#i could fill the entire school theatre with that many people and still have some spilling out the doors

[to-the-stars8]

Reviving Love

Jason Todd x Reader AO3

Chapter 2

Eight Years Earlier

Jason had been eager to start school, especially since he had passed all the placement tests put before him, but nervousness had been eating at his stomach the entire morning in anticipation of his first day. Bruce had assured him that school would be good for him to build a life not only outside the manor but also outside of being Robin. 

Before they had reached the school grounds, Jason had gone on and on about his excitement. He loved picking out the right backpack, the notebooks, trying on his uniform and even enjoyed his new sneakers. As he insisted to Alfred, it was all about the first impressions. Mostly. Jason found the nervousness rooted in the desperation to fit in.

When Bruce had signed him in at the office since there was even more paperwork to fill out, the secretary had reassured him that there was nothing to worry about. He’d be spending the day with a buddy. Jason didn’t like the way that made him sound like a baby, but he took what she said with stride. 

Especially when you walked in declaring that she was going to be his first-day buddy. Jason found it weird that he liked the way you smelled like cheap strawberry-scented perfume, and how you smiled when he made a funny comment. 

He brushed it off the best he could. 

“Are you planning on joining any clubs,” You asked as you led him down one of the many long hallways. Everything looked the same with plaques on the beige-colored walls—many with the name Wayne—with some kids' art outside the classrooms. Jason thought it felt more like a movie set, everything was put in a way to make it look like it was the perfect school.

Jason shrugged, “I don’t know if I can.” Being Robin took a lot more time than he had expected, and Jay was sure Bruce wouldn’t approve. After all, the old man was so hard on him for the smallest mistakes and for getting distracted by the smallest things. 

“Does your dad not let you join clubs?” You asked. 

Jason thought about correcting you, to state so plainly that Bruce wasn’t his father that you would never assume it again, but decided that he liked the sound of having a dad. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Jason shrugged. You must have noted the awkwardness as you continued talking to fill the silence. 

“I’m in the art club, though I wanted to be in theatre, but my mom wouldn’t let me. She says it’s because I might turn into that kind of theatre kid. I still don’t know what she means by that,” You expelled the thought like you had been holding it in, but when you looked at Jason you realized how long you had been going on. “Sorry, sorry. My mom says I talk too much sometimes.”

Jason shook his head, telling you to go on and that he liked hearing you talk. Surprisingly, that wasn’t entirely a lie. Your openness gave him a sense of ease. 

Reluctantly, you did, telling him all about the school. You had said that everyone was relatively nice but found that a lot of them were out of touch with reality since a majority came from the upper cusp of the Gotham elite. Jason believed it wholeheartedly, because Bruce, as much as he cared for him, was one of the dumbest smart people he’d ever met. Richness Syndrome, he had called it, was a drawback of being so blinded by money that the real world was seen through a money-green filter. 

Suddenly, just as you were about to tell him about the football team, the bell rang. Surprise crossed your face. “Oh! We gotta get to our first class. Come on.”

Jason quickly took out his schedule, looking at what his first class was; social studies. A subject that he found way too easy. You had led him down one of the many same-looking hallways by taking his hand, telling him all about the teacher. His face felt hot and his plam sweaty as you held onto him tightly. The corridor was full of other students, all sporting the same navy and white uniforms, so you must have not wanted him to get lost. 

Jason found himself with butterflies in his stomach when you abruptly stopped in front of a classroom door because it meant that it was suddenly real. He was really in school. The teacher, a short, stout lady with curly red hair and round pink glasses, looked at the two of you with a smile. It was a stark contrast to the other teachers he saw further down the hall as they all seemed to be as boring as everyone else. 

Easily, you explained how Jason was the new student and you were showing him around. The lady joyfully ushered him in, holding him hostage at the front of the classroom as you took your seat. 

You gave him a thumbs up as the teacher quickly told the other students to take their seats. Finally, Jason was presented to the class like a cow that was being sold. At least, that’s how he would describe the feeling. “Everyone, we have a new student, this here is Jason Todd. Can everyone please give a warm welcome to Jason?”

There were tired mumbles of hello followed by his name, others just humming a hi, and Jason suddenly felt stupid. He felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb, so, as he made his way to the empty seat next to you, he tried to shrink into himself. 

When he was comfortably sat with all his things out, you leaned over to whisper, “We’re finishing up a movie on the Civil Rights Movement, afterward we’ll have P.E. then lunch.”

Jason was glad you were giving him continuous updates on the schedule because it gave him a bit of comfort that he wasn’t going into this blind. Mrs. Parker said they were going to watch something, just like you had mentioned, saying that everyone could sit next to their friends if they wanted as long as they took notes and paid attention. Jason expected you to move away, but, instead, you moved closer to him. 

“You can copy my notes, by the way,” You smiled and Jason hated that he found you so damn pretty. “I bet coming to a new school in the middle of the year can be tough.” 

Jason shrugged with a smile and an airy chuckle, “I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve been in school.”

“Really,” You asked, surprised, leaning forward. 

Before he could respond Mrs. Parker shushed the two of you as she started the film. You smiled at each other, turning your attention to the TV at the front of the room. Quietly, you pushed your notebook over to Jason, on it a simple note. Want to sit together at lunch? 

Jason grinned, nodding at you as his heart did backflips and his stomach filled with butterflies again. He couldn’t wait to tell Bruce that he finally made his first friend in school.

[bunni-v1]

Oh, I would LOVE to hear more about your college au!!

I feel like a lot of folks just age them up and call it a day, but I love when I run into people really detail their own au out. One thing I loved that I ran into once was the idea that each dorm was divided into majors - and that's part of your sorting. Pomefiore being Theater Arts (Epel, farm boy going to college to improve and modernize his town agriculture, is just extra horrified lol) though I figure they could probably pick their own minor.

Anyway, I adore hearing details!

TWST College AU (First Years!!!)

🍓Hiiiiii! Thank you for asking! I figured I'd just answer this informally since it shouldn't take too long! (And, to be honest, I don't feel like writing a bunch of headcannons for the entire cast :/)

I really like the idea of the dorms being sorted by major, but uhm... I see Ace as a Film major and Riddle as a Med School student so... that wouldn't really work for me?

The basic idea IS to age them up because I am a college student and I want to write about college students -- plus, the twst campus is set up A LOT like a college already, so I always felt weird that it was a high school? Even when I was still a high schooler playing the game, it never felt like a high school, so obviously I decided to just... change it because that's what fanfic is for.

I also didn't want to just... make them all 18. Like... consistency is important people! Leona is 24 now, sorry girlies <3

So I've talked about the age differences and explained Ortho and all that in my rules (read them please :3). I also mentioned that they act differently! The first years won't change too much, because they are still NEW college students, but they respond to things with more maturity than they would if they were just 15/16 year olds. Because... of course, they would. (I would hope 18-year-olds would be a little more mature.)

But I didn't talk about the structures that I changed, mostly based on my own schedule. I'm only gonna use the first years as examples so please forgive me for ignoring your faves <3

So, the first thing I changed is there is no homeroom teacher because we don't have homeroom teachers in college! So, students have multiple different classes throughout the day.

Let's take our little film major Ace, shall we? Ace's first class of the day is a 'core' class, which is the class he has with Yuu and Deuce. It's a basic magic history course that's required for everyone to take, and it's mostly filled with other first-years. Jack, Epel, and Sebek are all in the class too! This class happens three times a week, MWF. He has three other classes, two of which are major-related and one of which is another core magic class.

Each student has their own specific schedule, and they sometimes overlap with each other. This includes first, second, and third years. To give you a little example: Epel and Ruggie take a course on magic plants together!

Many of the courses at NRC have magic at their core -- because it's a magic school -- but their students are free to study whatever they please! That's why Ace is a film major because he wants to be. He cannot, however, pick what kind of magic he gets to study.

Because, of course, the kind of magic you study is based on the dorm you are sorted into. Students have to take at least four classes to do with their dorm's magic type to graduate. It's harder for some students and easier for others.

Epel, of course, hates Pomefiore because he HATES potion-making. He is also surrounded by many theatre majors because... well... just because your dorm doesn't decide your major doesn't stop the same types of people from gathering in one place.

Each dorm has a stereotypical major type associated with it. Many students in Octinivelle are business majors, Pomefiore is performing arts, Savanahclaw is the fitness kids, etc.

So, with all that out of the way, I want to go through the core cast of first years. Namely, their majors and the way I've tweaked their personalities.

Ace: As I mentioned, he's a film major! He loves movies, and he's such a geek about them, so he thought 'Why not!' To be specific, he wants to go into film writing, but he's not dedicated himself to it yet. He's still got four years ahead of him, so he doesn't have to worry about it too hard. Ace is a LOT more chill as a college student. He still teases his friends and he's STILL a huge dickhead, but he knows when he fucked up and needs to apologize. He's more willing to just back off when he needs to and accept his faults as his own, unlike highschool Ace in game. He's still got a firey personality and will stand up to authority, so at his core, he's still the same Ace, just a bit more chilled out.

Deuce: Is a first-generation college student, so he feels like he's got a lot riding on his back. He went into business, mostly because he felt like he HAD to if he wanted a good life for himself. However, he dabbles in a lot of stuff. He constantly does a ton of extracurriculars and is curious about all the courses at NRC. This Deuce is more self-assured than he usually is. He's confident in what he feels he wants/needs, even if it ISN'T what he wants/needs. He, however, still is not great at managing his anger. He still has really big outbursts when he's been upset by something, but he tries his best to keep a cool head and ALWAYS apologizes afterward to his friends.

Jack: You guys are just gonna have to trust me on this one. Jack is majoring in kinesiology with a minor in physical education. He wants to be a personal trainer/occupational therapist! In my opinion, Jack stays the MOST consistent among the first years. He's still pretty strong in his sense of justice, and he's reliable and generally pretty nice. The only thing I could really see changing is that he's a bit more approachable and he's more willing to talk to his fellow students.

Epel: POOR EPEL LMAO. He's an agricultural major, specifically in Agribusiness so he can help his family farm grow more, because he loves his granny so much. He also minors in Agricultural magic -- so, learning about how magic can be used to cultivate plants and the like. Imagine his surprise when he's shoved into the "performing arts" dorm. Epel has more come into his own as a college student. He'd be less pissy about his more feminine looks, though he still tries his best to appear more masculine. He's more willing to bite back at Vil than normal as well because he's an adult now and he doesn't wanna be pushed around.

Ortho: Kid genius! He's a robot, so of course he's a kid genius. Ortho is the only member of the cast who is still under 18 (he's 16 years old and in college!) He majors in computer science, specifically robotics -- he likes to understand how he works lol. BUT, he's an anthropology minor! He likes learning about humans too! He's still very much adoring of his brother, but he has a personality outside of that lol. He's sassy and witty, and really sociable! I'd go so far as to say he's popular around campus, especially since he involves himself in a bunch of different activities.

Sebek: Sebek majors in Magical Studies! It's a general major that can be filtered down into multiple different specific majors, but as for now, he's just Magic Studies generally. Sebek is... an oddball... even still in college. His love for Malleus has never gone away, nor has his dedication. He's like the kid you meet who never really grew up past their freshman year -- mostly because they were never really exposed to ideas outside of what they know. College would have him on edge because A LOT of it is just questioning what he knows, and he's not handling it well. I would say he's probably more awkward than anything. Not as in him making others uncomfortable with his weird behaviors, but him making HIMSELF uncomfortable because of it lol. (He still needs to grow a lot!)

That's all I can think of though! Thank you for asking, I loveeeeeeee questions!!

[screechingkingdomhottub]

DEFENDING NPMD

Time to defend nerdy prudes must die to some of you for not appreciating the utter masterpiece it is as my current hyperfixation.

"These teens aren't realistic they're caricatures" - Sure that could easily be true, and say it is true then it's a high school piece based on cliques/stereotypes that people don't necessarily fit into in reality? That doesn't make it bad, heathers and mean girls are classics at this point. But also I was 3 of these people in secondary. I had an anime phase and I was friends with weebs, they act exactly like richie, like...I told so many people "Believe It!" with a thumbs up. I even played a naruto song to classmates and talked about how he was my idol as a 13 year old...I cringe about that to this day but it's a REAL PHASE. Then we have Ruth who is so horny and desperate for love...literally my teenage life are you kidding? Especially with the theatre reenactments thinking I could do things if I didn't get anxious like...poor girl. I'd like to think I was Peter at one point, I have low blood sugar and like pokemon cards and got decent grades and had a bit of a need to prove myself? But I was probably closer to Grace like ya boi has religious suppressions but I'm catholic so clearly not a person of faith in Grace's eyes haha.

"There's too many rhymes - class of twenty twenty worn"

I think this was intentional? Well not really but also like it makes sense, Jeff said the reason for the snapping being wrong in bully the bully is because they're nerds and that's uncool in jazz which kinda leads me to believe this theory. Also the original lyric was "There's no way to fix the class of 2026" but had to change cause year. One of the songs that doesn't rhyme obsessively is "The Summoning" which is sang primarily by the lords in black as opposed to the high school kids. Now, I don't want to offend anyone but high schoolers are idiots. Everyone is an idiot but high schoolers tend to be egotistical idiots. My theory is the rhyming is sort of a meta commentary of the ages of these characters, believing that things should be rhyming because that's what they've been taught. It keeps the norm of the school also, it shows it fits the standard representation of schools in media and then symbolises this through the representation of a standard song. Whereas the lords in black have some off lyrics, off rhymes, especially here: "Nibbly wants a sacrifice And Wiggly wants his wrath We dancе around the pentagram And take all our kingdoms back" It doesn't fit the other rhymes that happen earlier on sang by the high schoolers. This could represent the lords in black are interfering with the norm, they're older and wiser and follow their own rules. "But screech what about hatchet town" they don't have the same power as the lords in black, the chaos and paranoia is getting to them but there is still more off rhymes than in others. "What are off rhymes what are you doing" A rhyme is like fart and smart. An off-rhyme is like fart "monster" and "Gone sir" it doesn't entirely rhyme but it has that feeling. There's probably a lot more fascinating things that you can get into with this "BUUUT Heathers did it without them sounding so cheesy and unaware" my answer to that is, heathers is fILLED WITH EMOS. Have you spoken to an emo? They'll go like "Even the roaring waves of the sea cannot mimic the immense drowning I feel by my emotions" like dude chill. NPMD doesn't have emos in it really...Everyone is really happy considering the situation.

"Who says cool beans anymore?" - This is the funniest criticism to me like, do you think Grace Chasity is supposed to represent a modern day view? She's the one who says it first! "Shoot and shinola", "tickle on my mommy spot" all that is fine by you but cool beans is outdated??? "But why do the others join herrr" ok well the obvious reason there is they're INSIDE A HAUNTED HOUSE WITH SOMEONE WHO IS VERY SUS AND THEIR WORST BULLY IS COMING AND ALSO GRACE IS THE ONLY ONE WITH THE KEY LIKE I WOULD JUST GO WITH THAT. But if not, nerds quote outdated memes all the time. "Excellent" reminded me of naruto the abridged series, like that's from 2008 but im still there. Or like the phandom are still simping for glabellas and onomatopoeic microwaves. The starkid fandom would never reference an old musical, the medallion said that was dumb so we're not doing that...wait Most valid stuff I've seen is about steph's characterisation which I can do a whole post about like mariah is phenomenal as always but there's a lot of telling not showing.

Also I'm back into starkid

[graywyvern]

( via / @abandonednordic )

Raining.

“The Ghosts of Elm Street

Back when we were doing Theatre Gallery over on Commerce Street during the mid-80s, I would sometimes roll a joint and walk a couple of blocks over here to Elm Street, where there was literally nothing open except for the very first incarnation of Club Dada. It was dark and it was quiet.

Usually Dada had already closed for the evening, so I would walk over across the street to 2713, which, at the time, was an empty warehouse space with big open windows in front. The support beams looked like tree trunks, and there was an ascending staircase right in the middle of the room that led up to balcony in the back. A single light hung from the ceiling there in the middle of the building.

After a couple of hits off the joint, it wasn’t hard to envision that building filled with people, like an old ballroom, or saloon during the Depression era. There was a spirit there. You could feel it. People like Robert Johnson and Leadbelly and Bessie Smith had walked this street in the past. Local legends like Buster Smith, Alex Moore, Red Garland, and Chops Arradondo were the Legendary Revelations who helped us connect with that era.

There were at least a dozen occasions where I stared through those windows of that space and wished that we could somehow bring this building back to life. Four years later we would have that opportunity.

So much of this neighborhood is a ongoing reclamation project. Reclaiming our culture, reconnecting with our history, resurrecting our spirit through our individual chosen means of expression. So many of us felt at home here because we were born a few blocks away at Baylor Hospital. Others landed here while fleeing the suburbs.

Many, of course, were students at the Arts Magnet High School downtown. Still others were just looking for a place where they could live off the grid.

Most of us were products of punk rock culture. This new form of music had turned rock and roll upside down, and the result was that anyone could be in a band now, being a hot shot musician with mad skills was no longer a prerequisite; we were no longer required to join a cover band that played Van Halen songs to get a gig in Dallas.

Deep Ellum was a place where you co do your own thing, be your own type of artist. Blow shit up or fall flat on your face.

One of those bands was the Loco Gringos. They, too, had sprung from an early Dallas punk rock band called The Devices. Their leader was a guy with dreadlocks and overalls who had been rechristened “Pepe Lopez”. The band’s live shows were never anything less than a spectacle, with exploding bales of hay, a burning concrete yard burro, and their hearse parked in front of the venue. They had a house in East Dallas called Gringo Manor, where a 24-7-365 party raged during the entire time the band live there. It wasn’t unusual to see people jumping out of the window on a tree swing at four in the morning.

Not everybody made it out alive.

Pepe was the first one of our peer group to confront mortality. In a way it was an abrupt awakening. We weren’t going to be able to live this lifestyle forever. Jay Lavender of the Daylights discovered that, too. His bandmate Dan Connelly gave into addiction issues a couple of year after that.

Losing a friend will stay with you until you’re ready to let them go. Sometimes that can take years. I still think about Pep all the time. But since then, we’ve had to channel some that lingering grief in new directions.

Losing Carter Albrecht was particularly difficult. He was an extraordinary musician and gifted songwriter. He was a member of Sorta and Sparrows and New Bohemians, co-wrote a number of songs with Edie, and he also booked bands at a couple of different venues. The last night I ever saw Carter we were standing on the roof of her building overlooking Central Park in New York City. That was also the last time that I ever saw Mark Durham, an East Dallas New Bohemians fan who bought them vintage gear and financed their first demo tape. Mark, with whom I shared breakfast literally hundreds of times at The Gold Rush, lost his life in an auto accident in Hawaii.

Mike Scaccia of Rigor Mortis stared down the barrel every damn day of his life. The name of his band was Rigor Mortis, for god’s sake, and every single one of their songs was about death. He wasn’t afraid of whatever was about to happen next. And like his friend and crosstown rival, Darrell Abbott of Pantera, he died onstage with his boots on, both doing what they did best. A Hollywood scriptwriter could never imagine a story like that.

Like Carter Albrecht, the last record that Mike had written and recorded was released after he had passed away. Both absolutely incredible, essential albums.

I grew up with Jan Paul Davisson out in far North Dallas, and we played in garage bands together prior to his joining Shallow Reign. Besides being a great drummer, he had an excellent singing voice, and was the band’s original lead vocalist. Shallow Reign, who was featured on the "Sound of Deep Ellum" album, broke up during the mid-90s, but reunited a few years back for a couple of shows at The Kessler.

JP passed away a couple of years back, and tonight we pause to reflect on his contribution to this music community.

The first Shallow Reign album was producer by an Austin musician named Patrick Keel. His project The Pool was one of the first electronic music acts in Texas. We just found out this morning that Patrick passed away just last night.

Ronnie Dawson was a Dallas gem. His shows at Sons of Hermann Hall were legendary. He was an outstanding performer and a serious Texas Rangers fan. The man got up and ran five miles every morning, even at the age of 60. Ronnie performed all over the world, and he always made Dallas proud.

Gale Hess was an extraordinary violinist, a founding member of the avant jazz group Cafe Noir. You could usually hear her places like Club Dada or Dave’s Art and Pawn Shop. The last few years of her life were spent performing with Cirque de Soliel.

Alex Magcosi was drummer and booking agent, and was even the music editor for the Dallas Observer for a time. He passed away in New Mexico of an overdose.

Wes Berggren was the guitar player in Tripping Daisy. Tracey Sauerwein was one of the first guitar players in The Toadies. Roxy Gordon and Robert Trammell were outlaw poets who brought a ‘60s-era sensibility to their work. Dave Williams of Drowning Pool was another Dallas musician who left a permanent legacy here in the neighborhood. Five years after his passing a handful of venues here created a festival in his name: "Stage Fest”.

The next generation of Deep Ellum bands included a group called Spector 45. Their lead singer was named Frankie Campagna, and he was the son of Kettle Art Gallery owner Frank Campagna. Frank, of course, was one of the very first music promoters in the neighborhood during the mid-‘80s, and his impact has been felt here for literally three decades. 77 days after we lost Frankie, his band mate Adam Carter then took his own life, as well. I will never forget the night that motorcycles lined up and down Elm Street parked in front of Dada and the original Kettle space and revved their engines in their remembrance.

There are many essential non-musicians who have nonetheless less contributed to the cultural mosaic here, but are, unfortunately, no longer with us in the physical realm. Folks like Jim Border and Chrissie at the original Club Dada. Or a homeless African-American man named the Deep Ellum Poet, who would sell copies of his poems to folks hanging out in front of Club Clearview. Russell Smith, the entertainment writer for the Dallas Morning News, who was one of the very first local media folks to write about the music scene here. Monte Krause, one of the first managers of New Bohemians. David Lee, the drummer for The Doo and Group Six.

There was Chris Fedak, who was friends with the Buck Pets and sang in a band of his own. Skateboard freaks like Jeff Phillips and Temo Watson. Kris Dix, a feisty young woman who hung out at Gringo Manor every night. David Bindler, the drummer of Da Nu Man. Buddy Berry, the drummer of Feet First. Steven Trued, the banjo player in Killbilly. Jordan Daniel, who worked over at The Bomb Factory.

Spirits having flown.

And we still don’t know what happened to Joe Cripps.

These people are the ghosts of Elm Street.

Some day, those of us gathered here tonight will be, too.

Until then, wrap your arms around each other and hold on tight. We’ve still got this neighborhood, and we’ve still got each other.

-- JL , 12/9/2017", posted on Jeffrey Liles's Fb

Doll store.

smashtanny trail i hew to whether or not i can say & the ants have theirs

halcyon autumnity accursed & all we know

If you know a 4-syllable synonym for 'volition' (preferably a diiamb), please speak up!

"JAZZ BAND (Double Pangram*-Cinquain)

Jazz band. Quicksilver drums. Lively chords warping flux. Baroque fretwork juxtaposing rhythms.

(*containing every letter of the alphabet at least twice)

--@Anthony_Etherin

La Manouche.

[mbovettwrites-blog]

Blackbird - 500 Follow Excerpt

It’s been long enough. Let’s just get into it.

In the background, she heard the faint whistle of a late night train pulling into the station. At least something was still working at this unholy hour.

Only a few people emerged from the archway leading to the platforms, the thickness of the night outside dispersed by twinkling lights strung along the wall. The first was a businessman, which Maria learned first from his irate posture and prim expression and secondly from noting the expensive suit and briefcase. Next was a pair of women huddled under a scarlet umbrella, an elderly man with his pace defiantly brisk and his lips pursed in disdain as he glanced across Maria’s slouched shoulders, and a gang of students whose raucous laughter felt poisonous in the previously peaceful station.

The first thing she noticed about the students was that there were four of them, and the second was that they were all boys. Each of them was impossibly energised and bright-faced for such an hour of the morning, and it momentarily occurred to Maria that they were all drunk – then she grew sensible again and reminded herself that drinking was illegal on cross-country trains.

They were foreigners, obviously. More foreign than her. Northerners, from one of the many wealthy pockets of Verlinden or Adovya where they were expected to just casually take a train from one end of the continent to another on a spontaneous summer holiday.

Well, then, she thought, the voice in her head sounding far more stiff and repulsed than she had expected of herself, Let them be miscreants. Anyways, they’ve chosen a terrible place for a weekend away if they’re looking for that kind of meaningless fun.

Only one of them – the quietest, his arms swinging laxly at his sides rather than gesturing wildly in all directions – looked as though he could pass as a native to a Gulf Belt country. Ygar, most likely. But his company betrayed him. They looked like the kind of people whose company her mother would have enjoyed, if she were both young and present with her. He seemed fixated on the presence of an alarmingly skinny boy at his side, whose shock of coal-black hair did little to distract Maria from the fact that she could see the outline of his bones in his face and his hands. This boy was by far the loudest, letting of bouts of high-pitched laughter every other second that sounded not entirely unlike the train whistle.

His arm was slung around the shoulders of the shortest, who looked more out of place in Cuorren than Maria had thought possible. For one thing, he appeared to still be wearing his school uniform. Schools in Navarios didn’t have uniforms. Feeling a little pleased as the fact presented itself, she then also recalled that she’d read a study in a newspaper that said Navarios students were fifteen per cent happier and thirteen per cent less prone to stress and anxiety than those in Verlinden’s supposedly world-class academies.

Honestly? Maria was quite sure that the only people who thought Verlinden’s education was the best were the people who had been raised and brainwashed in it. Everyone she knew thought the school system was a mockery, designed to manufacture posh, well-to-do young intellectuals with no individuality or purpose beyond making money for their already dangerously wealthy country.

She could yet be wrong. They could be from Adovya which, though not by much, was a noteworthy improvement.

Goddesses forsake her if they were students at Hylin.

She didn’t quite have time to analyse the fourth before he had invited himself to sit next to her.

Her lips puckered in distaste as he offered up a lazy smile and a hand to shake. Quarter past one in the morning was not a good hour for her to be interacting with stuck-up people at, lest she bite their heads off like a five-headed hound. Tersely, she accepted the handshake. It was just like the ones she received from the white-shirted men Arabella introduced her to, sometimes because they were one-week lovers and sometimes because they were work colleagues from her lawyer world. She prayed that this boy would become neither.

“Evan Charlize,” he said, and then continued in extremely broken Agion, “A pleasure to meet you.”

In flawless Verlinden, she replied, “Maria None-Of-Your-Business. Try again when I’m not tired enough to sleep through the end of the world.”

The boy’s eyebrows quirked up, eyes widening slightly. The loud one half-cackled, half-wheezed, slipping easily past his companions and slapping his friend hard on the shoulder. Still in Verlinden, he howled, “Evan, my man, she just gave you a smack down! That was awesome! Matt, my boy, did you get that on camera? I’m replaying that at his eighteenth – ‘The One Where Evan Gets Showed Up by a Strange Girl’, anyone?”

Evan – Maria presumed that was the name of boy sat beside her – frowned. It was only when this happened that she noticed just how bushy and unruly his eyebrows were. They looked like tiny, sun-yellowed squirrel tails.

“No to all of that, Sal. That was not a ‘smack down’, that was just rude. Daj, teach your boyfriend some respect.”

The quiet one folded his arms across his chest. “Not my boyfriend, not my responsibility.”

Sal giggled hysterically again, collapsing against Evan in the process. Evan, Sal, and Daj – that left the uniformed kid as Matt. She decided to focus on him instead, since he was the only one who hadn’t spoken yet and therefore was also the only one who had yet to irritate her.

Daj spoke up again. “Here’s an idea that, shockingly, neither of you have thought of – maybe she doesn’t want you here because you’re making moves on her and she’s very uncomfortable with that. Matt, come on, you had to have picked up on that.”

Maria growled. “I know you’re trying to be nice, but I do have the basic ability to stand up for myself. I am exceptionally tired. Leave. Me. Alone.”

Sal’s eyes went wider than Evan’s. Pushing himself away from his disgruntled friend with a bounce in his step (which, given the ridiculous time of night, defied all logic and reason that Maria possessed), he swung an arm around Daj’s neck instead and let out a long whistle. It was at this moment that Maria’s observational skills fully caught up with the rest of her brain and she noted that Sal was, in fact, flaunting a crop top. Not that it was unusual – she had seen every fashion statement possible in her corner of Navarios – but she somehow wanted such a charismatic person to have the added bonus of knowing when it was chilly enough to wear a jacket over it.

She knew from experience back home that the nights in the Gulf Belt were as damp and humid as a fox’s armpit, but the air conditioning in the station was on overkill. At that moment, she would trade the lives of all of these boys for one minute in the heat of the midday sun.

“Whatever,” Evan huffed, standing up with a slight grunt. “We’re stuck here until the morning trams start running anyways. How long is that, anyways?”

“Ten to seven. They start at sunrise,” Maria interjected curtly.

“I was under the impression that Your Majesty wasn’t going to talk to us.” Evan’s eyes looked almost as chaotic and grey as the storm raging outside as he snapped back at her, all previous interests in being gentlemanly lost the moment she bared her teeth at him. She couldn’t care less. He’d apologise when the sun came up and the tropical warmth melted his temper tantrum away.

“Evan, even the Goddesses know you’re too grouchy to be socially interacting with other people right now. Find somewhere to sleep it off, you’re even starting to exhaust me.”

Matt had taken it upon himself to speak now. One hand was thumbing the corner of his shirt collar as he scolded Evan and followed it up with an apologetic smile tossed at Maria – the other was tucked tightly into his trouser pocket. At last, Evan decided that this was somebody he could agree with, and marched across the room to stretch all six feet of himself across the opposing bench. Back turned to the rest of them. Obviously.

“In another time, this would’ve been hilarious,” Sal said with a sigh. The corners of Maria’s mouth tugged up in an inkling of smile.

“You don’t say.”

He performed a walk that was somewhere between a skip and a strut as he went to join Evan, and Daj followed in respectful silence. Matt was the last one to speak and to go, talking and smiling over his shoulder as he trailed after his friends.

“He’ll be more polite come sunrise, I promise you. I’m sorry we had to meet like this.”

“Keep him and his temper! Didn’t plan on meeting you all in the first place!”

Leaving that as the closing statement of the tumultuous conversation, she unzipped one of her suitcases and dug around until she pulled out three identical crimson hoodies, draped them around her goosebump-ridden arms, and nestled in to wait out the storm still thundering above them.

So, this is about half of the second chapter showcasing the introduction of some other major characters (because as much as I love Ingrid, I love these guys too and they deserve some more spotlight). I would have put this out yesterday when I actually hit 500, like I promised, but I became swamped with work and sort of burned out and fell asleep a full two hours earlier than I’d normally even consider going to bed. So, yeah, that was a tad time-consuming.

I’m going to tag @kbcypher for being so supportive of this WIP and often seeming a little upset when updates are missed, @jade-island-lives for also being generally supportive and also being someone who keeps popping up time and time again in my notes, and @bitteredplum because they’re a cute art kid who is probably the only person I know IRL who I can actually stand.

They also drew a little doodle of Maria and Ingrid the last time they came over to my house, which I need to post soon

Thank you all again for 500! xx

[dreamescapeswriting]

Make You Silly ~ JJK [M] [Request]

WORD COUNT: 4K

GENRE: Smut, Non Idol!Au, Musician Jungkook, professor reader, unprotected sex, hotel room, teasing, oral (female receiving)

PAIRING: Jungkook x Fem!Reader

A/N: I hope this was okay for you!! I didn’t know which subject to go with so I went with something from a show I’ve been watching aha @fluffyjoons​

To say that you were nervous would be a complete understatement, you were petrified of going up there to give a speech to a bunch of college kids that were all going to be watching you. Waiting for you to tell them why you were the best tutor for them to take your course and why you would be better than the other tutor's other college's have to offer. Including this prestigious college that you would be speaking at, they were the best of the best and yet you didn't work for them. Mostly because you wanted to stay at the same university as your boyfriend - Jeon Jungkook. He was a music tutor, the best of the best in his field of study. Your sweet boyfriend who you'd dragged along with you to speak at this university, with the promise that you would take him sightseeing before you left tomorrow to go home. The university had put you up in a hotel for the night seeing as though it was a long drive back home to your town.

"You're overthinking it," Jungook mumbled when he walked into the room holding two take away cups. He always founds you this way when something was playing on your mind, he knew you were scared about doing this alone which was why he'd agreed to come. He slipped you a takeaway cup with your favourite hot drink inside and took a sip of his own before placing it down on the table backstage.

"You'll be fine baby, you're a genius." He chuckled as he saw you peaking out from backstage, the huge lecture theatre seemed to be filling up minute by minute. Students were looking around the room for any sign what this was about. Jungkook placed his head in your neck as he hugged you from behind, doing anything he could to make you less anxious about this.

"Easy for you to say, you don't have to go up there and give a huge speech." You grumbled as you began to play with the skin around your nails, Jungkook placed his hands over yours to stop you and sighed softly at you. He knew that there wasn't a single thing he could say or do to make you feel better right now but he would do whatever he could to try.

"You've practised this a million times, the boys loved it remember." The boys. His best friends who were also tutors at the university you all worked in back home. Where you wanted to be right now. You had been working on this speech for weeks, practising it every second you could to both Jungkook and the boys as well as to your own students. All of them agree it was perfect but there were more students in this whole lecture theatre then there would ever be back home which made you more anxious thinking about it all.

"Are you ready Miss y/l/n?" One of the other professors questioned you but you just took in her appearance. She looked so much more professional than you did, she was dressed in a pencil skirt with a blouse while you opted for Jeans and a comfy sweater. The only time you ever wore something like she was wearing was when you had board meetings or were called in to help with a case. You had to be professional in that aspect since you were working with police and FBI sometimes.

"As I'll ever be," You whispered to her as you looked at Jungkook, he squeezed your hands softly as the tutor went out onto the stage to introduce you.

"I've seen a couple of them with your books...They already love you." Jungkook whispered as he began staring into your eyes to make sure you were okay. You wanted to do this, bringing more people into your field would be one of the best things to happen but you also didn't want to bore them with facts on facts.  

"Hello I'm professor Y/l/n, but please don't ever call me that. You can all call me Y/n, or I'll come up with a nickname for myself I guess." You were starting to babble on a little like you did whenever you were nervous but you took a deep breath and began looking at everyone. Trying to remind yourself why you were doing this and what it was that you did for a living. This was nothing compared to what you had done in your life and your profession.

"Some of you are probably really interested in criminology while some of you-" You made eye contact with the ones who looked bored or that were being forced to be there.

"- Well you look bored or that you're being held here against your will. I promise you that this course, what I do for a living will not bore you. In fact, it will open your eyes to things. Make you realise that you probably don't know people as well as you think you do." You began explaining that what you did wasn't just criminology but that you also worked on analysing behaviours for certain people or certain types of people.

A hand rose towards the back of the class and you nodded at him, telling him to speak up. He was around 6''2 with brown hair to the length of his neck. He had huge glasses on his face and a notebook in his hand, he was clearly one of the ones that wanted to be there.

"You're like those guys on the TV, the ones that study serial killers and the way their minds work?" You nodded at him as he slowly sank back down into his seat scribbling away onto the notebook, he was probably just as nervous as you had been since most of the theatre had turned to look at him. You knew what that felt like, to have all eyes on you so you began to talk more on it if it meant they would become more engaged with you.

"Yes actually, exactly that. Do you mind if I borrow this?" You questioned one of the females who was sitting in the front row beside Jungkook, her hair was styled just like yours and she was wearing a pair of glasses similar to yours as well. In her hands was your book, sticky notes sticking out of the side where you assumed she'd taken notes of things. She slid it over to you carefully and you picked it up in your hands staring at the cover.

"I study criminal's behaviours, what makes their mind tick, what sets them off and what from their childhood could turn them into what they were." You held up the book in the air, showing off the white cover with a skull on the middle.

"This is one of the many things I do. I compile all of my information into books, this is just one of them...I have many." The book you were holding was one of the first you'd ever written, 'Talking with Serial Killers'. Inside was an introduction to the behavioural work you did along with real interviews with real serial killers that you had conducted yourself.

After the speech about what your course was about, there was still some time left over so you decided to ask if any of them had any questions. By which time all of the students seemed to be gripped on what you did for a living and wanted to find out as much as they could. Even those that had seemed bored in the beginning were really paying attention now, begging to know more. Some of the tutors from the college were even eager to ask questions.

"We can go row by row if I don't have time I can give you all my office email." They all began talking over one another so you smiled softly and looked at the first girl beside Jungkook, the one that had given you her copy of your book.

"Are you working on a new book? and will you sign mine, please?" You still had her copy on the podium so you nodded at her slowly walking over to it and taking out a pen from your pocket.

"I'll sign it and yes, I'm trying to write one on my subject instead of interviewing this time." Her smile got larger as you began signing the book right away before slipping it back in front of her. Jungkook smirked at you as he continued to watch how well you handled the class, he knew you were relaxing into it more and more.

"Who haven't you interviewed but would love to? Dead or alive?" This time it was the professor that had introduced you to the theatre, she was watching you the whole time. Throughout the entire speech, she'd been making small notes on her phone while listening to you.

"I would love to interview the real Zodiac killer, just because we never knew who he was. There's a lot of unsolved crimes that I would love to find the person who did it as well," You laughed softly trying to move on from interviewing and onto what you actually taught at the school.

"How would you know if it's a male or a female killer? Based on the crime scenes?" A male asked this time, you didn't see where the question came from he just sort of shouted it out from the back of the classroom.

"Well, typically female killers prefer a cleaner way of killing and cleaning up. They'll sometimes show more sympathy for a victim as well. A male wouldn't care about the mess or how a victim is found but it all depends on the mindset of the killers." Mouths began to fall open as you began giving them facts about how to determine gender and a profile from one murder scene or multiple depending on the style of killing.

"You can normally tell if their also an organised killer or a disorganised killer. People give a lot of themselves away without even realising it." More questions began to fly at you while Jungkook sat in the front row looking as proud of you as he ever did, licking his lips as he watched you pacing the stage. He was also so proud to know his girlfriend was the smartest girl in the room.

"Can you judge any of us on how we are on our day to day basis just from looking at us?" The question came from a younger-looking male in the classroom, he was sitting in the middle row on the edge seat. You began walking closer to him, looking at everyone around him before you got to where he was sitting.

"You're the youngest here which means you either snuck in or you're probably smart and ahead in your school life. The way your peers are looking at you I'd go for the latter. You also chew on your nails which means you're nervous about something, or it's a habit you can't break. There isn't much to tell because I haven't been watching you all long enough and none of you has done much while here." You began walking down the stairs when you turned back to look at him, his fingers were on the top of his desk as he looked at you.

"You play the piano as well, I could see the way your fingers danced along the top of the desk throughout the lecture."

The questions continued to roll in until the final bell rang and everyone had to head home or to their dorms.

"You guys will have Professor Y/n's email, I'll make sure to send out a mass email tonight with it attached! Please drive safe or walk safe tonight." The main professor said as she began escorting people out of the theatre. Jungkook was watching you closely while you spoke to a couple of students all holding signed copies of your book.

"You can email me any time, and here-" You handed the first girl who had given you her copy of your book to use an application to your course,

"We're always looking for bright students." Her whole body language shifted as she began getting happier walking out of the room while studying the paper.

"I told you that you would do great," You whined as he brought out the, "I Told You So's" and walked into his arms while yawning.

"I'm ready to get back to that hotel room and fall asleep." You giggled softly as he put his arms around your waist as he began to compliment you.

"You look fantastic up there you know," He whispered as you began waddling towards the door, his arms still wrapped around your waist as he walked behind you not wanting to stop touching you for even a second.

"My baby is so smart," He cooed in your ear as you awkwardly smiled at tutors watching you.

"Kookie, wait until we're at the car at least." You whined out as he continued to fill you with compliments. He linked your hands with him as he began walking side by side with you, telling you how amazing he thought you were up there.

"So fucking hot the way you just told everyone all those facts." The longer he went on the more you began to realise what he was getting at. Jungkook was a little jealous when it came to people watching you and you weren't blind. There had been a couple of guys watching the entire time but there was only one guy that you ever wanted.

"Everyone has their eyes on you," He groaned out as he started up the engine. It was pitch black outside and you had a ten-minute car journey back to your hotel room.

"So intelligent and so sexy." He chuckled as he reached a red light just outside the college gates. This was when he leant across to talk to you, whispering in your ear,

"They have no idea how much I fuck you dumb do they? How their smart professor knows nothing but my name after I've fucked her tight cunt out." You grew wetter with each remark he was using and he smirked at you, knowing exactly what he was doing to you. He knew what effect his words had on you were.

"J-Jungkook focus." You whimpered as the light turned green but he just smirked evilly and began driving. He knew exactly what to say to make you like putty in his hands. Everyone thought you were this smart innocent tutor but it was far from it when it came to the bedroom. Jungkook would do one thing to you and have you melting into a puddle mumbling nothing but his name.

As he continued to drive he continued with his dirty remarks about what he was going to do to you when you got back to the hotel room that night.

"I'm gonna fuck you so dumb you won't even know your own name." He smirked as he saw the flash of excitement grow on your face but what he wasn't expecting was for you to take some of the control from him. You leant across to his seat slightly and ran your hand over his jeans, you could already feel hard he was through the fabric.

"Look like I'm not the only needy one here," You whispered in his ear before biting down on his ear lobe. You knew this was only going to end with him being rougher with you but you didn't care, you wanted to tease him back.

"You wanna fuck me?" You bite down on his ear again before you began palming him through his trousers, smirking when he let out a whine and bucked his hips into your hand.

"Such a good boy-" His hands began to tighten on the steering wheel and you could see just how annoyed he was getting with your small touches.

"S-Stop it, this is dangerous." You nodded in agreement with his statement and pulled away from him,

"Then I'll stop touching you," You put the emphasis on the word 'you' as you began to slowly unbutton the jeans you were wearing and slide your hand into them. You weren't going to touch yourself, you knew you couldn't work your own body the way that Jungkook did so you just began moaning and pretending to touch yourself while he drove.

The ride was agonisingly slow but as soon as you got parked up Jungkook practically ripped you from the seat and stormed you towards your shared hotel room.

"Such a tease." He hissed pushing you face down into the mattress, your legs on the floor as he pulled your ass into the air. You let out a loud giggle as he pulled your trousers down roughly and slapped you across your ass.

"So fucking needy, you just couldn't wait until I got you somewhere private?" Another slap across the ass as you let out a loud giggle. He growled bringing you into the standing position as he ran his hands down the front of your body. His long fingers dancing along the line of your panties,

"They have no idea how much you loved to be fucked dumb, do they? Hmm? What would they think if they could see this." He practically ripped your thin underwear from your body and forced your legs apart with his knees. Your head rolled back against his chest as he dragged one finger up and down your folds, humming in satisfaction about how wet you were for him before he slowly pushed one finger into you.

"So warm, so wet for me." His voice could have melted butter, you whimpered as he held his finger deep inside of you. Refusing to pump it until you bucked against him desperately. His other hand wandered down your body, his fingers caressing your curves. The soft pads of his hands pushing and pulling on your breasts as you let out a whimper of his name.

"P-Please, m-move." You panted as he began to push his one digit in and out of you slowly knowing it wasn't enough for you but he didn't care.

"I love you so much," He whispered before pulling out his finger and pressing your back down on the bed, pulling your trousers from your body and throwing them somewhere in the room.

"So pretty like this, all spread out for me." He remarked as he admired the view of your dripping core from behind. He sank down to his knees and moaned as he ran one finger up and down your folds again.

"I'm gonna taste every last drop of that delicious pussy of yours." You whimpered as he words as he kissed your entrance lapping his tongue around it slowly before he pushed his tongue into you. Moaning into your core as he sent vibrations throughout your body making you cry out in bliss.

"Fuck," You cried into the bed as he began using his fingers to play with your clit sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body making you whimper with each touch.

"Gonna fuck you with my tongue," Was all he said before pushing his tongue in and out of you quickly, using all eight muscles in his tongue to send you into a pool of whimpers and screams of his name.

"God your mouth...S-So good." You mumbled into the sheets as he smirked at you in satisfaction. He couldn't see the look on your face but he could already tell your eyes were rolling back. The way your hips bucked against him meant you were close so he turned you around, laying your back flat on the bed. He pushed two fingers into you. Flexing them and pounding them into you rapidly as you began gasping out his name. He'd found your sweet spot within seconds and he was going to hit it repeatedly until you cried out his name loudly.

"C-Close! Shit! So close!" Your words began to slur as you felt your orgasm approaching you closer. The words falling from your lips turning into meaningless words as you neared your high.

"Cum for me angel," He moaned into your clit encouraging you to cum for him as he continued to pump his fingers into you with newfound vigour. Loud whimpers began to leave your throat as you cried out his name on your release. Your legs wrapping around Jungkook as you cried out his name. Bucking up as he continued to fuck his fingers into you throughout your orgasm. The pleasure washing over you making you feel like you were on a cloud.

Jungkook slowed his fingers down while smirking up at you, licking you clean as you began panting heavily trying to catch your breath.

As you went to slide off the bed to return the favour he began shaking his head and tutting, this wasn't about him tonight this was all about you.

"Your reward for being such a smart girl tonight," Words were floating around in your head, you wanted to say something back to him but it was hard when you were still trying to come down from your high.

"Look at you, already fucked dumb." He chuckled darkly as he freed himself from his jeans, kicking them out of the way as he pushed the head of his cock between your folds. You let out a whimper as he moaned out your name,

"Still dripping wet baby, you want more?" He questioned. Keeping the head of his cock at your entrance, pushing so just the tip was inside of you and you hissed at him for more.

"Want more." You ordered at him and he tuts at you shaking his head in disapproval,

"So eager for a good fucking," He panted as he began to slowly push into you. Spreading your legs so your thighs were pressed to the bed. Everything on completely display for him to see.

"F-Fuck," You panted as he began to rock in and out of you slowly. Watching as he cock disappeared inside of you and smirked whenever you clenched around him.

"Faster-Faster," You stuttered out to him as you looked up into his eyes. Your eyes were tearing up as he continued with his slow thrusts,

"I-I thought you were going to fuck me dumb. I'm still of sound mind," You challenged him and something snapped within in. You could see the way his eyes turned as he wrapped your legs around his waist to bring himself deeper into you. Slamming in and out of you roughly letting nothing but chants of his name fall from your lips.

"Is this fucking you dumb enough baby? Huh?" He reached down with one hand to begin rubbing your clit, watching the way your back ached from the bed and you cried out his name.

"Taking me so well, aren't you? Such a good fucking girl." He grunted as you continued to cry out his name. Digging your nails into his shoulders as your eyes clenched shut.

"Close! C-Cum! G-Gotta cum!" Your sentences were failing to make sense which filled Jungkook with pride, he was doing his job properly. He smirked looking down at you as he continued to attack your clit with his thumb, speeding up the snap of his hips.

Loud and fast gasps began to leave your throat as you realised he was going to keep fucking into you, letting you cum without permission. Excitement washed over to you pleasure took over your body making you whimper,

"Jungkook! Cumming!" You screeched out dragging your nails into the sheets as your back arched from the bed again. Your pussy clenching around him as your orgasm ripped through your entire body sending your mind into a freefall. As soon as Jungkook felt you clenched around him he came into you, groaning as he continued to fuck you through his own high. Pressing a soft kiss on your forehead as you giggled in a drunk-like state. He always loved when you giggled after an orgasm, it made him feel like he'd done a good job.

"Such a good girl," He mumbled before falling down on the bed beside you but you stayed silent. Your legs spread on the bed as a mixture of your cum and his leaked from your core. He chuckled at the state of you and shook his head,

"Y/n?" He called out while watching you but you didn't respond, you just drunkenly smiled at the ceiling in your orgasmic brain fog too lost to even try to find words.

"Told you I'd fuck you dumb, princess," He whispered as he came over to you, wrapping a blanket around your body before going to run you a hot both and give you the aftercare you deserved after the day you'd had.

Tagline: @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @fan-ati--c​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @taestannie​ @rjsmochii​ @bisexualmess007​ @sw33tnight​ @sweeneyblue1​

[reignstormz]

| Lion & The Lamb |

INTRO; After hiding your secret crush on the hottest guy in school since freshman year, senior comes around and you finally come face to face with the Samoan, sharing an intimate moment together.

WORD COUNT; 2,300 (maybe, not sure, had some issues, pretty short)

WARNINGS; Takes place in 1984, Bullying, Sweet interactions.

CAST; Y/N ( Yourself) Y/B/F/ N ( Your best friend's name) Roman, Jey, Jimmy, Naomi, and Galina Anoa'i. (Just a story, not saying Galina is anything like her character in this fic)

MINI PLAYLIST; Give Me Your Love - Pebbles/ Two Occasions - The Deele / Ready Or Not - After 7 / Rock With You - Michael Jackson / Time After Time - Cyndi Lauper

🦋

NOVEMBER 9th, 1984

The sounds of teenage laughter filled your ears as you sat in the passengers seat of your best friend's car. You sighed, trying the best you could to block out the noise as you read your book that was sitting in your lap. It was a hectic, busy Friday night. Your school's football team had just won yet another game and everyone was at the Drive In Movie Theatre to celebrate, goof around, or get down to business. Typical things that high school students would be up to. You on the other hand, didn't go to the game and was only here because your best friend practically dragged you out of the house.

You were not so big into the normal teenage, high school experiences. You were very quiet, antisocial, and didn't have many friends. School dances weren't your thing, especially parties. Instead, your way of having fun was just keeping yourself company. You were one of the smartest, if not, the smartest girl in school; You were a straight-A student, and you loved to read. Reading brought you joy and gave you the opportunity to escape to a different reality. Many people labeled you as nerdy, but you could care less.

You were over people picking on you, and judging you, which was one of the biggest reasons why you were so reserved. You got bullied heavily up to 4th grade, and your parents decide to homeschool you until high school came around. They wanted things to turn around for you, but it was the exact same. The only difference was, you made one solid friend and you ate school lunch, something other than food from your refrigerator.

Currently, the theatre was going to show Prince's "Purple Rain" and you were in the car waiting for it to start with your best friend. She also happened to be a cheerleader. You met her in PE class, one joke led after another and you guys became very tight. You were kind of surprised that you two were friends since you were so opposite from each other, and from different crowds.

Y/B/F/N's turned her head to look at you. She sighed, rolling her eyes briefly before she snatched your book out of your grasp. You groaned with irritation, and turned as well to make eye contact with her, "Can you stop? You made me lose my place."

"Can you just have fun for once? Girl. We're at the movies and the first thing you want to do is shove your nose into a book." She shades, throwing your book into the backseat.

"I didn't want to come tonight." You stress to her, "I have studying and homework I need to do-"

"That's all you ever do." She cuts you off. "Come on, you've known how long I've wanted to see this movie. Just do this one thing for me, please?"

"So you want me to sit in a car for an hour?" You questioned. A smile slowly creeped onto her face, which quickly answered your question.

You sighed, unbuckling your seatbelt to get out of the car. She furrowed her eyebrows, "Wait, where are you going?"

"I'm getting snacks." You replied, and before you got out of the car she grabbed onto your wrist.

"Can you get some popcorn? Please?" She asked, with clear as day begging look on her face. You rolled your eyes and got out of the car before she asked for candy as well. Any ounce of candy in her system was a not an option, especially since she had to still take you home tonight. As you walked to the concession stand, you saw just about every single familiar face from school. You were so focused on not making eye contact with anyone that you accidentally bumped into another person in front of you, causing their drink to spill all over your white long sleeved shirt. A couple people who were walking by giggled and the girl you bumped into couldn't of been worse.

"Even those ridiculous glasses you wear still can't help you watch where you're going." Galina dissed, looking you up and down before pushing past your shoulder. Her best friend, Naomi, looked at you apologetically for a second before following behind her. You sighed, looking down at your ruined shirt and turned your head, glaring at her. You saw Galina and Naomi walk back to their car, where the the most popular guys in school happened to be. The twins, Jimmy and Jey Uso, were sitting in the trunk of the car while the guy you've had the biggest crush on for the longest was leaning against it.

Roman Reigns was by far the hottest guy you've ever laid eyes on. He was the captain of the football team, he was smart, and also very kind as well believe it or not. You've only talked to him once, and that was when your chemistry teacher paired you two up for a project not too long ago. Roman was nothing but sweet to you, but since you were extremely shy and quiet, you barely said a word to him the entire time. Not only that, you didn't want any rumors to get out that you liked him. You would get teased nonstop, and Galina, who happened to be his girlfriend, would go out of her way to publicly humiliate you. However, it was nothing new. She was the typical mean girl that everyone was afraid of; You, well you weren't afraid of her really, you just didn't have the energy to deal with her bullshit so you always held your tongue.

"What happened to my fruit punch?" You heard Jey ask Galina. She sighed, wrapping her arm around Roman's waist while he looked down at her.

"Some nerd bumped into me and got it everywhere." She replies, and Roman raised his eyebrow.

"What nerd?" He says. Galina nods towards you. Before you and Roman made eye contact, you quickly turned back around and hurried to the bathroom to try to clean yourself up. This night couldn't get anymore embarassing, you thought.

You stared at yourself in the mirror with a lost expression. There was no way you were going to get this stain out of your shirt. You heavily sighed, adjusting your slightly crooked glasses. As you let a hand fall from your nose to your chin in stress, a strand of your sleeve ended up getting caught on a piece of your braces.

You rolled your eyes, groaning. You hated wearing braces for a million reasons, but this was the main reason why you couldn't wait to get them off soon. They got caught into everything. You tried again and again to get the strand to untangle itself but it wasn't budging. Shit, you thought. Now you had no choice but to go back to the car so your friend could help you. So many things were going wrong tonight and all you wanted to do was just go home at this point.

You took a deep breath before exiting the bathroom. As you turned the corner, you almost ran into someone else for the second time. You sighed, closing your eyes for a second before looking down.

"I'm sorry." You apologized, sounding a little funny since the strand was still stuck on your braces.

"Damn, you need some help with that?" An attractive voice said, that you immediately recognized. Fuck, you cursed in your head. You slowly looked up and saw the tall Samoan tower over you with a concerned look on his face. You nervously started to tap your foot and your heart began to beat very fast.

His facial expression turned into an amused one and he gently took the strand out of your hand to help you get it loose, "I'll take that as a yes."

Within a minute, he got the strand loose from your braces and you were finally able to rest your arm by your side. You shyly pulled your sleeve shirt down, "Thanks.."

He nodded with a faint smile on his face. Little did you know, Roman always had a thing for you as well. He knew you as the quiet girl in class, ever since freshman year. It was now senior year and you haven't changed a bit. You guys were in classes together but never spoke before, or even sat together until one project. He admired the fact that you were different; Girls threw themselves at him all the time, which made you think that you could never stand a chance but you were wrong. He loved the fact that you were extremely smart and had a head on your shoulders. You had a unique type of beauty that he adored; The glasses, braces, the infectious laugh and the shyness. Roman deep down has a weak spot for the nerdy girls, even though no one knows about that at all. People assume all the time of what his type is or who he was as a person, when really no one knew who he truly was. The only people that knew him best were his family, and Galina at one point but as time went on Roman wasn't happy with the person she's become.

Galina was practically Roman's day one, they've known each other since they were kids through a family friend. She was never like this intimidating, rude person that she was now. Galina actually use to be very sweet, but ever since high school came around and she started hanging out with certain crowds, that's when the popularity really went to her head. Even though it made Roman sad at times that she wasn't the same person she used to be, he was not afraid to let her know how he felt about it. She promised him she'd change, but she's so far gone that it's out of control. You can't make people change, they have to do that on their own and if not, it's time to let them go. Roman thought about doing that many times, but he just didn't want to hurt her, especially with the history they had. It was just hard all around, and you made it even more tough for him.

"Whatchu' doin here all alone?" Roman asks curiously, then looked down at your shirt subtly. He saw a huge red stain and his mind went back to Galina saying she spilled her fruit punch on someone. He couldn't really make out your face since you walked away so fast, but now he figured out that you were the person that she might of spilled it on. Shit, he cursed in his head. Roman felt very guilty.

You noticed that he looked down at your shirt, causing you to slightly cover yourself from embarrassment. Chuckling nervously, you say "Oh, um. I accidentally spilled my drink everywhere..so I came here to clean it up."

He knew that you were lying since he was aware of what happened, but he didn't push it. He's noticed a lot of people cover Galina's ass so they don't get on her bad side. Roman nodded, looking down and unzipped his black jacket that was apart of his track suit, "I got sum' for you then."

"No no that's okay," You kindly reject. You look behind him to see if anyone walks in on the two of you and your heart starts to race. Lord knows that no one can see you in his jacket. Especially Galina, if so, everyone would be on your ass. You didn't feel like dealing with that drama.

Once he took the jacket fully off, your eyes went directly to his arms. Damn, his biceps were huge. You were completely glued to them until Roman jokes out of the blue, "You know, if you wanna' feel them you can just ask."

You snapped out of it and you covered your face, trying to hold back a laugh while blushing. You looked back up at him with a smile on your face, "That's hands down the corniest thing you've ever said to me."

"At least it made you laugh." Roman says with a small smile on his face. You admire his gorgeous smile while you had one of your own, gently grabbing the jacket out of his hands. You couldn't help but take it after that. This reminded you of all the times Roman would crack the dumbest jokes in class just to get you to smile, since you were so quiet and rarely talked to him. It went over your head that he only did it to impress you.

"I should probably back to my friend before she freaks out." You say shyly, thanking him for the jacket before getting ready to leave. Roman didn't want you to leave since he was enjoying this moment alone he had with you, so he thought fast and quickly stood in front of you. Real smooth, Roman.

You looked at him weirdly and Roman's face turned red. He was going to say something but he completely forgot his train of thought, making you want to laugh. The look on his face was priceless. The both of you grinned at each other before you fell out laughing.

"Don't look at me like that, girl.." Roman said bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck while you giggled.

"I'm sorry, but you should've seen the look on your face." You pointed towards his face, not being able to contain your laughter, making him laugh even harder. He had the cutest laugh, you could listen to it all day. Once you guys both pulled it together, you both stared at each other in a comfortable silence before he asked, "Do you mind if I can buy you some popcorn or something?"

"Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that Roman-"

"Don't worry bout' it, come on." He chuckles, nodding towards the exit. You smiled at him, secretly loving every second of this. Never in a million years you would've thought a crush of yours would go out of his way to do this for you. Roman was such a good guy; You were having such a bad night before and he instantly made it better.

You both walked out of door and to the concession stand. The entire time, you guys stood there goofing off and talking while you waited in line. As you guys were occupied in a conversation, you noticed that you were getting a couple of suspicious looks since you were wearing Roman's jacket. However, no one dared to mess with you or give you slick comments either since they were shocked that you happened to be friends with him. Roman wouldn't hesitate to defend you if they did anyway in a heartbeat, but they knew better. You've seen Roman on multiple occasions stick up for people who got picked on at school, and it made your heart beat even harder for him. If there was a way you could just tell him how you felt, you would, but there was just no way in hell that was possible.

"Thanks, Roman. Even though I really don't need all of these snacks-" You giggled softly, looking down at the bag of snacks he had gotten you. Even though you couldn't never complain about snacks.

"Shh." He joked, cutting you off and took the opportunity to sneak cotton candy in your mouth so you'd stop talking, making you laugh. Roman smirked, taking his thumb and wiped off your bottom lip a little bit.

A frog got caught in your throat again as he flirtatiously wiped your lip. You both gazed into each other's eyes for what it seemed like forever until you both heard the movie start. You cleared your throat, and from behind him you saw Galina, Naomi and the Usos stare at you while they were still at the car. The Usos looked at each other with dumbfounded look on their face, like they wanted to laugh but they knew Galina would kill them. Naomi softly smiled at the two of you, while Galina had the most pissed off look on her face.

"Hey..I'll see you at school?" You say to him, with a soft smile on your face but not too noticeable since you knew Galina was staring at you.

Roman simply nodded, returning the smile and just stared at you in awe quietly. You said your goodbyes before you went back to your friend's car.

"Damn, Y/N. I just said popcorn not the whole concession stand." She says, looking at me weirdly. Then she just blankly stared at you for a minute before her eyes widen, realizing what you had on.

"Bitch, is that Roman's Jacket?" She squealed, and you hushed her real quick before she got excited.

"I'll explain later, okay?"

Your friend alternated looks between you and the movie, giving you the side eye as she took the popcorn out of your lap, "This conversation isn't over."

TAGS; @gold--gucciempress @wwzentertainment @flawlessglamazon @nicolewoo @romanreignshairdresser @sassymox @pennysky @lemonjvicey @thandiwethagirl @haharollins @rollinshield3 @sheerbeautyreigns @zaddyreigns @brookethegamer @alination @vir-tual @reigns-5sos @wickedsunfire

[pipes-loves-writing]

second fic I’ve posted! I’m so sorry for being so inactive… with no new content I’m feeling very unmotivated. Thanks for everyone who stuck around and support me! I’m here if you ever need to talk. I love you all! :)

There is absolutely no problem with Seb and Carlos working together.

Nope.

No problem at all.

Oh, except for the fact that Seb has been in love with Carlos since before he even met him.

But that’s not important.

Not at all.

He didn’t mean to fall in love with Carlos, truly he didn’t. But, honestly, how couldn’t you?

Mr. Cilli clapped his hands together rhythmically. “Alright everyone, today we’ll be ending our civil war unit. We’re going to be doing a project, it being the end of the year and all. You will work with a partner to create a fake episode of a tv show based around the idea of the civil war. Any questions?”

`Natalie Bagley shot her hand into the air. “Will we get to pick our partners?”

“Unfortunately not. You’ll work with whoever is sitting next to you.”

Seb turned his head to the side and realized that no one was sitting next to him. How had he not noticed that earlier?

Carlos Rodriguez came running through the history door and dropped a few pieces of paper and pencils.

Every other group had started working on the project already. No one even noticed that Carlos was here.

Well, almost no one.

“Mr. Rodriguez, that’s the third time this week. Next time I have to write you a detention slip.”

“I’m sorry! It won’t happen again!”

Seb’s legs started moving before his mind did, and before he noticed, he had gotten up to help Carlos.

“Here. You dropped a few things.” Seb handed Carlos a pencil from the ground.

“Thank you,” Carlos paused for a second before saying, “Pencils, you know? They’re slippery.”

Seb smiled at Carlos. “Yeah, I guess.”

Carlos quickly nodded and went to sit down in the chair next to Seb’s.

Mr. Cilli scribbled something down in his notebook and said, “Carlos, I assume that means you and Seb are working together.”

Seb’s eyes widened. Carlos? Working with him? He had to stop himself from smiling too wide.

“I mean,” Carlos started, “is that okay? With you I mean?”

Seb allowed himself to smile. “Yeah that’d be great.”

Carlos took a notebook out of his backpack and set it in front of him. “I’m Carlos. By the way.”

Seb smiled a little wider. “Oh I know. I’m Seb!”

“You.. know?” Seb couldn’t entirely read Carlos’s expression.

Seb widened his eyes. “I meant,” he searched his mind for an excuse, “I know your name. Like the name Carlos. It’s a- it’s a pretty name.” Well played. That didn’t sound too creepy. Probably.

Carlos looked almost flattered? Seb still couldn’t entirely understand. He could definitely understand the blush running to his face right now though.

“Thank you.” Carlos hesitated for a moment. “You have a pretty name too.”

Seb finally broke free from eye contact. Wow. Carlos had really pretty eyes. They were almost… distracting?

“But also,” Seb started, “I’ve seen you on the color guard. You’re really good!”

Carlos didn’t answer for a moment. “You really think so?”

Seb was surprised that Carlos would doubt his talent even for a second. “I know so. My older sister was the captain of the color guard before you, and she’s very impressed with their new leader.”

Carlos furrowed his eyebrows. Then he lightly gasped. “Your sister is Georgie Matthew-Smith?”

Seb thought Carlos looked like a lost puppy when he looked confused. It was so cute, that he almost forgot to answer the question. “The one and only! I’m not as talented in the dance department though.”

Carlos laughed, “Maybe you’ve just never had the right teacher.”

Seb just hummed in response. “So what are we thinking for this tv episode project?”

“Hmm.” Carlos thought for a moment. Then he gasped, “We should do something similar to a Glee episode! Like maybe they have to do a week where they have to sing songs that talk about the civil war? Or something similar to that?” He looked over at Seb, who was looking at him in a way he couldn’t exactly place. Carlos blushed and looked away. “Sorry. I was just being a gleek. Please ignore the last 30 seconds of your life.”

“I love glee. It’s my favorite show.”

Carlos smiled wider.

“That’s a great idea, Carlos. Let’s do it.”

..

The next day, Seb walked into the classroom with a smile on his face. He had spent his entire class time with Carlos yesterday, and he couldn’t be happier about it. Sure, they were both a little awkward, but Seb found it almost endearing.

Carlos ran into the classroom again and put his papers on the desk next to Seb. The bell rang and Carlos texted something to someone. Seb got a glimpse of his wallpaper before he closed his phone.

“Hey. I like your wallpaper on your phone!”

Carlos looked at him. “You like Broadway?”

Seb scoffed, “Are you kidding? Who doesn’t?”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “You’d be surprised to know how many people did ‘Brigadoon’ and didn’t actually care for theatre.”

Seb pretended to look surprised, “You were in ‘Brigadoon’?” Of course he knew that Carlos was in this year’s spring show. He had been dying for a chance to have just one scene with him so they could talk.

“Yeah! I was ensemble.”

Seb smiled and said, “I was ensemble too! And I totally agree. If you don’t like theatre, why do the shows?”

Carlos smiled. “I didn’t even want to be in the show either. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love performing. But,” he trailed off for a second. “I actually wanted to be choreographer.” Carlos squeezed his eyes shut, fully prepared for Seb to start laughing.

“And they didn’t let you be one? That’s awful. You’re the best dancer in this school. In this city even! Anyone would be crazy not to make you a choreographer.”

Carlos looked at Seb for a second. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted.

“Okay everyone! You did some brainstorming yesterday. Today you’ll start the slideshow for the project. Then tomorrow we’ll present to the class.”

Carlos finally broke eye contact with Seb and looked down at his paper.

“So? What about you?” Carlos asked subtly.

Seb raised an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“Do you have a dream role?”

Seb hesitated. “Don’t laugh.”

“Seb. I’m not going to laugh at you.”

Seb looked up at Carlos. “Sharpay,” he says quietly.

“Sharpay? Like from High School Musical?”

Seb couldn’t look at Carlos. He was too scared to see his reaction. Would he change his mind and laugh at Seb?

“Wow. You’d be great as Sharpay!”

Seb listened for sarcasm, but he didn’t seem to hear any. He looked at Carlos.

Seb didn’t really know what to say, so he just blushed and hoped Carlos didn’t notice.

Carlos was too busy blushing to notice the other boy’s red face.

…

Today was the big presentation day. Seb was a little nervous, but he was a performer! He could do anything.

Mostly anything that is.

“Okay,” Mr. Cilli announced, “Today is presentation day! I’ll give you guys 10 minutes to review, and then we’ll start with Natalie and Kaden, Ashlyn and Steph, Seb and Carlos,” the teacher went on and on about the order of groups presenting, but Seb had been distracted. Carlos still wasn’t in class. He wouldn’t ditch on the day of presenting.

Right?

Seb took out his phone and texted Carlos.

‘Hey is everything okay?’ He sent the message and waited for a response. He checked his phone after two minutes. No response.

Seb shot up his hand and asked to go to the bathroom.

He ran out the door and speed-walked down the hall.

When he threw open the bathroom door, he saw Carlos pacing back and forth across the small space. He looked so panicked, it made Seb kind of want to cry.

Carlos heard Seb open the door and looked over at him. Seb’s eyes were filled with so much worry and another emotion Carlos couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Carlos stopped against the wall and slid down to sit. He could feel his breathing getting faster, and he tried to slow it down.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Seb said in a hushed voice. He walked over next to him. “What’s wrong ‘Los? Why are you pacing?”

Carlos threw his head back. He was so scared that he didn’t comment on the cute nickname. “I’m scared, Seb. The last thing I read in front of people was a report in February. And it was a group project with four people. I barely had to talk.”

Carlos’s hands were fidgeting so much that Seb reached over and grabbed both of them with his own.

Carlos was so nervous that he barely noticed.

Okay, that was a complete lie.

Seb’s hands holding Carlos’s and his pretty blue eyes made Carlos forget all his worries. Seb’s hands were warm and soft. You would think they’d be rough from all the farm work, but they weren’t for some reason. Carlos would have to ask him about them one day.

“That’s not true Carlos. You memorized all the songs in Brigadoon in under a week. You were the first one in the cast who was off book.” Seb thought for a moment. “Just imagine it being a performance. You’re really good at those.”

Carlos looks at Seb. But this time, he really looks at him.

Seb has a bit of acne. His eyes are a little darker blue than he’d noticed before. His hands are a little sweaty. And his hair is messed up a little.

And honestly?

Carlos thinks he’s so beautiful.

Before either of them notice, about 15 seconds has passed.

Carlos is about to say something, but Seb speaks up instead.

“We should probably get back to class. Our project isn’t going to present itself.”

When they get back in the classroom, they’ve been gone about 6 minutes. Mr. Cilli has always been lenient towards his students, so they only get a warning.

When it’s their turn to present, Carlos can’t stop looking at Seb. All he can think about is what he said earlier. And also, just him in general.

Seb isn’t looking at Carlos. He’s too worried that he’ll get lost in Carlos’s eyes, so he just avoids eye contact. Which pains him a little bit, but it’s alright.

In the end, their presentation gets a B.

They get points off for being distracted during the presentation.

And they’re both more than okay with that.

-pipes 🤍

[batfamscreaming]

The Last Night [highschool au]

warnings: long post. Canon-compliant body horror/mutilation, threats of suicide, threats to make it look like a suicide, things that don't die when they should, young Bruce enacting a stupid plan.

masterpost

000

Bruce didn’t come back from the library.

Despite how aware of his surroundings he might have been, he couldn't stop a hand going over his mouth.

A blindfold over his eyes.

Something that made him feel sleepy.

And he was pulled away.

--

Bruce woke disoriented.

Cold.

He groaned before he thought he should've hidden it, but the thought was far away in the back of his mind as he slowly regained consciousness.

--

“The prodigal son awakens.” Someone said above him. In front. Their voice echoed.

Bruce was on a slab in the middle of a large room. A circular theatre.

It was filled with people. Staring at him.

… And all of them wore the same white mask off an owl.

--

...ah.

Here it was.

A cold fog of clarity, instead of a haze to get lost in.

Once he was awake enough to see, he was awake enough to glare, and he set his icy blue eyes on them as he pushed himself up to sit.

“...you guys just sit around and stare at unconscious kids all day?” he asked.

--

“Only the special ones, Bruce. And you're very special.” The man said, one stood out from the rest in a white suit and black cape.

Bruce could probably feel someone behind him too. Closer than the rest.

Behind him was a man in black and gold, spectacles over his eyes and mask designed like an owl, but different from the rest.

--

He did feel him, once he'd sat up-- he jerked away, unable to stop himself from showing that weakness once he realized how close that one was standing. Different from the rest. Gloves like claws.

(Talon, his mind told him, with a trickle of ice down his spine, remembering how months ago, the business mongle had been found in his apartment, cut to ribbons.)

...but still, he forced his voice to not shake as he dragged his gaze back to the vacant masks and faces of the Court, and looked up at what he could only assume was the ‘judge’--

And he must've been standing trial.

“So, what?” Bruce asked, wetting his lips. “You going to kill me?”

--

“Oh no, no, Bruce Wayne. We’re going to recruit you.” The Judge said, his voice as jovial as it had been since the beginning.

The crowd around him was near motionless save for the occasional lean from one to whisper to the other. They were all clearly real people, and all of them well dressed.

Gotham’s Elite.

Just like him.

--

His throat tightened.

They were nothing like him. Nothing like him, or Tommy, who had suffered, and--

He found his voice loud, even in his own ears, shoving himself off the slab and ready to fight the entire room if he fucking had to. Assassin, no assassin, if it killed him, he didn’t care. He had no friends, and no future, and-- “You killed my parents,” he howled. “As if I would ever let you recruit me!”

--

As soon as he lunged forward, even if he was nowhere near the Judge, a taloned hand reached down and grabbed his shoulder with enough force to hold him in place, to keep him from running.

“Now who told you that?” The Judge asked. “Why would we ever kill one of our own?”

--

That stopped him almost as sharply as the hand on his shoulder did. His breath hitched.

He was normally so good at spotting liars, but he couldn’t see their faces. Couldn’t see their eyes. Didn’t even know what their regular voices were like to compare.

But they would have to be lying.

His parents would never work with them.

“You’re lying.”

He grabbed the Talon’s arm, and tried not to think of the knives on their fingers, and tried to throw him over his shoulder in a judo flip.

--

The Talon hadn’t been ready for the flip initially, but still had more training than Bruce.

Their feet landed before they pulled Bruce with them into a bear hug to keep him still.

“Surely you don’t think even your parents passed up this opportunity?” The Judge asked. “We are Gotham’s richest, just as you are. We decide what happens to our city, not the common riff raff crawling the streets. Your parents worked with us to make Gotham what it is today.”

--

It wasn’t like being held tight by Clark. The armored body around him moved when he struggled, but still-- still, he couldn’t do anything more than twist in the hold, but not break it, as he started to shake.

“Then how come it all fell apart when they died!?” he said, voice cracking.

His eyes felt hot.

“Even the Court couldn’t hold it together without them!?”

--

“I’m afraid that’s just another case of correlation not equalling causation.” The Judge said. “Perhaps with your help, you could bring Gotham back to something your parents would be proud of? We can help you. That’s what we do; offer a network of aid to bring Gotham to her full potential.”

“Talon,” the Judge turned his head to address the man bear-hugging Bruce into submission. “Take our guest to his lodgings. Give him time to think.”

The man said nothing as he set Bruce on his feet and shoved him forward.

--

…

Bruce stopped struggling, watching the Judge with barely-restrained tears. Shaking.

He wobbled on his feet when he was set down and stumbled with the shove.

...but he walked. He walked like he’d gone and drunk a bar dry, but he did it, still feeling the Talon’s arms around him through his clothes and suddenly feeling even colder and more exposed now that his arms were free.

“...you kill people,” he said to the Talon. “Why…”

--

“To maintain order.” The Talon said, leading Bruce down a series of corridors that became increasingly less lavish as they went.

They came to a steel door and the Talon opened it, but didn’t shove Bruce inside, expecting him to go in willingly.

The interior was nice for what it was. A comfortable bed. A desk with a light.

He was still one of Gotham’s Elite, after all.

--

“What about their families?” he asked, though he thought he knew the answer.

He was lightheaded.

Dizzy.

He went in, and stood just on the inside, feeling cold and empty.

--

If he was waiting on an answer he wouldn’t get one.

The Talon closed the door and it clicked heavily as it locked, and then he walked away.

--

…

Bruce couldn’t even hear his footsteps leaving.

...he wanted to throw up. But he just stood there. Dazed and shaking, and throat dry. No one knew where he was. He didn’t know where he was. No one knew the court, or would give Alfred closure, or be able to do anything if he disappeared down here.

No one would find his body if they wanted to get rid of him. A hole in his neck, just like mom’s.

“...Clark,” he croaked.

“Clark. Clark. Clark…”

--

… Clark would hear him.

Clark would hear him walking back to their dorm and stop dead in his tracks.

He knew the voice and it sounded so desperate, and suddenly he had forgotten the stabbing in his heart and was turning to run in the direction of it.

Ignoring whoever it was that just yelled at him for running.

He ran to where he thought it was coming from, but-- but that couldn’t be it. It was a dead end. So he circled back.

Another dead end.

It didn’t make sense.

How the fu-...

He started to look harder.

--

At some point, Bruce found himself on the floor, curled over his knees and pressing his palms into his eyes.

Were there cameras in here? Were there microphones? Would it matter right now?

“Clark, please, I don’t know where I am… I need help, please don’t have your hearing aids in right now, oh, fuck…”

--

Clark might have looked a little insane staring at the floor and seeing his friend miles down and sort of… throwing up his hands.

Okay.

Okay.

Uh.

…

Clark snuck out of the school and found his way into the sewers.

Ew.

It was as far down as he could get.

And then his eyes glowed red.

--

...at some point, Bruce stopped calling for help.

At some point, he just started talking.

Talking into his hands.

“I’m sorry about the bathroom. I was trying to scare you. I don’t know if you can hear but if you can I’m so sorry if you don’t hear from me again--”

He was going to do something stupid.

“--I might join them.”

--

Clark had no idea what Bruce was talking about. The Court of Owls was so far from his mind right now, he assumed maybe Bruce had been snooping around somewhere and got stuck or something and--

And soon the walls around him shook.

Clark didn’t drill down right over Bruce. He didn’t want to hurt him or have anything collapse around him, but that meant he didn’t really know what he was getting into. He couldn’t use heat vision and x-ray at the same time. So he just… guessed and then blew downward.

He landed somewhere with carpet and a loud thud, breathing heavily.

He had taken off his uniform and wrapped a bandana around his face to help with the smell and dust.

And he knew he had seen other skeletons down here before digging downward, but he didn’t know what that meant.

--

...Bruce felt it.

Felt the slight tremor in the walls. In the floor.

His head jerked upwards.

Oh no.

Clark had heard him.

“Shit-- shit, Clark!” he said, a little louder, still scared of being heard outside the door, now actually looking for cameras, he’d said the name too many times, though-- “Clark, don’t let them see you! They can take you away!”

--

There was really no way he hadn’t been heard, but--

He still tripped and stumbled over the rubble before giving up and just flying over it.

(Hide your face when you do it. Be so alien they can’t guess it’s you.)

Clark made sure the bandana over his face was still there and flew to where he could hear Bruce’s voice.

--

Fuck. Shit. Bruce didn’t know what to do, but the daze in his head had been replaced by the knowledge that Clark was coming, and he needed to find some way to help keep him safe.

He started trying the door, trying to shove it open or tug it that way, and when it didn’t budge, he banged on it. “Hey. Talon! Where the fuck are you!”

Talon is here, Clark, Talon is here, you heard the name, you know, okay--

--

Talon?? What??

Clark was just starting to wrap his head around what this place was, red carpets and tall pillars, when he saw Talon.

And Talon saw him. Floating.

They were both pretty unprepared.

But Talon was trained.

Bruce wouldn't see it, but he would hear it.

Clark yelling, startled. A scuffle. Something big and heavy being thrown into a wall.

…

And then Clark's face in front of the window of the door, his hair full of dust and face covered.

“Bruce! What the crap!”

--

Bruce stared back at him, eyes wide and afraid.

“Clark! Open the door!”

--

Clark tried the handle and pulled.

But the handle just ripped off.

… Okay.

Clark took a breath and shoved his hands through the sides where the door connected to the wall and pulled the whole thing off.

--

Good.

Bruce was already shoving himself against the floating alien, hugging him tight.

“Oh, God, oh, shit. Are you okay?!” he hissed, eyes flicking over Clark’s shoulder, looking for Talon--

--

Clark's shirt was torn up, but he looked fine as his arms wrapped around Bruce.

“Y-yeah, I'm--”

His head snapped back as he heard Talon get up with a groan behind him, body slumped in front of a massive dent in the wall.

--

At the groan, Bruce shoved out of Clark’s arms, and--

And shoved Clark behind him.

“Stay down,” he hissed, voice sharp and strong again, now that-- now that his friend was here. “If you try to touch him again I’ll bite through my tongue and you’ll lose a recruit just like that.”

--

“What?” Clark breathed, because-- because there was so much going on right now.

“We're leaving!” He yelled, grabbing Bruce again and pulling him close with a grip that said he didn't have a choice.

Talon was getting to his feet.

--

Bruce sucked in a breath as he was grabbed.

“No-- no! I need to know who..”

But he wouldn’t have a choice. Not with Clark’s iron grip on him. And not with his life not even enough to dissuade Talon.

--

Clark grabbed him tight and they were flying. Flying past startled court members with masks, away from Talon. Away from all of it.

When they got to the hole Clark made he said “take a breath!”

And they shot up.

It was like a rollercoaster in reverse, enough to take his breath away.

--

Bruce clung tight, sucking in a breath when Clark told him to and squeezing his eyes shut.

He pressed himself as hard as he could against the only solid thing he knew, and hid his face in Clark’s torn collar as they went.

“North,” Bruce told him, croaking. “Not school. School’s not safe--”

--

Clark heard him.

They shot out of the hole in the sewer and then up and out the manhole before anyone would tell who, or what, it was.

And then he leveled out and slowed down. They were too high for prying eyes to be able to tell what they were.

Headed North.

“Bruce, what the hell was that?” Clark asked, his bandanna long fallen off his face to hang around his neck.

--

Bruce still clung around Clark, shivering in the high altitude.

“The Owls,” he finally croaked. “Someone drugged me.”

--

His expression softened.

“... It’s okay. I’ve got you now.”

Clark hoped that was comforting.

--

Bruce nodded against Clark.

“...I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

--

…

“I know. I heard you.”

…

“You were right though. I was jealous of Tommy. So I’m sorry too.”

--

A shudder he couldn’t control ran through Bruce’s body.

“...don’t be. It’s fine. I didn’t…”

Everything was so wound up inside him. Or maybe that was lightheadedness.

“You don’t have to be jealous of people I don’t like like that.”

--

“I know. Just--”

…

He sighed. “It’s okay.”

(I know you don’t feel that way about me.)

“I understand.”

--

Bruce nodded against Clark again, and tried to hold in a sniff.

Arms still wrapped around Clark and suspended so far up they would barely be specks from the ground, Bruce pulled himself up a little in Clark’s grip. And kissed him.

(Everyone wanted something from him. His money, or status, or looks, or… or for Tommy, all three. All three and his dead parents.

And Clark had still come for him, even when Bruce had ripped all of those away and chased him far away.

And he was alive.)

--

Just like before Clark was a deer in headlights, eyes wide as Bruce put his lips on his. His grip stayed true, growing a little tighter around him, holding him close.

And like last time he closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss as they slowed down in the sky.

--

Bruce didn’t pull back this time.

...not that there was anywhere to pull back to, and he was very keenly aware of this, his legs dangling down with nothing to support him but the arms tight around his waist and his own grip around Clark’s shoulders.

….this kiss was gentler than the last one Bruce had given Clark. Slower. Like an apology. It was sweet.

When Clark pressed in he opened his mouth a little and tried to guide him through it.

--

Clark had never kissed someone like this before. It was nothing like sneaking a kiss from a girl break home when he was younger, hoping you did it right and having to take the lead.

… It was nice following for once.

He opened his mouth and followed along, slowly coming to a stop and bringing his legs down so Bruce could use him to lay on rather than hang over the city. And with Bruce's body supported by him underneath he could allow one hand to wander a little.

To feel his black hair.

--

Bruce could lead. He'd--

...he'd done a lot of kissing, the last two months, trying to forget the softness of Clark’s mouth.

He was still very, very aware of the fall below him, and the fact that even though his weight now fell a little more on Clark's waist, one of the arms holding him had still moved away.

His breathing grew a little deeper as he felt the hand reemerge in his hair, and pulled away just to get a deeper breath from the thin air.

--

Clark pulled away when Bruce did still looking a little dazed. Happy, but dazed. His hand slipped down, feeling the back of Bruce's neck.

Gentle.

“Okay,” he breathed, “Guess I don't understand.” He smirked.

--

Bruce frowned at him, though it wasn't an angry one. He swallowed. Clark would feel it under his hand.

“What don't you understand?”

--

“Thought you didn't like me like that.” He said quietly.

--

...Bruce finally grimaces, and tries to look away, but there's nowhere to look to but sky.

“...said you didn't have to be jealous of people I didn't like like that.”

--

“I know, but-- I didn't know that meant-- that meant I meant anything.” He looked down at the world below.

--

“That's ‘cause you're an idiot,” Bruce said, and leaned up to give him a tentative kiss again

--

Clark laughed into the second kiss, taking the jab in stride.

--

...as nice as it was, it would all have to end soon.

He was slowly growing colder in the sky, even when they weren't moving, and even with Clark under him. He was starting to shiver more, even though he refused to complain.

And they… they needed to get down, somehow, and find somewhere safe.

They couldn't go back to school. Not when Bruce had been kidnapped right in the library, in a bastion of the Gotham Elite.

The manor was nearby, but…

...but he didn't know if he could trust Alfred, after this.

But… for right now…

“Come on,” he whispered. “I think I know somewhere we can hide.”

--

He could feel Bruce shivering even if he didn't complain.

“Okay,” Clark said, grabbing Bruce with both arms again and starting to fly.

“Just tell me where.”

--

Bruce nodded and sniffed a bit, and told him.

...he told him how to find the little cave entrance, on the side of a hill, with a brick ring built around it to try and stop wandering children from falling in anymore.

It was too small to fly in together, so Bruce slid down first, into the cool, dark cave.

“No one else knows about it down here. Alfred only saw it once. He doesn't know I come back. It should be safe…”

He hoped it was.

--

Clark flew in behind him.

“... So what happened? I just heard you calling me and you were way down under even the sewers.”

--

Under the sewers? They must've been underwater almost, at that depth so near the shore.

“...” the cave was dark, despite the stream of sunlight coming down the hole. Bruce had left a box of things down here, though; an oil lantern among them.

He lit it, and relaxed when the wick wasn't too wet to work.

“...I was drugged,” he said again. “...I woke up in the court. And we talked.”

--

“... What did they say?”

--

...Bruce remembered the familiar tailor of the suits. The expense of the hideout.

He swallowed.

“...they said my family was one of them. They didn't kill them.”

--

“... What?” Clark breathed. “Wh-why?”

--

“...” Bruce knew very well why. But he also was very aware that it was something Kent had previously been defensive about. “...because the rich control the city. Not the ‘riff-raff’. And they want to keep it that way.”

“...and my family's one of the oldest in Gotham.”

--

(I might join them.)

Clark found himself flying around to hover beside Bruce, eyes catching the light of the lantern in the dark.

“You’re not going to join them, right? They kill people.”

--

“I know,” Bruce said right away, trying to look up at Clark, but not able to really meet his eyes. “...but if I'm in charge, maybe I can control them.”

The way he'd controlled Tommy. The way he'd held him back.

--

“Yeah? And how long will that take? To get to the top? Bruce that’d take years. Years of killing people just because they aren’t building things where you want or putting their money where you don’t agree with!”

--

He bit his cheek. “And what's my other option, Kent?”

“Even if I don't join, people are still going to die-- and I won't be a step closer to stopping it.”

--

“You’ve got so much you could use to help people, to keep them from dying.” Clark said. “Maybe you can’t fly or shoot fire from your eyes, but you have a name. You have money. Don’t be like every other rich person and throw that money towards your friends. You know that’s what they’re doing. They just pat each other on the back and kill anyone trying to make a difference!”

“You can make a bigger difference then even someone like me can, Bruce.”

--

“You think I don't know?”

God. He didn't mean for his voice to get so angry it cracked.

“That's what my mother was doing when she died.”

He flung his arm out, out towards the ceiling. “Why do you think we’re in this cave? Because they have names, they have money, and if they don't see me as a threat, maybe I can use what they throw away to fix this stupid city.”

His face was wet.

--

“You don’t know if they were even telling the truth, Bruce!” Clark said, still floating in front of him. “You know they’re the type of people to say anything that will make you want to join them. And then what? You join them and wade in the blood they spill right along beside them trying to soak it up with a paper towel?”

“You would still be responsible!”

--

Bruce flinched.

“...I know…” he said softly, head falling down again. “...I'm prepared for that. I just…”

His voice cracked again.

“I knew some of them, Clark. They're my neighbors. They can't… they won't go to jail, even if I find proof, I can't…”

“...I can't think of how to get rid of them..”

--

… Clark finally landed in front of him.

He started to grasp at straws.

“Can’t you just tell them you’ll stay out of their way? Even though you won’t join them?”

--

Bruce looked up at him, exhausted. “...if I can't trust them to tell the truth about my parents, why should I trust them with my life when I know I'll be getting in their way?”

“I won't stop getting in their way.”

Control.

--

Clark was rubbing his hands together.

Nervous.

“I’ll protect you. I’ll be your bodyguard. Not even that Talon guy could scratch me, see?” He smiled, forced, and held out his arms.

Torn shirt and not a scratch underneath.

--

Bruce reached up and pulled Clark’s hand away from his stomach. Furious.

“He could've disemboweled you!”

--

“He didn’t!” Clark said. “I felt his claws and they were a little sharp but-- look!”

He tugged off his shirt and pointed at the barely visible red lines.

“It was nothing! I’ve been shot and it’s hurt more! I’ll be fine!”

He was getting desperate.

Begging his friend and pulling at straws to keep Bruce from joining them.

--

Bruce was staring at the lines, shaking.

“Clark,” he whispered. “I don't even know if I can trust Alfred’s not one of them right now, okay?”

--

… Clark gripped his shirt, holding it against his chest as he looked down at Bruce.

He had no other excuses.

“Don’t.” Is all he could manage, barely a whisper.

--

...Bruce felt like the bathroom all over again. Staring up at Clark. Doing something dumb and heart-pounding to try and feel like it made a difference.

“...are you worried about their victims?” he asked, voice soft. “Or about me?”

--

“Both.” Clark said, then quieter; “You.”

--

...Bruce lifted his hands and ran his shaking fingers across Clark’s cheek.

“...save the bias for journalism,” he murmured, leaning in for another kiss. “I'm not going right now.”

--

Clark leaned into Bruce’s hand, reaching up to cup it under his own against his face while leaning down into the kiss.

“I don’t want you to go at all.” He whispered, sounding like he was about to cry. “Don’t do it.”

… But he had no alternatives to suggest.

--

...Bruce didn't, either. Not if he wanted to stay in Gotham.

He could run, but he was under aged, without access to his parents’ fortune. Underage and famous. He wouldn't get far like that.

He could stay and make Clark be his bodyguard, but he didn't want to be responsible for the pain when one day Clark failed.

And god, he couldn't believe the Owls would let them walk away after that exit. That Bruce could lie and say he wouldn't get in the way would ultimately just buy temporary time.

If he wanted to stay in Gotham right now with Clark, he had to try to appease them somehow.

And they'd only wanted one thing.

(Always. Always, someone wanted something from him.)

So Bruce kissed back. Harder. Hands betraying his nerves as he gripped onto Clark’s unyielding arms.

“They could lock you up,” Bruce said, shaky. “I won't let them…”

--

Clark breathed heavier into the kiss, trying not to cry as his hands found Bruce's hips and gripped them with a gentleness that betrayed his strength.

“They don't have to know it's me. You said I could hide my face. They-- they don't need to know--”

Begging.

--

“I was calling your name….” Bruce whispered. “Please, Clark, I can’t lose someone again…”

--

Clark finally choked out a sob and wrapped his arms around Bruce, pulling him closer and shoving his face into Bruce's neck.

“I can deal with them, I--”

He had nothing left to offer.

--

…

Bruce just held him. Tight.

...he felt cold and empty inside. But he didn’t let go.

“...I found them. I have to try and control them…”

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince anymore.

--

Clark cried. He cried into Bruce's neck and held him tight and didn't know what else to say. He didn't know what to do.

So while he had him, he just held onto Bruce and didn't let go.

--

…

Bruce didn’t know how long they were down there. Or how long Clark cried.

He was numb again. And all he knew was the arms were around him, and he was holding Clark tight as the sun went down, and soon, the only light was his lamplight, without even the flicker of stars.

“...it’s late…” he said, quiet. Tired and getting hungry and sore.

--

Clark had barely stopped holding him since they got down in the cave.

“... What do you wanna do?” He asked quietly.

Where were they supposed to go?

--

…

He didn’t know.

“...let’s get food,” he said, “and something to hide your face with. ...And then we should go.”

--

… Clark sniffed and nodded, finally peeling himself from Bruce as he tugged his tattered shirt back on.

“I'm not leaving you tonight.” He said, wanting to be sure Bruce knew that.

--

… “Thanks,” Bruce said, voice a little hoarse.

“...I’m going to need your help getting back up the well…”

...he stepped in close again, for a different sort of hug as they got up.

--

Clark nodded again and put his arms around Bruce, flying him up out of the well and setting him on his feet in the dying grass around it.

--

...it was still dark out, but not as dark as the cave.

In the far distance, there was a silhouette. Taller than the trees or fields around them. A house: massive and spired.

In front of it were flashing lights. Police cars.

...Bruce watched on with trepidation.

“...they reported me missing,” he said.

--

“... If Alfred were part of the Owls do you think he would’ve reported you?” Clark asked.

--

“Why wouldn't he?” Bruce asked, not sure. “There's not a clean cop in Gotham.”

--

Clark just sighed and took Bruce’s word for it. “... Whaddya wanna do?”

--

“...interstate gas station?” he suggested.

Food. Something to hide Clark’s face. New shirt.

They didn't need much.

--

“Okay,” he said. “Want me to fly us there or…?”

--

He nodded.

“....can't get out of the manor grounds, otherwise…”

Fenced in. Worse than school.

Fenced in everywhere but Kansas.

--

Clark offered his arms. “Just tell me what direction to go in.”

--

He would.

It was easy to spot the interstate at night, and the little clusters of buildings that sprung up along it. And--

And it was so different from the daytime flight. Bruce found his breath catching as they flew over the lights of outskirts and the rivers below.

--

Even Clark looked around as they flew.

“... Never been over a city before.”

But he didn’t linger, not like he had on their way there when Bruce kissed him.

He landed somewhere they wouldn’t be seen by the gas station.

--

Bruce stripped off his coat once they landed and handed it to Clark, to help cover his torn shirt.

“Can you see okay without your glasses?” he asked.

--

“I’m a little far-sighted.” Clark said, tugging on the jacket.

It was kinda tight.

He pulled off his glasses and held them out to Bruce, assuming he wanted them for a disguise.

--

Yeah, he did.

He put on the glasses and relaxed a little.

… “It’ll do, hopefully.”

They looked at least sort of different, and he didn’t think the Court would look at this one random gas station, of all places, right?

Right.

--

Hopefully.

Clark followed him into the gas station.

The attendant didn’t even look up.

--

Good.

Bruce grabbed some food and a shirt, and a ski mask (bad winters) and gestured for Clark to pick something to eat out, too.

--

Clark grabbed a gross gas station hotdog and a soda for himself.

He would pay too with the money Bruce gave him, just in case the guy behind the counter did recognize Bruce.

--

That was fine.

Routine. Habit.

Bruce just stood behind people while they operated for him.

He wondered if owls did that.

“...wanna eat on the curb?” he asked as they left.

--

“Sure,” Clark said, walking out with him.

He found a spot that didn’t look as dirty and sat down. Pulled out his hotdog to start eating.

…

“You feelin’ okay?”

--

…

Bruce opened the sandwich he’d taken from the freezer section and took a bite.

“...I dunno if I’m feeling anything really right now.”

--

… Clark nodded and took a bite from his hotdog.

“Yeah. I dunno what I’m feelin’ either right now.”

--

…

Bruce reached over and tried to find Clark's hand. To squeeze it.

“...I'm sorry. Please don't hate me for this.”

--

Clark looked down at their hands and gave Bruce’s a squeeze back. “I won’t-- I--”

He felt his eyes get hot again and tried not to cry.

“... Just promise me you’ll get out. If you find a chance. Just get out.”

--

...Bruce nodded.

“...I will. I just…”

…

He curled up a bit again, like he'd done on the bus.

“...All I can think of is leaving Gotham. And I don't want to.”

He'd told Clark he did.

That he was going to run.

But he wasn't going to be chased.

--

“You can’t do that until you’re 18 anyway, right?” Clark said, still holding his hand.

--

… “not without permission,” Bruce said, swallowing hard, and glancing back at the way they'd come.

--

Clark sighed and looked down at his hotdog.

He wasn’t hungry despite everything.

…

“What’d we do after this? Are you going back to them?”

--

...Bruce nodded.

“...see if I have something they want,” he said.

Just think of it like economics.

--

“... Do you want me to be there with you? Or do you not think…”

Would they not accept him if the guy who plowed into their court was beside him?

--

Bruce tried to smile reassuringly, but it fell flat, and he let it wilt.

“...I want you there, yeah, but… I don't think it'll be a good idea.”

--

… “I’ll be close.” Clark said, face turning serious.

“I’ll be close and if they do anything I’ll see it and come.” His eyes looked over to meet Bruce’s.

--

…he'd see it, there.

The fear that never left Bruce, dragged to the surface.

The relief that he wouldn't be alone.

He nodded.

“...okay. I trust you.”

--

Clark smiled, even if it didn't last very long.

He held Bruce's hand while they ate and wondered if his friend would be able to stay himself even after joining the Owls.

--

(It wouldn't be so bad to stay someone else, as long as no one else died.)

Bruce finished his sandwich. Threw the wrapper away from where they sat.

And he waited, quietly, for Clark to finish, too, watching the stars out here that came out more than in middle Gotham.

...why did it feel like his last night?

He wasn't going to get himself locked in that little holding room forever--

--

It really did feel like Bruce’s last night, even if in theory they would accept him and… little would change in their day-to-day lives.

When they were both done eating it would take a lot of strength to stand up.

But they both had to. If this was going to have an end. They had to both stand up.

And Clark would have to watch Bruce walk into the fire.

--

It wasn't Aristotle who said it, but Bruce couldn't remember anyone else right now.

Bravery isn't the lack of fear, but the confrontation of it.

...but all the same, he wished he'd been a little bolder-feeling as Clark brought him back to the entrance of the shaft, and he made his slow descent down, leaving the upperworld behind.

He dusted himself off without much thought once he slid from the broken wall into the spacious chamber of red carpet and pillars, and looked around slowly.

“...hello? Is anyone still here?”

--

There was no one there when he arrived. The hole hadn’t been cleaned up from Clark’s entrance, but Bruce would know he was being watched.

--

Bruce could feel it. Prickles on his skin.

Familiar. Being watched.

Bluff. Hands on his sides. Impatient.

“I can hear you breathing. You may as well come out.”

--

… His bluff went unanswered.

It would be another minute before he would hear footsteps.

Talon walked around the corner to face him.

“Follow me.”

--

...at least it got him in the light.

...he didn't let himself look back at the hole he'd crawled down through.

He followed Talon.

--

Talon lead him to a smaller room. Opened the door to a lavish office with wood and soft red carpet that matched the rest of their underground facility. The Judge was sat behind a large desk.

“Ah, he returns.” He said, standing up.

--

“What, can't use the prodigal son line twice?” Bruce asked, strolling in with his head held higher than before. Eyes sharp again.

He was so fucking aware of the Talon at his back.

“...what you said about my parents. Was it true?”

--

“Oh I think the prodigal son title is only saved for those who are… eligible in joining our little organization.” The Judge said, and as soon as he was finished the Talon was grabbing Bruce’s neck.

--

Bruce lunged forward for the Judge’s mask as the word ‘eligible’ died, but was caught mid-air, choking.

One hand tried to pry the fingers off his windpipe in animal desperation.

The other grabbed for the Talon’s mask instead.

--

The Talon’s mask was cloth, attached to the rest of his suit. Bruce could feel it ripping a little at the clasps by his neck. He pushed Bruce down on the floor and grabbed for one of the sharp throwing knives strapped to his sides.

“I don’t know what it was you had come grab you the first time, but you’re really a fool for coming here again. I’m afraid our offer has expired.” The Judge said, rounding the desk so he could get closer.

But not too close.

--

Bruce didn't let go.

He needed at least one face.

One way for it to not be everyone he knew--

But he still glared up at the Judge, choking and struggling on the floor.

“Can't negotiate-- if it's fair--huh?” he choked out.

Clark was watching for him.

“You'll wish you had me--”

--

He’d get one face, the fabric eventually tearing off to reveal… no one he knew.

A nobody, their face generic and plain save for a scar across their lip. They weren’t a part of The Elite.

“Won’t it be a shame when your butler finds you tomorrow morning, bled out in your bathtub from slit wrists?” The Judge said, and Talon pinned down one of Bruce’s arms with his leg.

--

His heart started to pound a little faster.

The pinned arm was shaking. He'd given his jacket over at the gas station, and though he'd returned the glasses he hadn't taken the jacket back--

The Judge could see the scars on his arm.

Where was Clark?

“That doesn't even make sense for him to find me in the manor--” he said, not sure why. Adrenaline? Fear?

Clark said he'd be watching--

--

“No? It doesn’t make sense that Bruce Wayne, overwhelmed with all that has happened to him, would run home and--”

The Judge never finished his sentence.

The wall exploded in pieces of wood and drywall and the weight on Bruce was yanked off him.

--

Oh god. Oh god.

Bruce was up on his feet and running, tackling into the Judge with every one of his 150 pounds, ripping the mask off his face.

--

The Judge was trying to fight him off, but it was clear he was no fighter, and soon enough Bruce had the mask ripped off.

He would recognize the face behind it. A Galavan, teeth grit and hands reaching to grab Bruce by the throat and get him off or choke him to death himself.

Behind him, through yet another wall Clark had crashed through, there was heat.

And screaming.

--

He had a face.

He had a face.

And he reeled back and hit Galavan as hard as he could across the face, until his knuckles hurt.

But the screaming stopped him from--

From keeping it up.

He shoved away, still gripping the mask, suddenly thinking of he burnt off their arms.

--

The Judge wasn’t moving. Alive, but unconscious from Bruce’s onslaught.

But behind him, through another wall into a whole separate room, Clark stood heaving with his hands over his eyes, and a smoking Talon at his feet, unmoving.

--

Bruce ran towards him. Shaking.

“Clark..?” he whispered, too quiet to even hear himself, scared that there might still be someone around.

He knelt beside Clark, rubbing his back, trying to wrap an arm around him.

Trying to pull his eyes from the Talon’s body.

He suddenly wished he hadn't removed the mask.

Maybe he wouldn't have to see the dead eyes. The same glassy gaze.

The--

The…

Oh god.

“Get up,” Bruce said, voice speaking into a break. “Get up, there's something wrong--”

--

Clark wore the ski mask Bruce had gotten him. The ski mask and the bandana around his mouth. Around the eyes was burning and still red with cinders as he tried to breathe and get to his feet.

“He won’t-- he won’t hurt you again--” Clark mumbled out.

Rationalizing it in his brain.

--

Bruce knew what dead bodies looked like.

He grabbed Clark by the shoulder, trying to haul him upright faster. “Shut up, get up, shh--”

The hand was moving.

“He's not dead!”

--

Clark’s eyes went down to the body.

Moving.

When it looked like that.

His eyes went wide and he felt himself stop breathing.

Before he knew it he was grabbing Bruce again to fly them out.

--

Bruce didn't protest.

Not at all.

He was already clinging tight to Clark, shaking, with the mask still clutched in one hand against his chest.

“M-manor,” Bruce said. “K-keep your hat on.”

He had to know now, now that plan A was spent.

If Alfred was with them, he needed to know, before Alfred got word of what had happened.

--

Clark flew.

He flew out of the hole he had made into the room and towards the massive hole he had made from the sewers.

But then he paused.

“I- I should destroy this place…”

Even if he didn’t know how.

--

Bruce turned, shaking, though not with cold.

“We don't kill,” he breathed, gripping Clark tighter. “We’re not killers.”

--

Clark looked at him, mouth tight, and nodded.

He flew them out of the hole.

Out of the sewer.

They went to the Manor.

--

...Bruce had stopped shaking by the time they touched down.

The police cars were gone, now.

It was late in the night.

Everything inside him had gotten carved out and scooped from him, leaving a bare shell that didn't even feel scared anymore as he rang the manor doorbell.

“Don't let him see you right away. Not until we know,” he said numbly, still holding the smooth mask between his fingers.

--

“Okay.” Clark said quietly, dropping Bruce on his feet and then flying away and off to the side.

Bruce would tell him if it was fine to come down. And if things started going south… he would be there.

--

Bruce took a deep breath and waited.

...a few moments later, the door opened.

An older man with a thin layer of hair on the top of his head and a thinning mustache opened the door--

--and nearly fell to his knees, pulling Bruce into a hug, to complete shock on Bruce's face.

“Master Bruce! You've had me worried sick!”

--

Clark waited where he was, hovering up and to the right out of immediate sight.

(No one ever looked up.)

He wanted to believe Alfred was genuine, if not because that sounded very sincere but also… he didn’t want Bruce to lose his guardian too.

--

Bruce didn't think he could handle losing another person.

He held stiff in the hug until Alfred pulled away, asking, “where have you been?”

“...I needed to get out,” Bruce says, exhaustion in his voice despite everything. “...and I found something. Do you know what it is…?”

Alfred seemed a little taken aback by the question, but was listening. “That isn't… an explanation, Master Bruce, for what caused this wild goose chase…”

But Bruce ignored him and stretched his arm out first.

Letting Alfred see the cracked mask.

--

… Clark wasn’t sure if this was a safe way to tell. Alfred could lie. He could lie and say he didn’t have any idea what it was.

Even so Clark paid attention to Alfred heartbeat.

It sometimes sounded different when people lied, and sometimes he could tell.

Only sometimes.

--

Maybe it wasn't. But at least Bruce could see Alfred’s face. Could watch his pupils dilate and the sternness of his mouth.

(And Alfred’s heart rate would not change.

It was already beating like Bruce’s. Like it was already in a waking nightmare.)

“It-- it appears to be a replica of one of your father’s artifacts, Master Bruce, but what does that have to do with--”

(Bruce lost his grip on the mask.)

--

Oh no.

Oh no oh no oh no.

Despite being told to stay out of sight Clark found himself starting to lower down whether he caught Alfred’s attention or not.

“Bruce…”

--

He did catch Alfred’s attention.

And Alfred caugh Bruce’s arm, tugging him behind himself defensively and his other arm reaching for something in his suit.

“Who’s there?!”

Bruce grabbed the elbow of the arm in Alfred’s suit, trying to not let him pull it out.

“It's fine! He's a friend!”

--

Clark stopped where he was, putting his hands up in a show of surrender.

Not that flying eight feet off the ground really helped him appear harmless.

Or the ski mask.

--

...Alfred was indeed staring right at him, floating eight feet off the ground in a ski mask.

...but somehow, his heartbeat slowed a little at Bruce’s insistence, and he released whatever he'd been trying to take from inside his suit.

“...you always did have the most interesting taste in friends,” Alfred said, straight-faced.

“...” he looked back at the sixteen year old still grabbing onto his arm.

Even with something like this, it seemed like a long time since Bruce let himself be touched.

“...very well. Both of you. Inside. I want some kind of explanation before bed tonight, but we can't very well do it out here.”

--

… Clark hovered a little lower.

“Is-- is this okay?” He asked uneasily.

Did he trust Alfred?

--

Bruce still looked like he might shake apart.

But he nodded.

He hadn't seen anything but confusion in Alfred’s eyes at the mask.

The only other way to tell would be hard evidence that was surely hidden away or-- or mind reading, maybe.

But right now he just wanted to fall over.

--

“... Okay.”

Clark reached up to pull off the ski mask and bandana.

“Sorry for the startle, sir.”

--

Alfred’s eyes softened a little when he saw the youth under the mask.

“...nothing worse than what I've already been through tonight, young man. Now get inside, the both of you.”

He ushered them in, and locked the door behind them.

--

Clark finally touched down beside Bruce as they walked inside and looked around.

Even the entrance was huge and ridiculous and nothing he had ever seen before.

“Wow.”

--

There was a chandelier in the entryway, flanked by two large split-section marble staircases. There were bright, long carpets and healthy plants on podiums, growing long and beginning to blossom for spring.

This was where Bruce lived, whenever he went home for a long, lonely break.

But Alfred ushered them off to the side, rather than up the split staircase, into a little wooden side door that led to a modest kitchen. It was more modern than the entryway, with industrial sinks and stoves, but Alfred simply used one small burner to put a kettle of water on it, and gestured for Clark and Bruce to take a seat at a small wooden table in the side of the room, where Alfred usually ate.

There were only two chairs. Never any guests to fill them.

“Now,” Alfred said, starting to prepare two mugs for tea. “What is going on? Why aren't you at school?”

--

Clark glanced over at Bruce, then to Alfred.

They were trusting him, right?

“He-- I don’t think he can go back to school, sir.”

--

Alfred’s face grew a little more grave, and Bruce knew what he was thinking, and it curled inside him.

“I didn't fight anyone,” he mumbled, indignant. Hands clenched. “I found the Court of Owls.”

The graveness left Alfred’s face for the concern of someone who thought an argument had been long, long over, and who'd just had it opened up again at the worst possible moment. “Master Bruce, we’ve been over this, the court isn't real.”

--

Clark jumped to his friend's defense.

“They are! We've been digging into it and then they popped out of nowhere and kidnapped him! They threatened him! Tried to kill him!”

--

Alfred watched him, on one hand accepting that this boy had been flying a few minutes ago. On the other hand…

“Master Bruce?”

…

Without making eye contact, Bruce started to tug up his shirt sleeves.

Tug down his collar.

He had freshly-formed bruises ringing around the outside of his arms from where Talon had grappled him and held him still-- and two distinct finger marks on his neck, from where he'd been grabbed and shoved down on the floor, when they'd wanted to cut his wrists.

“Gracious--” Alfred was already leaning in to hover and get a closer look.

--

“... He's not making it up.” Clark said, quieter this time. He watched as Alfred inspected the bruises on Bruce's body.

“I heard him calling for help. They have a huge thing--” he gestured with his hands, “--under Gotham. Like a big underground mansion, and they tried to recruit him, and, so, I busted him out but we knew they'd just come back for him so--” He was rambling now.

--

“Please,” Alfred said, looking away from Bruce, holding a gentle hand to Clark. “Calm yourself. You’ve both had a long night.”

...he slips up and away to fill the two mugs with hot water, and sets them before the two boys steep.

He has no chair to sit on, but so he leans forward on the table, frowning, and looks between them both.

“Tell me everything, from the beginning.”

...and so Bruce does.

How they'd picked up looking for the owls again after the murder in fall. How Bruce had been on his way to the library when he was knocked unconscious. How he woke in a room with people wearing those masks, inviting him to culminate his interest, that they'd locked him away to ‘think about it’ and he'd called for Clark, who came--

But that's where his ability to keep his voice steady stops.

“They said… they said my parents were one of them.”

And he looks at the mask, still lying on the kitchen table between him and Clark, where Alfred had set it after picking it up and ushering them in.

--

Clark fell quiet and let Bruce do all the talking. When his voice started to shake Clark moved a hand out and…

… and he wanted to take Bruce’s hand and squeeze it, but he didn’t want to do that in front of someone he didn’t know. Boys didn’t do that with one another.

So instead he put his hand gently on Bruce’s shoulder.

He didn’t think to ask if Alfred knew if Bruce’s parents were or not, he didn’t know how long he had been around, but he wished someone could tell Bruce they weren’t at least for his friend’s peace of mind.

--

Under Alfred’s gaze, Bruce--

Bruce tugged away from Clark’s hand. Like he'd been burnt.

Alfred didn't find anything strange about that, even though he wished he could.

But he didn't try to touch Bruce either as he knelt down in front of him, face stern.

“Your parents would have loathed any sort of group such as that.”

“You recognized the mask.”

“And I can think of a million reasons why it is a coincidence,” Alfred said. “And surely you could as well, if you weren't exhausted and strung-out right now. So we will forgive that, won't we?”

--

Ah. Okay. Even that was too much, he guessed.

Clark pulled his hand away and set it in his lap, his chest feeling tight and his stomach turning.

“They probably said it so you’d join.” Clark offered, hoping it helped some.

--

Alfred gave Clark a small, approving nod in thanks.

Bruce was just trying to keep the knot down in his chest.

“...right,” he said, as if it hurt to say anything. The doubt had still been put in his mind. “...We hid to find out what to do. And we went back after a while.”

“Why in the world would you do that?” Alfred asked, voice soft, but accepting the continuation of the story.

--

“... Didn’t… think they’d stop trying to recruit him.” Clark added, his hands folded and resting in his lap.

--

“And?” Alfred said.

“...they stopped,” Bruce said softly. “But they might be coming after us, now.”

...Alfred could be a target too, if he wasn't with the owls.

Even if all they really wanted was to make him find Bruce and I looked like a suicide.

--

“We might’ve made them kinda mad.” Clark admitted, then cleared his throat.

He had, really. Bruce had just called for him, it was his fault they had multiple huge holes in their hideout now. And… whatever it was that had happened to Talon.

He thought he had killed him, and he went into the situation being okay with that if it meant saving his friend, but after what he saw…

…

--

(Bruce wondered if it was the first time Clark saw a human body)

(If he knew what it smelled like)

Alfred watched them with a grim face, and said, “I see.”

He sighed stood again, placing his hands on their shoulders. One on Clark’s, and the other on Bruce's, who twitched but didn't pull away.

“I'll be making some phone calls,” Alfred said. “Master Kent, I can't thank you enough for saving Bruce, but you've also put yourself in danger, unfortunately, in the process--”

“They don't know it was him,” Bruce said softly, and Alfred stopped speaking to look at him again. “...Galavan called him a ‘thing.’ A thing I summoned. They don't know.”

--

It still hurt. Being called a ‘thing’.

“Flying ‘n smashing through walls will do that. Heh.” Clark said, and he could feel a piece of himself die.

“I covered my face up so they didn’t know it was me.”

--

Alfred still wore a bit of a frown. Concerned. “Are you certain you could not be identified?”

“...we haven't even talked for two months,” Bruce admitted quietly. “...they don't have a reason to think he'd suddenly help me.”

--

Ah. Yeah. There was that too.

“... Yeah,” he admitted too. “I haven’t been working on the Court of Owls research for a long time now. Haven’t been talkin’ or… anythin’. Don’t think they would think I’d help, maybe. ‘N I tried to be as weird as possible so they didn’t think it was--”

Ugh.

Shit.

He rubbed the back of his head.

“So they wouldn’t think a boring kid from Kansas could do any ‘a that.”

--

….

Alfred gave him a nod of approval.

“That was wise of you. Ignorance is often the best defense,” he said.

He removed his hand from Bruce and clapped Clark’s shoulders instead. “You've done more than could have ever been expected of you, tonight. Thank you for that. You can leave the rest to me.”

And there was something steely and familiar--like Bruce’s--in Alfred's eyes.

A butler, but still someone with a hard will, ready to defend his ward. And confident of doing it.

“For now, what may be best is if you continue to play on their ignorance, and make it seem as if nothing has changed. Do you understand?”

--

“It was Bruce’s idea…” Clark said with a little smile.

(Hide your face. Be so alien they don’t look for a human.)

“Um, yeah, but--”

He looked at Bruce.

“I said I’d stay with him.”

--

Bruce’s eyes fell down, and he couldn't meet Clark’s gaze again, like he knew what was coming.

“That's very noble,” Alfred said. “But it may place you at greater risk, which I'm sure is the last thing Master Bruce wants. Go back to school. Pretend you've just gotten locked out of your dorm and came back late. Bruce and I will spend the night in the safe room and be out of Gotham by morning.”

--

“O-Out of Gotham?”

Clark felt something hard in his throat.

Like he was just told he would never see Bruce again.

--

Bruce said nothing.

“There has just been an attempt on his life,” Alfred said, still calm. Like this was normal. Like it made sense. “It is only prudent we go lie low a while where another cannot be easily made.”

--

Clark’s bright blue eyes were bouncing between the two of them.

“But… you’ll be back?”

--

Alfred looked like he wanted to say no--

“Yes,” Bruce said. Not looking up. His voice was still firm. Hands clasped tightly together in his lap. “...if nothing else, I’ll come see you in Kansas. Okay?”

--

Clark looked at him like he was about to cry again.

“D-Do you know when?”

--

Alfred had stepped back, looking between the two of them, unsure.

“...sometime in summer?” Bruce asked.

...he looked up at Alfred.

Alfred looked back, eyes dark and sad again.

“I’m sure that can be made possible, Master Bruce,” he said softly.

--

Clark wiped at his eyes even though he hadn’t started crying yet.

“... Guess you can’t tell me where it is you’re plannin’ to go, huh?”

--

“We will be in contact with your parents at least, if it seems safe,” Alfred reassured him.

--

Clark took a deep breath.

“Okay.”

He sounded like he was trying to gear himself up for something, and he was.

Gearing himself up to leave.

He pushed off the counter to stand out of his chair.

Hovered there a moment before looking at Bruce.

“You’ll yell if something happens?”

--

Bruce snorted, head still hung.

“Yeah. I will.”

….he was still being protected.

“...take care of Harvey. He’s not going to be doing okay.”

--

“... What should I tell him?”

--

“...you don’t know what happened with me. You were taking a break from studying and fell asleep. Lost track of time,” Bruce said. “...the news will pick up the rest.”

Clark always got the news.

--

Another deep breath.

“Okay.”

…

He wanted to hug him, but judging how he reacted from just the touch with Alfred around he figured that wouldn’t work out well.

“G-... Good luck.” Was all he could manage before starting to walk out of the kitchen.

--

...Alfred glanced back at Bruce, still quiet and head-hung, and said, softly, “I’ll show you to the doorway.”

He followed Clark out of the kitchen.

--

Clark stopped a little so Bruce could catch up, but still didn’t touch him as they walked out of the kitchen and back towards the front door.

And even then he didn’t reach for him, even if he wanted to.

“... You’d better call.” He managed, voice shaking.

--

That was fine.

Clark wasn’t Bruce.

Alfred had seen the boy reach for physical comfort.

So he reached out, instead, placing a gentle hand on Clark’s back.

“We will,” he said. “And he will be fine. And he wouldn’t have gotten this far without your help. So please: take care of yourself a while, now.”

“What you can do is very impressive. But you can’t be older than Bruce. Be careful out there.”

--

Clark cleared his throat and nodded.

He would try.

…

He didn’t look at Alfred or the manor as he stepped forward and pushed off, a burst of air being the only thing that broke the silence as he flew back to school.

Clark listened to Bruce’s heartbeat get quieter and quieter.

--

...it would finally, fully fade as he returned to Gotham Academy, far out of the three-mile limit of his hearing.

…

Alfred would shuffle Bruce into the saferoom. Phone the police. Inform them that Bruce had been located. That there had, indeed, been another kidnapping and it seemed, this time, a threat on his life. That he was taking matters now on his own.

He gave a description of a man matching Galavan, but expected nothing to come out of it.

He called the school to berate them shortly of letting Bruce be kidnapped on their grounds. That Bruce would not be returning after such incompetence.

...he called the airport, and purchased two tickets, and packed their bags.

By morning, as promised, they would be gone, leaving behind everything in Bruce’s dorm room and a sweep of press activity come the breaking day.

--

The hardest part was trying to act like nothing had happened.

He had to lie to Harvey, spin the story he had fallen asleep and got locked out like Bruce had suggested, but had no idea what happened to him.

Lying to the press was somehow… harder.

Maybe it was because of peer pressure, or maybe because he wanted to be a journalist someday, but having to pretend he didn’t know and even telling them he hadn’t spoken much to Bruce in over two months was hard.

He was crying less about a broken heart and more through worry over what might have happened to his friend. Clark knew that if he yelled now, wherever he was, he wouldn’t be able to hear him.

But that didn’t stop him from listening anyway.

…

He helped Harvey as much as he could, tried to be some sort of support for him and at least help him academically. It was just them now. The room was empty. And quiet. And he hated it.

But he just had to breathe and get through it. Get to summer.

Look forward to that phone call or visit.

--

Harvey wasn’t doing great in the aftermath. Bruce hadn’t been wrong.

He’d been… happy, earlier in the year. Reserved as it was. He’d been doing okay with Bruce, and Tommy, and getting to know Clark-- and having three whole friends.

Now, the two he he’d had for almost three years were both stripped away in just a few months time, and summer was coming.

And he had no time to let himself break down.

Where Clark cried, Harvey grew distant and shut down anything that wasn’t the polite tour guide who showed new students their rooms and introduced families to a place that would beat their children for making noise after-hours.

…

It was a good two weeks before the media attention died down.

…

He’d go back to Kansas without hearing a word from either Bruce or Alfred, and start the summer alone.

[sanstropfremir]

the hotly anticipated kingdom episode 7 review is here!!

this episode was a lot less spectacle-y than the last one (the last episode with stages, i mean), and i think that was a good choice for all the groups on the whole to tone it down on the run up to the finale, because at the rate everyone was headed there would be no room to go any higher. i'm very glad that there was actually a collab stage and not just a song swap, especially because it gives a chance for the boys to work together and make friends when they otherwise arent going to be able to interact much. love love love to see them making friends and having fun doing these stages!

i'm not really sure why mnet didnt put the vocal stage this episode, because what on earth else are they going to put in the next episode with it??? i know it's a content stretch but still, it seems like a weird choice to me. anyways, there’s four stages for me to talk about this time and i'm going to try to not ramble out of control, but we’ll see. i did enjoy watching all of these, but we’ve all got favourites and i'm going to rank by which group i liked better out of the two for each stage, and then i put a few conclusions at the end. strap in folks this is another long one.

rap stages

skz + btob + atz

i was actually really surprised at how much i liked this stage. i would not classify myself as a rap fan and believe it or not i actually do not place a lot of importance on lyrics when enjoying music. although i have very high lyric retention and comprehension, i focus more on the sound than the literal words, so a fair amount of rap is swing-and-a-miss in my personal listening. plus when you add a language barrier on top of that, a lot of the nuance and technical skill of it just flies over my head. so i really dont have much to say about the sonic elements this time around, sorry. also.....i know i joked that nobody from the kingdom staff is reading my reviews.....but is someone from the kingdom staff reading my reviews????? i specifically mentioned that i think skz should do an art themed stage and then we got one????? i know i manifested the punk ateez stage but did i manifest this also??? am i just that powerful???

costume

obviously these are pretty basic rap/hiphop stage looks, but the white was a really good choice for visibility’s sake, and also thematically: it reflects the colours in the lighting really well.

i am DYING to know who the designer of minhyuks jacket is. if somebody knows please tell me i love it so much. it looks like some of the recent belted jackets that dior was putting out, but the drawing on the front armscythe piece reminds me of the superm/kim junggi collab for tiger inside. say whatever you want about superm, but you cannot deny that that is not some of the coolest merch on the kpop scene.

loved the traditional korean elements that came through in addition to the western references: the screens, hongjoong’s fan, minhyuk’s big fuckoff brush, the masks, and the sleeves on the dancers at minhyuk’s bit. those are a costume feature from a style of korean traditional masked dance called bongsan talchum. the masks themselves are versions of hahoetal masks, which are used in a very specific archetypal ritual dance in andong. i think these are imae masks, who is the servant/fool archetype that mocks the nobleman and the scholar. i suspect that was a deliberate choice, but i can only speculate.

another point about the masks which is not relevant but maybe a fun fact for people who don’t know. i actually thought at first that they were western theatre half masks, which are a very old style of mask that, like with hahoetal masks, represent a number of archetypes/stock characters. maskwork is a very common training practice in theatre schools, because it teaches body language and control, because half your face is covered and you cannot speak in your own voice (sometimes you cannot speak at all, this is one of the rules of full mask). the tradition of usings masks to portray emotion goes all the way back to the ancient greek chorus, but more commonly people in the west sometimes know it from the italian commedia dell’arte, of which you will have definitely seen some of the character archetypes before. i just find it neat that the same types of art pop up in different places seemingly independently of each other. humans are cool.

set

not much to say here, it's pretty bare with just some propwork. thought the screen use was fun and they used it smartly in a couple of transitions. 

thought changbin’s bit of ‘interrupting’ the artists was cute and fun. there’s obviously a picasso reference there, and the four technicolour paintings are a reference to andy warhol’s pop art silkscreen portraits, most famously of marilyn monroe, but he also did many other celebrities in the 70s and 80s.

lighting

i LOVED this lighting. super bright and fun, lots of use of colour, obviously. the projections were there to enhance the visuals and weren’t distracting in any way. i thought the transition to black and white/ink with minhyuk was smart and had good contrast, it gave a strong rhythm to build back up to for the climax.

sound

bang chan’s ‘spelling colour with a u’ bit had me SCREAMING with laughter. we spell colour with a u normally bang chan, the americans are the ones that are wrong. 

staging

i don’t really have a whole lot to say here, it was pretty straightforward and fun. like i’ve said in previous reviews, i wish they were more conscious of the steadicam direction and would stop showing extended bits of the production crew. at least everyone was wearing full blacks this time.

fun use of the upward angle combined with the groundwork/leg choreo during hongjoong’s verse, that was a highlight for me.

sf9 + tbz + ikon

nothing against this stage, the other one just hit harder for me. bobby is the best rapper on the show and he really carried this stage with his charisma. he’s a fun performer to watch and he knows how to command a space. i'm sure there’s technical notes that people have about the raps themselves, but i'm here looking at visuals as a priority, which i'm sure you’ve all grasped at this point.

costume

these were clearly extensions of these idol’s personal styles, with is a perfectly fine choice, especially for a rap stage where the emphasis is more on authorship. LOVED bobby’s 11yro girl at recess look.

amusing that both rap stages involved paint in some way? loved the backup dancers shooting supersoakers filled with paint at them, but i wish i knew the reason for it? i'm glad i saw this stage first because i would have been underwhelmed by the paint throwing if i had seen this after rainbow bonanza.

set

almost no set at all here, just a few props. i'm not judging as harshly on lack of set this round because these stages are meant to be more about skill than anything else. 

lighting

i loved the projections, i thought they were unobtrusive and i admit, i LOVE outer space themed anything.

i liked that they did more concert lighting and had no projections in the first half to put more focus on the performers, it really highlighted the fact that this stage was about them, and not about anything extraneous.

sound

it was indeed a song.

staging

i do wish there had been a bit more control of the space, because it did look very empty at some parts and they could have staved that off by keeping tighter camera shots. this stage is so fucking big, holy shit.

they really brought their onstage chemistry and they looked like they were having a blast, which FINALLY!! 

i actually really liked hwiyoung’s opening, i think there was a lot of potential there for some sharp contrast work that i wish had been played through a little more, especially with the cool white light overtop the black costumes. it actually reminded me a bit of the intro in the music video from a rapper i do actually listen to, bewhy’s gottasadae.

glad to see some more use of camera effects with the black and white, but why did they do it over the paint throwing? it just made the trajectory of the paint invisible because there was no colour contrast.

performance stages

sf9 + tbz + ikon

ok obviously im gonna have a lot more to say about the performance stages, nobody is surprised there. this one was the better constructed of the two and my personal pick for better stage, but i actually liked watching the both of them equally.

costume

king shit, literally. we love contemporary hanbok in this house. there was good colour and style distinction between the three of them without clashing. 

costume change was fun and neatly blocked, it's pretty common to see backup dancers and chorus hiding quickchanges but i liked how this was a more unusual formation.

taeyang rocking the organza skirt and the big purple eyeshadow, thank you for keeping it cunty as always.

i really liked juyeon’s underlayer look. finally we get a good tbz costume look thats thematically relevant!

set

like all the stages this round, pretty minimal. the setting was almost entirely established through the costumes and the projections, which is some really good designwork. it's pretty much just the litters (the lifted chairs they entered on), and some smaller props. they managed to not make the stage feel empty because there was a lot of projection visuals to compensate, which is difficult to do without being overbearing, but i think they mostly pulled it off.

i originally thought it was gonna be weird to try and mesh the traditional korean architectural aesthetic with the weird mnet deco, but i ended up not noticing it as much as i thought i would.

lighting

like i just said, projections very well done and do a fantastic job of conveying setting without being overly distracting. like with the atz/skz/btob rap stage there’s a really broad range of colour use here that they offset by brightening and properly fill lighting the faces so you can actually see what’s happening.

the use of the strobing lasers and more concert style lighting fit really well with the change in the music from traditional instrument sounds to electronica and the more hiphop/isolated movements.

sound

i liked it well enough! i think it had a good arc that we can see echoed through the rest of the piece, like previously stated in the lighting and movement style. 

staging

like i mentioned with the quickchange, there was some really interesting formations using the backup dancers here, especially as a lead toward/away from the camera

having the three of them enter on litters; again, literal king shit, love to see it.

this has a pretty clear narrative that doesnt really need an external explanation, which is good. i have to assume that the burning of the paper with 妃 (concubine) is intended to be a gesture of ‘burning’ the love out of their hearts, but that was the only thing i'm still confused on. this may very well turn out to be a reference to a specific story that i just have no idea what it is, but we’ll see once the subs are out!

i loved juyeons solo bit with the alcohol drinking and the table flip, that was the choreographic highlight for me. i just really wish he would use the other muscles in his face more often. we know youre pretty, you dont have to blue steel your way through all your performances!! take a page out of donghyuk’s book and make some ugly faces, it's good for you!!

i though taeyang’s swordwork was fine, but since i do actually have a decade of sword training i'm very judgemental. it's not bad, he obviously has practiced with the weapon and he knows how to control it, but he doesn’t have the same understanding as someone who has trained with a sword as a weapon and not just as a prop. if we hadn’t seen another stage with swordwork in it i probably wouldn’t have brought this up (that's a lie, i still would have brought it up, i have a third dan), but you can really see the difference between how minhyuk moves with his sword and how taeyang moves. a lot of this has to do with the proper weighting of the blade, which i mention briefly in my second episode review in btob’s section (and also this ask here, where i talk about properly weighted weapons in relation to the gun choreo in sf9’s and ateez’s previous stages); minhyuk is likely using a ‘real’ sword (it’s blunted but still made using proper methods and materials), and taeyang is using a cheaper-made replica (unless you’re doing full contact striking a LOT there’s no way a properly made blade breaks like that. also you would never tape it together hello??? respect the blade). if you know what you’re looking for, you can tell from the movements themselves when someone has training. minhyuk did a load of real training for a film where he was a swordsman, and you can tell; the sword is an extension of his arm, all the movements lead with the tip of the blade first, because that’s your first, your fastest, and your most dangerous point. you do 90% of your cutting with the first eight inches of blade, but it takes a lot of specific training to get your hands and arms to a place where that kind of movement is possible. taeyang’s movements are driven from his hands, which is unsurprising, because that’s where he’s used to his extensions stopping. the tip follows rather than leads. wow this got insanely sidetracked i hope you liked this crash course on swordwork.

this is pretty much what i expected to see from this unit. these three groups all have standout soloists, so i wasn’t surprised to see these three boys as the picks. juyeon and taeyang especially, theyre both from groups that are more likely to do experimental stages and choreography that highlights them as soloists and skilled dancers.

skz + btob + atz

this was a letdown from ateez’s last two stages, because they knocked those out of the park, but it's only fair that they have a bit of a fall. that being said, i did really enjoy watching this for its sheer ridiculousness; i’m forgiving the wolf concept this time because well, it’s wolf. you can't cover wolf and not do a wolf concept, that’s against the law. also, like i’ve said before, i'm all for dark concepts IF you give them thematic weight. is it on the nose? yes. is it thematically relevant? also yes. is it dumb? also also yes, but that’s never stopped a single kpop group in the history of ever.

costume

friendship restored with ateez stylists, rivalry started with skz stylists. the fur shoulder fluffs??? stupid and i love them. perfect in every way. however i keep seeing the same fucking costumes on the skz boys and i will come directly for the stylists at jype if they dont get their shit together. be! more! creative!!!

i really really wish they had gone more 2013 kpop with it, we need more of that ugly ridiculous styling. peniel was actually pretty close, with the overly long tunic and those yellow lenses. very vixx on and on (yes i know they were vampires from outer space, let me live)

i actually thought the wolf gloves were fun? the small bits of uv paint actually worked instead of looking out of place, and i'm glad they put them on wooyoung because the uglier an outfit, the better he pulls it off. 

set

same dice, just the long table and the camo net at the beginning, which i thought was unnecessary. the table was useful for levels though, so happy to see they utilized that.

lighting

there is so much happening all the time. lots of lasers. it's definitely aiming for camp territory, and i dont actually hate it as much as i did on my first watch. it actually wasn’t as dark as i thought either, because its mostly lit with blue and amber. but it doesn’t really have that great of an arc and its not really that good on the whole.

the projections are a bit much for me, but that’s only when i'm actually looking at them. true to form, i didn’t even notice the excess of red slashes until like my fourth rewatch because i was too busy watching the performers.

sound

rookie exo my beloved. the original wolf goes so hard for absolutely no reason, so i’m not knocking this stage for being ridiculous. in fact it should have been more ridiculous. i think they did a fine job updating the song for a.....less 2013 sound. 

i like that they didn’t bother to live sing the stage even though they recorded vocals for it, it gave them all a chance to actually focus on just the dance.

that being said, i am kind of missing all the adlibs from the original. but even though there’s some strong vocalists in this unit, they aren’t made of the same stuff as baekhyun, luhan, chen, AND d.o.

i literally just realized that peniel had already debuted when this song came out AND is technically exo’s senior because btob debuted like two weeks before exo officially did.....oh no

staging

choreographically this feels a lot more like the skz stages that we’ve seen rather than the ateez ones, so i'm curious as to who the choreographer was. 

the tricking was definitely more ridiculous in this one, but i can't really say any of it was there for no reason because it all had elements of fighting in it. the scale of the tricks was quite large though and not very well blended with the rest of the choreo, which ending up making them look awkward. i thought it was a nice detail that they shone a green toplight on the dancers that made up the cliff wooyoung climbed up so that it looked like there was grass on it. cute.

the blocking is lacking a lot of fluidity, and i think that’s partially the scale of the tricking and also the editing, because this editing is TERRIBLE. there’s so much cutting, why is there so much cutting!! haven’t we already learned that longtakes are the best for this???

there’s a lot of stuff here that had good potential but could have been pushed a little farther. i feel like i say this for every mediocre stage, but what can i say, i'm good at constructive criticism. 

they should have given more showcase to the tree and the scratching arms; it's the most iconic move!! i also wish they had kept some kind of iteration of the different unit ‘leaping’ in over the exiting one, i always thought that part of the original choreo was really fun and did a lot for establishing them as wolves. 

i LOVED peniel entering with all those backup dancers in chains, thats some fucking iconic shit. very ‘im the alpha wolf,’ which is valid because he’s like at LEAST five years older than everyone else on the stage. i wish that instead of being the backup dancers it was the actual members, because THAT would have been an image. theyre all wearing harnesses and collars anyways, just clip em in! he’d be like one of those dogwalkers!

me last week: specifically talking about how krump is an uncommon style in kpop and it's very hard to get right kingdom, throwing the manifesting dodgeball at me for the third time: here would you like a KRUMP SOLO?

if you didnt believe me before that krump is hard to get right, i sure hope you do now. peniel did fine, but you can see how easily you can veer off into looking ridiculous.

some conclusions

i mentioned this really briefly in an ask i got earlier today, but i do think it's important to establish that the two performance units are doing two different types of performances. i can understand why people are underwhelmed by the atz/skz/btob stage and wanted it to be less of a traditional kpop dance stage and more like the experimental stages we’ve been seeing for the last few weeks. and i agree! i think they could have done more with it. but i also think that this kind of stage was a good choice for this particular subunit. unlike with the sf9/tbz/ikon unit, there are not really any standout technical soloists in ateez or skz. ateez has, in my opinion, the highest ratio of dancers with actual stage presence of any of the 4th gen groups ive seen. they’re at a solid 75% for any given performance, and occasionally they can bump that higher depending on the stage. that high of a stat is rare. it's extremely rare for a group to have all its members have good stage presence (i can think of like, maybe two or three?), and to get over 50% is pretty damn impressive. but ateez’s strength isn’t in how good they individually are as dancers, but it's in how well they work together. there’s a reason why they put FIVE of them in the performance unit. one of the first things i said about ateez to hanya is ‘i love wooyoung but he doesn’t stand out when he's not centre.’ which is for good reason!! he’s not supposed to! they all willingly give up centre and take it back when they need to, because they have that charisma. there’s a very cohesive push and pull to watching ateez that speaks to their strengths as performers. dancing in a group where you are all meant to be equal is a very different skill than just being a talented soloist. you have to understand what to prioritize in a different way. taemin dances differently with shinee that he does in his solo career, especially since they’ve been back. he understands when to step back; more often than not i find key to be the standout dancer in shinee choreo.

this is a very long winded way of saying that wolf was a good choice for them even though the stage didn’t turn out as well as it could have. also the fact that they made a cohesive performance at all, with a week of rehearsal and while working with essentially strangers is a feat and speaks to all of their skill at their job. performing in a group is a huge part of kpop, and they did call this the performance stage, and not the dance stage.

i'm not entirely sure on what the breakdown is on why each of the subunits were formed. i know the team sizes are extremely uneven, with sf9/tbz/ikon clocking in at 26 people and atz/skz/btob clocking in at 17 (i'm not counting changsub because he's not there and probably has a scheduling conflict), which is like, a whole extra group of difference. but atz/skz/btob utilizing their whole groups for each of the units (5/3/1 for performance, 1/3/1 for rap, and 1/1/1 for vocal, for 7/7/3 total), verses sf9/tbz/ikon only bringing out six people for these two stages and then six for the vocal stage is......weird? that's over half of their group number that’s not performing. i do think the groups brought out their standout performers and made smart choices with the stages but the balance still strikes me as odd. i do wish tbz had actually done some group choreo because they are very strong group performers and it would have been fun to watch.

ateez really played the long game here, good job boys. teaming up with the group who gets the highest fan votes AND the group with the strongest technical skills? i see you.

i think this is probably too wild of an assumption and is only based on circumstantial evidence but.....i think hongjoong might actually have a lot more creative sway than i previously thought. all the stages he’s been a part of have been very well designed, and i know he provided suggestions for the two ateez stages prior to this... i’m probably thinking too much. 

ok you know what i know there were some other points in my brain somewhere but this is already 4000 words so i’m going to stop. if i remember anything else its probably gonna end up in the answer to some of the asks i’m inevitably going to get because i think my opinions on these ones are a little bit more controversial, whoops!

not entirely sure if ill do an extensive review for next week’s stage, because i'm not really a ballad fan and i dont really do vocal reviews, but i could do a quick one. i guess it also depends on what else they put in the episode. we’ll see!!

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Do you think they would actually enjoy the modern world? Or would they want to stay in their current time period?

Hm, well, I think that may vary depending on each suitor if I’m honest! (I’ll be excluding Sebastian from this one, only because he is a modern man and I wager he would want to stay in the mansion in order to finish his thesis) 

Under a cut bc it’s a long boi:

I think for people like Arthur and Theo, for instance--who always seem to live in the fast lane--it might not really prove much of a problem. They would continue enjoying the night life and move with their busy schedules. Tl;dr: (For them? Same shit, different day)

Vincent would likely be doing just fine given how Theo often provides assistance in places where he struggles; to promote his art, to spark intrigue in the general public and benefactors. He might be a little overwhelmed by the influx of stimuli that comes with the modern era, constant noise and interaction and movement--perhaps worry that people are losing their ability to live in the moment. (Not to mention what’s being done to the environment...) There might be a learning curve/adjustment, but I think Theo would help him ease in. Plus, it would be a little easier to promote his art given the less stringent restrictions on public exhibitions. He’d still have to work for his fame, but at least the van Goghs wouldn’t have to live in constant unease in the proximity of the cutthroat academy.  Tl;dr: (Mixed feelings, but tries to stay positive about modern times)

Dazai is more familiar with this kind of life of quick turmoil and breakneck speed, if anything he falls back into his old coping mechanisms--hello writing, drinking, and smoking. An overwhelming influx of information and suffering would probably be hard for him to manage, despite how expertly he hides it. I think I would be worried he would lose himself in the dismal reality of diminished connection with other people. Yes I’m shoving him into therapy, I want him to start living for himself and taking care of himself ffs

That isn’t to say there aren’t happy possibilities for him, just that I think he really needs to heal first. I could see him very happy in a kind of writer’s circle with people he loves and trusts; less expending his energy in a desperate attempt to fill the void and please others, more cultivating his own happiness... Tl;dr: (Positive potential, but honestly part of me thinks the past quieter/simple/rural life suits him better...he still loves meme culture tho, he finds it so expansive and creative)

Isaac is in a similar boat as Dazai, I think! He has wonderful potential as a mentor and professor, and living in a world that has a little more patience and respect for genius might help encourage him to put himself out there. That being said, I think the pace of life would exhaust him though--he is very much the kind of person that prefers to keep to himself and just puzzle and tinker. Baby boy just wants to do equations, build little inventions, and read up on the recent discoveries in astrophysics (BRUH WHEN THE IMAGE OF THE BLACK HOLE CAME OUT HE FORGOT HOW TO B R E A T H E) Napoleon is the only reason he eats anything healthy or on any kind of regular schedule s m h. Tl;dr: (Not a lot changes, honestly? He was reclusive then, he still is now--he just has more toys/academic resources. If anything he might get a little too lost in his work because of it, somebody please make sure he’s eating/sleeping/socializing;;;)

Poor Jeanne is SUFFERING. Please release him from this nightmare he is begging. Jk jk, I don’t think it would be too bad for him--but I do think that he would have the aforementioned problem of too many stimuli and too much interaction. I think he would ease into it a little with Mozart’s help; he would just be awkward and wooden until he got the hang of it. Most people just find him quirky in an amusing way, and don’t think too hard about it. I’d wager he’d probably become literate at this point because of the abundance of resources and necessity to read/write (okay but imagine this baby with a little kid workbook iM GONNA CRY!!! TAKE ALL MY CRAYONS JEANNE). 

Can you imagine this mofo at a Starbucks??? Tall and stoic, dark and debonair (EVERYONE IS S W O O N I N G), and he just asks in a light tenor “can I have a mocha with eight shots of expresso” with a completely straight face. “Sir, that could kill you” “Don’t worry, I’ve been dead a long time” And he just moves to wait for his order. 11/10 cryptid I could watch an entire show just about his daily adventures

He works with Napoleon a lot given their similar skillsets. They coach kids at high schools that have fencing teams (it’s really REALLY cute bc if they’re on the younger side, Jeanne will very dramatically lose bc he wants to encourage them and the kids are delighted--but the parents are INCHES from laughing so hard they’re in tears). Otherwise, he mostly takes up gigs as a security worker/bodyguard, only really works for the money. He prefers to spend his time in ways that feel meaningful if he can, so don’t be surprised if you see him in foster homes and in social working spaces. He has an uncanny understanding about him, a kind of silence/patience that doesn’t stifle; it makes the kids/teens calm down in milliseconds. They really listen when he does talk, and he sets good and clear boundaries--he knows how to be firm when it’s required. He gives them the structure and placid grounding they’ve never had, and really pays attention to what’s important to them. Brings them little things he notices; brings flowers to the one that likes to draw, brings CDs (he is bad with technology, but they usually only have access to older/outdated stuff anyway) to the one the one that struggles to write with white noise in the house, brings little plushies to the ones that lose theirs. He’s simple but solid, and he finds a lot of meaning in helping kids overcome the similar kind of struggles he faced.  Tl;dr: (Steep learning curve, but he just sees it as all the same really--just more work to be done with the literacy requirement and adjustment to technology. Will be resistant at first, but when he gets accustomed and starts finding people who are important to him, he wouldn’t want to change anything/go back. But will admit there are some days he just wants to go to the most remote place he can access and just live there for a month with no human interaction whatsoever; people are inefficient and insufferable sometimes)

Mozart’s life honestly doesn’t change much? I feel like he would easily be able to keep composing and continue releasing his work as per usual. Given his quick capacity to schmooze and say what people want to hear when he must, he’d be more than able to network his way into success. I think the only thing he might struggle with now and again is inspiration, given the world operates on a very surface level in the modern era sometimes. Profound insight and depth are not quite as cultivated in many ways, and he can struggle to find something that just sparks motivation/novelty in his mind, makes him start composing at breakneck speed. He reads a lot and watches some TV shows/movies when he’s at really low inspiration levels, the kind of guy that sneers at Game of Thrones--but finds things like BBC’s Sherlock more passable (wants intrigue and complexity, doesn’t much enjoy the sensationalized drivel). When Arthur finds out he loves ATLA he about falls off his seat. “It’s a children’s show.” “Yes it is, with a remarkable level of depth and craftsmanship, what are you trying to say?” He begins to find a kind of rhythm in his composing, and Jeanne and Dazai often drop by with so many crazy stories he finds himself filled with music anyway LMAO Tl;dr: (Same as Isaac, really just keeps doing his thing without being impeded, and he enjoys the luxuries/conveniences of the modern era. Will be slightly resistant at first because of how alien some of the changes are, but will fall into the habits/customs slowly and surely. Fine with it, will whine a bit at the growing pains tho)

Leonardo actually canonically owns a bar, and does that really surprise anyone? He really enjoys the excitement of meeting new people and hearing about their myriad histories, the influx of cultures/languages/experiences. It’s a nice but lowkey place, people stop for a drink, listen to some good music--chat amiably and relax after a long day’s work--before heading out. There are regulars and people that just stop for that single day; tourists, vacationers, so on and so forth.

When asked, many people note a sleek black cat with sharp eyes that led them to the bar... Tl;dr: (Don’t Let the Existential Dread Set-in: The Prequel, adapts well to the modern era because of centuries of experience but also...he’s so tired...somebody please hold him I can’t watch him live like this, lord jesus)

Optimally, I see Comte filling his time with myriad pursuits; ranging from philanthropy, indulging in art/music/theatre (often a benefactor as well), and keeping track of his chirren (they may exist more independently now, but he still worries about them ;-;). Otherwise nothing much changes for him, still goes to galas and fancy gatherings, still enjoys fashion and spoiling people, still seeks to occupy himself with social interaction and care-taking--if he doesn’t have a family of his own. He’s basically just that meme that’s like DON’T LET THE EXISTENTIAL DREAD SET-IN. DON’T LET IT SET-IN!!!!!!!!! Tl;dr: (Not to repeat myself but also Don’t Let the Existential Dread Set-in: The Sequel, literally just desperately trying to fill the void please somebody help him he also just needs to be held fuck’s sake, I’m going to drag him kicking and screaming into happiness--but otherwise has no great trouble adjusting to the modern era. I feel like he would have a more minor form of what Dazai struggles with, maybe a lack of personable connection that he once had; fewer chances to be himself and relax. Also probably worried about the increasing unhappiness and turmoil building in the world in general...)

Napoleon is similar to Comte in that he often checks up on Isaac and Jeanne from time to time, and does the aforementioned fencing lessons with kids. He also takes a lot of basic security positions--for venues, concerts, museums--you name it. He dislikes the idea of sitting behind a desk a lot, so he prefers to do a lot of different things; he even cooks from time to time at the restaurants  that know him very well. One gig he particularly enjoys is battle choreography for movies/theatre! He tends to stay away from anything too historically close to his era of origin, but he has fun coming up with realistic (smaller scale) hand-to-hand combat scenarios and duels. Tl;dr: (This era doesn’t feel like too much of a change. It’s a little more intensive in terms of pace, but he manages to keep up pretty well, it just exhausts him from time to time--and he usually goes on trips or hikes to unwind when he needs to like Jeanne LOL they do not go to their happy place, they go to their high lonesome place).

Shakespeare also continues to do his drama thing, organizes troupes on tons of different levels--from community level to more intense, skilled groups that re-enact his own work. His life doesn’t change all that much beyond a new form of theatre logistics, and he adjusts to the technology fairly easily out of necessity. He’ll stop by Vincent’s place from time to time to show him recordings of his latest shows, but otherwise is almost always on the move. Tl;dr: (So long as he can keep following his greatest passion, he doesn’t really mind the changes in how theatre happens--he doesn’t have any sizable issues with the modern era.)

Ability with technology (phones mostly):

Arthur: more than capable, well-versed, loves to do everything on his phone no prob--maybe lives a little too much on his phone (Vine/TikTok/Youtube can kill his productivity RIP) also yes he has a fidget spinner on his desk, no I will not be taking any constructive criticism at this time

Theo: yes but with a lot of cursing at first, had to do it for work and now looks down on anyone that can’t keep up with him (except for Vincent)

Vincent: knows the basics, taking and sending pictures, writing things in notes for later, texting (tho sending emails is a little harder for him); he does his best but he can be slow. Really really enjoys the paint programs on his iPad for when he’s on public transit, but he starts setting alarms after he gets the hang of it (he’s missed his stops before because of it LMAO)

Leonardo: what kind of stupid question? Man knows how to pick them apart and put ‘em back together for crying out loud, uses it like a pro--comes to him naturally, and he’s the guy that keeps coming up with ways to jailbreak Apple products and thwart their money-grubbing tactics. Catch him playing Minish Cap on his emulator on the way to work, brah

Comte: just vibing, keeps up with the times easily since he’s been doing it for so long, much like Theo uses it to keep in touch with the people around him--he’s the “prefers to call instead of text” sorta guy though, he worries about losing emotional subtleties and he likes to hear people’s voices. Doesn’t do anything special on phones, more just a tool; will read/listen to podcasts/does have emulators (courtesy of Leo) and enjoys playing Pokemon when he’s bored

Jeanne: types one finger at a time, it will take a while--but he’ll get there (deleted all his contacts by accident once and Mozart was just. HOW.) He barely knows how to use a phone, and it’s a steep learning curve for him

Mozart: purely functional when it comes to his phone, refuses to rely on it beyond the necessities that only tech can do (for instance, sending emails or reading articles or uploading compositions) he still writes his music before making more polished digital copies. He will sometimes listen to pieces digitally, but prefers to play them in-person; he feels that a lot of the soul in a piece is lost despite the convenience

Dazai: you absolute fools. you baboons. why would you ever give him this kind of power. it is 3AM and he has been on a wikipedia trail spanning hours, started with Cleopatra being the seventh in her line with that name all the way to cotton candy being called “daddy’s beard” in French. please help him he hasn’t slept in years. Also probably binges anime and manga lbr. He’s the one making vine references every other second, always up to date on the memes^TM

Isaac: also mostly uses it as a tool for research and calculations; it’s a way to keep track of information. He also likes to play background music while he’s working, so he finds the device nice and convenient--plus less having to go around pestering people in-person. he does start to get interested in coding and tinkering with apps/programs eventually, too

Shakespeare: finds it a delightful little contraption, so useful because it lets him jot down ideas as they come to him quickly, and he can edit his texts much more easily with digital interfaces. also likes that performances can be recorded, because now he can analyze his staging more efficiently--it gives him a good sense of what needs to be adjusted, and encourages him to keep streamlining/try new concepts

Napoleon: likes it because he can keep in touch with people more easily, the kind of guy to drop a line before checking on a friend. he really likes to look up recipes and find out more about cooking techniques he’s never encountered before. Isaac starts making an Instagram account just to show Napoleon’s impeccable plating, and Napo gets quite the following without knowing for a while

[prettywordsyouleft]

MonX Hospital | Kihyun

Pairing: Yoo Kihyun x reader

Genre: ENT doctor – hospital au / romance / musical actress au

Warnings: medical terms and recovery, slight suggestive tone at the end

Word count: 3579

Index: Shownu | Wonho | Minhyuk | Kihyun | Hyungwon | Jooheon | Changkyun

“He’s the best of the best,” your manager Dot had urged, her tone too excited for something so serious. “You’ll be back to singing in no time. In fact, you’ll be singing my praises once it’s all over and done with!”

You hadn’t appreciated Dot’s enthusiasm one bit but you couldn’t deny as you looked at the oak door before you that her glowing recommendation had you more than a little hopeful for today’s hospital appointment.

You needed to see the best ENT specialist if you wanted to recover and return to your headlining spot as a musical actress.

“Miss L/N?” a well-presented nurse called out and you perked up from your seat, watching her reach for the handle of the oak door and welcoming you inside. “Doctor Yoo is ready for you now.”

Stepping inside the office, you took in the wall of accolades appreciatively and then sat in the seat the nurse directed you to in front of an expansive desk. Looking at the various medical models upon a shelf near another door, you jumped when it opened suddenly and a young doctor entered the room.

This surprised you greatly. You had expected someone much older if he was the best in this field.

“Hello Y/N, I’m Doctor Yoo, your specialist for today,” he greeted with a broad smile that curled up his eyes behind his circular glasses.

Smiling curtly as you slipped your hand into his outstretched one, you greeted the handsome man quietly as you battled with the conflicted thoughts within your mind. You wanted a doctor who could help you, not someone who looked as if he had just graduated from medical school.

Doctor Yoo then perched on the front of his desk in front of you, still smiling comfortably. “Are you nervous? Don’t be. If anything, it should be me who is taken back in your presence. I’ve seen you perform a few times. I never expected I’d be treating you for a vocal cord condition, however.”

“These things happen,” you mentioned politely whilst silently berating yourself for the umpteenth time.

You knew better than to overdo it. The warnings from the professionals working for your production team had been there all along. Your voice was what had earned you just as many accomplishments as the doctor had upon his wall. You were a rising star, a household name in affluent circles. Your roles had surpassed all your childhood expectations and now you were headlining the biggest acts each year.

Your greed was what led you to sitting in front of the specialist today. You craved to be better than your last performance every time. And now you couldn’t even sing one simple line, let alone talk without your voice breaking and feeling hoarse consistently.

“Of course, I’ve seen it countless times, so you’re in good hands.”

“I can’t help but notice your appearance doesn’t quite match what I expected when hearing you’re the best in this field, Doctor Yoo.”

“There’s the honest side to you that I was waiting for,” he mentioned with a grin as he rounded his desk and sat behind it. Somehow, this shift in position did seem to change the power within the room. He looked more like a doctor to you now as he scanned your file on the computer screen to the left of the desk. Doctor Yoo then nodded grimly. “These symptoms don’t sound pleasant.”

“I’ve had some preliminary testing done and-”

“The laryngoscopy results were inconclusive of either suspected vocal cord nodules or paralysis.”

“Hardly the latter, don’t you think? I can still talk and paralysis sounds…”

“Permanent?” the man offered and you nodded. He shook his head immediately. “It is a concern to treat any of these in someone who needs their voice for their career as some damage is hard to repair. But it’s not impossible to overcome with the right vocal therapy and treatment. Shall we get to business? So, you know, I can exercise my expertise and show you that being one of the younger doctors in this profession doesn’t make me incompetent.”

You bit back your flustered response, swallowing roughly before nodding. “That’s why I’m here, Doctor Yoo.”

It was a long two hours in and out of Doctor Yoo’s office. He did testing with you in person, asking for you to complete various exercises using your voice and throat, and then took you in to get some further images of your larynx. Not only was he thorough with his examination and took more time with his assessment than the last two doctors had, but you could also sense his superiority in skill. You appreciated him the longer you spent time in his company, able to tell just how dedicated he was to his patients and his skill.

You felt you were within very capable hands.

“So how was that?” Doctor Yoo mentioned when he had you seated back in front of his desk, a sly smile tainting his otherwise impeccable professionalism.

“I’ll express what I think when you’re done telling me the official results of the tests, Doctor.”

“Well, that seems fair.” He steepled his fingers together upon the tabletop of the desk and sighed. “It’s as I expected in beginning, you have a condition referred commonly to as Vocal Cord Paralysis.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“With the symptoms present and the way you performed through the examination, it was evident that you had-”

“Are you sure?” you interjected, panic rising within you. Admittedly you had hoped for a nodule, or two. Then you could simply undertake surgery and then vocal therapy and get back to work within a couple of months. You’d seen celebrities battle vocal nodules and their turn around from injury to comeback stage wasn’t that bad. You could hardly tell the difference in their vocal tone as well.

But this prognosis held greater risks. You didn’t need to be a doctor to know this. You had researched the condition, fooling yourself that despite the list of symptoms you weren’t in this category as it was usually a cause to an underlying medical condition. Aside from your vocal injury, you were in the best health you had been in years.

The doctor’s expression was unchanged. Resolute. You knew Doctor Yoo wouldn’t be telling you this unless it was the only outcome of his findings. Blinking back tears, you darted your focus towards his accomplishments, feeling insignificant within their presence.

“It’s not all bad news, Y/N. I know it’s not as simple as you no doubt imagined, but we can get through this together. For one, your condition is a mild case, which will respond well to treatment and heal faster than if it were more severe. I don’t think this is a cause of misuse of your vocal cords either.”

“What? But, that’s ridiculous. Why else would I be here? I’m a musical actress; my job is to perform every night for two months at a time. I’ve been yelling, singing and putting pressure on my vocal cords for a great deal lately and-”

“You were in a car accident earlier in the year, were you not?”

“Yes, though it was minor and I only suffered whiplash from it,” you stated, the doctor now tapping in further notes. “Surely that wouldn’t cause this kind of damage.”

“One of your vocal cords isn’t opening and closing as it should. We typically see this condition in patients with some sense of trauma to the area. And whilst I know firsthand the type of demand on your vocal cords you would have every day in your profession, I don’t think it’s entirely your fault.”

It was overwhelming to hear this. You had spent the last few weeks with the rapid decline in your ability to even speak clearly blaming yourself for everything. Could it have been more out of your control than you had thought? Glancing up at the doctor waiting on you to process his words, he smiled.

“Either way, we know what is wrong with your vocal cords and I’m certain we will have you back to singing again, Y/N.”

“But not within the next couple of months.”

He nodded softly. “A fair bit longer. But I promise, my time with you will be worth it.”

Doctor Yoo hadn’t been wrong. The second test results confirmed his diagnosis and after some bulk injections to strengthen your vocal cords, you started vocal therapy with the doctor. You would mostly meet with him in his private clinic away from the hospital and you happened to like this space much better. It was still professional, but not as intimidating as his office in the hospital.

You also loosened off a little within these sessions.

“You once said to me that you knew firsthand what vocal cord troubles felt like.”

The man before you demonstrating the next exercise soon chuckled. “Memory skills are not lacking with you.”

“Of course not, I have to remember my lines as if they’re embedded into my very soul. I could recite my first musical role to you if I had to.”

“Impressive,” he replied and motioned for you to start the breathing exercise. “I used to sing.”

“Used to?”

“Focus on your exercise,” he warned, checking the air filling your diaphragm. Satisfied you were stable, Doctor Yoo continued. “When I was a teen I actually belonged to a musical theatre club too. I was stupid and dumb about my talent and got vocal nodules. Most people recover from this condition but for me, I was so used to belting out my notes that I could never reach the range I was known for again.”

“You were a theatre kid?” Blinking in confusion, you peered at your doctor more closely. “Did we ever cross paths?”

He smiled to himself knowingly. “I guess you could say that.”

“Where?”

“Next exercise,” Doctor Yoo instructed and left you puzzled until the very end of the session.

Of course, you went straight online to research the doctor. You knew his first name was Kihyun, though little results appeared outside of his already rather detailed medical career.

At your next appointment, you attempted to ask again, and he deflected your interest, seemingly enjoying being an enigma to you. It infuriated you but if there was one thing he wasn’t prepared for, was how diligent you were to find the answers to any problem you held within your heart or mind.

“You went to the same theatre program as I did, didn’t you?” you mentioned two weeks later, and the man smirked.

“Still trying to figure this out?”

“Well, you’re supplying very little information, Doctor Yoo.”

“Please, if you’re researching me this ardently, call me Kihyun. I’ve been on a first-name basis with you from the beginning; we should really level this out.”

You pursed your lips together and nodded. “Will you answer me?”

“Will you work very hard on strengthening your vocal cords today?” he shot back and you rolled your eyes.

“Isn’t that why I’m here?”

“I don’t know, sometimes I think you’re too interested in finishing your puzzle.”

“I knew you were tormenting me on purpose, Kihyun!”

He grinned, thrilled with the use of his first name. “Well, it’s been fun having you as my patient. Even better knowing that your memory skills fail you somewhat.”

“Excuse me?!” you exclaimed and then stopped, glaring at the smug doctor as you dealt the strain on your larynx. “Did you not praise my skills recently?”

“Oh yes, but they’re still lacking. Until you fix them, I don’t know if I should give you the answers you want.”

“You’re infuriating!”

“Now now, the doctor knows best and I think it’s more important we focus on this week’s session, don’t you?”

It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did, but Kihyun’s lack of answer drove you insane. You were more than convinced the doctor was simply messing with you, but it had gotten to extreme measures and now before you were all the yearbooks from your theatre school days. You started at the latest editions, looking through the clearer memories since you were older in age then. However, it wasn’t until you reached your fifteenth-year-old self that you realised just how much you had forgotten.

There, next to you, in your first lead role in a Romeo and Juliet musical, was a guy with longer hair than he sported now, reminding you of a whole lot more than just the musical theatre life.

How had you forgotten Yoo Kihyun like this?!

Embarrassment flamed your skin as the annoyance seeped throughout you. Of all the people, this child had grown up to be your doctor? You almost scoffed at how improbable this all seemed.

And then you remembered Kihyun’s sudden disappearance.

The reason he had departed from your world and turned to partying, and other teenage behaviours you had no interest in at the time, was because of his vocal nodules? Your heart panged with sadness that he had chosen that path instead of reaching out for help from you. Then again, you were prickly back then, even worse than now. Would you have been approachable for your co-star? You smiled sadly with the silver lining that Kihyun had grown up from his rebellious youth into someone as competent as he was.

You were more subdued at your next appointment because of your discovery, however.

Watching you carefully as you performed the exercise he asked for you to do without little complaint, Kihyun sighed. “You remember, don’t you?”

“How could I forget my first kiss?” you shot back and Kihyun grinned. “The prompt in the script was to pretend, not full-on kiss me as I lay there!”

“Is that why you forgot about me? Because you wanted to erase how your first kiss went? In all fairness, not a bad first kiss to have.”

“In front of a full house, with my parents there, no less?” you pointed out and Kihyun shrugged loosely. “I actually wasn’t that mad by it.”

“Then why did you-”

“Your disappearance. I guess when you gave up on theatre, after I got over my initial annoyance from having to work with your understudy for the remainder of the season, I must have stopped giving you space in my mind.”

“You knew where I was.”

“Partying, drinking, and doing god knows what else.”

“Suffering alone,” he concluded and your eyes softened when your gaze connected with his. Kihyun chuckled, though it wasn’t as connected as before. “Don’t pity me, Y/N. I got over it and realised I was being an idiot. I chose to become an Otolaryngologist to help others so they don’t lose their chance for something they want to keep in the future.”

“You can’t sing anymore?”

“Not powerfully. But I’ve improved. My interest is no longer there like before. I’d rather execute a medical surgery with no complications than worry about stressing out my falsetto too much.”

“I don’t know what I would do without being a musical actress,” you admitted and Kihyun nodded, patting your upper arm gently.

“The good news is, with how much you’re progressing, you won’t have to think about it.”

It had taken an entire year to make it back to standing on a practise stage. Even longer to be strong enough to sing as you once had. Your voice tired more easily, and whilst you wanted to headline your comeback stage, you knew it was more practical to take the second lead role.

Your vocal therapy ended eight months into your recovery, and you hadn’t seen Kihyun since. It felt strange to not visit his office anymore, and sometimes you found yourself standing in front of it, not realising you had driven there until you were parking your car and getting out.

So many times, you wished to go up to the eighth floor and visit the office again. Or book an appointment just for extra treatment. But you knew it was pointless. You had parted ways amicably, with the loose promise that Kihyun was looking forward to your return to the big stage.

Maybe that was why you had worked so hard to make sure when you returned that it was in your best possible condition ever.

“Are you nervous?”

Glancing at your manager standing in front of the promotional poster for this musical, Sun and Moon, you nodded. “More than I was to take my first Broadway stage.”

“Really?”

“Coming back from my vocal injury is a big deal. I’ve already been interviewed four times this week about it, remember,” you mentioned and Dot smiled.

“I’m sure you’ll remind them why you’re a formidable actress.”

“I just hope to make it to the end without making any noticeable vocal mistakes.”

You had made peace with yourself over the weeks of rehearsals that you couldn’t be perfect anymore. Your voice would lead the way, and you could only work with what it best offered you. Still, the interviews had made your nerves skyrocket, and you wrung your hands together in your lap as you stared back at your made-up complexion.

You would do well and that was all that mattered.

It wasn’t long into the first act that you completely relaxed into your role. Acting was now a second skin for you to slip into. You became one with your character and by the end of the performance, you had almost forgotten about the audience.

You were just having fun dancing, singing and acting on the big stage again.

The applause brought you back to reality, and as you lined up with your co-stars for the final curtain call, you felt yourself growing anxious again.

Was Kihyun really here?

Looking as best as you could past the flashing lights and up into the multiple rows of the full house, you searched the crowd for his familiar face. Your hopes dashed when you couldn’t find him anywhere, laughing a little at how much you had anticipated him being here for your first stage back.

After changing out of your final act’s outfit, you joined the rest of the cast out in the foyer to meet with those grateful of your performance tonight. You thanked several familiar patrons for their support and then turned when someone called your name, your eyes widening when you connected with the person.

He came. He was here.

Kihyun smiled brightly as he approached you, thrusting a large bouquet of flowers in your dazed direction. “Congratulations on your comeback, Y/N.”

Soul searching his expression, you shook your head; blinking even to make sure the doctor was still standing before you. Kihyun helped you out by shaking your stupor off. You let out a shaky breath. “You’re really here.”

“I told you I wouldn’t miss it. I mean, your recovery is down to my expertise. I had to see how my hard work paid off in person, didn’t I? You were exceptional.”

“Are you complimenting me or yourself right now?”

Kihyun chuckled. “There’s the Y/N I know well.”

“Do you really?” you shot back and Kihyun’s humour faded. “I don’t know if you know all about me yet.”

“How so-”

Your lips pressed to his quickly, your eyes snapping closed as you tried to shut out everyone else around you. This, this was why you had been searching for Kihyun all this time in your world. You hadn’t realised until seeing him again that your reconnection with him as his patient had led to a rise in feelings within you.

You knew now that back when he very first kissed you that you had liked him then as well.

When you pulled back, it was Kihyun’s turn to look stuck, his mouth still slightly ajar as he contemplated the impromptu kiss. Swallowing visibly and tucking his jaw back up, Kihyun cocked his head to the side. “Is that payback for me taking your first kiss without warning?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s not very professional of me to be locking lips with my patients, Y/N.”

“Ex-patient,” you corrected and Kihyun couldn’t hide his amused smile. You nodded with his previous comment, however. “You’re right. It’s not very professional of a musical actress to get involved with her ENT doctor either.”

“Ex-doctor,” he refuted, sharing a grin with you. “Right now, I’m off the clock so I’m not technically breaking any laws.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm,” he hummed, stepping closer to you and running his hand gently over the side of your neck. “Maybe you need more training.”

“I do?”

“Well, I haven’t heard just how well you can control those vocal cords of yours yet. I think maybe I should take you out for dinner and we’ll see if I can get a private performance later.”

“How bold of you to assume I wish to give you one,” you stated, though your heart was thudding in your chest with anticipation. “Haven’t I performed enough tonight for you?”

“Maybe you’ll get to hear what’s left of my falsetto too,” Kihyun enticed and you laughed, resting your head on his shoulder affectionately. He wrapped his arms around you as you smelt the flowers he had gifted you.

“You know, I have often wondered what you sound like now.”

“So I have your interest in another puzzle of mine?”

“I’m always interested in you, Doctor Yoo.”

“I thought we resolved this a long time ago,” he responded with a wicked smile, holding you close enough to kiss you again. “Call me Kihyun.”

_________________

Next: Hyungwon

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[my-darling-boy]

what about California suits you poorly?

A LOT and I’m so stressed I’m just going to vent about it, I’m sorry I need to let this out:

1. Weather is fucking awful in so many counties, especially where I live. It gets to 110-120F in the summer for 2 months, half the year it’s 90+. We get rain/grey skies MAYBE in total for 2 weeks out of the entire year. I’ve suffered for years from reversed seasonal depression (where you get so much sun you get depressed) which means my mental health is only at it’s best in the cold or with grey skies and gloomy weather, can’t take pills for it because of the side effects. I also have a skin condition that flares up in the heat which means I can’t go outside, at the worst part of the year, for anymore that 30 seconds without stinging horrible pain over my whole body, can’t get the injection to take care of it cos that’s just one more injection I’d have to worry about

2. We’re on constant wildfire watch about half the year, sometimes more. We’ve been at risk of evacuating 3 times but thankfully haven’t had to ever evacuate. However, my grandparents have had to twice and I have family that lost their houses in the Tubbs Fire which also destroyed my home town and so many people are still displaced from the fires. Even counties that don’t have to evacuate suffer from the purple-red zone for air quality due to smoke and I have high sensitivity to smoke which means I have a constant sore throat for all of fire season which is like 7 months out of the year and I would prefer not to look out my window and see a charcoal sky or a burning Star Wars Tattooine red sunset so often that it becomes normal.

3. I dunno what ads are shown in other states about California, but unless you are a millionaire, but I’ve found it’s near impossible to live here without at least two roommates all working a 40 hour week. Everyone my age has roommates or a partner mainly cos it’s so difficult to live on your own. It is in the top 3 most expensive states in the country. Low income housing 2 minutes away from me is priced at $600,000-$700,000 and the homes just next to those in gated communities are $1,000,000+. “”“Affordable””one bedroom flats just near me are $2,500-$3000 a month. And I don’t even live in a major city. If I moved out now, I would be classified as living in poverty with what money I have. For a look at how bad it’s gotten, my dad’s childhood home in the 70s was once $100,000 and it just sold last year for over $1,500,000.

4. There are no outlets for my career or job wants. At all. My main interest/knowledge is in Western Europe around that 1880-1920 period and mainly around WWI, and I reenact a British soldier. I love that history, theatre, art.... but on the off chance I had $60,000 a semester to go to the universities here I wanted to get a degree after transferring from a junior college, I have nowhere to apply that here. There are practically zero WWI events for me to reenact here, minus Newville and a couple others and there is no target audience for all my WWI writing and art because barely anyone gives a damn about WWI here (the Joke I’d always hear in school was “WWI? What even was that?” and we would learn about it for MAYBE two weeks out of 12 years of schooling). There aren’t museums I’d want to work at here, there aren’t shops I’d love to work for, there aren’t historical places I feel attached to to work there. I cannot tell you how fucking ECSTATIC I was to see actual WWI items in museums in England because I’d never seen anything like it here!! Like??? I could’ve fucking cried because I was so happy to be in a place where my interests had meaning to people?? Like last time I was there, literally a man in an elevator got into a Deep conversation with us about how sad WWI was and how it’s still emotional for people which was WILD because here I’m always told to “be smart and get interested in something that actually matters”. Like I’m sorry but it is SO draining to be so passionate about something it feels like no one around you ever cares about

5. The Style I specifically have is SO unnecessarily pricey to have here. California never had an Edwardian Period the way they did in the countries I studied, which means that there are, surprise, pretty much zero places to buy clothing/items from that period and if you do happen to find them, they’re outrageously expensive and the cuts of the garments aren’t even the ones I’m looking for, for instance, because America had slightly different fashion. No one here sells the clothing I dream of having, I have to order a majority of my stuff from England meaning it costs A LOT and I pay like $80+ in shipping for some things. My reenactment gear is so expensive to have shipped here as well!! I’m also so ://// cos I see all my friends from Europe just going out and causally finding items I’d love to have at decent prices cos they’re just staple antique shop items there which would be classified as rarities here. Like...... to know I could just walk into a physical shop somewhere and pay £15 for a collar or something that would’ve cost me $45 to have shipped here is just AAAAAHHHH??? Like the only reason why my dream life Brand isn’t as developed as I would like is because that Brand just doesn’t exist anywhere here and it’s so disappointing

6. Additionally, I plan on going to Europe when it’s much safer to travel anyway throughout my life just to visit all these places I want to, if I don’t end up living there somewhere, but flights from California to these places are so expensive because I’m always traveling so far and my flight is always 11-12 hours straight which would be fine if it wasn’t in cramped quarters filled with strangers

7. Ultimately, I just feel so alone and empty here. I look out around me and see an American capitalist wasteland, Hollywood drama in my backyard, stark blue skies with a blazing unforgiving sun, no places I Vibe with, no place I feel interested to live, no place I feel interested to work at, and nothing to be happy about. My parents are planning to move after my dad retires, my grandparents on both sides are getting quite older now, and my family on both sides I’m not all that close with, I used to see a lot and now I see maybe once every 1-2 years. I’m not a little kid anymore and it’s just time for me to leave and everything just feels so wrong about living here in ways I don’t even have words for

8. Adding: the job situation here has been so bad for a long time and because of that, I’ve reached a point where I’m selling my car to have the money I need to move out! I’m either going to have to find a place to live where I can walk or take the metro or something because I don’t have cash left over to by another car once I sell the one I have so RIP

[21secondsofchristoph]

Here is a full translation of the interview featured in Max Magazine.

Original text by Andreas Wrede

This was a lot of work so PLEASE don’t post this elsewhere without credit. 

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

This story with and about Christoph Waltz is a story coming full circle. A little more than 3 decades ago, a small group of editors and photojournalists, graphic artists and authors started developing the pilot for the first German issue of MAX, made possible by Dirk Manthey, the publisher from Hamburg’s Milchstraße, who knew the magazine from Italy, France and Greece. And who made me the founding-editor in chief. Three decades later, the derivative is released, thanks to publisher Max Iannucci. In 1990, Christoph Waltz was in an episode of “Der Alte”, among other things before he played the torn schlager music star Roy Black in “Du bist nicht allein – Die Roy Black Story” – but we will get to that later.

Now Christoph Waltz is an award-winning, internationally known actor, who won two Oscars for best supporting actor. That is unique for a German-speaking actor. Born in Vienna in 1956, he now lives in Los Angeles – if you want to play a role in Hollywood, literally, you must be present in Los Angeles. And during our conversation in a red, furry saloon of the legendary hotel Sacher in Vienna, he emphasizes, “Hollywood is always the goal”.  

The place is very fitting, considering Christoph Waltz grew up in Vienna, in a family that cultivated a great affinity for the work on stage for two generations. He says laconically, “You grow into a thing, you grow up with it, and thus, you acquire a familiarity early on, which you’d otherwise have to conquer with a lot more effort.” He often went to the movies from an early age on, but he spent even more time at the opera. “When I had time and had finished my homework, I enjoyed going to the opera.” Back then, a standing room ticket cost about ten Schilling, just a few cents in today’s currency. Little Christoph loved smuggling into the fascinating, secretive opera house.

Later he attended famous acting schools like the Max Reinhardt Seminar or Lee Strasberg’s Actors Studio with significantly less pleasure. “I didn’t like attending acting schools. They didn’t exactly broaden my horizon.” Christoph Waltz hardly found them inspiring. And when he received offers for movies and theater, he accepted them “instead of dealing and struggling with teachers”. He says this with few gestures and in an almost reporting tone, he has always trusted the energies inherent in him. He had his TV debut in “Der Einstand”, where he played a teenage delinquent. That was fitting, considering he continued playing roles which were different, unexpected, and specific, or roles he filled differently, unexpectedly, and specifically.

Christoph Waltz remembers his beginnings as an actor in the 70s a little wistfully. “There were still movies on TV, which were made as movies for television, as one dramatic entity.” Or when there used to be directors like the great Federico Fellini, who was “very, very specifically Italian in everything he did.” Christoph Waltz continues: “And because of this specificity he was able to reach so many people.” A phenomenon like Fellini is marked by obstinacy, nonconformity, and distinct individuality. However, some significant conditions also irritated Christoph Waltz, for instance, when he was hired for the Krzysztof-Zanussi-film “Leben für Leben” in 1991. “I wasn’t adequately informed about the conditions and backgrounds. And so, I found myself – surpsised – in front of a camera in Auschwitz.” How does one react to something like that? “Today, I would know how to react”, he stresses thoughtfully, “but today, that would be due to the self-confidence I acquired over the past years. Back then I felt: Now I’ve been hired for this film.” Alright, he adds, one grows through experience, some conflicts are worth going through. “It helps building character.”

Was the decision to play Roy Black a crystal clear one? Not at all, he responds smiling and closes his eyes for a second. “When my agent called me about it, my spontaneous reaction was: Complete humbug, and I can’t even listen to this music for three seconds.” It only became interesting for him when he learned that Roy Black originally wanted to play Rock ‘n’ Roll. Then he became interested in the tragedy of this character. And the thought that Roy Black’s wish was the desire for freedom and wildness, a wish many Germans shared, “which was inherent in the promising American machinery.” Although this freedom and wildness had always existed in Germany, lived out by people like Nietzsche, Schopenhauer, or Kandinsky.

“The film itself was great, but the marketing-weisenheimers managed to break this film. It would be a great cine film, but they advertised it as a sob story for television. Consequently, the real Roy-Black fans were disappointed, while the people who might have been interested in the movie judged: Leave me alone with this sob story twerp. Well, the weisenheimers are the weisenheimers, what can you do”, deems Christoph Waltz with a beautiful touch of Viennese sarcasm and barely noticeable risen eyebrows. One does not always have to instrumentalize the entire acting equipment with him. A few little cues are enough.

Many more films follow before someone calls from Hollywood and say he is supposed to participate in Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds. In our interview he calls this his “Quentin-jump”, where he is at eye level with Diane Kruger, Brad Pitt and Michael Fassbender in front of the camera. “Tarantino, we mentioned this before, stands for specificity and authenticity, he has an eye for both.” Did Christoph Waltz go into this production with a lot of respect? “With great respect.” He remembers an encounter with Sylvester Groth in front of a theatre in Babelsberg. “Every Thursday, Quentin showed movies during preparation. Once, Sylvester and I stood in front of the theatre and we both said: Imagine this, now we’ve been doing this for so long and suddenly we find ourselves here.” Then we paused for a few moments and kept going: Yes, and despite everything, we’re doing what we’ve always done – what we do, because that is what we do.”

Before Tarantino’s office could call again, other international projects followed, like The Green Hornet (with Cameron Diaz, Tom Wilkinson, James Franco) or Carnage (with Jodie Foster, Kate Winslet, John C. Reilly). Then Django Unchained (with Jamie Foxx, Leonardo DiCaprio, Samuel L. Jackson). For his role in Django Unchained, Christoph Waltz wins his second Oscar for best supporting actor in 2013 and Quentin wins another one for best original screenplay. But Christoph Waltz remains humble: “The opportunities presented to someone for personal growth always come to you through other people.” Although the actor always makes a binary decision. “Yes or no. Am I going to do it or not.”

Can one also make the wrong decision? “You decide for one or the other and from that other possibilities develop, but neither is better or worse.” That was not any different for Quentin Tarantino or for his first film and its director Reinhard Schwabenitzky, who saw him in acting school. Christoph Waltz leans forward and says confidentially: “The essential chances and opportunities were those which were presented to me by another mind, by a great talent, through a vision, which came from another person.” Nothing more, nothing less.

Yes, humility is a virtue. But we do not want to conceal the fact that Christoph Waltz was the first German-speaking host on Saturday Night Live and that he received a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame (No. 2536, 6667 Hollywood Boulevard). The quote: “And Hollywood is always the goal.” Is correct, “like others say their goal is to get into heaven.” Hollywood, heaven: “I don’t mean to compare the two goals, but the setting of these goals. Especially Hollywood has been mythologized into more than it deserves credit for.” In this respect, as a myth, it is always the goal. Please don't tell anyone Christoph Waltz is over-the-top - the opposite is the case.

During our exchange in the Sacher, I mention one of my favorite books on film. It is Peter Biskind’s Easy Riders, Raging Bulls – How the Sex-Drugs-And-Rock’n’roll Generation saved Hollywood. It says: „There is no worse career move in Hollywood than dying. Hal Ashby is now largely forgotten, because he had the misfortune to die at the end of the 80’s, but he had the most remarkable run of any ’70 director. After ‚The Landlord‘, in 1970, he made ‚Harold and Maude‘, ‚The Last Detail‘, ‚Shampoo‘, ‚Bound for Glory‘, ‚Coming Home‘ and ‚Being there‘ in 1979, before his career disappeared into the dark tunnel of post-‘70’s, Me Decade Drugs and paranoia.“

It can be assumed that this won’t happen to Christoph Waltz? “That is a good example for the mythologizing I was referring to”, he responds. “I would claim that a legend like James Dean probably wouldn’t have developed at all, had he not driven himself to death in his Porsche at such a young age. Who knows what would have become of Marilyn Monroe, had she not put an early end to her complicated life.” And parallel to Hal Ashby, there probably were thousands of directors, who would have been happy to pay their next rent – by working in their profession. It is therefor about comparativeness.

Onto another career step, the James Bond movie Spectre, in which Christoph Waltz portrays the dark Blofeld, a character, who appeared in previous Bond movies. How do we have to imagine that? One sunny day the agent comes along and says: “You’re on the list for the next Bond movie”? Christoph Waltz knows there are no rules to this, especially when it is something like James Bond. A series that has been at the peak of possibilities for more than 50 years.” The producers have a lot to lose, they have to look very closely. Not only to keep up the standard, they also want to be ahead of their time.

Was it intriguing to play this bad boy a second time? Is it about an additional nuance of expertly irony; is it about the myth that is Bond? “This was another unique opportunity for me”, says Christoph Waltz, “a unique opportunity to include myself into such an incredibly successful series.”  Now after Spectre, for the second time in No Time To Die – a title that can offer a bit of comfort in times of the world wide covid pandemic. And Christoph Waltz is in the Bond movie that will be Daniel Craig’s final Bond. “It’s his fourth Bond movie”, he counts, “the actors change but the role remains the same. Of course, the role acquires a different profile and thus, different facets.” But it remains James Bond. “And when a new actor gets the role, he has to fit into the role, not the other way around.” Once again, we will have to wait for this Bond movie. It will probably hit theatres in spring 2021.

It reminds one of Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida – we’ve seen it a dozen times but keep going to see it again. Nowadays you go to see the production, in the past you went to see whosit faithless. Speaking of productions: Are the demands towards a Bond director more extensive compared to other film projects? “Surely there are more things to keep an eye on compared to a low budget movie or an independent film. In productions like that, you often have to use the tools you have. In Denmark they had demands referring to this “, Christoph Waltz comments in a slightly mocking undertone. He means the group around Lars von Trier? “Precisely, they called it Dogma for fun, and the world took them seriously.” But that is part of it, right, part of the business.

Anyway, every little detail is carefully manufactured for a Bond movie.  And that takes, apart from a lot of money, a great level of expertise and many employees, which combine into a story on film. “Legions of people work on every pixel, not to mention the light and the meaning of the music.” With all this in mind, it’s understandable how appealing it is to be in a movie like No Time To Die. Christoph Waltz has a lot of praise for the director, Cary Fukanaga: “He always knew exactly what he was doing and we knew exactly, why he did this or that”. Audiences were able to see this in previous projects, like the brilliant first season of True Detective, where he directed all eight episodes.

Christoph Waltz wouldn’t be Christoph Waltz if he didn’t show his extraordinary talents in unconventional projects as well, like the show Most Dangerous Game (with Liam Hemsworth, produced for Quibi). “What interested me there? The new dramatic form, it’s a story in 16 sections, each section only eight minutes long. We’re dealing with a new form of storytelling.” Does it remind him of the continuous comics that used to be in US-newspapers a few decades ago?

“Yes, it’s connected to that – but it also reminds me of Charles Dickens, who published many of his novels as newspaper installments. In Most Dangerous Game the great story arch is not lost, the suspense is carried from one episode into the next. “That is a sleight of hand.” And for that he received an Emmy nomination, and it wouldn’t be surprising if he was to win the prestigious award one day. But he pulled off other sleight of hands in the past. Or how the New York Times says in a headline: “Christoph Waltz directing Opera, moves from Tarantino to Verdi.” Adding his old comment to this: “The full-blooded, juicy movie experience has a lot of operatic qualities. I’m not talking about the film music, but about the rhythm and color and phrasing.” After “Der Rosenkavalier” (Music: Richard Strauss, Libretto: Hugo von Hofmannsthal), which he staged at the Antwerp Opera, came Giuseppe Verdi’s “Falstaff”, his second opera there.

“I’m not a fan of the never-seen-before concept”, says Christoph Waltz. He agrees with Susan Sontag’s essay Against Interpretation – in opera, there is a fix story, and the music is the central transmitter of this story. Over-interpretations can quickly become “dangerous sliding tackles.” Waltz wants to avoid those. “I want to show what the composers and authors meant.” He stayed true to Sontag’s principle in all three of his opera productions, the third on being Beethoven’s only opera “Fidelio”.

He is self-critical enough, “to personally take the risk of failing.” What would be the alternative?

“I’m just an actor, now what do the music critics, who take themselves so seriously say? Some foam at the mouth and brawl ‘the movie-bod is interfering in the opera’.” He prefers the critics that are capable of formulating things between the lines. “When I read elsewhere, that the very thing I was trying to convey can be seen in detail, then I’m quietly happy about it.” Sadly, the live performances of Fidelio fell victim to the covid-crisis, but there was a TV-screening on ORF, which can certainly be called presentable with 11% of the market-share.  “During ‘Fidelio’ I first realized physically that music is a spatial experience.” Here fits another Waltz-quote: “Strip away anything that us unnecessary.” Ergo: Reduce the action to the interaction between the characters. That is an art he mastered to perfection in acting.”

For once, I could surprise the cleaned up, chatty, well-tempered Christoph Waltz with a little research.

In his birthyear, 1956, his fellow countryman Walter Felsenstein, founder and artistic director of the “Komische Oper” in Berlin filmed a version of “Fidelio”. To this day, it remains the only film adaptation of the opera. Probably because – so the actor quotes Felsenstein – “this opera technically is impossible to stage”, he says with aplomb, an attitude that suits him. In ballet an aplomb describes the ability to absorb a movement, the balance.

Christoph Waltz not only shoots a lot of movies, but he also enjoys reading one particular movie critic: Anthony Lane of the New Yorker. Surely one of the most sharpened critics, who outtalks someone or rubs the reader’s nose into his alleged ignorance. We start talking about Lane via a new movie by the fabulous Agnieszka Holland, “Mr. Jones” – referring to Gareth Jones, advisor to the former British Prime Minister Lloyd George. Jones uncovers that the devastating hunger crisis in the Ukraine in 1932/33 was exclusively due to Stalin’s exploiting politics. Anthony Lane writes in inimitable fashion: „Is it conceivable that Holland’s bleak, murky, and instructive film could prompt a change of heart in the current Russian establishment, or even a confession of crimes past? Not a chance.“ Greetings from Belarus.

And of course, we also talk about COVID, what does an actor do who can’t act during these times? Is he reading Robert Musil’s novel The Man Without Qualities, which has more than 1000 pages? “Oh, I’ve already attempted to read this three times. The first time, I got to page 200, the second time I got to page 400, the third time I put it away after 100 pages.” But he doesn’t fully abandon the idea of finishing it one day. “But that would really be a true accomplishment of discipline”, he underlines, allusively smiling. Less amusing is the current stagnancy in Hollywood, where Christoph Waltz lives with his wife and daughter for the most part. “It will be illuminating once things pick up again”, he ponders “will a reforming spirit take over, or will everything fall back into the old, ignorant patterns, or even cause worse?” The temporary dysfunctionality of Hollywood is comparable to a dysfunctional family, which mechanisms become especially clear during crisis. Now he visited his mother here in Vienna. I allow myself the question, “Is Vienna your home?” “Vienna is my home, home is something you can’t choose, like your parents. Everything else can become your center of living, all that is willingly moveable – but home, home cannot be changed at will.”

[icouldntthinkofabetternamesook]

Study of a Family in Contrast

A girl is born in London, England. She has pale blond hair, blue eyes and fair skin. She is a good girl, a smart girl and her parents love her dearly. She goes to church on Sundays, listens to the preacher and does not pray. She looks through stained glass windows and wonders. She looks at people on the street and wonders. She is accepted to Oxford University on scholarship and graduates with a doctoral degree in Anthropology. Her parents hug her goodbye when she gets on a plane ready to take her to the Valley of the Kings.

A boy is born in Khartoum, Sudan. He has dark black hair, brown eyes and dark skin. He is a good boy, a smart boy and his parents love him dearly. He reads books, listens to music and does not fear. He looks at the buildings around him and wonders. He looks at the people around him and wonders. His parents hug him goodbye, when he gets on a plane ready to take him to Brooklyn College in the United States. Years later, he flies back to Africa, a doctorate in Egyptology taking him to the Valley of the Kings.

Years later a dark haired boy and light haired girl live in a house in LA. Their parents met in the Valley of the Kings. Their father plays the saxophone and they dance around the living room to jazz. Their mother reads to them at night, chapters and passages from her college biology textbook, and they fall asleep curled around each other.

A mother, with blond hair and blue eyes, dies in London, England. A father, with black hair and brown eyes, walks to the hotel they're staying at, but breaks down crying before he can explain. Blue and brown eyes, look on in confusion. “Where’s mommy?”

The funeral is on a hot and sunny LA day. A father, who is no longer a husband, stares ahead and sees nothing. His eyes have run dry from crying. A dark skinned hand curls around a lighter skinned hand, brother and sister trying to find what little solace they can. The little girl sobs and tries to climb further into her brother's chair.

It’s not long after the funeral that they come for her. They had never approved of the man their daughter married, with his dark skin and dark eyes and an accent they had never heard from another mouth, stirring up feelings of wrong and different. There’s a lot of accusations: mental unrest, unsuited for parenthood, traveling too much to look after two kids. They gave many reasons to take her away and none for not also taking their grandson, except for eyes that can only look at skin, seeing dark and light. The reasons aren't good enough to break up a family. There’s lawyers and yelling and more lawyers, and eventually they find a judge who looks at the family and can’t see loving siblings, can’t see the desperation in a father’s eyes, can’t see the hate in the grandparent’s. Instead the judge only sees dark skin, and blue eyes, and other, other, other so a family is torn apart and a girl is flown away to London, England.

….

A young man and a young woman walk on a beach, shoes slowly filling with gritty sand. The young man has dark hair, dark skin and dark eyes, like his father. He wears a black pinstripe suit with a black tie, white shirt and scuffed black loafers. It’s far too hot for the early autumn day. The young woman has light hair, light skin and blue eyes, like her mother. She wears a black thigh length dress, black fishnet stockings, a black leather jacket and combat boots. It’s far too hot for the LA sun. It’s the first time either sibling has seen the other in over ten years.

The funeral let out hours ago, researchers and academics having already finished paying respects to their colleague, a titan in the field of Egyptology. It was another annoyingly sunny funeral for this family. It doesn’t get any easier to bury a parent, but ten years certainly makes a difference. A lot can happen in ten years. A brother and sister can forget how to be siblings. Now they sit on a bench overlooking a vast ocean and silently hope the other one will start talking first.

The girl was never any good at being quiet so she gives up the game first. “I kinda think I want to stay in the states for a bit.” She chances a look at her brother's profile. He hasn’t looked at her, back straight and stern eyes locked on the horizon. “I technically do have dual citizenship, and I just finished getting my degree in theatre. Maybe I should stay in LA, try to make it as a star. British accents are sexy after all.” She pauses for a response. Nothing. She fidgets and ties again. “Maybe I could head to Vegas, it always seemed like a fun place to be. I could take a road trip anywhere I liked.”  A glance is shot at her brother. “Maybe you could come with.” Still nothing “Family road trip or whatever.”

Another moment of silence before, “Stop.”

The young woman jumps, double checking that the voice came from her brother beside her. “What? Stop what?”

It’s like a flood gate had been loosened. “Stop acting like we’re family, like we always see each other over school breaks and holidays and this is just a random run in. I haven't seen you in ten years, I haven't been close to you in ten years, the only reason we’re even on the same continent now is that our father-” His hands clench the bench. He ducks his head to avoid letting the young woman beside him see his tears. He takes a steadying breath and continues, “my father is dead.” He looks up again, more in possession of his feelings. Brown eyes look into blue. “Don’t pretend this is normal or that we’re family, when you weren't there.”

Maybe in another time or place with a different family there would be tears and hugs. But not with this family and not with these people. Instead of feeling sorrow and tenderness, the girl sees red. “I wasn’t there? Do you have any idea how you sound!? I didn’t choose to be taken to London, I was a child, I didn’t have a say! You have no idea what it was like to be me, to be thrust into a new country, a new school, an entirely different culture, completely on my own! Everytime I tried to talk about you or dad I just got these blanks stares, no I got stares of disgust and confusion because everytime someone would make a stupid fucking skin tone comment like that mattered! I didn’t have a mom and my dad just didn’t care enough to keep me and it sucked!” She sucks in a breath then continues yelling. Rage is always easier than vulnerability. “So fuck you for saying I’m not part of this family, I already know that, bully me for trying!”

Neither of the siblings are particularly good at desculation. The brother shoots right back, “Oh I’m so sorry people looked at you like that when you talked about your family! Sorry if I don’t sound super sincere, because people look at me like that every minute of my life! There are some things you were just never going to go through, and being taken in by our-your grandparents has only made it so that you can’t understand what me and dad go through. You weren't there. Everything was different for you. You got to have two people to run to when you had problems, and you got to breeze through life with that chip on your shoulder without fear of being seen as a thug! So no, you don’t just get to show up and pretend everything is hunky-dory, because it’s not and we are not on the same level!”

Both siblings heave in anger, both feeling a gap, a loss of half of themself but not feeling any way to fix it. The brother calms down first, and he decides it would be better to leave than continue the fight. He can’t remember why he even wanted to try. Maybe one last shot though, even if just to absolve him of the responsibility of failure.

“Look here’s my number,” he rips out a page from a leather bound journal, jotting down the numbers. He continues, “maybe, give it a call, maybe don’t.” He hands it to her and stands up. “Have fun in Vegas. I’m flying back to Brooklyn tomorrow and frankly I hope I never see you again.”

He goes to walk away. A hand on his wrist stops him. His sister pulls out an old gum wrapper and jots down a different number. “Mine too. You don’t just get to walk away and put this on me. I’m staying at an AirBNB down on Diamond Street, if you want to swing by. Maybe talk more.” She hands it to him, then gets up herself.

A pair of siblings walk in the opposite direction on a beach, gritty sand filling their shoes. They’re both left with the lingering feeling that their parents would be very sad to look at them and see only strangers.

...

The phone rings showing a number with no contact name. Someone picks up immediately, having already memorized the number.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

There’s a pause before the young man continues, “So you decided not to fly back.” A pause. “Where you headed?”

A feminine voice sighs. “Thought I might give Vegas a try, then see what happens. Easy to make it up when it’s just you.”

“Well you see about that….actually my flight back to Brooklyn got cancelled at the last minute.” The flight in fact doesn’t leave for two hours.

The excuse is rather transparent. “Oh really. Well that's a stroke of bad luck.”

“Especially seeing as my hotel reservation expired this morning. I was thinking maybe I could just drive back to the East Coast.”

“Well I’ve always heard that road trips are an American tradition.”

“Yes, seeing as you’re headed that way….” the young man trails off.

His sister picks it up “.....Driver gets to pick the music.”

“Then I get first turn at the wheel, I have no clue what sort of abomination you listen to but smooth jazz is the best for driving.”

“Ugh, I’m going to regret this aren't I,” but the young woman is smiling brightly. Two siblings continue to talk on the phone, hoping to find common ground. After all they’re family.

[elianthvia]

7 Reasons Why I Quit

(only for a little bit)

It has, alas, been another few weeks since I posted. I have an excuse for my unpunctuality: I've been spinning non-stop like a top. The conclusion of the last Zoomester and the start of summer are to blame. I have seven partners in crime.

Culprit 1: Puppetry Workshop

Towards the end of the year, DTI (Design Thinking Initiative), in collaboration with the Theatre Shop, hosted an in-person puppetry workshop where a small number of people could participate per covid protocols. In-person events were few and far between this semester, so of course I rushed to sign up. The workshop ran for about 2 hours on three consecutive Mondays. We met in the theatre shop inside Mendenhall Center for Performing Arts.  

The first day we made shadow puppets (and mine was a bee); the second day we made hand puppets (mine was a ... cyclop ghost king?); the third day we made marionette or string puppets (I attempted to make a teru teru bōzu, but everyone thought it a ghost). I had a lot of fun trying different fabrics, re-learning how to use a bandsaw, and magically joining things together with the help of a hot glue gun. (Side note: Polymer chemistry is the magician behind the scene, and I will be learning more about the science of hot glue guns in the polymer class I am taking next semester!) The workshop was surprisingly not as popular as I anticipated, maybe because people were busy as the semester came to a close. The good news is that DTI will be running the workshop again in the fall so more people will get to participate.

(Is she a ghost or teru teru bōzu?)

Culprit 2: Spring Piano Recital

I did not expect to attend a live concert this semester, but I was invited to the spring piano recital as a "special guest." It is a habit I developed while working as a concert crew at Sage, to sit outside the Sweeney Concert Hall and listen to the rehearsals after I finished setting up the stage. That day I was going to do homework outside the concert hall while waiting for my performing friend to finish. The piano instructor spotted me and asked me if I wanted to join. Disbelieving in my good luck, I accepted the invite. About ten students were scattered in the almost empty concert that felt sad and lonesome, but soon music filled the air. I thoroughly enjoyed every performance. Lots of Chopin were played, but my favorite one is Rhapsody in Blue which just entered the public domain this year. All pieces are about or more than a century old, which is not a surprise, but refreshingly, there is a piece by a female composer, Amy Beach, whose granduncle co-founded Bates College. You can find the full program here.

Culprit 3: End of Classes

The end of classes was epitomized by professor-resembling pixels on our computer screens bidding us goodbye. Usually professors would plan something fun for the last day of classes, virtually as well. 

I remember last semester my Multivariable Calculus professor changed his virtual background to a wall of donuts, explaining that during the pre-pandemic times he used to bring a box of donuts for students on the last day. This semester in Mathematical Methods for Physicists and Engineers, we explored the applications of Fourier Transform by looking at the velocity of a star and detecting the number of planets around it. Our last Circuit Theory lab was in person, where we got to listen to a song/piece of our own choice through the low pass filter and the high pass filter pictured below. The professor handed out prizes (cool items she accumulated in conferences) to students to reward them for their participation in the pre-class trivia games. I received a mini glow moon. In addition, our circuits professor left out end-of-class fun packs with origami papers and stickers outside her office. Our last Organic Chemistry lab was also in-person, where each lab group presented their experiments and findings (through a projector rather than Zoom screen share!) My presentation group decided to dress up for this special occasion after a long year of virtual school. Lastly, for Organic Chemistry, we played organic chemistry jeopardy in our last lecture.

With all the professors wishing you a happy summer, you start daydreaming about the sunny beach and breezy wind. Oh wait, you still have final exams to take. All in three days!

Culprit 4: Final Examinations

This semester we had a three-day final exam study period (or reading period) when professors are not allowed to assign any homework or set deadlines. Right after the reading period is our final exams. Smith is known for its flexibility when it comes to exams thanks to its Honor Code system. Many exams are self-scheduled. Some are open-notes, and some are untimed. In a normal year, students go to Seelye Hall to print out and take the exams when they feel prepared. 

For the classes I am taking this semester, I had three hours to take my Math Methods final, a whole day to take the Circuits Theory final, and the entire finals period to take my Organic Chemistry I final. Besides the exams, I had several other writing assignments to turn in. I was very fatigued at the end of the semester, so even though I only had three exams, I struggled to muster up mental energy to study. To make things worse, I got my second Pfizer shot during the reading period and had a pretty bad reaction. As a result, I asked the class dean to give me an extension on an exam, which was generously granted, and I was gratefully less overwhelmed.

Culprit 5: SmithCycle

The finals are now over, but my vacation didn't start yet. I am staying on campus for a few extra weeks to work for SmithCycle. SmithCycle is a program that collects, sorts and redistributes gently used dorm items students donate in the move-out process at the end of each school year. It gives purpose to items of reusable value and creates a more sustainable campus. In the past week, we have collected hundreds of bags (no exaggerations!) of items. Besides clothes, books, school and dorm supplies, some of the unexpected items include coffee makers, brand new water filters, and a monitor. One of my coworkers commented that first-years shouldn't have to shop clothes hangers again while they were going through three boxes of donated hangers.

The winter clothes we collected are going to the International Students and Scholars Office. They have an event called Winter Clothes Closet every fall where international students "shop" for free to help them get accustomed to the New England weather. School supplies will be moved into the Common Goods Resources Center which CEEDS hopes to launch in Fall 2021 (very exciting!). I cannot plug SmithCycle enough. If you are an incoming first-year, visit the Common Goods Resources center before you head to Target! 

I have always been interested in sustainability and renewable energy and want to get more involved. When I saw the SmithCycle worker position posted on Workday, I immediately applied. Every SmithCycle worker's job varies. I am mainly responsible for washing and drying the linens and blankets. When waiting for the washer and dryer, I help with unloading the van that circulates between houses to pick up bags of donations. I also help with sorting. Pictured below is the inside of Scott Gym where all the items are currently stored.

Culprit 7: Summer Housing

As college transitions into summer, students who are staying on campus for some part of the summer had to move out of their spring housing assignment into their summer housing. I moved from Chapin, the house in central campus, to Capen, which is on the periphery of Smith. I know Chapin and Capen sound alike, but they are very different houses location-wise and personality-wise! To make up for its distance to the academic buildings, Capen House has its own garden, Capen Garden. The garden a gorgeous place many current Smithies are missing out on. There is a mini fountain, hedges, a garden temple, a plant arch, and a bizarre owl statue. Look at the last picture of the garden in this blog, and you will agree with me that the Paradise Pond is overrated.  

Built in 1825 and acquired by Smith in 1921, Capen House is named after Bessie Capen, the second woman to be admitted to MIT. She taught chemistry at Smith College. Fun fact: Bessie Capen was once the associate principal of the Mary A. Burnham School for Girls, now Stoneleigh-Burham School; I went there for horseback riding lessons during my first year at Smith. Small world, right?

Case Closed

Thanks for reading this long-ish explanation. I hope my tardiness in delivering this post may be justified by the causes above. To compensate, I will write about my other summer plans and updates in the next few weeks. Stay tuned! Meanwhile, enjoy your summer!