#and i think we need to hammer home that idea more broadly. it’s not about the officers of the company. not really | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

himehikoshrine · 1 year ago

Text

I'm so glad this is reaching an audience who cares about it. Thank you so much for your thoughts and kind words! Take all the time you need to think about any of it. Weird little musical theater Otome game that has lodged itself in my brain. My niche little obsessions inside my niche little obsessions. I actually read The Seagull after Neji mentioned it and I had to stare at the ceiling for a bit, because ooohhh boy is that one a lot to unpack with him, and the ways he tries and fails and tries again to avoid the mistakes in it - the ones he thinks he sees and the ones he may be running from in his own reading (as he is in his own story.) But again, that's... that's a whole separate post. I Am Death is a version of Takiyasha Hime I haven't exactly ever seen before, but it, too, is an adaptation of an old story, and one with at least one Kabuki Dance Drama of a section of it. Granted, I am much less familiar with all the tellings of that story. Religion in Mary Jane and Oh Rama Havenna is fascinating - they both clearly come from a place of having rather familiar knowledge with the subject -- I feel like the Jacob - Heel joke implies a substantial level of familiarity -- but what specifically to take from it I think is much more open to interpretation.

Is it a commentary on religion, specifically? Coming from Neji? From Ishida and Towada (Ishida has said in the past he was raised in a church going family and it left him feeling different from others, but more than that, we don't know) --

I think maybe it isn't meant to point us to one specific meaning, so much as an exploration on themes - Neji writes from the world around him, in ways he realizes and ways he does not. The hypocrisy of the religious I think can be read narrowly or broadly - after all, in Sissia of the Central nation, we leave Church behind for the Orthodoxy of the State and its Military, something that fits within the pattern established with from the previous too easily, and is, very much (explicitly in one route) a reflection of the authority around them. It's a reflection of the school. I wish the game went harder on how arbitrary the rules are - the schools, Chuza's additional ones, the expectations of each class - The end of Mitsuki's route has a small bit about how hard it is to break those, to which Neji, of course it's Neji, responds "My, guess we were able to see a revolution in the making!".

(And then, from there, the arbitrary nature of other restrictions, other requirements. Stuff Mare Mare says more eloquently than I at the end of Kisa route, but also the expectations and roles we place on ourselves, and society on us in other ways. etc etc) But lacking that being hammered home more by the game, Neji does seem to be exploring it in the last three plays, each in their own ways. And then (points at blog title) there is the fact that all of this is taking place literally in the shadow of both Himehiko Shrine, and Mt. Oodate, at least one of which has like real, illustrated supernatural power within the world of the game. Neji leans on Church rather than Shrines, in these plays though, maybe because he's done a shrine once, and that one is still very much unresolved, who can say. But it could also be the very different aesthetic and thematic vibes the different kinds offer - "religion" is a broad messy category, and inquisitors and confessionals don't fit all of them the same. Chui is at that shrine all the time, though. Whether or not Chui considers it worship, what he does up there, I have no idea, but it is his chosen practice spot. Something Neji absolutely knows. But back to Mary Jane and these two - Chui is very very much echoing the Creatures sentiments in the way he talks about Kisa. And just as maladaptively. Chui is, in fact, chasing his own reflection - but he speaks in the language of talent, of achievements, of art. Still, though, the loneliness absolutely slips out. And Neji, you're the bad guy here, kinda. You left. And now he's chasing something he's missing because of that. As much as Chui says Neji could not complete I Am Death, he also says that if Neji had stayed he would have had -- well, a partner. (Chui and Neji are both trying to replace the other with Kisa in this essay I---).

I think Neji leaves not for the reasons Victor runs, though. I think he realizes where Chui is going (in terms of single minded focus, leaving the world behind entirely, losing everything of himself and the world for the singular pursuit of reaching ever higher until it destroys him. Compare and contrast what Chui can see in Neji, because I sure have. And will again, endlessly, I'm sure.) And, because neither of them can just... talk, and wouldn't listen even if they could, he speaks to Chui in the language they both know best. And Mary Jane is in fact the first place we see him getting through. It's here, specifically that Chui first says he understands a bit of what Neji meant. Does that excuse the way you did it, Neji? You didn't even TRY the talking first, did you? The fact that Chui is the one we see reach out to discuss it first says a lot. I'm kind of obsessed with the two of them, in case you haven't noticed. But - consider that idea - of the Creature making himself a mate on his own, that you mentioned and, if you've gotten it, look at the "bad end" Kisa route CG. Because I think, aesthetically, it sort of matches what's going on. No idea if that was the intention, but you know (I Am) Death of the Author. Ehehe.

Mary Jane and Frankenstein

In honor of Spooky Month and the imminent arrival of Mary Jane Day, I have done the scariest thing imaginable, returned to tumblr dot com to write a meta/analysis post.

[image description: images side by side of the top of the Mary Jane poster, showing Mary looking down sewing Jacob, next to the 1831 edition front panel illustration of Frankenstein, showing Victor looking down on his creature in horror]

This is a mostly informal attempt to collect my thoughts on the fact that Neji’s little spooktacular, in addition to being a very pointed exploration, as all of his plays are, of art and theater, the school, himself and his classmates (without their permission, the menace) and just, a lot of fun, is perhaps one of the best piece of Frankenstein related media I have EVER seen in relation to the original novel.

This is pulling a lot of things from the Stage Script rather than the in game version, which summarizes a lot of the things I'm mentioning specifically. You can find the full Stage Script in the game menu, or

[ here ]

because I love this play so much that I needed a searchable version.

Caveat Emptor here is that it’s been a long time since I’ve read the novel in its entirety. If this game gets me to read it again, I may have to revamp things. But again, largely informal. But very long, somehow.

Oooops.

If you're curious about anything in here and want to expand on it more, or hear my thoughts on it, please feel free to reblog, send an ask, or message. Or ask me elsewhere if we're already connected there. There's a lot I glossed over, especially at the end of this. I have a lot to say, and if we're back to writing metas on tumblr dot com the chances of stopping at one are slim.

Mary as Frankenstein, Mary as Mother

Mary’s name is acting as several allusions at once. I mean, there are at least 3 Mary’s in the bible one could point to - Mary, Mother of Jesus is absolutely at play. But Lazarus’s sister is also a Mary. And while technically Mary Magdalene is often misrepresented and amalgamated with other characters in retellings, the idea of “purifying” her has canon precedent - having had seven demons driven out of her.

Of course, Neji’s twisting all of it, in his Neji way.

(Interestingly enough, these are the Three Marys of the Quem Quaeritis - widely considered a point of "rebirth" of theatre in Europe during the middle ages.)

But Mary is also the name of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, author of Frankenstein. And this, this is a Frankenstein story. It is, in fact, a beautiful inversion of so much about the book that gets left out in most far more serious attempts at a Frankenstein story.

The original book is about motherhood and its inversion. Much could be said about when during her life she wrote it, or her own mother’s death shortly after she was born, or any number of things that have been hashed and rehashed a thousand times from AP English to the ivoriest of towers. But, fan of Death of the Author that I am, I posit you don’t need any of that to see in the text.

Victor creates a person with science, rather than by ‘nature’. It is an unnatural birth. And Victor is just about the shittiest possible parent. The Creature spends a good deal of time explaining to him, when they meet up again, that Victor is his father, and that he was literally abandoned as a newborn, and maybe that was kind of the worst possible thing he could have done. It’s not a mantle Victor has any desire to take up, the role of a parent. He wanted to create life, but he didn’t want to be a parent. But that’s what it means to create life.

By gender swapping the role, you’re already inverting the inversion - but Mary’s creation is no more “natural” than Victors. But it is different. Neji, ever witch-coded himself, has Mary put one of her own hairs into every doll. It’s returning the shared body to the act of bringing these creations into being.

But even without that. Mary considers herself a mother. She considers herself a mother despite having no memory of one herself - Mary knows lots of things she shouldn’t, and doesn’t know many things she should. But she calls herself a mother. Even before any of the dolls move, she is their mother. A motherhood she wants to desperately share with others. She considers the act of selling a doll a kind of ‘adoption’. These are her children. And they know it. It’s stitched into every stitch in their doll bodies. They know Mary is their mother. And they know she loves them.

[image description: screenshot of Mary in her workshop. The text shows Mary's line saying "I'm back, dear dolls. Mommy's home."]

The Creature comes to think of Victor as a father - an absentee one at that, and craves that love, a love he is never shown. Mary averts this spectacularly. She creates out of love.

Names

Mary takes great care in naming Jacob, and ends up doing so, though she doesn’t say it, after a biblical pun (Jacob, in the bible, is explicitly named such as a pun on the word “Heel”). But names are important to Mary, and she is sure to give one to Jacob as soon as he’s fully formed, even before she sees him wake up. Victor very particularly does not name his creature. Instead, he tends to throw around insults, many of which are demonic or satanic. When they finally meet again, the Creature says to him “I should have been thy Adam.” Mary averts this mistake, among so many others, spectacularly. Being called by her name is important to her, and she extends that offer to Jacob even before he’s fully “born.” Like a good mother.

[image description: a screenshot showing Fumi and Kai dressed as Mary and Jacob, as seen from the stage with the audience in the background. Kai is saying Jacob's line "I did, Mary. You are Mary Jane. My mother."]

Not only does she give him a nice biblical pun of a first name, she shares her last name with him, again before he’s even more than a doll. That’s her boy, that’s her best friend. That’s her family.

The song here, which is only sung and dance AFTER Mary has given him a name is called "A Friend Without A Name" Almost as if specifically calling attention to this fact. Mary is as much the friend without a name as Jacob, if not more. She is the one that has never heard another voice say her name, where as Jacob is called his before he's even awakened by the Island's magic and Mary's love.

[image description: the screen from just before A Friend Without A Name showing Mary and Jacob's CG of Mary Stitching Jacob.]

Mary as a Good Mother

Some of the weirder moments in the play actually make a lot more sense when you look at them through this light. Jacob randomly saying he hates Mary in a fit of jealousy? It’s because he’s a child. He’s a baby. That’s a baby boy. Mary, herself quite childish, forgetting so much of what’s important, as the Island is known for, reacts incorrectly, but understandably. This is her first friend - and far more of one than the others she thinks she’s made, in terms of mutual respect, compassion, and small acts of kindness. But this level of connection and emotional reciprocation is still new to her. She’s hurt. She runs.

And The Order of Shadow’s duo is quick to tell her that that’s just the nature of ghosts, telling themselves a little joke about how they have been lying to her from the start, and fully intend to stab her in the back, far more than any ghost. Victor’s instinct is to consider his creature a monster, a fiend, a demon. Mary is told by characters positioned as far more knowledgeable about the world than her that he must be exactly that.

And how does Mary react? She refuses to believe it. Even hurt as she was, even with someone who just said this is their entire expertise telling her it’s in his nature to be cruel, Mary refuses to accept it. She still loves him. She makes the right choice. That’s her best friend. That’s her family. That’s a (un)life she brought into this world, and she stands by him. No matter what. She would risk her life to rescue him. She will fight for him.

This is why that scene has to be there. Because she has to be given that temptation, that trial. And she passes spectacularly in a way Victor will not, to the end.

It’s also a thematic explanation for the garbage scene, which is probably there as much to be silly as anything. I mean, it’s also there to show many other things — Mary’s eccentricity is ingenious in its own quirky way — the islanders who hated her, who she didn’t understand, give her the tools to save Jacob and the others — Mary not even considering the same level of violence — it being a moment of empathy between Mary and the islanders who never showed her even a shred of it back — she understands that they couldn’t tell which food was rotten. She sees things from their point of view. And many more besides.

But, from the point of view of Mary as a Mother, Mary succeeding brilliantly where Victor failed… Mary is literally willing to coat herself in filth to rescue Jacob. Parenthood is messy. It involves a lot of gross things. Even Victor's, sanitized of the normal processes and cloaked in science, was made of corpse parts. But the play actually brings back a part of parenthood that Mary had been able to avoid thus far - the mess. Mary, once again, doesn’t hesitate. For Jacob? She’ll do anything.

Jacob is shown love and kindness, and he responds with the same. He has the same unnatural strength as Victor’s creature, but he’s only ever shown using it to rescue himself and others. When Mary asks for a handshake, he replies that he can’t, because such would be an invitation for a duel. And that they should hug, instead. Mary didn’t even know what that was. Far from disgusted by the lack of warmth she feels from his skin, she looks beyond that, to the emotional warmth and connection.

Frankenstein’s creature, famously, lashes out in violence. While Victor views this as his responsibility only in so far as he brought a demon into the world, he doesn’t understand, even when the Creature eloquently explains it, that the Creature was a being who had only known cruelty.

Jacob knows love. He knows kindness. He knows sadness and loneliness and pain. And refuses to engage in any form of touch that could even be considered violence. They hug.

Which is not to say Mary’s creatures can’t kill. But they do only to protect their mother, and only after Mary has risked everything to protect Jacob. They are Mary’s children, not Victor’s. Even their violence is an act of love. And in another inversion - they are the ones telling Mary to run. Something she does not want to do. She doesn't want to leave them behind. After all, they are her children. She departs from them only at Jacob's literal tug away, and with an apology and a thanks.

[Image description: screenshot of Fumi, dressed as Mary Jane, shown from stage view, with the audience behind, while a Doll's lines "Protect Mommy, let mommy run away." are shown below.]

Boats and Framing

But the parallels are not only in the most famous part of the novel - consider this - Frankenstein, the novel, is written as a series of nesting framing narratives. The bookend narrative, the one we open and close on, is a boat. Most Frankenstein adaptations cut the boat trip frame, but Mary Jane very specifically opens and closes on a boat at sea, and its ending is EXACTLY the reverse of Frankenstein’s. If for some reason you’re this far in and don’t want more spoilers for a 200 year old book, now’s the time to click away, I guess.

The boat is on a course to the Arctic. Victor is on board, telling his story, because his creature has fled there, away from humanity. Victor intends to pursue him endlessly, to kill him, fully aware that he is almost certainly going to die, frozen and alone, in the process. We don’t get to see this happen - the story ends merely with the certainty that this is what is coming. Victor, on a boat, intending to go to the ends of the earth alone to kill the Creature he brought into the world, treating it like some burden and punishment.

[image description: a screenshot from Mary Jane, with the CG of Mary and the Ghosts on the ship, with the summary text overlayed on it reading "Friends together, fun forever."]

How does Mary Jane end? With Mary, and Jacob, and a cast of playful characters — her friends — sailing off for the ends of the world, together, in pursuit of life and happiness - even in death.

Ghost Party ends the play because its a triumph. Neji throwing out Horace’s Ode to Cleopatra in there because he can’t not do silly things like that — but Frankenstein famously contains many references to classics — many made by the Creature himself, who was forced to educate himself via books, lacking a parent to help him.

Mary Jane takes a section of sheer joy out of a poem of complex mixed emotions, and says them repeatedly. This is a party. This is a triumph. Mary leaves on a boat for the ends of the world a success, a good mother, a friend. And a human.

Humanity, Connection, Isolation

The play deconstructs so wonderfully this question of humanity. Mary doesn’t find any joy in it, despite barely understanding it herself - until she is able to use it to help others. The first time in her life she’s been glad to be human - something she only really understands as “needing to eat food” - is when it gives her the ability to save her ghost friends. If that’s what humanity is, the ability to care for others, the ghosts of the chapel, the play is telling us, are far more human.

One of my favorite exchanges in the play is after Charles and Figaro explain to Mary that the corpse parts used to make Jacob were their friends. Mary is not malicious in the least. She has no concept of this act as sacrilege or desecration. She is genuinely childishly innocent in most of what she does. And she can’t understand it.

Mary says “If you can love unmoving corpses so much… How can you not feel for living ghosts...?"

[image description: Mary in front of the burning town. She's saying "How can you not feel for living ghosts...?"]

Charles responds that she must be completely off her rocker. But she’s correct. Mary sees life in front of her, even undead life, and wants to protect it. Even the Islanders, who only ever treated her with distain, who only ever made her miserable — she doesn’t want them to die, even knowing they are already dead.

Outside of Mary, her oddball eccentric self, in this play, the more human someone is, the crueler they are. Figaro and Charles are only ever here to mess with her before dragging her off to be killed. They have no willingness to even try to understand anything outside their world view. The Islanders, who think themselves human, revile Mary, and make up terrible rumors about her.

Both of these groups do so, in part, for similar reasons. Because to have empathy would force a realization on them they cannot bear. The last thing Figaro realizes, before he’s dragged into the most poetic of justices, is that the dolls have SOULS. They are ALIVE. It’s a moment of anger and madness, but it’s a last minute realization that he’s been wrong now that it’s too late. Of course it’s not a revelation he’ll remember. You tend to forget what’s important on Kakuriyo Island.

If Mary averts all of Victor’s mistakes, Charles and Figaro make many of them. Seeing the Creature as a collection of corpses, as demonic, as an abomination against God. Reacting only in anger, in cruelty, in violence. Chasing something they view, wrongly, as an abomination to the ends of the earth, until it kills them. Mary has Victor’s role, but Victor’s actions and outlook are given to the antagonists.

It’s fascinating to me, then, that there are two of them. In the version of the play that gets performed, they’re twins - doubles. Two halves of one whole, who egg each other along in their cruelty. But they also exist to show that even these two are capable of empathy and connection. They do in fact understand the thing they tease Mary with. They have the ability and understanding to extend that to Ghosts, or to Mary. They simply refuse to. Figaro really does love his brother - his grief at his death is genuine. It’s a clever way to show that.

In the book, Victor is extremely isolated, by his own choice. He withdraws from everyone in order to work on his creature, and after he runs from it, he keeps to himself just as much, now blaming the idea that he can tell no one what he’s done. Even when he’s surrounded by family, he is utterly alone. By choice. The Creature eventually lashes out and kills the woman Victor intended to marry. In Victor’s mind, he cares about this girl, but it is not in his actions. Like much else, she exists more as a creation of Victors mind than something in the world for him to interact with and care about. Until she dies. Then he’s furious. And decides to spend the rest of his life chasing down the Creature to kill him for it.

This contradiction in Victor has always read as intentional to me. The book is calling out his hypocrisy here. He doesn’t actually desire connection - the connection his Creature eloquently explains his longing for. But if it is denied him, he acts like he’s been affronted, painted with a shallow layer of sanctimoniousness or justice. Murder is bad, of course, and the Creature shouldn’t have killed an innocent young woman to get at Victor, of course. But the discrepancy between the way Victor reacts to her in death and the way he does when she’s alive is intentional.

Victor has every chance for human connection. Time and time and time again he’s given that chance and refuses it. Even to the very end, on that boat. He could stay with the crew. Sail back home. Let it go. The Creature has run away from humanity which it has come to despise as much as its absentee father disdained it. There is no need to keep chasing. But Victor cannot let it go.

The Creature longs for connection and is denied it. Victor disdains and refuses it, even when it’s available to him.

Mary as The Creature

Contrast this with Mary — It is Mary, rather than Jacob, that is in the Creature’s situation here. Mary is constantly chasing connection. Constantly trying to find something to reflect humanity (compassion, life, emotions — rather than the matter of blood and flesh that Figaro and Charles always talk about it as) back at her. And she can’t get it. She, like the Creature, hides in the bushes and watches it from afar. She, like the Creature, chases after it only for people to run away, to treat her with cruelty. Mary is Frankenstein, but she is also a reflection of the Creature. She is both in one, in this sense.

[image description: screenshot of summary text over the church and figures of the church ghosts. it reads "The friendless Mary dreamily watched the ghosts as they sang a happy song.]

Her costume specifically makes her look nearly as much the doll as the ones she makes - in the world of the story, because she's sewing both - but thematically, it ties her to them not only as their mother, but as a reflection of the Creature, herself.

Like the Creature, Mary is an odd mix of naivety and childishness, with startling gaps in her knowledge, and extreme skill and adult abilities. She knows what she knows well. Like the Creature, Mary has no memory of kindness, of family, of parents. She has only ever seen it in the way the Islanders interact with each other. She is the Creature here - raising herself, learning of the world through watching it, being reviled for every attempt she makes to reach out.

One thing the Creature explains to Victor is that he didn’t even understand, at the time, why he was being treated this way. He had no awareness of his own nature and what he looked like in the eyes of others. Only that they ran in fear and chased him away, and reacted with violence.

Mary Jane inverts this. Mary is human, but the humans around her are something she cannot understand. Like the Creature, Mary doesn’t understand why people react this way. The book expects you to come to the same conclusion as the play - the fault lies not with the Creature anymore more than it does with Mary, at this point. It is those around him, those around her, that are at fault, that are a thing neither can understand. Human’s are cruel. Ghosts who think they’re humans are cruel. It is a disconnect between themselves and the world around them they don’t understand, and desperately try to bridge over and over.

Even Mary, as quirky and childlike as she is, is on the verge of giving up, of being consumed by the Lonely Darkness. We don't know what her fate would have been if the Order of Shadows had not come. Victor's Creature, far more morose than Mary, gives up on connection, as well. He is denied the most basic of needs, and eventually, he learns the violence and hatred being directed at him, and, newborn that he is, lashes out.

But, ultimately, companionship and connection are the Creature’s goals, and it is that that he requests of Victor, who refuses to provide it himself. Make for me a mate. Mary is the Creature, and she is Frankenstein. She makes a friend for herself. Her motivation in creating Jacob is not science, it is not in defiance of death or God — very pointedly — it is out of loneliness - the same motivation that the Creature gives for his desire that Victor make him another like him. And when Mary does so, she’s a good mother, and a good friend.

Religion

Frankenstein’s full title is Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus - it is about forming people, but it is also about stealing fire from the Gods. The question of if creating life out of death the way Victor does is an affront to God is something that Victor himself thinks about, but the book is much more interested in exploring it as the way characters view it. Victor punishes himself, it is not the Divine that punishes him. The Divine acts not as a force, but as an idea. One that both Victor and the Creature end up grappling with and trying to find their place within.

So that Mary herself seemingly has no concept of it, is fascinating. She goes to watch a chapel every night, but I don’t know she knows what a chapel even is. She mentions God once herself, saying that the smell of the garbage would be enough to affect even God, but she also talks to the Moon as a companion and a friend. Her worldview is uniquely hers, in relation to all things. As I said, the idea that making the dolls the way she does, or using corpse parts to do it might be sacrilege does not even occur to her.

Rather than go the route of the novel, Mary Jane twists this around too. In the world of Mary Jane, religious objects hold not only the power of an idea but an actual force. And it is a force that is completely, within the world of the show, amoral and nonsensical. The blessed weapons and fire the Order of the Shadows use are “holy” as a property, but that gives it no moral weight within the world of the play. And the play is messing with it the whole time. Holy wood or water can destroy a ghost, but they live in a church. Something that Charles and Figaro comment on, but cannot interrogate in terms of what it means for their conviction. But they’re split on how to proceed - the fact that ghosts can live in it doesn’t shake their faith, though. Sister Ghost is there largely for this joke. A nun who is constantly evoking the divine, who would be killed by a consecrated item.

[image description: the summary text over the chapel backdrop with the text of "the chapel where Jacob and the others were left behind was being filled with the scent of holy water.]

If I could add something to Mary Jane, I would have loved for Mary or Jacob to ask Sister Ghost what “God” means (this is a conversation that happens in bonus material for Tokyo Ghoul once, actually). I would have loved to have that brought up more explicitly. But it’s also very funny that it never is.

The first definitions for a God we get are them being applied to Mary herself, with plenty of ambiguity on if the Order’s faith itself has a mother figure at its center or not. And either way it’s a fascinating play on the idea, and the themes of the novel.

Closing Thoughts, Other Connections and Ideas "Beyond the Scope of this Essay"

Anyway, all of this while playing around with everything else going on in this play, Neji’s totally, without permission, commentary on Fumi, on Tsuki’s legacy (please read the stage script, somehow the game thought it was a good idea to cut that whole specific reference even when making Kisa pick between an “erase Tsuki” option) and on Kai. On himself as an artist. ("I am the one who is strange. With my changing moods, with my hobbies. That is why everyone thinks I'm strange and avoids me.”). As with several other plays, a commentary on authority, and on creation, and on isolation and friendship and connection.

And, of course, what I’ve been holding back this whole little essay is that Mary Jane is, thematically, at its core, playing off the exact same situation as I Am Death. Like — both of these plays center around a woman pouring her emotions into an undead creature. I see you Neji. You can’t hide from me. Reading I Am Death as a Frankenstein Story remixed into an old Japanese mytho-history is a LOT of fun to do, but is, as the academics say, beyond the scope of this essay.

(and, I Am Death itself is about Neji and Chui, and the twisted, messy love-hate revenge drama they are acting out across all the routes in the game. Neji writes the plays that introduce Chui to the world. Then he runs. And spends the whole game trying to beat him (affectionate.). “Make me another like me” you say…

Literally the only thing I’ve come up with to make the “bad end” CG more compelling to me, is that this is what it’s riffing on. I like my I Am Death costumes way weirder.)

Mary Jane is a Frankenstein Story, I Am Death is a Frankenstein Story, Jack Jeanne is a Frankenstein Story. The other, other thing I’m leaving out here is that the Order of the Shadows are OBVIOUSLY pulled from Tokyo Grand Guignol, aesthetically. And the most famous TGG play is Litchi Hikari Club, which is, say it with me, a Frankenstein Story. Also one that takes the themes of the novel (gender, love and sexuality, childhood, genius, violence, blind pursuit to the point of madness, god complexes) harder than most, but runs with it in nearly the exact opposite direction. But again, very much beyond the scope of this essay.

Also also also leaving out the fact that Tokyo Ghoul is... kind of ... not not a Frankenstein story. It certainly riffs on the motif quite a bit. Even if you've never read it, you've seen the mask design (an in universe riff on the joke.).

Even just one dimension of this play, and look how many words you've made me write Neji-senpai.

[image description: image from the bottom of the Mary Jane poster, with the cast list, showing the chapel ghosts with a focus on Ushinoko, Neji's character, looking towards the 'camera'.] Some little Halloween Spooktacular you’ve got there. Bravo.

#reblogs #neji #chui #mary jane #religion #meta #i didn't choose the nejichui agenda it chose me and im sorry #no im not #please talk jack jeanne brain worms with me!#thank you so much for indulging me!

52 notes · View notes

creampuffqueen · 4 years ago

Text

Just Like This | Chapter One

Summary: Rayla and Callum have been best friends since elementary school. Now, years later, Rayla is discovering new feelings for her best friend. The only problem: she's about 99% sure he doesn't think of her in the same way. Not willing to risk their friendship, Rayla continues to hide her feelings for Callum. How long until the truth comes out?

a/n: Hey everyone! Here it is, the greatly anticipated Rayllum high school au! Please please please reblog this, because Tumblr won't show this post in the main tags due to an affiliate link! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 3372

Warnings: Language

Read on Ao3

~~~~

Sunday, September 30th, 2020

Katolis Supermarket, 5:31 PM

“Who wrote this list?” Rayla complained loudly, stalking behind Callum at the grocery store, shaking the piece of paper in his face. Her fellow sophomore was pushing a cart around, eternally focused on the task ahead.

“Well, Claudia suggested it, but everyone else added on,” Callum replied, not even looking at her. Stopping in the middle of the isle, he grabbed a 12-pack of soda and loaded it in the cart. “What’s next?”

Looking over the extensive list again, Rayla frowned. “Uh, it says… ‘those little animal cookie things with sprinkles, you know the ones’.”

Callum finally turned to look at her, a wide grin on his face as they both said “Soren,” in unison.

“Jinx,” Rayla giggled, “You owe me a soda.”

“Okay… just take one from the pack when we get home?”

Both teenagers continued through the store, Rayla getting bored of walking and hanging off the front of the cart, laughing as Callum made a big deal of struggling to push them around.

She supposed they should be hurrying. Evening was approaching quickly, and soon all their friends would be over at Callum’s place to study. Callum had dragged her off to the grocery store to get snacks for their cram session, considering she lived only a street over and had a car.

“We’re all going to be sick by the end of the night,” Rayla sighed, loading more snacks into the cart.

“Well, at least we’ll be awake,” Callum, ever cheerful, turned his head around to grin at her.

At his smile, Rayla felt her heart give a small wayward flutter, though she squished it down quickly. Tonight was important; she needed to pass this test to keep her grade up, and it wouldn’t help if she spent the entire night mulling over how cute her best friend’s smile looked.

“Yeah,” She chuckled, trying to pull herself back to the present. Keep it together, Rayla.

They got their unhealthy amount of junk food, collectively winced at the price, bought it anyway, and set about loading it in the backseat of Rayla’s car.

In no time at all Rayla was driving, Callum reclining in the passenger seat. With the radio cranked up, neither felt the need to talk, content to sit in the comfortable silence.

It was hard to believe that they’d been friends for eight years now. Rayla could still remember the first time they met like it was yesterday.

She was eight years old, in second grade, having just moved to a new school after her parents left on a military tour and she went to live with her uncles. Her first day of school had gone off without a hitch.

That is, until she met Callum at recess.

Content to play by herself, Rayla had been making use of the free time by pretending to build a fort under the slide. While pretending to hammer in nails, she noticed a small group of kids nearby. Two boys and a girl.

While she couldn’t make out all the words, the body language she saw was more than enough. The bigger boy, a head of blond hair, was pointing at the smaller, brown-haired boy, and laughing. The girl, black hair tied in two pigtail braids, was looking between them, unsure of what to do.

Curious eight-year-old Rayla snuck up, for she’d always been good at sneaking, and listened in on the conversation.

“Soren, shut up, he’s going to cry!” The girl said.

“Oh, so little Callum’s a crybaby now?” The boy, Soren, taunted.

“I’m not a crybaby, Soren!” The other boy shouted, though he couldn’t hide the sniffle at the end of his sentence.

“Oooh, Callum’s crying! Who’s gonna help him, his dad? Oh wait-”

Soren didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Well, she thought as she sat in the principal’s office twenty minutes later, Runaan will be happy to know that I’m learning something in my karate class.

All four kids were in the office, sitting in chairs in front of the desk. Callum and the other girl, Claudia, were both still sniffling from residual tears. Soren, fresh from the nurse’s office, was holding an ice pack over a rapidly blackening eye.

The door opened, and in came the principal, shaking her head with a sigh.

“You three again?”

“We didn’t do anything!” Soren shouted, voice whistling through the new gap in his teeth. Oh yeah, she’d knocked a tooth out as well. “She started it!”

“Well you were being really mean to that other kid!” Rayla protested. She and Soren glared at each other from their respective chairs, accusatory fingers pointed straight out.

“I wasn’t being mean, I was just joking!” Soren explained, “Callum’s my friend!”

“Well Soren, what you said was really mean-” Claudia interjected, but the boy, who Rayla had learned was her brother, interrupted.

“Callum, you know I was joking, right?”

“Well…” Soren’s face fell as Callum dropped his gaze to his lap. “It did kind of hurt my feelings, Soren…”

“Wait, you’re friends?” Rayla exclaimed, glancing curiously between both boys. “I thought he was bullying you! And my parents and uncles always said you have to stand up to bullies and-”

“I’m not a bully!” Soren shouted. Voices began to rise between them again, and the principal was forced to interject.

“All of you, quiet down. I’m going to talk with you each individually, and we’ll see what happens then. Callum, come with me. The rest of you: play nice.”

In the end, Rayla got suspended for two days for fighting, and Soren got one day for bullying. Despite the massive lecture Runaan and Ethari subjected her to, Rayla couldn’t help but feel like she’d done the right thing in the end.

When she returned to school, she was surprised to find Callum approach her at recess, a little paper bag clutched shyly in his hands.

“Sorry my friends and I got you in trouble,” He said, passing the bag to her. Opening it, Rayla’s face split into a huge grin at the sight of two tart-things waiting for her, filled with jelly.

“Soren’s usually pretty nice,” Callum continued, “But he doesn’t know when to stop talking. If you hadn’t stepped in, he would have said something mean without thinking, I’m sure. So you kind of helped both of us, in a way.”

“Oh. Well, you’re welcome, I guess. And thanks for the tarts.”

She was about to turn away and enjoy her spoils, but then Callum kept talking.

“Do you want to come play with us? Me and Claudia are pretending to do magic, and Soren’s a knight. You can do magic with us, if you want.”

Well, this game was certainly right up her alley. “I’ll play,” Rayla conceded, “But only if I get to be an elf.”

Callum grinned broadly, pointing to where the two siblings were playing. “Of course.”

~~~~

“The snacks are here!” Rayla called into the house, arms laden with shopping bags. Callum shut the door behind them, similarly burdened with the case of soda.

The pounding of feet sounded overhead, and several heads poked over the stairwell to glimpse the pair in the kitchen. “Finally!” Soren cheered, racing downstairs to try and rifle through the bags Rayla was carrying.

“Not yet, you lump,” Rayla scolded, pushing past the senior boy, “We’ve got to get upstairs at least.”

“Thanks for going to get snacks,” Claudia called, and her thanks was echoed by the other kids there. Callum and Rayla both shrugged, and made their way upstairs to the game room, where they’d all be studying.

Sitting on the various bean bag chairs and couches, the rest of the study group cheered when the food and drinks arrived. Andromeda, Callisto, Ram, Skor, and Marcos all leapt up to snatch the snacks they wanted. When everyone was sitting again, food in hand, Callum gave a dramatic clearing of his throat, turning all the heads in the room towards him.

“So, uh, thanks for coming over. Hopefully we can all actually get some studying done, since, you know, that’s what we’re here for.” He fixed a firm glance on the two couples in the room. “Ground rules: no making out in my house, don’t be super messy, and also please actually study. Soren, no idea what you’re doing here since you’ve already taken this history class, but okay.”

The older boy shrugged, taking a big gulp of his soda. “Moral support. A welcome distraction.”

Callum clapped his hands together once. “Okay then. I actually made a schedule for this, and if we follow it, we can cover all of the sections by… midnight, I think. 11 pm if we work really fast.”

“You made a schedule for studying?” Callisto asked in disbelief. Andromeda laughed, throwing an arm over her partner’s shoulder.

“Yes, I made a schedule for studying, I think it’s going to be very helpful!” Callum defended, crossing his arms over his chest. Even talking with the other two people, his green eyes somehow still managed to find Rayla’s.

She met his gaze, just for a second, heart pounding, before she looked away again. “Well, guys, if Callum wants to make a study schedule, good for him. Let’s just get started; I really need to pass this test.”

“Since when have you been worried about grades, Rayla?” Skor snorted, reclining in a beanbag chair, dumping spicy chips into his mouth.

“Since I’m in four extracurriculars and if I don’t pass, I don’t play.”

“Try-hard,” Soren coughed from his seat. Rayla just flashed him her middle finger, eliciting wild laughter from the rest of the room.

“Guys,” Callum whined, “I’m trying to be productive-”

“Okay, let’s start,” Claudia said, placing a gentle hand on Callum’s arm. It took everything Rayla had not to glare at the other girl, biting back the unwarranted flash of jealousy.

That’s all in the past. We figured it out.

Usually, she could forget just how close Callum was with Soren and Claudia. But then, something like this would happen, and she’d be reminded that before he met her, it was the siblings who were his best friends.

Having known them his whole life, it was no surprise that he’d developed a massive crush on Claudia in middle school. And he never shut up about it.

His confession at the end of seventh grade had very nearly torn their friend group to shreds. He wanted to ask her to the end of year dance, and when Claudia accepted he was ecstatic. Rayla had been happy for him, and just hoped that when they started dating, they wouldn’t be weird about it and make her and Soren uncomfortable.

But as it turned out, Claudia only thought of Callum as a friend. When she told him, Callum was crushed.

Rayla could still remember opening up her front door to see her best friend standing there, tears streaking down his face.

“Rayla, I just- I can’t believe how stupid I am-”

She pulled him into a fierce hug, and didn’t relinquish her grip on him until his mother came to pick him up. At school the next day, nobody could stop her wrath as she stalked up to Claudia and demanded answers.

“How could you?! You know how Callum feels about you, and you led him on anyway!” Rayla shouted.

“I didn’t want to hurt his feelings!” Claudia insisted, “And I do know how he feels and I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea-”

“No, I know what flirting looks like, and you led him on! He believed that you felt the same way!”

Claudia looked on the verge of tears, and some sick part of Rayla was glad for it. Let her feel bad for her actions, let her feel the same way Callum was feeling.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone’s feelings. I just… I don’t see Callum in that way.”

“Then why’d you keep flirting with him?” Rayla’s voice was dangerously low. Their shouting match had attracted a small audience in the school cafeteria.

“I…” She was at a loss for words.

“You know what?” Rayla snapped, “Save it for someone who cares. Explain yourself to Callum, not me. It’s him who needs the apology.”

The next few weeks were tense. Hardly any of them spoke to each other. Even though Soren was in high school and had nothing to do with the drama, he still sided with his sister, like Rayla knew he would.

Things worked out. Slowly, but surely, they worked out. But not without a lot of tears from everyone involved, a lot of yelling, a lot of accusations. Things worked out.

But even after Claudia and Callum were on speaking terms again, he decided to ditch the dance. Rayla, who never was going in the first place, was more than happy to offer up her couch for a night of movie watching and junk food eating. And sure, Claudia’s Instagram photos were cute, but for Rayla, nothing could beat the fun she was having with her best friend, right here.

Rayla was pretty sure that was when she’d started to fall in love with him. Or, more accurately, when she realized that she already had fallen in love with him.

However, confessing your love to your best friend after a recent heartbreak seemed like a bad idea. So she kept it to herself.

Which, she supposed, was how she found herself here, three years later, still madly in love with her best friend who was none the wiser, getting jealous over a relationship she both knew was purely innocent and also she had no claim over anyway.

Cool, Rayla, very cool.

Shoving down her stupid feelings, Rayla listened as Callum went over his plan for the evening. Review through chapter 2, take a 15 minute break, review through chapter 4, continue pattern until they got through all the chapters they needed.

The plan was met with a loud groan of complaint from Soren’s end. “Callum, why are you even doing this? You literally have a photographic memory.”

“Well, you guys don’t, so really I’m helping all of you!”

“I mean…” Rayla snorted, “Soren does have a point. Why are you so worried about studying, Callum?”

The teenage boy scratched at his neck awkwardly. “Well, uh, it’s kind of embarrassing, but… I’ve only skimmed for answers this entire time. I need to actually read the passages to remember it.”

Rayla just rolled her eyes. “Callum. Everyone on earth just skims for answers. We know you’re all goody two-shoes, teacher’s pet, but chill. You’re going to be fine.”

“How are you so chill, Rayla?” Callum demanded, “Weren’t you just freaking out, like, two seconds ago? Hello, Miss I’m-in-every-sport-imaginable?”

“Changing the subject!” Rayla declared loudly, “Open up the textbook, Callum!”

~~~~

“Time check,” Ram moaned from where his face was pressed into one of the beanbag chairs, “How much longer?”

“We’re at-” Callum attempted to respond, but was cut off by a yawn.

“Chapter six?” Rayla asked, though she wasn’t too sure herself. All the words were beginning to jumble together on the pages. At some point her notecards had gotten mixed up, and random dates and events were scattered all over the room.

“No, the time,” Ram complained. The other boy sat up, brushing his shaggy white hair from his eyes. “What time is it? My curfew is 11:30.”

Callisto grabbed their phone and took a glance. “11:15.”

“Ok, let’s review,” Callum suggested. However, the entire room gave a loud groan of complaint.

“My brain is melting!” Soren cried, dramatically tossing his head into Marcos’s lap. His boyfriend rolled his eyes at his antics, though he threaded his fingers through the other boy’s blond hair.

“Soren, you don’t have to take this test tomorrow!” Claudia snapped, “Don’t start whining!” The girl looked almost ready to start pulling her hair out.

“Alright,” Andromeda sighed, “My mom’s calling; she’s probably here to pick me up. Thanks for this, Callum. If I find a quizlet I’ll send it in the groupchat, okay?”

“Yes!” Skor cheered, “Quizlet is my lifesaver!”

“Pass me some Doritos, Rayla,” Callum muttered in quiet defeat. Rayla hummed in agreement, grabbing the chip bag from the pile of snacks nearby. Her friend was so tired that he didn’t even complain when she took a couple for herself.

One by one, the room began to empty. Callisto’s dad came to pick them up, Ram agreed to drive Skor home, and Claudia, Soren, and Marcos piled into Soren’s little car to drive off into the night.

That just left Rayla. And Callum. Alone.

“Place is a mess,” Callum sighed, taking in all the damage. Although they’d started out pretty clean, as the night wore on everyone got lazier and started just piling the trash where they were sitting. Crumbs spilled over the carpet, and empty soda cans rolled about.

“Let me help clean,” Rayla offered, “I mean, some of the mess is mine.” She gestured to the notecards spilled everywhere. Her mind was a bit fuzzy from exhaustion, but she was pretty sure she and Soren had started throwing them at each other at one point.

“No, it’s fine-” Callum sputtered, but Rayla just rolled her eyes.

“Let me help. Then we can both go to bed and you won’t get in trouble for the mess.” She left no room for argument, and started gathering up all the garbage and stuffing it in the empty grocery bags.

They worked in companionable silence, just tidying up the room. Rayla knew his house well enough to know where everything went, and tossed out all the garbage and swept up the lingering crumbs. Soon enough, the room looked nearly spotless again.

“See, fast!” Rayla chuckled. She glanced at her phone. “Just in time, too. Runaan’s asking where I am.”

Callum surprised her with a sudden hug, catching her off guard for a moment before she returned it, trying to calm her fluttering heart.

It’s just a hug. Friends hug all the time, don’t get all excited.

“Thanks for coming,” Callum said, a tiny bit breathlessly, “I know you were worried about the test and I wanted to help, sorry it got kind of out of hand.”

“You… organized this all… for me?” Rayla hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“Well, yeah,” He laughed, “Even though you probably didn’t need it. You know all the material really well.”

“Only thanks to you, and you know that,” Giving him a friendly punch to the shoulder, Rayla couldn’t contain her grin. “I do feel better prepared, though. I’ll pass. If my brain doesn’t turn to mush first.”

“You’ll ace it,” Callum assured her, “I’m sure of it.”

His green eyes were so bright. And his smile so genuine. Rayla returned it, albeit with less enthusiasm. “Thanks.” Her voice sounded stupidly high-pitched, even to her.

He held her gaze for another long moment before glancing down, at the buzzing phone in her hand that she hadn’t even noticed, too caught up in staring. “You should go. Get some sleep for the test tomorrow, huh?”

“Yeah,” Rayla breathed, “You too. I’ll see in English tomorrow.”

It was an effort to leave the room. To walk down the stairs, quietly so she wouldn’t wake his parents, and out the front door. To open up her door and get in the car, turn the key in the ignition.

The entire street was silent. That’s how it always was, she supposed. The first to arrive and the last to leave. A glance up told her Callum was staring out his bedroom window at her, watching her leave.

With a heavy sigh, Rayla put the car in reverse. Pulled out of the driveway.

She wasn’t naive. Callum had always been big on physical contact, and it had never meant anything more than he cared. She wasn’t willing to put her heart on the line like that, not when she was sure he didn’t like her that way.

Rayla was a risk taker. Always had been. But this? To risk the relationship she already had with her best friend? That was one risk she would never be willing to take.

~~~~

a/n: Poor Rayla! I would like to apologize to everyone in advance; the pining is not going to get better for a LONG TIME

Tag List: (comment to be added or removed)

@hipster-rapunzel

#the dragon prince #tdp #mal writes stuff #rayllum #rayla x callum

19 notes · View notes

ravenwritesstuff · 5 years ago

Text

Best Laid Plans (10/?)

Fandom: Frozen (modern AU, no magic) Pairings: Helsa, established Kristanna, Rapunzel/Eugene, lotsa frohana Rating: T for now, M later almost for sure A/N: Fun fact about why it takes me so long to write stuff. I write everything out of order. The very first scene I wrote of this fiction is in this chapter.

She cannot help but be wary. She has seen what happens when Hans Westergaard shows what he wants and she is all too familiar with that heat and tension. Her body tightens in anticipation of what he means, and does her best to hide her apprehension behind professionalism.

"While I am sure we all are thrilled with the mystery of your offer, it really is critical that we establish exactly what you want as quickly as we can as our timeline is so limited."

She has never had a client be so withdrawn about their event or purpose before. Most clients could not wait to throw ideas and concepts and colors in her direction or instead all the things they didn’t want. So far she knows he liked the wedding because they danced and that he likes the ocean. She is in no way prepared for an event where that is the center. His lack of forthcoming throws her off balance and makes her irritable. She is not sure if it is just the Hans Westergaard way or if she is actually losing control of the situation. Whatever it is, she does not like it, but she hides her discomfort behind a Mona Lisa smile.

"Of course. Which is why I am going to show it to you as soon as I can. But it will require the wearing of swimsuits and the ability to swim. Are you all up to the occasion?” He is in full showman now, the elegant host, and while she feels more at ease when he is in this space she also likes it less. The conflict leaves her with feelings she promptly ignores and shoves down beneath the mental checklists ticking through her mind.

“Per your vague instructions I believe we are all prepared for a swim,” she looks around at her team to get their confirmation even though she knows they all packed accordingly. “But really we have so much to cover. I think it will be best if we work through a few more steps before we get distracted.”

“Oh this is not a distraction. I promise.” He peers out over the ocean, shielding his eyes to make out something. “We have ten minutes before we need to get suited up so let’s talk until then.” He leans back and sips his coffee. “I would love to hear more from the team personally. Why do you all do what you do? What part of the events you manage is your favorite?”

It is an unconventional question, but what other kind can she expect from Hans Westergaard?

She watches as the team all look at each other with puzzled expressions and she is glad that at least this time she is not the only one befuddled by what Hans Westergaard has to say.

“I mean - I guess my favorite thing is that I get to work with my family.” Anna chimes in first, smiling at Elsa and Kristoff. “We make a great team and I don’t know many families that can say that!” She turns to Rapunzel and Eugene as well. “And I’ve gained new family members I never knew before. So it is a win all around.”

“As someone deeply acquainted with the complications of family - I appreciate that Anna.”

It is strange to hear her sister’s name on his lips, to see him smile at her and smile in return.

Anna nudges Kristoff with her elbow and he grunts before offering:

“I get to work with my hands and make my wife happy. Not much better than that.” He chuckles when Anna throws her arm across his stomach and side hugs him. “Plus there is something awesome when a client sees you build the thing they wanted just like they wanted. Makes you feel like Santa or something.”

“The tables and altar at Eric’s weddings were incredible. You made those?”

Kristoff tilts his head, not one to enjoy outright praise, and then nods.

Hans returns his nod with a smile. “Excellent work. Truly. I have ideas for you.”

Elsa sees an opportunity and cuts in: “We would love to hear more about those ideas so we can really talk them over and -”

“Hold on,” Mister Westergaard holds up his hand and focuses on the petite brunette across from him. “What is your favorite part of planning events?”

“Oh. I love weddings and I know you aren’t planning a wedding, but they are my favorite.” Rapunzel’s eyes widen. “But my favorite part of my favorite weddings is the kiss. You can totally tell who is going to make it and who isn’t by the kiss. When the groom really kisses the bride - or bride kisses the bride - or groom and groom - oh you get it. When they kiss them in the way that you can almost feel it from the back row… yeah. That’s my favorite part because I know we did something to give them their happily ever after.”

Leave it to Rapunzel would say something fantastical. Never mind that it has absolutely nothing to do with her role in the company or what is at the heart of their events, but it is water under the bridge. Elsa sniffs.

“Is everything okay?” It is Mister Westergaard. He is arching his brow in the most annoying fashion because it makes her stomach flutter and her mouth go dry and she screwed up. She drew attention to herself at the worst time possible.

“Don’t mind her.” Rapunzel interjects before Elsa can even force a smile. “It’s just that Elsa has never really been kissed.” She smiles a little too broadly at her boss before looking at Eugene (who is honestly at a loss).

Elsa is flummoxed by the comment and she can practically see the mischief dancing across Rapunzel’s features. She is living for this, needling her like the second younger sister she never had. Anna is hiding laughter behind her strawberry lemonade where Kristoff’s eyes are wider than she has ever seen them.

She cannot even look at Hans Westergaard.

Eugene clears his throat and swoops in while Elsa’s mind sputters at Rapunzel’s brazenness.

“Well to be completely honest I had a bit of a rough start. I didn’t exactly use my super negotiation skills for good, but Elsa gave me an opportunity to do what I do in a productive way and that is what I enjoy the most. I like knowing I can con a deal for my client,” it is a joke and they all force a laugh. “Plus I like parties.”

Even Hans Westergaard manages a smirking chuckle without all of Eugene’s history. Chances are he has files on all them from some sort of private detective or something invasive like that anyway. There is no need for elaboration.

“So what about you, Hans?” Anna says, sipping her drink, deflecting from what was to inevitably be Elsa’s turn to share. “Why E&A Events? What do we bring to the table that you want for your event?”

Elsa could hug her sister for the segway.

Anything to focus past the horrendous mess Rapunzel insisted on introducing and keep Elsa from having to answer Hans’ time wasting question.

Hans looks at them all and smiles. It is wide and easy, like he has never had any other job besides smiling at them and his response makes her boil. She hates his smile, his calm, that he had somehow gotten her on this ship where her insides are being flipped and churned and turned upside down.

“I want you because you are unexpected,” he says matter-of-factly. “You aren’t what I thought I would want but somehow you are exactly, wholly, and perfectly what I need right now.”

Elsa does not need to look up from her tablet to know he is speaking directly to her. She can feel his gaze as sure as she can feel the hammering pulse in her throat. It takes her best efforts to take rein of her stampeding thoughts and draw a deep breath.

“That is very nice of you to say Mister Westergaard,” she pretends to be very busy taking notes on her tablet. “We are excited to dive into the particulars about why you chose us but right now I think the question we all have is just what exactly we are endeavoring to initiate.”

He nods and looks again at the horizon just as the ship’s pace slows dramatically. His smile spreads. He looks back at them.

“You’re about to find out. It is time to suit up.”

….

Elsa put on her incredibly conservative one piece in the stark privacy of a marble and gold bathroom. The couples were given other rooms and while she knows the lighting is not flattering all she can do is look at flaws in the mirror. The suit had been specifically chosen because it did not show any of her scars. The navy suit had no cut outs, barely scooped below her collarbones and shoulder blades. The suit is made out the same fabric that swim athletes use. It compresses every inch it encases but it covers everything and is not flashy in the slightest.

She had told Anna and Rapunzel to leave the bikinis at home.

She hopes they had or else her suit is going to look impossibly old fashioned.

She turns sidewise in the mirror and sucks in. She is not certain why. Her shape is her shape. There is little much she can do about that now. Her swim wrap is her saving grace. It looks much like any of the other dresses she might wear throughout the week though is slightly sheer. The almost black is burned out with floral patterns and wraps at the waist with a feminine sensibility she normally eschews, but she had nothing else that would serve on such short notice.

She looks at herself once more, feels her bare feet on the cool tile and breathes. This is fine. She is simply winning over a client that her company needs to impress. That is all.

She presses her hands against her stomach and breathes.

She does not tell herself it will be okay. She has not done that in years. Instead she tells herself it will all be managed. It will happen and she will handle it, whatever it is. This is a test and she intends on passing it.

There are risk to swimming with her condition, but she knows her team has her back. They will watch her. It will be okay.

She tosses her braid over her shoulder, makes sure her personal items and stacked tidily in the corner, forces herself out of the bathroom.

The rest of them are already waiting on the aft desk. She hopes she hadn’t taken too long, not wanting to raise suspicion by her lengthy change. She assesses everyone’s dress as she approaches. The expression of personalities under the instruction of ‘dress appropriately’ is not lost on her with Anna’s tankini beneath a loosely tied robe, Kristoff’s rash guard and the longest possible swimmers available. Eugene trends towards more fashionable Bermuda cuts and Rapunzel’s suit is a one piece that hardly qualifies with all of the crazy cut outs. That leaves Hans Westergaard who stands in shorts similar to Eugene’s and a plain white t-shirt that is too tight to be decent.

She tries to not notice the shape of his calves, the size and shape of his feet, but it is a lost cause. Her rebellious mind grabs onto these facts before she can convince it not to. He smiles as he sees her and it is the same earth shattering power that leaves her shaky and uncertain where the rest of the world went.

“Shall we?” he says to the group before leading them out of the shaded part of the deck out into the bright sun.

She squints and pulls her sunglasses down over her eyes as he leads them out past the infinity pool. There are wide steps beyond it railed with stainless steel grips and she clings to them as they descend to what appears to be a small launching platform.. At the base there is a large white space where three crew members wait. They demonstrate general snorkeling protocol that she vaguely remembers from when she was six, before this all began. They offer up equipment. They fit it to them. Then the worst comes.

Every swimmer must have one buddy. Pick your buddy and know you are responsible for them out in the water.

And the lines are so clearly drawn.

She stands fidgeting with her mask and flippers knowing she is now responsible for Hans Westergaard. Anna casts her a knowing glance, but Elsa knows that damage that would be done if she let Anna be her partner. The affront will be obvious, personal, and honestly this is the least of worst case scenarios.

It is just swimming. They won’t have to touch or speak. All she has to do is make sure that Hans Westergaard does not die. Easy peasy.

With a return glance she calms her sister’s concerns. It will be okay. This is okay. She is okay.

Then the crew is distributing sturdy plastic bottles to everyone named with only the words BODY and FACE This time though Mr Westergaard steps up to explain the reasons.

“This is just a little project I’ve been working on - a new line of sunblock. If you don’t mind using this instead of the kind you brought I would love to know what you think.”

Elsa holds both bottles in her hands thinking it is a bit strange, but she would rather have him be strange than charming. She had applied sunblock that morning in her apartment just in case, but the sun is bright and she is not interested in burning.

She opens the bottle labeled BODY and starts with her legs and feet. The scent and feel of a lotion is pleasing. The texture is not oily or rough but actually absorbs into the skin easily. The scent is not overwhelmingly tropical but instead has the essence of eucalyptus. It is refreshing. She hates to admit how much she enjoys it.

They are all standing fairly close together but the couples have sectioned off into their own little bubbles. She and Hans are on the outside, reasonably spaced. Anna has lost her robe as has Rapunzel. She is next and the idea of him seeing her in something so opposite of what she normally wears makes her heart race. What if he was cataloguing her traits the way she inadvertently was his? What if he liked what he saw? What if he didn’t?

She reprimands herself. None of that matters. This is a job just like any other job and she needs to stop losing her mind over things that don’t matter.

Her fingers work the tie at her side, thankful now more than ever that they all were wearing sunglasses. If he did look at her she wouldn’t know. She shrugs and the wrap falls to her elbows and then slips all the way to her hands. She carefully draws it in front of her and folds it neatly before setting it next to her snorkel gear and hopes it is bright enough that no one can tell she is blushing.

She retrieves her sunblock and works her way over all the parts she had missed before until she arrives at the exposed part of her back that she cannot reach. She is struggling to bend her arms to cover stubborn spots between her shoulder blades, head bent down, and a pair of feet comes into her field of vision. She looks up and Hans Westergaard stands there with his sanctioned sunblock in his hand. He looks at her with a smile that is nothing but warm, sincere, and if he wasn’t wearing sunglasses she is sure that his eyes would hold that defenseless, human look that always rattles her..

“Need some help?” He offers. “The back is always the first place to burn.”

Her decline is on the tip of her tongue but she hesitates. She can always just ask Anna for help but how will that look? No matter how infuriating and unsettling this man is he is still her client and she is trying to make a point. She can handle his flirting and still maintain a professional nature.

“Okay.” She gives a stiff nod.

He circles around her and that is worse. She is standing there in a garment that shows every lump, bump, and irregularity. It is not cut for flattery and she should be glad of that at this moment, but she finds herself wishing she has the more daring choices of her counterparts. Or at least something that doesn’t look like she is about to take a water aerobics class at senior citizens center.

No. She mentally reprimands herself. This is for the best. She is here to be professional, and he cannot create ideas about her interest in enticing him in any way when she is wearing the equivalent of a nuns habit in modern swimwear.

She hears him open the bottle, make the necessary squirt, and she waits then for the first touch. It takes longer than expected to come, but when it does her entire body stiffens.

She had expected cold but there is none of that. The lotion and his touch are warm. He spreads the cream over the available skin before he begins the process of massaging it in. She stays perfectly still, not daring to move, and does everything in her power to not consider that he is touching her, she is allowing it, and that the strength of his fingers is enjoyable.

His thumbs trace the fragile wings of her shoulder blades. The slick of the lotion gives his touch a silky glide as his hands work across her skin, tracing the delicate bulbs of her spine. He comes up to where her braid hangs across her neck and pushes it to the side before she can stop him.

She knows exactly when he sees it. She can sense it in his hesitation. The scar creeping from the base of her neck up under her hairline is a wide pink line, made wider and more noticeable with every cut, and is something she hides with low lying hairstyles and high collars but now…

She can practically hear his breath catch at the sight.

His thumbs run in tandem up along the length of her scar in impossible reverence. She is sure that he can feel the rapid rhythm of her heart against his fingertips where they rest on her throat before she pulls away.

“I'm sure that's good. Thank you.” she flips her braids back over her neck in an attempt to not rub the spot his thumbs had branded and looks at him with a dare to ask her.

It would be a relief in so many ways if he would just ask. If she could just tell him and scare him away before they get any further in this unnamed dance. Behind his sunglasses it is nearly impossible to tell what his intent is until a smile spreads over his face. Instead of probing he hands her the bottle of sunscreen.

“Return the favor?” It is a question as much as it isn't and she can hardly keep from blushing when he strips off his t-shirt. He winks as he turns his back to her and she recognizes a challenge when she sees one.

But that isn’t all she sees.

Her eyes trace the ropes of his muscles as they bunch and pull as he adjusts his posture to do his own application on the front of his torso. A wide smattering of freckles swaths his broad shoulders in frenetic clusters. Despite his fair complexion there is a tawny glow that speaks of his love of being outdoors.

For a long moment she stands there frozen just staring as he worked his hands down the length of his arms. She watches his hand slip over the enticingly sharp cuts and swells of his shoulder and then down lower. He turns his head a bit to cast a look in her direction with a smirking grin.

“If you need more lotion, just let me know.”

Then he is back to it. His short phrase jerks her out of whatever spell she had been under and now it feels like all eyes are on her. Is her sister watching, is Kristoff? Eugene definitely would be and Rapunzel probably was brokering some sort of wager about what is actually happening and what will happen.

She grits her teeth.

She knows if she looks to see if any of that is true she will not be able to do this, which is exactly why she doesn’t. She’s spent the better part of today convincing everyone that this is nothing more than a harmless flirtation and that she can handle it. Running away screaming because he needs help applying sunscreen is not going to do much for her case, but she knows she is going to hear about this later.

So she might as well put on a show.

She grabs a nearby bottle and squares her shoulders. The cap opens with a snap. She focuses on each motion as she squirts a generous amount into the palm of her opposite hand. It is too much, she knows, but it is the only shield she has. She rubs her hands together to coat them thoroughly and then, before she can lose her nerve, reaches out to touch.

Even with the thick creamy coat of sunblock she can feel the heat of him rising to her touch. The broad lines of his back are long with foreign trenches and cords of muscle telling their story of use. His body is not exaggerated in size like her brother-in-law’s, but it is well formed, athletically cut. There is a kind of feline grace about him and the way he moves, the way his calculating eyes watch her move in this game she can hardly remember starting.

She is more rough than she needs to be, pressing hard enough that she feels him brace. She does not take the care he did to make sure that every inch of skin is absolutely slathered and rubbed in. She works from the center of his back up over his shoulder blades and then down close to the line of his swim trunks.

She stares at her own hands moving across his skin and she tries to think of anything but the idea that she is just inches away from dangerous territory. As if this entire exercise isn’t dangerous territory. She lets out a breath she did not know she was holding and steps away.

"There. All set." She holds her hands down at her sides, palms still tingling with his heat.

He turns and faces her.

"So," he sets his sunscreen on the deck and straightens. "Snorkel buddies? What do you say?"

She has to respect that he is actually asking instead of just assuming. It gives her the opportunity to negotiate.

"We could always triple up. No sense in creating a superfluous twosome."

"There is no possible way that any group you are a part of could be superfluous," he grins. "But it's statistically safer in pairs. Trust me one we get out there you will have so much to see that I promise you will be glad you only have to keep track of one other person."

She is not going to ask for his source on those stats, but instead she asks: “What exactly are we going to look at?”

She had not thought it possible, but his smile grew three sizes at her question.

“My initiative,” he pulls off his sunglasses, puts them off to the side, and fits his mask over the top of his head. “Ready to see?”

She looks over to the others and they all have their gear ready to go and are watching them. How long had they been watching them? She looks back at Hans and nods.

He leads them to the edge of the platform. It is a few feet above the water with a plastic and metal ladder on the side. Hans sits, pulls his flippers onto his dangling feet, and then slides off into the blue water. He pops up only an instant later and swims back a few feet to look up at them.

“Water’s great!” He treads, powerful shoulder muscles rolling. “Come on in.”

They all follow suit. Elsa is the last to slip from the safe edge of the boat into the water below. It is cold, not freezing, but definitely not bathtub water. The temperature is jarring at first. Her body cramps and hesitates as she stays submerged, but she manages to kick to the surface. She pops up on a sputtering gasp, reorients herself, and swims to the others.

“We’re swimming to that buoy over there.” He points to a yellow speck a few hundred yards away. I recommend using one of these to help with the swim.” He raises his arm out of the water and gestures. Several life preserver belts fly over the edge from a helpful crew member and they all grab one. “Also once we are out there it is a strict look but don’t touch policy. Ready?”

“When will we know we are seeing what we are supposed to be seeing?” Rapunzel asks, her intrepid curiosity shining through.

“I have a feeling you will know.” He smiles and pulls his mask over his eyes. “Follow me!”

[ previous ]

#Best Laid Plans #Helsa #IceBurns #Kristanna #Eugene x Rapunzel #AU #Fanfiction #Raven Writes Stuff

22 notes · View notes

otterknowbynow · 4 years ago

Text

Altean Home Economics (11/?)

Goo is great, but Hunk sure would feel better if they had kitchen access.

all chapters in this tag | ao3 link in reblogs

The castle is nearly still when Hunk gets out of bed in the wee hours of the next morning. It’s a full four hours or so -- three vargas and something, he tells himself -- before the others would normally be up and about, except maybe Shiro. But, he thinks, yawning and pulling on some slippers before he leaves his quarters, even Shiro probably isn’t up quite this early. He wouldn’t be either, but he has no idea how long space yeast takes to settle in, and it seems better to check on things more often than less.

When he gets to the kitchen, at first nothing seems amiss. The staple querlay is still humming away -- they didn’t shut it back down fully last night, he notes -- and apart from the mugs he and Coran left on the counter, it’s neat and clean. The pantry itself is another story. At first, he’s not sure what he’s looking at. The surface of the island is lost under layers of blue and purple and gray...something. It looks goopy, but when he pokes it with an experimental finger, it’s almost solid, and doesn’t leave a trace of itself on his skin. Hunk frowns, studying it for a moment, until he thinks to follow the flow of it back around the island, down across the floor, up to the back counter, and to the row of bowls he left there last night.

It looks like the -- whatever it is, he’ll figure that out later -- must have come from the starters he threw together. Two of them have burst through the sheets of covering he and Keith put over the bowls, and where they’ve merged they’ve formed this…

“-- lung rot?” Hunk nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of the voice from behind him, whirling around faster than he thought was possible.

“What the quiznak, Allura? What are you doing sneaking up on a guy like that?” His heart is hammering, and he takes a breath to recover, taking in her slumped shoulders and tiny sheepish smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else would be up and about just after third varga.” She sounds exhausted, and Hunk realizes with a rush that she may well not have slept at all.

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, and it is, really. He can feel his heart rate already going back to normal, and he can’t say he blames her for having a bit of insomnia, given the stress of everything they’ve been dealing with lately -- the Blade of Marmora just another concern to add to the list, really. “I’m sorry -- didn’t mean to snap at you...I’ve just been trying to figure out what the deal is with whatever different space yeast we can find -- gotta keep the brain occupied with everything going on, figure out how best to get some comfort food going -- and I thought I was the only one awake, and then you just -- Anyway, you get it.” He’s rambling, he realizes; it’s too early for filters.

“I do get it,” she says, her smile more genuine now. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For forgiving me, I suppose,” she says. “And for this welcome distraction.” She gestures broadly at the weird mess he’s apparently made of their formerly pristine pantry. Hunk grimaces.

“You said -- sorry, did you call this stuff lung rot?” He must have heard wrong, he thinks, because the alternative is too gross to think about. Not to mention he’s not sure how he would have made something like that outside of a body -- oh, but now he’s thinking about it inside a body, and that he definitely doesn’t need either.

“Yes,” says Allura, frowning now, and Hunk tries to lock onto her words instead of letting his mind continue down that particularly unpleasant rabbit hole. “It used to grow out in the fields during the floods back -- back home.” She goes quiet, and Hunk gets the feeling that any value this had as a distraction is somehow canceled out. Although, it’s certainly distracting him now; any thought of potential bread recipes with alien ingredients can’t make it through the visceral horror he’s still feeling thinking about what this stuff might do to a pair of lungs. He tries to think of how to phrase his next question to poke as little as possible at what’s clearly still a tender wound for Allura. Your whole home planet gone is kind of a big deal, he thinks, even if it had things like lung rot.

“Is it, uh...dangerous?” he asks finally. He has to know how to handle it, even if it does mean pushing Allura into painful memory territory. It would kind of stress folks out, he’s pretty sure, if he accidentally made some kind of toxic substance in the kitchen of all places and they had a repeat of the mass food poisoning incident on top of everything else going on. And he can’t imagine anything called ‘lung rot’ -- even in Altean -- could be good.

“I mean, it’s not usually desirable,” Allura says, though she sounds less sure of herself. “The growers used to clear it before planting, at least. I think you can handle it without any, ah...adverse effects, though.”

“You can handle it, you mean,” says Hunk pointedly. “I’m not sure that we can count on humans and Alteans having the same reaction.” Allura’s eyes widen at this.

“Right, I hadn’t thought of that,” she says, then looks down, shame creeping into her features. “Just like I didn’t think of it with the roast shellhorn.”

“Eh, it happens! Can’t blame yourself and all that.” Hunk shrugs, trying to catch her eye with an encouraging look. She hasn’t stopped studying the floor, though. “Technically, I already touched it, anyway,” he continues, and looks down at the finger he used to prod at the mysterious substance earlier. It looks the same as all the others, as far as he can tell. “And it doesn’t seem to have done anything to me for now.”

“Well, that’s good,” she says, finally looking up. Her brows knit into a frown before she goes on. “But you’re right that you probably shouldn’t risk it any more, just in case.” Any more of her plan is interrupted by an announcement from the roomwide comms, which, Hunk realizes, are clearly as present in the pantry as they are throughout the rest of the ship.

“Ah, attention, folks! Paladins, Allura, miscellaneous space critters I didn’t know we had on board until recently,” Coran’s voice is pitched like a game show announcer over the speakers, and Hunk suspects he hasn’t slept either. “Just wanted to let you all know that we are on the approach to Entuk, and if you’d like to see it fly by as we get near, well, now’s the time to make your way to the bridge. If you, like me, would rather be in a state of slumber right now, by all means, be my guest! That goes doubly for the space critters, none of whom I need startling me at this early hour.”

“Well, the lung rot can wait; it’s not going to do anything on its own, I don’t think,” says Allura, who seems to have perked up with a bit of hope at Coran’s announcement. Hunk is not at all sure that they can trust it not to do anything more than it already has, but he’d rather not push her back into the quiet sad place she seemed to be in when she first got here, so he shrugs.

“To the bridge, then?”

#vld #vld fic #allura (voltron)#hunk garrett #hunk (voltron)#voltron #idk what tags people use we're calling that good #scribbles

3 notes · View notes

pug-bitch · 5 years ago

Text

That’s not why I’m going (33)

Humidity’s rising

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive, and a VERY steamy scene. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: around 4,500 (let me know if the ‘keep reading’ cutoff isn’t working well!)

Notes: This picks up pretty much where we left off, as the gang is ready to go to karaoke, starting with Drake’s POV. This chapter is mostly fluffy stuff, because we need it :D

*****

Drake steps into the Uber, closely following Amara, who’s now sitting between him and Maxwell. He squeezes her hand once they’re all buckled in.

‘Are you sure you’re ok, baby?’

She nods enthusiastically. ‘Yes, please don’t worry. I had an episode, it’s gone now, I want tonight to be fun!’

He nods and kisses her hand. Maxwell rubs Amara’s other arm. ‘You’re right, let’s have a fun time! So happy to be all together! But where are we going exactly?’

Amara chuckles. ‘We’re going to the bar where Drake and I went for karaoke once. It’s a cop bar, it’s quiet, we just have to look out for Bastien or even Ilya, but if they’re both not there we’re in the clear.’

Max cheers. ‘Woo! A bar full of hunky cops, I love it!’

Drake laughs heartily. ‘Max, most of them are not hot. I just wanna manage your expectations!’

‘Who knows! Look, Amara was a cop, and she’s hot as hell! Why wouldn’t these cops be sexy?’

Amara gloats, ‘Oh, well he’s not wrong, Walker. Some cops are very hot indeed. Ever seen Broadchurch? David Tennant can get it.’

Max gasps, ‘YES, he can. Every time he yells ‘Millah!’ I feel a tingle inside of me.’

Drake rubs the bridge of his nose. ‘That’s all great, guys. I really needed to know what makes Maxwell tingle.’

The Uber driver lets out a throaty laugh, and then realizes that he did that out loud. They all pause for a second, and resume laughing together.

*****

‘Finally! What took you bitches so long?’ Liv complains as Drake, Amara and Max get out of their Uber.

‘Relax, Liv, we’ve been here for two minutes!’ Hana chimes in.

Amara rolls her eyes, ‘Oh, two minutes? Poor Duchess Olivia, your time is sooo precious. Alright, let’s get in, and let’s have fun. Bertrand, I wanna hear your beautiful voice, ok?’

Bertrand blushes but smiles brightly. Amara can’t help but think they may have failed to include him enough in the past, but she’s determined to make it up to him.

They walk into the bar, and Amara scans the room for any known faces, which she notices Drake is doing too. But they looked everywhere, and there’s no sign of Bastien, Ilya, or any other members of the Royal Guard. Just regular uniformed cops at the end of their workday, relaxing with their buddies or spouses. Amara notices there’s a lot more women in here than there were last time, which is great for them. They will stick out less.

‘This is everything!’ Maxwell yelps. ‘How come I’ve never been here? It’s so cute! Those peanut bowls are so retro, I’m into it.’

Amara and Drake look at each other and laugh. Oh, Maxwell. What a treasure.

The six of them get a booth and Drake goes to the bar to order the first round. He knows Bruno at the bar, Amara remembers from last time, and Bruno makes strong drinks.

‘Maybe I should tell Drake to just get me a tea,’ Bertrand says nervously.

‘Bertrand! If you’re gonna sing, you need liquid courage!’ Hana says.

Bertrand shrugs and smiles. ‘Well, I suppose that’s true. I’m already two drinks in, though, maybe it’s too much.’

‘Live a little, babe,’ Liv says as she takes a flask out of her bra, handing it to a blushing Bertrand. ‘Have a sip. It won’t bite, it was just on my boob, not up my ass.’

Amara and Hana bite their lips in order not to laugh, as Bertrand reluctantly takes a swig from Liv’s boob flask.

‘I’m gonna go help Drake carry the drinks,’ Amara says.

She walks up to the bar, where Drake is chatting with Bruno while he’s making the drinks. ‘Hey ma’am,’ Bruno says. ‘I remember you. You sang Queen beautifully last time you were here with Drake.’

‘Oh hi Bruno! Nice to see you. It’s very nice of you to say, I was a little hammered, so I don’t remember much of that...performance.’

Bruno laughs, and serves Amara an extra shot of bourbon. ‘Bourbon, right? You’ll need it if you want to give another stellar performance. Lower your inhibitions.’

Amara laughs and downs the shot. ‘Thanks, Bruno. I’ll start a tab.’

He waves her off. ‘This one’s on the house. A friend of the Walkers’ is a friend of mine. And Drake already put his card down.’

‘Aw, thanks, Drake!’

They walk back to the table with drinks for everyone, a round a double shots of bourbon.

‘Ohh, guys, I’m tipsy just looking at these,’ Hana laughs.

‘Lee, stop it, or I’ll make you drink from my flask too,’ Liv threatens. Hana throws her hands up in defeat, and grabs a glass.

*****

A couple of rounds later, Maxwell gets up and goes up to the stage, under the cheers of a room full of cops. He does a little breakdance as he arrives on stage, provoking more excitement from the crowd. Amara gasps, nervous that he might fall on his face again. ‘Jeez, this man will break his neck just by being himself one day.’

Drake laughs, his hand around Amara’s shoulders. He’s feeling good. At home, even. He wishes his dad were here to see them all having fun together. He’d say, ‘See, Drake? You complain about the nobles, but you had to give some of them a chance. They’re not so bad.’

He looks at Amara. She’s smiling broadly, visibly happy to be here. Surprising in a way, since her past is still so painful. He was afraid, when they came here tonight, that the abundance of cops would trigger her anxiety again, but it seems like it’s doing just the opposite. Maybe she’s just enjoying the proximity to good memories, both from her past, and from one of their first dates. He enjoys seeing her like this.

Suddenly, Maxwell clears his throat in the microphone.

‘Hello, you gorgeous bunch of cops!’ The crowd cheers. ‘I’m Max and tonight, I’m gonna sing an amazing, deep song that means a lot to me. Hit it!’

He gestures to Louis, who is manning the karaoke machine. Louis shrugs, and presses a button. Maxwell closes his eyes and clutches the microphone dramatically. As soon as the opening notes start to play, Drake rolls his eyes. No he didn’t.

I threw a wish in the well,

Don’t ask me I’ll never tell,

I look to you as it fell,

And now you’re in my way!

The gang cannot stop laughing at Maxwell’s dramatic rendering of Call Me Maybe. Amara actually has tears in her eyes. Before the chorus, Maxwell shouts, ‘Little Blossom, come join me!’

Amara, without missing a beat, plants a kiss on Drake’s cheek, and runs to the stage to join Max. He wraps his arm around her and they both sing in unison.

Hey, I just met you

And this is crazy!

But here’s my number

So call me maybe

Drake can’t wipe the smile from his face. Here she is, his beautiful girlfriend --he’s never said this word to her before, but tonight, when they can be normal and hang out with their friends in public, it feels right-- singing with their best friend and having the time of her life. She points at Drake as she sings the next words:

Before you came into my life

I missed you so bad

I missed you so, so bad

Yeah, it’s a cheesy song, and the lyrics are so bad that they’re good, but he feels those lyrics on a deep level, which he would probably never confess to anyone unless he had a gun to his head. He definitely cannot remember one single good thing in his life before she showed up.

*****

Amara and Max get back to the booth, both out of breath and very smiley. Amara kisses Drake on the lips and asks, ‘Did you like it?’

He chuckles. ‘Yeah. You were amazing.’

Amara turns to Hana, ‘Babe, sing one! Come on, Max and I can even join you if you’d like!’

Hana giggles, visibly inebriated enough to say yes. ‘Alright, I suppose I can give it a try…’

She gets up and consults the list of songs that Louis is handing to her. Max turns to Drake and Bertrand, a self-satisfied look on his face. He says, ‘Gentlemen, I had an idea for a male-only number, are you with me, or are you not?’

Drake sighs, looks at Amara who is nodding furiously, and says to Maxwell, ‘Fine, I’m in.’

Bertrand, visibly altered by the contents of the boob flask, nods as well. ‘Sure, Maxxie, let’s do it. As long as I know the song.’

Max bites his lip. ‘Oh, you know the song.’

‘Shh, guys, Hana is on stage!’ Amara says excitedly.

Hana giggles into the microphone. ‘Hi all, I’m Hana. I’m not a good singer, so, I apologize in advance.’

Remember those walls I built

Well, baby, they're tumbling down

And they didn't even put up a fight

They didn't even make a sound

I found a way to let you win

But I never really had a doubt

Standing in the light of your halo

I got my angel now

Amara’s jaw drops. She knew that Hana was underselling herself by apologizing for her voice --after all, Hana is good at absolutely everything-- but she didn’t expect her to have the vocal range of Mariah Carey.

‘Fuck, guys, I have chills,’ Max says, his mouth wide open as well.

Liv exhales loudly, ‘Holy shit, Lee’s got pipes.’

Everywhere I'm looking now

I'm surrounded by your embrace

Baby, I can see your halo

You know you're my saving grace

You're everything I need and more

It's written all over your face

Baby, I can feel your halo

Pray it won't fade away

For the rest of the song, the whole room is silent, taking it all in and enjoying the melodious sound of Hana’s voice. When she finishes the last note, there’s a pause, and a massive round of applause. The gang cheers and screams her name.

She comes back to her booth, blushing. ‘Thanks, guys, I hope I was ok…’

‘OK??? Are you kidding me, Lee?’ Amara says excitedly. ‘You were Beyoncé level! That was glorious!’

Hana blushes some more, as Bruno makes his way to the table, holding a round of martinis. ‘Guys, this is on the house. Miss Hana, you were incredible. I’m speechless.’

‘Oh please,’ Hana says shyly, ‘it was just a little song.’

*****

Drake goes up to the stage reluctantly, following Max closely, not knowing what’s awaiting him. At least, Bertrand is on the same boat as him.

Maxwell whispers something in Louis’s ear, and the man immediately grins widely, which suggests to Drake that this is gonna be something else.

He recognizes the song immediately, and curses Maxwell under his breath. ‘Oh please, you love it,’ Max replies.

Drake looks to Amara, who’s looking more excited than she’s ever been, obviously recognizing the song as well. Maxwell gestures for Drake to open the song. He rolls his eyes.

You are my fire

The one desire

Believe when I say

I want it that way

He can’t believe he’s singing this in public, but judging from the look on Amara’s face, she’s thoroughly enjoying the moment, so to hell with this. He’s gonna have fun.

Then, the chorus comes, and all three of them sing in unison:

Tell me why

Ain't nothin' but a heartache

Tell me why

Ain't nothin' but a mistake

Tell me why

I never want to hear you say

I want it that way

Drake grabs the drink that Bruno is handing him, silently thanks his savior, and downs it in one go. He’s gonna need this liquid courage to finish the song.

*****

Amara can’t believe her eyes, or her ears, for that matter. Her Drake, willingly singing a Backstreet Boys song. If they weren’t in public, she’d jump his bones right now. But also, the very fact that he went with Maxwell’s wild suggestion without questioning it shows a lot of growth on Drake’s part. The Drake who came to NYC would NOT have gone for a boy band karaoke song.

She gets up and greets the three guys as they get off the stage. Drake opens his arms to her, and she wraps him in a warm hug. ‘That was hot,’ she whispers in his ear.

‘Oh, was it?’ he chuckles.

She nods. Now, a very tall and very muscular uniformed cop is starting to sing Rihanna’s We Found Love, and people are beginning to dance. Amara takes Drake’s hand and guides him to the makeshift dancefloor, where they grind on each other for a while, completely forgetting about the crowd around them. They don’t even notice that the music has changed, now a female cop has started to sing a Kings of Leon song. They keep dancing closer and closer to each other, Amara’s body pressed against Drake, and his hands on her hips, drawing her closer. Their foreheads rest against each other, as they try not to kiss, but the intimate position they are in leaves very little to the imagination.

He whispers, ‘You’re so fucking sexy.’

She runs her hands on his chest, then down on his stomach, almost reaching below his belt. She smirks.

‘Don’t tempt me, Suarez,’ he chuckles.

She’s aching to kiss him. No one is watching them, everyone is dancing to the music, and looking at the successive performers. ‘I want you,’ she whispers in his ear. ‘I don’t know that I can wait until we’re back at Ramsford.’

He bites his lip, his breath ragged. She knows he wants her too. ‘Fuck, Suarez, you make me so hard.’

She takes his hand and leads him to the corner where the bathrooms are.

‘Are you nuts?’ he laughs. ‘That’s a public restroom. Not a palace bathroom…’

She laughs and whispers, ‘We just won’t touch anything. Meet me in a minute.’

She gets in, her heart racing. She looks at her reflection in the mirror, notices that her eye makeup is smudged, in a way that makes it look like a smokey eye. Drake gets in, and locks the door behind them. Without a word, he places himself behind Amara, both of them facing the mirror. He throws his arms around her waist, and one of his hands reaches under her dress, and in her panties. He quickly finds her clit, and draws circles around it with his thumb. She gasps, her breath now uneven. She turns her head just enough to capture Drake’s lips in hers, kissing him more and more deeply as his fingers explore her soaking wet folds.

With her right hand, she reaches behind her, to undo his belt, and she sets his throbbing cock free. She wipes off his precum with her finger and rubs his length up and down, making him moan. He slides one more finger inside her, and she can’t wait any longer, she needs him inside her again. She shimmies out of her panties, and he lifts up her dress. She bends over a bit more, enough for Drake to find her entrance. He teases it with his cock, but her low groans don’t leave any doubt: she can’t wait. He needs to fuck her now. He enters her completely, making her gasp for air. She whispers, ‘Fuck me hard.’ He obliges. His thumb still on her clit, stroking it, caressing it, he fucks her harder and harder, deeper and deeper. Her walls contract around his cock, they pulsate, she can’t handle it anymore, she’s going to come. She hopes she can stay silent enough. His fingers are driving her crazy, her clit is throbbing under Drake’s hand. She feels his dick getting harder and harder inside her, and his breath is getting quicker against her neck. He kisses her ear a bit more urgently. She needs to try to hold on, she wants to come with him. She hopes he comes soon, she’s about to burst.

‘Amara…’ he whispers, his voice raspy. It sends her over the edge. Her body gives in, her knees buckle, she comes for him so hard, she knows he can feel it, her walls contracting all around him. He moans long and hard, and she feels him fill her with his cum. They both catch their breath.

‘Oh my God…’ she whispers. ‘That was… I’m still dizzy.’

‘I can’t breathe,’ he chuckles. ‘Wow. I should sing to you more often…’

*****

When they come back to the table, no one is paying attention to them, Hana, Bertrand and Maxwell being deep in a very giggly conversation. Only LIv is looking at them with a smirk on her face. ‘Did you horndogs just fuck in the bathroom?’ she asks.

Amara rolls her eyes. ‘Ew, Liv, who do you take us for? A bathroom in a cop bar? That’s insane.’

‘Yeah, Nevrakis,’ Drake chimes in, ‘we may be commoners, but we’re not peasants.’

Liv snorts. ‘You’re not actors either. You’re both very bad liars. I hope you washed your hands. Suarez, I have a mission for you.’

‘Oh?’ Amara says.

‘I’ve been told by Little Beaumont that if I don’t sing a song, I will be, and I quote, ‘a stupid ass loser’. As much as I don’t care what he thinks, I think it could be fun. Do you want to--’ she wrings her hands together, visibly in the position of asking for a favor for the first time of her life, ‘do you want to sing one with me?’

Amara squeals, ‘Yes! Yes, Liv, I’ll sing with you!’

‘Alright, calm your tits,’ Olivia says with a dismissive hand gesture, ‘I’m not asking you to have a quickie in the bathroom, it’s just one song.’

‘Charming,’ Amara replies. ‘Got a suggestion for the title?’

‘Yeah. I already talked to Louis over there. Let’s go!’

They hop on stage, Olivia looking fierce in her tight black pants, high heels and bright red blouse. Amara can’t help but feel like a teletubby next to her, in her bright yellow dress. She bursts out laughing when she realizes which song Liv has chosen. Soo off-brand, and yet so perfect.

Humidity’s rising, barometer's getting low

According to all sources, the street's the place to go

'Cause tonight for the first time

Just about half-past ten

For the first time in history

It's gonna start raining men

It's raining men, hallelujah, it's raining men, amen

I'm gonna go out to run and let myself get

Absolutely soaking wet

It's raining men, hallelujah

It's raining men, every specimen

Tall, blonde, dark and lean

Rough and tough and strong and mean

Amara looks at the crowd, and sees that the rest of the gang is standing up now, dancing to the rhythm. She winks at Drake.

*****

‘Aaaah, it was so FUN!’ Maxwell yells as he flops onto the couch, back at Ramsford. ‘That was such a good idea, Amara and Hana! We need to do it again.’

Liv takes off her heels and rubs her feet. ‘I’m as surprised as you guys, but believe it or not, I had a lot of fun! I can’t believe that Big Beaumont over here sang Backstreet Boys like a fucking champ!’ she says as she pats Bertrand’s back.

‘Ha!’ he says, ‘I blame your um… bosom flask, as you say. I’m afraid I’m a tad tipsy. I should put myself to bed. Ladies and gents, it was grand. Thank you for including me tonight, it was a breath of fresh air. I will see you all tomorrow for breakfast.’

Everyone wishes him a good night and he disappears up the stairs. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Amara whispers, ‘Did he just say ‘bosom’?’

Drake chuckles. ‘Nevrakis, how does it feel to have Bertrand talk about your bosom?’

She shrugs, ‘Everyone talks about my bosom, if you must know. It’s a glorious bosom. Not as glorious as Suarez’s, of course, but I do what I can.’

Amara fake curtsies, ‘I am humbled, Lady Nevrakis.’

Maxwell opens a small bottle of sparkling water. ‘So, now that we’re in private… are you gonna tell us everything, Olivia?’

Liv raises an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean?’

Max rolls his eyes. ‘Come on. We saw you on your phone all day. You were actually--’ he whispers, ‘smiling.’ He fake gasps.

Liv sighs. ‘You guys are the fucking worst. No one can have a private life around here, huh? Did you blab, Suarez?’

Amara shakes her head as fast as she can, afraid that Liv is packing some hidden weapons somewhere, near her flask or in her hair. ‘No! I promise I didn’t blab!’

‘It’s not that hard to figure it out,’ Max adds. ‘You’ve never been in a better mood and you’re texting all day. Amara is not the only one with detective skills, you know! Call me Agent Breakdance!’

Liv snorts. ‘I’ll call you Agent Break Your Nose, that’ll be more on brand.’ She takes a sip of water. ‘Alright, you bitches, you win. I was texting someone all day, and I went on a date on Monday night. Happy?’

Hana smiles broadly. ‘It’s wonderful, Olivia! Is he nice?’

Olivia makes a disgusted face. ‘Nice? That’s gross. He’s sexy, and fun, and he respects me.’

‘Well that’s the whole package, then,’ Amara says, stroking Drake’s hair, as he’s lying down on her lap, both snuggled on the couch.

‘Tell us who he is, Liv!’ Max pleads. ‘I’ll tell you anything you want in return. I’ll tell you everything there is to know about me.’

‘Beaumont,’ she says solemnly, ‘I want to know absolutely nothing about you.’ She takes another sip, visibly pleased with herself for the suspense she’s creating, blissfully unaware that everyone knows who he is. ‘Alright, it’s Domvallier.’

Max feigns surprise. ‘Ohhhh, I love that for you! And he’s hot as fuck.’

‘Yes, Liv,’ Hana chimes in, ‘he’s a very handsome man, and very stylish!’

Olivia nods, a small smile on her lips. ‘I may actually like him, so you clowns better not ruin it for me, ok?’

Max puts a hand on his chest. ‘Liv, we would never! Our lips are sealed. Plus, all our friends are in this very room, so we have no one else to tell.’

Drake sighs, and makes eye contact with Amara. He wonders whether he should tell Liv that Liam knows about the two of them. He doesn’t want to ruin the night. He wonders what it would accomplish to tell her. Probably nothing, right? But the five of them have made a point of being honest with one another, and that’s crucial. He can’t lose her trust, not now.

‘Liv, I gotta tell you something,’ he says. Amara’s eyes catch his, and she nods at him. He continues. ‘I hope you don’t freak out. But um… I think you deserve to have all the elements.’

Liv suddenly starts frowning, her uncharacteristic smile vanished. ‘What?’ she barks. ‘What is it?’

Drake sits up. ‘I saw Liam Monday night, he was back from the beach. He had texted you, remember?’

Liv’s face falls. ‘Yeah, I got a text from him asking if I want to meet him at the beach at midnight. I never responded, though.’

‘Well,’ Drake pursues, ‘He waited for you there anyways. He saw you and Rashad, and he knows there’s something between you two. He was very upset, and last I heard, he wanted to have a conversation with you to discuss what you want. He seemed to want to make a grand gesture, like an apology for taking you for granted.’

Liv purses her lips, visibly angry. ‘Oh, so Prince Liam wants to apologize, and as always, you’re his little lapdog, huh? His wingman? Like when you broke into Suarez’s room to drop off Liam’s note?’

Amara shakes her head, ‘Liv, that’s not what he’s saying. And that note was ages ago, before anything happened between us--’

‘Stop,’ Liv says. ‘Liam can give me any amount of attention he wants, I’m done with his pathetic ass. I know you fucking love him, Walker, and you think he’s the shit, but let me tell you, he’s never had any goddamn respect for me and my feelings, until he saw me exchanging sexts with another man.’ She stops and catches her breath. She suddenly looks very calm, as if she had just solved her own dilemma.

Drake puts his hands up. ‘I agree with you, Liv. I wasn’t pushing Liam onto you, I promise. Fuck, I think he’s been horrible to you, very manipulative, and you deserve so much better.’

‘Agreed,’ Liv spits. ‘I deserve the world. Liam is willing to give me what? A pity fuck and a dozen roses? Pathetic.’

‘Yeah!’ Max says angrily, obviously wanting to be part of the discussion. ‘Get it, girl!’

Drake nods, ‘Hey, I truly wasn’t telling you that you should be with Liam. I think Rashad is a very cool dude, and I can see the two of you getting along. Like you said, he respects you, and that’s what matters. Please, Nevrakis, don’t shoot the messenger. I was just telling you what I know, so you’re not blindsided when Liam comes to talk to you.’

Olivia nods angrily, visibly calming down a bit. ‘Yeah. I guess it’s good to know.’

Amara chimes in, ‘It doesn’t change the fact that Rashad is good for you. It’s unfortunate that Liam saw you, but it doesn’t change anything at the end of the day. That’s not what Drake meant at all. He was just giving you a heads up.’

Liv, still frowning, nods. ‘Ok. Fine. Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just sick of Liam getting what he wants. It’s too little, too late. If he asks me, I’ll tell him the truth. I have no idea if Rashad and I are going anywhere, but he’s making me feel more appreciated than Liam ever has.’

Drake smiles and takes Amara’s hand, relieved that she understood him and what he was trying to do. He doesn’t blame Liv for snapping, though. He used to be what she said: Liam’s wingman whatever happened. Now, in the wake of finding out how forceful he could be, like he was with Amara, and how dismissive he was with Liv, he doesn’t know if he can ever really be in Liam’s corner again. Not like before, anyways.

Hana clears her throat and speaks the words of wisdom: ‘How about we all get some rest, huh? Olivia, we’re all very happy you’ve found someone you feel comfortable with, and none of us disagree with you being upfront with Liam. We all want you to be happy. Now go to bed and turn off your phone.’

Liv snorts, ‘Yes, mom.’

*****

Taglist:

@drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @jovialyouthmusic @andy-loves-corgis @emceesynonymroll @mariahschoices @drakesensworld @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs @drakewalkerisreal @alesana45 @nikkis1983 @simsvetements @iplaydrake @lily1999love @drakewalkerwhipped @drakxwalker @drakewalkerrosenberg @drakeswalkers @drakelover78 @silviasutton1989 @dcbbw @carabeth @furiousherringoperatortoad @hollygirl1269 @sirbeepsalot @ladyangel70 @thisperfectmemory

Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

#that's not why i'm going #dramara #drake x amara #drake walker x amara suarez #amara suarez #drake walker #drake x mc #drake walker x mc #drake walker trr #drake trr #trr drake #choices trr #trr fanfic #the royal romance fanfic #choices fanfiction #fanfic #gratuitous karaoke moment

40 notes · View notes

wordsaremything · 5 years ago

Text

Post-War in Power

Summary: Hermione is called to the Ministry to talk about what they should do about rebuilding the school after the Battle of Hogwarts.

1150 words

Walking into the Ministry of Magic for the first time after the war was like walking into a museum. Even during the height of conflict, it always felt packed. But now as Hermione studied the dark marble space, there was hardly anyone about. She held her jacket closed and walked towards the lifts.

Just that was odd– no one said a word to her, but everyone made sure to get out of the way.

Kingsley was having a meeting in his office about the current state of Hogwarts, and how to fix it. Hermione, Ron and Harry were all invited but Hermione insisted she should go alone. The others weren’t ready to talk about the school so soon, and if she was honest neither was she. But their new minister insisted at least one of them should be there. The boys were busy enough.

The cool, female voice was chillingly familiar as it told her she reached the Minister’s Office. She never would have thought there was anyone up here without the open door at the end of the hall with light and voices leaking out of it. She swallowed, walked over with her heart hammering, and knocked softly.

Kingsley was the first to look up. He smiled broadly and gestured to one of the empty chairs in the room. “Miss Granger, please.”

Hermione smiled politely in return and sat down, which happened to be beside Professor McGonagall. She was the only professor there, and besides Kingsley, the only person she recognized in the room. There were ten others, all men, who watched her with an odd look in their eyes. Like they were judging why she was included and afraid to speak at the same time. She folded her hands in her lap and looked to the minister.

“Miss Granger, these men were on the Hogwarts Board of Governors before Voldemort took over,” he said, and Hermione noted that name still made some of them squirm, “They’ve come to offer their ideas.”

She nodded once. “Nice to meet you.”

When it was clear they weren’t going to say anything else, Kingsley continued. “Right. The bottom line is we have to fix and clean the castle before we can let any students return. There is a lot to be done–”

“If the students want to return at all,” one of the governors interrupted, “There has been a serious tragedy at that school, not to mention any other unspeakable things. What parent will want their child there?”

Another one seemed to agree. “The world needs time to heal, yes. It will also take a considerable amount of time to make the school livable again. If I’m not mistaken, Professor, it’s been torn up, yes? And littered with… dead things.”

Hermione turned towards McGonagall as she cleared her throat. “Yes, while that’s true, it was not Hogwarts that committed those atrocities. We were invaded.”

“And poisoned,” interjected yet another one of the governors, “Those grounds will never be the same again. People died–”

“And we watched it happen,” snapped McGonagall. She looked between Kingsley and Hermione with a familiar, indignant look before she continued on. “We were powerless, I’ll have you know, while our school was controlled by that– that demon! Hogwarts educated the lot of us… we can’t let it continue to rot with that darkness.”

This discussion was turning into an argument, and quickly. Hermione was at a loss– she didn’t know where to interject, or even where her place was in all this. If she had a place at all in this type of thing. What sort of power placed her any sort of political influence like these people had?

“We should close the school for at least a year,” a governor with a Slytherin lapel pin said, “Let people grieve, let the grounds reset. How would we get all of those repairs done in time anyway?”

Without a second thought, Hermione added, sharply, “No.”

Immediately all conversation stopped. Kingsley cleared his throat. “Go on, Hermione.”

She took a breath. “Hogwarts need to open at the same time it always does. Missing a year would be detrimental.”

“To what?” the wizard sitting across from her scoffed. Her eyes were still drawn to the snake on his jacket. “Your own sentiments? Harry Potter’s political agenda? The students–”

Well, if he was going to talk down to her she wouldn’t do this politely. Hermione Granger had no time for polite anymore. “The students need to see that things can go back to normal. Don’t you see? Closing down for a year would leave an entire generation of children without their education. How would they catch up? And what about the Muggleborns? We already struggle against wizard-born children, and being a year behind would make it worse. Returning students need to make up for the time they lost under the Death Eaters. Making them wait will only make the gap in their learning larger and harder to cross.”

Hermione cut her eyes to the minister. He was watching, and listening intently. He waved her forward. “What do you think we should do?”

“I think you as a ministry should do everything in your power to have Hogwarts up and running again by September,” she told him, “The only way to prevent something like this from happening again is through education. As for time, I know plenty of people who would love nothing more than to see Hogwarts back at its former splendor and would be happy to help. A deadline would be good for them– for us. You fight trauma with normalcy. You fight monotony with a sense of purpose. Like Professor McGonagall said, we were all educated at Hogwarts, where we thought it was the safest place in the world. If we make it so again, people won’t be so afraid anymore.”

None of the governors seemed to want to argue anymore. Instead, everyone looked at Kingsley. He simply glanced around at them all, his grin widening when his gaze fell on Hermione. She straightened every so slightly. “We do as Miss Granger says,” he said finally, and her heart could have hammered out of her chest. “We will rebuild the castle before term starts. We will be a united front in the place of the tyranny that castle endured. And the students will want to see their home away from home restored.” Hermione smiled, nodding slightly. She couldn’t believe that worked. And that no one wanted to argue with her, call her bossy, or write her off as grappling with idealism. They listened to her. She had power here she wasn’t used to.

Kingsley added, “I think I know some people who will want to see Hogwarts healed as well. We’ll get started as soon as possible,” he directed that statement towards the governors, now silent. “This has been,” he paused when his gaze once again fell on Hermione, “Enlightening.”

#battle of hogwarts #hermione granger #harry potter fanfiction

9 notes · View notes

moxy-fruitbat · 5 years ago

Text

Destined for Great Things - (Reposted)

Now it’s actually functional to read because I’m not posting from mobile! I’m so sorry about it being 10 miles long before. The actual story is under the cut!

This is my apprentice Laurene’s backstory of how she came to Vesuvia and met Marcel, the other half of the Sibling Apprentices. Laurene is Fantasy!Irish, and her culture is based on a mix of different Gaelic peoples, including the Gaels (more broadly), the Picts (more specifically), druidry, and my own experience as a pagan.

It also is heavily based on Irish mythology. If you don’t know the myths, it’s perfectly fine and you’ll still be able to understand the story.

Rating: T for depictions of trauma, but there’s no gore or explicit violence. Content Warning: Fire, claustrophobia, family death Length: 3,200 words.

Yeah, you read that right, it’s basically a full-length novella. I got carried away a bit, but I’m really proud of it. (And also always open to constructive criticism!)

Irish/Scottish Pronunciation Guide (written by an American with the internet, so it's not good):

- Labhraín: LAW-reen - Muirne: MIR-ne - Bandruí: BAHN-droo - Tlachtga: TLAC-da - Uncail: UN-cuhl - Tadg: TAH-dg - Cumhall: COOL - Áillen: AH-lehn - M'iníon: M'een (Irish translation: My daughter)

Labhraín woke up on a chilly autumn morning, curled up with her cousin Muirne to stave away the cold. Careful not to wake her, Labhraín slowly crawled out of bed and dressed near the central hearth. How Muirne could sleep through everyone bustling about in the house was beyond her - there were fifteen people in here, almost entirely women and children, and half the building was dedicated to the sheep and goats, past the partition. It was always so loud.

Labhraín had just finished braiding her long hair when Muirne came and joined her.

"Morning cousin" Muirne smirked, a smile partially hidden behind her mess of dark blonde hair. "Are you ready for the day? We have a lot of work to do."

That they did. Tomorrow was New Year, one of two days where the veil between realms was at its thinnest, and the day to honor the dead and do readings for the coming year. There was still a lot to do to prepare for the feast of the ancestors and the bonfire atop Almu Hill, and Labhraín and Muirne were the two oldest cousins and eighteen and nineteen, so it was their job to do a lot of that work. Labhraín's mother, Bandruí Tlachtga, always said it was a blessing that there were so many girls. Her father chose some other words to describe it.

Muirne leaned in and whispered, so only Labhraín could hear her. "Hurry up and meet me in the hazel wood, I have something important to tell you!"

---

"What's so important that we had to rush out here?" Labhraín questioned as she focused her concentration to make a gust of wind appear from her hands and into the branches of the sacred trees, rattling the hazelnuts loose.

"I have to tell you a secret. And you promise you can't tell anyone. Especially not my Da. Promise?"

"I promise, what is it?" Not even Uncail Tadg? He was the chief magician - not telling him must mean it's something bad. And knowing her cousin, that should be expected anyway. She was usually getting into some kind of nonsense.

"I'm leaving. Tomorrow." A smile spread gleefully across Muirne's face as she picked up hazelnuts off the mossy forest floor

"Leaving?! What do you mean, leaving?" She hissed.

"I met man, a few weeks ago. Oh, Labhraín, I love him. He's getting me out of here and we're going to get married. My Da wants to keep me here until I'm an old crone, and I can't do it! I know I'm destined for great things!"

Labhraín just sighed and looked at her cousin. Muirne was in love and there was nothing she could do to change her mind. Once Uncail Tadg found out she was missing, he would send out a manhunt. In the past he had said something about an omen, that Muirne could never get married. She wasn't sure exactly what kind of omen that meant, but the soothsayers never lie.

"His name is Cumhall, oh Labhraín, you'd love him. He's the leader of a different tribe, I know he'll take care of me. We're leaving tomorrow night, right after the feast. With all the festivities, no one will notice I'm gone!"

Labhraín thought it was a terrible idea, and even if he was a king she still wouldn't like him because he was taking her dearest friend away. But how could she pull her from what she believed to be her destiny? Was it even her place to say?

Instead, she just sighed, clutching her apron full of hazelnuts and headed back to the blackhouse with her cousin. "I'm happy for you, Muirne. I wish you the best."

They spent the rest of the day preparing for the holiday - rehydrating the woad pigment, baking dried fruit bread, gathering eggs for divination and herbs for the fire, and washing turnips to carve the next day. Labhraín went off on her own for a bit, to practice her music one last time before the bonfire with the other musicians in the family. She bumped shoulders with her cousin, Áillen. He made her laugh and for a brief moment she forgot how unhappy she was.

Silent tears ran down Labhraín's face as she tried to sleep that night, surrounded by her other cousins but holding Muirne close. The words she said kept playing in Labhraín's head: I'm destined for great things. I'm destined for great things. I'm destined for great things.

I'm destined for great things.

Labhraín hoped to the spirits of the forest and the ancestors that it was true. And she hoped the same for herself.

---

The next day, after they had the feast of the ancestors in silence with the rest of the family, she tearfully waved her cousin off into the dusky forest.

"M'iníon, what is wrong?" Her mother asked, catching Labhraín by surprise. "Why are you crying? Is something upsetting you?"

"Oh...nothing. Thinking about grandfather is just making me sad." She lied, quickly wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Yes, we did lose a good man this year..." She placed a hand on her daughter's cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "But don't you worry, he's watching over us, especially tonight. The fire is starting soon, would you like me to help you with your facepaint so you can join the other musicians?"

A small smile came upon Labhraín's face and she nodded. She was a grown woman, but her mam always knew how to make her feel better when she was vulnerable.

"I'd like that a lot."

As her mother brushed patterns over her face in the traditional blue pigment, Labhraín kept telling herself the bonfire will make her feel better. Without fail, it always does.

---

At the top of Almu hill, she readied herself behind her dulcimer, her aunts, uncles, and cousins beside her on other instruments. This is where she felt most at home. One at the hand drum, one at the flute, one on the pipes, with Áillen on the harp. He was the best musician of them all, his warm smile always lighting up the room as he played.

But this time, no, she had to be imagining it? Áillen looked different than usual - like a man half dead, his eyes like burning coals. He caught her looking at him, and the smirk he gave her made her stomach turn.

Something was wrong.

The bonfire was never actually lit. Everything happened so fast... They were playing the music, but as Áillen started to sing, all the men began to move slower and slower until they fell unconscious. Her uncle dropped the pipes. And then the destruction began.

Fire. So much fire. It began with Áillen? And the roof of the blackhouse, below them. What was happening? Where was her mam? It was chaos. The sound of screaming filled her ears. Her mother yelled for her.

"Mam!" Where was she? Everything was a blur of smoke.. Her heart raced. Her eyes prickled.

Through the flames she saw her.

"M'iníon! Labhraín! Run!"

It was all she could do. She snatched up her dulcimer and ran down the hill and into the forest, leaving everything behind her.

---

She ran until she couldn't feel her legs anymore, collapsing onto the forest floor. The hammers to her dulcimer were long gone, and she honestly didn't even know why she grabbed it in the first place. She knew she needed to pick herself up and keep moving, to get farther away from Áillen's destruction, but all she could do in the moment was sob into the dark earth.

She wanted her mam. She wanted Muirne. She wanted the hammers to her dulcimer. She wanted to be back in the blackhouse, waking up the next morning and none of this ever happening.

Something large crunched the dead leaves in front of her, and she almost didn't even look up. Whatever danger she was about to face, maybe it would actually kill her. Being dead was better off than her current situation, right?

But she slowly craned her head up, and her eyes grew wide as she looked directly into a pair of bright yellow ones. In front of her sat the biggest mountain lion she had ever seen.

Granted, she had never seen one before. She must have run farther than she thought, since these cats weren't usually found where her tribe lived. Maybe this one was lost like she was.

It cocked its head at her, whiskers twitching, and she heard it speak to her in her mind.

"Lost?"

"Ye-yes..." Her voice trembled. "I...there was a fire and..."

"Fire?"

"Yes... Everything is gone, my mother, she...she told me to run, but now...."

"Safe?"

"Me? No, I...I don't know..." It was the dead of night by now, in a part of the forest she wasn't familiar with. She could usually sense where the spirits of the forest wanted her to go, letting them guide her, but in her current state she wasn't sure she could muster up the strength.

As her voice trailed off, the large cat shook its head once and stood up, beginning to walk away, it's tail straight up in the air like a flag.

"Follow."

It led her to a crevice in some rocks, beneath the roots of a large tree. It was a den for rearing cubs, though she didn't see any. The cougar laid down on its side and curled up, looking up at Labhraín as if to question why she wasn't following in suit. Not knowing what else to do, she laid down beside it, the cat's tail wrapping around her. She heard one more word in her mind before exhaustion completely set in and she fell asleep.

"Safe."

-------

The cougar introduced itself as Philomena, and insisted on staying with Labhraín as she went through the forest, even though she really didn't have a place to go. She was physically and emotionally drained, her skin pale and her eyes heavy. What was the point of even going anywhere? She just wanted to lay down and sleep and never wake up.

Philomena headbutted her, urging her to keep going.

"Need to go. Safe"

She groaned, picking herself up. She gathered up her dulcimer and hugged it close to her chest, trying to pull whatever familiarity to home it had into her, as if it could fly away at any moment.

She walked out into the dewy morning, scattered sunlight filtering through the trees. She sighed - even at her worst, she couldn't deny that the forest was beautiful, and was still proud to call it her home.

Philomena nudged her again, and Labhraín closed her eyes, listening to the forest and feeling where its spirit pulled her.

"Slightly north to the setting sun." She said after a few moments of thought and gathering of her bearings. Her feet like lead and her heart still heavy, she trudged forward through the trees with the sun at her back.

They walked for days, stopping only for food or sleep, and the occasional rinse in a stream. Despite all of Philomena's pushing, Labhraín refused to eat meat, because that would mean she had to light a fire spell to cook it. She never wanted to look at fire again, or at least not any time soon. What if she accidentally lit the forest on fire? What if destruction is in her blood, like her cousin? She knew that didn't make much sense, but the fear was still there.

After five days, the deep forest she was familiar with began to thin. She went around a large mountain, and the trees changes species. Signs of other human life began to appear - she must be getting close to a village. The water from the falls was flowing down the path she was already walking. If she followed it, she would probably end up at the village, since they would be using the water. Is this where the spirits of the forest were guiding her? Her pace quickened - maybe she'll actually find a place to stay.

As she continued, she passed the largest tree out of them all, roots exposed on top of a pile of crumbling rocks. She made a note of it, that if she ended up staying in the woods it wouldn't be hard to turn those stones into walls and make a house under that tree. She would be alone besides Philomena, though, and she was eager to see another human being.

The trees finally cleared, and Labhraín came face to face with the entrance to the largest city she had ever seen. Over the walls was a large white building, with gold and spires and towers. She had never seen something so beautiful. Someone very important must live there.

Philomena nudged her back, causing Labhraín to turn around. The Mountain Lion was sitting up, a look of finality in its eyes.

"Safe." It said. This wasn't to urge her to keep moving, but a statement. This is where Labhraín was meant to be.

"Aren't you coming?"

"No. Stay out here. Home in forest."

That made sense. A large predator like Philomena wouldn't be welcome in her small village, and Labhraín couldn't imagine what a large city like this place would think.

"You're my family now, though, you know that?" She asked, scratching the cat's golden fur behind the ears before wrapping her arms around it in a hug. "I'll be back for you, I'll visit all the time. I promise."

"Familiar." Philomena purred. "With you. Always."

With that, they went their separate directions: Philomena jumped into the upper branches of the forest trees, and Labhraín made her way into the city. Her heart was heavy and she was scared, but Mierne's words echoed in her head, her mantra for her entire journey.

I am destined for great things. There was no turning back now.

---

Labhraín had never seen so many people in her entire life. This city was packed, everyone was pushing around one another and she felt trapped. She didn't really know how she got to this part of the city, the streets were twisted and confusing, but it was some kind of trade center. Everyone was buying or selling different foods, from the most delicious bread she'd ever smelled to piles of exotic fruits she had never seen before. One was dark red and leathery, and a perfect sphere - it had to be too tough to bite into. How would someone eat it? It wasn't until this moment that she realized how much she didn't know about the world. In the past hour she had seen more people of different skin tones, heard more languages spoken, and seen so many different foods than she had ever seen or heard before in her life. There were people who she couldn't tell what gender they were, or if they had a gender at all. She didn't realize that was an option. But most of all she noticed that up until now she had been relatively alone or in her small family group. She realized that all these people and all the noise made her very anxious.

There was so much going on. There were so many people…

The crowd jostled her to and fro through the streets, pushed her around. She found herself feeling smaller and smaller, her heart racing, her breath quickening. She ran to the edge of the street, her back against the stone wall of a building. She sunk to her knees and closed her eyes, hoping it would just go away.

"Are you alright?"

She heard a voice and felt a hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes, another face very close to her own, purple eyes looking into hers.

"Are you alright? Do you need help?" A person with tan skin and hair the color of woad knelt down in front of her, a concerned look on their face.

"I...I don't know. I..." Labhraín's voice trailed off.

"You're new here, yeah? I don't recognize you."

Labhraín nodded. Did this person know all these people in the city? How could they know so many faces?

"Here, come with me. The back roads are a lot more quiet. I can show you, if you want." They stood up and held out their hand for her. She took it, and they led her down some side streets away from the crowds They moved quite fast, twisting and turning through the alleys, and Labhraín almost had to run to keep up with their long legs. All the while, this person never seemed to stop talking.

"My name's Marcel, what's yours?"

"Labhraín."

"Law...reen?"

She nodded.

"Laurene. Okay, I think I got it! So you look pretty lost. You've never been to Vesuvia before, have you?"

She shook her head no.

"Yeah, it's a lot if you're not used to it. So welcome to Vesuvia! Are you staying or just visiting?"

"I… I think I'm staying."

"Oh, wicked. That thing you're holding, is that an instrument? It looks like a kanun?"

"It's a dulcimer. I'm missing the hammers, though."

"You play it with hammers? That's super cool! I play the oud."

Did they not know what a dulcimer was? To be fair, she didn't know what either of the instruments they mentioned were.

Marcel kept talking, asking a lot of questions that Laurene didn't think really meant much. What her favorite flower was ("We call it Lily of the Valley where I'm from"), or her favorite food ("fiddleheads". "Fiddleheads? I've never heard of that before. I like kousa mahshi." "I've never heard of that before."). They didn't mean much, but slowly they got Laurene talking, speaking to another human again. They reminded her of Muirne, and she smiled for the first time in almost a week.

By the time they got to wherever they were going, Laurene knew more about Marcel than she did anyone else. They described themself as "nonbinary" and didn't really go by any particular gender. They were nineteen, a year older than her, and was also a magician. Their facepaint helped attune their chakras, whatever those were, and they were really interested in the clothing of other cultures.

Marcel also was uncomfortable showing skin, which explained the boots, long pants, knee-length tunic, and jacket they were wearing. They even wore a looped scarf around their neck, to cover their hair and mouth when they felt like being extra modest. ("Large crowds make me nervous, so it makes me feel better to cover my head.") Laurene didn't know how they could wear so much fabric when the city was still so hot in autumn, but she could make an assumption that it was something magical.

The two of them came out of an alley in front of a shop a ways away from the marketplace, the wooden sign emblazoned with a mortar and pestle that hung next to the doorway creaked in the autumn wind.

"This is the magic shop!" Marcel grinned as they unlocked the door. "My auntie and I, we run it, and live upstairs." They paused, halfway through the door with Laurene still standing on the street outside, unsure of what to do.

"What, aren't you coming in for tea? You're new in town, you're a guest! Come in!"

#moxy ink blot #the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana mystic romance #the arcana nix hydra #the arcana apprentice #the arcana mc #the arcana fan apprentice #the arcana fanfiction #fan apprentice #apprentice laurene #fan mc #the arcana fan mc #apprentice backstory

6 notes · View notes

reader-rabbit · 6 years ago

Text

Mjolnir’s “Worthiness” Screening

So I just had a thought about the “who is worthy” moments with Mjolnir in Avengers: Age of Ultron. You know the one, when they’re in the party (and Thor is in that jaw-dropping red velvet suitcoat) and they take turns at the end trying to lift Mjolnir. Then there’s the moment when Vision waltzes up with Mjolnir casually in his hand.

I’ve been thinking about what makes someone “worthy” of handling Mjolnir, specifically within the context of what we find out in Thor: Ragnarok, which is that Mjolnir is a tool for handling powers as much as it is a weapon. This is where my headcanon/meta comes in, I guess. (Buckle in, this is going to be long, folks)

So if Mjolnir is a tool for helping someone like Thor harness his powers and use them properly, what if the qualification for “worthiness” is linked to this idea? Thor doesn’t get to use Mjolnir after his banishment until he learns that his powers are not just for making war and claiming victory and personal glory. He learns that his powers are for seeking justice, providing protection, and making things right. If Mjolnir is determining worthiness, it has as much to do with ability to use power as the knowledge of what to do with it.

In Vision’s case, he is programmed with what to do with his power. It is part of his character, the hardwiring from Ultron and Jarvis with a built-in moral code instilled by Tony Stark’s and Bruce Banner’s work. This moral code is not necessarily theirs, but an idealized version of what they think is right, combined with practical aspects brought to the table by Jarvis. This may be what allows Vision to be “worthy” under these qualifications.

Vision also possesses the Mind Stone, which, according to the Marvel Wiki, “controls the minds and hearts of others.” While one might say that having this stone might alone make Vision worthy, it is also possible that the powers of this particular stone allow Vision to overpower or bypass Mjolnir’s worthiness screening. Does Mjolnir have a mind or heart? It must have some sort of consciousness to enact the screening, so one might argue that it does have a mind, of some kind. Perhaps Vision isn’t worthy, but is powerful enough with the stone not to need to be worthy.

This theory also has implications on that party scene when everyone tries to lift Mjolnir, and all are broadly unsuccessful (except Steve, but we’ll get there). Tony Stark, for instance, has the power of wealth and intellect and influence, but is constantly grappling with what to do with it. One moment it’s exclusively for personal gain, another moment it’s a way to assuage his guilt, another moment he’s actively trying to save lives. His motivations are inconsistent, and his use of power “historically not great.” Bruce Banner has power that protects himself.

Bruce’s brute strength and immense size are powers that he only partially understands, and uses very reluctantly. That reluctance is born from his desire not to hurt anyone, and not to lose himself in his power. Not bad motivations, per se, but it inhibits his ability to use his power in a balanced way. At a lot of points throughout the movie, it feels like Bruce has been reluctantly dragged along the heroic route, when all he really wants to do is stay at home and work on his projects (which I don’t blame him for, the Avengers are all a little nuts). But this reluctance and hesitance makes his motivations cloudy at least, and at most self-preserving. Therefore, not worthy.

Steve, on the other hand, is America’s golden boy. He has powers in the first place because he is a good man who wants to do right for the world. His arc in The First Avenger is all about him learning not only how to use his power in the most basic ways, but what he wants to use it for. By the time we get to AoU, Steve knows. He wants to fight oppressors, save the oppressed, and achieve justice for the individual. Hence, Mjolnir budges. But Steve is also a little afraid of what he can do, and he can get his personal motivations confused with justice. This could be why Mjolnir does no more than budge. On the other hand, Steve is also incredibly self-conscious, and has learned the hard way that he shouldn’t play all his cards at once. Maybe Mjolnir did decide that Steve was worthy, but Steve decided he shouldn’t be lifting that hammer any more than he did.

#definitely not exhaustive #but a thought i had that I needed to write out #so here it is #and I know that my bias comes out esp regarding thor #but who cares #avengers meta #mjolnir #marvel #avengers #my headcanon #avengers: age of ultron #avengers: aou #thor #bruce banner #tony stark #vision #marvel meta #marvel headcanon #avengers headcanon

22 notes · View notes

reactionaryhater · 6 years ago

Note

Watch Innuendo Studios’ video “There is Always a Bigger Fish” and give us your thoughts on it.

Sounds interesting enough. I’m busy this week, but I’ll give it a look tonight and more or less stop to jot down my thoughts as they come. Warning: This will be LONG and RAMBLING.

The topic of the video, as Innuendo Studios (IS) claims, is “the core ideology of conservatism.” I should start by saying I’m not a conservative, in fact I’m ideologically at odds with much of what our Republican party does. Additionally, I’ve never really understood conservatism as a general concept. Like, if you bring up liberalism, or socialism, or progressivism, or whatever you call the Democratic party, I know some basic markers that distinguish these from other political beliefs. Conservatism, I’m not so sure. There’s the idea of small government and traditional values, but these are both relative to our society. And when they come at odds, which does the ideological conservative choose? So on that note evaluating this video might be difficult.

“Say for the sake of argument, you’ve got this friend.”

Oh boy, here comes a self insert fic. I’d like to call this a strawman, but I can’t have it both ways now. I will say arguing politics by private message sounds a bit pathological to me.……cough…Okay will this bickering be on the test?

“Republican thought.”

Okay, we’re not talking about core ideological conservatism here, we’re talking about Republicans. Good to keep in mind.

“If you didn’t believe your friend shared these assumptions, you’d basically be calling him a fascist or a sadist.”

That says quite a bit about the breadth the word “fascism” has for IS. Anyone who doesn’t believe “Do unto others” and isn’t clinically disordered is a fascist.

“And you conclude that, if you believe in democracy, you must believe in equality, and, if you believe in equality, you must believe in equal access to education, and must conclude that governments should help pay tuition.”

This is a chain argument, or to put it another way, a train of association. IS makes three logical steps which he outlines, from one thought to another. In principle, they look good and sound. In reality, many assumptions are made and many possible alternatives ignored, each step of the way. That means the more steps he makes, the more distant he gets from the starting point by an exponential factor.

Let’s start with the first conclusion: Democracy means everyone is equal. He suggests democracy doesn’t work unless everyone is equal (such as in education). I think the people who started the practices of democracy were much smarter than that. Even when all voters had to own land, they would have known not everyone was equally educated, equally virtuous, and equally informed. That was never the point. Democracy doesn’t assume everyone is equal, it assumes the majority of active citizens have the best interests of their society in mind.

I’d also like to point out how he ought to be explaining his belief that everyone is “equal but not equal.” Remember that meme about the fence? Different heights. If anything it’s the conservatives and the “privilege deniers” who believe in the most present equality. Now in an ideal world, if everyone is equal, they can surely educate themselves. But they’re not equal. But they SHOULD be equal. So they need assistance to become equal. Who’s going to MAKE us equal? He assumes the government in the third conclusion. But when did the government gain a monopoly on the power to enact change?

“He is often misinformed, but what if that isn’t the problem? What if he… actually believes something else?”

Uh oh, question begging incoming.

“A liberal is someone who tends to think democratically, and a conservative is someone who tends to think like a capitalist.”

I don’t accept this definition for ideological roots or for the parties as a whole, but I accept it for certain segments of the US political sphere. Those segments may not be equally represented or influential. They’re there, though, so that’s a start.

“It’s an egalitarian mindset; people gain power by…”

HAHAHAHAHAHA. I’m sorry, I just can’t. I can’t help myself. I must meme.

I get that he goes on to give the “People have the power” line, but that is a bit different. We the people ordained the Constitution, which grants power according to rules, and so on. We are not a direct democracy, nor, do I think, anyone today would believe our elected officials are mere employees.

“This is the idea of democracy, with the history of democracy being riddled with failures to live up to this ideal”

Not even IS, and as I said, pure egalitarianism is not by design in the US. I want to be clear I’m not saying egalitarianism is bad, nor am I saying that people should not be treated with equal degrees of respect – this is a very different discussion. I’m just addressing his claims about our political foundations here.

I agree with his description of capitalism.

I disagree that conservatives believe hierarchy is man’s natural state. Many many conservatives are devout Christians, and in Christian tradition, everyone in theory is equal under God. Many conservatives also believe capitalism is a means toward increasing the quality of life for all people.

“Power has to be earned.”

You mean *cough* by garnering votes? I mark this point as where he inserts the straw man that conservatives all want black people to be under Jim Crow again, which sure is a talking point of the far left, isn’t it, and yet not a talking point of the Republican party.

“All citizens are equal…is a legal fiction.”

So I wrote about how he cannot believe in equality before hearing this point, and honestly now. Someone who believes all people are equal does not advocate for money for the poor, because there are no poor. This sounds silly for me to say, but until he either defines equality in concrete terms or concedes that his equality is an “ought” not an “is” (bringing himself about halfway to this capitalist conservative) we won’t be able to go any further.

“Of any issue, simply ask: does this distribute power, or consolidate it?”

Does IS desire a more powerful central government, or a less powerful central government?

“If you’re in the middle, then you serve the king. Valar dohaeris. But, to everyone beneath you, you are the king.”

Ah, the privilege argument rears its ugly head at last. IS apparently thinks we live in, and the honest to God best analogy I can make here is, Soviet Russia at the height of corruption. Peons lick the boots of paper pushers. IS is right when he says he and conservatives can’t communicate, because the world he perceives is not the United States or just about any other developed nation. Here, paper pushers are treated like crap just as much, in fact, usually treated like crap by two sides. By the same token, a poor person’s vote is equal to a middle class vote (but only the rich have enough money to buy power, or a seat in college, or have the connections to get the job).

“And getting pissed at those above implies that those below have a right to be pissed at you.”

Just to hammer it home, this statement necessitates that middle management has real power to enact their own will, and everything I’ve heard from and about people in middle management suggests otherwise. Analogize to the mythical power of merely being white / male or white / male passing.

“A slight on them is a slight on all of us.”

All republicans are racist hillbillies stereotype.I notice how he just slipped this in without even a logical progression. In his grand argument, it’s actually a new premise.

[Analogy to Kingdom Hearts]

I don’t even.

“Savvy viewers may be remembering another political philosophy that is hierarchical, undemocratic, built on nostalgia, and that likes to cloak its policies in progressive camouflage”

Ooo, ooo, it’s the one I was just talking about, Soviet Russia. Oh, nope, I apologize, he has a single word that makes this answer slightly less than ideal, “nostalgia.” With that word, the answer is

“Fascism.”

Who knew nostalgia was of such moral consequence.

“If you don’t like what a business is doing, you don’t regulate it, you take your money elsewhere. You should favor the capitalist solution, not the democratic one.”

Is the collective action of masses to speak their mind not democratic? I understand if his intention is to claim the business will survive despite protest, but he doesn’t claim that. This implies an unusually limited definition of “democratic”: it must compel the operation of government. Whereas fascism and capitalism are defined broadly enough to describe associated, sometimes partial associated, values. I’m not sure what he’s trying to accomplish with this difference of definition, but it’s worth noticing.

“They will never be onboard with aiding the poor in any systemic way, and will, instead, champion charity and crowdfunding, because minnows getting to eat should always be framed as a gift rather than a right.”

Two things. First, charity is systemic. Crowdfunding is systemic, though maybe short-lived. I guess “systemic” now shares the same anemia of definition that “democratic does” in it must only apply to government action. (Unless it’s systemic racism…) Second, conservatives cannot believe both that minnows work for their own food (“How resourceful were you? How well did you play?”) and minnows only survive by being given food.

“But as long as you are trying to meet this mentality in the middle, you are leaving the door open for fascists.”

Did I predict that he hates moderates? Darn, I don’t think I wrote that one down. Well, another day, another radical.

“I recommend this one, because egalitarian thinking is one thing Nazis are bad at infiltrating.”

But people like Pol Pot are good at infiltrating it and, like, shooting a fifth of the population in a field.

Again, I don’t dislike egalitarianism, but that’s a pretty shallow argument in its favor.

I guess the sum of this video is to claim that conservatism is somehow the worship of capitalism, and then that conservatism is like fascism, and fascism shares a “hierarchical mindset” with capitalism. But he can’t bring himself to claim fascism is an extension of capitalism, because that would have us all wondering why Adolf Hitler went around decrying, “plutocracies in which a tiny clique of capitalists dominate the masses.“

So again we get an argument from looks-a-little-like. Fascism looks-a-little-like hierarchy, and so does capitalism. Nevermind so do state-based communism, socialism, regulatory agencies, even labor unions, and any organization that claims to be [inter]national. And our Democrats sure haven’t slowed down the hierarchy of our government.

On a final note, I kept getting confused thinking “bigger fish” was about the phrase “bigger fish to fry” until I went through the whole video and realize, no, it’s supposed to be “big fish in a small pond.” You know, like that Coldplay song. “Lost!”

Probably should have cleared things up and titled the video, “Lost!”

#innuendo studios #conservatism #republicans #capitalism #social justice

16 notes · View notes

hermannsthumb · 6 years ago

Note

This is the anon from before I loved the fic you wrote about Hermann romanticising Newt, it was so cute!!! That being said could I also get a. goofier version pls :)

OF COURSE!!!!!! here is the not silly version for ref. im def stealing some of my own ideas for the second snippet in here hahahaha

Newt’s usually pretty messy, from his bedroom to his handwriting to his work ethic to his entire general aura, but there are varying levels of the kind of mess he’ll accept when it comes to his clothing. Little kaiju splatters on his shirt=totally cool, to be expected, Newt can deal with that. Dirt, sweat, blood (last one unfortunately more common than Newt would like), cool. Coffee? He draws the line at coffee stains. He’ll smell like sweat and he’ll smell like viscera, but he refuses to smell like stale coffee. Brings back too many memories of grad school.

He explains all this to Hermann as he strips out of his shirt, which is freshly stained with coffee as a result of a tragic run-in with a chair.

Hermann doesn’t seem to get it. “So you’re just going to walk around shirtless?”

Newt tosses both his tie and the stained shirt onto his desk. “No,” he says. “I’m still in an undershirt, aren’t I?” He holds out his arms to model it; it’s a little small and pretty tight over his stomach and pecs, and it’s also really dirty, but, you know, it’s a shirt.

Hermann gives him a look that’s indiscernible.

“What’s wrong?” Newt says. “Afraid I’ll be too distracting?” He flexes one of his flabby (Newt doesn’t have the time to work out much anymore, okay) biceps, then the other, and winks.

Hermann turns away very quickly. “Wear gloves, at least,” he says, staring directly at his chalkboard, unmoving.

“It’s free,” Newt says.

“It’s garbage,” Hermann says.

“It’s a whole piece of cake,” Newt says. “It’s totally fine.”

“It was in the garbage. You got it from the garbage.”

“Okay,” Newt says, and holds up his finger, “that’s true. But it’s free.”

“All the food here is free,” Hermann says, gesturing broadly to the mess hall with his soup spoon. “There are three more pieces of cake over there that weren’t in the garbage that you could be eating right now. For free.”

“Have you considered that I want the garbage cake?” Newt says. He shoves his fork into the garbage cake. “It’s a perfectly good piece of cake and it shouldn’t have been thrown out.” Newt is a very firm believer in the five second rule, and that it definitely applies to trashcans, too. “I’m recycling, Hermann. I’m saving the planet.”

“Were it that simple,” Hermann says. Newt shovels a bit of cake into his mouth, and Hermann watches him swallow in morbid fascination. An odd sort of soft fondness spreads across his face. “You’re disgusting,” he says. “And ridiculous.”

“I sure am,” Newt says. “Do you want the rest of your sandwich?”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I drop it on the floor first?” Hermann says, but slides the plate over.

The K-Science Division almost never gets invited to anything--bachelor parties, birthday parties, nights on the town--probably because they’re kind of weird and always smell funny and argue whenever they’re in a social setting, but someone finally slipped up and accidentally CC’d the both of them in an email chain for Eric’s 40th!. Newt has no fucking idea who Eric is, and a quick conference with Hermann confirms he doesn’t either, but Eric’s friends apparently rented out a private room in a karaoke bar and are offering to cover the tab of all the party guests so hell if Newt’s not taking advantage of it. Hermann, surprisingly, takes little convincing to go along with Newt’s plan.

“We were invited,” he says.

“Exactly!” Newt says. He expects Hermann needs the drink. “There’s the spirit. We’ll just buy him a gift card or a bottle of wine or something and we’re even.”

They don’t end up getting either of those things, but Newt finds an unused PPDC mug under the lab sink and he and Hermann steal some cookies from the mess hall to shove in it, which is good enough. They figure out who Eric is pretty quickly (he’s wearing an inflatable crown and a feather boa, and also he’s sitting under a large banner that says Happy Birthday Eric!) and he only looks mildly confused when Newt thanks him profusely for the invite and hands over the mug with a hard pat on the back, and also could you point him and Hermann--you remember Hermann, obviously, Eric--to the bar? Thanks, cool, cool.

(“Who are those guys?” they hear Eric say as they scurry off in the direction he pointed them in, and Newt decides he and Hermann better drink fast before Eric’s friends wise up there’s been a mistake.)

So, Newt gets a little hammered, and Hermann gets a little hammered, and they manage to go a whole hour without snapping at each other, and Newt’s feeling so good he decides to test out the karaoke machine. Hermann declines a duet, but he watches Newt with wide, shining eyes as Newt stumbles around onstage and slurs the lyrics of a song he can’t even remember the name of, and he’s the only one in the room that applauds when Newt’s done. “You were magnificent,” Hermann declares, when Newt trips his way back down to the table. “Bravo, Newton. Wasn’t he wonderful?”

Eric and Company say nothing.

Newt takes the seat next to Hermann, and Hermann still looks at him with those huge eyes and an equally huge smile. “You’re so talented,” Hermann breathes, like Newt was some sort of hot headlining act and not a short, sweaty, screeching drunk dude who tripped over the microphone cord twice. Newt’s not sober, but he’s aware enough to know that he’s a pretty shitty singer even when he is, so he’s not sure what Hermann’s going on about. But it’s nice to have Hermann compliment him. It’s really nice.

“Ha! Thanks!” Newt says. He reaches out to grab his strawberry daiquiri, but Hermann grabs his hands instead.

“Newton,” he says. He looks very serious. “Newton.” He sways. Newt wonders if he’s gonna be sick. And then Hermann leans in and plants a very messy kiss on his cheek.

“Hermann?” Newt says, mouth dropping open.

Unfortunately, they’re interrupted by one of Eric’s friends, who seems to have finally realized Drs. Geiszler and Gottlieb were invited by mistake and have wracked up a considerable tab, and they’re promptly ejected from the bar. Newt has enough presence of mind to call them a ride home (it’s weird being the responsible one), and Hermann clings to Newt’s side and leans on him as they wait at the curb for it. “Got everything?” Newt says. Hermann’s in his coat and he’s got his cane, and a quick pat of Hermann’s pocket confirms he has his wallet, too.

“Mmhmm,” Hermann says. He nuzzles Newt’s chest.

Newt can’t stop thinking about the kiss. “Hey, Hermann?”

Hermann blinks sleepily at him. Another time, Newt decides, when they’re sober. He’ll ask Hermann about it then. Maybe they’ll kiss for real after that.

“Nothing,” Newt says, and wraps his arm around Hermann.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #disaster men in luv.........#Anonymous

85 notes · View notes

rowanthestrange · 6 years ago

Note

I think the intended theme of Kerblam was hugely overshadowed by the fact that the episode didn't address that Kerblam didn't even try to keep their workers safe. The main issue I found was that the scene at the end implied the murders couldn't have been prevented without the doctor's expertise. A responsible employer would have supended work until the power drains were fixed (I'm assuming that's why any security systems were down allowing charlie to escape notice)

*hides face in hands*

You’re right. You are - my expression is not…oh it’s not for you.

I mean I’m not sure there was a set intended theme, it was bothsided to hell, but yeah, definitely…there was definitely an issue there with it not actually addressing anything.

*leans back*

The power drains were - in my understanding - because of both Terrorist Boy messing around with the system, but far more importantly, was because the system itself was trying to channel a lot of energy into one place. The power-drain that occurs when the bot tries to kill him for example.

It isn’t clear. How much of it is under the system’s control is not explored.

Leading neatly to your next point - the system needs the Doctor’s expertise.

Why?

It would have succeeded in killing Terrorist Boy had it been smarter about it. Not done it around people. Sure maybe it’s trying to basically scream ‘He’s the bad guy!’ but that’s not obvious, nor apparently necessary, because kill him and there’s no backup, no deadman’s handle, you’re done. Statistically the guy has been alone at some point, and there were no ‘we cannot murder’ rules implied, so off you go chums.

Maybe the robots didn’t want to murder him - a good theme that would have tied perfectly into both the terrorism and the themes being built in this series, and does work with them knowing the Doctor would stop it.

But that didn’t happen. I just made that up. None of this stuff was explained, nothing addressed. The roots for this episode are so good and go nowhere.

Explain why they don’t care about power outages in a 90% automated factory. Use it for character development with the woman - she doesn’t care and is lighthearted about it because she’s in people, while the rest of the company is having kittens - because that is a big deal and everyone would have noticed.

And this place clearly can’t just shut down for a month, are you joking?! Unless you’re playing a Bad Wolf Satellite Whatever with this, the consequences would be absolutely huge. Space Amazon shuts down, only gives its workers half that time off as paid leave, and it’s clearly the backbone of the Kandokan economy, that’s on last legs enough that Kira’s never got a goddamn Amazon delivery in her life, but also where six year olds print metal pendants for their Daddies.

And if you still want to do all this, then make it a goddamn point that THIS IS WHY YOU NEED PEOPLE. Not in meaningless goddamn packing, but that if you had PEOPLE paying close attention, they would have been more likely to catch the flaws in the system, or notice it being abused and be able to act on it. Slade was clearly useless - cut that character, he’s only a red herring anyway, and use all that time and energy to give us context with the robots.

Warning From The Future: This fix-it got long

But if I’m allowed to make changes, just off the top of my head, I axe Kira too. Don’t kill off Lee Mack (no I’m not gonna learn the character’s name) so quickly, and then you already have a ‘human’ element in the plot and he fits it well. Kira only exists for man-pain and to humanise Terrorist Boy - which you’re already doing with Graham (Their scenes should have been much the same, but highlighting some extremist tendencies - particularly his odd choice of referring to the system as He - and clearly indicating that no-one talks to this kid enough to see them). Also fewer humans would help sell this idea of the 90-10% thing. Swap team positions - the Doctor goes down and meets Mack (because she’s already sympathetic to the robots so needs to become less so, and this leads to lots of little opportunities to dig at Amazon, capitalism, workers rights etc), and Yaz and Ryan are on packing. It gives Ryan a chance to be good at something in front of Yaz for a change, lets Yaz do some competent police work that actually goes somewhere (seriously McTighe), and Ryan we’ve seen be sceptical but sweet before with the baby situation, so therefore he takes notice of the robots (because he needs to be more sympathetic to them and is a better audience avatar). The combination of him being emotionally intelligent, and Yaz cognitively intelligent, means they work out the origin of the ‘Help Me’ which also fits the fact that Yaz was the only one to notice the message at all. Meanwhile, the Doctor and Mack are facing robot villains. Hmm that’s weird. They run to find each other, Yaz and Thirteen probably doing the grabbing each others forearms thing, and say at the same time “The robots are trying to kill us” “The robots are asking for help”, look at each other in confusion, and that’s when Graham and Terrorist Boy (foreshadowing) show up with the maps. Woman (don’t remember if she had a name, sorry) can show up again, having done some digging and phoning around (she uses a large phone, not a large tablet), and has found the people never made it back home. She’s panicking, the Doctor still gets her ‘If you are lying to me’ moment, etc. etc. things progress, plot as before, but instead of losing Kira, we lose Mack - pendant left behind. In trying to find him, the tracker lures Yaz and Ryan away from the others (Terrorist Boy’s intent was to get everyone, but that’s this Scooby-Doo team for you with the splitting up). Ryan is the one that nearly gets blown to bits by the bubble-wrap because of course he does, his defining character trait is to effing touch everything. Terrorist Boy gives himself away by legging it as Ryan moves to grab it, and Yaz saves him, cus she has good instincts and reflexes. Maybe a robot then says “Would you like me to dispose of this an an environmentally conscious way” - subtext layers, and at a safe distance, pops it - the system showing what damage it can do. This also acts as a set-up for the scene with the robots exploding it later, and makes it look less like the Doctor committing mass robo-murder (and prevents the robots from having to be deliberate murderers themselves). Doctor having got Twirly etc. hijacks a bot teleporter, and with the Woman and Graham finds the soup, etc. etc. same as before. That Terrorist Boy pegged it before, makes sense as to why Yaz didn’t catch him and restrain him, and everyone meets up again. This time though, we have some space. Have the Doctor excitedly (almost obscenely) working things out, while Graham explains the soup - clearly ruffled, and Yaz gets the Woman to bring up the details of Lee Mack’s family. If there’s thirty seconds to spend on how she’s had to call in a lot of dead bodies but never explain it to people’s families, do it now, leave her staring at the phone. Doctor comes to her excited conclusion, and the Terrorist Boy suddenly shows up threatening people with a detonator. Yaz stands (she looks extra shaken), but she’s behind, clearly looks to the Doctor who takes charge (characterisation, shows where she sees herself and her trust in the Doctor, and explains why she isn’t more active yet). Scene, scene, etc, etc, all the bullshit about millennials = bad obviously removed, Graham actually gets most of the attempted calming lines, and it nearly works. But as it fails, the Doctor gets in with him “Killing the people he was supposed to be trying to save”, that to him the people are no more real than the robots - oh no? Prove it. Grabs the phone from Yaz’s hand, which is still on, turns the volume up, and forces him to listen to the six year old asking for her Daddy and telling him to stop being silly. It’s almost on the edge of cruelty, and we see that glimmer in her eyes again. It doesn’t work. It’s his plan, his vision, he’s going to be the one to take control, he he he. But it’s not funny. It’s all about him and his power fantasy, and that becomes increasingly clear the longer you let him talk. (Him stomping on the device is more explicitly visually framed as a mirror for the Doctor doing the same for the neo-neo-nazi’s Vortex Manipulator, but it isn’t explained, just complex forshadowing for the Doctor’s monster breakdown later). Yaz never grabs for him and fails, we just go straight to him running into the bots - maybe standing on the balcony railing first to get a proper little-hitler shot above his tin soldiers, then jumping down to hide among them. But as before, the Doctor doesn’t stop him getting blown to pieces. At the end, the need for more humans to manage the system and particularly to work with each other is noticed, and that’s what the human positions should be for - what humans are good at, noticing patterns and each other. There’s no ‘lol Graham what are you like’ moment in the TARDIS, it’s just Yaz’s feeling of failure as a Police Officer shining unspoken in her eyes, and her request to go see the daughter personally being honoured, while Graham is drinking a cup of tea and watching Ryan intently (clearly been hammered by events, but taking comfort in his own odd-but-blessedly-harmless boy), while Ryan pokes and prods at Twirly, whom apparently they never actually gave back. And it ends with the Doctor once again being rebuffed as company, Yaz leaving the TARDIS, kid’s necklace in hand, and walking into a room across the camera - the Kerblam! poster with Mack’s face on the wall behind her.

I’ve only watched the episode once, and I don’t have a transcript to refer to yet, so might be missing some pieces, but broadly speaking.

And I appreciate that the Kira scene and the ‘You had a plan, but you weren’t expecting to fall in love’ is almost certainly meant to be a Direct Mirror for a future scene with The Doctor and Yaz, but without Chibnall over my shoulder and saying that has to be in there, the transition to the concept of general filial/agape love works for me.

Apologies. Bit longer than I expected. I just started writing and it kept flowing. Apparently I did have some concrete ideas about how to fix it. Sorry, wow.

#replies #doctor who #long post #yikes that is a beast of a paragraph #wall of text #fixit

13 notes · View notes

irrlicht-ghostfront · 6 years ago

Text

best friends.

I realised I hadn’t posted it here yet... ah, well, what does it matter. 3300 words, Second-Person-View, Dean/Castiel

You’re not his best friend.

And yet, you’re in love with him.

It’s a trope you’ve read and heard a thousand times: best friends from childhood on fall in love and live happily ever after. It’s not a trope that would ever apply to you and him.

You’re not best friends; and you don’t know each other from childhood on. In fact, you were only able to join his life a few years ago. At times, you’re not even sure you’re friends at all: you know there are outings you never ever hear about. Sometimes he tells you it’s because he knows you wouldn’t enjoy it; or because it’s too late or too far away or it was something only for family and very close friends.

You know he’s sad sometimes, because he’s human, so you offered your ear whenever he would need it. He laughed and said he wouldn’t bother you with it. You know he bothers others with it. You’ve seen him sad; and the next day you’ve seen him being happier. You’ve seen him sharing secret laughs with Charlie and you wish you and he would share these secret laughs. You wish you could soothe his pain, but he wouldn’t let you. You only want to make him happy, but you can’t. Maybe, you think, it’s because you would be no good for him.

You’re lucky, you know that. The fact alone that such a wonderful being knows your name and admits knowing and perhaps even liking you, is a miracle in itself. It was pure chance that you slid into this group of friends and now you never want to fall out of it. You don’t like every single one of them – even though they’re all fine people – but you know you would take people a thousand times worse if it meant being in his space.

Years ago, you were sitting in a rather large booth in a bar – the bar itself had been packed and you didn’t wish to squeeze yourself in between to burly guys. The bar was full, but as it was yet rather early, it hadn’t been too loud yet. You haven’t been feeling very well that day, nursing your fourth beer but it wasn’t doing anything and you contemplated just going home and maybe hammer yourself with vodka and whiskey where you wouldn’t endanger anyone with unsafe driving. Then they came in. They were loud and laughing and you hoped they wouldn’t give you a headache. At least it wasn’t drunk laughing, so that was good. Maybe they would even leave again, seeing as there were no free booths left.

“Hey, mind if we join you?” they asked and you looked up and there he was and you couldn’t say no. So they slid in with you, laughing and introducing themselves and they were warm and good and distracting. You wanted to stay with them, so you opted for being brave and asked how often they met here and if you could join up. They were buzzed when you asked, so they said yes. Some days you wonder: if they hadn’t been buzzed, if they still would have said yes. But you don’t question it; and just tag along. You can’t be told no if you never ask.

At night in your bed at home, you smooch your pillow and whisper his name. It’s stupid, but you do it anyway. You wonder what it would be like if he was actually here. Would he like to cuddle? It’s a fantasy, so you suppose anything goes. In your bed, at home, everything is possible, so Dean can love you here. It’s comforting and it makes you smile as many times as it makes you cry. The Dean of your dreams while be gone when you wake up. And sometimes, even Dream-Dean turns away from you, because you’ve been feeling shitty all day.

You look in the mirror and wonder what you could change to be more appealing. Maybe you should buy some cool clothes, but you don’t have any fashion sense and you don’t even what cool is supposed to mean these days. Maybe Band T-Shirts were cool? But you mostly listen to Pop songs or Choir or Orchestra. You’re pretty sure a Taylor Swift-Shirt isn’t going to improve anything. You tug on your hair. Maybe something needs to be done with that? You’re too old to colour it spectacularly and you’re fairly certain Dean is too old to appreciate that too. You’re not even a woman, so you can’t even use make-up to improve your face.

Maybe that’s your biggest flaw, you think.

To be a man.

There’s a girl, and she’s been kissing him. You always thought that would make you angry, but instead it makes you sad. He laughs and smiles and she laughs and smiles and you can’t hate her, because she’s making him happy. She’s not even ugly; or stupid. You’re at the bar again, and it’s the third times she’s joined you and now she’s getting comfortable. She’s already having better connection to Dean’s friends that you do and it makes you even sadder. Something tugs in your chest and you apologise yourself to the bathroom and Garth asks if you’re okay. Garth is nice, nice to everyone, so you hate lying to him but what else should you do?

You escape to the bathroom and lock yourself in the stall and start to cry. In movies, or shows, someone would come looking for you. You low-key hoped that would happen; that he would notice and come here and tell you not to cry anymore. It doesn’t happen and you keep crying, because he’s happy, so you should be happy, but you’re not. You want to be loved; you want to make him happy. You could.

You know you couldn’t.

When you come back out again, they’re already gone.

You go home and get hammered, and Dream-Dean doesn’t come to you. He’s busy with his girlfriend.

Every magazine, every online-forum is telling you to drop him, to move on. Love like that isn’t healthy; it’ll just destroy you in the end. You know that, as you stare down on the question of 13-year-old Sophie who pines over a guy she can’t have. The magazine is telling her to let him go, she’s still young, she’ll find someone better easily. You know this as you turn to the internet that tells you the same. Get rejected, move on. But you can’t. They don’t understand. Dean is everything and you’re not worthy of being loved anyway.

I love you, you type on your phone. You never send the message and you delete it right away. You talk to the mirror, and the Dean in the mirror takes your advances and he’s happy. You’re pathetic, you think. You smash the mirror. You don’t bother taking care of your hand.

A month later, Dean says he’ll take five friends with him on a trip to a cabin on the mountains. There’s only room for five, so they’re gonna do a lottery. You think this lottery might only get two names, because for sure Sam, Charlie and the girlfriend are a given, but he says he’ll draw five names. That would give you five chances to be drawn. You get all excited and hope against hope. In truth, you don’t really have the time or the energy for it – you’ve been rather tired lately – but it would mean to see Dean every day, all day. It would be as close to paradise as you could get.

The first name is Garth. He says he’s coming in package with Mr. Fizzles, and if that would be okay and Dean groans but gives Garth the go-ahead. The next one is Benny and they fist-bump. You get anxious with each name, because your chance rapidly decreases. Then come Jo, then Charlie. Your shoulders sag. There’s no way you come in clutch. Dean will cave and say the last spot’s for his girlfriend. It would’ve been a dream, so now it will stay one. It also means you won’t be able to see him for awhile. You already wish he’d come back.

“And the last spot goes toooo... Cass!”

Maybe you died and went to heaven. Dean laughs like he’s happy and kissing the girlfriend and punching Sam in the shoulder. He doesn’t retract his drawings. You’re almost buzzing off your seat and you hope nobody notices it. You’re so happy you could die right now. You hope you don’t. Garth offers you his hand in a high-five and you take it. Garth smiles broadly, so you hope you did it right. You almost feel good enough to reach over and grab Dean and kiss him. You think, later, it’s a good thing you didn’t.

You, Dean and Charlie drive in one car, while Benny, Garth and Jo share the other. You have no idea how you landed that pole position, but you’re not going to question it. You can’t be told to go away if you don’t make yourself heard. You have to drive about three hours with pit-stops every hour. They have walkie-talkies, because Charlie insisted, so they can communicate while driving. Dean rolled his eyes, but Charlie didn’t deter. She kicked him in the shin and he agreed to everything she said – you think it’s because she’s threatened to kick his balls next.

So you’re sitting in the backseat and since Charlie’s in control of the map, you have the walkie-talkie. It makes you feel good, important. It feels like you’re actually supposed to be here, and not just by a horrifying mistake. It also helps that Garth has the other one, because Garth is always nice and easy to talk to. While you drive, you listen to Dean and Charlie bicker. You wonder if they would be a couple if Charlie wasn’t gay. Charlie’s nice. She turns around to include you in the conversation every once in a while. It feels so nice. For the first time, you feel like you’re actually friends and that you’re not just here by mere accident.

The cabin has one big living space, and outside is a place for a bonfire and you hope you get to do that. You really hoped you would be able to bunk with Dean, but he will share his room with Benny. Charlie and Jo will share a room, so you stick with Garth (and Mr. Fizzles). It’s not what you wished for, but at least you’re here. And you even like Mr. Fizzles; he’s very easy to talk to.

The first evening, you get a bonfire going and you’re excited. You haven’t done bonfires since The Camp, so you hope this will be a pleasant experience. You’re determined to sit next to Dean, so as soon as he sits down, you throw your jacket on the ground next to him. He doesn’t even complain and you’re in heaven. And you get to eat marshmallows, too! While, yes, you sit a bit too close to Dean than should be acceptable, you don’t care because he doesn’t shy away from you. The temptation to just lay your head on his shoulder is quite big and you’re contemplating it a lot during the fire. You don’t, in the end, because you know it wouldn’t have ended nice. This is supposed to be fun; you don’t want to be rejected here.

The next day, you want to go hiking and you ask Dean to join you. He says no, so you ask again. He doesn’t want to go, and then he turns away. He seems weird and you wonder if that’s because you sat so close to him last night. At the fire, you’ve been warm and happy, and now it feels like a stone in the pit of your stomach. You say sorry, and you go hiking alone. It’s cold, and a lot less fun than you thought. You’re sure if Dean would be here, it’d be more fun. But you keep soldiering on. You hike until the sun starts to set and you have to turn around. You take a picture of yourself and know it would look better if Dean was here too.

When you come back from your hike, the cabin door is locked. You rattle the door a few times and shout for the others, but nobody answers you. You look beneath the doormat for a key, but there’s none. You look around the house, on the windowsills, and under pots for obvious hiding places, but there’s no key to be found. You don’t know what to think of that and you can only hope that they’ll come back soon. You look at your phone, but as you expected, you have no signal here. So you sit in front of the door, barring any other possibilities and wait for your friends to return.

It’s very cold.

“Cass?! Oh my God, oh fuck, Castiel, say something!” Someone’s rattling you. It’s so cold. Did you fall asleep? You shouldn’t have done that. It’s dangerous to sleep in the cold. “Oh shit, I didn’t give you a key, did I? Fuck, buddy, I’m so sorry, don’t be dead, fuck- “. You think that might be Dean. “Dean”, you say and someone lifts you up. There’s something warm in front of you and you reach for it. Dean, please let it be Dean. If you have to die, you at least want to be with Dean until the end. Somebody undresses you and you almost protest. You shouldn’t get naked in the cold. But when you open your eyes, the light is a bit yellow, so you might even be inside the cabin. Your friends came back. Somebody is wrapping you in something warm and you immediately feel a bit better. There’s someone patting your hair and that feels nice. You wonder if Dean would like that too. “I sure would, buddy.” Huh. Have you been speaking out loud? You’re not sure if you even really care anymore. So you decide to sleep, because you’ll care again tomorrow.

The next day, they make you tea and put the furnace next to you. They all fuss over you like you’re their valued friend and you soak it all in. You know it’s not gonna repeat itself anytime soon. Dean’s doting on you and you bask in it. It’s almost like Dream-Dean is real. He brings you tea and smiles and sits next to you and tells you what they did. He always repeats how sorry he is; how he was certain he gave you a key and that he’s so happy you didn’t die. It is okay; you tell him and put your hand on his shoulder and Dean smiles at you and you wish this moment would never end. You relish every second of it, so Dream-Dean can keep doing this.

You don’t go outside much after that. And if you do, someone always goes with you. It’s a very nice feeling, and you’re sad that you drive home in two days time. On your last day, you have a bonfire again and you’re only allowed if you’re wrapped in three blankets. You don’t mind, really. It’s cosy and warm and you managed to sit next to Dean again. You eat marshmallows again and you’re warm, and content, and thankful.

You go home, and that warm feeling disappears very quickly. Your boss tells you he’s contemplating firing you if you don’t show results. You see your cracked mirror again and remember why you smashed it. Dream-Dean isn’t happy seeing you; he’s off with his girlfriend. The time at the cabin truly feels like a dream and you’re not very happy about it. You try to be better at your job, but it just doesn’t work and your boss tells you to leave, with little preamble. You’re not sure what to do now. You have about enough money to keep your home for about two months, so you need a new job fast, but you’re old and you’ve only ever worked one job and you stare at your blank document, wondering what you should tell them to hire you.

You’re boring, and pathetic, and you don’t have any friends, and you don’t really deserve anything in the first place. Even your imaginary boyfriend left you to be with his girlfriend. You stare down at your hands and wonder what will happen now. In movies, and shows, and books, it would rain outside, but it’s a nice, warm, sunny day.

You have to save money, so you decide to skip as much food as you can. It would probably be best if you stayed in bed all day, so you would save money that way, too. Maybe Dream-Dean would pity you and come back?

It doesn’t take very long before you start feeling dizzy and disorientated all the time. You don’t use your car anymore, and opt to walk everywhere. Yes, it takes longer, but it saves you from buying gas. You’ve send out a few applications, but so far you’ve only received rejections in return. That’s okay, you weren’t expecting anything. You meet up with your friends, but you don’t order alcohol anymore. It’s too expensive, and water is probably better anyway. You’re tired and maybe it wasn’t a good idea to go out. But Dean is here, and you can try to feel a bit warm, if even just for a moment.

You even manage to stay until the end. You wonder if you should have told them that you lost your job and would be homeless in about three months. You don’t want to; they’d surely think you even more pathetic than you really are. Bring people don’t lose their boring jobs; they are stuck with them forever. Or at least, the boring person turns out to be not boring at all and finds a very exciting job that they’ve always wanted.

You’re not such a secretly interesting person. You’re boring, always have been, always will be. When the bar closes, you stand up on shaking legs. You wonder how you’ll get home. Maybe you should’ve eaten something this week. The pretzels from the basket surely weren’t enough, but you had food last week, so you couldn’t cave just yet. The pretzels just would have to be enough. You stumble out of the bar and someone catches you before you trip. You hope it is Garth. “Hey, buddy, you okay? You didn’t drink anything, you getting sick?” Oh god, it was Dean. You start to panic. You know you’ve lost weight rapidly in the last four weeks, and you don’t him to find out. But you don’t want to lie to him. You have to get him away. Your heart beats too fast and you just blurt something out. “I love you.”

Yes. That should be enough to get him to flee in terror. Castiel, the boring, stupid, pathetic person, in love with Dean Winchester? You hate to use that because you know it’s gonna change everything. Dean’s going to hate you. Maybe you can’t ever see him or his friends again. That’s okay, you didn’t expect anything else. You’ll always have that memory from the cabin and maybe you die soon, and maybe in heaven you can have all the things you ever wanted on earth.

Instead of running and screaming in terror, Dean pulls you close and you sag against him. You should’ve known. Dean is too nice to slap you in the face. He’s gonna do it slowly, see you less and less and thinking he’s being nice to you. He picks you up and you really like that and he sits you in his car and then he drives you to his home. He gets you up the stairs, he makes you some tea because he knows you like it and sits next to you, holding you close. You didn’t expect anything like that, but it’s nice. In the end, Dean never tells you to leave, so you stay. He smiles when you call it home and he holds you close every chance he gets.

Yeah, you’re not his best friend.

But maybe that’s not as bad as you thought.

#supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #castiel-centric #modern au #second person #fanfic #friendship #hypothermia #SPN #Destiel #pre-Destiel #hurt and comfort #soft dean

3 notes · View notes

blastron01 · 7 years ago

Text

Ascendance of a Bookworm – 058

Reporting to Lutz

The day after the family council, everyone was a little bit awkward around each other. My father's smile looked a little bit lonely, my mother hugged me over and over throughout the day, and Tuuli kept suddenly bursting into tears. However, as the days pass, everything starts gradually returning to the same old day-to-day life that we'd been living before.

"You don't have to do that, Maïne. I've got it," says Tuuli. "Huh? I've got to do it! Aren't you the one who told me that I'll never learn how to do something unless I do it myself?"

Tuuli, who had previously been encouraging me to help out more so that I could work on building my own independence, thoughtlessly takes over my work. It's unmistakeable that she's taking even more special care of me than she already was before.

I'm woken up by Tuuli's excited shout. "Whoa, it cleared up! We have to go pick paru today!"

The sky is still dim and gloomy, but it seems like there isn't much snow falling at all. Tuuli had seen a little bit of light coming in through the window and thrown it open wide to check the weather, letting the freezing air outside come rushing in.

"Tuuli, I'm cold!" "Ah! Sorry, sorry."

She closes the window, then immediately gets started in on her breakfast. I, too, eat my breakfast, while my family noisily hustles around the house. The instant they finished their food, my mother and father started gathering up baskets and firewood. My father, starting to organize things by the entryway, looks up at me as I, still unkempt, chew on my bread.

"What will you do today, Maïne? Are you going to the gates?" "Nuh-uh, I was thinking that I'd go and try help picking paru, maybe?"

From what Tuuli had told me, a paru tree is a beautiful and miraculous kind of plant. I'm not entirely sure what she meant when she said how it sparkles brilliantly with light as it spins around, though, so I kind of want to see it for myself. But, when my curiosity prompts me to say those words, every single member of the family turns to stare at me.

"Absolutely not! You'll either stay here and watch the house or you'll go help out at the gates." "Picking paru is very hard, too hard for you! You'll definitely get sick!" "That's right! You're bad at climbing trees, and you can't walk through snow so it's impossible for you to help."

All three of them immediately reject the idea of me accompanying them to the winter forest to pick paru. Certainly, there's no way someone such as me, who can't even walk through the snow to get to the gates, would be capable of foraging in a snowy forest.

"...Okay. You'll be picking paru until noon, right? So, I'll go to the gate and help out there while I wait for you."

I prepare my tote bag and get myself ready to head out to the gates. I'd thought that since my father had the day off Otto might as well, but it seems that around this time of year he shows up nearly every single day.

My family loads up their baggage, including me, onto a sled, and we head off. I'd heard that everyone in the town goes to pick paru whenever they can, and based on the huge number of people dragging their sleds towards the southern gates, I'd heard correctly. The air is so cold that it bites into my skin, but everyone is filled with such excitement over being able to go and pick paru that the mood is very much like a festival. Even I am getting a little excited too.

"Sorry," says my father to a soldier at the gate, "but take care of Maïne for me. She'll be helping Otto out until noon." "Yes sir!" "Everyone, good luck picking paru!" I say.

When we arrive at the gate, I get off the sled and wave goodbye to my family as they head towards the forest. I say hello to the gatekeeper, who I'm acquainted with, and head to the night duty room.

"Mister Otto, good morning." "Oh? Maïne? I thought the squad leader had the day off, didn't he?"

Otto's eyes twinkle in wonder, and I nod, smiling slightly.

"Yes, since the weather is clear today, he went to the forest to pick paru. I'll be helping out until noon today." "Ahh, I see, I see. Hm, until noon, huh..."

Otto smiles broadly, seeming to immediately understand the circumstances, then starts laying out documents that he needs the calculations checked on. While he works on clearing a space for me to work, I thank him for the advice he gave me the other day.

"Mister Otto, thanks for the other day." "Hm?" "Umm, when you consulted with me about my job prospects. I told my family about the devouring, and about finding a job that I can do from home. When spring comes, I'm thinking I'll consult with Mister Benno, too..." "Ah! Well, taking care of yourself is very important, so if Benno has no idea what you could do, then my door is always open if you'd like to ask about things you can do here." "Alright!"

I definitely notice a hint of something dark in his smile, but now that I've properly expressed my gratitude, I get to work on my calculations, feeling refreshed.

After noon, my family returns from the forest, so I get back on the sled and head home. Since there were three of them out picking today, it looks like they've brought six paru back with them. Unlike last year, now we know that even the dried-up lees is useful, so my mother is in very high spirits.

While my mother works on preparing lunch, Tuuli and I work on juicing the paru. Tuuli grabs the skinniest stick she can find from the pile of firewood, lights it in the fire from the stove, then jabs it into the fruit. In the next instant, just that little bit of the rind cracks open.

"Maïne, here it comes!" "Got it~!"

I stick a bowl under it, so as not to waste any of the creamy white fluid that starts spilling out. Entranced by the sweet smell, we finish draining the juice, then Tuuli passes off the drained paru to our father. He crushes the pit of the fruit, pressing the oil out of it. Since he's able to lift the heavy weight we use for pressing oil, leaving that part of the task to him means that the oil is finished in the blink of an eye. Since the lees left over after the fruit has been thoroughly squeezed has actual use in cooking, we set aside four parus' worth of it for ourselves, leaving the remaining two to give to Lutz's house in exchange for eggs.

After lunch, I head out, bringing both the paru lees and some fresh ideas for recipes. If I could only just use an oven, I could make a gratin or a pizza, but since all I have access too are a griddle and a pot, the kinds of things that I can make are sharply limited.

"Hi, Lutz. Could you trade me for some eggs, please? By the way, I came up with a new recipe, do you want to try it?" "Yo, Maïne! I'm happy about the new recipe, but there's nobody around to help out right now so we can't start on it yet. Come on and wait in here."

Even though I finally brought them a new recipe, Lutz's older brothers aren't here, it seems.

"Where're your brothers? Did they go sledding or something, since it's clear out?" "Those kids went out to earn a little change shoveling snow," says Lutz's mother.

I had no idea this was a thing, since there's no way I could participate, but it seems like some of the heavy labor of shoveling snow is something that kids can do in order to earn some decent pocket money.

"Why're you still here, Lutz?" "Someone's got to juice the paru. If you wait too long, they'll melt, right?"

It's true that you can't just leave paru alone for a while, but I can't help but notice that it looks like Lutz has been stuck with the housework, unable to earn any pocket money, and I'm realizing that he's actually looking a little gloomy. But, since neither Lutz or Auntie Karla are saying anything, I figure that I, as an outsider, should probably keep my mouth shut.

I'd at least like to help them with pressing the fruit, but since that's something that fundamentally requires actual physical labor, it's beyond my capabilities. All I can really do is watch as Lutz smashes the core with a hammer and Auntie Karla presses the oil out.

As I absent-mindedly look on, I suddenly remember that I haven't actually told Lutz about the family council. Letting him know that I won't be working at Benno's shop is something that I absolutely have to do.

"Um, so, Lutz. I've, uh, decided that I'm not going to work at Benno's shop." "What?! Why?!"

Lutz, his hammer raised high, turns to stare at me with wide eyes. Auntie Karla looks over at me as well, her eyes open a little wider too.

"Umm... my mother mentioned something like this, right? I'd just be a burden on you. Plus, no matter how I think about it, I don't have enough stamina for a job like that. I talked with Mister Otto about it, and he pointed out a few different things." "A few things like what?"

Lutz gradually starts moving his hammer again, urging me on with a stare.

"Right, um. So, if a brand new apprentice keeps getting fevers and has to rest all the time, what do you think everyone else that has to work with her is going to think?" "...Ahh. That's..."

Murmuring quietly to himself like he might be starting to understand, he hits his paru. Auntie Karla, firmly pressing hers, squints.

"You'd be a bother to everyone when you're absent," she muses, "and you being absent during your training would hurt you in the long run, too..." "That's right. ...Plus, I've still got lots of things I'm planning on making, and if they wind up being really profitable, I'm going to earn a lot of money, you know? So if there's an apprentice that's always absent, but she still makes a ton of money, wouldn't that ruin human relations at the shop?" "You're right..."

Lutz scowls, nodding in understanding, but Karla looks a little astonished.

"Well," I say, "the bit about the money applies to you too, I think, but if you work as hard as you can, I think people's reactions will be different. I think we should discuss this with Mister Benno in detail, though." "Yeah, let's make sure we talk to him in the spring."

I think it might be possible to keep Lutz's profits separate from his wages. Then, he could be given the extra money secretly. After all, even now, all it takes to give someone money is to tap your guild cards together.

"If you're not going to work at the shop, then what are you going to do after your baptism, Maïne?" "In my case, I don't know what I'm going to do about the devouring, so I'd work out of my home transcribing letters or official documents while coming up with new products, or helping out at the gates... I told my family that I don't really want my lifestyle to change all that much." "Ah, okay. Yeah, that's probably better for your body."

Now that I have Lutz's support, I let out a little sigh of relief. As I do, Auntie Karla's expression suddenly brightens.

"Well, now! If Maïne's not going to work at the shop, then there's no need for you to work there either, Lutz, is there? Now you can be a craftsman!"

I tilt my head to the side, confused. What does me deciding not to work at Benno's shop have to do with Lutz not working there? Lutz, however, raises his eyebrows high as soon as he hears his mother's sigh of relief.

"Huh?! What are you saying, mom?!" "What do you mean?" she asks, a complete lack of comprehension on her face. Lutz clucks his tongue. "I want to be a merchant!" he yells. "Maïne has nothing to do with it! I'm the one who dragged her into it!"

She stares at him, looking as if she can't believe a word he's saying.

"What did you just say?! So, you still are planning on becoming a merchant?" "Of course I am! I really wanted to be a trader, but after I talked with one I learned about how citizenship works, so I decided I wanted to be a merchant instead." "Lutz, why didn't you say anything about this before?!" "I did! Were you not listening, or did you just forget?!"

It looks like she really hadn't acknowledged what he'd been saying. She looks at him as if this is the first time she's ever heard this.

I, not wanting to intrude into a conversation between mother and son, watch quietly from my chair, not saying a single unnecessary word.

"...You did say that you wanted to be a trader," she says.

She shakes her head weakly, a troubled expression on her face. It's clear to see that she's bewildered by how her expectations aren't matching up with reality.

"But, that was just a childish fantasy, wasn't it? That was just something you were dreaming about, not something that had any basis in reality, wasn't it? I didn't actually think that's something you really had your sights set on. I've been thinking that you'd eventually come to your senses."

I think that what Auntie Karla is saying isn't unreasonable at all. It's rare for someone who lives in the city to go any farther than the forest or the surrounding farmland. A trader is a foreigner that unexpectedly drops in from time to time, not someone that anyone typically aspires to be. It's a childish fantasy, and he needs to wake up from it soon. Karla's line of thought is probably pretty typical of people living around here.

"...I really did want to be a trader. I want to leave this city, and go to other cities that I've never been to before. I wanted to see all sorts of things that I haven't even heard of... and I still do! I'm still holding onto that dream." "Lutz, you..."

Auntie Karla rises halfway from her seat, looking like she's about to say something. From her expression, it's probably some sort of objection to his train of thought. However, before she can say anything, Lutz continues talking.

"But, I talked to someone who used to be a trader himself. He told me that only an idiot would give up his citizenship. And traders don't have apprentices, so it would be impossible for me, anyway." "Well, he was right," she says, looking a little bit relieved. She sits down with a thump.

It seems that being a trader is an occupation that is very much something to avoid. I'd thought, naively, that being able to travel the world and see the sights sounded really fun, but I still really haven't internalized enough of this world's common sense.

"So then, once I found out that I couldn't be a trader's apprentice, I started thinking that maybe I could just go out and be a trader on my own. Then Maïne told me that maybe instead of being a trader, I could be a merchant in this city. If I was a merchant, then I could still go to other towns to buy and sell things, she said. It's more pragmatic, and more realistic to try to do." She shrugs. "Well, compared to being a trader..." she says, tiredly. It seems like she had no idea that her son was serious about his plans to become a trader, so this might be a bit of a shock for her. "So, I told a merchant that I wanted to be his apprentice. He was only a second-hand acquaintance of Maïne's, though, so he basically refused me right away." "...Sounds about right."

With how the apprenticeship system works in this town, Lutz's odds of actually becoming a merchant's apprentice were really slim. So, probably, even though Lutz kept telling her that he wanted to be a merchant, she didn't consider it to be any more than some half-hearted ideal. Then, working from that assumption, she might not have ever really fully listened to Lutz when he explained that he actually would be able to do it.

"But, we got him to set out some conditions, and agree to let us apprentice under him if we met them. Maïne and I already met those conditions, so we've got his approval to be his apprentices. So, whether Maïne's there or not, I'm going to be a merchant."

Karla finally looks directly at Lutz, a serious look in her eyes, noticing at long last that Lutz has started forging his own path forward.

"...Lutz, even if you got this man's permission to be his apprentice, did you really think you could do so if your parents disapproved?" "I already decided that I'd do it. In the worst case, I'd be a live-in apprentice. I got him to hear me out, I got him to set some conditions, and I finally started on a path towards becoming his apprentice. I'm not gonna give that up." "A... live-in apprentice...?"

Being a live-in apprentice is probably among the worst lifestyles you could have. First of all, as an apprentice, you can only actually work half of the week, so your wages are low. Plus, you have no family to rely on. A child suddenly forced to live on their own would find it both really physically taxing as well as time-consuming.

His living quarters would be the attic on the topmost floor of the building. Summers would be hot, and winters would be cold. It wouldn't be at all rare for the roof to constantly leak. Carrying things upstairs, especially water, would be an enormous undertaking. It's not unusual for birds to nest in attics, like they do in Lutz's home, so the smell would be horrific, too. Plus, unlike the rooms rented out for families to live in, there wouldn't be any place for Lutz to cook, so he'd need to either get someone else at the shop to let him use theirs or eat out a lot.

Naturally, that kind of lifestyle isn't something that leaves you with any money left over. Rather, he'd need to constantly be taking advances on his pay, putting him in debt. The shop would provide the bare minimum to keep him alive, but until he grew up he would basically be living solely to work his apprenticeship.

"Lutz, think about what you're saying! Do you really think you could live that kind of life?!"

I don't think any normal parent would want their son to have to live such an austere life. She raises her voice so high it's practically a shriek. Lutz, however, just shrugs.

"I can, yeah. I've started preparing for that already."

In Lutz's case, he'll be able to save up the money we're going to make from paper-making during the spring. If we use the bark that we've already got in the storehouse, we'll be able to put quite a lot of money in the bank. By my calculations, even after buying the clothing necessary to be a merchant's apprentice, he'll still have a sizable amount left over.

Plus, during his apprenticeship he'll have half of his days off, which he'll be able to spend with me, developing new products to potentially make money off of. If we can do that, then there's no doubt that he'll be making much more than an ordinary apprentice's wages. He won't have a lot of room in his budget to spare, but I think it'll definitely be much better than destitution. I don't think he'd have enough extra money to rent a place for himself, though, so he wouldn't really be able to do anything about his awful living conditions.

"...You're serious about already preparing, aren't you?" "Very serious."

After a long silence, Auntie Karla lets out a deep sigh, slumping her shoulders. She wears a complicated expression, like she's given up on challenging Lutz's seriousness but still can't give up altogether.

"I still think it would be better if you found a nice, steady job as a craftsman instead of something as unstable as being a merchant." Lutz purses his lips in dissatisfaction. "...If I do what you say and become a craftsman, nothing's going to change, is it?"

Auntie Karla squints at him. Since he just effectively said he's dissatisfied with his current life, her mood quickly grows sharp.

"What do you mean by that?" "My brothers do whatever they want with me, and when I have something they want the just take it, and I never have anything left for myself." "That's... you're siblings, so of course they take things from you, but they give things too you as well, don't they?"

She frowns, troubled. Lutz, however, immediately rejects her opinion.

"It's not like they can give my food back after they eat it, and when I get stuff from them it's all just broken hand-me-downs, you know? And if the hand-me-downs are too awful to actually use and I get something new for once, then they immediately take it away!"

The fact that the youngest child always gets hand-me-downs is something that's true for me as well. However, while Tuuli is always helping me out, Lutz is constantly being ordered around by his brothers. I don't know if that's just what brothers do to each other, but the difference between the two of our experiences is enormous.

"I set my sights on becoming a merchant, worked really hard doing a lot of different things with Maïne, and learned what it's like to actually hold onto something I've earned. I want to see how far I can take myself without anyone getting in the way. I've never even considered being a craftsman."

Lutz, who has always been kept down by his family, has made it his goal to find an environment where he can be free of their control, and he was finally able to find a place where he might be able to accomplish his dreams.

Auntie Karla hangs her head. "I didn't think you were so serious," she says softly. "I thought this was just Maïne dragging you along..." "I wouldn't make this kind of life-changing decision if it was like that..." "I really thought it was, so that's why I was objecting."

She lets out a long, deep sigh, looking down at the floor. She thinks to herself for a while, then slowly raises her head, a smile on her face as if she'd come to accept things as they are.

"If you've thought it through that far, and this is something you really want to do, to the point where you even started preparing to leave home, then why not go for it as much as you can? Your father will probably object, but you'll have at least one supporter in this family." "Really?! Thanks, Mom!!"

Lutz's face is practically sparkling. He had long since giving up on earning his family's understanding, so hearing something so unbelievable makes him so happy he could jump for joy. Until just a moment ago, he'd been forcing himself to look focused, but now his expression is something that a child his age should actually be wearing, and I can't help but smile, too. Having even just one family member on his side must make a whole world of difference.

When his brothers come home, Lutz is still in a good mood. The four of them work harmoniously together as they start making my new recipy.

"Zasha," I say, "could you and Zeke please heat the griddle? Lutz, please grate plenty of cheese and mix it with the paru lees. Then, Ralph, could you chop those lege leaves finely, please?"

While I divide up the work amongst the brothers, I add some paru oil and salt to the bowl that Lutz is grating cheese into. Once Ralph is done chopping the basil-like herb, I add it to the bowl, and all that's left is to mix it and grill it.

"The griddle's hot!" "Alright, then grill this please, like how you do the parucakes."

We grill it thoroughly, until the cheese gets crispy, then eat it. It looks kind of like _okonomiyaki_1, but thanks to the melted cheese that's holding everything together, it has a very western flavor. This recipe is a variation on something I'd come up with in my Urano days, making use of leftover cooked somen or spaghetti noodles by chopping them up really finely.

"It's so simple, but it's so filling!" "It would be really good if you added minced ham or veggies, too," I add. "Yeah, now that I think of it, these would actually make a good meal on their own, unlike the parucakes."

Everyone eats their food, smiling happily about how delicious it is. In the middle of that, Ralph tries to help himself to seconds off of Lutz's plate, but Auntie Karla smacks him in the back of his head.

"Don't take other people's food. That's greedy! How about you grill another for yourself?"

Ralph, who had just gotten smacked on the head, looks at her with mild shock. Lutz does, too. After a moment, Ralph gets up to start grilling up his seconds, and Lutz goes back to eating, relieved. Karla watches the two of them, then smiles. Now that Lutz has convinced someone as influential as her of his problems with the rest of the family, it looks like things have calmed down around here, at least for now.

After that, I return to being a shut-in. My life becomes an endless cycle of handiwork, tutoring Lutz, helping at the gate, and lying in bed with a cold, while Lutz keeps stopping buy to deliver hairpin parts, be tutored, and occasionally bringing completed product over to Benno's shop.

Eventually, the snow starts gradually getting weaker, and my wintry shut-in lifestyle comes to an end.

Translator's notes for this chapter:

1. Okonomiyaki are a savory grilled food, kind of like a pancake with a variety of other ingredients inside.

prev • next

#honzuki #honzuki no gekokujou

164 notes · View notes

lonelypond · 7 years ago

Text

Casual Lunacy, Ch. 40

Love live, NicoMaki, 2.7K, 40/?

Rin stays in, Maki goes for a walk.

Monday Werewolf Blues, Part II

The smell of rice hit Hanayo when she opened the door. Rin was curled up in their bed, in Hanayo’s fuzzy yellow robe, bright eyes watching for Hanayo’s reaction. Rin shifted and Hanayo thought she saw a flash of lace when the robe fell open. She closed the door, heart beating an excited rhythm, and smiled to herself.

“I’m home, Rin.”

Rin exploded from the top bunk, knocking her back into the door, arms grabbing her so tight that breathing became impossible, “I’m sorry, Kayo-chin. I won’t let them catch me. I won’t let you worry. I’m sorry I…”

Hanayo shushed Rin, hugging her back, “We’re okay, Rin. You know that, right?”

Rin put her head on Hanayo’s shoulder, “I bought your favorites from Kamakura. And ‘Who’s That Girl’ is cued up.”

Hanayo snuck a hand under the robe to confirm that Rin was wearing the lacy chemise that had been her Christmas present. Hanayo was willing to forgive many things for that. Rin blushed as Hanayo kissed her cheek. Adorably shy Rin always made Hanayo a little bolder.

“I love you, Rin.”

Not a large audience, but Nico still felt like she could take on 5 teams of villains when she came offstage after the curtain call. Applause. FINALLY. The night was approaching. Not that Nico was JUST interested in applause, but when you have cake, don’t you want icing too? Nico did. It was elixir, ambrosia, blood, she thought with a giggle, thinking of Dracula as Kashima approached, gray from makeup, shirt buttons popped open, underwear tank plastered to her chest, “Hey, Nico! That was amazing! You…” Kashima, seemingly at a loss for words, grabbed Nico and spun her in, as if they were dancing, “We are going to rock this.”

There went Nico’s makeup, all over Kashima’s tank. Ah well, she’d be removing it before too long anyway.

Micah joined in the hug. “We are going to ROCK it. WIth our fangs out.” He winked as Nico frowned, ducking under Kashima’s arm. Too much sweat, very unpopular with Nico, potentially even more unpopular with Nico’s very hot, very nosy girlfriend. “Hey, I know a couple of girls in the intro class and they want to meet you, get some drinks and karaoke. You in, Nico? Kash?”

Nico considered, running through her checklist. Fastest run through yet and notes tomorrow so it was early-ish, Maki had still looked wrecked at breakfast and was probably tired and needing to rest after last night’s fight, Nico had Sergeant Alvarez working on the stop the baddies angle, and Nico hadn’t flubbed any lines. And she was fizzing like champagne, sleep hours off yet. A friendly drink and karaoke with her adoring audience and co stars sounded perfect. She’d just text Maki not to wait up if Maki decided to come over. Good decision giving her the key. Made things easier.

“Nico can always make time for new fans.”

Micah slung an arm around Nico, “Great! Let’s party!”

Kashima cheered and shoved them toward the green room.

Umi had put away the night’s studying. She had midterms under control. Honoka was even ahead of schedule on their joint project. All good. Now her only problem was actually Nico’s. To be more precise, Nico’s restless, wandering, knocking into every little thing girlfriend. Umi extrapolated the damage Maki could wreak on the carefully maintained orderliness of the Sonoda-Yazawa apartment if she transformed based on the havoc she was wreaking on only two legs. If Nico actually had a dog, Umi assumed she would have asked Umi to take her out for a walk before boredom turned into a mess so Umi checked her phone and cleared her throat.

“Maki.”

Maki stopped, and flopped on the couch. Umi could almost see the slow sad tail wag that would have accompanied that movement. Disconcerting. “I’m distracting you, aren’t I? Sorry.”

“No, you’re fine.” It wasn’t a lie, Umi had completed her tasks with no interference and worrying was not a direct synonym for distracting. “Kotori says the karaoke is wrapping up. Do you want to head down and walk them home?”

Maki bounded up, grinning. “Sure.”

This had gone better in Umi’s head. She feared she owed Nico an apology. They had reached LakeStar just as the theatre crowd was spilling into the street. Nico was in the center, still singing, surrounded by a crowd, suddenly jumping on Kashima’s back with a loose chokehold. That’s when Umi heard the growl next to her. Nico did as well, her eyes immediately going to where Maki stood as she slid down from Kashima with a beaming smile. Umii assumed there would be an alcohol smell. Tipsy Nico was friendly and huggy. Maki was probably unaware of this tendency. Umi used Honoka as a human shield on those nights.

“Pretty girl!” Nico rushed Maki, threw her arms around her neck and smacked a kiss on her lips. Maki whimpered and stepped back, her nose twitching wildly as Nico hung on, Maki’s lavender eyes charging with neon as all the singing, jostling crowd clamored around them, the voices mingling, off key, dissonant, Kashima galumphing after Nico, Maki registering too many familiar scents from Nico.

And then it happened. Maki caught a scent, one that that she recognized, one that was part of the group that was threatening Rin. Sandalwood, bergamot, copper and too calm. Maki’s sudden snarl was vicious and Nico stepped back, shocked. She had no idea what triggered Maki’s reaction but as she watched Maki’s ears start to slide back, Nico realized an intervention was urgently needed and stepped in front of the werewolf, pulling her head down, meeting a furious glare with no fear. “Don’t. Not here”

Maki’s lips twisted with the start of a low, coarse howl.

“Maki.” Nico spun her around, pushing her down the sidewalk, as Honoka strolled up.

“You should have come earlier, Maki. We could have sung together. You have a great voice. Hay, Nico, make sure you text her next time.” Honoka stared, realizing Nico’s mood had changed, “Is Maki okay?”

Oh, Honoka, Umi thought. Now, what would Nico do? And was she too drunk for this?

“Everything’s fine, Honoka, Maki’s just not used to Nico having so many fans.” Nico’s grin was forced and she twisted Maki’s arm is an effort to control the werewolf’s direction, “But Nico always has time for her best fan.”

Nico would do fine, Umi realized as she hurried to the other side of the problem, giving Honoka a brief hand squeeze.

Maki tried to turn, but Nico and Umi between them had her movements restricted, dragging her quickly down the street, while a confused but energetic Honoka had turned around and started singing “What Makes You Beautiful” to the cheers of the following crowd. Kotori was giggling in Anju’s ear, Honoka broadly waving her arms to distract, encouraging more people to join in while Umi and Nico wrangled Maki into an alley as everyone else followed Honoka like she was the One Direction Piper.

“Calm down, Maki.” Nico moved in front of her girlfriend, taking both hands as Umi blocked the alley, “Is this about Kashima or Tsubasa?”

“Yes,” Maki growled and Nico swore the nose started to elongate as Maki tried to dodge around Nico.

Nico kissed her, desperately trying to get the taking-a-corner-on-two -wheels-and-out-of-control redhead to focus on her. That was a mistake. Tension had locked both of them out of sympathy and sandpaper slid against steel wool. But it did get Maki’s attention on Nico.

Maki closed her eyes, chest heaving from the effort of calming her breathing and arresting the transformation. Nico could hear their two hammering hearts echoing in the narrow alley, bouncing between the walls while the rest of the world was full of swift winds and slow cars, sliding through the shivers of night.

Maki’s eyes opened, still pulsing with neon, “You smell like” pause, reluctance, Maki’s face contorted with confusion and indignation as she whispered, ”us…”

Nico froze as Maki refused to look at her, racing desperately to figure out what Maki meant. She couldn’t be upset about Kashima if what she said was “us,” surely then she would have said “someone else…” So what did she mean?

“I don’t understand, Maki.” Nico forced the exasperation out of her voice.

“You smell…” There were Maki’s eyes, glowing, the shadows nervous, wounded, “happy…” the next syllables were ground out over a shattered glass field of reluctance, “sexy…”

Ah, Nico didn’t let the words fade before she pulled Maki in, brushing hair away from her forehead, “Of course, Nico is sexy...Nico had an audience for the first time and it was great, no lines dropped, people on the edge of their seats….APPLAUSE” Nico’s grin would have been irresistible on any other night, “Nico lives for those nights.” She let Maki register that, saw neon green fade, saw brightness flicker, “But I love you, Maki. That’s a separate sexy” Nico slid a hand behind Maki’s neck, letting her fingertips barely sweep up the hairline, “Only for you.”

Maki huffed. Nico’s hand dropped to her shoulder. Maki stiffened.

Umi stomped back to them. “It’s too cold to be out much longer. Let’s head home.”

Nico rested her head on Maki’s chest while Maki stood solid, no give. Then the future star of stage and screen took a deliberate step back, voice determined, “Umi’s going to walk me home, pretty girl. I’ve had a long day and need some Nico time. I’m going to have an exciting week and I want you to be there.” Nico made sure Maki was looking directly at her. “But you can’t do this…”

There was too long a pause as both of them reviewed the last ten minutes. Then Maki nodded, biting the inside of her lip, “No. I can’t.”

“Walk me home from work tomorrow, if you don’t have class, okay, pretty girl?” Nico’s kiss on Maki’s cheek was soft and too short. Maki shook herself, trying to move away before the tears started.

Watching Maki just barely not sprint off, Umi offered Nico her arm, “Are you all right, Nico?”

“Yeah, Nico had a pretty good life before gorgeous and bitey wandered in. Dreams and plans and talent and looks and friends and charm. It’s what makes Nico such a catch.” Nico blew out a puff of white breath, “She just has to realize that.”

Umi thought about all the misunderstandings of the first few months of trying to date Honoka and Kotori, balancing the attraction and the uncertainty. The way things once familiar would snap and be NEW and sharp and dangerous. Maki had never really seen Nico in what was definitely her native environment, lapping up praise, flirting, thriving on everyone’s attention like a tiny, bright snow buttercup in the sun. Umi was very glad neither Honoka or Kotori had much urge to perform. The urge to meet them there, on even ground, would have split Umi. It really was surprising Maki and Nico hadn’t come to this corner before, but the buzzing high of attraction was both addicting and isolating. And there had been other things.

“She’ll be fine.” Nico said, mostly to herself, over the sound of their synched, solid steps striking the cold ground.

Umi knew her friend had done a hard thing. “I’m proud of you, Nico. Boundaries are brave.”

Nico pulled herself closer, the wool of Umi’s coat rough against her face, there might have been a sniffle, but then Nico’s cheekiest tone boomed, ‘Yeah, yeah, Nico is the best. Sucking up won’t save you the next time Honoka steals my lunch leftovers.’

Maki hadn’t transformed, she was proud of that. Nope, still on two legs, a shaky two legs from rage and fear and want, Nico had smelled so enticing, that particular swirl of everything that had always drawn Maki Nico-ward, intensified somehow and now that Maki had it in her nose, it was everywhere. And she wanted Nico to be everywhere, hands, lips, hair, soft, sliding, overtaking every sense, pushing her...away, Nico had pushed her away, by stepping back. And it scared her, Nico closing down, and the tears and Umi there for Nico, and all the other people surging around Nico, wanting Nico near….a howl, tearing out of her, tears lashing behind her, mispunching the code in the gate, slamming the door, her mother worried on the stairs, Maki shaking her off, into her room, slamming another door, music blasting, some music, random music, wait that was it, the crescendo, the crash, Maki rolling back and forth on her bed, tears and skin crying out for sable and softness.

The warm waters rose around Maki as she lowered herself in the tub. Lavender, huge inhale, calm, hints of Nico, but not enough to...Maki clutched the sides of the tub, fighting the urge to slide her hand down her leg...not enough to overwhelm her….

She had checked Nico’s TWIG feed, wanting to see a picture of cheerful, twinkling rubies and that dazzling smile, she hadn’t taken any herself and Nico had only sent her one so far, a bored in class pic that was mostly eye roll. There were so many faces of Nico, with so many people, people Maki didn’t know and she found herself going further and further back in Nico’s history, seeing Nico with all these people, happy people, smiling people, hugging people, dancing people...tonight, there had been a post curtain selfie of Micah, Kashima, and Nico with the caption “Dracula is rising from the grave to go party.” It was one of the few recent ones. After the selfie Nico had taken of her “super cute little black dress” the night of Umi, Honoka, and Kotori’s party, there had been fewer pictures. And none of Maki, either in girlfriend or wolf form. That was obviously not the standard for Nico. There were no sibling pictures either, though, so maybe Nico was private about some parts of her life, she’d said that one night, hadn’t she, but still…Maki was obviously impacting Nico’s habits...or, Maki sighed, and slid into the water, Maki was monopolizing the formerly very social Nico’s time...which Nico didn’t seem to mind. And Maki definitely wanted to keep doing. But not at the cost of a Nico who smiled less, who was Nico less...Maki slid even lower, finally letting her hand drop under the water, a cold tingle against warmed skin, Nico’s smirk in her mind, Nico’s voice tantalizing, sensuously slow, sexy and low, teasing Maki, as Maki let the memory of the night in the music room push away worries and pull Nico back to her...inhale...another night...lavender....hints of Nico’s bed...pushing down into pillows... and….stroking...and shivering….and...thruuummmmm…..

Nico picked up her phone. She and Honoka had eaten their way through all the ice cream in the freezer while sitting between Umi and Kotori and watching the latest episode of M Countdown. Now Nico was ready for bed. There were several messages from Maki.

M: Sorry, I snapped <(．＿．)>. Not the best at surprises. Please let me meet your friends next time.

The next was a picture of Maki, wet hair hanging down, flannel shirt a little too short and open for her to send as a picture, Nico thought, but there it was, all those curves as evidence it had been sent, followed by:

M: I miss you, Nico (‘-’*)

That was cheating, definitely cheating, Nico thought, suddenly more awake. Maki was never meeting her friends looking like that. And Nico’s head would not be meeting her pillow yet. Nearly naked girlfriend pics after an ice cream sugar binge was a jolting combo. Nico would be setting sexy selfie boundaries the next time she talked to distracting in dishabille.

A fourth text buzzed in.

M: I’ll see you tomorrow. You can tell me show stories. I want to know more about everyone in Fangs. I love you, Nico. (´⌣`ʃƪ) Sleep well.

Sleep. Nico snorted. Like anyone could sleep with that picture in the room with them.

N: I love you too, Maki. See you tomorrow. Wear more clothes (￣︶￣;)

A/N: TWIG is my standard Twitter/Instagram mashup for the purposes of fanfic so I don't have to worry about using anyone's actual handle. Taking suggestions for Nico's in this universe as No1Nico doesn't seem theatre enough.Update a little quick, but I wanted to keep the Mondays together.

#nicomaki #Casual Lunacy #love live #fanfic #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #werewolf #coffeeshop #theatre #college #Fangs #rinpana #howling #etc

4 notes · View notes

blaineandsamevanderson · 7 years ago

Text

Title: Finding Home ch.1

Author: @blaineandsamevanderson

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Ship: Liam/Theo

Rating: PG

Summary: After the Battle of Beacon Hills, life goes on.

Notes: Thiam Secret Santa fic for @evinnschottmacher

********

“Guys, we might have a problem.”

The members of the McCall pack (well, most of them) looked up at mason’s ominous statement. After the Battle of Beacon Hills, those who had returned opted to stay for a while and more wandering friends had trickled back. It was reassuring after all the upheaval, having so many allies around was reassuring. Strength in numbers and all.

Still, none of them wanted to face another big bad anytime soon.

“What is it?” Scott asked, putting down his textbook and highlighter. The rest of the pack continued to watch mason, who took a breath.

“Look, I know Theo’s been less murdery since Liam brought him back, but…,” he hesitated a moment, “I was at Home Depot with my dad and saw Theo there. He had a bunch of stuff in his cart, like a shovel, tarps, hammers….So you can see my concern….”

Around the room, people groaned. Others sighed or rolled their eyes. Stiles pursed his lips and gave Scott a look. “I told you, we need to put a tracker on that little bastard. Like, one of those ones ARGUS used in Suicide Squad.”

“We aren’t putting a bomb in his head,” Scott said patiently. “We don’t know that he’s done anything wrong. This time.”

Malia shrugged. “I’m gonna agree with Stiles on this one.”

“It does seem like a safety net,” Isaac added with a nod.

“I hate to agree with Id and Impulse over there, but...he does have a history,” Mason said. “Does anyone actually know what he does when he’s not with us?”

Everyone was shocked when Derek spoke up. “He got a job and I let him stay on some land near the preserve.” He stared back at the pack. “What? He’s living in his truck. Being in the woods makes it feel more like camping than homelessness and he can get a tent or something.”

“So...where is this land where he’s probably burying bodies?” Stiles asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

****

“Well, this is so much better than you were all assuming,” Liam said, standing beside Mason’s car. Everyone had piled into vehicles and followed Derek’s shiny black camera out into the woods, stopping at a small clearing.

Theo’s truck was there, but so was a small house. There were clear signs of ongoing construction and, as they stood there, the Chimera emerged from the house, a frown on his face.

He was wearing jeans, a tool belt and boots, shirtless torso dusted with sawdust. Liam swallowed, feeling his heart thump a little harder and Malia tossed him a look.

“Hey,” Theo called, hopping off of the small porch. “What are you all doing out here?”

Clearly feeling a little silly about the assumptions that had been made, no one spoke...until Jackson drawled, “So you aren’t planning a whole bunch of murders, right?”

That earned him a slow blink. “Not presently,” Theo replied. “Why?”

No one really wanted to say why, so Liam blurted, “Did you build this?”

“Yeah,” Theo told them with a nod. “I mean, the guys from work helped me with the plumbing and electrical, but I did most of it.”

“Cool,” Liam replied honestly and Theo grinned brightly at him.

****

After that, it was not uncommon for pack members to be found ‘helping out’ at Theo’s. Derek, Braeden and Isaac were actually quite handy and Danny worked some quasi-legal magic on the Chimera’s mobile hotspot so that the wo-fi was awesome, but the rest of the pack just tended to hang around, offering commentary and watching the work going on.

Liam tried to help, he really did, but after the fourth bashed finger, Lydia had ushered him over tot he picnic blanket she, Jackson, Ethan and Danny were lounging on. They’d even brought snacks today.

“I’m fine,” he protested, casting a look over his shoulder to where Theo was bent over, sawing a plank of wood to a particular length.

Jackson snorted. “Sure...but if you’re going to be distracted by someone’s dimples of Venus, maybe just help with the painting. Werewolf healing or not, broken fingers suck.”

Having no idea what to say to that, Liam simply gaped, causing Lydia to pat his arm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally sputtered, feeling his face heat up.

Danny reached over and thumped his back in a supportive manner. “Oh, you do...The boy has a nice back. Nice everything really, even if he isn’t my type.”

That made Lydia laugh and gesture broadly at Ethan. “Really? Tell us again how hot, hot bad boy twunk who has tried to kill us at one point is not your type?”

“She’s got you there,” Jackson laughed as Ethan shrugged and Danny flipped them off playfully.

“Well, she used to be your type Jackson,” Danny replied, a little smug.

“Yeah, but Lydia’s amazing and I was so closeted I may as well have been a hanger,” Jackson pointed out. “What’s your type now then?”

A smile crooked the corner of Danny’s mouth. “Tall, blond and dry witted,” he admitted, nodding over to where Isaac was leaping off of the roof, having finished with the shingles.

“Honestly, not surprising,” Lydia drawled after a moment, slipping her sunglasses on and sipping her drink. “That boy never knew whether he wanted to toss puppy eyes at Scott or Allison. Good to know he learned both was an option.”

“Just not at once,” Danny, Ethan and Jackson chorused.

Lydia shrugged. “Who knows, I don’t think he ever asked. Pretty sure Allison would have been on board.”

After that observation, everyone was quiet for a moment before agreeing that Lydia was probably right.

She usually was about such things.

“Hey,” Ethan said brightly, turning to Danny. “Since you’ve got some pull, maybe you can talk to Isaac about not plotting my death. I’m pretty sure he and Malia are making plans on how to off me.”

“Babe, if he hates one of us, it’s me,” Jackson tried to assure Ethan.

Looking up from where he had begun to dig a hole, Isaac said, “I don’t like either of you. But you’re not the only ones we have contingency plans for.”

Then he went back to his hole.

“Charming,” Jackson muttered.

“I kinda deserved that,” Ethan admitted, but Liam tuned them out for a moment.

Theo had emerged from whatever he had been doing inside the house (there had been hammering involved) and dumped a bucket of river water over his head.

Every day, Liam was getting more and more sure that he wasn’t quite as straight as he had once assumed...at least not where a certain ridiculously gorgeous Chimera was concerned.

Shaking himself, he asked, “Do I want to know what a twunk is?”

Danny laughed. “Probably not.”

****

Less than 2 weeks later, Liam sat cross legged on Theo’s porch, a tin cup of cocoa in hand. It was just the two of them...as had become common. For some reason, Liam kept finding himself dropping by to visit Theo in the evenings.

The other boy didn’t seem opposed to the company. He’d even started leaving the door unlocked for Liam.

Of course, that did mean that Liam risked walking in on a warm, damp, fresh from the shower Theo. Who was not modest. Nope. Not at all.

Not that he had a reason to be.

“I haven’t really had a home since I was like 11,” Theo said out of the blue, staring into his own cocoa. “After we left Beacon Hills...I don’t know what happened to my parents, not really. They were just gone and there was that couple the Dread Doctors had pretending to be them to keep up appearances. But that wasn’t home, this is.”

The admission surprised Liam. Theo didn’t really talk about what had happened with his family or The Dread Doctors. Gently, Liam asked, “So...you lived with those people?”

Theo shrugged. “Not really. Spent most of my time with the Doctors. I was even home schooled. Test results got mailed in, so I didn’t have to live anywhere particular. Just needed a mailing address for appearances.”

Oh well, that probably explained a lot….

“You need to finish school!”

“Yeah, that’s not happening.”

*****

“How did this happen?”

Theo honestly had no intention of going back to school. He figured he could get his GED easy enough at some point, but finishing senior year was a big old no.

Of course, that had been before the pack meeting the day after his chat with Liam. Even the adults (The Sheriff, Mrs. McCall, Chris Argent, Peter, Parrish, Derek and Braeden) had been there. Everyone wanted to push him about school, how important it was.

Except Stiles, who pointed out that further educating a potential threat could come back to bite them in the ass.

His protests were part of the reason Theo had agreed to re-enroll. Liam’s big, worried eyes summed up the rest of his motivation.

Fortunately, after all the chaos as of late, the school wasn’t asking many questions and didn’t put up a fuss when Theo went to register as a mid year transfer to finish his high school career.

Entering the school with Liam, Mason and Corey, he raised a brow as eyes turned towards them and conversations dropped away. He could smell the nervousness and rolled his eyes. “Really? Still? Are they like this all the time?”

Liam huffed a sigh. “Yeah, most mornings and when the jerk patrol is around. It gets better.”

“They smell like guilt and shame,” Theo frowned. “It’s acrid.”

“Hey!”

Nolan popped out of the cross corridor and Theo whipped around to glare at the other boy. He could hear the way Liam’s heart stuttered, a rapid patter of fear that the smaller wolf quickly reigned in. He knew Liam had forgiven Nolan for what he had done, but clearly there were some lingering effects.

“Nolan,” Liam said, voice not betraying his internal struggle. “What’s up?”

Theo shifted, letting his bicep press against the back of Liam’s arm, reassuring the other that he was there.

“You guys have been disappearing so fast after school, I never get to catch up with you,” Nolan babbled, not picking up on the ‘GO AWAY’ vibes Theo was trying to project.

“We’ve been kinda busy, Nolan,” Mason said and Theo could hear the faint hint of distaste beneath his words. “You know, helping get everything settled after a good chunk of the town went a little evil and decided it would be awesome to murder a bunch of teenagers.’

That made Nolan wince.

Good for Mason.

“How’ve you been,” Liam asked, once again proving that he took after his Alpha. Theo wasn’t so forgiving, which was why he understoood Stiles’s continued dislike of him.

“Who’s the jerk patrol?” Theo asked as they walked down the hall. Clearly, he had some shit to handle.

******

He was right. There were a few of Monroe’s pet psychos in training still lingering around, too dumb to realize they’d lost and generally making everyone nervous. Most of their douchebaggery was confined to commentary and threats when there were no teachers around, but it was enough to create an unpleasant atmosphere.

The three main instigators were on the lacrosse team and after seeing a practice where they intentionally hit Liam with the ball repeatedly, Theo had enough.

Like most bullies lacking protectors in positions of power, they were cowards deep down. The day after their little display on the lacrosse field, Theo cornered the morons in the locker room. He didn’t want them filming anything after all and no one liked to be confronted naked...well, no one who couldn’t shift into a wolf.

“You’re going to stop all this wannabe hard hunter bullshit, right now,” he told them, speaking slowly so that even the dumbest of them could understand. He flashed them a charming smile with a little too much tooth. “ Cuz, unlike my friends, I’m not a nice guy. I’m trying to be, but you’re making it really hard. I don’t particularly want to dismember you, it’s a messy process, but I can, I will and I know where to get enough acid to dissolve your remains. We clear?

He said all that in a bright, cheerful voice, but the lingering steam in the air carried the tang of fear.

The biggest of the assholes tried to puff himself up, thinking the 5” of height he had on Theo was any kind of advantage. “I’m not scared of you, freak!”

Theo blinked at him. “You should be,” Hesiod simply. “I mean, decent people don’t have to worry, but I’m not a big fan of mouth breathing ass….”

That was when the idiot tried to punch him. Theo neatly avoided the blow, letting the jerk break his hand on the tile wall. Asshole’s screech mingled with Coach Finstock’s shout.

“PETERSEN! What the hell are you doing? Do you not understand the concept of Zero Tolerance? You’re off the team! Put on some damn pants and get your ass to the principal’s office!”

“He attacked me!” The kid whined, but it was for naught.

Fin stock looked at Theo, standing there, trying to look as innocent as he could. “I might believe that if I hadn’t seen you throw the punch,” Finstock said. “PANTS! Principal! NOW!”

Petersen shuffled off, followed by his friends, who gave Theo a wide berth. Finstock continued to eye Theo. “Lose the ‘Who me?’expression. I never bought it from Stilinski, I don’t buy it from you. Good reflexes.”

Theo gave a little nod. “Comes with the territory.”

“Oh...another werewolf,” Finstock said, then jabbed a finger at him. “You play lacrosse?”

TBC…...

****

#thiam #thiam secret santa #evinnschottmacher #fic

43 notes · View notes