter post

36 notes · View notes

michelles-garden-of-evil · 5 years ago

Text

Episode 16 Review: Jean Paul’s Latest Detained Guest

{ YouTube: 1 | 2 }

{ Synopses: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

{ Screencaps }

I wasn’t going to start working on another review until next week at the earliest, but I have been re-watching the Agatha episodes from Desmond Hall and, oh my Great Serpent, are they terrible! I don’t wish to spoil too much of what happens then because those reviews are a long way in the future, but I will say that (1) I can’t stand Agatha Pruitt and (2) while some episodes of Desmond Hall Part I have decent writing, in others the writing is very, very, very bad. I can’t help but feel sorry for the fans of both this show and Dark Shadows in early 1970, because Agatha would have been swanning around Desmondton getting on everyone’s nerves during the same period as one of the least-loved arcs on DS, the Leviathan arc.*

Normally, I would type out my complaints about Desmond Hall in the OneNote notebook where I take screencaps and save them for when I write those episode reviews in a year or two. However, I felt that I had to mention the awfulness of Episode 91 in this post, because that is what compelled me to return from my hiatus early. I needed to remind myself why I like this show enough to dedicate a whole blog to it, and so I took a (metaphorical) trip back to Maljardin to re-watch and review Episode 16.

Our mascot!

On the last episode, Jean Paul hired Reverend Matt Dawson to conduct a funeral service for his wife Erica, still frozen in the cryonics capsule and awaiting her resurrection by THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES. Now Jean Paul--who has changed into a very nice pinstripe suit--is showing Matt the crypt at Maljardin where the capsule is located. “Even with the electrical connections, the compressor and cryonics capsule, I think this probably will be the best place for the service,” he says to the horrified minister. “Don’t you think, Reverend Dawson?” All Matt can do is smile and nod in response while privately questioning the life choices that led to this moment.

He’s probably thinking, “I left my ministry to stalk a 20-year-old full-time for this?!”

Jean Paul continues interviewing him. “You have no objection to a service without a burial?”

“No,” Matt shakes his head. “I have officiated at many such services, where the body is usually placed in the family crypt.” Considering that the vast majority of families don’t have family crypts--at least not in their basements--I think that he’s humoring Jean Paul. After all, he’s seen so many red flags already--the isolated island, the extreme secrecy, Jean Paul’s reluctance to tell anyone about Erica’s death, the whole cryonics/resurrection thing itself, and now his insistence on conducting the funeral service around a cryonics capsule.

He questions the idea that a body held in cryonic suspension can be brought back to life, and Jean Paul continues to deny that Erica is forever dead. He also continues to insist that the usual laws of nature don’t apply on Maljardin, and that on that island he is God:

Yes, Reverend Dawson, your new client thinks he’s God. There’s another red flag for you, Matt, that Jean Paul Desmond is not a client that you want to work for and you should probably cancel the agreement, give up on Holly, and try to get off the island while you still can.

Jean Paul tells him of a man who was allegedly brought back to life after dying in a blizzard, and who lived three decades as “a soulless corpse, like a zombie” before dying again. After saying “zombie,” the camera cuts to Quito who is spying on them, confirming that Quito is indeed a zombie--although, considering that Quito has emotions (which he expresses through body language) and pets whom he clearly loves, the “soulless” part is unlikely.

Did he offend Quito when he called zombies “soulless corpses,” I wonder?

It’s at this point that handsome devil Jacques takes over and starts trolling Matt. “You are a theologian trapped by your own logic and teachings,” he remarks with a mocking smile. “When you run out of answers, look to the fire god. He’s got some new ones, new for even you.” Which goes over about as well as proselytization usually does: that is to say, not at all, especially without one of those poorly-written smiley-face tracts that are absurdly popular with Christian fundamentalists. But Jacques, unfortunately, is straight out of copies of SMILE THE FIRE GOD LOVES YOU and so has to resort to confusing Matt (and us) with non sequiturs instead:

Jacques: “I don’t advocate or procrastinate.” (That has to be a line flub.) “I live and let live.”

I’m surprised he didn’t bring up the age-old theological question about how many angels can fit on the head of a pin and awkwardly try to connect that to the situation as well.

Matt storms out and Jacques stays behind to gloat. “I haven’t had so much fun,” he quips, “since one of my colleagues fiddled while Rome burned.” This reference to the Roman emperor Nero is without a doubt the clearest evidence so far that Jacques is indeed supposed to be the Devil, who at some point came to occupy the body of Jean Paul’s ancestor.

Back in the great hall, Matt returns to stalking Holly, who once again rejects him, because stalking only leads to mutual love and committed relationships in bad romance movies. He insists that he has something important to say to her, and she agrees to listen, but only for five minutes. He insists that Elizabeth doesn’t like him and that he followed her to Maljardin because he “thought [she] might need [him] for protection, guidance, maybe even comfort.”

According to StrangeParadise.net, this is an allusion to a real person, Reverend Harold Davidson, described in more detail on this page. I won’t copy Davidson’s bio on here because of its length, so I’ll just quote Holly by calling him a “lecherous minister.”

She rejects him, he leaves with his proverbial tail between his legs, then she proceeds to mope while sprawled in Jean Paul’s favorite chair for arguing with Jacques. Alison finds her there and asks what’s wrong, so she starts to explain before Matt arrives again and interrupts by insisting that he’s not trying to keep her from her inheritance like she claims. He’s right, but that doesn’t change the fact that Elizabeth is using him to do just that. Now it’s Holly’s turn to flounce, and she does it with more gusto than Reverend Stalker.

He talks to Alison, who fills him in on the whole situation, speaking again about how Jean Paul thinks he’s God and also about how Matt is now a prisoner on Maljardin.

Alison explaining the concept of a detained guest to Matt.

Matt suggests that Alison get Raxl to try to reason with Jean Paul, unaware of how well that didn’t work out a week before, He insists, though, that “perhaps these Tarot cards [that Vangie gave him in Episode 14] will sway her.” Although Alison is skeptical and so is Raxl upon her arrival, that all changes when he gives her the pack of cards and tells her that Vangie said “that [she] should use them for everyone’s good.”

She knows instantly that Vangie has predicted that Maljardin is doomed.

An interesting conversation between the two follows. Matt reveals to her that she should contact Vangie at “the third hour” (3 AM, also known as the “witching hour” or “demonic hour”), which means nothing to him but “everything” to her. She recaps for him about Jacques Eloi des Mondes, the conjure doll, and the silver pin, mentioning that “the power of the Great Serpent made him an eternal prisoner” for three hundred years.

Raxl: “Jacques Eloi Des Mondes! It must be he who walks. It must be!" Matt: "Impossible!" Raxl: "You believe in God, but what about His work?” [I think this is a line flub for “word,” which would make more sense in context.] “I trust the Tarot cards, but what about the words of the woman who reads them?" Matt: "I'm a messenger, not a convert." Raxl: "One conjure doll, one silver pin. If that pin were still driven into that doll's head, we would all be safe." Matt: "Raxl, that is witchcraft!" [And reading Tarot cards--a form of divination--isn’t?] Raxl: "Do you feel safe, Reverend?"

He gazes at the portrait of Jacques without another word until Jean Paul returns, explaining that he had to apologize to Quito after inadvertently hurting his feelings earlier, most likely with what he said about zombies. He asks Matt if he’s started preparing a speech for the funeral service, and an argument erupts between the two of them:

Did I mention yet that Jean Paul is more than a bit of a control freak?

Jean Paul decides that maybe Jacques had the right idea as far as the detained-guest thing went, and so puts the island on lockdown: “There will be no further trips to the main island and no trips even for mail until a matter between the Reverend and his conscience is resolved.”

Jean Paul is a male example of what is known in certain fandoms as a yandere, or a character who is madly in love, enough to hurt and even kill anyone who they believe is standing between them and their love interest.

Meanwhile in the basement, Raxl performs a ritual to contact the Conjure Man using Vangie’s Tarot cards while Quito enters the Not-So-Hidden Temple. And with that, the episode ends.

Raxl and the Tarot cards.

This was an interesting episode, with Matt as the central character for a change. The major theme of this episode seems to be belief, and how, whether seen through the lens of science (Alison), Christianity (Matt), or voodoo (Raxl), Jean Paul’s plans to revive Erica appear crazy at best and dangerous and/or sacrilegious at worst. There’s also the suggestion that Erica might return as a zombie, which does not seem to bother Jean Paul as much as it should (make of that what you will). Did it make up for the badness of Episode 91? Yes. It’s genuinely a good episode, even though some of the lines don’t make sense--but I think that at least most of those are line flubs.

Coming up next: Raxl sends a message to the Conjure Man, so Jacques decides to interfere. Also, Jacques’ portrait becomes much stranger.

Notes

* I don’t know the exact original airdates for most episodes of Strange Paradise. Maljardin aired from October 20, 1969 to January 19, 1970 in Canada according to StrangeParadise.net, but the show premiered in the United States on September 8, making the US six weeks or 30 episodes ahead of Canada. The YouTube user retronewfoundland has the endings of several episodes on their channel with the original Canadian airdates. The nearest episode to Episode 91 that retronewfoundland has a clip from is Episode 84, with the airdate of February 17, 1970 (a Tuesday). This means that (according to my calculations) Episode 91 would have most likely aired in Canada on February 26, and in the US six weeks earlier on January 15. Either date places it contemporary with the Leviathan arc, which lasted from November 14, 1969 to March 27, 1970 (source).

{ <-- Previous: Episode 15 || Next: Episode 17 --> }

1 note · View note

aswithasunbeam · 6 years ago

Text

The Trial of the Century

[Read on AO3]

Rated: G

Relationships: Aaron Burr & Alexander Hamilton; Alexander Hamilton/ Elizabeth “Eliza” Schuyler

Summary: The treason trial of former Vice President Aaron Burr commands the attention of the whole United States. Even so, the arrival of an old friend takes Burr by surprise. Hamilton never could resist a good fight with Jefferson, even if that means taking Burr on as a client __ A historical AU where Hamilton (just) survived his injuries in the duel

Richmond, Virginia

July 1807

Sticky, chocolate covered fingers hover over the white knight on the chess board. Young Aaron’s piercing eyes peeked up at Burr from under his shaggy dark fringe. His grandson sought a hint for the wisdom of the move he was contemplating, Burr understood.

“Think it through, Gampillo,” Burr encouraged without giving anything away as he rummaged in his pocket for a handkerchief. Theodosia has already scolded him for spoiling the boy with too many sweets. His grandson’s hand retracted slightly from the knight as his eyes scanned the board once more. Burr reached out to wipe the evidence of the chocolate square from the boy’s fingers and face.

Aaron squirmed backwards in his chair.

“Here you are, then,” Burr granted, handing the handkerchief over.

“Papa?” Burr glanced up guiltily at his daughter as she entered from the foyer. Her gaze swept briefly over her son’s chocolate stained fingers, prompting a fond shake of her head. She then returned her attention to her father, her expression turning inscrutable. “You have a visitor.”

He frowned. Who would be interested in paying him a social call at a time like this? Theo wouldn’t allow just anyone entrance to gawk at the so-called traitor, surely. His mouth parted to ask the identity of this unexpected guest, but a commotion in the hallway interrupted the thought. One of the decorative tables in the foyer had been upset, by the sound of it, the thud of ceramic on wood carrying in along with the squeaky whine of a wheel in need of oiling.

“Careful, Robert.” The soft voice had a slight rasp to it, but Burr recognized it immediately regardless.

Hamilton.

Burr felt his heartbeat quicken. He rose from his seat, then stood, feeling awkward and wrong footed at the abrupt appearance of a man he thought never to see again. What could Hamilton possibly want?

The front of the chair appeared first, blanketed feet resting motionless on the footrest as the bulky chair struggled through the narrow door. Theo moved to hold the door open as wide as possible. When at last the chair bumped over the divider on the floor, he looked upon Hamilton for the first time since that cursed morning at Weehawken.

Hamilton had been both absent and omnipresent to Burr for the length of his long convalescence. His hair had gone wholly gray in the intervening years, and wrinkles were prominent in his thin, haggard face. A hint of mischief still twinkled in his eyes, however, matching the quirk of his lips as he examined Burr in turn. Hamilton was enjoying this, Burr realized.

Burr remained frozen in place, his lips still slightly parted, searching for something to say. Should he be apologetic? Irreverent? Friendly? Hostile?

It was who Hamilton broke the silence, and his first words weren’t directed to Burr at all. Attention on Theo, still holding the door, Hamilton said, “Thank you for your assistance, my dear.”

“I’m glad to see you so well, Mr. Hamilton.” Hamilton’s charming smile was mirrored on Theo’s face. She stooped down to the chair and placed a friendly kiss to Hamilton’s cheek, then waved a hand towards her son. “We’ll leave you to your business.”

“Traitor,” Burr mouthed when Theo caught his eye. She looked not at all amused at the little jest. The potential death sentence seemed to have robbed her of her sense of humor.

As she swept from the room, Aaron in tow, Hamilton turned that charming smile on him. “I heard you were in need of a good lawyer, Mr. Burr.”

A disbelieving chuckle forced its way out of Burr’s chest. The gall of him, to refuse all communication, then appear when the trial of the century presented itself. “Did you, now? Your intelligence was mistaken. I have plenty of lawyers, in fact. Six in all, including myself.”

“I’m certain I’m better than any of them. Especially you.” Burr laughed again, more genuinely this time. “Are you really in any position to refuse help?”

He can’t deny the truth of the statement, but he needn’t admit to it out loud. Instead, he asked with some incredulity, “Did you really travel all the way here on an assumption that I’d require your assistance? And does Mrs. Hamilton know you’re here? She must be beside herself.”

“Such concern for my wife, suddenly,” Hamilton charged, his brow raised. Burr shrank back slightly, a niggle of guilt beginning in his chest at the thought of the pain he’d caused poor innocent Eliza. “She came with me, for the record. I was on business nearby, anyway.”

“In Richmond?”

“Philadelphia. Richmond isn’t much farther to travel.” That was a patent falsehood, and they both knew it. “So?”

“Why would you want to help me?”

“Because I dislike Jefferson more than you,” Hamilton answered simply.

A rueful smile began on Burr’s face. “If only you’d come to that realization a few years ago, so much unpleasantness between us could have been avoided.”

“Oh, I still don’t think you should hold power.” Burr frowned heavily as Hamilton gave him a dismissive little wave. “But I’d hate to give Jefferson the satisfaction of putting you to death. He’s sounding more and more the vengeful tyrant every day.”

“Shouldn’t I be put to death? Fomenting rebellion in the West is treason, is it not?”

“Are you guilty?”

It’s a good thing Hamilton rarely handled criminal matters, Burr considered, as he sank back into his seat and invited Hamilton closer. Hamilton’s servant obliged, wheeling the chair nearer. “You should know better than to ask a criminal defendant such a thing, Hamilton.”

“I never ask clients questions I don’t already know the answer to,” Hamilton retorted.

“Oh?”

“That you had designs on Florida and Mexico, I believe readily enough. I had thoughts of taking Florida for the United States myself once upon a time.” Burr smiled at the admission. “But Jefferson’s theory that you meant to use that plot as a cover for inciting rebellion in the Western states, that you might ride into the federal city and usurp the rightful government, smacks more of a deranged fever dream than an actual charge.”

Burr inclined his head. “I quite agree. As could the grand jury. Martin thinks they might decline to indict me, which would save us the whole business of a trial. You may have wasted a trip.”

Hamilton scoffed. “Of course they’re going to indict you. It’s a grand jury—they’d indict a loaf of bread if the prosecutor laid it before them.”

“Three grand juries before them declined,” Burr pointed out. “Two in Kentucky and one in Tennessee.”

“You’re being judged by Virginia gentlemen now, not the toothless, riotous simpletons of the back country.”

“You know, it’s a wonder they don’t like you out there,” Burr remarked dryly.

Hamilton hummed, unconcerned. “Marshall is sensible, though. He’ll want to find in your favor. You need to give him reason to do so. The only real evidence for the prosecution is Jefferson’s imperial declaration that you are guilty beyond a doubt. That’s nothing in a court of law. The Constitution requires an overt act of war levied against the United States, observed by two separate individuals. As I understand it, you weren’t even there during the whole business on Blennerhassett Island. Does Wilkinson have any other circumstance to use against you?”

“My counsel is well aware of all this,” Burr pointed out, ducking the question. “Why should I let you have the glory of arguing the case?”

Hamilton smirked as he gestured to his motionless lower half. “You’re right. For what could you possibly owe me a favor?”

“So it’s a favor, now? I thought this was for my benefit?”

Hamilton shrugged carelessly. “However you’d like to see it.”

“And you presume that I feel inclined to make amends.”

“I presume nothing.” Hamilton’s expression softened perceptibly. “I know you wish to make amends. I saw the regret on your face the moment I fell. You tried to run to my side; you would have, had Van Ness not caught you by the arm and forced you away.”

The scene overwhelmed Burr’s vision for a moment, the sun-dappled ridge, the smell of gun powder, Hamilton rising up on his toes before sinking downwards, a red stain spreading across his belly. He hadn’t meant to hit him, not really. He’d wanted vindication, an apology for the awful things Hamilton had said, not Hamilton’s death.

The hours, days of waiting, praying, that followed had been harrowing. Even when it was announced that Hamilton would not die, Burr hadn’t been safe in New York. A warrant went out for his arrest on the charge of dueling, though none had been issued against Hamilton. He’d fled Southward to safer ground, and hadn’t yet returned home.

“I would have paid you a call,” Burr began, the apology that had lived in his chest beginning to bubble out. “The timing didn’t seem appropriate. And then I had to leave—”

Hamilton sliced a hand through the air to cut off the explanation. “I wasn’t in any condition to receive you then anyway.”

They shared a long, quiet moment.

“You need me,” Hamilton insisted, jumping back to the topic at hand. “Your counsel is more than competent. I’m sure they will be able to convince Marshall and jury that the prosecution lacks evidence to convict on such a serious charge. But a not guilty verdict won’t mean much if it appears to have been won on a technicality. You’ll win in the court of justice, but not in the court of public opinion. Then what? Flee back to the West, or to Europe?”

“And you’ll win over the public?” Burr can’t help the skeptical tone in his voice. Hamilton’s never exactly been popular with the people, outside of the passage of the Constitution and the first few months after his catastrophic injury.

“Jefferson’s people are lost to you, whatever you do,” Hamilton replied. “But my support can win forgiveness from the Federalists. You could come home to New York.”

Burr hated just how good that proposal sounded.

“If they indict me,” Burr decided, emphasizing the first word, “We’ll talk.”

Burr fumbled in his pocket for the card with Hamilton’s current address scrawled across the back in his familiar, sloping hand. Two guards trailed behind him, allowing him one last stop before taking him to Luther Martin’s where he was to remain under house arrest. He was keenly aware of his conspicuousness as people peeked around curtains to watch his progress down the street.

“I’m surprised you’re not staying with Marshall,” Burr had remarked when Hamilton had jotted down the address for him.

“He offered,” Hamilton had replied as he finished penning the Broad Street address with a flourish. “But it seemed rather a conflict of interest given what I was in town to do.”

Matching the number on the card to that of house before him, Burr took a steadying breath and tapped his cane against door twice. Theo had been the one who insisted he call on Hamilton. Now that the grand jury had handed down an indictment, the threat of death loomed large over them all, except for his dear little Gampy, who remained happily oblivious.

A servant admitted him to a small parlor to wait. He paced anxiously for several minutes, painfully aware of his armed escorts waiting just outside, until he heard voices in the next room. Peeking his head out the door, he saw Hamilton and Eliza in the larger parlor across the way. Hamilton was bent forward in the chair, his arms braced against his knees, as Eliza tugged up his shirt to reveal his back and scooped something out of a small jar with her fingers.

“You’re in pain,” Eliza was saying, her expression severe. “Doctor Hosack said to apply the analgesic cream when you first feel a twinge, so it won’t get worse. And frankly, I don’t much mind keeping that man waiting.” The reference to Burr dripped with a loathing of which he hadn’t imagine the normally sweet, friendly woman capable.

Hamilton grimaced as his wife smoothed the contents of the jar gently over his spine. Her hand seemed to linger longer than necessary, savoring the touch. At last, she readjusted the shirt into place and moved to assist her husband back into his usual position.

“I can do it,” he snapped with an edge of frustration. She stood back patiently while he struggled to adjust himself up in the chair. The effort seemed to leave him mildly breathless.

“Hey,” she urged softly when he was settled, prompting him to look up at her. Leaning down, she fussed with his blanket, and then pressed her lips to his in a slow, loving kiss. When she pulled back, her hands cupped his face in a gesture of cherishing adoration. “I love you.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “I love you, too.”

His gaze shifted towards Burr a moment later, and the smile disappeared. Eliza turned towards him as well, her eyes narrowing at the sight of him. Burr retreated back into the small parlor, uncomfortable at having witnessed the private moment.

The progress of the wheelchair towards the smaller parlor was audible. Burr remained standing, leaning on the mantle, while Eliza guided the chair into place opposite an arm chair. Hamilton tilted his head back to look at her.

“Could you give us a few minutes?”

“No,” she said, firmly.

“Betsey,” Hamilton sighed, a note of amusement entering his tone, “I hardly think I’m in any danger. What do you think he’s going to do to me in the middle of the parlor at three in the afternoon?”

“I never expected Mr. Burr would do anything to harm you.” Accusation and betrayal laced her words. Her hands rested protectively on the back of her husband’s chair as she spoke. Burr’s eyes went to the floor like a chastened child. “I have no interest in giving him the opportunity to prove me wrong again.”

“It’s fine,” Burr assured them both. “I'll only be a minute. I just came to say, well, to ask.…” He pushed out a breath. “The grand jury handed down an indictment. I'm to be held under house arrest at Martin's during the trial.”

Hamilton nodded, unsurprised.

“I need your help.” Burr couldn’t look at Eliza as he said it. He waited, half expecting Hamilton to grin or to gloat.

Instead, Hamilton gave him a reassuring smile. “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Burr.”

The relief that fluttered in his chest surprised him. He didn’t need Hamilton to assure victory in court, he knew. But his help promised something more than dodging a death sentence. The promise of forgiveness, of home, resided in Hamilton’s open expression. Unable to articulate the soaring feeling inside him, Burr managed only a whispered, “Thank you.”

#hamilton fanfic #alexander hamilton #aaron burr #theodosia burr alston #aaron burr alston #eliza hamilton #hamliza #post-duel au #hamilton lives

22 notes · View notes

disinvited-guest · 6 years ago

Text

6/15/18 Recap

It was probably an illogical decision to go to this show, but it was also an excellent one. This show was absolutely bursting with energy, joy, and humor.

I got a bit later start than I wanted, turns out it’s harder to get out of the house quickly when everyone else is up and getting ready for their day at the same time. Driving east as the sun was rising was less than ideal, and I made bad time after two rest-station stops and a longer lunch than I wanted. I finally got there a few minutes before 4 and met up with @littlemissterter (Teralyn). We met and talked with a whole bunch of other fans as we waited (including @teedeekay who gave me a das pendant, stood to block the sun from my eyes, and was generally super nice).

An hour before doors, we were funneled into a hot, loud metal room where we waited until we could get into the venue. Once in, I snagged a spot only just in the front row, as far left as someone could stand without being entirely blocked by the amp. The stage was small enough that they had adjusted their setup, placing the keyboard far to stage left (our right).

The guys came onstage with New York City, and it was clear they were happy to be performing together again, even if they were a bit crowded together by the lack of space on the stage. Throughout the first few songs, Danny gave a smile or nod to everyone he knew in the front, which amounted to nearly the whole front row (myself included!). I noticed that Linnell had kept his beard (this was just after the Tony ceremony pictures had caused a bit of a ruckus).

After the song was over, everyone onstage was trying to work out sound issues. We were told that they were receiving secret messages by way of explanation.

Marty needed some adjustments in his ear monitors and leaned out over his drums to shout to the crew. The crew member he was shouting to evidently didn’t notice, but it did attract the attention of both Dans, who both went over to Marty to ask what the issue was, then got the attention of someone off the other side to fix the problem.

After the sound issues seemed mostly fixed, they moved on into Fingertips which, as always, is fantastic live.

After that, there were more issues with the sound to be straightened out “Welcome to our soundcheck,” Flans told us. They both were told to talk so they could sort out the levels and Flans relayed those instructions to us. Danny stepped up to a mic to tell the crew he wanted Flans’ vocals up and Linnell’s vocals down in his monitors and Linnell pretended to be hurt by the request.

The sound once again sorted out, Flans started to introduce the next song as from their new album, but noticed Dan and Danny whispering in the back and asked if there was a problem. Linnell told his they were discussing a later part of the show and Flans replied sarcastically “Now is a good time to discuss it.”

The song Flans was introducing turned out to be the always entertaining Let’s Get This Over With, with Linnell at his accordion mic where I could actually see him. While Linnell switched back to keyboards, Flans told us that “We can’t talk about current events because it’s “‘all a hoax’” Then explained “this pause when we would say something.” Danny came up to Flans and told him he could talk about Paul Manafort, and Flans said “Oh yeah, we can talk about that. On behalf of Paul Manafort, ‘I did it, I’m guilty, I’d like to say I’m so sorry to Putin and all of the Russians.’”

I think this was when Flans and Linnell discussed their ongoing and upcoming projects. Linnell commented that he liked that they were pretending it was a private conversation and that the audience wasn’t here. Flans replied that the crowd was loving it, which got a cheer.

After Don’t Let’s Start, Flans told us that earlier that day he was driving through “What can only be described as a ‘rural part of the state,’” and saw a sign advertising that fireworks were ‘now available to local residents’.

He asked the crowd what that was about, and someone answered in a drunken shout “Because we’re the Replacements.”

Linnell peered into the part of the crowd the answer had come from and commented “That answer makes as much sense as the sign does.”

Flans then commented that, from an entrepreneurial standpoint, only selling to people from out of state made sense. “Blow up your own turf!”

Your Racist Friend was next, with Curt making his grand entrance and blowing everyone away as always.

Flans forgot the lyrics at the beginning of one of the verses to this song. Dan was behind him, and either mouthed or sang the lyrics at him (sans mic, so I couldn’t tell) until he recovered.

Linnell switched to his accordion for Whistling in the Dark, introducing it by saying “I forget which album this is on.”

Linnell then switched from the accordion to the contra alto clarinet. Flans first introduced it correctly as the contra alto clarinet, then second-guessed himself, saying it was the contra bass clarinet before asking Linnell, who confirmed it was contra alto. After Flans made another incorrect comment, Linnell jokingly replied “I hate to keep correcting you, but-” and they got into a discussion about couples counseling for bands. Apparently Linnell and Dan had been talking about it earlier that day, and a group who it didn’t work for. Dan kept coming up to Linnell with comments about it, and Linnell would respond off-mic and then they would both crack up. Linnell had Flansburgh try to guess what band it was, but was so distracted by Dan that Flans eventually gave up and they started into All Time What.

From there they went straight into Mrs. Bluebeard, then paused only for Flans to tell us that “In the ideal version of the show, the transition between these songs is a seamless segway.” before starting into This Microphone.

The Dans left the stage and Marty grabbed his bell for Shoehorn With Teeth. The bell was introduced, then the Johns discussed the Glockenspiel they used to have, Flans pointed out TDK in the front row, and said they gave it to him, but they weren’t sure what city they gave it away in.

Curt’s Euphonium was introduced as being worth $800 when melted down. Curt jokingly took offense at that, until Flans continued “in its current form: priceless.”

After Shoehorn, Flans reintroduced Dan and Danny, saying that the Dans had returned and that it was “all gonna be alright.”

They then played I Left My Body, Damn Good Times, and Particle Man without pause. They had a bit of trouble getting the clapping going for Particle Man. Flans had to restart it a few times, and it never really got going like it usually does. Marty took advantage of the interlude, which was Here You Come Again, to shove half of a protein bar in his mouth. Dan used the time to switch from guitar to keyboard, which he played for the rest of the song and stayed on for Doctor Worm, which closed out the set. They held the last note for a long time like they have been at the end of sets, to be honest, I’m not a big fan of it. My asthmatic self can only cheer for so long at once!

During the break between sets, I was treated to a view of Marty backstage air drumming to the between-set mix. He was really into it, with the same head-bobbing, foot-tapping, face-making intensity he has onstage. It was adorably wonderful.

The Johns and Marty came back onstage to start the Quiet Storm section of the show with Older. Marty wanted his sound adjusted during this song, so he would play his part, use the last motion to turn so he was facing backstage, and give the crew feedback in the tiny pause. I wasn’t sure how helpful that was to the crew, but they got it sorted out and I was impressed with Marty’s multitasking skills.

Flans introduced the Quiet storm as Always Quiet and Often Stormy, reintroduced Curt, then told us that they had “just got back from a session with our couples counselor,” and that they felt closer and knew each other better. He and Linnell riffed on this idea for a bit before Flans introduced I Like Fun as “The title track off the new album-”

“Finally!” Linnell interjected

“-who’s all important second verse has become even more relevant.” Flans finished, referring to him now being 58.

Flans introduced Tippecanoe and Tyler Too by telling us “Seven or eight minutes into our session, we realized we had to leave to go back onstage, and our therapist said ‘you know, people really like your old songs’ so this is a special long-distance dedication to our couples therapist.”

They played Self Called Nowhere, then How Can I Sing Like A Girl, with Flans introducing it while Linnell had already started the accordion part, to finish the Quiet Storm.

Curt had to literally run to grab his valve trombone, which wasn’t in it’s usual place, so he could start the intro to Istanbul. There’s always so much going on during this song that I never get tired of it.

Curt’s ending to the song was so ridiculously good that it wowed the rest of the guys onstage as well as the crowd. The Johns joked that all people from Connecticut could play trumpet like that, and Linnell said that he’d heard “Katharine Hepburn play that exact same solo.” He tried to continue the joke, but could only come up with one other person from Connecticut, and asked Flans if he knew any others.

Flans responded that he had worked for a lady who’s mother grew up in the same town as Katharine Hepburn, and that she would call the office and ask in that same voice ‘Is Elizabeth there?’

“And she played a mean jazz trumpet!” Linnell added, before telling us that Curt spoke exactly like Katharine Hepburn too.

They then played When Will You Die, with Linnell singing “This is Dan and that’s Dan-ny,” but not adding Curt’s name in like he has been.

Let Me Tell You About My Operation was especially wild. Flans accidentally dropped his pick in front of TDK, who picked it up and handed it to me! It was tortoiseshell with Flans on it in a Flood logo type pattern.

I forget how it came up, but Flans returned to the couples counseling joke, saying that was where they learned about ‘radical honesty’. Linnell told us all that they would probably not talk about couples counseling tomorrow and Flans added that it was a “special bonus for today.”

They played Wicked Little Critta then Twisting, with Flans explaining to us that they were intentionally skipped a song. Apparently this was the part of the show where his guitar was at its loudest and it was “scrambling his brains” so he needed time to recover.

After Twisting, they plugged some ongoing projects, threatening “direct eye-contact” for those who didn’t know about 2018 dial-a-song. They mentioned the Lincoln remaster, and being near Lancaster again “in this calendar year.”

Flans introduced the next song as from The Else, but told us “Don’t cheer i probably got it wrong!” He was right though, as they then played The Mesopotamians. Marty morphed the end of it into the start of Ana Ng, which is absolutely fantastic to witness.

Flans started the first Encore by introducing the band and then they played Hey Mr. DJ. They did some of the fade out, then faded back in to finish. They then played Spy. For the ending, Linnell used the “now the night is gone” sample he’s been using, but gradually replaced the sample by screaming it into the mic over what the rest of the guys were playing. He gave control over to Flans but continued in that vein. Flans alternated with that and pushing his strings to the mic-stand, then brought the audience in at the end.

Coming onstage for the second encore, Flans wished a Happy Birthday to a guy in the balcony who had been holding a sign about it all night. They played Birdhouse in Your Soul, then Flans had the house lights turned up so he could make direct eye-contact with members of the crowd to thank them for coming.

They finished the night with End of the Tour. From his spot upstage, Danny mouthed the lyrics to the entire first verse, which was adorable.

Afterwards, Danny came out in a bit of a hurry, and gave out three of the setlists (one of them to me) before rushing back offstage. Marty came out to give out the rest of the setlists, his drumsticks (One of which he threw into the balcony!), and the drumhead. TDK gestured Marty should give the drumhead to me. I was trying to think of a polite way to say that he had already given me one in Indianapolis (getting two seemed unfair to everyone else), but wasn't sure exactly how to do that. Marty said something to TDK and handed the drumhead to a girl next to me. I started to leave and look for Teralyn, when TDK told me that Marty had told him I had already got one.

I found Teralyn, who wanted a picture with Marty, so we headed back up to the edge of the stage. Marty was finishing up signing, so I gave away the rest of my magnets while we waited. He was about to leave when Teralyn managed to get to the front and ask him for a picture. I took it for them, then Marty checked with me to make sure he had already given me a drumhead before leaving.

(I’m just going to freak out about this a tiny bit here: I knew that Marty recognized me from show to show on my week long run, but I never guessed he’d remember me, or that he also recognised me from the February shows!)

On our way out we stopped at the bar, where I tried to by a bottle of water, but we both got free ice waters instead (Thank you nice bartender lady!). Teralyn wanted to wait by the bus for the guys and I agreed to go with her, even though I needed to get started on the drive home and was really nervous about the concept. I was really glad that I did, because it was well worth it!

When we got to the back of the venue, there was no bus, but there were a few other groups waiting. One family assured us that this was where the performers would be leaving. We started noticing the New York license plates on the parked cars and realized that the guys had driven there themselves.

Flans exited the venue, now wearing an orange t-shirt and without his glasses on. Another group asked him to sign some things, but none of them had brought a pen. I supplied them with my Sharpie (I hope Flans wasn’t upset with me for ruining his excuse) and eventually got him to sign the cloth square I had brought.

As Flans was signing it, he asked me what it was. I told him I was going to whipstitch it onto a blanket I was crocheting. He seemed pleasantly surprised by this and said “Oh! You crochet! Have you started knitting yet?”

Then, instead of some platitude, my stupid smartass mouth responded without consulting my brain “Nope, crocheting is just knitting for lesbians!”

“Oh, that’s not true. Knitting is knitting for lesbians,” Flans told me, as I was still realizing what I had said. As he handed me back my cloth and sharpie, he looked me in the eyes and said “Don’t give up on knitting.”

He headed around to the drivers side of his car, telling the group he had a 4 hour drive. As he was getting in, someone asked him a question about the car and he stopped to tell us all about it. Apparently he’s had it for a while, and it was the first car he ever bought new. The same person asked if the seat was comfortable, and Flans replied that it was, and that it was “the perfect car to grow old with,” before getting in and closing the door.

He had a little trouble getting out of his spot, and I thoughtlessly headed towards the far side of the car to tell him how much space he had. Luckily, he managed to get out of the spot before I made it over, so I was spared from making a complete fool of myself all over again.

Marty, Dan, and Linnell all came out of the venue together, having all ridden in the same van. Looking only a little panicked Linnell told us they were in a rush and couldn’t sign things, but suggested the alternative of shaking hands, then actually followed through. I’ve received a handshake from John Linnell!

My sharpie was borrowed again, with another group getting something signed from Marty, before they had everything packed up and drove off.

Curt left a bit later. Another group had him sign a Why? Vinyl with my Sharpie and he jokingly told them “You know it’s not me on the cover.”

I responded, again without asking my brain, that it looked like him and he said “I get that a lot.” He signed my cloth as well. I was a little more aggressive asking than I was comfortable with, but it was my Sharpie he was using.

Danny had apparently already left, so I said my goodbyes to Teralyn and headed for my car. When I got there, I found out the universe had taught me a cruel lesson: the pocket where I had put Flans’ guitar pick had a hole in it and the pick was gone!

#tmbg #recap

17 notes · View notes

asarahworld-writes · 7 years ago

Text

A Fiance for Christmas

Doctor Iain Prydon has been invited to a Christmas party, hosted by an old friend. The only catch - he’s supposed to bring his fiance of three years, a woman who doesn’t exist. (Human!AU)

@doctorroseprompts - Fake Relationship, Twelfth Doctor Month, DW bingo – Twelve’s eyebrows, Piper bingo – foxy smile, 31 days of ficmas - Mistletoe

Chapter 4

“You really are quite in love with her,” Alistair was quick to slip into Rose’s vacated seat.

Iain’s eyebrows knit together. “We are engaged,” he reminded his friend hollowly.

“You were engaged to Melody,” Alistair said soberly.

“I never married her,” Iain protested weakly. “Not really.”

“Marilyn.”

“That was a mistake. We were drunk and young, loose in Vegas. It wasn’t even a real chapel,” Iain’s resolve strengthened.

“Elizabeth.”

Iain scoffed. “Everybody knew that it would never last.”

“The fact remains that you have been seriously involved with three women, with intentions of marrying them. Should I not be concerned about your newest relationship, with a woman you have all but refused to bring around?” Alistair pressed. “Does Rose know?”

Iain looked up at his friend. “What do you think?” His tone was bitter.

“You can not marry this woman without telling her. It should not affect her decision, if she loves you, but this is something that your fiancé ought to know,” Alistair said reprovingly.

“Yes, Alistair. ‘Rose, dearest, I am afraid that I might not have mentioned that I’ve been engaged before. Twice, as a matter of fact! And I was young and drunk and stupid and married a woman in Vegas on a whim! But no worries, love. We’ve long since gotten a divorce, haven’t seen each other in years! Then my last girlfriend turned out to be a psychopath who wanted to kill me before deciding that she’d fallen in love with me,’” Iain inhaled sharply. “That would be a lovely conversation.”

Alistair was looking over Iain’s shoulder. “She’s behind me, isn’t she?’ Alistair nodded, rising from his chair.

“I’ll just give you some privacy,” he glowered at Iain. His friend nodded, curling his hand over his mouth morosely.

“Doris made some coffee,” Rose said faintly. “Said no one drank tea back in the old days.” She placed the steaming mugs on the table.

“Rose,” Iain gazed into her eyes. “I didn’t tell you because it never occurred to me that it would come up. The last relationship ended over ten years ago.”

“You aren’t obligated to tell me anything, Iain.” Rose scrambled to cover the slip.

“No,” Iain agreed. Rose’s heart thudded. “But I suppose there are certain things that my fiancé ought to have known before she’d agreed to marry me.”

Rose took his hand. “Iain,” she started. “Iain, I,” she couldn’t. Not here, certainly not now. The time they’d spent together, the time she’d spent talking to Doris, to Jo and Sarah Jane, she’d gotten to know Iain Prydon quite well. And if she’d found that, maybe, she could truly love him, well, that was nobody’s business but her own. “It doesn’t matter,” Rose said firmly, solidifying her hold on his hand. “Everybody has a past. What’s important to us is the future.”

Alistair looked from Iain to Rose. She kept her head straight, thinking lovely thoughts so that her expression was one of pure adoration. If most of these thoughts concerned Iain, it was just a by-product of spending so much time with his friends. Evidently, he seemed to believe her.

“Of course. Rose.” Alistair took leave of the pair, passing through the crowd. Iain and Rose watched as made his way to the UNIT crowd, watching as he settled in and joined that conversation.

“Looks like we kept our cover up,” Rose said after a long pause.

“Yeah,” Iain absently threaded his fingers through hers. “Rose,” he started brashly, then stopped. He couldn’t tell her, not here. She’d probably think that he was a lecher, with some lewd sexual fantasy, when the truth was he’d fancied her since they’d first met. Perhaps not their first meeting, but he enjoyed her wit, her enthusiasm for trying new things (so intense it nearly paralleled his own), and just simply being with her. He adored how her tongue peeked out from behind her teeth when she found something humorous. He found her smile when she was amused to be slightly different, but just as enticing. Her eyes would light up wolfishly and her grin would be wide and dazzling.

“Iain” Rose stroked his hand. Then froze. There was no need for maintaining their cover at the moment. They were on their own, away from the people whom Iain had been lying to the past few years. And yet,

Iain held their clasped hands up. “Rose,” he started again, only to be interrupted.

“Iain!” It was Jo. “Iain, everyone is waiting for you. You haven’t said as much as hello to me, barely said a word to Sarah Jane, and I don’t think you’ve even acknowledged the rest of the lot.” Jo paused a moment, clearly intending to go on. “And don’t you think that you ought to let me borrow your unknown, mysterious fiancé and let us get to know her a bit? That’s enough sneaking around to hide under the mistletoe, don’t you think?”

Rose and Iain looked at each other, before slowly looking up to see the festive red berries hanging above them.

“Oh, go on then. What’s one more kiss when you’ve been gone ten minutes? But next time, I’ll let Alistair come to find you,” Jo said threateningly, which was immediately displaced by a small giggle. She waved cheerfully as she went to re-join the party.

“It seems your friend is under the impression that we’ve been snogging,” Rose looked after where Jo had disappeared.

“It seems that we should have some evidence not suggesting the contrary when we return,” Iain agreed.

Rose reached up, lightly caressing Iain’s face. She shuddered, this time not hiding her arousal. Iain bent down, easily closing the four inches between them. Rose felt his breath, cool on her lips, and felt her own breathing hitch. His eyes were the most beautiful blue (periwinkle, she thought) she’d ever seen.

“Iain,” she breathed, trailing her fingers over his cheekbones.

“Rose,” he moaned, voice low. If he focused, he could hear his friends chatting away in the other room. He focused on the sensation of Rose’s hands on his face, her breath hot on his lips. Her head tilted up and he couldn’t tell if he lightly brushed his lips against hers or if she initiated the first contact. Not that it mattered.

He’d thought that kissing a woman was supposed to make his heart race, palms sweaty and mind boggled. That had been his experience. Instead, kissing Rose seemed to heighten his senses. She pulled away slightly to breathe, and he heard the quiet smack of their lips pulling apart. The kiss had only lasted a few seconds, yet to Iain it felt like an eternity. He looked into Rose’s eyes, searching for something. He told himself that he was looking to see if he had overstepped the boundaries of their fake relationship, if she regretted kissing him.

Rose’s hazel eyes were half-lidded, staring warmly into his own. Iain’s mouth stretched into a smile. He was truly in love with her, he knew now. And it appeared that she might be in love with him. That, or she just enjoyed having the living daylights snogged out of her. Her tongue was poking out once more, her lips slightly swollen.

Iain’s blue eyes were soft. He looked more vulnerable now than when they’d first started getting to know the intimate details of the other’s life. He reached out, almost hesitantly, to push Rose’s hair from her face, tucking the loose strands behind her ear, his fingers lingering ever so lightly.

“Iain, Jo’s waiting for you, remember?” Sarah Jane called loudly from the doorway. “Next time we really will send Alis-”

“Send me where?” A lower voice cut in.

“Jo’s been waiting nearly twenty minutes for Iain to stop snogging his girlfriend. If that’s all they’ve been doing, it’s no wonder it’s taken three years for him to bring her to meet us,” Sarah Jane chuckled.

“Seems like we ought to rejoin the party,” Rose murmured, taking Iain’s hand. Iain raised their clasped hands to his mouth, his lips brushing over her knuckles. Together, they made their way back up the corridor to where Jo, Sarah, and Alistair were waiting.

#A Fiance for Christmas #doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #twelverose

7 notes · View notes

thisdaynews · 5 years ago

Text

The question for Democrats: Why do you suck?

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/the-question-for-democrats-why-do-you-suck/

The question for Democrats: Why do you suck?

It’s possible, of course, that the candidates will refuse to accept the premise. After all, an NBC/Wall Street Journal poll last month showed 85 percent of Democrats actually are very or somewhat satisfied with the candidate field.

Make no mistake, however, this imaginary debate questioner is not really a figment of imagination. More like a composite of real people in the Washington political class who generate skeptical static in phone calls and emails and lunches with other operatives and with journalists who write stories like this one.

The suckage factor is the unmistakable context of tonight’s Democratic debate in Atlanta. All the candidates, to one degree or another, are laboring with a hovering perception among Democratic influentials that, for one reason or another, their candidacies are suffering from fundamental infirmities.

That perception is what has tempted latecomers to barge in—Michael Bloomberg and Deval Patrick, neither of whom will be on the stage—and has even aroused speculation about the intentions of former nominees John Kerry and Hillary Rodham Clinton. Former president Barack Obama, who often says he disdains “cable chatter,” weighed in the other day with a warning to candidates to not confuse “left-leaning twitter feeds” with the views of most voters, who “don’t want to see crazy stuff.”

The 2020 Democrats can comfort themselves with the knowledge that every nominee in both parties for at least the last 40 years has experienced some period of hazing, in which the professional political class was consumed with discussion about their perceived electoral defects. (Of course, for half of those people the doubts were arguably proven correct in the end.)

For now, each of the debaters at the MSNBC/Washington Post debate all face variations of the same increasingly urgent challenge—tell us why you don’t suck, or admit that you do but explain why it doesn’t matter as much as many people assume. Thanks to my colleagues Marc Caputo, Chris Cadelago, Holly Otterbein, Elena Schneider, and Alex Thompson for their help in framing how the candidates are defining success tonight.

Elizabeth Warren: End the Medicare for All obsession

Thompson notes a paradox. In Warren’s stump, Medicare for All usually comes up peripherally or not at all. The subjects that clearly animate her most are bringing corporate power to heel, tilting the tax code to help working people and making the very wealthy pay more, and programs like canceling student debt and universal health care. And yet: Medicare for All, and Warren’s staccato explanations of her own position, have dominated the narrative for a punishing stretch of her campaign. Other candidates pressed her hard at last month’s Ohio debate on how she would pay for it. And among the professional class there is widespread concern that an impressive but unseasoned presidential candidate allowed herself to be boxed into a corner—with a position so toxic it could be fatal in the general election.

Warren’s task Thursday is to convince two distinct sets of people that she’s solved the problem. For average Democratic voters, Warren can point to a recent burst of detail about how she would stitch together various savings and new revenue streams from companies and high-earners to pay for her plan with “not one penny in middle-class tax increases,” as she put it in a Medium post. The plan is complex but the message is simple: I got this.

For those in the Democratic professional class, who worry about the general election, Warren can talk about another plan, laying out her priorities once winning office (Medicare for All isn’t in the top three) and how there would be a transition plan of several years before the elimination of private insurance plan. The message: This is all foggy and speculative enough that voters will realize they don’t need to freak out over details that will probably never happen or conclude that I’m a dangerous radical.

Success for Warren at this debate would be to parry questions with such detail that everyone—opponents, reporters, Obama—cries “Uncle” and moves on.

Pete Buttigieg: Time to get serious, young man

The South Bend mayor is well-aware that he arrives with a target on his back unlike any previous debates. That’s due to this past weekend’s Des Moines Register/CNN/Mediacom poll, showing him atop the field in the Iowa caucuses.

This will have Buttigieg likely being the target of criticism in ways he has not at previous debates. On those occasions, he has scored points for sounding articulate and sensible beyond his years—something he no doubt learned he can pull off in kindergarten—but he also tended to move in and out of the conversation, never the central figure across the length of the evening. Many in that dreaded professional class still are not convinced that a 37-year-old small-city mayor can be taken seriously for the presidency. In fairness, probably many average voters will be watching through the same prism.

Buttigieg also must look for opportunities to address and begin reversing his notably low support from African-Americans.

Schneider notes that it is likely he will emphasize his plans on health care and college affordability, two areas where he has the clearest differences with Warren and Bernie Sanders and where his positions are much more attuned with Obama’s plea that the “average American doesn’t think we have to completely tear down the system and remake it.”

Joe Biden: C’mon, man, I’m not that bad

The former vice president turns 77 today. It is unlikely he will celebrate with a bravura debate performance.

After four previous debates of sentence fragments, baffling or cringe-worthy non sequiturs or anachronistic lines (such as in the third debate when he said parents should “have the record player on at night” to teach kids new words), there surely are few Americans who plan to vote for him because they think he is a superb debater. It is more reasonable to assume that anyone who doesn’t want Biden because they think he is inarticulate on stage has already switched his or her allegiance to another candidate.

If it’s not likely Biden will dazzle in Atlanta he could still benefit from a strong and steady outing. One result would be to cause the political-media class—which often speaks about his candidacy as though it were terminally ill, in large part because he is not currently poised to win Iowa or New Hampshire—to look through the other end of the telescope. Even with a year of publicity questioning, among other topics, whether he makes women uncomfortable by being too familiar, whether he is showing his age, whether his family’s business dealings are a problem, he remains atop most national polls. He needs the focus to remain on that if he does indeed underperform in Iowa and New Hampshire in early February.

“Joe knows he doesn’t have to be the best on stage. He needs to be good enough,” a fundraiser and friend who has discussed debate strategy with Biden told Caputo. “The reality is the media makes a lot more of these debates than voters do. And it’s not like they’re real debates about policy. These are TV shows.”

Bernie Sanders: Show some heart

In one sense, appraising the Vermont senator’s debate performances is easy. A good one is little different than a bad—none vary much in message or tone—and people either like them or they don’t.

As POLITICO’s Holly Otterbein noted recently, Sanders’s recent cardiac arrest actually seemed to give his campaign a boost.

Still, there aren’t many people in the chattering class who chatter seriously about the prospect of Sanders being the nominee—despite his durable coterie of support and how close he came to beating Hillary Clinton for the nomination in 2016. He must walk a balance, distinguishing himself from Warren without shredding their non-aggression pact and potentially angering her backers. He must stand out enough that he can’t be ignored in the media coverage.

A winning night in Atlanta might offer something slightly different—more humor, more personal insight, an anecdote about a tunnel filled with light? Anything: Surprise us—that suggests Sanders can present himself in ways that widen his support beyond his loyal base and he has prospects not just to influence the race but win it.

The rest: There is still (a little) time

The balance of candidates may be residing in the second tier, but even that is a somewhat impressive feat. The Democratic National Committee’s tightening eligibility criteria has already shooed numerous other candidates off the stage.

At a minimum, these people should enjoy their remaining time in the spotlight. At best, there may be some openings to add to the top tier or kick someone else out of it.

That’s what Minnesota Sen. Amy Klobuchar is hoping to do, with a repeat of a widely praised debate outing last month. She hopes to demonstrate that she may have less novelty than Buttigieg but more credibility, having won previously in an important Midwestern state, and therefore is the natural beneficiary for people who think Warren and Sanders are too liberal and that Biden is unimpressive.

There is not yet much evidence that 2020 is the year for Sens. Cory Booker or Kamala Harris. It’s not that they necessarily suck—they just so far have not mattered. Both arrived in the race with strong reputations as ascendant politicians, but neither has exceeded (or arguably even matched) expectations of the political-media class. Both have had some eye-catching moments in previous debates that they failed to turn into forward momentum in polls. Both need performances that remind people why they have those reputations in the first place. This could cause lightening finally to strike, or at least keep them in contention as vice presidential prospects.

If our imaginary consultant got to decide, it’s likely that Rep. Tulsi Gabbard, tech entrepreneur Andrew Yang, or hedge fund billionaire and impeachment advocate Tom Steyer wouldn’t be on the stage. These people don’t interest him at all.

Fortunately, consultants and reporters don’t really get to decide. All three candidates in their own ways have enlivened previous debates, have some committed supporters—lots of them in Yang’s case—and have another opportunity to steer the debate in unconventional directions that it wouldn’t go if their voices were unheard.

#Democrats #Foreign #Politics #question

0 notes