#been rotating this script note in my head for so many days now i had to get it out of my system

[taiturner]

TAISSA TURNER ft. Yellowjackets season 1, episode 2 "F Sharp" script

[theroomofreq]

Personality Before Punctuality: Chapter 2

James Potter plays in a band but spends his mornings in the bakery chatting up Lily Evans. Lily spends her week days selling pastries, but on weekends she goes to see James play guitar. 

The second part to my meet cute muggle au! 

Read on AO3

Lily flung open the door to The Hallows, her bag knocked on the door frame as her quick pace carried her into the bakery. 9:07, Okay not terribly late, she could work with that. Her morning walk had little to no distractions and after yesterday she figured she had better be more timely than usual. Lily blew her bangs out of her face as she looked up to find one of the primary bakers, Simon, engaged with a customer.

Yikes, Simon hated customers. Lily increased her pace as she made her way around the counter, her bag dropping un-ceremonially to the floor. She chanced an apologetic look at Simon before turning to the customer in front of her.

“Evans, have you tried this treacle tart?!”

James Potter had a mouthful of tart and a goofy grin that came with his question. 

Lily’s eyes roamed down his figure wondering how she had missed him. The first detail to notice was his hat, Potter had a large black bucket hat that fit snuggly on his head, the strap and buckle pulled tightly across his sharp jaw line. Apparently black was his theme today, as his long-sleeved shirt and trousers match his hat color.

 “Of course, Potter” Lily couldn’t hold back her grin as he shoveled another bite into his mouth “This week is especially good because Simon here made it. He always makes the best pastry crust” Lily placed a hand on Simon’s shoulder and hoped her honest compliment would get her out of being late this morning.

“Flattery will not excuse the tardiness Lily, but it doesn’t stop you from being my favorite” Simon gave her a small smile, which Lily counted as a win. “Wonderful to meet you James” 

“Likewise” Potter replied as Simon walked back into the kitchen. 

 Potter leaned up against the display case crossing his arms as he smirked down toward Lily. “I’m glad I caught you again.”

“At the bakery where I work? Yes, you’re very lucky to find me here.” She couldn’t hold back the sarcasm that dripped out of her mouth.

The way James rolled his eyes had an affectionate feel, “Oh come on, you know what I mean Evans. I didn’t know your schedule at all, this was really all I had.”

“So, what was your plan?” Lily said, her eyebrows quirked up, “Show up here every morning until I finally came in to work?”

James seemed to startle as he stood up from his relaxed position, his eyes went downcast as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well yeah, actually that was the idea…” His eyes turned up at Lily with a bashful look.

The way his eyes locked on her resulted in Lily biting down on her lip as her cheeks flushed. Before she could reply the door chimed as another customer walked into the shop. James began to back away from the register and Lily, as his eyes wandered around the bakery.

“The table to your left has the best chairs” Lily mentioned, hoping that her invitation to stay would come across.

Potter’s eyes lit up as he made his way to where Lily suggested, walking backward toward the table with a lazy gate that had Lily captivated the whole time. Perhaps it was the way he rubbed his hands together or how held her gaze the entire time, regardless Lily loved what an all-black look did for James Potter.  

Regrettably, Lily tore her eyes away from him and back to the latest customer to enter The Hallows.

 ----

As a Wednesday morning, the bakery wasn’t terribly busy, but there was a steady stream of people who came in to buy pastries. She knew most everyone that came in, as she had a good grasp on who the regulars were and what they would buy. Often, she found herself sending glances toward James, who sat alone at his table writing away in a notebook he had pulled from his back pocket. 

She was grateful he had chosen to sit with his back to the front door, he was less likely to be noticed this way, especially because his stag tattoo was facing the wall not the open shop. Well that, and the obvious fact that she had a brilliant view of him as he focused on his writing, rolled up the sleeves on his shirt, or even shot glances at Lily.

There was something about James Potter that made her believe that he did everything at 100%. Maybe it was the way his eyes lit up as he scrawled across the page, never stopping for a moment as rotated his book to add notes or circle a word. It could’ve been the way that she caught him looking at her, his deep eyes latching on to her movements as she did her job. Whenever she caught him staring (which was very often) he didn’t ever look away, his smile just got brighter as he winked or waved in her direction. It might’ve even been the way he kept coming up and buying more sweets.

Yes, it was definitely the sweets. He seemed hell bent on trying every item available at the bakery. The fifth time he sauntered up to the register Lily rolled her eyes, “You’re going to make yourself sick Potter”

“Probably, but I just can’t help myself around sweet things.” James said as he quite obviously looked Lily up and down with a smirk. “Meaning…”

“Potter. I know” Lily interrupted. “I know what you mean. You’ve been gawking at me for hours; you are anything but subtle.”

“You’re one to talk red” James said, propping his elbow up on the counter, “I’ve caught you sending eyes my way many a time as well.” He rested his chin on his hand while winking at Lily. 

“Right. I’m fit, you’re fit. Good to know we are on the same page here. Now get back to your table, my break is in an hour.”

“Anything for you love.”

---

“Do you work at all the rest of the week?” James asked her between bites of bread.

“Tomorrow evening and Sunday” Lily told him.

She ripped off another chunk of bread from the loaf they were sharing. Lily decided to spend her break sitting with James as he reviewed his favorite sweets and asked her about her schedule. 

“Brill, I uh, wanted to ask if you would come to my show on Friday night” The smile he tacked on at the end was hopeful.

“I didn’t know you had a show this week? I haven’t heard anything about it- where are you playing?”

“Oh well, yes, it is a bit of a secret. Sirius’ idea really” He gestured with his hands in an attempt to explain. “Our lead singer, my best mate he’s got a real flair for the dramatic that one. He convinced us to play at one of the places that first gave us a shot. Something about taking care of the little guys and standing up to the man. We are all pretty passionate about it now”

“Yeah, alright I’d love to.”

“Yeah, okay great actually, that’s excellent!” James gave her a megawatt grin. He looked down toward his notebook again and began rapidly flipping through the pages. Finally, he stopped on a page and ripped it out before passing it across the table towards Lily.

The note seemed distinctly James and Lily wasn’t really sure what that meant, she didn’t really even know this man all that well, but the page felt like James Potter. In the middle of the page was a hand drawn logo of a bar, The Hogs Head, with a large arrow that pointed to the time he would be playing. The time was circled multiple times with a small note that said, “Be punctual Evans”.

Across the top of the page was her name, written in a cursive script that was far prettier than she had ever penned her own name in. Lily’s eyes lingered a long time around her name and the drawing right beside it. James had drawn a small portrait of Lily laughing, her nose was scrunched close to her eyes which seemed brighter than usual. It was incredible what he had drawn of her with a simple black marker, the lines on her face and her freckles were expertly drawn, Lily’s breath caught as she looked up at James. He was staring intensely at her through his dark eye lashes, slowly his lips pulled to the side in a very signature smirk that Lily simply couldn’t handle looking at for too long. 

Lily shook her head trying to throw out that smirk, she knew she was in deep trouble when she had to pinch her leg before responding to James, “I didn’t know you were such an artist.”

“Nah, ‘m not. The gorgeous things in life end up drawing themselves” Potter spent a long time searching her flushed face before continuing, “I actually have to run to sound checks now, but trust me, I can’t wait to see you Friday.”

He reached across the table and gave her hand a tight squeeze before standing and walking out the door. Lily watched him go wondering how the way he had touched her so briefly had turned her legs to jelly. 

 ----

“Damn Lils, that Potter bloke won’t even know what a guitar is much less be able to play one once he sees you.”

Lily flashed a smile into the mirror towards her best friend, “You don’t think it’s too much do you?” 

“Absolutely not, we didn’t spend 2 hours trying on outfits for you to start second guessing how hot you are” Marlene let out a low whistle to prove her point.

Lily swatted at her flatmate, it did not take her that long to get ready- but even if it did, it was worth it. She’d decided to wear favorite black crop top which rested just above the smallest sliver of skin before her skirt pulled tightly across her figure hitting just about mid-thigh. Her favorite sheer tights matched her black Doc Martens perfectly and to top it all off she’d left her hair loose, Lily guessed Marlene was right, she was pretty damn hot.

Lily looked in the mirror one last time, she was ready to blow James Potter away.

---

Marlene pushed open the doors to the small venue, the outside made it look small, but it was actually pretty large on the inside. The lights were dimmed, and the crowds filled the room with a low roar, the place had an air of grunge to it. Lily glanced down at her watch, she and Marlene had showed up at the exact time Potter had written down for her, but there was no one on the small make-shift stage.

“Looks like that Potter bloke has you pegged already,” Marlene laughed as she pointed to a sign to the left of the stage.

“The Marauders” the messy scrawl on the sign read, “Tonight at 8”

It was 7:30. Potter must’ve given her an earlier time to make sure she wouldn’t be late. Lily rolled her eyes at her best friend, if James really knew her, he would know she wouldn’t dare to be late to see him. 

When The Marauders walked on stage Lily’s eyes locked on James, she felt a twinge of annoyance as he sauntered out waving at the crowd. It wasn’t entirely fair for someone to be that good looking, his white long sleeve contrasted perfectly with his black bottoms and shoes. As he stepped up to his mic he pushed up the sleeve on his right arm before resting it across the strings of his guitar.

 Honestly, she couldn’t bring herself to look at the rest of the band, the guitarist was just too mesmerizing. Was she obsessed with him? Probably. Was her heart rate going through the roof for reasons other than seeing a really good band? Definitely. Was she going to spend the rest of her night shamelessly staring at James Potter? Absolutely.

 As Lily came to terms with how quickly this man had taken over her thoughts the past few days, James turned around to walk to the back of the stage. The sandy-haired drummer was talking animatedly with the shaggy haired singer, for some reason Lily couldn’t quite remember their names. Potter threw his arm over the singer taking a moment to nod at the flustered drummer before pulling away a now red-faced front man. Potter gave his friend a final shove toward the forward microphone and the set list began.

There’s something about seeing a band play live that is exciting, the energy from the crowd is thrilling, the band going all out while playing, and the way your emotions come in waves. But, seeing a band that you love? Exhilarating. The long lead up before the song begins, singing along to your favorite song, the vibe of hearing a chorus live for the first time, all of it is magic. 

Lily was convinced that none of these feelings held a candle to seeing James Potter play. His entire body thrummed with the music, it wasn’t just his foot keeping pace, but his whole body moving as he played. The guitarist was emotionally involved in every note he played, the way his eyes followed his fingers, and how he strummed the chords perfectly in time. The smirk on his face was absolutely startling when he came in with a powerful riff or ran through a difficult set of chords. Lily decided that watching James perform was enthralling. 

As The Marauders lead singer said their goodbyes Lily finally remembered his name, Sirius Black, it wasn’t that hard to remember now that she wasn’t distracted by Potter’s arse. The moment Sirius waved goodnight, Potter placed his guitar on his stand and jumped off the front of the stage. 

Lily watched him weave through the crowd as he was stopped by many individuals for a photo or signature. Her attention was pulled from Potter as Marlene placed a hand on her arm.  

“Lils, are you okay if I head out now?” Marlene asked the question timidly, “I promised Dorcas I would stop by after the show.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t know you were seeing her again?” Lily was surprised her friend had kept the news from her, she was usually so open about her latest relationships

“It’s new and I don’t know,” Marlene shrugged, “I didn’t want to jinx it or anything.” 

Lily shook her head at her outgoing friend now turned shy at the thought of Dorcas. “Get going then, I’m sure she is waiting for you.” 

“Thanks Lils,” Marlene said as she pulled the redhead in for a hug, “Maybe we will both get a bit lucky tonight.” 

Ahh, there was her friend. Marlene practically ran out the front doors toward her new girlfriend. Lily turned her eyes back to the crowd searching for Potter, before she could locate him someone stepped right in front of her path blocking her view. 

“You’ve created a lot of grief for me Evans.” Sirius Black stood cooly in front of Lily, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked evenly at her. 

“And what would that be Black?” Lily crossed her arms challenging whatever Black was about to go on about. 

“You’ve driven this fool out of his mind the last few days” Black jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward Potter who walked up next to him. “All I’ve heard the last bit is all about Lily Evans, how witty and gorgeous you are. It is enough to turn me completely mental.” Sirius had a smirk on his face, but Potter looked warily at his friend. 

“I’d be happy to foot the bill for any harm my wit and or beauty has caused you.” 

Potter’s jaw dropped at Lily's quip while Sirius threw his arm around his mate and cackled. “I can see why you’ve been tracing her name every night” Sirius said as he used his other hand to pat James’ chest, “See you at home mate.” 

Sirius untangled himself from a now flustered James and turned to Lily, “Evans, it’s been more of a pleasure than you realize.” With a final wink sent to Lily, Sirius walked off into the crowd. 

“Tracing my name?” Lily posed the question while looking toward his left arm, the sleeve still flush with his wrist, whereas the other sleeve was racked up to his elbow. 

“Well, err,” the flush across his face deepened as James pushed up the sleeve to reveal the arm that Lily had signed a number of days ago. The writing was dark and thick, as if she had written it moments ago. 

“I just really liked the mark you left on me, and I didn’t want to lose it. So I, err, I’ve been tracing it over every night, so it stays with me.” He looked up at her with hopeful eyes. 

“Who knew you were such a softie Potter?” 

“Only around you Evans.” He took a step forward and grabbed her hand, “Thank you for coming, did you have a good time?”

“It was incredible! You were incredible!” Lily felt her face light up as she talked about the concert, “That last song was unreal, I loved where you came in at the end!” 

“Thanks, I wrote the song but it was Remus who came up with that section, he’s the musical genius of the four of us.” 

Potter began leading her towards the exit as he continued on about the song. He held tight to her hand as he walked her out the front doors, his other hand gesturing wildly as he explained the underlying tones of Pete’s keyboard and how it meshed with his chords. 

He stopped just outside of the bar before standing directly in front of her, his smile was reaching across his entire face as he took her in. “Evans you look stunning tonight.” His eyes roamed down her legs before returning to her freckled face. 

“Almost as good as my Hallows apron right?” Lily’s voice came out a bit breathier than usual. 

“Just about” 

James reached out toward her, allowing the crimson locks to run through his fingers as he looked intently at her. Lily struggled to swallow as his eyes ran across her face, his hand tucked her hair behind her shoulder before running down her arm. Shivers ran after his hand until he secured it against her own, pulling her a step closer to his body. 

“Listen, Evans, The boys and I always used to go back to the flat and just hang around after we played here. In the spirit of nostalgia we’re going to be doing it again, and I was hoping you’d come along tonight?” The hopeful smirk was back on his face as he looked down at her. 

“Lead the way Potter.” 

Lily let a smile break across her face as James mirrored her emotion, with a tug on her hand he pulled her alongside him into the night.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Won’t You Stay (Part 4)

Summary: The reader enjoys lunch with Jensen as strictly friends but the pair both know something is still there. The reader and her dad end up having a slight argument later on in the day when she tries to give him a few notes...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x Director!reader

Word Count: 3,100ish

Warnings: language, mention of car accident/death

A/N: Please enjoy!

______

“Good evening,” said Jensen, smiling as he popped up behind you in the line for lunch, albeit, dinner break. 

“Hi Jens,” you said, returning the smile he was giving you. “Having fun today?”

“Oh, there’s nothing I love more than being tied to a chair and screaming my head off,” he said. You looked him up and down and started to laugh, Jensen rolling his eyes. “Alright gutter mind, take it easy.”

“I couldn’t help myself,” you teased, getting a hot bowl of soup and bread tonight. You rubbed your arm and Jensen smiled as he threw a few meatballs in his styrofoam container. 

“You uh, want to eat in my trailer with me?” he asked. You looked over your shoulder, most of the tables filled up. “It’s a little cool in here anyways.”

“Sure,” you said, securing a lid on your food and grabbing a spoon. You followed him out of the tent and across the lot. He held the door open for you as you slipped inside. His was certainly smaller than your dad’s but it wasn’t horribly outdated like some of the other ones that were for the rest of the rotating cast.

He pushed some papers off his small table and onto the seat, waving for you to take a seat. You hummed as you felt warm air come out of the vent nearby.

“I love a toasty trailer on a cold day,” you said.

“You know us LA types. Can’t handle the cold,” he chuckled. “I’m glad we’re inside today.”

“It’s supposed to get a bit stormy next week,” you said. “We’ll have to get some heaters on set for night scenes.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he said as you took off your lid and dipped your bread in the soup. “I’m sure this is nothing compared to how it was on Freeze.”

“Oh my God,” you said with a smile. “I loved Freeze! I was seven when my dad did that movie. You know the sled dogs? I got to go on a ride with them. It was one of the few movies of my dad’s he let me see when I was little.”

“Well it was a children’s movie,” said Jensen as he set a drink down in front of you and started to eat. “I used to watch it all the time with my brother. We both had the flu once and we watched that thing four times that day.”

“It was a good movie. I was excited because we lived up in Alaska for about two months. I built so many snowmen and I think I dragged my dad sledding every single day,” you said. “I don’t know when he slept.”

“Probably when you were at school,” chuckled Jensen.

“Actually I was homeschooled on occasion,” you said. He raised an eyebrow and leaned back. “Most of the time it was studio tutors that did the teaching but my dad got all certified to teach elementary school. Up in Alaska I think he did it on his own. I had recess a lot.”

“Ethan is a man of many talents,” said Jensen. “Not to brag but I mean, I can drive a stick shift.”

“He can do that too,” you said.

“Alright. He’s frustratingly good at everything.”

“He can’t sing for shit if that makes you feel better,” you said.

“I can,” he said. You tilted your head and he shook his head, cheeks pink for a moment. “You know, average. It’s really not good.”

“Now who’s the one underselling themselves,” you said. “I thought that was my thing. I bet you sing better than you think.”

“I can’t really do it in front of other people,” he said.

“I understand,” you said. His face returned to it’s normal color and you went back to your meal. Green eyes stared at you though and you looked up through your eyelashes as you slurped your soup. “Something on my face?”

“No,” he said. You caught him staring a few more times, enough that you checked your shirt to make sure you hadn’t spilled anything on yourself. He smirked when you looked down. You rolled your eyes and caught him frown, his body stiffening up while you ate in silence.

“Thanks for letting me eat in here,” you said. You gathered up your trash when you finished, Jensen letting out a small breath.

“You just...look nice today is all,” he said, taking a bite of his breadstick. You looked down at yourself. You thought you looked like crap but whatever. He was free to his opinion. 

“Okay…I’ll see you on set,” you said. You grabbed the bag of trash and left the trailer, hearing a groan as soon as you left. 

“I’m an idiot,” you heard him say. You smiled briefly before you wiped it off your face. You were nothing more than work friends. It was very clear and obvious that would be for the best. 

Which was of course why he completely threw that out the window and said you looked nice and couldn’t stop looking at you. You sighed and heard the door open behind you, Jensen standing there with his script in his hand.

“Oh. You’re still there,” he said. You hummed and quickly hopped off the steps, squeezing your eyes shut as you walked. Great. He’d probably heard that.

You nearly tripped over a cable, your eyes flying open. 

“Uh, you doing alright?” he asked. You gave him a thumbs up and got out of there quickly, your dad whistling as he headed into his own trailer nearby.

“You look like you’re having a day,” he said.

“I am so looking forward to the weekend.”

“Sorry kid,” said your dad in the middle of a scene later on that night. Jensen turned his head and shook it out. “You okay?”

“Yeah. My fault, should have turned quicker,” said Jensen, his cheek probably decently sore after that hit. After the dinner break, Jensen had gone back in the chair and you’d continued with the rougher parts of Hale’s interrogation of Lyle. The movie was going for a PG-13 rating but that didn’t mean it was going to be pretty.

“I was the one off the mark,” he said.

“You guys okay?” you called. 

“Accidentally popped Jay in the face. He says he’s okay though,” said your dad.

“Jensen, you good to keep going or you want medical?” you asked.

“I’m good,” he said, giving a quick thumbs up. You knew he was ready to get out of the chair. He’d been squirming the past half hour and not because he had to use the bathroom. Getting yelled at and fake beat up for eleven hours today wasn’t all that fun.

“Alright, reset. That was good but dad, go harder on Jensen,” you said.

“I was going pretty hard before,” he said with a scoff.

“Pretend some guy killed your kid. How pissed would you be? Do that,” you said. He looked over at the camera, a strange look on his face. 

Oh shit.

He was not happy and you knew it.

“Hey, let’s take a quick fifteen minute break. We’re all due,” you said. “Jensen, you need out of the chair?”

“Nah, I’m okay,” he said even though you knew he’d prefer it. “Just want a little bit of a drink.”

“Alright,” you said, your dad already walking past the cameras and headed outside for the trailers. “We won’t be long.”

“Why’d we break? We just started this scene,” said AJ as he leaned over to you.

“Just give me ten minutes please,” you said as you hopped out of your seat. You turned off your radio and went to your dad’s trailer, knocking a few times. “Dad. Can I come in?”

He was quiet and you rested your head against the door. 

“Dad, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

You heard him on the steps and moved back, the door creaking open. He stared at you before he held it open and you stepped up. He went to his couch and took a seat, reading over his script and clearly giving the cold shoulder.

“Wow. You’re forty five years old. Act like it,” you said.

“Don’t give me notes like that,” he said as he stood up. “In fact, don’t give me notes at all. I know what I’m doing. I know your book. I don’t need you to tell me how to play Hale. I have been doing this your entire life.”

“Well sorry. I know you were forced to take me in. I’ll be sure not to give you any notes on caring about children again,” you said, turning to go when his hand caught your arm. “Let go.”

“I have thought about that night a lot and I would pick you over Kim every single time if I was given a choice. Do not try and spin this that I don’t care about you,” he said.

“Well why’d you get so pissed off?”

“Because you almost did die. I know what that feeling is like and I never want to feel it again, even pretend,” he said back.

“You didn’t even know she was pregnant though,” you said. “She was never going to tell you about me. I’m not even supposed to be here with you. Her parents didn’t want to raise her bastard child that the doctors chose over her and that’s the only reason I am here.”

“You know I love your mother, that I love Dani,” he said.

“Yes, dad. I was in the wedding,” you said as you rolled your eyes. “What does that-”

“I love her. She was the first woman I’ve ever truly loved but I would shove her in front of a train for you or Anthony or Ella. Do not ever doubt that I wouldn’t put my children first, ever,” he said.

“Just...forget this happened. Obviously I shouldn’t have said what I did. Come back when you’re ready,” you said, his hand tugging you into a hug. “Dad, it’s fine.”

“I’m still sensitive over Kim. I snapped and I’m sorry. Please give me notes and direction. You’re not a little kid and you’re the boss, not me,” he said. 

“Sorry for being bitchy,” you mumbled.

“I’m sorry for being bitchy first,” he said, giving you a smile. “It’s alright. There was nothing wrong with your note, kiddo.”

“Why didn’t she tell you she was pregnant? You never talk about her,” you said after a few minutes.

“We were stupid high school kids that broke up when I moved away. I was out in LA by the time she realized she was pregnant her parents always said. She knew who the dad was and finally told them but she didn’t want me in your life,” he said. “She was probably angry at me for leaving and scared to do it alone. I never blamed her.”

“She got hit by a drunk driver right before I was due. I know you felt guilty over not knowing about me but-”

“I never said that,” he said.

“Well you didn’t have to say it,” you said. He leaned his head back and sighed. “I know you must have still cared about her from the way you barely talk about her.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I remember that night. I’d just gotten my first movie deal and I was supposed to start real soon. I got a phone call though and that all changed. I had to quit, told them my daughter needed me. Bryerson delayed the project for me actually.”

“Studio owner Bryerson?” you asked.

“He didn’t always own it. He was just a junior vice president back then. He liked me. He liked my priorities. NICU baby was hard to ignore,” he said, giving you a smile. “I’ll go harder in there. You’re right. I was holding back. I don’t need to pretend to know what it’s like to lose a child though. I almost lost my first one, more than once.”

“I grew up healthy though,” you said with a frown. “Right?”

“Yeah. That first week was rough though. You survived the car accident and birth but then you were so little. There were a few days where I almost lost you again. But you pulled through and we got lucky you did,” he said, smiling to himself. He still looked off though and you gave him a hug. He held on tight, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Dad? Are you okay?” you asked. He hummed, squeezing you too tight.

“Alright, alright. We got a long night ahead of us. Let’s get back to it.”

“Very good job tonight!” you called out a few hours later. Your dad jogged off set and grabbed his backpack from his chair, taking off quickly as you saw Jensen stand. “See everyone in the morning. Jensen, please hold back a minute.”

He sighed as he walked off set and gathered up his things from his chair, waiting there while you spoke to the AD for a moment.

“Yes?” he asked wearily when you went over to him.

“You alright? Today’s stuff wasn’t easy. My dad’s a veteran actor and I know it got to him a bit,” you said. Jensen stared at you and nodded. He looked exhausted and tired from shouting and crying most of the day. He looked away and let out a breath.

“I’m okay,” he said, his voice sounding a bit raw and scratchy. “I really want to go home and go to bed is all.”

“Don’t bring it home with you,” you said. He rubbed his eyes and nodded. “Jensen.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m fine. I want to be left alone if that’s okay.”

“For a great actor you make a horrible liar,” you said. Jensen sighed and you grabbed his hand. “Let’s get an early breakfast. My treat.”

“I would rather we don’t see each other outside of work. Simpler that way,” he said. You stared at him and dropped his hand. 

“Jensen, come on. This isn’t...you need to get out of Lyle’s head for a minute. It’s not you. You’re okay.”

“Y/N, I appreciate the concern but I’m fine and I don’t want to see you anymore tonight,” said Jensen. You frowned as he started to walk away. He was still upset but you couldn’t make him do anything about it. Thankfully your dad walked over just then and slapped Jensen on the back, giving him a smirk. Jensen sighed but forced a smile onto his face. “Hey, Ethan.”

“Come on, kid,” he said, throwing an over his shoulders, leading Jensen towards the actor’s parking lot. “Let’s go walk.”

“Where?” asked Jensen quietly. “I want to go home, Ethan.”

“Just come on,” he said. “I’ve been there. I’ll take care of him, Y/N. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good afternoon,” you said when you saw Jensen get to set the next day around lunchtime. He looked happier and rested, giving you a small smile. “Feeling any better?”

“Yeah. Your dad gave me some tips and stuff on dealing with emotional scenes. We went and got waffles at some diner nearby. He told me Lyle’s not me so I don’t have to carry his crap,” he said. You hummed and he kicked at the ground with his sneaker. “Sorry I was an ass last night. I wasn’t really myself.”

“It’s okay. I could tell you were a little off,” you said. He nodded and started to head over to the hair and makeup trailer. You bit your bottom lip and frowned. Great. He was only barely talking to you again.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said as he spun around on the blacktop after a moment. “Sorry for being an ass the night before that too. I shouldn’t have given an ultimatum like that about seeing each other.”

“You weren’t an ass,” you said. “It’s not a good time to do this is all, like you said. I barely remember to eat, let alone date.”

“You know, your dad sort of invited me over for dinner at your parent’s place on Saturday,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “For surviving my first week and all.”

You smiled to yourself. Often your parents had people over, studio executives, producers, directors, actors. A lot of times it was work related. It was rare for them to invite someone over to the house on a Saturday though. Ordinarily those things took place during the week. Saturday meant it was supposed to be fun.

“Jensen, I think maybe we should forget about the not seeing each other outside of work thing. Obviously that’s kind of silly considering the situation. We can be friends though,” you said. He nodded, his features soft. “Friends hang out.”

“Yeah, totally. I’m down for being friends,” he said with a smile. 

“Maybe when this is all over…” you said, Jensen’s face blank, not sure if you should actually try to push it. “Maybe I’ll be ready then.”

“I uh...to be honest, Y/N if you’re not ready for a relationship now, I don’t think two months will change anything. You’re still gonna be busy with editing and scoring and maybe we’re better staying in the friend zone, for both of us,” he said. “No offense. I mean I’d like to and obviously there’s...something there between us but time’s always going to be an issue.”

“Oh, sure,” you said, Jensen nodding and biting his bottom lip. “You’re right. I’m going to be pretty busy for the next few months. Um, I have to run to a meeting. I’ll see you on set.”

You quickly left and rolled your eyes at yourself, your dad raising an eyebrow when he walked by with a coffee.

“Bad day?”

“Don’t ask.”

______

A/N: Read Part 5 here!

[mytsukkishine]

small fluffy prompt bc i know you've wanted some (for damien haas ofc), kinda sucks but oh well. maybe the two of them are super close friends at smosh and evryone knows they like each other but the two of them are just oblivious to it all?? but then 1 of them lets slip that they like someone the other knows and the other (either damien or reader) is jealous. u don't need to include the last bit tho if you don't want to. btw, love what you did with that other prompt. :)

a/n: hi anon. Thank u for the lovely request. I enjoyed writing this one, as you can see its 2k workds lmao and hope you would enjoy this too!

a/n2: i kinda changed the storyline on this one but still i hope you will like it! Thank you!

Summary: Arcades and realizations. What a fun way to ask someone out after being... jealous?

Note: summary is super random . Damn i spologise. Alsoo Jelous Damien yey!! Also I posted this while on phone, I will check grammars after I open my laptop tomorrow. Thanksss

Enjoy guys!

wordcount: 2,173k.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Look!” You exclaimed excitedly as soon as you entered the squad’s office. It was a Monday, meaning all of them would be dead tired and complaining about Monday but not you. You were excited because later after work, you’ll go to the movies with Damien.

Well, not just Damien. You will go to the movies with Shayne, Courtney, Ian, and Damien.

Damien, who was doing something on his computer stopped. He put his headphones around his neck and turned to look at you with a smile, “Yeah?” He responded, cheeks still a little pink.

“The trailer for Season four!” You showed him your phone and Damien read for a moment before his eyes widen. “No shit! Have you watched the trailer?”

“Not yet. I want to watch it with you,” Damien’s heart skipped a beat and he immediately grabbed the nearest seat and put it beside him before ushering you to sit and watch it on his desktop.

“Oh no, do you have earphones so we can both hear?”

“I have none,” You pouted and Damien puts his hand under his chin to think before grabbing his headphone to rotate on headphone cup to the outside. “Would this do?” He asked and showed you his headset. You nodded and Damien searched up the trailer for My Hero Academia S4.

Damien clicked the video and paused it before wearing his headphone. You immediately, as if you two have done this before, put your face next to him, ears pressed up to the open headphone cup as the two of you watched the trailer—completely unaware of Shayne, Boze, and Keith’s gaze on you two.

They were wondering whether you two are going out. Or when would you two go out.

~

Ever since Damien entered Smosh, you two hit it up quite quickly. You both love anime, and cats and you both were talking non-stop for a week just because of that.

At first, you were unaware of your feelings for him. Both of you have already went to the movies alone, eat out alone, even went to the cat café alone, however, one night. Only one night made you realize that, shit, you like your friend.

The Smosh fam has thrown a party for one of their producers and you had one too many drinks that night. However, what they don’t know about you was that your alcohol tolerance was higher than any other person. So, they all thought you were drunk because you were talking too much. Actually, when you drank too much, you would get talkative and super red but not drunk. Shayne had suggested you go home and Damien volunteered.

He was assisting you with your every step. Hands always on your waist for support and you can just feel Damien’s concern for you.

“I’m good now,” You said once you stepped in front of your apartment door. Damien was looking at you worriedly and you giggled. You looked down and you realized that you two were holding hands.

“I can help you up,” Damien suggested and you just waved him off, hands still linked together.

You averted your gaze up, eyes meeting each other then you found yourself resting your head on the crook of Damien’s neck.

Confusion was written on your face for a moment, you don’t know why you have done it but as soon as Damien patted your hair, your heart did some backflips.

“Hey dude, earth to Y/N,” You snapped out of your thoughts and felt something cold on your cheeks. You looked at the source and saw Damien with a smile and a cola in hand pressed against you face. You took the can with a thanks as Damien sat beside you.

“Why were you staring at your computer for a minute?” He asked, drinking his own can of cola. You brought your hand up and rubbed your eyes, thanking yourself for not putting it mascara earlier. “I’m just writing a script, that’s all.”

“Whoa, can I peek?”

“Peek, and you’re dead.”

“Why so mean Ms. Y/F/N.” You blushed. Damien rarely calls you by your full name and it sent butterflies in your stomach, even though you dislike butterflies.

“Hey how about this, after work let’s go to the arcade,” He suggested and you rolled your eyes, “Aren’t we too old for arcades?”

“Nah uh, we aren’t. Come on, what do you say?” He looked at you suggestively and admittedly, he looked so handsome you want to squish his face. You sighed in defeat as you nodded, Damien cheered and exclaimed on how he can’t wait for later.

~

Now, Damien has known you for quite some time and he was glad you two had hit it off quite easy. At first he was cautious but as soon as you mention you watch anime, Damien can’t stop.

Damien has Shayne to talk to about anime, but it was really different when you talk to someone who also reads the manga. You managed to read mangas and Damien was enthusiastic.

At first, Damien was unaware of his feelings for you. Kind of avoiding that topic in his head whenever he sees you. But one day. Only one day was needed that he realized, shit, he likes his friend.

Damien was busy playing, eyes never leaving his screen and him, Mari and Wes played some game. It was nearing afternoon and Damien was getting a little stressed with the game. Wes was winning and Damien hides it a little that he doesn’t want Wes to win.

Damien the groaned and stared at his camera for a long time as the rest laughed out. They gave out their outros and the shoot was done.

“Nice job everyone,” Mari cheered and Wes emitted a laugh as he pointed at Damien. “Sorry bud. Maybe next time,” Damien pouted and there was a tap on his computer screen.

“Hey Dames,” You greeted with a smile. Damien then proceeds to whine a little, telling you that he would win next time.

You just laughed and patted his head. Your smile was blinding and pretty sure Damien can’t see anything else but your reassuring smile.

“Dames,”

“Yes?” Damien was waiting outside your office and he didn’t realize that he had zoned out for minutes. “Ready?” You asked, feeling all excited to go to the arcade with him.

“Yeah, come on!”

It has been a while since the two of you hang out, just the two of you. You were pretty excited as you both entered Damien’s car. “Where to?”

“Maybe near the xxx?” Damien suggested and you nodded. As Damien was driving, you picked up the aux cord and rummaged through your phone. “What you gonna play?”

“You’ll see,” You smirked and pressed play. Soon, the both of you were singing your hearts out to Boku No Hero opening songs.

~

“Pretty packed, huh?” You commented as soon as you opened the door. Damien was scratching the back of his head as he looked around the arcade. “Yeah, didn’t know it would be full on the weekday,” Damien apologized but you immediately waved him off.

“No, no it’s fine. Come on, let’s play!”

You and Damien played from basketball shooting to race car driving. It was so fun, and looking at Damien laughing and enjoying because of you made your heart all warm and fuzzy.

Half an hour later, you both decided to eat when a group of girls stopped you. Well, more like Damien. They seemed to be fans as they were talking to him about how awesome he was and if it was okay to take a picture with him. Of course, who was Damien to refuse? He’s the kindest person you have ever known.

You stood on the side as you watched Damien get surrounded by girls. This was bad, you thought as you felt your chest tightening when one girl went in for a hug, her hands wrapped around his waist as Damien posed with a dashing smile.

Releasing a groan, you turned around with a pout.

You knew damn well Damien was quite famous so you don’t really have the rights to complain. Hell, you weren’t eve his girlfriend—

Girlfriend.

You felt your cheeks heating up at the thought.

Oh god, girlfriend.

“Hey, sorry to keep you waiting. Let’s go? Taco Bell?” You released the breath you didn’t know you were holding and Damien looked at you worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh nothing. Just—I suddenly remembered work stuff.”

“Oh no. Y/N is super stressed. This requires food! Let’s go!” Damien grabbed hold of your shoulders as he guide the both of you to the nearest Taco Bell.

~

“You know, why are they so thin but yet, only one can already make me feel so full?” You showed Damien the quesadilla you were holding and Damien shook his shoulder, eating his food in the process. “Beats me. They look like you wanted four but then you quit after two.”

The both of you continued to talk animatedly, any random topics that would came into your minds will automatically be the new topic.

This was what Damien liked. Just you and him talking about random stuff. It made him happy that somehow he would get to know you more and more. And the way you laugh, damn, Damien wanted to pinch those cheeks of yours.

Y/N was discussing about something when she was suddenly interrupted and she stood up to hug that guy that interrupted her.

“Max!”

Max? Who is he? Damien thought as he looked at you and the new comer. You two seemed close. Too close.

You and this so called Max broke the hug and ask how each other was and all. Damien’s lip formed a thin line as he grabbed for his drink and drank a little too harsh.

Damien knew damn well you were pretty. With you hair and eyes, and those lips. You were so pretty, he kind of questions how the two of you became friends. However, as he looked on how you and Max interacted he can’t help but to feel… jealous.

Jealous? No, no. He doesn’t have any reasons to be jealous because he isn’t your boyfriend—

Boyfriend.

Damien’s already red cheeks went redder.

Oh god, boyfriend.

~

Something was wrong. You felt it. Damien was awfully quiet right now as he was driving you home. It was nearing eight, the sun has already set and traffic was unpleasant.

He said he was just tired but you can feel that it wasn’t just tired. You were tired but not that exhausted to be all quiet.

As soon as he parked in front of your apartment, you bit your lips. Eyes scanning the dashboard as you process in your brain on what to say to Damien.

“We’re here…” Damien announced and you groaned. Turning to look at him with a pout.

“Tell me what is bothering you,” You said, more like demanded and Damien was taken aback. He released a sigh before resting his back on his seat.

“Nothing,”

“Don’t nothing me Damien Christian,” Damien cringed a little as you called him by his full name.

“Ever since Taco Bell you have been acting quiet,” You started, eyes never leaving his face.

Was this your first ever quarrel with him? You don’t like it one bit.

“And I don’t know what to do. It’s making me all anxious knowing something might be wrong and the reason might be me. Damien tell me—”

“I like you.”

Silence.

Pure silence surrounded you both as Damien looked at the steering wheel, afraid to look into your eyes.

He hated it. How he had let his temper and feelings in the way. Well, it was go home or go big. Damien can’t back out now.

“I’m sorry…” He finally managed to mutter out, eyes still glued in front. “I like you… ever since. And I—oh god this is so stupid,”

“Why is it so stupid?” You managed to ask and Damien immediately averted his gaze to you and saw tears pooling in your eyes. He quickly unstrapped his seatbelt as he leaned into you to cup your face.

He was even more scared to see you on the brink of tears.

“No, what I meant-”

“Is it so stupid to like me?”

Damien stared at your face as you avoid eye contact. “No,” He said softly, “No, no. No. Oh god, no.” Damien sighed as he wiped away the unshed tears. “I—”

“Because I like you too, Damien,” Damien’s eyes widen at your sudden confession and he badly wanted to kiss you right now but he hugged you instead.

“Oh, t-that’s—I…” You two were speechless and you both succumbed into each other’s arms.

“Silly Dames,” You commented and both of you laughed, still entangled in a hug.

You were so worried. You thought you have ruined your friendship somehow but it turns out to be quite different. You smiled under Damien’s hug.

Oh god, you love this dude so much.

--

Do tell me what u think. Thankuuu

[far-off-flower-fields]

Weird Questions that say a lot

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans? Teacups!

2. chocolate bars or lollipops? Lollipops

3. bubblegum or cotton candy? Cotton candy

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you? We call elementary school primary school. It depended which teachers you asked, my favourites always said I was “conscientious, kind, and a pleasure to have in class”.

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups? Glass cups or bottles.

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear? I have like 4 looks, pastel, boho, and goth/witchy/grunge, also vintage-inspired which wasn’t mentioned but I love it.

7. earbuds or headphones? Depends on the shape, I love my Razr headset because it doesn’t squash my ears, and I like galaxy bud shaped earbuds, the ones with the little rubber doo-dads that fit actually in your ear. Apple or a lot of older flat earbuds cause me a lot of pain.

8. movies or tv shows? TV shows. Movies are getting longer and longer and my focus is getting shorter and shorter

9. favorite smell in the summer? Rainy days!

10. game you were best at in p.e.? The game of queue-ducking (where you go to the back of the queue to avoid your turn), or dance, or the less strength intensive parts of gymnastics. Or crying, always been great at that xD

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day? Muesli, or nothing.

12. name of your favorite playlist? I prefer to listen to full albums rather than playlists, but I have a few favourites on Spotify. Born to Run 150BPM, Infinite Indie Folk, Irish Folk: Jigs and Reels, All Out 80s/90s/00s. I also love scene/pop-punk playlists.

13. lanyard or key ring? Key Ring

14. favorite non-chocolate candy? Message Hearts (or anything with that texture), the red pack of starbursts (the UK version is vegan). Does Turkish Delight count because if so then that is my fave. I also like gummies if they’re vegan.

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment? To Kill a Mockingbird (high school), or The Bloody Chamber (uni), or Hamlet (uni)

16. most comfortable position to sit in? One foot under me, the other foot out to the other side, but both in the same position (if the surface is flat), or knees up.

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes? I own a lot of shoes so there isn’t really a single pair I wear the most. Recently my Air Force 1s, I’m trying to wear them in because the previous owner didn’t so the cause blisters.

18. ideal weather? Cold, overcast, rainy, still. Or without the rain. or snow (as long as I’m not going in the car and I can go crunch my shoes in it xD

19. sleeping position? Either side, but my body is kinda rotated towards the bed so it’s like half way between on my stomach and on my side. 

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)? Notebooks

21. obsession from childhood? Animals, dinosaurs, goddesses, magic, crystals, neopets, sims. I still love all of these things, I am a rotating door of obsessions, usually a bunch of the same obsessions on repeat.

22. role model? I don’t have one particular role model, I do have tons of people that I love and respect.

23. strange habits? I have so many strange habits that I have become one myself. Nothing actually stands out though because 99% of it is because of my brain.

24. favorite crystal? rose quartz or moonstone.

25. first song you remember hearing? Maybe Dancing Queen by ABBA, definitely the first I remember dancing to, but my dad loves music so I grew up with a constant stream of it.

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather? Suffer xD when I’m able to do so comfortably I’d love to go out looking for pretty stones, and nice sticks with my fiance, also would like to go on picnics with him, or a friend if I had one.

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather? Baking, drawing, crafts, standing in the rain. Everything.

28. five songs to describe you? 6/10 - Dodie Robert Frost - Mal Blum Caught in the Middle - Paramore Side Effects - Jade Bird Snitches Get Stitches - Onsind  Bonus track: The Seed - Aurora I wish I still had the playlist I made of songs I relate to, several of these were on it though.

29. best way to bond with you? Oversharing, or telling me about things you’re into.

30. places that you find sacred? Nature. My favourite spots are little creeks/rivers in wooded areas, but just like, all of it is special and should be treated as such. Also bedrooms.

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? I think maybe I’m not gutsy or whatever enough, but also unpredictable. I wear whatever I like, and I’m just as likely to cry in all of them as I am to accidentally get in a fight.

32. top favorite vines? I feel so basic because I never really did the vine thing.  There was one that nearly killed me because I literally started to choke that was in some kind of office and the bit like can you run this past me again, and they just fucking legged it past them holding a folder up, Saw it once, never saw it again. Road work ahead. Why you can’t lift a house (might be a tok?) Brass dad and oven kid Look at this graaaaph Never learned how to read I can’t sit I have hemorrhoids The one with the people in blankets bobbing the nana nanana song Fr esh avo ca do Look at all these chickens

33. most used phrase in your phone? I love you - if I had to guess

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? right now, nothing. I often get the old Super Liquor jingle lodged in there though.

35. average time you fall asleep? 6am?

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing? Charlie the unicorn or that one Noodles video by Cyanide and Happiness. Are those even memes?

37. suitcase or duffel bag? Depends. I mostly use a bag though since I never go anywhere for long.

38. lemonade or tea? Tea? Usually if you ask for lemonade here you get Sprite which is not lemonade.

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie? I had a vegan lemon meringue pie once, so good. Cake is easier to make though, and I can eat more in one sitting without getting sick xD

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school? Um, the principal in my last year of school got caught for being a peeping tom a few years after I left.

41. last person you texted? My Fiance.

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets? Jacket pockets

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket? Depends on the rest of the outfit and the weather. I wear Jean jackets most though.

44. favorite scent for soap? I love lavender, or vanilla/candy/fruity/baked goods type scents. I still have a bottle of Sugar Fairy spray from lush from a year ago and I love the smell of that.

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero? Fantasy I think.

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in? Nekkid?

47. favorite type of cheese? As a kid it was feta. Now I only eat vegan cheese. I was never a huge cheese fan tbh.

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be? Rotten xD um probably a cranberry or something because I’m small, and I’m not a fan of cranberry.

49. what saying or quote do you live by? An it harm none do what you will. Or treat others as you wish to be treated.

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have? Probably one of the vines I listed above, either “run it past” or “can’t lift a house” because both of those resulted in crying and choking.

51. current stresses? My cat has been throwing up and having diarrhoea the past week or so, she’s been to the vet, it got better for a bit, but tonight suddenly got worse. Living with my parents who I have a very toxic relationship with. Living in a single very overfilled room. Trying to not spend money so that I can save up to move next year. Nightmares about my trauma. Either the house is haunted or there’s a build up of negative energy (probably that).

52. favorite font? I always liked the look of all of the script style fonts (freestyle, french, lucida, lucida calligraphy, Edwardian, Palace) but they’re not accessible so for anything people will actually see (which is literally nothing) I always go with arial.

53. what is the current state of your hands? Slight rash on one finger because I’m sensitive to what is in a lot of hand washing products apparently (never an issue until the pandemic), one broken finger nail that is a bit shorter than the rest. Not painted nails because energy. I always wear my engagement ring, usually I wear several other rings but with how my skin is being I thought I’d better not for a while.

54. what did you learn from your first job? Bakeries are hell, my circadian rhythm will not adjust to anything besides its natural state for longer than a couple of days at a time no matter how long or hard I try. I can absolutely fall asleep standing up.

55. favorite fairy tale? Ugly Duckling

56. favorite tradition? I don’t have anyway... Yet? Hopefully when I move this can become a thing.

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome? I’m interpretting overcome loosely here, meaning “I have not died from this” - Suicide of my first love - Bullying - 3 different jobs that all nearly killed me

58. four talents you’re proud of having? Literally can’t think of one. I’m not talented. I’m passable at a couple of things, but I worked for those things and I’m still not good enough for anyone to confuse me for being talented xD Those things I care about that I’ve worked on a lot are singing, art, languages, crafts? I still struggled to come up with 4. My bad.

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be? Aw jeez xD

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be? Magical Girl! This is an easy one, give me the powers and the clothes yessss.

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.? Literally sitting here drawing a blank, so instead of favourite here is the first one that came into my head “eyes are the genitals of the head” (may have that wrong, I’m watching the Office for the first time rn)

62. seven characters you relate to? Clementine from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind Amelie from Amelie Matilda from Matilda Quasimodo from the Hunchback of Notredame (also my favourite plush as a kid) Iris - The Holiday Jess - New Girl Amelia Shepherd - Grey’s Anatomy Struggled with this because suddenly I drew a blank and also couldn’t remember who my Fiance was talking about every time he’s watched a character and said “that’s you” repeatedly.

63. five songs that would play in your club? Starlight - Superman Lovers Pump It - Black Eyed Peas I Bet that You Look Good on the Dancefloor - Arctic Monkeys All the Things She Said - tATu Doctor Jones - Aqua Bonus: Push Up - Freestylers These are ones  I have memories of dancing to when I was younger so that’s how I picked, but I’d absolutely be a themed night club with different music on different nights.

64. favorite website from your childhood? Neopets, which I still play daily. The first I played was MaMaMedia, then Bubblegum Club.

65. any permanent scars? That’s a SORE subject heh get it heh

66. favorite flower(s)? Lavender, rose, peony

67. good luck charms? I usually carry gemstones if I’m needing to be particularly lucky, or sigils.

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried? I hate anything spicy. I had rootbeer candy that tasted like literal dirt. I can’t eat banana stuff without gagging and getting a headache. I hate anything that is artificial blackberry or blackcurrant, tastes like shitty cough syrup.

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned? Sea Monkeys breathe through their feet, but I remember where I learned that.

70. left or right handed? right

71. least favorite pattern? depends entirely on the colours, I like patterns. but certain stripes do make my eyes feel funny.

72. worst subject? If PE counts, then that. If not, math.

73. favorite weird flavor combo? I love pineapple on pizza but that’s not weird. Iused to eat cheese and jam sandwiches as a kid though.

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen? I operate on how long it has lasted instead of how bad it is, essentially I get so desperate so I’ll try it even though it probably won’t help. I have the resistance of a rhino to most meds.

75. when did you lose your first tooth? No idea, like 4 I think? I did keep them in a weird little box for no reason though because they never got taken away from under my pillow.

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)? I’m a fan of a good mash if it has lots of flavour (like gravy). Otherwise, crisps or fries.

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill? I grew a radish once! Something cat safe though these days, also maybe something heavy, and hard to knock over?

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store? Grocery Store sushi, if it’s just veg.

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo? My only ID is my passport, and it is BAD.

80. earth tones or jewel tones? Both.

81. fireflies or lightning bugs? Fireflies (ten million of them to be precise)

82. pc or console? Grew up with PC. Now play my switch mostly.

83. writing or drawing? Both. Wrote more as a kid, draw more now.

84. podcasts or talk radio? Podcasts.

84. barbie or polly pocket? Both. But I prefered pollies as a kid

85. fairy tales or mythology? mythology

86. cookies or cupcakes? cupcakes

87. your greatest fear? Based on my nightmares, stairs.

88. your greatest wish? To live in a comfy house, in the country, with my Fiance, I have travelled the world, we have pets, I can function, we are free.

89. who would you put before everyone else? My Fiance and out animals.

90. luckiest mistake? Can’t think of any, most of my mistakes have been more like bad choices, also never turned out well for me.

91. boxes or bags? Depends what it’s for?

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights? lamps, or fairy lights. Unless I’m particularly anxious, then overheads.

93. nicknames? None.

94. favorite season? Winter

95. favorite app on your phone? LINE, it has my fiance, and animated stickers.

96. desktop background? Little Twin Stars

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized? My own.

I never get asks and needed to distract myself so I’m going to just answer these anyway, like a survey or something. Original post by tr33-g1rl 

[spiritsdw]

{Letters} - Sent at Stroneth Port

The Right Honorable The Earl of Carneath, Clarence Temple

Dear Lord Temple, 

I have never been a man prone to drinking, but right now I think I could definitely lock my cabin door and spend the rest of the day nursing a few stiff drinks. 

We are still in Nibiru. I aim to post this before we leave tomorrow morning. 

I fear today is going to be a long one, and it is only half done. I pray to the winds to give me strength, even as I write this. I am so tired, and I wish

Did you know, every time I set sail from the Yielden Docks, I tell myself this will be the last time. Don’t laugh. It is hard to leave for so long. It is hard to leave you behind. There’s nothing for me at home -- except, perhaps, to be a glorified clerk to Illiam. Gone are the days where I could serve as Sebastian’s aide without trouble. 

Now he has court-appointed ones to do it for him. 

Each time we set sail, I wonder if I shouldn’t retire. But I am too young, and I will get too bored. Even if I find some quiet cabin where I can be alone to work on my inventions. I wouldn’t dare to ask you to cut yourself off from everyone else, just because I am stodgy like that. So the thought passes quickly from my mind, because there are too few rewards for so high a cost as to give this all up. 

But even so, I wonder each time. 

I did not write to you to complain. I am here to follow up in regards to the troubling letter I sent last. 

I tried to distract myself with the repairs to the ship instead of thinking about the drow twins, or the possibilities of what would happen to those I (unknowingly) let go with them. It only worked in as much as I did not have the energy to dwell on them. 

They have started to return -- Natalya and Ulutka have made their way back to the ship first, while they mentioned that the others were going to return a map (not the one of the fort, though at this point, I have little need for it). 

There was some half-hearted explanation, as the pair of them both seemed very distracted in their conversation with me. There were yellow flowers that had some connection to the undead, there had been some violence, and in the end, there had been no real answers. 

Natalya handed me a vial of clear yellow liquid -- bright enough to make citrine look like amber. She said it was from the woman’s desk, the color similar to the flowers that they found across the fort. “It might be worth pursuing,” she added 

Now, I will confess, the scientist part of me is fascinated by this. I have no notes at the time of writing this, but still I thought ‘What if I were to investigate this further?’ To keep a sample of it for myself to experiment with, and send the rest back to Noah and her team. What is the nature of this liquid? What could I do with it -- indeed, what would I be able to do with this woman’s notes, should I ever get them? 

It is a line of thought I am now ashamed to have considered. 

Ulutka mentioned hesitations that reflected my own when it comes to violence. I am glad to know that the crew does not question my actions -- “As representatives of this ship,” he had said, “we should know better than to leave corpses wherever we go.” 

He is a young man with a soft heart. His place aboard this ship is a strange one, but I am constantly thankful for his calm, level-headed approach to situations such as these. 

It is Natalya who worried me though. 

“I did try to diffuse the situation,” she said to me, and I knew immediately what that entailed. 

I did not know how to ask her what she meant by that -- what had she done, to whom had she made the attempt on. All I could think of was Pasha’s rage, boiling beneath a schooled expression. 

All I could think of was Tazyrr and Trielae, and what they are capable of when pushed. 

You understand now why I worry, don’t you? 

Conflict not just among outside forces -- perhaps my non-action stance has made them too passive when it comes to situations. Perhaps it is because I am trying to reconcile my memories of the war, of what it meant to serve on the front line, with what I am being asked to do now. I present them a disjointed front, telling them one thing and then asking of them another, that this conflict comes in from between their ranks.

Of course, the twins did not help the matter. They are a completely unstable element in the structure of my crew. They do not know how to handle these sorts of situations, and I thought they would do well enough together without my guidance, or that of Arculf or Grissa. 

Again, again, again -- Natalya. What must be going through her mind? What sort of process did she follow to ask this of me? 

She acknowledges that the woman they confronted had control of the undead, though I could tell from this conversation alone it was not through necromancy, but through science. Arcane magic is a thing of the past, and those who wish to follow old traditions must find new means. However Natalya asked to be involved in further research of this substance. “It seems like the sort of science that could improve the function of Albion’s military, prevent the loss of soldiers.” 

I cannot… Clarence, even now, my hand shakes with the anger and the frustration at that naive question. And I realized how foolish I was to think that I could keep a sample of this substance on my boat to investigate in my own way. I cannot tell you the anger I felt at her line of inquiry, the revulsion I felt towards myself for my own failings at keeping an eye on her. 

Why would she even suggest this? A girl so young, who lost her father to the war of politicking -- why would she even want to think of the eventuality of another war so close to the end of the first? 

I remember our fallen comrades, I remember standing there and seeing His Majesty Rupert struck down. Would I have wanted a way to save them? More than anything -- to save Sebastian the grief of trying to save his uncle, blood on his hands. More than anything -- to have them here with us again, that we could look back on this and remember those situations with a detached fondness. 

What this woman could do, I have no doubt, is not bring a person back to life. It is the science of Necromancy. It is the science of thralldom, it is nothing more than a puppet on a string and she would dare to ask if we could use it. 

That would make us no better than those who would force their subjects into service of a master who did not care for them -- of blind devotion to a higher power. 

What I do know of Nibiran culture, those who serve the sister goddesses do so willingly. They are not raised from the dead because she requires a warrior. They are a part of a ritual, and they do so because their goddess speaks to them in a way that I cannot understand. 

I retreated at that moment -- I would not say I ran from the conversation, as I had the presence of mind to dismiss them first, but it did feel a little as if I was running. I don’t know how to approach this. 

Again, she seems unconcerned with her ability to ‘diffuse’ situations (by creating new ones, it seems), and in this situation, Ulutka did not seem overly concerned about this. Indeed, his focus was on the overall tension of their group, of which there are undoubtedly many factors. 

I plan on penning a letter to Her Majesty and posting once it is safe to do so. It is not that I think those in Nibiru will read my mail, it is that I do not think they understand the haste with which this needs to be delivered. 

I have found a spare lockbox in a quick search of my cabin, and I plan on locking the vial away in it with the letter to Noah. 

For a moment, I considered pitching it overboard. Let the ocean take the damned thing. But I couldn’t risk some other hapless individual finding it once it washed up. I shall have to hide it, I think, because a part of me fears that if anyone who is interested in this knows of where I have stored it, they will come looking for it. 

I want to trust the crew, I do. I have no reason not to. But I have not survived through five years of war, despite throwing my caution to the wind and hiding from family, to simply ignore my instincts. 

Perhaps Grissa will be fit for the job. He has a favor with Ydir, and anything that has to do with undead (even in a scientific vein), I would prefer in the hands of a cleric. That he is a half-orc and larger than anyone on the crew certainly helps. I do plan on sending it as soon as we dock in Aelem. Yes, I think he will be best. 

I have yet to talk to the others. I have a long day ahead of me, I fear. 

~*~

Spirits of the air, I wish I had you here beside me. I need someone to talk some sense into me, before I start to think that something is beyond my control. I need your steady hand and your calm, level head. I do not know how I do this. It is going to be a very long rotation. 

I spoke to the twins. I passed the box to Grissa. I do not know... No, that is a lie. I know my next course of action. I must speak to Pasha. 

But first, the twins. Tazyrr and Trielae. 

They returned to the ship, practically arm in arm with Adi and Pasha. I do not know how I feel to know that these are the four that have bonded, but I know that they are both very dependent pairs of people. I suppose it is only natural for them to know how the other feels in this sort of situation. 

Surprisingly, the twins came when I told them I needed to speak to them. I showed them the letter--

Ah, shit, I never mentioned the letter, did I? 

See, this is how my train of thought has been lately. 

You remember the child I mentioned in my previous letter who was looking for her elder siblings? How Pasha, in his lingering anger, scared the child, how I found the twins on my ship clearly hiding, holding a stolen map of a fort? 

Not but three days after this (or two days ago, at the time of the writing of this letter), Arculf found some miscreant tacking a letter to the side of my ship using an ornate dagger. They were scared off, but the letter and dagger were left behind. 

In a scrawling hand, jagged letters forming a script that I can barely speak much less alone read, I could only stare at the letter which must have been a threat. I took it to the dock master, who translated it for me with something between a laugh and a prayer for my well being. 

Surprisingly enough, not a threat to myself, or to my crew. Well, not strictly speaking my crew. 

It was a request from a crew of local bandits, indicating that they were not too pleased with the actions of a pair of drow twins, who they know stole a map. It continues by demanding that I hand them over to their leader -- who graciously returned the female twin's dagger as a sign of good faith. (To me? To Trielae? I am uncertain.)  

I have no reason to decide either way, truth be told. Like I mentioned, I do not feel for them one way or another, but I did promise them that they would be a part of my crew so long as they acted in service of my request -- which, at the time of sending them to Fort Ptallo, involved ensuring none of the signed crew came to any harm. 

Now. 

I revealed the letter and the dagger to them, asked for a good reason why I should not hand them over, and Tazyrr had the gall to say that I would be acting predictably as 'the right hand man of the empire'. Perhaps he grossly overestimates my role in all of this. Perhaps he thinks I have Sebastian in my pocket, as opposed to my posting aboard the Titan being a favor repaid from Sebastian. Who knows. 

I also do not think I presented myself in the best possible light at that moment. I did not have the energy to get truly angry, because I knew the task that lay ahead of me. I confessed that I was surprised they even returned to the ship at all, and that I valued the fact that my crew was able to return on their own two feet (well, Pasha relied heavily on the support of Trielae's shoulder, but I suspect that was because he was drunk, not injured). 

So I tried again: "What happened in Agartha, and tell me why I should let you remain on my ship knowing your history?" 

My words sound vicious in retrospect, a tired man who desperately wants a reason to be rid of a potential liability. In truth, I wanted a valid reason to know that I could trust them. I have history with them, I know better than to give them free run of the ship, of my crew. 

But I wanted to put that behind us. I so desperately want to put the war behind me, but it seems at every turn I am reminded of my actions during that time -- of the consequences of those actions. 

The twins dance around the subject like professionals in a theater. It is tiring talking to them, without feeling like you are talking yourself in circles. And they desire the upper hand in every situation, knowing exactly how to game it so they know (or at least they think) they are getting the better end of the conversation -- that they are the smartest ones in the room. 

I asked again why they were on my ship, now that they knew I remembered who they were -- now that I knew they remembered who I was. Out of any ship, why mine? (The irony is that they truly picked mine at random.) 

Tazyrr says words that I feared: Asks if the type of people the empire hires now are those who would negotiate with people who treat other people like forms of currency. If he would not obey my command (as Captain? As the 'right hand of the empire'?) would I have that, and I quote "high-society girl force us near helplessly into submission again?" 

Again. 

Again.

"I tried to diffuse the situation," she had said, and I had reason to fear. 

"Would you have that girl force us into submission again?" he said, and I knew my fears were valid. 

It was a tremendous effort to keep my expression under control (and honestly, I do not think I did a very good job), but I could not hide the exhaustion. 

"If you decide to throw us to the wolves, will she eviscerate our autonomy and leave us like raw meat to hungry mouths a second time?" 

The twins made themselves clear on what would happen should it happen again -- I know the voracity of their threats holds real and dangerous weight. They would not hesitate. And, as Tazyrr put it, they would act with finality. 

So no, Trielae, this is not something I allow among my crew. The fact that it has happened three times, twice on allies, is unforgivable. I would have let it slide if it was merely towards the gnome pirate captain, or towards this woman they are calling a necromancer (she is a scientist first, I’m sure, and a magician second, if at all). I might have shown leniency if she showed remorse. 

But she has not, and so I cannot. 

I will arrange to speak to her. Possibly once we reach Aelem, so that I can ensure the others are off the ship. I do not wish to have to take drastic measures, but… 

She has deliberately placed charms and manipulations upon my crew, and by extent, the citizens of Albion and Antilla. I will give her a warning, as a sign of respect to her late father. But I do not want to have to have my worries compounded -- the mental and physical safety of my crew, both at Natalya’s whims and those of the twins, hinges on her ceasing this behavior. 

I have offered the twins a place on the ship, their payment to Aelem being their recounting of what happened the last five days. I might regret this -- no, I am certain I do regret this. They wanted to be dead. They will not be able to hide while on the Titan, so I am surprised that they remain on board. 

Tazyrr attempted to taunt me several times, but I have seen the way that a frightened hunter approaches those he thinks of as prey. “They’ve seen enough imperialism and don’t wish you well,” he said about my presence here in Nibiru, as if I have not made this rotation for nearly ten years. As if I do not know the history of Nibiru, or the weight that our flag carries. 

They have a limit to their patience, yes, and I know the extent of it. Soon, even the kingdom’s gold will lose its worth in their minds if I continue to berth here much longer, but again, I plan on being off in the morning. Do not take me for a fool, Tazyrr. I have seen much -- not nearly as much as you, I am sure, not nearly as much. But I have learned. And I understand. 

The twins did not seem to hear my words when I offered them an ultimatum, stay and work for me, or get off here or in Aelem. They went on with an explanation in that confounding, rapid way of theirs. Confirmed what I had suspected. They at least seem fond of Pasha, and for that I am glad. Well, only of the fact that Pasha can open up to more people, though I regret that it would have to be either of them. Of those he has been consorting with, however, the choice is the twins (who do not hide how they feel about you) or Natalya (who has now manipulated him, or attempted so, twice). 

They have made their dislike and distrust of both Natalya and, surprisingly, Ulutka quite clear. They did not like the way Ulutka tried to reason with the group of bandits -- though I suppose if they had just let him do as was his wont, I would not have found a dagger pinning a threat to my ship. 

I cannot cave to them, and let them do as they are wont to do, because that often entails violence for the sake of it being the quickest route to an answer. 

When finally they finished their explanation (the important facts about the woman at the fort and the flowers lining up with what Natalya and Ulutka told me), I asked if they found what they wanted to look for. 

In answer, Tazyrr handed me a worn leather journal. “Not really. It’s all nonsensical to me, a lot of big words. We don’t want it.” 

Now, admittedly, it has been over twenty years since we first met these two. And I have not interacted with them much since they found their way onto my ship. But I do not see him as the type to grab something that does not seem interesting to him, and make the effort of carrying it back. 

He would have left it for one of the others to grab if they thought that I needed it. 

I have not spent much time reading the journal -- just glancing through it before setting it aside. I will be revising my letter to Noah shortly, probably before I go to talk to Pasha and Adi. 

I do not trust his disinterest in the item. 

What’s more, he… 

Well, I have nothing to prove it. But I have been working on that alarm enchantment. I thought, perhaps, I could modify the alarm. A change in my surroundings that I do not authorize, as opposed to an interloper I do not permit. 

It went off as they were leaving. A small jolt in my mind. 

I have locked the door after them, and scoured for what might have changed in my glyph. I had thought to use it originally to warn me if anyone was coming while I worked (it would have been fairly handy in Agartha, before I joined Sebastian -- would have saved me many close calls). 

I do not know what it is, but it is the size of a small pearl. It is enchanted. How, I do not know. It is not the same sort of energies that I use, so it will take me awhile to undo this. 

He takes me for a fool. 

So I shall continue to play one, until I know what exactly he is up to. 

It is a dangerous game that I will be forced to play, and the board is my ship, and the other pieces are my crew. 

What am I doing, Clarence? Is it the right thing? 

I wonder. 

And I doubt. 

And I worry. 

~*~

I have spoken to Pasha and Adi and… it is mostly as I feared. I tried to apologize on behalf of Natalya, but I’m afraid it felt too shallow for the truth of the matter. 

Even though Pasha is aware, to an extent, of what I am able to do, Adi does not. And Pasha would not completely understand where my concerns and confusion come from, because Buyan is a place of technology. It always has been, and it was never steeped in arcane tradition the way other places have been. 

Where other continents have recovered and managed this past century, Buyan has thrived for it. 

Adi said that the twins showed more loyalty and concern for the crew than their own mechanic, but she doesn’t know. How fleeting that loyalty is, and how it only runs deep for each other. These are things I cannot say. 

I don’t wish to color their opinion, not so soon after Adi and Pasha have found solace. Perhaps, spirits willing, they will be a good influence on the twins in some way. 

But I apologized, for what it was worth, because I knew I had to. I knew I took a responsibility for her actions both as her guardian (of a sorts) and as her captain. It did, at least, mollify Pasha. 

To the point where he presented to me a gem, wrapped in cloth. 

At first, I did not know why he was handing this to me. Except for when he unwrapped it, holding it in the palm of his hand, I could recognize it instantly. That yellow -- it was unmistakably the source of the liquid in the vial that Grissa now keeps. 

I had not thought… That someone would bring the actual catalyst back with them. Were there others? Did, perhaps, the twins get their hands on one of their own, and should I continue to fear? They have no reason to trust me, nor to pass over their finds, as I did not ask them when I let them go (not that I think they would have obeyed that request anyway). This is also why I am hesitant to accept the gift of the doctor’s notes without questioning them. 

Pasha does not know about the notebook that Tazyrr passed off to me. But again I was asked if someone on my crew could use this to reverse engineer its effects. His request, while of a different bend than Natalya’s, still reeked of the same fear. His is a request born out of vengeance, I am certain, and that is just as dangerous. More, perhaps. 

I cannot deny that investigating the liquid or the crystal further was a line of inquiry I wish I could indulge. I myself had the same thought without even knowing what it could truly do, and now that I know… 

There would be no way to test it safely, not without asking someone to be a test subject. That is not something I can allow in such a setting.

How I wanted to take that stone and destroy it in that moment. 

Science be damned, I thought. I would not allow this to exist, had I an iron fist that would resolve to do so. But I am lenient when it comes to Pasha, because I see a bit of myself in him -- that brilliant spark, the knowledge that he could be something great if only given the proper chance. 

I left the crystal on his desk. I told him no. I think, perhaps, both Pasha and Adi are dissatisfied with my answer, but I cannot figure out why. 

That I denied them? Or that I would not allow this pursuit of vengeance? 

Clarence, did I do the right thing? 

What’s more, Adi seemed convinced that the group of bandits who had the map stolen from them, and knifed an ultimatum to the side of my ship, would pursue us if we left. I did not know how to console her beyond stating the obvious: They would not follow us. 

This seemed to annoy her as well, I think. Again, perhaps because I gave a firm ‘no’ when it came to an unasked question of how to finish what they had apparently started. 

Pasha had to kill one of their number, and I regret that he had to have been put in that position. Adi insisted that we would “pay the price sooner rather than later.'' 

That we would create “an unnecessary enemy”.

I think these bandits thought they could scare a small number of my crew into handing over what they wanted. I think the threat they delivered was empty once they saw the flag we flew, but had to follow through for show. 

I have been through these waters many times. I have begun to understand the way of port-side bandits and small-time criminals. We will not be followed. It is something, perhaps, she will learn through experience. 

What I would give, though, to keep them from having to learn such truths. 

What I would give to keep them safe. 

All my love,  Ean

~*~

May it please Your Majesty, 

I am writing of an occurrence that I believe deserves the attention of Your Majesty. 

I have recently come into possession of some disturbing information, and I will do my best to convey it to His and Her Majesty as truthfully as possible. 

As part of The Arcadian Titan’s quest across Assalia, we had reason to make berth in Stroneth Port in Nibiru. Please refer to the letter sent earlier for the details on how this came to be. 

One of the situations that has arisen, as I mentioned previously, is the return of the drow twins Tazyrr and Trielae, whom we have made a brief and tumultuous acquaintance with some twenty-odd years ago in Agartha when they made an attempt on His Majesty’s life. I did not think they recognized me at the time, and they have since claimed ignorance of the banner that the Titan flies, so please take that information with a grain of salt. 

They left with members of my crew to investigate rumours of undead at the abandoned Fort Ptallo, two or so day’s journey to the west. All six have recently returned, and they have brought with them troubling news. 

In the box that this letter was sent in there is a vial of bright yellow liquid, which I have come to learn is distilled from a yellow musk flower. It is not common here in Nibiru, but it seems to have flourished in Fort Ptallo. 

Also included is a journal belonging to the late Myrranda Segus, a scientist investigating the properties of the yellow musk flower and its mind control abilities. 

I have learned all of this second-hand, but I trust those who conveyed the information to me. I thought it best to send both vial and journal to Your Majesty with all due haste, so that you may investigate it with those far more qualified than I, and with far better resources than what I have aboard the Titan. 

Take heed, however: I was given the journal by Tazyrr. He passed it over with an air of indifference, but I think, perhaps, there is something untoward about the journal. I have reason to believe that he would not willingly carry something that he thought useless all the way back to hand to me, when he has vocally admitted to his distrust of both crown and general authority. 

I could not see immediately what was off with the journal, more than what I feel on instinct and my own knowledge of scientific and alchemical formulae. Please, when investigating the contents of the vial and journal, take heed. I would not normally ask this of you, but I do not know who else is more qualified than you and your team. 

With luck (and Ydir’s blessing, courtesy of Grissa), we will reach Carneath on schedule, and any updates may be posted there as planned. I will write immediately to inform the court should anything change. 

I have the honour to remain, Madam, Your Majesty's most humble and obedient servant.

Yours in Service, ever and always,  Lord Ean de Gillis Captain of The Arcadian Titan

[ks-caster]

Letters to Gabriel

Fandom: Heroes

Characters: Elle, Gabriel

Notes: Throughout her arc, Elle develops a coping mechanism where she writes letters to Gabriel - even though she’s often betraying or being betrayed by him, somehow writing her thoughts to him helps.

Gabriel and Peter are going through old Pinehurst files, and Gabe finds a manila envelope full of these letters - she kept them, and they were archived.

Letters 1 and 2, as well as the rest of the outline, are available under the cut.

Chapter 1:

Dear Gabriel,

They didn’t tell me how cute you were. 

Or how depressed. 

It was just supposed to be a simple meet ‘n’ greet assignment; I go in, say hello, plug my name into the back of your head for when it’s needed later, and then walk off the face of the earth until next time. 

Well, you know that’s not how it happened.

My hands are shaking. This has been the craziest afternoon. And now here I am, sitting in a corner of an unused office, writing a letter that I can never send, to a guy I barely know. I’m not good at dealing with stress and fear and uncertainty… all those uncomfortable, nagging emotions that no one—at least in my line of work—ever has. Or at least, they don’t admit to them. 

My father has told me all my life that I’m supposed to be stronger, smarter, better. I can’t stoop to being mediocre in anything, and God forbid I should be below-average. So I can’t be worried, not in front of anyone. I can’t be shocked and disturbed that I almost walked in on your dead body. That’s why I’m scribbling my thoughts to a complete stranger on a memo pad I found—okay, stole from—beside Bennett’s phone. I’ve gotta do something, so maybe this will help me calm down before I break down into a nervous wreck.

After I left your shop, Bennett told me that we’re not just observing you because you have a power. We’re waiting for you to kill someone. Bennett said that we needed to see you hunt “in the wild,” because transferring power from one vessel to another is extremely rare. But I’m guessing that the homemade noose—a sturdy thing; I can’t believe that you actually bought it when I said it broke on its own—might just be an indicator that you’re not interested in killing anymore. Maybe what you did before was a fluke. Maybe we’re wrong in our analysis. Maybe we’re totally off-base, and you didn’t kill the guy at all.

But then, why would you try to hang yourself?

Okay, so you probably did murder him. But, well, I’m an agent—if a junior one—and I’ve killed loads of people. You offed one guy… It’s hard for me to remember that kind of… of innocence. I have to go pretty far back. Actually, I don’t even remember the first person I killed, so I have trouble understanding what the big deal is. But it’s sort of sad, still. You seem like an all-around decent guy who made a mistake that can’t ever be fixed.

And you said I was like an angel. When you looked at me, your eyes were so full of light. I’m a manipulative, violent, compassionless bitch, who dreams of becoming a good enough femme fatale to impress her high-standards father. But when you finally got around to figuring out that I was there, when you asked me for my name, when you said I was like an angel… nobody’s ever looked at me like that. Certainly no one’s ever asked for forgiveness from me. More importantly, I was never the kind of person who would ever even consider giving forgiveness if it was asked.

Your face, the way you saw me, what you said… I liked it. It was like I was actually a nice person, for the first time in, well, ever. 

Even though it’ll be pretty bad luck for you, I look forward to seeing you again. I want to see your face, and see you look at me like I’m an angel.

I want the excuse to act like I’m an angel again.

Until next time,

Elle.

The letter was written on lined notepad paper with the Primatech logo in the bottom right-hand corner of each mini-sheet. It had been folded several different ways, and also torn in half—all at once, by the slant—and carefully repaired with scotch tape. 

Behind him the lock on the door rattled as a key was inserted, and Gabriel took a deep breath and then slid the whole stack of papers back into the envelope, closed it, and hid it inside of his shirt. After spending several virtual years alone with Peter in the dreary loneliness of his mind, Gabriel didn’t keep too many secrets from his friend. But this… until he’d read the whole thing, he wanted it to be just his. Not so much secret as personal, he decided, and that was okay. He was entitled to a little privacy.

Chapter 2:

Elle’s second letter was written on the backs of old calendar pages. On one side of each piece of paper a month was divided into little squares for each date, and on the other side her simple, slanted script filled the entire page with dark blue ink. 

Gabriel had taken the big manila envelope back to the hotel room he was sharing with Peter, and had laid the stack out neatly on the desk, in the order they had been in originally. He resisted the urge to look ahead; he had all the letters, so he might as well read them in the order in which they were written. Besides, this might be the only record left of Elle Bishop’s life, thanks to the efficiency of people like Bennett who wouldn’t want dead agents to leave a paper trail. Out of respect for her, he decided, he would read the letters in order, leaving the memory stick for last, since she clearly wasn’t very high-tech in the beginning.

Dear Gabriel, the second letter began.

Hey, it’s me again. You know, I’ve never actually had peach pie before; it was good.

Being with you… was good.

From the moment I stepped through the door, I was walking on air. I was expecting the “angel look” again, but the whole night, I got something better, something I never knew I’d ever want. You looked at me like I was… me. Not “Agent Bishop,” not the Director’s-Creepy-Twisted-Protégé-Daughter, just me, and no one else. All evening, I was just “Elle.” And it was wonderful.

You said you fought with a hunger for more abilities, that you had wanted to be “more special,” and that now you think it’s okay to be ordinary. But oh, Gabriel, you’ll never be ordinary. No one ordinary could ever make me—me!—feel so calm, so complete, so at-home.

Gabriel, I don’t care how corny that romantically-retarded Bennett said it was. I stand by what I said: you are special just the way you are.

And some tiny corner of my brain, the part of me that still has enough human left in it to care, is utterly repulsed and terrified by what I’m about to do to you.

I tried—well, okay; my attempt was lame and went nowhere. I bucked at the reins a little, that’s a better way of putting it. I told Bennett after I left that I thought your suicide attempt was a wake-up call; that I didn’t think you’d kill again if left to your own devices. I even said I refused to turn you into a monster.

But then he reminded me that if I didn’t follow orders, I wasn’t an agent, and if I wasn’t an agent, I couldn’t stay with the company. I’ve been trained—as Bennett reminded me—since I was four years old, by my father, who believed in me, who supported me, who groomed me to be the best and brightest. If I’m not with the company, then… where am I supposed to go?

He’s my dad. He’s put so much effort into raising me. I can’t betray him. 

Not even for someone who makes me feel as… as right as you do.

I gotta stop writing you letters, seriously. I have the one from the day we met stashed in the bottom of my jewelry box—dunno why I kept that one—but there have been others, just notes, really, scribbled on napkins or post-its. Like I said in the first one, I don’t really know what to do when something’s wrong, you know, in my head. Whenever I’m upset or hurting or just surprised about something, I always “tell you,” even though I’m not actually sending you, the real live Gabriel, any of these letters. It became a habit practically over the night, and it’s sticking like a leech. I’ve tried keeping a journal instead, but it just doesn’t work.

Because when I write, I think about what you might look like reading it. I imagine your face, your eyes, how you might look at me, and tell me it’s okay to be ordinary, that I don’t have to be special either.

But if everything goes as planned with our date-night next Saturday, then… Well, it’s just really, really stupid and probably unhealthy for me to keep doing this. I’d never live it down if someone found these. So this will be my last letter to you, Gabriel.

I really wish there was something I could do to save you from me.

Elle 

It wasn’t the last letter, clearly. The stack below it on the desk had to contain at least four or five more.

Gabriel stood up and strode to the window, pulling on the thin chain to make the horizontal blinds rotate open. He stared down at the parking lot below, needing a moment to breathe before continuing. So, even beforehand she knew that what she was doing was cruel and terrible. 

Turning quickly on his heel, Gabriel stalked back to the desk, sat himself down, and picked up the third letter. Delaying the inevitable was just another kind of slow torture.

Part of Chapter 3:

What have I done?

Elle’s third letter, written in black pen on plain unlined copier paper, began without any introduction.

What have I done? She wrote, the script perfect and even, like that thought had consumed her long enough for her to write it out neatly before she could continue. The rest of the letter was barely legible—her hands must have been shaking terribly, or else she’d written it in a moving vehicle. Probably the former, Gabriel thought as he carefully deciphered the wobbly handwriting.

What have I done? Oh Gabriel, what have I done to you?

I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Gabriel, you can’t imagine how sorry I am—or perhaps you can. You tried to kill yourself, after all, when you murdered that man, and now I’ve destroyed you, and there’s a razor-blade on the desk by my elbow still wet with my blood. Some people say that cutting helps when you feel like this, but it didn’t help me at all. 

Nothing can help me right now; not even writing this. The thing I do to keep myself sane now hinges on someone whose sanity I shattered. Irony is cruel…

Even killing myself—yes, I thought about that—wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change anything, it wouldn’t undo anything. So here I sit, bandages wrapped around my bleeding arm, writing yet another letter I can never send, to a man to whom I really do owe these words. I’m so sorry.

And you didn’t kill me.

You told me to get out—to run away before you hurt me. Even in that state, even in the frenzy I pushed you into, you had a strong enough heart to try and save me.

The paper was badly water-damaged; from tears, Gabriel assumed. These obscured the writing so badly that for several paragraphs, only a few scattered words were readable. 

Twenty-two years of my life, the letter continued after the worst of the damage, and I’ve never had anyone look at me like you did—in the clock shop like I was an angel, and in your apartment like I was just Elle. You made me feel like I could actually be that way; not Agent Bishop, but just myself. 

The next sentence was crossed out, and Gabriel had to focus carefully to make out the words. Even my father never looks at me that way, she’d said, and then deleted as best she could.

But I can’t undo what I’ve done. I can’t unmake the monster I created. No matter how much I wish I’d been brave enough or good enough to say “no” at the time, I can’t change the past. I hate myself, and I think I always will. I hope I do. If I brush this feeling under the rug, if I forget how horrible this was, how horrible I was… then what will I become? It must have taken a demon to raise a demon.

She post-scripts more about how much of a coward she is: she doesn’t type it because she doesn’t want any chance that a record of her emotional slip-up will reach Bennett or her father. When Gabriel finds it, it has been torn in half and then carefully repaired with scotch tape.

Outline:

Chapter 3: Elle’s third “letter” is a long rambling apology, dated the same day she manipulated him into killing Trevor. That night she went home and was so full of self-loathing that she didn’t know what to do. She tried to let it out by cutting herself, but it didn’t help; she wasn’t changing anything, and even suicide wouldn’t change what she’d done to him. So she patched herself up and decided to write him a letter—a letter that she knew even then that she could never actually send—telling him how incredibly stupid and guilty and sorry, sorry, sorry she was. Twenty-two years of life, and she’d never had anyone look at her like he did that day in the clock shop; first with eyes full of tears, then with wonder, like she was an angel, and then that day when they’d had pie in his apartment, like she was just Elle. Not agent Bishop, not some made-up character, but Elle, just herself. Even her father didn’t ever look at her that way. (Perhaps that bit is crossed out?) But she can’t undo what she’s done, no matter how much she wishes she’d been brave enough to say no at the time. The letter is written in shaky handwriting on pieces of unlined blank printer paper. She post-scripts more about how much of a coward she is: she doesn’t type it because she doesn’t want any chance that a record of her emotional slip-up will reach Bennett or her father. When Gabriel finds it, it has been torn in half and then carefully repaired with scotch tape.

Chapter 4: Elle’s fourth letter is written—still by hand—a little more neatly on lined, three-ring-punched paper. It has also been torn and repaired. This one is dated several months after the first, and she talks about how she has Peter in custody, and how she’s read the new files on Sylar, and can’t help but wonder if he’s happier that way, with no inhibitions or conscience. But then she records a conversation she had with Dr. Suresh, and Mohinder tells her about how he found the words “Forgive me!” scrawled in blood on the wall of Gabriel’s apartment before the evidence was removed. Now Elle is conflicted. She wants to be a good daughter and a good agent, but she’s having problems with her father. Her father is concerned about the problem Sylar poses, and she’s afraid that she is being blamed for his actions, even though she was following orders when she created him. That’s why she writes another letter—not to Sylar, but to her friend Gabriel, the sweet single guy whose oddities made him easy to talk to, like he would understand her problems because she wasn’t any stranger than he was. But then she reflects on how she destroyed that part of him, and she can never forgive herself.

Chapter 5: Elle’s fifth letter is a rant, written so hard on the paper that it is torn in places and grooved in others. It is on paper torn out of a notebook, and the only tape repairs are where she tore it from writing too hard. She starts off by calling him every bad name she can think of in all capitals, then calms down enough to record that she tore up her two previous letters, and then thought better of it and fixed them, because writing these was helping her keep her head on straight. She goes on to say all the horrible punishments she’d like to inflict on him, and then says how scared she is. Scared because she created an even worse monster than she ever expected, scared because without her father to guide her she has no idea what she’s supposed to do, scared because there’s relief mixed in; she finally doesn’t have to try so hard to impress him. She’s so confused, and even though she hates him, writing a letter to the old him seemed like it might help.

Chapter 6: Elle’s sixth letter is written shakily again, and hasn’t been ripped, though several parts of the page were burned off and re-written on clean paper, which was then taped to the bottom so that the whole thing is readable. She admits how much pain she is in, and how lost she is, and how she is going to Bennet—the man who pressured her into turning Gabriel into the monster who killed her father—for help, because he was the man with the plan; the one with all the answers. She feels a dull, routine sort of hatred for him, but she is so confused and hurt and lost that she doesn’t really know how she feels about anyone anymore. She had even started to blame her dearly departed father for turning her into what she is, but she feels that that’s disrespecting him in death and… She feels that she shouldn’t need the man who murdered her father. She shouldn’t need anyone; she’s supposed to be strong. But she needs him. Writing to him is the only thing keeping her sane. And maybe that simple fact just goes to prove how truly crazy she really is. 

Chapter 7: Elle’s seventh letter is written on burned and repaired paper just like her sixth, from sitting on a plane with Claire Bennet, of all people, on her way to some mystery company to get help. She describes again how the lightning is building up inside of her and making her sick, and how she barely dares to hope that this new company will be able to help her. She’s vacillating wildly between hating him and wanting to kill him and almost wishing he were here—the old Gabriel—so that she could talk to him, and have him look at her like that one more time, like she was just Elle and nothing else. The fact that he could feel remorse for what he had done—when he tried to hang himself—the fact that he could try to change, to go straight… The old Gabriel had sort of inspired her to be better. But it wasn’t enough, apparently. She still didn’t have the guts to take his side against the schemes of the Company. 

Chapter 8: Elle’s eighth letter is typed, and in perfect condition. There’s nobody to fear reading it, really, although she does admit to deleting it from the system after she prints it. She says, “Hey Gabriel, what do you know, I’m writing another letter that I’ll never give you, and you’re asleep in the next room over. This is ironic.” She goes on to say how grateful she is for everything he did. Even though he claimed she did it on her own, she says she never would’ve thought it was okay to forgive herself if someone else hadn’t done it first. She says that the things he’s done only allow him to see the good in others better, because he knows what it’s like to be drowning in his own darkness. She admits concern over the Arthur Petrelli situation, but she chooses not to tell him the truth just yet. She says she intends to, but right now he’s so new to the idea that he has a choice about who he is and how he lives. She believes that he’s not destined to become his parents, but she’s not so sure he’ll believe it yet, so as twisted and evil as Arthur is, she lets Gabriel believe he is his father for now, because if he finds out what Sampson Gray is like, she’s afraid he’ll go right back to how he was. She concludes by saying that she believes he has to power to change, and that Arthur may be using him, but he’s also helping him whether he intends to or not. She plans to stick close and help him break away from his pseudo-family, and then tell him the truth when she thinks the time is right. Then she ends by saying, “look at me, acting all mature and knowing, like I think I’m a seer or something. You’re important to me, Gabriel, and I’ll do anything in my power to undo the wrong I did you, even if I have to lie to you for now.” –This would end the cannon drabbles, because Elle literally dies the next day, and Gabriel is confused when he finds a memory stick also in the envelope.

Chapter 9: This one’s a video letter from Gabriel himself; the Gabe of the future. In it, he details out how time would’ve progressed, and talks about his life with Elle—now Elle Gray—and his son, Noah. (The video shows him holding up a picture of their family.) He talks about how Elle’s power started maturing, and she’s a lot more than she seems. She told him that the future would end; that their lives together wouldn’t last, but he said he didn’t care. He wanted her here and now, even if it wouldn’t be forever, because he loved her. A few weeks ago, she started to seem distant and preoccupied, and she finally ‘fessed up that the end of the future was coming soon. She said that she would use the last of her power as she faded to make sure that their son had a chance to survive. He couldn’t time-travel, but he asked her to put this with her letter collection, so that the Gabriel—the Sylar—of the past would find it and know that even though this particular future was gone, the chance for a life without hands covered in blood was still there if he had what it took to follow it. –Gabriel finishes this video in confusion. There’s also a file on the stick, a typed letter from Elle-of-the-Future.

Chapter 10: Elle-of-the-Future writes and explains how she “caught” past-Elle before she made it to that beach, swapped clothes, put on the bloody bandage, and hid her away in another country before taking her place. Since the future—and her existence with it—was disappearing, she would’ve literally faded and vanished if he hadn’t killed her, and she’s still alive, in the past, and pregnant with their son. She says that her vision isn’t nearly as specific as that of the person who initially explained all this to her, and she doesn’t know where his head will be when he reads this, so for their child’s safety she doesn’t say where Elle is. She does say that she loves him, and still believes in him.

Chapter 11-etc…: Meanwhile, Elle—hidden in another country—still writes letters to Gabriel whenever she needs to clear her head. She writes about what happened between her and Elle-of-the-Future, and also writes one when she figures out that she’s pregnant—and it’s gotta be his. She writes about how—on that last, craziest day of her life—she was terrified, but sort of exhilarated, because she knew she’d have to rely on him more, to protect her. 

She writes about how Claire’s media revelation has forced her to keep herself very carefully in check. She has the baby, writes about it, about how much issue she had with her powers maturing while she was pregnant, and how she was afraid to use them at all until the baby was born. 

She writes at length about labor—she has Noah in a wrecked buss, or some such violent scene. Afterward she lets loose a stunning, frightening display of power that has been held in check for far too long. This reveals her true nature to (bad guys/media) and she has to go on the run. Rebel helps her—she leaves his true identity out just in case some random person ever reads it, to Gabriel’s great amusement when he finally reads it. 

Elle ends up working with kids like Rebel and Molly—and a few OC’s—to help other Empowered in need, and once she’s set up in a house, the kids all live there, so she’s part partner, part mom. She writes to him about how she’s not just a mother to her own child, she’s got a group of grade-and-middle-schoolers sleeping on her couches. 

Also she writes all her thoughts about Noah’s name. She wants an angel’s name, because with all the exposure it’s not safe to call him Gray. She thinks about Michael, but it’s too much like Micah, who lives with her, and she doesn’t want it to get confusing. (She doesn’t get a chance to name her son until a while after he is born, due to running for their lives.) In the end, she chooses Noah, because Noah was a survivor, and she thought that if there was any sort of fate attached to a name, she wanted one that came with protection. It didn’t occur to her until later—and another letter—that Bennet’s first name was Noah. Oops, oh well. Maybe Noah Grayson Bishop will be a better Noah than Noah Bennet.

Her letters conclude with some confessions about how much she still misses him, and how she’s so dependent on her memory of him, and wants him for real. Then she says how she can be totally honest here because no one will ever read these, and how even now she doesn’t have the guts to send them, even though she learned through Molly—whose power matured, making her basically omniscient—that he was reformed now and safe to have around baby Noah. She also admits that she’s frightened, because her power is maturing as well, and her body is changing into she doesn’t really know what.

At this point, Molly decides to send the entire package to Gabriel. She writes him a letter as well, explaining that she can’t like him—because of what he did to her parents—but she can’t hate him either, because of what she’s seen of his life and the way he has been changed. She reflects that she doesn’t really have the capacity for hatred anymore, because she knows everything about people, and can’t help but sympathize at least a little. She finishes by saying please don’t tell anyone that she sent the letters, because word might get back to Mohinder, and he wouldn’t understand.

Then Gabriel writes back. In the penultimate chapter, he says he needs to explain, to apologize, and that he’s been thinking about her and missing her too. He says he wants to meet.

In the epilogue, Gabriel enters a restaurant—or wherever—and sees the back of Elle’s head. He is overcome by nerves. She may not have been present as such, but his last memory of her is killing her. He is afraid to approach; his foot won’t move forward anymore. Then Elle lifts up Noah, and he looks Gabriel straight in the eye. It’s a baby’s face, but somehow it says, “Well dad, what are you waiting for? Get over here.” He smiles, and takes the next step towards the booth. 

Down comes the curtain, have a nice day readers!

[apparitionism]

Helicobacter 16

Every single time: In everything I write that suggests these two would get hitched, the JK-played character does the “marry me” asking. Every. Single. Time. I don’t know why this makes such sense to me... I should probably think about flipping that script at some point, in some future narrative, so watch this space, I guess. (I’m sticking with you for now, Tumblr, despite your repeated attempts to drive me away.) Anyway, previously on Helicobacter (in the fifteen! parts that came before this one, which are all available to you on this very judgy social-media platform), we learned that Myka had made a significant miscalculation, Helena can think surprisingly well on her feet, and raccoons are likely to get chatty about Pop-Tarts. Of course the only sensical thing Myka could do then was propose.

Helicobacter 16

Helena managed a weak laugh. She said, “Do you and I really need to enter into yet another faux engagement?”

“No,” said Myka.

“Then—” Wait.

Myka nodded. “Now you’re getting it. And speaking of getting it: who’s got it?” She swung her free hand around, in a gesture that seemed to encompass everyone in the room.

“It? What is it? Who has what?” Helena asked.

“The ring. I know it’s in this room.”

“What?” Helena felt she was losing her purchase on the idea that words were meant to make sense. “You know a ring is in this room?”

Myka was solemn again: “I do.”

“Did you use that phrase intentionally?” Varsha asked. “If so, it’s quite funny.”

“Not as funny as the story,” Abigail said.

“What story?” Helena demanded. “Why is there always a story?”

Rick answered the latter question: “Because life isn’t a series of random collisions of atoms.” So helpful.

“It might be,” Varsha told him.

“But we couldn’t perceive it that way, even if it were,” Steve told her in turn.

“I’m having trouble perceiving it in any way,” Helena lamented.

Myka, who hadn’t released Helena’s hand, pulled on it, drawing her attention back. “Let me help you perceive it my way. It’s pretty simple: I bought a ring for you ages ago, mostly as a sort of... gesture of hope. To say ‘there’s a future in which this will be possible.’ But then I showed it to Abigail, and she said it was too risky for me to have it in my possession, because I’d run into you at some point and feel like it was burning a hole in my pocket and just drop to the one knee, regardless of where and when.” She raised “didn’t you” eyebrows at Abigail, who nodded. Myka went on, “I said that was ridiculous, but then one day I saw you down a hallway at City Hall, and I realized I was in fact about to sprint in your direction and do exactly what she’d predicted, so I literally reversed course and went right to her and handed it over. And promised I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t have it. Because even I need the occasional guardrail.”

Abigail snorted. “Occasional. Right.” To Helena, she said, “We should apply for a federal grant to fund the guardrails-against-Helena project. Anyway, I said I couldn’t hold it all the time, because then she’d know exactly where it was, which was almost as bad, given that I didn’t want to be rudely awakened in the middle of the night some night by some lovelorn lunatic who decided she just had to set phasers to nuptial. So I made her promise also not to ask you if she couldn’t pinpoint its location, and we set up a committee—at first just me and Steve, but after she read Rick in, we decided to draft him, too—to rotate possession. Myka doesn’t know the rotation or the schedule, which makes it hard for her to fight through the bureaucracy to get to it.”

“That’s a clever disincentive,” Jane remarked, causing Helena to note that she had not, in fact, exited the inside-joke snowglobe just yet.

Abigail said, “I modeled it on the demonstration-permit regs. They’re so well thought out.”

“I wrote those,” Jane told her, and when Abigail offered her a disingenuous “you don’t say,” Jane bowed her head. She might have been glowering, laughing, or praying... she offered no clarity with her next words: “My staff: the Machiavelli Players.”

Myka, seeming to resent that the spotlight kept shifting away from her, said, “Anyway, I almost did the asking on Saturday night, because it had to be in that room, too, given the committee. But I figured we were so close to getting the work thing fixed—and you’d probably be more inclined to say yes once we did—that I should wait.”

“I’m the one who’s got it now,” Rick said. “Sort of ironic. And I was supposed to hand it off to Steve today.”

Helena looked to Steve. “Behind my back,” she said, “this entire time?” and Steve had the grace to look at least a bit chagrined.

Myka said, “Not entire. It wasn’t until after I told my mom the truth that I really made up my mind.”

“But then you did?” Helena asked.

“But then I did. I’m serious. You’re looking at me like you don’t believe me, but I’m serious.”

“I’m looking at you like...” Helena tried to find words to say about what she was feeling, words that might possibly be correct. She fought through what she recognized as a Myka-esque pause, search... then surrender. “You’re right, like I don’t believe you. We’ve spent only two nights together!”

“Info that I for one didn’t need,” Rick said. “Or want.”

“This I can vote on,” Varsha agreed.

Steve said, hurriedly, “Passed by acclamation.”

Myka gave that attention-tug to Helena’s hand. “If we were fundamentalists, we’d’ve spent zero nights together.”

“We aren’t fundamentalists,” Helena said. Of that, she was reasonably certain, but what it had to do with anything...

Now Myka blinked at Helena: a slow, soft, indulgent blink. “My point is, depending on the circumstance, two is a lot.”

“World wars, for example,” Abigail offered.

“Isn’t that an argument against their spending more nights together?” Liam asked her.

“Emperors Napoleon?” Abigail tried.

“Nope, there were three of those,” Steve said, “but maybe also part of an argument against? The French probably thought the first one was one too many.”

“Waterloo,” Helena muttered, because she still had no purchase on the situation, but defeat seemed a relevant concept.

“That is a very good song,” Myka told her. “I refer you to the lyrics.”

“Mamma Mia movies!” Liam exclaimed.

“That just makes that ‘argument against’ point stronger,” Steve said, and as Liam protested that he liked them, that there should be lots more, Steve gave him a look that Helena decoded—perhaps based on the personal experience of having sent very similar aspects in Myka’s direction—as “your questionable judgment makes me question my own judgment in finding you so appealing.”

Jeannie said, “Here, I’ll try something in a different genre: one of Myka’s great-great-grandmothers was a mail-order bride. She hadn’t even met her intended before the wedding.”

“I didn’t know that. But they lived happily ever after?” Myka asked, with evident hope.

Jeannie shook her head. “Probably not. It was Colorado in the 1800s.”

Varsha clapped her hands lightly, her face a study in joy. “One or both highly likely to have died of cholera!” Her enthusiasm for that outcome was... unsurprising.

“That pile of ‘against’ points keeps getting bigger, guys,” Myka said, “so maybe leave this to me?”

“No, no, the epidemiological point is that you most likely won’t die of cholera,” Varsha said.

Myka smiled, then squinted. “That’s great, but... how is that an argument in favor of our spending more nights together? And/or living happily ever after?”

Varsha squinted back, saying, “It isn’t. It’s a necessary condition for either or both of those outcomes to occur. You’ll have to make your own argument.”

“I’m trying,” Myka said. “Give me the ring, Rick.”

Rick shook his head. “Can’t.”

“Of course you can. It’s mine. And it’s about to be hers, I hope.”

Abigail said, “We have to vote. The committee. It has to be unanimous. You read the bylaws.”

Myka closed her eyes. She breathed in slowly, then said, “You cannot be serious.”

“Isn’t that usually my line?” Helena asked—joking, but not entirely.

Myka’s grip on her hand tightened again. “I swear to god if you people don’t let me put a ring on it, I will water-gun fake blood on each and every one of you, and that will happen at a time you’ll find extremely inconvenient.”

“I move we hand it over,” Steve said.

“Seconded.” That was from Rick.

“I move we vote immediately on the motion,” Steve continued.

Rick again: “Seconded.”

“Aye,” Steve said.

“Aye,” Rick said.

Abigail said nothing.

“What are you waiting for?” Myka demanded.

“Clean clothes,” Abigail told her. “See, I’ve already been water-gunned. I kind of want to make you sweat.”

“Ill-advised,” Jeannie said.

“Why is everyone stealing my lines?” Helena complained.

Myka darted a glance at Helena, a glance of a quality suggesting that Helena’s repeated noting of line-stealing might have been either immensely alluring or extravagantly irritating—or possibly both—and said to Abigail, “I swear. To god. A ring on this, or.”

Abigail sighed. “Fine. Aye.”

“Now,” Myka told Rick.

Rick reached into his pocket, but in trying to extricate what was presumably the ring, he turned the fabric inside out. A loud clink resounded, as did an “oh jesus” from him and a giggle from Abigail, and then he had dropped to his knees and was scrabbling at the floor, and Helena genuinely expected that in a moment, all of them would be examining the linoleum in great detail, for Myka now wore the expression of someone likely to issue a strongly worded decree about what had better be found right now... but Rick quickly bounced up. “Here,” he said to Myka before he looked directly at her face. “Sorry,” he said, after he did.

She held the ring between the thumb and forefinger of her free hand and shook it at him. “You had a diamond ring loose in your trouser pocket? This diamond ring? You are a ding-dong.” Rick looked for a moment as if he might take the fool’s path and protest... but he kept his mouth closed. Myka said, “Good choice,” and she gave the ring, a simple band upon which sat a smallish yet dazzlingly clear stone, to Helena, placing it in the hand she was not holding. “There. Now do you believe me?” She paused. “And now will you say you’ll marry me?”

Helena looked down at what she held. Could a diamond be content to be affixed to a ring? Happy, even, to be there? Because this one’s shimmering clarity seemed not to bespeak mysterious depths, but rather to nestle it securely into its setting. The diamond knew its mind better than Helena knew her own... she cleared her throat. “I’ve never been proposed to before,” she said.

That made Myka not tighten her hold on Helena’s held hand, but gentle it. “That’s because it was always meant to be me.”

That had to be true. It had felt so right to be engaged to marry Myka, even as fiction... Helena said that aloud.

“Told you,” Myka said, but she was not smug. “See, you knew it even before I did.”

“I didn’t buy a ring and set up a committee.”

“That’s because I’m the planner.”

“What does that make me?” Helena asked, and she did not know what Myka’s answer would be. She didn’t know what she wanted Myka’s answer to be... other than right. But what was right? What was she in this improbable relationship?

“You mean,” Jeannie said, “what does it relegate you to.”

Myka smiled at her mother. Then she smiled at Helena. “Dreamer-in-chief,” she said with certainty. “You know, you should put that on your business card. Steve, don’t you think she’d get more work that way?”

“She’d get different work that way,” Steve said. “But isn’t the goal of all this to make sure she gets... similar work?”

With a small eyeroll, Myka said, “Fine. We’ll relegate it to the vows: ‘Do you promise to faithfully execute the office of dreamer-in-chief? To keep dreaming up the never-fountains?’”

Dreamer-in-chief. Perhaps anything Myka had said would have been the right answer, because perhaps it all was nothing more—or less?—than an inside-joke snowglobe. But why not stay in it? The fountain might not exist, but this could. Surely, after all they had been through, this could. Then there is... Helena cleared her throat again. “As noted,” she said, “I didn’t buy a ring.”

“Cheapskate-in-chief,” Myka said, and that was even more right.

“But will you marry me, too?” Helena asked. It was not what she ever would have planned to say today, but now she had said it. And she did not mean it as any push of problems into the future... no, it was a pull of problems. An invitation to them, in the present and in the future.

“Try and stop me, beautiful cheapskate. Just try.” Myka leaned back against her inadequate pillow, looking for all the world like a spoiled princeling, sure that the world—or at least Helena—was hers for the taking. She was of course right, and Helena leaned in and kissed her, savoring it, savoring all of it, even the obvious absurdity, even the likelihood of additional, or at least eventual, catastrophe... “I haven’t changed,” she still wanted to warn, but she still also remembered Myka’s “maybe you shouldn’t have to.” This is how it feels, Charles might as well have been whispering in her ear, as the right wrecking ball knocks you over.

When the kiss ended, Myka didn’t, to Helena’s surprise, return to smiling. Instead she blinked overwet eyes. The planes of her face were ruddy. “You really do believe it,” she said. Perhaps not so spoiled after all, the princeling...

“I do,” Helena assured her.

Varsha said, “That’s funny too! Even more so, because I don’t think you said it intentionally.”

“I have to confess I find it a little hard to follow what you think is funny,” Rick told her.

Helena echoed, “Hard to follow. I have to confess that I find the turn—turns?—my life has taken a bit hard to follow.”

Myka sighed. “If we’re owning up, then I have to confess that I find myself contemplating more often than is probably healthy how adorable this cheapskate looks in a hardhat.”

“What?” Helena said, startled. “How do you know that?”

“That’s the part that’s a little hard to follow, and I’ll tell you later, but I note that you aren’t disputing your adorableness.”

“I—”

“That better end with ‘love you.’”

“It does,” Helena said. “And you knew that before I did.” She had been holding the ring in the palm of her own free hand, where Myka had placed it. Now, to substantiate her words, she loosed her right hand from Myka’s and used it to place that unassuming band onto the appropriate finger, where it fit as if, yes, it had always been intended to live there. She held her hand up, facing its back, and thus the confident stone, toward Myka. “Well? What do you say to that?”

“Everything,” Myka said, and Helena laughed and kissed her again, because of course she did say everything, anything and everything, all of it exactly what Helena needed—and a reasonable majority of the time wanted—to hear.

When this kiss ended, Helena heard a small sniffle, and she looked up to see Jeannie dabbing at her eyes. “I’m not surprised this got to me,” Jeannie said, “because witnessing my daughter so overcome is, to use an inadequate word, rare... but I didn’t know it would get to anybody else.” She looked at Jane. “I’m glad to know she works for someone with such a heart.”

Helena observed, with astonishment, that Jane was touching her own eyes with her sleeve. Jane said, “I did mention it isn’t made of stone. And with that, I’m leaving, before anyone mistakes me for a sentimental fool.”

“Too late,” Abigail informed her, with a laugh that seemed dangerously near a cackle.

Jane confirmed the danger with a raised eyebrow. “Spread that around, Ms. Machiavel, and I will show you how fast a heart can harden.” She then made an exit of a sort that should have been accompanied by a retinue.

Rick sighed. “I guess that means Myka’s cured, and we better get back to work.”

“Unless someone in this room would like to develop some sort of interesting infection,” Varsha suggested.

“I’d rather my day be boring, thanks,” Rick told her.

Varsha gave his cheek a pat that, if bestowed by anyone else, would have seemed overly aggressive. “Of course you would, wallpaper. See how soothing he is!”

Once Rick and Varsha had gone, Liam said, “I guess they’re right. There’s only so many billable hours I can give up in order to ‘visit a sick friend.’ Or visit a ‘sick’ friend. Or whatever it is we’ve been doing.”

“It’s strange but nice to have seen you in the middle of the day,” Steve said.

“Heart-melter. Maybe I won’t badger you to watch Here We Go Again tonight.”

“Waterloo... knowing my fate is to be with you,” Steve sang softly, and Helena added “Steve singing” to the list of seemingly impossible things that had happened today. He turned to her with a slightly apologetic, self-conscious smile. “If I can’t concentrate this afternoon because that’s running through my head, it’s your fault.”

“Accepted,” Helena said. “I think we can safely assume some similar words will be interfering with my thoughts.”

“Obviously, mine too,” said Myka.

“And mine,” Liam agreed. “Thanks a lot, honey. I’m supposed to be writing a closing argument. What if I accidentally put in ‘I feel like I win when I lose’?”

Steve shrugged. “Depends. How many ABBA fans are on your jury?”

“That isn’t something we commonly get around to in voir dire.”

“Then I think we’ve all learned a lesson or two today, haven’t we? About good questions to ask,” Steve said. He directed a significant look at Helena and Myka, then threw an even more significant one toward Liam. “In particular circumstances.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Liam said as they departed. “I will badger you to watch Here We Go Again. Every night for the next week. Or maybe the next year. Or decades....”

Abigail remarked, “They’re almost as cloying as the two of you, but with less drama. Is that good or bad? Anyway, I’m going to bring this back around to ‘clean clothes,’ and the fact that I’d like some, so I should—”

“They have lovely scrubs here,” Helena told her. “The color of an emergent bruise.”

Myka said, “I’ll admit I got a little overenthusiastic with the ‘blood.’ It’s a lot more fun water-gunning it than actually producing it myself. Although I did end up engaged to the most beautiful cheapskate in the world, both times...”

“It seems entirely unfair to Abigail that you were the only one in possession of a weapon,” Helena said.

Abigail nodded at Helena with enthusiasm. “So true. Unfair to you, too, that first time, even if the weapon was her gut. We’ll have to get back at her somehow—I know, a group paintball tournament! Maybe make it an annual thing. For your anniversary.”

“That is the best idea ever,” Myka said to her. Then she turned to Helena and said, as if referring to the sweetest of intimacies, “Isn’t it.”

“Paintball,” Helena said, and did the tone she took with Myka inevitably sound that same tenderness? “Do you know what Charles says to his wife, Jane, on a regular basis?”

“Unfortunately, he didn’t tell me. Do you want me to guess?”

“Actually... I’d love to hear your guess.”

“He says ‘Jane, isn’t my sister so very lucky to have found Myka, and vice versa.’”

That made Helena laugh. “Although you’ve produced a tolerable version of his voice, I don’t believe he does say that. Not regularly.”

“Well, give it time. What does he really say?”

“He says, ‘What a disaster our first meeting was.’”

“Did she really run into his car? Or was he shining me on?”

“And then he thought to return the favor,” Helena affirmed, “to make sure he had her romantic attention. He didn’t tell you that part?”

“God, no. You Wellses are weird.”

“I talked him out of it!” Helena protested.

Myka, doing princeling-against-the-pillow again, drawled, “That’s your evidence to the contrary.”

Helena said to Jeannie, “Do you know, occasionally your daughter sounds exactly like her father. Who has that irrational fear of raccoons, as I’ve so recently come to understand, so if family weirdness is genuinely on the table—”

“I do know they sound alike,” Jeannie interrupted, “but it’s nice to be reminded of it. Do you sound like your father?”

Helena smiled. “No, but I do sound very like my brother—as Myka has remarked, and which is pertinent, because Charles always follows his initial disaster comment with, ‘What a disaster I would be in the absence of that disaster.’”

“That’s sweet,” said the princeling, “but still weird.”

“My point is that I suspect I’ll be following his lead in these ritual utterances as well.”

“I don’t need clean clothes,” Abigail announced. “I need insulin. Is there a special British kind? Because you never sound like you’re made of sugar, but you are, and that makes it worse. That’s it for me.” She paused at the door, turned around, and pointed at Myka. “Pop-Tarts are one thing, but grapefruit’s another.” Then she pointed at Helena. “And raccoons are one thing, but eleven of you, nobody could take.” She swept out, and Helena suspected she would have wanted her departure accompanied by dramatic exit music.

“Grapefruit,” said Myka. “She’s said that to me before, in relation to you.”

“It has vaguely to do with koans. I’ll tell you the story some other time,” Helena said.

“Why is there always a story?” Myka said, a gentle mock.

“I’m told it has to do with atoms.”

Jeannie said, “Colliding, but not randomly. She was so excited when I finally found that book of yours.”

“I suspect she was primarily pleased to have been right. In her identification.”

“Well, she’s Myka,” Jeannie allowed. “But also... she was overcome. Like today. By you. I’m really not giving away any secret when I tell you this matters to her in an unprecedented way—but even if it were a secret, I’d tell you, because of that unprecedented mattering.”

“I’m in the room, Mom.”

Jeannie ignored Myka. She leveled a not-quite-benign gaze at Helena and said, “Treat her well. You seem like you will—I want to believe that you will—but please.”

Not precisely a talk of shovels, but near enough. “I will work hard at it,” Helena told her. “I’m very good at working hard.”

Myka leaned against Helena again. She said, “Mm. In a selfish, Emperors-Napoleon sense, I’m glad you aren’t overly good at being good.”

Not in front of your mother, Helena thought at Myka. She tried to show, by means of a severe brow-furrow directed at the very contented woman at her side, that she was thinking this instruction, but that made Myka laugh, and that in turn made Helena want to forget about who they were in front of.

“I clearly need to give you two a minute,” Jeannie said, and that was, from Helena’s perspective, an embarrassingly accurate reading of the room’s temperature. “But as I understand it, everybody’s supposed to get back to work. And you might want to remember that the idea behind this whole thing was for everybody to keep having work to get back to...” The door closed behind her.

Guilt: Helena had been so, so uncharitable in her initial assessment of Myka’s Rick-promoting mother, yet Jeannie had, now, provided them with their first instance of clean, unencumbered intimacy. She does want Myka to be happy, Helena now thought. With someone. And she genuinely seems to believe that I am that someone...

That they didn’t lunge for each other seemed, paradoxically, a good sign. A marker of this new reality.

“One minute,” Helena said. “Our first real minute.”

“Speaking of what’s real, tell me, do you really want this?” Myka asked. Helena moved her jaw in disbelief, but Myka went on, “I can take it if you don’t, but only if you tell me right now.”

Helena held her hand up again. “Here is what I’ll tell you right now: I will remove this ring for no reason other than a medical emergency?”

“That could just mean you like rings,” Myka said.

“Have you seen me wear a ring before today?”

“That could just mean you like this ring,” Myka said, but she touched the ring, began playing with Helena’s fingers.

“I have no right answer anymore.”

Myka looked up. “You do if you kiss me.”

So Helena did.

“See?” Myka said, some length of time later. “Now I’m persuaded. Want to persuade me some more? Maybe really, really fast? I think from my side of things, I can promise—”

“No,” Helena interrupted, because if Myka kept talking, the answer was going to be yes, because Helena certainly did want to persuade her some more.

A little pout, a pretty blink. “No?”

“Well, not no,” Helena conceded.

“Not no? Maybe I’m wrong, but that seems like a double negative, which I’m mostly sure works out in the math to be a positive, so—”

Helena had to interrupt again. “I mean, no, but not in perpetuity. No for the present moment.”

“You pick the worst times to be good at being good, but fine. Failing that, I don’t suppose you’d want to just go for the whole cheese plate? Fly to Vegas and get married tonight? Bellagio... fountains.... something like, there is no fountain, then there are lots of fountains, and they dance or light up or do some other—”

Helena kissed her again, and this one was sharp and quick, for it was meant both to stop her and to stop the idea, which was, for all its absurdity, ridiculously compelling: fly away and change everything yet again. She remarked, trying to lighten the idea away, “We’ve both said ‘I do,’ as Varsha found so amusing. Perhaps we’re married already.”

“In some version of the world, I bet we are.”

“I would in some version of the world marry you this minute. But I think we’d both enjoy getting to know each other just a bit better first... more importantly, however, if Charles isn’t invited to the event, he’ll riot.”

“All by himself?”

“That would be very Charles. Also, however, my parents.”

“They’ll riot?”

“Doubtful. Well, my mother might. But I would... want them here. For such an occasion. The right one.”

“If that committee hadn’t let me give you this ring, I would’ve rioted.��

“Once I became accustomed to the idea, so would I.”

Myka said, “I sprang it on you. I’m sorry.” She kissed the ring where it lived on Helena’s finger.

As severely as she could, given the kiss, Helena said, “You are in no way sorry.”

“See, you know me pretty well already. I love that I sprang it on you. I also love that you sprang it on me, reciprocally.”

“It did take me a moment.”

“Scariest moment of my life.”

“You don’t mean that,” Helena said.

“Maybe you don’t know me so well after all. What if you’d said no?”

“You never genuinely entertained that as a possibility.”

“I did though. The look on your face right at first? I don’t ever want to see that look again.” She pulled Helena to her. This kiss said Don’t frighten me.

Helena didn’t want to do that, but she did want to tell the truth. She said, “I’ll be honest: I’m not sure this will work as perfectly as I want it to. As some of our interactions have suggested it might.”

“That you want it to work perfectly is a pretty good start... plus that you think that some of our interactions have suggested it might, that doesn’t hurt. I do too, by the way. Want that. And think that.”

Trying to maintain her honesty, Helena asked, “Is it setting us up for failure? Nothing is perfect.”

“It’s all about goals. What’s failure? Aim for perfect, hit pretty damn wonderful.” And then she clearly decided to tell some truth of her own. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. But nothing will if we don’t start, so let’s.”

“I’m fairly certain we have. Look at what’s on my hand.”

“I had moments when I thought about having bought this thing—this thing that was too dangerous for me to have in my possession—and I wondered who in the world I was, who I thought I was, to even consider something like that. Something like that, with someone like you.”

These insecurities... they were Helena’s fault. “Who were you?” she asked, not at all rhetorically, for she intended to give a convincing, sure answer. “Someone with the fearlessness to consider, to push for, a better future. Meanwhile all I did was feel sorry for us. That was all someone like me could do: sit and wait for someone fearless like you to change the circumstance.”

“Fearless, foolish... but no matter how foolish it was, you’re right, it’s on your hand. I like it there.” She stopped, seemed to consider whether she wanted to go on. “Hm. Did you wear a ring before?”

“No, I’ve never worn one. I did the proposing. Gave the ring.” Did Myka want the reciprocal question? Helena went ahead and asked, “Did you? Wear one?”

This occasioned a sigh. “Weirdly, no. The wedding ring was going to be his grandma’s, and we were vaguely planning to retrofit something to go with it. I didn’t press the issue—didn’t care enough to. That should’ve helped clue me in, shouldn’t it?” That was said with a wry twist of lip, not a smile.

Of course both their pasts contained unheeded clues... “I think it’s fair to say that we’ve both made some errors.”

“I think it’s fair to say that we both failed upward.”

What an exquisite thing to say in this context, about what had gone wrong in the past—so exquisite that Helena could barely stand it. She felt a rush of willingness to take Myka up on the idea of being fast, right here... but that rush was an impulse, not an imperative. Instead, Helena got up from the bed. Stepped away. Regarded the woman still in it. Her face, its lines so deft, its beauty barely contained in a too-precise space, would always raise that impulse—no, imperative—to protect.

Pale, sick Myka, in a bed such as this one. Would Helena ever cease to see that day superimposed on Myka’s face and body? And would Helena ever cease to hear, inside Myka’s voice, an echo of that day’s weakest, most distressed entreaty: Will you be here when I wake up?

Of course I will, Helena had told her, and was that when she herself had made up her mind? When you wake up, I’ll be the first thing you see. Helena hadn’t known it then, but she had already begun speaking the vows. Keeping them. “In sickness...” she now said.

“Don’t worry,” Myka told her. “I’ll inflict plenty of health on you, too. Not to mention their friends: richer, poorer, and better.”

“What about ‘worse’?”

That made Myka smile with mischief. “Now who’s the one tempting fate?”

“Destiny,” Helena corrected.

Myka kept smiling, but she also narrowed her eyes. “Hm. Now that sounds like a koan.”

“What does?”

“I asked, ‘Who’s the one tempting fate?’, and ‘Destiny,’ you said. That’s the one tempting fate.”

“But I meant—”

“So the koan is, what happens when destiny tempts fate?”

Helena said, immediately, because it was true, “Charles would say, a car wreck.”

“What would you say?”

Helena would have smiled, largely and with intent, but she was already doing that, and Myka was doing that too, and Helena suspected they both would keep on doing that. She shook her head and exhaled, a little ripple-chuckle of jubilation. “What happens when destiny tempts fate?” she echoed, and Myka nodded. “What would I say?” Myka nodded again, her smile, impossibly, even larger. Now Helena shrugged. There was only one answer, so she gave it: “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

TBC (epilogically in a few scenes that would play over the closing credits...)

[angstmongertina]

7KPP Week 2019: Day 4

Man, I was all looking forward to writing a letter from Lia to her favorite cousin, but on my commute home last night, I had the sudden idea of developing Lia’s background more in fic, and therefore we have a little bit more of an answer to the question “WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS, LIA?” when it comes to her sense of duty to her family and the Jiyelese government (aka why she breaks up with her Duke).

Sorry I’m a little bit late and didn’t proofread but this somehow got really long when I wasn’t paying attention holy shit.

AO3 Link

Day 4 - Letters || Learning

Her father’s office desk was still too big for her.

Lia sat in the chair, struggling to resist the urge to fidget, as she perused the various ledgers that she had found in the office, all documented in her father’s scarcely legible scrawl. Land and husbandry details accompanied recorded disputes and notes about their tenants and she had never been so thankful for the fastidiousness that had, as a child, annoyed her to no end. While she knew little to nothing about the actual management of Grenwold, at least there was sufficient information to analyze.

Still, it was little comfort against the anxiety that gripped her heart whenever her thoughts turned upstairs to her parents, her mother hardly moving from her father’s bedside, with no updates on his well-being.

No, it was far better to keep occupied and, given that not even Dr. Hasao had any idea of a workable treatment, a child—for she suddenly could not imagine herself as the young lady of fifteen she had fashioned herself to be only a few months prior—who had not even finished her first year at the Royal Academy could surely do little more for her father than to manage the estate while he was… temporarily indisposed. For that was all he was, all he could be.

Shaking her head, she forcibly dragged her attention back to the study and the veritable pile of documents awaiting her examination… once she could make sense of them all. With a sigh, she acknowledged defeat and slid off the seat, wincing as her hunched shoulders and back protested the movement, to examine her father’s bookshelves.

Though the vast majority of their books were organized methodically in the manor’s library, a previous search revealed those on history or science, but very little on matters of the estate. Rather, it was apparent that Lord Franklin kept most of those pertaining to management within arm’s reach for ease of consultation. It was those she turned her attention to, pulling any that might help her make sense of the scribbled shorthand within the records of crop rotations and rent collection, lessons on which, she was at least fairly certain, would never have made its way into her education at the Academy.

Well, at least she was still learning something, though perhaps not quite as appropriate for a young lady of gentle breeding as Jiyelese society would prefer.

Biting her lip to restrain the almost hysterical laughter that threatened to bubble out, she rubbed at her eyes, which served little to clear their blurriness, nor the fog slowly but surely settling over her mind. Instead, she reached for her teapot, only to find it empty. Again.

Unable to resist the urge to groan, she reached for the bell, intent on requesting yet another refill, but there was a knock on the door before she could so much as turn to face the entrance of the room. The housekeeper of Grenwold since before she was born, Mrs. Lee was one of the few who had instantly agreed to stay through the downsizing and simplifying, out of what Lia suspected was sheer loyalty. It also meant that Mrs. Lee, of anyone, was most capable of questioning her poor decision making, which explained the admittedly fearsome scowl on the woman’s generally cheerful face.

“Miss Lia, might I remind you that you have had three full pots of tea already?”

She forced her lips into a winsome smile, clasping her hands together in an imitation of her childhood innocence. “Just one more, Mrs. Lee? Please?”

The scowl twitched before morphing into something that, for a moment, resembled a smirk, before smoothing out. “Very well. Your last.”

Lia released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding as she stepped back to the desk and reached for the pile of budget notes. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Lee spoke again, but she barely heard it, only waving vaguely as she took in her mother’s neat script and a shiver ran down her spine.

It was a well-known fact that her father was “lord” in name only, following the acts of ancestors that she had never been able to coax out of her tutors. Her childhood was modest compared to many of those around her, including her more distant relatives, but still comfortable, with all of the books and skilled tutors that she could have wanted. And though that had changed in more recent years, she had always assumed that the adjustments to her family’s lifestyle had been to accommodate her tuition for the Royal Academy but…

She flipped forward another page, her hands turning cold as she found the year’s collection.

But if her calculations were correct, Grenwold’s income had been steadily decreasing, had reached a point where it was scarcely enough to keep the household, already cut to the barebones, running, even after removing the tuition, room, and board that they would no longer need to pay. Between difficulties with the livestock and poor weather for crop growth, it was unlikely to improve in the next harvest. And that did not include the costs of physicians and medicine…

Soft footsteps approached the desk, setting down a tray, and she reached for the newly replaced teacup, taking a sip without looking. The hot liquid scalded her tongue, but she barely noticed as she set it down hard enough that it nearly sloshed over. “Did you honestly give me chrysanthemum tea and expect me not to notice, Mrs. Lee?”

“She did not. I did.”

Lia froze before slowly turning to the doorway. Lady Hyacinth stood with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, and she sprang to her feet, hurrying over.

“Mama? You’re here! Is there any news? How is Father? What did Dr. Hasao say? Is there any estimation on how long before Father recovers?” She drew a deep breath, cutting off her remaining questions with some difficulty, though thankfully, her mother only looked tiredly amused.

“No more questions? Very well then. There has been no significant change. Your father is about the same. His fever is no longer climbing, though it has not dropped either. Dr. Hasao remains uncertain as to the cause, but hopes that relief for the symptoms may give his body enough time to combat it on its own.” Lady Hyacinth offered her a wan smile. “It is the best we may hope for, given the current circumstances. And you, my dear. You should be abed.”

“But…” She hesitated, glancing back towards the desk and the stack of documents upon it. “There is much to do, especially…”

Her mother’s face softened, eyes shifting to glance at the desk and the budgets clearly left open. “So that is what has kept you up. Do not concern yourself overmuch. You father and I spoke months ago and have already contacted the Office of Finance. They have agreed to provide aid so long as we continue to do our duties to each other, to our tenants, and to the Crown. I have no doubt that they will support us through this.”

“But how…?” She bit her lip, barely noticing as her mother squeezed her shoulder. “With Father… resting, there is little that can be done to support the Crown as it is. And that does not include medical costs…”

“It will all work out. After all, it is only logical that struggles may arise, but the seasons change, and so will this. And in the meantime, we will do what we can. You do not believe that we can maintain a household if we put our minds to it? You, who has been catching mistakes in your father’s calculations since you learned to add?”

At that, she chuckled, and Lady Hyacinth gave an approving nod. “Your father will be back on his feet in no time, and will no doubt find the study better organized than he left it.” A gentle hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair out of her eye. “Now, come rest. He would not want you working yourself to sickness at his expense.”

Setting her shoulder resolutely, she nodded and followed her mother out of the room, though not before turning to take one last glance at the pile of ledgers and tomes awaiting her return on the morrow. After all, her mother had plenty else to worry about, and she would do her duty to her family, no matter how long it took.

[toknowyoumore]

spoiler: it was a terrible idea... but i feel good

I’m gonna try a little something, and this could either be a kinda good or absolutely terrible idea. I need to write something important, but I’m not in a writing mood right now, at least for the topics I need to write about. But I know I’m at least a decent writer when it comes to things I do like writing about. That’s why I’m going to drink a fair amount of alcohol to get my creative juices flowing - and also to get me to sleep earlier than 5 am. I’m probably gonna take this down once I submit the actual thing.

Jameson and Canada Dry on the rocks pls glub glub glub

Okay, let’s start.

Growing up with a single mother wasn’t the easiest thing, especially when I heard her screams of pain in the early morning when I was in fifth grade. My mother was diagnosed with breast and brain cancer. Though I didn’t know at the time, my parents were separated. But I still remember the first time walking into the hospital with my dad and seeing Mom on the hospital bed. I remember her stopping midway during our conversation because she lost the ability to breathe. I remember not being in a panic but rather in confusion when my dad told me to go out and get a nurse to help immediately. And in about a minute, a nurse saw a 11-year-old child asking for help for his mom who wasn’t breathing. I remember seeing my mother in the room again afterwards - except now with some sort of breathing machine. I know now that that machine is called a ventilator.

Living was confusing after that. I didn’t know how to feel. I remember being scared at some points but not deathly afraid. I didn’t entertain the thought of Mom passing because the thought just wasn’t real to me. (Spoiler alert, she didn’t, and she’s still in top condition today despite a number of tumors throughout the years. I promise this won’t be a sappy story.) Or maybe I just didn’t correctly process my thoughts and emotions. Was there even a correct way? Maybe all of this just led to me becoming who I am now?

Fourth wall break - okay, so this was a terrible idea. I’m going so off track, and this whole thing was supposed to highlight my good side, but screw it, I’m gonna keep going with this and see where it leads. Before we continue, another glass pls glub glub glub thank you - fourth wall unbreak.

The purpose of me writing that story was to talk about a childhood experience and an example of how I overcame adversity. But now that I’ve arrived to this part of the page, I can’t really think of how I really overcame adversity here. Sure, I got through a hardship that would be difficult for any child, but I don’t remember ever being in deep anguish. In normal terms, this experience would make one more aware of the tribulations in the world and ultimately become more human. But somehow - thinking back to this moment - I’m being hit from all directions with, “It made you less human.” A human would typically mourn from this. I really didn’t, or at least I don’t think I did.

I got lazy. My grandmother took care of me at that point, but she didn’t force me to go to school. I almost had to repeat fifth grade because I had so many absences.

If someone wrote about this experience in their college essay, you may see something like, “From this, I took responsibility and started taking care of myself, building my time management skills and independence.” Nope, none of that here. I was an 11-year-old only child with a grandmother who struggled to walk up the stairs.

I barely had any actual friends in my elementary school, middle school, and most of high school. By “actual friends,” I mean people who I’d talk or chill with out of school. My only community really was my church. Even though we don’t see each other now as often or we’ve drifted apart, something special still resides in those bonds. Despite how I feel about the church and Christianity now, I know for a fact that the friends I had there made my life worthwhile. It’s what made me more human. It’s what got me through adversity.

It’s not about what I did that lifted me up. There wasn’t some switch that I just activated by myself in my brain that suddenly pushed me to take responsibility, start caring for my family, and being a decent person. It wasn’t me; it was my friends. I would always be inspired by them - their words, their actions, even their humor. I wanted to be like them. And over time, I think I changed for the better. And even today, I’ve been making it a goal - maybe even my top goal - to be a decent human being to others.

Fast forward to senior year of high school, when I’m applying to colleges. The common motif of myself and everybody on the planet - say it with me now, “I want to help people.” Who doesn’t? But how? The medical field was something that, to be honest, never really held my interest much back in high school. Some elements of being a medical doctor were appealing to me, though I just wasn’t very gung-ho about the entire thing. I apply to a local university as a safety because I know all my friends were going there, and in my back of my mind, I knew I was too. The local university allows me to apply to multiple schools of varying professions within itself. I apply to its pharmacy school on a whim. I get wait-listed. I then get accepted. My senior year crush decides to go to the same school. And before life offered me the pros and cons, I was a pharmacy student.

There is one big con I should mention though: I knew nothing about pharmacy. I didn’t care a lick about it. No one in my family is a pharmacist. I didn’t really have a “want” to do it. There was no reason for me to pursue it. The only reason I did have was that I could drop out of the program in two years if I didn’t like it without any repercussions. It was strategically sound.

Two years later, I still wasn’t sure about my decision. But just like the last two years flew by, the next one did. And then the next one. And then the next after that. There was never any love for pharmacy. It was, “study for this exam, take the exam, study for that exam, take that exam, memorize a script for this practical, ace the practical, start joining pharmacy organizations, don’t attend the meetings.” My interests during college were elsewhere. They were in leading worship, learning how to help people with depression, and hanging out with my friends, which were all amazing things. But pharmacy still had little room for passion in my life.

Then one year ago, in January 2018, things started to change. It was my last semester taking classes and exams. My rotation schedule for the next year was arranged. Pharmacy was suddenly starting to become much realer to me. Internal medicine, cardiology, emergency department, transitions of care - it was a lot. But for the first time, it didn’t feel like a drag. Rather, it felt like something I knew I had to do, however daunting it initially felt. And I wanted to excel at it. I asked early for extra projects. I went to networking events, which I never even thought about going to. I did things that were outside of my original scope of simply getting a pharmacy degree. I interviewed for a volunteer position at a clinic, where only two students would get accepted, and got it. I attended a class and got certified for mental health first aid, which literally no one told me to do. I quit my job at CVS. I borrowed a book from a local library to study for a certification exam, which I passed, to help me get a job elsewhere. I applied for jobs, which I didn’t get. I asked on a whim to shadow one of my professors at a behavioral health facility for a day and ended up with another research project on my hands to work on over the weekends. That semester was also the first time I was actually looking forward to a class - two to be exact: “Neuropsychiatric Therapeutics” and “Concepts in Psychiatric Pharmacotherapy.” My interests in mental health and pharmacy were colliding.

To this day, I still don’t know what happened. Maybe it was the rush of sweet change that got me working harder. Or maybe it was the “real world” that was finally looming over the horizon, and I wanted to quickly pack some stuff into my resume. Surely, there were some moments in that semester that I faked passion for pharmacy for the sake of making myself look better. But all of a sudden, pharmacy was starting to become more than just something that consumed my life every day with notes and exams. And for some bizarre reason, I was beginning to enjoy it. 

There was no one who turned on my switch, no one who told me to take initiative - yet I was acting as if some sort of external force was pushing me to take leaps as a student. But there wasn’t.

My interests were finally lining up with what I was studying for about five years, and I was starting to take things into my hands to make it that way even more. Yes, that is why I was, at last, beginning to take hold a new passion for a profession that I never thought of myself being in. The interest in helping people, in being a decent human being, that I’ve built over the years because of my friends, my church - they were becoming tangible. There was no need for someone to flip a switch in my head. Something like this didn’t really need one.

And that’s what I’m hoping I could do. Whether that’d be now as a student or in the future as a pharmacist, I want to inspire others the same way that my friends inspired me in my past, to fuel people’s interests and motivations that they may not even know they have. The truth is, you’re helping people all the time. You don’t just have to be counseling them on a medication. And you don’t just have to be giving them a vaccination. You help people in your everyday actions and conversations. Every word of encouragement, every piece of advice, every lighthearted joke has a way of changing one’s life for the better. And as for yourself, you become a little bit closer to becoming that “decent human being.” Pharmacy is just one path - the path that I’ve taken - to help me to reach that goal.

There are still some things I fake, of course. Besides, I don’t know if this road ahead for me is the best one. But writing all this out - it’s clear I’ve come a long way already. And I know that even if this path doesn’t necessarily work, I’ll still probably learn something. Hopefully, at least. 

Not the most horrible idea. But it’s still terrible because this goes so off-track about the topics I’m supposed to write for my real thing. Nevertheless, I feel pretty good about what I wrote. Also, it’s 5 am. The alcohol didn’t help with that at all.

[anonil88]

Loyal Lines, Loyal Stunts (wayhaught college au) : Chapter 6

Notes: So i did an update and I am leaving for a funeral, but i am going to try and update a few chapters before i do that plane flying thing. 

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16373183/chapters/38681555#workskin

Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13091723/6/Loyal-Lines-Loyal-Stunts

Tw: for cursing (its wynonna) and verbal abuse (oh willa) Also two things: Pinwear day are special days designated by your greek organization where you have to wear your groups pin and dress in business casual wear. Flashbacks, memories, and lyrics are italicized; Text messages are bolded. 

Waverly woke up yet, again alone. Well not completely Vanessa, her roommate, lurked into their room early in the morning. She tried not to think too much about the day prior and didn't even check her phone. A part of her was racked with worry that Nicole wouldn’t even message her after the yesterday. She knew that Nicole was worrying about her and wondering if she was okay and likely wonder why exactly she walked up to the revenants unscathed. Ignoring the thought Waverly tried to get through the day without dwelling too much about what she could not fix and what she knew would eventually have happened. She knew eventually she would have to face the skeletons in her closet sooner or later. Despite the inner turmoil she was facing she made everything seem normal for everyone around her. She upped her normal pristine image it being pinwear day gave her an excuse to dress up. She wore her hair pin straight and her pink turtleneck with a pair of loose black pants. Waverly woke up extra early just to put the effort into the silkiness of her long brown tressles. Wynonna would be proud at the hair maintenance skills she donned from her. Her too long tan coat was not dragging on the ground due to a pair of her favorite heeled boots. She dug the boots from the bin in the bottom of her small dorm closet filled with things from her home in purgatory. When she fished them out of the container she also stumbled upon a dirty wrinkled leather vest. Unfolding the vest she sat on her rug gazing at the object with lost eyes. The vest’s back was partially covered in a single  faded off white bottom banner. The banner was clinging to the vest with thick black thread and a leather epoxy that still faintly smelled of burning rubber. That smell reminded her of the rotating wheels of a big wheel Dyna pulling at freshly laid asphalt. Blue stitching was fraying underneath Waverly’s fingers as she traced over the letters. The letters were coming undone but still read out angel face in a thick scripted font. Waverly's alarm tone and a groaning fast asleep Nessa shook her from her memories. She shoved the vest back under the mountain of shoes that desperately needed to be sorted through. These boots that clicked against classroom floors made her slightly taller but not as tall as Nicole. In her mind she wondered if she would be tall enough to rest her forehead to Nicole’s without having the taller girl lean down for her.There i go again she internally chastised. Besides the revenant business Nicole also filled her mind. It wasn't just then as she left the dorm Nicole also invaded her thoughts all day. Even when she was getting compliments left and right in between tutoring and mandatory workshops she thought of what her friend was up to. In the middle of her busy schedule she never did get to message her about if she was okay after everything. She felt worse about that then when Champ surprised her in the history building hallway. He was wrapping his burly frame around her from behind and she prayed it was Nicole. But, it wasn't and she let him annoy her while she printed off copies for a tutee. Waverly texted Nicole but the conversation was awkward. Even more so after Nicole asked if she was doing any better for the 10th time.

Nicole

If you are okay, are we just not going to talk about the pink elephant?

Waverly

What elephant?

Nicole

(-_-) okay then i guess if that is how you want to be.

Waverly

Im sorry. I guess i just want to forget that it ever happened?

Nicole

Ok, but would you want to file a police report to feel better?

But, Waverly made sure to decline. A report would only escalate the lingering situation from a possibility to catastrophic inevitability. She was sitting in a large upholstered chair in the student center, as she thought back to her stop on the police talk. One thing Waverly would never be, on purpose, was a tattle tale or a narc no matter what her elder sisters might refute. Especially Willa, Willa who she tried to stuff so far in her mind that her stomach churned at the thought of her name. While physically Waverly seemed to be stoic as she let the chair swallow her, her mind went to her dark place. The sound of lightning clapped against the sunny and cloud covered sky. A storm was churning passed the mountains in the far distance the gray and black peaks creeping towards Purgatory.

“You ruined everything, you always ruin everything,” Willa spat at a frightened six year old Waverly. Waverly was tucked behind a rickety wooden sitting chair in the homestead’s kitchen.

Her small hands trembled and her eyes grew puffy hoping this chair could block the storm growing in her sister. She had a clear shot of Willas face, contorted with anger and raging irises burning past the chair frame. Their eyes were always so similar but, Willa always carried a deep resentment in her own. Waverly hoped that the chair would deflect the words being hurled her way or at least the stinging slaps that could follow. Their father, Ward, was dragging Willa’s latest older boy toy down the dirt driveway of their home. Leading the boy no doubt to where his parents beat up minivan was parked in the driveway. The girls were left home alone while Ward attempted to play sheriff half sober. These days he had been doing a worse job than usual as the drinking was getting worse. When he came home early for lunch and caught Willa necking said boy in her room the blame fell on Waverly at least from Willa’s perspective. No matter how many times she protested and Wy backed her up Willa was upset. No she was livid. Willa grasped one of wards almost empty small bottles of whiskey. She downed the small amount left and hurled the bottle in Waverly's direction. Twelve almost Thirteen year old Willa was every inch of her daddys image. The wicked words and the bullheaded stubbornness. One thing they all inherited was his fight versus flight instincts. Waverly ducked the shattering glass and sobbed outloud. “Please Willa i promise,” Waverly’s squeaking voice cried out. “Always crying like a baby, that’s how i know YOU aren’t my sister, YOU cry too much.” Willa cut her sister off. She was taunting Waverly by circling the table after her. Waverly didn’t know why but her sister seemed so much bigger and far scarier than any other time before this. Little did baby Waverly know that things would only get so much worse the year after. Wynonna had stepped in once she hid the guns they kept in the house from their dad. She was sure he would have killed that 15 year old for messing with his 12 year old, drunk or not. Wynonna began pulling Willa to sit in the living room forcibly trying to put some distance between her sisters.

Willa continued to jire, “She's not our blood Nonna. She is just some half breed that momma had and now we have to put up with.” Waverly curled herself into a ball and waited to hear Willa running out of the house. A loud bang of the front door slamming confirmed what always would happen. When Wynonna returned to the kitchen she grabbed a dusty old broom and pan to collect the glass on the floor inches from her shuttering sister. Waverly was panting and crumpled under that wooden chair it did protect her. After sweeping the shards and sitting them far away from drunk old men and clumsy kids Wynonna huddled next to her baby sister. “Don’t listen to her she’s wicked when she’s mad.” Wynonna attempted to coax her sister from under the chair. Waverly, then sniffling, made her way onto her sisters lap. Wynonna tousled the little girls growing mane, “You know you are the best Earp because your better than us. Stay better baby girl.”

Wynonna was so young trying to hold it together. Trying so hard to maintain the insanity until it happened. The incident that changed so much for the Earp name and how people viewed their family was on the horizon, but none of them knew that then. Waverly loved Wynonna but, feared Willa even when they eventually reconnected. Time would help her forgive but Waverly could never forget the way her heart sank when Willa’s voice echoed in her ears. When Ward did enter the house again he just pulled a bottle of whiskey from his coat pocket. He sat in the same chair he always did and drank away. Waverly wondered if he even could hear her sobs or even cared about her whether she was his or not.

It was good that the recounted memory was fading and the color was coming back to her face, because when she looked up Wynonna was striding towards her seat. Waverly smiled as her sister clad in a fringe leather jacket, spandex jeans, and a lasagna del ray shirt sauntered in front of her. Wynonna sent finger guns Waverly’s direction when she was close enough to see her sister’s lopsided smile. Waverly returned the motion and Wy sat on the ottoman in front of her. There were a few wide eyed boys in the student center and a few concerned gazes from professors on break. No matter how many times her sister visited campus she always seemed to get odd stairs.

“Heyyy baby girl you look...nice,” Wynonna said raising her eyebrow.

Waverly shook her head and closed the book in her lap placing it in her bag, “It is just pinwear day Wy i have to look nice.”

“Nah Earp i have seen you on other cult days and this is a whole nother level.” Wynonna waggled her eyebrows, “ You got a hot date.” “Yea sure i am blowing off our talk off to get lucky with the guy of my dreams,” Waverly joked back. “Or girl, which is fine by me,” Wynonna interjected loudly receiving and playful slap from her younger sister. “Where is Officer Ginger these days Waves.” Waverly sighed, “Well that is kind of why i need to talk to you.” Wynonna’s eyes got wider. “No, not for advice it has to do with what i texted you,” Waverly quickly replied. “Right, Rev scum party of three,” Wynonna muttered as she fiddled with a charm on Waverly’s bookbag. A group of girls all dressed in similar clothes filed out of the dining hall and others started to pour in from the external doors. Wynonna grimaced, “Look waves your cult of Heathers’ has arrived to indoctrinate you.” “Ha ha,” Waverly fake laughed as she made her way over to some of her fellow sigmas. They all stood against the largest open wall in the student center and proceeded to make pose after pose after pose. There was a flash with every position as a tall fraternity member was taking each photo with a plastered puppy dog grin on his face. Wynonna stared at the event like it was the prohibition era and bottles of whiskey were being poured into a river. Horror oh the sheer horror, she never understood why Waverly would join the group. Then again Wynonna never really found herself wanting to assimilate into normalcy for or with anyone. When Waverly was finished talking and returned, Wynonna was standing making googly eyes at a very familiar football coach. Waverly groaned and slipped her bag on before dragging her sister outside. “Call me later Xavier,” Wynonna said a bit too seductively for Waverly’s comfort as they passed him on the way out. He smiled in her direction and Wynonna’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “Really Wynonna,” Waverly silently judged and chastised her sister but was inwardly kind of happy that Wynonna was in her usual swing of affairs. “Oh don’t get your panties in a bunch. He is actually kind of cool,” Wynonna said as she rounded the old red jeep and hopped in the passenger seat. Waverly had slipped into the driver’s side Wynonna’s keychain dangling on her fingertips as she slid the key inside and turned over the ignition. The jeep stalled with a stuttering puff after a coaxing coo and tap on the hood from both sisters the engine turned over. Waverly pulled out of the teacher/visitors lot and started her way back to Wynonna’s place. The car ride was filled with a bit of blaring rock and roll as they took to the freeway. The song switched as Waverly took their exit and a familiar song hit Waverly’s ears. Wynonna started to choppily belt out; Saturday night I was downtown Working for the F.B.I. Sitting in a nest of bad men Whiskey bottles piling high Boot legging boozer on the west side Full of people who are doing wrong Just about to call up the D.A. man When I heard this woman singing a song. Waverly chimed in with her sister, actually keeping on note with the radio playing Long Cool Woman by The Hollies. They finished the song just as Waverly stopped the car in front of a slightly dilapidated apartment complex. Wynonna stepped out and led them both upstairs, they passed the old but reliable chopped silver yamaha xs650 parked under a crooked tree. The bike had seen better days but the shiny extended handlebars glimmered in the cloudy sunlight. It was nicknamed peacemaker after the similar looking revolver that Wynonna kept on her person at all times. That gun had saved both sisters many many times and deserved to be commemorated in some way. When they were both sprawled on Wynonna’s beat up leather each sipping on a beer Wy broke the unspoken tension. “What happened babygirl,” Wynonna’s voice was filled with concern. Waverly sat up straighter against the couch arm holding the glass bottle with both hands. Her line of vision peering into the light brown bitter brew. The inside of her lip was being tugged by her teeth as she formed her thoughts. Wynonna was patient and just watched her little sister until she was ready to speak. The ticking of a clock on the wall reminding them both that time was still passing in the silence. Waverly took another sip of her beer before recounting yesterday to her sister, when she got to the part where she was sitting in Nicole’s car she hesitated. Her sister did not like cops of any kind and she knew Wynonna would not be too ecstatic that Waverly was interested, seriously interested, in hopefully a future deputy of the law. Wynonna sensed her sisters apprehensiveness and tapped her knee ushering her to go ahead.

“We were in her car talking. Well i was talking and she was listening. She was looking at me different nonna,” Waverly’s accent started to peak out more and more as she recounted. “I was scared like good scared. Scared like how i want to try parachuting out of a plane at 15,000 feet or maybe swimming out so far into the ocean that i can't see the bottom anymore.” “Woah there wave extreme much,” Wynonna stopped her sister for a moment. This was a bit intense and she knew all about her sisters emotions with relationships. She could pine over a guy that was for sure and even if he was no good for her, her sister was too good to leave. Wynonna did admit to herself that this did seem different though. It seemed honest still, she always aired on the side of caution when it came to Waverly. Reckless was her thing and safety was for her sweet baby sister.

“Wynonnaaaa,” Waverly near shouted causing her sister to startle. Waverly looked annoyed bordering upset and Wy chose to tell her to continue rather than face her wrath. “As i was saying she scares me Nonna. I don’t even know if i am gay i know i am not straight but i kind of went in to kiss her” “Kind of ?” Wynonna questioned as always. “The revenants showed up,” Waverly said ignoring the lingering question. Wynonna’s face went from playful to straight laced. Her fingers gripped the bottle a bit tighter. “It was Jim, Jonas and Peeper, they were burning tire in the parking lot of my building.” Waverly gulped from the beer ingesting more liquid courage. “I panicked and ran up to them, it was stupid i know. But, when they saw me Whiskey Jim went to grab me.” “Asshole,” Wynonna scoffed while sipping on her own beer to keep composure. Waverly rolled her eyes and continued, “When i reminded them that campus was filled with cops, was off limits, and that i happened to be their boss's sister in law they peeled off.” Wynonna gave a knowing eye, “And…” “And i reminded them i was a pretty accurate shot with a shotgun or a rifle their choice,” Waverly giggled nervously. Wynonna returned a cheeky smile and pulled her sister in for a side hug. She kissed her sisters forehead. Waverly was no longer a baby, but it would always be Wynonna’s job to protect her. Gus would kill her if anything happened to her niece, really either of them. Gus sent them both east in hopes that they would escape Purgatory’s small town curse. “No doubt they let bobo the clown in on that little act Waves, but at least even he has his own fucked up rules to follow. I am glad you stuck up for yourself just be careful with the revs they are unpredictable. And…” Wynonna was stalling. “And be careful with Officer Haught, i will.” Waverly knew what he sister was going to say. Wynonna snorted, “Officer Haught, that is going to be fun. Eh, yea haught shot too.” *** Nicole was helping Chrissy and the rest of the Tau Zeta crew clean up for the party after her shift. She was quiet most of the time methodically carrying out her plan of action. She designated everyone jobs just to keep things organized. When they were all finished the non- housemates went home for the most part. Before Chrissy left she’d asked if Nicole was okay, but she shrugged off the suggestion that she wasn’t. Those that lingered would just head to the game early on Tomorrow morning. Nicole made sure to take off work for tomorrow night to help keep the peace in her own home. She would work late doing another security officer’s shift but would not be late enough to miss the smell of weed and alcohol filling her house. Instead of dwelling on her dread she was dragging herself, a beer, and a slice of gluten free pizza up to her room. Once she stared at the slice in her bedroom light it looked less appetizing but her stomach was in knots so she ate it anyway. Nicole put on a random tv show trying to tune out the voice in her head. Waverly is lying. Nicole closed her eyes hoping to ignore her internal conscience that told her something was wrong. The voice that told her Waverly was in trouble. Instead ignoring the voice just made things worse and she found herself getting frustrated. She rolled over and found her phone on the side table. Gliding her finger to the phone app and hovering over Waverly’s name she hit the green dial button. Nicole sat on the bed head in hand and phone to ear. She was determined to get an answer from Waverly. Determined to find out why the girl insisted she was okay but shook in her arms until she found sleep. Then again as the phone rang, Nicole wondered why did she care. Yes they were friends, but they definitely weren't anything more. There was nothing more in the way Waverly looked at her and definitely nothing more in that almost kiss. Nicole’s thoughts were stopped when a fresh with sleep Waverly Earp answered the phone. “Nicole,” Waverly asked quietly. The chords of an acoustic Ring of Fire had woken her up. Sighing Nicole whispered back, “Hi Waves, i just wanted to make sure you were okay again. Text are one thing but hearing your voice is another.”

Waverly yawned, “Mmhmm i’m okay Nicole just hanging with Wynonna, catching up.”

“Okay then Wave,” Nicole stalled having nothing to say to that. Waverly did sound better, less shaken and more stirred. Nicole guessed it had to do with her sister. They seemed close and she noticed how quickly Waverly relaxed after trying to contact her sister that night. Although in her eyes Waves seemed more mothering her older sister than what most would expect from a younger sister.

Waverly rubbed her eyes and sat up on the familiar bed she was sleeping on. When Wynonna insisted she stay the night as a safety precaution she couldn't say no. They fetched a few things from her dorm including her cheer uniform for the game and Waverly ended up watching Jeopardy with her sister. It was actually fun teaching Wynonna something other than latin curse words. They both needed the distraction from everything. Wynonna had more boy trouble than whiskey and she had a lot of whiskey. So now here Waverly was sleeping in her sister’s room while she worked in whatever bar she was serving at this week. Waverly played with a strand of hair nervously before she said, “are you angry with me?”

Nicole was surprised but, honest and replied. “Yes, because you didn’t tell me the truth and no, because i am just glad that you are okay now at least.”

Waverly smiled listening to Nicole's tone lighten up. There was a sigh as Nicole laid on her bed. “I’m glad i am okay too.”

“Does this mean you are going to tell me when you aren’t okay, Waves,” Nicole questioned her eyes feeling heavier than before. “Maybe,” Waverly laid under the blanket on her side wishing Nicole was there. Nicole laughed quietly, “just let me in i don’t bite and tell me about your day.”

It seemed like whenever she spoke to Waverly she let her do most of the talking. Nicole knew Waverly was usually being spoken to and told what to do rather than not. That came with being in a sorority that prided itself on group think rather than individuality. Nicole actually enjoyed hearing how Waverly’s day went, her day always seemed to include a funny story about her kindness. That was usually a contrast to Nicole’s day sure she was able to see the kindness on this campus but, she was also becoming more accustomed to the more illegal things on campus. For some reason they caught two seperate drug deals on campus today and they weren’t the usual adderall or pot deal. They were dealing newer party drugs than the WHU security was accustomed to and actual police officers had to come collect the drugs for evidence. All that seemed so crazy compared to Waverly's stories of helping librarians and students playing soccer in the quad. It wasn’t long before the lull of Waverly’s voice transported Nicole into a place filled with cotton candy dreams and gluten filled pizza.

Waverly was still talking when she heard the steady rhythm of breathing through the speaker. Nicole fell asleep and Waverly couldn't help but blush. “Goodnight Nicole, ” she whispered. Waverly left the phone on speaker on the pillow next to her.

A quiet but audible goodnight waves came back to her. Waverly fell asleep listening to Nicole relax back into a deep sleep and Nicole slept soundly with her phone resting on her rising and falling chest.

[acsversace-news]

For The Assassination of Gianni Versace, the starry second season of FX anthology series American Crime Story, Finn Wittrock was asked to sit with the anguish of the ostracized, in his portrayal of Andrew Cunanan murder victim Jeffrey Trail.

A closeted gay man serving as an officer in the US Navy at the height of “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” who struggled to reconcile his patriotism, his sexuality, and the brutal treatment of gays in the armed forces, Trail contemplated suicide before meeting his maker at the hands of the spree killer, in a tragic twist of fate.

After Versace and three seasons of American Horror Story, Wittrock now has each of Ryan Murphy’s American anthologies under his belt—and an Emmy nomination for each. A favorite in the mega-producer’s rotating stable of actors, Wittrock has demonstrated the ability to match Murphy’s wide range—gravitating between camp and real-world stories of significant social importance—executing every time.

In the case of Murphy’s latest hit, this meant seeking the truth of a real-life fallen person—a man who existed, out of necessity, in the shadows—bringing his humanity to light.

There’s a great unease to Versace in its final form. Reading scripts for the project, did that leap off the page?

Yes, definitely. I think the first time I read it, I found it very unexpected, the kind of turns that it took, to take as much time as it did with my character and really go into such depth in a storyline that’s kind of peripheral to the main narrative, but then brilliantly weaves its way into the Versace story.

I thought the way that Tom Rob Smith and Ryan juxtaposed these parallel storylines—for instance, when I’m coming out in that “Don’t ask, don’t tell” sequence, going with the parallel line of seeing Versace make the first public announcement that he was gay—the way that they were able to do that throughout was really fascinating.

There was definitely a sense of unease; a sense of dread I think, also. The structure, working it backwards like they did, it’s really the definition of tragedy. You know that this is not going to end well and yet you keep secretly hoping that it will, illogically.

Did Murphy approach you to offer up the role of Jeffrey Trail?

Yes, I believe he did. I don’t think it was necessarily written with me in mind, but I think I reached out to him at one point and was like, “Got anything cooking?” [laughs] And he was like, “Actually, I have something up my sleeve.” It kind of works like that with him. He will just approach you out of the blue with some very new and thorough idea that he’s already worked out, and then it magically just sort of happens.

What resources did you turn to, in order to figure out who Trail really was?

There’s this great book that I grabbed right away called Vulgar Favors by Maureen Orth, the journalist for Vanity Fair. She wrote a very detailed book, mostly about [Andrew] Cunanan and the manhunt and Versace, but it then goes into my character and David [Madson] and everyone. Everything the show covers, it covers in even more depth, so that was a great continual resource, kind of the go-to bible whenever we had a question.

I also got a hold of the actual tape of that 48 Hours interview that Jeff Trail did with his face covered, talking about “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” So between those two things, it was like the book gave me the exterior details and then that interview really gave me the soul of it. Even though you can’t see him, there’s so much repressed pain and frustration—and also nobility, in some way—in his voice. So, that was really my way in. You’re always finding one trigger that inexplicably works for you as an actor, and hearing his voice, eventually I just recorded it, listening to his voice before every scene.

Watching the series, it felt like Trail had a kind of PTSD—not from Navy service itself, but from the treatment of gay men in the military.

Definitely, and a sense of injustice. He didn’t think of himself as a rebel outside the system; he believed in the system. He believed in his country—he was more of a patriot than I am—so I think that made the injustice all the more clear. It wasn’t like, “I’m going to take down the man”; it was like, “We need to fix this because I want to fight for my country.”

You noted the way in which telling this story out of order functioned in dramatic terms. Did it have a specific effect in the filming of the series?

It did. You already shoot out of sequence [in television], but then it’s written out of sequence, so to keep the storyline in your head was an added challenge. But it was also interesting because from the very beginning, I knew where it was going. When the first thing you shoot is your gruesome death, everything you do after that is working up to that point. It added a sense of doom, but because of that I think I tried to throw as many other colors besides doom in before that, if that makes sense.

Could you describe the experience of shooting those scenes documenting Trail’s painful history in the Navy? It must have been physically and emotionally intense.

Yeah, it was. I realized how easily you could hang yourself. I put myself up with that belt and let my weight go on it—not 100%, but a little more than maybe the stunt guy wanted me to—and it’s amazing how quickly my vision became spotty. I was like, “Wow, if I did this with just a little more pressure I would definitely be out.” So it was a big awakening in that way. Also, the idea of Jeff putting on his uniform, saluting himself in the mirror and then going to kill himself, it leads you down some dark territory.

Because again, it’s not like he was saying, “Screw you, American military.” He gets dressed up because in some complicated way, he believes in what that uniform represents until the very end. I thought that was very revealing. But then also, he can’t [kill himself]. I think he realizes in that moment that there’s still a lot more that he has to do in his life. So, yeah. It’s definitely never easy to face your own mortality for a few seconds, but it was what was required.

What was it like working with Darren Criss and Cody Fern on this material?

It was great. They’re both such talents, and they really went above and beyond for their roles. Between the three of us there was a lot of actorly discussion about blanks to fill in, in terms of what our relationship really was, because a lot of it happened off-screen. A lot is sort of left to the imagination, so we had to make a lot of that between us, and it was good because those guys both have so much imagination and are so easy to work with. Darren’s a self-described theater nerd, as am I, so we spoke the same language.

How does Murphy tend to work, in your experience? Have you typically gone through an extensive rehearsal process on his series?

Not really. There’s so much to shoot in so little time, so we kind of just jump right in there. The director in most of my episodes was Daniel Minahan, who’s just excellent. You prepare as much as possible beforehand and then once you’re on set, you just have to run and gun. But we had enough time between the actors to solidify what was going on between us; then, you just had to play and go for it. Darren was in every second of every frame of this thing, and it was not an easy shoot. So I was generally in awe of his sheer tenacity, just getting through the whole thing.

What do you enjoy most about working with Murphy?

First of all, you always know that you’re going to have the best team around you. The crew of his shows are the hardest working, most positive-thinking-despite-all-odds group of people, so you feel like you’re in good hands always. I feel like everything that I’ve done with him, there’s always some second layer of meaning that you might not see at first. Even shooting Freak Show—American Horror Story—there were these storylines that you think you’d got figured out that wind up surprising you, taking you to a whole new level of depth. I think that’s why the stuff that he produces is so successful. There’s this sort of subversive layer of empathy no matter who the subject is, even someone as crazy as Andrew Cunanan.

Why do you think Versace specifically has resonated so strongly, with its 18 Emmy nominations?

In some ways I do feel like sometimes looking backward [best spotlights] the most topical issues—like, looking back on “Don’t ask, don��t tell” and the gay scene in the ‘90s, and the repression that’s so recent but so seemingly far away. Also, there’s this theme I think [Murphy] keeps coming back to—“Monsters aren’t born; they’re made.” I think for some reason something that’s going on in our modern zeitgeist is really responsive to that idea. [laughs] Fill in the blanks if you will. To really get to the root of what makes a monster for some reason just seems to hit us.

Is there a particular moment from the set of this series that will stick with you?

The thing that I keep remembering is that interview—the first time I walked into the set within the set. I hadn’t rehearsed that scene at all before we shot it the first time, walking in and seeing this camera in my face and realizing that this was the moment I was going to tell my truth. I think you’re always looking for a moment when the line between acting and reality becomes a little blurry, and that for some reason was one of them.

You’ll be seen this fall in Barry Jenkins’ If Beale Street Could Talk. How was your experience with the Oscar winner?

Barry is just an amazing mind. I actually only shot one day on it, but packed in a lot of stuff in that day. He’s like a poet to me, just like James Baldwin. His movies are like beautiful poems, so I think that’s what this is going to be. I haven’t seen it yet but the script was incredibly, tearjerkingly beautiful, and it’s really close to the novel. I think even in the trailer you can feel that same passion for making something beautiful.

It’s remarkable that you ended up on this film shortly after working with Damien Chazelle on La La Land. The two biggest directors of 2016, both in the awards race again this season.

[Laughs] I know. That’s funny, right? That [Best Picture snafu] was quite an event. But that’s why you have live TV, you know? It’s unpredictable.

Do you have any specific career ambitions as you move forward?

I’m definitely looking to have something on my own shoulders that I’m the lead of, and try carrying a film or a show on my own. But in general I just want to keep working with the best people possible, telling stories that I think are somewhat important. I also have my own writing and directing ambitions, so that’s something I’ve got cooking.

[homogrimoire-archive]

The Remnant Branches

CH. 6 - The Woe of the Wretched

Part 5: To Be Loved, To Give Love

After his visit to the desert civilization, James made his way to the Seafront and its lighthouse, as instructed, and makes a friend. With his time in the world where the sun doesn't travel nearing his end, he decided to spend his last days there. However, he will face one last shade, one who is all too familiar to him...

AO3 Link

When James arrived at the Seafront, he wandered around. He decided it was a fine place to spend his last two days in the world where the sun doesn’t set or rise. He overheard a man complaining about having to deliver a package to the lighthouse with his hurting feet, and offered to deliver it for him. The postman is grateful, even if he should have been less trusting of strangers.

The town is about what he expected, smaller than what he’s used to, but bustling with activity and the smell of fish and the sea is in the air as the sun shines from above. It’s a bit hot, but being in Atlas for so long can make anywhere else feel like its hot. There’s also a long beach to the east.  It would be perfect for relaxing if not for the shipwreck there. Its ominous, but not entirely out of place, all things considered. He decided to spend some time there later.

The lighthouse rests at the top of a hill, and was what one would expect of a lighthouse. James realized that this town seemed so normal, unaffected by the decay outside of its boundaries. He knocked on the door, and waited.

“Who is it? What do you want?” came a grouchy voice. When a woman opened the door, she stared at him for a moment, her eyes wide with shock.

“Oh, forgive me, you just reminded me of someone I’ve been waiting for.” her voice softened. Well? Come in.” she said, her voice returning to its earlier tone. “I’m sure you’re here for a reason.”

“Two reasons, actually.” he clarified as he entered the lighthouse. “The postman wanted me to give this to you.” he said, handing her the delivery.

“Aww. A package from my love.” she said warmly as she held it close to her chest. She let out a loving sigh, reminiscing on her lovely past. “You know, if we had had a child, I think he could have looked something like you.” She told him and stared at him a bit more.

“It is unfortunate to be born in a world threatened by darkness though.” If he were being honest, he wasn't sure how else to respond.

“You can say that again! This world is absolutely wretched! But at least love makes it all a little more bearable. … You said you came for two things, and you seem like you can listen and you look like you’ve got the time. Would you care to join me at the top of the light house?” she asked. Naturally, James agreed. He wanted to be on her good side. And it wasn’t like he was doing anything else anyways.

As they made their way to the top, he took note of the rooms. Each floor of the light house was a room. All three floors had a simple candle-lit chandelier, and was simply furnished. He also took greater note of the woman.

She wore a burgundy sash and a simple cream dress. Her grayed hair was cut short, and large, rounded, almost tear shaped, burgundy earrings hung from her ears. Her skin was wrinkled, and lightly tanned. Once they reached the top, she was out of breath.

“Are you alright?” James asked, holding out a hand to offer help.

“Yes” she huffed and dismissed his hand. “I’ll, be fine.” But, just as she said so, her legs buckled. Fortunately, she was holding onto the guard rail and James caught her, leaving her unhurt. However, a black script began to envelop her from her legs to her head. James was unsure what to do, and could only stare at the strange letters. He really hoped she wouldn’t die. And die, she did not. The script and darkness disappeared as soon as it appeared. James helped her up as she steadied herself.

“Go to the cabinet right by the latter, and get the medicine on the middle shelf. It should be on the left.”

As he went to get the medicine, he realized why the script on Yonah seemed familiar. Now that he had gotten a closer look at the Black Scrawl, he could see that it was the same script used by the androids and their weaponry. However, he did not know what to do with this information. He committed the symbols to memory and decided he would bring it up to Ozpin later. If it was magic like he was thinking, Ozpin could perhaps know something about it.

“Thank you.” she said and swallowed the bitter herbs. “I’ve been dealing with that longer than you’ve been alive, and it’s only gotten worse. But, my love for him has only gotten stronger. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I’m proof of it.” she said proudly. James said nothing. “I was right. You are a good listener! I loved to listen to him. I could do so for hours. He’s been abroad longer than you’ve been alive too, so all I have are his letters and gifts, and our memories together.” She opened the letter and handed it to James. “Read it for me would you? I’m all out of breath.” She stared out into the endless ocean as he read.

To my dearest Ursula,

How I long to be with you once more. But, a captain must always see his mission fulfilled. No matter how cold the air bites, my love for you keeps me warm. No matter how hot the sun’s light beats down on me, your love keeps me refreshed. No matter what, your love is what keeps me going.

To the east lies a desert. It is nearly barren of life. It is almost a miracle anyone can survive here, but people do. While searching for a souvenir for you, I came across a local tale. It told of a flower known as the desert rose. They said its beauty was incomparable, and right then, I knew I had to find it. Surely nothing could be as beautiful as you.

A week, I searched. I ran out of water on the third day, and food on the fourth. But, my love for you kept me going. On the fifth day, I had finally found it. Indeed, it was beautiful, but nowhere as near as beautiful as you. Nothing could ever amount to your beauty, especially not to me.

I had it preserved for you. It should be the package that arrived with this letter.

“Oh, quickly, bring it to me!” As ordered, James brought it to her and she opened it. Just as described, was a beautiful rose, a deep red with black at the edges, encased in a clear resin. “Oh how beautiful.” She marveled at it, rotating it to admire it. “Tell me, does it compare to me?” she held the flower up beside her face as she smiled and stuck a pose. James could not help but laugh a little.

“No, I’m inclined to agree with your love.”

“Oh you flatterer.” she blushed. “Whoever raised you did a good job.”

“I raised myself.”

“Hmmp, too common a fate in the world, but, my words still stand. Now, continue reading! I know that isn’t the end.”

Let it represent our love for each other: beautiful, and eternal. And just as this rose has traveled a great distance, our love extends such a distance. Our love will extend any boundary, and ocean, any world! So long as our love lives, we will be happy, and that is all we need.

From your dearest love I love you, my dear Ursula

“You know, your voice is deeper than his.” she said, still admiring the flower. However, there was just a trace of sadness on her face. “I remember his voice. But his eyes, I didn’t, or his smile. But seeing you has jogged my memory somehow, so thank you. I thought I lost a piece of him, a piece of our love, forever. The world is so cruel to make us forget the things we love. But, love still persists. Sometimes, I wonder if I just dreamed him, or wonder if he’s even alive. But his letters and gifts remind me that he’s real, and that he’s out there, loving me just as I love him. He gives me the strength to fight this damned scrawl. Its difficult, but I know it will be worth it once I see him again. There isn’t anything more powerful or valuable than love, young man.”

-

After that conversation, they moved back inside and ate a nice meal of fresh fish, one of the presumably many nice things about living by the sea. There, he finally told her his name, and she asked if he had ever dated. He told her that he had, and it hadn’t ended well. She told him that he would find a man worthy of him, and that he was a good man and had nothing to worry about. She said he would have someone to love, someone to love him.

Eventually, he was able to ask if she had any astronomical records, and was happy to find that she did. It was a star chart once used by sailors to navigate the seas. It showed what the night sky looked like when night and day would travel across the planet.

She also had a book that had pictures of the planets that circled the same star as this planet. Along with the pictures was a variety of information on said planets and other astronomical information. James knew that no matter what, he would make the time to read it once he returned. The information was ultimately useless, but it made him happy. It was what he needed.

After staying the “night” there, he got up in the “morning” and said his goodbye to the woman. She gave him a hug. A bit awkward on his part, but she seemed happy regardless, so he felt happy too.

He then made his way to the beach, out of sight of anyone for when he disappeared back to Remnant. It was devoid of other people, just as he wanted. He also wanted to think about what the woman told him. Jimmy, you’ll find someone to love someday, someone who will love you too. Don’t you worry one bit!. She had said it so confidently. The waves gently washed up against the shore as seagulls squawked now and then. The sea breeze was warm as it passed through.

Romantic love, the most sought after form of love for so, so many. For a moment, Ironwood thought he felt it, thought he felt it in a kiss, in a cheesy line. Of course, it was not love, but at the time, he didn’t know. He now knows of one thing that he is sure isn’t love. But, he never knew what it was like to feel real love, or be truly loved.

Despite this, he still hopes for love. He wants to love, but doesn’t know how. He wants to feel love, but doesn’t know what it would feel like. Despite this, he still hopes. He hopes that someday, he could perhaps feel the kind of love that Ursula feels, to be as loved as she is, and to love as much as she loves.

It is a warm thought broken by the sudden coldness of the surroundings. The ambient noise has been replaced by silence. The birds overhead were nowhere in sight, the air is still, and the ocean is too calm. James has more than enough experience to know that something bad is nearby, something very bad, and very deadly.

Immediately, he readies The Iron Will and prepares himself. He looks around and feels a presence from the shipwreck. Whatever it is, he knows it’s better if he doesn’t fight it alone, and begins to slowly back away. However, it is futile. With incredible speed a tentacle, or perhaps snake-like appendage, slithers out from the wreck, and drags him in by his robotic leg. He manages to slice it off, and it dissolves into nothingness, almost like a grimm.

He quickly gets up and prepares to defend himself. From the shadows, he sees a figure emerge. Immediately, he freezes in fear. Glowing, piercing red eyes with black sclera stare at him. Her skin is the pure, pale white of cruel and eternal death. The metallic scream of a powerful shade pierces him. Before he can even try to subdue his fear, a dark spear strikes through an upper portion of his robotic arm, right through his aura, and he is slammed against a wooden beam. Before going unconscious, he notices that the hair is black rather than white.

-

When he awakes, he hears commotion going on, and a lot of it. He looks up to find a giant beast that seemingly emerged from the shipwreck. It is unlike any grimm. It is the same thing from before, except now, she emerges from a giant egg that is mostly obscured by the ship. Ironwood can see that the egg is not too far away from him. She now has many, many wings that span an incredible length. She also appears to hold something in her hand, but James has no time to think about it.

His robotic arm was defunct, so he used his human hand to grip his weapon. Without the mechanical strength, it felt much, much heavier, but he lifted it nonetheless.

“Just one more, and I can be human! That way, he can truly love me! That way, he won’t fear me!” She said in the scraping metallic voice of a shade. James knew how they sounded, and she sounded just like any other shade. But this time, he understood her words.

“Emil! Can't you turn it to stone!?” shouted a voice. He recognized it as Nier.

“It’s magic is too strong! I can’t.” replied what sounded like a young boy.

“There must be a way to kill this beast!” the grimoire said.

With all his might, Ironwood jammed the sword into the egg all the way to the hilt. With a roar, he tore through the egg, causing blood to spew out of it. The beast screamed once more.

“No, please! I just need one more! ” she pleaded. In her pain, she dropped what she was holding. Thankfully, Ironwood  was able to catch it. He recognized it as the postman. He shook the postman awake, and fear was immediately plastered on his eyes. He stammered incoherently.

“Hey, keep calm. You'll be okay. I'll get you out of here.” Ironwood assured him. The beast noticed that she had dropped the postman, and looked down to see him staring at her in fear.

“ D-don’t be scared! I’m almost human! I can stand in the sun! See! I can even sing just like you taught me! ” she let out a cacophonous screech. It sounded the same as when she had first practiced with him. They could feel the very air around them vibrate with her powerful and wretched voice.

“You- You monster!” he shouted at her, still very scared.

“I- I’m not a monster. Why am I a shade? I’m supposed to be human! I am a human! I can sing! I can love! ”

“Disgusting beast!”

“Why? Why would you say that? You cared for me didn’t you? I love you! You were the only one who was ever nice to me or helped me! ”

“You filthy man-eater!”

“But you taught me to sing. You offered me food. You came to visit me. You wanted me to live with you. You wanted a daughter to love. Wasn’t all that love? I love you. Don’t you love me? please say you love me! ”

“I hate you! Die!”

The words pierced her heart. She fell down, her body lying in the shallow water. Thousand wings fall to the ground in a feathery descent. Her hair swayed with the warm waves, back and forth, back, and forth. Beams of sunlight filtered through the gray clouds. A pretty, shining white flower blew in the fresh and warm breeze.

“I never quite realized… how beautiful the world is. ”

Ironwood looked into her eyes as he raised the sword. In them, he saw someone who wanted to give their love. He saw someone who wanted to feel another’s love. Her only solace was the beauty she saw in the world. His only solace was a dream.

-

We dream. The dream of a tiny butterfly, Wildly dancing in the rain. We are the iron will. We dream, a deep, unfulfilled dream!

There is one thing The Iron Will cannot truly obtain: his dream.

No power is without its price.

[abysscontemporary]

The 2020 Comedy Club Shutdown

The comedy club shutdown of 2020 may one day be known as the Great Vanishing Act of the Coronavirus Era. The disappearance of stand-up comics and live audiences, engaged in the conjuring up of mirth and laughter at intimate indoor venues, has brought a halt to a social economy, marked by the exchange of wit and performative delivery for levity and amnesia of ill fortune.

If you think this opening paragraph is unlike the set-up of a live, onstage comedy bit, you’re right.

It illustrates the situation live comedy is in today.

The spoken word, brought to you live and in-person, is very much different from and livelier than the written or mediated word, and the absence of live stand-up comedy puts into sharp relief how its vibrancy is noticeably different from what has succeeded it (e.g., essays, audio and/or video shows, posts on social media, etc.)  Live comedy and its brilliance are sorely missed.

To take a closer look at the distinctions between the conditions of comedy before mid-March 2020 and the lockdown that came afterwards, this writer conferred with a selection of New York City-based comedians in August 2020.  They reflected on what their concepts and practices were like before the pandemic and what their outlooks are for the future.  All were elegant in expressing how the art of unseriousness is serious business.  Furthermore, they portrayed what it’s like to go from being specifically a stand-up comic to being – more broadly – a comedy artist.

What was your routine before the COVID-19 lockdown in terms of writing, rehearsing, performing, pursuing projects, and booking opportunities?

SASHA SRBULJ:  Before the lockdown, I would typically conduct writing sessions with my closest comedy buddies towards the beginning of the week and perform one to three shows at various spots in Manhattan throughout rest of the week.  In between all of this, there would be dozens of discussions with other comics; we’d brainstorm, rehearse, and generate booking opportunities for each other.  This weekly cascade of stuff could all fall under the rubric, “pursuing projects.” Also, by hanging out together during the week, we’d find ways of spurring creativity and ideas.

Since the start of the lockdown, almost all of these in-person activities have stopped, and they’ve become much more rare because the clubs are closed.  We do try to maintain as much online and text-messaging contact as possible - but that's only one element, and it can’t replace the whole experience.

VERONICA GARZA:  Before the lockdown, I was performing almost every day, doing shows or going to open mics. If I wasn’t at a show I was booked on or at a mic, I was supporting a show.  Also, each and every day, I would try to write or to come up with at least three premises to work on.  January and February 2020 were actually really busy months for me, and I was very excited to see where this year would go for me in comedy.

EMILY WINTER:  Before Covid, I'd spend all day writing at home for my various writing jobs and script pursuits, then I'd do standup at night.  I'd usually write new jokes on my way to shows or just work out new ideas when I got on stage.

CAROLYN BUSA:  I’m realizing a lot of my routines happened for me on the train, and that’s the same for writing.  Either on the way to a gig or on the way home from one.  Those were always the times I was most inspired.  Especially after experiencing how a joke hit.

After gigs, I would usually come home from a spot and fall asleep with my notebook in my bed, trying to perfect a bit about submissive sex right before bedtime.  

The same goes for seeing a good show.  I’d know a show was really good when I’d come home inspired and want to write a bunch of new premises.

Booking opportunities kinda happened naturally at countless weekly and monthly shows.  Surely, some months were slower than others.  (Cute, how I thought THAT was slow compared to now). During those times, I focused more on writing; my own show, Side Ponytail; or pursuing open mics.

I feel like I always have and always will have a million project ideas spinning in my head, but, without money or deadlines behind most of them, I complete and pursue them more slowly than I’d like to.

DARA JEMMOTT:  I was really just moving and flying by the seat of my pants - taking any and every gig to make it work.  I would do most of my writing on stage.  With working 10 hours a day and then doing two to three shows a night, it was very difficult to sit down and find time to write.  However, quarantine has allowed for me to write way more and in different areas.

MARC GERBER:  I never made a set time to sit down and write, the way a novelist or a journalist might.  My jokes come to me spontaneously, either through stream-of-consciousness - while daydreaming, that is - or in conversation with others.

My jokes generally start off as amorphous drafts.  I have either a punchline that needs a strong opening premise or a premise that will need a strong punchline.  About 10% to 20% of the bits that I come up with make it to the stage.

Before the lockdown, I would meet with comedian friends, and we’d polish and improve our jokes together. I’d rehearse only before a big show – such as one for recording an album or headlining a major gig.  By this point, doing a 10- to 15-minute set had become rote.  If I had a brand new bit, I might rehearse it in isolation several times before it performing on stage.

I typically don’t pursue projects or booking opportunities.  Primarily, I am reluctant to ask people for opportunities, unless they are big, and I am ready for them.  For example, I recorded my first album in November after aggressively pursuing a record label and convincing them to produce the album and release it. (Happily, the album debuted at Number One on the iTunes comedy chart and it’s been on heavy rotation on a major Sirius station).  In terms of getting spots and other smaller opportunities, I generally take what I’m offered if they’re legitimate.  However, I don’t ask for much, and I don’t implore people to put me on their shows. I think my approach is tactful.

ROBYN JAFFE:  I stepped on stage for the first time just nine months before the comedy clubs and the city shut down, and I quickly became hooked.

I’m a teacher by day, and, over the summer, I was planning to explore more open mics, bringer shows, and auditions because the comedy scene doesn’t lend itself to the preferred early bedtime of someone, like myself, who works in a school during the rest of the year.

How have you responded to the lockdown?  Did you initially see it as brief hiatus?  Did you make it an opportunity to pivot to new projects?  What have you missed most about stand-up comedy, so far?

SASHA SRBULJ:  The lockdown was a shock, and, within the first three months, the only shows I did were on Zoom.  I've since seen people doing park shows, parking lot shows - anything to fill the void. Aside from Zoom shows, I've done shows on Twitch, which was new for me.

I’ve done game-type, interactive audience shows.  (There are online games now that are comedy-centric.  An algorithm throws out some phrases and premises, and then, several comics try to make jokes out of them. The audience votes, participates, comments, etc.)

It's a format that provides a different kind of audience feedback.  On Zoom shows, you generally can't hear the audience and mostly can't see them; so, it's hard to gauge and impossible to improvise much.  The Zoom shows are improving, though.  Even in five months, there's been tremendous progress.

I've pivoted to writing more - both bits for the stage and for writing in general.  The time has also given me an opportunity to strategize the narrative for my next special/album.  Planning basically.  It's an opportunity to think things through deliberately.

What I've missed most about comedy was my friends.  I thought it would be the laughter or the crowds and my own douchey desire to be at the center of attention; but what I actually miss the most is my friends.

(Note:  My douchey desire to be at the center of attention is running in close contention.)

VERONICA GARZA:  Overall, I’ve been generally concerned about my health, so I’ve done what I can to stay inside and avoid crowds.

I took the whole thing as an opportunity to work on other stuff.  I finally made a full draft of my solo show about my dating men and even performing it over Zoom for two festivals.  I have worked on an entire new half-hour of comedy.  I’ve also considered this as an opportunity to work on scripts I’d intended to write.

I miss performing live. I miss seeing the audience - or even the lack thereof - and figuring out what I’ll do on stage.  I miss seeing other comics and having that one drink after the show where we bitch about a show or a venue, but also just catch up. I noticed shows popping up randomly in New York City, and, honestly, I don’t think it’s safe enough for them yet.

EMILY WINTER:  I absolutely thought it would be a brief hiatus, and I was excited.  As both a writer and a standup, I feel like I never have enough time to dedicate to many of my writing projects.  I saw this as the Universe forcing me to concentrate on my writing projects for a while.  Since coronavirus, I've written two new pilots, rewrote an old one, wrote a movie with my husband, and got a book deal.  I’m about halfway through the book-writing process.  My two new pilots still need a lot of work, though.

I do miss stand-up. I miss the feeling of connection that you have when a set is going well. There's just this beautiful buzz in the air.  It's magical.

CAROLYN BUSA:  Oh brother. This is THE question isn’t it? Are you waiting for me to say, “God, I miss the mic!!  Get me on the stage!  My blood and bones need it!!  Punchlines! Laughter!  Applause!”  Not quite.

I definitely did see it as a brief hiatus but kinda like how I adjust to traveling super quickly. (Every hotel or Air BnB feels like home within hours.)  After a short time, NOT getting on stage felt freakishly normal.  It kinda freaked me out and made the last ten years of my life feel like a fever dream. Maybe I'm already on a ventilator.

I, of course, miss having a great set, applause, and people telling me I'm funny.  I miss the thrill of finding the line that makes whatever wild idea I have relate to the majority of a crowd.  Or, if not relate, at least understand where I'm coming from.

I also miss parts of the socialization that came with comedy.  My good friends, those that I'd see every now and then, the bartenders, the Barry’s!  My social life was my day job and comedy, both of which are now gone.

Admittedly, there's a part of me that feels relief.  The hustle has really beaten me up, so to kinda put that aside does not feel horrible. I thought I'd have more pockets of success at this point in my comedy career, and, even though I really like who I am as a comedian, not having to prove it for a few months feels ok.

So,...(shrugs shoulders)   I'm still writing, and I'm still making goofy videos, but, more importantly, I'm really trying to figure out what makes me completely happy.

DARA JEMMOTT:  At first, I responded to the lockdown with annoyance and fear, and, then, I enjoyed the fact I got to sit down for a second.  Afterwards, I had to grieve a life I once knew.

I am getting to enjoy doing nothing because who knows when that will come again?  I did realize that maintaining my mentals would be a top priority and that it was important for me to find projects to distract and dive into. So, I wrote my first pilot.  Never would I have had time to do that before.

MARC GERBER:  I initially saw the lockdown as a brief hiatus.  Fortunately, I had my album coming out, and it gave me something to promote and look forward to.  The success of the album’s release was encouraging, and I was able to do a number of online shows to promote it.

Since then, I have focused mainly on my other career as a psychologist, as the online shows are somewhat underwhelming, and I have been living outside of the city and thus, not getting the opportunity to do any of the outdoor shows that clubs and independent producers have been putting on.

What I miss most about stand-up comedy is the camaraderie of my comedian friends. Of course, there’s also nothing better than making 150 people laugh on a Friday night.

ROBYN JAFFE:  I wanted to keep up with comedy-writing and joke-sharing during the lockdown, so I started a Twitter account.  I also began to post a video to my Instagram account every Sunday night, and I call it “Pajamedy Sunday.”  I may not have been able to get on stage all of these months, but I’m trying to make people laugh during a difficult time.

I did one Zoom show but otherwise haven’t performed.

What do you envision yourself doing before comedy venues fully re-open?  After comedy venues fully re-open, what do you most look forward to doing?  When live stand-up comedy fully returns, what do you expect the dynamic will look like between you and your live audience?

SASHA SRBULJ:  While comedy clubs are closed, I hope I use my time productively.  Aside from ironing out some aspects of my set, there's a writing project I want to try out and see if it has legs.

After comedy venues fully re-open, I am most looking forward to performing and seeing the community come back, which I hope it does.  This lockdown has lasted long enough that things may not just snap back into place like before.  I'm hoping that the thirst for comedy and just fun in general helps bring the community back quickly.

Frankly, until we have full herd immunity - either via a vaccine or just pandemic spread - I can't imagine things going back to the way they were.  Brick-and-mortar comedy clubs are physically intimate spaces, especially in New York City, and laughter is an involuntary response that can spread aerosols. Unfortunately, comedy clubs, along with bars and night clubs, will be among the last establishments to reopen.

In the meantime, outdoor venues, virtual shows, and socially distanced shows are our only way. Once it's safe again, I think people will resume their lives as before.  It may take a while for 100% of the people to be comfortable again, but, once the green light is given, most people will revert to the norm.

I initially thought this would permanently scar an entire generation of people and scare them from social interaction.  However, as it turns out, the hardest thing about this crisis was getting people NOT to socially interact.  So, I think when it will finally be safe, people will come back.

With both the positive and negative aspects of what this means, “You can't change people.”

VERONICA GARZA:  If comedy venues even survives, I’m sure it will be a while before I return to live performances.  I very much look forward to performing, but I also don’t want to rush to return to the stage and putting myself at risk.

I’m not that selfish. When live comedy returns, I’m sure it will be lovely.  This current pause we are in has made everyone eager for some laughter, so I look forward to when we can safely do it in-person.  As for now, I’m enjoying doing it safely over Zoom.

EMILY WINTER:  I've been hesitant to perform at outdoor shows because I'm so immersed in my writing right now.  I'm going to hold out a little longer while I re-work pilots and finish my book.

Once venues re-open, I'm looking forward to that brilliant feeling of connecting with strangers and feeling the collective energy in the room.  I think that will be more difficult since I imagine people will be sitting farther apart.  It's hard to create one unified energy when people aren't physically close together, and I worry about that.

CAROLYN BUSA:  I will continue to think about and explore how to use my creativity to maintain my happiness!  Writing, when I'm inspired; creating, when I want; and exploring other paths, possibly.

I've been dipping my toe back into writing stand-up, but it's been SLOW.  I don't want to pressure myself too much or even say, “Put pressure on myself.”  (Oh god, I hate brains).

I haven't done any outdoor performances, but, from what I hear, people are happy to hear jokes and happy to laugh.  I'd expect that would be the same for when comedy fully returns.

I honestly don't know what to predict though.  Every time I try to think of what something in the future will look like, I suddenly need a nap.  My hope with this worldwide slowdown is that, in the future, comedy can be separated from those who want to hustle and work hard from 8 pm to 1am and those who want to do it from 5 pm to 11 pm.

DARA JEMMOTT:  I'm really not thinking about "fully-re-open" and what that looks like or when that will come.  I'm not going to put my life on hold and resume it after quarantine.  Folks got to learn to live their life regardless and make the best of the situation.

I've been doing plenty of Zoom shows and outdoor shows, so I expect the dynamic to be the same. Uneasily and with trepidation, I’ve been happy to be out of the house and around people.  But, "after quarantine" - I stopped using those words a long time ago.

MARC GERBER:  I have been listening to the experts (e.g. virologists, epidemiologists) and not the politicians since this began.  I knew by mid- to late February that comedy venues were going to close down.  Before one of my shows in late February I posted, “Come see my while you still can!”  Many people thought I was a joking, but I was being deadly serious.

According to the experts, this is going to be a long fight, particularly because of how poorly the federal response was in controlling the virus.  I think comedy is going to come back very gradually.

Before the lockdown I was getting regularly booked at some of the best clubs in New York City. However, there are many, many comics ahead of me on the seniority list.  I believe that for the next several years, if not longer, I will have fewer opportunities to perform than I’d had before the lockdown.  I will have to find a way to engage myself creatively without getting on stage as much. That might include podcasting and writing. I am still figuring it out.

I feel fortunate to have a stable career as a psychologist. While comedians won’t be in high demand for a long time, psychologists certainly will be.

ROBYN JAFFE:  Now, I attend comedy shows outside to enjoy live comedy and shamelessly talk to comics before or after the show. I hope to pick up where I left off whenever that becomes possible!

Comedy can be transformational, and these stand-up comics are stand-up people.  Reading what they’ve said suggests that hearing what they will say on one stage or another will be something to look forward to.

Carolyn Busa:  http://www.carolynbusa.com Veronica Garza:  https://twitter.com/veros_broke Marc Gerber:  https://800pgr.lnk.to/GerberIN Robyn Jaffe:  https://twitter.com/rjaffejokes Dara Jemmott:  http://www.instagram.com/chocolatejem and  https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/comedians-for-hire/id1448386062 Sasha Srbulj:  https://sashasrbulj.com/ Emily Winter:  https://www.emilywintercomedy.com

[clevercatchphrase]

2017 in review, and goals for 2018

If I had to describe 2017 in one word it would be... monotonous. Sure, there were plenty of ups and downs, but for the most part, especially the latter 6 months, I just felt like I was going through the motions, holding my nose to the grind stone, doing work and paying off student loans. 2017 blew by me, and I remember thinking each month passed by with unusal quickness. There's a strange sense of disociation with that, like I wasn't really connected to reality for most of the year, and instead watched it pass me by from a seperate temporal window. In a weird way it may have been a bit of a godsend as well. I hear 2017 was hard for a lot of people, but feeling so disonnected from the year may have protected me and cushioned the blow in a sense.

I lost a family member this year in early june. I knew it was coming ever since january as I hated having to watch them deteriorate and get worse and worse until they finally passed. The three months leading up to it and the three months after were particularly hard and left me feeling unable to write or draw or do anything productive. I still miss them terribly. I always will. But I hope I won't let it immobilize me as much this year as it did last year.

Anyway, Let's review my goals for last year and see what I've accomplished. I’ve a lot to say, so for brevity’s sake I’ve put it all under the cut.

GOALS FOR 2017 1) Finish my 50 billion fan fictions so I can get back to drawing Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha. HAHAHAHAHA. The depression I got halfway through the year throughly put a halt on this. I haven't even finished one of the fics I've started in 2016. I got close, seeing as i participated in NaNoWriMo this year to try and force myself to finish, but I still need to revise and edit all that I've written and the motivation is non existant. GOD, I have so many stories too, all of them still undertale fan fiction because I'm still not over that game. I'll list them all when I share my goals for this year later below. 2)Draw in 2 pages of my sketch book each week so I'll finish a sketch book in a year. I was SO CLOSE with this one! I filled out 95 pages! But you know what i discovered in august? I realized that my 100 page sketch book.... was actually 150 pages! Oh well! I drew more this year than I thought i would! Just because i didn't hit 100 pages, doesn't mean I didn't accomplish something! 3) Finish 14 out of the remaining 27 lessons on my duolingo course I went fucking above and beyond with this one. I hit this goal back in may, and then I completely finished up the danish duolingo course by november. I also passed my 1095 day streak which translates to doing duolingo daily for OVER 3 YEARS STRAIGHT. I still practice daily to build my vocabulary, and I know I can't speak it for the life of me, or follow along with fast speakers, but give me a few minutes and I can probably read it for you. Funny how that works, where I can understand danish if it's written out, but ask me to translate from english to danish and I struggle like a butterfly in a tumble dryer. 4) Become passibly fluent in ASL I have this box of 600 ASL flash cards, and this year I practiced two of them a day until I got through the entire box. I certainly learned a bunch of new words but I wouldn't say I was fluent yet. I certainly don't know all the grammar rules yet. I HAVE been able to sign with people at my job, though I do rely heavily on fingerspelling still. Most everyone I talked with seemed to know I was trying and they seemed really excited that I could understand them if they were patient with me. I put more of my focus on Danish last year, but now that I'm done with Danish, maybe I can focust more on ASL. My sister told me about this site similar to duolingo called "memrise" that actually has an ASL course, so you can bet I'll be looking into that. 5) Read the entire dictionary I did this! I kept two spiral note books and wrote down any words I thought were cool or interesting! I haven't gone back and re-read the words I wrote down, but maybe I will this year! It was exhausting. It was weird. I still can't believe I spent about 200 hours last year doing this. 6) Read one new book every month Much like my sketch book goal, I almost completed this one. I kept it up every month until October, and then I just... stopped. I read more than I thought this year, though I ended up usually waiting until the last week of each month to read, and I also cheated by counting the dictionary as one of the things I read (hey, it's a book, ain't it?) I also re-read old books that I know I like, so not entirely 10 new books were read this year. Reading 1 new book a month isn't one of my goals this year, but I hope to read more new stuff reguardless, 7) Actually use the tutorials and references I reblog Seeing as I barely did any digitial art this year, I can't say I did this one. 8) Do more art streams I think my goal was to stream once a month. I clearly didn't do this. I DID stream in 2017, I just didn't tell anyone. Idk why, I just... went live for people to see but didn't let anyone know I did. I also only streamed like... twice? sigh... So... out of the 8 goals I set, I would say I accomplished close to half. I read the dictionary, I finished my danish language course (which I'm counting as two completed goals) and combining the "read 1 new book a month" and "draw 100 pages in a sketch book" I'll count that as one completed goal. I went through all my ASL cards, though I'm not fluent, OH! I also wanted to pay off 6k loan that I had. I want to count this one as a success because I DID FUCKING PAY OVER 6 THOUSAND DOLLARS IN LOANS THIS YEAR. I got a surprise loan I had no idea about in june that was 1500 dollars, which threw me off. I managed to pay it off in 2 months, BUT IF THAT LOAN HAD NEVER EXISTED I TOTALLY WOULD HAVE FINISHED PAYING OFF THE 6K ONE. I've got a little over a thousand left to pay on the 6k loan now, which I will complete by the end of January. I'm so close to being under 10k in debt... GOALS FOR 2018 1)Go from being 5 figures in student loan debt down to 4 figures in debt (pay off 2 out of 4 loans) If everything goes according to Keikaku I'll achieve this by the end of June. This has to factor in things like updating my car registration in april, oil changes, tune ups, tire rotation, gas and food expenses, but as long as I don't get fired I should be fine! 2) Stretch Daily Not exercise. I never exercise. But it would be nice to increase my flexibility. 3) STOP TOUCHING YOUR GODDAMN FACE/ find an effective acne treatment I also want to try washing my face daily. Im fucking 25. I shouldn't have this many pimples. 4) Do another song comic I made A lyrictale for Undertale at the end of 2015 in ten days. I want to make another. I already have it scripted, now I just need to do it. 5) Do at least one art stream a month. Hey, maybe I can stream the next song comic I do. Sure, it'd spoil the song and story for everyone, but doesn't that sound fun? 6)Practice ASL I just started looking into Memrise and their ASL courses. They actually have A LOT, AND! THEY HAVE SIGN LANGUAGE COURSES FOR OTHER COUNTRIES! This year is gonna be fun. (Also, the only reason I want to learn ASL because of Undertale. I'll let you figure out how they are connected) 7) Sew 4 stuffed animals I started sewwing a Hobbes plush in the middle of last year. His body is finished. I just never did the head. The other three stuffed animals I want to make I will keep a secret because I love to keep people guessing. 8) Make two AMVs There are two songs I want to put to Avatar; The Last Airbender, and Avatar; The Legend of Korra. I have about half the footage... I just... need to rewatch the shows and put the clips together. Hey, maybe after I find all the clips I can do a stream of that as well. 9) Last but not least, finish my many, MANY Undertale Fan Fics. a. You Monster (34 out of 37 chapters are written, but only 29 are posted) b. Finish the "Of Two Minds" series (it's explicit don't look) c. Color Theory (A chasriel one shot) d. Something Left Behind (Terrible AU Idea #647) e. Let's Get Real (Self insert, joke, parody thing that will also be explicit) f. Game Day! (something about soccer games with Mettaton along the same vain as Field Trip!) g. Would You Like Fries With That (Nicepants because there's not enough of it in the world) h. Science Fair! (something with Undyne and school projects along the same vain as Field Trip!) i. One that is so horribly dark and fucked that I won't even describe it here. Welp! Those are my goals for 2018! What are your goals for 2018? Whatever they are, I wish you success and improvement, health and wealth! Stay safe this year! I love you all~

[changedpaths]

unearthed bones.

30 multipurpose prompts. /   18. unearthed bones.

       ❛ … you’ve never gotten mail before. ❜        ❛ you’ve only been here three months. ❜        ❛ i mean — trevelyan, getting mail?❜ she gives him a long, hard stare, but he hardly seems to care. ❛preposterous. one would almost think you’ve a friend. unimaginable. ❜ 

          she scoffs, shoving past. ❛ fuck off, harvey. ❜ the recruit and his companions laughs echo off the stone as she leaves. ❛ miss mean bitch with a friend? what a thought. ❜ 

       she never much likes the recruits. too brutish. stubborn. noisy. pretentious. self righteous, hot-headed – the list could go on. they come in thinking they own the place. ( technically, they most certainly do, but that’s just what incites her distaste. ) most misdeeds against their charges are committed by new members. but they never receive very harsh punishment. a move between circles, at the very most. she wonders how long harvey would be around before he commits some foolhardy misdeed, or if his charisma will spare him the consequences. she scoffs at the frustrating thought, armor-plated arm elbowing open the door to her barracks. 

       ❛ you see any letters for me? ❜ ser rethrien inquires over the edge of her glasses when she walks by, astute gaze buzzing only briefly over the templar before returning to the book in her lap. tayane shakes her head. ❛ none that i could see, ser rethrien. it may be best you check for yourself. i only found my own because francis told me. ❜ 

       ser rethrien nods, sighing heavily as though tayane had told her it was her turn to scrub the chamberpots. glasses discarded and book thumped upon the table, she exits the room, leaving the young ser trevelyan to her own devices. hm. her fingertips brush over the brown parchment wrapping. wiry string ties it shut, a bird of paradise stamped upon its surface in a wax seal. bit ugly. tayane slides her gloves off, metal clanking onto the bed. 

       inside is a rather large tin. rectangular. rough, clearly once painted vibrant colors, but now faded with time and with rust. the paper crinkles as she tugs it off. turns the box over once, twice, holding it in the air to inspect it from all sides. she always liked funny trinkets like this one. never really got to keep many, thanks to the limited space combined with her dedication to a life relatively free of material possessions. a life lived without the company of strange boxes and funny trinkets was, in her opinion, a shit life. one she was currently living. though exhaustion bled through the slowness of her movements and her face remained stoic as ever, a slow warmth bloomed in her chest once she looked at the contents. a roughly written note. a chain of red wooden beads. a salmon token. and most noticeably, in the middle of it all, a bag of unearthed bones. the largest was the jawbone of a wolf, a mabari, or some other canine. tayane smiled, for the first time in a very long time — it was rare that she received letters from anyone at all, besides the yearly correspondence from home. it was even rarer that she received a package. lifting the note with one hand and gently running a finger along the smooth jawbone with the other, tayane admired the note. 

       the finely scripted ink quill writing read; a gift, for my taya khadija. tayane blinks, unused to the sound of her middle name, especially combined with the old nickname. the jawbone is of one who died in a storm. the fish token, carved from a plank your grandbaba found on his most frightening fishing trip, washed up in a wave. the beads are carved by nouha. she sends you love in each one. 

          tayane immediately understands. the bone was part of a ritual. the token, perhaps, as well. the beads were carved by her baby sister, mehana. the templar is terribly grateful it was written so tactfully, for surely they could not have her sisters name or the original purpose of the trinkets besmirching her reputation as a trevelyan. her eyes dart round the barracks, double checking that she is truly alone.

       with one final breath of determination she clings to the contents, pressing them close to her breath and inhaling the scent of the sea and spices that wafted from the interior. then she snaps it all shut, sliding down to kneel beneath the bed. one free hand wrangles with her discarded glove, the other tugging at the loose floorboard towards the wall. it creaks ominously, groaning as the tin is stuffed in rather forcefully. she lets it snap shut again, and —

       ❛ lost a sock, trevvy? ❜ 

       her head snaps up. tayane shuffles backwards, glaring, armored glove in hand.❛ dropped the glove. ❜ 

       ❛ mm-hmm. ser rethrien wants you, by the way. something about a change in your shift rotations. ❜ 

       she does not answer. the templar stands and turns to pick up the other glove, dropping her gaze back to the floor with the smallest of hidden smiles. it was not every day she received mail.