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mattsvn · 3 years

Text

Nostalgia.

Iwaizumi Hajime x fem!reader

Summary: A summer after graduation finds Iwaizumi Hajime halfway across the globe, sitting in a lecture hall and staring at a golden dome that reminds him of the world and his place in it. Or, the lack thereof.

Genre: Slight angst to fluff. Character introspection, self discovery!

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: none.

A/N: Guess who’s crying :smiley: Okay, so I got inspired by this tik tok, check it out, show the artist some love, and adding to another idea I had this came up, I hope you guys like it! ALSO, that beautiful summary was suggested by @meliorist-midoriya !!! Repost from my old blog, this is on my favorite fics ever written hehe

There is something distinctive about the traces left by people in the places they inhabited. Whether intentional or not, to enter a house that was once occupied is to step into an unknown life, where all that remains are the lines drawn on the wall frames, with random dates, leaving a record of someone’s growth.

A part of the wall with a lighter color, where photographs once hung and the trace of old drawings on the wall could be seen even if you paid close attention. Seeing the home you had lived in for years empty, lifeless or without its distinctive smell caused an ache in your chest that you couldn’t describe, how was that atmosphere created again, with spotless walls, perfect floors and the lack of human warmth?

You weren’t afraid of living alone, you were afraid of having a lonely life.

It was frightening to think that the apartment you had just bought might feel like it was inhabited by a ghost, with no trace that anyone had ever been there. One way or another you wanted to make that space, with only two rooms and one bathroom, feel like your home, even if it was just you, even if you would only live there for a few months.

So, amidst the worry about establishing a home and hundreds of paperwork, came the first day of college, one more step to adapt to, the breaking of a routine you had just begun to create.

There was no better way to start that school year than by being on time, so, at least for the first week, you tried to be there early enough. It gave you time to get through the school buildings, and to finish your coffee just before the first class started.

Thursday arrived, with the first class being Medieval Art, not usually a subject that caught the attention of many, so it was common to see empty seats. Still, as usual, you were planning on choosing the seat right next to the window, where the sunlight illuminated your notes, but that day, it seemed that someone already occupied that place.

You sat next to him, there was no reason not to share the table, didn’t pay attention to him, it seemed that the boy was taking a nap a few minutes before class, probably he had a class before that one, or he was just tired. The teacher settled into her seat, and you glanced sideways, only to see that the boy was still asleep, not moving.

“One day, the architect, Frank Gehry said: architecture should speak of its time and place, but yearn for timelessness” she began, while behind her appeared the image of a building you had heard too much about. “I think one of the best representations of this is Hagia Sofia” she continued, showing the image of that beautiful golden dome behind her, she kept talking.

As the guy next to you opened his eyes, sleepily he took a deep breath, concentrating on the image in front of him, with some concern he took the supplies from his backpack to take notes for the class, he seemed lost, confused and, in general, tired, like he was there by mistake, or, against his will.

Iwaizumi was not usually like this. Before moving to the United States, he had never been late for a class, he was the type of person who kept everything in order, always punctual, with notes in order and an impeccable grade. A role model in every sense of the word, student, athlete and perfect son.

But as soon as he arrived from his flight, tired to the bone and affected by jet lag, he slept as much as he could, only to wake up in the early morning, stunned by the different time zone he could not fall asleep at the right time, he still couldn’t get used to the food offered there, and he was unable to find the ingredients he would commonly use in Miyagi to eat.

People drove on the left seat, and the road was on the right side, they used to eat on the street without any concern, or on the way to their jobs and schools, nor did there seem to be manners in public transportation, at least no the ones he knew. There were words that confused him, and the symbols on the streets made his head spin.

People did not have the same habits he knew, and he noticed that after only a couple of days after moving in. By the time school started, Iwaizum was still trying to sleep at the time he was used to and didn’t make it until two or three in the morning, so, it resulted in waking up late and sleeping in between classes, he still wasn’t used to having his notes in English, so his handwriting looked weird, the teachers spoke too fast for him to understand, therefore, his notes were all over the place

Not to mention how unpunctual they were, he found himself a couple of times arriving late to class, only to find out that the teacher wasn’t there, and that it would probably take them twenty minutes more to arrive, and sometimes, they would cancel the class when you were already there, just because.

Even in the classes he looked forward the most, he found himself tired, bored, easily distracted, and he expected the same from this one, a subject he had taken only to complete his units. But, when he opened his eyes, he swore he had never seen anything as beautiful as that. A gorgeous dome of gleaming gold, with light streaming in through the windows and the distinctive marks of history on its walls.

It took him a few seconds to listen to the professor properly, as he was still impressed with what he saw on the projector, there was nothing that did not interest him, from the columns to that painting of the Virgin Mary, an impeccable marble floor, and, the mixture of both religions on its walls was perhaps what left him most curious of all that he had seen.

There was nothing like that in Japan, or at least not that he remembered. Byzantine architecture had that distinctive feature in which it left you mesmerized for a moment, he was so enraptured by it that he didn’t notice that there was someone sitting next to him, taking notes of the things the teacher was saying, with a slightly frown, concentrating, and different pens scattered around the table. The teacher continued talking, still detailing how a building created almost fifteen hundred years ago remained one of the finest constructions in human history.

Hagia Sofia, she read from the blackboard. He wrote down the title in a slightly disorganized way, along with the rest of the words on the board.

Hagia Sofia, meaning: holy wisdom. Constantinople, now Istanbul.

“Long before what we now know, the Byzantine Empire took place in what is now Istanbul, the capital of this empire is perhaps one of the most important historical and architectural sites of the Medieval Era, this was the largest known church for about a thousand years. It has been used as a church, a mosque and now serves as a museum.” She explained, showing the various images of the building. ”There were two later constructions after this, one destroyed in a fire and the second in the Niká riots, then, in the year 532 construction began on what we now know as Hagia Sofia.“

"Wow” Iwazumi sighed, absently sketching the shape of the building.

“I won’t tell you much about this building, at least not for now,” said the teacher, pausing for a moment to look at the picture. “I want an essay on this topic, and I would like you to gather in pairs for it.” she asked them. “I just want your opinions and analysis on the things that are most important to you about the place and what you think is meant to be represented by these, either imagery or architecture. Your partner will be the person who is closest to you, starting with the two of you, at the bottom.”

You looked at Iwaizumi out of the corner of your eye, having to work with people you didn’t know was always a problem, but, you hoped it wouldn’t be like that this time. He also looked at you, a little relieved thinking that you would surely know something about Medieval Architecture, not like him, who felt totally lost in that new subject. Even so, he returned his gaze to the front, memorizing every detail of that dome in his mind.

The class continued, with the teacher talking about historical processes in the fifth century and the topics that would be taken throughout the course, Hajime could not help but see the excitement that certain topics caused you, especially with the mention of some gothic buildings. And so, in the blink of an eye, the class was over, and before he realized it, you were already grabbing your things to leave.

“My next class is Historical Theory, what’s yours? We can organize on the way” you said, looking at him for a second while you closed your backpack. Iwaizumi tried to put his belongings away as quickly as possible, but failed a bit with his clumsy movements. “What’s your major?"

"Oh, Sports Science,” he replied. Your reaction was as expected: confusion, what was a sports science major doing in a medieval art class? “All the other classes were busy and I needed some extra units.”

“Oh, I see” you nodded, walking out of the classroom with him walking beside you.

“What’s your major?” he asked, feeling somewhat embarrassed that he hadn’t asked that before.

“Art History” you replied, with a smile. “By the way, my name is y/n” you said, extending your hand, he received it, still not used to the way people introduced themselves there, but little by little he was starting to adjust to it.

“Iwaizumi Hajime” he cleared his throat, here they speak by first names, not last names, you idiot, he said to himself in his mind. “Hajime.”

“So, Hajime, you didn’t organize your classes on time, you take naps before class, and you don’t know anything about Medieval Art” you jokingly commented. “We have quite a bit to learn, don’t you think?”

“Uh… y-yes” he nodded, stopping when you did, not even realizing how far he had walked. “I won’t let you do all the work, if that’s what you’re worried about” he assured, it seemed they were in front of the door to your next class the moment you stopped and looked at the door, Iwaizumi didn’t want to take up your time, but he had no idea what to say either.

“Well, how about we meet in the library later this week? You can give me your number so we can schedule the day” you hoped the professor wouldn’t come to the classroom while you were talking to Iwaizumi, as he seemed like a very nice person, despite how nervous he was.

“Sure, I have the whole afternoon off tomorrow, is that okay?” you nodded, extending your phone to him so he could write down his number and name, to your luck, he returned it just in time.

“Sounds perfect to me, I’ll text you as soon as my class is over” you said, saying goodbye and entering just before the teacher, who closed the door behind himself.

Iwaizumi stared at the door for a few seconds, letting out a sigh,then, he walked to his next class. It felt awfully strange to walk around campus alone, with no one by his side. Maybe he had gotten too used to spending his free time with the rest of his friends in highschool, and, at times like these, where he was waiting for a message from a cute girl, he couldn’t help but think about how much he missed them.

He was alone, and that was terrifying.

Iwaizumi looked at his phone for the third time in an hour, the class, food chemistry, was just short of making him fall asleep, yet he couldn’t help but look at his phone and wonder at what point the cute girl in the Medieval Art class would send him a message.

She didn’t until almost four hours later, just as Iwaizumi had recently returned to his apartment and was working on a long assignment for the rest of the week. Ignoring the sound of a message at first, thinking it was probably Oikawa bugging him about some new thing he learned in Argentina, so, he didn’t look at his phone until a couple of minutes later, when a second message came through.

“Hi! Sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner, I’ve been a little busy, but this is my number!”

“My last class ends at 2:00 p.m., do you mind if I meet you at that time in the library?”

He answered almost immediately, regretting later for doing it so quickly, you look like a desperate idiot, he thought. To his luck, as soon as he locked the phone, the screen lit up again with the reply.

It seemed that after that things flowed perfectly, even though before he met her they would have seemed like inconveniences to him, now they looked as an opportunity. The professor for tomorrow’s class informed them that he was out of town, so his classes would start until the following week, which gave Iwaizumi a chance to continue with his homework calmly, and, to get ready to see the pretty girl the next day, maybe even sleep properly that night.

However, nothing went as he planned.

Again, he found himself staring at the ceiling at midnight, without any possibility of being able to fall asleep, no matter how hard he tried, nothing seemed to work. That wasn’t his bed, nor his sheets or his favorite pillow, it wasn’t his wall or the window overlooking his backyard. As he stared at the empty, flat ceiling, he wondered why he couldn’t at least see a golden dome so he would have something to think about while he tried to sleep.

And so he woke up quite late, much later than he was used to. Maybe his body took the opportunity to recover all his lost energy, he had no idea. The only thing he knew was that he woke up thirty minutes before the agreed time with the pretty girl, and, it took fifteen minutes to get to the library from where he was.

He sent as many messages as he could while getting dressed and trying to look as presentable as possible. At least it wasn’t strange to see people running around campus, although it was in the first few weeks of school, where no one was really worried about anything.

“I told you I could wait a while” you mentioned, Iwaizumi was standing in front of her, trying to control his breathing, visibly agitated for having run all the way to the library. “Tell me you at least ate something” you murmured, in a way to accept his apology, then he sat on the free seat in front of you, trying to avoid that questioning.

“I can eat something later, sorry I was late” he apologized, again, he expected you to be upset, but you weren’t, instead, the first thing he saw was a reassuring smile, you hadn’t been more than ten minutes late, so, there was really no problem. “Again, I’m sorry, I was…”

“You don’t have to apologize, Iwaizumi. You were only ten minutes late, I’ve known people who take an hour to show up” the boy looked at the table for the first time, it was almost like the mess she had in yesterday’s class, only now it had several open books around it. “My class ended early so I went ahead to research an assignment I had, don’t you want to go get something to eat before we start?”

“I’d rather do this and then I can eat something, I wouldn’t want to waste your time even more” he replied, it was too obvious that he still didn’t quite master English, or maybe he did but he was quite embarrassed about how it was that he pronounced things. “I’ve never had this happen to me before, I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this.”

“How many times do I have to tell you it’s okay? Seriously, but why are you late? If you say it doesn’t usually happen to you” Iwaizumi looked towards the window with a frown, he felt like he would spend an embarrassment for that, because, sleeping late was not a good excuse, actually, nothing was a good excuse for his lateness, but still, he sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re coming in with a hangover?”

“No, no, not at all. It’s just… I’m still not used to the time change here and I’m used to sleeping at a totally different time” he said, though there was more to it.

The insomnia was only a collateral result of how he felt, and perhaps what kept him most irritable. Perhaps he had chosen that change too quickly, or the feeling was probably something that would fade with time. But he couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t quite connected to reality, like he was living a strange dream. The routine he had worked on for years that kept him safe was gone, and was now out of his reach.

He missed going out every Tuesday for lunch with Oikawa, Makki and Mattsun. He missed walking to school and greeting his neighbors, or the way Oikawa’s older sister squeezed his cheeks, even though he said how much he detested it, he missed the karaoke he went to once a month and his mother’s food, hell, he even missed Oikawa’s obnoxious nephew.

“So, where are you from? Moving is hard enough, I can’t imagine doing it from another country” he looked at her, realizing she was genuinely concerned and curious, she meant it. The sincerity brought him calm, enough to say what he felt.

“Japan, I just got here a couple of weeks ago, I still don’t understand much and my English isn’t the best so I’m not having the best time” he pointed out, as he picked up his notebook, watching as she jotted something down on the computer, adding a document to start the essay. “Not to be rude, but your culture is really weird.”

“You don’t have to tell me, it is. But you end up getting used to it, don’t you? I find people’s behavior patterns depending on their culture interesting” Iwaizumi hadn’t even noticed that there was already a book on Byzantine architecture on the table, which showed a picture of Hagia Sophia from the outside. “Besides, it’s normal to miss your hometown, don’t you think, what did you most like to do there?”

“Playing volleyball with my friends” he answered without hesitation, for it was true. He missed every detail of it, from the practices, to the coach yelling at his teammates to the games, even the ones he lost.

“Oh, were they on a team together?” she put the computer aside, devoting her full attention to him. Iwaizumi nodded, ready to talk about all the amazing things his team had. “Were you guys good?”

“Well, yes. At least within reason, we were. We never made it to nationals, but within our prefecture we were very good” he nodded, still feeling the bitter taste of defeat on the tip of his tongue as if it had happened yesterday, his last chance to go to nationals ended before it even started.

“And what position did you play?” he questioned, Iwaizumi picked up the book on the table solely to have something to distract himself with.

“Uh, wing spiker. I was the ‘ace’ of the school, but of course, I couldn’t be any of it without Oikawa."

"Oikawa?”

The conversation did not stop since then, between readings, corrections and stories about his high school, Iwaizumi did not even realize that almost three hours had passed, three hours in which he could not believe what he saw in images, despite all the fear he had, all the nostalgia that accumulated inside him, seeing that building in Constantinople brought him a peace that he could not manage to understand, no matter how much he wondered what was going on.

Although it didn’t compare to how the pretty girl explained things, he should probably stop referring to her as the pretty girl and start calling her by her name, as he ended up forgetting it, and every time she said his name, he blamed himself for not remembering hers. He learned everything he wanted to know in one afternoon, thanks to her, the semi domes, the atrium, every detail, structural and artistic there, he memorized it with her voice, melodious, calm, safe.

After making a couple of questions, he lost his fear of asking what he was seeing, because, as she told him, “no one knows everything, there will always be someone who knows something you don’t”. So, he ended up engaged in a conversation about the wonders of medieval architecture and no more than ten minutes later, the conversation drifted to the karaoke that his friends loved, or the park where he and Oikawa learned to play volleyball.

Life at the university became more bearable thanks to her, Iwaizumi heard the story of how she had just moved out of her parents’ house, how they also moved out of their house and the pain it caused her to leave the home she loved empty. She enjoyed knitting, watching movies and listening to new music all the time. In a couple of weeks, he discovered her favorite food, and the kind of clothes she liked best, the movies that made her cry and the ones that made her die laughing, and with each thing he learned, she asked him the same questions. Even though he wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to answer, or what people used to say, it made him wonder if he seemed like a nice person or someone who would be interesting to spend time with.

Tuesdays of going out to eat became Tuesdays of organized movies in the dorms, once-a-month karaokes became visits to museums instead of his neighbors, now he was greeting his roommates every morning, now the cute girl in Medieval Art class was the one squeezing his cheeks, it seemed that, little by little, everything was starting to be as he knew it.

Or at least that’s what he thought

“But what do you like, Iwaizumi?” she asked him on a sunny afternoon where sunlight illuminated her room and there was a random movie on TV as the background noise, around her a lot of snacks and fried food, that’s what Saturdays were like, relaxed and sunny. “I almost feel like I know Oikawa like you do, but you don’t tell me much about yourself.”

“Huh?” he asked, doubtful, hadn’t he been talking about himself all that time, or had he only thought he was? “I don’t know what you want to know about me.”

“I want to know who you are, beyond all your friends and the people in your life.I know what Oikawa likes and how many fans he had or the perfect settings he did, but I want to know about you.” she told him.

She didn’t know if it was because the girl was an art enthusiast, or if she just hadn’t met someone who wanted to know more about him for her own pleasure, for what she felt was inexplicable.

“Well, well… with my team” he began, stopping the moment he saw the look on the girl’s face, who could only thus make him feel as if he were a scolded child. He sighed, running his hand through his hair, confused as to what it was he should say.

“Who are you, Iwaizumi, what do you like, what song do you like the most? I don’t want to know about other people, I want to know about you, about what makes you who you are.” She began, the moment only seemed more special with the way the sun was shining on her skin and her smile seemed to shine even brighter than it always did. “I know you’re a good teammate, a good son, a good friend, but who are you, what are the qualities that you have?”

He looked into her eyes, how many times hadn’t he stopped to look into those beautiful eyes that stole his breath, or those lips that said the cutest yet most painful things?“

"Iwaizumi. I want you to tell me the story that you have, like Hagia Sophia, do you remember all the marks that it has? the mix of everything that lies in you? There is so much history in who you are beyond your friends, I want to know if you are happy or if you like ice cream, how you react to things. I hope you understand me, it’s okay to like things that your friends do or showed you, but I don’t think it should be all that you are, so, who are you?”

Still not taking his eyes off her, he remembered every detail of the building he studied for weeks, the religious motifs and art on its walls, the history even in the broken parts of the floor, or those portions where the paint was completely gone. And, with tears in his eyes, he replied:

“I don’t know.” He murmured, his voice trembling.

And he really didn’t know, he had lived so long being a friend, son, teammate and neighbor that, little by little, without realizing it, he stopped prioritizing the things that to him and only to him made him happy.

“Well, there’s only one thing to do about it” she murmured in the same way, very close to him as if she were telling him a secret. “Find out who you are.”

And just like that, the first picture of the two of you decorated your wall, along with some paint smudges from a sunny afternoon, a canvas, and some brushes, and a volleyball mark at first. Two wrongs can make a right, your mother would say. You, in search of rebuilding your space, and he, in search of himself.

You couldn’t have picked a better time than that, or a better life than that.

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dippedanddripped · 4 years

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Debbie Harry doesn’t believe in harbouring regrets. “I have made many, many errors, but nobody leads a perfect life,” she reflects down the telephone from New York. “So, should I regret anything? No. It is a waste of time. It really is a waste of time.”

Dial back to the turn of the 70s and the life that Harry led before fronting Blondie – prior to her image being burned onto the retina of popular culture – was colourful to say the least. “I was so desperate to live life,” she says of her time spent hanging with the outcasts and artists of downtown New York. “I was jamming in as much experience as I possibly could and I don’t know if I could have done anything differently. I learned a lot.”

The old Bowery music venue CBGBs has long passed into music folklore as the place that called the likes of Television, Patti Smith, and the Ramones their house bands. It was also where punk and new wave progenitors Blondie cut their teeth before they sashayed into the wider world with the protean panache that would make them a household name. Classic singles such as “Heart of Glass”, “Call Me”, “Atomic”, and “Rapture” have been responsible for more worldwide rug-cutting than an industrial carpet tool. To imply that they were merely a solid singles band is to do them a cardinal disservice, however.

And although they’ve always cocked their attention to the things ahead of them, Harry and her Blondie cohorts have spent a lot of time looking back just lately. Harry’s long-awaited autobiography, Face It, hit the shelves last year, and Blondie co-founder and one-time partner Chris Stein published Point of View: Me, New York City, and the Punk Scene, a photography book featuring personal snaps taken during the band’s pomp in the 70s and early 80s. “We can’t keep on touring and doing club dates the way that we used to. It would be physically impossible,” Harry concedes. “Living through this pandemic has certainly made us take a long look at the value of what we’ve got with our body of work.” Asked if it is a process of attempting to frame their legacy, she admits it’s something that they “have to do”.

This deep-dive into their canon has culminated in a mouth-watering archive set, Blondie: Against the Odds 1974-1982, slated for release next year. Coming in four formats, it promises to include extensive liner notes, “track by track” commentary by the entire band, a photographic history plus rare and unreleased bonus material. The group will also go out on the road – coronavirus permitting – for an autumn Against the Odds UK tour with Garbage.

The artist born Angela Trimble was put up for adoption only a few months after she was ushered into the world in the summer of 1945. A loving New Jersey couple took her in, rechristened her Deborah Harry, and raised her as their own. She grew up in a suburb that she “never left”, was voted best-looking girl in her high school yearbook, and oscillated within a social circle that consisted of “many of the same people” throughout her childhood. “I was somehow shy within that,” she recalls, “(but) somebody once said to me that being shy was an ego trip and a light went on in my head. I thought, ‘Oh, uh-huh, let’s have none of that!’”

Harry travelled by bus as a curious teen to nearby Greenwich Village, imbibing the febrile inner-city atmosphere. In 1965, she graduated from junior college with an associate of arts degree and New York’s allure became too enticing to resist. She decamped to the bright lights of the city and made ends meet with a succession of odd jobs, including secretarial work for the BBC, waiting tables and an infamous nine-month stint as a Playboy Bunny.

The period was a traumatic one, too, with Harry enduring an ex-lover-turned-violent-stalker and a near-miss with serial killer Ted Bundy (although Bundy’s identity is contested by others). In her memoir, she writes candidly of the time she was raped by a man wielding a knife while on her way home from a concert with Stein. Music offered a vessel for her creativity, and she spent time as part of girl group The Stilettoes and folk ensemble Wind in the Willows before her meeting with guitarist Stein which set the foundations for Blondie. Their classic lineup was completed by Gary Valentine (bass), Jimmy Destri (keys), and Clem Burke (drums).

“Somebody once said to me that being shy was an ego trip and a light went on in my head. I thought, ‘Oh, uh-huh, let’s have none of that’” – Debbie Harry

Although they self-identified as punks, the parochial and nihilistic mandate as promulgated by the genre’s militant diehards never fit Blondie comfortably. The group looked outwards from the moment they started, drawing inspiration from their cosmopolitan city. Their sound was a melting pot pulling at the seams of culture’s fabric, and they would weave their own patterns from it.

Harry agrees that their eclecticism was down to good fortune in coming from the “metropolitan area of New York” where they ingested “a lot of musical influences”. Taken as a whole, their catalogue bears this out. Blondie never stood still musically – yet never sounded like anyone else – and they loaded their songs with more hooks than a fisherman’s trawler. 1976’s punchy, eponymous debut married surf-rock textures with 50s girl-group sensibilities, and their palette had expanded exponentially by the time of seminal third album, Parallel Lines (1978). Eat to the Beat and Autoamerican followed, by which point they could boast flirtations with disco, rocksteady, funk, hip hop, and more within their enviable output.

When asked to pick one track that encapsulates the essence of Blondie, Harry opts for their 1981 US number one single “Rapture”. “What happens in ‘Rapture’ is very comprehensive,” she says. “It took a form of music that was, or still is, very modern and can be very political. Rap and hip-hop songs back then didn’t have their own songs. Rappers would just rap on somebody else’s music. (‘Rapture’) was crafted specifically for that rap. Until then that hadn’t been done. It was a breath of fresh air.” It stands as one of the things in her career that she feels “very good about”.

Blessed with the sort of features that could sell sand to the Saharans, Harry’s appearance caused a stir from the band’s earliest days. “That’s part of showbiz,” she says to me, trying to downplay it. “We always had an eye for that, the entire band. We always had an idea of making a look that represented our sensibilities and links to British pop and mod.” Maybe so, but it was Harry alone who was immortalised by Andy Warhol in one of his iconic silkscreen prints, and who posed for era-defining photographers including Robert Mapplethorpe and Anne Leibowitz.

Did the disproportionate attention she attracted ruffle feathers within the Blondie camp at the time? “Yes and no,” Harry remembers. “We were all happy that it was working. I suppose there was a certain amount of competition or jealousy but ultimately, no. I think that’s a better question for Clem or one of the other members in the band. Of course my relationship with Chris was so close that he was very happy about everything.”

The band’s wheels eventually came off after their muddy and unfocused sixth album, The Hunter, dashed against the commercial rocks in 1982. They had to abandon their subsequent tour after Stein became gravely ill with a rare autoimmune disorder, pemphigus vulgaris, that proved extremely difficult to diagnose. Blondie had no option but to bow out of the public eye, and they broke up quietly.

15 years later, with Stein fully recovered, the group reconvened and released a critically acclaimed and commercially successful comeback album, No Exit. They even topped the UK charts with lead single “Maria”, but faced tussles with erstwhile members at the time too. Former bassist and co-writer on “One Way or Another”, Nigel Harrison, and guitarist Frank Infante attempted to sue the rest of the band over their omission from the reformed lineup. And when Blondie were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2006, Infante grabbed the microphone to express his ire publicly.

Fast-forward to 2020 and the settled iteration of the band are working on a new album with John Congleton, who produced 2017’s Pollinator. Does Harry have a formula when it comes to songwriting these days? No, as it happens. “When a phrase or a sentiment makes me respond emotionally or physically, I write it down and I save it,” she explains. “At a certain point, I’ll sort of review things. A lot of times I like to just work with a rhythm track. Just a drumbeat or some kind of drone-y rhythm, a groove. Other times people will give me a rough sketch of some chord changes – an idea that they’ve got. I seem to work in a lot of different ways.”

Thanks to her effortless chic and timeless looks, Harry’s relationship with the fashion industry has been a mutual love-in since forever, and she recently announced a revival of her partnership with ethical fashion designers Vin + Omi – the duo responsible for her profane ‘STOP FUCKING THE PLANET’ cape worn at the Q Awards in 2016 and throughout Blondie’s Pollinator tour. They have teamed up for a new sustainable clothing line entitled HOPE, and her enthusiasm for the project is palpable. “I love Vin + Omi,” she says. “They are so creative and adventurous. They have this desire to prevail and do things that are smart and modern in terms of recycling and making energy count. I think that is brilliant.”

As a fledgling bee-keeper, the plight of the bees is also something close to Harry’s heart. It was one of the reasons why 2017’s Pollinator was, well, named exactly that. “You’re either being stung by a bee or you’re going to eat its honey,” she chuckles softly, marvelling at the absurdity of the contrast. “But bees and water are two issues we cannot escape from. We should be concerned with finding better ways of living, using our resources in the best way possible.”

Help is coming, she hopes, through the election of Joe Biden, who is “firmly attached” to the idea of helping the environmental cause – and she believes his ideas can help the economy, too. “I’ve been saying for quite a long time that solar and wind power are renewable (energies) that can create jobs,” she says. It’s a far cry from her feelings towards outgoing President Trump and his “daily infusion of bullshit” and “thunderstorm of endless diatribes”.

“One of the most exciting things about rock’n’roll was that it was about breaking the rules, and (‘WAP”) is certainly a part of that. It’s titillating and aggressive and it is part of what is exciting about popular music. The nature of what we try to do is to shock and entertain at the same time” – Debbie Harry

What strikes you when you speak to Harry for an extended period is not only her warmth, but her unexpected humility for someone so staggeringly famous. I reference a Bob Dylan BBC interview from the 80s in which he observed with sadness how his fame had the ability to change a room’s energy and how he missed seeing people act naturally around him. She paws the comparison away, saying she’s nowhere near famous “to the degree of Bob Dylan”, whom she calls “such a megastar”. This could sound like false modesty coming second-hand, but in person it feels like a sincere statement, even if it is a little bewildering coming from an international icon. She will concede, however, that she has “definitely noticed and felt something like that” and has often wished she could simply be “a fly on the wall”.

There is also an inquisitiveness that makes the conversation a more two-way affair than your quote-unquote typical ‘interview’. She fires questions back at you, not as a deflection tactic, but to expand and explore a topic further. This happens when conversation turns to Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion’s ubiquitous “WAP”. A recent interview had her fangirling over the track, but Harry’s feelings no longer appear to be as clear-cut and she wishes to discuss the song further. “I love it and hate it at the same time,” she now shares. “One of the most exciting things about rock’n’roll was that it was about breaking the rules, and (‘WAP’) is certainly a part of that. It’s titillating and aggressive and it is part of what is exciting about popular music. The nature of what we try to do is to shock and entertain at the same time.” She pauses. “I don’t know. Everything is revealed and maybe sexual explicitness has come of age.”

Pushed about what she dislikes about “WAP”, she says she would “hate it” if any young girl or woman was hurt by the song’s message. “I think that, in a way, men have to know that women think like this, and that there is this component,” she says, “but I would hate it to mean that everyone should be treated like this. I don’t think anybody should be hurt by sex”.

Harry has long championed the LGBTQ+ communities. When she refers to her dearly departed friend and Hairspray co-star Divine as a ‘drag queen’ in Face It, she acknowledges the term in some instances is no longer accurate or politically correct. I suggest that it can often seem as though the evolution of our language is speeding up in the digital age – by necessity, of course – and ask her if online culture fills her with concern when it comes to using the right terms. “Yeah, (because) in many cases it can be a slip of the tongue, especially for an old dog like me! Things do move so very, very quickly. It is hard to keep up,” she observes. “Fortunately, I have a lot of godchildren!”

Speaking of younger generations, Harry likes to think she’d have coped with social media if she were coming up today, but is thankful that she had her “dark cocoon” in which to “bloom out of”, a place where she was able to “ripen”. “When you’re under the harsh glare of constantly being analysed, that shapes you whether you want it to or not,” she says. “It’s a germ or a seed that’s planted in your mind. It can take surprising turns and it can affect your growth. For good or for worse, who knows?”

“When you’re under the harsh glare of constantly being analysed, that shapes you whether you want it to or not. It’s a germ or a seed that’s planted in your mind. It can take surprising turns and it can affect your growth” – Debbie Harry

One thing that remains is her fierce level of self-criticism. “I always want to do better,” she declares matter-of-factly. “I’ve always been very critical of everything. I hear things or look at them and say, ‘Oh God, it should have been that (instead).” Maybe this hypercritical inclination is what still drives her forward. “I honestly don’t like resting on my laurels. I like working and I like creating. I always beat myself up about not being more creative or more prolific.”

When looking at the bounty of projects she has lined up, no one in their right mind could put Debbie Harry and laurel-resting in the same sentence. Aside from the new album, archival set and fashion project, the paperback edition of her autobiography will be released with a brand-new epilogue in April of next year. (Just don’t ask her what’s in it – “I don’t remember what I wrote. I’ll have to look it up!” she says with a laugh.)

The signs are that the musician is done looking into the rear-view mirror, though. Time may be passing, the tide may be higher, but Debbie Harry is doing more than merely holding on. Her eyes are locked to the future and she’s positively thriving.

Blondie: Against the Odds 1974-1982 will be released next year; Face It is out now via Harper Collins

#debbie harry #blondie #Vin + Omi #ethical fashion #explicitness #music blog

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dear-wormwoods · 4 years

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may I ask for a style fanfic rec list? 🥺🥺🥺

I have a couple of requests for this and I’ve been thinking about how to respond, because to be honest, I very rarely read fic these days. And by ‘these days’ I mean like, since 2014. I always have things I intend to read, but then time goes by and I don’t get around to it. So nothing I’m going to rec is new and you’ve probably already read them fkjds.

Anyway, sorry to be predictable by just being like “read Hollycomb’s fics” but...

The Scenic Route - 116k words, should be rated E for the final two chapters (I literally have no idea why it’s rated T on AO3, it was definitely M when I first read it on ff.net years ago)

Summary: The boys embark on a six day road trip to California before separating for college. Cartman is a pain in the ass, Kenny has no future, Butters is in crisis, and Kyle doesn't know how he'll say goodbye to Stan.

Why you should read it: The yearning. This fic is written entirely in Kyle’s POV, and Holly does such a brilliant job of getting into his head and really capturing that feeling of already mourning a friendship/relationship before it’s even over and kind of intentionally setting the bridge on fire to make what is (seemingly) inevitable hurry along, as if that will make it hurt less (it doesn’t). The first six chapters, the actual road trip portion of the fic (where the T rating actually does apply), are where it is at its strongest, and Kyle’s gradual descent into panicky, angry desperation is painfully real. I can’t stress enough how in character everyone is, each retaining recognizable mannerisms and dynamics from canon while still clearly being grown people entering adulthood. There’s a reason this fic is THE Style fic.

Leave the Pieces - 251k words, rated E (though that rating only represents a small portion of such a long fic)

Summary: Stan and Kyle meet as strangers in their mid-twenties, shocked to encounter someone else who can't remember the first ten years of his life. They form an instant connection, but only one person in South Park remembers them, and Kenny can't explain why they disappeared or why the rest of the town forgot them.

Why you should read it: It’s a lengthy epic with supernatural elements, a complicated plot that fits right into the show’s universe, and the kind of love that quite literally transcends time, space, and memory. I can’t explain it much further without giving away the plot, but this behemoth is gut wrenching and powerful. It is equal parts a story about Stan and Kyle finding each other as adults and falling in love despite not remembering who they are, or each other, and a deep exploration into Kenny’s character and his curse. Kenny is really the MVP of the story, despite it initially seeming like “just” a Style fic, and his relationship with Wendy is written beautifully and convincingly. One caveat, though: some parts of this fic... I’m not a fan of. I greatly dislike Cartman/Butters just as a concept, and there were times, particularly in the first half of the fic, where I almost quit reading because of their scenes. I also feel like this fic fell victim to fandom’s earlier tendency to mischaracterize Craig as borderline sociopathic (but in contrast, he’s absolutely perfect in Holly’s oneshot Other People’s Tupperware). However, I’m such a sucker for supernatural memory loss not being able to sever soul connections, and Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Wendy’s respective journeys more than make up for my reluctance to stomach Cartman/Butters or other comparatively minor issues. And honestly, everything does fall into place as the plot unfolds, so all I can say is... if you hit certain scenes and think ‘wtf IS this??’, just stick it out, the payoff is worth it, especially if you’re looking for high quality Kenny content.

Amalgamation - 78k words, rated T (but should be rated M imo, because there are sex scenes, though they aren’t very explicit, just intimate)

Summary: In 1862, Kyle's family is forced to move from New York to a tiny mining settlement at the foot of Pike's Peak in Colorado. Kyle is sixteen years old and miserable until he meets Stan, a fellow transplant who has been in town for three years. Their feelings for each other are shadowed by the town's haunted history, and for Kyle the local legends begin to feel more like real nightmares.

Why you should read it: I know ‘1860′s gold mining settlement AU’ doesn’t sound very fascinating, but it is. This is another one that’s written in Kyle’s POV and again Holly does a wonderful job of expressing his emotional turmoil, the guilt and shame he feels, his self-righteousness, and the depth of his love for Stan. Everyone is as they would be if the clock was turned back 150 years, made different by the time period and the demands of their circumstances but still obviously recognizable. The old-timey atmosphere and world-building are so seamless and never feels unrelatable. There are also supernatural/ghost/mystery themes in this one and the fear is palpable.

From the Queen of England to the Hounds of Hell - 170k words, rated E, includes major character death (aside from Kenny)

Summary: Ten years after the execution of Terrance and Phillip, the war with Canada has not ended. Stan and most of Kyle's friends are planning to join the army after high school graduation, bound to be drafted anyway. Kyle doesn't believe in the war, but he's not willing to let Stan go without him.

Why you should read it: This is.... a perfect fic, and I don’t say that lightly. It is quite possibly the ONLY perfect fic I have ever read, in any fandom. I can’t actually describe all the ways in which it’s perfect without giving the plot details away, but, God, if you commit to reading just one of the long-ass fics I’m reccing on this list, make it this one. Please. It honestly makes me mad that this one never got the same attention as like, The Scenic Route, or ‘Night School’ did, because it so deserves to be up there. Only Holly could take the concept of the fucking movie and turn it into a completely devastating, bittersweet, epic romance. There is no caveat here, no ‘I loved it except for this and this’, just thorough, soul-crushing perfection. Just... Kyle. God, Kyle. I can’t elaborate, my heart isn’t up to the task. This fic will haunt me for the rest of my life.

The Ascent of Stan - 32k words, rated E, though it is like 95% domestic fluff

Summary: Stan sells his small pest control company and Kyle thinks they should use some of the money to go to Hawaii, where he proceeds to grill Stan about the mid-life crisis that Stan claims he's not having while their kids frolic nearby.

Why you should read it: This one is everything a domestic fic should be. It basically just chronicles the events of a week-long vacation to Hawaii that nearly-40 Stan and Kyle take with their two kids. This one is written fully in Stan’s POV and it works so well... he’s exactly the kind of dad that I imagine he would be, doing his best to provide for and protect his family’s little bubble and resolving to be better than his father while quietly fighting the lingering shadow of his alcoholism and cynicism. There’s no real conflict in this one, just 30,000 words of a very typical family vacation: not exactly blissful, irritating at times, but ultimately the foundation for perfect memories.

Never Change - 115k words, rated E

Summary: Thirteen years after his high school girlfriend's pregnancy upended his life, Stan is still in South Park, working with his partner Bebe as a local cop. They're in the process of investigating a series of possibly connected murders when FBI agent Kyle Broflovski returns to town and informs his old friend Stan that this is his investigation now.

Why you should read it: This is equal parts a murder mystery and a romance. It features exactly the kind of Stan/Kyle situation I hate to think about - a decade-long estrangement of their own making that comes to an abrupt end due to extenuating circumstances. It hurts because of how likely it is to happen that way, and it works especially well in this fic because of Stan’s reluctance to embrace his own bisexuality until he’s nearly 30 and Kyle’s tendency to put up walls to protect himself. Also, Bebe features prominently in this fic, which is always a huge bonus.

Bonus Oneshot Rec:

The Reformation of Fart Boy - 7k words, unrated but probably T, just barely

Summary: Five times South Park has brought Kyle to the brink of sanity and Stan has brought him back.

Why you should read it: I love thinking about the ways in which canon-typical nonsense continues to impact the characters in the long term on a serious psychological level. Kyle has suffered a lot in canon and it’s obvious even in the show that it is gradually changing him and wearing him down, so I really love this fic for focusing on his responses to some of the more traumatic moments, as seen through Stan’s eyes.

I feel sort of guilty only reccing one author for right now, because there are other fics out there that I liked and am planning on revisiting, but this post is long enough as it is. Chances are you’ve already read some or all of these, but they’re my favorites. I reread all of them while making this list, and they still hit me hard after all these years.

#asks #south park #sp style #stan marsh #kyle broflovski #fic recs

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adeliaharris · 4 years

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My Favorite Books...

1. Harper Lee "To kill a Mockingbird"

The story of a small sleepy town in the South of America told by a little girl. The story of her brother Jim, dill's friend and her father - the honest principled lawyer Atticus Finch one of the last and best representatives of the old "southern aristocracy". The story of the trial of a black guy accused of rape a white girl. But first of all it is the story of a turning era when xenophobia, racism, intolerance and bigotry inherent in the American South are warming to the past. The "wind of change" has just begun to blow over America. What will it bring?

- This is probably one of my favorite books.The book captured from the very first pages and did not let go for a long time after reading. You can say a lot of things but better read it.

2. Khaled Hosseini "The Kite Runner"

A heartfelt story of friendship and fidelity, betrayal and redemption, penetrating to the very core. Delicate, ironic and sentimental in a good way, Khaled Hosseini's novel resembles a painting that can be looked at endlessly set in pre-war Kabul in the 1970s. In this magical city shimmering with all shades of gold and azure two weather boys Amir and Hasan live. One belonged to the local aristocracy the other to a despised minority. One's father was handsome and important the other was lame and pathetic. Master and servant, prince and beggar, handsome and crippled. But there were no people in the world closer than these two boys. Soon the Kabul idyll will be replaced by formidable storms. And the boys, like two kites, will be picked up by this storm and scattered in different directions. Each has its own destiny its own tragedy but they like in childhood are tied by the strongest bonds. You run after the kite and the wind as you run after your destiny, trying to catch it. But she will catch you.

- Psychological novel on the theme of "crime and punishment". Deeply elaborated images, convincing children's characters, a remarkably built plot - everything speaks of a great master. For me it is "heavy" literature but it has the right to be because it calls things by their proper names. And most importantly there is light in the stories of Hosseini! The light of true human feelings.

3. F. Scott Fitzgerald "The Great Gatsby"

A jubilant, sparkling thirst for life, a desire for love, alluring and elusive, exciting pursuit of wealth - but now the dream breaks to the sound of jazz and the eternal holiday turns into a tragedy. "The Great Gatsby" is a novel about "how illusions are wasted which make the world so colorful that having experienced this magic, a person becomes indifferent to the concept of true and false." F. S. Fitzgerald

- I read it and was not at all disappointed! Elegant presentation with high meaning - everything in this life is done for the sake of love. And no amount of money can replace the woman you love... And even if she is stupid, frivolous and idly living her life. I have great respect for Gatsby and contempt for Daisy. There are a lot of wonderful quotes, phrases in the book, it's worth thinking about. I didn’t expect to literally fall in love with this piece! In the future I will definitely re-read it more than once!

4. Daniel Keyes "Flowers for Algernon"

Forty years ago it was considered a fantasy. Forty years ago it read like fantasy. Exploring and expanding the boundaries of the genre eagerly absorbing all sorts of newest trends trying on a common human face bravely ignoring the Cain's stamp of the "genre ghetto". Now it is perceived as one of the most humane works of modern times as a novel of piercing psychological power, as a filigree development of the theme of love and responsibility. It is not for nothing that Keyes called his book of memoirs published in the 1990s "Algernon, Charlie and Me."

- The book is an emotion that will not make you think about something particularly difficult. All the thoughts that it generates are very simple and understandable. Without revelations, of course, but not bad either. The assessment will, rather, depend on the degree of personal sensitivity because the author often uses the concept of "naive hero-evil reality-collision-squeezing out sympathy" during the work.

5. Agatha Christie "Murder on the Orient Express"

The great detective Hercule Poirot who was in Istanbul returns to England on the famous "Orient Express" in which it seems, representatives of all possible nationalities travel with him. One of the passengers an unpleasant American named Ratchett offers Poirot to become his bodyguard since he believes that he could be killed. The famous Belgian brushes off this absurd request. And the next day the American is found dead in his compartment with the doors closed and the window open. Poirot immediately takes up the investigation - and finds out that the compartment is full of all sorts of evidence pointing... to almost all the passengers of the Orient Express. In addition the train gets stuck in snow drifts in a deserted place. Poirot needs to find the killer before the express can continue on its way...

- I liked the book. Pretty easy to read. The plot is "confused" from the very beginning but Mr. Poirot is yet a world-famous detective. It is better to read about all the twists and turns of the investigation on your own, "immersion" is guaranteed.

6. Stieg Larsson "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo"

Forty years of the mystery of the disappearance of a young relative haunts the aging industrial tycoon and now he makes the last attempt in his life - entrusts his search to journalist Mikael Blomkvist. He takes on a hopeless business more in order to distract himself from his own troubles but soon realizes: the problem is even more complicated than it seems at first glance.

What is the connection between a long-standing incident on the territory with the use of mobile devices which happened in different years in different parts of Sweden? What does the quotation from the Third Book of Moses have to do with it? And who, after all, attempted on the life of Michael himself when he came too close to the solution?

- The whole trilogy left a deep impression. Such books appear very rarely. Out-of-the-box characters, amazing Sweden, dark atmosphere. I advise absolutely everyone!

7. Ray Bradbury "Fahrenheit 451"

Perhaps the best of Bradbury's writings. The story "Fahrenheit 451" depicts a dystopian society of the future but in fact - "our reality, reduced to absurdity." Bradbury invented a state where reading and keeping books is prohibited. For the sake of political correctness and general peace of mind the general level of spiritual and intellectual demands of citizens is artificially lowered. But there are rebels and fugitives.

This is one of Bradbury's rare sci-fi works. Very exciting touching and at the same time very lively and dynamic. With a relatively simple plot, it is full of allusions including biblical texts and complex symbolism.

- This is just a great book! I advise everyone to read it! Despite the fact that the author wrote it in 1953 this does not feel at all. A very interesting and poignant plot for our time.

8. Victor Hugo "Les Miserables"

All the works of the great French poet, novelist and playwright Victor Marie Hugo (1802-1885) are covered with a halo of romanticism. The idea of life-giving love, mercy, the triumph of good over evil - this is the core of his novel "Les Miserables". Among the "outcasts" are Jean Valjean sentenced to 20 years for stealing bread for his starving family and the little dirty Cosette who turned into a charming girl and a child of the Parisian streets of Gavroche...

- Brilliant work! So thoughtful, so overwhelming and so humane. The inimitable Hugo put all his philanthropy into this magnificent novel!

9. Stephen King "The Green Mile"

Stephen King invites readers to the eerie world of the death row where they leave in order not to return, opens the door of the last refuge of those who have transgressed not only human but also God's law. There is no more deadly place on this side of the electric chair! Nothing you've read before beats Stephen King's most audacious horror experience - a story that begins on Death Road and goes deep into the deepest secrets of the human soul...

- I have been familiar with the work of S. King for a long time and have read more than a dozen of his books. The work "The Green Mile" is a story that will not let you go for a long time. She leaves a residue in her soul - mixed feelings and indescribable impressions from the story itself, unique and ingenious.

10. Gregory David Roberts "Shantaram"

This art-refracted confession of a man who managed to get out of the abyss and survive, has sold four million copies around the world and has earned rave comparisons with the works of the best writers of the modern era from Melville to Hemingway. Like the author the hero of this novel has been hiding from the law for many years. Deprived of parental rights after a divorce from his wife, he became addicted to drugs, committed a number of robberies and was sentenced by an Australian court to nineteen years in prison. Having escaped from a maximum security prison in his second year, he reached Bombay where he was a counterfeiter and smuggler, traded arms and participated in the showdown of the Indian mafia and also found his true love, to lose it again, to find it again...

- It is very difficult to somehow categorically evaluate this novel. There are many advantages here: a fascinating story of the wanderings of the protagonist in the world of a harsh exotic country. Together with him, the reader develops, absorbs the alien culture and energy of other people, people of another world to which we are not used to. However there is something ridiculous about this. At times it seems that we are watching real Indian cinema - the brainchild of Bollywood naive and merciless. In general I liked the novel, it is interesting, bright, impetuous. During the period of reading this great story, I have never been bored. Despite some controversial points - I advise!

#book #books #classic #detective #drama #romance #comedy

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wwwafflewrites · 5 years

Text

The Not-So-French Mistake

Chapter 3: Fallen Ashes to Angels

In the cool shelter of the house, Castiel guarded Sydney as covertly as possible. The Winchesters and Bobby were present, but he felt it necessary he patrol the girl he had first gathered. His posture was ramrod straight and his shoulders were square to his spine; although, his muscles eventually tired from his stationary position. Humanity, he reasoned, cannot simply sit and be content. Their muscles exhaust too rapidly. This was where their impatience originated from, he supposed.

After an hour of waking only to supervise, he had noticed an aching emptiness centered within the pit of his stomach. Startled by the unpleasant experience, he had casually hunched into the couch as his stomach begged and craved food. He had, of course, once experienced this foreign desire when they had encountered Famine, but he had never become accustomed to such.

No one among him had seemed to satisfy their own hunger, so he assumed that it was a typical pain at this early hour. However, he found that throughout the day nobody mentioned any food of sorts, and the dull grumble of hunger grew into a slow starvation. He was inclined to slouch further into the couch cushions but decided against it. With a cautious eye pinned to the girl browsing their library, he entered the kitchen with an intent to raid the fridge.

Dean questioned his purpose, as always. “What's got you in such a hurry?”

Upon opening the fridge to find it bare, Castiel was experiencing a taste of humanity's impatience, and his clipped voice represented this. “Dean, there is a deep greed I have felt for several hours now. I have a great desire to ingest food, and I must eat or I will further suffer hunger.” Was this himself speaking? He hadn't meant his words to be bitter.

Dean’s lips curled upward in entertainment. “You know, you could say you're hungry like a normal person, Cas.” He sighed, “Yeah, we can eat. Hey, Sam; how about we go to the local diner for lunch? Cas here is getting hangry.”

“Hangry?” Castiel baffled in his own irritable way. “I believe it's pronounced―”

“Sounds like a plan.” Sam interrupted.

Castiel quieted when nobody acknowledged his question. He was only curious as to why Dean deliberately stressed the word hangry when he had said hungry only seconds before. Had he done so purposely? The English language was rather complex, he decided. Humans love to complicate their languages. Enochian was much more straightforward.

They looked expectantly to Sydney, who was uncertain. “I... I might stay back and research.” She extended the book she was skimming in an attempt to strengthen her plea.

Dean vetoed that. “No, no, sweetcheeks. We aren't losing you from our sight. Loco angels, remember?”

Castiel sent a sad, apologetic smile to Sydney from behind Dean's shoulder; it was his species, after all.

Bobby nodded to her. “Go on. Nothing here except the phones. We’ll dig into it further once you've had something to eat. I'll stay behind in case somebody calls.”

She squinted, yielding to the hunters’ hidden demand. While their politeness covered it neatly, it all broke down to the fact that she had to accompany them. She set her jaw and nodded grudgingly. Four against one was no fair argument.

She and Castiel trailed behind the Winchesters, the angel clarifying that she was under his surveillance. “Hangry?" he whispered to himself, wondering.

Sydney chuckled at the angel's innocence. If she wasn't currently a prisoner, she’d have found him to be good company. “Dean combined the words hungry and angry.”

“Oh, I see,” he said, though not really seeing.

●●●

The immediate rise of the temperature outside was alarming. Heat surged down fervidly onto the group. They were practically baking in their jackets... and a specific trench coat.

“Dog days this late, hm?” Dean was skeptical. “Well, take off your jackets or you will fry in the car. The air conditioning takes a few minutes to kick in.” He shrugged off his dad's old jacket, taking care to form it into a neat fold. His shirt hugged his form, showing his toned physique and aged scars.

Dean grasped the handle of the car door and hissed in pain when it seared with heat. The sun radiated off the car's reflection. “Jesus!” He exclaimed, inspecting his palm, which was thankfully free of burns. “That is hot.”

“We know you love your car, Dean.” Castiel chortled courteously, expecting his friend to have been joking. It was usual Dean-personality.

“No, that thing is hotter than the pits of hell. And I've been there.” Dean was sincere. His hand was now a light, sore pink, but thankfully the skin was intact. He cradled it momentarily. Using his shirt as a barrier for his hand, he wrenched the door open awkwardly. Hot air blasted out like a dragon breathing fire. “Well, get in.”

After several minutes of uncomfortable fidgeting in the oven-like seats and complaining over the fiery seatbelts, they took off with the windows cranked at their full capacity. With the constant whoosh of humid air rushing through the windows, so the car was merely warm. A rattle of Legos in the vent synched with rhythm of Sydney's heartbeat.

“So... Sydney. To hit two birds with one stone, we're going to the town we found you in. We’ve heard evidence of murder, and they haven't found the bodies,” Sam informed her delicately.

Dean turned down the radio a notch so he could speak and be heard over the windows and blasting rock music. “Y-ep. The creepy part? There, reportedly, had been a huge community bonfire exactly the night after they went missing. I'm going on a hunch here, but I'll take it the fire smelled like burning flesh and nonconsensual sacrifices.” Dean informed, glancing in his rearview mirror. “Hey, Cas, could you stick with her for the day? Sam and I just have this one case to look into.” Dean wrung his sweaty palms on his steering wheel and muttered, “Or maybe two if this sun thing doesn't chill out.”

Castiel nodded. He had been doing so since she had arrived, anyway. “I planned on it,” he replied happily.

Dean made a turn on the road and fidgeted miserably when the sun's light hit his lap, pooling heat onto his legs. “Okay,” he said finally, speaking over the open windows as he drove, “what is it with the supersun? It's almost fall. I feel like one of the ants we held magnifying glasses over when we were kids. This thing is microwaving us.” He briefly wondered if he could bake a pie in this weather. It surely would pay off for all their previous efforts among any work they accomplished.

Castiel considered the possibility. “You may be correct. Something could be magnifying the sun to create havoc.”

Dean’s eyes were fixated on the road, but he couldn't help glancing back in tired disbelief. Man, their lives just got weirder and weirder. “So what could we be looking at? Witches? Satanic worshipers? Demons? Monsters? A summoning? What do we got?”

Castiel brooded. “It takes a great amount of effort to reign the Sun, Dean. I'm not sure.” He shuffled, shirt clammy with sweat. “They would need to be incredibly powerful.”

“Right.”

Oddly enough, as they entered the town, traffic had not seemed to accumulate. The roads were barren of any vehicles, and as they approached the town, they promptly discovered why.

Pedestrians riddled the sidewalks under the grilling sun, their faces flushed and dehydrated. There were at several people arguably ill to heat stroke.

Dean parked the car abruptly, eyes widening at the disorder of people. He turned to his friends: "Scratch everything I said. Some of these folks need to get to the hospital. Now. The murders can wait before more deaths occur because of our overly sociable sun.” Not a dot of leniency stood in his tone, expecting their immediate service to secure the town, which was reasonable.

Sam looked ready to protest, but Dean shut him right up. “Sam,” he spoke dangerously, “something screwy is going on with that sun, and if we don't act now, there won’t be a town to save! Cas, Sam, Pug-face, I need you to gather some townspeople, and watch her, Cas. I have to park this baby in the shade before we haul these strangers to the nearest hospital.”

There was no time to dwell, so with Sydney's shrunken, annoyed pip of, “Pug-face?”, everyone was scrambling out of the car. Cas and Sydney headed to the left while Sam sprinted right. They didn't bother checking for traffic; the asphalt had been deserted once people realized they could griddle an omelet on its surface.

The town was in a fragile state. The sky had become stale, altering from a beryl blue to an ashen grey as the sun cloaked the atmosphere with a withering glare. Ruddy, rich soil had crisped into a cinder-like dust. The budding, lush greens of trees had faded to a tarnished, mossy hue. As the heat elevated, the saturation crumbled.

Sam found his shoes sticky with softened bitumen from the road. He dashed toward a feverous woman, a victim to the cruel weather. She swayed, rocking on their heels in misery. With a parched, dry mouth, she begged, “Water. Please―”

Sam promised almost pitifully, “We'll get you water. We’ll get you water, okay? They'll have water at the hospital. I swear.” He prayed that to be true and that the curse had only struck upon this town. If the entire globe was suffering against a Hulked-out, mammoth sun, an immense epidemic would occur, and it would become outside of the Winchester's hands to solve it.

Sam supported the woman as she staggered clumsily. Her sweat dripped and sizzled on the concrete, and her brow was furrowed into a distressing, hazy determination as she struggled to remain conscious.

Across the street, Cas and Sydney had their hands full. Cas was carrying a frail child in his arms, her face flushed and scarlet. Sydney provided assistance to a young man; his steps wavered, so overtaken by blistering temperatures it ached to focus upon the mere idea of walking.

Dean had fortunately parked in some nearby shade, and the chattering of the engine echoed like an impish cat. The heat couldn’t have been good for Dean's beloved car, but he had set aside materialistic issues and had dug into the true stakes at hand: the lives of innocent civilians and children.

Now with the heat-stricken people stuffed inside the Impala, Dean took charge. He spoke through the window, voice sharp and commanding, “You guys help the rest of the people get shelter and water, and help yourselves too. I mean it―I don't want to come back and drag you all to the hospital as well, you understand?”

His friends nodded in unison, and Dean then mirrored the action. “Okay. I should be back soon. Don't do anything stupid!” He aimed a finger pointedly at Sydney. “Especially you, Sparky.” With that, he revved the engine, and then drove off.

They got straight to business, heading toward the groups of people who had scarcely kept from stewing in the daylight.

However, as Sydney drew nearer to her assignment, she slowed as the sun flushed heat against her sweaty back. The people about her were in such grave conditions, but she couldn't find it in herself to care much at the moment. “I'm going to go…” she pointed lazily, “uh… get water...” she let them know sluggishly, endeavoring to sound as casual as allowed at that moment.

Castiel looked sternly to her, seeing past her weak facade. “Dean does not want us doing something regrettable. Especially you. I believe going on your own counts as such.”

Hearing Dean's snarky words through the angel's mouth was comedic. The comment became totally unlike Dean: uncertain and... unusually gentle.

Sydney almost chuckled, but she was too exhausted, hot, and dehydrated to manage it. God, I feel sick, she thought miserably as her stomach twisted and clenched in nausea, not realizing her apparent prayer. “Cas. I really―”

Then, he was in the way, blocking her path stubbornly. She feebly pushed but found him encouraging her to rest on the sidewalk amongst the townsfolk and lean against a shaded, brick wall.

A habit of saying or thinking his Father's name in vain usually lead to accidental prayers. “Sam will do so. You are growing ill.”

She searched for her voice, and once she’d found it, she weakly argued, croaking, “But I want to help―”.

“I have been assigned to serve amongst the ill, and now you are included amongst them, so I shall tend to you.” He asserted faithfully, concern clouding his features. “I wish I could heal you.”

He found his predicament highly counterproductive. If only he could have utilized his wasted grace upon the suffering people in this town. If only he had clutched further onto it before it snuck past his impatient fingers. The circumstance made him resentful and upset, realizing he could have accomplished something just yesterday.

A time as simply distant as 24 hours ago, yet he could do nothing now.

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hillbillyhippiemusicreview · 5 years

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POST #24- J’s Year in Review 2019

Jesus Christ it’s 36 degrees and dark at 5:30. The most depressing time of year for me. I owe my friends a few reviews and keep putting them off. I’ll do them tomorrow. Hell, maybe when I have time over the weekend I’ll get that one out I promised a few weeks ago. Here I am, sitting on the couch trying to figure out which record I want to highlight next. It’s a daunting task. A lesson I’ve learned over the past year. I need to get those reviews out but my mind (and ears) get the best of me. What do I do instead? I listen to a couple of records and skip right to the end. What I mean by end is that cliche year in review article that all music journalists put out with their favorite artists, songs, records, and shows of the year. This is all new to me. Shortly after the new year I decided it was time for me to get in the game. I don’t have much to offer but I wanted to put my perspective on paper. My first article was a piece about Tyler Childers raising awareness and getting a large donation of bottled water for the citizens of Martin County, Kentucky. I knew about Martin County. I didn’t know how deep it went. It wasn’t the meet and greet and small solo set that made me want to write about my experience. It was Tyler’s words. It was the raw emotion and the choked up words that inspired me to be a writer. I wanted as many people to know about this event as I could possibly get the word to. Be it 5, 10, 20 or even 30 people that read the article and learned about the plight of the citizens of Martin County have been in for years. That maybe 5, 10, 20 or even 30 people that may learn how to contact their representative and ask questions. I hope it inspires people to learn about their community and lend a helping hand to those in need. That event was last year, but it inspired my path this year.

Let me begin by saying that I have met some of the most amazing people over the past 12 months. I will touch on as many of those people as much as I can. I am going to highlight the music that has moved me over the same amount of time. I’m gonna forget people. I’m sorry in advance. I could put a list of my top 10 albums out but that just wouldn’t be fair. To be honest, there is one album that stands head and shoulders above all others. It’s not even a competition. How do you compete with amazing art? I look at it like its a steady stream of good shit coming out and keeping my playlist full.

Album of the Year (Any Genre)

Sound and Fury - Sturgill Simpson

Why?

It’s f*cking amazing. Earth shattering. Ground breaking. LOUD!

Sturgill Simpson took everything you thought you knew about him and his music, threw it out the window of his muscle car, and backed over it about a hundred times. This man does not give a shit. I screwed up on my first listen. There are two ways this album should be heard. 1) On a turntable with the volume turned as loud as it can possibly go. 2) Watching the accompanying anime movie with the volume turned as loud as it can possibly go. Unfortunately I did neither. Most of my first listen was a track at a time on my phone or in my truck. Dead. Wrong. If I had it to do over again I would most definitely start with the anime.

I get it. Anime is not for everyone. If I could give someone a starting point with anime, it would most definitely be Sound and Fury. This album is The Wall of our generation. After my first listen I posted, “Album of the Year Any Genre”. I fully stand by that assessment.

Favorite Albums of the Year

This is where I will most definitely make someone mad or make myself mad for leaving off someone who deserves to be included.

Home - Billy Strings

Favorite Tracks: Away From The Mire and Watch It Fall

Country Squire - Tyler Childers

Favorite Tracks - Creeker and Peace of Mind

Stranger In The Alps - Buffalo Wabs and the Price Hill Hustle

Favorite Tracks: Buffalo’s Canon and Stewball

Between The Country - Ian Noe

Favorite Tracks: Barbara’s Song and Methhead

Seneca - Charles Wesley Godwin

Favorite Tracks: Hardwood Floors and Seneca Creek

Chris Knight - Almost Daylight

Favorite Tracks: I’m William Callahan and Go On

The Wind - Eric Bolander

Favorite Tracks: Closer to that Flame and Ghost

Josh Nolan - Kind Heart to Follow

Favorite Tracks: Makin’ Eyes and The Honeysuckle

Nicholas Jamerson - Floyd County All Star

Favorite Tracks: Patience and Floyd County All Star

High Expectations - Sean Whiting

Favorite Tracks: Melody and Misery

Songs Only A Mother Could Love - Wayne Graham

Favorite Tracks: By and By and Every Evil Thing

On The Hilltop - Nic Allen and the Troubled Minds

Favorite Tracks: Cheap Pills and Wine and For Heaven’s Sake

Cheap Silver and Solid Country Gold - Mike and the Moonpies

Favorite Tracks: Cheap Silver and Danger

The Gospel - The Local Honeys

Favorite Tracks: Amazing Grace and Let the Church Roll On

Full Moon/Heavy Light - Ona

Favorite Tracks: Young Forever and True Emotion

Trial and Error - Vintage Pistol

Favorite Tracks: Lay It Down and Leave Me Behind

The Pilot Light - Derek Spencer

Favorite Tracks: The Witches of Appalachia and Lit By Moonlight

We Fall, We Break - Walter DeBarr

Favorite Tracks - Wicked Eyes and We Fall, We Break

Alive at Hillbilly Central - Arthur Hancock

Favorite Tracks - Take Me Back To The Country and Kenton’s Outdoor Seating Area

Cuz I Love You - Lizzo

Favorite Tracks: Truth Hurts and Juice

I have to give a shoutout to some amazing visual artists for their work on some of these records. Jimbo Valentine and Colonel Tony Moore did an absolutely amazing job on the Country Squire album art. With Valentine’s futuristic hillbilly aura and Moore’s gritty comic book background, their collaboration is my favorite album artwork in some time. Honorable mention goes to Nashville Tattoo Artist, Squishy Eyes. His work for Billy Strings’ home is colorful and visually stimulating. I definitely want some skin art done by this guy!

Next. Let’s talk festivals. Jon Grace burst onto the scene this year putting on not one but two music festivals. Jon and I go way back. We’ve been to country shows, rock shows, heavy metal shows, nu metal shows, Ozzfest. You name it and we were probably in the vicinity. Laurel Cove Music Festival was Bell County’s first foray into the music festival scene and it started with a flash of lightning, then another, then a shit load of rain. An outdoor music festival being held at a beautiful natural amphitheater turned in to an indoor show in the conference room at Pine Mountain State Park. It was a tough decision to make, but in the end, it was worth every minute. The lineup came together in short order and provided us with two days of blistering sets. Jon then put together the FREE Cumberland Mountain Fall Festival in downtown Middlesboro, KY. Featuring local and regional talent for another two days of fun and music. 2019 set the bar high for live music in Bell County.

Festival of the Red is located in the heart of the Red River Gorge area and put on three days of camping and music. The only downside was that I was only there on Saturday. My buddies Blake and Dave packed in the truck with Dave’s little boy Waylon to make the two hour trip to Slade to catch up with old friends and new.

Master Musician Festival is a yearly mainstay in Somerset, KY. Tiffany Finley and company put together a stellar lineup year after year. My wife and I went for the day on Saturday and returned home with memories that we still laugh about months later. I first want to give a shoutout to the staff of MMF for enduring a brutal storm and having the integrity to cancel the headlining act in the face of severe storms. We were devastated that we missed out on a Jason Isbell set, but we are also blessed that we were not injured in a stupid storm. The party rolled on to Jarfly and into the wee hours of the morning.

This brings me to the granddaddy of them all.

Kickin’ It On The Creek.

The Roberts do it up right on Ross’ Creek. The 5th Annual Kickin’ It On The Creek held on Byron Roberts’ farm is something every music fan should experience once in their life. I went to Irvine in June to attempt to buy tickets in person. I left the house Saturday morning around 4:30. My anxiety hit when I got into town and parked and saw the line stretched nearly a half mile down the road. What do you do though? You hop in line! My friends Jon and Daniel arrived about an hour and a half ahead of me and were about 15 people in front of me. Throughout the morning we made conversation with both veterans and newbies alike. The vibe was jubilant. It was almost like a family reunion atmosphere, and this was just the presale. Long story short, about 3 hours later we get to the front of the line when Byron exits the store to announce the tickets were sold out. My friends who were 15 people in front of me were the last group in. It made me ill to realize I was that close. Never fret, the next step was an online sale that supposedly sells out in seconds. Over the next few weeks, karma would smile on us as we were able to purchase enough tickets so everyone in our group of friends were able to procure tickets. Now the wait.

I’m not a festival virgin by no means. I was fortunate enough to go to three Bonnaroo festivals in the early 00’s. Needless to say, I had an idea of the festival life. However, I can’t begin to explain the giddiness that my wife and I felt driving to the festival that Thursday evening in late September. We made it just in time to set up camp and catch Bedford Band and one of the acts I most looked forward to, Buffalo Wabs and the Price Hill Hustle. The family atmosphere was in full effect. We were home. On Friday we were treated to sets by a variety of artists handpicked by the Roberts family. Favorites included Luna and the Mountain Jets, Crownover, Laid Back Country Picker, Green Genes, Jericho Woods, Vintage Pistol, Magnolia Boulevard, John R Miller and the Engine Lights, Town Mountain, and the ‘Lectric Wooks. Saturday favorites included Abe Partridge, Padre Paul Handleman, Wayne Graham, William Matheny, Senora May, Ona, The Wooks, Arlo McKinley, and festival headliner Tyler Childers. I’m already thinking about KIOTC 2020.

This year was magical. I heard amazing music, saw amazing music, introduced my children to amazing music, and most importantly shared with with my wife. I met lifelong friends and have several shows to look forward to in 2020.

Upcoming shows I’ll be attending are The Wooks, Arlo McKinley, Eric Bolander, Charlie Woods and Deep Hollow, and Dave Shoemaker at the Bell Theater on December 21st. 2020 brings Morgan Wade/Kelsey Waldon, Town Mountain/Buffalo Wabs/Geno Seale, Billy Strings, and Sturgill Simpson/Tyler Childers. The festival circuit is also ramping up with dates set for Laurel Cove 2020.

-Josh Trosper

*This is an independent review. The Hillbilly Hippie Music Review was not compensated for this review.

*The opinions expressed are solely that of the author(s).

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toonstarterz · 5 years

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BECAUSE I’M NOT POPULAR, I’LL READ WATAMOTE: CHAPTER #154

The Sports Tournament Arc has come to a close (watch me eat my words), and while things may not have ended in the most spectacular or dramatic fashion, it does offer a healthy dose of retrospection after the flurry of emotions we’ve undergone during this whole thing. Tomoko’s world may be winding down for the moment, but as we all know, that just sets the pace for things to spring right back up.

Chapter 154: Because I’m Not Popular, The Sports Tournament Will End

Watamote has always been relatively good at picking apart what it means to be female, and acknowledging their habit for casual grooming is just one of those times. But where this series shines is that it neither advocates or condemns stereotypical female behavior. Its stance has always been, “it is what it is,” and the reader is open to make their own opinions on that.

Well, I never expected them to win, honestly speaking. This ain’t no shounen sports manga after all, where the underdogs make a dubious comeback thanks to Nakama Power™. The obligatory homosexual subtext was there, though.

Yeeeah, one of Yuri’s biggest flaws is that it takes her some time to admit, or even recognize her own responsibilities. Naturally, that includes pointing out other’s faults before her own. That being said...

Is Yuri being Bitchy or Awkward? An Analysis to Come in A Couple More Pages.

Tomoko, being the one to slightly raise up everyone else’s spirits? I’d be more shocked if her growth didn’t already make that actually kind of plausible.

This right here is the single coolest girl in the entire manga.

Side note: Komi’s rekt face is sublime.

That hit had so much force, it burst through the panel borders. For once, poor Minami.

I see friendships all over the place.

In spite of (or perhaps because of) Komiyama’s overzealous nature, she can also be hit pretty hard with a sense of shame when her efforts prove fruitless. Maybe Itou plays the role of the “Lift Their Spirits” Friend in times like this.

At least the other girls are also taking their defeat in stride. Although, Minami seems particularly down for once. Perhaps she surprisingly feels some disappointment over their loss.,,

....or maybe she just feels jaded watching Mike and her Boyfriend make kissy-face.

The thing about Kiyota is that he doesn’t seem like an especially capable guy. But from what we’ve seen, the dude’s got a pretty agreeable personality that sort of just makes it easier for people to follow him. It’s the same reason why he became the class representative. Kiyota may not be at the top of the class in any way (that we know of), but his likability makes him a natural leader.

Of course, his true friends will still give him hella shit for it.

Like many loners with self-esteem issues, no one cares about winning until they actually start winning.

Hey, hey, hey! It seems that the disastrous fallout between Tomoko and Ucchi didn’t the stop the latter from making good on her claim to cheer Tomoko on. We don’t know if the Emoji Gang ever intervened after those events, but if Ucchi still has the nerve(cluelessness) to cheer the girl she berated, that can only be a good sign.

It’s kind of weird seeing Hirasawa next to her though, considered how Ucchi cut her down that one time. Long-term grudges do not exist unless you’re Tomoko.

Fuuka, eh? The gap between a character’s first major appearance and their revealed name gets smaller each time.

So these two are close friends, I see. They certainly give off those “alpha girl’ airs, but not in an unapproachable way. Contrary to what Western media has fed me, bitchy queen bees aren’t actually that popular.

I’m sure many a shipper thinks that Katou chose table tennis to be with Tomoko, but I don’t that’s the only reason. It could just as well be that she’s into the sport. For the longest time, Katou’s personality has increasingly contrasted with her appearance. On the surface, she looks like the stereotypical beauty whose friendly, girly, and is super popular. But underneath, she’s also rather unaware, possibly perverted, not actually that good with makeup, and frankly, a bit of a weirdo. She’s all full of surprises, and it honestly makes her feel more human.

That was probably not her intent, but a mini party is definitely more up Tomoko’s alley. She just barely made it through the KBBQ party after all, and while Tomoko would’ve probably made it through another large-scale party even easier, small get-togethers are the introvert’s bee’s knees.

It’s still hard to get a read on Futaki’s sociability, but she seems like a middle-of-the-road case as far as we’ve seen.

Yuri using Tomoko as a support beam is way within my expectations of her. It hasn’t steered too far into the Unhealthy Zone (yet), but I do enjoy that Tomoko’s simple company is all Yuri really needs to enjoy herself.

Introvert Problems #092: Preoccupying yourself with your beverage to break the awkward silence without realizing the social cue of waiting to clink glasses before drinking.

Smooth move, me Tomoko.

Good taste, my girl. Very good taste.

I love how the artistic license in this series is played completely straight. Girls with cat smiles are a dime-a-dozen in manga, but it’s usually a visualization only apparent to the readers. But not here. Emoji eyes and a feline grin are just as ludicrous in-universe as it is to us.

Yeah...I have no idea what to make of this. Guess Yuri has her own weird quirks, after all. What makes it extra funny is when you remember that Tomoko is strangely good at cutting things. Ironic humor at its finest.

Harking back to what I said about Katou being full of surprises, it’s easy to judge Katou sorely on her appearance, given how much more refined she looks next to the other “plain" girls. But when you look beyond what’s skin deep, Katou actually has more similarities to Tomoko than she let on. Being decently athletic, but not sporty; having a high tolerance for perversion, and socially naive at times. Katou’s affection for Tomoko had always felt out-of-place when we didn’t know her personality too well. But now that we’ve gotten a good look at it, her budding friendship with Tomoko feels all the more authentic.

Being the Nucleus Friend is never easy, Tomoko.

Ah, Tomoko, regrets are natural. One of the more informed aspects about Tomoko is that she doesn’t dwell on the past too much. Her episodes of cringe hardly have everlasting negative effects on her personality, and the only times she does dwell are when she comes to terms with the mistakes she’s made. The twist now is that Tomoko puts a positive spin on it this time. Instead of bemoaning how she did something bad, she now reflects on how she could have done something good. It’s a layer of positive reinforcement that I think Tomoko has truly benefited from.

Futaki coming through with the Nakama Speech™. It’s a pretty good one, too. Not heavy-handed or overly sentimental, but it’s from a place of earnestness that many can appreciate.

And I just realized that Futaki has been going through a quiet development from being a single-player gamer to multi-player gamer. Damn, that was slick, Nico Tanigawa.

Hey now, those Spot the Difference games are totally legitimate critical thinking exercises.

It’s easy to think from first glance that Yuri is being purposely insensitive by the way she’s ignoring such a heartwarming speech, but I don’t think that’s really the case. It’s not that she doesn’t care about it, it just that those dining table games are too damn engaging for her introverted mind to resist. Yuri’s personality is a lot of things, but a lack of empathy is not one of them.

Even though that’s true, it sounds vaguely hypocritical coming from you, Tomoko.

As I thought, Mako the Mom is also Mako the Enabler.

Is Yuri Being Bitchy or Awkward?

Neither. She’s being a weirdo.

We all know by now that Yuri’s no sheep. She’s not going to pretend she’s something she’s not just to reciprocate the mood. But at the same time, she’s aware enough to adjust herself in situations where just doing anything she wants would be potentially hurtful. Of course, that’s only when she realizes she’s being hurtful. And there’ve been a number of times where she failed at that. Yuri’s behavior is very much circumstantial, and in cases where she’s expected to fit in with the crowd, she can be bitchy, awkward, or neither based on how well she can read the atmosphere.

And that, my friends, is why Yuri’s a weirdo.

I don’t know about that, Tomoko. As absurd as her face and gaming skills are, Futaki’s personality has always seemed fairly normal to me.

Don’t judge an emoji by its emoji.

You may laugh at their apparent difficulty at finding them all, but I read up that these specific Spot the Difference games are a reference to the ones they have in Saizeriya restaurants, which are known for being notoriously tough. (Seriously, a dude called up the manufacturer because he couldn’t find the last one). Thanks as always, /r/watamote!

Eat your words, Tomoko! Just because you have more friends now, that doesn’t mean you’re hot shit and too good for “childish” games. Not that I can blame her too much, though. It’s understandable that Tomoko feels there are certain social conventions that come with increased popularity. But if there’s one thing that Tomoko still has to realize, it’s that popularity doesn’t equal maturity. No matter how high you are on the food chain, doing dumb kiddie stuff is present all across the board.

Didn’t I tell you that, “Not that I care” was going to be this series’ tsundere line?

When you think about it, Yuri’s come a long way from how she was at the start. At the end of second year, she lamented that her new friends might drift away from her. Compare that to now, where she’s actually more optimistic about her relationships. Sure, the fact that they’re now in the same class is the key difference, but the sentiment is still there, and feels a lot more impactful given that Yuri has never really been this open about her feelings.

That’s what happens when you get the last word in.

As with most of these arcs, it’s the journey rather than the end that has the most impact on our characters. For some, like Ucchi and Yuri, it was a major game-changer in their relationships with Tomoko. For others, like Itou and Hirasawa, it was an exploration of what made them the way they are. And then there’s Tomoko, still fumbling around with a degree of popularity she was never fully prepared for.

But for everyone, it was all about trying. Trying something new, putting in the extra effort, and reaching out to others. While the results were kind of a mixed bag, nearly everyone came out of this tournament with some form of victory.

#watamote #watamote review #chapter 154 #no matter how i look at it it's you guys' fault i'm not popular!#tomoko kuroki #asuka katou #hina nemoto #yuri tamura #futaki shiki #fuuka #kotomi komiyama #review

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mynameisdreartblog · 5 years

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Romantic Composers 1

Aries: Amy Beach. Instigation is such an amazing concept: there can be absolutely no why behind any of your actions. For instance, I could pick up this turd out of my toilet and throw it against the bathroom wall. «Yes, but will you? Heaven knows you can’t commit.» Ah, you see, that’s the point: I don’t have to commit. The mere thought of it is already changing the circumstances we reside in. «I can agree: I went from thinking your weird to thinking you’re incredibly weird: The turd-slinger lifestyle took a hold of you.» Mór, I’ll toss as much shit as I desire. […] <The setting shifts towards a misty field, where there is a howling wind blowing the red fumes of a nearby cauldron. They lead back to a druid’s cave, known as such because there’s a sign that says there’s a druid in it.> «Ha ha ha! What lies instore for our duo? I sense irrational actions and grievous misfortune.» <A stereotypically timed lighting strike occurs in the background.> […] «Réa, what’s up with you? You’re looking out at nothing with your hands on the toilet seat.» …Fucking hell, I think I sensed something devilish among here. <Réamonn takes their other hand out of the toilet, still soaked from the toilet water. Mór grabs their hand and shoves it back into the toilet bowl with an angry expression.> «What? No. If you’re gonna be here, you should commit to the bit!» <An argumentative feud erupts between the two.> Aye, you fucking cunt! I know when to stop, and you’re the one taking this too far. «Not to be a joker, but you’re far too deep in the shite to quit now.» […] <We return back to the mist of the druid’s cave, and here we can see him cackling at the recent misfortune he brewed.> «Ha ha ha! I’m the mastermind behind all of the world’s divisive pitifulness! So much that I killed my previous assistant over scratching my rings!» <The druid’s crow squawks at him, because druid’s have birds now.> «Right, I know that’s a horrible tale, but nobody’s around to hear it!» […] <We cut back to Réamonn and Mór fighting.> «What’s gotten into you?» That’s, argh, what I’m, humph, trying to f-figure out! <Toilet water begins to splash all over the room.> «Right, next thing you’re gonna tell me that you decided that you’re the plumber.» <So, the two mess around in the bathroom for what seems like an hour until Réa’s mum comes in to yell at both of them.> «What the fuck are the both of you doing? I’ve been trying to take a shower in the other bathroom this whole time, and the only thing that’s been running is water colder than the farmer’s bog in November!»

Gemini: Louis Gottschalk. I smell someone, someone fishy here. It smells like someone here has a recent history of being too comfortable with colonialist apologia for French actions. Hmm, who is this person? I guess we’ll never know: We may never be able to find the baguette. Mmm, I can just smell the sweet, delectable French bread from here. Mmm, mmm, mmm… <Heavy sniffing starts to occur, with it rampantly becoming more violent.> Damn, it just smells SO GOOD. The French did nothing wrong except make these beignets way too damn mouth-watering: Mmm, mmm, mmm. Damn, I’d love me some of them right now to fill up my gullet. I just can’t control myself around that sweet French bread: I haven’t harmed anyone yet, but if they got in the way of my French bread, you’d have no idea what I’d do to get it. MMM, MMM, MMM. That French bread just makes me wanna <scronch>, and then <freerf>, and then <sus>. Mmm, mmm, mmm, I can smell it from here: It tastes so good; I need it in my tummy immediately. I never had a full piece of French bread before. FREERF, YEERF, SLUUURP, GADORF, MEONG, PADOOK, GURK LURP, SCHLIPPITY SCHLURP, PUHTAW, OOKARH, MEONG, DING DONG, KALOOKA, NOISOME, MMM. I love bread a lot, more than I loved my own family: My own family was turned into bead and sliced up by this maniac who loved pizza as much as I loved bread. I am a yeast of my own parts, I denounce my citizenship and move to France, I am now the one sane person left in this world. GAJOINK, BREKKIE, LOLISH, NAMBODE, ANGKOR WATT, MIRANDA WARNING, ZOOMIES, BOOMIES. I love bread. […] As you know, I’m quite the fan of bread, and I have a loaf of it right now. I think it’s time to "dive right in" as they say. [,] PUHTAW, that was awful! I took may too much bread in my mouth, but that was my favorite onomatopoeia to describe how this bread came out of my mouth. TIGERS JAW, SHOSPEL COLUPIS, SWOOCE, FUNNY BREAD, BREAD FUNNY, WOO, YAY, HURRAY FOR BREAD. ’Cause if you don’t <freerf>, then you can’t <swooce>, so how are you gonna <sus> or <jodge>? It just doesn’t make <se-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ns.> Hamburger: You make a hamburger with bread. Can’t have a hamburger with no bread! MMM, MMM, MMM, I love hamburgers. <jodge.> […] But seriously, we all know that defending empires is bad? I don’t care if that empire gives you as much bread as you want, you’re still a slave and only through that empire can you get measly bread: Not the fulfilling kind of bread, the crumbs of the crumbs.

Scorpio: Giuseppe Verdi. <We’re greeted to a bustling city scene, there are many people on the street: Some wacky, some not so wacky. Here, we see Juyeon walking with her mom to the local market because she’s short of cabbage.> Mom, why are we here? «Your father always eats an absurd amount of cabbage, sweetie. And he gets very grumpy and resistant to doing chores when he doesn’t have it, so that’s why we’re here.» <Juyeon never believed that story; she never saw her dad eat a single piece of lettuce before.> Okay <she says in a very unsatisfied voice. All the while, the bustling of the urbanity dominates the atmosphere. Somehow, in the midst of this crowd, Juyeon’s ears pick up on a particular voice.> «I’m a lost adventurer, looking for the rest of my forgotten crew! Who wants to volunteer to be the child character in the middle of an adventure group that has to travel through hell and back? We’re looking for any psychic children to help aid us on our journey.» <The lost adventurer kept yelling this ad from the cat-corner, and in the midst of those words, the term "psychic children" caught Juyeon’s ear.> Say, mister! <Juyeon notices her mom eyeing cabbage, and takes this opportunity to investigate something her mom would normally disagree with. Hesitantly, the adventurer noticed Juyeon wobbling towards them.> You said something about psychic children, mister? «Why, yes! You must know that, prior to this, I was part of a band of four with the guts like me: We travelled many lands many dimensions even. We were all so young and filled with a look of wonder towards all we did.» Lots of kids have done what you said, but you’re trying to say there was something special about yours? Also, this must’ve been a long time ago ’cause you look like you’re my mom’s age. [,] «What you never knew is that we were all blessed with psychic powers… Long story short: They ended up being a burden to ourselves after our journey was done, and we tore each other apart spiritually.» [,] All of that sounds cool, but I feel like it’s a bit too, uh… «Hamfisted?» It has nothing to do with ham, but I kinda get the "fist" part. [,] It’s a bit… «Ominous?» Isn’t that like, a fruit? I don’t get it is what I’m saying. Where does the psychic stuff come from? Why did you end up here out of all places? Why did you grow out of it? Like, ugh, I don’t know… I thought this would be cool, but now I’m not sure. [,] «Hmm, I can tell, whenever you came into my line-of-sight, that there was something whimsical about you: A part of you that has yet to transcend into regression with age. You’re asking where the psychic energy comes from not out of cynicism but curiosity… I might as well demonstrate to you where it comes from.» <The lost adventurer points their fingers up into the air, channels an energy, and a bolt of technicolor light courses through it from above. As soon as Juyeon would be able to understand the demonstration, her mother angrily grabs her and pulls her back into the market.> «Don’t run off like that!»

Capricorn: Hector Berlioz. <There’s a grand trunk that spikes out from the rest of the wetlands: It towers over all the other ghostly trees. It seems to represent a glimpse into the future: One emphasized by its continued existence over the temporariness of the other woods around it.> «Are those wetlands, Mr. Robichaux?» You know, I like to say there’s no dumb questions, but that’s a dumb question: We are miles away from any wetlands. <The shuttle-bus hops up a bit as it goes over a bit of uneven road, causing Ikto to lose their hold on the window.> «I don’t know, it looks pretty swampy to me.» All swamps are wetlands, but not all wetlands are swamps. You learned this in third-grade science, c’mon now. <The shuttle-bus full of the band kids rolls over yet another snag in the road, causing turbulence that allows a mic-stand in the back to fall over.> Oof, that sounded like it was expensive: Good thing it’s not coming out of my paycheck and I can still afford ravioli. <As soon as that sound was created, the neglected oak remarked about earlier had water vapor gravitating towards it, an unusual sign in nature for sure. We cut back to Vinnie attempting to fill out a crossword puzzle about sewing terms: Something far out of his purview and a task made only more difficult by the rocking of the bus.> Itko, er, <Vinnie forgets the real name of the student.> Do you know what they call the machine involved in all yarn production processes? «That’s called a spinneret, Mr. Robichaux.» Is that spelled with two Ts and an E? Because that doesn’t fit in the boxes given. «There’s only one T with no extra E at the end.» Ah, perfect. <The water vapor condenses more and more around the grand trunk to the point where, despite the bus being two miles away from it, has already spawned storm clouds around its natural base. We cut back to Vinnie filling out #9 on the crossword puzzle.> «Nobody told us it was gonna rain outside today. Look, there’s already grey clouds in the sky!» <That could be heard from another student in the back of the bus: Vinnie either didn’t hear this or he willfully ignored it. He begins to whisper angrily to himself:> What kinda question is that: "Disengages all but the bobbin weaver?" Like I’m supposed to know any of this! <The collected water formed around the tree stump brings upon a ferocious storm: One with a name and a vengeance. Immediately, the storm moved at unreal speeds towards the bus. «It’s really windy right now!» How do you know that? Is it because you’re sticking your hands out the window, like you shouldn’t be doing‽ «I wasn’t sticking any of my limbs out the window!» Yeah, right. <Audible thunder edges closer to the bus, prompting the bus-driver, Elm, to push harder on the pedal. Ikto speaks up again.> «Mr. Robichaux, I’m scared of that tree.» Relax, it’s only the sign of a story before heading onto the highway: It means nothing and it’s distracting you. <A beam of concentrated lighting zooms past Vinnie’s window, likely a missed shot from the vengeful oak. Vinnie is too busy focusing on the puzzle to even notice.> Why are you all being so loud?

#Zodipunc #Zodiaccupuncture #Aries #Gemini #Scorpio #Capricorn

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chubsjiminiie · 6 years

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Hoseok with number 3 and 14 pleaseeee

“Don’t leave...”

a/n: here you go babe hope you love 💕its a long one :) also ft. namjoon

words; 1.8K

You place your chin on the palm of your hand and stare straight out the window in front of the dining room table. There’s two cute little squirrels playing around chasing each other, you try to smile but it feels nearly impossible. The house felt quiet and empty but there was an overwhelming feeling of tension building up.

The bright sunny day contrast to the dark silent house you’re currently sat in. It wasn’t your home but over time it started to become it. You back away from your own hand and sit up straight, there’s a light rustling off in the distance, you figured it must be your best friend, Hoseok. There’s a soft yawn heard and you try your best to gather your emotions and act like you were fine.

The night before had been filled with awkward conversations and a few glasses of wine. A while back you finally got the balls to confess your feeling to Hoseok; it was strange but he took it as a joke. He laughed it off and acted as if you didn’t pour your heart out to him. From that day he started to change, at first was for the better and it gave you hope that maybe he felt the same way…. But that soon changed after countless nights of him drunk calling you telling you about his recent hookups, about how he didn’t enjoy them because he felt nothing.

One the rare occasion, he’d invite you out with him and his friends. It would always be fun until the end of the night when he was the drunkest of all and would get mad if you got too close to any of his friends. That was just a few weeks ago, now it’s moved to the point where even sober him is playing with your feelings. He started inviting you over at night and asking you to sleep over, or cuddle with him; in this quiet moment he’d tell you how special you are to him… and then the next night he’d go off and hookup with someone else.

Last night, however, things changed. He brought up your confession and asked if it was real or just a joke. You asked him why it would even be a joke, there was silence. You downed the glass of wine in your hand and reached out to pour some more, he stopped you and said he’d do it. He tried to explain why he thought it was a joke but his explanations fell flat, and had no substance to them, they just didn’t make sense. The more wine you drank, the worse the conversation got, and he admitted that he wouldn’t ever feel those feelings for you, even if he tried. But somehow from those words to the point where you were about to leave, he leaned in and kissed you. You tried to stop him, not wanting your heart to break even more, but there was no use; he didn’t listen and your heart shattered as his lips touched yours.

Looking down at your hands, you wondered why you were still in his house, why did it feel like you couldn’t leave? The front door was just a few steps away. He had your heart in the palm of his hands, and he knew, but still chose to squeeze it into dust. Best friend? That’s what you called him? What a joke.

The sound of feet walking against the wood floor made you panic. You shouldn’t be here. You should leave. You felt stuck to the chair, unable to move from the seat to walk out the front door and allow yourself to finally take a deep breath of fresh air.

“Hey,” his voice was hoarse.

“Hi,” your voice was barely audible.

“I never expected wine to give me such a killer headache. You need medicine?”

“No. I didn’t really wake up with much of a headache.”

Silence.

The squirrels were gone and so were the warm sun rays, they were covered with two dark gloomy clouds, now fully representing the atmosphere inside the house.

“You-” “So-” you both speak at the same time.

“You go first,” he smiled.

“I was just going to tell you I have to get going. I promised a friend I’d meet them for lunch… so I should leave,” you twirled your fingers in your lap trying to avoid his gaze so he doesn’t see right through your lie.

“Oh, um, okay that’s cool. We’ll talk later then.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Bye.”

You walked out his front door and look up at the sky. Hopefully it rains so it can drown out the tears that are threatening to escape your eyes. Instead you see the clouds move slightly and a small ray from the sun comes down to shine over the road you’re about to take.

You let a couple days go by and try your best to not contact Hoseok, it’s harder than you thought it’d be. You kind of expected him to leave you alone, he’s not one to constantly text you and see if you were free to hangout. He normally would just show up unannounced or text you from time to time to get food. For a best friend, he kind of sucked, but if we’re being honest the only reason he carries that title, is because he gave it to himself and you never denied it.

After a while of not responding to his calls or texts, you get a call from one of your friends, Namjoon. He was like Hoseok’s other best friend and yours as well. Namjoon knew about your feelings before you knew about them, and he was always so supportive of you. He’d always listen to your rants and never got annoyed, even if he did, it was never at you but more to Hoseok. Picking up the phone he greets you.

“So where’d you disappear to?” you can hear the smile on his face through the phone.

“A little universe where you’ll never find me.” you giggle.

“Your bed doesn’t count as another universe,” he pauses, “He told me.”

“Told you what?”

“You haven’t talked to him. He thinks your just busy.”

“I am busy.”

“What did he do this time?”

“Remember I told you that he seemed to take my feelings as a joke,” there was a slight hum and you continue, “So he asked me, if I serious and I said of course. He tried telling me, he thought it was a joke because the guys would always tell him I’m madly in love with him but he’s too blind to see it. And they’d laugh about it so he figured I was messing with him.”

“That doesn’t make sense…” he sighs, “If I was him, that would confirm everything.”

“Yeah, but at the end of the night he kissed me.”

“He what?”

“Kissed me.” you sigh, “The next morning, he tried to act like nothing even happened. And honestly, I just decided that I didn’t want that anymore. He’s been playing me for too long. I’m done.”

The words that came out of your mouth were hopeful but you were unsure if you’d be able to get away from him completely.

“You know what? Let’s go out Y/n. You and me haven’t had our quality time together in a while. Get ready I’ll pick you up in 20 minutes.”

“Okay Joonie, see you soon.”

“No you can’t- Why- Joon!” he began to chew his ice cream and you scrunch your nose just from the thought of it touching your teeth.

“Y/n it’s not a big deal.” he laughs.

“Ugh. That’s just wrong.”

After having lunch, you walked down the streets to a ice cream shop and decided to keep walking around talking about whatever that wasn’t Hoseok. But as the universe hates you, and clearly wants to make things harder for you, you look straight ahead and are met with a pair of familiar eyes. Your smile fades and you try to regain it by faking it but it doesn’t work. He was stopped on the sidewalk and you couldn’t tell from his face if he was upset or not. You look at Namjoon and he looks down on you almost asking with his eyes what you wanted to do. Before you could reply, Hoseok walks up to the two of you and smiles.

“What’s up guys?” His smile seems forced matching yours perfectly.

“Just having ice cream,” Joon is quick to reply.

“I see that,” he frowns and looks at you, “Why haven’t you texted me back.”

“I just, um, got really busy,” you look at down your melting ice cream

“But you made time with Namjoon.”

“It’s different…”

He knits his eyebrows together and looks at the two of you, “Oh are you guys like on a date?”

“Not exact-”

“Actually yeah,” Namjoon interrupts.

“Oh,” he glances at the both of you and his eyes land back on you, “I thought you said, your feelings for me were real.”

You look at him in disbelief. Now he had the balls to bring it up? When you were on a “date” with Namjoon?

“Okay, um. They were. But what does that have to do with this?”

“I- I mean,” he pauses, “I don’t know. I just felt like saying it.”

In the corner of your eye you see Joon’s chest rise and he takes a deep breath.

“You just felt like saying it?” he shakes his head, “You sure? Or are you jealous because Y/n isn’t pining over you while you play with her emotions?”

Your eyes widen, and you feel the need to look around and see if anybody else on the sidewalk caught that, but you were all alone.

“Joon let’s just not,” you say softly wanting to leave.

“No. He likes to call you his best friend but what kind of friend plays with his friend’s feelings?”

“You have no idea what you’re saying Namjoon,” Hoseok finally speaks up.

“I do,” he licks his ice cream and you feel the confidence radiating off his body, “I’ve heard her talk about you playing with her countless time before. I’ve also heard you talk about her many times…. You took everything as a joke.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You did,” your vision became blurry and tears threatened to escape and fall down to the concrete you were staring at, “Joon can we leave? I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Of course baby,” he pulls you into his chest and you try not to squish your ice cream on his hoodie.

You both begin to walk away, still pressed against Joon’s chest, tears falling freely, and then Hoseok speaks up.

“Don’t leave,” he was quiet, “Please,” he knew he fucked up.

Pulling away, you face him, “No. I’m done Hoseok.”

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stardust-and-blades · 6 years

Text

Keith’s First Halloween

This is for the voltron games I’m participating in! Team: Red Lion Round: 1 Challenge: 3 with Shiro, Keith, and Adam

Summary: After finding out Keith hasn’t celebrated Halloween since the death of his father, Shiro and Adam invite him for some pumpkin carving and caramel apples! ----------------------------------

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“You’re kidnapping me. You’re kidnapping me and going to sell my organs on the black market, aren’t you?”

Shiro barks out a laugh, veering away from a slowing car ahead of them, but maintained hands on the wheel. Shiro is great at flying, but sometimes Keith questions how he got his license with all the risks he takes. “Patience yields focus, Keith. Relax, it is nothing bad.”

Keith quirks an eyebrow, but nonetheless allowed Shiro to take him to God knows where. Since his arrival at the garrison, he has been living there rather than the group home. His roommate wasn’t particularly fond of him, what with his bad temper and representation for being a discipline case. But it was better than where he was, an invisible boy unable to find a home. Unable to be seen by a family as worthy. The only person who ever truly loved him has left the land of the living, leaving Keith wishing the fire never occurred. That his father never ran back into the building, though he knew it was a selfish wish. A child is alive today because of him. As much as Keith wanted to keep his father, at least he died a hero. His hero.

Shiro glances at Keith, the sixteen year old looking out onto the road with a far off gaze. He is leaning on his right, arm propped up on the arm rest and a fist to his cheek. His usual stance when he is deep in thought.

He didn’t say anything, but he knew what Keith was thinking. Most likely his father, maybe his future. It was only recently that Shiro found out Keith hasn’t celebrated halloween for awhile, what with the death of his father severely impacting his joy in holidays meant to spend with family or friends. Keith’s only family passed away, and as far as Shiro knows, he hasn’t been able to make any friends. Students and teachers of the school are weary of him. They believe he represents nothing but trouble, and the higher officials at the garrison severely question Shiro’s judgement. Iverson going so far as to say he made a mistake by bringing Mr. Hotshot to the school.

What they didn’t understand was he is a kid. A child who felt abandoned and dysfunctional.

And every kid deserves to have some happiness in their life, at the very least.

So, Shiro talked Adam over having Keith over, explaining his background and how excellent he is in the garrison flight simulator. Adam was skeptical at first--not of Keith being a good kid--but of him willingly coming over. Shiro has spent more time with him than Adam, who unfortunately had no classes with him and only passed by the kid every now and then, greeting them on sight and Keith waving silently as a means of respect.

Despite Adam’s opinions, Shiro has a gut feeling this is what Keith needs. And who knows, maybe he will take a liking to Adam and the treats he has in store. --------

As they approach the house, Keith turns to him, confused.

“Um, is this your house?”

“Yup.”

“Uh...” He looks around, waiting for Shiro to continue, but received nothing. “What are we doing here?”

“We,” Shiro begins, reaching behind his seat and grabbing some plastic bags full of groceries he picked up earlier. “Are going to prepare for Halloween.”

Keith looks uncomfortable. “I don’t really celebrate halloween. Or any of the holidays, for that matter.”

“I’m aware,” Shiro said, leveling him with a kind look. “You mentioned it when we had lunch the other day. But we need a helping hand with the pumpkins.”

“We?”

“Yeah, me and Adam. He’s my--er--He’s my boyfriend.” Shiro can feel a blush creep on his cheeks. He neglected to tell Keith of his and Adam’s actual relationship. It wasn’t that he was ashamed, it’s just he totally spaced on the little tidbit. So much for making the kid less awkward.

Keith doesn’t blink, cocking his head to the side. “Professor Adam? Doesn’t he hate me along with the other instructors? You’re getting serious flack for getting me into the school.”

He shakes his head. “Nope. In fact, he was more concerned on if you would show. I told him about you. He is looking forward to getting to know you as both a pilot and person.”

“I still don’t think this is a good idea. You should just--”

“Nope!” Shiro interrupts, snatching a pumpkin in the back and plopping it on Keith’s lap. “You’re a kid, and kids should be having fun. Not brooding in their room at night while halloween is just around the corner.”

“I don’t brood.” Keith exclaims, his lip jutting out in a pout.

“Right, and I have white hair.” Shiro said, sarcastic. “Come on, up and at ‘em. And don’t even think about stealing the car. I have the keys wrapped around my fingers.”

------------------

It was a little awkward, Shiro admitted. As Keith lugged the largest pumpkin Shiro gave him and entered the house, Adam emerged from the kitchen to greet the two, kissing Shiro on the cheek. He smiled down at Keith, introducing himself and holding out a hand to the tiny boy. There was a moment of silence, Keith not used to friendliness outside of Shiro. He half expected Adam to pull Shiro aside, meaning to be out of ear shot so he could chastise Shiro for bringing the “problem” child in their home. But he just gazed down at Keith, soft brown eyes never breaking from the starstruck indigo. Not until his expression morphed into that of discomfort, not sure what to do since Keith wasn’t responding in any way.

As he lowered his hand, Keith shifted the pumpkin to one arm and on his hip, carefully reaching out to grasp Adam’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir. I’m Keith.”

Adam smiles, toothy and proud. “Please, call me Adam. I’m not one for formalities.” He motions to where the kitchen is. “Come along, I was getting the newspaper ready for the pumpkin carving.”

They followed Adam, Shiro’s boyfriend asking Keith many questions as they prepared and began to pumpkin carve. He stuck to his interests, avoiding any semblance of questions having to do with Keith’s past. Shiro had already informed him of the touchy subject and to approach it if Keith chose to open up. To which, he eventually did, mentioning how his dad was never good at carving pumpkins and sometimes burned the seeds when they would roast them for a horror night. It was a small tidbit he lent; a sliver of his childlike, nostalgic side, void of sadness and regret. As Adam asked if he was good at carving pumpkins, Keith gave a small smile and said he was, sometimes using the knife his father gave him. Shiro watched the two interact, a fond and loving smile gracing his lips as he forgot about his pumpkin and focused more on the two bonding.

Shiro hadn’t seen such a big smile since he taught Keith how to land the hoverbike perfectly from jumping off a cliff in the desert. His eyebrows raised, eyes dancing in the florescent lighting, galaxies and mirth erasing the secret darkness he held whenever he is seen. The child Shiro encountered in the classroom, the boy who sadly looked out the window and strayed from the other children, not bothering to line up for the simulator, was overtook by a sense of peace. Meanwhile Adam, who expressed anxiety over the young teen hating Shiro’s idea, ruffles the raven haired boy’s locks and joked about how Shiro does that all the time, eliciting a squawk from Shiro.

“I burned them once! Once, Adam!”

“Once was enough to make sure you never touch an oven again.” He jokes, laughing as Shiro grumbled about being betrayed by his own lover.

Adam leans towards Keith, a hand coming to partially cover his mouth as if to tell him a secret. “He may be a pro at flying now, but he crashed the simulator three times in one go in our cadet days.”

“Don’t poison his mind with lies!”

“It isn’t a lie when history is true.” Adam counters, grinning.

“Oooooo he got you there.” Keith joined. Shiro shook his head, dipping his hand in the orange fruit and flicking it on Keith’s nose.

“Respect your elders, kid.”

“You’re 24.” Adam stated, Keith wiping his nose on his sleeve and chucking a large pile of orange goop at Shiro. Suddenly the three were engaged in an all out pumpkin guts fight, streamers of fruit coating the kitchen and their clothes. they were all laughing, Keith and Adam teamed up against Shiro as they hid behind the table, whispering strategies as Shiro gunned for another chunk of seeds and squash. Before he could land a hit, he is pummeled by two flying chunky globs, one hitting his chest and the other his neck. He chucked the stash in his hand, landing a hit on Keith’s tiny head. The atmosphere, so used to the voices of two, range with the laughter of three. They ran around the small kitchen, their pumpkin war ending only when they ran out of fuel from the three pumpkins Shiro brought home.

They laid on the floor, tired from their food fight but letting out a couple of giggles every now and then. Shiro noted how the two were smiling so wide, he couldn’t help but smile himself. Yes, this is what Keith needed. A sense of being a kid. A sense of having a family, whether it was a mother and father, or a brother figure and his boyfriend. Keith’s walls were up, pure stone covering the tenderness of his bruised heart. But now, they were down. Keith’s heart was wide open, the burden of his past forgotten and filled with glee he hadn’t felt in years.

Adam stood up and began to clean up, announcing they will make some candy apples after they all scrubbed the place clean. Keith didn’t put up a fight, he really didn’t mind. He was chivalrous in his cleaning, asking Adam and Shiro if he missed any places.

He is a good kid. His problem lies in trusting others, in trusting the human race. But when he ignores the darkness of humanity, he is a quiet teen who wants to have fun and acknowledges when there is chores to be done.

He isn’t a problem child. He just needs to be given a chance.

The night ended with Keith curled up in the couch, a half eaten caramel apple on the coffee table in their living room. Shiro gingerly lifted his head to place a plump pillow under his dark head, and Adam covered him in a red fleece blanket he had stashed in a closet. Tiny snores escaped Keith’s nose, his face in a state of peace and content.

Shiro doesn’t regret giving him a second chance in the least.

#shania writes #red lion #round 1 #challenge: 3 #pumpkins and apples #keith kogane #shiro #adam (voltron)#adashi #takashi shirogane #VLD #voltron #voltron games

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theinquisitivej · 6 years

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SteamHeart Episodes 9 & 10 Reactions

It’s been a while, but we’re here – this is SteamHeart.

Whether you’re a newcomer or a long-time fan of the alternate history fictional series New Century, there’s a lot to be excited about when it comes to this new entry. SteamHeart is a grand road trip narrative that follows a group of charming and capable characters embarking on a mission of utmost importance. It’s set in the late 19th Century in the Reunified States of America, a country that has just barely come back from the brink of total disintegration after being confronted with the Wendigo, a devastating and savage new species of uncertain origin.

That’s the set-up, and while there’s a few extra details from the preceding New Century stories that will doubtless come up in SteamHeart as it progresses, that’s all anyone really needs to know before jumping into this new story. It may be the instalment that closes out the first phase of this overarching narrative, but SteamHeart is very considerate towards newcomers. Relistening to the first eight chapters of the audiobook through the podcast, I found that everything you need to know about the setup of this world and the pasts of all the key characters is given to you in a way you can easily digest if it’s all new. Not too much is thrown at you all at once, and the personality of the different characters narrating all of this always comes across, meaning that you not only know who they are straight away, but you also have a compelling way to find out all this information. You will not be at a disadvantage if you’ve never heard of New Century and start listening to SteamHeart.

But, if you are curious to know more about what this story is, and what the first eight episodes are about, then I have a list of writeups you can check out if you want to take a deep dive into one of the best alternate history fantasy series out there. If appealing characters, the steampunk aesthetic, Westerns, huge anthropomorphic badass purple tigers, nail-biting human drama, survival horror/action against savage and fascinating beasts, or decent writing in general is up your alley, start listening to SteamHeart here, and then read the following articles to get you all caught up on where we were when we last left off on this story.

Since these chapters were originally published in a slightly different order before the definitive edition of Secret Rooms was a thing, the titles of these articles may not reflect how they are currently ordered or titled in SteamHeart.

‘Chapter One: The Fall’, ‘Chapter Two: Sharpshooters’, and ‘Chapter Three: Last Survivor’

‘Chapter Four: The Subtle Engineer’, ‘Chapter Five: The Starlit Eyes’, and ‘Chapter Six: The Shadow in the South’

‘Chapter Seven: Return of the Hunter’ and ‘Chapter Eight: Armor’

So, after finishing Let Them Go, reexperiencing Secret Rooms in its best form, we have returned to SteamHeart. We’re back in – Let’s ride.

Chapter Nine: Eight Dresses

You can listen to the episode here.

Preparations are underway for the ball that will introduce Team Steam, the new name for the group going on this expedition, to the general public. We get a brief discussion on the stifling world of formal women’s fashion of the time period. Despite the Reunified States being an even harsher place to live than the America of our world in the 19th Century, keeping up appearances is evidently still a necessary duty for anyone dealing in politics or public engagement. There may only be one dress maker left in Washington, but their services are nevertheless still required, so society hasn’t entirely moved past unnecessary decadence. The whole thing seems ridiculous and uncomfortable to Abigail. She reflects on the excessive and dangerous lengths people go to in order to put together a finished ballroom dress, and when she’s pushed into the pink monstrosity and the suffocatingly tight orange dress, this insane world of fashion and Abigail seem incompatible with one another. It’s cathartic to see her rip the orange dress and talk about buying and burning the shop down once she returns from the mission a rich and famous hero. Still, Abigail is aware that the mood has changed after she vents her frustrations, noting that whatever playful levity had been there had been sapped away by her behaviour. There’s no dramatic altercation, but the development of the scene does echo those moments in life where spirits flare up and all of a sudden the easy-going atmosphere of the situation has dissipated without our meaning it to.

We move on to a scene with some really solid characterisation of Annie and a wonderful moment shared between her and her husband Frank Butler. Annie is still turning over in her head the weight of responsibility that has been put on her by Director Arlington. She has been given a direct order to execute her charge if the situation calls for it, and the possibility of that scenario coming to pass is messing her sense of surety in her own judgement. She has no idea what tiny decision might set off a chain of events that means she has to make that call, and that much anxiety would make anyone susceptible to indecision. It could explain why Annie seemed particularly upset in the previous scene when Abigail was being deliberately difficult with Truth; Annie doesn’t want Abigail to be butting heads, because one day that could reach a point where the two of them will fall out to such an extent that Annie will either not be able to make a clearly thought out decision, not be able to properly protect Abigail, or even be forced to follow her orders and execute her. Annie made a promise to Katherine Holloway to look after James and Abigail, and she must be feeling torn up inside to know that she may one day have to break her promise in the worst possible way.

But bless Frank, he lifts the situation up in just the right way. Giving Annie the dress and the means for her to make all the changes she actually wants for her very own dress shows just how well he knows her. Frank knows that Annie can sew, he knows what kind of dress she would want, and he knows that having something she can work on and control right now will do her the world of good when so many things feel out of control. The performances of Laureta Sela and Spencer Leeb do hit just the right tone of tenderness and genuine joy that their respective characters feel when they’re in each other’s company. Seeing this perfect moment that these two people who love each other get to enjoy is profoundly touching. Don’t you dare harm them Alex, I know you’re thinking about it. AH- DON’T.

We transition to another tender moment of a husband and wife enjoying a secluded minute to themselves as Sarah and Thomas Arlington get ready for the ball. Sarah recalls the effort that she, Truth, and Harry had gone through to reconvince Thomas that it makes the most sense for Harry to go on the mission with the others, even if his paternal protectiveness and general wariness of danger on all sides makes this a difficult decision for him. We see Thomas exhibit his characteristic mistrust of the world when he lays Sarah’s bullet proof jacket on the bed, asking her to wear it as a precaution and a favour to him. If Thomas had it his way, he would enclose himself and the people that matter to him in the most airtight, perfect suit of armour he could find. The events of Arlington make it easy to see why he feels this way.

But Sarah isn’t Thomas, and his gesture presents her with a dilemma that she has to seriously consider. Wearing the armour is a statement, and even if its disguise as a civilian jacket means that very few people will realise she’s making it, she has to decide if she’s comfortable knowing that she chose to make that statement. Sarah wants to trust people – it’s an elemental part of who she is, as represented by Sarah’s remark after her mind goes to the many outfits in her wardrobe, as she says “not all of which went with this jacket of mine”. This jacket is a part of her wardrobe, but it’s not compatible with every outfit she would normally wear, and I would argue it’s not entirely compatible with who she wants to be. This time, she resigns herself to wearing the armour, but she resolves with a strong determination that she will step outside without armour another day. It’s a small decision that provokes an introspective moment that explores meaningful questions of trust and our unspoken interactions with the rest of the world. And yes, it does have a profound resonance for those who have a strong attachment to Arlington.

The epilogue of this episode tells us that Truth fantasised as a child that she would grow up to be Queen of America. It’s a cute fact about Truth’s childhood that provides a small glimpse into a more playful side of her character. It also provides context as to why she has such a head for politics and public engagement. She’s played with the idea of leading a nation her whole life, and the fact that the childhood version of her wanted to be Queen of a monarch-less country is indicative of a romanticised vision of what a leader could and should be. It’s a surprising thing to learn about the pragmatic, more calculating version of her that we know.

Chapter Ten: The April Ball

You can listen to the episode here.

I love those episodes or chapters of ongoing fiction where we get to see the main characters go to a party. Cutting between different individuals or pairings to see how the different personalities are handling themselves in an environment we don’t usually get to see them in can be a source of memorable humour and especially enjoyable character moments. It can also lead to some meaningful moments of introspection that can come out in a unique way; sometimes there are those strange, lucid moments that sneak up on you when you’re at a party where you suddenly become very reflective or melancholy. It doesn’t always have to be a party either. ‘The Ember Island Players’ is one of my favourite episodes of Avatar: The Last Airbender because it’s a respite for the main group right before things are going to get more intense than they ever have before, so it’s a chance for both the characters and the writers of the show to have a little bit of fun before they close out their journey. I bring this up because I get a little bit of a sense of that with ‘Chapter Ten: The April Ball’, especially due to its name which suggests the ball is a spring-time event, a season of vitality and optimism when things are on the up and up. Team Steam is going to be heading out on a grand journey that will be full of perils, so it makes sense both within the context of the story and from a structural point of view to have this ball where we get to see our characters at a party.

Having said that, it’s not a fun filled jubilant occasion for everyone. Raven’s opening narration catches new readers up on the current state of class divisions in the Reunified States, going over how, when the Wendigo was at the doors of the people of America, high social standings didn’t do much to help you out, and they certainly didn’t give you a lot of skills to fall back on when you were part of little pockets of survivors and had to find a way to contribute to the group. A large percentage of the upper class didn’t make it. Even so, this ball has brought out the last remnants of that world, along with those who have risen up and established themselves at the top of the ladder in this new society. The atmosphere is hardly convivial, and several members of the main cast don’t appear to be at ease in this setting. Abigail feels out of place and sees James, who looks completely right for the occasion, as her lifeline, but is denied this when they’re separated. Harry finds that there’s a little too much information to take in, managing to stay afloat when James, sympathetic to her feelings in this situation, walks her through the steps (both for the dance and how to get by when surrounded by this many people). Most heart-breaking of all, Jeremy and Donald have been partnered with other people and, for all-intents-and-purposes, have been forbidden by Truth to dance together or show any signs that they’re a couple. It’s painful to hear about Jeremy putting on a smile while barely keeping back his tears. The injustice of society working against people being with who they love if it doesn’t fit their standards is eloquently summarised by Harry’s remark “it’s such a shame they won’t let us dance with who we really want to”. A perfect summation of denied love. Even Truth, who has an eye for navigating her way through these parties, addresses the fact that this is not a place for our characters to relax. She briefs the other female members of the group on their approach, telling them that they’re here to make connections and work on making the best impression of the group and the mission they can – “There’s a time for fun and games, and it’s not at parties”. The mood of this episode is playful at times, and there are moments where you’re happy for this chance to rest before things get dangerous. But it also shows why these settings can be a source of anxiety, and why putting on a show for the world can be soul crushing.

One of the most intense scenes at the ball is when Abigail dances with Arlington. Hearing her thoughts as she struggles to get a read on him shows how striking the effect he has on people is. He has a quiet fire that is frightening and magnetic all at once. Abigail even confesses that she sees many of the qualities in him that attracts her to James. The two men do share a calculating disposition that values logic which seems cold at first, but it hides a passionate resolve that flares to the surface when it counts. Arlington moves with a stoic surety that compels Abigail to follow his steps as they dance, which acts as a poetic metaphor of his approach to politics and his efforts to lead this country. For the time being, Arlington is leading this dance, and the country, in a way which seems correct and will likely get them through to the end of all this. But he and Abigail talk of the desire to deliberately put a foot wrong, just to see what will happen. Arlington is conducting himself exactly as he knows he should, but there is a part of him that wants so badly to kick the table over and meet the people he sees as enemies on his terms. When Abigail asks how long they can continue this dance, he answers “as long as we can” with sad, tired resignation. I find Arlington to be one of the most fascinating characters in all of New Century.

There are so many pieces of great writing and enjoyable character moments peppered throughout this chapter, so to finish off I’ll quickly go through some of my favourite bits. Abigail noticing Thomas and Sarah Arlington’s armoured jackets and wondering what they expect to happen and feeling worried is a decent payoff to the end of the previous episode when Sarah deliberated over whether to wear the jacket or not, showing us that she was right to think about the message such an action conveys. The footman announcing each of the main characters and his occasional embarrassment and frustration at being interrupted is a fun to watch, and Abigail’s commentary on how each person is received and how they conduct themselves speaks volumes of their different characters. When James and Abigail share a mischievous laugh together afterwards, it’s absolutely adorable. I ship it. Later, Abigail meets the blusterous buffoon Dutch Van Tassel, and she describes him as having “a great big bushy beard”. Now, this might just be a result of having watched this film a dozen or so too many times, but hearing that statement makes me wonder if that’s intended to be a reference to Hot Fuzz. Abigail gets bailed out from her conversation with Dutch by- oh sweet, it’s Li! She was a cool addition to the cast in Arlington, and I’m definitely glad to have her quiet, steely temperament back. Annie and Frank have the good fortune to be able to dance with the person they love and openly display that connection to the world, but they’re also compassionate enough to help those who aren’t having as great a time. I’m glad that Annie helps Jeremy get close to Donald, and when Frank speculates that Harry has feelings for James it did make sense, as I had similar suspicions. I continue to enjoy Frank and Harry’s relationship, as he’s a good friend to her and knows just how to word things. I’m pleased that Abigail gets to meet Nathanial Curtis and that she gets along with him. He’s an accomplished and immensely respectable man who nevertheless has the humble nobility of an old friendly soldier, so it’s no wonder that Abigail likes him immediately, especially with her father being a soldier as well. The episode and the party conclude with Abigail stepping outside for some air and meeting Raven, and his honesty is refreshing, even if his attitude means he isn’t the smoothest conversationalist. The instruments finish playing their music, and the applause signals the end of the episode.

I do love a party.

Chapter Ten’s epilogue tells us that Thomas and Sarah have twelve days left, referring to the closing events of Arlington. But I have to wonder whether the wording means that the significance of the statement is that they each have twelve days left, or that they have twelve days left of being together. Either way, it’s an immensely sad thought.

#The Inquisitive J #review #critic #narrative #narrative analysis #fiction #audiobook #audio drama #fictional podcast #books #alternate universe #alternate history #alternate history fiction #new century #new century multiverse #the new century multiverse #steamheart #the inquisitive j reviews

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5hfanfiction · 6 years

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New Kind of Love ~ Chapter Ten: Rest

The car ride consisted of mostly strained silence, only being interrupted whenever Camila would need to point out a direction. Luckily, it was a very short car ride—considering her house had always been within walking distance.

Camila felt nervous throughout the whole drive. She kept stealing glances down at the rose whenever she didn’t need to pay attention to the road.

In her mind; she was contemplating whether she should talk about her feelings about the kiss right then, or whether she should wait for the next day.

They pulled into Camila’s driveway faster than she had anticipated. She checked the time, and although it was only a quarter till’ six, it looked uncharacteristically dark outside.

When Camila looked over to the green eyed girl, her lips curved up into an involuntary smile. The only sound being the pitter-patter of rain drops hitting against the car. And words fell from the brunette’s lips with near reckless abandon:

“Come inside with me…” Camila whispered out without thinking–not like she had a choice on the matter, but she would’ve liked the chance to think about what she was saying before she said it. Her eyes widened when she realized that she had said that out loud as Lauren turned to look at her.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I never make a good first impression to adults,” came Lauren’s timid response.

“Nobody else is home,” Camila blurted out. It was as if her vocal chords were set to cruise control, while the rest of her will power flew out the window.

Lauren simply examined Camila’s facial expression for a moment before she outstretched her arm to grab something from the backseat. Camila watched Lauren’s every move, confused when the Lauren’s hand was drawn back to the front with a jacket. She stared at the jacket with furrowed brows while Lauren held it out for her to take.

“Are you going to put it on, or what?” Lauren joked as she gingerly placed the jacket on Camila’s lap, and exited the car.

Camila looked out the car window and watched the green eyed girl run to the front door. Once Lauren had reached the front door, she turned around and beckoned for Camila to follow.

She looked down at the jacket that Lauren had placed in her lap before putting it on—loving the way that the warmth consumed her body. She ran out of the car and to the front door as fast as she could—the cold temperature and the rain water beating down on her with such rapidity. Once she had gotten to the front door, she quickly unlocked it with shivering hands.

They both bursted through the entrance and removed their soaking wet jackets. Camila glanced up, seeing Lauren’s muscles and toned abs—due to the soaking of her now damp shirt—sticking to her skin.

“Why’d you give me your jacket, Laur? Now you’re all soaked,” Camila mumbled guiltily.

Lauren simply tilted her head and furrowed her brows. And Camila would be lying if she said it didn’t look positively adorable.

“Well, I wantedto give it to you,” Lauren spoke with an almost shy glance down to her feet.

Camila felt her face heat up as she her teeth trapped her bottom lip to suppress the idiotic smile that was inevitably going to grow on her lips.

Camila’s brown eyes flickered between Lauren’s galaxy green. Lauren stared into Camila’s eyes as well. Maybe Lauren is a sign to step out of the closet. Camila instantly shook the thought out of her head and turned towards the living room.

“I guess I’ll give you a tour of mi casa,” Camila huffed with an attempt to sound the least bit natural. Although, she was slightly irritated that she couldn’t deny the growing feelings for the green eyed girl—no matter her best efforts.

—-

Throughout the whole time that Camila was giving the house tour, Lauren seemed…timid; to say the absolute least.

Camila would notice how she looked extra cautious not to touch anything, or how she would hug her arms to her chest, or how she would let her eyes wonder around rather than just walking around.

They were upstairs when Lauren’s eyes seemed to linger on one of Camila’s family pictures that hung in the hallway. Her eyes never seemed to linger on anything for too long, but the framed picture captured her interest more than anything else did.

She finally returned her attention away from the picture and back to the brunette. Their gaze met, and they were locked in each other’s eyes for the millionth time since the house tour had begun—even if only for a split second. It ended only when Camila blinked and turned to her bedroom door.

Thoughts had been spreading around Camila’s mind like wild fire. Lauren could be your way out. Lauren should be your way out. Lauren is your way out. However, they would leave her mind almost as fast as they had entered.

“And-um…this would be my room,” Camila let out, pressing her bedroom door to an open. She walked in to take a seat at the edge of her bed. When she looked back up, Lauren was still standing outside of the doorway. “C'mere,” Camila beckoned by patting the spot beside her, trying to fight the tension and make Lauren more comfortable.

As she shuffled over to Camila’s bed, she still looked extremely nervous. She perched herself down—noticeably keeping a fair amount of space between herself and Camila—as she mindlessly picked at her fingers that sat in her lap.

“Are you okay, Laur?” Camila asked, scooting closer to the other girl.

Lauren didn’t protest, so Camila took the opportunity to scoot herself closer. After a couple moments of silence, Camila looked down at the ground; a certain pound at her chest at Lauren’s sudden discomfort.

“Where is he?” Lauren asked quietly, suddenly.

Camila looked back up, Lauren was already looking at her.

“What?” Camila whispered her reply, starting to get lost in Lauren’s eyes already.

“Your step-dad…” Lauren muttered.

Camila immediately looked away and her shoulders dropped dishearteningly. She was kind of hoping that Lauren would forget, or at least wouldn’t bring up, everything that she had said the other day—but she clearly didn’t.

“He’s-um, he’s at a party. With my mom…” Camila responded, her eyes remained planted on the floor.

Seconds later, she felt Lauren scoot closer with a slight dip in the mattress. When Camila’s eyes lifted with hope that Lauren might actually start talking to her, she found green eyes still refusing to look back at her, so she returned her gaze down to her lap.

It was only then that she suddenly felt an arm wrap around her waist. She looked back up to her favorite pair of green eyes. Both girls’ clothing were still slightly wet from the rain, but neither of them seemed to care.

“We don’t have to talk about it…” Lauren whispered, offering a sweet smile that sent a certain shiver down Camila’s spine.

She rested her head on Lauren’s chest.

Lauren is your way out.

That time, Camila didn’t push the thought away. That time, she let it sit there. She didn’t push it away, but she didn’t ponder on the thought either. She just let it sit in her mind like a lonely rubber duck in a big lake. It’s not supposed to be in a place so large—it feels lonely. Yet, it just sits there.

“My mom passed away cause,” Lauren’s voice entered the atmosphere softly, trailing down before she rephrased, “it was from a kidney failure.”

Camila immediately lifted her head off of Lauren’s chest, just enough to look into her eyes. The raven haired girl gave a small smile, and Camila was left to wonder what she was thinking of.

“When I was like…15, my dad finally told me. He told me that we moved here because this was the only place that we could keep an affordable house and an affordable doctor at the same time,” Lauren discontentedly let out before clearing her throat in order to continue.

Camila’s expression softened, watching Lauren’s eyes start to coat in water—tears.

“It’s funny how,” Lauren took a deep breath in an attempt to dismiss whatever tears were already beginning to form, “it’s funny how much a parent’s death can affect their child.”

Camila noticed how easily Lauren rid of the tears that so perseveringly formed in her eyes. The raven haired girl let out a sigh to herself, giving Camila a weak, and strained at best, smile.

“You don’t have to tell me about any of this, Laur,” Camila said, laying her head back down on her chest.

“I mean…you told me about your family,” Lauren said, resting her chin on the top of Camila’s head, “I thought I should tell you a little bit about mine.”

Both girls fell into a comfortable smile.

For a long time, they just sat there. Silence. They sat there in silence. Both had thoughts running through their minds, but neither would share. For a long time, they just sat there.

Lauren’s warmth was starting to make Camila feel tired. Her eyelids began to feel like bricks as she forced them to remain open.

Even though she only got four hours of sleep the night prior, she knew that sleeping would make the moment go away. She closed her eyes for just a split second and snuggled her face into Lauren’s neck.

“You tired?” Lauren wondered aloud with a faint tone.

Camila’s eyes shot open and she shook her head.

“Lauren…I know you want to talk about the kiss. We can talk about it…if that’s what you want.”

Camila herself honestly didn’t want to talk about it at that moment. Her statement was met by silence until Lauren finally spoke up:

“How many hours of sleep did you get last night?” Lauren asked, dodging her question.

To which Camila responded by lazily lifting up four fingers; representing her four hours of sleep. She retracted her hand back down after she felt the taller girl nod.

“I think that you should get some rest.”

“Laur…I know you want to talk about the kiss.”

“I want you to get some rest, Camz,” Lauren said in a soft, faint whisper. That had been the first time anybody had ever called her that–Camz. It sounded nice coming from Lauren.

So, Camila let her eyes finally fall shut. When she felt herself starting to drift asleep, she let it happen. When her eyes stayed shut, she let it happen. As she felt the serenity and comfort against Lauren, she couldn’t help but let the deep sleep happen.

For the first time in forever, Camila fell asleep without having to cry herself into it.

—

(Author’s Note: Stay tuned cause I’ll be posting a chapter to this tumblr page very frequently <3 Okay, this is the last time that I’m putting this as the author’s note. Lol, I promise)

#UPDATE #series #AU #camren #angst drama #family #humour #romance fluff #submission #New Kind of Love

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veridium · 6 years

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Thank You 300 Followers - Here’s Some Heartache!

Thank you for enabling me, everyone

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is not a chronological part of my #Theiaphine romance arc. This story takes place a year after Inquisitor Theia Trevelyan disbands the Inquisition, marries, and moves her sights to the incoming conflict threatening all of Thedas and the world. It is also a very emotional and tumultuous moment in the lives of Theia and her wife, and as such I will warn you: it is some sad shit. Also, if you don’t want to spoil the chronology of their romance, maybe don’t read this...and I’m sorry (lol).

The Inquisition had been disbanded for a year now, and yet for Theia her work never truly ended. She still felt the pressure to perform, to represent something greater than her own identity. Even with all she had sacrificed to save Thedas, she felt spurred to give more – as if her body and spirit had finally resigned to her greater purpose. Still, the concerns of her life did not waver from her heart. She still stood at the side of the woman she loved in a time of war, and now a time of preparation. She still pushed herself to be a better Mage, even with the loss of her hand and forearm. And now, she was preparing for perhaps the most complicating eventuality of her life: becoming a Mother while one of the leaders of a covert operation to stop the destruction of the entire world at the hands of a former ally and friend.

The ocean air laced with salt, easygoing and in no hurry. It was a calm morning for the ports and for the halls of the apartments House Montilyet owned along Rialto Bay. Her healer had recommended remaining near the water for the first few months, in order to relax her nerves and keep her mind preoccupied with the business of the surrounding city life.

She gazed absent-mindedly in the floor-length mirroring metal that stood in their bedchamber, as a servant helped secure her tunic dress from behind. Her hair in wavy curls and tied up into a ponytail, a beautiful façade to a busy mind. Among her thoughts, reports from Leliana – though Thedas called her Divine Victoria – letters from the Seeker’s hideout in the mountains, and intel gathering from various agents scattered across the landscape. She did not need one for the Imperium, however; she had a direct voice from the heart in a dear friend whose voice echoed through a messenger crystal at every chance he got.

Once she was fully ready, she turned and departed her room, single-mindedly heading for her office. Well, their office. The thought of two important and busy women sharing one work space would puzzle some people, but once they were invited into the large room, it was understood why. In two corners were each of their workspaces: one corner, an illustrious library of tomes, papers, and scrolls, along with a fireplace and a bearskin run reminiscent of the décor of the Free Marches. On the other end of the rectangular room was another desk and chair, ornamentally designed, and matching the large window overlooking the sea ports. The window was rarely closed. Framing it were bookshelves, statuettes, and artwork.

Theia entered into the middle of the room, which was bordered by a long and thin balcony which overlooked the small garden courtyard. The sun was bearing down on the rustic stone of the architecture, facilitating a warm and dry atmosphere. That kind of weather did well for Theia’s pale skin, but she grew only slightly darker than she had been in their days at Skyhold; the phenotypes of her heritage were hard to shake off.

Her eyes went immediately to the leather-bound booklet of papers that rested in the middle of her desk. She grabbed it and unbound it from the leather string, opening and searching for the bottom line in all the jargon. It was from the Divine: more detected movements of elves departing their posts and homes and retreating somewhere rural, some place hard to pinpoint. Meanwhile, “special emissaries” – the Divine’s word for her spies – had been monitoring the Qunari advancement on the Imperium with grim conclusions. Her friend and now Magistrate Dorian Pavus was working under ever-increasing pressure, and his faction proved rigorous in the face of not only political opposition, but decreasing time.

With all this in mind, anyone who knew Theia during the early days of the Inquisition would say they felt a shift in her soul, as if she had aged ten years in the span of three. Perhaps it was the betrayal of her friend that hardened her heart and drew the line in the sand. Or, maybe, the loss of her arm that left her permanently jaded to a degree. The core of who she was managed to survive, if in more episodic expressions. The main thing that changed was that she was careful who witnessed it – who still got to see Theia for who she was, and not merely what she must do.

Her quiet time alone with the reports was interrupted by the sound of her partner entering with a courier, who was feverishly taking notes per dictation.

“Tell my brother to take count of all the masts we have left-over from the renovation, and see if we cannot find some use for the fabrics elsewhere. Particularly if we can experiment with designs for the several ships I need built,” Josephine ordered as she walked with determination to her desk.

“Yes, My Lady,” the courier nodded, before departing quickly back out the door.

From across the vast room, Josephine sensed her presence, and couldn’t help but grin smartly as she, too, got her eyes lost in some important documents.

“Mi amor, you brood with increased intensity these days,” she said out loud.

“Funny, and I thought the servants were merely joking when they got caught calling me Mistress Ice Dragon,” Theia mused, finishing up a sentence she was writing on the correspondence in front of her.

“You know they were drunk, do not take it personally. Besides, there is something…magnetic about such a title,” Josephine’s playfulness had an ultimate goal: avoid Theia’s now heightened temper at all costs, if it could be out-maneuvered. Such a task proved only possible for the most capable, such as herself.

“Yes, of course, I much prefer it to all the rest. In fact we should combine them all into an ultimate title: The Herald of the Ice Dragon Inquisition? It’s catchy,” her words were laced with a saltiness, as much as she tried to have a sense of humor, she could not help but have low patience these days.

With that, Josephine chuckled, and withdrew from her end of the room in order to arrive at her woman’s side. She came around to her side of the desk, sitting on the edge to her right, her eyes glimmering in the abundant daylight.

“What is the latest from the Divine? She sent me a letter a few days ago, but it was more personal in nature.”

“Nothing I didn’t already expect, unfortunately. More elves retreating to somewhere, the Qunari are not backing down from the Imperium’s borders. Solas was right, with their defeat in the Deep Roads, they are now striking at Tevinter with the vengeance of a wounded animal.”

“It was imperative that we defeat them. The Exalted Council’s destruction would have been more disastrous than the Conclave.”

“Yes, but now I fear we have won the battle only to lose the war.”

“Surely not. With the ships my brother is working on in the yard, we can have a sustainable fleet to support our forces if they need it.”

Theia pursed her lips. Josephine spoke of their months-long project they began shortly after she got the Montilyet trading fleet back on its feet. Using some of the smaller ships as conduits, they began transferring correspondences, agreements, and acquisitions in an underground, transactional process. Eventually, they even dispatched explorers to secure new raw materials for their eventual plans of a security fleet that could withstand evacuation, maritime battle, and even land-based natural disasters. A smaller, more maneuverable fleet to stand by should land become too dangerous to undergo operations.

“You still sound the way you did when we were in Skyhold. So full of hope and promise. I wonder how you did it,” Theia admitted with a vulnerability in her tone, now

“I watched the woman I thought would be lost to me forever, come back to me, from a most impossible battle. Now, she and I live the life I thought was foolish to daydream. I have an endless reservoir of foolish resolve,” Josephine played.

At that, Theia smirked. “I am sorry I’ve been so distant. Between the sickness and the affairs we have going on, there are times when I feel like I am more of the kind of person Varric said I’d be: this embodiment of intimidating ideas, and not a human being.”

“You have managed to be both for this long, mi amor, and will continue to. Just take care of yourself, please, for both your sakes,” Josephine referred to the child that was now growing inside of her, the child that would be their heir and their shining beacon of faith in a time of great duress.

“I will. I’m trying. It doesn’t help that no one else knows besides you and Dorian. I’m surprised Dorian has kept it to himself this long, it surely is a sign he has more vital matters to concern himself with. I will need to tell Cassandra and Lelia—Divine Victoria, before rumors or spies gets the information to them first. They would not be pleased with me,” she stood from her chair and took hold of the letter she had finished. Folding it up precisely, she reached for her small bottle of parchment wax, and began warming it over the one candle she had lit for such purposes.

It would only be a month or so before her abdomen would start swelling, and become noticeable even other the shapelessness of her tunic gowns. She had to devise the best and most covert way of letting her closest allies know of this recent development. Surely they would understand if she could just use the right words, or provide the most accurate context.

No matter what, though, she knew it would not be smooth sailing.

The Seeker was anxiously awaiting word from the former Inquisitor, seeing as how she had dispatched pages of updates and time-sensitive information for her feedback. The Seekers had been rebuilding and training intensively for months in the mountains, free from the momentum of politics and everyday debauchery of Orlais. She was personally overseeing the reformation, and with that came great power and great nerve. One of the few sources of solace, as well as connection to the outside world, was her frequent communications with Lady Trevelyan and the Divine.

She paced along the floor runner of the foyer, waiting for the courier to arrive with the morning letters. When he finally did so, breathing rather heavily from having ran up the flights of stairs to her wing of the fortress, her eyes sparked with impatience. He handed her a stack about an inch thick; surely one of them would be from Theia.

There were two. One that was more plain, probably of logistical reports and the status of the ship fleet. Then a second, with personal parchment, sealed with her own emblem.

Curious, Cassandra thought. Why the need for two? Has something happened?

Stepping into her private study, first she opened the plainer letter. It was official business, nothing out of the ordinary – a confirmation of support here, a comment in the margins there. So, why a need for a personal note? Typically, when Theia wished to say something personal, she snuck it in at the end of reports.

Her fingers nervously opened the second letter, the wax snapping as it broke open. Her eyes went immediately to the first line:

“Dear friend,

I would have included this in the reports, but, I did not wish for something so private to be shuffled into affairs of business. I know you will react strongly to this, but, it is something I won’t be able to hide from you much longer. I am with child, due 7 months from now. I am well, and well-cared for. Rest assured, I will not shirk my duties or correspondences during the remainder of my pregnancy. I have sent a letter to the Divine relaying this news, so do not feel bound to secrecy with her. After all, who could dare keep a secret from our beloved friend?

Sending well wishes your way,

T”

The Seeker’s heart sank deeper into her ribs as she read the note. How could she do this? Now, of all times? Her body filled with fearful dread. It was not that a child wasn’t a blessing from the Maker, it was the timing of it. Surely, she had thought Theia would remain focused on the responsibilities she had to the forces under her control and advisement, not do something that would require so much of her energy. And what of the child of the Inquisitor? Would such an identity ever promise safety in the face of war?

Cassandra sat down at her chair, pondering how to react to this news in a way that would not alienate a friend she valued so highly. Throughout all the years they had worked together, she trusted Theia to have fair judgment, and to understand the brevity of her choices. Now, something had changed.

Just as she was about to put her hand to paper, and write her response, another courier staffer barged into her study. Her face, annoyed with such a gesture, looked up with tense eyes and posture.

“Yes?” she huffed.

The man stepped forward, holding another letter, one that looked eerily familiar. It was the same parchment that Theia had used, only with a purple seal. It was Ambassador Montilyet’s emblem.

“My Lady, this came expedited from Antiva. Lady Montilyet sent it with most urgent orders to get it to your hand as quick as possible. The rider looked as if he hadn’t slept in two days.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed; she was exasperated with the apparent bureaucracy of the situation. Just how many personal letters would she receive from the same location? Could the two women not collaborate their message into one letter? For Maker’s sake—

As she stared down at the open letter, her heart experienced whiplash.

“Lady Cassandra,

It is with urgency and pain that I write to you to inform of that my wife, and your friend, suffered a miscarriage this morning. She is recuperating, but is under acute distress and pain, as you can imagine. I write to you not as a colleague or ally, but as the partner to your closest friend, and woman: come to Antiva to see her. She needs all the motivation she can get to recover. It would mean the world to me.

Kindest and most astute regards,

Lady Josephine Montilyet”

“Maker,” Cassandra said out loud, to the dismay of the courier standing before her. Her voice was sad, emotional, feeling, a sound that her men did not witness often.

“Have my horse prepared, and get me two guards to accompany me. I must go to Antiva immediately,” she ordered, hardening her resolve for the sake of saving face. As the man departed, she gathered the two letters, folding them into one another.

She rose from her chair and made her way to her fireplace. Without so much as a word or a sentimental expression, she tossed the papers into the fire. No one would know of her friend’s tragedy, lest they be acquainted with her blade or her fist.

The heat of the Antivan sky bore down on the back of the Seeker’s neck – this temperate weather was not her choice, nor was it what she was used to after about half a year in the mountains. The roads were hills, and the cobblestone under her horse’s feet was hot to the touch. The two guards that flanked her eyed the scenery with awe: being out of the desolate area they had been in was a much-needed retreat of sorts.

Finally, the Seeker had found the entryway to the Montilyet home. It was a tall stone façade with a gate that gave way into a courtyard, with a large double-door entryway with Antivan rounded columns. Although, the place felt eerily quiet and still, as if something very devastating had engulfed it, making it feel dimmer than the surrounding buildings.

Coming out of the opened doors was Josephine herself, wearing a dark purple gown and silver strands of ornamentation in her hair. In Antiva, mourning was marked by conservative dress and retiring from public social life temporarily – a grim choice indeed in the opulent grandeur of Rialto bay. The Seeker dismounted and immediately approached Lady Montilyet.

“Seeker, it is so good to see you,” she greeted, her hands collected in front of her, a ring being toyed with nervously between an index finger and thumb.

“Lady Montilyet,” Cassandra bowed her head in respect, “I came as soon as I got word. Where is she? How is her health?”

“Come with me, I will take you to her at once,” Josephine reached out a hand, beckoning her forward. Soon, they were walking side by side down a spacious corridor, servants stopping to look at the honorable guest that had come to see one of the Mistresses of the household.

“She bled for two days, so much so she went unconscious for several hours. The Healers were able to stem the bleeding, but, there was no salvaging the…” Josephine’s breath ran out as she blinked, trying to hold herself together. “She is still weak, but her prognosis is good. They cannot tell yet whether or not the damage has been done permanently.”

Cassandra was quiet with reverence towards the loss. “I have been praying for you both, Lady Josephine. I hope you know just how apologetic I am for this travesty.”

“Thank you. It has been…most difficult. Her pain has made her expectantly tumultuous in demeanor. I have been trying everything the Healers suggest to distract her, but, she is very stubborn as you well know.”

“If I may ask, what…was she doing, when it happened?”

Lady Montilyet was quiet, the footfalls of their walking being the only sound to remind them of where they were. Her eyes glazed a bit as she put together her response in her mind.

“We are not exactly sure. She had been preoccupied for many days, but, earlier this week she woke up screaming from a nightmare. When I awoke to the sound, I saw her crying there, hunched over, her night dress doused in blood. All I can hear is her screaming, even still. She will not tell me what the nightmare was of, nor will she sleep for more than two hours at a time, mostly out of sheer exhaustion.”

The Seeker had to hold back her own pang of emotion now, as they made their way up a flight of stairs into a wing with bedchambers.

“I must warn you, Seeker Cassandra, she is not herself. She may say hurtful, ambivalent comments to you. She does not mean them,” Josephine’s words were laced with hurt; her warning came from personal experience, and that made Cassandra feel even more sympathetic to her.

“Lady Montilyet, I…I do not know what to say to make this any easier on you, only that you of all people – both of you – deserve so much happiness for all you have endured.”

“Yes, well,” Josephine looked away, her eyes shifting as she kept hold of composure, “I have heard that many a time, Seeker, so forgive me if I come off as…unaffected. Her recovery room is just down this hall, fourth door to the left. Please tell her that I love her and I will see her tonight,” Josephine nodded solemnly and retreated back down the stairs, leaving Cassandra to stare down the hallway and feel the nerves in her chest dance. It had been many months since she last saw her friend in person, when she came to visit the fortress. Now, as much as she would be happy to see her, she almost with she could fast-forward in time and be visiting several more months from now, perhaps when Theia would feel better.

Making her way into the fourth doorway, the air was thick with incense – what she could only assume was supposed to be a sedative effect, as she felt slightly drowsy the more she inhaled. The room was dark, only lit by the reflection of the sunlight on the tile and mosaic-lined stone. The tapestries lining the balcony lightly shifted in the breeze, but otherwise it felt as though time had frozen them in place here.

There was a large bed, sheets disheveled, but covered a thin-framed figure. She then saw her messy and long blonde waves of hair. It looked as if she was sleeping, no longer able to fight the exhaustion.

Cassandra’s boots made ample noise on the floor, and soon Theia’s figure moved slightly, her legs curling and bending as they stretched. The Seeker came to a stop, several feet from the side of the bed, her eyes overburdened with sadness seeing her friend, a woman she had seen stand so tall, so resolutely against forces of peril, now facing something so much more destructive to her spirit.

Her stare was broken when Theia’s face looked back at her, her eyes slowly blinking awake.

“…C-Cassandra?” she groaned, the depth in her voice lingering from the days of crying she endured. Her face looked pale, as did her lips. The deep, dark circles under her eyes only comparable to the ones she had when she was in the prison, all those years ago, waiting to be questioned for her part in the Conclave disaster. That forlorn memory made the Seeker’s chest ache.

“Yes, my friend, it is me. I have come to see you,” Cassandra stepped forward, pivoting on her hip as she sat on the foot of the bed, an arm stretching out over the Inquisitor’s legs. Theia rubbed her face softly with the back of her hand, her brow furrowing as the surprise sank in. She pulled herself up, her abdomen still sore as she did so, but she managed. She adjusted her pillow against her back as she lay in place once more, taking pressure off of her stomach.

“I…assume, someone in particular wrote to you. And it was either our blessed Divine, or my wife,” she muttered, a hand resting instinctively on her stomach, the other falling to rest at her side.

Cassandra grinned. “Yes, Josephine wrote that I must come as soon as possible. Surely, you must not think you have to fight every antagonist without me at your side.”

“It is not a battle I face this time, Seeker, unless you wish to disembowel me and remove my ability to bear children. And that, I fear, has been taken care of already.”

Cassandra held her breath, hearing the roughness in her voice as she discussed something so horrific.

“My friend, you do not have to discuss it if you do not wish to. I came here to be of solace to you, in whatever capacity you need.”

“I do not need solace, Seeker, I need my child. Since I have lost her, I am rather satiated with the disappointment of life,” her words stung with resentment, and suddenly Cassandra saw the demeanor that Josephine had undoubtedly been exposed to for several days.

“How did you know it was…” her thinking out loud would be the death of her, but she said it, and now she was at the mercy of Theia’s answer, whatever it was.

Theia paused and looked out at the balcony, her eyes narrowed as they reacted to the contrast in light. “I felt it, it was…just a hunch, I suppose, but. I just knew. They say mothers always know, that they feel things others cannot possibly fathom. I felt her.”

“My Lady, I am so—“

“Do not apologize. I am so tired of hearing the processionals of ‘I am sorry.’ If everyone is so sorry, why can’t they find some way to return to me what was mine?” she seethed, but was too tired to fully express it. The soreness of her abdominal region curbed her fury.

Cassandra felt like weeping, watching her friend be reduced to such carnal emotions of grief. Then, as she saw the absence of her friend’s left arm, she was reminded of just how much more risky it was for Theia to remain enveloped in herself.

“Friend, are you sure you are taking adequate care of yourself, considering your special circumstances?” she asked with careful intrepedation.

Theia picked up on the intent rather easily. She was considerably not herself, but she still had her intellect and intuition in spades.

“Oh, now you fear I’ll be consumed by a despair demon, Seeker? Is this what is supposed to comfort me, my own friend looking at me as a possible target for her blade?”

“I did not say that, but you know as well as I do what the reality is of your existence.”

“I am a mother with no child, Seeker, that is the reality of my existence.”

“I know, I just wish—“

“Get out.”

Cassandra stopped herself, caught off guard by the sharp order she had been given. She had come all this way, dropping everything in order to do so, and she was being sent off as if she were a menial servant. It riled her ego viscerally, but she battled within herself to have compassion for her friend.

“My Lady, with all due respect,”

“No. Get out of my sight. You wish to scold me like everyone else. I want to sit here in my silence and grieve like I deserve. I never asked for you to come here,” she growled. From the narrowness of her gaze, her purple irises began stirring with color.

“Theia, I am not leaving.” She used her first name now, a unique and alarming urgency.

“If you do not leave you will be tossed out on the top of an ice sheet, Cassandra, I am warning you one last time,” Theia hissed back, her hand collecting into a fist that gripped onto her bedsheets.

“No. I have never abandoned your side when you needed it, and I will not do it—“

“GET. OUT.” She yelled now, in the most animalistic tone Cassandra had ever heard come from a woman. The pain almost felt like daggers shooting at her. But, if it was one thing the Seeker was always trained to do, it was to stare down the roaring fire from a dragon’s throat and continue forward, to do what must be done.

“You do not scare me, my friend,” she said calmly, stepping forward and dragging a knee across the bed as she sat close to Theia, who was now lurching away from her.

“Theia! Theia, stop,” she said low, putting her arms out and trying to wrap around Theia’s shoulders. She felt several punches against her chestplate as she slowly pulled the violent embrace of the woman she trusted with her life into her.

“Get off! I do not need to be coddled!” Theia yelled.

Some more resistance, but then she relented, one last fruitless punch against her friend’s armor. From her chest, Cassandra could hear and feel her friend sobbing, the deep, guttural sound of her voice sending sorrow through her.

Stillness, even if in agony, is still stillness.

Protectively, Cassandra stroked the back of Theia’s head, feeling the slight friction between her hair and her riding glove.

“It is alright. I promise,” she muttered as her friend now held onto her for dear life. They stayed like this for a while, while Theia’s crying seemed to be bottomless, as if the sea itself wished to be the source of her tears.

The remainder of the day passed into a night of armistice, and it was not until the following morning that the Seeker saw some reason to hope. While sitting in the courtyard and eating a modest breakfast alone at one of the tables, out walked Theia, slowly, unescorted, but tall. She wore a black dress, a purple sash tied multiple loops around her waist to gather the light fabric into some shape. Her hair was not decorated, but it looked washed, which was more than what she could say yesterday. It was the fifth night she had slept alone, reclusive.

Cassandra flinched as she saw her friend, and her eyes shined with pleasant surprise.

“My Lady, you are walking! Come, sit with me, do not rush,” she said as she chewed through a mouthful of food, standing to beckon her over.

Theia’s face was stoic, but cordial. She nodded once, accepting the offer as she made her way, fingers lightly grasping on the skirt of her gown as she stepped down some shallow stairs. She sat beside her friend, grunting under her breath as she did so.

“Cassandra, I wish to—“

“There is no need,” Cassandra interrupted, sitting down once more and anchoring her elbows on the table. “I understand that you are in a most difficult moment of your life, and I know the woman you are, underneath it all.”

Theia sighed shallowly, her eyes staring off blankly into space.

“Cassandra, that is just the thing, though – this is the woman I am. I cannot reverse what has happened, as much as I wish I could. I can never be the woman I was in the days of the Inquisition again. I haven’t been her for some time now.”

“Everyone has foundations to who they are, no matter what life’s changes do to impact their outlook. You are still the brave, kind, and strong person I befriended in war. Even if you do not find humor in the things you used to, you hold true to those virtues.”

A silence fell over them as they both sat, straight-backed and contemplative.

“Did you ever have a moment in your life when something was before you. A chance, to make your life about something you could have for yourself. Something that did not have to abide by outside rules or customs, that you nourished, and protected?” Theia’s tone almost sounded like dutiful sobbing the way it as so melodic.

“Yes, I have.”

“What then?”

“I…when I fell in love with a Mage, when I was young. I felt as though all of the rules I had held myself to no longer applied. I loved him, and he loved me, and that was the most sacred truth of us. When he died, I mourned him in private, because I did not wish to share my pain with anyone. I felt as though no one was worthy of such vulnerability. As if, such raw power of emotion could level entire buildings.”

Theia’s eyes flickered to her friend’s face as she spoke; Cassandra never discussed the Mage she once had as a lover, except that once. It was years ago. Theia never pressed her about it since, knowing just how important of a pivot it was in her life.

“That is how I feel about this. I do not want anyone near me. I feel like I have lost myself, and I’m wandering alone in in this spiral of a pathway, one side of it being some form of stability, the other the heart of my devastation. I keep trying to move forward, but I find it’s just the same twisting path, in and out of my despair. I do not know where it leads, or when I hope to stop and rest, my feet just…keep going.”

“But each time you re-enter your grief, you do so having survived it time and time again. You will continue to do so, until it feels like you have more control over just how close it gets to your heart. Trust me, my friend, you are the kind of person who can survive this.”

“I have survived everything, I am getting quite bored of it.”

“The dead would disagree with such a sentiment.”

“Spoken like someone who would know, Nevarran.”

Cassandra couldn’t help but grin in surprise. In a flash of seconds, her friend’s wit had made an appearance. She looked at her, and nodded in concession.

“Theia, I know I cannot possibly relate to your loss. But, I do know what it is to lose someone you love when a piece of your happiness relies upon them staying alive. You are anything but alone.”

Theia sighed, coupling her hands in her lap. “I understand that, but you must also concede just how lonely it is to be recognized as a heroine, someone who has done impossible things, and yet fail at what is supposed to come natural to you. It all feels backwards. I can hardly keep track of the illogical nature of my life.”

“A great deal of things come naturally to a woman, my friend. We are capable of most anything we invest our will into.”

“Yes, but that does not mean it does not bite us back for trying. If I may ask, would you walk with me? The healers say I must get some air, and distract myself,” her voice was half breath as she hoisted herself up from her seat. Cassandra agreed readily.

The gardens were lush but reverent in their stillness for Lady Trevelyan’s sorrow. Cassandra couldn’t help but notice just how lively and beautiful the scene would have been if only the fountains were spouting water, and the birds would come to visit on the disbursed seeds and nuts the servants would dish out every morning. Even the walls and facades of the building felt as though it had humbled itself to the concerns of its fair-haired occupant.

“I have had one of my assistants tend to the letters and dispatch responsibilities. I trust her to do so competently, and I will return to the duties myself very soon. I do not have a real choice,” Theia remarked as they walked.

“Theia, no one is doubting your dedication or fitness for your role. Do not race an enemy horse that does not exist,” the Seeker advised, hands behind her back.

“I know. Still, I cannot sit by and know that Divine Victoria must make up for the work of another person whilst she does the job of several. And you, my friend, cannot make such excursions to Antiva lightly.”

“We all make sacrifices for the needs of our allies. You have done more than enough to deserve such measures.”

“We all have, that doesn’t mean the world stops hurling towards disaster with each passing night.”

They came to a balcony view, one of many that overlooked the ports. They could see some of the Montilyet ships at port, secured and ready for whatever they were tasked with transporting. Somewhere nearby, surely Josephine was working, keeping herself busy whilst her mind fought off worrying about her wife, and the desire to go to her at every other minute.

“They are beautiful ships,” Cassandra complimented as they both peered down.

“Yes, Josephine was always one to combine style with pragmatism. They are fast and durable. Just like the ones we’re building for our forces, but those will be better, and well-armed.”

“Tell me, how has it been between you and Lady Montilyet? She seemed quite careful when she greeted me the other day.”

Theia let a moment of silence pass as she overlooked the shore, her throat stiffening with nervous feelings.

“Josephine and I…don’t quite know what to make of each other because of this. I am afraid I have hurt her badly. In the days after the incident I was very angry, and even malicious. I wanted to fight everyone around me. When I looked at her, when I heard her speak, it was as if every bone in my body felt this mixture of shame and resentment. I still resist the feeling that I’ve failed her,” Theia’s candidness was hard to swallow, but it felt good to speak truth to the feelings that had permeated the air.

“I am sorry to hear that. When is the last time you spoke to her?”

“She comes and bids me goodnight every night before she goes to sleep, and comes to bid good morning with breakfast. She sleeps in our room while I have recovered in the guest wing. I feel so out of my element, not having the ego to be the protective one anymore,” Theia leaned over the stone rail, elbows holding her chest up as she walked the people walk up and down the port.

“I am sure she is just as unnerved to see you be so defenseless.”

“Agh, she knows what I look like when I am at the end of my rope. She’s always been the voice inside my head, and in front of my face, inspiring me to find one more foot of it to hold onto. But, I think she is torn between grieving her own loss and being strong for me. And I have made it very hard for her to want to be strong,” Theia could admit when she was wrong, but she hadn’t the time or energy to do so whilst recovering both physically and psychologically. Indeed, she couldn’t even promise that this moment of reflection would resonate with her; perhaps in an hour she would be back to being distraught and mean.

“I have always told you, honesty is the best way to protect what is important to you.”

Theia patted Cassandra on the shoulder as she took a step back from the railing. “This is true, if inconvenient,” she replied. “Come, I wish to show you the rest of the place. Maybe you’ll get some sunburn, if I keep exposing you to the daylight.”

“We can all hope, friend.”

The rest of their walk was slow and sentimental, keeping to Theia’s determined pace of exertion. When she needed a break, they would sit at a bench, or stand in front of a fountain. Soon, the midday brightness dimmed into early evening twilight, and Cassandra’s attention turned towards the expectations of dinner and socialization.

“The Antivan people are always ready to share food and drink and spur you out of your grief. They hardly rest for such trivial matters such as depression or sorrow. It is most invigorating up until you suffer a personal tragedy,” a smirk had managed to appear on Theia’s tired face as she described her experience.

“They sound like the opposite society to Nevarra. There, a party is not considered worth it unless several people cry, another brings the tokens of their dead relative to pass around the dinner table, and an hour-long toast to the departed has been recognized.”

“Perhaps I should get a summer home there, so I can stop eclipsing the jovial sun here with my sulking.”

They returned to Theia’s temporary room, which had been cleaned well in her absence. The servants had taken the opportunity to change linens, freshen the flowers, and pull the tapestries back to air out the room; clearly, her leaving the space for longer than an hour had been rare.

“I should go see Josephine. Maker knows she is already aware that I have arisen from my sickbed, and is trying to conjure up the right reaction, the right words, the right tone…” Theia sighed, playing with the pyrophite bracelet on her wrist.

“Is that such a bad thing? You do know what your temper is like, surely.”

“No, but I know once we do collide, it will be as it was when we were at Skyhold: a battle of wits, then of tempers, then of wills.”

“Ah, yes. Now, those are fond memories.”

“Some things change, others remain with their heels dug in, you could say.”

“Then I will go to dinner and then to bed. I can stay one more day, but after that I must return to the mountains. Thank you for spending this day with me, it is good to see you out and about once more.”

“Thank you, friend, for everything. I shall see you tomorrow. Perhaps we can walk by the pier, and I can show you the ships up close.” Theia smiled softly as her friend bid her goodnight, and withdrew from her room. Inhaling slow, she turned and around at the room she had been confined to for days. It was so cold, so desolate to feel it around her. She could feel the energy of her cries, her wailing, her groaning in pain, almost as if it had seeped into the walls. This would haunt her mind for a while.

Josephine stood at the foot of their bed, a chalice of wine in hand and held close to her face as she stared at the freshly made sheets. Only one side of the bed had been used for the last week, and even though she tried to sleep, she would jolt awake from the resonating anxiety at hearing her wife cry in alarm.

They had not slept apart unless separated by miles since Corypheus was slain. She had believed that sleeping alone would be impossible. Surely, even in all of her foresight, Josephine had not expected such trials to drive so deep of a wedge between them. They had always been shoulder-to-shoulder, at least, when it was not a battlefield in front of them.

It gnawed at her nerves, worrying that Theia felt so alone in her pain, that she must sequester herself.

So, when her wife stood in the entryway of their chambers, she had to do a double-take to be sure it was her. When it was confirmed, suddenly so many emotions took hold. Defensiveness, sadness, relief…and so much more that couldn’t be named, for it all bled into one another.

“Josephine.” Theia said, before walking towards her. The very sight of her walking, up on her feet, like she had been before…the color in her face now reappearing. It was enough to make her fall to her knees and start crying, if she had felt safe enough to.

“Theia, you are well, and walking?” she said, setting her wine down at the nearest end table, before meeting her halfway. As they stood in front of each other, the palpable awkwardness of being in the aftermath of so much trauma took hold.

“Uh, yes. I got up this morning, and Seeker Cassandra walked with me all day. I feel my strength is returning, which is…relieving.”

“Yes, to say the least. How are you doing besides…besides your energy?”

“Good. I wanted to…to thank you, for inviting Cassandra to be here. It has helped a lot. She…is a very wise and loyal friend.”

“I know, which is why when I thought of who to turn to, she came to mind first and foremost. Are you beginning to feel like yourself, even just slightly?”

“I…am trying my best. I…agh, Josephine, let’s stop this,” Theia took hold of one of her wife’s hands, holding it to her chest as she looked at her. “We are talking like strangers.”

“Forgive me, mi amor, if I prefer speaking like strangers after these days of you speaking to me like an enemy,” Josephine pulled away, turning around and walking further into the room. The act of turning away from her hurt her on the inside, but so did the lingering sting of her words that she yelled and growled at her.

“What do you wish me to say, Josephine? That I regret feeling the pain of losing our child? That I am sorry I could not better prepare myself for the devastation of it all?”

“Theia, we were both underprepared! You forget that this was a joint venture, we did this together, like we have done everything. You turned away from me. I had to grieve alone, away from your vitriol!” Josephine turned around to face her for this argument.

“I cannot control how this affects my body, Josephine. Every hour I feel a whole different emotion, I am not myself, and you know this,” Theia came closer, but only slightly, testing the waters of just how close she could get without Josephine retreating further into the room. This was the room, after all, where it happened, and the memory of it still consumed her senses, even as she tried so hard to remain present.

“I know that well enough! Why do you think I came to you even after all had been said and done. Every morning, every night, I’d come to see you, to be met with your shoulder and indignant words. I felt like my wife had been lost along with…” she stopped herself, still unable to speak it out loud. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, turning away as tears began to form in her eyes.

“My Love, I know how you hurt from this. I want to be here for you, I want to be that protective person you married, the person who would put her body between you and anything coming for you. But I am so…” the tears were evolving for Theia now as she choked out her last words.

“I can’t, I can’t do this, not here. Not with this…this right in front of me..” she motioned towards the bed, the bed where she had woken up to the disaster.

Josephine turned around immediately, and realizing what she was referring to, suddenly the screams began in her head again. The memory of her, screaming as if she was dying, the fear in her voice.

“Neither can I…” she breathed, and she quickly found her way to Theia’s side. Wrapping an arm around the back of her waist, she escorted her out of the room, Theia leaning on her as they walked to somewhere, anywhere, but there.

Eventually they found their study, the room where they had always sought congress with each other for the most important of matters and discussions. Some of their most heated arguments, and some of their best reconciliations. Now, as they held each other on the floor, having pulled the ghastly bearskin rug into the middle of the expansive stone floor, the quiet comforted them as they comforted each other.

“I will arrange to have the bed replaced in the morning,” Josephine muttered as she let Theia lay her head in her lap, looking outward towards the balcony. Slowly, she started playing with her blonde strands of hair, another hand resting on her shoulder. Her face was soaked with tears, making her cheeks feel slightly sticky.

“Thank you,” Theia whispered, resting her hands underneath her cheek, feeling calmer now to be close to her wife, her partner, her ally in life.

Josephine’s night dress slipped off her shoulder as they remained there, graceless and fallen apart.

“You know what is going to haunt me forever? The fact that I will never get to meet her. The fact that I will never know what she sounds like, what her voice sounds like, what her hair feels like in my fingers…”

“Theia, darling…”

“No, let me get this out. It’s been resting on my chest like a boulder, I can’t breathe anymore. I…I listened every time they warned me how much it would hurt. How much…how much childbirth would hurt. But, feeling the pain and the agony of losing…all I could think was that I would endure three times whatever pain it was to have my child in my arms, and the pain of losing my arm, all in the same moment.”

A couple of tears streamed down Josephine’s face without notice as she listened to her wife mourn out loud.

“I just want to see her. Just once. Just to see what her eyes were like, if they were purple like mine. If her hair would be dark like yours. How beautiful she would be, the product of us.”

“Between your temper and my will, she would have been a force to be reckoned with. Dorian would have his work cut out for him,” Josephine said through her tears. This made Theia swallow hard, choking back the urge to break down.

“Yes, she would have driven him crazy. There would have been so much laughter….so much…” she closed her eyes harshly, letting the tears overflow and escape her eyelids.

“Shhh, mi amor, it is alright,” Josephine cooed, stroking her hair. She heard Theia inhale sharply, congestion in her nose.

“I am so sorry, my Love. I failed you. I failed us.”

“Theia Sofia, you did no such thing,” Josephine interrupted her, a hand guiding Theia’s gaze forefully up to make eye contact with hers. “Do not even begin to tell yourself you let anyone down. This is not your failure, this is not your fault.”

“You trusted me. I was entrusted with this life, and I lost it. I failed to protect the one thing that could only ever depend on me.”

“Theia, come here,” Josephine pushed her wife’s shoulders up so she would sit up, right in front of her, so their eyes made level eye-contact. Gently, she held Theia’s face between her hands, the glimmer off fresh tears under the moonlight.

“It will take time for us to recover from this loss, and I know each day will be different for you. Some will be harder than others, and I know you will need distance as much as closeness in the coming days. But, I never want you to feel as though you must shut yourself away to atone for something you need not be punished for.”

“Josephine, I have no idea what this will do to me before it’s all over. I cannot promise you I won’t be the wounded person I was these past few days. You deserve to have your wife be there for you through this.”

“I deserve nothing more than you do. We may not have the path written out for us, but we will move forward. When has the lack of precedent ever stopped us from doing so?”

Theia put her hand to Josephine’s, the end of her tears clearing her vision.

“Do you remember our vows? How we made up our own because I refused to have a fully Andrastian ceremony,” Theia chuckled under her breath.

Josephine smiled. “Yes, and everyone cried and cried,” she pulled her wife into her chest, wrapping her arms around her.

“You Mother almost fainted when we told her we would not swear only to the Maker. I thought surely she would pin me to one of the tapestries.”

“She still hasn’t forgiven you, you know. She swears you are provoking Andraste to take back more than just your hand.”

“Maybe I am. But she can try take this away from me all she wants, this…you, you are the one part I refuse to let go.”

Josephine put her lips to the top of Theia’s head. “I am not going anywhere, mi amor.”

#oc stuff #Theia Trevelyan #Non-Chronological Chapter #Post-Tresspasser #ARC SPOILERS #Inquisitor x Josephine

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cyrelia-j · 6 years

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[Fic] Deuces IV: Heartbreaker (Garak/Bashir)

(Apologies if #1 this has weird characters and #2 it doesn’t cut. I’m about to melt down trying to get this to work and on every device I use it looks wrong in a different way so I’m at a loss)

First off, MASSIVE thanks to @eilupt @ladyvean @noxziconsortium @valkyriesews and anyone else I forgot to mention for your input on Cardassian fair food. Also, I wanted things to be a bit different but don’t be alarmed by any snags in the road because this is ultimately definitely a garashir universe :) Previous parts are here:

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: AU (no Dominion also kept some other characters alive like Bareil because this world is a happy place) Garak and his surrogate daughter Ziyal find themselves on Deep Space Nine on a stopover to Bajor. While Major Kira shows Ziyal around DS9 Garak and Julian have their date. Julian is optimistic. After all, he’s got this down to a science

Keiko O’Brien is an absolute gift from the Prophets, Julian likes to say making use of local idioms, and if Miles doesn’t treat her properly Julian is totally going to steal her. That’s what he likes to tease, but she really is an intelligent and infinitely creative woman who has been invaluable in the success of what Julian likes to call his infallible first date sure thing holoprogram. Jadzia had at first referred to it playfully as “Julian’s Lizard Daddy Trap”. Keiko had then told the both of them about gairaigo and how a lot of Japanese products to this day bear strange sounding names because of the fascination with borrowed words . She then showed them an old “family heirloom” that was something called a “bento box” with the odd combination of words “Crunky Ball Nude” elegantly scrawled across the top. She then said with a perfectly straight face that if Julian wanted to truly thank her for her contributions to the menu that he would call it nothing less than “Julian’s Delicious Lizard Delight Circus.”

The program now bears the innocuous file name of “JDLDC1”

The program in question is the ultimate product of love and devotion- and if he’s being frank, Julian’s attempt to streamline the “first date” into a happy efficient guarantee of success. It had taken the three of them – Jadzia, Julian, and Keiko – two years to complete with some degree of trial and error but it’s a masterwork. Julian had built it off of one of Recreational Station Hidalgo’s old modules of an exotic carnival and the three of them worked to modify every parameter to meet a certain taste; namely a certain Cardassian male taste, though Julian didn’t see that it wouldn’t appeal to most Cardassians as a whole with some modifications.

Quark certainly seemed to think so. Going off Julian’s impressive track record in fact, he thought if Julian would let him copy it that it would net them both a tidy profit with the steady influx of Cardassians passing through the station. Julian wouldn’t hear of Jadzia and Keiko being left out but in the end he decided that he still wanted to get use out of it before it became public.

Quark had asked sourly exactly how many more Cardassians he really needed to entertain as many as he had already. So perhaps Julian had developed a bit of a reputation- amazingly over the course of his time on station he’d gone from Deep Space Nine’s resident Ladies Man to resident Lizard Queen- but well, he still hadn’t quite found the one who he could really fall for. Well, alright, perhaps Julian had fallen for several dozen going by Miles’ count but they just weren’t quite it. There was still something missing there. And thus came in the holoprogram that made the entire process easier.

Jadzia had contributed to the majority of the attractions, the exotic animals on display, the rides, and the shows. Of course they’d been honed and refined over time with new data to account for Cardassian musical preferences, hearing, exceptional eyesight, differences in equilibrium, adrenal responses and the like and it was absolutely magnificent. He’d also managed to- with Miles’ persuasive help initially- “sweet talk” Gilora Rejal from the Science Academy into further assisting them during her periodic visits for research. She’d thought the idea was completely ridiculous at first, but as he laid out his ambitious plans and designs, she couldn’t help but throw in corrections where she saw improvements were needed.

By the end of it, both she and Jadzia had engaged in some fantastically heated debates on adjustments and turned out a marvel of engineering. Jadzia may have also slept with her which Julian was a tad envious of since Gilora was a stunning woman. She’d warmed to Julian’s company once he’d finally stopped being so circumspect and polite and he corresponded with her regularly with her now to keep abreast of the latest news and current events on Cardassia Prime. She had a completely wicked and unforgiving wit and she also helpfully provided him with the best and most heated topics of debate that he took full advantage of using on his dates. Julian still wondered on occasion if he might not have a chance, but Jadzia was certain that it would never work.

Her associate, Ulani Belor had been curious as to their “secret” conversations and meetings though Julian didn’t know if she’d have an interest he’d explained the project to her as well. Their “colleague” Dejar had little interest in any of it and thought the lot of them were allowing themselves to get distracted by nonsense. Well, that was Julian’s introduction to the Obsidian Order and its operatives and he could say he’d be perfectly happy to go his entire life without dealing with another one of them. Ulani had taken interest in the food that Keiko had been working on. Julian hardly fancied himself a culinary expert- Miles once said he was pretty sure that Julian would ingest anything for the purposes of getting laid. But between the two of them they seemed to reach a perfect accord and marriage of both Cardassian and Earth tastes.

Or rather it turned out that the Cardassian taste was particularly receptive to a lot of Japanese and other Southeast and East Asian foods not often represented in most Federation cultural exchanges. Both scientists declared after tasting the dango smothered in yamok sauce that if the Federation actually brought some real food with them, they might find more Cardassians to be receptive to their proposals. Keiko then wondered if the Vietnamese balut that some back stalls still sold had would carry well over to regova eggs. It absolutely did and Ulani was happy to share some other Kardasi festival delights such as W’sai, Kori balls, and Nurot. Well, lacking a sense of taste or not, Julian was completely sold and it turned out, so was Legate Turrel when he was on the station during negotiations with Kai Winn and Vedek Bareil. Not that Julian is bragging, but he doesn’t think that Vedek Bareil had anything on his negotiating skills.

Julian wasn’t sure how he’d felt about Captain Sisko subsequently designating him official head of the Cardassian welcoming committee, remarking with a perfectly straight face that he was pleased Julian had overcome his initial difficulties with showing foreign dignitaries around the station. Julian was sure there was some look that passed between him and Jadzia just then which made him pout just a bit before ultimately accepting incredibly graciously. He could hardly look a gift horse in the mouth.

And he was good at it, he found, his social life aside. Julian had grown quite adept at reading the necessary cues to avoid any embarrassing incidents (Kira still seemed crushed that Gul Dukat had no interest in him whatsoever though Julian was hardly crushed by that realization as he found the man utterly insufferable) and learned which subtle ones to throw out when off duty to get a feel for the atmosphere as Keiko liked to say. Julian saved those little tricks for his dates though; no need to let on too early just how good he was at this game. Most of the men he dated seemed to prefer his “vapid twink doctor” bit anyway and he only employed the most subtle use of his Cardassian routine. He was terribly good at it.

According to Quark as he enters the bar tonight, they were taking bets on which of the newest station arrivals Julian had his eye on. Quark informs him a bit sourly that he’d lost a good bit of latinum when he bet on the older doctor from Lacoria City. Rom on the other hand had picked the Tailor Garak right off the bat and is counting his winnings rather loudly at the bar. Quark snaps that they aren’t his winnings since “his woman” had to pick the candidate for him. Julian just smiles and shakes his head as he looks for Garak to make an entrance. Leeta knows his tastes so well.

Julian had arrived exactly on time, neither early nor late knowing how Cardassians value punctuality. And what an entrance he makes. Garak looks absolutely luscious in the dark red silk shirt wrapped around him magnificently, showing off those broad shoulders and delectable thick waist. And speaking of thick… Julian is sure he must be drooling, looking at those impeccably tailored pants hugging thick thighs and Julian finds himself catching a discreet glimpse to the burnished old Bajoran sculpture that he’d donated out of generosity.

Of course those in the Federation were renown for stupid gestures like that though Julian admitted to Quark that if he would be so kind as to perhaps place it say along the one wall near the first floor entrance where Julian might make use of it for “observational purposes” he might say that he owed Quark a favor during one of Odo’s subsequent “witch hunts”. Quark hadn’t needed more than a month before he called that favor in and Odo hardly seemed amused by his accidentally spilling a drink on the “Odo in a jar” that he’d assumed the guise of to replace Quark’s actual one. Julian loves the sculpture.

Especially now that the flat, reflective surface is giving him the most stunning view of Garak’s ass that he could have imagined. Julian usually prefers bottoming but for an ass like that he’s more than willing to be flexible. …In more ways than one.

“The house takes two! Place your bets now!” Quark yells out the code as every eye on the bar turns to Julian for just a moment. He smiles a bit self-effacing at that, the 2 references the two hours Quark thinks it will take him to bed the humble tailor. Julian certainly hopes so. A few bets go for 1 and some for a half- Julian mentally rolls his eyes at that bit of optimism- but he trusts Quark, really. The house is rarely wrong. Julian meets Garak with a few steps, seeing the curious look.

“They’re taking bets,” Julian explains with a disinterest shrug. “I couldn’t begin to guess on what but I have to tell you, that you look absolutely fabulous.” Julian gives a casual but hopeful brush of his upper arm. “I love this shirt,” he says, sure to keep his flirting completely human for now. He can let the fun begin once they’re inside. Garak’s smile in return is brilliant. It’s a wide pleased grin and Julian can see the hint of tongue poking the air, tasting, scenting.

He was sure to shower and apply the deodorizing oil that he and Jadzia had developed after his second date had informed him rather bluntly that he had a delightful time but didn’t think he’d ever be able to adjust to the human scent and taste. Julian never thought he particularly smelled but Gilora had said there was a very strong musk that he would get when perspiring that had quite a salty and at times bitter taste to it. Jadzia didn’t have it and neither did Keiko and he thought it might be a male thing until Keiko reminded him (which he really should have remembered being a doctor) that humans of East Asian descent tend to have fewer apocrine sweat glands and so there began the great experiment to develop an oil that could effectively eliminate that issue. After much trial and error he realized everything Federation produced left an odd lingering taste on the Cardassian tongue even if it was supposed to have no odor.

It took months but in the end it worked with the final approval from both Gilora and Ulani he had an effective oil which sat over the skin until it wore off naturally over a few days’ time but until then reacted exactly as needed to produce no odor but a faint trace of sandalwood and root from the north renowned for it’s mild aroma. They both informed him that they’d scented him more than they cared to and he absolutely owed them both big time. He figured it couldn’t be worse than any other deals he’d cut with them.

There’s a curious glance from Garak at that but he refrains from commenting on it instead complimenting Julian’s outfit. Julian can see a linger of eyes to his bare neck, bare collarbone and he almost wishes that he could bet on himself. One. Definitely one.

“You’ve no idea how excited I am to show you what I have planned for this evening,” Julian says practically vibrating. The Midway. Julian definitely is going to start there with this one. One hour if that and he’s got this. He shoots Quark a wink holding up a finger watching as the patrons erupt in another frenzy of betting as they make their way to the second floor. Julian’s got this…

Garak doesn’t know that he’s ever been more bored in his life. He smiles politely as Julian drinks the broth out of the boiled egg his head timing out just when he imagines that Julian is going to accidentally spill some down his neck because it’s “terribly messy” and there it goes, a few inviting rivulets of the clear broth running down that nicely tanned skin.

“And I take it that’s how I’m supposed to enjoy this delicacy?” Garak asks already knowing the answer because he’s already known the answer to every insipid contrivance that this evening has brought him. Guls, if Julian wasn’t so gorgeous… but even that’s starting to wear thin. Julian smiles- wait for it- inviting tilt of his head just so, to the right, another flash of his neck and Garak knows that he should have long put a hand on Julian’s shoulder to show his interest but it’s just so obvious he can’t bring himself to give in to such egregiously blatant cues even if it drags this miserable date out further.

That and actually every dish that Julian has tempted into his hands has been completely to die for.

The teriyaki, the sweet and sour sauce covering the fried pop beetles nearly brought him to another plane of existence. Julian had gone on about the work he and Chief Engineer O’Brien’s wife had put into the food in the program along with on Ulani Belor who he’d only chanced to hear of due to his former colleague’s amateurish bungling of a simple sabotage mission. Naturally he told Julian he wasn’t familiar with her. Right about now he’s almost wishing he was on a date with her as Julian begins another “conversation starter” that he has to be fishing off of a hidden list somewhere.

“Yes, you’ve got it, you do that brilliantly,” he says in a fawning compliment that would be nice if it wasn’t immediately followed up by a predictable air scenting and an enthusiastic “flirty” draw of his finger in the air and by the state did someone print Cardassian dating manual in the Federation since the end of the occupation because Garak feels he could sit here with a list and check everything off in order.

The Regova balut is also heaven. The sprinkle of the furikake that Julian suggests is masterful. Julian then asks his opinion on the proposed changes to the household registry next quarter that the council meets and Garak nearly wants to weep. Garak is sure that Julian will present the most uninformed opinion imaginable and allow Garak to “educate” him while he tries to debate a careful but ultimately poor position. Guls, if he wanted to have a date with a vapid holoprogram he’d just run the thing without Julian and just enjoy the food and the ambiance.

How long has it even been? Garak is certain he’s lost all sense of time being trapped in this miserable mobius continuum of bad date. Perhaps he’s in fact died and this is some Faustian iteration of eternal torment for a life poorly lived. The most delicious food in the galaxy in exchanged for company so poor it would drive a man to want to take his own life. Alright, so perhaps the newly opened Federation archives have only given him a larger plethora of work with which to reference when he wants to seem smart- at least that’s what Parmak had said to him the last time they had corresponded. He’d sooner die than admit it but there’s actually some Earth derived literature that he enjoys and he’d been hoping for more interesting cultural exchanges and debates like he’s enjoyed with some of the more frequent human visitors vacationing on the Morfan Providence but…

“Is something the matter?” Julian asks and Garak can’t believe that he’s been driven to actually show any of his anguish outwardly. Ironically in a rare moment of veracity he has no clue where to even begin to itemize the obscenely long list of everything single “something” which has grown fed by Julian’s obviousness into a “matter”. My, where to even start… perhaps the scent is the most difficult to reconcile. I definitely scented you in the Replimat and it was a touch strong but very human, very alluring and it was quite nice. But here tonight it’s like tasting a pleasure doll engineered to be inoffensive which may appeal to some but it’s quite boring. You were charming in the replimat and here charm has given way to some series of contrived scripts you’ve been following exactly like a carefully choreographed routine. Which makes perfect sense of course given the interesting conversation I’d had in Quark’s but still I’d hoped for something a bit different.

He’d in fact as was his custom gone to Quark’s earlier in the day to make a discreet study of the area, check for escape routes, hazards, observe the atmosphere. He hadn’t noticed anything untoward as he ordered a drink and kept his ears and eyes open. It had allowed him to relax a bit and it wasn’t long before he started catching snippets of conversation about the “infamous” Julian Bashir which was quite a curiosity. He certainly wasn’t going to involve himself with anyone who could pose a possible danger to himself or Ziyal but then in striking up a conversation with a fellow named Morn who couldn’t shut up for the life of him he learned several interesting things.

The first being that the young doctor was infamous for the number of Cardassian men he’d bedded- primarily military men and a handful of freighter captains. The second was that his reputation was so large that the entire bar got in on serious betting whenever a “fresh wave” of Cardassians were on the station and third… Third being that he never fails to “bag his lizard” with this very program. Which Garak supposes he could see if he was feeling particularly charitable but he’s been gamely going along with this for the past hour now and he’s sure he’s put in enough time.

He went along with taking the lead in winning Julian some nonsense trinket from a target shooting booth, earning much praise from a “strength tester” that was definitely doctored, to a boat ride with just the right ambient sounds to create pleasant complimentary reactions in one’s nervous system and on and on to Julian himself who clearly has mastered the fine art of appealing to a very specific segment of the Cardassian military population. It’s a wonder they haven’t invited him back to give him his own holiday. Which Garak supposes would be all well and good- Yes, doctor, I’m so pleased with your obvious love of civic duty that I’ll gladly put a hand on your shoulder and tell you what a good boy you are- except he isn’t some authority obsessed soldier who gets off on these bland deferential power games. He wants passion, he wants a challenge, he wants there to be a reason for him to bring discipline, to lead, to bring Julian to heel. Perhaps he is getting old because Julian clearly has done this dance so much he could go through the motions unconscious but is it really asking too much to have something more than just a pleasing body to jam his prUt into?

Still, he has to bear in mind that cause embarrassment to the station CMO might prove unwise. Yes, a lie is definitely in order here, though he needs to make sure it’s not a medical one. He supposes Ziyal will have to be it. It’s uncreative and stupid but frankly, Julian doesn’t deserve his good stuff and the sooner it gets him out of here the better.

“I’m sorry, doctor,” he says a touch dramatically. He might not be getting more than Julian’s usual routine but he likes to think that even if he’s returning in kind that his routine is much more convincing. “I’m afraid I’ve been terribly poor company but you see I’ve just been so terribly concerned about Yaya. Oh, I know she’s a grown woman and I trust Major Kira to be showing her the same consideration and hospitality that you’ve shown me-“ Guls, he hopes not “-but I just haven’t been able to give you the attention that you deserve and it’s such a pity after all the trouble that you’ve gone through. It’s only my hope that we might do this again sometime.” Perhaps after he’s long dead and Julian gets some new material.

Garak wears sincerity brightly and reaches across the table to put his hand over Julian’s. He intends the gesture in the human way but sees Julian’s curious look at the display of dominance. Maybe he’ll get lucky and a fleet of Klingon birds of prey will crash into the station. But it seems to do the trick and Doctor Bashir is ending the program mercifully. Garak could kiss him, he really could. Except that would certainly make him try for a second and Garak isn’t too keen on remembering the first. He wonders if anyone ever actually bets on the doctor to fail. Judging by the expression on Julian’s face somehow he doubts it.

And it’s with that sour taste in his mouth that Garak finally gets back to his quarters determined to hack the station computers and never again eat in the Replimat when Julian isn’t on duty. He sees Ziyal laying sprawled on the couch looking about the way that he feels right about now. He opens his mouth to ask, the two of them exchanging a look before he does.

“Kanar?” She asks sympathetically already sitting up to go get it.

“Kanar,” Garak agrees with a sigh.

Looks like he’s not the only one who had a “bad date”.

(Part 5 is here)

#star trek ds9 #star trek deep space nine #ds9 fanfic #Julian Bashir #elim garak #Garak/Bashir #garashir #au #deuces #bad date #fanfic #update #cyrelia-j

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