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sky-squido · 2 years ago

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I love these ask memes. And there are a few more questions I really want to know about you!

⌛ 🧐 🌞 🛠

I wish you a wonderful day and a nice weekend!! :D

oooooh we're talking shop, now, alright! >:D

⌛ How long does it take you to write a fic, or a chapter?

,,,,,,okay so this number varies WILDLY.

once upon a time, i could crank out words like nobody's business—gosh, i recall one nanowrimo i actually got to 1k an hour. this is no longer the case. both fortunately and unfortunately, i developed... standards.

this is fortunate because it means my writing quality has improved and i'll actually go back and rewrite sections for clarity/consistency/concision.

this is unfortunate because now i stop and think about what i'm doing and whether or not it makes sense and—God help me—i rewrite things. alas, the halcyon days of pumping out 30k in a weekend are beyond me. i mean, i still could do that (provided i had a free enough weekend, which is a lot harder to do since quarantine restrictions lifted and i no longer spend 95% of my life perched in front of a laptop freely hyperfixating on linkeduniverse), but i wouldn't be happy with it. this isn't just a "what do you mean, squido this is so good, you can't be so hard on yourself" type thing, i mean a "this is NOT how this character would behave" or "no this DOESN'T make sense it's not consistent with the relationship dynamic i've established up to this point." and these kinds of things get on my nerves FAR more than description or fight scenes that “aren’t as tight as they could be.”

other than the fact that my writing stamina does seem to have decreased somewhat ever since The Great Squido Fanfiction Writing Obsession Of 2020 (no idea if it's a milder, subtler, longer-term burnout, a symptom of no longer obsessively hyperfixating quite so intensely on the fandom, the aforementioned standards meaning that writing is literally more difficult for me than it used to be, or the fact that i just have other things pulling on my time and attention in a way i didn't before), there's also the aforementioned matter of time.

you see, and i'm really rather embarrassed to admit it, i can and do actually still write pretty quickly.

OKAY LISTEN

when i have a) at least four consecutive hours of free time b) no responsibilities i've been putting off that take precedence c) no other ridiculous project ideas that are consuming my brain AND d) enough energy, inspiration, and focus to actually write... i can and do write with a not inconsiderable level of expedience. i just—do you know how HARD it is for all those things to align? (okay, to be fair, you are all absolutely amazingly patient with me and don't ever give me the kind of crap i've heard other fic authors complain about getting for slow updates and i appreciate it so so much because you all are just the SWEETEST but the thing is that I ALSO want to read my fics! i ALSO want them to be done! chances are, i'm the person most irritated about how slow my updates are). i just! i love writing! i want to write SO BADLY! but GOSH stuff just keeps HAPPENING!! if i had the ocarina of time i would literally use it to create a time loop so i could regularly write entirely uninterrupted for eight hours at a time.

in summary, writing itself doesn't actually take me THAT long. i don't have a number on how many words i pump out an hour because that's the kind of thing i make a point not to keep track of and it also varies wildly by what kind of scene/fic i'm working on. i can CRANK OUT hurt comfort dialogue like nobody's business, but when i have to coordinate an actual plot, it takes a lot more care and thought. the hardest part for me when it comes to writing is actually getting into and staying inside of The Zone. I need time, space, focus, and energy. These are not plentiful resources in the life of a uni student. This is why, though, I can blast out 18k words without warning on some silly ridiculous side project but to isolate updates once every 6-8 months. it’s not that i actually spend 6-8 months working on to isolate in little bits until it all finally comes together. it’s that it takes 6-8 months for all four of those aforementioned factors to align for both me and poltea for long enough to get a chapter out. (it is also the kind of story that requires a lot of attention to detail, which slows down my writing a lot.)

so basically, writing itself doesn’t take me super long. finding long stretches of uninterrupted free time when i actually have energy and no looming responsibilities is what takes me super long.

and, to everyone wondering, To Isolate and Hey Four, Wanna Kill A Dragon With Me are not on official hiatus and they have not been abandoned! I’m currently focusing on To Isolate because we are SO CLOSE TO THE END NOW (poltea and i were working on it just a couple of weeks ago and we made a lot of progress >:3) and once that is done, Hey Four will have my full attention and since my standards for that fic are somewhat lower than they are for To Isolate and it’s not quite so intricate, it’ll move quite a bit faster than To Isolate does.

Once again, thank you all so much for your patience <3

🧐 Do you spend much time researching for your stories?

well i guess that depends on what you count as research! a significant amount of what goes into my fics is inspired by my studies (*cough* psych major *cough*) so one could make the argument that the hours upon hours i spend every week researching and studying for classes is fic research. i know that’s not what you mean, though, so let’s look more specifically.

with regards to zelda-specific research, i used to do more, but i have a more solid grip on these boys and their games than i used to and i made an item spreadsheet way back in the day, which cuts time spent looking at items down considerably. i also use noclip.website for area reference for earlier 3D console zeldas (oot-sksw) and that’s a Godsend. other than the occasional zelda fandom wiki exploration to pick a monster or a location or skipping through some youtube videos of lets-plays to make sure i describe an item’s visual effects accurately or rewatching a quick bit of cutscene to double check a story reference, i don’t really do too much zelda lore research anymore.

with regards to other research, i really don’t do much! like i said, most stuff that happens in my fics is inspired by stuff i learned, not the other way around, so usually i don’t really need to look much up. a lot of stuff is also just from personal experience. for example, i had to look up some of the names of pirate ship parts for The Price of Adventure and i did crack open noclip.website to grab a 3D model of the ship for description reference, but i’ve been around enough boats in my own life to know how they handle and how it feels to be on one. I also studied storms extensively at one point, so all of legend’s infodumping about how thunderstorms work is just stuff i already knew and wanted an excuse to ramble about. i also had a near-death experience not entirely unlike legend’s little misadventure in the opening cutscene of link’s awakening (though the actual game events are not something i can say i’ve encountered), so the unique spin on legend’s feelings about koholint is largely driven by my own personal experience and how i dealt with it.

What Hyrule Hadn’t Seen is a bit of an outlier since i really wanted to make sure i represented blindness respectfully, but otherwise, the answer to your question is a resounding and somewhat uninteresting Not That Much!

🌞 Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

yeah!! All Day. i alluded to this before, but i write in huge, uninterrupted blocks. my ideal writing day is to wake up, grab something to eat, run a quick errand to get my blood pumping and to move my body around, and then write for a few hours, stretch, go for a walk, maybe grab something to eat, and then writing some more, rinse and repeat until i’m too tired to see straight. hyperfocus, baybee. i do like to write in the evenings/nights because it’s cozy and i’ve already done all my Stuff™ for the day, but the issue with that is that i need energy and focus to write and aside from the issue of Not Having Those at night, trying to summon energy and focus just a few hours away from bedtime is not necessarily a good idea.

🛠What tools/programs/apps do you use to write?

ooh, okay, so i used to use google docs but i’m kind of petty when it comes to hating companies (i am a firefox/ecosia/paper calendar user who hisses at google like a feral cat) so i switched over to Word. i also prefer to work offline whenever possible and prefer to have my fics on my hard drive rather than the cloud for some reason, even though it’s objectively Less Safe (i think it has to do with my file organization. i also get Really Irritated about having to sign into anything ever and keeping track of which account my stuff is on). i also used exclusively google products for all of middle and high school and that’s an era i’m honestly content to leave behind me. To Isolate still happens on gdocs so poltea and i can look at it together, but all my other fics are now Word-based and live on my laptop hard drive.

behind word, spotify is my second most important writing tool (details here) and then after that is Merriam-Webster (i HATE Thesaurus.com the words are NEVER the right ones—MW has a MUCH better thesaurus you guys). then zelda.fandom.wiki and my lu item cheat sheet. i also hate EVERYTHING that tries to put words in my mouth like no no no writing is MY job you do NOT get to tell me what i want to say (even if i don’t follow it, just SEEING a suggestion throws off my game and this ALGORITHM is AFFECTING my WRITING and no. no no we will NOT be having that) so i don’t have grammarly and i’ve deactivated every predictive/assistive/corrective feature on every app or device i’ve ever touched.

hardware wise, my laptop is great, though fics have on occasion happened on my phone. actually, solid portions of The Price of Adventure were written on my phone cuz i got this sexy lil folding bluetooth keyboard which is like the size of a 3ds until it folds out into like a full keyboard and it’s badass.

okay sick!! i think that’s it—thank you for the questions and i hope your weekend is lovely, too!!!

#squido answers #thank u!!#ily all nerds <3

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warsofasoiaf · 3 years ago

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If Robert got a head wound from Rhaegar and became more about securing his reign and dynasty, and incidentally ruling well, than revenge, it occurs to me that an opportunistic response to the Lannisters' role in the Rebellion would be to lose his shit and execute Jaime & Tywin for regicide, infanticide and sacking HIS capital. Then marry Cersei to Stannis & name him protector of the Rock & Warden of the West. Tyrion, Lancel & Tyrek are wards & Gerion a hostage. to be continued...

Robert dealing with Lannisters II: IF Tyrion impresses Robert a lot with his competence & loyalty MAYBE he gets to succeed to the Lordship of the Rock when he's 25. Otherwise he gets to pick the Faith, Citadel or Wall and Stannis becomes jure uxoris LoCR. Even if Tyrion is the Lord, because dwarf, Stannis keeps the Wardenship with an eye to making it hereditary & he has first dibs on Rock's treasury & taxes in the West to fund the office (with a nice cut going to the crown, of course) tbc

Is this strategy viable? Would people see it as overreach or could Robert & co sell it as a punishment for Tywin's horrible crimes on top of his eradication of two noble houses, plus the judgement of the gods via Tyrion? If they come down hard on Tywin like this, does it keep the Martells on side or do they need to punish the Reach for besieging Storm's End by giving some of their stuff to Dorne? Also, when Lyanna dies, is marrying Cersei & taking the Rock for Robert's younger son a better idea?

I don't think this would end up working out for a few reasons.

First, we really don't see a similar precedent in Westerosi history when it comes to doing that with Casterly Rock or the Warden of the West title. If that did happen, you'd see Tygett abscond to Essos with much of the Rock's wealth, and unrest run throughout the Westerlands, definitely not what Robert wants. The Warden title is a traditional title for Casterly Rock, although it could be given in times of need to someone else, but to make it explicitly hereditary for this new House Baratheon branch would be probably seen as overreach.

Second, Robert really has a political brand for forgiving enemies into friends, to go against Tywin so hard might engender fear from the other rebel vassals. Dorne and the Reach might not lay down their weapons if they think they're going to be killed and have their lands stripped. Robert didn't even take hostages from his enemies, to take them from the Lannisters would be seen as specifically targeting the house, rather than Tywin himself.

Third, Robert and Jon Arryn didn't really know how successful the aftermath of Robert's Rebellion after the fact. We know looking into the story that Robert would have prosperity and peace during his reign.

Fourth, sacking King's Landing wouldn't be seen as sacking Robert's capital - Aerys is in charge and it's his city. Military traditions at the time found sacks for non-surrendering cities to be an acceptable practice.

Fifth, punishing Tywin for Tyrion ala judgment of the gods would be unusual and probably blasphemous; since that's the Father's place, not Robert's. We don't see that as a practice anywhere else in Westeros; practices we see usually are that the poor man or woman is killed at birth.

Sixth, why would Robert need to take stuff from the Reach and give it to Dorne? Dorne sent levies to further Aerys's unjust war just as the Reach did, and it's not like Doran Martell is suddenly going to be friendly with Robert even if Robert punishes Tywin for Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon the Infant. Doran lost out significantly by having his family removed from the royal succession. Even dicked over as much as he was by Rhaegar and Aerys both, Robert's leaving Doran in a diminished position: troops destroyed at the Ruby Ford, family members dead, his prestige weakened for having lost.

But I compliment you for attempting to build a large and cohesive what-if. I wish I had more Anons like you attempting to build so creatively.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

#what if #laws and customs #robert's rebellion

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chibimyumi · 4 years ago

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Kuromyu 2021 - First Review

So, yesterday 05-03-2021 was the First Day Performance of Kuromyu 2021, “The Secret of the Boarding School”. It is no secret that I am no fan of the Boarding School Arc, but even so I was very, very curious to see this arc being translated to a stage media.

This review shall not be without spoilers. Not just the story itself, because I think by now most people know how the story unfolds. I mean the execution of the stage play itself.

I shall not lie and admit that my review WILL contain my opinions, meaning it is by no means objective and might influence your opinions. For people who wish to experience the production entirely objectively for themselves, I recommend NOT clicking “keep reading” to reveal the spoiler section.

For now, I shall give my spoiler-free rating per category.

Faithful to canon: ⭐⭐⭐⭐★

Script: ⭐⭐ ★★★

Acting: ⭐ ★★★★

Singing: ⭐ ⭐★★★

Music: ⭐⭐⭐★★

Dancing: ⭐⭐ ★★★

Stage & Costume: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Hereunder I shall give the spoiler-section first preceded by “First Impression”, and then followed by the categories listed here above.

First Impression

The stream started, and seeing the Kuromyu logo in present day again after three years really was very exciting. Since 2010 on as always, Kuromyu opened with the contract scene, and I was positively surprised to see the stage set being quite elaborate! This set was the largest and most elaborate one so far without TOHO’s help.

After the contract scene the prologue gave a very quick recap of the Jack the Ripper, Circus, and the Campania Arc. I am not sure whether it was necessary to show the Jack the Ripper and Circus Arc as they provide no information needed to understand Weston Arc. But I think it was mainly inserted to speak to the nostalgia in Kuromyu fans, and as a Kuromyu fan myself, I have to say it did work. It did not take much time, I think maybe 1 minute per arc, so it was fine.

The recap of the Campania Arc was important as it served to equip the audience with the information that there’s a reaper who creates zombies. Undertaker was shown as the main antagonist of the Campania Arc and responsible for the bizarre dolls.

There was a short brawl between Undertaker and Sebastian, which is in fact a very good choice in my opinion to showcase the dynamic between these two supernatural powers...............except that only 10 minutes in, and the musical already MASSIVELY screwed up by portraying the fight as though Sebastian beat Undertaker. The ONLY reason Sebas is still alive is because Undertaker decided so. Normally I wouldn’t care that much about errors in a recap, but this time it serves as the exposition of Undertaker and Sebastian’s dynamic: It should have shown that Undertaker is an incredibly dangerous foe and that Sebas is scared shitless because of that. Especially because this ties in with how this arc was concluded.

“But okay, fine. Maybe the script has other plans, so I shall let it be,” I thought. Moving on. But it did “plant a seed” in me that this musical is either going to contradict itself, or that it is going to defy canon. That was the first impression.

The prologue transitions into the setup of the case quite smoothly, and I have to say it was skillful. You very quickly see Ciel change into the Weston uniform and the admission ceremony was swiftly started. Immediately you get introduced to Agares, the prefects and their fags, and the musical does a good job defining the atmosphere as: “something is off here”.

Faithful to canon: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ ★

The overall musical was really quite faithful to canon. Most plot points were as they were in the manga, and enough so that I would recommend anybody who doesn’t understand Japanese to first re-read the arc as homework. If you have the arc fresh in your memory, it is very easy to trace every action back to the canon.

There are some details that were omitted or changed, probably done so in consideration for the stage medium or run-time, and done reasonably so. Unlike the previous Kuromyus, 2021 adds very little new elements that were not there in the manga. No added extra depth, but also no unnecessary additions.

There were a few things that were very off-canon, namely the characters. But I think that falls under the “acting” header, rather than this header.

Script: ⭐⭐ ★ ★ ★

The script was a real disappointment. You might wonder how faithfulness to canon can be 4/5, and yet the script only a 2/5 in my opinion. WELL, most dialogue was based on the text in the manga, but told as dry as possible. It was also as though the script writers didn’t trust its audience intelligent enough to understand things on their own, or even remember something that was said literally 5 minutes ago.

Exposition Ad Nauseam

There was a tremendous amount of exposition, exposition, exposition, ad nauseam. There was exposition about who Ciel is and what the Queen’s Watchdog is and what his job entails, and that is entirely fine. That’s necessary background information for spectators unfamiliar with Black Butler. However, there was also a lot of exposition that could easily have been left out, or concluded through context. For example, there were quite many expositions about the history and status of the Weston College. In my opinion, a competent script writer could have let the audience known that the Weston College is really important just by giving the information that the blood relative of the QUEEN attends the school, and by showing the Red House, since their entrance is based on social status.

In this post I wrote about my following concern:

Unlike tennis, cricket is a very foreign sport to most people. Cricket cannot be shown without explaining the rules. So if Kuromyu were to happen, these expositions that were dry in the manga to begin with, are going to be even dryer on stage. Does an actor narrate the rules? Do we want Sebastian to sing us the rules??? Or do we want the kids to sing us the rules themselves while they are batting the balls?

And alas, true to my fear, Sebas indeed narrates the rules to us... But even worse, he also explains cricket by using baseball analogy... This is an incredibly ineffective and time-wasting method, because:

it takes the audience out of the moment,

it assumes the audience knows enough about baseball to let it help understand cricket,

and it assumes the audience actually cares about the name of every single strike....

Repetition Ad Nauseam

Then there is the problem where many info-dumps sounded like: “LIKE I JUST SAIDDDDD, DON’T FORGET!!!”. The script for Sebas is the biggest offender. There were many moments Sebas was just saying the same thing twice. At times he repeated the same information, and there were some moments where he regurgitated already given information. (Sorry I’m just being nasty here, but that’s what it felt like (;;≽▽≼;;) )

Sebastian has this obsession with constantly proclaiming himself an omnipotent, one hell of a butler, which makes him capable of doing anything... and after a while it just gets a bit tedious. I have the feeling the scriptwriter really has the hots for him, and therefore can’t shut up about how powerful he is.

While Sebas is the biggest offender, he is by far not the only one. This musical is guilty of doing a lot of very unnatural lines that no person would ever say. Soma for example, seems incapable of saying anything without shouting that he is the Prince of India and Ciel’s BFF. First time, FINE. But the entire time? My god....

Characterisation

Then there is the characterisation of characters in the script. Of course in great part the characterisation is dependent on the actors too, but no matter how amazing an actor is, you do as the script demands.

As discussed above, Sebas is done dirtiest by the script. This script also makes him incredibly arrogant and a bit too happy to be in his master’s service. Similarly, Ciel is also written entirely dependent on Sebastian, and equally happy that Sebas is happy to serve. In the first song between Ciel and Sebastian, without any prompt Sebastian asks his master for his orders, as though that’s what Sebas is looking forward to all day. And the first thing Ciel says in response is: “can you take on this reaper [Undertaker] and the large number of moving corpses?” to which Sebas responds: “Leave everything to me, because I am the Phantomhive butler.” ........and then he proceeds to defeat Undertaker effortlessly.........!?!?!?!?!?! When fighting Undertaker, Sebas also says: “what a bother” as though it’s just a bit of an unpleasant chore rather than a life-threatening fight. And just before Undertaker disappeared all the way at the finale of the arc, Sebas seriously says: “I really don’t get along with you”. SERIOUSLY, WHO WROTE THIS?!

Myu!Ciel is CLEARLY the master of this Sebastian as he seems to be on a permanent power trip. He “it’s an order”s Sebastian for the most trivial of things. At the beginning when Sebas was fighting intruders already, Ciel “it’s an order”s Sebas to take down the intruders.... HE’S ALREADY AT IT!!!

In chapter 70 where Sebas and Ciel simultaneously think of Soma, Ciel doesn’t give Sebas an official order. This shows the audience that there is a certain level of trust between master and servant that they’re on the same page AND that Sebas has come to a stage where he will actually do what’s necessary.

In the musical however, Ciel gives a full “Sebastian, it’s an order, get the procedures done to get him here, to the Weston College.”

This is also an example of how unnatural and repetitive the script is. Who would EVER say “get the procedures done to get him here, to the Weston College”???? Of course procedures need to happen first! And “here” alone would have sufficed, scriptwriters. We KNOW where “here” is! We didn’t forget since 5 seconds ago!

Lyrics

The lyrics are technically not the script, but they are ridden with the same problem as the script itself, so I shall take the liberty of discussing these under the same paragraph.

There is a LOT of repetition in the lyrics as well. The P4 especially sing “Weston” and “tradition” like the ENTIRE time. One song literally goes: “this is Weston, Weston, Weston, Weston, at Weston we uphold our traditions, traditions, traditions, traditions.” The other song is: “It’s cricket, it’s cricket, it’s cricket,” and another “I am Ciel’s BFF, BFF, BFF, Ciel, lord Ciel, lord Ciel, lord Ciel’s BFF.”...... *shudders* ((ﾟﾟ((Д))ﾟﾟ)) AAAAHHHH!!!!

Acting: ⭐ ★ ★ ★ ★

The acting was by far the most abominable in the musical safe for two gems: Chesslock and Derek. There are too many characters to discuss, so I shall keep it to the main/noteworthy ones.

The gems

Chesslock has this tremendous energy and something very wild about him, and his jumps are so incredibly precise it’s amazing! Derek has but a very small role, but the moment he showed up as the zombie you already immediately saw there was something “off” about him. It was very subtle, but still clearly unhinged. When he was acting living-Derek, you also clearly saw what type of prick he was. Amazing! These two were the brightest stars of the show.

The....... not gems

The most unwatchable ones were Soma and Harcourt. Soma doesn’t have a big role, but he bothered me so much he is ironically the most memorable one. It’s like Okada saw “loud and obnoxious (in a good way)” in the manga, turned it up to 12, and gave the worst portrayal possible. As said above, the script making him repeat “Indian prince” and “BFF” the entire time doesn’t help, but blaming just the script would be letting Okada off too easily.

Harcourt...... gave me so much secondhand embarrassment I literally got a cramp looking at him. When the diarrhea happened he was screaming like a pig about to be raped and slaughtered... and I am NOT making a rape-joke here. I would never. He really did sound like he was unwillingly aroused and terrified at the same time.

Sebastian

Let’s start with the good things: Tateishi’s Sebas did have his presence and his movements were fairly neat. He was never just standing there. He is quite elegant, and not swaggering or pulling spasms on stage unlike a CERTAIN someoneeeeee. He could work a BIT on the coordination of his extremities, but that’s only when I’m nitpicking.

But otherwise.... he was a bit underwhelming to be honest. The main problem is not necessarily Tateishi’s acting-skill maybe, but his interpretation I think... but I can’t say his acting was amazing even at knife-point. The way he acts Sebas makes him look like a complete fanboy of Ciel... which is just not Sebas. He is incredibly eager and at times I could almost see a puppy tail wagging. Whenever he is getting an order from his master he is just beaming. And with Undertaker there was not a single hint that Sebas is scared of the only foe who managed to mortally wound him.

His interaction with Ciel was also very SebaCiel heavy. In the manga where Ciel challenges Sebas why he didn’t go after Undertaker, Sebas is clearly emphasising the importance of the contract, and half-threatening his master not to dare “it’s an order” him to go after Undertaker.

In the musical however, Sebas is all UWU, as though saying: “I couldn’t let the big baddy hurt you... uwu”. Without exaggerating, Sebas caresses Ciel’s face THREE times and then embraces him.

Ciel

Ciel was very unbearable to watch in my opinion. Not as bad as Soma and Harcourt, but otherwise an “honourable” third place after them. In the manga it was a bit cringey to begin with because he is supposed to fake being (*ÓωÒ*), but seeing a 20 year old man do that... and play it up to 11 was just jarring. Ciel is like “tehe” very often, but never actively skipping like a forest fairy.

This Ciel also has tremendous mood-swings! He is either UWU or actively a ice-cold diva... and at times he is also being UWU when he’s not around others???? There was also not a single moment where I could see him cooking up a plan. No hint of intelligence or cunningness to be found.

Unlike with Tateishi I can’t really come up with anything good to say about him.

Undertaker

Undertaker was the best among the main three (not that the bar is very high). He is making efforts to tease-threaten Sebas, which I think is a very nice added detail (it’s just that Sebas reacts to none of them... sad.) and even though his role is pathetically small (he doesn’t show up as the principal), he still managed to present himself in the spotlights.

Greenhill had his energy, he was funny, and something really funnily militaristic about him. Though, I was missing nuance in his acting because at not a single point could you see Greenhill might have a trauma for killing people.

Redmond was Viscount of Druitt light and he had a very strong emphasis on the BL aspect with Maurice......which was just personally not my cup of tea. But I have to admit that aspect was played up too in the manga. So I guess he was faithful to canon.

Violet was quite charming and eccentric. He did play up the gothicness of the Violet house, which was actually kinda nice! He also had a deep friendship with Chesslock, which I really liked. When Violet didn’t do shit during the tournament Chesslock was really miffed about that, and challenged him. And then Violet showed Chesslock a portrait he drew of him, saying: “you just looked so cool I had to capture that.” That was amazing! He is a bit bitchier and sassier than in the manga, but I really don’t mind.

Bluer.... William light. He was the least memorable of all of them.

Singing: ⭐ ⭐ ★ ★ ★

Nobody really hurt my ears, but also nobody quite hit the notes... and the notes weren’t that hard.

Music: ⭐⭐⭐ ★ ★

Eehhhhhhhhhhhh I’d say the songwriter played most songs a BIT too much on the safe side. Not a single song was memorable, but they didn’t offend me either. The main theme was fairly nice actually, but only when just the instrumentals played. I think it might have been the singing just being too chaotic for me to actually hear the music.

Dancing: ⭐⭐ ★ ★ ★

Chesslock is an tremendously good dancer, his movements were precise and energetic. But otherwise.... nobody really popped out, but there was nobody who looked like a noodle on stage either.

The main problem is choreography; with some exceptions they were very underwhelming and messy. There were a lot of group dances, but often enough people were just a bit out of sync and messy.

Stage & Costume: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Stage Set

The stage set was VERY good. It was well made and mobile; they could be moved around and functioned as different props. Examples include the cellar in which Derek and his gang were committing crimes, and the boat of the parade even. The set also had this really magical aesthetic about it which communicated the glamour of the Weston College well.

Costumes

The costumes were well made. The logo on the uniforms for example were actually embroidered rather than those iron-on plastic things. The wigs were .... very messy after jumping around a bit and they looked very greasy. But that’s fine. They did their job and I realise I’m just spoiled. TOHO makes their wigs using real human hair, and that’d be an astronomical sum for any normal 2.5D company.

My ONLY problem is Ciel’s “lord costume”. This photoshoot photo underneath is doable, but trust me, on stage it is a nightmare. There are no clear photos of this costume on stage, and I think I understand why.

It was glittery velvet which just SCREAMS cheap Halloween costume, it was ill-fitted, almost like it was 2 sizes too large. The costume makers didn’t take stage-lighting into account, so the fabric and details glistened all over the place. Under the limelight the “golden” aiguillettes were PISS yellow. And the suddenly black sock suspenders protruding from his white boots were just...... distracting.

BUT, this was just one costume and he only wears it in the prologue and the finale of the show. Even though it’s God-awful, the rest were well made enough to compensate for this abomination.

Conclusion

So now finally the conclusion! The musical was..... fairly faithful to canon, but the execution leaves quite a lot to be desired. The interpretation/acting of the characters were the most disappointing one, while the stage/costumes were the most charming.

Do I recommend buying the stream/DVD/BD?

Stream: Yes.

I personally do recommend buying the stream as it’s only 3800 yen, especially if you like the Weston Arc itself, and/or are curious to see how they did it. Even though I myself really hate the Weston Arc in and of itself, I was very curious to see how it’d be translated to a stage medium. Despite my mostly negative opinion of the musical, I don’t regret buying the stream at all!

The best reason in my opinion to buy the stream though; it’s a very good and legal way to get a “preview” to see if you want to spend approximately 10000 yen on the proshot.

DVD/BD: Depends on you.

I myself have decided not to buy the DVD because I don’t think I’ll be rewatching it after the stream-archive period is over. The DVD/BD are the most expensive so far, and to me the final product is just not worth that amount of money.

But if you like the Weston Arc, or the performers, or you think you will be rewatching it and you are a collector, I think it is a very nice addition to your shelve.

#Kuromyu 2021 #Kuromyu #Secret of the Boarding School #Review #Weston Arc #Musical

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justimajin · 4 years ago

Text

Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt.4

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut

↳ (4.1k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: 18+ rating, graphic descriptions of violence and blood, major character death

gif credit.

➟ Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, January 12

You and Namjoon return back without much of a word exchanged.

The stifling silence lingers longer than its welcome, and there’s occasional swaying of your eyes, hastily scanning over Namjoon’s features. Moments like this make you wish you could figure out what was churning inside his head, the knowledge of his thoughts easing your work by tenfold.

But alas, Namjoon is the heir to the Kim Empire. Although you have a carefully constructed image of him in mind, he has only been kind and considerate to you, and volatile when the situation calls upon him for action. Something that makes you truly wonder if you’ve been able to assess his character properly at all to this point.

Entering the house, you plan on heading back to your bedroom and reporting back the information you’ve obtained ‒ until a hand covers yours against the doorknob.

You swivel, brows knitting together. Your breath immediately hitches, noticing how Namjoon is just inches away from you.

He simply stares at you for a moment, like he was deciphering a puzzle. Lips moving, out escapes a question that you weren’t expecting.

“Why are you trying to be a part of this?”

Your eyes enlarge and you rattle through your brain for the clearest of answers.

“This is your work...I just wanted to know more…” As if on instinct, you attach your role to it. “A-As your wife.”

Namjoon’s lips draw into a line, and there’s a heavy crease forming in between his brows. A soft ‘tick’ leaves him as he spins around, planting a hand on his temples.

For a second, you’re not sure what to make out from the gesture. In fact, you can’t recall if you’ve seen Namjoon like this before, especially towards you.

Hesitating for a moment, your hand begins to slowly advance, moving towards his shoulder.

He whirls around and you retract it in an instant.

The breath is knocked out of your lungs when Namjoon clasps onto your hands, desperation reigning heavy in his eyes and rendering you immobile.

“Please, don’t.” His voice cracks and your gaze instantly latches onto his, “I‒.…I don’t want you succumbing to it too.”

Confusion swirls in your eyes and Namjoon exhales, fluttering his own shut. “The work I do‒the work I continue on from, it’s not the most pleasant...”

“And…it’s something that’s completely broken my family.”

Your pupils flare and Namjoon opens his eyes, tenderly gazing at you.

“They act as if they don’t care much about the business or about controlling it, when in reality it’s all they ever concern themselves about.” Namjoon explains, “When we got married and you had dinner with them….I saw the family I knew before I became the heir, the ones that hadn’t let this business take precedence over everything else…”

He continues, anguish leaking into his words, “I….I don’t want things to be the same way with you.”

Your eyes don’t leave him and the pulse of your heart rate steadily increases, almost doubling when Namjoon squeezes your hands.

“Get involved in something else, please.” He pleads, “It can be anything, just‒…”

There’s a moment of hesitation, before he decides to be completely truthful. “Just know that my hands are the ones that have been tainted enough.”

You harshly suck in a breath, warmth rapidly radiating over your skin. Namjoon expectantly stares at you, waiting for an answer that you can barely conceive.

Swallowing hard, you nod in response. His shoulders deflate with relief and a genuine smile spreads across his features, but all it serves to do is make the sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach worse.

I’m sorry, Namjoon.

You weren’t sent here to not get involved, you weren’t trained and tasked with the mission of relaying information back, seeking an infiltration rather than a relationship from your marriage.

Picking up the familiar box and hearing the static that reigns out, you patiently wait for the signal to correspond. The thought of Namjoon holding your hands and begging for you to delve deeper elsewhere because of the impact on his family, pangs through your mind more than you would like.

The signal is sent through and you prepare yourself, placing your hands on the box.

But for the first time since you’ve been married, you hesitate.

“W-What?”

You wonder if your ears heard right, but the remorseful look on your parents suggests otherwise.

“We’re sorry, Y/N....” Your father states, turning his back without a second look in your direction. Your mother follows suit, not foregoing a glance either.

You stand frozen, pupils latched onto their disappearing backs. Water begins to surface within your eyes and the door begins to slowly close behind them, all traces of light cutting off.

┈

“Again!”

The voice roars in your face, a wince running through your shoulders immediately.

“I-I have no idea what you’re talking a-about…”

His hand immediately grabs onto your chin, pushing you forward. Your breathing is uneven, eyes wide with fear. “This is the face of a liar? Say it firmly!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You swallow hard and the daunting man in front of you seems satisfied for once, stepping back to look through the thin glass on the other side of the room. You don’t dare look, accepting that you were merely a puppet whose strings had to be pulled the right way.

At the sound of approval from the glass, there’s a smile that curls on his lips as he turns to face you again.

┈

“I-I can’t…”

A hand slams against the metal table you’re sitting at and you jolt, “A woman tells you she has information regarding the Kim’s and you need to get it out of her.” He nearly snarls in your face, “What. do. you. do?”

You almost feel like you’re being suffocated, but the answer slips through your lips after being drilled in there for a thousand times.

“E-Exploit her weaknesses.” You squeeze your eyes shut, “Guilt her into thinking she can trust me…”

He steps back, staring down at you with cold eyes. His gaze would make you waver, gawk at something else until it was over, but you raise your eyes, staring back at him without hesitation.

A smile curls on his lips when he notices you’re beginning to hold the same coldness in your eyes that he has.

┈

“AH!”

You clasp your hand around your shoulder, the throbbing radiating all the way through your back. A punch is thrown your way and the grimace you hold vanishes in an instant.

He scowls, “Keep your eyes on your opponent, Y/N!”

“S-Sorry…”

A hard kick lands on your leg and you immediately collapse, a pang of pain shooting down where your hands grasp on.

“What did I say about apologizing?!”

Your mouth remains sealed shut and you attempt to get up, ignore the wobbling urge your knees have. Another punch is thrown in your direction and although clumsily, you manage to defect it in time.

A wide grin spreads over his features.

┈

“I-I can’t do this...I-I can’t…”

His voice is far from gentle, “Y/N.”

“I was never meant to be a spy.” You plead, “I-I can’t do any of this…”

“Y/N.”

Your voice cracks, “I-I just want to go home…”

Your fingers are forcibly pride open, the cold metal jamming into your skin. Despite your protests, your arm is lined up in front of you, the man on the chair cowering away with wide eyes.

“This is your job, Y/N.” He states coldly, “If circumstance calls for it, you will have to do this.”

There’s a group of individuals behind him, all carefully observing you like some sort of lab rat. Your hands tremble uncontrollably and there’s a sick feeling in your stomach, but despite all that, you know there’s no way out.

You’ve pleaded with him. You’ve pleaded with your parents - who aside from concern-filled faces, turn away with a blindeye.

There’s no use. This is who you are now.

“Y/N.” Your instructor scowls, “Shoot.”

Hot water rolls down your cheeks, the weapon threatening to slip away from your hands.

“Y/N.” His voice grows louder, commandful in nature. He doesn’t tell you what to do anymore, instead he glares, the silence in the room being daunting enough.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you try not to think about how terrified the man in front of you looks.

Your body propels backwards, and you’re sent flying until your back smacks against the wall. The metal slips from your fingers and you can’t bear to open your eyes, the scent of blood already alerting you of your lethal actions.

The sound of footsteps coming closer greet you, and you don’t even need to look at him to see the smile that curls on his lips.

His words are laced with satisfaction and pride, but they only serve to increase the emptiness inside you.

"You're a tool now, Y/N. From on, you must follow our every instruction and order."

Like a robot, you solemnly nod. The mayhem of your doing is dragged away from the room, leaving behind a steak of crimson against the ground.

From there on forth, the nightmare begins.

Your eyes shoot open, a harsh gasp leaving your lips. Glancing rapidly around, you notice the wide two doors in your direct view and the luxurious bed that sits in the corner of the room.

Your heavy breathing begins to still, shoulders slowly sinking down. There’s a silky texture against your skin that shifts, the length of the maroon gown pooling onto the ground.

You sit up straighter, mind still dazed.

Namjoon walks in, adjusting the cuffs to his suit with a deep frown. His eyes flicker up on you at once, a smile of relief tugging on the corner of his lips.

“You’re awake?”

It takes you a second to register his words, but after a moment you nod. “I hope you’re not feeling too tired to come with me.”

Shaking your head, Namjoon grins and you rise from your seat. He lets you loop your hand around his outstretched arm and you attempt to void your mind, aware that you’ll be spending the rest of the evening underneath a scrutinizing spotlight.

***

The night swiftly passes by, individual's intermingling and conversing amongst themselves. You remain latched onto Namjoon’s arm, following him around as he greets members and thanks them for coming. Save for the chance encounter you have with his parents and a brief run-in with one of the company managers, your eyes continue to stay glazed over.

Namjoon seems to notice right away and for once, you don’t question the motive behind his intention.

“I’m fine.” You ease when he piques if you’re fatigued from the gathering. A waiter passes by you and you instantly reach out, reluctantly grabbing onto a glass of wine.

Namjoon doesn’t question you again, but when he rounds the corner and heads towards a group of four familiar individuals, you’re grateful for picking up the beverage.

Contrary to previous encounters, the shareholders don’t appear utterly offended nor hostile by your appearance. You presume that to be a good sign.

“It’s about time you showed up.” Yoongi quips. Namjoon sheepishly smiles, and Hoseok chimes in.

“Have you heard anything about the recent deal?” He quirks up a keen eyebrow and Namjoon advances forward, beginning to explain into detail. Although intrigued, you take occasional quiet sips from your drink, making no move to intervene.

“How have you been this evening?” You blink for a moment, before turning in astonishment towards the source of the voice.

Taehyung takes a sip out of his own drink, eyeing you for an answer. “I’ve been alright.”

“You seem tired.” Brows furrowing, you glance at him peculiarly, wondering if it was truly obvious.

“I’m just a little under the weather.”

He hums, continuing to drink from his glass and standing near you during Namjoon’s explanation. It draws curiosity out from you, but there’s a bitter taste lingering on your lips.

You draw your upper and bottom lip together, smacking them together with puzzlement. Your stomach churns, the acidity in your throat abruptly spiking up and overwhelming your senses. A sudden wave of vertigo hits you out of nowhere, nearly causing you to trip.

Two hands shoot out to steady you immediately.

“Y/N?”

Although you recognize Namjoon’s voice, your response is cut off the moment your hand reaches up to cover your mouth. His grasp on you tightens, and before you know it, you’re being led out of the room immediately.

You can’t recall where Namjoon brings you, but you can feel the cool texture of a wall against your hands as you attempt to steady yourself. There’s still a hand covering your mouth and Namjoon leans in closer, whispering underneath his breath.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Oddly enough, his calming voice is a lot more soothing to listen to compared to the bustling mixture of sounds coming from the gathering.

You nod, shakingly letting out a breath. “I-I almost felt like I was going to throw up.”

Namjoon sharply gazes at you with alarm and although you seem to be doing better, his grasp never leaves you.

“Do you want to go home?”

Your involuntary assumption is to first contemplate. Contemplate on whether or not it would be a smart move on your part to not be here by his side when he’s clearly interacting with important individuals. But unfortunately, the acidity tickling your throat seems to have an agenda of its own.

Letting out a sharp cough, you nod and Namjoon instantly looks around for an exit.

“Namjoon!” A man stands at the end of the hallway, tilting his head in confusion, “What are you doing out here?”

You recognize him as Kim Yooseon, one of the company’s deal makers. You hear a sound of dismay leave Namjoon and with a heavy sigh, you tug on his suit’s jacket.

“Just drop me by the entrance.”

Namjoon doesn’t hesitate to protest, “But Y/N‒”

“It’s okay.” You reassure, “It’s more important for you to be in there compared to me. I’ll manage.”

Namjoon appears to be caught in between agreeing with you and on the verge of letting out a string of protests. However, when you pleadingly glance at him, he can’t seem to say no.

He ends up dropping you off with his driver just like you had requested and with a persistent gaze, leaves without another word. The moment he vanishes, you let out an audible breath, the proximity he was holding you on top of your nausea becoming more overwhelming then the urge to let your insides all out.

You’re luckily dropped off back at the house in silence, only seeking out assistance from the driver for a bag in case the urge abruptly hits you in the midst of the ride. He questions if you’re alright and you quickly reassure him just like you had done with Namjoon, before hiking back to the house with swaying feet.

Alarmingly, another wave of vertigo washes over you, this time with an aftermath of a throbbing sensation cascading through your head. Your stomach swirls at the same time, the hurling urge returning at full force.

It’s only when you cradle your stomach with your hand and rest against a wall that your vision begins to blur, eliciting a sudden rush of panic that you’re ultimately faulty at coping with. Your feet mismatch and you collapse onto the ground, right in front of the house you needed to be in.

As your eyes begin to droop and lull back, the sound of heavy footsteps greet your ears.

***

Your eyelids slowly flutter open, the sight of crystals hanging from the ceiling greeting you. The familiarity strikes you at once, and you instantly scramble up onto your hands.

You’re sprawled out on the ground, still wearing the maroon gown from the evening.

“I never knew the L/N’s tried to create their own spies.” The deep voice halts your movement, a trail of goosebumps spreading over your skin, “Not a bad move, if I do say.”

You don’t spin around right away. Instead, you slowly turn your head to the side, the sight before you distorting your breathing pattern.

Your body violently trembles and the delicate maroon material you adorn is fisted within your hands.

He stands against the wall, a familiar box in his hands and the door to the bedroom sealed beside him. Cocking his head to the side, he sends a smirk in your direction.

“How stupid did you think the Kim family is?” A playful look dances in his eyes, “Are we that easily fooled?”

At your quivering silence, Taehyung grows dismayed. “According to you, I guess we are.” The sound of metal alerts your ears right away and your eyes grow wide, fixating on the sharp object in his hands. “But don’t worry, you won’t be able to trick anyone after this.”

You roll over in a flash, instincts thankfully taking over for a split second. Taehyung sighs, yanking out the curved knife from the ground before whirling around and lunging for you again. You’re able to evade him again, rising up onto your feet.

Your heartbeat petrifying thuds against your chest as you glance around, mind becoming erratic.

Taehyung sighs again, unclasping the knife in his hands and placing it back into his pocket. For a moment relief fills you, but it’s short lived when a revolver emerges out instead.

He points it towards you, holding onto the same expression as the first time he aimed a gun in your direction.

You attempt to swiftly move out of the way, but you’re not as lucky this time around.

A loud cry escapes your lips and you collapse onto the ground, a pulsing sensation radiating from your left leg. Tears begin to emerge in your eyes and Taehyung appears relieved for once, satisfied he won’t have to chase or hunt you down for this to end.

He aims the gun down at you. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

The sound of firing echoes through the walls, and the remainder of the bullet clanks onto the ground.

Nearly having scratched the surface of the polished floor.

Taehyung’s eyes are wide and your hand tightens on the metal, having successfully knocked him down with your body weight. His irises darken considerably and a small grin tugs on his lips.

“What are you waiting for? Shoot.” He chuckles boisterously, like he’s isn’t the one currently on the ground and being confronted with a gun.

Your mouth twitches, the hot excruciating throbbing in your damp limping leg tingling through your skin. The ends of your fingers tremble the slightest, and it’s something Taehyung doesn’t ponder to take notice of.

“I knew Namjoon shouldn’t have married a L/N...all of you are always the same....” A devil-like smirk crosses him, voice dropping into a low whisper, “Weak.”

Abruptly, he’s off the ground, smacking the back of your elbow to loosen your grip. Thankfully, you latch onto the weapon tight enough, gripping it away from his preying hands.

An echo murmurs through your head.

“….if you ever are found out, Y/N…..

....at the split second in discovering your true nature….

He successfully snatches the gun, propelling the hammer back in a hurry.

….you cannot choose hesitation….

...and the evidence must be destroyed….”

Once the gun is pointed right against your temples, you hope that Taehyung has prepared himself for a rude awakening.

A hard punch lands straight on his nose and you grasp onto the gun, aiming it straight for him.

Taehyung’s eyes are wide, and for the first time you can see fear in them.

Fear of the emerging coldness that resides in your own.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you fire.

The sound of a thud greets your ears, and the reeking stench of freshly spilled blood is enough of an answer for your actions.

***

Small huffs leave your lips, body limping as you walk out of your bedroom. Red residue coats your hands, dripping down your leg as you apply pressure to the metal embedded into your skin. Your other hand still tightly grasps Taehyung’s gun, keeping it securely by your side.

Slowing turning around, you glance over your shoulder at the corpse on the ground. A grimace runs through your features, but it’s accompanied by a hiss as blood continues to trickle out of your wound.

You begin to limp ahead, continuing to move forward.

A tray clatters against the ground.

You flinch, dilated pupils glancing up and preparing for defense. However, your breath hitches in an instant, terror pooling into them instead.

Eunjoo stands before you, her shaky hands reaching out to cover her mouth.

“M-Miss Y-Y/N…?” Her eyes have grown in size and your breathing becomes erratic as they continue to soak in the red staining your gown along with the gun in your hand. That’s when her trail of sight freezes, latching on the body behind you that you have yet to dispose of.

In that split second, the fear in her eyes morphs into utter rage.

“Y-You…” Her chest heaves, face flushing red, “Y-You’re a spy.”

A pang of pain throbs through your heart, “Y-You’ve been a spy this entire time!” Disbelief strikes her, the dots beginning to loosely connect, “Betraying the trust of M-Master Kim...”

Eunjoo’s voice cracks and your eyes screw shut at the sound.

“A-And me…” There are a thousand regrets laced in her bitter words. Tears begin to form in your eyes, but you fight back the urge to let them drip down your cheeks.

The sharp sound of silver suddenly greets your ears. You jerk your head up, ignoring the way your vision has started to blur.

Eunjoo stands in front of you, a butter knife in hand. You’re not given a chance to react one bit when she charges right at you with a cry.

She’s unarmed and pinned to the ground in an instant.

You aim your gun straight at her.

Struggling for a moment, you notice the tears running down her cheeks and the soft sobs escaping her lips.

“W-Why, Miss Y-Y/N? Why?”

As she pleads, her frantic state mimics your own. You can’t hold the tears at bay anymore, your bottom lip quivering as they uncontrollably stream down your flushed skin.

After a pregnant silence, you choke out the words, “B-Because there’s no other way…...”

Your vision has blurred over entirely, “I’m sorry, E-Eunjoo…..but you’ve seen too much….”

Unlike Taehyung’s eyes, Eunjoo’s aren’t filled with either fear or horror. Instead, there’s just lingering disappointment, and for some reason that makes your heart tighten even more.

Your hand trembles as you place your finger on the trigger and for once, you keep your eyes wide open when it’s pulled.

***

The floors are shimmering, a near pearl hue twinkling from their surface.

There are void from any pieces of glass, the silverware properly tucked away. No scratches litter the outside of your bedroom door, and there are no remains of a static box leftover.

You steady yourself against the bathroom wall, sliding down until you’re fully seated on the ground. Disinfectant in hand, your leg is raised, now angrily blotched with murky dark red cracking around the small metal pocket.

Once the area stops stinging and is finally clean, you shakingly inhale, before digging your fingers into the hole. You harshly bite down onto your teeth, a silent scream ready to erupt from the bottom of your throat.

Metal clinks onto the ground and your shoulders visible relax for a moment, before you take out the disinfectant again. This time around, a sharp needle is plucked in between your fingers.

The echo of footsteps entering the front door halts your actions, freezing you in place.

Abandoning the needle, you quickly peer around, confirming that the door was locked. The footsteps continue to grow in sound, and with a haste opportunity, your vision fixates onto the shower tap.

It’s not long before a knock resonates against the door, “Y/N? Y/N, are you feeling better?”

Namjoon places his ear against the door, the sound of water sprinkling drawing a frown on his lips.

“Y-Yeah...I’m feeling much better, Namjoon.”

He hums, wondering if the water hitting the ground was the reason why your voice sounded deeper and thicker than usual. “Alright….I’ll just be here, if you need anything.”

You make a sound in approval and he softly smiles, ultimately deciding to head back to bed after a long night.

Water continues to splash against the surface of the ground as a fine needle quickly moves against your skin. In the midst of this, your hand ceases to tremble and a whimper escapes your quivering lips, right before you erupt into sobs.

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ober-affen-geil · 5 years ago

Text

So I have. Done. A meta before. On Michael and Alex outside the trailer in 1x09. But it turns out I have more to say on the matter and a slightly changed outlook so here we go.

I want to start by referring to this most excellent meta because it touches on a lot of the same points as mine, mostly being the massive disconnect between Alex and Michael in this scene. I want to focus on Michael here though, because I’ve already talked a lot about how pivotal this scene is for Alex. (Here is the big one, there are many others.) Also because I believe in this scene, Michael thinks he’s getting that pyrotechnic breakup he asked for in the beginning of the episode, and I am devastated for him.

*Disclaimer before I start: I am not completely disregarding what Alex is going through in this scene. I am focusing on Michael. I am not dismissing, nor undercutting how important this moment is for Alex. It is. But that’s not what I’m here to talk about so. Just be aware I’m not at all giving precedent to Alex’s point of view.*

We start off with Alex pulling up, and you can tell Michael is trying to treat him like a normal customer. It’s killing him inside, but Alex told him it was over and he can be an adult about this. At least he can try. And then he pulls the necklace out of his boot and Alex reacts like he’s hurt and that’s not fair so Michael pushes back to the topic at hand. (What were you saying?)

But then Alex starts to leave walking away again which is just fine by Michael. It’s typical, it’s what he did when they were “together”, why would it change now. It’s expected. But then Alex flips the script. (I’m tired of not saying what I want to say.) And Michael has had it up to here with him.

Because, from Michael’s view, no one has ever prevented Alex from saying what he wanted to say. Not when he’s with Michael. Michael has never found it difficult to speak most of his absolute truth when he’s with Alex, so Alex’s apparent inability to do the same is just one more indicator that Michael’s feelings are not as strongly returned. (See this wonderful meta for more on their love language gap.)

And now not only has Alex apparently decided to make a grand gesture, he’s doing it after he told Michael it was over. Publicly. So Michael is. Yeah. Michael is just about at the end of his rope. (What do you want to say, Alex?!)

And then. And then.

“That I loved you.”

A sentence which takes the wind from his sails and the breath from his lungs. It literally stops Michael in his tracks it is that unexpected.

Alex doesn’t do this. He doesn’t talk about this “thing” between them. Ever. All he does is accept what Michael gives him and walk away, again and again. So to hear the word “love” from him in relation to Michael, even in past tense, is shocking. But he’s not done.

“And I think you loved me. For a long time.”

And this. Wrecks Michael. Just when he thought Alex Manes had razed him to the ground he finds out there was still a part of him left to hurt. His reaction is of someone who is absolutely destroyed, his only response is “Yeah” because what is he supposed to say to that? Everything he does and says around Alex is designed to show him he loves him and if Alex doesn’t get that what more is Michael supposed to do? “I think you loved me,” as if Michael’s love could ever be doubted. As if he could ever love Alex Manes in past tense.

But no good will come of him trying to correct that. He’s done what he can to say how he feels in the past and apparently it hasn’t worked. So he stands there and listens to Alex stumble over his words. He can’t quite keep it to himself when Alex talks about their connection though, because it’s such a powerful pull. It always has been.

When he says “Cosmic” it’s an argument. It’s a plea, it’s disbelief, and it’s desperation. “This is us. This is what we have, why would you deny that? Why would you say it’s not enough?” But Alex plows over it, dismisses it, and well really that’s par for the course isn’t it. Michael pours his heart out and Alex doesn’t look at it. Doesn’t take it, doesn’t want what it means. Like outside the trailer in 1x02, he will accept Michael’s hands on his body and nothing else. And then Alex says “I want to be friends?” like he’s not even sure about that and Michael just.

I know I already linked to her meta above but I gotta quote @chasingshhadows here because this is it exactly: “This is a man who knows that he and Alex will never be able to be just friends, but who also knows he won’t be able to stop himself from doing whatever Alex asks...That laugh says he knows that what comes next is going to hurt and he’s going to let it.”

It does hurt. What comes next. Because what comes next, so far as Michael knows, is Alex asking a very dangerous question.

“I wanna know who you are, Guerin.”

And Michael makes a choice. If Alex won’t set them alight, he will. Because that look in his eyes as he stalks towards Alex is predatory. It’s dangerous. It’s “if you wanna play with fire, you’re gonna get burned.”

His next line is so, so significant. Aside from giving me heart palpitations, his wording here is incredibly indicative of self-destruction. He douses himself with gas, hands Alex a lit match, and dares him to use it.

”Do you wanna know who I am? Or do you wanna know what I am?”

This goes beyond Michael offering to tell Alex the truth. Look at the wording of the second question, “what I am”. Michael is othering himself. Of the three siblings, Michael is the only one who takes genuine pride in not being human. He has seen the worst of what humanity has to offer from a young age and that has given him an aversion to even pretending to associate with them. Max and Isobel may secretly wish they were “normal” (and by normal, I mean human) but Michael has never wanted that. Michael wants to go home because Earth has never been that for him.

So for him to use this language to describe himself, to play into the picture of the monstrous alien “other” that invades the planet, is him just pulling the pin and waiting for Alex to back away in disgust and horror. He’s braced for it. It’s what he intended to do with that sentence; it’s him slapping the naked truth onto the table and saying “this is the part where you run away.”

But Alex doesn’t run. He doesn’t even step back when Michael pushes into his space. All he does is look at him, take a breath, and say “Yes”. And I would kill for a reaction shot in that moment because Alex just pulled the rug out from under Michael again. But alas. It is left to our imagination.

Anyway. That scene always takes my breath away, even moreso than the Caulfied scene, so I needed to get that out there. A recovery center has been set up for those who need it, complaints may be submitted to my ask :D

#roswell new mexico #rnm #my roswell meta #michael guerin #alex manes #malex #yes i did quote shrek #no i do not regret it #my gifs #list #a riley special

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edenfalling · 5 years ago

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[Fic] “I Believe the Children Are Our Future” - Chronicles of Narnia

Summary: Helping your sister take care of her new twins is vexing. Figuring out a stable and robust system of government for Narnia that will outlast your death is even more vexing, but you can't properly manage the former task without eventually facing the latter. AU, no White Stag. (1,425 words)

Note: Written for alexseanchai, in response to the prompt: kids / babies, the Pevensie(s) of your choice, didn't-return-to-England AU. It is also a fill for the Genprompt Bingo square kids / babies.

--------------------------------------------- I Believe the Children Are Our Future ---------------------------------------------

"I still say having twins was a bit much," Lucy remarked as she held Ngoro on her lap, carefully propping her niece upright so the baby could stare out the nursery window at the summer rain pattering on an exuberant spray of ivy. "Yes, it's a marvelous way to trump Edmund and Margita for having the first child of House Pevensie, but when do you and Jurusi sleep?"

"We trade watches," Susan said, deftly folding the last flap of Alfred's diaper and fastening it with a silver pin, "besides which, all the good folk of Cair Paravel stand ready to lend a hand, paw, or wing whether we need the assistance or not."

"That's not-- well, yes, I suppose that is how things go around here," Lucy conceded. "Though frankly, as vexing as it can be to have everyone sticking their noses into one's decisions, I prefer that to the alternative. We've seen quite clearly what happens when people have no one willing and able to tell them they're being foolish or need more sleep."

Susan made a hideous face at her son, who giggled and flailed his pudgy, uncoordinated hands toward her mouth and nose. "I beg you, don't remind me."

Lucy made a face in turn, then swayed back to avoid getting smacked in the eye by Ngoro's equally uncoordinated excitement. "Alas, I think I have to -- at least in a roundabout way. It was fine when Ysavetta was the only heir, but we now have three children of House Pevensie and no established rule of precedence for which shall inherit what. Worse yet, I don't think we've established a principle of dynastic inheritance at all, considering our authority comes directly from Aslan and the land's own prophecy, which isn't what I'd call an easily replicable precedent."

"Lucy. I am too tired to think about political theory."

Lucy hefted Ngoro into her arms and stood from her armchair. "You won't become any less tired for at least a year." Ngoro made a noise halfway between a coo and a frustrated kitten-mew, and flailed again toward Lucy's face. Lucy intercepted her niece's hand with one of her own fingers, which Ngoro promptly wrapped her own tiny fingers around and tugged close to shove into her mouth. "Besides, you're far more honest when you're too exhausted to put on your regal face." And like it or not, some questions needed answers.

"You're far too honest all the time. It's most vexing, having a sister who's the next best thing to a living saint." Susan sat down on the broad couch that doubled as a bed for whoever was taking night watch in the nursery and guarding the infant prince and princess. Then she flopped down onto her back, pulling Alfred with her until he was lying face-down on her stomach. "Hello, darling! Yes, I know, that feels so much better now. Isn't it nice to be clean? How about we try to keep Mummy's dress clean for at least five minutes? Can we do that, sweetling?"

"Five candied chestnuts says he can't."

"Deal," Susan said as she grasped Alfred's hands within her own and began waving his arms back and forth, up and down, in mirrored patterns. "Now take your finger out of my daughter's mouth -- honestly, when was the last time you washed your hands? -- and tell me why you think we ought to settle the succession today rather than wait to discover if any of our children even wish to shoulder the weight of an entire country."

Lucy pried her finger out of Ngoro's mouth and tapped her niece on the nose to distract her from her thwarted gnawing. "The Tisroc's sons."

Susan's hands stilled for a moment. "Ugh. Yes. Fair point. There are any number of rotten strands contributing to that poisoned web, but the tacit rule that the throne goes to whosoever can take and hold it certainly bears much of the weight."

"I fear that accepting murder as a legitimate method of succession was the seed of a number of those other rotten strands over the generations," Lucy said. "I'd prefer for our family and our country not to turn down that path."

"The trouble, of course," Susan said as she continued to wave Alfred's arms about to his apparent glee, "is that any fixed succession method for a royal house opens the way to unfit or uninterested rulers. Moreover we face the problem of either converting a tetrarchy into a monarchy without creating hard feelings among any children who don't inherit a throne, or of establishing some equivalent to Peter's role as High King without divine appointment to back that person's claim over the other three rulers."

Lucy sighed. "Yes, exactly. I'd thought we might have the High Throne go by seniority -- whoever has been king or queen the longest when the current High King or High Queen dies -- but that only works if there's a clear rule for accession to the lesser thrones. This is why I need your help. The Lion only knows I haven't found any foolproof answers and I've been worrying at the matter since Ysavetta was-- Ouch!" Ngoro, both hands tangled in Lucy's hair, yanked again. "Yes, I know my hair is shiny, but we don't hurt people unless we're at war, and even then we warn them first. Let go. Why don't we go look at the rain again? It's shiny too!"

"One would think a soldier would know the value of braiding back her hair," Susan remarked to the white-gold stars painted in constellations across the nursery ceiling.

"Braids make my scalp itch."

"'Tis a great pity for you. Regardless, it occurs to me that you have framed the problem too narrowly. The question is not who shall inherit the throne or thrones of Narnia. The question is how Narnia shall be governed when we four are gone to Aslan's Country. Why have a throne at all? I seem to recall that some lands in Spare Oom managed well enough without one."

Lucy stilled, hand stretched out through the open window to cup a palmful of rain, cool and cleansing on her skin. Then she pulled her arm back in and let Ngoro smash one hand gleefully into the tiny puddle.

"Narnia has always had a king or queen, since the Dawn of Time itself. Will the land be satisfied without one?"

Susan rolled onto her side to meet Lucy's gaze, Alfred cradled safely within her arms. "Perhaps not. But I think that is the question we must answer first, before we seek to burden my children or our niece with the weight and duty of a throne. And further, I think we should draw others into our search. We have never ruled alone -- neither one king or queen without three others to hold the balance, nor four tetrarchs alone with no counsel from our people -- and a question so vital as this cannot be resolved behind closed doors. That, too, is a rotten seed I would not see take root in Narnian soil."

"It's most vexing, having a sister who would rather ask a dozen new questions than find a simple answer," Lucy said with a smile.

"Anyone who claims to have a simple answer to a complicated problem is lying or deceived," Susan said.

"Even Aslan?"

"Aslan is the only potential exception, but I prefer to reserve judgment until I reach his Country and examine the perspective from which he makes his decisions." Susan heaved herself upright and held out one hand to forestall Lucy's rejoinder. "In the meantime, because you're my sister and I love you, all vexation aside, I will give you one simple answer."

She crossed the nursery, pushed Lucy down into the armchair, and deposited Alfred on her lap beside Ngoro. "You wanted to know when Jurusi and I sleep? I'm going to join him in our bed right now. You may take my watch."

Lucy watched her sister stride swift and elegantly from the room, then glanced down at her niece and nephew. Ngoro and Alfred met her gaze with wide, curious eyes, before Ngoro turned back to the window and Alfred smacked his hands on Lucy's shoulder, making tiny noises with each touch.

Perhaps it was asking too much to find a simple answer that would keep these two small lives safe as Lucy herself had never been, save for a month of peace snatched here and there from the swirl of duty and chaos.

Even so, she could do no less than try.

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

End of Fic

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

Miscellaneous worldbuilding notes! In this AU, I am assuming the Pevensies are still interested in international alliances -- probably moreso since the whole Rabadash incident -- and this has resulted in Susan marrying a relative of the royal house of Kutu (the country south of Calormen) while Edmund has married a princess from Telmar. I am unsure about Peter, and as for Lucy, she's eventually going to go on a sailing adventure to the uttermost east and run into a suspiciously familiar Sea-Woman because if I'm already going AU, why not shove in the Lucy ship of my heart? *waves tiny Lucy/Sea-Girl flag*

#liz writes stuff #mini ficlet prompt meme #chronicles of narnia #genprompt bingo #lucy pevensie #susan pevensie

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thegeneralsnotebook · 5 years ago

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Special: On LL, Print & Play, and My Future With The Game

By now, if you’ve been paying any attention at all to the news coming out about Set 11, you’ll likely have heard the big announcement that is accompanying it. That is, that Friends Forever (Set 10) was the last set that will be officially printed and distributed by Enterplay. From this point on, sets will be designed, tested, released and managed exclusively by Commentary is Magic, in addition to their existing responsibilities with regard to managing organized play and all official rule documents. It goes without saying that this is major news for the game, and in accordance, I felt that it would be a good idea to offer my own commentary on what this means, both for the game now, as well as for the foreseeable future.

It bears pointing out first that while in the past I have worked with Commentary is Magic as a commentator for their broadcasts of tournament events, and will continue to do so, neither I nor any of the groups that I work with are affiliated with them in any way. The opinions that shall be expressed within this article are entirely my own, and come from a few days of honest contemplation, coupled with CiM’s extensive explanation for their actions this past Sunday, in their most recent stream.

To begin with, I should point out that regardless of anything else, this sucks. The end of the printed era and the beginning of the Print & Play era means that this game will never again be what it was before. None of us can say how well it will turn out, and while we hope it goes well, it goes without saying that things would have been better with Enterplay still involved. While there has always been a measure of disagreement over Enterplay’s handling of the game in the past, the fact remains that over the course of the game’s existence they have continued to produce an exciting, novel, and fun experience. I have no doubts that the designers responsible for the MLPCCG would have carried on doing so had the prospect made financial sense for their company. Unfortunately, it would seem that it did not. Whatever I have said in the past, I want to thank them right now, for the skill and devotion they provided in taking the game to its current state, and wish them all the best of luck wherever life takes them next.

That being said, the fact that Enterplay will not be continuing on with the license presents the community with a sobering choice. Ordinarily, the lack of a commercial rights-holder to make the game officially would mean the end of things. It would be, unless the community were to decide to continue on without them. This is not without precedent, and is perhaps most notably exemplified by the more than a decade long run of the Star Wars TCG under a fan development body, after Wizards of the Coast suspended development of that game in 2005. Though the Star Wars story does bring with it another important thing to understand: while CiM has made the initial choice to attempt to carry on with the game, they will not be able to do it alone. Unless there is a community willing and ready to continue supporting the game just as they are, this experiment in fan-run MLPCCG will be a short-lived one indeed.

Make no mistake, while playing the game from Set 11 on will no longer require as much of a monetary investment, it will absolutely require an investment of a different sort. Namely, the effort necessary to obtain the master copies of the cards, and to print them, however you decide to do it. This could be as simple as printing on regular paper and affixing the art to other cards to serve as a backing, right up to crafting acceptable playing cards yourself using an artisan print service. The options present a range of difficulty and investment required, but all of them are going to involve more time and effort than throwing some money at Enterplay and having the new cards show up at your doorstep several days later.

This will be a different game than it was before. People can make all kinds of arguments about whether it’s easier or harder to get into now, about the impact this change will have on the secondary market or the value of past collections. These debates are valid, but beneath them I think is a more important point. The game has fundamentally changed, and it will now no longer appeal to some people that it appealed to before. No one should be held in contempt if they decide that the game is no longer for them, and they don’t wish to participate anymore. Inevitably, the community will suffer some attrition from this change. Likewise, none should be held in disdain for choosing to continue on, as I shall be doing.

The gentlemen that make up CiM are good friends of mine, and I know that they have been the subject of a variety of suspicions and ill-will over the course of the existence of their organization. Arguably, it may have started even before then. Yet the evidence that I can see points to them being dedicated servants to the ideal that this community deserves a fun game to play, and that this game deserves as wide a community as it can get.

CiM is betting that enough people will stick around to make their gamble worth it. They are risking a significant amount of time and resources, never mind potential legal liability, to see this thing through. And make no mistake, this gamble that they are making only pays off if the game stays fun and enjoyable for all of the diverse and disparate elements of the community that plays it, rather than only for an elitist cabal. I have the great personal honour of knowing the members of CiM as friends, and I can say that none of these guys are stupid. They understand, and have always understood, the great authority and responsibility that they have as community leaders. This was true even before they claimed any official responsibility for the workings of the game. It perhaps bears repeating that CiM itself was borne out of a desire to grow the game beyond its extant community and present its best face to the wider world. I have never got the impression that their goals as an organization have changed.

Throughout all of their tenure as community leaders, they have gone to great lengths to dispel any suspicions that may have been cast their way. When they assumed control over the official rules and banlist, they began publishing their decklists in advance of official tournaments, denying themselves the opportunity to sweep the field with whatever tricks or combos they had privately discovered. Through events like CoCo and their sponsorship of increased and well-supported organized play, they have given everyone else the chance and support to grow their own local metas, which gives the entire community more opportunities to build better decks and compete at the major events. While it is true that designing the game while competing in it is a strange arrangement, the members of CiM have voluntarily imposed major disadvantages upon themselves in the hope of assuaging these concerns. And after all, every responsibility they have taken on has been done because they enjoy the game and want to be able to keep playing it competitively. To then not be able to keep playing it would obviously be an unworkable arrangement.

Having said all of that, it should perhaps be obvious that my personal take on this matter is a vote of confidence in the new designers. I could ask you, if this game were to continue being made, how else could it be done? Enterplay has made it known that commercially, the proposition does not make sense. Thus further design and production needs to be performed by the community if it is to happen at all. Again then, who else could do it? CiM has been around since nearly the beginning of the game, they have a network of similarly experienced testers, and even more important than that they have the passion and integrity to ensure that this process is carried out correctly. If what we desire is a future where further development on this game still happens, what reasonable alternative do we have to this one?

This is to make no mention of the fact that all of the members of CiM are functional adult human beings with lives outside of pony cards. As someone who has spent some time doing amateur card and set design, I can tell you that it is no easy process. It takes long hours of volunteer time to see a work of the magnitude of an entire set through to completion. Add to that as well all of their work producing content and organizing tournaments across the continent. I can say with no exaggeration that I’ve found their dedication inspiring beyond measure.

Which brings us to the final point. If you are anything like me, your first thought upon hearing of the move to Print & Play was to go to CiM’s Patreon page and either increase your current donation or start a new one. After all, I was willing to pay Enterplay to keep the game going, why wouldn’t I pay its new wardens to equally show my appreciation for their efforts?

Alas, this cannot happen. CiM thought through the matter extensively prior to taking up this responsibility, and as they’ve mentioned elsewhere, turning their efforts into any kind of commercial enterprise presents an enormous risk given that they have no license from Hasbro for the use of MLP show assets. Even doing this as a non-commercial enterprise presents risk on its own. So they have wisely decided to eschew all compensation for their organized play efforts. The next time that you get the chance to meet them in person, I’d recommend a thank-you. It’s honestly the least that they deserve.

So what does that mean for me? Well, from everything I’ve seen so far, Leaders & Legends looks great. Obviously it’s far too soon to say anything about the meta that will shape up after its release, but the cards at least look fun to experiment with. And, given that we have a fresh set of designers for Set 11, I see a new opportunity for some statistical analysis. Once Set 11 has been fully revealed, I’ll be performing an analysis of how the design of the set works out when compared to the Enterplay-designed ones. Hopefully, this will determine if CiM is bringing any fresh philosophy to the table, and maybe offer some hints of what directions they will be pursuing as they move into Set 12 and beyond.

Set 11 marks a brave new beginning for the MLPCCG. I see no reason to stop playing it, thinking about it, or writing about it, so I’ll keep on. I sincerely hope that everyone else who reads this will join me.

Note that this article will not replace my usual October Feature. That one, containing card ratings for the Friends Forever Core meta up to the Old Money/Portal bans, will be around at the usual time near to Hallowe’en.

#mlpccg #printandplay #leadersandlegends

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eternityunicorn · 6 years ago

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Elijah’s Eternity: New Orleans Part Fifteen

Author: eternityunicorn

Genre: Romance/Drama/AU

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x OC

Warnings: Violance, Smut (*Smut chapters marked +18)

Summary: Sequel to the AU Elijah’s Eternity - Ten years have passed, a mournful Elijah has finally started to move on without his lady. In that time, he has gained a reunited family and has also found a new lady love. Yet, all is not well as danger comes for the smallest member of the Mikaelson family: Hope, and it prompts Niklaus to call upon the white goddess, drawing her back into Elijah’s life. As they reunite, can Elijah really say he’s truly moved on?

NOTE: OC and original elements are from my up and coming novel series!

———————————————————————————————————

The loft across the river was a rustic place, but in a charming sort of way. The entire thing was made up of red brick with wood beams to support the unfinished ceiling. On the outer wall with the windows, there was an aluminum tube air duct that ran the length of it. The place was low lit as the windows didn’t provide much light against the dark interior. Of course there were lamps to compensate for that, but it did create a rather depressing mood that Elijah hadn’t noticed the last time he had been to the loft.

That might have been because he had been depressed the last time he had been there. Though he didn’t dare dwell on his embarrassing sulking over Hayley’s choosing Niklaus over him. He hadn’t been in a good place before the hybrid female had made that choice and the choice itself have only made his dark state all the worse.

Anyway, the hardwoods were at least still polished nicely and all the old furniture remained as he had left it years ago. However, the place did have a sheet to dust all over everything since it hadn’t been in use for all that time.

Perhaps bringing Eternity here wasn’t the best idea, Elijah thought as he took in the old loft.

“Elijah, this place is fine,” the immortal queen replied to his thoughts, putting her hand on his arm gently. “It simply needs a woman’s touch - a magical woman’s touch, to be exact.”

While looking at him slyly, she snapped her fingers and the dim, dusty loft was instantly transformed into a light and warm living space. The brick had been painted white and the windows had been made bigger to let more light into the loft. It made it seemed roomier, not as drab.

The furnishings had received an upgrade as well. Everything was new and modern, including the small kitchen space. The appliances had been updated to the latest stainless steel and the countertops were of the finest black granite magic could conjure. The once worn and dark cabinets had been made a bright white, adding to the lightness of the previously dark loft.

Yes, the dust old place had been made new and high class, just the way Elijah preferred his dwellings.

“You know me so well, Sweetheart,” he smirked at Eternity, impressed with the magical remodel.

She grinned in return, just before a serious and contemplative look took hold. She moved further into the main room of the loft, her hair rippling behind her as she went in that otherworldly way Elijah typically didn’t notice anymore. He only did see it because she looked absolutely divine, in the truest sense of the word against the newly lit up apartment. Her hair even reflected in the light, flashing with light now and again, another feature he usually no longer paid any mind to. It was fascinating how he could ignore such otherworldliness most times, but every so often those features made themselves known to him.

But Elijah pushed that out of his mind as her sudden seriousness took precedence in his mind. He followed her path closely until they stood on the area rug where two modern grey couches sat across from each other.

“What troubles you?” He asked, his eyes narrowing as he observed her lack of bodily cues that meant she was upset. He didn’t see any. If she wasn’t upset about something, then what was it on her mind that had her looking so concentrated?

“Nothing troubles me,” Eternity replied, turning to smile warmly at him. “There are things on my mind, however. There are things that we need to discuss and now that we don’t have the prying ears of Mikaelson siblings to contend with, perhaps this present moment would be a good time to talk.”

Elijah nodded readily, “Of course.”

He gestured to the couch in a silent invite for her to sit. She did, perching delicately on the edge with her hands folded neatly in her lap. After unbuttoning his suit jacket, he joined her, sitting right next to her. He mirrored her position, sitting on the edge at an angle to see her better.

All the while, Elijah wondered what it was that she wanted to speak to him about.

“So, what is it that you wish to discuss with me?” He asked, once they were settled. He took her hand in his, covering it with his opposite one as he waited attentively.

“I have actually had this on my mind since before you even asked me to marry you,” she began. “I knew all along that, if we were to reunite, it was likely we wouldn’t wish to part again ever. The reason why the Underground Agency exists is because of that fact. Yes, getting the Earth to a place where it’s people can fend for themselves, where they can stand toe to toe with the rest of the Universal Kingdom is something that I’ve always wanted for this world, but it hasn’t been the driving for me to finally put these plans into motion. I have been working hard getting this world ready for another reason.”

Elijah looked at her curiously, “And what is that exactly?”

“To break down the barrier between the immortals and the mortals; to make the two universes one again,” she answered. “To make the Earth the center of my kingdom, my home, so that you and I do not have to separate ever again.”

This was a big revelation, one that he hadn’t thought about when he had asked her to marry him or even before that, or at least, not very much anyway. Her palace was among the stars, out of reach of him. If they were to spend the rest of forever together, then a revolution of sorts was in order. Changes had to be made. He found himself humbled in the realization that Eternity was willing to make those changes for him, out of love.

“Alright, so what does this mean for myself, my family, and the entire supernatural community?” Elijah asked next, as he lifted her hand to his lips and laid a kiss upon her knuckles in affection.

“You are all going to need to be stronger, of greater skill, more powerful,” Eternity told him, as if it were obvious. “If you and yours are to earn the respect of the ancient immortals, then you all are going to need to be upgraded, for lack of a better term. You will need to be on their level.”

Elijah narrowed his eyes at her, “How are you going to achieve that?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, “A dab of magic and a whole lot of rigorous training. You’ll still be limited somewhat, but you all should be able at least contend with low level demons and the like. It will be enough to make the ancients see the new age supernaturals as equals.”

“How are you going to get hundreds of thousands of supernaturals to train? Furthermore, who’s going to train them? You?” He inquired.

“The agents of the Underground Agency will train the supernatural community on the whole,” she answered. “However, I will be responsible for you. Your family will also be trained by agents from the agency, minus Niklaus, Hayley, and Hope, all of whom are already being trained as we speak by an old...friend of mine.”

The way Eternity paused when saying ‘friend’ made Elijah suspicious, though not in a ‘my family is in danger’ sort of suspicious. No, however, there was a secret there in this old friend, one that she seemed reluctant to divulge any information about him or her. An old lover, perhaps? It seemed likely. She did have several in her four hundred years running from Loki. Maybe this person was one of them that managed to escape death by the Trickster’s hand.

“This friend was more than a friend, yes?” Elijah asked curiously with a small knowing smile at the way she shied away slightly.

“At one point,” she replied. “It wasn’t long before I met you, actually. Of course, things had ended amicably prior to our fateful first encounter. I had sworn to never love again, not while Loki was at large, but meeting you that night set my course and I couldn’t help but to follow it.”

Eternity smiled at him lovingly and he returned it with one of his own.

“So, when will this training begin?” Elijah inquired next, deciding to move on from the subject of old lovers.

She leaned closer to him then, putting her hand on his chest and kissing his lips sweetly, before she pulled back enough to look him in the eyes to say, “Soon, but not right now. Right now, I simply want things to be about you and me, revolution be damned.”

Immediately his mouth was on hers with his hand cupped the side of her neck as he did. His tongue pried hers open and swiftly began to dance within the warm cavern, tasting her thoroughly. She moaned lightly and shifted closer, putting her other hand on his thigh as she leaned into him further.

It would have been divine to take her all over again for what seemed like the millionth time. He wanted to. His body called for him to do so, as did hers it would seem. Alas, he could not, for he had something else he had to attend to, something he deemed more important at the moment.

Therefore, with great reluctance, Elijah pulled his mouth from hers, while licking his lower lip where he could taste her still. “There is something that I must see to in town,” he told Eternity huskily.

His eyes surely burned with his desire to push her back onto the couch or better yet, pull her into his lap, and have his wicked way with her. Hers certainly did. Those sapphire depths of hers were dark with a lustiness all her own. If he were a weaker man, less controlled over himself, he would have done what his instincts called him to do and have her as he pleased. However, since he was not those things, he managed to find the strength to resist the temptation.

“What is this great important thing exactly?” Eternity asked him seductively, as she played with the red tie he wore.

Elijah grinned at her, “Oh, it’s a surprise, my darling Eternity.”

He pulled away from her wandering hands as they moved along his chest and as they then reached up to running her fingertips along the stubble of his jaw tenderly. He rose from the couch quickly and moved toward the front door. “I shall return to you, my lady,” he called back as he went.

Eternity sputtered at how fast Elijah was gone, but he only grinned impishly as he headed down the stairs and to his waiting car. They had driven over to the lost from the compound since his lady wasn’t sure how he would handle instant magical transportation since he had never done it before. He supposed, if he was to contend with the ancient immortals as Eternity said he would, then perhaps he should make the attempt to travel that way.

For now, he got into the car and drove back around to the French Quarter, to a very specific place he knew of. He parked in front of a fine jewelry store, before heading inside the small and modest establishment. He browsed the selection of shining jewels and gems on his own for a few minutes, before a young sales woman came over with a bright smile.

“Can I help you, sir?” The lovely redhead asked him politely.

Elijah smiled in return and nodded, “Yes, I believe you can. I am looking for an engagement ring for my fiancée?”

The young lady frowned slightly, “Did she lose the original one or something?”

He grinned sheepishly and answered with a slight chuckle, “No, I may have done things a little out of order and proposed before getting a ring.”

“Ah, I see,” the sales woman replied understandingly. “Well, if you’ll please just come over here, sir, I believe we can find something for the lucky lady.”

“Oh, it is I that is the lucky one, let me assure you,” said Elijah with emphasis, as he followed the woman around to the line of glass cases on the left side of the shop. “I didn’t get your name, Miss?”

The kind young lady extended her hand out to him as she introduced herself, “I’m Victoria, Victoria Marcus, but everyone calls me Vic or Vicki.”

He took her hand in his and clasped it firmly with a charming smile, “A pleasure to meet you, Vicki. I’m Elijah Mikaelson.”

The redhead froze for a moment upon hearing his name, a look of wariness crossed her youthful features. She had heard of him before, Elijah realized, not all that surprised by that. The Originals were notorious throughout the world, but especially in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Even some humans had heard of his family. He assumed this young lady was one of those humans.

“You have heard of me,” Elijah observed knowingly.

The woman curled her hair behind her ear and looked down nervously, “Yes, I’m completely human, but I have witch friends whom have spoken about the infamous Mikaelson family. You’re not here to kill me or anything, right? I mean, I’ve heard things, not so good things.”

Immediately he reassured her, “No, I’m really only here for an engagement ring. It’s not a front and you have nothing to fear from me. I give you my word on that, Vicki.”

She looked up timidly and considered him, before relaxing somewhat when she saw he was being genuine. “Alright,” she murmured, before clearing her throat and awkwardly laughing just before she spoke more confidently, “Well, Mr. Mikealson, over here we have some fine choices of rings.”

Elijah looked into the glass case she was gesturing to and right away did he see the perfect ring for his lady. It shone brighter than the rest, like a beacon calling to him, telling him that it was the right one.

It was a vintage ring, dated some time at the beginning of the 20th century, with intricate designs in the white gold of the band. There was a sizable diamond centered upon it with two smaller sapphires flanking the clear gem. The sapphires reminded Elijah of Eternity’s eyes and that was what made it so perfect to give to her.

“That one there, please,” he pointed to the ring.

“Good choice,” the sales woman replied as she took the elastic key ring from around her wrist and unlocked the case to retrieve the item he had picked out.

Just as she was doing so, Elijah felt someone of sinister intent shift up beside him. He immediately looked over and saw Céleste standing there! “That is a lovely ring,” she said with a twisted smile, her French accent thick as always. “You’re lady will absolutely be over the moon at the very sight of it, without a doubt, no?”

“What do you want, Céleste?” He growled, on guard in the face of a threat.

The seemingly resurrected witch shrugged coyly at him as she answered, “I come with a warning for you and your lady, my sweet Elijah. Neither of you will know happiness, only misery and heartache. A terrible storm comes for you both, one that will surely wreck your sweet love.”

“Warning? That sounds more like a threat.”

“Oh, it is. I simply did not wish to call it that.”

Elijah turned to the vengeful witch completely, temporarily forgetting the ring and the sales woman. “Why are you doing this? How are you even here?” He quietly demanded.

Céleste lost all amusement then. A hateful look replaced it as she took a step closer and replied, “Why? You have to ask why? Your brother murdered me and you still remained by his side, then you sided with your wicked family once more centuries later and killed me all over again, when I only wanted to show you the errors of your ways. I’m doing this because you don’t deserve happiness. You certainly don’t deserve a happily ever after with one such as the Universal Queen. You deserve nothing, but misery and darkness!

“As to your second question, well I will not speak to that as of yet,” a cruel and mysterious smirk pulled at her lips then, the anger in her subsiding. “The game has only begun and it would not do to spoil things before their time. However, I will say this: the past is coming to seek revenge for the crimes unanswered. I am not the only one. There are others. You will see them soon enough, my darling.”

Elijah was furious, to say the least. He did not take kindly to threats unto him or his loved ones. He wanted to lash out, but his impeccable control kept the baser instinct in check. He was more intelligent than that to strike against an enemy he didn’t know enough about yet. Yes, it was Céleste, but she was different, a new incarnation so to speak. He couldn’t strike until he understood more about her mysterious reappearance.

Instead of attacking, he smiled humorlessly at his former flame and replied, “There is nothing, nothing, that you or anyone else can do to destroy what lays between Eternity and I, but you all are welcome to try. It will only end in your death again by my hand. I promise you that.”

Céleste seemed unperturbed by his counter-threat. She had the audacity to shrug it off with a scoff as she turned away, heading toward the exit. “We shall see about that, my love,” she called back. “We shall see.”

With that, she left, vanishing through the door like the ghost that she might have been. Elijah wasn’t quite sure what she was, whether she was real or some kind of spirit. Yet, it really didn’t not matter. She was a threat, an enemy, one that he had to deal with and soon before things grew out of control.

“Uh, Mr. Mikaelson?” Vicki said, catching his attention.

Elijah immediately turned to her, remembering what he had been doing before the encounter with Céleste. The young woman looked absolutely terrified by what she had just witnessed. He smiled gently and continued to conduct business with her after a quick apology about the disruption. He played what had happened off as nothing, which young Vicki seemed alright with him doing. It seemed she didn’t want to talk about it. Perhaps because it would make the ghostly experience real to her if they did.

Soon Elijah had the ring in hand packaged in a small red velvet box, after he had paid a considerable amount of money to the sales woman, and was heading back across the river to his awaiting lady. The whole while, his thoughts were plagued by the visitation from Céleste, making his hands grip the steering wheel of his Bentley tighter than was necessary in his frustration and anger.

The happy moment had been completely hijacked by the sinister threat upon him and his lady. It was unforgivable and Elijah swore that whatever was going on would be dealt with swiftly in the harshest, cruelest way his dark mind could conjure.

To Be Continued....

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punk-in-docs · 7 years ago

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The Rose & the Nightingale, Chapter 1

Benedict Cumberbatch x Female OC, AU. Set in the 1920's, This tells a story of love, jealousy, friendship and desires. Set in the backdrop of 20's Britain, as the ages begin to shift, and Friends realise their lifelong preference for one another could turn out to be the beginning of a simmering romance... (eventual smut) - also on AO3 Chapter number: Chapter 1 Author: punk-in-docs (Here is my Masterlist for more chapters… Don’t laugh at me cause it’ s so, ridiculously tiny) but do take a look if you feel so inclined… Triggers/warnings: Meet cute, no warnings.

They had met, on a heavy and disappointing night, at a debutante party in a crowded London Townhouse in the chilling winter of 1918.

Britain was not all that far from just having won a world war with Germany, and subsequently everyone delighted in their social calendars livening up again, like a busy forest after its inhabitants had hibernated all winter. Out came the silken dresses that had been stowed away in musty trunks during the conflict, once again parties and drinks and dressing up became the norm, and the new age of technology gripped every household that dared to embrace it.

Packed to the rafters was the state of the elegant Knightsbridge home of the Kingsley’s. One of London’s leading families of social elite. The reason being for the ball, was that The Kingsley’s daughter, a one Kitty Kingsley, was blossoming into womanhood at the ripe and unsullied age of sixteen, the age in a girl’s life when frivolous parties, and extravagant dresses would start to become a necessity in their life, overtaking the rare presence of responsibility and smart conversation, that was permanently lacking to any young girl nowadays. The expectations for a girl of this naive age were to be seen and absolutely not heard. Something of which, she’d never been comfortable with.

Perhaps that was why Miss Elizabeth Jones rarely dared to dip her toe into the ‘cesspool’ – as she so often called it, much to her mother’s displeasure – of debutante dowager mama’s and stiff upper lipped father’s aswell as their nauseatingly dim children, who were trying in vain to be sensible, alas she certainly had no desire to blend in with the wallpaper, she was making a point of being both heard and seen.

The first over spoken incident of the evening that resulted as a consequence of her desire to be no demure wall -flowered miss, came when she was introduced to one Mr and Mrs Grey, and their 19 year old son, Jeremy Grey. She had done every polite etiquette correctly. Smiling and averting her eyes to the floor for the risk of being a flirt, commenting reservedly on the number of guests, and the delightful décor of the Kingsley’s home. And as the conversation had dried up thereafter, Mr Grey, and Elizabeth’s father, were engaging in a long winded political debate whilst everyone else smiled and remained in mute, but socially polite, silence.

Elizabeth took the time to scuff the sole of her shoe quietly onto the Victorian black and white tiled floor. Wishing she could be where she wanted at home with her sketchbook, and anywhere on god’s green earth than in this ballroom, with its suffocating atmosphere, in a dress she had yet to grow into and shoes that had been stuffed with tissue paper to help her fit them better. Instead she had to ‘guard her tongue’ as per her mother’s suggestion as she listened to the two men discuss the treaty of Versailles in regards to the treaty of Brest-Litovsk. She bit the inside of her cheek as she struggled not to be heard.

“I fail to see why we’re not demanding more from Germany. All the reparations we have to make to our economy and our businesses, we should bleed their economy dry for what they’ve done to us!” spouted Mr Grey, angrily raising his voice to a passionate degree.

“Because clearly over 20 billion gold marks isn’t enough.” She murmered quietly, sarcastically.

“Elizabeth!” Her mother scalded quickly, an embarrassed blush decorating her cheeks as she berated her daughter using her preferred name to usher her into silence and decorum.

Mr Grey looked at the young girl in a strange manner, gaping at her in wonderment, as were Mrs Grey and Jeremy.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Jones?” Mr Grey stammered, taken aback that the young girl was corralling him over matters of politics.

“Over $5 million has been demanded from Germany to pay reparations, in gold, commodities, ships and other forms. Surely that will go towards the majority of Occupation costs to the Allies in Europe. And as for the reparations to be made to England, surely France, and Belgium, both of whom have been half obliterated by this conflict must take some precedence and priority in restoring their lands and economy.” Libby argued, seeing Mr Greys face grow more and more shocked by her words. And her out of place attitude that made her sound like she was defending Germany.

Mr Grey narrowed his eyes at the young girl. Mrs Grey and her son looked horrified. Libby’s mother looked about ready to faint from mortification. And her own father actually looked to be quite proud and pleased with her.

“Are you saying you’re sympathising with Germany?” he asked dangerously.

“Not at all Mr Grey. I’m simply stating my opinion that a payment of over 20 billion in gold marks from a war torn state would be not only incredible, but also inconceivable in the face of a country that is facing an annex of its military and just about every other commodity it possesses, down to the raw iron in the ground, and the coal in its mines. Not to mention that the harsh demand can only be adding insult to injury to Germanys History and sooner or later someone is bound to rally the countries broken spirits, and kick up a fuss only made greater by the fact they are a rising industrial leader of this century and are successively being, as you put it… ‘Bled dry’ “

She finished, seeing Mr Greys hand grow slack on his glass, threatening to spill it over the floor and all over his shoes.

Suddenly in a wave of self-consciousness and the sheer unassuming ability of knowing she had just been incredibly rude and condescending, and not to mention severely outspoken. A temperament her mother told her was ugly, frank and impossibly brutish. And not only did she look like she sympathised with an enemy country, she also looked like a loud mouthed know it all. And suddenly, she felt utterly foolish, and very much wished she had just made a lame comment about the weather, and blended nicely in with the baroque wallpaper.

“Excuse me. I think I need to go and fetch myself a drink.” She spoke with the quiet and shy demeanour of a tame dormouse.

She slipped away, through crowds of black satin and formal evening dress with guffawing laughter erupting all around her in the room. She felt defeated, humiliated and just a tiny bit angry. Feeling shamed for having an opinion, was as illogical to her as being ashamed for having arms and legs and a pair of eyes.

Her escapade from the dreadful conversation, however, did not go unnoticed. Perhaps it was the bright colour of her midnight blue velvet dress as she streaked through the crowd that caught his attention amongst the sea of black dresses and suits, black was deemed a safe and quickly popular, modern, colour now, rather than an indication of old fashioned Victorian mourning. Perhaps maybe it was the way he had been stood within earshot of her when she had spouted all her intelligent and upstanding argument about reparations from Germany. And perhaps it was the way he had to try and hide his smile on hearing her passionately degrade a senior in her years with just a few lashes of her educated and eloquently remarkable tongue. But whatever sight or sound it was, that made Elizabeth Jones capture the attention of Benedict Cumberbatch, he knew he liked and thoroughly enjoyed it.

She was tall for her age. And slender too, with that delicate and pale British skin that every prim young miss ought have. Her hair was a short and wild curly array of off red, chestnut hues, impossible to decide between the shocking sight of red or brunette. Given her vibrant and resilient nature, he rather favoured to lean towards red as a common denominator for her hair colouring. Her dress hung off her in an ill-fitting manner, and her noted with nothing but primal curiosity in a way that only a 17 year old male could, was that while she was slender and willow like in height, he could go some way as to say that her bust was of an agreeable size, a size not deemed fashionable in today’s society, and her hips and rear filled out the back of her dress rather well, aswell as showing a Dias cut out on her back where the material fell away, he quite thought he liked the sight of her bare back and the splay of her refined neck. As she turned to weave her way past Mr Ramsgate, he saw that as she turned so lightly in his direction, the soft details of her face was just as pleasurable for him, as the rest of her. Her lips were plump and looked as if they offered and promised soft warmness, in her kiss and in her smile. her nose was, petite and button like, arched softly at just the right size, between two almond shaped dazzling blue eyes, that were also deemed rare and unfashionable, like the fiery flame shade of her hair, that looked big and sensuous when bordered by a fan of impossibly long eyelashes that spilled onto her slightly reddened cheeks as she looked down, steering her feet under her too long dress. She looked up again, walking towards the door, and he could see that her eyebrows were softly bowed on her forehead, arched like angels wings. Altogether, from the look of her, and from the sight of her, the more he saw, the more he was intrigued to know.

The final ‘Perhaps’ that raced through Benedict’s mind when he was looking at this elegant, beautiful and vibrant girl, was the perhaps that maybe she was different to the other blushing empty headed debutante girls who he had been dragged here, and forced by his parents, to meet and eventually wed. This girl was highly unfashionable judging by her looks, short auburn hair and blue eyes, not long brown or blonde hair and brown eyes that were favoured exotic and currently ‘all the rage’, and by her manner, berating a middle aged man over his crass opinion in politics and foreign affairs, and this. This is what made him want to go and introduce himself to her.

He excused himself politely from talking to Felicity Warrington, who had just commented on the lavish décor of the Kingsley’s home. He rather inclined to favour that the word ‘lavish’ was the only eloquent word in her vocabulary, and walked quietly and fairly quickly through the house to try and find theflame headed pariah who had distanced herself from the party.

Eventually, he came to a quiet, unlit corridor near the front of the house close to the cloakroom. And there she sat on the windowsill that overlooked the moonlit bathed front garden that faced the quieting street.

She had tugged off her shoes and left them in disarray on the floor, and her legs were pulled up and crossed in front of her, her bare feet rested on the deep window ledge. And her forehead was touching her knees, making her vivaciously coloured curls spill over her knees, and shroud her face from view. Her hair this way, however, revealed her ears and the small sapphire earbobs that were pinned into them. Her arms were linked around her legs, resting just below her kneecaps, and her saw that the moonlight that was streaming in from the window, was touching her skin so freely, and illuminating it in a manner akin to goddesses in pre Raphaelite paintings, that he suddenly envied the slice of light to be able to caress her skin at liberty without question or permission.

He suddenly felt he had to say something and stop invading her privacy in a strictly unforgivably rude manner.

“Pardon me, but. Are you, all right?”

She startled at the timbre of his soft baritone voice breeching her silence and solitude. Her head whipping up to bestow upon her intruder a surprised gaze, with her full lips parting and her blue eyes blinking in adjustment to the tall boy stood near the shadows of the doorway, peering at her worriedly.

She was struck by how old-worldly he looked. His face was thin and long, but not unpleasantly so. In fact, she thought to herself quietly with apposition, handsomely so. His was an unforgettably striking face, which she could tell, in an – unbeknownst famously to her - sense of prediction, that was destined to grow even more strikingly handsome as he got older. He had dark hair resting between black or brown, she couldn’t tell in the unforgiving shadow of the doorway where he stood. But he had softly placed feline shaped eyes that were awash in Mediterranean blue irises, residing under fairly curved eyebrows. She had never seen the Mediterranean Sea, only had she read about it in books, likening its soft, salty blue depths to the colour and warmth of his eyes. She has also learnt from books that this particular ocean was the temperature of a boiling hot bath after it had been left half an hour, resulting in a lazy warmth that instantly recalled her to think of the hsade this strangers eyes. His nose was, as far as noses go, button like and well suited to his face, she wasn’t sure if ‘button nose’ really constituted itself as a compliment, but, on having had to talk to Lawrence Finch for some portion of the evening, a boy whose nose had yet to grow into his face, and probably proceeded his body several seconds before he physically entered the room, again, when comparing that unfortunate trait to this boys nose, she decided that ‘button like’ was indeed a soft and graceful compliment. But the thing that drew her attention most was the fact that the shadows carved away his face in stark contrast, so that sharp cheekbones dominated his well-structured jaw. Nearly going all the way to say the darkness that cut away his features framed the cut out of the hillside shape of his cupids bow lips that were both feminine and masculine all in one.

She decided that it would be polite to speak as she had spent far too many seconds evaluating his appearance in her head. Seeing his brows twitch upwards in an awaiting gesture, as he pulled out of the shadows of the doorway, so she could see he was lean, tall and well built.

“I, must learn to watch my tongue better. I fear my, outbursts and prejudiced comments land me in veritable swamps of trouble more often than not.”

She commented, her toes curling on the window ledge in embarrassment. As he came to rest in front of the wall opposite her, hands in his pockets as he inspected his shoes in a shy burst of insecurity. She saw how the moon that was beaming in from behind her was plastering his figure to the wall, bathing him in godly illusion. He liked that her voice was adamant, pleasant sounding and resolute. Like the soft song of a nightingale.

“Well. Without meaning to appear in favour with popular opinion, I think you should in actual fact guard your tongue less, only. It’s far more amusing that way.” She raised her brows in disbelief.

“Are you arguing with me?” She ascertained lightly. He smiled shyly.

“I wouldn’t dare to, or dream of, saying yes. Wanting not to sound like a pansy here, I think we can safely agree it is an argument you’d win.” He smiled, his smirk shining through twinkling moonlit eyes.

And they examined each other for a moment, watching how the moonlight could simply strip away all their inhibitions, and leave them bare and unguarded to one another in an age that was so wantonly cloaked and kept under strict lock and key. He liked how he was stood directly opposite her now, and the light was framing every inch of her from this newfound angle, making her hair look like red strands of silk, and warranting her skin to look ethereal and enchanting, along with the brutality and vibrancy of her eyes and the shade of her dress, that blended beautifully with the night washed sky behind her out of that window. She is a magical, exotic, ethereal wood nymph hailing straight from the pages of Greek mythology. She could write sonnets about the magical way in which the light transformed him into a man rather than a boy.

She laughed lightly at his comment, before remembering what age of etiquette she lived in.

“Elizabeth Jones. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She stood, and offered her hand.

“Benedict Cumberbatch. It is a pleasure, Elizabeth.” He spoke easily taking her hand and smiling all the more. He then gestured to the spacious room by her side on the window seat. She was a delightful creature. He liked the feel, the taste, of her name on his tongue.

“I beg your pardon, and the sordid intrusion of your solitude, but, may I join you?” he asked, placing a hand to imitate where he wished to sit.

She smiled. “But of course, but, on one upstanding and not to be contended point, Benedict…” she started.

“That point being?” he enquired before he sat. Still stood adjacent to her, and thoroughly enjoying the sight of her.

“You call me Libby. Elizabeth is the name I get called by my parent’s when I forget to bite my tongue.”

He smiled widely.

“But of course, and, can I press a request of my own, Libby?”

“I am so agreeable as to let you offer an appeal of your own, so yes?” She asked, interested.

“Please call me Ben. Benedict does rather make me sound like a breakfast dish.”

They both laughed in time with each other, and that was the incredibly easy start of their firm friendship… The sensible debutante, and the kind, eligible boy. and what a fine pair they made.

~ Chapter 2 ~

@frenchfrostpudding @heavymist @echantedbytwh @totallynotasmutblog @wolfsmom1 @damageditem any fans in? tell me to sod off tagging you if you don't like it :) x

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lady-divine-writes · 8 years ago

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Coldflash one-shot - “Don’t Quit Your Day Job” (Rated T)

Leonard Snart takes his little sister to the Motorcar diner three times a week. He used to go there to scope out the CCPD, but lately it's to scope out Barry Allen, the most incompetent waiter in the world. (1319 words)

Pre-powers au. Barry’s in college, and Len’s taking care of his teenage sister. And Iris is there, too. Inspired by an item on this list.

Read on AO3.

“Oh my God! I’m sorry! I am so sorry!” Barry mutters in horror as he stares at the empty ramekin on the floor, along with the Ranch dressing it had been filled with now staining the lap of his customer’s pants. His regular customer, one who still tips him regardless of the amount of times Barry has ruined his clothes.

Though this man (Len Barry thinks he’s heard the man’s teenage sister call him) just might be a glutton for punishment seeing as he picks the same table every time he comes in knowing that it’s in Barry’s section.

And he wears all black, which, contrary to popular belief, shows every little spill.

In that case, it’s the man’s sister Lisa (name emblazoned in rhinestones on the denim backpack she hangs off the back of her chair) that Barry really feels sorry for. She didn’t ask to get stuck with Barry, the world’s most incompetent waiter, bringing her steaming hot plates of food stuffs.

Which is probably the reason why she’s switched from her usual bowl of broccoli and cheese soup to the grilled chicken sandwich sans dressing. With Barry as their waiter, it’s the safest meal on the menu.

Barry is luckier than he deserves to have a regular customer as tolerant as this man. Most of his customers tend to migrate silently to other sections of the diner after Barry’s first inevitable spill. Considering how empty his section usually is when he arrives for his shift, his reputation precedes him. If Barry’s best friend, Iris West, hadn’t already been working there for the past three years, Barry wouldn’t even have this job.

And if it weren’t for a fortunate six degrees of separation, Barry wouldn’t keep this job.

Located across the street from the CCPD, the Motorcar diner is a regular cop hang out, and Iris’s dad - Barry’s surrogate dad - happens to be a cop.

Joe West, however, knows better than to eat there when Barry’s working.

“Here … let me …” Barry launches at the man with a napkin, trying to blot the goop off his crotch, but the second he realizes what he’s doing – what he’s touching – he leaps back, mortified.

The man with the soiled pants shakes his head and laughs while his sister, sitting in the chair across from the chaos, rolls her eyes. “It’s all right, kid,” he says. “We all have bad days. At least now it matches the Coke you spilled on my sweater.”

“And the orange juice you spilled trying to clean up the Coke,” his sister adds, leaning to the far right to keep her brand new t-shirt out of firing range.

“I know,” Barry groans, “I know. I---I can fix your pants if you leave them with me.” Barry’s eyes pop open when the man snickers. “Or I could, you know, just pay for the dry cleaning.” Yup. I’ll leave you the money in my will after I crawl into a hole and die.

“Forget about it. Really. But if I could get some silverware, that might help.”

“What? I didn’t …?” Barry searches the table, frantically praying he didn’t actually forget to bring the man his silverware! That should have been the first thing they got even before their menus.

But alas, there isn’t a fork, a spoon, or a knife to be seen.

It’s a good thing Barry’s only working as a waiter to help make his way through college. Forensic science, for some reason, comes way more naturally to Barry than pouring drinks and serving food.

“I’ll … I’ll … I’ll just be a minute,” Barry stammers, then scurries away looking like he’s about to be sick.

Len watches him leave, following him with his eyes until he ducks into the kitchen. Len hears him let out an embarrassed groan of, “Stupid!” right before the door swings shut.

“Why do we even come here, Lenny?” Lisa whines, scooting her chair to a less sticky side of the table. “I know grandpa took us here, like, a million years ago, but you’re not a sentimental guy. The food sucks, and the service here’s awful.”

“Aw, don’t be so hard on the guy, Lees,” Len says. “He’s doing his best.”

Lisa arches an eyebrow. Her big brother usually doesn’t suffer fools, even attractive ones. So why is he cutting this guy a break? “He forgot to place our order,” Lisa mopes. “We’ve been in here over an hour.”

“We got our appetizer pretty quick,” Len says, gesturing to an empty plate that had been stacked with mozzarella sticks forty-five minutes ago.

“An appetizer we didn’t even order.” Lisa huffs. “Seriously, Len, can’t we just eat at IHOP next time?”

They both snap their heads around when they hear plates smash in the kitchen. Their bumbling and apologetic waiter shoots out of the kitchen, followed by a towel that flies through the swinging door and hits him square in the chest. He catches it and spins in a complete circle, locks eyes with Len, then skitters away, red in the face.

“Nah,” Len says, dismissing his grumpy sister. “I like the view here better.”

It used to be Len kept coming to the Motorcar diner to scope out the CCPD, listen to the cops talk, study their response times when a call came in. But he’s pretty much got that ingrained in his skull. He doesn’t have to come back here three times a week.

It’s the new waiter who’s all thumbs that Len can’t seem to resist.

“Well, I didn’t eat the mozzarella sticks so view or not, I wish he’d bring us our food before my stomach starts eating itself.”

“Meh. Starvation’s good for you. It builds character,” Len says, distracted when his phone, stuffed in his right front pocket, begins to buzz. He takes it out and unlocks his screen, reading the new message from his partner, Mick.

Your errand boy’s been made. Safe house suddenly not so safe. Need to find new digs ASAP.

“Damn.” Len deletes the text, then shoves his phone back in his pocket. “Come on, Lees. We’ve gotta go now.”

“But --- but we didn’t get our lunch!”

“Don’t sweat it.” He grabs her backpack off the chair and shoves it at her, trying not to make too big a scene. “We’ll stop by a Mickey-D’s on the way.”

“Yes!” Lisa cheers. “Finally! Some real food.” She tosses one strap over her shoulder while Len wastes time jotting something down on a napkin. “Hurry up! Hurry up! He’s coming!” Lisa grumbles under her breath when she sees Barry heading their way with their food. “I wanna jet before he gets here.” Before Len changes his mind, Lisa thinks. If he does, she won’t speak to him for a week.

Len rolls his eyes. “Hold your horses. We’re going.” He pulls out a twenty from his wallet and leaves it to cover their uneaten food. Then he grabs Lisa’s arm and races for the door.

“Hey! Hey, wait!” Barry calls when he sees them head out. He sets his tray down on an empty table in his section, preparing to give chase just as Len and his sister bolt through the door.

“Aw, Barry,” Iris says, putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Did you finally scare him off?”

“I … I don’t know,” Barry says, walking to the abandoned table. “I don’t think so. I wasn’t really any worse than usual.” Barry picks up the twenty and the napkin underneath it. “Look. He paid for their meal.”

“And he left you a note,” Iris points out. “What? Did he give you another hefty tip for destroying his clothes?”

Barry reads the napkin, smiling as a hot flush rushes his cheeks. “I guess you could say that.” Barry hands Iris the napkin. Written down carefully so as not to tear through, Len left Barry his phone number.

#coldflash #barry allen #leonard snart #frankie writes

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lovehotelreservation · 8 years ago

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Suitable Surface - Response

Summary: You and Satori have always found yourselves standing at odds with one another. Now, with you both standing right at the crossroads as to what will become of your future together, it only makes sense that matters get resolved by how you’re both standing–physically, awkwardly.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Reader/Satori

I STILL DON’T KNOW HOW SATORI MADE HIS WAY INTO MY HEART, BUT ALAS, HERE HE IS WITH HIS OWN ONE-SHOT TO HIS NAME! As noted before however, this one-shot (and the ones that precede and follow afterwards) were inspired by Flume’s “Wall Fuck”!

Other than that, I hope you all enjoy this one-shot~!

——————-

A manager for Shiratorizawa needed to be tough to keep up with such fearsome players, especially as each were so bold and intimidating in their own regard.

A person associated with Shiratorizawa needed all the patience in the world, all to resist from laying hands on Satori.

Your relationship with the ever eccentric athlete was an interesting one.

You were meant to reign him in–mainly whenever Coach Washijou was busy yelling at someone else, or if he was bullying the other team too much. Satori believed he was meant to tease you to no end.

While Shiratorizawa felt impervious to the threat of competition, you and Satori were locked in your own heated rivalry.

Still, you would declare your best wishes to him and the team and ensure that they remained properly hydrated and that they weren’t over-exerting themselves. They were all still human, after all, as you reasoned, to which Satori would grin and coo over sweet it was that you still saw humanity in the likes of them.

You often just responded by pushing a water bottle right into his mouth, your irritated glare meeting his wicked one.

Regardless however, as manager, you were supposed to–and tried to–keep things cordial and professional between you both.

Instead, you found yourself tangled up with him whenever you both had the chance.

At lunch, in the restroom during dull lectures, before or after practice in the locker room, the same with matches–and how you loved the rare times whenever Shiratorizawa would lose. No longer in any mood to be playful, he spared the teasing foreplay in favor of letting you feel the full brunt of his viciousness. Suddenly, that wicked tongue of his became less serpentine and more bold in its tone and words.

He wasn’t fancying you with sweet talk–if anything, any “darlings” or “sweethearts” he sent your way were laced with bitter venom that only defeat could ever draw forth.

Overall however, that was the full extent of your relationship.

A dance where both of you could never quite get full, synchronized unity, where your bodies could be pressed so close together, but knowing that there were not many songs left to sway to.

Satori made for an interesting partner, without question. For as many times as he intentionally riled you up, there were plenty of moments when he brought you joy. You found bliss in his victories–especially when he would pick you up in celebration, albeit making some teasing remark about how you were like a toy–and in his over-the-top mannerisms. One moment, he was absolutely the last person you wished to see. Other times, he was doing things like leaving your favorite candy in your locker with a note of encouragement and a crude-drawing of himself as you prepared for exams.

Romance at 18–would this even be one?–was a stepping stone to a person’s love life, as you both reasoned to one another.

Satori always seemed to make this clear–albeit always in that lighthearted, sing-song tone of his. You were more realistic about your arrangement by comparison.

And yet, as graduation in spring loomed closer and closer, there was a sense of bitter-sweetness to your encounters. A reluctance to leave each other, clinging to one another’s bodies so tightly. Intimacy was still shared, but often preceded or followed by laying side by side, contemplating about the future while waltzing around how things were going to go from here.

An answer was never given.

On your end at least, you believed that any discussion may as well take place after graduation. You and Satori had to juggle university applications, entrance exams, and all the last matches that the current Shiratorizawa line-up would be participating in, so any drama created by your relationship–even if it was weighing down on you both so heavily–should be set aside until now.

As much as you couldn’t bring yourself to say it, you were fine with this result. There was no definite answer, no final dissolution. The situation broke your heart much like the final whistle blown at the match that Shiratorizawa lost to Karasuno, especially when you had to comfort Satori that day.

The two of you would be going your separate ways for college, so how could your relationship–given its foundations–even think to become long distant, let alone official?

Avoiding him during the last few weeks of the semester proved to be difficult, as you still adhered to your duties as manager, guiding your successor through the workings for the team and all and taking one last group photo with the current line-up. Every time Satori went to approach you–his teasing nature looking more subdued whenever he went to do so–you ducked away and went to busy yourself with some ‘sudden’ errands that needed to be done.

For just a moment longer–no, for as long as could be–you wanted to have Satori act all pouty while keeping you locked in his naked embrace, the idea of letting you go unfathomable.

It was why you ended up avoiding him as best as you could during the graduation ceremony.

Somehow, you were able to get through it all in peace, even amidst all the emotional and sentimental fanfare that often went with the event. You took as many commemorative photos as you could with your family, friends, close peers, faculty, and more.

From what you could glance, the same could be said for Satori, except quadrupled the amount given his notoriety at school–especially classmates who wanted pictures with him and the rest of the team.

You made yourself believe that here, at this moment, you could slip away. Though, eventually, the question of what would become of the two of you would be addressed–you were dealing with Satori, after all. But for now, you could keep the possibility of your relationship turning into something else.

…Until your friends dragged you to a graduation party.

Honestly and surely, you resisted. A big, festive gathering for all the graduates meant that without question, fail, and doubt, Satori would be there, whether to be the life of the party or to contort the mood around to his whims–much like how you were feeling.

But your friends begged you to go, wanting to enjoy one more celebration together before you all started college.

You gave in eventually, especially as one friend started to get teary while getting you to leave. Together, you all went to extravagantly large and luxurious abode of one of your more affluent classmates, where the party was to occur. Almost immediately, you were met with “Oh! Manager!”, “Manager! You came too, huh?” and the like from all the now former Shiratorizawa volleyball team 3rd years.

With this, you were correct in your assumption that Satori was here.

This considered, you did your best to stick with your friends as much as possible, though most of them split off to go do their own thing, whether it was to dance, chat up whomever fancied their eye, or hang by the snack table.

Occupying yourself with treats sounded like the most ideal option, especially while keeping your eye out for the undeniably distinct Satori.

That was, until you had lifted a cookie up from a tray while your eyes scanned across the packed living room, only for it to be plucked right out of your fingers.

You were ready to tell whomever off when you heard some crunching and an obnoxiously exaggerated noise of pleasure.

There was no need to turn to your side to see who did this, especially when that person proceeded to move close to your ear and purr out, “There you are, sweetness~”

Action first, thought later.

That sprung to mind as you proceeded to step away just as quickly. It became clear to you that maybe you shouldn’t begin a chase with someone who was close to keeping up with the pace of one Hinata Shouyo during a heated 5-set match, but you were more concerned with keeping away from Satori, keeping away from when that grin of his would be plastered on his face as he declares that it was over between you both.

You weaved in and out through the throngs of your classmates, still refusing to look back. But you knew with all your heart that he was right there, trailing after you without needing to exert too much effort in doing so.

This was the first time to your classmate’s house, so you were careful to avoid rooms. Big, open spaces with doors that lead outside were your goals. You happened across this while easing through the crowd that had accumulated in the living room. Ideally, you thought to just leave the party now and apologize to your friends later, especially once you were able to recall which door you used to enter.

It was the only option you had at this point really.

As you neared the door, you–at last–decided to look back.

Satori was nowhere to be seen.

You cursed at yourself for feeling so crestfallen rather than relief. It was supposed to be like this.

Your hand reached for the doorknob.

…As did another from right beside you, albeit seeking to seize your wrist.

Even with the music blaring so loudly throughout the house, you could hear his purred whisper so clearly, the heat of his breath making your skin shiver.

“Did my pretty little doll think that I could be evaded so easily?”

And that was honestly all that it took.

With all this time spent together where intimacy could be held anywhere so long as there was time and a sturdy surface, it wasn’t difficult for you both to find a closet where you could allow things to properly transpire in private.

Though, neediness was definitely an understatement in this situation, what with how many weeks had passed since your last tryst.

“Aww, my darling~ How cute of you to think that I’d ever let you wiggle out of my grasp~”

Satori’s voice–its tone a low, seductive purr–managed to make your skin shiver, even within the tight, heated confines of the closet, the size of which was why the two of you were in this position. Your hands sought purchase against the wall before you, your leg raised up and supported by the firm grip of his hand while your clothes were pushed–even ripped–aside to offer access to his cock. One of your hips was form to grab, both for leverage and to ensure that you remained within his each, all while he drilled into you with long, deep strokes, his body hunched over yours.

Despite his tall, lanky appearance, he had plenty of strength to support your frame while eagerly groping you at his whim. While he was seeking immediate satisfaction–attained by keeping you within his gasp like so–he was catching up on time lost, having not being able to tease you as he would’ve.

In response to Satori’s words, you only whined while rolling your hips back against his, in hopes of meeting each wonderful thrust. Every time his cock sank deep within you, you did your best to resist a moan–though, this only earned a bite to your bared neck as he hummed, “Still giving the silent treatment to me, huh? Don’t tempt me, because I’ll happily make you squeal~!”

For as talkative as he was being, he still devoted plenty of time to kissing and nipping at your skin, ensuring that his presence would be declared. He was moving so quickly, so ferociously, that combined with the words he was uttering to you after so long, your body was already feeling the tremble of release. In the same regard, with how receptive, accepting and eager you had been–along with your euphoria-inducing attempts at quieting the noises he was causing–he was just as ready to yield to his own climax.

His rhythm quickened, the noisiness of his skin slapping against yours in sweat-slickened fervor increasing in volume and intensity. You uttered his name out breathlessly, feeling a cry beginning to rise from within your throat, only to have it hushed by his mouth seeking and planting over your own.

A sensation of heat spread through your lower half, as did emptiness when you both parted from your kiss. However, before you could comment on what the two of you did just now, you were hushed by more kisses and the words he had to utter in-between them.

“Always mine and no one else’s…always mine and no one else’s…”

There was your answer.

#tendou satori #haikyuu!!#reader insert #winter of faffery #fic #super freaknasty writing #management will return in a queue minutes

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